Dear Red Roof Inn,
You make me sad. Each time I see your little insignia mixed in with the other little symbols on the Exit signs at the overpasses, I think you are Tim Hortons and my heart gives a little jump for joy.
You sir, are no Timmies!
Sadly,
A Canadian Missing her Favourite Kickapoo Joy Juice
__________________________________________________
Dear Krispy Kreme Donuts,
I owe you an apology. We got off to a bad start, and I said some things about you that I am now ashamed of.
The problem was, I met old, cold, slightly hardened you. Then recently, I met your young, hot, soft, gooey, melty, drippy, krispy, “hot off the presses” self.
I now adore you. Please forgive my previous ignorance and know that I will be seeing more of you before I go back to Canada.
Love,
A Repentant Chubby Girl Making Up for Lost Time
P.S. Your coffee needs work. Go north and visit my friend Timmie so you can learn from the master.
______________________________________________
Dear Tim Hortons,
I miss you more every day. There are still nights that I wake up with tears on my face and a cold empty hand where your cup used to rest.
I hear you are having your famous “RRRRoll Up the Rim” event. How I wish I were there to celebrate with you. Will you still be RRRolling around Easter? I will be seeing you the week before then, when I finally get home.
Do you know that it has been almost six months since my lips last rested against your dark brown lid and your heavenly nectar filled my mouth? Do you miss my $1.55 per day as much as I miss peeling back the tab on your take out cup?
I have made your home brew, but it is just not the same. I am counting down the days until we are reunited, my love.
Longingly,
A Girl With an Addiction
P.S. Ever considered ditching your donuts and going with Krispy Kreme’s instead? Just a thought.
__________________________________________________
Dear Susan Elizabeth Phillips (or S.E.P. as I call you when we talk in my head)
Wow…that greeting sounds a little creepy. It’s not like we really talk in my head, more like I talk and you listen. And we only talk about your books, so it’s not like I am pretending we are BFF and going shoe shopping with you. I have real friends for that. Really.
Getting down to business, I have to ask you: What the Jack?
I am a huge fan of your books! I love your sense of humour and your whole writing style. I have actually woken my husband from a dead sleep several times because I find you so dang funny. (Just to let you know, this is somewhat of an honour, because I am not much of a “laugh out loud” kind of girl when I am reading.)
Some things you should know about me:
1. I read a lot.
2. I am a very fast reader.
3. Because I read so quickly, I generally do book exchange or the library so that I can afford to both read and feed my family.
Now that you know this, you should realize how much it means that I saw your book “Glitter Baby” and wanted to have it for keepsies. I drew on my past experience that
S.E.P. never fails to amuse me and her books are ones that I like to reread.
Then I actually started to read “Glitter Baby”. There were several times when I truly had to check to make sure that it was not written by Danielle Steele, and I am still not entirely convinced that some horrendous printing mix-up did not occur in which your name was somehow printed instead of hers.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Danielle! (I tried calling her Dani, or even Elle in my head, but she is really more of a full name type of girl.) Her early works are particularly poignant and spellbinding. Lately, however, it is like she takes a name, location, and plot and loads them into a sneaky little novel writing program on her computer and out spits a new book. Not so enthralling.
S.E.P., WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? I did not laugh once during “Glitter Baby”! And I paid full price!
Sadly,
A Reader Who Is Out $9 and Three Hours
________________________________________________
Dear Bloggers Who Think They Are So Cool With Their Fancy Fonts,
What is with your tired little trend of writing words that have a line through them but are still clearly legible and then writing what you thought you should have written after these stricken words?
Puhlease! That is SO two months ago. And really, just because you can cross out words, do you really think I am picturing you at some fancy little outdoor French café, sipping espresso with your long cigarette in a fancy holder, blowing out thin streams of smoke and laughing to yourself as you scribble your spontaneous little thoughts on parchment paper with a fountain pen and then strike out your hastily written little faux pas while Fifi, your pink tinted toy poodle gently nibbles smoked salmon from a Royal Dalton Bread and Butter Plate?
Because I don’t!
So there!
Sincerely,
Someone Who Hopes I Never Need to Let My Font Be Funny For Me
_________________________________________________
Dear Font Makers,
Recently, I have seen that some bloggers are using a new font that allows the user to make it appear as if they have stricken a word from their writing, but it is still legible. I have not been able to find this clever little font and wonder if you could help a girl out?
Jealously,
An Unsuccessful Googler of the Font I Adore
________________________________________________
Dear California Highway Patrol Officer from Back in October,
I think you are unfair. It was not very polite of you to serve me with a ticket while I was having a bit of a moment on the 101.
See, my truck had gotten away on me because of all of the hills on the road and I was really enjoying the scenery. When one is being pushed along down a hill by a 32 foot travel trailer, it is hard not to, at times, slightly exceed the speed limit.
I noticed that none of the big rigs that blew past me on those hills like I was standing still were pulled over getting their tickets, and this bothers me somewhat. One might even observe if one was in the habit of being a Peeping Tom in any number of campgrounds across your great nation, that I have indeed lost sleep over the matter.
It also concerns me somewhat that I had to keep calling in to find out the amount that I owed on this traffic violation. By me calling in, I of course mean that every so often my darling husband would notice the ticket hanging on the bulletin board and grouchily call your head office. If my speeding was such a big hairy deal, then why did it take you three months to get the ticket in the system?
By the way, thanks for waiting outside my trailer door while I peed parked on the side of the road. I was a bit nervous as this was my first time getting pulled over, and I have a nervous bladder. I know for next time that I should not, in fact, exit my vehicle at any point during a stop by the Highway Patrol.
Thanks also for only marking me down for going sixty in a fifty five rather than seventy three. (It is a big, heavy trailer.)
My legal council, Joice Lynn, has advised me that her mom once got a ticket in California, and the officer told her that the record is expunged after three years so if she was not planning on driving in California for that amount of time she should just not pay the ticket. Ok, so Joice isn’t really legal counsel, but she claims to be able to do anything she can read about in a book and I am pretty sure she has read a Grisham book sometime in her lifetime. You can see the connection, right?
Respectfully Yours,
A Slightly Innocent Motorist
______________________________________________________
Dear Canadian Border Guards,
If I have an unpaid speeding ticket from California, will you still let me back into Canada?
Hopefully Yours,
A Weary Traveller Who Fears She Can’t Afford Any More Travellers Health Insurance
___________________________________________________________
Dear California Ticket Expungers,
Is it true that you wipe tickets off of people’s records after three years?
Ummm,
Someone Who is Just Asking for Research Purposes?
______________________________________________________
Dear Joice,
Hi! We had a great time visiting with you guys! I miss you so much already and am so glad that we got to renew our friendship!
Umm, just in case anyone from California Traffic contacts you regarding me, I may have mentioned that you are my legal council.
Hope your bathroom recovered from Andrew’s unfortunate incident!
Love,
Your Favourite Travelling Hairstylist
P.S. Have you ever read a John Grisham novel?
______________________________________________________
Dear Paper Clip on my Sidebar,
You are so cute! Thank you for all of your suggestions and helpful input. Thank you for always talking to me so kindly when I have a little problem or start writing a letter on my Word Program! I just want to roll you up in a leaf of lettuce and eat you like a crispy little healthy burrito!
Love,
Someone Who Should Be Sleeping Instead of Writing Letters to Animated Paper Clips
Monday, March 16, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Squeezito, Suction Crotch!
Remember Todd and Joice from seminary? Of course you don’t. It was like, seven years ago. We didn’t even have child number three when we knew them. To say nothing of them! Heck! They had two and a half new kids since we last saw them. I know it’s not really possible to have half a kid, but they are kinda incredible people. Kid number three was only a few days old when they left the hill. The hill is what those of us in the biz call the seminary. Ok…I guess it’s also not really a biz…more of a school. Whatever. So back to my point…there have been three more children since we last saw each other. I don’t think that was the point either, but it is late and we have passed two different time zones this week. Or maybe the last ten days. I don’t know. You know what else is sad? My internal clock is ALL messed up! I have an odd talent. I can seriously tell you what time it is just by feeling around inside of myself and looking at the sun. And now? Now my talent is gone. I blame the time zones. I have been seriously off on about three different occasions. It’s just lucky that it gets dark at night or I wouldn’t even know it it was AM or PM. Sheesh.
So we went to visit Todd and Joice. They have FIVE kids! I know what you’re thinking. Crazy…with three syllables. Right? You would think so, but they still actually inhabit the sane side of the fence! As we were driving to their house, Joice called me and said that Todd was concerned that we might not know what we were getting ourselves in for because they are, in fact, building a house. Hmm. I started wondering if maybe they didn’t want us to come and visit after all and then thought, whatever, we’re almost there, so you have to love us now.
When we arrived, we drove right past their driveway and had to do a u-turn with 56 feet of vehicle around a church sign in a really odd spot in the road. There was also an inconveniently placed concrete thing that you park cars up against. We had to pile wood up and drive over that one. It was exciting. The kids didn’t want to wait, so we let them run ahead and a bunch of their kids came out to meet them in the lane. With the goats. Yup. Goats. One of them bit me. It was traumatic. Goats have strong jaws and sharp teeth. Ok. It didn’t bite me. But it bit my jeans. It would have eaten them right off of me, but I whacked it with my book. Yeah, that’s not true either. But I had a book. I was sitting in a lawn chair watching Andrew chip bricks apart for the barn floor and it bit my jeans. In the tooshie area. I was obviously out of my chair at this point.
Ok…so, lane, goats, chair…kids! My kids LOVE Todd and Joice’s kids. They had SO much fun together. One may even say that they got along like a house on fire! Andrew became a farmer. I think he has found his calling. He was out every night putting the chickens to bed and tying up the goats. There were horses too, but he didn’t really do much with them. I tell you though, any chance to carry a chicken and my boy was in there like a dirty shirt.
We did a lot of fun stuff with the Lynn family. One day their oldest daughter was in a race in Greenville so we went to watch her and her daddy run. We missed most of it, but did get to see them pass the finish line. There was an amazing river area with a huge scary suspension bridge over it, so we went down the rocks and played on the shore. We collected river glass for Joice’s new profession, which will be doing mosaic table tops. I claim half of the profits since I gave her the idea. We had an apple bag, and the city of Greenville must have a lot of people who hang out at the river with coloured bottles that get broken on the rocks, because we filled that puppy up! We then decided to cross the raging river. It may not have been the best idea. I’m not going to lie to you. There was a big splash (not me!) and some blood (definitely me), and two husbands laughing and pointing from the other side of the river. Eventually we made it across and had words with the laughers. Their defence was “at least we weren’t taking pictures!”
Then the cop showed up. Apparently there were signs posted all over the place saying it was illegal to be on the rocks. My question would be why they put the rocks there in the first place then? The nice officer told Todd that the fine was $1000. Per person. I thought maybe Joice and I could just take the jail time and call it a holiday. Hey…she’s living in a house that’s under construction and draped in plastic sheeting and I live in a trailer. Our idea of a holiday has changed a bit in the past few months. We didn’t get a ticket, but the officer was going to give one to a different guy who had several warnings for being in the river. He got off because he said he wasn’t wearing his glasses and couldn’t read the signs. I figure I will try to remember that one for the next time I get pulled over for speeding. Hey, it worked for him!
Later that night we left Andrew to baby-sit the seven other children. He had just turned twelve and we felt comfortable leaving him with them. We went to the Macaroni Grill. I have always avoided this restaurant because of the name, but it turns out there is absolutely no Macaroni on the menu. I did however find another dish that I am pretty sure Jesus invented and is preparing for the table He will set before us. It is the Pinot Grigio Chicken. It has Roasted Garlic and is breaded with parmesan cheese. Mmm. So just to recap, Jesus’ table now includes Pumpkin Spice Latte, Paula Deen’s Godiva Chocolate Crème Brule, and the amazing chicken at Macaroni Grill.
Macaroni Grill has a wacky sense of humour. They teach Italian in the washrooms over the speakers. I found this amusing. Todd found it a learning opportunity. Suddenly we were inundated with everything being “Squeezito!” which apparently means delicious. We were not really interested in the actual meaning of the word though, as it amused us greatly to just use it whenever and wherever it struck our fancy. You have permission to use it now, too. It is a very fun word to throw out there. Squeezito!
One rather disturbing element of the Macaroni Grill is that the back of the door in the women’s washroom says “Men” and vice versa. Given my previous, ahem, restroom gender difficulties, this freaked me out when I went to leave. The first thing to run through my mind was “Oh crap, not again!” Then I remembered that Joice was with me, so if I was in the wrong john, I was not alone. Whew.
On the drive home, I got a phone call from Andrew.
Andrew- Um, hi. Yeah, Mom. OK, well, um, the toilet is plugged and the bathroom is flooding.
Me- Hmm. Here’s Joice.
We got home and it was raining on the whole main floor of their new house. While praying “Please Lord don’t let this be poop water!” we dashed up the stairs. Andrew was understandably upset and when we assured him that he had done a good job babysitting, he said to me “Mom, I was in the bathroom plugging up the toilet with my giant poo while they were watching a movie. I don’t see that as exactly a great job.”
The next day Andrew and Boaz went out and found a jar full of tree frogs. They dropped them off on the deck with us where we were examining them when someone noticed that they are all suctiony, particularly in the crotch area. This inspired our new saying of the day, which was of course, “suction crotch”. Now not only are interesting things “squeezito!” there are also random mutterings of “suction crotch” to deal with, which is always met by screeches of laughter.
The frogs the boys caught reminded me of my frog scar. Frog scar you say? How can you get a scar from a frog? Let me tell you. When I was a teenager we learned how to dissect frogs in school. I found this to be a lot of fun and felt really sad for my cousins who had never dissected anything, so one day when we were out at our grandparent’s farm, we found an old tin tea kettle and went collecting frogs. We didn’t have a tray of wax to pin the frog onto, so grandma fixed us up with a cookie sheet covered in newspaper and we thought we would just pin the frog to the paper. We selected the largest frog so that all of the organs would be easy to see. That’s when we ran into our biggest problem. My expertise had only been tested on pickled frogs and these babies were still alive. Let me tell you something: frogs do not make an easy transaction from live to dead when you are not using a lawn mower. With that being said, they do apparently get knocked out. I question the wisdom of sharing our method of execution, but since wisdom is not always my strong suit, I figure what the heck. We threw it against the sidewalk. Yup. Keep in mind I was very young at the time.
So, back to the old KO. When we went to pin our “dead” frog to our dissection pan we found out he was not so much dead after all, and someone had to bite the bullet and put him out of his misery with the hammer. The dissection was a success however, and I prefer to think of it as science and not torture. One of the cousins actually became a doctor and I like to take credit for that because I showed him his first internal medicine. Ok…that’s not entirely truthful. He’s a Chiropractor, so he’s not actually practicing internal medicine, but you need to stop judging me. And I guess since his dad is a veterinarian I may not have actually shown him his first medicine, but you still need to stop judging me. Back off.
Oh yeah! The frog scar. When I went to pull “Tiny” out of the tin tea kettle, some of the frogs jumped and hit my hand which startled me and I pulled my had rather quickly out of the kettle and sliced open my wrist. Kind of anticlimactic now, isn’t it. Some time I’ll tell you about my kitten Tippy. That will hold your interest.
Until then, Squeezito!
So we went to visit Todd and Joice. They have FIVE kids! I know what you’re thinking. Crazy…with three syllables. Right? You would think so, but they still actually inhabit the sane side of the fence! As we were driving to their house, Joice called me and said that Todd was concerned that we might not know what we were getting ourselves in for because they are, in fact, building a house. Hmm. I started wondering if maybe they didn’t want us to come and visit after all and then thought, whatever, we’re almost there, so you have to love us now.
When we arrived, we drove right past their driveway and had to do a u-turn with 56 feet of vehicle around a church sign in a really odd spot in the road. There was also an inconveniently placed concrete thing that you park cars up against. We had to pile wood up and drive over that one. It was exciting. The kids didn’t want to wait, so we let them run ahead and a bunch of their kids came out to meet them in the lane. With the goats. Yup. Goats. One of them bit me. It was traumatic. Goats have strong jaws and sharp teeth. Ok. It didn’t bite me. But it bit my jeans. It would have eaten them right off of me, but I whacked it with my book. Yeah, that’s not true either. But I had a book. I was sitting in a lawn chair watching Andrew chip bricks apart for the barn floor and it bit my jeans. In the tooshie area. I was obviously out of my chair at this point.
Ok…so, lane, goats, chair…kids! My kids LOVE Todd and Joice’s kids. They had SO much fun together. One may even say that they got along like a house on fire! Andrew became a farmer. I think he has found his calling. He was out every night putting the chickens to bed and tying up the goats. There were horses too, but he didn’t really do much with them. I tell you though, any chance to carry a chicken and my boy was in there like a dirty shirt.
We did a lot of fun stuff with the Lynn family. One day their oldest daughter was in a race in Greenville so we went to watch her and her daddy run. We missed most of it, but did get to see them pass the finish line. There was an amazing river area with a huge scary suspension bridge over it, so we went down the rocks and played on the shore. We collected river glass for Joice’s new profession, which will be doing mosaic table tops. I claim half of the profits since I gave her the idea. We had an apple bag, and the city of Greenville must have a lot of people who hang out at the river with coloured bottles that get broken on the rocks, because we filled that puppy up! We then decided to cross the raging river. It may not have been the best idea. I’m not going to lie to you. There was a big splash (not me!) and some blood (definitely me), and two husbands laughing and pointing from the other side of the river. Eventually we made it across and had words with the laughers. Their defence was “at least we weren’t taking pictures!”
Then the cop showed up. Apparently there were signs posted all over the place saying it was illegal to be on the rocks. My question would be why they put the rocks there in the first place then? The nice officer told Todd that the fine was $1000. Per person. I thought maybe Joice and I could just take the jail time and call it a holiday. Hey…she’s living in a house that’s under construction and draped in plastic sheeting and I live in a trailer. Our idea of a holiday has changed a bit in the past few months. We didn’t get a ticket, but the officer was going to give one to a different guy who had several warnings for being in the river. He got off because he said he wasn’t wearing his glasses and couldn’t read the signs. I figure I will try to remember that one for the next time I get pulled over for speeding. Hey, it worked for him!
Later that night we left Andrew to baby-sit the seven other children. He had just turned twelve and we felt comfortable leaving him with them. We went to the Macaroni Grill. I have always avoided this restaurant because of the name, but it turns out there is absolutely no Macaroni on the menu. I did however find another dish that I am pretty sure Jesus invented and is preparing for the table He will set before us. It is the Pinot Grigio Chicken. It has Roasted Garlic and is breaded with parmesan cheese. Mmm. So just to recap, Jesus’ table now includes Pumpkin Spice Latte, Paula Deen’s Godiva Chocolate Crème Brule, and the amazing chicken at Macaroni Grill.
Macaroni Grill has a wacky sense of humour. They teach Italian in the washrooms over the speakers. I found this amusing. Todd found it a learning opportunity. Suddenly we were inundated with everything being “Squeezito!” which apparently means delicious. We were not really interested in the actual meaning of the word though, as it amused us greatly to just use it whenever and wherever it struck our fancy. You have permission to use it now, too. It is a very fun word to throw out there. Squeezito!
One rather disturbing element of the Macaroni Grill is that the back of the door in the women’s washroom says “Men” and vice versa. Given my previous, ahem, restroom gender difficulties, this freaked me out when I went to leave. The first thing to run through my mind was “Oh crap, not again!” Then I remembered that Joice was with me, so if I was in the wrong john, I was not alone. Whew.
On the drive home, I got a phone call from Andrew.
Andrew- Um, hi. Yeah, Mom. OK, well, um, the toilet is plugged and the bathroom is flooding.
Me- Hmm. Here’s Joice.
We got home and it was raining on the whole main floor of their new house. While praying “Please Lord don’t let this be poop water!” we dashed up the stairs. Andrew was understandably upset and when we assured him that he had done a good job babysitting, he said to me “Mom, I was in the bathroom plugging up the toilet with my giant poo while they were watching a movie. I don’t see that as exactly a great job.”
The next day Andrew and Boaz went out and found a jar full of tree frogs. They dropped them off on the deck with us where we were examining them when someone noticed that they are all suctiony, particularly in the crotch area. This inspired our new saying of the day, which was of course, “suction crotch”. Now not only are interesting things “squeezito!” there are also random mutterings of “suction crotch” to deal with, which is always met by screeches of laughter.
The frogs the boys caught reminded me of my frog scar. Frog scar you say? How can you get a scar from a frog? Let me tell you. When I was a teenager we learned how to dissect frogs in school. I found this to be a lot of fun and felt really sad for my cousins who had never dissected anything, so one day when we were out at our grandparent’s farm, we found an old tin tea kettle and went collecting frogs. We didn’t have a tray of wax to pin the frog onto, so grandma fixed us up with a cookie sheet covered in newspaper and we thought we would just pin the frog to the paper. We selected the largest frog so that all of the organs would be easy to see. That’s when we ran into our biggest problem. My expertise had only been tested on pickled frogs and these babies were still alive. Let me tell you something: frogs do not make an easy transaction from live to dead when you are not using a lawn mower. With that being said, they do apparently get knocked out. I question the wisdom of sharing our method of execution, but since wisdom is not always my strong suit, I figure what the heck. We threw it against the sidewalk. Yup. Keep in mind I was very young at the time.
So, back to the old KO. When we went to pin our “dead” frog to our dissection pan we found out he was not so much dead after all, and someone had to bite the bullet and put him out of his misery with the hammer. The dissection was a success however, and I prefer to think of it as science and not torture. One of the cousins actually became a doctor and I like to take credit for that because I showed him his first internal medicine. Ok…that’s not entirely truthful. He’s a Chiropractor, so he’s not actually practicing internal medicine, but you need to stop judging me. And I guess since his dad is a veterinarian I may not have actually shown him his first medicine, but you still need to stop judging me. Back off.
Oh yeah! The frog scar. When I went to pull “Tiny” out of the tin tea kettle, some of the frogs jumped and hit my hand which startled me and I pulled my had rather quickly out of the kettle and sliced open my wrist. Kind of anticlimactic now, isn’t it. Some time I’ll tell you about my kitten Tippy. That will hold your interest.
Until then, Squeezito!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Mullets, Church and Family
You are going to have to stretch your mind here with me. That’s right, we’re going to have to use our heads here folks. Turns out it’s not just the stuffing in the showcase for that fantastic head of hair you’re carrying around.
While we are on the subject, let’s just diverge for a sec and talk about that hair. If you can find your hairstyle in a current Hair Magazine or one of those giant books in the waiting room of your salon that has a cover date earlier than say, eight years ago, then this rant is not for you. (But you may enjoy reading it anyway.)
If you have a mullet- first of all, WHY? Remember that woman on Survivor who had her hair in a mullet because she thought it made her look more feminine for her husband? She was a lunch lady and couldn’t be dropping hair in the food but then she got all famous because of the show and lost her job but not the mullet? Yeah, no. Ever hear of a pony tail. You can wear them to work and they do a fantastic job of keeping the hair out of your eyes and people actually don’t mind going out in public with you. You could be the kindest, most spiritual and loving person in the world, but your message is not getting across because of the packaging. It’s like giving someone an engagement ring but making them fish it out of the urinal. Still an engagement ring, but ew!
Here are the steps you need to take to fix this. Make an appointment with your hairstylist. Sit in her chair (let’s face it, a male stylist would not have let you get away with this atrocity for so long) and explain that you have a mullet and would like to end the vicious circle. If she tries in any way to convince you that the mullet is ok, stand up, apologize for wasting her time and thank her for the many years of faithful service. Now walk out. Do not turn back.
Walk into another salon, stand in the middle of said salon and take off your hat. (You, of course, have taken to wearing a hat since reading this, to cover your shame.) Loudly, but politely, ask if anyone can help you do something about your mullet. Be prepared for a variety of reactions that may or may not include weeping, applause, hugging, bouncing on the spot, and the tinkling of a tiny little
bell as another mullet finds its way home to the salon floor.
Mullets are not the only hair horror that are still out there, but perhaps the most loathed, so I am using you as an example. The rest of you know who you are. If you are in doubt, just assume you need a little update.
Back to the reason I was writing. Oh how I loathe going on. I know that these two subjects really do not go together, but I am going to forge ahead and say it anyway.
I have heard a lot of people in a lot of churches talk about how much they need new people and wonder why people come once or twice and never return. I was talking to my friend Ruth about this and she asked the pertinent question “What’s wrong with the old people?” That made me laugh and I have no answer.
So this is the way I see it. All of us that go to church every week tend to call each other family- as in church family. The Bible says that all of us are God’s children. Family and children. Still with me?
Here’s where it gets dicey. Newbie comes in and sits down. Maybe they don’t look the same as the rest of us (mullet), have unruly children, sit in our pew, don’t know the songs or sing them a different way than we do, or fail to remove their hat during service. Or maybe they look really good. Like, better than we do. Chances are, we shyly look at them and hurry by on our way out to lunch with our friends, or shake their hand, say it’s so good to have you with us, and scurry out to check on the roast we threw in before church. We then leave them to blindly search the building for their children that ran off with the rest of the rugrats when kid’s service was announced and go for a lonely lunch to discuss why no one really talked to them.
Here’s the thing. People who come to church are looking for something. Someone. They may already know Jesus but need a friend. They may already have a friend but need Jesus. We can give them both, but not if we run away from them. Pastors- don’t you nod and agree! You are doing it, too!
So what do we do? I have put a lot of thought into this and it comes down to family. Not in an abstract, “we’re all family here” way either. We need to make it real. Every time we walk through the doors of that church it is a family reunion with Jesus as the host! That new person that walked through the door is family that you haven’t met. Go and greet him! Talk to him! Ask him about his life! You guys have the SAME FATHER! Why would you want to ignore him!
Think of how it is when a new baby is born in your church. Everyone gathers around and looks, has a party for the family to welcome the baby and cries happy tears that one more has been added to their number. See the correlation?
We should be able to visit any Christian church and feel like we are home. Why are we not excited to see family from other cities and find out what their story is? We could actually learn something. They may have heard something from the Father that we have not heard and be here to spread the news.
Now if your long lost brother walked into your home would you shake his hand, say nice to have you with us today, and rush out the door to go for lunch with your friends? Are you getting this?
Would you say hope to see you again but not get his phone number and call him that week?
It’s about not just giving lip service to the notion that we are a family, but actually putting it into practice and acting like it.
Sure she has a mullet. Guess what? It’s just hair. (It hurts me to say that, but it’s true.)
OK- their kids are really, really annoying. Have you forgotten what it was like when your little angels were that age?
For me, the people that look like they really have it together are the scariest to approach. How sad. One of my favourite people in the world is one that I thought was too good for me to talk to and be friends with. Turns out she’s just as much of a mess as I am, but looking great on the outside helps her to feel like she is keeping it more together on the inside. And you know what’s even better? We have the same Father!
I guess my point is quit whining about why people don’t stay and start treating them like you want them to. Go for lunch with them. Ask them how they met your Father. If they haven’t met Him, introduce them. Interact with them during the week (as in put down the remote and invest in people, not electronics.)
Love your neighbour as you love yourselves.
Oh yeah- and please, please, please lose the mullet.
While we are on the subject, let’s just diverge for a sec and talk about that hair. If you can find your hairstyle in a current Hair Magazine or one of those giant books in the waiting room of your salon that has a cover date earlier than say, eight years ago, then this rant is not for you. (But you may enjoy reading it anyway.)
If you have a mullet- first of all, WHY? Remember that woman on Survivor who had her hair in a mullet because she thought it made her look more feminine for her husband? She was a lunch lady and couldn’t be dropping hair in the food but then she got all famous because of the show and lost her job but not the mullet? Yeah, no. Ever hear of a pony tail. You can wear them to work and they do a fantastic job of keeping the hair out of your eyes and people actually don’t mind going out in public with you. You could be the kindest, most spiritual and loving person in the world, but your message is not getting across because of the packaging. It’s like giving someone an engagement ring but making them fish it out of the urinal. Still an engagement ring, but ew!
Here are the steps you need to take to fix this. Make an appointment with your hairstylist. Sit in her chair (let’s face it, a male stylist would not have let you get away with this atrocity for so long) and explain that you have a mullet and would like to end the vicious circle. If she tries in any way to convince you that the mullet is ok, stand up, apologize for wasting her time and thank her for the many years of faithful service. Now walk out. Do not turn back.
Walk into another salon, stand in the middle of said salon and take off your hat. (You, of course, have taken to wearing a hat since reading this, to cover your shame.) Loudly, but politely, ask if anyone can help you do something about your mullet. Be prepared for a variety of reactions that may or may not include weeping, applause, hugging, bouncing on the spot, and the tinkling of a tiny little
bell as another mullet finds its way home to the salon floor.
Mullets are not the only hair horror that are still out there, but perhaps the most loathed, so I am using you as an example. The rest of you know who you are. If you are in doubt, just assume you need a little update.
Back to the reason I was writing. Oh how I loathe going on. I know that these two subjects really do not go together, but I am going to forge ahead and say it anyway.
I have heard a lot of people in a lot of churches talk about how much they need new people and wonder why people come once or twice and never return. I was talking to my friend Ruth about this and she asked the pertinent question “What’s wrong with the old people?” That made me laugh and I have no answer.
So this is the way I see it. All of us that go to church every week tend to call each other family- as in church family. The Bible says that all of us are God’s children. Family and children. Still with me?
Here’s where it gets dicey. Newbie comes in and sits down. Maybe they don’t look the same as the rest of us (mullet), have unruly children, sit in our pew, don’t know the songs or sing them a different way than we do, or fail to remove their hat during service. Or maybe they look really good. Like, better than we do. Chances are, we shyly look at them and hurry by on our way out to lunch with our friends, or shake their hand, say it’s so good to have you with us, and scurry out to check on the roast we threw in before church. We then leave them to blindly search the building for their children that ran off with the rest of the rugrats when kid’s service was announced and go for a lonely lunch to discuss why no one really talked to them.
Here’s the thing. People who come to church are looking for something. Someone. They may already know Jesus but need a friend. They may already have a friend but need Jesus. We can give them both, but not if we run away from them. Pastors- don’t you nod and agree! You are doing it, too!
So what do we do? I have put a lot of thought into this and it comes down to family. Not in an abstract, “we’re all family here” way either. We need to make it real. Every time we walk through the doors of that church it is a family reunion with Jesus as the host! That new person that walked through the door is family that you haven’t met. Go and greet him! Talk to him! Ask him about his life! You guys have the SAME FATHER! Why would you want to ignore him!
Think of how it is when a new baby is born in your church. Everyone gathers around and looks, has a party for the family to welcome the baby and cries happy tears that one more has been added to their number. See the correlation?
We should be able to visit any Christian church and feel like we are home. Why are we not excited to see family from other cities and find out what their story is? We could actually learn something. They may have heard something from the Father that we have not heard and be here to spread the news.
Now if your long lost brother walked into your home would you shake his hand, say nice to have you with us today, and rush out the door to go for lunch with your friends? Are you getting this?
Would you say hope to see you again but not get his phone number and call him that week?
It’s about not just giving lip service to the notion that we are a family, but actually putting it into practice and acting like it.
Sure she has a mullet. Guess what? It’s just hair. (It hurts me to say that, but it’s true.)
OK- their kids are really, really annoying. Have you forgotten what it was like when your little angels were that age?
For me, the people that look like they really have it together are the scariest to approach. How sad. One of my favourite people in the world is one that I thought was too good for me to talk to and be friends with. Turns out she’s just as much of a mess as I am, but looking great on the outside helps her to feel like she is keeping it more together on the inside. And you know what’s even better? We have the same Father!
I guess my point is quit whining about why people don’t stay and start treating them like you want them to. Go for lunch with them. Ask them how they met your Father. If they haven’t met Him, introduce them. Interact with them during the week (as in put down the remote and invest in people, not electronics.)
Love your neighbour as you love yourselves.
Oh yeah- and please, please, please lose the mullet.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Tornado's A-Comin
Things that go through your mind when the Air Raid Siren goes at 3am.
What is THAT!
Oh crap, we’re going to die!
Can’t really be an air raid…we are not wartime.
OH NO! Tornado!
“We have to get out of here!”
“Kid’s…we don’t know what this sound is! Get your housecoats and let’s go!”
Oh crap, where’s Marie? I’m glad I scrubbed her up. She was looking really grungy.
“I know you’re scared, Sweets. We all are.”
I’m glad I put the passports in a ziplock yesterday. Much easier to get them now. I hope they don’t fall out of my pocket, but we will never get home without them if the trailer blows away. Should I bring my jewelry, too? What shoes should I wear? The yellow shower shoes dry the fastest but if we are on the news they don’t look very nice.
(Standing outside in the dark and rain.)
“DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THIS SOUND MEANS? WHAT DO WE DO?”
Why are the people in the house across the street not turning their lights on?
Oh no, that guy said tornado warning…Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
I wonder if the stilts their houses are on are strong enough that if I grab the rope the kids were playing with and tie the whole family to it that we will not get blown away?
Oh good, they shut the siren off. But what does that mean now?
“Kids, get in the truck…there is a storm shelter by the beach!”
It was a fort 200 years ago and is still standing so we will be safe there. What if no one comes to open it and we are all stuck outside when the storm comes. They should give you a pamphlet when you check in about what to do if the Air Raid Siren goes in the night.
Ok. All of those people are going to the campground office. Where are my glasses? What a good husband I have…he knew I would need to see. Why is Abby crying so much…hold her. Poor thing…shaking like a leaf. I won’t ever let you go.
That rain is really coming down. I think the umbrella is a bit anticlimactic at this point, seeing how I am already dripping, but he sure does take good care of me.
“I know you’re scared guys, Mommy is too!”
We look like a bunch of ants running to the hill. I hope it is unlocked. Oh good, the managers are here and they don’t look freaked out.
“No, she’s shivering because she is terrified.”
Ok…the bathroom. My family calls the bathroom. There is water in the back of the tank and I remember something about bathrooms being safer in storms. Where is Michael? Ok…he has the boys underneath that brick arch. That will work too. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
“OK Matt, I’ll take you.”
No I will not let you pee alone! You lost the option of peeing alone the moment the siren sounded. I can’t believe Andrew wanted to bring his book. He is SO my kid. I hope the twister waits till I am back with Michael. Why do I always have to remind him to wash his hands? Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
Wonder if he will let me have my phone? Act calm, act calm, stop crying! Sheesh, the tears just keep rolling here. Ok…call my parents and sister. No answer. Why are they not picking up? This phone displays such a stupid number that no one ever knows it is me. I am so scared. Try them again. Still no answer. I hate this phone. Dial 2 for speed dial long distance. One for English. Now the number. No answer. Maybe the Stenske’s. They will pray for us. I always answer in the night. Why does no one else. If I don’t answer I get all worried that someone died and I missed it. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
I am SO scared! Everyone is. The men are all acting so strong, but you can see it in their eyes. Man those dogs stink. At least we will have food if we get trapped. That’s right lady…yappy goes first. Ok…Tina Stenske answered. Don’t cry too hard, she has to be able to understand. Try to talk quietly or Michael will take the phone away. Ok…they are praying and now someone knows where we are. Breathe. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. I should call the family and leave a message. Mom and Dad’s machine isn’t working. Laura’s house. Should I say “I love you guys.”? No. That would scare her too much. They already know. I should have said “I love you.”
If the twister comes, Michael and I can link around the kids and keep them pressed against the wall. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. They are too young for this. I want to go home. I will take a blizzard any day over this. I am so scared.
“Sure baby, I will take you to the potty.”
I wish everyone would come with us. If we’re going to die, I want to be together. She is still shaking. My poor baby. I should pee, too. I don’t want to wet myself later. Can’t believe everyone else got dressed before they came. Why didn’t I think of that. Doesn’t matter. I wonder if anyone will lend me pants if the trailer is gone. And a bra. I NEED a bra. Does this nightie look OK for the news. I can’t bend over to sift through the rubble. I hope someone gives me pants. The nightie will just look like a long shirt. My hair is still dripping. Wish I had a comb. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. STOP CRYING, Tina!
Where are these people going? Where is Michael? SIT DOWN or you will lose our spot in the brick arch. Fireplace chimneys always seem to be standing after a disaster. I wonder if we could fit all the kids in the fireplace? Oh…the watch is lifted. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus. Call Tina back and tell her we are ok. Man these puddles are deep. I hope the kids hang up their housecoats and don’t just leave them in a soggy mess on the floor. Stop crying! Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus.
Oh crap. I’m not wearing any panties. Ruth is gonna love that!
What is THAT!
Oh crap, we’re going to die!
Can’t really be an air raid…we are not wartime.
OH NO! Tornado!
“We have to get out of here!”
“Kid’s…we don’t know what this sound is! Get your housecoats and let’s go!”
Oh crap, where’s Marie? I’m glad I scrubbed her up. She was looking really grungy.
“I know you’re scared, Sweets. We all are.”
I’m glad I put the passports in a ziplock yesterday. Much easier to get them now. I hope they don’t fall out of my pocket, but we will never get home without them if the trailer blows away. Should I bring my jewelry, too? What shoes should I wear? The yellow shower shoes dry the fastest but if we are on the news they don’t look very nice.
(Standing outside in the dark and rain.)
“DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THIS SOUND MEANS? WHAT DO WE DO?”
Why are the people in the house across the street not turning their lights on?
Oh no, that guy said tornado warning…Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
I wonder if the stilts their houses are on are strong enough that if I grab the rope the kids were playing with and tie the whole family to it that we will not get blown away?
Oh good, they shut the siren off. But what does that mean now?
“Kids, get in the truck…there is a storm shelter by the beach!”
It was a fort 200 years ago and is still standing so we will be safe there. What if no one comes to open it and we are all stuck outside when the storm comes. They should give you a pamphlet when you check in about what to do if the Air Raid Siren goes in the night.
Ok. All of those people are going to the campground office. Where are my glasses? What a good husband I have…he knew I would need to see. Why is Abby crying so much…hold her. Poor thing…shaking like a leaf. I won’t ever let you go.
That rain is really coming down. I think the umbrella is a bit anticlimactic at this point, seeing how I am already dripping, but he sure does take good care of me.
“I know you’re scared guys, Mommy is too!”
We look like a bunch of ants running to the hill. I hope it is unlocked. Oh good, the managers are here and they don’t look freaked out.
“No, she’s shivering because she is terrified.”
Ok…the bathroom. My family calls the bathroom. There is water in the back of the tank and I remember something about bathrooms being safer in storms. Where is Michael? Ok…he has the boys underneath that brick arch. That will work too. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
“OK Matt, I’ll take you.”
No I will not let you pee alone! You lost the option of peeing alone the moment the siren sounded. I can’t believe Andrew wanted to bring his book. He is SO my kid. I hope the twister waits till I am back with Michael. Why do I always have to remind him to wash his hands? Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
Wonder if he will let me have my phone? Act calm, act calm, stop crying! Sheesh, the tears just keep rolling here. Ok…call my parents and sister. No answer. Why are they not picking up? This phone displays such a stupid number that no one ever knows it is me. I am so scared. Try them again. Still no answer. I hate this phone. Dial 2 for speed dial long distance. One for English. Now the number. No answer. Maybe the Stenske’s. They will pray for us. I always answer in the night. Why does no one else. If I don’t answer I get all worried that someone died and I missed it. Jesus help us, Jesus help us.
I am SO scared! Everyone is. The men are all acting so strong, but you can see it in their eyes. Man those dogs stink. At least we will have food if we get trapped. That’s right lady…yappy goes first. Ok…Tina Stenske answered. Don’t cry too hard, she has to be able to understand. Try to talk quietly or Michael will take the phone away. Ok…they are praying and now someone knows where we are. Breathe. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. I should call the family and leave a message. Mom and Dad’s machine isn’t working. Laura’s house. Should I say “I love you guys.”? No. That would scare her too much. They already know. I should have said “I love you.”
If the twister comes, Michael and I can link around the kids and keep them pressed against the wall. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. They are too young for this. I want to go home. I will take a blizzard any day over this. I am so scared.
“Sure baby, I will take you to the potty.”
I wish everyone would come with us. If we’re going to die, I want to be together. She is still shaking. My poor baby. I should pee, too. I don’t want to wet myself later. Can’t believe everyone else got dressed before they came. Why didn’t I think of that. Doesn’t matter. I wonder if anyone will lend me pants if the trailer is gone. And a bra. I NEED a bra. Does this nightie look OK for the news. I can’t bend over to sift through the rubble. I hope someone gives me pants. The nightie will just look like a long shirt. My hair is still dripping. Wish I had a comb. Jesus help us, Jesus help us. STOP CRYING, Tina!
Where are these people going? Where is Michael? SIT DOWN or you will lose our spot in the brick arch. Fireplace chimneys always seem to be standing after a disaster. I wonder if we could fit all the kids in the fireplace? Oh…the watch is lifted. Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus. Call Tina back and tell her we are ok. Man these puddles are deep. I hope the kids hang up their housecoats and don’t just leave them in a soggy mess on the floor. Stop crying! Thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus.
Oh crap. I’m not wearing any panties. Ruth is gonna love that!
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Rocks and Bananas and Curtains, Oh My!
Sooo...
It has recently come to my attention that my middle son is a bit of a freak show. OK... maybe in the back of my mind I have always know, but the last couple of weeks have really driven the message home.
Let's start in Florida. We spent the day on the beach. The kids were all swimming (it was freaking cold, but the Canadian kids don't seem to mind) and searching for shells. The first time Matt put his head under he ended up with a mouthful, and the saltiness somehow surprised him. I thought for sure he had tasted sea water at some point in his life, but judging by his reaction, I must have thought wrong. He popped up out of the water hissing and spitting and wiping his tongue with his hands which accomplished nothing but introducing sand into the mix.
About an hour later, after a quick shopping stop at the Shell Shack, we returned home and I started rinsing the shells and ginormous sand dollars and laying them out to dry. I happened to look up and see Matt playing in the street with his ever present Light Sabre, but something looked odd. His cheeks were really bulgy.
Me- What's in your mouth, Matt?
Matt- Rocks.
Me- (head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in confusion) Rocks?
Matt- (starting to spit out the 20 or so rocks in his mouth) It's my new cure for getting salt water out of your mouth.
I said nothing for a long while. It took a while to digest the "Matthew Logic".
Me- Where'd you get the rocks?
Matt- On the street.
Me- Where do people walk their dogs?
Matt- On the street.
Me- Where do the dogs pee?
And we're back to the hissing, spitting, and wiping tongue with hands.
Fast forward to this morning in Georgia.
I woke up to the lovely sound of a Seven Year Old's Hissy Fit. What a treat.
Me- Why are you screaming?
Abby- Matthew won't leave his curtains open and he knows I like to look at him in the morning. He knows it, Mama!
(she sleeps on the top bunks and their bunks have curtains across so they have some modicum of privacy, which is surprisingly tricky when there are three children sharing a room the size of my last closet.)
Me- Stop squealing! You will wake up the whole trailer park. (These people do not look like they would take kindly to that. Full body shudder.)
Abby- But Mama, I want to be able to see him!
Me- Matt, why won't you let her see you?
Matt- I just want some alone time!
Me- Why?(noticing the banana in his hand and finding this a bit...strange) What are you doing?
Matt- I'm just laying in bed holding this banana that I want to eat and reading my curtains.
Seriously. That was the start to my day. I would be hard pressed to think of how to respond to that at 2pm, let alone 7:15 am. It just raised so very many questions in my mind. (And also the urge to scream, but I refrained. I am afraid that if I start, I may never stop. That and the whole "scary neighbours with trees growing on the tops of their RV's" thing.)
I can almost always feel the worry/confusion wrinkle in between my eyebrows now, and more and more "sparkly" hairs show up in my part in between colours.
I blame my children. And my husband. I think they take after him.
It has recently come to my attention that my middle son is a bit of a freak show. OK... maybe in the back of my mind I have always know, but the last couple of weeks have really driven the message home.
Let's start in Florida. We spent the day on the beach. The kids were all swimming (it was freaking cold, but the Canadian kids don't seem to mind) and searching for shells. The first time Matt put his head under he ended up with a mouthful, and the saltiness somehow surprised him. I thought for sure he had tasted sea water at some point in his life, but judging by his reaction, I must have thought wrong. He popped up out of the water hissing and spitting and wiping his tongue with his hands which accomplished nothing but introducing sand into the mix.
About an hour later, after a quick shopping stop at the Shell Shack, we returned home and I started rinsing the shells and ginormous sand dollars and laying them out to dry. I happened to look up and see Matt playing in the street with his ever present Light Sabre, but something looked odd. His cheeks were really bulgy.
Me- What's in your mouth, Matt?
Matt- Rocks.
Me- (head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in confusion) Rocks?
Matt- (starting to spit out the 20 or so rocks in his mouth) It's my new cure for getting salt water out of your mouth.
I said nothing for a long while. It took a while to digest the "Matthew Logic".
Me- Where'd you get the rocks?
Matt- On the street.
Me- Where do people walk their dogs?
Matt- On the street.
Me- Where do the dogs pee?
And we're back to the hissing, spitting, and wiping tongue with hands.
Fast forward to this morning in Georgia.
I woke up to the lovely sound of a Seven Year Old's Hissy Fit. What a treat.
Me- Why are you screaming?
Abby- Matthew won't leave his curtains open and he knows I like to look at him in the morning. He knows it, Mama!
(she sleeps on the top bunks and their bunks have curtains across so they have some modicum of privacy, which is surprisingly tricky when there are three children sharing a room the size of my last closet.)
Me- Stop squealing! You will wake up the whole trailer park. (These people do not look like they would take kindly to that. Full body shudder.)
Abby- But Mama, I want to be able to see him!
Me- Matt, why won't you let her see you?
Matt- I just want some alone time!
Me- Why?(noticing the banana in his hand and finding this a bit...strange) What are you doing?
Matt- I'm just laying in bed holding this banana that I want to eat and reading my curtains.
Seriously. That was the start to my day. I would be hard pressed to think of how to respond to that at 2pm, let alone 7:15 am. It just raised so very many questions in my mind. (And also the urge to scream, but I refrained. I am afraid that if I start, I may never stop. That and the whole "scary neighbours with trees growing on the tops of their RV's" thing.)
I can almost always feel the worry/confusion wrinkle in between my eyebrows now, and more and more "sparkly" hairs show up in my part in between colours.
I blame my children. And my husband. I think they take after him.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Look Before You Leak
We arrived in Louisiana early this week. Let me tell you…it is like nowhere we have ever been! Driving here is an absolute treat! We had not been over the Texas/Louisiana border for 10 minutes before the third person cut me off. Have I mentioned how convenient it is to be cut off while your vehicles have a combined length of 56.5 feet? I haven’t? Hmm…maybe that’s because IT’S NOT! It is freaking scary! It takes a very long time to stop a vehicle that large! If you don’t already, leave a big space behind and in front of big vehicles! It is safer for everyone!
The day before we left Texas, we saw a sad and scary sight. About half a block in front of us, two vehicles somehow collided. There was smoke coming out of both of them and the people were seriously injured. We watched an air ambulance touch down and pick up the most seriously injured. The thing that frightened us the most is that Michael ran back into the camper to put some books away which slowed us down about 30 seconds. If he hadn’t, who knows, it could have been us. It really brings home a person’s own mortality when you watch a helicopter land in the middle of the street right in front of you. This is the third serious accident we have been behind in six months.
We are camped at a place called Poche Plantation right now, on the Mississippi River in between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. It is amazing. We have had the opportunity to visit several different plantations in the last couple of days. I am a huge fan of books like Gone With the Wind and all things Southern, so this is a huge thrill for me; a bit of a dream come true. I seriously thought I might pass out from excitement when we toured General Wade Hampton’s plantation called Houmas House! There were so many amazing things there, not the least of which was a Vampire Slaying kit. It really made me sad how frightened some people were of this. There are more churches in the area than I have ever seen, but superstition is still so rampant. The Creole accent is also very difficult to wrap my Canadian Ears around. It sounds to me like a mixture of the deep south drawl, and French Canadian. I find myself having to really think about what people have said or just plain ask them to repeat themselves.
The food here deserves a blog of its’ own. WOW! We found a little coffee shop that has the appropriate name of Coffee Shop. They said that they were serve Biegnets, (ben-yay) and since I had just been reading about them, we had to try them. Biegnets are a French Pastry made of rectangular pieces of donut type dough that they cook in oil right when you order them and then coat in Icing Sugar. I think that Jesus invented these. I know I have said this about Pumpkin Latte in the past, and in case anyone is wondering, yes, they would go well together. They also serve a truly amazing Café au Lait. I could have sad and drank coffee and devoured beignets all day long! When we arrived at this campsite, the owner told us about four times that we had to go to Hymel’s on Thursday night to eat and hear the live band. Off we went, and were we in for a treat. I kept seeing these advertisements for boiled shrimp or boiled crab or boiled crawfish and I thought “How boring!” How wrong I was. When we arrived, they told us that the special was boiled shrimp and that this was the first night of the year that they were serving crawfish. They laughed at us a bit when we asked what crawfish were but then they brought us some to sample and we realized that when they boil the seafood it is not just in water, but in a spicy seasoned broth. And again, we say WOW! Crawfish look like a tiny little lobster and taste a bit like chicken. Seriously. Well…maybe fishy chicken. They have a chicken texture with a fish flavour. By the end of the meal we were deliciously dirty and fully satisfied. My wonderful husband even discovered that he likes shrimp, after a lifetime of professing to hate it. I heaved a happy sigh.
For those of you that know me, you will remember that I have a bit of a bowel issue. For those that were not “privy” to that information, you now know a little more about me than you ever wanted to. The reason I mention this is just to let you know that although amusing, no one can really blame the next little story on me because I have a problem. Someday I will be brave enough to share the Macy’s story and then you will really understand, but for now let’s just stick with what happened in Wal Mart. The kids were all exhausted and we needed a few groceries so I said I would run in and Michael could fuel up and wait with the kids in the truck. Unfortunately, the meal that we had just eaten was high in garlic, and garlic makes my bowels very angry. I made it through the whole shopping trip fine until I got to the checkout. I then realized there was no way that I would make it out to the truck to drop off the groceries and get back into the bathroom without ….well…without issues. So, I called Michael and he came in to grab the groceries and I trotted off to the can. I noticed when I got into the stall that it was disgustingly nasty and did my best to hover over the seat like mom taught me while making a mental not to complain to the Customer Service Desk. After finishing up I went to wash my hands and saw that even the sinks were horribly dirty. I was trying to keep from touching anything unnecessarily when I noticed a strange thing. Wal Mart in Baton Rouge had urinals in the ladies room. Oh! Maybe not so much the ladies room. I quickly got out before person in the next stall finished up and decided not to mention anything to the Customer Service staff. Sadly, this is the third time since we got into the USA that I have entered a Wal Mart men’s room. Mom says I should look before I leak and my Dad says that at least it wasn’t another Macy’s incident. Some day I will be brave enough to share that story, but not today my friends, not today.
The day before we left Texas, we saw a sad and scary sight. About half a block in front of us, two vehicles somehow collided. There was smoke coming out of both of them and the people were seriously injured. We watched an air ambulance touch down and pick up the most seriously injured. The thing that frightened us the most is that Michael ran back into the camper to put some books away which slowed us down about 30 seconds. If he hadn’t, who knows, it could have been us. It really brings home a person’s own mortality when you watch a helicopter land in the middle of the street right in front of you. This is the third serious accident we have been behind in six months.
We are camped at a place called Poche Plantation right now, on the Mississippi River in between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. It is amazing. We have had the opportunity to visit several different plantations in the last couple of days. I am a huge fan of books like Gone With the Wind and all things Southern, so this is a huge thrill for me; a bit of a dream come true. I seriously thought I might pass out from excitement when we toured General Wade Hampton’s plantation called Houmas House! There were so many amazing things there, not the least of which was a Vampire Slaying kit. It really made me sad how frightened some people were of this. There are more churches in the area than I have ever seen, but superstition is still so rampant. The Creole accent is also very difficult to wrap my Canadian Ears around. It sounds to me like a mixture of the deep south drawl, and French Canadian. I find myself having to really think about what people have said or just plain ask them to repeat themselves.
The food here deserves a blog of its’ own. WOW! We found a little coffee shop that has the appropriate name of Coffee Shop. They said that they were serve Biegnets, (ben-yay) and since I had just been reading about them, we had to try them. Biegnets are a French Pastry made of rectangular pieces of donut type dough that they cook in oil right when you order them and then coat in Icing Sugar. I think that Jesus invented these. I know I have said this about Pumpkin Latte in the past, and in case anyone is wondering, yes, they would go well together. They also serve a truly amazing Café au Lait. I could have sad and drank coffee and devoured beignets all day long! When we arrived at this campsite, the owner told us about four times that we had to go to Hymel’s on Thursday night to eat and hear the live band. Off we went, and were we in for a treat. I kept seeing these advertisements for boiled shrimp or boiled crab or boiled crawfish and I thought “How boring!” How wrong I was. When we arrived, they told us that the special was boiled shrimp and that this was the first night of the year that they were serving crawfish. They laughed at us a bit when we asked what crawfish were but then they brought us some to sample and we realized that when they boil the seafood it is not just in water, but in a spicy seasoned broth. And again, we say WOW! Crawfish look like a tiny little lobster and taste a bit like chicken. Seriously. Well…maybe fishy chicken. They have a chicken texture with a fish flavour. By the end of the meal we were deliciously dirty and fully satisfied. My wonderful husband even discovered that he likes shrimp, after a lifetime of professing to hate it. I heaved a happy sigh.
For those of you that know me, you will remember that I have a bit of a bowel issue. For those that were not “privy” to that information, you now know a little more about me than you ever wanted to. The reason I mention this is just to let you know that although amusing, no one can really blame the next little story on me because I have a problem. Someday I will be brave enough to share the Macy’s story and then you will really understand, but for now let’s just stick with what happened in Wal Mart. The kids were all exhausted and we needed a few groceries so I said I would run in and Michael could fuel up and wait with the kids in the truck. Unfortunately, the meal that we had just eaten was high in garlic, and garlic makes my bowels very angry. I made it through the whole shopping trip fine until I got to the checkout. I then realized there was no way that I would make it out to the truck to drop off the groceries and get back into the bathroom without ….well…without issues. So, I called Michael and he came in to grab the groceries and I trotted off to the can. I noticed when I got into the stall that it was disgustingly nasty and did my best to hover over the seat like mom taught me while making a mental not to complain to the Customer Service Desk. After finishing up I went to wash my hands and saw that even the sinks were horribly dirty. I was trying to keep from touching anything unnecessarily when I noticed a strange thing. Wal Mart in Baton Rouge had urinals in the ladies room. Oh! Maybe not so much the ladies room. I quickly got out before person in the next stall finished up and decided not to mention anything to the Customer Service staff. Sadly, this is the third time since we got into the USA that I have entered a Wal Mart men’s room. Mom says I should look before I leak and my Dad says that at least it wasn’t another Macy’s incident. Some day I will be brave enough to share that story, but not today my friends, not today.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
"I don't need an EMT, I need a SCREWDRIVER!"
While "living" in Tucson last week, we thought we should take a few days and check out some of their big tourist attractions. The first one that we hit was Colossal Caves. It is the biggest dry cave in America (I think) and the bats were on vacation for the cold winter months (ha-ha). We had a great time there and would totally go again.
We also went to the Tucson Children's Museum. Um...yeah. It was a children's museum. Eventually, rather than stab myself in the eye with a plastic vegetable in the shopping area, I went out to the truck, got my book, and spent the next hour curled up on a big cushy stool.
Michael took the kids to the Titan Missile Museum and the Pima Air and Space Museum. Both were huge hits with the kids and Michael both. I stayed home and gave myself a cut and colour, so yeah, I loved the day, too!
The icing on our Tucson Cake, however, was Old Tucson. We wanted to spend the whole day and get to see all of the shows there, so we got up early, packed our cooler lunch, and headed out. The first show that we saw was a gunfight. Little did we know, it introduced us to the actors that we would be following around all day. Those Old Tucson actors really work! We were suitably impressed by Billy the Kid' Shoot-Out and headed over to the hotel to watch the Can-Can Show.
Now, we have tried to raise our boys to not look at girls in a sexual way. We don't come out and say "Don't look at them in a sexual way, boys!" but for example, when Matt came home from the store at five years old telling us that he had seen the convenience store clerks boobies, we discouraged him from ever mentioning that again. Turns out, she was wearing a tank-top and Matt appreciates the female figure. Back to the topic...
We were sitting in the dimly lit room and this cute little actress came over and asked Matt what we were there for. That was the high point for him. After the other two performers joined her and they started bending over and shaking their ruffle bottomed bloomers around, my boys were done. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and turned to look at my darling male off-spring, only to find them both with their red cheeked faces pressed firmly to the table, looking anywhere but but at those fishnet clad, mile long legs. They spent the rest of the show waiting for us on the covered porch.
Michael, Abby and I stuck it out though. Near the end of the show, Miss Kitty said she needed a volunteer and I quickly volun-told my wonderful husband to dance with the pretty lady. Suffice it to say, my boys came by their blushing abilities honestly! He was SO cute!
The next event was the Medicine Show. We were quite early and were able to secure one of the three hay bails for our family to sit on. The kids were thrilled with our early arrival as they had lots of opportunity to interact with the actors. When the show started, they chose two people from the audience: one to bang a drum, and one to shake a tambourine. We thought they were already done choosing volunteers when the main actor said they needed someone to test the "medicine".
I heard a voice from behind say "This man has given me $10.00 to take..." and I started to laugh, seeing that he was right by Michael. I laughed until he finished his sentence "...his wife."
Anyone that knows me will realize that although highly embarrassing for me, Bipolar Betty tends to enjoy being on display. Things got a little crazy as things are prone to do, but in all, it was a good experience.
Then came the Antique Cars. I think almost every amusement park type thing has a ride like this. You get in your little car and drive it down a track. The kids really like this. On their second trip through the lineup, Michael and I decided to sit and enjoy the sun on one of the scattered benches.
As we were sitting there waiting for them to finish their ride, we heard Abby start to scream. I was quickly making my way through the maze that the cattle- I mean- kids line up in, when Andrew yelled to me that Abby's knee was stuck. The retired school teacher in line behind her tried to help and got slapped away for his troubles. I got to her and saw that she had wedged her knee in between two of the wooden slats in the fence.
I picked her up and tried to get her to straighten her leg so that the knee would pop out of the fence. No go. She did scream louder though. Yay! I, of course, then got the giggles. My kid was stuck in a fence, the ride attendants were busy doing their nails or something, we could not get the rails pulled apart and the screaming just kept on going. The school teacher looked at me all cracked up, winked, and said "Bit of a drama Queen, is she?"
Eventually, I pulled myself together enough to be able to yell at the attendants that my kid was stuck and she needed help. The girl looked like this was the moment she had been waiting for her entire life! She sprung to the phone and quickly explained the situation. Then she turned to me and said, "Don't worry, I've called an EMT! He's on his way!"
Are you kidding me? Now I am annoyed. "I don't need an EMT, I need a SCREWDRIVER!!!"
She claimed that she didn't have a one at which point Andrew, our oldest son, calmly pointed to the ceiling joist and said "Sure you do, right there!" (SO proud!)
It was the wrong type of screwdriver, but a middle aged passerby had heard me screeching like a fishmongers wife at the poor minimum wage worker and sauntered up, pulling his multi-use tool out of his belt pouch like John Wayne pulling his gun in one of the many movies he made in Old Tucson. You could almost here the good guy music playing. He flipped open his Allen wrench and made quick work of unscrewing the fence and releasing my panicked little girl, whose screams were still slow to abate.
We left right after this.
Matt, however, lost his wallet in the parking lot, so we were soon back to search. Someone took it though. I guess that Camo wallet with the Shamoo sticker and three bucks was too much of a prize for some poor soul to pass up.
My motto for visiting tourist attractions, or going to parties is "Always leave when you are having the most fun."
It didn't quite work out that was at Old Tucson, but still, a good time was had by all. OK... by most.
Did I mention that I forgot the buns when I packed our cooler lunch? Great day, huh!
We also went to the Tucson Children's Museum. Um...yeah. It was a children's museum. Eventually, rather than stab myself in the eye with a plastic vegetable in the shopping area, I went out to the truck, got my book, and spent the next hour curled up on a big cushy stool.
Michael took the kids to the Titan Missile Museum and the Pima Air and Space Museum. Both were huge hits with the kids and Michael both. I stayed home and gave myself a cut and colour, so yeah, I loved the day, too!
The icing on our Tucson Cake, however, was Old Tucson. We wanted to spend the whole day and get to see all of the shows there, so we got up early, packed our cooler lunch, and headed out. The first show that we saw was a gunfight. Little did we know, it introduced us to the actors that we would be following around all day. Those Old Tucson actors really work! We were suitably impressed by Billy the Kid' Shoot-Out and headed over to the hotel to watch the Can-Can Show.
Now, we have tried to raise our boys to not look at girls in a sexual way. We don't come out and say "Don't look at them in a sexual way, boys!" but for example, when Matt came home from the store at five years old telling us that he had seen the convenience store clerks boobies, we discouraged him from ever mentioning that again. Turns out, she was wearing a tank-top and Matt appreciates the female figure. Back to the topic...
We were sitting in the dimly lit room and this cute little actress came over and asked Matt what we were there for. That was the high point for him. After the other two performers joined her and they started bending over and shaking their ruffle bottomed bloomers around, my boys were done. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and turned to look at my darling male off-spring, only to find them both with their red cheeked faces pressed firmly to the table, looking anywhere but but at those fishnet clad, mile long legs. They spent the rest of the show waiting for us on the covered porch.
Michael, Abby and I stuck it out though. Near the end of the show, Miss Kitty said she needed a volunteer and I quickly volun-told my wonderful husband to dance with the pretty lady. Suffice it to say, my boys came by their blushing abilities honestly! He was SO cute!
The next event was the Medicine Show. We were quite early and were able to secure one of the three hay bails for our family to sit on. The kids were thrilled with our early arrival as they had lots of opportunity to interact with the actors. When the show started, they chose two people from the audience: one to bang a drum, and one to shake a tambourine. We thought they were already done choosing volunteers when the main actor said they needed someone to test the "medicine".
I heard a voice from behind say "This man has given me $10.00 to take..." and I started to laugh, seeing that he was right by Michael. I laughed until he finished his sentence "...his wife."
Anyone that knows me will realize that although highly embarrassing for me, Bipolar Betty tends to enjoy being on display. Things got a little crazy as things are prone to do, but in all, it was a good experience.
Then came the Antique Cars. I think almost every amusement park type thing has a ride like this. You get in your little car and drive it down a track. The kids really like this. On their second trip through the lineup, Michael and I decided to sit and enjoy the sun on one of the scattered benches.
As we were sitting there waiting for them to finish their ride, we heard Abby start to scream. I was quickly making my way through the maze that the cattle- I mean- kids line up in, when Andrew yelled to me that Abby's knee was stuck. The retired school teacher in line behind her tried to help and got slapped away for his troubles. I got to her and saw that she had wedged her knee in between two of the wooden slats in the fence.
I picked her up and tried to get her to straighten her leg so that the knee would pop out of the fence. No go. She did scream louder though. Yay! I, of course, then got the giggles. My kid was stuck in a fence, the ride attendants were busy doing their nails or something, we could not get the rails pulled apart and the screaming just kept on going. The school teacher looked at me all cracked up, winked, and said "Bit of a drama Queen, is she?"
Eventually, I pulled myself together enough to be able to yell at the attendants that my kid was stuck and she needed help. The girl looked like this was the moment she had been waiting for her entire life! She sprung to the phone and quickly explained the situation. Then she turned to me and said, "Don't worry, I've called an EMT! He's on his way!"
Are you kidding me? Now I am annoyed. "I don't need an EMT, I need a SCREWDRIVER!!!"
She claimed that she didn't have a one at which point Andrew, our oldest son, calmly pointed to the ceiling joist and said "Sure you do, right there!" (SO proud!)
It was the wrong type of screwdriver, but a middle aged passerby had heard me screeching like a fishmongers wife at the poor minimum wage worker and sauntered up, pulling his multi-use tool out of his belt pouch like John Wayne pulling his gun in one of the many movies he made in Old Tucson. You could almost here the good guy music playing. He flipped open his Allen wrench and made quick work of unscrewing the fence and releasing my panicked little girl, whose screams were still slow to abate.
We left right after this.
Matt, however, lost his wallet in the parking lot, so we were soon back to search. Someone took it though. I guess that Camo wallet with the Shamoo sticker and three bucks was too much of a prize for some poor soul to pass up.
My motto for visiting tourist attractions, or going to parties is "Always leave when you are having the most fun."
It didn't quite work out that was at Old Tucson, but still, a good time was had by all. OK... by most.
Did I mention that I forgot the buns when I packed our cooler lunch? Great day, huh!
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Cacti and Cowpie
Just in case you didn't know, or were wondering, or are not in my immediate circle of friends who know my every move, I am on a one year family vacation slash mission type trip with my husband and three children. I know that I should have probably just used a slash rather than writing the word slash, but I like doing things the hard way and it's my blog so I can do what I want to, so there.
So, for the past almost three weeks we have been in Arizona. We are all quite fascinated with the vegetation here. Lemme tell you...it is NOTHING like Saskatchewan. Let me also tell you, it is starkly beautiful. As a family, we are big fans of hiking. At least, we were big fans of hiking until today. I may never get Matthew out on the trails again.
I should clarify that by hiking, I mean nice meandering strolls though the great outdoors. Back home we would just drive around out in the country till I saw a stretch of forest that I was intrigued by, park the vehicle and go get a little lost. This always makes my husband very nervous. He likes to be in sight of the vehicle and be able to hear the sound of the road at all times. I like to be out of sight and hearing of all things except the birds and the bees and the flowers and the trees, free to drop trow and pee wherever the mood strikes me. We compromise by me telling him not to be a baby since I have never been seriously lost in the forest before and do not intend to start now and he moans and complains and follows me. I think he is just afraid of being lost alone and would rather be lost with me and the kids.
Since we have been in Tucson, we have all been loving this one cactus. It looks like a beautiful, fuzzy, drapey cactus over top of a really nice tree trunk. It is amazingly pretty and we had to get closer.
The whole area that we are staying in is open range. I had no idea what that meant, so I will enlighten you as well. (See, I am not merely entertaining, I am educational!) Open range means that cattle have the right of way. If you don't want cow pies in your front yard, it is up to you to put up a fence and keep them out. So if you can picture this, we are surrounded by acres and acres of cacti, mesquite, cattle and cowpies. I have no idea how the cattle survive. There is NO grass. How do they graze? The farmers must really be feeding them at home because they could not be surviving from forage alone. Sorry...chased a rabbit there. The point is that there are trails all around us. I am going to go out on a limb and say that they are cow trails. We found ... evidence... to support this theory.
We got out onto the first trail and had gone about five meters before we came on one of the wonder trees. Being a hands on type of gal, I immediately wanted to touch it. Abby and I cautiously stuck out our fingers in a type of "once bitten, twice shy" move, and found that they are almost soft. They did not poke at all.
Let me rephrase. They did not poke at all while they were on the plant. Something happens after they fall off though, that renders them near lethal weapons. As I was gently caressing the pretty pretty tree, Abby suddenly started screaming "Get it off me! Get it off me!"
I looked down and saw that she had three poky balls sticking out of her leg. I went to get them out of her leg and got them stuck into my hand. They seem to go in and then explode a little underneath your skin in such a way that they are stinking hard to get out. The last one that was stuck in her actually pulled her skin out in a little tent about two centimeters away from her leg. After we got all of the foreign objects removed from our skin we went back to the trailer, put on running shoes and set out again. We actually got some of the pokers stuck into the rubber parts of our shoes that we could not pull out and had to just break off.
It was very different to be out hiking in all of these poky, sharp objects when we were used to soft, mossy surfaces and soaring, evergreen trees. We followed several trails until we kind of cactus-ed ourselves into a corner. We were surrounded on every side and I had to admit defeat and say it was time to head home.
Shortly after we turned back Matt caught one of the poky balls hard in his shin. In a classically Matthew, knee jerk reaction, he reached down, slapped it out of his leg, and succeeded in slicing his hand open in several different spots. These cuts on his hand and leg then started pouring out blood. He was shrieking like he had been stabbed, which of course sent Michael and I into fits of poorly disguised laughter. We are, understandably, in the running for parents of the year. Matt is such an overly dramatic person that anyone would have been hard pressed not to laugh.
After all of the tears had been dried and the laughter had subsided, we resumed our trip out of the desert trap. Along the way I had some time to think about life and the things that go on in it. A lot of times, the things that are the most pleasing to our eyes, and that attract us the most are also the things that hurt us the most. All of us go through situations that hurt, but the most pain comes from the things that capture your attention or your heart and then turn around and bite you in the butt.
I guess the moral of the story is to remember that appearances can be deceiving. Be careful. You never know when something, or someone that attracts you in one way or another will cut, and removing the barbs is very painful.
Also, be careful where you step. Cowpie is tough to get out of shoe treads.
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