Library Way, New York City

I take joy in many small things.  I think it is a blessing, because life is truly made up of the little things, not the great ones.

There's a friend of mine, well, he and I have a complex relationship.  Yet hardly anyone makes me laugh as hard as he does.  He has a unique world view, a different way of expressing himself in words, and an innate sense of what makes me tick.

One night, he gave me a beautiful gift.  He teaches in the City.  Which one, you ask?  For those of us from NY there is only one.  I like to hear the song of the city through his cell phone, the sound of "Fordham Station, Fordham Station is next," and the clickety clack of the Metro North trains on the tracks.  The sirens, the rush of noise and activity, the ducking in a diner for a cup of cawwwwfee, as New Yorkers say.  All of it is beautiful and sentimental to me because it means "home."

One night he was walking along here and describing it to me.  For all the hundred, no probably thousands now, of miles I have walked in NY, I'd never even heard of this place:

The street sign evokes memories of quiet rooms in towns in NY and CT, cool and dim with radiators that would suddenly clang, making me jump.  There was that indefiniable musty smell of old books and paste, that hushed air that is nearly like church, but not exactly.  The promise of a new (to me) author, the thrill of finding a new treasure from the pen of an old friend. My love affair with words and books began in the library.

I loved the old card catelogs, the purple ink pad, the metal stamp with the date, month, and year that always meted out the time in biweekly intervals, the thump and click of the date marked into the borrowed book, and the snap when the librarian closed the volume shut.

He started reading the words of famous writers which are marked into the sidewalk that New Yorkers walk over, most of them hurrying, also on cell phones but oblivious to the treasure trod underfoot.  I was entranced.  He read all the way back to the train station.  That was last year.  The other night, he read this one to me

Isak Dinesen was the pen name of Baroness Karen Blixen, a member of the Danish aristocracy.  I think I write, like she did, to secure the past; to secure it, so I don't forget it.  Maybe this is what all bloggers do. We secure the past or perhaps it is that we secure the present, we fix it, mark it down to be able to look back at it as it passes and never lose it.

Karen Blixen was portrayed in film by Meryl Streep, in Out of Africa, one of my favorite movies.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rtX9iNlopbk

Sometimes I have a childish way of wanting to jump ship when I get frustrated in a conversation.  I say, "Peace Out" when I mean anything but.  I get teased about it.  I deserve it, I should be more grown up.  I was getting teased about it just today so I designed my own Library Way in front of 256:

Going Beyond Pics of my Latest Clever Creation

I don’t know if anyone is even reading this anymore, but I’ve struggled with why I haven’t posted.  Some of it is because there have been some troubles in my life that perhaps I didn’t feel would be edifying to others. 

The silliest perspective I had was, “Gee, what kind of pics do you take to illustrate that you feel totally frozen and have no idea what to do next?”  A big ice cube?  The inside of my freezer, illustrating that for several months I kept buying whole wheat tortillas for no apparent reason?  Cinco de Mayo?  A need to use up cilantro?  An attempt to prove my multicultural perspective? Who knows?  Maybe a picture of a dog, well, dog paddling…not sinking, but not going anywhere, either.  I have no idea.

I’m not as adorable in print as Frugal Girl.  I’m not as spiritual as Debra from As I See It Now.  I definitely cannot change my disposition by increasing my hot chocolate intake like she does.  I would need an IV morphine drip or an aerial spray of Prozac from a crop duster flying over my house for that.   Yeah, that might just work.

I’m not as whimsical as Judy at Anybody Home, but then who is? I don’t take pics as well as Brenda at Cozy Little House. Nobody is as talented as Daisy Cottage Kim and that’s the truth fo’ real fo’ real, as the kids I mentor used to say.  I wish she still wrote that blog, but I think something broke her heart.  Now she takes exquisite pics of sad swans.  I miss her cheerful red mirrors, grandma furniture, and back porch wash day posts.

I’m not cozy with a full pantry like Brenda at Coffee, Tea, Books, and Me.  I can’t abide mixing prints like Kasmira at What I Wore Today.  I’m not willowy like the writer at Not Dead Yet Style.  I am not as cool as Alex at Living the Small Life who can turn leftovers into some truly amazing fare. Should I even bother to continue blogging about anything?

All this finally brought me back to a book, now out of print, by Karen Burton Mains.  The book is a number of essays published as one volume.  I can hear the shouts of glee from all of you now, “Please, we’ve missed Thoreau and Emerson.  Give us MORE ESSAYS!”  

This is the kind of book that it is worth ordering from Amazon used.  It is called, “Karen, Karen…One Woman’s Response to the Whispers of God.”  Karen’s big deal book is “Open Heart, Open Home,” but I think the out of print book is her masterpiece.  I better order one and beat you to the punch because mine is now in three pieces.

Karen loved decorating her home with flea market and vintage finds just as I do.  And one day, as she was seeking out God and doing her housewife thing, she felt Him move in her heart saying, “Karen, do you want the most cleverly eclectic house in the whole church or do you want to know Me?”

And that’s what I’ve been hearing from God lately myself.  He’s not so interested in my latest coffee filter wreath. We are downsizing.  I feel God right straight out telling me that I only need to go to Goodwill to drop stuff off.  My house makes my husband feel comfortable in it and it speaks about who we are to others.  That’s huge.  I’m all for that, but I don’t think that God particularly wants me to try to emulate another blogger, or have pics as lovely as hers, or to try to have the most cleverly eclectic house on Constitution Avenue.  He wants me to know Him.

A Window Box...Finally

I think it must have been over twenty-five years ago when I read a book by Alexandra Stoddard in which she described her first apartment in New York City.  I was charmed to read that she had window boxes on the inside of her first little home.  If I remember correctly, she filled them with red geraniums at one point and also with blue hyacinths.  She had a tight budget at that time, but flowers were more important to her than lunch, which she would do without to buy the flowers.   Ever since then, I've had the idea of a window box hung on the inside of a window in the back of my mind.

You may recognize the window box as my Papa's tool box.  Before that, the tool box belonged to my grandfather, Jimmy Dunn.  Pop was an amazing man who used to dance with us standing on his feet.  He started out life as an orphan who worked in the mines in Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania at age 7.  They liked to use young children as labor because their hands were small enough to reach into crevices where adult hands couldn't fit.  He went on to be his high school class valedictorian to college to graduate school to teaching to school administration.  He wrote and edited math textbooks.  He loved his wife dearly, his family, the children he taught, and ice cream.

I'm not too sure whether he got the paint on the tool box or my Papa, either one of them is fine with me. I also have my Pop's Scottie dog tie tack (all the rage during FDR's administration when Fala, his little Scottie, was in the news), a cool key and ring from The Owl Pub where he worked a second job to help put my mother and uncle through college, and his high school year book.

The window box is in my kitchen nook area.  The red glasses were a wedding present to Nana and Pop.  They look like juice glasses, but they were actually for wine. You can see the Art Deco influence on them. 

The wooden heart on the window is an odd thing.  I was walking my dogs on Sandpiper Drive one day and there were some wooden-handled kitchen tools, an amazing red checked apron with black cross stitching, and that heart in the gutter.  I guess they fell out of a garbage can on pick up day. 

When I saw the red tulips in Walmart last night, I had to put them in my new window box.  I must go, my dog's boyfriend is banging at the back door.  He wants to see Lulu and have a cookie, not necessarily in that order.

Getting Ready for Snow Yeehaw!

Do you have any friends who live in Florida?  I do.  One of the things they seem to delight in at this time of year is telling someone who lives further north what the temperature is.  Do you know what?  I don't care!

I confess it; I love snow.  Perhaps this love is kindled by the fact that we in Virginia rarely see it.  However, I've loved the snow since I was a kid in East Hartford and in New York.  I would make snow angels and forts with my brother.  We had a wonderful long driveway in East Hartford which started up higher, curved down around our Tudor-style 1920's home and ended at the double doors to the garage.  What a wild ride on our red-trimmed wooden sleds and round silver saucers!  We would come in red cheeked, with cold-pink hands for Campbells chicken noodle soup with Saltines crushed on top.

Lulu is all ready for the snow.  I think dog clothes are absurd for the most part and absurdly expensive.  However, my little peanut has very short hair and she gets cold.  I looked at an appropriate-sized coat at PetSmart but was staggered at the price.  Later the same day, I went to Old Navy and found this jacket on sale at Old Navy.  Apparently Lulu is a size 3 Toddler.  The sleeves have to be short enough that she doesn't fall over them and the business end needs to be clear of fabric.  This jacket was perfect and the cost was under $5.

Winter and yet...

By this time each year, all of us are totally over winter.  I consider camellias a true blessing, since they bravely bloom during the coldest Virginia months.  In fact, it seems that they thrive on the colder weather.

These white camellias are perhaps less spectacular, but more beautiful in a purer sense.

I found a few of these purple flowers sheltering near the back door under a rose bush. I'm not sure why a few of these are blooming...perhaps just a gift from nature to make me smile.

And The Great Reorganization/Downsizing Continues

I’ve been determined to make the renovation to 256 as low to no-cost as possible.  In the process, I’ve realized that I have a lot of storage areas that I haven’t used very effectively.  Canisters and vintage containers abound, mostly empty.  Now they are for show, and as they say in the Navy, stowage.  For example, the large tin you see on the upper left with the Dutch children holds a lot of stuff.

One of my first steps has been reorganizing in the kitchen.  We’re back eating in there on an old enamel table from the 30’s with a drawer to store the silverware with an oil lamp sitting on a lap quilt on top.  Love it.

Here’s my reorganized spice area, inside my $99 Goodwill Hoosier cabinet that I saw on line for $2,500.  The little “risers” that give me twice as much room in the back were once part of a kindergarten play set used at the 1920’s school across the street.  When the school closed, the city was going to tear it down.  My neighborhood banded together, Sun Trust Bank bought it, and now it is an elderly apartment building.  I grabbed some of the wooden play sets and the kindergarten cubbies off the big junk pile.  The old wooden refrigerator from a kitchen play area in one classroom holds towels in my downstairs bathroom.

Here’s a little “office area” where we also brew coffee.  The red and blue wooden boxes on the bottom are the kindergarten cubbies.  I like to think of all the gold stars and red smiley faces on the purple mimeographed papers that were returned to students in them.

Here is the area where we will divide the house into an upstairs/downstairs apartment situation.  The stairwell will be covered with a wall and the upstairs person will use the door you see with the ladder in front of it.  Only the ladder will be on our side of the house, then.  We will continue to use the front door.

I felt myself being so fascinated reading blog after website about tiny homes and downsizing, not knowing why.  God was preparing me and I can’t wait to see what He does next.

Half of 256

We’re making some changes at 256, inspired by some of you out there who have downsized to a smaller house.

The house at 256 started off life as the Shea family's house.  During World War II, Portsmouth had a severe housing shortage, as the shipyard worked feverishly three shifts per day, seven days a week. The patriotic thing to do was to take in boarders or divide your home up into apartments. The Shea family did its best to help.  The house remained as two apartments, one up and one down,until a family in the early 80’s reunited it back into a one-family house.  However 256 remained zoned as a two-family house and the electrical meters were never changed back to one.

You know where this is going, right?  We are going to recreate the apartment on the second floor and move into just our first floor.   All we need to do is put up one wall and turn our huge closet upstairs into a kitchen again.  This little pantry area above is an old Victrola case I found left out for the garbage man. The turntable is missing, but that's where I have my cansiters on top.  Underneath, the two doors fold to each side.  There's a lot of room for canned goods.

As part of phase one, I set up a nook so that the kitchen is eat-in once again.  Not only is this an efficient use of space, but it also uses my beloved church pew which I absolutely cannot part with.  I like to think of all the other people who sat in the pew and prayed while I sit in the same spot doing my devotions.

Red Barn

There's something about a red barn as I drive past

Sturdy, permanent, built to last

Bright painted red it makes me smile

While another sags grey down a half a mile

An Online Survey I Liked

,

The author, Alexandra Stoddard, writes a monthly newsletter published on her website.  In February's issue, she included a series of questions that a newspaper reporter from Rhode Island asked her.

http://www.alexandrastoddard.com/newsletter.asp   

Here are my answers

Age: 50
Occupation: Managing Editor, Law Enforcement Today
Residence:  Portsmouth, VA
Born, Raised & Grew Up in:  Hartford, East Hartford, Greater New York City area
Favorite way to spend my time: writing
Proudest accomplishment: Earning my MCJ (Master’s Degree, Criminal Justice)
What I hope to be remembered for: the people whose lives I’ve influenced.
Top Item on my bucket list: Living in New York City for a year.
What I wanted to be when I grew up: A television news reporter.
Person or experience that has influenced me the most: my childhood

Favorite book/author: The Gentle Ways of the Beautiful Woman
Anne Ortlund
Last book read: The Prize Winner of Defiance Ohio.
Favorite song: Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood”
Favorite movie: Moonstruck
Favorite TV Show:  Bluebloods
Favorite pet: Lulu
Favorite food: potatoes in any form
Amount of time I spend a day on Facebook:  less than five minutes
Trait I most admire: Compassion
Pet peeve: Arbitrary rules
Favorite quotation: “If your everyday life seems poor, don’t blame it, blame yourself, for you are not poet enough to call forth its riches."  Ranier Rilke
My favorite thing about our little corner of the world:  the river and the sea

Can't live without: Starbucks
Little known fact about me: I’m actually an introvert.
Best advice I've ever received: "Anne, the only time that you won’t be criticized is when you do nothing. Decide what the right thing to do is and do it.” 

Master Chief Edwin T. Yamashiro, Command Master Chief, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii
Advice I best like to give:  Life’s lessons repeat themselves until you get it right.
If I ruled the world I would:  Be the sunshine in your universe.
If I won the lottery, the first thing I would do is: get up to use the restroom because I would be dreaming.

I drive a: black Honda Accord
Always in my fridge: a large jar of dill pickles that has been in there for about 8 years.
If I could have dinner and a conversation with anyone in the world, past or present, I would choose: Jesus and I'd have him choose the wine

Hint of Spring

The weather was so unseasonably warm tonight.  Even though I rode my bike earlier today, I drove over to Norfolk through the tunnel with Lulu to take a walk this evening.  The Ghent neighborhood is eclectic, a my kind of place with an Orthodox Jewish community, trendy shops, unique stores, and a wonderful coffee house called Café Stella. 

Lulu and I walked under the street lights and past the neon lights of restaurants, past the Donut Dinette, past people in outdoor seating at pubs – giddy with the warmth of the unexpected rush of a spring evening in bleak mid-winter. 

Down 21^st Street we walked, past the tiny ballet students, hard at work, all pink and black leotards with little froths of tutus like frosting on cupcakes.  First position, second position, plie, hands on the barre, arms curved gracefully overhead.  Degas on a warm February night.

Never Underestimate the Power of a Few

They miss my friend Nancy on her home planet.  I say that only affectionately, because I treasure her and value her intellect.  But she is different.  She calls God “the Matrix.” Nancy dyes her hair with black walnuts.  Nicknamed Tink, for Tinkerbelle, she is an animated under five feet tall dynamo who looks at least 15 years younger than she is.  If you have an ailment, Nancy has the natural remedy and it works. 

When I first moved here, we had a blighted block of Section-8 housing at the entrance to the neighborhood that looked horrendous.  Nancy vowed that a linear park could go there, after we took that block down through the civic league.  People looked at her like she had two heads.  Look at that block twelve years later.  We call it Scotts Creek Park.

I don’t talk much about my civic involvement in Portsmouth here on the blog.  I’m blessed to live in a neighborhood where a few can make a difference.  So when Nancy called me and said that we had to do something about a proposal to build a sulfur processing plant with two 150 foot smokestacks on the Elizabeth River near my house, I listened. 

Not to get into a big discussion, but sulfur goes on fire very easily, so companies dampen it when processing to reduce the risk.  Mr. Paquette told me that some day I'd need the periodic table, so I should pay attention in chemistry class.  He was right.  I had to look up the process, but sulfur+water=sulfuric acid, right on a river.  Not good.   However, never underestimate the power of stealthy, middle-aged co-conspirators.

We even surprised even ourselves as other civic leaders from several communities came on board.  In three weeks, the following headline appeared in the local paper:

Company Drops Portsmouth in Plans for Sulfur Plant

http://hamptonroads.com/2012/01/company-drops-portsmouth-plans-sulfur-plant

Do you ever feel like you are one person and you can’t do too much?  It isn’t true.  As Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever does.”

Weekly Menu Plan

I cook almost everything we eat, whether it is consumed on the road to work, at work, or at home.  I'm getting on the bandwagon and posting my menus along with Frugal Girl and a lot of others.  Pic courtesy of Cooking in the country.

Menu Plan Monday

Monday

B – steel cut oatmeal, cranberries

L – eggs, turkey sausage, potatoes

D – chicken stir fry, brown rice, cucumber salad

Tuesday

B - steel cut oatmeal, apples

L – turkey soup, cucumber salad, fruit

D – chili, cabbage winter salad, cornbread

Wednesday

B - steel cut oatmeal, frozen fruit

L – chili, cabbage winter salad

D – Impossible broccoli pie http://www.food.com/recipe/impossible-broccoli-pie-37876, peas, baked yams

Thursday

B – egg sandwich, sliced oranges

L–  impossible broccoli pie, peas

D – split pea soup,  Texas toast, deviled eggs.

Friday

B -  steel cut oatmeal, frozen fruit

L – deviled eggs, split pea soup

D – baked potatoes stuffed with turkey and gravy, spinach, cabbage salad

Saturday

B -  egg sandwiches, sliced oranges

L – baked potatoes stuffed with turkey and gravy, sliced apples

D – chicken parmesan, spinach, pasta

Sunday

B -  oatmeal, frozen fruit

L –  chicken parmesan, peas

D – homemade pizza with caramelized onions and two cheeses, sautéed cabbage

http://orgjunkie.com/2012/01/menu-plan-monday-jan-2312-menu-planning-with-picky-eaters.html

How My Mammogram Turned into Flat Stanley

Okay, you know who Flat Stanley is, yes?  Flat Stanley is an idea to help children understand travel and to feel closer to those who are away.  FS, as his hip close friends like me call him, started out as a children’s book in the 1960’s.  In this charming book, a kid helps his father create a bulletin board full of pics and then dreams about the activity later.  As FS, instead of the real child, he had all kind of adventures in his dreams. 

Sometimes a kindergarten class creates an FS and sees how far he can travel with relatives of class members or with the kids themselves.  My brother-in-law took FS to Kiev in the former Soviet Union when he was on a mission trip.  FS can also travel with Mommy while she deploys to the Middle East.

Here’s FS with his good friend the former President of the United States:

What does this have to do with a breast cancer scare?  When the Naval Hospital called me in December to advise that I had an abnormal mammogram, I was not scheduled for a follow up until after Christmas.  Happy holidays to me.

What’s a girl to do?  She calls her father.  My father is the former Connecticut Commissioner of Public Health, an Ivy League graduate and physician who now works in Hartford Hospital’s clinic for lower-income people.  Dad says that’s where God wants him.  He could be golfing and sitting on the boat, but I digress.   Dad said, “send the film up by Federal Express.  I’ll have a radiologist look at it.  It is probably nothing.”  For long-term blog readers, the father who died back a year and a half ago, Papa, was my stepfather.

UPS was closer and I sent the CD off.  I double-checked the address.  Both the lady who provided me with the CD (they call it film, though) and the sweet UPS employee who wrapped and addressed it, prayed with me.  And if you don’t think it is a miracle to have a Navy employee pray with you unbidden in a military facility, you don’t know much about God working incognito.  

And that’s when the adventure of FS aka the mammogram CD began.  My mammogram traveled all over the Greater Hartford area.  They tried to deliver it to an office which my father had ten years ago in another town.  They tried to deliver it to the State Health Department.  They tried to deliver it to my uncle.  He’s a dentist, so he was confused.    I tried to have them deliver it to my father’s house, but they insisted that his address was the police department.  It wasn’t.   My father suggested that it might turn up at Shady Glen, where we used to go for mocha chip ice cream, or Sunset Ridge Elementary School where I enjoyed my grammar school days.

The problem?  There is no suite number at the clinic where my father works.  The facility takes up the entire second floor.   Apparently UPS needs a suite number or maybe a busy driver didn’t want to walk up the stairs. Did you know that when you sign the UPS form to send a package, you also sign off on their policy that if they think that they can deliver your package to a better address to reach your addressee, they will!  How do I know this?  They told me at the legal department at UPS corporate headquarters in Atlanta. 

I talked to everyone at UPS in late December.  Seriously, I think I did.  The crew over there in India who handle incoming calls.  Namaste, guys!  The group at the Hartford office.  One woman there was especially delightful when she told me that it was the busiest day of the year for her and she needed to get off the phone.  

It is nearly impossible for me to understand how we can have such a high unemployment rate in this country and have folks who have jobs act like this. Had another interesting call with Mike, her supervisor, who fixed the problem and told me what a pill she is. 

Bottom line?  Five days after I mailed it express, the CD arrived at the Hartford Hospital clinic.  Diagnosis?  It was nothing. 

I enjoyed my holiday knowing that I was cancer free.  I had a follow up at the Naval Hospital which confirmed my Flat Stanley diagnosis.  The roses and lilies from UPS Corporate that lasted into the New Year were gorgeous. UPS is really sorry for my inconvenience.

Thank you, God.

More Than Enough

I had a “routine” cancer screening last week.  On Friday night, after 8 p.m. I had an incoming call with the Naval Hospital exchange listed. I felt my heart stop for a minute.  They don’t call you at 8 p.m. from the Naval Hospital to say, “Hey, Annie, thanks for being such a great patient and have a Merry Christmas.” There’s a problem with that test which I have to wait to unravel until after the first of the year.

For a few hours, the ground under my feet gave way.  I wasn’t up for more health challenges.  Finally I dug into Psalm 46, you know, the one that says, “Be still and know that I am God.”  That has been a much loved verse for many years.  As I read through that Psalm and took in the study notes, I had a revelation. 

“Be still and know that I am God,” sounds gentle.  The original Hebrew words for “be still” are a bit different.  The study notes told me that what God actually said was an imperative that would sound something like this.  ENOUGH!  Enough!  I am God.

That Word from God dried up my tears and hiccupping pretty quickly.   Those words were just the same as a parent would say to a child in the midst of a tantrum or to unruly children making entirely too much noise.  ENOUGH!  My mother and father have both said that to me many times.

Does He say “ENOUGH” to us because He can’t deal with us for one more minute?  No.  He says “ENOUGH” because He wants us to hear what comes next.  “I am God.”  Stop your panic.  Stop your noise.  Stop your tears.  ENOUGH! I am God.

All of You is more than enough for all of me
For every thirst and every need
You satisfy me with Your love
And all I have in You is more than enough

(Chris Tomlim sings it a lot better than I do.)

Chris Tomlin More Than Enough

Be Still and Know That I Am God

Papa's Jacket

It was my Papa's birthday at the end of last week.  I was out at my Mom's in Williamsburg on Wednesday taking some things to Goodwill.  In preparation for this post, I took the pic you see above.  The problem was, I just couldn't sit down to write about it.

This is Papa's jacket, where he left it that last time he left Williamsburg and went back to Atlanta for more treatment.  We all kind of stroke it when we walk past, a visible talisman; a touchstone of the person who never has really left us in our thoughts.

When I wrote his eulogy, I put in a section about how much I would miss his coffee.  He made the best coffee, infused with either cinnamon or allspice.  I'd look forward to having it every time we were together.  When I wrote his eulogy, I mentioned that it was a blessing that the last time he handed me a cup, I didn't know it really was going to be the last time.

I did pretty well during the eulogy, but when I looked down at my notes about the coffee, I knew that I couldn't get through that part.  In order to maintain my compsure, I skipped it.   That thing about the "last time" really gets to me.  I know where he is, but I really miss him. Who knew that the last time he hung his Williamsburg jacket on the hook that it was really going to be the last time?

I mean, brethren, the appointed time has been winding down and it has grown very short.
1 Corinthians 7:29, Amplified version

Lessons About God from a Dog

I have struggled for my entire life to understand the love of God.  There, I said it.  For various reasons, I have often been overwhelmed with my concept of myself, a flawed human being, loved despite all my mistakes by a perfect God.

I know all the theology involved, but there is a difference between comprehending something in your head and feeling something deep within your being.  I understand objectively that Jesus has already paid the price for my sin, but my innate ability to be incredibly hard upon myself causes me to feel separated from God’s love a lot of the time.  Mind you, I could tell any one of you reading this why you are always loved by God.  I could cite the correct chapters and verses, but inside I’ve often felt that they applied to everyone but me.

God has presented me with lessons over the years which helped me better understand Him and his everlasting love for me, but I just couldn’t take it on board.  And then God sent Lulu.

I’ve had some great dogs; Alex, Maxine, Lupa, Little Bit, Francis, and now Lulu, the best gift of them all.  Lulu doesn’t do a lot of tricks.  She sits and she walks well on the leash.  Lulu looks adorable and everyone who sees her loves her.  Like most of the best things in life, she was free.  A neighbor called me and asked me to come look at the stray dogs in her yard.  One of them was Lulu.

God has truly used Lulu in my life to help me understand His unconditional love.  You see, sometimes Lulu does bad stuff.  She doesn’t mean to, she just can’t help digging big holes in the yard.  When she digs, she tracks in unbelievable amounts of dirt that I have to sweep up.  Much like God has to sweep up after me.

Last week, she decided to dig the pillow top thingey on top of the mattress.  There was “memory foam” everywhere and a guilty little dog licking her lips while I stood there saying, “Did you do THAT?”

But here’s the deal.  I didn’t love her any less.  I know her heart.  I know she loves me and she wants to please me.  She sometimes has a hard time controlling her impulses, but her heart is in the right place. 

When Lulu loves on you, she just leans into your chest, rests her head on your shoulder, and puts her whole weight on you.  This is what God wants me to do with Him.  Then He says, “Good girl.”  He knows my heart. It took a stray white dog to teach me that.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love.”  Jeremiah 31:3

The Ick Factor

It’s the story, of a crufty bathtub which was growing nasty mold upon the grout…(to the musicians, sing to the tune of “Brady Bunch”)

Okay, my bathtub has ISSUES.  My house is almost one hundred years old and the tub is nearly that old.  Not charming, claw footed, and Victorian old.  Just old.   I looked into replacing it, but the length is smaller than is standard today.  There is a slender wall that separates it from the commode which cannot be removed without the ceiling coming down.  I said commode because I think it sounds more genteel than toilet.

I had the tub refinished which worked well for ten years. Then the grout between the tub and the tile got icky.  Icky is a professional plumbing term.  I tried everything to clean it.  Then I asked the handier member of the house to take over.   The project just kind of sat because he’s kinda busy.  Then he happened upon a product that is a sort of a tape which can replace traditional grout.  Eureka.

Only it wasn’t applied right and kept peeling off.  The grout underneath was ickier than ever.  So I pulled the tape off.  I shut my mouth about the public housing project appearance in my tub, cleaning it as best I could.  Finally I asked that it be scheduled for repair. Three months later an expert job was done that looks like this.

Okay, are you kidding me?

What is up with that color?                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

So I went nuts over the two-year bathtub saga with my good friend, Terry.  She gave me wise words of reason.  Finally, I addressed the “plumber” saying “Hey awesome job that you did on the tub.  I was so blessed by not seeing the nasty grout this morning.  What was your thinking about the color?”

“That’s the only color it comes in.”

“No, I just went to Lowes, they sell it in white.  They were just out of stock.  You got the color they call “biscuit.”

“Biscuit was a color?”

“Yeah, what did you think?”

“I thought biscuit referred to the round shape the roll of tape came in.”

Seriously?

This post brought to you by “Men Are From Mars, Women are From Venus” and the exclamation “arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

On The Fifth Day of December My Friend Nancy Gave To Me…

The last vegetables from her garden…festively

Aren’t we lucky to have such a long growing season here in the Tidewater area of Virginia?  My friends are such a blessing to me.  Look at this basket of vegetables, looking very holly jolly and Christmas-y in red and green.  I made potato leek soup from that basket and used the green peppers in baked ziti that I brought to the civic league meeting last night. And I still have some vegetables left over!

I always get creative when my mother or a friend blesses me with something from the store.  They often give me things I don’t ordinarily buy, like leeks in Nancy’s case or citron in my mother’s.  That citron looks like some crazy thing from another planet, but it smelled exotically wonderful and tasted even better used with a chicken recipe. 

The unusual items get my creative juices flowing.  This makes me think that I should be more adventurous at the grocery store and buy my own unusual items from time to time.

We all have ruts of thinking, ruts in cooking, and ruts in our routine.  So shake it up.  Buy something new to try like parsnips or garam masala or a different type of flavored coffee.  Mix up your Bible reading and devotional time.  I had my devotions outside today, because the temperature is in the 70’s.  God makes all things new again, but we can cooperate, get with His program, and try something out of the usual routine.