Posts Categorized: Self-Control

And . . . I Got in Trouble at the Grocery Store

| Patience, Peace, Self-Control

Plenty of eggs at this visit, compared to last time, when there wasn’t an egg to be had.

We needed milk. Also, I’d found a recipe for dinner that I thought I could easily make. I included those ingredients, along with milk, on a short list of things, picked up my recycle bags, and headed off to HEB. I did go at 8:30 a.m., thinking that the shelves wouldn’t be quite as depleted as they’d been when I went in the late afternoon a few days earlier.

The raw eggs are gone, but here, just to the left of the sign, are packages of hard-cooked eggs. Yay! And, quite obviously, is the sign that says, “Limit 2.

Things have really settled down, compared to a few days ago, and there was plenty of parking, close and near the door. The store was busy but not crowded, and I quickly made my way to the aisles where I needed to shop. I put carrots and sugar snap peas in my cart. The canned things I needed were there. The ground beef was there. The milk was there.

When I’d gotten eggs (yes! there were eggs) a couple of days earlier, I’d looked for the packages of hard-cooked eggs that are usually in the egg area. Nope. But, since I was now at the store ‘way earlier than before, I went to look. And, yes. TA-DAH! There were packages of them. I got a couple, and, while I was there, I went ahead and got another carton of the eggs I like to buy.

I stopped in an empty aisle to check how many items I’d gotten. I like to use the self check-out (there’s usually less waiting time), and, there’s a limit of 10 items. Exactly what I had in my cart.

There was absolutely no waiting time; most folks had fully-loaded carts and were in lines at the regular check-outs. I pushed my cart over to a self-checkout slot, put my recycle bag on the shelf, and started scanning my groceries.

After a few items, things stalled, and an HEB employee came over to see what the problem was. (There’s always an employee there to straighten out various self-check snafus.) She looked at my groceries and pointed out that I’d tried to purchase too many eggs.

I’d missed the sign. And, really, even if I’d seen the sign,  I’d have assumed that raw eggs and bagged cooked eggs were different products. FYI-they are not two different products. She let me choose which egg product had to be removed. And I apologized and apologized and apologized some more as I gave her the carton of eggs. I’m not generally a rule-breaker, and I really didn’t know, and I was really sorry. She was not at all angry; I suppose she’d had to confront, gently, other shoppers about too many total items, or too little cash, or too many eggs.

 

 

Keep your temper under control; it is foolish to harbor a grudge.

Ecclesiastes 7:9 (Good News Translation)

 

And there you go.

Ah, Yes. The New Normal

| Patience, Peace, Self-Control

On a regular Sunday morning, David gets up early and leaves the house early. He’s the open-up guy at church. He gets there long before anyone else, turns on the lights, checks the climate controls (which are pretty much automatic), fills some coffee pots, and then waits in the foyer to let in early arrivers, like the musicians and singers. I don’t get to church really early, but, the older I get, the longer it takes to straighten up and put away things in my Preschool Sunday School room, and then put out supplies and equipment for that Sunday’s time. I might need to trade out puzzles, laminate something, use the large paper cutter in the Resource Room to cut and trim things, and fold up the previous weeks paintings, now dry, and put them in kid’s cubbies, to be sent home.

That’s a normal Sunday. I’m rather looking forward to a normal Sunday, and hope one comes along in my lifetime.

Last Sunday, we just didn’t quite know what to do. David got up and read the Sunday paper. I got up and checked e-mail and did an online crossword puzzle and waited until 9:00, when the pharmacy at Target opens up. I went over there and asked for a prescription to be renewed. Then, I wandered over to the toilet paper aisle, just to see what the situation was. There was a sign that said “One to a customer.” Many folks were hauling around large 12-roll packages in their carts. Even though I’d checked our supply and found it plentiful, I went ahead and got a 4-roll package, just because it seemed as though I should. Our local Target has a limited amount of fresh food, and things were looking rather sparse there, but, otherwise–pretty normal.

We’d gotten e-mails from church saying that the staff decided to not open the church on Sunday, wanting to be careful of the health of us all. But, we could worship together, at home, with Facebook Live. At 10:45, there would be a check-in time, and then, at 11:00, we’d have a brief worship time together. It worked. As a congregation, we watched and listened, together, a sermon, a prayer, a blessing. All from our preacher’s living room. And, as everyone signed on, we could see their names popping up, as we prepared to worship together. Not quite as good as being together, but almost.

We’ll be doing church that way again in a couple of days, and, possibly, probably, for a few more, or many more, Sundays.

Meanwhile, the HEB grocery store has shortened their store hours, to provide additional stocking time for all those shelves that are being emptied so quickly. The store now opens at 8:00 a.m. and closes at 8:00 p.m. I’d seen, in the newspaper, a photo of a long line of people, standing behind grocery carts, waiting for the store to open. They did seem to be quite patient; maybe they were just posing for the camera.

Wednesday, I drove to the post office to drop off several envelopes (feeling sorry for the mail carrier, and wanting to lighten his load a little bit). On my way back home, I drove by the HEB. It was about 8:30 a.m. I was quite flabbergasted. I had never, never, ever seen the like. The parking lot was entirely full. Every parking slot had a car in it. Astonishing.

I did make a foray into HEB on Thursday, late afternoon, hoping to find eggs. I was surprised to see lots and lots of fresh food; and I purchased some. There weren’t tons and tons of people; just the normal amount, and no one was pushing or shoving or fighting over anything. I did walk by the paper goods aisle, just to see, and it was empty. Few things seems completely gone (well, except for eggs; I guess I’m going to have to go earlier if I want them). There was ice cream and a variety of frozen foods, lots of meat, a good variety of crackers and cookies, milk, yogurt, and cream cheese. I’m pretty certain we’re not going to starve, unless you’re on an egg-only diet.

I did make a quick stop at Target, just in case not many Target customers were into eggs. No luck. But, I did purchase some blueberries.

 

I know what it is to be in need and what it is to have more than enough. I have learned this secret, so that anywhere, at any time, I am content, whether I am full or hungry, whether I have too much or too little. I have the strength to face all conditions by the power that Christ gives me.

Philippians 4:12-13 (Good News Translation)

 

I don’t think I’ve quite learned the secret of always being content. But, I’m trying to move towards that goal.

 

 

 

Books

| Self-Control

My sister writes in books. She underlines words and paragraphs, to help her remember important points and to be able to locate significant passages. When she was visiting a few months ago, she picked up a book of mine and started reading it. She didn’t have time to finish it, and I said she certainly could take it home with her. And she said, no, it was the sort of book that she would want to underline and write in, and she would just get a copy of her own.

Some folks write in their books. I’m probably at a disadvantage because I don’t. When I think about a passage in a book that I’d like to re-read, or think about more significantly, I’m at a loss, because I’d end up having to read most of the book all over again, because I didn’t highlight passages that were important.

But I guess I’m reluctant to write in books because I was always told to take good care of books and handle them well and, really, don’t write in them! Of course, that applies, mostly, to library books and school textbooks and books one might be reading while at Barnes & Noble.

At my library, there are some display shelves, near the entrance, where librarians put a variety of books and videos that support a particular theme, like football season, or summer fun, or Christmas. They may be informational, entertaining, short, loooong, and so on. I usually stop and scan the choices, and, last week, I got one to check out.

This looked interesting. It seemed like an easy read. I enjoy cozy mysteries, and it’s all holiday-centered, and there would probably be some recipes. I checked it out.

The first thing I looked for was recipes, and, just as I thought, there were several pages at the back of the book dedicated to cookie recipes.

Here’s what I found there:

Some previous library patron has written in this library book! I don’t know if the reader actually made these cookies and discovered that the oven temperature was too low, and the cookies didn’t bake right. And, even I might have wondered about the temperature. What’s printed in the book is a little low for cookies. Maybe the reader used the recipe and discovered, after the first cookie sheet came out, that that temperature was too low. Three-fifty is more the norm for cookies.

I must admit, though, that I would probably have put in a small post-it note with the better information, if I thought I should give some advice.

 

A page or two over, I found this. That seems pretty cheeky, to completely change an ingredient!

 

But, when I turned to the page number written there, I discovered that one of the bakers in the book’s cookie baking competition did indeed use virgin coconut oil as a scheme to have a prize winning cookie!

 

 

Anyway, after checking the recipes, I went back to the beginning to read the book. By the third page in, here’s what I saw:

This reader was editing the grammar of this book. And, really, I rather agreed with the changes. I read a few more pages and didn’t find any more “corrections,” so I don’t know if the reader didn’t find any more “problems,” or, maybe they found so many more that they just gave up. I read a few more pages myself and gave up, too. It just didn’t seem very well written, and I didn’t particularly care about the characters. It’s going back to the library.

 

 

 

 

Meanwhile, I’ve started reading The Bastard Brigade, the story of the men tasked with stopping the Nazis from developing the technology for an atomic bomb. Cleverly, the writer (Sam Kean) began with the story of Moe Berg, who, in between seasons as a professional baseball player, also graduated from Princeton and passed the bar in New York. Then, the writer moves on to a lot of science stuff, involving Marie Curie and her daughter Irene Curie and her husband, who blasted isotopes of elements and discovered all sorts of stuff, which I don’t really have a background to completely grasp. To help me out, there are diagrams, which I also do not completely grasp. But, it’s interesting and I’m hoping that we’ll soon be moving away from protons and neutrons (et. al.) and back to people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter Prep

| Patience, Peace, Self-Control

There was a blog a year-and-a-half ago, or so, about how my kids had purchased a put-it-up-yourself, heavy-duty plastic greenhouse for me to use to protect some plants from the winter weather. And, how I took it down all by myself (and tripped out of it after the last of the supports had been removed). The next fall, they put it up, staked it down, and I put some of my more tender patio plants inside it. Many survived, and, once again, I took the thing down, by myself, the next spring. The first year, I could absolutely not get it folded up and replaced in the large plastic storage bag in which it came. I had just wadded the thing up and shoved it into a small shed we have at the back of the yard. The second year, I did a much better job and it was almost completely in the  bag.

When taking down the plastic greenhouse, I used the construction instructions and just started at the bottom and went through all the stages backwards. The last parts that had been put in place were the first ones that I removed. It went much better the second year.

This fall, we had some early, low temperature weather, and no one was going to be around to erect the little greenhouse. And I was unwilling to haul all those a-little-sturdy-but-also-a-little-vulnerable plants into the house. I just don’t have the surfaces to accommodate them all. And I thought to myself if I can take it down all by myself, then I should be able to put it up by myself. (Sometimes I have a way unreasonable evaluation of my own abilities.)

I got the instructions out, read them, and decided how hard can it be. (Fill in your own ideas in your head about that.)

I put on my overalls and got a jacket and pulled out the instructions for putting up the little greenhouse. Boldly, I went out to the shed, unlocked the door, and pulled out the almost-completely-in-the-storage-bag greenhouse and lugged it up to the house. I pulled the pieces out and read the first step (Unpack the FlowerHouse). Step two was “Take fiberpoles out of pack and assemble them completely.” Then I went back to the shed and found the long, skinny bag that held all the metal pieces that actually hold up the greenhouse.

The next step was to insert the side support poles into small pockets. These side supports, two on each side, make supporting crosses that hold up the sides of the “FlowerHouse.” It just sounded so easy. The problem is that the greenhouse is just a limp pile of heavy-duty plastic. It does not stand up by itself until those poles are installed, so I cannot just stand up inside it and put those poles in place. I worked for almost an hour, pulling and tugging, crawling inside the supportless bundle, trying to find those “small pockets,” and struggling, without success, to poke the ends of the fiberpoles into those “small pockets.” It was the Laurel and Hardy version of putting up a “FlowerHouse.” As far as I know, no neighbor filmed me at work. The neighbors on one side and the back have privacy fences, and the neighbor on the other side has a big hedge, so my struggles weren’t obvious, I suppose, to any of them.

And, there are actually some support pieces permanently installed in the structure. They are at the front and the back of the structure (or, what will be the structure) that support the front and the back panels which also have the doorways, which have heavy-duty-zippers to open and close them. Finally, I solved the problem by hauling the thing to the side of the house and struggling to set one of those end panels up against the bricks of the wall. That enabled me to get inside, sort of, and push plastic away enough that I was able to install the first two fiberpoles (into their small pockets) in an X shape against one side wall. I worked quickly to put the other two in, on the opposite side. And, Ta-Dah! Along with the pre-installed supports at the front and back, everything else was easy-peasy. Ish.

I’m sorry I didn’t carefully note the time I started and when I finished. I know I worked more than an hour, and the amount of time it took to install that first set of poles was about three-fourths of the time I spent on the project. I did hope for very quiet weather for the next twenty-four hours. I didn’t stake the thing down until the next afternoon. A big wind storm might very easily have sent the thing rolling down the street.

    God spoke: “Lights! Come out!
        Shine in Heaven’s sky!
    Separate Day from Night.
        Mark seasons and days and years,
    Lights in Heaven’s sky to give light to Earth.”
        And there it was.

Genesis 1:14-15 (The Message Translation)

 

I complain, bitterly, about our horrid summer heat. But, really, I think I’d be in really bad shape if I lived someplace where there are blizzards (and more than one during the winter!) and biting winds, and snowplows have to come and rescue people. Once, when Peter was here, I was checking the weather information on my phone. I told Peter to look at the temperature information on the refrigerator, and it said the freezer was 5°. I showed him the temperature in Brooklyn, where Jeremy and Sarah live. It was 7.°  That’s winter. I must stop complaining.

C’mon, Apple Guys! Make a Better Choice!

| Patience, Self-Control

Sunday through Thursday evenings, I set my iPhone’s alarm for 7:00 a.m. I almost always wake up at 6:00 or 6:30, but, just to be sure, I do set that alarm, so I’ll be up and able to take care of some early morning responsibilities. I put the phone on the windowsill above the bed, and plug it in, so I’ll be able to recharge the thing and to hear it, if I don’t wake up and turn it off earlier. (On Friday and Saturday nights, I use the bathroom plug for recharging and for quiet.)

Last Tuesday evening, I was really tired, and turned in at 9:00, after setting the phone’s alarm and plugging it in. I snuggled under the covers and went right to sleep. At some time later, I was jolted awake with a loud clang noise and a very bright flash of light, coming from just above my head. I quickly reached for the phone and pulled it down. That sort of commotion is usually caused by an Amber Alert or a bad weather alert.

I looked at the screen, and, seriously, this is the information I got: a three or four sentence recap of the Democratic Debates. IT WAS MIDNIGHT!

I certainly want to be an informed citizen, but, Apple guys, I can wait until morning!

Then, of course, I plugged the phone back in to its power source, up there on the window sill, and snuggled back onto my pillows and under the covers . . . where I tossed and turned for an hour. Or more. I guess I could have gotten up and made a nice cup of hot, decaf tea. I could have gone into the bathroom and, in the quiet and warmth of that space, read for a while. However, I wanted to go back to sleep. So I kept trying. And kept trying. And kept trying.

I don’t know when I went back to sleep. I was making an effort to not look at the clock, because not being asleep at 1:00, at 1:30, at 2:00, at 2:30, etc. was just going to make me feel angrier and sleepier. If I didn’t look at the clock, then I could imagine that it might only be 12:20, or 12:25, or at the very latest 12:40, which, of course, it was NOT.

I did finally go back to sleep, whenever it was. And I slept deeply, I think, because I was seriously startled when the phone alarm kept going on and on and on, with it’s little beeping sound. What IS that annoying, unending, beeping clamor?!?!? Oh, yeah, the phone. And I got up. At 7:15, or so.

 

Complain if you must, but don’t lash out.
Keep your mouth shut, and let your heart do the talking.
Build your case before God and wait for his verdict.

At day’s end I’m ready for sound sleep,
For you, God, have put my life back together.

Psalm 4:4, 5, 8 (The Message)

 

 

Here’s my phone, up on the windowsill, charging up, and getting ready for tomorrow’s new day, hopefully after I’ve had a nice, uneventful slumber, what with my life being put back together and all.

 

In the Air. Left Hanging.

| Patience, Self-Control

I remember my first airplane trip.

My Dad traveled every other week for a great deal of my growing up years. He would leave on Monday mornings and return on Thursday evenings. He worked for the Veteran’s Administration (as it was known then, now Veteran’s Affairs). He was a Field Examiner and traveled to meet with veterans who were too far from an office to make regular visits. I’m not sure where all he went. I think he had an East Texas route. And I’m sure that he went to Austin.

One summer, we made a family vacation out of one of his trips. He stayed in the same motel for every Austin visit, and he was glad for the motel manager to meet his family and for us to meet her and to see where he spent so much time each month. And, it had a pool! It seems like we stayed two or three days, and did some visiting around Austin. Then, oh, yes, indeed, Mother and JoAnne and I flew home to Waco. JoAnne’s and my first airplane trip.

I don’t remember a whole lot about it, except that we got served breakfast. A real  breakfast. Eggs and toast and bacon. And cigarettes. There was a small carton of cigarettes on each tray. We collected all three of ours to hand over to the friend, a smoker, who was picking us up from the airport. Different times.

The stewardess came over to ask if I’d like to see the cockpit, but before we could make that visit, she realized that we didn’t have time. That trip from Austin to Waco, a hundred miles, wasn’t long enough. But, we got some pilot’s wings to wear.

 

I’ve done quite a bit of plane travel over the past years, mostly going to do training conferences in churches for preschool Sunday School and weekday teachers. But sometimes I was flying out to visit friends and family. Plane travel has changed a lot in those years. I remember when, not only did I get a hot meal, I got to choose if I wanted beef or chicken. I remember when they just handed you earphones to hear the movie.

Once, I was traveling to Nashville, along with other friends who were also going to a writers’ conference. The plane was a big one, with rows of three seats, five seats, and three seats across. It must have been a plane that needed to get to Nashville to ferry a much larger group of people. We had whole rows all to ourselves. It was great! (And we got a nice meal.)

Planes are different now. The rows are closer together, the seats themselves seem more narrow, and if I want any nourishment, I’d better bring it myself.

I like a window seat, only partly because of the window. I guess having the window makes that seat seem less crowded, with that light and open-seeming space next to me. Mainly, people aren’t trying to climb over me if they need to get to the aisle. If I’m napping, I’m less likely to be bothered when I’m sitting by a window. There are drawbacks, but I avoid drinking too much water for quite a while before boarding and always make that “as late as possible” trip to the bathroom.

On my last plane trip, I enjoyed the, um, entertainment center, I guess, on the back of the seat in front of me. It had several music choices and there were a couple of movies. So, I had only to put in my earbuds to have something to listen to. I didn’t watch a movie, because it was already in progress by time I figured out everything, and anyway, I was reading the airline magazine and doing the crossword puzzle. As we neared DFW, a flight attendant began giving us our “prepare for landing” guidelines. Seat backs up. Tray tables stowed. Check for possessions. Gather up trash to hand over to attendants. All that sort of thing.

And then she said, “Return head and footrests to their stowed position.” Headrests? Footrests? Seriously!!!

Yes, there were First-Class passengers on this plane. Maybe eight of them. Maybe twelve? And the scores and scores of the rest of us! She could have very easily walked by each of those First-Class rows and quietly said to them, “Headrest and footrests stowed, please. Thank you.” And not reminded the rest of us that we were Second class folks. Or less.

 

Remind them to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready for every good work, to speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show every courtesy to everyone.

Titus 3:1-2 (New Revised Standard Version)

Meanwhile, we’re approaching an event’s anniversary that still makes my stomach tighten. October 14, marks the beginning of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962. It lasted thirteen days, and happened when my Dad was still traveling for work. He was only gone for four days, every other week, so he wasn’t away that whole time. But, I do remember that he was away for part of it. I have never been so scared.

Some neighbors in the next block up from us were so very concerned that, after that particular crisis was over, they had a bomb shelter installed in their back yard. We kids in the neighborhood called it “Big John,” which was a popular song at the time, and the thing looked like the grave of a very large person. It’s still there. I drive by it a couple of times a day. Every now and then, I consider dropping by and asking the current homeowners what they are doing with it, now. Maybe it’s still all stocked up and waiting for a disaster.

I TRIED to Be Nice . . .

| Kindness, Patience, Self-Control

I’m helping a friend with some carpooling. For a schoolkid. It’s taken a little while for me to get with the program and go in the right way and go out the right way. And how things change a little for the morning drop-off and the afternoon pick-up.

FYI-Nine cars can get through the light at the turn signal and then on through a driveway. Or, if I’m too far back in the line (car #11, for example) I can go straight and enter through a different driveway.

It’s a bit of a dance, and morning’s always easier, because not everyone’s arriving at exactly the same time. And the school employees who are guiding things along are fresh and calm. Afternoon is a little more challenging, because all the kids are getting out at the exact same time, and the school employee who is tasked with keeping us all in order seems a little bit stressed.

I also am stressed because they put traffic cones across the primary exit. Yes, they do. The rationale seems to be to keep cars from coming in that driveway, and therefore causing a traffic snarl. I, personally, have never seen anyone come in that outgoing space, but, of course, I’m not there all day. And, in all the days I’ve been on carpool duty this fall, I have never once seen a school employee come and remove the traffic cones so we carpool drivers can get out. I’ve seen parents get out of their cars and move a cone or two, but not anyone else.

A couple of nights ago, when I was having trouble sleeping, mainly because I was thinking about the next day’s afternoon carpool and how I needed to get in line first, or so, to be able to get going. I stewed and grumbled, and then had an epiphany. I needed to improve my attitude. I thought, I can move the traffic cones to make the exiting easier for all of us. And, I can do it nicely and creatively.

My plan consisted of moving the cones and putting them in interesting, creative patterns. My plan for that day was to stack all four cones and put them in the center of the driveway, so there would be plenty of space for cars to drive past easily and turn onto the roadway. Then, the next day, I thought, I could put two cones next to the left-hand side of the driveway and two cones next to the right-hand side of the driveway. Then, I could put pairs of cones on the grass next to each side of the driveway. I was satisfied with this idea that would take away the anger and frustration I was feeling and would give me a sense of helpfulness, and, well, whimsy.

Then, when I got up, I read through a little devotional that comes to me through e-mail. That day, it said, “Mercy is an act of grace or unmerited favor when other options are available and seem more appealing. It’s taking your foot off the neck of someone when, by every standard of this world, they deserve to be crushed. Mercy is a characteristic of mature Christians. It’s not easy, and it’s not consistent with the messages of today’s world — to hit back hard, to wall ourselves off from the undeserving.” Okay, the afternoon school employee who supervises carpool hardly deserves to be crushed. But I felt affirmed in that I was making a plan that would be a kind thing for me to do and I could feel like I was doing something helpful.

Here’s how it worked out: That afternoon, I arrived earlier than on other days, because I had something I planned to do and I wanted to get there a little early to be able to pick up my carpoolee and get going. I parked close to the exit driveway, got out, and moved the first traffic cone. I slipped it on top of the next cone and was picking them up to move them to the center of the driveway, when the afternoon carpool lady came racing towards me, yelling, “Don’t move the cones!!” (Lest you think I’m doing something egregious, every day some parent moves one or two cones, to be able to leave the parking lot.)

I said, “But I need to move a cone to be able to get out of the parking lot.”

She said, “The cones are to keep people from driving in.”

“Yes,” I said. “But, we need to be able to leave the parking lot. School is out for today.”

And she said, “You can go out that way,” as she pointed to another lane in the parking lot.

I looked at her with absolute astonishment.

“When I tried to do that last week, you got angry with me,” I said.

She did not have a reply.

“How about,” I said, “I can pull my car up close to the space where the cone was, and that will keep anyone from driving into the parking lot.”

She again did not have a reply. But she walked away.

I got in the car and pulled up close to the coneless space. Then, a few minutes later, a lady whose student had apparently rushed out of school and hopped into the car, rolled down her window and called out to me, “Can you move your car a little bit, so I can get out.”

“Sure,” I called over to her, as I began backing up. And, of course she needed me to move, as the driveway was blocked by the remaining three traffic cones.

 

Kindness is its own reward, but cruelty is a self-inflicted wound.

Proverbs 11:17 (The Voice Translation)

 

 

Perhaps I should find out the afternoon carpool lady’s name, so I can thank God for her. It cannot be an easy job.

Safety, Traffic, Cone, Caution, RoadSafety, Traffic, Cone, Caution, RoadSafety, Traffic, Cone, Caution, RoadSafety, Traffic, Cone, Caution, Road

Time to Update? Maybe. Maybe Not.

| Self-Control

We got a blender as a wedding gift. I didn’t do all that much blending, in the way of milk shakes and smoothies. But, I did use it a lot for making baby food. After two kids, I’d pretty much worn the thing out. I got a new blender, which, honestly, didn’t get used all that much. But, when you need a blender, not much else, at least at the time, does the work.

For a while, when I went to Curves most mornings, I made nice breakfast smoothies. Then, when winter came, ice-cold smoothies weren’t all that attractive, and I choose other, warmer breakfasts. Then, I just never went back to the smoothies.

So, for several years, the blender has sat on the topmost shelf of a kitchen cabinet. I really don’t recall when I last used it.

This week is Spring Break for us and also for Fort Worth. Peter has come for several days. We decided to try the Chocolate Bread recipe again, learning from out mistakes last time. I got the bread flour down from the top cabinet shelf, along with the sugar. We gathered the rest of the ingredients and mixed up everything. At one point, I needed one of the liquid measuring cups. I opened another cabinet door and … KABOOM!! Down came the plastic blender container and lid. When I got down the bread flour, I apparently scooted the blender’s container over, just enough, to put it on the shelf edge.

We took a few deep breaths and laughed a bit, and I moved them out of the way so we could keep working on that bread. It was several minutes later, when we’d finished mixing the dough, and I had kneaded it and put it a bowl for its first rise, that I picked up the blender container to put it away. Uh,oh. There was a crack down one side. Hmm. So long, old blending friend.

Now, I’m trying to decide if I actually need a blender. I went online and asked “What Do I Do with a Blender?” And got this:

 

Fifteen Creative, Delicious Things You Can Do with Your Blender

1. Pancake and Waffle Batter-maybe

2. Sauces (like pizza sauce and Hollandaise sauce)-I don’t think so

3. Soups-unlikely

4. Condiments (like mayonnaise and ketchup)-nope

5. Quick Breads-probably not

6. Protein Shakes-almost positively not

7. Peanut Butter-oh, absolutely not

8. Milkshakes-possibly

9. Dressings-nope

10. Sorbet-unlikely

11. Gluten-Free Pizza Crust-I don’t see that happening

12. Smoothies-well, maybe

13. Dips-no

14. Cocktails-more no

15. Pudding-We just don’t eat lots and lots of pudding.

 

And-

Here are the two most significant mistakes that blender owners often make:

Layering ingredients incorrectly (I don’t really make the sorts of things that have to be layered correctly.)

Not cleaning it well enough (I think I can handle this one.)

 

I may walk through Wal-Mart and Target and Bed, Bath & Beyond to see what’s out there.

 

Pay attention to advice and accept correction, so you can live sensibly.

Proverbs 19:20 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I also need to be sure that whatever I might purchase will fit easily and safely (and sensibly) on the shelf where I want to store it.

Stealth soldier, preparing a sneak attack on an enemy.

Peter spends lots of time at our house barricaded behind pillows, on one bed or another, weaving elaborate scenarios in pretend play. Sometimes he likes company on these adventures. Sometimes he plays alone.

NOW What?!?!

| Patience, Self-Control

When Bette Davis said “Old age ain’t no place for sissies,” she was not fooling around.

Pretty much nothing in my entire body works well, and each trip around the sun seems to bring additional issues which really can’t be resolved. Last Monday, I had my annual visit to my primary care physician (who is just one of a cadre of folks who poke, prod, and prescribe on my behalf). I had a couple of things to bring up, in addition to all the things she brought up.

“My finger hurts,” I said. Over the past few years, my hands have become old-lady hands.

Those fingers on the right-hand side are indeed my right-hand fingers. The center finger went off-grid years ago, with a much-enlarged knuckle joint, and that right-leaning twist. It’s a little painful and I cannot make a good fist with that hand, as that center finger refuses to participate in fist-making. Thank goodness I don’t get into fistfights. The other knuckles are rather enlarged, too, but they don’t hurt.

Those fingers on the left-hand side are, as you might have guessed, my left-hand fingers. That index finger turned inward at the upper knuckle a while back. When I hold my fingers close together, the index finger looks like it’s hiding behind the center finger, as though I might be thinking of asking it to participate in some pointing activity that it would rather not be a part of. The center finger’s pretty straight, still, but the problem child is the ring finger. It’s the one that hurts.

I noticed the discomfort a couple of weeks ago, when I was knitting. That finger’s not really an active part of the knitting process, but as I worked and that finger curled and straightened in the whole-hand engagement of knitting, it was painful. The doctor looked at it and was rather alarmed.

She was focusing on the fact that the center joint is quite enlarged, and, in fact, the whole finger is pretty swollen. She moved on down to my rings. “You’re going to have to have those cut off,” she said.

I very rarely take them off, and I don’t suppose I have in quite a while. Weeks maybe. Months maybe. My finger doesn’t hurt down there at the base of it. But, on paying attention to the situation, I could certainly see that those rings were not going to slip easily off my finger.

I guess she noticed how perplexed I was. She said, “Jewelers can cut rings off fingers.”

A couple of years ago, the setting for the engagement ring’s diamond was rough, and I took it to a jeweler for repair. They fixed it, and, as I was rather getting old-lady hands at that time, they resized both rings so that they could more easily slip over the knuckle. (Maybe they could tell it was just a matter of time.)

Wednesday, when I was out running errands, I stopped by the jeweler’s again. I showed them my awfully enlarged knuckle, and, actually, the whole finger is swollen. “My doctor says you can cut this off,” I said.

“Yes,” said the jeweler, but with a furrowed brow and concern in her eyes. She called another employee over. They looked at my finger, and both seemed to agree that it needed to come off right then and there!

I don’t know what I thought that the instrument might look like, but I was imagining some sort of tiny electric saw that would zip right through, all quickly and efficiently.

No. The thing actually looked a great deal like my garden snips, with curved blades, only much tinier. The process is that she put one blade of the little snips between my flesh and the underside of the ring. Then she put the other blade against the top of the ring and held the handles together. She took a deep breath and said, “If I hurt you, I’m very sorry.” (She said that several times.) I said that I knew it was an important process. Then, she began to turn that large handle thing at the top edge of the snips. She cranked and cranked and cranked and cranked. It took a few minutes. It was really painful. She didn’t draw any blood; there was just a lot of pressure on my sensitive, swollen finger.

After she’d finally snipped all the way through the ring, she had to put those plier things inside the ring to pry the edges apart so that she could get the ring off my finger. Also pretty uncomfortable. AND THAT WAS JUST THE FIRST RING!! I didn’t yell, or weep, but it’s just as well that there aren’t any photographs of my face.

Actually, getting second ring off was a little easier. Not lots easier, but a little easier, because it was at the bottom of my finger, where the swelling wasn’t as bad. But, there was still cranking and cranking and stretching and stretching. Now, I have two ring pieces.

“What’s next?” I asked. They said I should wait at least two months to give the swelling time to go down. And then they will put the rings back together and size them to fit. I might have to wear a ring guard. For the rest of my life.

I remember one of my mother’s sisters having a ring guard. Her knuckles were so large that any ring that could pass over a knuckle would have hung loosely at the bottom of her finger. With the ring guard, she would put the ring on, then attach the guard, which would keep the ring snugly in place. We’ll see.

 

Old age with wisdom will crown you with dignity and honor, for it takes a lifetime of righteousness to acquire it.

Proverbs 16:31 (The Passion Translation)

I’m still waiting for that wisdom part to kick in. If I’d been wiser, I’d have noticed, way earlier, that something was amiss, and maybe I could have gotten the rings off with just lots of soap.

Am I Awesome or Am I Not?

| Kindness, Self-Control

Several years ago, I was part of a team working with a church to help organize and improve their Sunday School. There were four age-group people (adult, youth, children, and preschool [me]), and we had a team leader, who, I think, was a Minister of Education. We were members of various churches around the country, and I don’t even remember where we were working.

Our team leader had a phrase that he really liked to use. And use, and use, and use. He wanted people to “buy into” whatever it was that he was talking about at the time, like the ideas we were suggesting, the locations of teaching rooms, the enlistment of new teachers, and that sort of thing. We were at the church for a whole week, with each team member meeting with their age-group teachers and staff people. The team leader met with the pastor and other workers, both staff and volunteers. At the end of the week, we all came together, team and church members, to present the ideas and plans and to think about how the church could implement the things they had planned. Our team’s members sat at the back of the group.

I’d heard the phrase “buy into it” so many times during the week that when our Team Leader began to present and explain all the details, I had a pen and paper pad out, for taking notes, and, honestly, for keeping count of how many times he asked folks to “buy into” the plans. Many years have gone by, and I cannot recall exactly how many tick marks I made during the 40-minute presentation. But there was at least one per minute and some minutes had two, or more. I am not making this up. (I was also, sort of, taking notes, so as not to seem so obvious as to call attention to my documentation.) Then we bowed our heads as our Team Leader prayed. And, I promise you, I am NOT inventing this or recalling it wrong: when the man prayed, he actually asked God to buy into our plans! Seriously. And I am truly embarrassed to tell you that I could not hold back a snicker, which I quickly tried to cover with a pretty serious and extended cough.

I really wanted to send the man a Thesaurus, anonymously, of course, with pages marked at places where other words like accept, agree, confirm, endorse, and  recommend would be good choices.

Anyway, I recently remembered this guy when I attended a large training event with some other people from my church. We listened to a few, brief, speakers, who had encouraging words for us. Then, the primary speaker talked, giving us ideas for the work we were going to be doing and suggestions for supplies and for how to teach. That woman apparently knows only one superlative word: AWESOME!

About halfway into her presentation, I was so very sorry that I didn’t have a pen in my hand, because I would love to have known how many times she used the word. She used it when she talked about our opportunities, she used it when she talked to other people on the stage, she used it when she shared examples of things we could and should use when we talked and taught. I want to send her a Thesaurus.

And then, of course, I began to pay more attention to the words I use and the things I say. My “superlative” word is, apparently, amazing. We’ve recently had an amazing amount of rain, here. Our pretty, solar, outside Christmas lights are amazing. (Actually they haven’t been very amazing recently because we had all that amazing rain, and the solar cells cannot power themselves up unless there’s sunshine.) The Thursday after Christmas, David and Peter and Kevin went to Thursday LateNight at the Mayborn museum. April and I went to see the new Spiderman movie, which had gotten really good reviews. It was, as you might expect, amazing. (It is, after all, Spiderman!)

Now I’m thinking I need to retire “amazing” for a while, and try to expand my vocabulary use.

Looking at “A” words, there’s: astounding, astonishing, admirable, ambitious, awe-inspiring, august (dignified, noble, grand), A-1, accomplished, adroit (very able, skilled). I’m thinking that, if “amazing” is the first thing that pops into my mind, “astounding” and “astonishing” might be the easier to pull up into my head as I try to increase my vocabulary.

 

The right word at the right time is like precious gold set in silver.

Proverbs 25:11 (Contemporary English Version)

 

I’m not usually invested in New Year’s resolutions, because, I guess, I’ve never been all that successful at keeping or maintaining them for any length of time. But, I think I’ll spend some time this year trying to increase the variety of words I use.

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Note: I was writing this and also watching the Baylor Women’s Basketball Team play UConn, the #1 team in the country. Baylor (#8) led from the beginning, ultimately beating UConn by 11 points. Near the end of the game, David walked by and said, “Are you watching the game?” And I said, “Amazing.” Looks like it might take a while to break the amazing habit.