While I am out of sync, you get to hear from Benjamin Franklin. That brilliant statesman/inventor says:
Friends, the taxes are, indeed, very heavy: and, if those laid on by the government were the only ones we had to pay, we might more easily discharge them; but we have many others . . . We are taxed twice as much by our idleness, three times as much by our folly . . .
Of course, Benjamin Franklin might himself be appalled by today's taxes and what they go for. But still, what he says is true. I guess he was the model of discipline and integrity. That's how he got so much done and stayed out of trouble. He did stay out of trouble, didn't he?
If you love children's books, here are some older ones that sound good. I've never read them . . .yet. But I saw them listed in an article about a woman who started a company that is reprinting older children's books. Here are three: Pickle-Chiffon Pie by Jolly Roger Bradfield (hey, that sounds like something my granny would like to eat, nice author's name, too); Mr. Bear Squash-You-All-Flat (hey, that sounds like an interesting one); Mr. Pine's Purple House (he sounds way ahead of his time). Check out the website http://www.purplehousepress.com/ I think the lady who started this especially loved Mr. Pine's Purple House, don't you? I think the author of that book is Leonard Kessler. It's hard to tell as his name is printed in the grass of the purple house, it all blends together too much. Can't see any author for Mr. Bear, although there might be a little scribble down in the grass under the wee bunny in the righthand corner. What's with the grass? But the artwork for Mr. Bear looks hilarious. Can't figure out too much, but it looks as though Mr. Bear is sitting squarely on somone's nest (hence the "squash"). He is industriously flinging sticks in every direction. The wee bunny and an itty chipmunk are glued to the scene. Oh, and there's a mouse, too, whose tail seems to brush the top of the name down in the grass under the bunny in the righthand corner. All ready said all that. All I'm looking at is pictures of the book covers, little bitty ones that accompanied the newspaper article (yes, the dear newspaper). I guess I could go check the website, but that would be too easy. We can all do that individually. Sometimes I just love to use a five-syllable word. Like I did the other day: accumulation. Hold the horses, rather, Hold the press! I'm terrible with syllables, I just checked and in-di-vid-u-al-ly is SIX, even better! I would have supposed that u-al should be combined into one syllable, ual. But what do I know? This reminds me that I need to tell you about accents on syllables, which I'm equally terrible at, no, worse. What I have to tell you goes way back to my story when I was in third grade and the teacher rolled her eyes.
I'm afraid I have 8 million stories to tell you and I'm getting very far behind. Panic!
Idleless (made it up), Follyless (made it up) KEM
P.S. When I pushed PUBLISH POST, Google popped up and told me where I can go read archives of Benjamin Franklin's papers. Available free online for research, study and browsing. Yale edition. Isn't that just a tad scary?
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Squash. Patty Pan squash. I saw it in my health food store the other day and snapped it up. Because I love it. My granny used to buy it at Iverson's Farm in Michigan. She went to Iverson's every day and bought fresh vegetables and we'd have them for dinner. I have to go on about Iverson's Farm someday, but tonight is Patty's night. I thought Patty Pan squash was the best. The only thing is, we didn't call it Patty Pan. It's the little pale green round squash, like a flying saucer with scalloped edges. I thought we called it flower squash, but I'm not sure about that. Anyone? Googling and my cookbooks are not helping me out here. I'm really surprised at Google. Now, with Webster, nothing surprises me, but Google? I KNOW we didn't call it Patty Pan. I know that as sure as I know Gloaming is dusk. I've never even heard of Patty Pan.
Well, so I wanted to cook it today and I set to work cutting off the "bad" spots. I'm not one to leave a bad spot hanging around (also another blog subject for another day). As I went along removing some of the skin, I noticed that the squash felt slimy. I think I've felt yellow crookneck squash to be similarly slimy, so I shrugged it off. After the squash was in the pan, I proceeded to wash my slimy, sticky hands. I used plenty of soap and water but I kept feeling a grainy residue. I washed again and it was still there. So, I examined my hands. Guess what the residue was? My skin. It had rolled and balled. That's right, sweet little, innocent little Patty Pan stripped a layer of skin right off my hand, the hand that held the squash. Completely. Wow, how 'bout them 'taters . . I mean Patties? I had nice, new, shiny skin on my hand. I thought I should hold a skinned Patty in my other hand, the hand that held the knife, so as the hands would match. Then I got to thinking, I wonder if I should rub a slice of Patty Pan on my face for a very cheap, very easy, very effective exfoliation? But I figured with my luck the squash slime would run into my eyes and I'd end up in ER, blind. That has happened to me before, ending up in ER. I was cutting a sweet pepper, the little pale green number that's good in scrambled eggs. Maybe it was the Banana pepper, a mild one. But it wasn't a mild, sweet, delightful Banana pepper. It was really a jalapeno pepper, a hot, stinging, hateful jalapeno pepper. It just so happened that I lived in NC at the time, where the temperatures can be cold. When it got cold, my hands used to get dry and cracked. So, I found out just how cracked. The jalapeno juice ran into all my little microscopic cracks in my hands, hundreds of them, and SET THEM ON FIRE. BURNING UP FIRE. So, I had to go to the ER and sit there for five hours with hands o' fire. Won't be making that mistake again. I just noticed a common denominator, the color pale green. I must be allergic to pale green vegetable. Wonder how come Patty and Jalapeno don't strip our stomach lining. Guess they mix with something along the way that tones them down. Good thing, since I ate a bucket of Patty, half a bucket before choir practice, 1/2 a bucket after.
I'll go crazy if I can't think of the name my granny called that squash. But cooking it in the fall air did make my house smell like granny's Michigan house, so that was the consolation prize, besides how good it tasted AND brand new skin.
Today is not a typical Florida day. The air is crisp, cool, dry, light and clear. I could have stayed in bed ALL day, instead of only 3/4 of the day. One of those perfect, cozy feelings, never wanted it to go away.
DTD has signed a lease on the glamorous apartment. But the electricity is not turned on yet. So she was forced to spend the night at our house, last night and tonight. Last night after she was in bed, I poked my head in her door and said, How does it feel to be back in your old room? Fine. Did you brush your teeth? Mom, that is weird. Well, I guess I got carried away. After all, she has been in her own apartment for 9 months, and I've never yet called at 10:00 PM to ask her if she's brushed her teeth yet. I have asked if she flosses, though. But not a special phone call, just in person. We drive each other bats. But it's fun to have her here, just like old times. And tonight I managed to mind my own business. That was easy because tonight she brought her toothbrush with her and I heard it go "clink" in the toothbrush holder. But I didn't check to see if it was wet. Progress.
I'm excited. Tomorrow DTD and I are going to IKEA. IKEA is the last place on earth I want to go to again, once was more than enough, trust me. BUT, DTD has a larger apartment now and a couch and kitchen table are on the shopping list. Maybe a rug, too. I'm allowed to accompany her as long as I don't speak unless I'm spoken to. This started because moving makes me nervous. As my friend told me, Three moves is as good as a fire. Truer than true. I just can't afford to get involved with DTD'S activities, my nerves can't handle it. I was grilling her on how she should protect her mattress with a plastic cover. Eye roll. I mean, I saw to it when she moved out, I packed all her breakables just so, wrapped the mattress. But now she's moving again, and I just have to let go. Even though she has the world's most comfortable mattress in the world and it deserves to be coddled. Then, since I was getting nowhere with the mattress, I switched gears. I said, I can come help you pack your things. Mom, I can do it, she says, you just don't think I can do it. Yes, I know you can do it fine. Mom, I already did. So, I get nowhere fast, I give up.
Mike read my blog. He tells me, I didn't say gloaming WAS mist, I said, The mist was IN the gloaming. Well, that may be what the song says, but it is distinctly NOT what Mike said. He said, as you know, Gloaming is mist or fog. He's trying to tell me that I hear things differently than what he actually says. OH, BROTHER. Nice try.
This cool fall air is making me sleepy. It's so refreshing. I have no idea how Floridians survive the H & H, Heat and Humidity. No wonder I have no stamina. Living in a cool, crisp state would be like getting an injection of stamina.
KEM the KWIRK
Well, so I wanted to cook it today and I set to work cutting off the "bad" spots. I'm not one to leave a bad spot hanging around (also another blog subject for another day). As I went along removing some of the skin, I noticed that the squash felt slimy. I think I've felt yellow crookneck squash to be similarly slimy, so I shrugged it off. After the squash was in the pan, I proceeded to wash my slimy, sticky hands. I used plenty of soap and water but I kept feeling a grainy residue. I washed again and it was still there. So, I examined my hands. Guess what the residue was? My skin. It had rolled and balled. That's right, sweet little, innocent little Patty Pan stripped a layer of skin right off my hand, the hand that held the squash. Completely. Wow, how 'bout them 'taters . . I mean Patties? I had nice, new, shiny skin on my hand. I thought I should hold a skinned Patty in my other hand, the hand that held the knife, so as the hands would match. Then I got to thinking, I wonder if I should rub a slice of Patty Pan on my face for a very cheap, very easy, very effective exfoliation? But I figured with my luck the squash slime would run into my eyes and I'd end up in ER, blind. That has happened to me before, ending up in ER. I was cutting a sweet pepper, the little pale green number that's good in scrambled eggs. Maybe it was the Banana pepper, a mild one. But it wasn't a mild, sweet, delightful Banana pepper. It was really a jalapeno pepper, a hot, stinging, hateful jalapeno pepper. It just so happened that I lived in NC at the time, where the temperatures can be cold. When it got cold, my hands used to get dry and cracked. So, I found out just how cracked. The jalapeno juice ran into all my little microscopic cracks in my hands, hundreds of them, and SET THEM ON FIRE. BURNING UP FIRE. So, I had to go to the ER and sit there for five hours with hands o' fire. Won't be making that mistake again. I just noticed a common denominator, the color pale green. I must be allergic to pale green vegetable. Wonder how come Patty and Jalapeno don't strip our stomach lining. Guess they mix with something along the way that tones them down. Good thing, since I ate a bucket of Patty, half a bucket before choir practice, 1/2 a bucket after.
I'll go crazy if I can't think of the name my granny called that squash. But cooking it in the fall air did make my house smell like granny's Michigan house, so that was the consolation prize, besides how good it tasted AND brand new skin.
Today is not a typical Florida day. The air is crisp, cool, dry, light and clear. I could have stayed in bed ALL day, instead of only 3/4 of the day. One of those perfect, cozy feelings, never wanted it to go away.
DTD has signed a lease on the glamorous apartment. But the electricity is not turned on yet. So she was forced to spend the night at our house, last night and tonight. Last night after she was in bed, I poked my head in her door and said, How does it feel to be back in your old room? Fine. Did you brush your teeth? Mom, that is weird. Well, I guess I got carried away. After all, she has been in her own apartment for 9 months, and I've never yet called at 10:00 PM to ask her if she's brushed her teeth yet. I have asked if she flosses, though. But not a special phone call, just in person. We drive each other bats. But it's fun to have her here, just like old times. And tonight I managed to mind my own business. That was easy because tonight she brought her toothbrush with her and I heard it go "clink" in the toothbrush holder. But I didn't check to see if it was wet. Progress.
I'm excited. Tomorrow DTD and I are going to IKEA. IKEA is the last place on earth I want to go to again, once was more than enough, trust me. BUT, DTD has a larger apartment now and a couch and kitchen table are on the shopping list. Maybe a rug, too. I'm allowed to accompany her as long as I don't speak unless I'm spoken to. This started because moving makes me nervous. As my friend told me, Three moves is as good as a fire. Truer than true. I just can't afford to get involved with DTD'S activities, my nerves can't handle it. I was grilling her on how she should protect her mattress with a plastic cover. Eye roll. I mean, I saw to it when she moved out, I packed all her breakables just so, wrapped the mattress. But now she's moving again, and I just have to let go. Even though she has the world's most comfortable mattress in the world and it deserves to be coddled. Then, since I was getting nowhere with the mattress, I switched gears. I said, I can come help you pack your things. Mom, I can do it, she says, you just don't think I can do it. Yes, I know you can do it fine. Mom, I already did. So, I get nowhere fast, I give up.
Mike read my blog. He tells me, I didn't say gloaming WAS mist, I said, The mist was IN the gloaming. Well, that may be what the song says, but it is distinctly NOT what Mike said. He said, as you know, Gloaming is mist or fog. He's trying to tell me that I hear things differently than what he actually says. OH, BROTHER. Nice try.
This cool fall air is making me sleepy. It's so refreshing. I have no idea how Floridians survive the H & H, Heat and Humidity. No wonder I have no stamina. Living in a cool, crisp state would be like getting an injection of stamina.
KEM the KWIRK
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Hi Sweet People,
I've decided that what few grams of energy left that cleaning has not stripped, blogging will finish the job. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE bloggin', as in gloamin' not gloaming, but it takes TIME. PLENTY of TIME. And to think DTD says I don't work, I don't have a job. Last night I got ONE hour of sleep. SOOOOO . . . guaranteed short tonight.
Speaking of gloamin', you will not believe the latest. You can't. It's unbelievable. I come downstairs this morning (there ARE three mornings of the week I am required to rise with the rest of America, gag, but I love WHY I have to get up, for my beloved job, see below, not above, and church), and Mike has just read my blog. He says, Why did you say gloaming is like a heavy mist or fog? I retort, Because that is what you told me (duh!). He said, I did not. Oh, really? I do not invent these things, sweet people. In the car last night on the way to his Singing for Your Health class, we were talking gloaming and the songs that employ it. Mike SPECIFICALLY said, Gloaming is a fog or mist. He goes on to so-called prove his stance by singing snippets of a few songs that employ this word you can now never forget, I'll see to that, where it seems to fit that gloaming, indeed, is some kind of a mist. It's like GLOAMING is suddenly coming out of the woodwork, a word I'd given no prior thought until noticing it on an Andy Griffith episode, in the choir song. I noticed because it was an interesting word, never heard it before. Now I discover gloaming is the main word in the English language. So, I repeat Mike's valuable info in my blog only to have him act, a mere thirteen hours later, like he's never heard of such a thing, ah, shucks. You wanna know WHY his whistle whipped 'round? Because he Googled GLOAMING. When all else fails, Google gloaming. I don't know why I hadn't done it myself, since I think Google should be named one of the Seven Wonders of the World. And do you wanna know what Google said? The definition of gloaming is stunning, to say the least. The definition also sunk Mike's expression, he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. WHO ME?, no, I NEVER said gloaming was dew in the air. All fog now removed, GLOAMING is a colloquial term for TWILIGHT. They may as well have shouted DUSK! from the mountain tops, as far as I'm concerned. SOOOO, all this jabber about gloaming being dusk was right on the money. All the ensuing gibberish about doubting it was just that, gibberish. Well! Talk about coming full circle. I need to TRUST my instincts, sweet people. Mike's story aburptly changed when the facts emerged. Funny how that works.
BTW, I wrote above, not once, but twice, that the songs employed gloaming. Which is suspiciously identical to what I said last night, how my friend and I simultaneously employed little rat(s). I don't often like to utilize a concept back-to-back like that, I like to forge into unchartered KEM syntax. But, I just couldn't see any other way tonight. Plus, I'm tired.
Also, Mike wants to know why it's so easy for me to throw out all his junk, but not my junk. It just is, that's why.
Today I had a wonderful time with the FABULOUS lady, my friend, I assist on errands. We walked her neighborhood, which IS Old Florida Wonderland. It is TOTALLY St. Petersburg's best kept secret, so I shall keep their secret, although I'm itching to blab. I have already picked out the house I want. It's my dream cottage and an older man lives there who is completely meticulous. I know this because I met the most enchanting couple who live in one of the most enchanting properties IMAGINABLE. Their home looks like a small chateau, it's on the water and the back yard is gigantic and filled with lush Florida vegetation, a hammock, a patio, a beach, a dock, boats. The house has attention to detail and is just appropriate in every way. You know what I mean? The front door is arched with two curved panes of glass at the top, following the outline of the door. I said, WOW, gorgeous front door. The lady of the house said, Yes, isn't it marvelous. She said the whole house is full of all the original detail. All the houses are unique, some of the larger ones built by famous builders. Well, then I pointed, See that house over there, that's the one I want. She said, Go tell him, that's how you get houses, let the owner know. The lady I help has already decided this nice older man should outright deed the house to me, since he has no family. I hope she suggests it to him immediately. I could go along with that. Definitely. A small matter that he's never met me, but we're going to fix that soon. The house is me to a tee. And it has just one bedroom. Fine, who else in the world besides me might want just a one bedroom house? I want easy. Trees abound in this utopia. And before too long, under these trees, the neighborhood is going to host a yard sale. It's a REAL community and they do things together all the time. The couple I met were all excited to minimize their possessions. They had just vacationed in Europe for some time and were inspired by the simple lifestyle employed (oops) there to come home and properly dispose of their excess belongings, things that are perfectly good but they just don't use. You can BE SURE this is one morning where I will face the dawn and BE THERE. I want to happen upon some goodies to go in my new one bedroom house. I can park in my friend's driveway and push a wheelbarrow.
Tomorrow I have to tell you my punchline from over a week ago, the one about Sally Goes Shopping Alone and The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. It will all tie in beautifully with above paragraph. TRUST ME.
KEM the Tease
I've decided that what few grams of energy left that cleaning has not stripped, blogging will finish the job. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE bloggin', as in gloamin' not gloaming, but it takes TIME. PLENTY of TIME. And to think DTD says I don't work, I don't have a job. Last night I got ONE hour of sleep. SOOOOO . . . guaranteed short tonight.
Speaking of gloamin', you will not believe the latest. You can't. It's unbelievable. I come downstairs this morning (there ARE three mornings of the week I am required to rise with the rest of America, gag, but I love WHY I have to get up, for my beloved job, see below, not above, and church), and Mike has just read my blog. He says, Why did you say gloaming is like a heavy mist or fog? I retort, Because that is what you told me (duh!). He said, I did not. Oh, really? I do not invent these things, sweet people. In the car last night on the way to his Singing for Your Health class, we were talking gloaming and the songs that employ it. Mike SPECIFICALLY said, Gloaming is a fog or mist. He goes on to so-called prove his stance by singing snippets of a few songs that employ this word you can now never forget, I'll see to that, where it seems to fit that gloaming, indeed, is some kind of a mist. It's like GLOAMING is suddenly coming out of the woodwork, a word I'd given no prior thought until noticing it on an Andy Griffith episode, in the choir song. I noticed because it was an interesting word, never heard it before. Now I discover gloaming is the main word in the English language. So, I repeat Mike's valuable info in my blog only to have him act, a mere thirteen hours later, like he's never heard of such a thing, ah, shucks. You wanna know WHY his whistle whipped 'round? Because he Googled GLOAMING. When all else fails, Google gloaming. I don't know why I hadn't done it myself, since I think Google should be named one of the Seven Wonders of the World. And do you wanna know what Google said? The definition of gloaming is stunning, to say the least. The definition also sunk Mike's expression, he looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. WHO ME?, no, I NEVER said gloaming was dew in the air. All fog now removed, GLOAMING is a colloquial term for TWILIGHT. They may as well have shouted DUSK! from the mountain tops, as far as I'm concerned. SOOOO, all this jabber about gloaming being dusk was right on the money. All the ensuing gibberish about doubting it was just that, gibberish. Well! Talk about coming full circle. I need to TRUST my instincts, sweet people. Mike's story aburptly changed when the facts emerged. Funny how that works.
BTW, I wrote above, not once, but twice, that the songs employed gloaming. Which is suspiciously identical to what I said last night, how my friend and I simultaneously employed little rat(s). I don't often like to utilize a concept back-to-back like that, I like to forge into unchartered KEM syntax. But, I just couldn't see any other way tonight. Plus, I'm tired.
Also, Mike wants to know why it's so easy for me to throw out all his junk, but not my junk. It just is, that's why.
Today I had a wonderful time with the FABULOUS lady, my friend, I assist on errands. We walked her neighborhood, which IS Old Florida Wonderland. It is TOTALLY St. Petersburg's best kept secret, so I shall keep their secret, although I'm itching to blab. I have already picked out the house I want. It's my dream cottage and an older man lives there who is completely meticulous. I know this because I met the most enchanting couple who live in one of the most enchanting properties IMAGINABLE. Their home looks like a small chateau, it's on the water and the back yard is gigantic and filled with lush Florida vegetation, a hammock, a patio, a beach, a dock, boats. The house has attention to detail and is just appropriate in every way. You know what I mean? The front door is arched with two curved panes of glass at the top, following the outline of the door. I said, WOW, gorgeous front door. The lady of the house said, Yes, isn't it marvelous. She said the whole house is full of all the original detail. All the houses are unique, some of the larger ones built by famous builders. Well, then I pointed, See that house over there, that's the one I want. She said, Go tell him, that's how you get houses, let the owner know. The lady I help has already decided this nice older man should outright deed the house to me, since he has no family. I hope she suggests it to him immediately. I could go along with that. Definitely. A small matter that he's never met me, but we're going to fix that soon. The house is me to a tee. And it has just one bedroom. Fine, who else in the world besides me might want just a one bedroom house? I want easy. Trees abound in this utopia. And before too long, under these trees, the neighborhood is going to host a yard sale. It's a REAL community and they do things together all the time. The couple I met were all excited to minimize their possessions. They had just vacationed in Europe for some time and were inspired by the simple lifestyle employed (oops) there to come home and properly dispose of their excess belongings, things that are perfectly good but they just don't use. You can BE SURE this is one morning where I will face the dawn and BE THERE. I want to happen upon some goodies to go in my new one bedroom house. I can park in my friend's driveway and push a wheelbarrow.
Tomorrow I have to tell you my punchline from over a week ago, the one about Sally Goes Shopping Alone and The Little Rabbit that would not Eat. It will all tie in beautifully with above paragraph. TRUST ME.
KEM the Tease
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Hello, get this. Mike has heard of gloaming -- in the Brigadoon musical/movie song, The Heather on the Hill. So I'm not nuts, not completely. Mike thinks gloaming, pronounced gloamin' in the song because that sounds better, has to do with a heavy mist or fog. This is Scotland, after all. So, I might not be correct that gloaming = dusk, but at least there appears to exist such a word. And fog is murky, just like twilight . . . sort of. Stay tuned again.
I promised more on dusk, so here's some: Dusk shows off the dif between kids and adults. Growing up in Florida, we kids would play hard outdoors up until the last possible second. Dusk was cool, as in neato, and made us play even harder because our daylight time was quickly dwindling and we'd have to go inside when it got dark. Pooh, the fun day was over and now we had to go waste our time sleeping. NOW, as an adult, I'm like, Oh goody, it's dusk, the day is almost over, I cannot wait to crawl under the cozy covers and sleep my life into oblivion. Wow, how do these changes in perception take place? Give me back the heart of a child.
I'm playing with a migraine and need to wrap it up. But I will say that in a recent blog I talked about my Swedish friend whose uncle wrote Leave it to Beaver and also how she always snaps up the all the latest Fiestaware, along with colorful placemats to mix and match under the FW, just psychedelic. Well, when I first wrote the post, I referred to her as a little rat. I said, The little rat has already gone out and bought the new FW Lemongrass placesetting. Something like that. Later that night I thought, What if she takes this the wrong way? I mean, I know she's not the kind of person to get all huffy, but better safe than sorry, right? So, I changed it to, Her enthusiasm runneth over and she bought the Lemongrass . . . Well, THE VERY NEXT MORNING she writes me about some bad little boys and calls them little rats. Yes she did. Mind you, she wrote this WITHOUT reading my blog calling HER a little rat, which I did make public for a few minutes and then went back and edited. I thought, Surely she saw my little rat in that tiny window and then wrote her own little rats by the power of suggestion. But no, no, she hadn't read the blog at all, this was just one of those little God-gifts, which I really thought from the beginning must be the case. Little God-gifts are the spice of life.
So, once I saw that she herself was not above calling some boys little rats, I emailed her and relayed my little rat story and enquired how we could both (aside from great minds, of course), unawares, from one end of the country to the other, manage to employ little rat(s) at the same exact time. I said, I really wanted to use little rat on you, even thought you are not a RAT rat, like the little boys. You are a lovely rat. It was just so perfect, but I didn't know if you would be offended. She commanded, PUT IT BACK. So, I put it right back but I also retained, Her enthusiasm runneth over, because I ended up liking that, too. Her enthusiasm runneth over and the little rat marched right out and bought the new LG FW . . . something like that. Typing black words on a blank white screen is tons of fun. It takes a lot to make me take down a word, once it's up there.
So, there you have it, I love my fun, spirited friends I can count on :)) Oh yeah, and she informed that she is NOT Swedish but rather is half-Norwegian, But who cares!, she says. That's exactly right. I told her that we will turn her into a Swede because my paragraph opened with Swedish meatballs and closed with my fun Swedish friend. I liked that. So, I'm taking some literary license . . . because it works. It was so endearing that she played along and I got to keep little rat and Swedish.
BTW, cleaning the bathroom last night, really in the wee hours of the morning, was horrid and gruesome. I hated it. Yes, I did. For one thing, there's a lot more to do, I could spend a day sifting through drawers and closet, well, half a day if I turned it up a notch. But all these crazy bottles of lotions and potions. My granny would blow her stack if she could see the accumulation (nice word!) in my bathroom. Once we went on vacation and when she came in the hotel room and saw all our cosmetics spread out all over every available surface, she shrilled, EWWWW, what is this, a drugstore?? This, of course, coming from the lady whose cosmetic collection consisted of one single item, the Coty's Airspun Powder. Hardly a collection.
Well, last night I took a casual inventory and man, do I have some old stuff in there. Stuff that if it weren't mine, I would laugh while pitching. Pitch, Pitch, Pitch. I mean, who in their right mind would dab on eye wrinkle cream when the cream's age is unknown, other than vaguely prehistoric? The cream has likely chemically altered into some foreign goo you wouldn't clean your garbage disposal with, much less smear onto your thin delicate eye skin. And I'm holding onto it?? Really, I mean, it's hard to throw out clothes you haven't worn in a year, like the experts recommend. But how hard can it be to throw out a once-liquid cosmetic that has petrified -- dry, cracked and bleeding, for all I know. It's not even USABLE, if I WANTED to use it. Which I don't, I just don't want to throw it out. Or the reverse, why wouldn't I toss without a thought a solid that has liquified? It might be lighter fluid by now and would probably flay the skin right off my face. How hard can it be to ditch? I'll tell you how hard. Impossible. I preach to myself, it goes something like this: THE MONEY (MONEY?) IS ALREADY SPENT (WASTED), YOU CANNOT (YOU CAN'T?) GET IT BACK (RATS) -- EVER (SUPER RATS). PLASTIC SURGERY (THAT'S RIGHT) TO REPAIR (YOU HOPE) THE DAMAGE DONE (SO SAD) USING THESE FOUL PRODUCTS (DOPEY) WILL BE VERY EXPENSIVE (VERY) AND MORE MONEY (OH, NO!) DOWN THE DRAIN (DRAIN...DOWN). T-H-I-N-K-!-! (SAY WHAT?) THROW THE JUNK OUT (NEVER!)! But my self-sermons bear no fruit. It must be human nature to cling to the death to not just any ol' stuff, but gen-U-ine bottom-of-the-barrel stuff. I blame all my faults on human nature in general, rather than on my human nature in particular.
So, how did I get all this junk, anyway? Some of it is DTD'S rejects. For one little instance, I have been using DTD'S XXL Volume Thickening Mousse with Fruit Micro-Waxes to shave my legs. Leg hair's gotta love that. Think what a close shave, the Volume should make all the hair stand straight out, and a nice waxy finish to boot. And I have a LOOOONG line-up of bottles and cans waiting their turn to sub for shaving cream, if I ever get past the Mousse. Some of the junk is Bad Buys, the product does not perform as promised, it does Zip. I use those on my feet or send 'em down the kitchen disposal to freshen it up (VERY questionable practice). Some of it is sheer over-quantity from picking up something HERE that holds appeal (like the Olay Sculpting cream, which, BTW, seems like toothpaste to me), picking up something OVER THERE on an end cap, (Oh, what a find, lucky I stumbled on THIS, can't pass this WHATADEAL up). These Jars O' Magic might really work their wonders, but still, a lifetime of generous application couldn't begin to make a dent in them. But ALL of the amassed gar-bage is buyer's remorse. Next thing you know, you have a drug store.
Well, ONE OF THESE DAYS, I'm going to get in a calculated frame of mind and calmly go around the house and play thief, except a thief wouldn't really want what I have. I'm going to loot my house clean, strip it bare. Then I'll make my speedy get-away. But I'm going to get scared I'll get caught so I'll dump the bags by the side of the road ('cause after all the City Dump, much less The Goodwill, doesn't really want my flaky rubber bands from the dry cleaners or the clear plastic snap pouch my latest mini L'Oreal Haircare Set ON CLEARANCE came in, do they?, or the candy canes from three Christmases ago, aren't I generous?, or a stray rusty safety pin, Goodwill might arrest me, and how 'bout those homely brittle make-up compacts?, Don't ya'll crowd around now.) Then I'm going to come home and pat myself on the back, breathe easy and blog about it. I WANT to revolutionize my life, but still, I resist.
Well, my headache is flitting, I babied it with three Spinach Cocktails and two asprin, that's why you got stuck with a long blog.
It's a Wrap, Little Rat,
KEM
I promised more on dusk, so here's some: Dusk shows off the dif between kids and adults. Growing up in Florida, we kids would play hard outdoors up until the last possible second. Dusk was cool, as in neato, and made us play even harder because our daylight time was quickly dwindling and we'd have to go inside when it got dark. Pooh, the fun day was over and now we had to go waste our time sleeping. NOW, as an adult, I'm like, Oh goody, it's dusk, the day is almost over, I cannot wait to crawl under the cozy covers and sleep my life into oblivion. Wow, how do these changes in perception take place? Give me back the heart of a child.
I'm playing with a migraine and need to wrap it up. But I will say that in a recent blog I talked about my Swedish friend whose uncle wrote Leave it to Beaver and also how she always snaps up the all the latest Fiestaware, along with colorful placemats to mix and match under the FW, just psychedelic. Well, when I first wrote the post, I referred to her as a little rat. I said, The little rat has already gone out and bought the new FW Lemongrass placesetting. Something like that. Later that night I thought, What if she takes this the wrong way? I mean, I know she's not the kind of person to get all huffy, but better safe than sorry, right? So, I changed it to, Her enthusiasm runneth over and she bought the Lemongrass . . . Well, THE VERY NEXT MORNING she writes me about some bad little boys and calls them little rats. Yes she did. Mind you, she wrote this WITHOUT reading my blog calling HER a little rat, which I did make public for a few minutes and then went back and edited. I thought, Surely she saw my little rat in that tiny window and then wrote her own little rats by the power of suggestion. But no, no, she hadn't read the blog at all, this was just one of those little God-gifts, which I really thought from the beginning must be the case. Little God-gifts are the spice of life.
So, once I saw that she herself was not above calling some boys little rats, I emailed her and relayed my little rat story and enquired how we could both (aside from great minds, of course), unawares, from one end of the country to the other, manage to employ little rat(s) at the same exact time. I said, I really wanted to use little rat on you, even thought you are not a RAT rat, like the little boys. You are a lovely rat. It was just so perfect, but I didn't know if you would be offended. She commanded, PUT IT BACK. So, I put it right back but I also retained, Her enthusiasm runneth over, because I ended up liking that, too. Her enthusiasm runneth over and the little rat marched right out and bought the new LG FW . . . something like that. Typing black words on a blank white screen is tons of fun. It takes a lot to make me take down a word, once it's up there.
So, there you have it, I love my fun, spirited friends I can count on :)) Oh yeah, and she informed that she is NOT Swedish but rather is half-Norwegian, But who cares!, she says. That's exactly right. I told her that we will turn her into a Swede because my paragraph opened with Swedish meatballs and closed with my fun Swedish friend. I liked that. So, I'm taking some literary license . . . because it works. It was so endearing that she played along and I got to keep little rat and Swedish.
BTW, cleaning the bathroom last night, really in the wee hours of the morning, was horrid and gruesome. I hated it. Yes, I did. For one thing, there's a lot more to do, I could spend a day sifting through drawers and closet, well, half a day if I turned it up a notch. But all these crazy bottles of lotions and potions. My granny would blow her stack if she could see the accumulation (nice word!) in my bathroom. Once we went on vacation and when she came in the hotel room and saw all our cosmetics spread out all over every available surface, she shrilled, EWWWW, what is this, a drugstore?? This, of course, coming from the lady whose cosmetic collection consisted of one single item, the Coty's Airspun Powder. Hardly a collection.
Well, last night I took a casual inventory and man, do I have some old stuff in there. Stuff that if it weren't mine, I would laugh while pitching. Pitch, Pitch, Pitch. I mean, who in their right mind would dab on eye wrinkle cream when the cream's age is unknown, other than vaguely prehistoric? The cream has likely chemically altered into some foreign goo you wouldn't clean your garbage disposal with, much less smear onto your thin delicate eye skin. And I'm holding onto it?? Really, I mean, it's hard to throw out clothes you haven't worn in a year, like the experts recommend. But how hard can it be to throw out a once-liquid cosmetic that has petrified -- dry, cracked and bleeding, for all I know. It's not even USABLE, if I WANTED to use it. Which I don't, I just don't want to throw it out. Or the reverse, why wouldn't I toss without a thought a solid that has liquified? It might be lighter fluid by now and would probably flay the skin right off my face. How hard can it be to ditch? I'll tell you how hard. Impossible. I preach to myself, it goes something like this: THE MONEY (MONEY?) IS ALREADY SPENT (WASTED), YOU CANNOT (YOU CAN'T?) GET IT BACK (RATS) -- EVER (SUPER RATS). PLASTIC SURGERY (THAT'S RIGHT) TO REPAIR (YOU HOPE) THE DAMAGE DONE (SO SAD) USING THESE FOUL PRODUCTS (DOPEY) WILL BE VERY EXPENSIVE (VERY) AND MORE MONEY (OH, NO!) DOWN THE DRAIN (DRAIN...DOWN). T-H-I-N-K-!-! (SAY WHAT?) THROW THE JUNK OUT (NEVER!)! But my self-sermons bear no fruit. It must be human nature to cling to the death to not just any ol' stuff, but gen-U-ine bottom-of-the-barrel stuff. I blame all my faults on human nature in general, rather than on my human nature in particular.
So, how did I get all this junk, anyway? Some of it is DTD'S rejects. For one little instance, I have been using DTD'S XXL Volume Thickening Mousse with Fruit Micro-Waxes to shave my legs. Leg hair's gotta love that. Think what a close shave, the Volume should make all the hair stand straight out, and a nice waxy finish to boot. And I have a LOOOONG line-up of bottles and cans waiting their turn to sub for shaving cream, if I ever get past the Mousse. Some of the junk is Bad Buys, the product does not perform as promised, it does Zip. I use those on my feet or send 'em down the kitchen disposal to freshen it up (VERY questionable practice). Some of it is sheer over-quantity from picking up something HERE that holds appeal (like the Olay Sculpting cream, which, BTW, seems like toothpaste to me), picking up something OVER THERE on an end cap, (Oh, what a find, lucky I stumbled on THIS, can't pass this WHATADEAL up). These Jars O' Magic might really work their wonders, but still, a lifetime of generous application couldn't begin to make a dent in them. But ALL of the amassed gar-bage is buyer's remorse. Next thing you know, you have a drug store.
Well, ONE OF THESE DAYS, I'm going to get in a calculated frame of mind and calmly go around the house and play thief, except a thief wouldn't really want what I have. I'm going to loot my house clean, strip it bare. Then I'll make my speedy get-away. But I'm going to get scared I'll get caught so I'll dump the bags by the side of the road ('cause after all the City Dump, much less The Goodwill, doesn't really want my flaky rubber bands from the dry cleaners or the clear plastic snap pouch my latest mini L'Oreal Haircare Set ON CLEARANCE came in, do they?, or the candy canes from three Christmases ago, aren't I generous?, or a stray rusty safety pin, Goodwill might arrest me, and how 'bout those homely brittle make-up compacts?, Don't ya'll crowd around now.) Then I'm going to come home and pat myself on the back, breathe easy and blog about it. I WANT to revolutionize my life, but still, I resist.
Well, my headache is flitting, I babied it with three Spinach Cocktails and two asprin, that's why you got stuck with a long blog.
It's a Wrap, Little Rat,
KEM
Monday, September 28, 2009
Hey! Should we laugh or cry today? I'm going to GRIN because it's been exactly one month since The Big One Before the BIG ONE and I've stuck to my goal of writing something every day. YIPEE! A tiddlywinks 11 months to go. Of course, some days I've written a crazy something-or-ruther-anything just so I could say I wrote something, but hey, I didn't make any serious groundrules for this blog. And let's remember, some days I write enough to count for 3 or 4 days in one.
This evening I walked at dusk. Dusk, I've decided, is THE coziest 1/2 hour of the day. When I was a little girl we spent our summers in Michigan at my grandparents' home, Watervliet, Michigan, to be exact. Michigan is only the greatest state in the Union. I can say that because I'm really a Floridian, I account for 1/3 of all people in the world who were born and raised in Florida, Florida Crackers. My brother and sister are the other 2/3. You meet any super nice person and the chances of their being from Michigan are 99.9%. (I just changed that from 100% so all you nice folk from Alabama and Mississippi and Kansas won't send me a box of rotten tomatoes. Every super nice person I know who is NOT from Michigan is in the .10%.) We had to go to bed in Michigan while it was still light. Of course in the summers it could stay light until 10:00 PM. Actually, it was dusk, a medium light, when I climbed into my bottom bunk. I'd lie there and look out the window the bed was pushed up against and study the leaves in the copse of trees, which were dark against a pale blue-yellow sky. Oh boy, the shapes and designs waiting to be discovered in the spaces between the leaves. It's just like finding elephants and kangaroos in clouds, which is a worthy pastime, studying hidden pictures in clouds, if you live in Florida. It's so exciting, because you have to find them before the clouds move or, with the leaves, before blackness swallows the dusk. Also, there was the yummy sound of motorboats putt-putting on Paw Paw Lake across the street. My eyes, ears and imagination were united in bliss.
Well, so tonight, and also two nights ago, I'm out walking, appreciating the dusk. Actually, I think I mean twilight, having just consulted Webster. Lovely peachy pink colors leftover from the sunset diffuse behind the leaf lace, a dusky (I like the word dusk, it fits) gloaming envelops the neighborhood. Okay, gloaming. What's that? Webster doesn't seem to get that word right. Webster is usually very good at including ALL the different meanings of a word, but he's caught napping here. The best he can do is spell it GLOM, like mom, when it should be GLOAM, or, at the very least, GLOME, like Rome, foam, dome, comb. I'm POSITIVE there is an Andy Griffith epidode where the community choir with poor Barney at the helm sings something about "in the gloaming." I can hear it right this second. Sounds like dusk to me. Better dig up that episode and concentrate on the words then direct dial Webster. Stay tuned. Gloaming just HAS to mean darkish light or the period of barely dark before nightfall. Yeah, dusk.
Well, so I'm loving the gloaming exept . . . Except. EXCEPT, EXCEPT, EXCEPT. What should come swooping overhead but MY FAVORITE? A BAT. There was no mistaking it, a bat in flight is seared into my brain FOREVER. All else may abandon my memory, but a bat in winged, webbed flight, NEVER. Bats are so dang FAST, like tiny missiles on a curve, dipping and soaring. And at any moment ready to dive into my hair. Bats and twilight, yep, a perfect pairing. Honestly, is there any joy in life that is untainted? Yes, there is. Lying in my little bunk bed, age 8, with the little red and white patchwork quilt, in a narrow room with walls of creamy paneling, a red and blue Indian rug warming the floor and a stack of Nancy (by Ernie Bushmiller, Nancy was like the adorable spiked black-haired version of Shirley Temple, only spunkier and less talented) comic books next to me, being lulled to sleep by motorboats. PURE JOY.
Today was the day to clean well the upstairs bathroom. Do or die. Work or wane. You know what I mean, the Lick and Promise Technique just weren't cuttin' it no more (bad English is just so appropriate sometimes). Mike unscrewed the exhaust fan and about tripped over himself running downstairs to show me all the little goodies the lightbulbs and glass cover had collected. He beamed, It looks like a haunted house up there. Good, we'll go get our butterfly net and scoop up a couple of bats and let 'em loose in the bathroom. We won't put the lid back on the fan box and the bats can perch up there in the cobwebs in the ceiling. It'll be so perfect. All that DUST. I'm telling you, the dust wins. After a VERY LONG TIME and a temper ready to trip, I said, Enough!, we'll get rest of the dirt the next time. That's how I squelch my clean freakishness, telling myself,There's always the next time, we'll go a layer of dirt deeper the NEXT TIME. Except the next time might be ten years away. Some jobs are just so pathetic because no matter how long and how meticulously you labor you're never going to get it CLEAN clean. You know? Makes you not want to even bother. So chuck that chore in the column under Non-Essentials-Who-Cares?-No-One-That's-Who and go make a milkshake.
DTD is on the prowl for a new apartment. She came by after my Twilight Bat Walk to take me to see her favorite so far. I have to say, it's VERY cute . . . and clean, from what I could tell peeking in the windows in the gloaming. Old Florida stone-front house, French doors, wood floors and woodwork, a kitchen with a counter (2 whole feet of counter, but that's two feet more than she has in her current apartment), multiple little cutouts and cozy spots (I'm the Cozy Girl, in case that has escaped you). Sidewalk, porch and patio, trees. I said, Who's going to help you move? She replied, I thought Mike and his friend. I said, Oh, I thought you would get your Male Interest to help. Naw. She has a couple of boys on the rope right now. You have to walk the rope gingerly. She favors one of the guys so I intelligently asked, What qualities does he possess that makes you like him better than the other boy? Her very honest answer, He's newer. You gotta love that DTD. I said, I have a new nickname for you . . . CRUSHER. Well, I'm telling you what, I've never meant a more capable, industrious, with-it, knows-her-own-mind young lady in my life. She was born on a special family friend's birthday. That is an incredible story I shall have to tell you soon, it truly is, maybe I'll save it for DTD'S and friend's birthday. But this friend always says about DTD, She doesn't suffer fools gladly. It's the truth. She never has, she never will. Glad to have an iron-willed offspring in the family. Refreshing. She'll go far. DTD already knows more than I ever will. A June Cleaver Wannabe and a Thoroughly Modern DTD. Some combo. God had fun matching us up.
Wishing I Were in Watervliet Reading a Nancy,
KEM
P.S. If the concept of dusk is still underappreciated by you, then certainly don't cast blame in my direction. On the other hand, I could go on about it some more tomorrow. I've not exhausted the subject yet . . . just for this particular post I have.
This evening I walked at dusk. Dusk, I've decided, is THE coziest 1/2 hour of the day. When I was a little girl we spent our summers in Michigan at my grandparents' home, Watervliet, Michigan, to be exact. Michigan is only the greatest state in the Union. I can say that because I'm really a Floridian, I account for 1/3 of all people in the world who were born and raised in Florida, Florida Crackers. My brother and sister are the other 2/3. You meet any super nice person and the chances of their being from Michigan are 99.9%. (I just changed that from 100% so all you nice folk from Alabama and Mississippi and Kansas won't send me a box of rotten tomatoes. Every super nice person I know who is NOT from Michigan is in the .10%.) We had to go to bed in Michigan while it was still light. Of course in the summers it could stay light until 10:00 PM. Actually, it was dusk, a medium light, when I climbed into my bottom bunk. I'd lie there and look out the window the bed was pushed up against and study the leaves in the copse of trees, which were dark against a pale blue-yellow sky. Oh boy, the shapes and designs waiting to be discovered in the spaces between the leaves. It's just like finding elephants and kangaroos in clouds, which is a worthy pastime, studying hidden pictures in clouds, if you live in Florida. It's so exciting, because you have to find them before the clouds move or, with the leaves, before blackness swallows the dusk. Also, there was the yummy sound of motorboats putt-putting on Paw Paw Lake across the street. My eyes, ears and imagination were united in bliss.
Well, so tonight, and also two nights ago, I'm out walking, appreciating the dusk. Actually, I think I mean twilight, having just consulted Webster. Lovely peachy pink colors leftover from the sunset diffuse behind the leaf lace, a dusky (I like the word dusk, it fits) gloaming envelops the neighborhood. Okay, gloaming. What's that? Webster doesn't seem to get that word right. Webster is usually very good at including ALL the different meanings of a word, but he's caught napping here. The best he can do is spell it GLOM, like mom, when it should be GLOAM, or, at the very least, GLOME, like Rome, foam, dome, comb. I'm POSITIVE there is an Andy Griffith epidode where the community choir with poor Barney at the helm sings something about "in the gloaming." I can hear it right this second. Sounds like dusk to me. Better dig up that episode and concentrate on the words then direct dial Webster. Stay tuned. Gloaming just HAS to mean darkish light or the period of barely dark before nightfall. Yeah, dusk.
Well, so I'm loving the gloaming exept . . . Except. EXCEPT, EXCEPT, EXCEPT. What should come swooping overhead but MY FAVORITE? A BAT. There was no mistaking it, a bat in flight is seared into my brain FOREVER. All else may abandon my memory, but a bat in winged, webbed flight, NEVER. Bats are so dang FAST, like tiny missiles on a curve, dipping and soaring. And at any moment ready to dive into my hair. Bats and twilight, yep, a perfect pairing. Honestly, is there any joy in life that is untainted? Yes, there is. Lying in my little bunk bed, age 8, with the little red and white patchwork quilt, in a narrow room with walls of creamy paneling, a red and blue Indian rug warming the floor and a stack of Nancy (by Ernie Bushmiller, Nancy was like the adorable spiked black-haired version of Shirley Temple, only spunkier and less talented) comic books next to me, being lulled to sleep by motorboats. PURE JOY.
Today was the day to clean well the upstairs bathroom. Do or die. Work or wane. You know what I mean, the Lick and Promise Technique just weren't cuttin' it no more (bad English is just so appropriate sometimes). Mike unscrewed the exhaust fan and about tripped over himself running downstairs to show me all the little goodies the lightbulbs and glass cover had collected. He beamed, It looks like a haunted house up there. Good, we'll go get our butterfly net and scoop up a couple of bats and let 'em loose in the bathroom. We won't put the lid back on the fan box and the bats can perch up there in the cobwebs in the ceiling. It'll be so perfect. All that DUST. I'm telling you, the dust wins. After a VERY LONG TIME and a temper ready to trip, I said, Enough!, we'll get rest of the dirt the next time. That's how I squelch my clean freakishness, telling myself,There's always the next time, we'll go a layer of dirt deeper the NEXT TIME. Except the next time might be ten years away. Some jobs are just so pathetic because no matter how long and how meticulously you labor you're never going to get it CLEAN clean. You know? Makes you not want to even bother. So chuck that chore in the column under Non-Essentials-Who-Cares?-No-One-That's-Who and go make a milkshake.
DTD is on the prowl for a new apartment. She came by after my Twilight Bat Walk to take me to see her favorite so far. I have to say, it's VERY cute . . . and clean, from what I could tell peeking in the windows in the gloaming. Old Florida stone-front house, French doors, wood floors and woodwork, a kitchen with a counter (2 whole feet of counter, but that's two feet more than she has in her current apartment), multiple little cutouts and cozy spots (I'm the Cozy Girl, in case that has escaped you). Sidewalk, porch and patio, trees. I said, Who's going to help you move? She replied, I thought Mike and his friend. I said, Oh, I thought you would get your Male Interest to help. Naw. She has a couple of boys on the rope right now. You have to walk the rope gingerly. She favors one of the guys so I intelligently asked, What qualities does he possess that makes you like him better than the other boy? Her very honest answer, He's newer. You gotta love that DTD. I said, I have a new nickname for you . . . CRUSHER. Well, I'm telling you what, I've never meant a more capable, industrious, with-it, knows-her-own-mind young lady in my life. She was born on a special family friend's birthday. That is an incredible story I shall have to tell you soon, it truly is, maybe I'll save it for DTD'S and friend's birthday. But this friend always says about DTD, She doesn't suffer fools gladly. It's the truth. She never has, she never will. Glad to have an iron-willed offspring in the family. Refreshing. She'll go far. DTD already knows more than I ever will. A June Cleaver Wannabe and a Thoroughly Modern DTD. Some combo. God had fun matching us up.
Wishing I Were in Watervliet Reading a Nancy,
KEM
P.S. If the concept of dusk is still underappreciated by you, then certainly don't cast blame in my direction. On the other hand, I could go on about it some more tomorrow. I've not exhausted the subject yet . . . just for this particular post I have.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Hi, time for a brand new week. If these words from the Lord don't get us through the week, the day, the next hour, I don't know what will :))
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)
Because of the Lord's faithful love we do not perish, for His mercies never end. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness! I say: The Lord is my portion, therefore I will put my hope in Him.
The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good to wait quietly for deliverance (salvation) from the Lord.
For the Lord will not reject us forever. Even if he causes suffering, He will show compassion according to His abundant, faithful love. For He does not enjoy bringing affliction or suffering on mankind.
Let's bring back the art of meditating on God's Word. I've heard that meditation makes all the difference in our spiritual growth. Not a quick read through of a chapter, but a deliberate, thoughtful mulling over of a verse or two. I think hiding God's Word in our hearts will not only have a calming influence on us but will also offer a power to be experienced as never before --and it will be nothing short of phenomenal. Let's take our time and do this, dwell in God's truth, I'm convinced it will change our lives. Doesn't this sound worth it?
Have a great week,
KEM
Lamentations 3:22-26, 31-33 (Holman Christian Standard Bible)
Because of the Lord's faithful love we do not perish, for His mercies never end. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness! I say: The Lord is my portion, therefore I will put my hope in Him.
The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. It is good to wait quietly for deliverance (salvation) from the Lord.
For the Lord will not reject us forever. Even if he causes suffering, He will show compassion according to His abundant, faithful love. For He does not enjoy bringing affliction or suffering on mankind.
Let's bring back the art of meditating on God's Word. I've heard that meditation makes all the difference in our spiritual growth. Not a quick read through of a chapter, but a deliberate, thoughtful mulling over of a verse or two. I think hiding God's Word in our hearts will not only have a calming influence on us but will also offer a power to be experienced as never before --and it will be nothing short of phenomenal. Let's take our time and do this, dwell in God's truth, I'm convinced it will change our lives. Doesn't this sound worth it?
Have a great week,
KEM
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