The Little Black Dress

Well, Soda Chicky and her friend Chatterbox left earlier this evening to attend the Bat Mitzvah of Flying Monkey. The girls looked stunning. Far too grown up for a couple of fourteen year olds heading to synogogue. The Chick is wearing "a little black dress" with spaghetti straps, an empire waistline with rhinestones at the waistline. Looks better than it sounds. I put her hair up in a chignon bun and she had black hose and some sweet slingback shoes. Chatterbox had on a similarly designed dress in a lovely shade of fuschia.

They will return late tonight after having way too much fun. These events usually mean a bag load of stuff comes back with the party goers. Monogrammed sweatpants, socks, photos, things that light up and glow in the dark. We spent less on our wedding and honeymoon combined. And we went to Europe for two weeks!

The big worry early on was whether or not Chatterbox would be able to break her Ramadan fast before the food was served tonight. (This is an eclectic group of girls.) Fortunately, the sun set before the service was totally over. They will party with no hitches.

When did they get so grown up, though?

Black is good. Red is bad.

My friend Megan is off in South Korea this year teaching English. I love reading her stories and knowing she is safe and sound. (Hooray for technology!) The following story was so dear and funny, I just had to share it.

So one funny(ish) story. Last week I was told of an old Korean superstition (that people and kids today still take seriously) concerning red ink. It is said that if you write or somebody writes your name in red ink... a death wish is laid upon you. So one day (three weeks ago before I knew about this) I was handing out new green workbooks to my students and asked them to write their names and classroom at the top with my marker. All I had was a red marker. The kids were all "No teacher" "Teacher No".... that's as far as their limited English could take them. I thought that of course they don't want the red because it doesn't match the green. So through the "Teacher No Red"s I said "Yes, red!" And then I got annoyed and made them write their names in the pen... I JUST PUT A DEATH WISH ON MY STUDENTS!! So when I heard about the superstition I was soooo ashamed once again at my ignorance. But evidently the students don't hold it against me because they don't seem to hate me...

Friday Five of Thanks

This week the list is simple: five things you're thankful for.

1. The Bug Man called me this morning to say he loved me. This is unusual for a man so very practical. (Although he did say he'd be late getting home from work. But on the other hand, he suggested ordering a pizza for dinner.)
   
2. Soda Chicky is starting to enjoy school again. Finding her place in high school, with her friends at other schools has been hard. She seems to be settling in after a tough few weeks. I am thankful she is more adaptable than her old mother.
   
3. That I have work that I enjoy and colleagues who make the day blessed.


4. That my parents are still having fun in their retirement. They make it look so good!
   
5. That I didn't run out of gas on the way to work this morning. I ignored the little red light and just kept on going. Definitely gotta get gas before I go home though. Bug Man hates it when I call and tell him I've done something really stupid. Sheesh! ;-)

For all these things, dear Lord, thank you!

Tag! You're It!

I was tagged by the Dog Blogger. This one comes in sets of four. They're a collection of strange little tidbits.

Four jobs I've held: Avon Lady, Babysitter, Weekend Housekeeper in the dorm (disgusting), LCA Youth Staffer.

Four films I could watch over and over: The Americanization of Emily, Crossing Delancey, Indiscreet, Charade.

Four TV shows I watch: reruns of The Gilmore Girls, Ugly Betty, Dr. Who, Top Chef.

Four places I've lived: Ava, Missouri; Canoga Park, California; Aurora, Colorado; Aurora, Illinois.
Four favorite foods: bread with real butter, peanut butter and chocolate ice cream, curry, steak.

Four websites I visit every day: RevGalBlogPals, AOL, my bank, Internet Scrabble Club.

Four places I would love to be right now: Woodland Park, Colorado; Paris, France; Monterey, California; Holden Village, Washington.

Four names I love but would/could not use for my children: Amy (it was already taken), Jacob (my colleague said, "You would name your child after The Deceiver!?!), Jack (it would sound bad with our last name), and Hepziba (fun to say, but not a good name for this century).

Lutheran Zephyr, Pink Shoes, Wills Mama, and Songbird- consider yourself tagged if you haven't already played this one. And if you don't feel like it, no problem!

Oh dear..... now what?

So Britney has to surrender the kids to her ex-husband. I must admit, I am not a big Britney fan, but I feel bad for these kids and all those who love them. These photos are going to follow these boys around for a very long time.

What bothers me the most is that this is a top news story. I don't really need to know the ins and outs of Britney and Federline's legal actions. I don't need to know if the latest 12 step program was successful. I don't want to know that Britney has issues with her employees.

I wonder if I would care more if I liked her music more. I'm not sure. I do know that it seems like People magazine has been less fun to read since so much ink is dedicated to Paris, Lindsay and Britney. I'd like to read about some older people.... Older people who don't carry lap dogs around in their purses. Older people who are relatively healthy. Older people, you know, ones born before 1980!

Sigh....

Grandpa Stan

Today on NPR someone was talking about telegraph operators. My grandfather was a depot agent for the Chicago Northwestern Railroad. He lived and worked in towns in western Minnesota and eastern South Dakota. Among the interesting things in my grandparents' basement was an old telegraph key and a number of strange looking glass jars. They were actually telegraph insulators and apparently are a collectable nowadays.


Because Grandpa was used to typing out telegrams, his letters to us were always in all caps. ALL CAPS. It wasn't screaming in those days, just a way to expedite getting the message through. The letters frequently came on railroad note paper used to relay the messages sent to the depot. I still have a few in my old jewelry box of treasures.


Grandpa was also a banjo player. He almost missed the birth of his second child because he was out playing a gig. It was a way to make some extra money and he loved entertaining. At the wedding of his youngest daughter (a 25 year span from eldest to youngest) I remember he played a number of his own creation, "The Lutefisk Rag." Old time jazz with a distinctly Norwegian sense of humor.


As a little girl I always wanted to play with the telegraph key, but somehow felt it was too special for me to use as a toy. I wonder now if I had asked for lessons, if Grandpa wouldn't have taught me the tapping magic of the Morse code.

I also used to wait and wait for him to play the banjo. When we would come for our annual visit, we were almost guaranteed a small concert. And if he came to see us, the banjo usually made the cross country trip. As much as I wanted to hear my grandfather play and sing, I would rarely ask him to play. I though it was an imposition. How silly! The man was born to entertain! I imagine he was just waiting to be asked.

The songs were always fun. "Five foot two, eyes of blue.... has anybody seen my gal?" Stuff from the 1920s or things that he sang with the Glee Club. He had a wonderful tenor voice.


My grandfather died when I was in college. It was 29 years ago this September. My grandmother, a spritely young thing of 97 continues to amaze us all with her energy and vitality. Ah, but we miss that banjo player.

A 6 year old sermon... for next Sunday...

Do you remember what you wanted to be when you were a little kid? Did you want to be a fire fighter and slide down the pole in the firehouse? Did you imagine yourself riding on the hook and ladder truck? Did you want to be the one who rode up front, a Dalmatian at your side as you sounded the siren and raced to help people in need?

Did you want to be teacher? Surrounding yourself with invisible students or stuffed animals or younger siblings - giving them assignments and reading to them in that upside book way that only teachers have?

Did you picture yourself as a famous athlete? Did you practice your swing? Did you practice your autograph? What would it say on your baseball card?

Or were you a famous singer? Crooning into your hairbrush and practicing your moves in front of a full length mirror?

What did you want to be when you were a kid?

My guess is that whatever you imagined yourself to be, you weren’t too worried about the paycheck. Your dreams were based on adventure... or fun... or modeling what mom and dad were doing. Your ideas of what you wanted to be when you grew up had more to do with joy than they did with money. You wanted to do something that made you happy. It’s only as we get older that we begin to concern ourselves with thoughts of career and salary. When you’re a little kid, your dreams are about fun and excitement. You race inside from a day of discovery to announce to all who would listen, “Look what I can do.”

And a weary grown up voice asks, “And how much an hour do you think they’ll pay you to do that?”

If you’re young enough, the answer is, “Who cares! A hundred dollars! A million dollars! Does it matter? Look what I can do!” But if you’re older, you begin to think- hmmm…. "How much money can I make?"

All too often we measure the worth of an accomplishment by what it can earn us. We forget that there are other standards that can give our lives value and merit.

In his letter to Timothy, Paul calls his young friend to see what is really important in life. Remember, he says, “we brought nothing into this world and we take nothing out... And the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.”

Instead of worrying about paychecks and investments, Paul directs Timothy to pursue righteousness and godliness. Faith and love. Endurance and gentleness. Paul calls Timothy to measure the success of his life not in monetary terms but by how well he has served the gospel and our Lord Jesus Christ. Because that is where his true joy can be found.

Paul ends his letter by saying, “As for those who in the present age are rich, command them not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, generous and ready to share, thus storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.”

In our gospel for today, Jesus is sending home the same message. He tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus to the Pharisees, whom Luke describes as “lovers of money.” And Jesus want all of us to understand how wealth should be used. It’s a lesson not on the evil of money, but on priorities.

In today’s readings we are confronted with an important question, and it is not “Are you rich or are you poor?” as if one or the other would make us a morally better than the other.
The question is not “How much do you have?” but “How much do you care?” And the Lord is very clear in saying, that the message he is bringing is the same one that God has been promoting since the days of Moses and the prophets.

God is on the side of the poor, the outcasts, the prostitutes and tax collectors, widows, orphans, lepers, those whose bodies are twisted and those who cannot see. God cares about them and wants to gather them in to ease their pain and sorrow. And Jesus is calling us to care about them as well.

We are invited to be concerned with issues of justice and righteousness. We are to be sharing what we have with those who are in need. We are to care for the Lazarus at our gate. His welfare is to be our concern. And in caring for those who are in need, we are teaching Christian behavior to those who witness our deeds of kindness.

One of my favorite church songs from childhood says, “God loves a cheerful giver, give it all you’ve got. He loves you when you’re happy, and he loves you when you’re not.”
But I have never found that giving does anything but make you cheerful.

When we were kids, we dreamed of a happy grown up life. A life of adventures and new discoveries.

We weren’t worried about the market. Or our IRA’s. We weren’t too concerned about what kind of salary we’d make. Or what the boss might think of us. We just wanted to do something that made us happy.

Having made it to the grown up world, I have found that what makes me happy, what gives me joy, is serving God. And being in community with his people. Each of us, in our daily lives, have the chance to find our happiness in living the love of Christ. Each of us meets people every day who are yearning to find the life that really is life. Each of us has the chance to cheerfully give and share.

It’s not what you earn that brings you joy, it’s what you do with it.

Remember, it’s not how much you have, it’s how much you care.

The Birds!

This afternoon as I was sitting outside wondering just where, oh where the cat had gotten to, a flock of crows was circling and landing in the cemetary. I suspected that this was a sign that Timothy was not around. Although those big birds could probably have done him a heap of harm.

I have never liked crows. When I was about four we lived in a house at the top of Strawberry Hill Road. Ours was the only yard on that part of the street and it was the logical place for birds to land. My mother had sent me outside to play. At the time she had three children, I was the oldest. I am sure she just needed SOMEBODY to go do something else while she was dealing with diapers and breastfeeding and all the rest.

But those birds SCARED me. To a little girl, they looked huge! And to a little girl it seemed that the birds were not looking for seeds or bugs, they were looking for little girls to attack! I can remember standing at the front door unable to get in. I am quite sure that my mother had not locked me out, she's not that kind of person. But I couldn't get the door open and I was being attacked by malicious, evil, big black birds! Eventually she let me in. I'm guessing she was in another part of the house or running the vacuum or something, but I was being attacked!

Even now I am not inclined to watch showings of Hitchcock's "The Birds." It gives me the willies! In its article on Tippi Hedren, Wikipedia says,

For the harrowing final attack scene in a second-floor bedroom, filmed on a closed set at Universal-International Studios, Hedren had been assured by Hitchcock that mechanical birds would be used. Instead, Hedren endured five solid days of prop men, protected by thick leather gloves, flinging dozens of live gulls, ravens and crows at her (their beaks clamped shut with elastic bands). Cary Grant visited the set and told Hedren, "I think you're the bravest lady I've ever met." In a state of exhaustion, when one of the birds gouged her cheek and narrowly missed her eye, Hedren sat down on the set and began crying. A physician ordered a week's rest, which Hedren said at the time was riddled with "nightmares filled with flapping wings".
I hear you Tippi! And that's my silliness for the day. The cat's at home. The birds have gone to roost. Bug Man is watching football and calling his mom. Soda Chicky is home from church choir practice and has plugged back into her Ipod. All is right with the world.

The kitty came back!

Well, it took him about 22 hours, but Timothy found his way back home. Bug Man said, "I let him slip out and locked the door, but he found his way back!" Such cynicism! The man would have been much sadder than he lets on if the cat hadn't come home. Currently Timothy is wandering around the house crying. He's a goofy old man but we do love him.

Where are you, Timothy?

Our cat has gone for a walk-about and I'm not happy about it. Timothy is a house cat and not completely suited for neighborhood wandering. Somehow he got out last night and he was sneaky about it. It's probably my fault. I was grilling dinner. It was dark and I must not have pulled the screen door shut on one of my comings and goings.

We have had Timothy for ten years now and we've gotten used to him. He's gone on wanders before but not in this neighborhood. We live on a busy street and as I've said before, our backyard is a cemetary. He could be hiding just about anywhere. I am hoping he will come home soon, wagging his tail behind him. But he's an older gentleman and he might not find his way back. Will he remember which house is his? Plus there's that whole big metal car versus little gray cat thing that worries me.

When he has gone missing before, he's come home within 24 hours or so. It's about hour 20 now, I'm hoping he's remembering that this is where the easy food comes from. Sigh....

The Friday Five - What a Mess!

This week's five from the Rev Gal Blog Pals is on clutter. Or maybe it was on neatness? Hmm....

In looking for a piece of clip art, I found this interesting church sign. I don't know where this church is or really what the sign is supposed to mean, but it sure is interesting what you can find when you google!

1. Are you a hoarder or a minimalist? A hoarder. It makes my husband very crazy. The thing is, we still have some weird stuff of his hanging around too. He hoards, just not as much.
2. Name one important object (could be an heirloom) that you will never part with. Can't think of a thing. Under the right circumstances I think it's all up for grabs.
3. What is the oldest item in your closet? Does it still fit??? My baptismal gown and not hardly. Handmade by my mother and very simple, but very long. Soda Chicky looked very sweet in it at 6 weeks.
4.Yard sales- love 'em or hate 'em? Hate holding them. Hate going to them. Mostly I hate it when the neighbors have them because then the Chick wants to go and buy someone else's junk when we have plenty of our own. Thank you very much!
5. Name a recycling habit you really want to get into. We recycle our papers but we have not found an effective way to recycle our plastic and metal since moving to our new address two years ago. In our former midwestern location, the local township picked up all paper, cardboard, glass, plastic and metal for free. Garbage on the other hand, you paid for by the can. So it paid to recycle, literally. Here our trash is picked up from a commercial dumpster and since we rent from our church, there is no provision for the residential recycling company to pick up from our house. Basically, I have to find a way to be less lazy about the whole business.
And for a bonus - anything you want to add.... When I was a grade school kid in Southern California in the late 1960's and early 1970's, we had newspaper drives. Everyone brought their papers. The class with the highest stack of papers won a prize. The goal wasn't to recycle but to earn money for the PTA which sold the papers. Now when there are paper drives, it's not about class parties but the environment. Interesting how things change.

Q: So what is "mono" Mom?

A: Infectious mononucleosis is a contagious illness caused by the Epstein-Barr virus that can affect the liver, lymph nodes, and oral cavity. While mononucleosis is not usually a serious disease, its primary symptoms of fatigue and lack of energy can linger for several months.

Soda Chicky went to the Shore last week with her friend Beach Baby. She came home with a lousy cold and Beach Baby is now home in bed with mono. I have caught Soda Chicky's cold and now I wonder if we are all looking forward to four weeks of fatigue.

I don't have time for fatigue! The Chick has too much homework to get mono right now! I was hoping she'd wait until her freshman year in college to catch this thing!

So for now we'll watch and wait. Chicky hates giving blood so that might keep her from admitting to serious illness... Hmmm.....

47 ain't so bad!

So today was my 47th birthday. Mountain Mama and Papa Joe called me from Germany. It's become a bit of a tradition. They've been in Germany on my birthday for about the last five years. The calls are always short but sweet.

Soda Chicky made me a chocolate chip birthday cookie. It was covered in gooey frosting and totally dear of her. The Bug Man went to bowl with the team tonight so the Chick and I ordered take out Chinese since neither of us wanted to celebrate my birthday by cooking. She and her father gave me a really nice gift- a certificate for multiple spa treatments. I hardly know what to do. Massage? Pedicure? Facial? And I feel no need to share the wealth with the Chick. Mine! Mine! Mine!

The sisters called as did Adventure Girl, the mom-in-law, and sister-in-law. It was a quiet kind of birthday. Went to work. Came home. And really, that was good. I was told I didn't look my age. And that was nice, although I'm not sure what 47 is supposed to look like.

As a kid I always wanted a certain amount of fuss. Not so much as to make my introverted self feel embarrassed, but enough to make me feel special. The nice thing about adulthood is that it doesn't take much to feel special. A cookie with a half can of frosting, a musical card from the hubby and more than my fair share of phone calls. 47 ain't bad at all, at all!

Shooting stars and watching Jupiter

For years, Adventure Girl and I have travelled to places where you might see a shooting star. These trips were usually taken with groups of Lutheran teenagers, but sometimes we were actually on our own. The thing is, Adventure Girl would spot shooting stars with very little difficulty. I would look over the top of my bifocals and hopefully wait for a flash in the sky. As soon as I would look away or go inside to use the bathroom, Adventure Girl would spot something meteoric. I would always miss it. But now, I don't feel so bad!

Every Monday morning on WHYY, the local PBS radio station, astronomer Derek Pitts does "Skytalk". His reports are usually pretty interesting: telescopes, space adventures, scientific advances and this morning... shooting stars! Shooting stars are actually bits of space junk about the size of a grain of sand. Something about the chemical interaction creates the spark, but then, the trail is only the width of a pencil lead!

If I was in a more preacherly mood, I might make something of all this. However, I am just feeling that maybe it's not a surprise that I haven't seen these shining wonders. What is amazing is that we get to see them at all!

On the other hand, I have been watching Jupiter for the past several weeks. It is shining big and bright just over the rising moon. When I sit on my front porch, it is positioned neatly over the bell tower of our church across the street. So cool! And Soda Chicky was impressed that I could point it out to her.

Hungry folks

The Bug Man and I went to serve dinner at the homeless shelter tonight. Chicken, broccoli and noodle casserole was the main dish. Chocolate chip cookies for dessert, but only two per person. Things went well, but we forgot to bring along some aluminum foil. I hadn't served dinner at the shelter for a while so I didn't think of it. Unfortunately no one else thought of it either. It made me feel bad that we didn't have any. It's probably not a big deal, but folks sometimes like to wrap up some of their dinner for later. The whole thing made me think about choices. In my cozy little house with it's too full freezer, I can choose what to have for dinner and when to have it. If I want a second glass of juice or a third cookie, I can do that too. I think choices are one of the luxuries we forget about. We forget to be thankful for the fact that we have options. And the lack of options can make one feel so desperate. It's a hunger that is much harder to fill.

A song for President Skippy and his recent address

Someone's gonna love ya!

A number of years ago, Soda Chicky was a part of the chorus in her elementary school production of "Honk". It's one of those plays that tends to be seen more in children's theater and grade schools than in the "legitimate theater" but it was on Broadway at one time.

There have been a number of people on my mind over the past few days who are needing some grace lavished on them. For them and anyone else who might need it (me included, I suppose) here's one of the joyful numbers from "Honk" the story of the ugly duckling.

Pseudo Grandbaby's Tough Day

Today Pseudo Grandbaby had shots. Four of them, two in each leg. Initially he was his usual happy self. But then post afternoon nap, he realized how crummy he really felt.

I had forgotten how bad "Shot Day" can be for the little ones. They can't really tell you if they feel bad because their legs hurt or if it's because they just feel achey or feverish or what. So they cry. And then after that they weep. This is all followed by more sadness as they struggle to take that much needed second nap.

Pseudo is a very happy baby. Growing strong. Long and lean and very active. When he feels bad I remember how hard it was to deal with Soda Chicky's baby tears. Sometimes I just wanted to join the crying. Sometimes I did joing the crying.

Pseudo's mom and dad are doing a great job of finding ways to comfort their little one. And now I ache as much for them as for the baby. It's bound to be a long night.

Meming for fun

Soda Chicky was reading the Luther Punk's blog of this meme and said, "Mom, you HAVE to do that!" So here you go, Chicky! Now go do your homework!

4 crushes:

1. Chris - during much of the latter part of grade school. He was smart and had a cute smile. By the time he might have noticed me, he moved to a different school.


2. Bruce - during the first half of college. He would call me up to tell me about all the sadness he was having with his long distance girlfriend. I can remember being called after 11:00 midweek, pulling the curlers out of my hair, slapping on makeup, putting on clothes and being ready in under ten minutes so that I could have coffee at Denny's with this guy.


3. Some tall guy at sem - can't remember his name. Hmmm.... After a disappointing response to a theological question I tossed his way, he became much less attractive.


4. The husband - after his mother kept throwing us together, he finally caught on.
   

4 Pieces of Clothing I wish I still owned (and/or that still fit):

1. Dreamy midnight blue strapless that my sister lent me for the "Senior Prom" at seminary. Also known as "the princess dress". I wish this one still fit. I'm thinking my sister wishes the same thing.


2. Norwegian cardigan that got lost in transit after internship. Too many boxes. Bad UPS Man. Very bad UPS Man.


3. Khaki colored two piece dress that was ruined by a dry cleaner in Tiny Town, Missouri. When I pointed out that they had removed all the color from the dress along with the dirt, they asked me if I still wanted the dress. Very strange!


4. My size 7 1/2 shoes. Mommyhood makes your feet a half size bigger, but I still have some of the shoes. Maybe Soda Chicky can wear them?
   

4 names I’ve been called at one time or another:

1. Hildegarde - by my father


2. HRod - by friends in my high school art department


3. George - by my mother


4. Moo-ma - by the Chick
   

4 Professions I secretly Want to Try:

1. Florist


2. World famous novelist


3. Professor


4. Sous chef

4 Musicians I’d most want to go on a date with:

1. Billy Joel - back when we were both younger and cuter. Say 1978.


2. James Taylor - most any day of the week.


3. Mozart - when we were both single and alive and I'd need a Babel Fish in my ear because I don't speak German.


4. Paul Stookey - not for romance but conversation.
   

4 Foods I’d rather Throw than Eat

1. Brussel sprouts - they are really nasty. I don't care what my mother-in-law says, they are vile.


2. Liver


3. Deviled eggs. Cannot stand the smell!


4. Mashed yucca. Had it at a restaurant. Very strange stuff.


5. A runner up: gluten free communion wafers. They are not tasty.

4 Things I Like to Sniff

1. Snow


2. The top of Pseudo Grandbaby's head. (With thanks to Luther Punk.) Baby heads are the sweetest things.


3. Fresh baked bread


4. Brut after shave. It's a Daddy smell from my childhood.
   

Where did you get that outfit!

Luther Punk posted some really interesting pictures of famous folks in their liturgical garb and wondered if maybe wardrobe should be a future topic of ecclesiastical dialog. His entries for craziest outfit of the day were:

But I would like to counter with these two.

What ever happened to basic black? Or white? Or off white? But pink?!? Not this preacher! Mmm-hmm-mmm.