Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #39

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, humour, worship

Dear Diary – My alarm clock went psycho this week. It started beeping a single bip at 6:30 one morning, every 20 seconds. I counted. It woke me up and in my fog-induced mind, it took awhile to deduce that the clock was the infernal source of noise. At first I was genuinely confused – did I actually hear a beep – and I froze under the blankets and waited for the intruder. When the high-pitched bip went again, my mind started mentally checking off the list of devices and their known “sounds” but none of them sounded the same. My next thought was the carbon monoxide detector in the basement, and fearing for Little Guy, I roared from bed and stubbed my toe. The pain reminded me that if it were the detector, everyone in a 10 mile radius would be pain, serious ear pain. It didn’t sound like a smoke detector, having been rudely awakened and tormented at various hours of the night in the past. So I stood there in the dark and willed the source to bip at me again.

What I found happening with the clock was truly confusing because the red digital numbers were counting the hours and minutes, all 24 of them, and singing a bip every time it hit 12 a.m. Nothing was pressed up against the buttons on the back. Neither sliding the alarm on and off, or turning on the radio, stopped it’s manic countdown and infuriating bip. I felt like I was in the midst of a cheesy Twilight Zone episode. Chills ran down my spine; the hair on the back of my neck stood up. It was probably because it was cool in the room and the fan was blowing cold air on me, so I unplugged it and crawled back in bed. Hubby woke me around 9, worried I was ill. “No,” I said, rolling over, “my clock went psycho”.

Speaking of psycho, I nearly ended up in a padded room, weaving baskets and singing kumbaya on the weekend. When I mentioned last week that unless you’ve done it, it’s hard to comprehend what’s involved in handmade goods. I forgot to mention time. When I cut out my pieces, they are identical and should fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Instead, they fit together more like a store-bought car model. It all fits together except one or two pieces inevitably don’t! I was working on a buffalo plaid bag for a friend (one for which I won’t get paid) and I got stuck on 1 seam for 2 hours. I was so hot, and frustrated…and hot. I ripped and sewed, and ripped again. I shortened the strap multiple times. I ended up with 3 raw edges, and there should only ever have been 2. I knew I should just walk away and start fresh in the morning, but I stubbornly forged ahead. I refused to be bested (yet again) by a piece of fabric. By the time I pinned it at the end of those 2 hours, I was exhausted but elated. They stitched together effortlessly the next day and the stupid bag has been delivered. Every member in my household rejoiced.

Dear Diary – Hubby was off last week and I asked him to tackle one of the jobs on the expanding “to-do” list for our home. I’d be happy to tackle some of the projects if I had a clue how to do so. I don’t mind heights but would probably struggle to lift shingles on the roof. And I’m scared to clean his room. He chose to regrout around our 1959 seafoam green bathroom. The grout was textured and mildew adhered to it as if it were velcro. I couldn’t scrub it away. It took him a few days, which meant we were without a tub and fighting for a position upwind. By the third day, I had to take action. At some point, sponge baths aren’t enough. So I took matters into my own hands and I bribed my friend with Tim Horton’s. I used her shower and in my defence, I had to attend worship team practice that evening and I’m having a hard time making friends. Showing up smelling anything less than like roses was not going to help. I left her place imagining this is how it feels after time in a spa.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born to help in time of need.

Proverbs 17:17a

Dear Diary – Yesterday was National Son Day. I couldn’t post any photos because Little Guy refuses to have his photo taken. I managed to talk him into the obligatory first day of school pic, but it’s literally his hand waving behind a closing door. I’ve been told it’s just a phase but I’m beginning to wonder

Dear Diary – I was explaining to Little Guy, again, why I would like to get a cat. Both Hubby and Little Guy are anti-cat. Actually, they’re both kind of anti-pet. Anyway, as I was explaining, Hubby leaned over and licked me. A wet, sloppy full-cheeked lick. He thought it was hilarious. I thought I was going to throw up. I have serious spit issues. I will not use anyone else’s toothbrush. I will not share my toothbrush. Only when I am feeling brave will I wipe the edge before sipping from someone else’s glass. I did not share ice cream cones with my kids. If it melted and ran down the sides, they got sticky. No child has ever died from being sticky. It’s just the way I am. Were the licks from a cat, however, I would be fine. I want a cat that much! 🙂

Dear Diary – I received the initial paperwork for jury duty selection. It’s not that I object to performing my civic duty, it’s the thought of rising early in the morning and traipsing into the city in the dead of winter, which takes over an hour, to sit all day knowing I can only use the restroom when they tell me I can use the restroom. And that’s not taking covid into account. I’ve sat in court numerous times, taking notes of testimony as part of my job. Unlike television, there are no dramatic courtroom reveals, surprise witnesses, or last minute additions of evidence. It’s very dry and detailed. I’ve been part of the jury selection process too, and it’s dry and detailed too. Thankfully, I was rejected on the grounds that I worked in the legal field. I’m not sure my new job title, “keeper of the home fires” is going to make me ineligible.

Plus, they’ve changed the system.

I wish they’d pick on someone else. I’ve filled out the initial forms for jury duty at least 3 times in my life. Hubby has never been asked, and he’d like to be. Maybe we should trade names.

Dear Diary – A serious search ensued this morning. I woke up around 8 and popped out my malicious mouthguard, and shoved it under my pillow. I was going to enjoy my final 20 minutes in peace. It’s been 6 months since I started wearing it and some nights it keeps me awake fearing that I will die in my sleep…by drowning in my own spit. All’s well until I pop that plastic in and I become Pavolov’s dog without the bell. Or the yummy reward. But I digress. When I got up, I stuck my hand under the pillow to grab the guard and put it in its case. But it wasn’t there. I lifted the pillow and started smoothing the sheets with my sheets. Still no stinky plastic. I moved the bedraggled pile of bedding. I reached into the pillowcase, both sides. But no guard. I checked the floor, under the bed, even the case, just in case I was dreaming it had been in my mouth all night. It had vanished. Frustrated to be so frustrated so early, and severely decaffeinated, I went on with my day.

Later that morning, another serious search ensued. It had glued itself to the underside of my pillowcase.

Dear Diary – My clock is still weird. Today, the alarm came on and it had changed the radio station. I like classical music but not as much as my 80’s tunes. It took several attempts to find my station again. It was really in the mood for country. This clock may have to die!!!

Dear Diary – The excitement was short-lived. The scales said I’d lost 10lbs, but I knew better. I have 6 pairs of jeans in 6 different sizes that say it isn’t so. I also know that moving the scales by 2″ can change the number that much. I put it in the usual spot and I’m down 3 lbs. Finally things are looking up, by moving down.

Dear Diary – I lead worship with a team on Sunday for the first time at our new church. It was an incredibly difficult and heartbreaking decision to leave. It’s also been incredibly difficult to start over in a new place. I’ve been disappointed with the lack of friendliness, but I know that covid has made us all wary of people in general, not just new people. It takes times and I’m not always very patient.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had to select the songs for a Sunday, and I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the long conversation with God to select the songs that He most wants to hear. And, as always, I am blessed as He shows me threads between the songs that connect them. Sometimes He even whispers something I need to hear. This week it was simply the reminder that I belong to Him. That even though we are struggling to connect in a new church family, we are still part of His family.

Bonus: I could actually be heard. My short stature has meant my voice has a short range, and often my mouth is moving in the recording, but there’s no sound. And while I didn’t get any likes or comments when I posted the link (except for my friend who sang with me), I wasn’t leading for the likes or the comments. I was singing for my Father.

Who am I that the highest King
Would welcome me
I was lost but He brought me in
Oh His love for me

Ben Fielding, Rueben Morgan, Who You Say I Am

Wilderness Wednesday: Every Storm

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black and white photography, black&white Photography, church, clouds, faith, old church, photography, storms, Wilderness Wednesday

Every storm runs out of rain, just like every dark night turns into day.

Gary Allan

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #34

Tags

bathing suit, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour

Dear Diary – Every day Pinterest emails me posts they’ve chosen for me ‘cuz they think I”d be interested. They’re usually completely wrong. However, the chart of yoga poses did catch my attention, not because I do yoga, but because I live with men and have been conditioned me to zero in on certain things. It was actually one pose in particular: wind relieving.

I had to laugh out loud because all I could picture was a sign on the studio bulletin board for a community ChiliFest, and a room full of doughy, mature ladies in spandex suits, tights, headbands and ’80s leg warmers… with cartoon toots.

Dear Diary – My basil plants, the only seeds that grew from the 7 packages of seeds I purchased from a local flower farm, are on steriods. It’s been about 2 weeks since I last harvested a big bunch. This weekend, I plucked and dried 8 cookie sheets of herbs. Three days later, I harvested another half sheet, and could have plucked more. Guess what everyone’s getting in their stocking this Christmas!

Dear Diary – I got to eat dinner out…sort of! It was a catered meal in a church parking lot. I had to bring my own chair, but I didn’t have to cook and it was a big step up from McDonald’s, so it counts as “out”.

Dear Diary – I was blessed to be part of a worship team on Sunday morning, but the expression “early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise” did not apply. Instead, it was more like “late to slumber, early to tumble, makes a tired, overworked woman grumble”. Except everyone was still abed when I got up, and comfortably snoozing when I left. There was no one to complain to and no amount of caffeine in the world to perk these old bones. My eyelids felt like sandpaper except for a brief period between 12 and 12:05. It was a pretty gritty day.

The trip to the church is about half an hour, and in a pitiful effort to be joyful, I put on perky music. Obviously I wasn’t thinking clearly. It could have been a mistake had the sun not been shining. The bright rays caused my eyes to tear up, and as I blinked away the dewiness, I noticed a rainbow to the left and right of the sun.

A sun dog or sun bow can appear when light passes through ice crystals in the atmosphere at an angle of 22 degrees, creating a halo effect. Usually it’s just a bright spot that mimics the sun, but occasionally, it is an actual rainbow. And this rainbow was bright and colourful.

As the beauty of this strange phenomenon infused my fatigued brain, lines from the song boucing through the speakers also seeped into my consciousness:

Your resurrection power burns like fire in my heart…

You are the fire that cannot be tamed…

You are stronger than our hearts, You are greater than the dark, with You, we are victorious.

Rend Collective, “More Than Conquerors”

Rainbows have long been a symbol of hope and promise. Remember Noah? There have been a few times in my life, when things seemed bleak or blah, that God painted a rainbow for me, and I couldn’t help but marvel at His faithfulness and creativity.

This past year has certainly had some bleak and blah moments. I have mourned losses of people, places and positions. I have often felt lonely and lost. I’ve kept busy but deep down there’s been a longing for a place and a crying out for a purpose. Breathing and taking up space just isn’t enough. And here’s God, painting rainbows and singing reminders that He is the Light in dark places, early in the morning to someone He didn’t create to be a morning person. Hallelujah!

God has a sense of humour. If you don’t believe me, tomorrow go to Wal-mart and just look at people.

Carlos Mencia

Dear Diary – As much as I hate bathing suit shopping…the wrestling, the sweating, the loss of dignity and the complete breakdown – even before I’ve even tried one on, but I may have to take the plunge into that Little Shop of Horrors again. When I purchased my black bathing suit, I was looking for something a little sexy but my options were limited by my shape. I ended up with the one that I didn’t get so tangled in, that I ended up laughing hysterically in the dressing room, frightening the waifer-thin, doe-eyed adolescent sales clerk who was new and hadn’t experienced the trauma of serving middle-aged sausages women in spandex!

It was incredibly hot this week, and since we’re about to undergo major (and incredibly expensive) plumbing surgery at home, I ran away from home. To cool off, Mom and I decided to go for an evening swim. Auntie M was joining us.

I was thankful I had had the foresight to use the bathroom before I put I attempted to put my suit on. When I purchased this sexy suit, I had less fat to stuff in weighed less and was slightly more bendy than I am now. This suit had very thin straps, which has to support very hefty weight. These tiny straps are also part of an elaborate corset-style back on my suit. The longer I wear the suit, the longer all those strings become as they try to hold everything in place. The suit itself, fits snugger than it used to, so pulling it on is kind of like stuffing meat in a sausage casing. You just kind of have to squeeze your eyes shut and keep wiggling and stuffing until everything is contained. So I stuffed and squeezed and succeeded, only to realize, the suit was inside out. To add insult to injury, the padding in the bust, which serves no purpose, was wrinkled and folded in on itself, giving me the appearance of a tween who has stuffed her top with tissue. I know this because I tried it once in Grade 5 and I got caught. At school. In front of boys. It’s not really a story worth sharing.

I wasn’t sure which problem to fix first – the whole “it’s inside out” or the “stuffed with tissue” texture. I opted for the whole suit, which meant more wriggling and squeezing. Dry or wet, this suit does not come off easily. Instead, the strings roll together into a jumbled mess, that creates a roll, that tightens around the waist, making it even more difficult to roll down. And once off, I have to repeat the whole nightmare to get it on again. Having successfully done so and now sweating profusely, I have to spend an inordinate amount of time um….unfurling the bust pads.

I could have worn my bikini but it was still sunny and no one needed to be blinded by the Pillsbury dough babe. I’ve tried wearing a t-shirt over it but when you get out of the water, unlike plastic wrap, it clings like a toddler to whatever Mama wants to take away. It also rolls up the back and becomes a giant knot that threatens to squeeze the air from your lungs. And it’s humiliating, at 48, to have your parents undress you.

I enjoyed my swim, but not what came next.

It may be time to visit the Little Shop of Horrors again.

“Men have an easier time buying bathing suits. Women have two types: depressing and more depressing.
Men have two types: nerdy and not nerdy.”

Rita Rudner

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #29

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covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, humour, summer camp

Dear Diary – This week, every day feels like Monday because this week is VACATION BIBLE CAMP!

Camp: The only place where “you’re so weird” is considered a compliment!

It means getting up before 7 and getting in the car by 7:45. On the first morning, my radio alarm was singing “It’s a Beautiful Morning” by the Rascals. I distinctly remember snarling, “Is it? Is it really?”.

Covid requires additional planning and preparation so everyone stays safe, and all that takes time. Ash is an amazing wife, Mom and teacher, and she was instrumental in putting this week together! Camp starts at 9 and ends at noon, which means we’re all moving the whole time to make this the best experience for the 40 campers. Others years, camps have had over 100 kids. I’ll admit…I’m finding the 40 enough of a challenge!

I am really excited to share this experience with Little Guy. I was shocked when I casually mentioned that he was invited to help out in the sound booth if he was interested…and he was interested! This is the kid who will sleep past 2 p.m. if you don’t wake him. True to his word, he’s been ready to go every morning. He’s even pants, not pj bottoms!

I’m up. If you’re expecting bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, go catch a squirrel!

This year, I was asked to reprise my role as Ima Victor. I’m pretty sure my performance as a spunky, nerdy, spastic eight-year old with a serious lisp will never be “academy award-worthy” but it seems to make people laugh. And after years of tears, I’m ready to share that laugh. My comedy course instructor said that if you’re playing a character, commit! So I am committed to being the best “IMA” ever. I’ve really enjoyed working with my friend, “Captain Gary” again. We’ve been through a lot together – from “music wars” to “exploding space ships”. I’m excited for him as he starts a new job, but I’ve missed just hanging out. My friend is just as committed to his character, Captain Gary so I never know quite what to expect. Like a ballerina, I’m always on my toes.

Or in the case of the end of day 1’s skit, not on my toes but over his shoulder! I’ve gained a few pounds (and they’ve brought friends) since we did this skit two years ago. I didn’t think he could do it. I suggested he just drag me out by one foot.

Maybe more pics later?

Speaking of commitment, my friend suggested, last minute, that I could teach the kid vid/memory verse station as Ima. So I did. Now I have to act like a zany kid along with all the other zany kids, and speak with a lisp ALL MORNING. I rarely get a chance to grab a drink or hit the restroom, and by the end of the morning, I’m out of energy, but I’m committed. I do all the actions to the songs and I shout at the top of my lungs too. It’s one week a year, and honestly, it feels good to just let loose and have fun!

Growing old is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

Unknown

Did I mention this is at a different church? I wonder what kind of first impression I’m making?

On Monday, after I had checked in, I went to the Ladies’ Room to put on my costume. I said “hello” to the other lady who was just washing up and headed into my stall. I closed the door. I hung my purse on the hook. And the lights went off. The other lady had turned out the light on her way out!

Seriously? Didn’t I just say “Hi” 10 seconds before?

There is no light in that Ladies’ Room. Not even under the crack in the door. I stood there in the darkness weighing my options. I could either a) stand there in the dark and hope that someone would turn on the light. But what if no one came? Would they never think to look for me here? Would the skit go on without me? Would they assume I had developed serious stage fright and I had fled the building? Or b) I could make my way to the door and hopefully, find the light switch.

It was cool and dark in that stall, and I was feeling very tired, but I opted for b). I carefully set down my tote bag with my costume and slid it to the side. Then I reached for the door handle of the stall. But all I could feel were straps and keys. Ridiculously, I started to feel a little panicked in the darkness. The walls of my tiny cavern started to get closer. I started to get hot, which meant I started to sweat. The mask on my face started to press against me, and I thought “get a grip woman”. Afterall, other women have been trapped in the loo and have managed to survive the experience, even laugh about it.

They’re very brave!

It took awhile but eventually I found the lock on the door and I tiptoed my way in the direction of the lightswitch. I was flooded with relief when it snapped on and I managed to finish my preparations in peace. I can’t imagine trying to put on tie-dye knee highs in the dark! Welcome to our building!

On Monday afternoon, I had to pick up groceries and get the brake light fixed on my car, and the temperature cannot be described as anything but HOT! By the time I got home, I needed a shower and a nap, not necessarily in that order! Hubby woke me up in time to cook dinner.

By Tuesday, I discovered which groups have the “characters”… There’s always one kid who “knows” that my real name isn’t Ima. There’s always two kids who spend the whole time fighting with each other. There’s the one who fidgets, and the one who can’t stop talking, and the one who rolls their eyes like a seasoned teenager. One group is filled with kids and leaders who are “too cool for school”, and one small group with more energy than a hamster on a wheel. I love them all!

Wednesday was smoother…the video took up half my time with each group, which meant I didn’t have to play “Ima Says”, for which my muscles thanked me! Tuesday and Wednesday afternoon involved various errands and appointments again. I needed a nap then too…but there’s never rest for the weary. Or is it the wicked?

Days of the Week:
Monday, Monday #2, Monday #3, Monday #4, Monday#5, Saturday, Pre-Monday

And so dear diary, each morning we are dragging a little more and now it’s to head into Monday #4!

Every day I take a water bottle (filled with iced tea because I totally need the caffeine). But at the rate it’s going, I feel like I might need something stronger by Friday. Like coffee.

From Coffee Coffee Coffee on Facebook

Somewhere there’s tea…

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#whatsinmycup, Bible, faith, tea, tea addict, tea lover, tea photography, what's in my cup

I’m not really a “stick my head in the sand” kind of person, but it’s true. I don’t watch the news. I hear enough in general conversation, or something on Facebook will tweak my interest and I’ll investigate, but I don’t often seek it out. There are thing I’ve known a long time. I know there is evil in the world. There is hatred and discrimination, and a terribly long history of it.

It breaks my heart.

It makes me anxious.

And afraid.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and sound judgment.

1 Timothy 1:7

So while I live in this world, I keep myself separated from it by not immersing myself in every thought that Kim Kardashian has (most of them are not golden!), or filling my head with images of death and destruction.

I am also not oblivious to the world. I mourn and pray. I teach my children to live with integrity and love. I endeavour daily to be an active minister of reconciliation for the past, a person of peace in the present, and a harbinger of hope for the future. It’s not enough, but it’s a place to start. And if we never start, we will never move forward.

There are worlds out there where the sky is burning, where the sea’s asleep and the rivers dream, people made of smoke and cities made of song. Somewhere there’s danger, somewhere there’s injustice and somewhere else the tea is getting cold.

Sylvester McCoy

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #22

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, disasters, faith, humour, music, singing, worship

Dear Diary – My weekly Michael’s flyer arrived in my inbox today. It said “Summer is here!”. Meanwhile, it’s the end of May and I’m watching it snow outside! I took a video clip of the lilacs dancing in the breeze, as large snow globs fell from the sky, but I can’t seem to post it here. I took still photos as well, but they don’t begin to capture the horror! By the time it was thick enough for a good photo, I was too depressed. How did it go from deep summer temperatures to this?!? Good thing the cars’ snow tires are still on?

Dear Diary – On Saturday I attended a Worship Conference. I bounced out of bed early, showered, and put on a fresh pair of pjs. I threw my hair in a top-knot, applied some make-up and filled the kettle all the way to the top! From 9 to 5, I sat and swilled with other musicians, pastors and technical peeps worshipping and growing together.

This last year, it seems, has been a year of feast or famine, an extreme spectrum for us all. While some have grown weary from high expectations and great challenges to connect online with their congregations & beyond, others have grown weary from inactivity, loneliness and soul-searching. Both extremes are God’s way of challenging hearts, both in terms of who He is and who we are in Him.

I know that I have wrestled with self-doubt, especially in terms of my place and purpose in my own church home, and in the greater Church. I had left my job in October of 2019 and faced 2020 as a year of personal growth. I adopted the song, “Finish Line” to inspire me to run well. I would dig deeper in the Word. I would take steps to become healthier physically. I would write. And I would see where God was leading next. None of us had any idea that “next” would become an intense time of isolation, separation and mourning. I have dug deeper in Word and that has been my source of strength and joy. I know God is moving. Even in my life, as I continue to wait to see what’s “next”.

The second speaker, Christy Nockels, singer/songwriter, talked about life on the road. She was living “the dream” but also reaching a point of complete exhaustion. She just wanted to go “home”. It was during a time of rest that she realized that her fatigue was God’s way of rescuing her. She had everything she thought she wanted, but not what she needed most: Him. She talked about how a ready heart can look like an exhausted heart, because you have come to a place where you are ready to lay it all down and rest in Him. When we live from God, instead of for God, and when we learn to love and been seen by Him, we come home. The enemy keeps us busy so we are ineffective; God offers us rest so that He can propel us forward.

She also said “God unfolds dreams bigger than our own”. That just blows my mind, and it makes my heart ache. I don’t know what my dreams are…except to say they are to follow His dreams. And perhaps that is enough.

I also joined a break-out session for women in ministry called Boldness, with Leah Andrade. What a phenomenal woman! She said this: “You are chosen by God, divinely woven together to bring change to the world with your unmatchable story” and “your fabric is woven with God’s purpose”. O Diary…my story is pretty unremarkable, but it’s exciting to know that there is so much more going on that just what I see on the surface. To be reminded that I was chosen feels like a hug around all those places inside that hurt. I can feel the rejection and the longing to be loved melting away and being replaced by a sense of belonging. I feel hope and joy, and yes, peace. Even peace to wait. Something is coming and I want to be ready to run…

And me? I’m a mess. I’m nothing and have nothing: make something of me. You can do it; you’ve got what it takes – but God, don’t put it off.

Psalm 40:17

Dear Diary – I’m not gonna’ lie. Slipping from the softness of my bed at 6:30 Sunday morning was hard! It hurt! I wondered if it was worth it.

I had showered and laid out my clothes the night before. All I had to do was get dressed, fix my hair, apply make-up and make a large tea before heading out the door at 7:30 so I’d arrive for set-up on time. I had been asked to play with a worship team at another church. Services are still limited to 10 people so I felt comfortable in that environment. We were spread out and only 2 of us would be unmasked, and only while we were singing. I was going to get to sing and play, and not irritate anyone while doing it.

Set-up/rehearsal ran late and with 3 minutes until the start of the live service, I had to race to the restroom. I should have waited and slipped out during the sermon (sorry Pastor)! I had 20 seconds to get my in-ear monitors in. They had to be in place because, unlike the worship teams at my home church, this team played with tracks. That meant you can’t go off course or juggle your timing. You have to be precise. In addition, the only sound in the room came through the-in ear monitor…the vocals, drum, guitar and piano, which I was playing. And I was the first instrument to start with the song.

I felt like I was in a Mr. Bean skit. As the technician counted down from the back, I was scrambling to plug in my “ears”. I might have made it…had I remembered to take my face mask off first. The same thing happened at my home church 2 weeks before, as I wrestled with a face mask, 2 in-ear pieces, and a mic that clipped over one ear. I didn’t make it for the closing song, but I could hear the other musicians so I could manage. But with the only sound coming from in the in-ear, I was doomed!

I ripped the mask from my face and holding the plug by one ear, I counted. When it was time to start playing, I dropped the plug and played the first 4 bars. I could only hope that I played the correct ones! I spent the remainder of the first verse wrestling to get these things in, and praying it wasn’t all being caught on camera. I was horribly embarrassed; I’d never be able to face these people at the end of the service.

That’s when the hotflash started. It began with prickling around the back of my neck and spread into my armpits and up my face. Instead of looking like a pasty-white zombie, I was going to resemble a tomato! My hands started to shake as the back of my knees grew damp. And I wondered, what else can go wrong?

By the time we started the third song, the flush had died down. I was thankful we wouldn’t be sitting together because I was certain I no longer smelled like a rose. I allowed myself to set aside all the distractions and just worship.

As we moved into the interlude where would build toward the bridge by adding layers of complexity, our in-ear monitors went dead. I saw the lead singer stiffen and heat rising up the back of her neck. The guitarist stopped strumming. We knew the track was still playing live, and every note I was playing, but we had NOTHING! In 7 bars, the bridge would start. Would the lead singer keep going, hoping that our timing wasn’t off? Would she apologize and cite technical difficulties? Would it magically fix itself in time?

7 bars passed and I kept playing open chords. By now, the guitarist had indiscreetly turned to look at the drummer. The lead singer was madly communicating with the drummer with her eyeballs. So I glanced over too. By now, it was already past awkward. It had to be obvious to those watching that something was wrong!

But the lead singer was able to reset the track to the bridge and we had sound again. We continued on… we finished the song. The pastor prayed and introduced a short missions video. As soon as the video began, the drummer shouted “I’m so sorry”. One drumstick had gone flying (we watched it later on the video and it was hilarious) and he was preoccupied with how to discreetly pick it up. He knew he had lost the track but it wasn’t until the lead singer glanced over with fear in her eyes, that he realized he had hit the main power switch!

Needless to say, technology is great…when it works.

I picked up Tim Horton’s on the way home. I figure I deserved it after my early morning. And unlike 2 weeks ago when I treated myself to Tim’s, I got it home in one piece without spilling it and ruining my sweater! Too bad they gave me black coffee instead of black steeped tea!

I won’t be impressed with technology until it can download food.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #8

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, friends, humour, loss

Dear Diary -I stood on the bathroom scales this week and it says I”ve gained weight. There goes my theory that my clothes were shrinking in the closet and dresser drawers. Afterall, I haven’t worn most of them for a year. I don’t think the scale is broken, but if it isn’t kinder next time, it will be!

Dear Diary – On Saturday, Hubby and I watched an episode of Home Town, which I PVR when there’s a free preview. I love this young, sweet couple and their devotion to restore a house and build a home. They also salvage, re-purpose and work within a budget! All good stuff!

Hubby started looking at real estate and found the PERFECT place for us, only 10 minutes from my folks. I have always dreamed of living in one of the many limestone or red brick farm houses in and around my small town. So it’s not wonder we fell deeply in love with a gorgeous restored old limestone church. This beautiful home was obviously a labour of love. They retained the beautiful woodwork, the tower, the arches, the stained glass windows. Every detail enhances its natural beauty. I love the soaker tub next to an arched window, and the French door leading from the main floor master bedroom to a 3 season room. I love the fire pit. I love the custom wrought iron gate. I love the country landscape and I could learn to live with the pool. And if we sold our house at the top end in the current market, we could probably afford it, mortgage-free. We’d have a house but no income, and we’d lose it all.

Instead, we’ll just let our hovel house here, be our home.

Home is a comfort and home is a light, a place to leave the darkness outside
Home is a peaceful and ever full feeling, a place where the soul safely hides

Michael Card, Home

Dear Diary – I excused myself to use the “ladies’ room”, then muttered mockingly under my breath, “why are you using it? You’re no lady”. Little Guy burst out laughing. “Good one,” he said, “I was just thinking, we all use it so does that mean you think we’re all ladies?”.

Dear Diary – It’s always wonderful to find out you are memorable! I don’t think that’s happened to me before. I went to my 12 year old eye doctor this week, and he remembered that I play Overwatch. He remembered the D’Va text notication on my cell phone. He also remembered a 30 second conversation we had last year when I accosted him in the parking lot to ask what characters he played. I guess it’s true of gamers –

The bond we have is much deeper than the game we play.

Patrick Willis

Dear Diary – My parents read about the perfect cat for me. I would love, love, love to get a cat who is past the crazy kitten stage and loves to cuddle. But Hubby hates cats. Just to see their reaction, I told the boys about Moustache anyway. I mentioned that he needed a home with no other pets and no small children. Little Guy piped up, “then what are we going to do about you…small child?”

I get it! I’m short!

Dear Diary – Once in awhile I have to waste energy doing housework. I started cleaning out under the bathroom sink and found 5 bottles of men’s body wash. So, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to smell like a man. One day I’ll smell like a forest, the next an Irish spring. And how, exactly, does an icy mist smell? I just hope those Axe commercials aren’t accurate and I get swarmed with hot women every time I leave the house.

It all balances out too. Hubby is starting to smell like a woman. He’s been using my hand lotion, and a cloud of shea butter follows him everywhere!

Dear Diary – My dear friend of almost 30 years died this week. She was diagnosed with cancer barely 3 months ago.

I met Suzanne in college & careers and we instantly bonded. When she moved away 2 years later, we kept in touch, writing looong letters. Those letters allowed us to prayerfully carry each other through some very dark times in our lives.We lost touch a couple of years ago, then out of the blue, she sent me a message asking me to pray. That message was followed by a handwritten letter, scanned and emailed to me. The best way to connect the new and the old! She had drifted from the Lord and He had woken her up. We picked up right where we had left off.

She was the special kind of friend that I could share anything with, without fear or shame. She loved me when I was most vulnerable and I always knew my heart was safe with her. I am so thankful for the assurance that she is safely in the Father’s arms now, and our friendship will never be over. I loved her so much and miss her terribly already.

June 29, 1996

And friends are friends forever if the Lord’s the Lord of them
And a friend will not say never ’cause the welcome will not end
Though it’s hard to let you go in the Father’s hands we know
That a lifetime’s not too long to live as friends

Michael W. Smith, Friends

Writing Letters

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faith, family, letters, stamping, writing

It’s true – the art of writing letters is slowly becoming a lost art. Who has the time to put thought on paper (once you find some paper)? Then you have to find an address, a stamp and even a mailbox! Sometimes it is just easier to send a quick text or post a quick message on Facebook. I get that! I’m guilty of doing it too.

But once upon a time, I used to write a lot of letters. Hubby and I started our relationship on paper. He was a poor student in another city and phone calls cost money! I wrote crazy stories with small-town caracatures to a homesick friend studying in the city. When our worlds seemed to be crashing down around us, another friend and I encouraged each other by sharing prayers and scripture. Baring our broken hearts to each other, we helped each other breathe in the darkness, until the sun started shining again.

Though housebound during covid, I once again have time to write and have re-discovered the pleasure in putting pen to paper. And for good reason:

Letters are more personal because they contain my effort, my time, and my handwriting. Those notes are often in or tucked into one of my handmade cards, made or chosen with that person in mind. My hope is that I will lift their spirits, and as I work, mine is lifted as well.

They take more time, which means I am more careful as I consider each word and phrase. I can extinguish inflammatory words before I create firenados. With my emotions in check, I am less likely to discourage, hurt, or offend the reader. And when I share my emotions or concerns, I can be concise, sharing the whole story without interruptions and distractions, and leaving other “cans of worms” unopened.

Letters can be read and re-read by the recipient. It gives them time to consider their response, if one is needed. It limits the number of folks who may feel they have a right to weigh in with their opinion or share their story. But most importantly, it may be something that the reader needs to read again and again, a reminder that they are special and they are loved.

Let us all then leave behind letter of love and friendship, family and devotion, hope and consolation, so that the future generations will know what we valued and believed and achieved.

Marian Wright Edelman

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #3

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, humour, sewing, shopping

Dear Diary – I saw the mailman walk by the house this morning. That’s enough social interaction for today.

Dear Diary – A “state of emergency” was declared as of last Thursday but with the exception of school closures, everything pretty much functions as before. We’re supposed to stay home except for “essentials”: medical appointments, grocery and pharmacy pick up, and walks around the block. Arguably, essential means different things to different people. Here was my conundrum: Michael’s, a craft boxstore, is still open, for curbside pick up or delivery, and I’m in need of “spring” fabric. I had planned a trip to Fabricland in January but it is closed. Some would argue that it’s essential I leave home to buy fabric for my business. Others could argue that my business isn’t feeding my family, and therefore isn’t essential. The same argument can apply to furniture stores, home reno stores, etc. In reality, our restrictions are less severe than last March, although Covid is rampant in our province. What do I do?

I’ve ranted before about the disadvantages of online shopping, and fabric is a small market. Thumbnail photos don’t accurately reflect the product. I spent 5 hours on Friday sourcing fabric to stretch my bucks! In addition to colour and print, I had to consider cost, shipping dates, and measurements. There was no standard means of measuring – I had to calculate cost per metre based on inches, yards, centimeters, and feet. Math…no pressure!

Source: trenchcoatsoft.com

I ordered from Michael’s first, swallowing the $15 delivery charge. Then I ordered from Wal-Mart, which had free shipping…but is shipping each fabric swatch… one. at. a. time. Yesterday I received 3 tiny packages of elastic in a large envelope that was so well taped, I got my 20 minute work-out!

The first package arrived 4 days early, sometime after 8 p.m. I picked up the “Your package has been delivered” after 11 p.m. No one had knocked and I was already in bed but I didn’t want it stolen. Anyone who up to no good in my neighbourhood Monday night, I’m sorry I scared you. I had to turn on the porch light to find the package, and I was too lazy to get dressed first. It’s rather chilly outside for a t-shirt and panties.

Normally I’m a flannel-kinda gal. But lately, the dying inferno of my youth has re-ignited, and I’m waking on fire, several times in the night! I would love a smoking hot body, but this is not what I had in mind. I am developing 2 temperature settings – hypothermia and hades! The blankets are on and off, like a cat in the middle of whatever you are doing. Legs in – too hot! Legs out – too cold! One leg out – worried monster under the bed will eat one leg. When will the madness end?

There’s hope, however. The weatherman has predicted an arctic vortex heading our way. He’s afraid for his life, but I’m wondering if it be a life-saver, providing the optimal sleeping temperature.

I don’t think these fellows will mind.

Dear Diary – The sky is gray and it looks like it should be snowing. I know evening will soon be upon us, and I welcome the darkness. It’s like a heavy blanket wrapped around our home, soft and warm, inviting. I should be writing, or sewing, or doing something useful, not just sitting here idly watching the giant pine tree outside the window. The branches are frantically waving at me in the wind. I know it’s a cold wind that bites through winter clothing, and swirls menacingly around the edges. I was outside earlier, and I was happy to be come home.

I feel like those branches, my thoughts constantly moving and my focus swirling about, but I never really get anywhere. I sense frustration creeping in around the edges, and I have to remind myself: patience. Just as I can’t see the wind, I see movement and know it is there. Just as I can’t see Him, I know God is moving and He is there. Not everything is about the destination; it’s also about the journey.

You take a chance every day – getting up in the morning, crossing the street, or sticking your face in a fan.

Lt. Frank Drebin, The Naked Gun

Sweetness & Light

Tags

baking, disasters, faith, food, food photography, macro photography, musings, tea, tea cups

I was just reflecting this morning, how our attitudes and circumstances, when reframed and brought out into the light, can actually become something beautiful. Take my disastrous macarons, for example. While they are cracked and dry, and lack colour, a little raspberry buttercream softens the appearance, and makes them a sweet treat. I survived the experience, and I now have an opportunity to learn from my mistakes. And an opportunity to try again.

Maybe even to do better.

All of the experiences in my life have done the same. Sure, my heart bears many scars. Some of my own making. But reframed in the light of God’s love and care, there is beauty too. God softens and moulds the rough places. He adds sweetness. He has helped me survive, and learn, and grow. He has forgiven me, so I can try again.

Maybe even do better.

So I’m wishing you a week filled with sweetness and light…and plenty of tea!

You may think your light is small, but it can make a huge difference in other people’s lives

– Anonymous