I can't resist the Pillsbury Doughboy, especially when he says please

Earlier this week Scott and I had to go to Wal-Mart. We had to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy. I also wanted to buy some Halloween cards to mail to my sisters and parents.

Scott had been out of the prescription nose spray for several days and the doctor had finally called it in earlier that day.

If I didn’t get cards in the mail by the next day, they would not arrive before Halloween.

Needless to say, the trip to Wal-Mart was overdue. We vowed before we went in that we were only going to buy those two things – nose spray and cards. This was NOT going to be one of those spend-$100-in-less-than-1-hour trips. We were just going to run it, get the stuff, and run out before we were sucked in. Thankfully, the pharmacy and the card aisle are just a few yards apart and right by the exit. We didn’t have to walk far. Or run, as was our case.

As we walked between the cards and the vitamin aisle on the way to check out, for some strange reason Scott just happened to think about the cherry turnovers that, in our town, you can only buy at Wal-Mart. Or course, they are in the refrigerated grocery section in the complete opposite corner of the store.

Knowing that our cupboard is completely bare but not wanting to take the time to do the full re-stocking shopping, I agreed to at least one treat. I’m anticipating a glorious trip to Publix this weekend because we’re out of cereal and soup and grits and deli meat and cheese and everything else, but we do need to eat something in the meantime. Cherry turnovers it is.

We put our blinders on and headed to the cold corner. Even though their shelf placement had changed, we found the cherry turnovers and turned to leave.

Almost free. But then something else caught our eyes.

I’m not a big cherry turnover fan. I’m really not a big sweets fan, but I do like a good sugar cookie every now and then. The Pillsbury Doughboy was calling my name. In the spirit of Halloween, of course. I reasoned (justified…rationalized…!) that we weren’t buying any candy for the occasion, so 24 Spooky Cat pre-cut ready to bake cookies would be OK.

So, with nose spray, Halloween cards, cherry turnovers, and ready to bake sugar cookies, we finally got out of there. Whew.

That was a couple of days ago. It wasn’t until last night that I pulled the cookies out of the fridge to actually put them on a pan and bake them. Of course, my first reflex when I opened the box was to want to put one of the raw cookies in my mouth.

But then, I must tell you, I never felt more loved than when I read this on the box:

“Please do not eat raw cookie dough.”

They said it like they actually cared about me. And they put it right there on the front of the box instead of in small print under all the unpronounceable ingredients.

They could have said it like this:

"WARNING: Eating raw cookie dough could be hazardous to your health."
This would have sounded like they were trying to scare me, and they would have. I would have heard James Earl Jones’ voice in my head saying, “Danger, danger…”

Or they could have even just “Do not eat raw cookie dough,” without the “please.”
This one would have been voiced by Ben Stein in my head. Emotionless and not really caring one way or the other about the effects of raw dough on a human.

But, “Please do not eat the raw cookie dough” is written as if the Pillsbury Doughboy himself were saying it, followed by that giggly little chuckle that comes out when you poke him in the stomach.

Of course, Mr. Doughboy. Since you asked to nicely, I’ll not eat that raw dough.

Funny that I even noticed those words.

Interesting that they actually influenced what I was thinking and my subsequent actions.

How we say things is just as important as what we say.

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don't love, I'm nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. 1 Corinthians 13:1

Where's the Aflac Duck when you need him?

Does anybody remember that commercial where a little chubby-cheeked boy says, “Blueberries are our friends”? I’m thinking it was a Welch’s grape juice commercial from the 90’s, although I’m not sure why a grape juice commercial would be promoting blueberries, so I’m not really sure. (If you have any confirmation or YouTube link, hook a girl up, K?) Still. Every now and then, I find opportunities to quote that phrase about the antioxidant fruit.

It’s kind of like the little old lady at Wendy’s wondering, “where’s the beef?”. You would be amazed at how often I find “where’s the beef?” to be an appropriate question in an ordinary day conversation even after a whole generation has grown up never knowing that commercial even existed.

But don’t get me started on this new generation’s fast food commercials. I mean, really. The Burger King??

I was a big fan of the Barry Manilow commercial jingles. “You deserve a break today, so get up and get away, to McDonalds.” And, “Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there…” I’m not sure I know any current commercial jingles. Do commercials even have jingles anymore?

Lately, every time Flo from Progressive Insurance comes on the TV screen, Scott instantly changes the channel. He simply cannot look at her with all her eyeliner and perkiness nor can he tolerate her chirpy voice. I kind of like her because she can be happy about something as boringly miserable as insurance. Oh, to be that naïve and blissful about something you have to pay dearly for but pray you’ll never need.

I have my own personal issues with Jamie Lee Curtis and Activia yogurt. I haven’t seen one of those commercials lately so maybe they realized it was a bad idea, but for a while there Jamie Lee was trying to convince us to take the Activia Challenge for 14 days. But here’s the kicker, she asks us to video tape ourselves during the course of the 14 day challenge and then submit them to her.

First of all, if you didn’t know, Activia yogurt contains bifidus regularis, aka probiotic bacterium Bifidobacterium animalis. In Jamie Lee’s words, it helps regulate your digestion. In my words, it helps you “go” more regularly instead of every couple of days.

My question is, what exactly is it that Jamie Lee wants me to film?

I mean, if I eat a cup of Activia yogurt every day, chances are I’m going to eat it the same way every single day. I’ll peel off the foil lid and dip in with a spoon. I’ll likely do in the privacy of my own home and not out in public because who wants to be seen eating digestion regulating yogurt? It would only fuel my nemesis’ impression that I am full of it. So, if I were filming that portion, even my surroundings would be the same. Every day for 14 days.

The one thing that would change would be, well, my digestion. Does she really want me to film the evidence of that?

It would certainly be easy to do. So easy in fact that I think a caveman could do it.

Too bad they fired him and hired some weird, plastic googly eyes with dollar bills for a mustache. Ok, that’s enough. I gotta go.

No, not that kind of “go.”

Which, by the way, I would not film even it I did.

You can live without an eye, for instance, but not without a stomach. When it's a part of your own body you are concerned with, it makes no difference whether the part is visible or clothed, higher or lower. You give it dignity and honor just as it is, without comparisons. If anything, you have more concern for the lower parts than the higher. If you had to choose, wouldn't you prefer good digestion to full-bodied hair? 1 Corinthians 12:20-24 The Message.

May I take your order?

There’s an old joke that often comes back to me when I find myself in this kind of situation...

This old guy goes to the fast food drive-thru for lunch. The young voice in the speaker asks to take his order. He replies, “I have a $5 bill. Just give me whatever the heck you want me to have.”

He hears back over the speaker, “I’m sorry sir, you will have to tell us what you want. We can’t make that decision for you.”

Again he says, “I have a $5 bill. Just give me whatever the heck you want me to have.”

The response he hears, “I’m sorry sir, we can’t do that.”

So he finally says, “Well, why not? You did yesterday!”

It’s funny because it’s true.

I spend a lot of time in drive-thru queues. Mostly for drinks, not so much for food. Between my Diet Coke habit and Scott’s coffee needs, it’s almost a daily thing.

Besides the fact that I always need to take a sip of my drink before I drive away (heaven forbid they give me regular Coke instead of diet; or sweet tea if I asked for unsweet!), there are some other things that drive me crazy in the drive-thru queue:

I’ve made list.

1. Long trucks with LOUD hemi engines. There was one behind me in the line today and both I and the speaker box voice had to literally scream at each other over the engine racket. Of course, when the big, loud truck got up to the speaker to place his order, he cut the engine off so he speak without yelling and hear everything the speaker box voice said. Well good for him. What about for the good of the rest of us? Never mind that I am now deaf and have a raspy throat from all the yelling. If you have to turn that thunderous engine off just so you can hear anyway, why not just park the thing and go inside? The rest of us would greatly appreciate it.
   
2. Vehicles pulling anything on a trailer hitch. There is barely room for all the oversized SUVs and the big hemi engine trucks anyway. When you add a hitched boat or lawn mower on a trailer, it invariably pushes a car in the back of the line out into the street and blocks traffic. I’ve been the one being honked at out in the street and it isn’t pretty. Again, just the park thing and go inside. You’ll need to take up three or four parking spaces to do that, and most likely a handicapped one at that, but so be it.
   
3. People who place their orders at the speaker box and are told the total amount of their bill, but yet refuse to even think about getting their wallet out until they actually get up to the window where someone is already holding their bag of yummies out of the window. If your drive-thrus are as busy as the ones I visit, then there’s always a car of two in front of you providing ample time to get your money in hand after you place your order and before you actually arrive at the pick-up window. And, hey, what a novel idea that if your money’s in hand and ready to hand over first, then both your hands are free to fill with food. I realize this takes coordination and a bit of organizational skill, but you can do it. I know you can!
   
4. Why do they call it a drive-THRU anyway? You don’t drive THROUGH anything. Maybe we should all start calling it a drive-AROUND. Maybe a drive-BY would be more accurate. Of course, drive-BY has all kinds of other violent connotations, but given the nature of this beast (and no, I’m not talking about myself), a drive-by might be in order.

It’s after two o’clock now which means happy hour at Sonic. Which means half price drinks. Gotta go. It’s drive-by time.

I thought you ought to know about it. Buy it back if you want it—you can make it official in the presence of those sitting here and before the town elders. You have first redeemer rights. If you don't want it, tell me so I'll know where I stand. You're first in line to do this and I'm next after you. Ruth 4:4

A lot details about a day in the life of....some sweet tea

Saturday, a week ago I got up earlier than I usually do for a Saturday. I had several things I wanted to accomplish before I hit the road. I did a few things around the house and then had a couple of stops to make before I was finally headed south on I-95 a little after 9 AM.

I was on the way to see my parents. They live three hours south of here in Georgia. This was the third trip I made down there this month. I must say based on my observations of traffic on those combined 18 hours of traveling I-95 that I think they must have closed Canada. The number of license plates from Quebec was far and above any other single state other than the one I was traveling in. Weird, eh?

Almost three weeks ago, my mom fell in the parking lot of Huddle House, a favorite dining place of my mom and dad. The ambulance took her to the hospital from there. She suffered a couple of fractures, lots of bruises, and a great amount of confusion because her head, face, and nose took the brunt of her fall. After a little over two weeks in the hospital, it became clear that she needed more daily help than any of us could give her. Just two days before this recent Saturday trip there, my mother was moved into her new assisted living home. My planned overnight stay at my parents’ house was to delay, just one more day, my dad having to stay at home by himself at night.

About two hours down the road I began to get the sickly feeling that surely I must have forgotten something. I called Scott at home back in South Carolina and asked him if he had put my suitcase in the car for me.

Um. No. Oops. I was going to have to make a WalMart run later.

When I arrived suitcaseless at my dad’s house, he and my sister were sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich. I sat down with them and poured myself a glass of iced tea. One thing we can always count on at my parents’ house is two pitchers of tea in the fridge. That’s so when one pitcher is empty, there is still a cold one ready while more tea is made to refill the empty one. We are one ceaseless iced tea drinking family.

After we visited my mom in her new home and the WalMart excursion with my sister, my dad and I went to the Huddle House to eat dinner. It was the first time he’d been back there since Mom fell. He showed me where she fell and told me all about it. The waitress asked about Mom. Several other HH customers asked about Mom too. Dad was very brave. And he must have finally been hungry because he ate shrimp, fried squash, and hash browns. We both drank a lot of iced tea. It was the most I’d seen him eat in a long time.

Back at Dad’s house, I gathered up the new toothbrush and travel size toiletries purchased at WalMart and got myself ready for bed. My dad keeps the heat in his house on HIGH. All the time. Even a cold-natured person like me gets WARM in his house. I did what we all do when we spend the night there. I closed the door the bedroom I was sleeping in. I closed the air vent in the ceiling. I opened up both windows. I tried to sleep. All night long I kept feeling like my throat and nasal passages were drying up and were scratchy and irritated. At first I thought it was just all the dry, hot air. Later I realized it was all the pollen outside coming in through the open windows.

Sunday morning Dad and I listened to his church service on the radio, which is always a treat because one, I don’t get that kind of preaching and singing at home, and two, I get to sit in the recliner instead of an uncomfortable pew. Afterwards, Dad and I went to the Sunday brunch buffet at the Holiday Inn. Just the two of us again.

Dad put a piece of fried chicken, a serving of club steak, and a slice of roast beef on his plate along with everything else. Yes, his appetite is back after all the chemo, radiation, and shingles troubles. The waitress put a pitcher of tea on the table for the two of us. I think Dad had 2 glasses. I drank the rest of the pitcher myself. I ate navy beans and cornbread. Yum, yum, and yum. I’ve never seen navy beans on a public buffet before. It’s just one of those things you usually get at home. Nobody goes “out” to eat navy beans. We had a lot of navy beans at home growing up. Actually, a lot of things about this meal reminded me of when I was younger.

I was one of those people who moved back home after I graduated from college. I lived there 4 years, just my mom and dad and me (6 years if you count my last 2 years in high school). And no, I wasn’t the freeloader kind, not totally anyway. I had a job and made a car payment. I paid for my car insurance, all my health a beauty needs, and a few groceries every now and then. I just needed a place to put my stuff and someplace to refill my iced tea glass. Anyway, during those years, my dad and I did a lot of stuff together that involved food and/or meals. Mostly it was going to get stuff he would cook. Sometimes we would go and get some kind of take out. Anyway, just sitting across from him at the Holiday Inn made me think about all that and smile.

When Dad and I finished up at the Holiday Inn buffet, we came back to the house and I packed up my stuff in a WalMart plastic bag. We went to visit Mom again at her assisted living home, then I got back on the road to home.

I was again surrounded by Quebecians on the 3 hour ride up I-95. My mucus membranes began to compensate for the scratchy throat and nasal passages and soon they were coated with that icky, slimy substance. Congestion, ugh. I finally arrived at home.

Monday morning I went to work but only lasted until about noon, then went home and slept the afternoon away on the couch in between all the sniffling, blowing, and coughing. All day long I craved an iced tea with crushed iced. It was all I wanted. It was the only thing that could bring me comfort, not only for my raw throat, but also for my sentimental soul that had been recently been taken back to the time when my cold, sweet, iced tea dependency was formed in Mom & Dad’s refrigerator.

When Scott got home and was looking for dinner, I convinced him to go to Zaxby’s with me because they have crushed ice and good sweet tea. I ordered the chicken fingers with the hot, hot, buffalo sauce because I thought at least that would be something I might be able to actually taste through my congestion-dulled taste buds. I also got a really big sweet tea with crushed ice. I refilled it once or twice while we were there and then refilled it again before we walked out the door. Ahhhhh.

Oh, I just wanted to get back home, put on my pajamas, sip my sweet tea, suck on the crushed ice, and nurse my congestion. We arrived at home, I gathered up my purse and jumbo cup of tea from the car and headed for the front door. There are two steps up to the porch. Somehow, I missed both of them. Both of my feet went out from under me and I fell flat on the porch. I lost both my shoes and ripped one of my socks so that all five toes where protruding out. Then, almost as if in slow motion, I saw my jumbo cup of crushed ice and sweet tea leave my hand and bounce on the concrete, busting out the bottom of the cup and spilling all that precious comfort all over the porch.

I just sat there and cried. I had a little bit of a skinned knee, but that was all. I wasn’t hurt. Nothing broken. Nothing bleeding. But my tea, my sweet, sweet tea. My sweet tea and crushed ice spilled all over the porch. My comfort was seeping through the cracks in the concrete and over the edge of the porch, leaving nothing but a sticky mess behind.

No, I couldn’t go back to the few minutes before I fell and do it over, differently. I couldn’t scoop up the spilled tea and put back in another cup. I can’t go back to the time when one of the two pitchers of tea in Mom & Dad’s fridge was a gallon jug because all 3 of us were living in the house and drinking it heavily. I can’t go back to the days my dad and I went out to get BBQ or fried chicken for the three of us for dinner. I can’t go back to the day before my mom fell in the parking lot of Huddle House and changed all of our lives forever.

Truth is, my comfort is not back there. My comfort is in what lies ahead. I’m looking forward to the day we’ll never thirst again.

All of us must die eventually. Our lives are like water spilled out on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again. But God does not just sweep life away; instead, he devises ways to bring us back when we have been separated from him. 2 Samuel 14:14 The Message

Stop, drop, and roll

We live in a small house. It’s about 1,200 sq. ft. of 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a small kitchen, and a great room/den/living room/dining room kind of space. The house will be paid for in a couple of years. I never thought we would live here long enough to pay off a mortgage, but then that’s another story.

In our house are two ceiling fans, one big 36” portable fan on a stand, and several other small fans. My husband’s internal thermostat hovers right around boiling point most of the time. The fans are for his benefit.

There are three smoke detectors/fire alarms in the house. One of them is at the entrance of the master bedroom. The second one is over the laundry closet in the hall. The third one is about 4 feet from the oven in the kitchen. That third one is for my benefit. It spares me from having to cook a lot. How, you may ask? Well, if the oven is on even at a low temperature, that alarm goes off screeching DANGER DANGER every time I open the oven door. If I’m cooking something at a high temperature, the oven door doesn’t even have to be open; that alarm just goes off anyway. It’s very annoying.

Mostly, I just avoid using the oven. If I absolutely must bake something, I have to ignore that obnoxious siren warning me of impending doom, pretending that I don’t hear it. It is not easy to ignore being that it’s loud enough for all my neighbors to hear.

On top of that, there’s no measure for what it has done for my self-confidence in the kitchen. I know I’m not a very good cook, but to be taunted by a piece of technology every time I turn on the oven? Well, needless to say, that’s why I started turning the oven off and turning on the Food Network where I can live vicariously through Paula and Duff; and going out to eat; and eating a lot of cereal for dinner.

We have lived in this house 13 years and it has always been that way. I don’t know why it took me so long, but lately I discovered somewhat of a fix for that maddening, blaring alarm that screams at me HEY THE OVEN IS ON even though I am standing right in front of it. And no, the fix was not to just take the batteries out. That was the first thing we ever tried all those years ago. Stupid thing still went off because it is wired into the electrical supply. Batteries are just a back-up. Neither Scott nor I wanted to take on the electricity, so we just dealt with it.

I got one of Scott’s little portable personal fans, put it on a step stool directly under the alarm, turned the fan on high and aimed the cool breeze right at that pesky little alarm. Worked like a charm. I baked some kind of Pillsbury canned bread without the first sound of a disaster warning.

It also gave me a new confidence in the kitchen. Hmmm, maybe I’ll try this cooking thing again.

The past weekend Scott and I made a trip to the big city. The last stop before we headed home was Publix (our small town is a bit grocery store challenged, which is also a story for another day; we simply must visit Publix when we get out of town). Publix had London broil steaks on sale. We bought one. To cook. More specifically, to BROIL.

When I got home from work yesterday, I set up my step stool-fan apparatus. I put two potatoes in the oven to bake. I figured that would pre-heat the oven and get it ready for the London broil that had been marinating all day. I also put some Publix green beans in a pot on the stove.

An hour or so later, Scott got home, the potatoes were done, and it was time to cook the London broil. Still not a peep from the alarm. Every London broil recipe I read said to broil the meat 5 minutes on each side, then let it rest for a few minutes. 10 minutes. That’s all I needed to get through cooking the rest of this meal in total peace and quiet.

I moved the oven rack up to the top position, turned the dial to broil, and put the steak in. Quiet.

One minute went by. Quiet.

Two minutes. Quiet.

Three minutes. Quiet.

Four minutes. Quiet.

Then it started. DANGER DANGER. That incessant, pulsing alarm.

I told Scott to grab the fan, stand on the stool, and hold the fan right up against the alarm. He did that for a little while to no avail. He stepped off the stool and then set about turning on all the fans in the house and opening all the windows and doors.

I took the steak out, turned it over, put it back in for the last 5 minute broil. The alarm was still blaring IMPENDING DOOM. DEATH IS IMMINENT. REPENT NOW. THE END IS NEAR. I just went about my kitchen business. Scott spent the next three minutes trying to get the air to move away from the alarm waving his arms and such. ALL of the alarms were going off by then; not just the one closest to the oven.

Scott walked out to the front porch holding the storm door open. I think he was also trying to intercept any neighbors that might have come running over thinking we needed to be rescued from our demise. I’m sure he would say, “Nothing to see here. No cause for concern. Just my wife cooking dinner.”

After about minute 4 on the second side, I looked in the oven. Sure enough. There it was. Flames. My London broil was on fire.

I called for Scott and pulled the pan out of the oven. We got the fire out (it was small), turned off all the stove and oven elements, and let the steak rest while we continued to move fans around. Finally, the noise of the alarms was silenced. I ended up having to microwave the meat a little because it was still too pink for Scott (who LIKES his meat pink). Dinner turned out OK, but I don’t know if it was worth all the ringing that is still going on in my ears.

It never occurred to me that there might actually be a fire. I was too busy trying to find a way to silence that nasty alarm.

How many times have I tried to silence the warning without actually looking for a cause?

How often have I ignored the warning of danger believing there was no real threat?

How many times have I stuck my fingers in my ears and sang a senseless “la la la la” in my head just to drown out the warning noise?

Oh, Lord, open my ears to Your warnings. Open my eyes to Your work. Open my heart to Your love.

"Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts…” Hebrew 3:15

Where's Mikey when you need him?

There are a handful of blogs that I read frequently. Unlike this blog, those writers are in the habit of posting almost daily, so reading a fresh post frequently from them is not that difficult. A lot of bloggers who write daily posts take the first week of January to review all their posts from the previous year. They do a year in review and highlight their top ten or something like that. So, I've read a lot of "Best of 2009" blog posts lately.

Funny thing about those "Best of" posts. Not funny ha ha, but rather funny hmmmm. More of them than not included some kind of statement about 2009 being a difficult year. Yes, there was the sagging economoy and all that, but even beyond that it seemed that a lot of people who write there lives' events down in a daily blog found their moods and topics with a lot less funny in them this past year.

Well, me too. I lost my funny somewhere back in 2009. I have been determined to find it again in 2010.

And God is faithful. Even in the little things.

Scott and I went out of town for a couple of days. When we returned, a new sign greeted us:




Here's a close-up for a better idea.

Andrew Zimmern should seriously consider filming an episode of his Bizarre Foods show here.

I never met a tick until I moved here. Every time Scott went to pick up trash on the roadway our church sponsored in the Keep America Beautiful program, he would come home with ticks attached. That always made me moan and groan even though he was the one with the ticks attached.

I never knew you could fry 'em up like funnel cakes. Hmmm.

Oh well, I guess I'd rather eat them than have them eat me.

They shouted, "This is the voice of a god, not of a man." Immediately, because Herod did not give praise to God, an angel of the Lord struck him down, and he was eaten by worms and died. But the word of God continued to increase and spread. Acts 12: 22-24

Unto the yeast of these

I bought a pair of flip flops at Publix for $6. Green, of course. The reason that’s noteworthy is because I’m not really a flip flop sort of girl. One, because I have cold feet most of the time. If my feet are cold, everything is cold. I usually wear socks and closed-toe shoes. Two, I have really ugly toes. Most people’s toes are somewhat rectangular with a circular tip. Mine are round. Just plain round. One or two of my toes have a little twist. They actually look kinda like yeast rolls. Or maybe doughnut holes. And my toenails are wavy, not nicely curved or even flat. Just not a pretty sight, so I usually keep them covered to save others who get squeamish at such sights.

But back to the Publix flip-flops. It was an impulse purchase. We went in there to buy bananas. Scott prefers Chiquita bananas over Dole or any other brand, and they are hard to find locally. We can always count on Publix though. We don’t have a Publix close by. The nearest one is about an hour away, so it is truly an adventure to get to go there. It always makes me a little giddy. Just as we entered the door, there was a flip-flop display along with all their other summer goodies. I got caught up in the moment and just couldn’t resist.

I finally had something to wear that said “summer,” even it was something that’s not really “me.”

I’ve had a bit of a difficult time with the summer apparel.

Last year in preparation for a trip to Florida with my sisters, I ordered a swimsuit online. You may ask, “Who is crazy enough to order a swimsuit online?” Well, I’ll tell you who. I am. I simply refuse to take a swimsuit into a department store dressing room with all those lights and mirrors. I scare easily. It’s bad enough at home in the dimness of my own room.

Anyway, when the package came in the mail, I ripped open the plastic wrapping and pulled out the bottoms. They were cute and really fit well. Along with that I received a notice stating that the top had been back ordered. They provided a promised ship date. It was OK, I still had time before the trip. When the anticipated ship date came, instead of the back-ordered top, I received another delay notice. Then another. Then another. Finally a notice arrived informing me they had cancelled my order because they could not deliver the goods after all and would be refunding my money. I would rather have had the top.

So, I went on my trip to Florida topless (only in my suitcase, actually. Never out in public). I took the bottoms with me to Florida thinking maybe I could find a match in a store there. No such luck. I eventually sent the bottoms back for a refund too.

This year our planned trip was to Kentucky, not Florida, but still I wanted a swimsuit for the hotel pool. I started earlier this time. Ordered online. Yay and hooray, I received both pieces this time. However. I don’t know if I ordered the wrong size or what. The top was great but the bottoms just wouldn’t do. Not at all. Talk about looking like a yeast roll. I would rather have gone topless like last year than to wear these bottoms in public. I sent them back and ordered an exchange of a different style and size, hoping it would still match the new top. Just a few days later I received the replacement. Ick. Still not good. Sent it back too, ordered another replacement. It arrived. Yuk. Not only a yeast roll this time, but an old, stale one. I lost track of how many times I sent bottoms back ordered a replacement. The last one is still in the backseat of my car. I threw it in there thinking I’d take it back to the post office, but then realized I probably could have just bought another whole suit with all the return shipping charges I had paid. Just didn’t have the heart to bring it back in the house.

So. This summer’s almost over now, which means two summers have gone by without a new swimsuit. I think maybe it’s some conspiracy to keep me out of a swimsuit altogether, which I am NOT inclined to argue with.

Which brings me to another issue.

I went for my annual GYN exam a couple of weeks ago. The first thing the nurse asked me to do was step on the scale. I told her no. Really. I said, “Not today.” She was very sweet and sympathetic. She looked at me a little sadly, like maybe she felt sorry for me, but mission accomplished. We moved on to the exam room, bypassing that cold, cruel scale. While I didn’t say it out loud, I was thinking to myself that everything else they make me do during this appointment is humiliating enough. I don’t need the added embarrassment that little lead weight would throw in my face as the nurse pushes it further and further over.

Do they really need to know how much I weigh or do they just want ME to know how much I actually, really and truly weigh and not just what I imagine myself weighing!?

Hmmm. Maybe the doctor’s office is in on the conspiracy to keep me out of a swimsuit.

Or maybe it’s the yeast rolls they’re trying to keep out of.

Your flip and callous arrogance in these things bothers me. You pass it off as a small thing, but it's anything but that. Yeast, too, is a "small thing," but it works its way through a whole batch of bread dough pretty fast. So get rid of this "yeast." Our true identity is flat and plain, not puffed up with the wrong kind of ingredient. The Messiah, our Passover Lamb, has already been sacrificed for the Passover meal, and we are the Unraised Bread part of the Feast. So let's live out our part in the Feast, not as raised bread swollen with the yeast of evil, but as flat bread—simple, genuine, unpretentious. 1 Corinthians 5:6-8

Miss Daisy's cantaloupe

I bought a cantaloupe this week for 99 cents. Yay! I was so excited because usually they cost two or three times that. Mmmmm, yummy. It’s one of my favorite summertime foods. I bought it at the Piggy Wiggly. Every time I say Piggy Wiggly out loud I always think of Driving Miss Daisy.

Scott and I saw the play at the Alliance Theatre in Atlanta a couple of years before it ever became a movie. When it eventually came out on DVD we just had to buy it. It has become one of those movies that we find ourselves pulling quotes from that seem to aptly apply to the clunky state of affairs we often we find ourselves in around here. Like…

“Highway robbry.” (that’s not misspelled, that’s just how Miss Daisy pronounces it.)

Or,

“Now that’s between me and Mr. Werthan.”

And,

“You’re a doodle, mama.”

In the story, Hoke (the old black man) and Miss Daisy (the old Jewish woman) were put into a situation by Boolie (Miss Daisy’s son) where they had to build a relationship that on their own, neither one of them would have chosen. It took Hoke and Miss Daisy a lifetime to learn to get along and really understand each other. I think they tried to accommodate each other without acknowledging that they were being accommodating (I think that’s a Southern thing!). In the end you recognize the great value in their strange and wonderful relationship.

So what does that have to do with my cantaloupe? Well, I didn’t get to eat much of it right away because I had to go to see my own mama. Actually, I went to take my dad to a doctor’s appointment, and my mom is part of that package.

They live in Georgia, about three hours south of here.

Miss Daisy lived in Georgia.

I went to chauffer mom and dad to the doctor.

Hoke was Miss Daisy’s chauffer.

Therefore, I am Hoke.

OK, not really.

I love my parents but I don’t always know what it is that I’m supposed to do for them. I don’t always understand what is it they want or need me to do. Like Miss Daisy, they rarely ever actually come out and say it.

I think it will take a lifetime to learn to get along and really understand each other.

So, I just keep sitting here in the car waiting for the directions. I’ll hear them eventually. And I when I do, I will go. It is, after all, their ride.

In the meantime, my dad still likes to take a spin behind the wheel. Every time I go to their house he always takes me on a golf cart tour around the property to show off all his flowers and trees and fruit and vegetable plants.

You know what I saw on the tour this time?

A cantaloupe vine.

All that the Father gives me will come to me, and whoever comes to me I will never drive away. For I have come down from heaven not to do my will but to do the will of him who sent me. John 6:37-38

My alter ego Eve

Scott gave up coffee and Coke for Lent. He’s done very well. I think he does pretty good on doing without the coffee. It seems to get tough when the associations that come with coffee tempt him – like breakfast or cinnamon rolls. He’s already announced that we will have Easter lunch at Starbucks.

I did not give up anything for Lent. I was in no mood to do without; or to be a failure yet again at not being able to hold out on doing without.

We have attempted to eat healthier lately, and given that, eating out is a little bit of a challenge around here. We found ourselves going to the Cracker Barrel a lot. They at least serve vegetables and you can get grilled meat. Cracker Barrel is one of the only two major franchise sit-down restaurants less than an hour’s drive from our house.

Our familiarity with it is embarrassing. We are so familiar with it that we have our own pet names for it. I call it the Barrel. Scott calls it Crackers. As in, “Hey, wanna go Crackers for lunch?”

After our one-millionth visit there, which was just a few days into Lent, I announced that I was giving up the Cracker Barrel for the rest of Lent. I could not eat another mouthful of those green beans, baby carrots, or pinto beans.

And we did give it up.

For a couple of weeks.

Alas, in my general exhaustion and total frustration over what in the world to cook and how many times I have been to the grocery store in a week’s time, I said, “Let’s just go to the Barrel.”

And we did.

In our brief absence, they introduced their new seasonal menu. Scott and I both ordered seasonal specials and it was a delightful change from the regular menu offerings.

So, I’ve failed again. But it sure was tasty.

By the way, did you know that a specialty at the Barrel is fried APPLES?

But I am afraid that just as Eve was deceived by the serpent's cunning, your minds may somehow be led astray from your sincere and pure devotion to Christ. 2 Corinthians 11:3

I'll have what she's having

Yesterday was a really long day. Sundays always are. First, there’s all the stress of getting ready for church and trying to get there on time. Then, there’s church. After that, my afternoon responsibilities are scheduled in one hour increments. Part of what makes the afternoon so long is that I have several assignments in a row and not one of them is in the same location. I have to do what I came to do, get in the car, drive to the next place, do what I came to do, get in the car again, drive to the next location, on and on. All in an hour’s time each. It’s a beat the clock kind of afternoon.

By 7:30 p.m. I was pooped. And I had a wicked headache, which had been building all afternoon. All the meetings and such were over, but then it was time to eat again. Planning meals and making dining decisions is such an ordeal, especially when you’re trying to make healthy choices and you’re tired and you have a headache and nothing quick and easy is healthy. I can only manage to actually cook one real meal a day (if that much). The other two meals are usually something that come already cooked and packaged in plastic, paper, or aluminum can.

Since I cooked lunch yesterday, I wasn’t going to cook again. My headache was confirming that. And, my throbbing head was also confirming that I truly did really need to eat something. But it was almost already 8:00 p.m.

We finally scourged the food demons by scrounging through the cabinets and coming up with a can of tomato soup (which is my ultimate comfort food), multi-grain saltine crackers (which are surprisingly tasty), and peanut butter. Oh, and two Advil.

After that I just wanted to veg on the couch in front of the TV and wait for my headache to subside. Trouble is, there was NOTHING on TV that was worth watching. I flipped through all the channels. I stopped on a couple of movies, but I just couldn’t get interested in them. There are certain channels that I always go to first (Scott says those are the very ones he skips over – but that’s a post for another day). The ones I always check out first are the Food Network, the Discovery channel, A&E, TLC, the Game Show Network, the Travel channel, and sometimes Animal Planet. Even my favorite channels seemed dull.

I kept flipping by this one program, watching for a minute or two, and then moving on. I didn’t really want to watch it because it freaks me out a little. But finally, with no other options and considering that I didn’t want to get up off the couch and do anything else, I went back to TLC and the Duggars with 18 and Counting.

Good gracious. Do y’all watch that program? Usually, I can’t watch it. It’s just too many little children in one house. And they all seem to be so happy about it all. And they homeschool. I know their family mission statement probably says something about showing the world how wonderful it can be and to inspire others and I admire that. Admiration I have, but inspiration I do not. I’m just thankful that, well, there aren’t 18 children living in my house.

Good heavens, I can’t imagine if I had to feed 18 kids at 8 PM on a Sunday night after a day full of activities and with a mammoth headache on top of that. How many cans of tomato soup would it take? Now THAT gives me a migraine.

The thing that sucked me in to watching some of the program last night was the wedding of the oldest Duggar son. Their entire story is remarkable. Their commitment to Christ, family, and purity is rare these days, and especially for single 21-year olds. It seems like their whole courtship and engagement was based entirely on faith and following God’s leadership.

I thought about that young couple all night long. Part of me wanted to say to them, “You have no idea what you’re doing.” The other part of me wished I was more like them, trusting God absolutely and completely for their future.

I woke up this morning still thinking about them. I realize now that I’m the one who really has no idea what I’m doing when it comes to planning and preparing my meals, much less my future. So, I’m going to try not to take on so much for myself, and let God do more.

So, God, what’s for supper?

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight. Proverbs 3:5-6

Wii Wii Wii all the way home

What would a post-Thanksgiving post be without a picture of someone carving the turkey. Thanks, David.

I think I was eating it about as fast as he could cut it. And I have proof. I'm not sure which one is the REAL turkey in this one...

And in keeping with the theme of being well fed, let me tell you a joke I heard last week.

The 3 Little Pigs went out for dinner.

The waiter came to take their drink orders.

Little Pig #1 said, "I'll have a glass of water."

Little Pig #2 said, "I'll have a glass of iced tea.'

Little Pig #3 said, "I'll have three beers."

The waiter later returned with all the drinks, and then asked for their entree orders.

Little Pig #1 said, "I'll have the chicken."

Little Pig #2 said, "I'll have the steak."

Little Pig #3 said, "I'll have three beers."

Later, after the Little Pigs had finished their main course, the waiter returns and asks for their dessert orders.

Little Pig #1 said, "I'll have the cake."

Little Pig #2 said, "I'll have the pie."

Little Pig #3 said, "I have three beers."

Finally the waiter asked Pig #3, "Why all the beer and no food?"

To which Little Pig #3 said, "Someone has to wee, wee, wee all the way home!"

Insert laugh here. OK, now it's your turn. Heard any good, clean jokes lately?

And speaking of wee, or rather, Wii, here's how we worked off all that turkey we ate. Thanks, Dan for bringing the exercise equipment, i.e., the toy. I think I should be thankful that I was the one holding the camera in this one. Click the arrow to watch the video of the nieces and sisters wii-ing. It makes me laugh.

You may eat any clean bird. Deuteronomy 14:11

Way out there over on the far side

In our small, rural town we have several phone books. One book has listings of phone numbers in neighboring towns A, B, and C. Another one has listings for towns B, C, and D, but not A. And yet another has listings for A, C, and D, but not B. And another... on and on like an unsolvable algebraic equation.

In other words, our town is not large enough to warrant its own phone book. The one book that I use the most often has less than 100 yellow pages. Of those yellow pages, less than one column on one page is dedicated to restaurants.

Not of lot of places to eat out around here.

There used to be a Checkers drive-in (actually, it was just a drive-thru). It went out of business not long before the Sonic opened. The little Checkers building has been empty now for a year or so.

About a month ago we watched them paint the black and white color blocks green on the unoccupied Checkers building. We thought maybe, wishfully thinking, it would become the Krispy Kreme home for hot doughnuts now.

Turns out the new drive-thru restaurant is not a chain, but a locally owned business. We haven't actually eaten any food from there, but from what we can see of the menu, it looks like they serve pizza, and gyros, and other international type food.

And, based on the new signage, I'm fairly certain of their international heritage, so it must be authentic. And perhaps they are from one of those countries where the steering wheels are on the right side of the car and they drive on the left side of the road. Because what used to be the drive-IN is now the Way-Out. Only.

Or, maybe I'm misreading it and Way-Out Only is not a new direction, but a classification of people. You know, those crazy kind of people that are just way out there. When we speak to them we say, "You're not from 'round here, are you?" Yeah, so maybe it is a "This lane now catering to the Way Out crowd" kind of thing. That would be nice.

Scott said that there was indeed a Way Out people group. He cited a Flintstones reference (Ahhh, leave it to him to come up with a handy application for all the useless trivia in his head!). Anyway, it seems that the Way Outs were a musical group whose lineage was not from Bedrock. They were from somewhere else (i.e., another planet) and apparently a bit misunderstood.

Does anyone else remember the Way Outs from the Flintstones?

If you all do remember them, and I don't, then maybe I am the one that's way out there.

Just for fun, here they are:

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. Hebrews 11:13-14

May I take your order, please?

I have the day off for Veterans Day today. Not having to go to work on a Tuesday is really a treat. The only thing I have on my to-do list today are a few household chores that I’ve been putting off.

Since I didn’t have a schedule to keep today, Scott and I planned to go out for a nice, leisurely breakfast. Breakfast is Scott’s favorite meal to eat out, but we don’t get to do it much because Scott is NOT a morning person. Offering to go out to eat breakfast is usually my enticement to get him up earlier than normal. It doesn’t always work.

This morning we got to the locally owned restaurant about 9:30 am. The morning rush had already come and gone. Only three or four tables had people seated, the rest of the tables were empty. There is a red, octagonal shaped sign at the entrance that tells you to ‘Please wait to be seated.’ Which we did and for way longer than I thought we should have given the slim crowd. I could have already been through the drive-thru and had a biscuit in my mouth in that amount of time, but we’re still waiting to be seated. Waiting is not really what I had in mind when I thought ‘leisurely.’ Weren’t they paying attention to me?!

Finally, we were seated and gave the server our orders. Mine, as always, was very specific: Scrambled egg sandwich on wheat toast with lettuce, tomato, and mustard. No, it is not listed that way on the menu. Yes, I am often accused of being like Sally in When Harry Met Sally when I order food.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take that long for the food to arrive at our table. The server placed the plates in front of us and we never saw her again. No unsweetened iced tea refills. No coffee warm-ups. No one to report to that my scrambled egg sandwich on wheat toast with lettuce, tomato, and mustard had no tomato on it. Why weren’t they paying attention to me?!

As disappointing as it was, I ate the tomatoless sandwich anyway. After we finished eating, with an empty glass and an empty coffee cup, we sat and waited for the server to bring the check. And we waited. And we waited. With empty cups. If you’re going to make me wait, the least you can do is offer me a refill. Water would be nice.

We finally went up to the register, still with no check. Instead of trying to find a server and retrieve the check, the young woman at the register asked what we had ordered. I told her that I had an egg sandwich. I didn’t say anything about lettuce or tomato. The extra twenty cents charge is for lettuce AND tomato. I was entitled to free lettuce if I didn’t get the tomato with it, right?

We left the restaurant and went to the McDonald’s drive-thru to get Scott his second cup of coffee.

No, I’m not complaining. Really, I’m not. This kind of thing happens to us all the time. I should be used to it by now.

The crazy part is, why do I keep believing that I’m entitled to more or better? Why?!

All I know is, every time something like this happens it doesn’t take long for God to remind me that I’m the one who should be paying attention to others. I’m the one that should be serving others. I’m the one who owes. I’m the one who deserves less than what I’ve been given. I am not the one that other people need to pay attention to. When they look my way, they need to see Jesus. He will fill their cups.

Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it. Mark 14:23

Noodles with Attitude

Yesterday our church celebrated the 150thanniversary of its founding. It was a big day with lots of special guests, period costumes (including men growing beards just for the occasion), food, old friends, music, and on and on.

A lot of planning and preparation went into the events of the day. I was involved in some of the preparation. One of my requisites for agreeing to do some of this work was that I did not want to be doing any of it at the last minute. After all, we’ve had 150 years to get ready, right?

Those that held that power in their hands faithfully delivered what I needed to do my part back in August. I worked on the multi-media presentation that included pictures, audio clips and video segments of former pastors. With the help of Jimmy and Scott, we got it all together.

A couple of weeks before the actual event, we had a rehearsal with the narrator and chief historian. There were only a few minor kinks to work out after that. Those were taken care of in just a couple of days, so for more than a week ahead, we were ready.

I was so ready, in fact, that I wanted it to be over with. I had been looking at those old black and white photos long enough. I was ready to move on to something else. Stick a fork in me, 'cause I was done.

Part of the celebration, of course, included food and as most church gatherings do, it was an everybody-bring-a-dish kind of event. A couple of days before, Scott asked me what kind of salad I was planning to make and take.

I told him I wasn’t making a salad and that I felt like I had already done my part. I had already contributed as much or more than everybody else. I was going to have to be their early on Sunday to get everything set up. I’m tired and busy and I’ve already been working for months on it, plus, I have visitors staying at my house. Haven’t I done enough?!

“Oh, so you’re going to be one of ‘THOSE’ people,” he said. “The ones with the bad attitude.”

Hmmmphf.

Pasta salad it is.

I worked through my steaming bad attitude standing over a pot of boiling hot water.

Add a little oil, spices, and multi-color pasta spirals and ta-da...a great big bowl of what is now known around my house as Bad Attitude Salad.

There were a LOT of people at the anniversary celebration Sunday. More than they expected, I think. So I guess maybe my big bowl of Bad Attitude salad was one little, unnoticed thing that made the food and the blessings go a little further.

Even when I think I’ve done all I can do, God always shows me how He can squeeze out a little bit more.

"Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?" Jesus said, "Have the people sit down." There was plenty of grass in that place, and the men sat down, about five thousand of them. Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. John 6:9-11

I'll have the #1 combo, upsized with a diet coke

My husband picked me up for lunch one day (before the ugly scrambled egg episode last week) and we headed to the sandwich shop that we patronize at least a couple of times a week. There were too many cars and not enough parking spaces there, so we decided to drive a little further down the road to Arby’s.

When we pulled back out into the road we got behind a car with a disabled persons license plate. An elderly woman was riding on the passenger side; the driver was an elderly man. He was driving slowly and cautiously in the left lane.

We didn’t have far to go to get to Arby’s, so we stayed behind them. Their left turn signal indicated they were going to turn in for a roast beef sandwich too.

Like most fast food restaurants, the Arby’s parking lot is designed around the drive-thru lane. The parking spaces were secondary to the drive-thru lane in the planning, I’m sure.

If you park in the spaces away from the building, you have to walk through the traffic in the drive-thru lane. There is a high probability that a collision could happen here, and the bump-up would be on your flesh and bones. Ouch.

If you park in the spaces close to the building and the drive-thru lane gets backed up, then you have difficulty backing out. In that case, at least you are in your car and any bump-ups would most likely be to your car and not you. While there is not really any good place to park in such small lots designed around a lane of circular traffic (kind of like a NASCAR track – in more ways than one!), I think parking next to the building is a little safer.

Anyway, still traveling slowly, we pulled into the parking lot behind the car with the disabled person license plate and the little old man driving. There were three parking empty spaces up close to the entrance of the building. Two of them were handicap spaces, the other one was just a regular space.

We waited as the little old man driver hesitated to make a parking space decision and then maneuvered the large sedan into it. He passed up the two handicap spaces and chose the only regular space there. Of course.

We drove on by the two remaining handicap spaces, on over to the far side of the lot. We walked across the lane of traffic lined with eager drivers who give new meaning to the term FAST food.

I think maybe the little old man thought he would save the handicap spaces for someone in greater need than they. And, I guess I want to have that same mindset; the one that leads me to think of others that are less fortunate even when I myself am ailing. You know, it always makes things look better and often makes a lot more sense when I take the focus off of me and my problems!

"Everything is permissible"—but not everything is beneficial. "Everything is permissible"—but not everything is constructive. Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others. 1 Corinthians 10:23-24

W-w-w-w-ater would be nice

Last Wednesday my computer became infected by a virus and completely shut down. I haven’t gotten the problem completely remedied yet so right now I’m shuffling between a couple of back-up computers.

About twelve hours after my computer went down, I also got some kind of up-chuck bug that completely shut me down too.

Actually, I ate some scrambled eggs that I think must have been slightly-salmonella-tainted.

I was feeling absolutely fine and never got any hint that I was about to go down. Just a few hours before, I had even shared a story with a friend about how not too long ago I ate some leftover Taco Bell refried beans for breakfast and found them most satisfying, even before 11 AM. Not really something I think you would talk about if you felt a queasy stomach on the horizon.

But exactly four hours after eating those eggs, with no warning, I sat up and said, “I’m gonna be sick.” And I was.

The day afterwards, meals consisted of Advil and fruit flavored Life Savers.

A couple of days later as I began to feel better, I had a strange craving for tortilla chips, salsa, and queso. I think my mouth just wanted to taste food again and spicy just seemed like the way to jump start my appetite and get it back in shape. Saturday Scott dutifully took me out, not only to eat chips and salsa but to get me out of the house for a while. I needed some fresh air and a change of scenery for sure!

Of course we had to travel an hour to get the really good chips and salsa, so while we were over that way we made a trip to the Lifeway store (for me) and to Best Buy (for him). As we got ready to head back home, I told Scott he was going to have to stop and get me a drink. I didn’t think I could make the hour trip back home without a traveler. Except this time, the drive-through would not do. I needed to go in, order a large iced tea, sit down and drink it there. The reason I needed to do that was because I needed a refill. I knew I needed a refill even before I took the first sip. And that’s what I did. I actually refilled it twice before I walked out with the third one. I was THAT thirsty.

A couple of days in the wilderness of dry heaves and parching fever left me craving the spicy, but it was the drink that satisfied me more than anything.

I think there’s probably a lesson in there somewhere.

He led you through the vast and dreadful desert, that thirsty and waterless land, with its venomous snakes and scorpions. He brought you water out of hard rock. He gave you manna to eat in the desert, something your fathers had never known, to humble and to test you so that in the end it might go well with you. Deuteronomy 8:15-16

Mmm, mmm good

My most favorite comfort food meal is tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. A can of Campbell’s tomato soup is the best. As for the grilled cheese, I like to spread mustard on both inside pieces of the bread so it touches the Kraft cheese slice. Put the bread pieces together, spray the warm skillet with Pam, and keep flipping the sandwich until the cheese is gooey and the bread has crispy edges.

Serve it with a side of Goldfish crackers and Publix dill pickles (they are the BEST). Mmmmm. The whole meal is just not the same without the mustard on the sandwich. Without the mustard, it is missing its little kick.

I learned something about mustard this week.

Last Sunday afternoon the ringing phone woke us from our nap on the couch. We woke up but didn’t get up, turned on the TV and began the channel surf.

We stopped on a broadcast of a well known TV preacher. He said something that Scott and I both agreed we had never thought of in such a way before.

We missed the first part of the sermon so I think the main focus on his sermon was about something else, but in the process of presenting his message he mentioned the scriptures about faith and mustard seeds. He said most of the sermons he has heard others preach on it usually miss the mark on this one.

He said they miss it because the emphasis wrongly placed on the size or amount of one’s faith.
He said, however, that the scripture is not about the size of your faith. It’ not how much faith you have. Having more faith is not going to make you more likely to move a mountain.

It’s more about the power and potency of the little faith that you do have.

He went on to say how one tiny mustard seed would change the flavor of anything it was mixed with. What your faith is in and where it comes from - that’s the real power.

I think he’s right.

That’s one scripture I’ll always think differently about now. And, one I’ll always remember every time I eat a grilled cheese sandwich.

Then Jesus asked, "What is the kingdom of God like? What shall I compare it to? It is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his garden. It grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air perched in its branches." Again he asked, "What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough." Luke 13:18-21

Pumpernickel, please

“All the bread is hot. Would you like a wrap?”

That is one of the most confusing things anyone has said to me all week.

Now, I know I’m not much of a cook. I’ve never baked my own bread so I will admit I might be a little ignorant on all the culinary processes necessary to achieve yeasty yumminess. I have, however, probably eaten way more than my share of loaves and rolls. I have eaten so much of it, in fact, that I have become a connoisseur. That’s just a fancy way of saying I’m a bread snob. I don’t really like sliced white bread all that much anymore. I’m all about the dark breads with seeds and grains in them.

I also think the bread making people that supply buns to fast food restaurants try to fool us by putting sesame seeds on plain white bread rolls to make us think they have added class and elegance to a hamburger. Hmmmpf, I won’t be fooled to lower my standards any more (I’ve already sunk to eating the white bread bun - - isn’t that enough of a compromise?!!) I usually pick the sesame seeds off, or trade my top bun for my husband’s bottom bun. I end up with two bottoms and no sesame seeds.

So, when someone tells me the bread is hot, I think that’s a good thing. Mmmmm, fresh out of the oven. The aroma. The butter-melting warmth.

Apparently, there are times “all the bread is hot” means it is not fit to eat.

Scott and I had a long day and had not had a chance to eat dinner until late. As I said, I’m not much of a cook, especially when it’s late in the day and I’m hungry. We headed to Subway for a sub sandwich. The greeting we received…

“All the bread is hot. Would you like a wrap?”

I asked the young woman to repeat what she said. She did, “All the bread is hot. Would you like a wrap?”

I had to ask, “Is that a BAD thing?”

Someone else behind the counter piped in with a little more explanation about hot bread being too hard to chew. Well, my goodness. I never knew.

I guess the greeting sandwich artist and I both assumed the same thing….that I knew more about bread than I actually did.


Then Jesus declared, "I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.”
John 6:35

Got anything good to eat in there?

My husband and I are complete opposites.

He’s always sweating. I’m always shivering.

He’s spontaneous and jumps right in. I have to ruminate first and I prefer having a plan before I do anything, even if the plan changes.

Our tastes for food are completely different. He says puh-tay-toes. I say poe-tah-toes. Actually, it’s more like he calls ‘em taters and if they’re fried I just say no thank you.

When we get older we will never be one of the little old couples that goes out to a restaurant to eat and orders only one entrée and an extra plate. Yes, two entrees may be too much food and too much money for a couple of senior citizens, but it’s either that or one of us will go hungry. We just don’t like the same foods.

Because we live in a very small town and it only takes five minutes to get anywhere, we usually eat lunch together. People ask me if I have lunch with him every day and I always tell them, “Only when I don’t have any better offers.” So, pretty much, we eat lunch together every day.

Earlier this week he was out of town for the day so I was on my own for lunch. It was a perfect opportunity for me to get broccoli and white rice take-out from China Wok or a grilled chicken Caesar salad from McDonalds. Scott would never even entertain the thought of either one of those.

So, what did I do?

I was at home standing at the kitchen counter making my lunch when the phone rang. It was Scott. He asked me if I was making a salad (which consisted of opening a plastic bag, of course) with leftover turkey on it for my lunch. Why, yes, yes, I was.

Scott knew I would go home for lunch, he knew what time I would be there, and he knew exactly what I was going to eat. I am so predictable. He knows it all too well.

I think that’s why God put us together. God knew my boring, predictable ways and my dominating common sense nature would lack adventure and challenge. He knew my bland bag-o-salad and leftover turkey ruts would need a spicy distraction every now and then. Scott is king of that distraction domain and always manages to open my eyes, or my mind, or my mouth to something new and tasty. It’s nourishment that encourages me to grow and I’m thankful for it.

Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him. Psalm 34:8