It's my story--in pictures

It seems like I've had a busy week, but I don't know why it seems that way. I didn't do anything unusual or out of the ordinary. I'm amazed that I feel so busy yet didn't accomplish anything--besides wash and dry a few loads of laundry, carry out a half dozen bags of garbage, vacuum, scrub the toilet, cook, wash lots of dirty dishes over and over and over and...you know...all that domestic goddess kind of stuff.

Oh wait!  I've jumped ahead a couple of days. Let's back up to last Sunday, May 16. Over a week has passed and still no refrigerator. Well, not a WORKING refrigerator. I had spent about $10 on ice to keep $4 worth of milk, my beloved cream cheese, and three packages of lunch meat cool. That's why when I saw this...
I almost cried. Yes boys and girls, that is ICE! Our neighbors dumped precious, pricey ice out on the ground to let it melt in the sun. I thought about running out and scooping it up, but I didn't.

What stopped me?

First of all, I knew the neighbors would see me, and I thought I might look pretty pathetic. I hate looking pathetic. And secondly--remember last week when I went around the campground taking pictures? Well, one of the other residents of the park (I won't mention any names because the lady is now my friend and I don't want her to think I'm picking on her. You know who you are. *wink wink*) was a little concerned about my strange and somewhat suspicious behavior. I think maybe she reported me to the campground managers as someone they should keep an eye on. All I needed was for another resident to tell the managers I was picking up melting ice from the ground and washing it off with my tears. I'd be writing this post from a padded cell somewhere.

Instead of letting my neighbors see me gathering their discarded ice, I let them watch me take a picture of it. We've not been evicted yet! Yeah, I'm surprised too.

Monday was a wonderful and glorious day! Early in the morning I called the traveling RV repair guy to see if he had any encouraging words about the part to fix my nonfunctional refrigerator. YES! My job was on his list of things to do that day!!!!

It was quite an ordeal. Everything including the shelves had to come out, the handles taken off, the whole thing pulled out and placed face down in my floor, a half a gillion screws removed, and the entire back side of it pried off.

Can you see, in the upper right corner of this photo, the bright spot of daylight? When he pulled the thing out, it left a big opening to the outdoors. Y'all remember I'm in Mississippi, right? And this time of year, Mississippi is warm--very warm. And humid. Monday was very VERY humid.

(I'm telling you about the weather just so you can have a realistic sense of my adventure...you know, all that dashing and bold stuff.) Anyway, it was hot and humid, and while the guy was removing all the screws and prying the old cooling unit off, I shut off the AC in the camper because by now all the neighbor's ice was melted, so I saw no need in trying to cool the outdoors.

After the repairman got it all taken apart and some old goopy stuff scraped off and wiped up, (which took a good bit of time) he was ready to start putting it back together with the new part. But then he noticed--he needed a new tube of the goopy stuff he had just scraped off and that tube wasn't included in the box with the new cooling unit. (Apparently it was supposed to be there but was missing.)  So, he had to "run to the shop for just a minute" to get a tube he knew he had on hand.

OOoooKAAAYY!

Meanwhile...

With a gaping hole to the outdoors, temperatures in the high eighties with humidity levels equal to or above the temperature, my "ice box" and I waited. While I waited, I wondered...Is this the dashing part or the bold part?

In the end, the repair was completed, I had dinner out one more night, and 24 hours later, my refrigerator was cold. I HAD ICE!  Oh glorious day!!!

The rest of the week just kind of rocked along.

These little finches came to my feeder. I've had cow birds and starling too. The cow birds made a mess with the seeds, scooting them from the feeder to the ground, and the starling are just ugly, mean, and rude.

Did you know that if you smear a little dab a big chunk of cream cheese on top of a granola bar, you will have a very yummy breakfast?

Once the refrigerator and freezer finally got good and cold, we headed to the grocery store. It was with mixed emotions  I made my purchases. It was good to know I had food in the camper, but that also meant that I had to start cooking again. No more dinners out.

I get a kick out of the regional foods found in the markets. Just to name a few--New England stores have Whoopie Pies, North Carolina stores have Cheerwine, and in the deep south you find green tomatoes. Good and tart, ready to slice and fry.

Every evening, about dusk, hubby and I try to take a walk around the RV park. There are about five or six killdeer that hang out here. They are so cute. I love to watch them. They are some of my favorite little birds. It's not easy to get their picture because they don't like to sit still for very long, and when they move, they run fast. This photo turned out a bit blurry so I played with it in edit mode. Call it art rather than a bad photo, okay?

I don't know what happened Saturday, but obviously I was SO busy working SO hard that I forgot to take any pictures. (That's my story, and as long as my park resident neighbors don't tell on me, I'm sticking to it.)

Week Three Continued

The flatness of the Texas Panhandle is accentuated at sunset. We were still a few hours from home when the sun left our sky. At this exact moment, it looked as if we were going to drive straight into the giant ball of fire. One of those "wow" moments. Any minute I thought the entire sky might burst into flames.

When you spend a lot of time whizzing, or should I say DASHING down highways, you get a few of these.

 Yuck!

And when you spend days at a time doing all that dashing, the world just kind of whizzes by your window and life becomes a blur.

I think I should title this photo Reflections. I was playing with all the fancy settings on my camera that I don't know what they are for or how to use them and what I came up with is almost creepy. Yes the world is whizzing by yet my lap (which you can see reflecting in the truck window) remains motionless. Check out the rear-view mirror. In the little part you can see the truck and where we've been while in the larger piece of glass you can see me holding the camera plus the air vent that is in the dash. The photo is just a mess but I find it an interesting mess. Oh, and by the way, just in case you were wondering, I WANTED the trees to look blurry, so I guess I succeeded. Now if only I could remember how I used those camera settings to do that!

I-40 between Amarillo and where we were bound is not very exciting. We've traveled that stretch of highway more than a few times. I usually nap or read because I'm not too interested in the scenery. It's not very picture worthy...except when...

you pass some trucks hauling a bunch of chickens. I don't know why I think a semi-truck full of chickens  is funny, but I do. A  truck full of cows? Not funny. But chickens? Okay, so I laughed out loud at the poor birds and their feathers flapping in the wind. Report me to PETA! I'll turn myself in after I have lunch at KFC.

We didn't have time to stop at KFC for lunch after all. Here is our convenient store lunch, "to go." The grace I whispered over this meal ended with, "and please protect our innards. Amen." (That might be a bit like jumping from the roof of a five story building and praying you don't break any bones when you land, but I said it just the same.)

Mine was the green tea, the mushy grilled chicken tortilla thing that was wrapped in the foil, and the Sun Chips. Rick had the half gallon of soda, the fried what-ever-it-was in the red paper bag and the wonderfully garlic flavored oily bag of Gardetto's.
His is the very skinny, even bony thigh you see in this photo. Mine was the fat  less bony one in the reflection picture. Proof there is no justice in this world!!!!

After a while, when you spend too much time dashing, you have to stop and wash the windshield. I think we hit more than just a few bugs along the way. Or did they hit us? It's one of life's great debates.

Double YUCK!

And here we are...

...arrived! This is our "outdoor living area." Hey, I'm not complaining! This place has a pool, a hot tub, paved roads, concrete patios,...and it doesn't even call itself a resort!

This IS a resort.

We had two options. I'll call them Resort A and Resort B.

Resort A, which sits in the heart of "Amish Country" advertises everything that a full-timer like me might want...

• Workout room
• Indoor pool and hot tub
• Club House
• Wi-Fi
• Laundromat
• LP Gas
• Cable TV
• Cafe
• Paved roads and cement patios

and much more. The most exciting part for me was that they have church services twice a week! The lady I talked to on the phone sounded very friendly and accommodating. Two problems existed. 1.) The price--almost $1000 per month, and 2.) The location--far enough from where Rick's claims are to add at least 100 miles to his commute every day.
I guess I sounded pretty pathetic or desperate over the phone because the lady took pity on us and agreed to charge us only $675 for at least the first month, as long as we agreed to use mostly propane instead of electricity for our heat because the cost of electricity is included in the rent. (Plus, this is not exactly peak camping season for places north of the Mason-Dixon Line.)


After more internet investigation and phone calls, we found Resort B. I called...

The woman on the other end was not as nice and friendly as the rep from Resort A. When I told her I had a few questions about her facility, she touted, "Well have you looked at our web page?"
I told her that I had but didn't find all the information I was looking for. She took a deep breath and started talking, telling me everything I had already read on the website. She talked and talked and talked...consuming my precious cell minutes yet not enlightening me much. (Can't say I was surprised when she said, "Of course you won't be able to use the outdoor pool.") I tried to interrupt her several times but was unsuccessful.

Finally she had to pause for another breath and I cut in, "Is your laundry room open and functioning?" (A good question this time of year because we've stayed places that have unheated laundry rooms so they are closed during the winter months.)

Her reply, "This IS a resort!"

That became her catchphrase.

"I see from the photos on the web you are in a wooded area. Are your sites paved, gravel, concrete, or will we be parked on mud?" (I speak with the voice of experience here.)

Again she came back with, "This IS a resort! We have gravel and concrete pad."

She kept on talking, asking me stupid questions like, "Are you familiar with winter camping?" I guess she thought this was our first time out or something.

I finally asked all my questions--Will we have any trouble getting in or out because of the snow? Do cell phones work in the area? Can we get a satellite signal? Do you have propane on site? etc. Her answers seemed acceptable at the time because this IS, after all, a resort, and we were desperate.

The only real selling points for Resort B over Resort A:

• Price--$400/month plus electricity
• At least 55 miles closer to most of Rick's claims.

We figured with what we would save in fuel, time, and rent, we could go somewhere else to buy propane, pay extra for electricity, and do without some fun and conveniences. Resort B should be our choice though we both really wanted to stay at Resort A. So B it would be.

The woman told us to try to get there before 4:00p.m. so someone would be in the office to check us in. If not, we were to park in site #66 overnight and we could have our choice of 8 or 9 different sites the next day. I told her we would do our best and the reservation was set.

We were able to make it in before 4:00 the next day. In fact, we beat that time by at least an hour and I called when we were at least an hour away, leaving a message on a machine, telling our exact expected time of arrival.

Following the GPS and road signs, we turned off the main highway and started a steep snowy climb up a BIG hill. (I fought the urge to panic.) Then we turned off that road onto the l-o-n-g icy entrance to the "Resort." (From here on referred to as "Campground.") Snow was drifting across the road from this big field.

Oh, be still stomach.

We stopped at the office,
paid our money, and were told we would still need to wait while they finished clearing the snow from the site where they wanted us to park. (I thought we were supposed to get to pick--oh well, no big deal.)

It took the guy a while to clear the deep snow from our site, and it was hard to tell what was under the layer of ice left behind. I'm pretty sure there is a little gravel and a lot of mud. Where's the concrete pad?



Now I'm going to have to ask you to try to picture in your minds, our spot. It is a "back-in" that is over 200 feet long. The first 160 or so feet we had to back the rig was all downhill. The last 45 or so feet is fairly level ground, at the edge of a cliff, that drops off into the creek bed below. (In the Texas Panhandle, we would call this a river.) Here is the view from the back of our site.

I got out of the truck so I could help hubby watch for trees, low hanging limbs, and piles of ice and snow that might get him stuck or tear something up. I can tell you that my man is good and so is God. I witnessed 24 thousand pounds of truck and camper sliding backwards down an icy hill, headed for a cliff, trees, and a frigid river, finally come to an almost perfectly level stop at just the right spot--a few feet short of going off the cliff and just right for all our hoses and cords to reach the hook-ups. Whew! Thank you Lord!

Keep in mind now that I was tromping around in snow up to my knees, wearing my vented tennis shoes and jeans, and I was cold. My nose started to run.

I walked around to see how the hooking up of our utilities was going and saw the water faucet to be about 3 feet above ground, and it is not one of those nice frost free jobs. No, it is just a plain old faucet that we are responsible for making sure doesn't freeze. Our hose is one of those nice hoses that is heated, so no problem with winter camping there, but I believe this is the first campground we've ever stayed in that claimed to be year round but made the guest responsible for keeping the faucet from freezing. Luckily we carry a supply of heat tapes, but they were so cold and stiff we could not get a tight wrap on the pipe.

The guy who cleared the snow and helped wave hubby down the hill, disappear for a few minutes then returned with some items--

a towel, two old chunks of carpet, pipe insulating foam, and some thin, egg carton weight, Styrofoam. Tossing them down in the snow, he said, "maybe you can use some of this stuff to help insulate the pipe and faucet." Um, okay. Thanks. I think.

The day just keeps getting better. Let me see now, what is it? Oh yeah, a dashing and bold adventure!

After hubby got the water hooked up, and while I started trying to invent an insulating shelter for the pipe and faucet, he unhooked and attempted to drive the truck back up the severely sloped section of our site. Remember I said the hill was icy? Yeah, our rear wheel drive with no weight in the rear end truck was stuck on the ice.

There was a kid, a young man I'd guess to be in his late teens or early twenties, helping out with this bold adventure. He watched hubby spinning tires on the ice for a few seconds then he disappeared. Soon he returned with a bucket and a big garbage bag of saw dust. "Here, sprinkle this on the ground and it should help give you some traction. And here is a shovel in case you need it. Now we need to get out of here." (The snow was falling heavily by then.) He sprinkled a little of the shavings in front of our tires before he went away.

 

 

Left alone to fend for ourselves in the silence of the falling snow, I looked around at our circumstances. Suddenly this picture popped into my mind. (From The Shining)
Only, in my mind, I'm the one swinging the ax!

Somewhere from deep inside I started to laugh. It was that so-hard-you-can't-breath kind of laughter, and I couldn't stop. The more I looked at the useless sawdust and the pile of insulating possibilities, the harder I laughed. Hubby, with nose dripping and a grimace, looked at me with great concern. It was a moment I hope I never forget.

It is a gift from God to be able to laugh instead of cry when tears and snot would only make ugly icicles on my face. God is SO good!

I laughed out my frustrations and felt much better. I fashioned a protective covering for the water pipe that has yet to freeze up. The sawdust didn't do anything to help the situation at all. Hubby dug with the shovel and spun the tires until he finally had the truck at the top of the hill.

We went to the nearest Wal-Mart for some groceries, hot chocolate mix, and some of these.

I'm gonna need them when it comes time to do the laundry. I'll explain later.

There are more challenging days ahead, but for now, we are settled in as best we can be. No satellite TV but local stations via "air" are available, cell phones work well, Wi-Fi is iffy and limited, and the snow continues to fall. We still have running water, my tummy is full and I'm warm. The dashing and bold adventure could be worse.

Firsts

I almost forgot to show you the pictures I took while I was in Washington. I had never been to the state of Washington before, this was my first time.

Camping in the far Northwest was only one of a few firsts for me this last month.

Everett (north of Seattle), Washington is not the place to visit in the winter. It's a good thing we weren't visiting but were there to work. There are a lot of things to see and do in the area, but in the winter, the cold rain seems to never stop, so it is unpleasant to get out and do anything. The daylight hours are few--about 8--so by the time the day's work is done, sightseeing is out of the question. I did a lot of sitting and watching it rain.

We did get out for a few hours one dreary day when the rain let up for a while. We headed to a ferry that took us across Possession Sound to Whidbey Island.

Notice the heavy cloud cover, the gray skies, the rain falling in the distance? Close to 24/7 the whole time I was there. The locals say that the summers are absolutely beautiful in Seattle, and I believe them. Someday maybe God will take me back there in the summertime.


We drove up the length of the island, seeing what we could see from the highway through the raindrops on the windshield. We stopped at Fort Casey Military Reservation which sits on the bank of Puget Sound and walked around a bit. The air was wet and crisp but we had a good time anyway.

This lighthouse was closed for the winter so I can't tell you anything about it except I thought it was too cute.

This old fort that once guarded the Sound had some nice big guns.

Looking across the sound, I could see mountains beyond the bank of clouds.

On second thought, maybe the area is beautiful, even in the winter.

The sun tried to shine down on our day...

and across the way--God's first promise to all of creation. (A comforting first.)

 I think this is the first time I've seen such green grass in the middle of winter. Even in the deep south the grass doesn't look this green. (An unexpected first.)

Another first for me was seeing the bikini huts that sit, tiny and independent, in parking lots about town. I'll spare you the photos! Just in case you are not familiar with these establishments, they are tiny little drive up coffee stops where the employees are girls clad in bikinis. I can't decide if this marketing gimmick is sad or sick. Maybe both. (A troubling first)
Personally, I prefer coffee shops nestled inside a warm book store with employees fully clothed and wearing long aprons to protect their bellies from hot spills. I'm just sayin'....

With bad weather approaching and the work complete (except for some stray paperwork that could be done from anywhere) we decided this trip would not be the trip for going places and doing things. We packed up and headed for home.

Another first in Oregon--it is against the law to pump your own gas. There are no self-serve pumps in the state. You can pay at the pump with your card, but you don't do the pumping. I'm not complaining. Who wants to stand out in the cold rain and pump gas?  (A surprising & pleasant first)

Now I have to show you the funniest first I encountered on this trip. It was a sign which hung on a post between gas pumps at a convenience store. We were in Washington (pumping our own gas) when I spotted it. Keep in mind that children don't drive, children don't usually pump gas and children are often under five feet tall. This sign hung high, above my eye level...

which (to me) pushed it past funny into hilarious.

Firsts can be fun, frightful, fascinating, and full of surprises. First steps, first words, first bike, first car, first kiss...Firsts escort us all the way through this life no matter how long we live.

There is one first that I'm looking forward to with great joy and anticipation.

For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first.  1 Thessalonians 4:16 NIV

A final first--I can't wait! Hope to see you there!

Let's laugh and pray

In all things my heart seeks to glorify God. In the day to day humdrum of life I look for joy, and I like to laugh. I often pray that God will allow me to be a source of joy and laughter to others. That's why I make this post.

I've said before that I'm not politically correct and I don't try to be. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I don't intended to bow or bend in the wind of what is popular in our land. Our nation and our government is in a mess. We need answers, solutions, wisdom, guidance, and maybe even a miracle. We talk about our problems and the mistakes our leaders make. We worry, complain, gripe and criticize, but do we pray? I mean really pray for our leaders with fervor?

I've never seen Tim Hawkins in person, though I'd like to, but I'm a fan because of video. This guy is gifted for sure.

I hope this video will make you smile, even laugh. But more than that, I hope it will give you subject matter for your prayer time.

Sit back, watch and enjoy this video of Mr. Hawkins, then pray for our country's leadership. Ask God to give them a desire for godliness, wisdom, revelation of truth, and anything else the Spirit brings to mind.

May God bless America.

Maybe I should stick to domestic issues

I've been at it again. Playing with my sidebar. Did you notice that I finally updated my puzzles? I think it has been at least nine months since I did that. And I've added a few new things. If you hate them, let me know. If you love them, let me know. If you couldn't care less, well, you can either let me know, or just keep to yourself. I'm not finished messing with the sidebar--I still need to update my bookcase and freshen up a few other items.

In case you didn't know, I'm not an expert at blog building. I'm not sure I could even pass a test to be classified as an intermediate blog builder. No, I believe I might need several years of training just to be able to use one of those "Idiot" books on building a blog. That's why I contacted my son-in-law. He IS an expert. He knows how to use a computer better than I know how to use a dish rag. And let me tell you, I KNOW how to use a dishrag!

I wanted to add a functionality to my blog's sidebar. I didn't know exactly how to do it but I took a guess--I needed to add a widget, or a gadget, or...

So I asked my techie son-in-law what the difference is between the two. Here is what he told me via text message. "A gadget is an actual item whereas a widget is an anonymous undefined name for a gadget."

O-KAY! That really cleared it up for me. Yep, don't even bother with the Idiot's Guide, I'd never understand it.

Bless his heart, he knows that I've got dirty dishwater between my ears, so he went on to clarify..."It's a placeholder name for nothing specific. Like a doodad or a whatchamacallit."

FINALLY! Words I understand! Now I just had to decide whether I needed a doodad or a whatchamacallit. Still, not knowing the difference between those two things exactly, I choose to use a doodad.

You'll find it up at the top of the sidebar. Now what I THINK it is supposed to do, its functionality, (you might find that word in one of those Idiot computer books if you don't know what it means) is allow readers of this blog to have new posts delivered to their email inbox. Since it is powered by a Google Group, it would also allow readers to talk about me behind my back except that I have it set so that I can moderate all the discussions. (I think) I don't know if it really works that way, so I'm testing it. I put my own email address into the little spot, clicked on the "Subscribe" button, and now we will see if this post is sent to my inbox.

All this has been a long and stressful process because I had to create a Google Group which required more decision making skills than what I possess, then I had to find the doodad and and copy the HTML Code and plug it in... Oh wait, should I use a plug-in, or is the doodad, which I used instead of a gadget or a widget, good enough? Oh, well...

Then I added it on... Oh my goodness, maybe I should have used an add-on instead of a doodad!

Dear God,
I'm no good at this. I'm so confused. Please help me out of this mess. Just give me my dishrag and...My dishrag! Where's my dishrag?

I got so busy with all this technical web-design-blog-building-mumbo-jumbo that I forgot all about a load of laundry, I left unattended, in the little campground laundry room. I guess I'd better go get my dishrag out of the thingamajig and put it in the whositwhatsit so it will dry. I'll need it later on when I get ready to wash my dillyboppers and wipe down the doohickey. Yes, I guess I should give up blog building and stick with domestic issues. At least in THAT department, I know what I'm doing!

*UPDATE* I never could get the doodad that I added to work like I wanted it to, so I removed it. If you would like to receive my blog in your email inbox, simply leave me a comment with your address or email me directly with it and I'll see to it that you get it. Thanks.

Midlife vs. Adolescense

Hmm. Can't say that I see a whole lot of difference between the two. Both are marked by change and growth, drama and anxiety, joys and sorrows, emotional turmoil --life is out of our control and full of uncertainties.

For me, adolescence was a long time ago, but according to my failing memory, I think I made it through that season much easier than I'm struggling through these midlife days. Back then, change was good. It offered hope, challenges, improvement, and excitement about the future. But now, when I look in the mirror and see how time has changed me, and remember fondly days gone by while wondering about the future, ...Oh brother!

The hair (what hasn't fallen out) is silvering more every day. The eyebrows (no longer arched just so) are relocating to other places on my face. I can't find my waist and, well, let's just say my girlish figure has headed south for the winter.

Uncontrollable physical changes are not the only anxiety triggers of midlife. Health issues--that's a biggie. And planning for retirement--wondering if retirement will even be possible before the age of 95--can keep us mid-lifers up half the night worrying. In seventh grade we stressed over pimples, wearing the right clothes, and who "liked" whom. Today I stress over things like the problems my children face, the economic downturn, and the future of my nation (just to name a few). Hot flashes, mood swings, double chins and bat wings...What pill should I take for my achy joins, and have you noticed how the print on those darn labels gets smaller ever time you buy a new bottle?

One of my friends once told me, "Whoever said life begins at 40 was full of c**p!" I'm inclined to agree with my friend and I'm thinking it must have been a foolish teenager that said it.

But hey, midlife is not all bad. One of the biggest benefits to this awful season of life is grandchildren. They give us opportunity to act like silly little kids without judgment or condemnation. We can play, pretend, make silly faces, talk like babies... Our kids may think we are starting to go through our second childhood, but who cares? We are finally smart enough to live every moment to the fullest and we aren't going to let anybody spoil it for us. Besides, tomorrow we won't be able remember what we did, so in our minds, it never happened!

Another positive is the senior discount at restaurants. We mid-lifers seem to want to color our hair and wear "younger" styled clothing, etc. to hang on to our youth. But, I've discovered that if you let your silver locks glisten and wear those unflattering pants with the elastic waistbands, a polite and considerate server won't insult you by asking if you want the senior discount, (even though you aren't really that old) she will just give it to you anyway.

The Bible tells us that all our days are numbered and written in God's book. So if I really am at the midway point in my life, then I'm 16,802 days away from seeing my Savior face to face and walking the streets of heaven for eternity. (If I live to be 92.) That day, no matter how many days away, is something to look forward to.

So until then, I'll avoid mirrors, wear my custom readers, use tweezers on my face, wear long sleeves, play with little kids, and just put up with the aches and pains while enjoying discounts when I can. No, life didn't begin at 40, but it didn't end there either.

And hey, look on the bright side. We don't have to worry about who "likes" whom any more. Frankly, we don't care!

Ya Just Gotta Laugh

Sometimes little crazy things happen, so crazy they are funny. This was one of those things for me, a ROTFL kind of thing, and I want to tell you about it.

I have a friend. (Yeah I know you're surprised.) She is one of those really good friends that will encourage you when you are right, tell you when you are wrong, and never stop loving you either way. She is smart and she is deep. We are just alike. (snicker snicker)

Really, I mean it. We chat online quite a bit and hardly a conversation byte whizzes through cyberspace but what one of us starts typing a thought and the other finishes it. We've thought surely we are twins separated at birth.

Now this deep friend and I talk about a lot of deep things and one of our topics lately has been prayer. We've covered it well-- everything from is it okay to tease with God to God knows what we are going to pray before we do and every other possible prayer topic in between. Oh, and we laugh a lot too. We often laugh a whole lot about really deep things.

One day this last week we were discussing some of the stressful and frustrating circumstance in our lives and how we should pray about them. I admitted to her that sometimes I just want to give up because life gets so complicated. I want to do everything just right and never make mistakes, but no matter how hard I try, I still mess up. I closed my little part of the conversation with this "prayer."

Dear Lord,

Send me an undertaker!

We ended our chat session and only a few minutes later my daughter knocked on my door, delivering the mail. On the top of the stack was a letter address to the Pflug Family, from--

Cox-LaGrone Funeral Home!

I live to testify: God knows what we are going to pray before we do, and He has a sense of humor! God is good!

I'm a girly girl

and this is not my hobby!
What's up with my summer? First I had to go fishing with the guys and now I'm blasting away at a target with a 9mm handgun and a .22 rifle. (didn't get pictures of that one)

I believe every American should have the right to own a gun so he or she can hunt and defend his or her family and self. I also believe that if you have a gun, you should know how to use it, and you should use it with great wisdom, care, and common sense.

Now this gun belongs to my husband, not me. Personally, I think I could have gone the rest of my life without learning to shoot a gun and I'd be happy. But Rick insisted I go shoot with him. So I did.

I did alright learning to use my hubby's new gun. The arthritis in my thumbs makes it hard for me to cock it for firing, but I figure that if I ever have to use it to defend myself, adrenalin will rush to my aid. As far as hitting the target--I did okay there too. I didn't hit the mark perfectly, but I got very close. If an attacker were as near as 30 yards away, I could do some serious damage.

But this post is not about the right to bare arms or my eagle-eye aim. It's about hobbies.

Like a kid in a candy shop, after purchasing the gun, my husband grabbed up bullets, hearing protectors, more bullets, a cleaning kit, some more bullets, eye protectors (both the clear and sunshade kind), another box of bullets, a carrying pouch, and...oh yes, some bullets. Rick is not the violent type, and the boyish glee with which he clutched his new belongings told me the man may be developing a new hobby.

I know some people do shoot guns as a hobby and that's great. I enjoyed the brief challenge of trying to hit the X in the middle of the target, but standing out in the bright sun and 100+ temperature didn't make it to the top spot on my fun list. I'm a girly girl and I like to cross stitch, crochet, read, bake--you know--less aggressive, less competitive activities.

Yet I found myself accompanying my husband while he had a blast--literally. Sharing hobbies is one of those things that help to build a lasting marriage and make life together fun. Shooting with Rick was a good thing, and it has put my mind to thinking...

The next time I buy some new cross stitch needles or a crochet hook and yarn, I think I'll insist that hubby learn how to use them.

I have to go now, I think I hear someone laughing at me.

I Don't Like To Rant And Rave, But Give Me A Break!

I'm sorry, but this whole "Go Green" thing has finally pushed me over the edge! I'm all for being good stewards of this earth which the good Lord created. There's no room for abuse when you're taking care of something that doesn't belong to you. Though God did put man here and told him to take charge over the place.

But a good thing can be overdone, and, like that big red dot on those insurance ads, we're there!

I was wasting time reading the Yahoo headlines and came across a story about picking our green battles. It talked about the paper vs. plastic (bag) dilemma and how it really doesn't matter that much. (I've been saying that for years.)

And it mentioned the choice between cloth and disposable diapers. Apparently either choice is equally bad for the environment, so short of disallowing bodily excretion from your baby, there's not much you can do to save the planet from poop. (That was my opinion twenty-five years ago before big bucks were spent on government studies that concluded "it" happens and we can't do anything about it.)

Next the article mentioned the choice of drinking your coffee from a throw-away cup or a ceramic mug. I'm glad that the official call on that one is that it is no big deal either way, because honestly, I've never given it much thought. And I don't care to.

All these little arguments aren't worth our time and effort according to the article's author. But there are things, says this promoter of green living, that we should do to make more of a difference.

(Grab a cat by the tail, rub its fur the wrong way all the way to its head, and you'll get an idea what this bit of stupidity did to me!)

"Eat less meat."

It seems..."Raising livestock is one of the most significant contributors to a long list of environmental problems from climate change to deforestation to water pollution."

OH PA-LEEZE! (I'm slapin' my forehead.) God created the earth, He created the cow, a cow is biodegradable, her poop is organic matter, (unless she eats a plastic Wal-Mart bag, a disposable diaper, or a styrofoam cup) yet bovine is one of the biggest threats to our planet? (Are you picturing the furred up cat here?)

I come from a family of cattle raisers. Rifle totin', hat wearin', horse ridin', steer ropin', slow talkin' full of common sense, Texas cattle raisers. Yeah, my fur is standin' on end!

But what really popped my cork was the stupidity, the idiotic idea, (sorry) the method in which the climate conscientious human should go about cutting down on his or her meat intake. "Start by trimming down your portion size to about three ounces (the size of a deck of playing cards)."

Now what kind of a difference is that going to make? If I eat a three-ounce steak, or an eight-ounce steak, or a four-pound roast, I still slaughter a one-thousand pound animal to get it. It's not like I go out in the pasture and whittle three ounces off a cow at a time until she's gone. How much sense does it make to go to a steakhouse, order up their 6 oz. sirloin, eat half for the sake of going green, then throw the rest away? I guess if I gave the other half of the steak to the guy in the booth behind me and he didn't order a steak at all...but still the one whole cow was needed to produce that "deck-size" piece of meat.

Honesty, I wish some people would stop and think before they open their mouths or put their pen to the paper.

As for the cow being responsible for deforestation--I don't buy it. As I see it, trees need carbon dioxide and some good fertilizer to grow strong and healthy. A cow provides both. The cowman and the tree hugger may not be able to live peaceably among one another, but I think the cows and the trees do a pretty good job of it. I've never yet seen a cow chop down a tree. And unless you're in the habit of drinking out of an earth tank where A cow has crawled in to cool down, I'd not worry too much about her polluting your water. She's got better things to do, like munching grass, chewing cud, and giving milk. Which, by the way, is safe for human consumption.

Now that I've got that off my chest, I think I'll go fire up the grill and leave a big ol' footprint on the planet!

EAT MORE BEEF!

All's Well That Ends Well

The day started out great. My in-laws were here for a visit. Rick took a couple days of very light duty paperwork so we could do some sightseeing and visit with our company. The evening before we had made a list of things we wanted to see and do. The first thing on the list was the Patton Museum at Fort Knox.

So, we loaded up in the in-law's Suburban, programed our destination into the GPS and took off. Now I'd like to give you a word of warning here--When trying to enter an Army base, the invisible lady who gives turn-by-turn directions might not always know the best way in. She may even try to get you into some trouble by taking you in through the area where shipments, and trucks and such are supposed to enter. Without proper military I.D., a very BIG guy wearing a uniform and a stern face with a gold tooth, might look at you funny when you try to explain that you were just obeying the woman trapped behind the dashboard.

The guard ended up being a lot nicer than he looked when he told us where to turn around, but he was quick to promise that if we didn't do as we were told, he would come after us with sirens blaring!

Rick put Ms. Navigation into shut up mode and following the nice soldier's instructions, we made it to the museum in good time.
Rick thought his dad might really enjoy it.It is hard to tell from the picture whether he enjoyed it or not, but at least he tolerated it well.There were tanks, many tanks. Big tanks and bigger tanks. Old tanks and newer tanks.
One tank (like the ones used in Operation Iraqi Freedom) had these cute little "windshield wipers." They are barely big enough to wipe raindrops off my grandma-reading glasses!But its gun was too big to get in one photo. These words, painted on the barrel, made me want to clap and shout, "Yeah!"My favorite tank was called an anti-tank tank. I know that if I met this one on the road, it would be an anti-EVERYTHING tank!

Just looking at the picture makes me want to throw my hands up in surrender! Where's my white flag? (I sure am glad the guard with the gold tooth didn't have one of these parked at the gate!)
There was other cool stuff in the museum too. Like a hunk of the Berlin Wall. Do you remember the Cold War?

And the head of a statue--one of the spoils of war. Can you name this evil tyrant?

After we tired of reading plaques and looking at tanks, we watched enough of a film about Patton to learn that he was not a very nice man. A war hero yes, but a likable fellow? Not so much.
We climbed back into the car and headed for--what I wanted to see--the attraction that makes Fort Knox famous. The nation's GOLD.

I knew I wouldn't get to see the gold itself, but a glimpse of the building where it is stored would be enough to satisfy me. I always want to share my adventures with you, my faithful readers and friends, so I needed one thing more than a glimpse. A photo!

Now for those of you who are one step ahead of me here, you must understand that I don't have a criminal bone in my body or thought in my head. That's my disclaimer for what happened next.

Rick at the wheel, his dad riding shotgun, my mother-in-law and I in the back seat, and the loudmouthed know-it-all trapped behind the dash, traveled the not-too-far distance from the museum to the entrance near the Fort Knox Bullion Depository. As we drove past the Depository (which was probably at least a half a mile from the road) I fumbled to get my camera out of its case. Rick was driving too fast, I couldn't get the zipper opened in time, trees got in my way, and I didn't get the picture.

No problem. The building up ahead had signs posted that read, "Visitor Center." There was a little parking lot where we could park, and I could walk a few yards so that I could snap my picture without trees blocking too much of the view.

It was a good plan and we followed it to the point past parking, getting out with camera in hand, and starting our little walk to a clear view, but stopped short when...

"NO! NO! NO!"

Someone was yelling, and I mean LOUD, HOSTILE, yelling. I turned to see who was yelling at whom and saw another uniformed guard RUNNING toward us. And YELLING AT ME!

It took me a minute to realize I was the object of his hostility. It was a surreal moment when I didn't know whether to run, try to hide, or throw something at him. Instead I froze. As it turned out, that was the right choice. I don't remember everything he shouted at me, and he may have yelled some instruction that prompted my correct choice, I don't know. But I'm just glad I didn't throw something at him!

He approached quickly and with full authority informed us we couldn't take another step. Apparently taking pictures of the Depository is a no no. And standing around looking at it isn't permitted either.

He said that we must not have seen the sign forbidding such activity when we turned off the main road, then mumbled something about it falling down some time back and that no one has bothered to put it up again. (Yet I was the stupid one for trying to take a picture.)

Rick asked him if we could pick up some information in the visitor's center. The uniformed official said that the building was not really a visitor's center but a security check point. (So the signs that lead us to believe it was a visitor's center were just a decoy meant to trap criminals or terrorists?) The guy went on to tell us that the base went into some high security mode in mid January and visitors are no longer allowed on base. (It was nice of them to get the word out.)

I tried to explain that I had no evil intentions, but simply wanted to show my friends where I had been. He suggested going back to the museum, buying a postcard picturing the Depository, taking a picture of the card, photo-shopping myself onto that photo, and then telling my friends I was there. (With that one I rolled my eyes. No disrespect intended.)

By now the guy was starting to understand that we were innocent tourists but he still had little sympathy. He said that if we wanted to know anything about the Fort Knox Depository, we should watch the Discovery Channel. (Thank you very much.)

Because we were being watched by hidden cameras, I showed him my camera so he could be certain that I had not taken any pictures. That, he said, would insure that we would not be surrounded by dozens of cars with flashing lights and loud sirens as we tried to leave the area. (Thanks for the favor.)

I didn't ever tell the guard my name and I was so glad that we were in my in-law's Suburban and it was their tag number caught on security film!

So I don't have any pictures of the Depository to show you. You're simply going to have to take my word for it-- the building is there, and so are the security guards! If you want any more information than that, watch the Discovery Channel and buy a postcard!

(More about my outing to come later.)

I'm SO glad I have holes in my head!

One small drawback to traveling all over the country is elevation--and the changing thereof.

Elevation of my most recent "homes."

Mobile, AL: 16 feet

Amarillo, TX: 3,607 feet

Louisville, KY: 462 feet

So what's the problem you ask? Take a look at a few of my bottled goods.When we leave a place like Mobile (16 ft.) and travel to Amarillo (3607 ft.) the air trapped inside the bottles is dense, thus puffing the bottles up like a bunch of labeled puffer fish. Sometimes the air pressure inside the bottles is so much greater than the thin Amarillo air that the cleaners are actually pushed out through the spray tubes. I wind up with puddles of cleaners in my cabinets when I get home.

Then, when we leave Amarillo and drop to a place like Louisville (462 ft) the denser air outside the bottles pushes against the thin air inside so that the bottles cave in, as you can see in the photo above. When I try to use the cleaners, a vacuum forms and I have to open the bottles to get anything to come out.

I'm used to this routine, but it always makes me stop and think... I'm SO glad I have holes in my head. Once again God knew what He was doing when created us. Just think what it would be like, traveling across the country, if we were air-tight. Either our heads would cave in or we would puff up until we...

One time when we were camping in the Rocky Mountains we took a picnic lunch way up to the top of a mountain. Our bag of chips actually exploded because of the change in altitude. (That's kind of a messy thought.)

So if you need some reason to give thanks today, thank our wise Creator for the holes in your head!

They make travel much more comfortable!

I am fearfully and wonderfully made!

It's The Thought That Counts, Right?

I have a new friend. Her name is Fay. She's a sweet lady. I think she may be about my mom's age because she has a daughter about my age. Fay manages the trailer park we currently call home, and her husband takes care of the maintenance issues.

For some reason Fay and I have hit it off. It's one of those freaky things where we've only know each other a few weeks but it seems like we've know each other all our lives. Fay is easy to talk to and--well--she's a typical southern lady, so she is hospitable.

I think what makes our relationship seem so familiar is the fact that we both have the same Holy Spirit living within us. Recently another woman who lives in the Houston area stated that though we had just met it seemed like she had known me forever. Again, she and I share one Spirit. I think that is really cool!

The other day the ladies at Fay's church had a "Secret Sister" Christmas party, and she invited me to go. I thought about it for, umm, maybe a half a second before I said, "SURE!" Do you know how long it has been since I got to go to a totally female party? Or ANY kind of party for that matter.

I knew that I might feel a little awkward since I didn't have a secret sister and all, but I'm used to awkward moments.

I got dressed up in a new outfit, fixed my hair, and put on my face--ready to have a good time. And I did! The party started with brunch--Southern style. No fruit trays and mini muffins for these gals. No sirree. We're talking egg casseroles, biscuits and gravy, thick cut bacon, butter and jelly, and grits. You KNOW we had to have grits!

The lady dishing up the lumpy mush asked if I liked grits. When I told her I had never eaten them she stepped back, (I thought she was going to faint) and asked me where in the world I was from? I think she truly believed that every culture on the face of the plant earth must LOVE grits, and if I'd not eaten them before then I must be extraterrestrial. (Awkward moment)

I was a good guest and let her plop some grits on my plate. I discovered one southern food I can live without. But that's okay, because after stuffing myself with all the good food, they served up Krispy Kream donuts for dessert!

After we ate it was time for the secret sisters' reveal and gift exchange. My sweet new friend, Fay, took a gift for me so I would not suffer that awkward moment. You know the one. Everyone but you has a gift to take home. I love Fay and I appreciate the gift she gave me. Really I do.

She had plenty on her mind and calendar--her mother went to be with Jesus just a day or two earlier--and she didn't even have to invite me to her party. But she did. And she bought me a gift to boot. I'm so blessed that she put so much thought into making me feel welcomed and comfortable. And it is the thought that counts...

Because the gift... Well..........

Can someone tell me what it is and what I should do with it?

It's as cute as can be, but what would you call it? And what would you do with it?

An angel sitting on a...humm...a...a ball? And she is holding a ladybug in her hands and there is another lady bug by her foot. So should I put her in the flower garden that I don't have? Or should she remain in the house? I can't seem to find the perfect place in the camper. She just looks lost and out of place no matter where I place her.

Suddenly I can relate.

Thanks to a sticker on the bottom of the ball I know what it is NOT. It is NOT a toy. Okay, so I won't give it to the granddaughters for Christmas.

As I stare at this funny little angel, holding her ladybug, I realize that the real gift I received is the new friendship I have with Fay. And I know exactly what to do with it. I'll cherish it for the time because I never know, from one day to the next, when I'll be packing up and moving to a new temporary home.

Fay and I plan to go to another Christmas party Friday night. I'll tell you all about it later. I can't wait to see what gift awaits me!

Consider The Alternative

If you've spent much time here you know that I'm all about finding joy in the journey. Where you're headed in this life, (or the life after this one) your destination, is important. But Christ didn't die for you and me just so we could reach our destination. He died that we might live, even now, and live abundantly.

When I look to my destination, I like what I see, and I want to be there soon. And as they say, time flies when your having fun. So, I try my best to have a blast, living abundantly as I journey to eternity. That's one reason I look for joy.

Another reason I'm hung up on joy hunting is, though life is short, it is too long to be miserable every day of it.

I'm going to tell you something now that doesn't sound joyful.

I HATE washing dishes!

So that's my word for today--hate.

Defined: v.--dislike intensely

Colloquially--dislike or be reluctant to do something

My favorite synonyms--be disinclined to, aversion

I am disinclined to stand at the sink, and make a soapy, soupy, slimy mess while sweating and cleaning the same dishes I've cleaned before. (Twice today, three times yesterday, and the day before and the day before that and...) You get my point? I guess I'm the kind of person that thinks life, because it is a journey, should move onward and upward. While I'm washing dishes my body is at a standstill and I have nothing to show for my efforts when I'm done. My mind can whiz along, but the tedious boredom of plate wiping is less than inspirational.

I have a theory. It's about hell. Weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth happens over a sink of hot sudsy water and stacks and stacks of dirty dishes. I think hell has enough dirty dishes to keep the damned scrubbing for eternity. (the dishes used by the Groom, His bride, and all the guests at the great wedding feast) Be certain there is enough fire to keep the water good and hot, and the devil doesn't provide rubber gloves!

Repent now and be saved, or forever have dishpan-hands! And don't be expecting any little demons to offer to pick up a towel and dry either!

That's my theory. You don't have to agree, but just in case I'm correct, you might want to make sure you have things right with God now, because you never know when your table's gonna get cleared!

Back to my word--hate.

Like I said, I hate washing dishes. I hate other things too, like heavy traffic made up of crazy drivers, standing in a long check-out line, gum (or dog poo) on the bottom of my shoe, etc. Now I can easily leave it at that because, frankly, I like to hate gum on my shoe--I like to complain about standing in long lines--I love to despise traffic, and hating to wash dishes sits well with me. (And hating to do dishes means I hate hell, and that's good. Right?) But hating things, even things that are good and acceptable to hate, robs me of joy. So, when I find myself in the middle of a hate frenzy, here's what I try to do.

Consider the alternative.

Gum on the bottom of my shoe gives me joy when I think of the alternative--having no shoes and stepping in gum (or dog poo) with my bare feet. What about heavy traffic? The alternative is walking everywhere I go. That might be good for my figure but bad for my feet, especially if I had no shoes! I couldn't get far or do much in a day, so I can be glad about something when I'm bumper to bumper on Airport Blvd. Standing in long checkout lines has an up-side...humm...I'll have to get back to you on that one. And dirty dishes--

I'm thankful for dirty dishes for they have a tale to tell.

While other may go hungry, we are eating well.

So as Thanksgiving Day approaches, think about the things you love to hate, consider the alternative, and rejoice, be glad, and offer thanks to God for those things. Then, help someone else find joy in their journey. Leave your comments here about the things that you hate and the joy that you've found as you considered the alternative.

Want To See Something Funny? or Tribute To A Good Friend

I don't have many friends. Maybe I'm not a very friendly person, I don't know. I try to be. I've never been the popular one, so let's just say, I'm not expecting a crowd at my funeral. But what I lack in quantity I make up for in quality. I've got a few really cool, true blue, top notch, you can't beat 'em, friends. Let me tell you about one. Her name is Debbie.

I met Debbie when I was "the new kid at school" in the fifth grade. My family moved into her community just days before Christmas, and when classes resumed after the first of the year, I stumbled, wide-eyed and scared to death, into a strange class room. Debbie was friendly. She was the first kid to speak to me, offered to be my friend, and has stuck to her word for 35 years.

Debbie was the kind of friend every girl wanted to have. She never stole a boyfriend, never talked about me behind my back, never quit hanging out with me to hang out with someone more popular, and when she was a cheerleader in Jr. High, (that was back in the day before they called those awful years middle school) she let me come over to her house and jump around, waving her pom poms, and act like an idiot. We had sleepovers where we talked all night and ate cold fried chicken out of her refrigerator. When we went on field trips and had to pack a lunch, my lunches were always boring, but Debbie always had one of those huge dill pickles in her lunch. And she always shared with me. I was terrible at spelling but Debbie was a whiz at it. She has always laughed at me about the way I can't spell, but she was a great help when we were doing homework together.

As a kid, and for many years after childhood, I had a reoccurring dream about Debbie. I dreamed we were both walking and pulling little red wagons. Then suddenly I would be walking down a long tunnel alone, still pulling my little red wagon. The farther I went, the more stuff would accumulate in my wagon. Toys mostly. Ever now and the there would be a gap in the wall of my tunnel and I would look through it and see Debbie, walking down her own tunnel and pulling her little red wagon. She was collecting toys too. No matter how long the tunnel was, I could always find Debbie across from me, in the gap.

We went to school together only four years, then I moved away. But Debbie was not the kind of friend that would let distance or time destroy a friendship. We wrote letters and kept in touch. We each grew up, got married, had children...our little red wagons have turned into big boats and they are both fully loaded. But Debbie is still there in the gaps. On the wonderful but rare occasions when we get to see one another or talk on the phone it's as if there is no time or distance between us. Yep, Debbie is a treasure.

One of those gaps where I know I can always find my friend is my birthday. I don't think Debbie has missed sending me a birthday card--ever. I don't know how she does it, but there is always a card and it is never late. (I wish I could be more like her.) My birthday was in October, and like clockwork, a card from Debbie was delivered to my home address (poor girl didn't have any idea where my temporary home might be.) My daughter called to tell me it had arrived, so I was happy.

It took some time for my kids to get all our mail together, then get their act together, then find a box the right size, then remember, then get their act together again, before they were finally able to send it to me. Then DHL decided that my box of mail needed to travel about the country more than a week before it was finally delivered to me here in Mobile. So I finally get to see my birthday card from my sweet friend Debbie.

Here is the front of the Shoebox Hallmark card.

And here is the tender message inside.

What was all that stuff I was saying about Debbie being the kind of friend every girls wants?

Okay dear friends, here it is...my 40 something year-old arm dangle. I've got it but I don't think it is quite ready to be flapping in the wind!
I still love ya Debbie. And I can't think of any other girlfriend with whom I'd rather go "flapping" about the countryside in a red convertible!