How do you like my French?
Tonight at Target I marched out of there with a loaf of Nature's Own Buttercrust White Bread, soft and gooey. And a container of Hillshire Farms Ultra Thin Ham. Once in a while I want to eat like the vast majority of Americans eat. White bread and lunch meat. And mayonnaise. Hellmann's. With a glass of milk. Makes me feel like I belong. It's just the only way to go sometimes, and go I will, sooner rather than later if I succumb to these urgings regularly. You can only feel so deprived, you know?
See, I passed up the hotdogs at the church campfire tonight. I placed my gorgeous blackened wiener on Mike's plate, after he finished his first dog. Then I tempted myself at Target later, they sell hotdogs right when you walk in the store, you are basically forced to walk right past them. What kind of abuse is this? I found myself in the dining area reading the menu. They also offer organic mac 'n cheese. For kids. Well, I'm a kid, I've never grown up. But I walked on.
The cutest little girl, maybe 4 years old, was entranced by the bonfire tonight. BTW, Mike's church has the prettiest grounds in St. Petersburg. Lots and lots of grounds, free open spaces for kids to run around, wooded areas, very private, just lovely. Well, I asked this same little girl if I could borrow her roasting stick. She said, Sure, let me do it for you. She was VERY sure of herself. So, she had a high old time setting my mallows, two at a time, on fire and blowing them out, reigniting them . . . repeatedly. I'd say each time, GREAT!, they're ready, thank you! She'd come back with, No, they're not done on this side. And she'd flip them around trying to find a white strip, which she invariably did. Never mind they were ashes everywhere besides. Can't argue with the facts. Back on the burner they went. But I sure enjoyed them, charred as they were on the outside, but plenty warm 'n gooey on the inside. My insides should be good 'n gooey tonight, what with toasted mallows and white bread. White bread fascinates me. I'm sure if I took one slice I could wad and roll it up into the size of a dime. Probably a marshmallow would wad and squeeze into pencil eraser size. Then you could swallow them whole and they would surely expand back to their pseudo size down in the tummy. This could cause problems if you popped too many condensed white bread dimes and marshmallow erasers, thinking it was nothing and all. So, I said to the small girl, Thank you for roasting my marshmallows, they were delicious. She said, Yer welcum. And I was telling the truth. Her technique produced much better results than when I tried to toast last winter. I burned my mallows up so fast they were black on the outside and cold and stiff on the inside. I'm telling you, whoever said, Out of the mouth of babes . . . sure had that right.
Well, I truly enjoyed my ham sandwich, even though it seemed to scratch my double hotdog will power exercised earlier, yet alas to no lasting avail.
When nothing but white starch will do,
KEM
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
Bed, no blog. Except to say that the movie star who wanted Bill Stewart to marry her was Kathryn Grayson. Bill was an ice hockey star in Chicago at one time. And he even did have one date with Elizabeth Taylor, so what do you know, it was Miss Taylor. He was fabulous, all personality. Loved children, too. I found out that when I was born he came all the way from Michigan to see me. When my sister and I were little he loved to tease. He'd point to Laura and say, Me Kathy. Then he'd point to me and say, Me Laura. He was smart, handsome, a brilliant businessman. He designed a miniature golf course that was clever beyond reason. The first hole was a life-size witch with a broom. As she swept back and forth, cackling, the idea was to get the ball past her broom. He had a wonderful golf range on the same property, a baseball batting cage AND a drive-in little restaurant that served up the hamburgers and milkshakes. The servers dressed in Scottish kilts.
Well, this probably is not of great interest to you, but suffice it to say it was of great interest to me as a kid. His operation was a kid's wonderland. He eventually bought my grandparents' golf course. He never married until age 50 and to a woman who had 8 children, but mostly grown. Unfortunately, he had cancer and an eye removed and later died of cancer, around age 57. Very sad. He was from Chicago and his mother was used to dressing up. She would dress with hat and gloves and walk the two miles to downtown Watervliet in her spiked heels. My mother would drive by and offer her a ride.
I like to think about this. He was a remarkable man, making a huge success of himself in a very small town. (Although Watervliet was super cool at one time --it was a resort town for Chicagoans and in its heyday there were many, many hotels and attractions on the lake, including the Crystal Palace, which I believe was a dance hall that extended over the lake. Big name big bands would come and play, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Lawrence Welk. Of course, this was all way before my time.) But how many people remember Bill Stewart and think about him from time to time, reflect upon and appreciate his contributions? He enriched my childhood significantly. Life is so fleeting. When Mike and I visited 3 years ago, I went to the golf clubhouse. I asked if anyone remembered my grandfather and yes, an old man who still comes by talks about him. I asked how to get to the spot where Bill Stewart's miniature golf course used to be. We drove by and I think there are houses there now. Kinda takes your breath away, in a sharp, unpleasant suffocating kind of way. BUT, all the props for the putt-putt are in storage somewhere. I have a dream . . . to rebuild. But you can't go back. Looking back is bittersweet. Looking ahead can seem charmless. Living in the now is the best option.
The very first time I wear my brand new red J. Jill sweater, tonight, I spill greasy potato salad on it. Doesn't that beat all? Now it needs washing, but I had hoped for several wearings before washing. Once you wash, it's not new anymore. Of course, I think of the Bible verse, Do not set your affection on things below, where moth and rust doth corrupt. And greasy potato salad.
Philosophical KEM
Well, this probably is not of great interest to you, but suffice it to say it was of great interest to me as a kid. His operation was a kid's wonderland. He eventually bought my grandparents' golf course. He never married until age 50 and to a woman who had 8 children, but mostly grown. Unfortunately, he had cancer and an eye removed and later died of cancer, around age 57. Very sad. He was from Chicago and his mother was used to dressing up. She would dress with hat and gloves and walk the two miles to downtown Watervliet in her spiked heels. My mother would drive by and offer her a ride.
I like to think about this. He was a remarkable man, making a huge success of himself in a very small town. (Although Watervliet was super cool at one time --it was a resort town for Chicagoans and in its heyday there were many, many hotels and attractions on the lake, including the Crystal Palace, which I believe was a dance hall that extended over the lake. Big name big bands would come and play, Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Lawrence Welk. Of course, this was all way before my time.) But how many people remember Bill Stewart and think about him from time to time, reflect upon and appreciate his contributions? He enriched my childhood significantly. Life is so fleeting. When Mike and I visited 3 years ago, I went to the golf clubhouse. I asked if anyone remembered my grandfather and yes, an old man who still comes by talks about him. I asked how to get to the spot where Bill Stewart's miniature golf course used to be. We drove by and I think there are houses there now. Kinda takes your breath away, in a sharp, unpleasant suffocating kind of way. BUT, all the props for the putt-putt are in storage somewhere. I have a dream . . . to rebuild. But you can't go back. Looking back is bittersweet. Looking ahead can seem charmless. Living in the now is the best option.
The very first time I wear my brand new red J. Jill sweater, tonight, I spill greasy potato salad on it. Doesn't that beat all? Now it needs washing, but I had hoped for several wearings before washing. Once you wash, it's not new anymore. Of course, I think of the Bible verse, Do not set your affection on things below, where moth and rust doth corrupt. And greasy potato salad.
Philosophical KEM
Thursday, November 12, 2009
How does it work out that when you go to return one holey sweater at J. Jill, you walk out of the store with two new sweaters?? Nine days after discovering the little hole in my dusky inky blue J. Jill sweater the first day I wore it, I decided I'd better get back over there and return it . . . now or never. So, I boldly walked into the store and tried on a different sweater, totally different. I asked the sales lady how it looked. Then I said, I would like to exchange this blue sweater as the first time I wore it, I found this little hole. She had to bend way over the sleeve and scrutinize to find it. While she did that, I patted my sales receipt on the counter. She picked that up and said, This is the STORE copy. I said, Really? Then I fished around in my bag and produced a second receipt, the customer copy. She wanted to know how the store didn't end up with their copy. Beats me, I just stuff whatever they hand me into the bag, where it has remained ever since I walked out of the store the last time. She asked if it were okay with me if she kept the store copy. Fine and dandy, was my reply. This all just goes to prove that nothing I ever attempt is done easily nor without event.
AND, I hope the darling sales girl who waited on me doesn't get reprimanded. She was the greatest. It's all my fault anyhow. I was the last customer that night of inky blue and the store was closed but there I was and the girl talked me in to opening a charge card. So she was scrambling around for that. Honestly, I would love to work there, but I wouldn't be able to do the cash register, I am not kidding. Two years into it (well, there would be NO two years, as I would have been fired after the first two bungled transactions, which would have been my first two tries) I would still be apologizing to the customer, I'm so sorry it takes me so long, but you see I am NEW at this. And that would be true, after two years it would still FEEL new. My sister worked at White House Black Market and she caught on to the cash register. She had this young manager who was such a whiz, it was incredible. She was born with an MM, Math Mind. She could do returns and exchanges and sales and Sister's Discounts, no matter how layered and confusing, and do it in two seconds flat. And she was NEVER wrong. Not that I didn't say she was wrong, but, of course, I was wrong and she was right. She gave me a "look."
Reminds me of a friend I had, she told me the story how at McDonald's she INSISTED to the cashier that she was owed more change. The cashier said, No, you don't get more change. They argued back and forth. Cassie made a Federal Case, stomped up and down and called for the manager. Turns out SHE OWED McDonald's money. I said, What did you do, apologize? She said, No, I slunk out of there with my tail between my legs. Well, this all struck me as about the funniest thing I ever heard and I went into a tailspin of laughter. As a girl I know puts it, I was braying like some demented donkey with laughter. I guess I just could SO RELATE to what Cassie did. Honestly, we couldn't even do the simplest of mathematics, making change on a dollar. It really gives one a complex. So I love that movie Lucille Ball was in, I think it was Mame, where she tried to ring up a sale and it was all so utterly hopeless. In fact, once I read a guest column in the newspaper, a man wrote how he couldn't work the machine you slide your debit card in at the grocery store check-out. It was HILARIOUS. I read it multitudes of times and laughed harder each time. Because, of course, he was describing me. I wrote the paper about that article and they printed it.
So, I saw the neatest blue, brown and green print sweater, the "different" one mentioned above, and it jazzed up my jeans so much, that I got it. Then I got a red sweater like the inky blue. I DO love red. That's how come I walked away with two sweaters. And the price for two was just a little more than the price for one. So, since I don't comprehend math, I'm not going to try to figure it out, it just seems like I came out WAY ahead. And I compliment J. Jill for putting the customer first.
I met a neat sales lady in Nordstrom's, where I got sidetracked on the way to J. Jill. She was from Michigan. EVERYONE is from Michigan. She spent last summer in her cottage on a lake, which was way up in northern Michigan. But she knew about Watervliet in southern Michigan, where I used to summer on the lake, ha! That sounds funny. I never went there past age 12, which I don't understand. My grandmother didn't want us girls to marry someone from Watervliet, so we weren't allowed to go there past age 12. Not sure why she felt this way, because the Admiral of the Navy and anyone else you ever heard of who is famous or hugely important came from none other than . . . Watervliet, Michigan. Like a girl who was World Champion Baton Twirler, she came straight from the bowels of Watervliet. Like Bill Stewart, who only dated a VERY famous movie star who was begging to marry him. When I remember who that was, I will let you know. Someone like Elizabeth Taylor. But not her.
Uh-oh, I'm hooked on a Numbrix, that Ask Marilyn invented. I did the puzzle in Parade every Sunday and then I found out they put one online every day. Lately they are classified as EXPERT. I get them done, but not in the 15 seconds the hotshots do (they list the fastest puzzle solvers). I do it in 10 minutes. But still, I do it.
Okay, old beat up KEM hasn't felt so good lately. I'm wondering if my sinus trouble is connected to the room at a college where I go on Wednesday nights for Mike's Singing class. I mentioned that to my choir director tonight and he said, I wouldn't doubt it. He is familiar with this campus. I didn't have the heart to say, And I think the church sanctuary makes me sick, too. I see the writing on the wall, I'm going to have to stay home ALL THE TIME, except when I go to J. Jill. Unable to go out, my blog will dry up, because I won't have any new stories. BUT, I still have plenty of old stories that I want to drizzle out of my fingertips.
Cha-Cha,
KEM
AND, I hope the darling sales girl who waited on me doesn't get reprimanded. She was the greatest. It's all my fault anyhow. I was the last customer that night of inky blue and the store was closed but there I was and the girl talked me in to opening a charge card. So she was scrambling around for that. Honestly, I would love to work there, but I wouldn't be able to do the cash register, I am not kidding. Two years into it (well, there would be NO two years, as I would have been fired after the first two bungled transactions, which would have been my first two tries) I would still be apologizing to the customer, I'm so sorry it takes me so long, but you see I am NEW at this. And that would be true, after two years it would still FEEL new. My sister worked at White House Black Market and she caught on to the cash register. She had this young manager who was such a whiz, it was incredible. She was born with an MM, Math Mind. She could do returns and exchanges and sales and Sister's Discounts, no matter how layered and confusing, and do it in two seconds flat. And she was NEVER wrong. Not that I didn't say she was wrong, but, of course, I was wrong and she was right. She gave me a "look."
Reminds me of a friend I had, she told me the story how at McDonald's she INSISTED to the cashier that she was owed more change. The cashier said, No, you don't get more change. They argued back and forth. Cassie made a Federal Case, stomped up and down and called for the manager. Turns out SHE OWED McDonald's money. I said, What did you do, apologize? She said, No, I slunk out of there with my tail between my legs. Well, this all struck me as about the funniest thing I ever heard and I went into a tailspin of laughter. As a girl I know puts it, I was braying like some demented donkey with laughter. I guess I just could SO RELATE to what Cassie did. Honestly, we couldn't even do the simplest of mathematics, making change on a dollar. It really gives one a complex. So I love that movie Lucille Ball was in, I think it was Mame, where she tried to ring up a sale and it was all so utterly hopeless. In fact, once I read a guest column in the newspaper, a man wrote how he couldn't work the machine you slide your debit card in at the grocery store check-out. It was HILARIOUS. I read it multitudes of times and laughed harder each time. Because, of course, he was describing me. I wrote the paper about that article and they printed it.
So, I saw the neatest blue, brown and green print sweater, the "different" one mentioned above, and it jazzed up my jeans so much, that I got it. Then I got a red sweater like the inky blue. I DO love red. That's how come I walked away with two sweaters. And the price for two was just a little more than the price for one. So, since I don't comprehend math, I'm not going to try to figure it out, it just seems like I came out WAY ahead. And I compliment J. Jill for putting the customer first.
I met a neat sales lady in Nordstrom's, where I got sidetracked on the way to J. Jill. She was from Michigan. EVERYONE is from Michigan. She spent last summer in her cottage on a lake, which was way up in northern Michigan. But she knew about Watervliet in southern Michigan, where I used to summer on the lake, ha! That sounds funny. I never went there past age 12, which I don't understand. My grandmother didn't want us girls to marry someone from Watervliet, so we weren't allowed to go there past age 12. Not sure why she felt this way, because the Admiral of the Navy and anyone else you ever heard of who is famous or hugely important came from none other than . . . Watervliet, Michigan. Like a girl who was World Champion Baton Twirler, she came straight from the bowels of Watervliet. Like Bill Stewart, who only dated a VERY famous movie star who was begging to marry him. When I remember who that was, I will let you know. Someone like Elizabeth Taylor. But not her.
Uh-oh, I'm hooked on a Numbrix, that Ask Marilyn invented. I did the puzzle in Parade every Sunday and then I found out they put one online every day. Lately they are classified as EXPERT. I get them done, but not in the 15 seconds the hotshots do (they list the fastest puzzle solvers). I do it in 10 minutes. But still, I do it.
Okay, old beat up KEM hasn't felt so good lately. I'm wondering if my sinus trouble is connected to the room at a college where I go on Wednesday nights for Mike's Singing class. I mentioned that to my choir director tonight and he said, I wouldn't doubt it. He is familiar with this campus. I didn't have the heart to say, And I think the church sanctuary makes me sick, too. I see the writing on the wall, I'm going to have to stay home ALL THE TIME, except when I go to J. Jill. Unable to go out, my blog will dry up, because I won't have any new stories. BUT, I still have plenty of old stories that I want to drizzle out of my fingertips.
Cha-Cha,
KEM
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I don't know what to say. I am unmotivated to blog right now. Maybe I need a breather. Speaking of breathing, I have a theory as to the source of my "sinus infections," which of course the ENT doctor says I do not have, before he told me I had one, that is. It occurred to me that goose down may be the culprit. See, the story goes like this. While the roofer-turned-painter has been here . . . he's still here . . . well, while he was pressure washing the house and deck, I took my perfectly fabulous Pottery Barn quilt that I got at the PB Outlet in SC for about two cents and draped it over the couch, to protect the couch from water streaming in the crack of the French doors, you've heard of those French doors. Where the two doors meet, it's not tight and water sops in. I didn't want water to hit the couch, for Heaven's sake, which is only four feet in front of the Frenchies. I'm not sure that I wanted the water to hit the PB quilt, either, but I'm running on limited resources right now, resources of a mental nature, at least.
Meanwhile, there goes my light blocker. See, I scrunch that quilt up next to me on the bed every morning when the sun rises so it will block the light glaring in around the big windows. This is true, it's what I do. Then I can sleep better. Now, what to do? My scrunchy quilt is serving duty on the couch. So I scan the bedroom for a worthy substitute and I spot it! I take my big old down comforter, which was never put away after our really cold Florida winter (it was!) and I crumple it on my bed to shield me from the realities of daytime. Comforter had been posing rumpily (my version of an adverb, I think?) on the ironing board in the corner of the bedroom, lo, these many months, we have a HUGE bedroom, no need for it, it just beckons the junk. And the junk answers the call. It is not a problem that comforter is in the way of ironing, since I avoid ironing at all costs. But originally, when I set ironing board in one corner of the room, I must have entertained dreams of being tidily clothed and gracing the dining table with pressed placemats. Such visions I have, and I always wake up. My friend irons her sheets. Really.
What MIGHT be a problem is that coughing up green stuff coincided precisely with the two mornings I enlisted the comforter's help. In addition, I was sick ALL LAST WINTER, which, I just told you, was exceptionally cold, so I used the down comforter a lot. When the little bell started tinkling, I heaped the thing back on the ironing board, it makes a very fine heap. And right away the green stuff subsided. PLUS, I didn't have a sore throat before the coughing, which normally has been the case in past years, but not necessarily last winter.
But how can I get rid of my cozy comforter? You wanna know how I got that thing, it's very nice and it's Scandinavian. Absolutely years ago I saw a picture in a magazine of the house I wanted to build. Everything about it was so perfect, except the front of the house, it had no windows . . . weird. Nevertheless, the rest of the outside and the inside was me to a T. Very slick and clean and uncluttered . . . minimalistic. Well, in one of the bedrooms they had the prettiest flowered bedspread or quilt, it reminded me of my granny's couch slipcovers in Michigan. So I saw that this bedspread was from NYC. So we went to NYC one day and walked 10 miles to find this store that had the me-to-a-T bedspread. But it wasn't the pretty bedspread at all, it was a plain, but well-made, down comforter, with no pretty cover or anything. The magazine deceived me, they listed what was INSIDE the beautiful duvet cover, instead of the cover itself. Well, this still doesn't explain how I wound up with the comforter, I don't exactly remember that part of the story. But wind up with it I did. It just showed up in the mail one day.
Now I'm going to have to see about getting a down mite-proof enclosure. Always sumpin'.
If the comforter is not killing me, then maybe it was that I spoke with the painter while he was SMOKING. He's quit 5 times, don't you know. I should be his inspiration to make it the 6th. Really. My neighbor across the street does not allow the workmen to smoke on her property, as her pets might eat the cigarette butts. Speaking of butts, once when I was a Pharisaical little kid a passer-by threw a cig butt down on the ground, right in front of my neighbor Brad's house. We were all hanging out, and I watched as Brad, all of 8 years old, picked up that burning butt and took a great big curious puff. Of all the unholy nerve! I was incensed (furious) and told him I was through with him basically forever. Smoking, whew!, you couldn't get much worse than that, the bad little evil little sinner. He promptly repented in sackcloth and ashes, ha, and begged forgiveness, which I grudgingly granted. Honestly, how I survived childhood would be interesting to know. I just read an interesting verse in Ecclesiastes, something about not being TOO good. Not being too evil either, of course. But fearing God, that's how you come out ahead. Well, that verse would have been good to know all along.
I have some more theories as to my sinus grief, like recently increasing my dairy intake so I still have bones this time next year. Mike still holds that it's 'cause I stay up all night. Well, whatever it is, it's gotta go. I even thought maybe it's the ink from the newspapers. How healthy can that be? Newspaper ink never dries. You can smell it. You, of course, can see it, too. I see it all over the white door jambs (very few "J" pages in the dictionary, BTW) in my house. No one in my household, except yours truly, understands the black newsprint ink concept, nor the greasy fingers concept. Nor the wiping the mouths of jars before replacing lid concept, for that matter. Nor the eating in the dining room is a good thing concept. Well, news ink, it's a cumulative thing. Once a certain number of newspapers stack up, then the combined forces of so much ink, vats of ink, yes, all that ink, triggers, yes, assaults, the sinus. I would rather get rid of my newspapers than my quality down comforter.
For someone who had nothing to say, she did just that. Aren't you glad screen ink is odorless, at least? I really have more theories, but thankfully for all of us, I forget what they are.
Theoretical KEM
PS The $.49 Corning Ware dish I bought at The Garage Sale Store for my dog is working out beautifully.
Meanwhile, there goes my light blocker. See, I scrunch that quilt up next to me on the bed every morning when the sun rises so it will block the light glaring in around the big windows. This is true, it's what I do. Then I can sleep better. Now, what to do? My scrunchy quilt is serving duty on the couch. So I scan the bedroom for a worthy substitute and I spot it! I take my big old down comforter, which was never put away after our really cold Florida winter (it was!) and I crumple it on my bed to shield me from the realities of daytime. Comforter had been posing rumpily (my version of an adverb, I think?) on the ironing board in the corner of the bedroom, lo, these many months, we have a HUGE bedroom, no need for it, it just beckons the junk. And the junk answers the call. It is not a problem that comforter is in the way of ironing, since I avoid ironing at all costs. But originally, when I set ironing board in one corner of the room, I must have entertained dreams of being tidily clothed and gracing the dining table with pressed placemats. Such visions I have, and I always wake up. My friend irons her sheets. Really.
What MIGHT be a problem is that coughing up green stuff coincided precisely with the two mornings I enlisted the comforter's help. In addition, I was sick ALL LAST WINTER, which, I just told you, was exceptionally cold, so I used the down comforter a lot. When the little bell started tinkling, I heaped the thing back on the ironing board, it makes a very fine heap. And right away the green stuff subsided. PLUS, I didn't have a sore throat before the coughing, which normally has been the case in past years, but not necessarily last winter.
But how can I get rid of my cozy comforter? You wanna know how I got that thing, it's very nice and it's Scandinavian. Absolutely years ago I saw a picture in a magazine of the house I wanted to build. Everything about it was so perfect, except the front of the house, it had no windows . . . weird. Nevertheless, the rest of the outside and the inside was me to a T. Very slick and clean and uncluttered . . . minimalistic. Well, in one of the bedrooms they had the prettiest flowered bedspread or quilt, it reminded me of my granny's couch slipcovers in Michigan. So I saw that this bedspread was from NYC. So we went to NYC one day and walked 10 miles to find this store that had the me-to-a-T bedspread. But it wasn't the pretty bedspread at all, it was a plain, but well-made, down comforter, with no pretty cover or anything. The magazine deceived me, they listed what was INSIDE the beautiful duvet cover, instead of the cover itself. Well, this still doesn't explain how I wound up with the comforter, I don't exactly remember that part of the story. But wind up with it I did. It just showed up in the mail one day.
Now I'm going to have to see about getting a down mite-proof enclosure. Always sumpin'.
If the comforter is not killing me, then maybe it was that I spoke with the painter while he was SMOKING. He's quit 5 times, don't you know. I should be his inspiration to make it the 6th. Really. My neighbor across the street does not allow the workmen to smoke on her property, as her pets might eat the cigarette butts. Speaking of butts, once when I was a Pharisaical little kid a passer-by threw a cig butt down on the ground, right in front of my neighbor Brad's house. We were all hanging out, and I watched as Brad, all of 8 years old, picked up that burning butt and took a great big curious puff. Of all the unholy nerve! I was incensed (furious) and told him I was through with him basically forever. Smoking, whew!, you couldn't get much worse than that, the bad little evil little sinner. He promptly repented in sackcloth and ashes, ha, and begged forgiveness, which I grudgingly granted. Honestly, how I survived childhood would be interesting to know. I just read an interesting verse in Ecclesiastes, something about not being TOO good. Not being too evil either, of course. But fearing God, that's how you come out ahead. Well, that verse would have been good to know all along.
I have some more theories as to my sinus grief, like recently increasing my dairy intake so I still have bones this time next year. Mike still holds that it's 'cause I stay up all night. Well, whatever it is, it's gotta go. I even thought maybe it's the ink from the newspapers. How healthy can that be? Newspaper ink never dries. You can smell it. You, of course, can see it, too. I see it all over the white door jambs (very few "J" pages in the dictionary, BTW) in my house. No one in my household, except yours truly, understands the black newsprint ink concept, nor the greasy fingers concept. Nor the wiping the mouths of jars before replacing lid concept, for that matter. Nor the eating in the dining room is a good thing concept. Well, news ink, it's a cumulative thing. Once a certain number of newspapers stack up, then the combined forces of so much ink, vats of ink, yes, all that ink, triggers, yes, assaults, the sinus. I would rather get rid of my newspapers than my quality down comforter.
For someone who had nothing to say, she did just that. Aren't you glad screen ink is odorless, at least? I really have more theories, but thankfully for all of us, I forget what they are.
Theoretical KEM
PS The $.49 Corning Ware dish I bought at The Garage Sale Store for my dog is working out beautifully.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Because for the moment I cannot do my regular nutso blogging, I wanted to share a quote from the founder of Child Evangelism Fellowship (CEF). I love the Good News Clubs CEF holds all over the world. Once a lady taught the class in my parents' home. My brother was very naughty, disrupting the club, probably another boy egged him on. I think the teacher was beside herself. Well, wouldn't you know, when it came time to find out who could recite the most memory verses, Michael won. This nice lady was forced to award my brother the prize. He deserved it in a way, but most certainly did not deserve it in another way.
But I do remember attending another CEF Club when I was five years old. The teacher explained the Gospel, that we are all sinners and the Son of God came to die for our sins. I remember, being the serious little child that I was, listening with complete attentiveness, grasping the message and KNOWING that I was a sinner and WANTING Jesus to save me. I believe I became a Christian that day. So CEF Clubs have special meaning for me. We have a great chapter here in the area and I'm looking forward to getting involved. We have a WONDERFUL opportunity right now. It is perfectly legal to hold clubs in the public schools, they cannot deny us use of their facilities. I think each school principal has to agree to let the club begin, but I do think they are not allowed to turn us down because of religion. Perhaps they can turn us down for some other reason. But most principals understand the benefits and welcome the clubs. Permission slips go home with the children and to date about 7 clubs are operating with 240 children attending. A different team of 10 adults leads each club, that is a lot of volunteers. In one school the teachers are leading the club. That is so special. This is a chance we mustn't let pass by, to go be missionaries to these children. Many of them come from underprivileged situations and they get to come hear the life changing message of God's love. We don't know how long this opportunity will be available. Okay, I've just talked myself into getting on board.
Jesse Overholtzer, the founder of CEF, once said; "How wonderful to know that no matter how strong are the forces who possess the land to be conquered, if the thing to be undertaken falls within the scope of God's promises, through prayer it can be done. More than that, it will be done. We are dealing with the living God. He is able. He keeps His every promise. But His promises must be claimed in prayer."
HOPE,
KEM
But I do remember attending another CEF Club when I was five years old. The teacher explained the Gospel, that we are all sinners and the Son of God came to die for our sins. I remember, being the serious little child that I was, listening with complete attentiveness, grasping the message and KNOWING that I was a sinner and WANTING Jesus to save me. I believe I became a Christian that day. So CEF Clubs have special meaning for me. We have a great chapter here in the area and I'm looking forward to getting involved. We have a WONDERFUL opportunity right now. It is perfectly legal to hold clubs in the public schools, they cannot deny us use of their facilities. I think each school principal has to agree to let the club begin, but I do think they are not allowed to turn us down because of religion. Perhaps they can turn us down for some other reason. But most principals understand the benefits and welcome the clubs. Permission slips go home with the children and to date about 7 clubs are operating with 240 children attending. A different team of 10 adults leads each club, that is a lot of volunteers. In one school the teachers are leading the club. That is so special. This is a chance we mustn't let pass by, to go be missionaries to these children. Many of them come from underprivileged situations and they get to come hear the life changing message of God's love. We don't know how long this opportunity will be available. Okay, I've just talked myself into getting on board.
Jesse Overholtzer, the founder of CEF, once said; "How wonderful to know that no matter how strong are the forces who possess the land to be conquered, if the thing to be undertaken falls within the scope of God's promises, through prayer it can be done. More than that, it will be done. We are dealing with the living God. He is able. He keeps His every promise. But His promises must be claimed in prayer."
HOPE,
KEM
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The law of the Lord is perfect,
converting the soul.
The testimony of the Lord is sure,
making wise the simple.
More to be desired are they than gold,
Yea, than much fine gold.
Sweeter also than honey
and the honeycomb.
That's what I remember from a Scripture chorus we sang in college. There may be more to it, it's from a Psalm. I love the Scripture songs and I have a dream to compile as many as I and others can remember. They really stick with you. I guess as I read the Bible I should take notes when a verse rings a bell, Oh, yeah, we used to sing that. The tunes are always very sweet and fitting. Great way to hide God's Word in our hearts.
Yesterday when Congress passed the Healthcare bill, there was an amendment added that the public should not pay for abortions. HOWEVER, this could have just been a ploy, to swing the pro-life Democrats. The amendment is not permanent, it can be deleted before a final vote. We are far from removed from these dangerous waters. Please keep praying about this.
Tonight I saw Mike Huckabee's program on television. He interviewed the woman who was a Planned Parenthood Director but recently left the organization after she witnessed an ultrasound abortion. To hear her describe the killing of this baby, how the uterus was invaded and the baby tried to get away from the probe, and then how she witnessed the baby crumple into a still, lifeless form, just like that, well, it about ripped my heart out. She said that abortion operations do not like to use ultrasound because if more clinic workers really saw what was happening, they would run out of the place, like she did. The mothers having the abortions are sedated and do not see what is happening. This particular baby was 13 weeks old, and the director saw her whole little body, the profile from face to feet.
We need to get involved in the pro-life movement. Abortion is a blight on the soul of America. Let's get moving to protect the helpless, the innocent.
KEM
converting the soul.
The testimony of the Lord is sure,
making wise the simple.
More to be desired are they than gold,
Yea, than much fine gold.
Sweeter also than honey
and the honeycomb.
That's what I remember from a Scripture chorus we sang in college. There may be more to it, it's from a Psalm. I love the Scripture songs and I have a dream to compile as many as I and others can remember. They really stick with you. I guess as I read the Bible I should take notes when a verse rings a bell, Oh, yeah, we used to sing that. The tunes are always very sweet and fitting. Great way to hide God's Word in our hearts.
Yesterday when Congress passed the Healthcare bill, there was an amendment added that the public should not pay for abortions. HOWEVER, this could have just been a ploy, to swing the pro-life Democrats. The amendment is not permanent, it can be deleted before a final vote. We are far from removed from these dangerous waters. Please keep praying about this.
Tonight I saw Mike Huckabee's program on television. He interviewed the woman who was a Planned Parenthood Director but recently left the organization after she witnessed an ultrasound abortion. To hear her describe the killing of this baby, how the uterus was invaded and the baby tried to get away from the probe, and then how she witnessed the baby crumple into a still, lifeless form, just like that, well, it about ripped my heart out. She said that abortion operations do not like to use ultrasound because if more clinic workers really saw what was happening, they would run out of the place, like she did. The mothers having the abortions are sedated and do not see what is happening. This particular baby was 13 weeks old, and the director saw her whole little body, the profile from face to feet.
We need to get involved in the pro-life movement. Abortion is a blight on the soul of America. Let's get moving to protect the helpless, the innocent.
KEM
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