Musing on Hunger.

My son has a fish Oscar.

Oscar is an oscar cichlid. He’s rather small now. For some reason his bag of food was misplaced.

I kept thinking it was going turn up but it never did. Day after day, while I kept thinking the little pellets were going to reappear, Oscar was going foodless.

You must think me horribly cruel.

I didn’t worry about it because when I used to feed him (before food lost) the pellets would sit on the top of the water for hours.

He’s behind one of those bushes.

He usually hung out under the plastic green ferns. Like this picture I just took. 

I kept thinking I’ve got to get to Wal*Mart to buy Oscar some food – but I HATE to shop these days.

Major time drain and darn that they don’t expect you to pay money before you can leave with the goods.

Finally, I came my senses and thought d*mn, it’s been a long time since he ate.

Goldfish food. We have plenty of that around. Though not a lot of goldfish (we’re down to one).

So I threw a bunch of flakes in for Oscar.

He hit the top of the water like he was shot out of a Power Soaker. He ate and ate and ate.

Raging hunger will wake up even the most timid of fish.  

I know it’s bad to let yourself get too hungry but — I wish I hungered for something like Oscar hit that bread crumb.

It would be terribly uncomfortable, but I think I would like to find it.

Right now I’ve got to go find my bike for a ride before the kids come home. I’m not hungering for the bike. It helps when I leave 5 minutes shy of enough time to get back before the bus drops off the kids.

I could wait  and have to really push through a windy ride.

No, not that hungry today.

 

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Musing on fortunate cookies.

I just found a fortune cookie slip on my desk.

Do you save them?

I don’t save every one but every now and then when I crack open the shell — the message inside is so great,

so what I want to happen, so what I want to believe about myself — I keep them in a coffee cup to pull out and read when every self-doubt in the world is crashing in.

The one I just found massages one of my inner most  needs.

I read it agin and thought “Yes” that’s it exactly.

Glad someone  in this cruel world gets me.

I’m flippn’ nuts.

Don’t tell my husband. I don’t think he knows about this fortune cookie thing.

Not that he would be surprised.

 

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Musing on cleaning t-shirts.

Mondays. The day of the week I look ahead and plan the next 5 days.

My alarm was set at 4:15.

I got up at 5:30.

And after sitting down, I realized how woefully behind I was.

 

Then my husband found these two t-shirt in the middle of his work shirts from the laundry.

I paid $4 for them to be professionally laundered.

The Magic one — a giveaway from a game — might have been worth it. The other — an Auburn shirt. please.

I just paid $2 to clean an Auburn t-shirt.

* I could have had a cup of coffee at Perk.

* Bought an impulse Coke Zero while waiting at Ingles checkout.

* Paid 2/13 for some new slippers. Since the dog has chewed up another pair.

* Rented a movie.

* Bought a large order of waffle fries at Chick-fil-A.

My husband said I’ll never change. I never stop feeling behind and taking t-shirts in a pile of dress shirts to the laundry.

This post could have gone two ways…honest or lie and inspire.

I chose both…without the lying part.

I need to become more organized though it goes against every (almost) cell in my body.

But I am seeing little bits of progress.

I already bought a chicken this to make homemade chicken-noodle soup (the BEST soup in world). So no running to fast food this crazy Monday night.

Into Atlanta today. So must go…so not late for class. I have a long histotry of showing up late for class.

Go figure.

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Today’s Muse…no more complaining…

This is my right hand. These purple bands were handed out in church today.

Confession. This is my daughter’s band because I was not in church proper; I did attend Sunday School with my gals. I figured there’s no way in hades she is not going to complain, so I promptly lifted her band. I need to try this little exercise in character adjustment.

This is part of a “Complaint Free World.”   http://www.acomplaintfreeworld.org/

We are not to complain out loud for 21 days. If you do, you switch the band to the other hand and start the 21 days again.

Let’s see how long I can do this.

This was the first day in our new educational building. The stupendous Women of Faith class was back on the same side of Main Street as the church for the first time in two years. Well, for the first time ever.

A very Proverbs 16:9 class today. We had our lesson, then it became evident God had another thing to do with our gal hour together.

It’s a privilege to share some one’s sorrow. Even if all you can do is listen.

Our new room is kickn’.  We need a little new paint and a

coffee pot (tea and hot chocolate too ~ we don’t discriminate.)

We have an inspiration board ready to be filled.

And it’s been 8 minutes and the band is still on my right hand.

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My Internet-al Soul.

I have not been online since Friday when a pecan limb fell on a power line and knocked out our power.

The resulting surge crashed our Internet.

This is the third time that has happened in as many weeks.

I mentioned to my IT person that God is trying to unplug me or the devil is trying to frustrate the hell out of me.

Whomever it is — it’s working.

My IT said, “Well, maybe it’s both.”

Great.

God and the devil battling over my internet soul. Guess that’s better than them battling over my eternal soul.

But they might be doing that too.

Good grief. A good verses evil tug-of-war over my Internet connection doesn’t seem so bad.

But that might be because I once again have a connection.

Just never know about somethings.

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Cheers to Coffee and Pond Scum.

Yesterday I met good friend Mary Gardner at Starbucks on Aloma Avenue.

 The door flew open and Mary came  in carrying a small cooler like those that  rush organs to hospitals. Hers was a tiny Playmate – so it couldn’t have been used for anything but a bitty bird heart or something. I knew better. Mary brought some blue green algae for me.

That’s all I’ve been hearing about from her. She looked great. I became curious about the contents of the bitty Playmate and if blue green algae could make me look great.

We ordered coffee. We went outside.

 People were smoking outside with their coffee. We went back inside and surprise, surprise — there at a table sat fellow WPHS classmate Sandy Gantt Hayes.

We sipped coffee together, laughed lots until the cooler opened.

Mary poured us each a shot of blue green algae. It was like Gunsmoke, with Starbucks as the saloon and Mary as Miss Kitty.

 Sandy drank first. I hesitated because of age-related gag reflex.

“It tastes like grass.”

 That’s all it took to have visions of my puke of grass all over the table.

Sandy was brave and didn’t vomit – so I tipped up the algae. WOW.

With our brains on fire…

 Conversation turned…

 * To our kids and the challenges of raising children today.

*  To our parents and the challenges of raising parents today.

*  To us and the challenges of raised expectations that keep us trying to function at a reasonably high level today.

 * How the most memorable moment of sophomore year was Andre Owens singing Reunited.

Sandy said her daughter is going to UF next year on a full track scholarship. A fact which impresses the heck out of me. (And all done without any green algae.)

She mentioned her track star daughter wondered why her parents would move back to Winter Park after living in Gainesville for so many years. Mary and her family moved back after living in New York City and about every place in between.

Fueled by coffee and algae we concluded that Winter Park, Florida next to Madison, Georgia is probably one of the most beautiful, greatest places to live. Sandy and Mary echoed that it had real community.

That is what we are all searching for – a place to belong.

Our children can’t imagine it, but twenty-five plus years from now, they will find themselves around a table at a Starbucks equivalent, drinking coffee and shots of blue green algae and wondering how they, their children and us (the aging parents) all fit together.

And where in the world did the last twenty-five years go?

It was great fun yesterday morning. And I felt great the rest of the day. Here’s to placing an order for algae.

Pills.

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You might never hear from me again.

It’s been four days.

Four days since I’ve seen my phone.

And I think he wandered too far from home this time. I’ve posted reward placards on nearby utility poles. Offered my daughter two dollars finder’s fee.  My nine year-old who can find anything in the universe — except my iPhone.

I last used it Monday night. Tuesday morning it was gone.

* Texts gone.

* Twitter gone.

* E-mail checks gone.

* Voice conversations gone.

* All photographing and related photo tweets and emails gone.

* All calender, appointments, games, practices gone. (I called  everyplace I remotely remembered had to be this week to check on the time. If I didn’t show up somewhere ~ terribly sorry.)

* All phone numbers gone. (I’ve found the phonebook, remember the paperback addition with white and yellow pages, though one from 2007  isn’t all that helpful.)

It’s amazing I’ve been able to get out of bed in the morning. Thank the good Lord the coffee pot wasn’t tied to some app on my phone.

Surely it will show up. Surely it will. It will sniff and sniff and find it’s way back. Or lose interest in this folly and  turn it’s little digital self in — right?

“You took me for granted. Always punching and dialing and tweeting.”

How long does one of these things go missing before you officially call it over? It’s tragic when you don’t know your son’s phone number or your husband’s office number by heart.

Well, you might not hear from me for quite a while.

Or if I’m a really good girl to my husband this weekend — you might hear from me early as Monday.

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My new favorite song…by Sanctus Real.

This is my favorite new song.

That song you hear on the radio twice in one day.  Download to your iPod and listen to over and over — while you make dinner (while everyone else has fun) and clean up after dinner (while everyone else has fun.)

The message is the central teaching of the New Testement — but honestly, I like the music first.

The melody and arrangement draw me first to any music from pop to classic.

I’m a simple girl that way.

And I’m forgiven.

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When, oh when, does rainy Intercession end?

I’m not a violent person.

But rain-filled days with my children, parents, in a small house and Internet service from 2005 (hence the lack of any blogging or pictures with blogging this week) ~ has driven me there. Or just this side of Albuquerque close.

I sit here trying to write.

My daughter just came in and sitting incredible close ~ asked, “Can I blog?”

I might become violent.

Now, reading the sentences about her coming in…She is trying to correct my sentence structure.

HELP!

She asks…”Can I Twitter?”

No.

“Can I Twitter or can I blog?”

I’m remaining calm.

“Mama ~ are you going to write down everything I say?”

Yes.For I am about to go batty!!!!!!

She reads last sentence. “What does that mean?”

When, oh when does Intercession end?

 She comments on her dry skin.

 What about my drying brain tissue? Is anyone besides me concerned about that?

I’m going to find the lotion and something to drink.

Her parting words to me gesturing lightly to my chin…”Let’s turn that frown upside down.”

Alright ~ that made me less violent for the moment.

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A Perfect Start to a Springtime Break.

The first official night of Intercession break deserved a celebration.

Some-mores!

This is also a very good way to get the children to pick up all the sticks that litter the yard.

I sent them off with the Radio Flyer wagon, and they came back with loads of sticks.

We started a fire and WOW those little dry sticks became a huge conflagration.

Don’t tell anyone ~ but I started scanning the back for the hose just to make sure it was close. But soon enough, the flames settled down and into the perfect marshmallow roasting fire.

Some-mores for dinner! What a great way to start a school springtime break.

Later in the evening my 6 year-old said, “Mommy, don’t ever give us some-mores for dinner again. I need something more for dinner.”

Alright then, Mother-of-the-Year plummeting into a Twitter #momfail moment.

Actually, that’s a most fitting way for a week off of school with the children to start.

Happy Intercession.

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