Not So Funny

 

 

Some things are funny, and some things aren't. This is a story of something you might think to be funny, but really is not funny at all. It all started on a foggy fall morning in Orville. The hamsters in Kevin's room had already shredded their days' worth of toilet paper and were working on their breakfast of multicolored nuggets. Orville is not a big town, but it has its share of big events that the town's people look forward to every year. One of these events is the annual Pumpkin Festival. For whatever reason, this morning the pumpkin shaped alarm clock next to Kevin's bed not only didn't ring for the daily morning wake up time; it apparently had made its last tick at around 11:46 pm. Not a good time for this timepiece to bite the dust. Kevin needed that early morning start on his entry for the pumpkin pie contest. His pie had to be perfect, it had to be fresh, and it had to be on the judges table by 11:30 am. If it wasn't for Lulu and Ollie getting into a throw down scrapping fight over who knows what, Kevin wouldn't have woken up at all. "Ah, no!" Kevin screamed as his eyes focused in on the dead clock. All he could do was throw on his clothes from the day before and rush downstairs to get the oven heating up for pie time.  There was no time for a shower or even to brush his teeth. Just so as not to ruin his chances of offending the judges with morning breath, he grabbed the bag of peppermints from his mother's secret stash behind the sewing machine and stuffed them into his pocket. "Of all days for her to leave so early," Kevin thought to himself.  But Mrs. Agnew came down with a gall bladder attack the night before and someone had to teach the Momma's Little Mermaids swim class down at the community center.  

You might think that entering a pumpkin pie contest is a bit odd for a thirteen year old boy. But Kevin is not your ordinary boy.  He knew what he wanted in life, and football or brutal video games did not make his list of what he considered fun. His infatuation for anything pumpkin seemed to have started one Halloween when he was just four years old. The streets were full of kids in costume filling their pillow cases or plastic pumpkins with candy. But when Kevin came home, he dumped out all of his candy into the bathroom sink and slept with his empty plastic pumpkin positioned on a pillow at the foot of his bed. Up until that day anything pumpkin that was to have crossed his lips, would have been immediately spewed out with a spit and a grunt.  So when Kevin came down the next morning and announced that he wanted pumpkin pie for dessert that night; jaws dropped and the room went silent. "Okay, I'll make one today" said Kevin's mom as she watched her son react in delight with a grin from ear to ear.  

Over the years Kevin took an interest in everything pumpkin and excelled in his projects from growing the largest one to perfecting a pumpkin pie recipe that was the envy of the town's reigning pie queen Ms. Metzgar. To this day his love for anything pumpkin is a mystery, but for some reason that hard orange vegetable brings joy to that young man, and because some think it's funny, it has also brought a thick skin to that same boy because he refuses to let others rob him of his passion.  

If you're wondering what happened with the pie contest; that morning Kevin managed to whip together the world's best ever pumpkin pie and won by a landslide of accolades. The news of his winning pie spread across the land from one blog to another and finally reached the attention of the Libby's canned pumpkin company. They bought that pie recipe from him and with that, Kevin started a nest egg for his dream of opening a pie house at the edge of town. Nobody thinks he's funny now.   

A Place Where Time Stands Still

I would never have thought that there be such a place where time stands still; yet I think I have been there. Come to think of it, I think I have been there in the past before as well. Now I even question myself as to whether I am still there and all that has happened to me in life has just been a dream; I never actually left that place at all. Because today I found myself in that same place again where it felt like time stood still. Of course I am talking about the check out line at Michael’s craft store.

I don’t know what it is about the check out clerks at Michael’s, but every time I have had to endure that long line of waiting they always seem to take foreverrrrrrrrrrr.

To stay true to form, today was no different. After waiting for oh, I don’t know how long; I was finally the next in line. But that is when the forces of nature took over and time stopped dead, as the person in front of me dumps out about twelve items and two receipts with a request for a refund. The clerk proceeds to punch something into the cash register and begins to scan the items. What followed did not happen in real time, but seemed to be more in slow motion. The customer and the agent exchanged possible means of refunding the items by separating the products with the correlating receipts, but this was not to be the end of this return transaction. Next, the clerk dropped her chin in order to speak into the little microphone device attached to her lapel, and sends out the request to anyone in the store that could help her with these product returns. When there was no response she repeated the request with an additional plea for help because she had never actually done a return before. The manager finally did come, but his assistance was brief and minimal because I guess it was part of her initial training to work under pressure and figure these things out on her own. The customer was actually of more help than the manager and finally between the two of them they were successful.

Finally I was next. Before I knew it, the cosmic force of time took over and I found myself paying for my items with one dollar bills, nickels, and pennies. Again the phenomenon of time stopping was in play but this time the target was that of the next person in line.

The moral of this story is: If you plan on doing any shopping at Michael’s craft store, go ahead and prepare dinner for the evening using the crock pot. It will be done by the time you get home.

"P" is for Perfect

Don't ask me "why?" but for some reason I got to thinking about things in life that we are always in pursuit of for perfection. Here is a top ten list that came to my mind:

1) Pizza crust - I am always looking for the perfect pizza crust recipe

2) Profession - it always a good thing to find that perfect profession that you can shine in

3) Pillow - so far all of the pillows I have ever gotten from Costco just don't measure up

4) Phone - they make phones now that are much smarter than me

5) Pen - you know that if there is a choice of pens, either in a pen container on your desk or in the bottom of your purse, I will deliberately choose one over the others

6) Pourage - even the three bears were pursuing the perfect hot cereal

7) Purse - the perfect purse does not necessarily involve pursuit, but rather it finds you

8) Present - what do you get that person that has everything, or what do you get a teenager? Oh wait, there is a perfect present for that...cash.

9) Pill - whether it is for an aching joint or an aching head, one is always looking for that perfect pill to reliever what ales you.

10) Paint - You have decided on a color to paint a room in your house. You go down to the hardware store to get the paint. But now you are faced with a wall full of little cards that have slight varying shades of color to choose from. You narrow it down to the card color that just keeps jumping out at you. But then after painting that color on your wall; it really isn't the tone you were hoping for. So you either live with it, or you go down to the store again and select yet another paint color to paint over what you thought was the perfect color in the first place.

 But when it comes right down to it; the ultimate "P" in your pursuit for the perfect whatever, will have everything to do with Y.O.U and you will know it when you find it.  

Computer Games

Our computer is so slow.
How slow is it?
It is so slow, I do believe we have the Windows Jurassic Version.










Here are some fun computer games you can play while using your extremely slow computer:

1) Go make a cup of tea

2) Run a hot bath. Make sure that the water is hotter than desired so that by the time you have finished working on your computer it will be just the right temperature. I suggest that you also have a glass of wine while you are waiting. This is for if the bath water ends up cooling down too much; you will still feel relaxed and warm.

 3) Practice changing a tire

 4) Read the book War and Peace

Bee Murder Cold Case Re-opened

While on my walk today I suddenly noticed that a bee was following, and at times even circling me. I wondered why I was the target of this deliberate behavior. Then it dawned on me that this could very well be a special agent from the Bee Police on a hot lead stemming from a bee murder cold case involving me back in 1963 when I was six years old.

 After being stung by a bee at that time, with Mason jar in hand,  I proceeded to go out to the garden with the sole purpose of incarcerating as many bees as I could and sealing them in the jar. My thoughts were that I would eliminate all future threat of being stung by a bee again, or at least minimize the chances.

But as it is 49 years later, I have had no further criminal intent on annihilating the bee population. In my life I have come to realize that bees have a very definite and honorable purpose. Besides, I have lived in Canada for over five years now. With that in mind I didn't understand that this bee could think that there was any possibility of extraditing me, or the fact that at the time of the incident I was a minor, let alone after all these years the statute of limitations must be far expired to indite me now. It wasn't long until that bee must have realized these same facts and gave up on the chase.  But if by chance there is ever a bee in the car with me while I'm driving, it's either him or me and I will not hesitate to kill again. 

Child Labor

I don't understand the deal with child labor. We have my husband's teenage niece and her friend staying with us this summer for two weeks. Not ever having any children, I thought the idea of child labor would be of great help for getting some stuff done around the house. I guess I'm not doing it right.

First of all, I have noticed that it is a lot more expensive to buy groceries for teenagers than it is buying food for my dogs. Mind you, the selection for my dogs is only that of one kind of food, and I only feed them twice a day. But by comparison to kids, at least the dogs only use one dish.  

I am not one of them, but there are a lot of people that have never had children that like to put clothes on their dogs. Even then, the  amount of clothing for a dog is limited to one; maybe two sweaters.  If the dog were to somehow get the sweater off, it is still only one piece of clothing laying around the house to pick up, and definitely never any shoes, socks, or other unmentionables.

True, I do have to pick up after my dogs every day, and in light of that, I don't see any difference between dogs and teenagers; with the exception that I can legally lock my dogs up in one room to limit the amount of damage they may do while I'm gone. And maybe also that my dogs are of no help when it comes to programing my cell phone or downloading a file.

You would think that teenage children would be far more advanced in understanding and responding to verbal commands than dogs. I think one of the key differences here is the term "command" verses "request".  Either way, for the most part when I ask my dogs to "come" or "wait", they know what that means and will do as they are told. A dog's whole focus in life is to please you, where as teenagers generally don't focus at all at what you say to them unless it has to do with something that will personally please them. This is where I must be doing something wrong with this notion of using child labor. As I recall growing up, when my mother asked us kids to clean the house we did it. Not only did we do it, we were under high expectations to do our task at hand in a reasonable amount of time and the end result was to be sufficient if not excellent. We did not get paid for these chores; in turn we were fed, clothed, housed, and were allowed to watch TV.

If only there were a game app to program into the phone of a teenager that made it so that their only means of advancement is if they were to actually complete a task in the real world. The "parental control" must give approval upon completion of the given chore in order for their phone to continue to function. This might make a good modern day study similar to that of the research involving Pavlov's dogs. You see, dogs and children are similar. Although the whole electrical shock thing would probably be frowned on.

I guess it's probably a good thing that I never had any children; but I make a good aunt.

Late night dinner?

Last night I was out on the deck reading until I had to come in when the mosquitoes got too bad. This morning I woke up with bites on my leg. It all makes sense to me now. Just before I went inside I could have sworn I heard a small voice saying "Moe Skitto and family, table for three?"

Fitness isn't fare

You know how right after you've eaten too much or within a  twenty four hour period you have successfully polished off a pan of Rice Krispie treats? you not only feel bloated you look bloated and your pants immediately become tight. What's not fare is that after spending one or more hours of strenuous sweat worthy exersice your body does not immediately reflect your efforts, and your clothes don't fit any better until this exersice has been consistantly repeated for weeks. Wish I could come up with a better moral to this story, but fitness just isn't fare.  

Don't Bug Me

You know how when there is a bug flying around you, you attempt to kill it by slapping it in between your hands? Quite often this is successful. But sometimes even though you know that you missed it, that bug never shows itself again.  I wonder if that near miss of slapping your hands together generated a sonic boom for such tiny ears, that the bug actually dies anyway of brain damage. Yep, that's the kind of stuff I think about.

If I could fly.

If I had the ability to fly over a car, I don't think I would swoop down in front of a moving car. I'm just saying.

LOL - Left Overs Laugh

Many of my most scrumptious recipes are a result of concocting something new from left overs. This is when you use the rule of thumb: When it works, write it down.  The fun and challenge is to create a totally new look and taste to the dish that was served for dinner the night before. This is what recently happened the other day with left over spaghetti sauce. First of all, the best spaghetti sauce to use is home made, but a good quality store bought sauce will do in a pinch. The missing key ingredient in store bought is that it lacks seasoned ground beef/sausage and red wine that adds so much depth and flavor to the sauce.

With that said, here is how spaghetti sauce turned into a wonderful winter warming Minestrone soup.
To left over spaghetti sauce add equal amount of water (more if you like your soup thinner.) My batch was about 5 or 6 cups worth.  If your batch is on the small size, only add in 1/2 can of the garbanzo beans, but don't go shy with the stewed tomatoes...you can never go wrong with more tomatoes.

1 teaspoon beef bouillon
1 package Lipton Onion/Garlic or straight Onion Soup Mix

Chopped: onion, celery, carrots, potatoes, cut up green beans, and zucchini if you got it.
1 can drained and rinsed garbanzo beans (or white beans of some kind if you don't have G-beans)
pepper to taste
1 can Italian stewed tomatoes (smushed up in between your fingers)
Boiled up noodles/pasta of your choice

Boil vegetables till tender. Add to the rest of the ingredients and simmer on stove or in crock pot.
Start off almost to a boil and turn down to simmer for more time. Add in noodles shortly before you serve. If you put these in too soon they tend to disintegrate, but must be allowed to swim in soup long enough to absorb some of that wonderful seasoning and flavor.
Serve this soup on a cold winter day or evening with warm artisan bread slathered with lots of butter.

                                                            Ta da, left overs laughing.

Blah blah blah blog

Blog about the weather

Blog about the fog

Blog about the kids with their Labradoodle dog

Talking on paper like a diary in a way

Writing of family life for  family far away

It means a lot to you and to them it means much more

But for us who follow blogs it reads nothing but a bore

It can be all for fun but not fun for all

A choice must be made to read some at all

Give me blogs with humor with insights into life

How doin' things the wrong way can turn out to be right

Or cooking with real butter makes lighter into like

Stories for sake of stories is not my cup of tea

Unless of course I really am your precious Aunt Bee

So blog on about this or blah blog on about that

Just saying it's only some that keep me comin' back

The Phone Books of Our Lives

Whether it is a Dex, McPherson, or whatever local phone book you may have for your area; like clockwork every year a new and updated phone book will be sitting at your front door. There is an old ad slogan that goes "let your fingers do the walking."  This suggests that you can find anything you are looking for by merely two stepping with your fingers across the Yellow Pages of the phone book.

For the same sort of convenient information reference, most homes also have a more personal self made phone book. They are readily available at any drug or business supply store and come in a variety of sizes and colors. They all have tabbed alphabetical section dividers and the pages are lined for neat and organized use. But if you are like me, our home phone book (since ours is the color gold we refer to it as "the gold book") is anything but neat and organized. Unlike the mass distributed commercial phone book, our home phone book does not get updated every year. It will instead get added to from time to time. But, with this added information also comes scratched out numbers, scribbled in new numbers, and names and numbers written on Post It notes stuck to pages.  Also in our phone book, those alphabetical tabs may or may not give lead to information necessarily beginning with that particular letter of the alphabet. Often time's numbers are stored under the letter of someones first name simply because I can't remember their last name, or never new it to begin with. A phone number may be listed under the letter "C" for "cousins," where you will find a list of my cousin's names with their phone numbers. Those blank dividing pages that hold the alphabetical letter tag also make very good scratch paper while you are talking to some one on the phone. For instance, I know I can always go back to the "C" page and find the cookie recipe that my Dad gave me years ago.

 Plus, along with an assortment of Chinese food and pizza menus of restaurants from all of the towns that we have lived in, the front and back inside pockets are bulging with pages of typed phone lists from fire departments and from churches we have attended dating back to 1980.  

Yes, our phone book has "seen its day".  But, it is a collection of friends and family of our lives that can also be considered a time capsule of sorts. Leafing through the menus and listings of people and businesses that are assembled in this tattered and dated phone book, I can recall the times and places of our life lived. This sort of organized chaos is indicative of why I don't scrap book and why I rarely have my Christmas shopping done until December 24^Th. 

Oh, I could go out and get a new home phone book and transfer names and numbers from the old one to achieve an updated and current source of information. But I like to think of it as, growing old together.  Just as there is still more room in the cover pockets and pages of that old phone book, there is still room in our lives for more friends and family with changing names and phone numbers that we can meet up with at new favorite restaurants with take out menus.

Pursuit of the Perfect Purse

It seems in life that men are forever chasing golf balls, a plaid shirt that is almost identical to the others they already have, or the next new car smell. Women, on the other hand, are in constant pursuit of the perfect purse.

I sit here in a chair looking at a collection of used purses laid out on a table at our garage sale. I recall how each served a purpose at one time in my life. They provided not only a practical means of portable storage with their impressive amounts of pockets and compartments, but also an attempt to make some sort of personal fashion statement.  If asked, I could not specify why any one of those purses inevitably was emptied and put high on the shelf in the closet.  And I can't explain why I continue to tolerate my current purse that has only one pocket, but otherwise is just a bottomless pit.  They should make an "app" for locating items in your purse. But, that would only work if I could actually find my phone that is lost somewhere in the black hole that is my purse. Come to think of it, I do know why I still put up with this particular purse. Yes, it is stylish and when I first saw it, it some how spoke to me that it was the purse for me. The only plausible reason would be that of pure destiny. But, the real reason that I continue to use this purse is because it brings back the memories that go with it when I bought it.

It was a couple of years ago now that we were in New York City with my sister and her family. We were daring the New York adventure of shopping for underground black market designer purses. Having navigated Canal Street before, my sister knew just the right winks and nods it took to connect with the sales people that would guide us past the store fronts and down into the secret chambers of wholesale brand name purses. The game was to play the shopper that is unwilling to accept the ticket price and even make the move of walking away. This of course, prompted the last ditch effort of bargaining for a price that would not only seal the deal, but make for the best stories of the trip. My sister, and her soon to be daughter-in-law, bought a couple of purses for a fraction of the cost of retail. They nonchalantly surfaced back onto the street carrying their contraband in the tell-tale black plastic bags that indicated to all of the other black market dealers that they were "players".

That experience in itself was a blast, but I really didn't need a purse and up to that point had no reason to buy one.  While we continued our journey through the purse stores of Canal Street, we walked into a small unobtrusive store displaying more purses that pretty much looked like all of the other purses that we had seen so far;  except for that "one" purse.  For some reason I was drawn to it. Nobody else in the group paid any attention to it. I picked it up and threw it over my shoulder; it just felt right. I put it back on the shelf and tried to convince myself that even at that ridiculously low price, I didn't need a purse. I started to walk away but somehow felt compelled to turn around and look at it just one more time. I figured by doing that and not turning into a pillar of salt, it was God's will that I buy that purse after all.

As of today I still use this purse. Oh, some day another purse will come along and invariably take its place, or out of necessity due to wear and tear I will need to buy another purse. But, until such time, I will continue to dive for keys, pens, floss, and the like, that are buried deep in the bottom of this purse. You see, every time I pick up that purse it takes me back to Canal Street in New York City, and all the precious times shared there with my sister and family.  Some day in the future there will come another garage sale where I will lay this purse onto the table and attach to it a piece of masking tape with a price on it. Maybe when that day comes, some one else will see that purse and, for whatever reason, it will speak to them too.

You know that old saying that "garage sales are one man's junk but another man's treasure"?  I don't think of it as "junk", but rather just closure to treasured memories that are about to take on a new story when someone else takes home their own new found "treasure".  

Doughnut - song lyrics from the movie The Sound of Pastry

Doughnut

 

(Song lyrics by Barb Miller from the movie The Sound of Pastry)

Dough, a smear, a glazed top tier

Cake, a hole in center fun

Me, I can't control myself

I choose the lemon centered one

Goo, in middle of the bread

Nuts, on top the frosting head

With these, the pounds I will not shed

Which will bring us back to Dough (oh-oh-oh)

All The World Is A Stage

(This week my Faithwriters.com writing challenge entry of under 750 words with topic being "outstanding")

"Come on in Nell, and thanks for picking those up for me." Gloria said as she stepped aside to let in her best friend. "How many did you get? I'm so nervous. I've been up since three. Do you want some coffee? I've already drank a whole pot, but I can make another one if you want. Oh forget the coffee. I'll make it after I read them. No, I can't. Please, could you read them to me? "

Nell gently took Gloria by the hand and led her to the couch and, as requested, began to read the first review. "This one is from Variety":  "I saw no prodigy in last nights Broadway play Prodigy of Baker Street.  Along with this play's lack of depth or continuity, lead actor Jason Arlen, and supporting actress Gloria Holden's performances were as unremarkable as the play itself." "Forget this one." Nell said as she non-chalantly placed the paper on the floor behind her. "Don't let that bother you Glo, I heard a lot of these critics don't even go to the plays they write about anyway. They just thrive on being nasty."

Nell pulled up from the stack the next paper. "Here, The New York Daily News has a much better reputation; let's see what they have to say." "Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night with expectations of another hit from writer, director Matthew Holloway. But unfortunately the plot line and drab script of this play left me only to realize that, unlike Holloway's last play, Hit and a Miss, this was one is definitely a miss." "Yada, yada, yada, okay, here…" "Gloria Holden who played supporting actress to  lead actor Jason Arlen, tried her best to deliver her lines, but between the two of them this three act play dragged on rendering it mildly entertaining at best." "Now see, he saw that you tried. It's not your fault the writing sucked."

"How many more are there?" Gloria questioned Nell as she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and squinted with reserved anticipation.

"There are just two more. Hang in there Gloria. I was there and thought you did great. This one is from the Chicago Times": "Broadway saw the opening of a new play by Matthew Holloway last night called Prodigy of Baker Street. Quite frankly, this play should be running in some little theatre/bowling alley on Baker Street in Small Town USA, not on Broadway in New York City.  The weak and flimsy story line was matched only by mediocre acting."  Nell quickly tried to salvage any dignity left from that last statement by saying:  "I'm sure that he didn't mention your name because he thought that even the best of actors couldn't have saved this play." But Gloria still couldn't help but hang her head and sigh.

  

"Gloria, this is the last one. Do you want me to read it?"

"Go ahead. If it isn't any better than the others, I have an emergency bag of M&M's in the cupboard if we need them." Gloria said as she held back her tears.

Nell began to read from the last paper. "This review is on the front cover!" "The play Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night on Broadway. From the moment the curtains opened my breath was taken away by the outstanding performance of this plays supporting actress Gloria Holden.  I could not take my eyes off of her as she delivered every line with dramatic passion and sincerity." "Gloria, this guy really loves you! Wait, there's more." "This beautiful young woman possesses great creativity and truly has a God given talent. The writing and story of this play had much to be desired. But Gloria gave such life to her character; I left with a longing to see this play over and over again."

Gloria looked up and paused for a moment before speaking. "Wow! What paper is that from?"

Looking straight at Gloria Nell answered,  "I didn't pick it out; some guy at the stand just handed it to me as I was leaving."

"You're kidding?" Gloria took a deep breath in, and even though she had a grin on her face; tears were falling down her cheeks. "What's the name of the paper?" She asked." And what's the writer's name?"

"The paper is called Abba's Bragging Rights Review, and the writer just goes by the initials J.C."

writing challenge "outbreak"

I joined a web site for Christian writers called Faithwriters.com    Every week they throw out a theme and ask their members to take a shot at writing about it with a 150 to 750 word story or peom.  Here is my writing for this weeks challenge of the word "outbreak" :

Grace new she was loved. From the day Tykera brought her home from the hospital she was the essence of life in their third floor one bedroom apartment. The sound of cars, busses, and the roar of the transit train were a constant during the daylight hours, and at night add to that the occasional cursing from her neighbour behind paper thin walls. But this existence was a haven compared to life on the streets that included brutal beatings by the hand of a pimp if the money brought in was less than expected. What was even more unexpected was the day Tykera was told that she was pregnant.

The doctor's were able to stop the internal bleeding from the brutal blows that left her with bruised kidneys and a ruptured spleen. Against all odds the faint beat of a heart echoed from Tykera's womb that gave her hope for escape from a life of illicit sex, drugs, and pain. It didn't matter that this conceptions was by a nameless man of moral disgrace. This was Tykera's fork in life's road. It was now or never. The words of the nurse in the hospital that night kept coming back to her. She was special and her life was valuable. So valuable and so loved that God himself sacrificed His son to make sure that she had hope for the future, loved unconditionally, and she need never face life alone again.

An outbreak of desperate and extreme frenzy overtook Tykera as she trembled past each convulsion of withdrawals. "Just let me die!" was her agonizing cry as the hours of sweat and pain led into days of restraint from her hospital bed. "Oh God, I can't do this." She had no conscious awareness that prayers were coming from the now off duty nurse in the chair right beside her; prayers that were pleading for relief and life.

The unmistakable aroma of bacon came wafting into the room. Tykera breathed in with a sense of smell that for so long had eluded her. She focussed her eyes on the surroundings in her room. Turning to the chair next to her bed she saw a box of Kleenex and an open Bible. "Well good morning Sunshine" the nurse said as she wheeled in the cart containing a plate of breakfast under a plastic dome. "If you eat at least some of this we can unhook your I.V. today." By hospital standards this was a basic entrée for breakfast, but for Tykera, this was a breakfast of champions.

"Well praise the Lord, look who lives" were the words that came from the smiling face of a stout but attractive middle aged woman as she entered Tykera's room. "Do I know you?" said Tykera. "Yes and no" said the woman. She sat herself in the chair next to the bed with that Bible now in her lap. "My name is Althea." Then she gently gripped Tykera's hand and said "Now, do you know who you are?" Silence filled the room as Tykera held back the tears of facing her own reality.

She bit her bottom lip for a brief second and faintly replied: "I think I am going to be a mom. But I don't know how to do that. I don't have a job or no place to live." The facts were clear and on her chart that she had been beaten, endured detoxification, and was pregnant. But at this moment, knowing "who she was" was not as clear. With a sincere but deliberate voice, Althea responded: "You my dear are here for a reason. God believes in you more than you believe in yourself right now. I can set you up on a path for support and income. But you have a choice to make. Go forward on you own accord, and "how's that been workin for you so far?". Or, take a leap of faith of letting God's love let you live life with purpose and power."

Hospital room 531 that day became the birthplace of Tykera; a child of God. After that prayer's "amen" Althea and Tykera embraced each other with tears of joy. At the same time there was an outbreak of song of rejoicing from the angels in heaven. Seven months later room 207 became the birthplace of Grace. Born that day was a child conceived from an act of violation, but named after the redeeming provision of freedom in Christ. Again, the angels sang.

Separation Anxiety

I had a dog one time that was a bit on the insecure side. Because of this he became obsessed with a need to be with me all of the time. As much as I tried to impress on him that I was only going to be gone for a short while and that I would soon be back; being a dog, he didn't understand a word I said. He only new that one minute I was there and the next minute I wasn't. They call it separation anxiety. When left alone, or even when with another dog, he would become anxious to the point of frenzy. With his mind in a panic of my absence he would dig at the door or find anything of a size to pull away and chew into pieces. Most of the time it was a magazine, a paper product of some sort, or one of his toys.  Even when confined to a dog kennel, he would gnaw on the chain link and often push against the bar of the door to bend it open enough to squeeze out. Then he would sit at the door waiting for me to come back.

From what I understand, toddlers at a certain age will also go through a separation anxiety when they lose sight of their mother. Although I have never had children, I have witnessed the screaming terror of a child realizing that his mother is no longer in the room. For the most part, children will grow out of this and eventually get to an age when they actually prefer that their mother not to be around at all. But dogs emotionally remain at the age of a human toddler. They make drugs now to help reduce the stress of separation anxiety in dogs, but at the cost of semi-sedation.

Sometimes I feel like I have separation anxiety when it comes to God. I know He loves me and I have experienced a true relationship with Him in many deep, but spiritual ways. His physical absence in my life at times becomes a frustration. I also know that He has promised that He will come back and we will be forever together. But, I still sit and look out my life's front window and can't help but feel the anxiety of anticipation for the physical reality of His presence. I've always heard things like "God is in control", and "it is all in God's timing". God knows that in the big picture of things it won't be long, and there will come a time when there will never be any separation. When my dog frets over my not being there I don't find out till I see him again how he chose to handle his anxiety. But God in his power and position can see me in my times of life and knows of my separation anxiety. I'm sure He really doesn't want me chewing things up or sitting and staring at the door; or in this case of cosmic eternity,the ceiling. He knew that this sort of thing might happen. That is why He implanted in us the Holy Spirit. It's that internal nudging that tells me to stop staring at the door and enjoy life for what it is. I've got a good home, a loving family, and the ability to have fun and enjoy life.

I'm also reminded of the separation anxiety I had as a child when I went to summer camp. I didn't want to go. But my Mom and Dad told me that I would have fun and that they would pick me up at the end of the week. Soon after meeting new friends, rowing boats across the lake, and roasting marshmallows under the stars, that anxiety of leaving home never entered my mind.
Well, this world is one big camp. There are new friends around every corner, lots of arts and crafts, and always with the promise of home at the end. Whenever I get that feeling of separation anxiety, the Holy Spirit sits me down and tells me that I should go and have fun; he will be there to pick me up at the end of camp.

How is sin like canned peas?

Okay, my mic is good. Just count me in Nick. Five, four, three, two...

Welcome back. We have here in kitchen stadium the distinguished Iron Chef Bobby Filet, of the famous Mesa Grill, and on the other side is Iron Chef Gordon Damnsay of Hell's Kitchen. Today's secret ingredient is: The humble PEA. They have before them a selection of fresh peas, dried peas, and lastly canned peas.

These contenders have an hour to produce for our judges three dishes utilizing the pea as their theme ingredient.
On our left it appears that Iron Chef Bobby Filet is preparing what looks like a classic oriental salad using Ramen noodles, cabbage and snap peas. He is keeping it safe here so far. Let's take a look at what Chef Damnsay is doing.

Ah, Gordon has chosen to take canned peas and put them into the sorbet machine with some mangoes, passion fruit, and pistachio nuts. Bold move. We will see if this combination works for him or against him.
But wait, Chef Damnsay is now smashing a hand full of peas into the face of one of his assistants. Let's see if we can hear what he is saying.
"I told you to use CANNED PEAS! Figure it out you IDIOT! If you think that you are going to waste my time with your righteous need to use fresh ingredients, you are sorely wrong. Get the hell out of my kitchen!"
I guess ovens aren't the only hot thing in kitchen stadium tonight.
With only thirty minutes on the clock now, each of our Iron Chefs have their teams scurrying to complete their assigned tasks in order to make this pea theme a delight for taste as well as appearance. Too bad it's not St. Patrick's Day for this one.

Ladies and gentlemen, this does not happen very often, but our chefs have both chosen to include as one of their dishes a split pea soup. The difference here is that Chef Filet must have had that in mind from the beginning. He has just removed a ham hock from a pot of perfectly boiled dried peas with carrots, onions, and celery. I must say, it smells delicious too. Chef Damnsay, has decided to go with canned peas in order to get his final dish prepared and ready for presentation in time. How will these two means of preparing the same dish compare with our discerning expert judges?

Time is UP! When we come back, Chef Filet's dishes will be going before our panel of judges.
5,4,3,2...First up we have appetizers. One of which consists of caviar that has been spooned into a hollowed out pea shell and rolled up with an outer layer of thinly sliced prucetta. The second is a perfectly seared scallop skewered into the center of a snow pea and drizzled with a honey garlic soy sauce.

Now the oriental Ramen salad. The judges seem very pleased with the balance of crispness and tartness this salad offers to the palate.
Next up is Chef Filet's pea soup served with his own take of the ever popular BLT. In his version he uses a rosemary and sun dried tomato focaccia bread, sauteed Portobello mushrooms, lightly blanched peas, crispy smoked bacon, and topped with a mound of lemon grass tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette.

So far the judges like his dishes and are actually cleaning their soup bowls up with the last bite of their BLT sandwiches.
Now it's time for Chef Damnsay to impress the judges.
He has chosen for his starter spanakopita. But instead of spinach with feta cheese he has used canned peas. I think the fact that all three judges have taken only one bite and left the rest, tells us that this choice of substitution fails by comparison.

Now he will attempt to cleanse their palates with his canned pea passion fruit sorbet. Oddly enough,it has a very pleasing appearance. But will that....oh, that's a first. The judges are actually spitting their sorbet back onto the plate.

Let's see if his split pea soup will win them over. Hmmm, by the grimacing looks on their faces I think the answer here is a definite "NO".
The judging is over and only one question remains...whose cuisine will reign supreme?

The answer here is obvious. The answer to the question "how is sin like canned peas?" is also obvious. Fresh is always better than canned.

Better Late Than Never

While at the pool today, I was talking to a woman who was also was there because of a New Year's resolution. Except this year, she decided to take the guilt out of any possible failure and keep it positive. Her New Year's resolution is "better late than never".  Here it is the first day of March, and and she just got her Christmas cards out in the mail last week....better late than never.

It got me to thinking just how this new approach to change would work.

 I will tell members of my family that I love them every time I see them....better late than never.

This year I will eat right, drink more water, and exercise....better late than never.

I will floss my teeth at least once a day....better late than never.
 
I will de-clutter my house by taking on one room at a time....better late than never.

I will take pictures of those items I always thought should be sold and list them on eBay...better late than never.
 
When the change oil light comes on in my car, I will take it in for service sometime that week....better late than never.

The fuel light came on in my car. I will get gas tomorrow....better late than. Uh oh.

When I get the renewal notice for AAA I will send the check in as soon as possible....darn.

I will charge my phone when I see the battery is low....oh crap.

By the time I walk two miles in the pouring rain to the nearest gas station and return to put gas in my car so I can make it back to the gas station and fill up the car with gas so I can make it to the AAA office to renew my road side assistance policy and still have time to get to the Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed in the car, then stop by the store to pick up fresh fruit, vegetables, bottled water, and rice cakes, I will still have time to get to the Dairy Queen and have a Chocolate Caramel Pecan Fudge Lava Sundae...
better late than never.