Dear Quarantine Diary – Year 3/Week 3

Tags

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

Dear Diary – My bathroom scales played a mean trick on me. I stepped on the scales today and it said I’d lost 6 lbs. I knew that wasn’t right; my jeans said so!! When I tried again, it said I weighed 98 lbs. I know that’s not right. The third attempt put me at my pre-Christmas number. Sold! I wasn’t trying a fourth time!

Cremation is my last hope for a smoking hot body.

Unknown

Dear Diary – We started the work week with a huge dump of the white stuff. And it wasn’t the dandruff kind. Hubby changed his plans to head to the office, and instead, headed outside to start blowing snow. He got most of the way before the battery ran out. Within half an hour, you couldn’t tell he’d been out.

I was just settling down with my Bible and my tea, when I noticed the lady across the street, hustling up her drive-way. She grabbed a shovel and headed down the street. Where was her car? So I tossed on some clothes and headed out to see if I could help. I expected to find her car stuck on the unplowed street at the corner. Instead, it was a couple blocks away. I debated about whether to keep going or not. I was already breaking a sweat as I stumbled along the road in the heavy snow in the ruts carved by brave drivers. The sidewalks were knee-deep and it was only 9 a.m. But I also felt alittle invigorated, like an intrepid frontierswoman, braving the elements. I was more than halfway to my stranded neighbours, when they got in their car and drove off. My mission of mercy was meh!

By the time I got back home, Hubby was getting ready to send out a search party. I topped up the bird feeder and warmed up with some hot chocolate.

And a really BIG marshmallow!

There was a air of community by evening as people emerged from their houses up and down the street, to start diggin their way out. The worst was over and the skies were clearing.

Even the birds had some work to do…

The next morning, the snowplow came by…and dumped a 4′ wide swath of knee-deep snow across the bottom of the driveway. It had rolled in places into balls, perfect for snowmen heads. That air of community was still there…with several men out clearing their homesteads. They all watched me, but none of them offered to help this little lady. After 45 minutes of slogging, I had 4 tracks cleared for our car and the neighbour’s car, and I called it a day! I’ll be feeling it until next May.

All in all, between 40-60 cm fell in one day, closing down highways and schools (except we now have virtual school so that sucked!!)!

Dear Diary – My days haven’t been all work and no play. I finally tried out my new textured rolling pin. I made shortbread cookies but I think regular sugar cookies would be better. The pattern melted off the shortbreads.

I failed at caramelizing onions in the oven but cooked perfect T-bone steaks!

I made a big pot of tasty carrot soup completely from scratch, but lost some of it when my food processor leaked. It was probably time to wash the kitchen floor again anyway…

And I consulted for Hubby when he attempted Mary Berg’s omelette-soufflé. Light as a cloud!

Dear Diary – It was way overdue. My hair was a disgusting washed out green colour, so I took the time to colour my hair. This time I didn’t get any on the sink, but I have 2 blue finger nails. Speaking of blue, last November, Eldest Son and I went together on an order for temporary tattoos. They’re just like the sticker kinds kids would get in a Happy Meal, only instead of a picture, it’s plant-based ink. It darkens over 48 hours from neon green, to navy blue, to black. I can feel like a rock star without the hangover or the regrets..for the next 1-3 weeks.

Dear Diary – Hubby shocked me by agreeing to watch one of my favourite movies, You’ve Got Mail. I love the quirky banter between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, and of course, the happy ending. They fit together like pancakes and maple syrup. I always laugh at the delicate jab at fancy coffee drinkers, and the quote about daring:

You are daring to imagine that you could have a different life. Oh, I know it doesn’t feel like that. You feel like a big fat failure now. But you’re not. You are marching into the unknown armed with…nothing.

Birdie Conrad

It kind of sums up my life. I keep daring to imagine a different life, yet never seem to get anywhere, and consequently, feel like a failure. I know I’m not. I know we are not all destined for “great” things, and really, who gets to decide what is “great”? . Couldn’t raising children to be respectful, fully-functioned adults who contribute to society, be “great”? Couldn’t taking the time to talk to someone who is grieving or discouraged, be “great”? Depending on the definition, we ALL do something “great” for someone. I believe God is in control of my “destiny”, and while that destiny means I may never walk a red carpet or win a Nobel prize, it doesn’t mean I can’t stop marching into the unknown. Uphill. All the way.

If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.

Jodi Picoult, Small Great Things 

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #48

Tags

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

Dear Diary – Little Guy celebrated his sweet 16 and I’m being pressed to give him a new nickname in my blog. Since he nearly towers over every member of our immediate family, (and has long objected to the nickname “Little Guy”), it’s not a completely unreasonable request. But what to use? Tall and short are out as that offends the older the brother, who is shorter than Little Guy. Both, obviously, tower over me. Beard and No Beard won’t work for long. Dumb and Dumber doesn’t work because sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart. Also, as a Mom, I should be more sensitive. I guess. No.1 and No. 2 make me think of bathroom jokes, which I’m sorry, work at any age. I could use their first initial, “J” and “M”, but that’s kinda boring. I’m open to suggestions!

Dear Diary – I broke down and made French toast for lunch one day. Youngest Son was just staring at the pan, so I asked him what he was thinking. He answered, “That French toast is shaped like my butt”.

Really? I was just thinking it looked yummy….

Dear Diary – It’s been a long time since I shared a TMI: Terrible Mental Image. A TMI is the sudden manifestation of a mental picture painted “with broad, sweeping strokes” where your brain (whether it dwells in the gutter or not) spontaneously fills in the blanks after someone says something that may be completely innocent.

I haved shared 8 TMIs in the past, ranging in depravity. Just search “terrible mental” in the search box at the top of this blog and they should all magically appear. Here’s #9.

The scene: Sitting down the lunch on the couch on Saturday morning.

What was said:

Hubby to Youngest Son: I need to put your mark on the wall.

What He meant: Every year we record Youngest Son’s height on the door frame.

My TMI: Youngest Son rubbing his tiny butt on the wall to mark his height next to brown “skid marks” lining the wall at increasing incremental heights.

Think about it for a moment. Picture it.

There you go!

Dear Diary – For once, though it was certainly not the prettiest birthday cake I’ve ever produced, it was a successfully baked birthday cake. No sticking. No peeling. No snafus.

Are you disappointed?

But later that same weekend, Oldest Son and I tried a new recipe. Well, the essence of a recipe because really we just took the idea and threw it together. I’m not sure what to call it. It’s actually kinda gross, but strangely hard to stop eating. We made rice krispy squares, without the rice krispies. Instead, we substitued them for plain rippled potato chips. It was oddly good warm, like a plate of nachos. It was oddly good cold, like a salty, chewy cookie.

Salty, sweet, cripsy, gooey marshmallow chip guck.

I think I”ll work on the name.

Dear Diary – It wasn’t the first snow of the season but Sunday was certainly the first major snow this season. It was coming down in thick flakes, making the roads greasy and reducing visibility. Having grown out in a small town, driving in snow is no biggie. Clean your car so you can see. Slow down. Leave extra space. All common sense in my opinion. But in the city, I never cease to be amazed at how silly people can be. I realize that winter driving is new for a lot of people in the city. Driving is new for a lot of people in the city! But even seasoned, experienced drivers seem to “forget” how to drive in the few short months of no snow. We passed cars that had careened off the side of the highway, probably going too fast. We passed cars with rear windows still thickly covered with snow, like a blanket. Who in their right minds would drive with a blanket covering the back window? At the very least, if you’re blessed with a rear wiper, don’t be so lazy. Flick the button!

Concerns over contracting covid sounds a lot nicer than “I’m not leaving the house because I don’t have the patience for stupid people”. It’s going to be a looong winter.

Dear Lord, grant me the serenity to accept stupid people as they are, the courage to maintain my self-control, and the wisdom to know that if I act on it, I will go to jail. Amen.

Unknown

Dear Diary – Just when I think I’ve escaped, they pull me back in. Just kidding.

Yesterday I was asked to come to my former job to train the latest Gatekeeper in the Cubicle of Purgatory. This will be the third office administrator I’ve trained since I “retired” 2 years ago. (Time flies!) Covid certainly played a part in tallying up replacements, but I confess, it also feels kinda nice that I’m almost “irreplaceable”?

I have mourned over this job for a long time. The decision to leave was difficult and I left wounded. But it is time for someone to take up the baton and I was happy to go in and share what I could, to give the new Gatekeeper an excellent start to her new beginning.

I suspect I will still receive a few panicked phone calls though. I have for the past 2 years. 😉

I felt sad as I drove out of the parking lot and, as so often happens, God spoke to me through music. I had popped in an old cd Friday night and it was just there in the background. A guitar began to strum and someone sang softly, over and over, “Leave it all behind.”

It’s what I’ve been trying to do – to leave behind hurtful actions and words, the anger, and the frustration. I’ve prayed for healing. I’ve prayed for forgiveness too. Conflict usually involves more than one person and there are things I wish I had done differently. I prayed God would tear down the walls and sharp places in me that had built up and made me feel angry and hard. I’ve hated it. I don’t want to be someone who is judgmental and easily offended, self-absorbed and unkind. My name, “Jennifer” means “gentle spirit”, not “raving lunatic”!

Since I started this blog, I have changed quite a bit. Some changes have been good and I like them. I feel more comfortable with who I am. I’m less caught up in being perfect. I worry less about what others think of me and I can laugh at myself more. I’ve certainly had more fun, made some crazy memories, and learned some things along the way.

But I haven’t liked all the changes or ways I’ve started to adopt. I know, with God’s help, I can ditch them for something better. I get to choose.

I’m still searching and waiting for direction because I don’t believe I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do. I haven’t “arrived”. Change can be good, even when it’s painful, and I’m ready to leave this behind.

Isn’t it ironic that the next song talked about God breathing life into old bones? Don’t tell me God doesn’t have a gentle sense of humour!

Dear Diary – Purolator, who delivered my box to the wrong address (thankfully the lady down the street finally let us know….3 days later) and who have since ignored my efforts to tell them off get in touch with them, sent me a survey to rate them on my recent experience with them.

This is going to be fun…

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #46

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour, shopping

Dear Diary – I just walked by Hubby’s desk (aka our dining room table) and I heard him say, “32 45 56”. He better be talking about airplane parts and not my measurements.

Dear Diary – If insecurity or feelings of inadequacy were a lipstick colour, mine would have been harlot red Thursday evening. I headed to worship team rehearsal with an oppressive sense of impending disaster. This would be my second time using tracks and we had a new team member. I was afraid I’d look unprepared despite having spent a large amount of time trying to figure out why the music and the tracks, and the bells and the whistles, didn’t quite add up! I thought I had it all figured out along with copious notes, but as I pondered, panic set in. I couldn’t remember a thing. What was my name? Who thought I should do this?

I arrived on time, with head held high and a plastic smile on my face. I hate plastic smiles. I’ve wished I had taken drama in high school because it’s fun to pretend to be other people. But it’s not fun when you’re you pretending to be you.

If rehearsal were a plated dish, it would be described as “rustic”. It was a little rough around the edges. But the great thing about working with a team is that I have others to rely on. I may be “leading” but the burden isn’t entirely mine. Yes, they rely on me to do my part, but I still had time work it out. I also had time to ask God to help me work on that harlot red insecurity. It’s really not my best shade!

You deserve the greater glory, Overcome I sing
By Your love I am accepted, You’re a good and gracious King

CityAlight, Good and Gracious King

Dear Diary – On Saturday I met with a group of women at the church at the ridiculous hour of 8:30. I know, not so ridiculous if you’re a morning person, which I am not. I’m not a night person either. More of a 20 minute gal in middle of the day, but I digress. We watched some videos (in a darkened room – very dangerous) and then broke into smaller discussion groups. Even though we don’t know each other well, it was an opportunity to be honest and vulnerable. On the way home, I realized I have missed that.

For an assignment in college, I had to ask a few people who knew me, to list 10 words to describe me. More than one person wrote “naive” and it made me angry. I didn’t want to be seen as a sheltered little girl. I was, by this time, a Mom training hard so we could have a good life. Or maybe I was confusing naivety with vulnerability. I lacked armour. It’s probably why the arguments and words cut so deeply in the early years of our marriage (the first 15 were the hardest). I’ve since developed armour, and I hate it! I hate feeling fake. I hate feeling brittle and hard. I hate being guarded all the time, because I want to be open and honest with others, and with myself.

It was always my prayer whenever I spoke at Ladies’ Morning Break, to be genuine, and when I was, I felt peace. That opportunity, along with so many others, was stripped away by the pandemic and the empty space it left behind echoes loudly at times. It felt so good to share my heart. It felt so good to be trusted with another’s heart. Perhaps that’s the thing that the pandemic stole the most…not just time with family and happy memories, but a part of our soul that connects honestly and openly with others. Every time we left the house, our bodies were vulnerable. But every day we stayed home, we became vulnerable too.

This Saturday, I’ve been asked to speak at a ladies’ morning at my new church. I’ll be honest – I’m nervous. There will be some ladies there who know me, who know just how far off the beaten path I can go! They’ve already learned to accept that. But there will be new ladies too, and I’m not sure what they’ll think of me. Will I make them laugh? Will I scare them? Will I get called into the pastor’s office?

I guess….wait and see!

Dear Diary – You know how I feel about online shopping. It sucks. Imagine my surprise when 2 packages arrived, intact and early this week. But the happy feeling couldn’t last. Yesterday I checked the status of the next package to arrive. It said it was delivered. Hmm…nothing on the porch. So I went to purolator’s site, It said delivered, but when I dug deeper, one page said it’s on a truck and another showed a map and that truck hasn’t been anywhere near my town. I called and entered my tracking number. That number wasn’t recognized. I thought I’d be on hold for the next week, and they’d answer in the middle of the night. I’d be asleep and have to start again. I did finally get an answer but Tim wasn’t much help. They swear it was delivered, even though there’s no photo record like before, and the GPS on the truck is “unclear”. I will have to wait to talk to a “trace specialist” and go from there. I don’t know which I hate more: stupid people in the mall or online shopping!

Dear Diary – I learned a long time ago that if you feel you look good, it will bolster your confidence. Saturday I subjected Hubby to the monthly “what do I wear to lead worship “ parade, which is really just my version of a walk of shame. It’s not really that I’m vain; it’s that I’ve seen the unflattering angle of the cameras and with the added covid poundage (which I still say really started piling on and bringing friends when my doctor changed my medication. But what do I know?). Everything shrunk in my closet; nothing fits well. Including things that fit 2 weeks ago. Even my little black dress is too little, and I’m not talking about the little one. I’m talking about the one labelled XL!. The only items that haven’t completely betrayed me are my high heels, but my body screams when I contemplate wearing them.

After nearly an hour, with my closet in complete disarray, I had it narrowed down to one pair of pants, 2 tops, and one plaid mumu. I reluctantly paraded for Hubby. I say reluctantly because there have been misunderstandings before that led to meltdowns and chocolate, and chocolate can’t help me now. I’d probably worry less if the other musicians were less pretty and I was less neurotic. I don’t wish them ill, and for all I know, despite their calm, polished exterior, they may be as neurotic as me and spend an hour in their closet trying to stuff sausage into manicotti tubes too.

Dear Diary – Mom and I have commented lately, that there seem to be a lot of ads for pad and leak-proof undies for women of a certain age. Do all women leak? And do these leaky women all run around their houses in their bras and panties, admiring themselves in full-length mirrors? I avoid mirrors like a vampire avoids the sunshine.

One day, an ad for leak-proof undies came on, and Hubby commented, “do they have to zero in on old lady’s butts and cottage cheese cellulite”? To which I replied, “yeah! If you wanted to see old lady’s butt, all you have to do is ask me to bend over”!

Dear Diary – I will never learn. Watching baking shows is dangerous because it inspires me to try new things, and the results are not always a raging success. Once I’ve even messed up rice krispy squares! So, in my delusions of grandiose praise from my guys, I set out to make hand pies.

I made my pastry Tuesday evening. The hardest part was trying to get the grated butter off my fingers, and deciding how much ice water to add. The pastry wasn’t as smooth as I wanted, but I didn’t want to overwork it and make it tough.

Wednesday afternoon, I made my filling. The recipe was for a louisiana hand pie and used lots of spices, including a creole spice. I don’t like spicy food, nor do I have any concept of what might be in a creole spice mix, so I improvised. I threw in a bit of this and that, and smidgen of something else, until it smelled good to me, and I tossed the whole mince to cool in the fridge.

I was dreading rolling the pastry. Afterall, that’s what separates a pie from a pile of seasoned ground beef and the plate! So I gave myself plenty of time to play Minecraft before I started so I’d be very zen.

I didn’t play long enough.

The pastry was more like pizza dough, even after resting in the fridge overnight. The more I tried to roll it, the more gluten it produced, and the more spring-back it had. Still, I managed to wrestle 9 meat pies from it. They were ugly, but they were delicious!

True love is like butter. There are no substitutes for the real thing!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #43

Tags

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

Dear Diary – There is not enough acid in the world to unburn the memory of Hubby walking into the bathroom the other night and asking me, with a smirk on his face, why I was using his toothbrush. I looked down and sure enough, there’s my pink toothbrush on the edge of the sink. Blech!

Dear Diary – What is a pumpkin’s favourite sport?
—

Squash!

Dear Diary – I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with me Sunday morning. I was leading worship and we were halfway through our rehearsal/sound check. So far, it had not been a stellar performace but we were committed. I was freaking out because it was the first time I was running the music track app, and I warned them that if I passed out, they were to leave me and soldier on without me! It might even be an improvement. 😉

So I pushed the button on the iPad and waited for the little voice in my ear to count me in to the intro. I bravely followed that little voice, but the keyboard sounded terrible and I was really struggling with the timing. I stopped us; we laughed it off. I pressed play again but the same thing happened. I broke into a cold sweat as my brain starting melting and my vision started to blacken around the edges. Someone to the left suggested we try playing it without the track, and as the guitarist started to strum, we all realized the tempo should be 6/8, not 4/4, and I looked at the app. Sure enough! I had done the exact thing I had had nightmares about all week. I had started playing the wrong track. Not only was it the wrong tempo and the wrong song, it was in a slightly lower key, which all accounted for just how wretched it sounded.

I was relieved that my brain wasn’t actually melting, but even more terrified that I was going to stupidly sink the whole ship with one tap of my icy cold finger!

It went well in the end. Keep in mind, I’m not a morning person. I don’t sleep well the night before I’m serving. AND I was up and out the door before the sun made an appearance. When I stepped out the door, it was chilly enough I could almost see my breath. The sky was a pretty shade of mauve and the waning moon was so bright and nearly full. As I headed north, the sky took on rosier shades of pink, and by the time I headed west again, the rosy sky contrasted with a bank of deep purple, silver-tipped clouds along the horizon.

As I reached the edge of town, a flourescent globe, the colour of mercurochome, began to rise. My ear tuned into the song on the cd. It was a song that had strengthened me through a tough month almost 2 years ago.

Your light will terrify the dark, I call upon the Name that tears apart the night.

Skillet, Terrify the Dark

Within the 10 minutes drive through town, Mr. Sun had crested the houses. When I got out of the car at the church, he was bashfully trying to hide behind the last cloud. What a start to a new week!

In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. Matthew 5:16

Dear Diary – When I planted tulips Saturday afternoon, I did not expect them to become squirrel appetizers the very next day. After crafting Saturday morning with some lovely ladies, I also baked bread, which was also squirreled away by someone, because I only got 2 tiny slices.

My basil-on-steriods has been put to bed for the winter, but the oregano and thyme, which finally grew from seed months after they were planted, are loving the extra space. They’re not loving the blue jays and squirrels, who are enchanged with the “new” box on the patio. The box was moved when the roofers were here and it hasn’t been moved back. Yet.

I can’t find any worms. Can you find any worms, Ethel?

Dear Diary – I recently went with Hubby to pick out his new glasses. As I wandered around the store looking at frames, the flirtiness of the female eye technicians was not lost on me. There were 5 employees and 3 customers looking at frames: Hubby, Tubby, and me. Hubby had one technician chatting him up at the desk. Tubby had 2 ladies making frame suggestions for him. I barely received a glance, let alone a greeting or an offer to help. I don’t want to rant on customer service but after all the decades of promising and promoting gender equality, are we really still that shallow?

That was a rhetorical question. Don’t answer me.

Dear Diary – Did you know that Emily Dickinson’s use of the common meter allows most of her poems to be sung to the tune of “Gilligan’s Island”?

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading – treading – till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through –

You’re singing it right now, aren’t you?

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #39

Tags

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

Tags

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

Tags

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…

Tags

#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.