What Scared Me Today

Throughout the day as I walk through my house, I'm used to seeing this:



Today, I did NOT expect to see this in my laundry room--GASP!



No, that is not Zoe. It is a reasonable facsimile. And yes, we are all having a bad hair day.

Say it Forward: Have You Met My Friend Chatty Kelly?

I know. She's purty. This is my friend and often co-conspirator in "discussing" the peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of life that make sitting upright and breathing interesting:
Chatty Kelly.

I don't remember the first comment she ever made here or that I made at her place, but somehow, we connected, and just like Olivia Newton John and John Travolta, "We Go Together." Well, not just like them, but you know what I mean.

Kelly gets, or at least pretends to get, my humor (like my disdain for musicals), and she usually adds a witty comment just to spur me on, I think. For instance, she totally understood my fascination with and laughing-until-I-cried response to the Ken Lee woman, and occasionally refers to this post which highlights my all-time favorite video ever. EVER. Alas, Kelly does not watch LOST, but really, other than that, she's perfect.

Seriously, Kelly is a great encouragement to me. She's a talented, multi-faceted writer/speaker who loves God, so please go visit her today and say hello.

And now, the interview:

Question 1: Salmon or Fruit Roll Ups?? JUST KIDDING!

Real Question 1: One of the things I like best about your writing is your ability to see spiritual applications in everyday moments. What is your thought process when you create those posts? Do you have light bulb moments of inspiration? Do you write with a certain audience in mind?

I really don't live my life for blog entries. However, it seems after a real life occurrence, I will glean a spiritual lesson from it, something that makes me go "Wow!" I just naturally want to share the "wow" with someone else, and the blog is the perfect place to do it. Sometimes it resonates with my readers and they go "wow" too. (Faith & Mustard Seeds.) Other times, I realize that while it was big for me (Does God Get Mad?) maybe it is just where I am in my life journey, and not so wow for everyone else.

Question 2: Are you a doodler? If so, what is the usual doodle-picture that you draw?

For some reason I always doodle a daisy. It's always in the corners of the page. I also color in all the letters with spaces when listening to a lecture with a handout. I doodle big time.

Question 3: So, we met at She Speaks last June and even sat by each other. Tell me your first impression of me, and then I’ll tell you mine of you!

I was already reading your blog when I met you at She Speaks. My very first thought when I saw you was "She's wearing the white pants!" I remember you seemed nervous about meeting with the book publisher the first day when we talked. The next day after you had completed your publisher meetings you seemed much more relaxed and friendly. And I thought you were a snazzy dresser. Since I have a gift for putting my foot in my mouth, I tried to listen more and talk less at She Speaks. (Isn't that ironic, that at She Speaks, Chatty Kelly was trying not to.)

Linda: And my first impression of you was that 1) You were pretty 2) You were quiet 3) You reminded me of a friend back home.

Question 4: What’s on your screen saver?

My screen saver is just the blank black screen. It's peaceful.

Question 5: Salmon or fruit roll ups?

Both! Just not at the same time.

Question 6: Tell us about the book!

"Christmas Miracles" is a compilation book edited by Cecil Murphey (90 Minutes in Heaven) & Marley Gibson. It's being published in Oct 2009 by St Martins Press, and you will find my short story "My Christmas Wish" therein. I am also currently writing two devotional books, but writing and getting published are two different things, so I'll share about those if and when the time is right.

Question 7: Favorite scripture is?

The thing I love about scripture is that it is alive and different verses speak to me at different times in my life. However, the verses in Philippians 4:4-7 seem to speak to the way I want to live my life, always rejoicing in the Lord, and with a heart of thankfulness in all things. "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

Linda: Uh, so I guess I should not have been anxious about wearing white pants and meeting the publishers at She Speaks. Oh well.

Thanks, Kelly, and always remember, "Ken Lee, Tu Libu Dibu Douchou."

Everyone: Please go say "Hi!" to Kelly!

Still Raising Awareness About Your Oldness

Yesterday I updated you on some Chenglish terms you should know if you're planning on IMing a teenager. You could say I exposed your oldness, but that would be mean. Let's just say I highlighted your social networking laissez-faire-ness.

Today, I'm exposing your dying brain cells by testing your awareness acuity. But that sounds so mean. Let's just say I'm exercising your mental dexterity, or, researching your ability stay upright and alert. Please watch the video and report, honestly, your results. This is not a trick.

Do You Speak Da Chenglish?

One of the reasons I have a Facebook account is that occasionally students from our ministry will add me as a friend, and I enjoy keeping up with their lives and chatting with them once in a while.

Recently, a girl (obviously not really named "Chloe") struck up a live chat with me (IMing), and I marveled at her language, which I think is a combination of "chat" and "English," which I shall call "Chenglish." Our conversation one blizzardy evening went like this:

Chloe:
hey wts up?=]

Linda:
Hey, Chloe! Are you still bored?

Chloe:
lol ummmm idk yea i guess b cuzz idk lol haha=)

Linda:
do you think you'll have school tomorrow?

Chloe:
ummmmm yea i hope but only uzzz we have a g ame tht if we win we will b put in the semi finals 4 b ball im lik th whole team is nervous........ bu yea i havefaith thtwe will win lol=)

Chloe:
but mayb a 2 hr dlay tht wuld b ok k with mee=)

Linda:
yeah, I think that's what will happen.

Chloe:
i hope so but onl a 2 hr cuzzz i rele wana play tht game..........andd get it ovr with cuzzzz i dont waa make it

Linda:
[stymied, scratching head with furrowed brow] OK, well, I'm going to bed now. See ya later!

Chloe:
cya!

So here are a few online lingo terms, just to make sure you're fluent or at least conversational in Chenglish:

AAF as a friend
ABT2 about to
AFAIK as far as I know
AYSOS are you stupid or something
AYTMTB and you are telling me this because
B4 before
B4N bye for now
BBIAS be back in a sec
BBL be back later
BWTHDIK but what the heck do I know
BYKT but you knew that
DEGT don’t even go there
DETI don’t even think about it
DGT don’t go there
DKDC don’t know don’t care
DYJHIW don’t you just hate it when
E123 easy as 123
EAK eating at Keyboard
EG evil grin
EL evil Laugh
EM? excuse me?

And last but not least, one of my favorites:
IYKWIMAITYD if you know what I mean and I think you do


so, um, yeah, gtr, like ill prolly cya 2tmr, IYKWIMAITYD!
[Gotta run, I'll probably see ya tomorrow if you know what I mean, and I think you do!]

The Worst Movie Reviewer Ever Speaks

If I make a few typos, it's because I'm posting while watching "The Bachelor: The Women Tell All." the PBS series: "Fractals: Hunting the Hidden Dimension." The whole series has been riveting. Especially when that crazy Allie told the camera her "eggs were frying." Her biological clock was ticking like a time bomb. Fractally speaking, of course.

Anyway, Sunday night, Jorge and I went to see Slumdog Millionaire. I wondered when we were seated if this movie would later win the Oscar for best film of the year, so I was pretty pumped to see it.

Usually I read up on movies before I see them because I want to be fully prepared for any emotional trauma that might arise due to content. I have to provide my own adult supervision, if you will. I know what I can and cannot handle, especially since I was not allowed to go to the theater when I was growing up and thus never developed any tolerance for watching people suffer, even if, as my kids remind me, "they're only acting."

The plot, as intriguing as it is, involves flashbacks to hard times in the lead character's life (uh, kind of an understatement, "hard times") which eventually explain why he knows the correct answers to the questions on India's version of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," or "millunair," as the host pronounced it.

Due to my low threshold for depictions of torture, within the first 15 minutes, I left the theater twice, which is not as embarrassing as it sounds because there were only two other people in there besides Jorge and me.

The third time I came back in, one more violent scene happened, and I said to Jorge, "I'm done." So we left and immediately went down the hall to have a somewhat lesser intense emotional experience by watching:

New in Town. LOVED THIS MOVIE. Go see it!

Anyway, the next morning, we heard which movie won picture of the year, and I have to confess, we were kicking ourselves (well, we were both kicking me) for not having stayed because it sounds so interesting, and yet, if I had to do it again, I would probably not be able to stay.

So I'll probably rent the DVD and speed through the torture. Or read the book. I read The Kite Runner but could not see the movie. Couldn't bear it. So you see, I actually want to see films that change me and make me more compassionate and engaged in the world around me, especially for people and or causes which deserve attention and action. But I can't watch graphic violence, especially toward children. It stays in the background and foreground of my mind for weeks after I see it.

Therefore, I sometimes have to decline serious films and opt for watching lighter fare such as Renee Zellweger trying to save a factory in Minnesota, or "Minne-SO-tah," while helping Harry Connick find love again and his daughter get ready for her first date. Sigh.

Point of interest: Renee Zellweger does wear some killer outfits in New in Town. And I'm a big fan of Harry Connick, Jr. I was distracted some, though, by Renee Zellweger's lips which seemed pursed throughout the entire movie. That's just something that bothered me, though. Probably wouldn't bother you. And, a huge plus for this movie: No one tortures anyone!

Now I ask you: where else can you get analytical reviews of this caliber, about movies that may or may not have been seen in their entirety, which have been out for weeks? I humbly submit nowhere else but here at 2nd Cup. It's a gift.

So, did you see Slumdog? If so, is it really great?

Open the Door to Your ... Mystery Date

Did you have this "far-out" board game when you were little? I didn't own it, but I played it many times at friends' houses.

I remember that you had to get a complete set of "outfit" cards before you could open the door to see who came calling for you: the bowler, skier, tennis guy, the 1960s version of the grunge guy, cruelly called "The Dud," and most coveted of all, the dreamy Prom Date in a white jacket who was probably a political conservative.

I kind of had a similar experience Saturday night when my daughter's date arrived to pick her up. We had never met this young man before, so although he was no mystery to Kristin, he was to us.

Big sigh of relief: Mystery Date boy was not "The Dud." In fact, I have to say that this young man was very, very polite and made a great first impression on us, although they are supposedly only friends. He brought her a wrist corsage. Very sweet.

Here she is by herself because I didn't feel right about posting Mystery Date's pic here. I'm only allowed to embarrass my own children on this blog.

Kristin is actually a very petite (about 5'2"), slim girl, but ever since we got our new computer, the pictures seem to be turning out stretched horizontally somehow, so she actually looked a little different from this pic. Not that she looks bad here, but it just doesn't really look so much like her. It may show up this way on my monitor only, though, I don't know. Anyway, she was a cutie pie. A very cold cutie pie, as winter decided to come back on Saturday like Rocky in the ring. It was a treacherous, snowy day not conducive to fancy dances.

And what's a mother to do when all of the dresses are short like this with spaghetti straps, or floor-length with spaghetti straps. She didn't want to be the only one in a formal, since this isn't prom. She couldn't wear jeans or leggings under and then take them off at the restaurant, put them back on to travel to the dance and then remove them again. And I sure as heck wouldn't send a blanket! She just said, "Mom, I'll deal with it." So she put on a parka with a fur-lined hood and ran for the car.



It is emotionally difficult when your baby passes the "first date" milestone. I'm so proud of the young woman she is becoming, but I miss my little girl--in fact, I could've sworn that Saturday night, Mystery Date drove away with this little person sitting in the passenger seat.



PS: The date reportedly went just fine. But some details are just too sacred to blog about!

Weekend Plans Include:

Recovering from last night's 50s Volunteer Event at church. Prepare to gasp and swoon at my "Hand Jive" talents soon.

Sleeping until 10:30 am today, a rarity. Well, that wasn't in the plans, but that's what happened.

Realizing, by myself (moment of pride), the significance of Flight 316 (John Locke 3:16) as I watched the Tivo'd episode of LOST.

Taking Kristin shopping for one last dress feature, taking her to lunch and chatting about first dates.

Preparing all of my mobile telescopic equipment to spy on them at restaurant and dance.

Mounting sensor spotlights on east and west ends of house and temporarily on neighbor's roof across the street.

Helping Kristin get ready for date tonight. Meeting date/friend.

10:00 pm: Pulling rocking chair to front window in order to trip motion sensor spotlights upon their return.

Catching you later. (But you can't catch me because I'm a spy. My name is, "Mom. 007 Mom Spy Mom."

The Dirty Lowdown on Psychic Sylvia Browne

By the way, I'm delighted to be able to include Boz Scaggs' 1976 song, "The Dirty Lowdown" in my post title today because it is a favorite. So it's like the cherry on my sundae up there.

Anyway.

I've shared with you all before that I was reared in a very strict religious denomination. There's a saying about this denom that goes, "Premarital sex is against our religion because it might lead to ... dancing." Oh, how I wish I could claim that joke, but I can't.

We didn't even have a deck of cards in our home while I was growing up. Thus, I never learned to play Euchre and still seem to have a mental block when it comes to learning.

Once we invited a couple over who thought they could teach me. They thought if they were all patient and everything that I would quickly learn and they could then gloat in their superior tutelage of the famous Euchre Dunce. But I knew I was in trouble when the male of the couple began explaining it to me with his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to look upon my dunceness. Then I could see through his lids that he was rolling his eyes upwards while trying again.

Fortunately, Jorge jumped in and stopped the volcano that was about to erupt from the guy's head from his frustration with me. Jorge was my hero. It was like he was saying, "She may be a Euchre Dunce, but she's my Euchre Dunce!"

Anyway, part 2.

Obviously, occult practices were never high on the church's list as "wholesome past times."

However, on my mother's side of the family, there is a history of interest in superstition and mysticism.

Based on my upbringing, though, you can imagine my dismay a couple of years ago to learn that my 80-something mother is a regular viewer of Sylvia Browne on Montel Williams' show.

In case you have missed the 8th Wonder of the World known as Sylvia Browne, here is a thumbnail bio sketch on Wikipedia that will fill you in about her legal mishaps, professional blunders and the church she has founded.

Sylvia has three distinct physical qualities: smoker's voice, a lisp and acrylic talons that only Napoleon Dynamite could draw. But the most irritating facet of Sylvia is her demeanor with people she "reads." (By the way, she can help you out for $850 per 20 minute phone call. Oh, go ahead and call! You know you're dying to know where that missing Target receipt is!)

She's compassionate with people on one hand but is then dismissive on the other. She hands out bad advice with the authority and audacity that Judge Judy hands down court opinions.

Once, I saw an audience member ask about her elderly mother's failing health and the prospect of possible surgery. Sylvia told her not to let them do surgery on her mother. Or perhaps I should say, "Dr. Sylvia said not to treat the patient." Can you believe that?

But probably the most infamous and worst blunder was when, on the Montel Williams show, she told Shawn Hornbeck's parents that Shawn was dead. Of course, this young man was eventually found alive, and all of the details that Sylvia had stated so surely about the abduction were completely wrong. My heart broke when I saw the video of Shawn's mother drop her head into her hands to weep for her son.

Sylvia's defense is that she never claims to be 100% correct and that not even the most respected professionals such as doctors are always right. The rebuttal to that is obvious I'm not even going to verbalize it.

My mom contends that there are some people born with something "extra" about them, spiritually speaking. Whether you believe that or not, this issue is not a gray one in the Bible. About consulting mediums and trying to reach the dead, etc., God says, plainly, "Don't," and there are some very good reasons for that admonition.

So here I am at 46, still Euchre-disabled, scratching my head over a mom who's now watching Sylvia.

Kids today! What's a parent to do? Parents today! What's an adult child to do??

PS: I hope you don't read this as disrespectful to my mom. You know I love her. And please don't think of me as all "holier than thou." I have a lot of issues, too. I'm just processing another mid-life confusion out loud. Maybe I'll just chill for a while with Boz. Get it out of my system!

Latest Entry for "I Know You Think I Make this Stuff Up" Label

Yes, I have an actual post label called, "I Know You Think I Make this Stuff Up" which serves as the repository for strange stories like the one about how a ham came out of the oven looking more like a pig than when it went in, thanks to my unintentional culinary capabilities.

It's a label full of nothing, like a jumbo bin filled with foil yogurt lids, dryer lint and "The Firm" videotapes. You gotta put that stuff somewhere.

Anyway, here is the latest installment:

My Last Wowmart Visit
by Lidna Crow

This, by the way, is all true. Even though I know you think I make this stuff up.

I had a return to make at Wowmart before doing my weekly shopping. Making a return at Wowmart is not simple. It is trouble from "the bad place" that you bring on yourself. You don't just saunter into Wowmart with a return like you're just going to ... return it! Heavens! If you think that, what planet are you from? Target?

I walked in, was accosted by the friendly greeter, opened my bag and had 46 green stickers placed on my one item and was then given the green light to proceed. If security gets any tighter at the front door, they'll have to strip search people.

There was, of course, a line at the customer service desk, a line of 25 people and one associate with 5" acrylic nails and a ring on every finger. The associate was not very nice, but she's not supposed to be. It's against company rules.

In fact, Wowmart's customer service motto is, "We make customer service purgatory on earth, so you don't have to worry about that when you cross over! Yellow Smiley Face!!"

About three people in front of me, there was a woman with foil in her hair like in this picture. I can only assume that she went to the Wowmart beauty salon and decided that while her color was lifting, she'd run over and return her too-small Lucky Charms t-shirt. I'd like to know where I can get some of that "no inhibition" stuff she's been smoking because that would make life a lot more carefree.

After my return, I grabbed a cart and about 5 feet down the aisle realized I had one of those schizophrenic carts which tries to go three ways at once, all the while squeaking an announcement to everyone that you deserve and belong with the crazy cart because after all, you chose it. It's always at this point you have to decide if the craziness is bad enough to send you back to get a normal one. In this case, it was.

I always make a list before leaving my house so that I don't get confused or forget anything once I'm there, so you can imagine my dismay when I opened my list and read the first item: "blue."

"What?!" I asked myself, "What is 'blue?' Why did I write 'blue?'"

Passing people in pajamas and slippers, I made my way to the back of the store, my lips forming the word, "Blue ... blue." I probably looked like a fish.

"Why did I write 'blue'? Is it toilet cleaner? No. Is it bleu cheese? No. Blueberry yogurt? No."

I got stuck in a traffic jam in the cereal aisle, but I didn't mind so much because that actually bought me more time to de-bug my menopausal brain.

"Blue? What in the world is that about? Blueberry cereal? Blue paint samples? Blue label something? Blue Bunny Ice Cream?"

"Um, OK. I choose ice cream."

Once I had collected everything on my list but "blue," I got in line where the young male associate asked me to put the "closed" sign on his lane, which I did. He apologized profusely to the people just ahead of me and to me for having to close his lane so that he could go to the bathroom. If he said it once, I know he said it 10 times: "I just can't help it, you know? You've gotta go when you've gotta go. I feel bad, but hey, I have to go to the bathroom. Sorry about that. It's just something you've got to do when you've gotta go."

I expected to see his face turn yellow and his legs twist together like pretzels before he could put my items through.

Once through the line, I was happy to be going home. Until I saw the near blizzard coming down outside because I knew what that meant: Pushing that cart through a couple of inches of snow would be like pushing it through sand. It's almost easier to get a hold of the basket end and pull it to your car.

But I made it home, finally, and enjoyed a nice big bowl of Blue Bunny as I sat by the space heater recovering from the trauma of yet another frigid Saturday at Wowmart, trauma which, by the way, I did not make up.

Does this stuff happen to you?

My Surprise? Cirque Du Soleil!

Look at that glorious color! I'm posting the show schedule below. If it's coming to a city near you, you must go!

Yes, Jorge surprised me with tickets to Cirque du Soleil's Saltimbanco, literally translated: "to jump on a bench," which might be the biggest understatement of the century if you're describing the show.

But before I talk about the show, let me mention the pre-show entertainment, because like my co-Hoosier John Mellencamp has so eloquently stated in the song Small Town: "I'm still hayseed enough to say, 'Hey, look who's in the big town.'" And I'm also hayseed enough to get very excited about the spotlight manager who scaled a tiny little ladder to the top of the stadium, jumped to a hanging chair, strapped himself in and pulled up the ladder for his descent later. WOW. WOW. I thought I'd pass out from the danger and excitement displayed right then, and he wasn't even part of the show! Go Spotlighter Guy!

Saltimbanco is Cirque's longest running show, from 1992 to the present. Over 10 million have seen it, and I'll bet you could get almost 10 million different descriptions of it.

It's thematic, but there is no plot. It’s musically eclectic, from operatic to tribal to jazz. It’s acrobatic, but it's also about ballet and interpretive dance. There are few words spoken, and I don't know for sure, but I don't think the words are from a real language; they're sort of like dolphin clicks and whistles combined with tribal woops and nonsense syllables punctuated by exaggerated facial expressions and flailing arms. The costumes are harlequinesque. Some characters are like people; some are like animals. I guess I'm not sure what I saw!

One of our favorite acts was the Chinese pole act, wherein characters who slithered around like lizards or worms on stage quickly crawled up poles to perform amazing tricks that defied gravity. They scampered up those poles like Spiderman scaling a building. And sometimes they hopped from one pole to another like bugs. But the whole time, they held their bodies at impossible angles which boggled your mind. You could hear audience members saying, "No. Way. NOWAYY!"

We enjoyed the Alexis brothers' (as seen on Oprah) amazing balance and brute strength as they lifted each other and did impossible things like one brother holding the other in the air with only their shoulder blades touching (one was upside down, and it was like their bones sort of hooked.)

We also enjoyed the bungee ballet and the twin girls who performed on the trapeze (I was so glad I wasn't their mom.)

And then there was the Russian swing, which involved four or five people making a swing arc as high as possible in the arena and then letting go at the highest point, with each flyer falling to spotters holding a mat under them. Sometimes the spotters had to run a little bit with the mat to get under the falling person. Even though I knew the flyers wouldn't, I thought I would die every time someone let go at the top of Conseco Fieldhouse. Watching people on videos or TV is nothing like being there.

You can see a short trailer for the show by clicking on the header of the screen on the word "trailer" here.

And although this is a terrible picture, it's my picture, one I took myself of a Saltimbanco truck, just to prove to you and me that I was actually there!

Saltimbanco--is it coming to a city near you? Then you must go!

Baton Rouge, LA
Feb. 18 to Feb. 20, 2009

Rockford, IL
Feb. 24 to March 1, 2009

Youngstown, OH
March 4 to March 8, 2009

Louisville, KY
March 11 to March 15, 2009

Mobile, AL
April 2 to April 5, 2009

Nashville, TN
April 9 to April 12, 2009

Huntsville, AL
April 15 to April 19, 2009

North Charleston, SC
April 22 to April 26, 2009

Lakeland, FL
April 29 to May 3, 2009

Gainesville, FL
May 7 to May 10, 2009

Tallahassee, FL
May 13 to May 17, 2009

Jacksonville, FL
May 20 to May 24, 2009

Sunrise, FL
May 27 to June 7, 2009

Tampa, FL
June 25 to July 5, 2009

Estero, FL
July 8 to July 12, 2009

Valentine's Day Wedding

I'll have to postpone Project 365 this week because the weekend is so busy. First I went shopping with Kristin during the day on Saturday to buy her some shoes for her first dance ever, which is next Friday night. The ballerina-type shoes are sparkly silver. She is adorable in them. Sorry, I couldn't help myself from saying that.

You can be sure I'll share the pics next week when she's all gussied up. (Michael Quinion says that the phrase "gussied up" "... was usually written with an initial capital letter, which suggests it came from the proper name Augustus, being the sort of name that authors associated with an effete or weak-willed man.") But I can assure you, my daughter is not a man, nor is she weak-willed. And insinuating that she is might get you knocked into next week by her.

Then, the girls and Jorge and I went to our nephew's wedding on Valentine's Day evening.

Sunday, Jorge has a surprise for me for Valentine's Day. All I know about the surprise is that it involves going to Indianapolis, which is about 60 miles away. You can also be sure I'll give you the full report on that when we return. I actually have a guess about what he has planned, but when I say that, it makes him mad, so I won't tell you what I think it is.

Anyway, here are a couple of shots from the wedding of Abby and Jared, whom we love very much. Talk to ya tomorrow!

Revisiting the Vermont Teddy Bears: Introducing "Hoosier Bears"

So, you all know how I feel about the Vermont Teddy bears, as evidenced in this post. But I realize that Vermont Teddy Bears are making somebody rich, and I also realize that the rich person isn't me.

However, I did not fall off the turnip truck yesterday, which is "Hoosier-speak" for, "HEY! I can capitalize on the Indiana tourist craze by making 'Hoosier Bears' and selling them around Valentine's Day to all of the men who want to get ... their wives to deep fry them some beef jerky and funnel cakes! Smack mah pappy and call meh jean-yus!"

So I've been busy in my arts and crafts laboratory creating prototypes for "Hoosier Bears." What do you think? There's one for everyone! I mean, don't they make you want to squeal and drool all over their little cutenesses?

The only thing is, for some reason the slideshow keeps repeating a few of them. There are nine in all, but you'll see about four twice. Argh. But then again, when you're looking at something this adorable and sex-ay, you've gotta look twice. They start with "Girly Girl Bear" at $19.95 and go up. Don't delay; order today. Operators are standing by, but like the Shamwow guy says, we can't do this all day!

That's What I Love About You

Thirteen Things I Love About My Husband, Jorge

1. He lets me put my cold feet on him. He is a furnace, or as Margaret Thatcher has reportedly called him, a "hunka-hunka burnin' love."

2. Every night, to help me get to sleep, he puts up with the noise of an air purifier, a space heater and a TV which is set to automatically shut off in one hour. It's actually penance for when he broke up with me in college, but he doesn't know it.

3. He eats anything I cook. In 23 years, he has never once said, "No thanks" because something turned out badly, which happens at least weekly. However, I will probably pay for his kindness when his stomach gives up someday because I'll have to take care of him 24/7 and have no one to blame but myself for cooking for him.

4. He has his own "library" in the corner of our family room. He has an old La-Z-Boy recliner with two end tables at each side stacked with books and a small wicker wastebasket under one table. ? (Doesn't every library have to have books AND a wastebasket?) He reads or works on his laptop in the library, and sometimes he wears great big spongy headphones to block out the noise in the family room. Sometimes, for no reason and when it's already really quiet, he just randomly pipes up with, "SHHHHH. I'M IN THE LIBRARY." It cracks me up because it's kind of like a kid who jumps off the sofa and claims he's flying.

5. He watches LOST. I'd hate to have to divorce after 23 years if this were not so, but I think it's a "deal-breaker" for both of us if one quits watching at this point. He won't tell me who he thinks the prettiest girl on the show is because he's afraid of me. He's like, "There are girls on the show?"

6. He is good to and loves my parents. He gets a bazillion points for this. He even put up with it good naturedly when for years my mom claimed, "I can't get used to his name. He looks like a 'David.'" And very often she called him "David." It's kind of like when Endora called Darrin "Darwood" and "Derwin," etc., all the time. Uh, that would make him married to a witch. Hmmm. BTW, my calling him "Jorge" is not anything like what my mom did. Not at all.

7. He helps me with computer stuff. I think God made me computer-dumb just to provide Jorge with many trials by fire. You know; God wants to see how he'll handle the next "computer situation with Lidna."

8. He kind of has the Absent-Minded Professor syndrome. He's a little scattered in some areas, but he makes up for it in smartness. He is the smartest person I've ever met. People think he's smart, but they don't really know how smart he is. Only I know that, and so I blackmail him by withholding that info, or people would constantly be recruiting him to be Al Gore's assistant. Because God created Jorge just a little lower than the angels Al Gore.

9. He spoils me with little acts of kindness, like putting gas in my car and putting it in the garage, or dusting because of my allergies, or scrubbing tubs because of my skin issues, or dropping me off at doors in bad weather, or putting a blanket over me when I nap. As Tavares so eloquently sang in the 1976: "Heaven Must Be Missin' An Angel."

10. He's planning something for Valentine's Day that I do not know about yet. Here's hoping it's 3 or 4 Vermont Teddy Bears.

11. He is 46 but his body looks like he's 36 or 26. Seriously. When he plays football in the yard with a baseball cap turned around, my heart flutters.

12. He has compassion for the marginalized and poverty-stricken.

13. He reads this blog every day and often tells me how great/funny my writing is. Or we'll just be out to dinner or riding in the car and he'll insert something I've written from a post into conversation. I think he's totally buttering me up, but it works.

*Bonus* Last but not least: He sees something in me that makes him love me, and I don't know what it is, but I'm ever-so-glad.

Love you, Honey!

And now, here is my Valentine's Day card to Jorge. You make me feel like dancing. In a red jumpsuit, like this:

Almost Wordless Wednesday: My Dad Turns 87-- Par-Tay!

I guess I can't link to Wordless Wednesday because I'm not strictly wordless.

We opted for one candle. But it was still exciting.



I prepared a meal after church at my house. What can I say, the fam lives dangerously.



Entertainment provided by Pink Floyd Cramer and Groupie.



My daddy and me. His great granddaughter, my brother's granddaughter in the picture above, made the butterfly for him. Dad was 40 when I was born. They tell me he danced a little jig that day with our pastor at the hospital when they told him, "It's a girl." My heart dances when I'm with him. February 11 is really the day. Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you!

RANT: Valentine's Day Commercials

*OK. I couldn't get the poll to post below this post. It has to go up there or at the bottom of this page, so I chose up there. Please read the post and then vote.*

If I offend a reader in this post, I pre-apologize. But I cannot help myself.

I HATE most Valentine's Day commercials. But I hereby dedicate my hatiest hate of all to this one, the one where vapid, bosomy office females squeal over teddy bears in costumes. I mean, would any sane person pay $40-$80 for a stuffed animal?

This is Love Bandit Bear. Questions:
Does this look like $70 worth of bear to you?
Under what circumstances would you pay $70 for a stuffed animal?
What would you do if your sweetheart bought you one of these famous Vermont bears?

For me, it would be the kiss of death on a potential relationship. And if my husband bought it, it would be fodder for 50 years of ribbing: "Remember that one Valentine's Day when you lost your mind and spent $70 on a stupid bear?!"

So I'm going to put a poll at the end of this post about whether you would like a Vermont Teddy Bear for Valentine's Day or for any reason in the universe. Please participate.



In 2nd place for my hatiest hate feelings for a Valentine's commercial is the one I keep hearing on the radio about how if the guy buys the girl this brand of pajamas, it's a sure thing for getting her to take her clothes off.

Well. Isn't that romantic. Could they be any more skanky/crass? Why not just get a hold of some OBGYN paper gowns. They come off even faster! "Green paper looks good on you, baby, but even better on the floor! Woo!"

In 3rd place is a local radio contest for a Valentine's package that includes a getaway, flowers, etc. Fine. But the thing that would preclude my desire to win is that it's sponsored by the local adult-whatever store. You know, the one with the costumes and DVDs. Oh yes. One of the items in the prize package is a bunch of DVDs. Great. Nothing says "I love you," like soft porn. Or worse.

Am I a prude? Am I old and stodgy? Why yes, yes I am. But I also have some self-respect. These Valentine's gifts are legitimate grounds for getting a "loser-ectomy" in my opinion. Well, that's what I think. What do you think?

Remember, please participate in the poll.

It was a Jim/Pam-Worthy Moment

Recently in our Oneighty staff meeting, my boss, Jeff from Abilene, who occasionally lapses into speaking his native tongue, “Abilenien, Y’all,” told us that in an attempt to keep the cold outside and the warm inside his home, his wife accidentally shut their dog’s tail in their sliding glass doors.

Yowsa.

And he just happened to also mention that the dog had an appointment with the vet for a regular check up at 2 pm that day. And he also just happened to mention that since the injury, he had a nagging fear that the vet would see the crook in Doodles’ tail and question Jeff’s “parental fitness.”

It was at this point that my mind flew out the window and hatched a sinister plot, one that was so devious I knew I could never pull it off on my own.

After the meeting, as I sat at my “Pam” desk, Jeff and Matt, another young pastor, were discussing Doodle’s near tail-ectomy. They then went to their separate offices, and I immediately emailed Matt: “Wouldn’t it be funny if when Jeff went to the vet today that they treated him as though they had received a phone call alerting them to the possibility that his dog had been abused and that Doodle may need to be removed from the home?”

There was no reply, except that Matt was back at my desk in 0.2 seconds.

“If we could pull this off, this would be classic. Do you want me to call?” he asked.

Oh, did I want him to call.

“Yes, because although I’m devious, I’m also a big chicken.”

So we discussed how he would approach whoever answered the phone, offering background info, etc. before proposing the joke.

I looked up the vet’s number for Matt, and he went into his office, closed the door and made the call.

I sat at my Pam desk grinning like an idiot.

Matt came out and said, “I don’t have high hopes for this. The receptionist didn’t seem very enthusiastic. Plus, they have a substitute doctor in today, so I’m guessing it won’t go over.”

We resigned ourselves and shared the obligatory, “At least we tried,” as if we were doing Jeff a favor instead of plotting behind his back to freak him out.

The next morning, Jeff came in and stopped as usual at my desk to discuss the day’s activities. As he started to walk away, he said, “Oh--you’ll never believe what happened at the vet’s yesterday.”

(Oh, yes I would.)

“Oh really? What happened?”

“The Humane Society almost removed Doodle from our home!”

He had a completely straight face, but I didn’t believe him for a second.

“Nuh-uhs” and “Uh-huhs” were exchanged between us until he knew that I knew, etc., etc.

So I confessed but found out that Matt had already thrown me under the bus. Because that’s what office mates do.

Anyway, Jeff said he was surprised the receptionist went along with the joke because he has tried numerous times to engage her and joke around with her and cheer her, but she’s very all-business, as in, “What can I do for you” is the only phrase she’ll utter. Sort of like an Angela Martin on “The Office.”

But, unbelievably, she did indeed come into the exam room and advise the doc to “have a look at that tail ….”

BAM!

Guess she just needed a victim.

So Matt and I are pretty proud of ourselves. It was a Jim and Pam moment, minus the romance because Matt is young enough to be my son and is a pastor, so take that out of the equation, and it was a Jim and Pam moment. It was classically awesome.

It was Office-awesome.

Project 365, Week 6, February 1-7

So here we are, week 6. This project is getting harder and harder for me. I hope I can hang in there. Because I know that being faithful to this this project is really important, like when that little Dutch boy Hans Brinkman stuck his finger in the dyke and saved Holland. That's how important it is every Sunday to get my pictures on here.

Sunday night, Super Bowl night. My daughter had her friend over to watch the commercials. They ate ice cream out of the carton. Ahh, youth.



Monday: Our parking lots are clear now, but the snow is piled high in the lots. Just beyond this hill of snow is the little postal station where I mail your contest prizes. Our streets expand and then go back when it freezes and thaws, so we have great big old pot holes now that we have to maneuver around like land mines. I'll have to get a pic or two of those next week to show you. Because why wouldn't you want to see beautiful pot holes.



Tuesday: We taped "We Go Together" at church for the staff video to be shown at our volunteer appreciation banquet on February 20. More to come on this extravaganza in a week or two. Maybe even a video?



Wednesday: Here is the ninja stealth sprayer. He disguises himself in dark clothing and then sneaks up on gingerbread houses and sprays them with lacquer.



Thursday: This cracks me up. When we come in the back door, if we put down any piece of clothing for even 5 seconds, Zoe gets on it like it's a plot of land she has claimed in the great land race of the Oklahoma Territory. She might as well put up a flag with a giant "Z" on it.



Friday: Every day, when I leave home for work, the last thing I do is turn around, look at Zoe and say, "You be a good girl today. You go potty on your paper. On your paper. On your paaaay-purrr." I'm trying to stress that last word so that it will stick in her head as the last thing she heard. Then she cocks her head at me and sadly watches me leave. When I come home, it's a ticker tape parade. But the problem is, soon I have to leave again to pick up Kristin from school. So sometimes I can't bear to do the whole "You be good" business again, and I let her come with me. And so here she is, having the best day of her life, which is any time she gets to go along.



Saturday: Rock Band!



OK, go check out Sara's place to see more Projects!

Letter to Myself in My 20s--a Young(er) Mom

[Edit: I added "then" and "now" pics at the bottom.] Today I'm participating in a carnival at It's Almost Naptime, whose creator, Missy, has asked "older moms" (bless her heart) to impart wisdom to her and others whose kids are still small by writing letters to our, a-hem, younger selves. Apparently, having kids in pre-k automatically earns you the title, "younger mom" which is totally unfair. Age is a state of mind.

First note to myself in my 20s: Don't believe that last sentence. Age is like a practical joker who's waiting around every corner to jump out and shock you with some new deterioration just to see you gasp. And then he laughs so hard he pee-pees his pants. No, wait, that's you pee-peeing from sneezing, which is a memento from labor and delivery. And yes, at 46, you will still say, "pee-pee" without even thinking about it.)

This is to myself circa 1991 BC (before cellulite) which makes you 29, and you have a 5 and 3 year-old.

Dear Linda,

Hi. This is from the body formerly known as "you."

First of all: good news! Your marriage is intact. That doesn't mean you won't ever experience choppy waters, but you'll make it through and come out on the other side a better person. Other encouraging news: he learns to pick up his wet towels! Bad news: Just this week he left dog treats in his pockets which you did not discover until you pulled out the wet, biscuity clothing. One last thing about marriage: you should take that date night thing seriously.

About mothering: I know that some days you feel very content to be a SAHM, while other days you feel you might pull your hair out, but just know this: for your and George's life, being a SAHM is something you will never regret. Never. Not one time. You will look back on these early years and actually have more affirmative feelings than regret, and that is saying a lot from someone who has at least half of her life behind her now.

Anything that you have given up to be with them all day long means nothing to you now. So even though just a few years ago, the English Department named you "Outstanding Senior," and your prof said, "We expect great things from you, Linda," the great things you will accomplish have nothing to do with what she had in mind; nevertheless, you will accomplish, or facilitate, some great things in the lives of the people who mean the most to you. The thrill of seeing their personalities and abilities unfold will never grow old.

And even though you will adore them just as much when they're in their 20s as you do now, they will still be leaving wet towels on the floor in 2009. (Cue the disappointed sighs of audience laugh track, "aww.")

Number one piece of advice: You know how you read to them at a ridiculously early age? Very good move. Read all the time, holding them on your lap. This is may be the best thing you'll ever do because you're enriching them intellectually and emotionally. Plus you get to smell their hair, rock them and hug them a lot. It is heaven on earth, isn't it? It will be your favorite memory of mothering and your most profound bonding experience, even moreso than nursing.

Now, having said all that, I want to say that you need to stay connected to other adult women, even though you're an independent spirit who is pretty content at home and doesn't need daily chit chat or a girls' night out in the bars. You do need the friendships of other women; you just don't know it yet. So even if it's once a month, find a way to connect. When your children leave home, you will find your friendships to be meaningful beyond words. Your husband cannot meet every emotional need and will not understand the things that thrill you and your friends, like a great find at Ikea or trouser jeans. And that is OK.

You're going to hit a speed bump of depression in just a couple of years, and it will be a really dark time for a while, but keep your head on, Girl. Wellbutrin is on the way! Haha. Seriously, remember to whom you belong no matter how you feel. Feelings are real, but they're not always accurate. When you are faithless, he is faithful. When you are weak, he is strong. Jesus loves you; this I know.

About teenagers: Start saving for college now. Just this week, you received a notice that tuition has gone up again, by $685 a semester. But driving the junker car is worth it. Did I mention that you will have two in college at the same time at $30,000 each per year?

Go ahead and sniff the smelling salts. Sorry to shock you.

I encourage you to talk to them more about sex, beginning at an early age. Even though they don't want to talk about it, and neither do you, particularly, it's not a talk you should have once or twice and rarely ever again. This will be one regret that you have. Keep the topic on the front burner so that you can pick up the conversation at any time without it being a weird moment. Sex is everywhere; you cannot hide them away from objectification and relentless temptation. You need to step up here, Mom.

Yes, teenagers are mean for a while, but then they come around and are nice again! Yay! Try to remember that when they walk into a room, stop, look at you and say, "What are you looking at?" in an accusatory tone, they cannot help themselves. It's like when they were cutting teeth and they would bite you for no reason.

Your teenagers are going to be great kids, and you will have very little to contribute to water cooler conversation about how terrible those years are. You will joke about it, but deep down, you'll thank God every day for how blessed you are.


The hardest part of the teen years for you will be watching them pull out of the driveway all by themselves in the car. You will feel like your heart is tied onto the bumper like a tin can on wedding get-away car, dragging along behind them wherever they go. You will understand why your parents said, "Be careful!" every single time you left their presence. (And they still will when you're 46 and they're 87.)

Oh, this is very important--when your kids start to leave home, it will be one of the most, if not THE most, difficult thing you've ever been through, but again, you will survive. People don't talk about this often enough, what a huge transition this is. No one around you will truly know what is going on inside your heart--and upset somach--as the time draws nearer because you are their mother; no one else is. It's choking me up now just typing that. So begin preparing yourself emotionally a couple of years before they leave for college because dealing with it one month out would be really, really hard. Read lots of articles about this transitional time. Talk about it with friends.

Just like when you first had your kids, your life will change radically when they leave. But you will chin-up and encourage yourself by repeating, "This is not the end; it's a new chapter." Ultimately, you will celebrate their independence. You will realize that your whole goal as a mom from the beginning was to rear independent adults who function and flourish and know and love God. And then you will realize that despite your mistakes, you have done pretty well.

Finally, let me clue you in on a decision that you're making. You're not done yet, but you will be by the ripe old age of 30, which is what you wanted. That is, there's a third one coming in late 1992, but I won't spoil your surprise by telling you the gender because you always liked the big reveal to happen at delivery.

What? You've never heard the term "big reveal?" You're a little behind the times, aren't you? That's a casualty of momhood; it leeches coolness and pop cultural awareness from you, but you'll come back around someday when you start a little thing called "blogging." Your coolness will then spring back to the Nth power, and your kids and husband will be blinded by your massively cool blogging prowess.

You have a good life, and as much as you might want to roll your eyes at this, I'm going to say it anyway: These are the best years. Enjoy every moment. There will finally be one last diaper, one last orthodontist visit, one last sporting event, and one last time they sit on your lap. Savor every moment, and when you think you have savored the moment, stop and savor it all over again. Trust me on this.

See ya in a few years, you cute young thing with wrinkle-free skin.

Signed,

Lid (That will make sense someday.)

PS: One last tip: In a couple of years, white hose will come into fashion. I beg of you--don't go there.


Dang. You went there.












Cast of Characters:











Katie, my first-born. Just looking at her face fills me with joy.


Jordan, my only boy. He cannot be serious.







Kristin, my baby. Who is probably going to live with me forever if I have my way. Just kidding. Sort of.