Thanksgiving Pies

Every Thanksgiving, my family has two requests.

Pumpkin Pie and Sweet Potato Casserole (with extra, extra marshmallows.)

Each time I get out the canned pumpkin and begin making pies, the scent of nutmeg and cloves reminds me of a very special Thanksgiving.

I was involved in Women's Ministry at our church. Our daughter was about 4 years old. Bless her heart. She usually went with me to meetings and Bible studies when her daddy was at work. Sometimes I made a point to take her with me so she could see firsthand what it was like to help people.

One year, the ladies in our church decided to bake Thanksgiving pies for a men's home in our area. The men were in need of rehab for various issues and the home helped them battle their problems while learning about the love of God. Our church's Men's Ministry was involved with other activities as well.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. I had gathered all the delicious homemade pies from the talented hands of the ladies in our church. The pies were loaded in my trunk and ready to go.

My daughter went with me. All we had to do was drive up and the manager of the home would meet us. Several polite gentlemen would join him to unload the car.

On our way there, my daughter wanted to know where we were going.

Without going into too much detail, I carefully explained,"Well. We are going to a special home for some men who don't have a home right now. They are learning that Jesus loves them. We are taking them some pies for Thanksgiving."

She didn't say much at the time. We arrived at the home, greeted by the manager. He and the other gentlemen graciously unloaded my car's trunk. We wished them a "Happy Thanksgiving" and headed back to our own home.

Hours later, my husband arrived home from work. It was almost supper time. Barbies had been played with, toys were strewn about, and many other moments had passed since we delivered pies.

Just as he did every other day, my husband asked our daughter, "What did you do today?"

She said with a smile, "Me and Mommy took pies to some men who didn't have any pies."

After a sincere chuckle, I explained our day to my daughter's daddy, and why she described the event the way she did.

Many Thanksgivings later, her announcement still sticks with me. It reminds me of the simplicity of giving, the pureness of generosity. Her childlike perspective teaches me to remember the people out there who are in need. Whether they are men who don't have any pies or a neighbor who doesn't have any family.

I can give something. A pie, a hug, a call to a friend. Something.

I'm thankful that God has blessed me so that I am able to give. I'm thankful that He has helped me see the world through a child's eyes.

And I pray that God will always keep my eyes and my heart open, looking for the people who don't have any pies.

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Cue the choir

Can you hear them singing?

I woke up this morning feeling much better.

Thanks to Hubs for filling the blessed humidifier for me last night. It is amazing what moisture can do for breathing.

Or it could be the clementines.

Either way, I'm feeling better.

I love that man.

Mama would say,"He's a good egg."

Sick Woman and HungryMan

I woke up this morning feeling under the weather.

I have no idea what that is supposed to mean, "under the weather." Aren't we always under it? Are we ever over it or next to it or behind it?

When I crawled out of bed, I could tell something was coming on. The muscles were achy. The bones were creaky. The head was stuffy.

Uh. Oh.

We were all getting ready for church and I warned Hubs that I may be getting sick and he may end up cooking Thanksgiving dinner. It is days away, so let's hope I get sick and get over it or don't get too sick at all.

While in church, the preacher announced the "meet and greet" and I leaned down to get the hand sanitizer from my purse. I quickly and (I thought) discreetly cleaned my hands to protect anyone around me. The people behind me must have seen me, because they hesitated when they shook my hand.

Maybe they thought I didn't use enough.

While we were singing, I glanced down at the pew in front of us. That is when I had a Pez Moment.

We were all standing and singing, so I could see the Bibles, purses and books in the seat. Resting in the seat of an elderly woman ahead of us was a Sunday School book. The picture on the cover made me giggle.

The photo showed an elderly man kicking up a pile of raked leaves with his smiling wife in the background, holding a rake. I am sure it was meant to convey a feeling of "life's still fun and thrilling and now you get a discount at your age," but the man's expression struck me as funny.

I could blame it on a high fever, but that would be lying. And I usually refrain from lying in church. Laughing to myself and using hand sanitizer between handshakes is completely allowed.

I did look around to make sure no one was offended. My goal has never been to be a Spirit Quencher.

This afternoon, I sat down at the laptop to check email and blog this little post. That is when Hubs started force feeding me clementines for a Vitamin C boost. (I don't eat fruit.)

I told him that I could be dying. If I am, could he please go out of town and get me some Starbucks for my last meal.

He told me my last meal would be Thanksgiving dinner and I'd have to cook it.

Sigh.

I knew I shouldn't have laughed in church.

To be perfectly honest, Hubs could and would cook Thanksgiving dinner but, bless his heart, he'd need some help with my Granny's dressing recipe.

It may be frozen dinners for us.

Or, we could always eat Pez.

If you read nothing else today, read this.

Shannon has a post today about a sweet husband who is trying to do something incredible for his wife this Christmas. He needs our help.

And, guess what? His gift isn't in a little blue box. It is much more valuable and precious than that.

Be sure to read Shannon's post for more instructions.

Dear Uncle Sam,

Hello. I usually only communicate with you every election cycle or during tax season, but I thought it was high time we talked.

Lately, it seems some of your other family members are getting all of your attention, so I thought I'd ask for my share. I've never been one to ask for much of anything, but it looks like my time or your money is about to run out.

Honestly, I never knew that you were the rich uncle. As I remember it, you've always asked me for money. You were the odd, stuffy uncle at the family gatherings. The one who liked to get into every body's business. And, let's face it. That top hat and striped pants? Didn't help.

But, it appears that you are loaded, so I have a few things to ask.

I want a bailout. You never fully compensated me for that failed lemonade stand I had as a child.

Yeah, I know the lemonade wasn't any good, the price was inflated, and the customer service had room for improvement. But, with the inflation in the 70's, the cost of paper cups and all, surely you could help me out.

While you're writing checks, make one out to my kid. She is a good student, tries really hard, has big dreams, and all of those other things we Americans use to embrace. Now that none of that seems to matter anymore, just write her a check now. I'll save it for her. I'm afraid what this country may offer her when she turns 18.

Besides, it's hard as a parent to keep telling her to work hard, stay in school, stay off drugs and become independent when the kid down the street will grow up and have just as much or more and work very little.

But, hey. What do I know? I'm just the ignorant, gullible niece who, by the way, is about to put you in a home.

You may think you're in control, but I'm still your Legal Guardian.

Thanks to my Great, Great, Great, Great, Great Uncles Madison, Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton and a few others.

Who, I might add, used their signatures for more important documents than checks.

Works for Me: Keeping Gravy Hot

I just learned about this tip this week while watching Alton Brown on Food Network. That Alton is a genius.

You know how you always have to make the gravy for Thanksgiving (or any other meal with gravy!) near the end of your cooking time so that the gravy will stay hot? Then, you have to simmer it on low to keep it warm without scorching it and rush to get the food on the table?

Well, no more.

Alton suggested making the gravy whenever it is convenient during your food prep time, make sure it is hot, then pour the gravy into a Thermos until you are ready to serve it in Grandma's gravy boat. The gravy will stay hot enough for a good while and you will be free to cook something else.

Or, hey! Take a break and watch the parade!

For more tips, see Shannon.

You say Po-TAH-to.

When I first met my husband in a college sociology class, I instantly knew he was funny. We share the same sense of humor- dry and sarcastic. Most people find these two traits insanely irritating so it is a good thing we found each other.

I remember one particular day when the professor said something funny (he was dry and sarcastic, too) and the two of us were the only ones in class who laughed out loud. We weren't trying to get points in the grade book; we actually thought this sociology professor was funny. (Analyze that.)

I didn't know it at the time, but that momentary burst of laughter was a test. Later on, Hubs told me that when he heard me laugh too, he knew I was a keeper.

Besides the knack for humor, Hubs has a remarkable ability to speak in a British accent. I think he watched too much Spinal Tap as a teen. No kidding, if I didn't know his roots were in New Jersey, I would promise on my case of Diet Coke that Hubs hails The Queen.

We sit at the dinner table when, in a Tourette's type of outburst, he begins quoting movies in the accent of Great Britain. I have memorized movies that I have never seen. Dinner is a learning experience at our house.

So, Hubs, I just wanted to say that even though you may drive me crazy with your pronunciation of garage, I love you for it. And you are much better looking than Hugh Grant.

Packing Lunches

Most mornings I drag myself out of bed, slow and grumpy, after hitting the snooze button at least two times.

I shuffle to the coffee pot, grab a Diet Coke from the frig., and swig it down for my temporary caffeine hit until my Starbucks House Blend is ready. In the meantime, I wake up our daughter, make her breakfast and stare at her lunch box...

Join me over at the Internet Cafe today!

Fitness advice from a barista.

Since we've moved to Smalltown, New Mexico there have been a few things I've missed.

Starbucks.

Target.

Starbucks.

I do have access to a faux Starbucks- one of those sandwich, fried chicken basket, hot dog, breakfast before 11:00 AM type of places where they serve Starbucks but somewhere between the making and the serving, it loses its Starbucks taste.

Hubs tells me to write Starbucks a letter and tell them that there are people serving their coffee below the Starbucks standard.

I gasped and told him, "NO! Then they will take it away!"

Bad Starbucks is still better than no Starbucks.

However, most mornings I go to a little local coffee shop for my coffee because the faux Starbucks is across town.

Across town is um, 9 miles.

But, I digress.

There is a sweet lady at the local coffee house. She is My New Miriam. She remembers my name every time I drive up and she remembers my coffee. Every time I drive up.

Cafe' Breve.

If you are not acquainted with the Cafe Breve, let me introduce you.

Espresso. Steamed Half and Half.

Meet your arteries.

I am a coffee purist. I like strong coffee with lots of cream. No sugar. No sweetness. Unless it is a mocha ( a real one) from Starbucks. My cream of preference is half and half.

When I learned that I could get half and half steamed. Oh. My. Word.

This morning I wanted a larger coffee and just couldn't bring myself to order a breve. I opted for the latte when a new girl took my order.

As I sat with the SUV idling, My New Miriam peeked her head around with a confused look on her face.

"You're not getting your breve?" she asked, with furrowed brow.

"No. I wanted a large coffee and just couldn't do that to my arteries."

"Oh, but half and half is protein. The breve is much better for you. Just don't mix the sugar in. I drink breve."

You have to understand that My New Miriam looks really fit. Her arms look like she's been lifting 100 pound bags of coffee beans all day, between sips of cafe breve. She has good nutrition or good DNA.

Considering that my DNA is more twisted that the normal double helix, I don't think I'll take the chance on her advice.

If I did, I may have to rename my liquid doughnut, "Cardiologist's Vacation Home."

Works for Me: Fabric Crayons

We just discovered a fun crafty item- Crayola Fabric Crayons.

They may have been around for a while; maybe they are new. Either way, we just found them and they are fabulous.

Your child (or you!) can color on a piece of paper, then iron the image on a t-shirt or other fabric. The image turns out in reverse. Or you can color directly onto the fabric, then follow instructions for setting the image with an iron. The colors brighten with the iron.

We practiced on old t-shirts then graduated to other shirts.

Imagine all the fun Christmas gifts you can make this year!

Please Note- According to instructions, you cannot put the finished product in the dryer.

For more great tips, visit Shannon.

Red, White and You

Have you hugged a veteran today?

If you don't know one to hug, take a minute to pray for them, thank God for their courage. They are honored once, maybe twice a year for their sacrifice. The rest of the year, we tend to forget them while we enjoy the freedoms they've so unselfishly provided.

And while you're at it, take a moment to watch a flag wave. Watch as it freely unfolds in the air we breath. Those colors represent so much of our great nation's history.

Give pause. Give thanks.

I want to believe.

My parents have been in Tennessee this week. Which is why I have been a little nostalgic about apple cider and boiled peanuts.

Mama called the other night from Pigeon Forge to give me the run-down on their trip. After telling me where they had been, what they had bought and how gorgeous the leaves are (they entered a golden tunnel of trees!) she shared with me their latest sighting.

My parents aren't into the UFO Phenomena, so when they say sighting, they mean deer and bears.

When I was little, I remember us winding around the mountain and slowing down behind a long line of cars. People were pulling over to park on the side of the road while trying to keep from falling off the side of the mountain.

It's a skill.

There's something you should know about cars suddenly pulling over on the side of a cliff. It only means one thing. A Sighting.

Daddy strategically parked without careening into the valley, and the three of us got out. We looked up and there they were.

Three baby bears up a tree.

We stayed a reasonable distance from the tree and a very close distance to the car because where there are baby bears, there is always a mama bear. And she is not ready to picnic.

I can still see the black, furry babies in a tree, high from the ground and thinking that it was so cool. It also meant that the cartoon bear on my souvenir Smokey Mountains t-shirt really meant something.

I was deep for a seven year-old.

So Mama said they had a sighting on this trip and she totally understated their experience because they saw fifteen deer. Fifteen. Deer. And Daddy added that one was a buck which is totally important.

Mama went on to tell me about the day they were winding around the mountain and the traffic slowed. They turned to each other and knew what may be ahead. Sure enough, a bear was running up the mountain.

Pretty soon the show was over and traffic returned to normal.

Minutes later, they stopped at a little store where Daddy shared their sighting with the cashier.

He added with a chuckle,"I think the bear was leaving the picnic area." And the clerk totally did not get it.

That's Okay, Daddy.

I did.

And it made it on my blog.

Now, where's my new t-shirt?

Thursday Thirteen: Cold Weather

This morning it was c-c-c-cold.

As my husband says, "It's a degree."

I am ready for the change in temperatures, even though the cold ushers in the wind here in Smalltown, New Mexico.

(And I am literally, not just figuratively dodging tumbleweeds.)


Cold weather brings up many childhood memories for me.

1. The smell of the heater when you first turn it on for the winter. Burning dust.

2. Thanksgiving and Christmas are just around the corner.

3. Fall leaves. I miss them. I used to love helping Daddy rake leaves in the fall (my helping was playing in them and riding in the wheelbarrow.)

Then I'd jump in the pile.

Crunch. Swish. Plop.

4. Trips to North Georgia for good apple cider.

5. The taste of hot boiled peanuts. I love to suck the juice from the shell before plopping the peanut in my mouth.

Yum.

6. Hot chocolate after school.

7. Watching the weather and praying, hoping, wishing it would snow. FYI- It doesn't snow in South Georgia. And if it does, you just pray, hope and wish that it will stick.

8. Climbing under the covers at night in a flannel gown and kicking the blanket to watch the static electricity in the dark. Sometimes dry heat is fun.

9. Visiting my grandparents. My granny would turn on the electric blanket minutes before bedtime. I'd climb into a toasty warm bed, blanketed with handmade quilts.

10. Buying candy cigarettes. (Wow! Can you believe they made those?!) We would pretend to smoke and blow signals with our hot breath in the cold air.

It's a wonder we turned out as good as we did.

11. Roasting marshmallows and hot dogs on old wire coat hangers over a fire. I love burned marshmallows!

12. Drawing on fogged glass inside the house.

13. Bright sunshine on a cold day. Even when it feels cold and dreary outside, God lets the sunshine stream down brightly to warm our hearts.

Giving Hope

I'm feeling a little numb, a little down. My heart is filled with mixed emotions of historical triumphs and cultural failures.

Then, I clicked on this post at Big Mama's and I was given a fresh perspective.

I was able to wrap a coat around my daughter's shoulders this cool morning. I poured cereal for her with fresh milk. She chose which pair of shoes to wear. On my way home from driving her to school, I stopped for a coffee.

Yeah, America. We've got it good.

But my hope, my confidence is not in wealth or things of this earth. Those things can be taken from me in an instant.

My hope is in Jesus. Today I am reminded once again that there are people who still do not know Him. That do not know Hope.

"I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light

so that you can understand the confident hope

he has given to those he called—

his holy people

who are his rich and glorious inheritance."

Ephesians 1: 18

Please pray for all the Compassion Bloggers this week. Pray for new sponsors to come forward, to help give hope where there is none.

All Rise

To stand for all that is sacred
for life, for marriage,
for freedom and democracy.

To walk in Truth
without apology or fear
with gracious dignity and quiet resolve.

To make known our choice
for all we hold dear
our values, our history, our God.

All Rise.

Rise up in peace and in courage
pledging to stay true
for those who have died and are still dying.

For those with ink stained hands
for those without fathers and mothers
for those who are still enslaved to tyranny.

For those who have forgotten
Two towers, four planes
The Pentagon, that Pennsylvania field.

All Rise.

Stand tall,
stand wise.

All Rise.

While Visions Of Swing States Dance In My Head

If you check in here tomorrow and I haven't posted anything new or anything of substance, it may be because I have taken two Tylenol and pulled the covers up over my head.

While peeping out to watch all the election news.

This election is making me a new shade of crazy. I've been worried, depressed, angry, disappointed, and outright distraught over the future of this country I love so dearly.

And now, today is the day before the biggie, the first Tuesday in November (the day we are technically supposed to be voting.)

I am stressed beyond stressed. I could totally take those Tylenol now.

Then it hit me. Today feels like Christmas Eve.

Not that I am awaiting the Messiah.

Seriously, this anxiety I am feeling is akin to the emotions that overwhelm me the day before Christmas. I am so busy wondering what I didn't do, what I did, what I could have done to make the next day better. To make it right for my family. To make it turn out the way I want it to.

The day before Christmas I am usually scurrying around wrapping presents, completing my last minute shopping, and fretting over the feeling that tomorrow won't turn out the way I'd planned. By the time our family sits down together on Christmas Eve, I am exhausted.

It is when I sit in the quiet that I can rest. When I look at my sweet family, wrap my arms around them, with my Bible in my lap, that I snap out of my plan and my worry and fall into His Word, His Love, His Grace.

His Peace. The peace that passes all understanding, all exit polls, election results, all republicans, democrats, independents, undecided, and all the talking heads on CNN.

This peace? It's what makes Christmas truly Christmas.

No matter who wins this election, I know I've voted and I've prayed.

And I'll keep on praying. And resting. In His Peace.

Covering them in prayer.

Hey, y'all.

Some of our favorite bloggers are headed to the Dominican Republic tomorrow to blog for Compassion.

God did an awesome work when Compassion bloggers visited Uganda earlier this year. I can't wait to hear what He is about to do in the Dominican Republic! (And just to show I have the election on the brain, I have typed Republican twice already in this post and had to fix it.)

No matter what you have on the brain- election, economy, or what's for dinner- please take a moment each day to pray for the Compassion bloggers and for the many children they will meet.

Pray for the children who still need sponsors. God loves them so much and He would love for us to tell them!

My sweet little elector

Conversation and insight at my house-

"Mommy, when is the election?"

"Next Tuesday."

"Then, how can someone be ahead if we haven't voted yet?"

Exactly.

Thursday Thirteen: All I Needed to Know I Learned At A Writer's Conference

1. When you have loved to write since you were a little kid, chances are that itch will never go away.

Ever.

So, go ahead and scratch.

2. That feeling that you are weird?

Yep, you are. But, guess what! There are a whole bunch of people out there just as weird as you.

Maybe even weider. (Like in an Ernest Hemingway kind of way!)

3. Allowing the word "weider" to stay in your post will make you twitch. The grammar snob in you shall never die.

4. Meeting people who like to doodle or play with fun verbs validates you in some way.

The fun verbs part proves that you are a nerd.

5. Don't feel bad about math. Those other people you met, you know the ones who think like you? They aren't good at math either.

They could rename Writer's Conferences "Math Phobics Anonymous"

And we already know that Anonymous has written a lot of good stuff.

6. The people you meet are so talented and, even though they are a weird like you, they are weird in a cool way. Which means there is a small chance that you may be cool, too.

Or also.

7. Meeting Carol and Amy was awesome.

And if it were not for Carol's careful nudging, OKAY, I'LL GO ALREADY! you would not have gone at all.

8. And learned that you are weird.

9. And maybe a little cool.

10. And grateful that there are Christian Writer's Conferences out there.

11. For the people who are weird and maybe a little cool.

12. All for Jesus.

13. And that there is no way you would ever sign up for the Calculus Conference.

No mathematical way.

Yes, we have brains.

I've been catching up on all of my favorite blogs and I found the best post I've read in a very long time.

Take a minute and read this post by Veronica.

Her perspective and insight are dead-on.

Altitude Adjustment

I am nearing the end of my little trip and just can't stay away from the blog.

The auto post is your friend, but it is the Nicorette Gum of a blog addiction.

I'm here in Santa Fe at the Glorieta Christian Writer's Conference. I am so excited about this trip, all of the things I've learned, the great people I've met, and the fact that there is nothing better than being with Christians who love the Lord for nearly a week.

I've met a few people that I had only known over the Internet. Now I know there is more to them than just their profile photo. (BTW, they are awesome!)

I'll share more of that later.

When I first arrived, I noticed that I was huffing and puffing a lot and it had nothing to do with Nicorette gum. It had everything to do with the fact that I am at 7,000 feet.

Talk about a spiritual high.

All of this thin air reminds me of the last time I was high in the hills.

Only I wasn't the least bit encouraged.

Although, I did make a friend.

I'm headed home today to love on my sweet family. I can take a break from the blog but no kind of gum (even Hubba Bubba) substitutes for my husband and daughter.

Real decorators don't use spray paint. Really cheap ones do.

Originally published July 7, 2007

Y'all know how it is when you move into a new place. After you go through all of the boxes and put things away, then you are able to start the fun stuff. Decorating.

We've had our patio furniture for about five years. All this time, it has been either on a screened porch or outside, exposed to the elements.

The set was a deep, forest green and still in pretty good shape. I threw out the old cushions because, frankly my dear, I hate mildew and after so many bleach applications, the lovely magnolia pattern just became a faded flowery mess.

There were a few rust spots and some craft paint spills. Other than that, the set was completely salvageable. All it needed was a fresh coat of paint and some bright, new cushions.

I bought some sunshine yellow cushions while they were on sale, so all I needed to finish the revamp was to spray paint the furniture.

I originally thought I would spray it all black, but when I went to the home improvement store I saw it.

Charleston Green.

Oh. My. I was just giddy.

You mean this huge place filled with trucks that go "beep" and piles of plywood has a little bit of Charleston history tucked neatly on a shelf and packaged in an aerosol can? Someone give me a tissue. I think a tear actually trickled down my cheek.

Charleston Green in a can. Spray Paint Heaven.

You shall never see it on any interstate overpass. This color must be reserved for patio chairs, front doors and porch railings.

"I Love Bobby Ray" in Charleston Green on the Willacoochee, Georgia water tower? {Gasp!}

I fell in love with Charleston,SC while on our honeymoon. We rode our bikes down Meeting Street, along the Battery, and past lovely homes with sideways porches. I learned of the culture and history, including the story behind Charleston Green.

The story just reminds me of how people in the South used what they had to still try and make things beautiful. I love that.

So I was in the yard today spraying my patio furniture, just tickled to death that it was going to be Charleston Green, knowing that everyone is going to think it is black, and thinking to myself, "I don't care. The chairs and I will know the truth. Sniff, sniff."

While spraying the gorgeous hue of greenish black from an aerosol can, I also realized something else. Although we may be known for our culture and history, we Southerners are not known for our protection of the environment.

I realize Al Gore is from Tennessee, but, well, he's Al Gore.

As Mama would say, "He's just different."

The closest thing to recycling my grandparents ever did was turn in their glass Coca Cola bottle at the local grocery. (To get another "Co-Cola.") My grandmother would have looked at you funny if you had told her not to use her Aqua Net hair spray or even suggested that she recycle newspapers to save the trees.

My grandfather worked in the Lumber Industry. They don't save trees. Trees are planted to be cut down or leaned upon in a nice tree stand during deer season.

I have never seen a Bubba cut up his six-pack rings or drive a load of recyclables to the recycling center.

Um, what recycling center?

The only load Bubba hauls is to the city dump or to the place everyone has designated as the city dump- that spot at the end of the clay road past the Old Johnson Place.

I'm not sayin' it's a good thing. I'm just sayin.'

My generation is really starting to change things, but for the most part, The South's contribution to the organic approach is cotton. (We grow it.)

Well, what do you expect from a People who had to mix their own paint? Other people were painting their front doors in Colonial Blues and Reds. We were mixing black with a touch of yellow just to get by.

The horror of it all.

*Uncle Peter... my smelling salts!

:>)The smelling salts quote is from Aunt PittyPat in Gone With The Wind.

My Cat is Cujo

Originally published June 7, 2007


Some people have cute and cuddly kittens who mew and purr. Some people have sweet, old cats who sleep on sun drenched sofas.

We have Maggie.

I picked her up from the kennel this afternoon and I felt a little like the parent who gets a call from school in the middle of the day.

A call that goes something like this-"M'am? This is Mrs. Peabody, the school principal. You need to come pick up Maggie right now. She has terrorized the entire school."

Maggie hates the kennel now. When she was a kitten, she loved it. The staff actually looked forward to her staying. Small children would drop by after school just to pet Maggie. Seriously, she was the belle of the ball.

Now, when we get out of the car with the carrier, the kennel staff peers out the office window and gasps in sheer terror. One time I walked in with Maggie, and I promise you, I think I saw one of them pop a nerve pill.

It was no shock to me when my husband came home the other day and said he had to get Maggie out of the carrier and put her in her cat cage. She hissed and arched her old lady back in her kitty cat protest.

So I knew when I went to pick her up today that the news would not be good.The lady at the front desk showed me Maggie's chart.

These were the entries-

"Hissed."

"Not happy."

"Caution."

"VERY MAD."

"Ask owner to take her out and put her in her carrier."

Not what a mother wants to hear when she walks in the Principal's office.

I apologized profusely. The sweet staff member reassured me that there were many cats just like Maggie. In fact, she owns one of them.

She said,"The last time my cat was here, the last entry in her record was 'Spawn of Satan."

This is supposed to make me feel better?

I went back and got Maggie out of her cage. As soon as she heard my voice, she meowed her pitiful "meow" and climbed right into her own little carrier. The kennel technician was in awe.

Some people are frightened by the sight of a white doctor's coat or a nurse's uniform. My cat is terrified of colorful scrub tops decorated with happy kittens and puppies.

Sweet. Mercy.

Bloggy Break

I'll be on a blog break for a few days and I've auto-posted a few old posts.

Like re-runs on a writer's strike.

Only I'm not on strike.

Well, you get the picture.

I'm faux excited!

The last time I took a trip by myself for no good reason, other than to just have fun was...

I can't remember.

But this week I am getting away for a few days to do something just for me and it feels strangely energizing.

I'm like the Phoenix rising from Arizona. (Points to the person who knows that quote!)

The thing about traveling and being away from home for more than a day or so is that I have to have clothes. Real clothes. Not bleach spotted, torn yoga pants and Hanes t-shirts.

So yesterday I went shopping. We do not have a lot of stores here in Smalltown, New Mexico so I was taking a chance that I'd actually find something. We don't even have Target which is usually my fashion-saving grace.

Since becoming a mom, no matter the size, I have decided that I hate shopping for clothes. Really. I do not enjoy trying them on. I do still love buying shoes and purses.

Because no matter how much Ben and Jerry's you eat, your shoe size pretty much stays the same.

And purses? A great purse can make bleach spotted, torn yoga pants look good.

Well, maybe not. But it can be a lovely distraction.

I've been searching for a giraffe print purse for a while now. I never fell for the cheetah or the leopard prints, but the giraffe has reeled me in. Maybe it's because giraffes don't eat people.

Anyway.

The only cute giraffe print bag I found yesterday was a whopping $300. All I can figure is that it must have been made of real giraffe. Or a cow that thought it was going to be sacrificed for a woman's style and left in a nice leather bovine look only to be tricked into looking like a giraffe.

It was so pricey, it had been chained down. I couldn't even try it on and wish it were marked down to 90% off.

Seriously, when the purse is chained to the shelf, it's a good sign that you can't afford it.

My goal is to have some money to put in the giraffe purse. If I bought the purse, I'd have nothing to go in it. I'd have to give up all my cash, my CVS card, pawn my cell phone and sell my driver's license to someone on the corner.

And pay the medical bill for the massive head injury which left me incapacitated.

But the purse. It was fabulous. It could totally hide the holes in my yoga pants.

During my fashion safari, I discovered a few cute basic outfits, some great classic wide leg trousers, a few trendy tops (on sale!),but my best find was a pair of faux crocodile shoes.

Hey, Stacy London, "Shut UP!"


I think they go well with the yoga pants. Don't you?

They were only $30! And comfortable, too.

Here is what Maggie thinks about them. Honestly, the more I look at them, the more they look like real crocodiles. Something about the shape of the toe and the buckle. But, I love 'em, mate!



Just so you know, I didn't buy the purse. I haven't found $300 under the couch cushions and I haven't hit my head recently either.

The purse remains in chains on the store shelf. Someone from the ASPCA will have to free it or maybe those guys at AIG will buy it for their next trip to the Spa.

Keep Singing

I'm posting over at the Cafe today.

Put on some of your favorite music, grab your cup of coffee, and join me.

Then we plowed the field and churned the butter.

My daughter and I were making soap yesterday. We melted the glycerin, added coloring and fragrance, poured it into the plastic mold and waited.

In about an hour, we had some lovely shell soaps.

As we sat at the kitchen table admiring our work, I decided to share a little perspective.

"You know, years ago, you had to make all of your soap," I said," not just for a craft. It was made of something called Lye and it smelled awful. People made their soap for baths and for washing clothes."

"Really?"

"Yes, and you had to haul water from somewhere to wash the clothes."

"Was this when you were a kid?"

sigh

Works For Me: A few of my favorite products

After yesterday's post, I thought I'd share a few more of my favorite products.

And really, I should be posting something called, "How To Keep A Cat From Stealing Your Breath" because Maggie is sitting next to me staring me down. It is borderline creepy.

Of course, I realize that she is not evil. Just high maintenance.

Anyway.

Here are a few of my favs.

Viva Paper Towels- I like Bounty, but Viva is so soft. And strong. And sometimes cheaper.

Eucerin Calming Cream- The goodness of Eucerin with an added soothing ingredient for extra dry, irritated skin. It is helping a lot with my dry skin in New Mexico. LOVE IT.

Arm & Hammer Baking Soda/ Peroxide Toothpaste- Leaves your mouth fresh and is easy on the gums. I use the one without tartar control.

Brummel and Brown Strawberry Spread- Tastes better than cream cheese. Oh, yes it does. And it's yogurt! I found mine at Wal-mart.

Swiffer dusters with lavender scent- Ahhh, clean.



Visit Shannon this week for more great tips!

At least we're good tippers.

If I could remember every conversation Hubs and I have had with waitresses and waiters over the years, I would have enough material to fill this blog for a month.

Aren't you glad my memory isn't what it used to be?

Seriously, over the years we have had some pretty, um, weird discussions with the folks who bring us food. It usually starts off with an odd comment from Hubs, then I try to explain that he is in fact weird and the back and forth banter ensues.

Kind of like Good Customer, Bad Customer.

Most of the time, the waitress goes along with us. In fact, she usually adds to the drama and makes us laugh. Other times, I am sure she went straight back to the kitchen and asked the chef to add a lil somethin' special to our dish.


Enough with the intro. Here's what happened yesterday at Chili's. (How's that for a segue?)

Our family hates germs. Specifically germs from people's hands. And more specifically germs from people's hands after the Force Yourself To Talk To Your Neighbor meet and greet at church. When we go out to eat after the service, my family sits down and waits for me to reach in my purse for the Bath And Body hand foam.

The Bath and Body hand foam is precious to me. It is the Starbucks of hand sanitizer. They once threatened to discontinue it and I nearly bought out the store. I left a few on the shelf for the next customer. I couldn't deal with the guilt of the next germ freak mom walking in and finding an empty shelf.

So, back to our neurosis.


Hubs has a system when we go out. He excuses himself, washes his hands, then returns for the coveted Bath and Body Hand Foam. (My current supply is cucumber melon.)

My daughter and I always tease him about his Howard Hughes potential (OKAY, she doesn't know who that is) and yesterday was no different.


As we waited for our waitress, I said, "You know, I am really your enabler. If I didn't provide the hand sanitizer, you would not be able to do this every time. Really, I am part of the problem."


"Yes, you are," Hubs said in sarcasm, " we are codependent."

"I know. I depend on your dependence," I said," it's sad, really."

You are probably wondering what our daughter is thinking at this point. I'll tell you. She thinks this is completely normal for her parents.


The waitress walked up, pen and pad in hand, and asked for our drink order.

"We're codependent," Hubs told her.

"Okaaaay," she said cautiously.

"He depends on me and I depend on that," I began to explain.

The waitress looked at me and said,"I see you have a ring on your finger. Does that have something to do with it?"

"No, it's much deeper than that," I answered.

"And darker," Hubs offered.


"I like that. I like dark," our waitress said with a giggle.

Then she took Hubs' order for a Coke, looked at both of us and said,"Should I bring two straws?"


Edited to add: For the hand foam that will destroy those icky bacteria and leave nothing but a fresh, clean scent of cucumber melon, go here.

You will wonder how you ever survived without it!

Observations From My Remote

It has been raining here for days. And it's cold. Yesterday we stayed in the house the entire time and my mind began to wander...

1. Why do the people in scary movies never have Brinks or ADT?

Don't they know that there is a guy in a blue oxford shirt sitting in an office that looks like a spaceship, just waiting to call the police for them?

2. Why is it that the Christmas trees in movies never lose any needles? They bring them in the house, drag them across the floor and decorate them in like 15 minutes. You never see the mom vacuuming the needles or better yet, picking one out of her foot.

And they're always soooo happy. And drinking hot cocoa. And no one has to look for hooks to hang the ornaments. Then some kid is off to bed before Santa arrives.

Who decorates their tree on Christmas Eve?

3. Why do they never tear the wrapping paper on gifts in Soap Operas? They just take the lid off and that's it. (I know the technical answer- the sound of ripping paper is not pleasant for audio, but this is just stupid.)

People don't do that in real life. And we know that Soap Operas are just like real life.

Proof- Marlena.

4. Why don't people ever sit down on TV? They spend all of that money on decorating the set with a sofa and chairs and no one ever sits down to talk. Folks are just standing around for a whole hour and no one offers anyone a seat.

Except for Friends.

5. Not counting Forrest Gump, how many times have you ever seen a movie or TV character tie his shoes?

Okay, now count Forrest Gump.

6. People eat a lot of salad on TV.

And potatoes. You always hear, "Will you please pass the potatoes?"

You never hear, "Will you please pass the collard greens?"

7. People in movies have noisy trash cans. The aluminum kind. Not Rubbermaid like the rest of us. And I never found a cat around my trash can. Maybe they are attracted to aluminum.

8. In the movies, some woman is always falsely alarmed by a cat hanging around an aluminum trash can. She thinks someone is out there and then she picks up Fluffy to give her a bowl of milk. Within seconds the bad guy shows up and there is no one to help.

If only she had Brinks.

Eric Carle nailed it.

The caterpillar raisin' has gotten a bit out of hand.

One of them has gone and gotten grouchy and decided not to share with the triplets. I fed them fresh leaves (yes, my life is just brimming with excitement) and the big guy reared up at a little guy. His little mouth was too small for me to hear and, um, well, caterpillars don't talk, but I can bet he was being sassy.

Hey, buddy. I can put you on the porch for the crows. Yes, I can.

When I picked up my daughter from school this afternoon, she was walking down the hall with her backpack, chatting away with some friends and holding a pill bottle.

It seems a very sweet boy found two caterpillars at his house, plopped them in an old Wal-mart pharmacy pill bottle, added a few sprigs of grass and VOILA!

Gift to my daughter.

Note to class: She is not Marlin Perkins.

Of course, she was thrilled to pieces.

Two kids in the class wanted to take them home with them, and this placed my daughter in an awkward position. She wanted to make them smile but we aren't re-gifters. Besides the sweetness of the gift, the gifter actually caught the gifts, so I'd say it's pretty special.

So now we have six caterpillars. Count them. Six. And an old pill bottle to return.

I'm so glad she doesn't like snakes!

Left Behind

Your comments about Maggie had me rolling! Y'all are hilarious. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that even a few of you dog people have grown to love our Miss Congeniality.


You'll be happy to know that as I write this, Maggie is resting peacefully on the rug completely stress and odor free. Truthfully, she is probably scheming about which spot on the rug she will use for her next hair ball deposit.


With all of the excitement about grooming cats, I forgot to share our other news. We are raising caterpillars again.


Critters seem to love us. Or they know when they see a couple of suckers.


We think these caterpillars are moth caterpillars and that they'll become a type of tiger moth. For now, they are teenage mutant ninja insects eating us out of house and home.


My word. They can eat.


We started out with just one, then another, then three more. The triplets stayed, along with the first guy. Number two ended up in the yard after we decided he wasn't eating the leaves we provided.


The Number Two Guy AKA Hamster was rescued from the playground. A few of the boys found him and immediately brought him to my daughter. It hasn't taken long for the kids at my daughter's new school to realize she is the bug expert.

The big excitement happened in the middle of the night last night. Two of the triplets had molted and turned black (like a Woolly Bear.) AND THEY LEFT THEIR TAILS.

Yes. They did.

I wish I could do that. Morph into a new shape, get a great tan and leave my tail. Call Jenny. I have a new idea...

An update of sorts

Yeah, about today.



We lived.

May I remind you of the severity of the situation?

Yes, it could be considered a health hazard to bathe a cat.

Or just plain stupid.

Edited to add: This is an old photo of a previous traumatic experience (for me, she was fine.)I wanted a photo of today but I was afraid to turn my back long enough to get the camera.

At which point I've just lost my mind.

So, I decided I should take a break from all the Political Introspection Bloggity Boredom and just do something completely irrational.

Today, Maggie gets a bath.

I've given my login information to a friend in case of emergencies, so if this is the last time you hear from me, please know I heart you all.

Fall Into Flavor: Mighty Good Cornbread

Linda is hosting Fall Into Flavor, a wonderful way for us to share our favorite comfort foods of the season.

When cold weather rolls in, I often head to the stove to make chili. One thing that always goes well with chili is cornbread.

This is my favorite cornbread recipe. I wish I could take credit for it, but it can be found in many Southern cookbooks. It is so easy and moist! YUM! And it tastes great crumbled in your favorite chili.



Mighty Good Cornbread

1 cup self-rising corn meal
2 eggs, slightly beaten
1/2 cup veg. oil
1 8 oz. can cream style corn (I like Green Giant)
1 cup regular sour cream (do not use low fat or light)

Preheat oven to 425. Mix corn meal, eggs, oil and corn until well blended. Fold in sour cream until just mixed. Pour into greased, preheated iron skillet or in round baking pan. Bake 30 minutes or until golden brown.

Future Headline: Changed

This great post at Roxanne's (love the last line) inspired me to write the following. I began to think about what exactly we all are clothed in and if anyone really notices.

Imagine the fictitious article below appearing in the next issue of your favorite national newspaper. Then, consider the possibilities if it were indeed news.


Changed

The leading candidate was seen today, campaigning in one of the swing states, shaking hands and kissing babies.

Leading by a slim margin, this politician appears to be taking drastic measures.

He has turned down all campaign contributions and has given most of his campaign fund away to Disaster Relief and Food Bank Ministries.

He has dismissed all campaign advisers.

His boldest move yet? When asked a question, he told the truth.

Washington is buzzing with the news of a brand new kind of campaign. No one knew that truth mattered, yet every politician swears by it.

But this congressman swears by real truth. The Truth.

Promising to be the example for real change, the leading candidate stood behind a small podium Sunday night in church where he called a press conference.

Before reporters and cameras, he gave his testimony of how Jesus has changed his life, of how God has shown him His Purpose, and how he is not afraid to share his testimony.

Even if it means losing the election.

When posed the question,"Why now?" the candidate answered, "It's about time. Don't you think?"

Media and lobbyists across the nation are already on the bashing bandwagon claiming the overused, not-in-the-Constitution "separation of church and state." Even some Christian groups say that there is no room for God in the White House.

But when asked who they cried out to on 9-11, most of them said, "God."

The candidate, who has now withdrawn completely from his party's affiliation and from any other affiliation was asked if he is now an Independent.

He replied,"No. I'm a dependent. In fact, I always have been. The only difference is that now I depend on God instead of polls, lobbyists and CNN."

During the press conference, a well-dressed reporter raised her hand and asked,"There is something different about you, congressman. Is it your wardrobe? I have to ask, who are you wearing?"

"That would be a robe of righteousness, His righteousness, madam. It was given to me for a price; no special interest group could finance this," the congressman answered, "and thanks for noticing."

The congressman can be seen in church this Sunday, praising the Lord and asking for guidance. The liberal media and doubting Thomases are invited to join him.

Remember, the above article is complete fiction.
What if it were true? What would you think?

Talk to the hand, 'cause the lapel pin ain't listenin.'

Y'all know I love politics. I love elections, campaign tactics, and the blessed democratic process.

Rumor has it that I have a box filled with tiny chads tucked away under my bed.

Ahem.

But I do not like, I loathe, OKAY, I hate debates.

There. I said it.

I'm sitting here right now listening to the Vice Presidential debate because I do love me some politics. Enough to suffer through the blah, blah, blah of debate.

And I do mean blah.

While listening to the dullness of it all, I've figured out that it is not the debate I dislike.

It's the format.

What I'd love to see is two candidates debate like normal people. You know, like you "debated" that kid on the playground or that girl in high school who was on the cheerleader squad.

THAT would be entertaining.

And it would go something like this.

"Your running mate is a liar."

"Nuh-uhhh!"

"Yes, huh! Liar-liar. Pants on fire."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"I can run the country better than you!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

"I dare you to make me come over there!"

"I double dare you. I double dog dare you."

"I would come over there, but this podium is in the way."

"Then move the podium, big mouth!"

"I can move this podium if I wanted to, but I don't want to."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

Then somebody says something about somebody's mama and they go to commercial.

Now that's more exciting than any hanging chad.

Call me Posh.

The other night, we were at Red Lobster waiting on my freshly frozen flounder fillets (how's that for alliteration?) and snacking on some garlic cheese biscuits.

Somehow, oddly enough for us, we wandered down a path of weird conversation. Most of the time we are talking the DOW and Global Warming and all that jazz.

Yeah, right.

So, anyway.

We started talking about getting old. I said that only mean people live a long time. Mean and crazy people. Meanness keeps the heart pumping and the blood flowing. So, really, the people who are living to 100 are probably cranky as well as old.

Just a theory.

And really, when it comes time to plan the party for 101, Ole Mrs. Crank's relatives are sitting around, rolling their eyes and saying, "Well, we've gotta plan another party. What are we gonna do this year?"

"I dunno. We'd better get her cake from Publix because she did not like that cake from Wal-mart last year. She said it was too sweet and would run up her blood sugar."

Then everyone pitches in for a donation to the church because, what do you buy a woman who has one foot in the grave and the other in the bingo parlor?

At this point we are on our salads.

Hubs piped up and said that youth is wasted on the young. Then he turned to our daughter and said,"I would bet that most people, no matter how long they lived, wished they had more time or wished they had done something different."

"I disagree," I said while munching stale croutons, "I think that most people are happy with their lives."

"So," I prodded, "what would you do differently?"

He thought for a moment and said,"I would have practiced my sports more."

(Huh?)

My husband is not into sports. He is athletic, but does not watch sports on TV, does not keep up with pro teams, and doesn't really take an interest in any sport except for soccer.

He went on to say that he would have practiced his soccer more just to be better. I knew what he meant but I couldn't help myself from saying the following.

"So, do you think you would have been David Beckham?" I said jokingly.

"Maybe."

"Well, I'm sorry you're not sitting across from Victoria Beckham right now."

"Like I said, I should have practiced my soccer more..." he said with a wink.

Touche'

Works For Me: Kitchen Edition

Organizing A Grocery List

Well, Shannon has inspired us to share our best kitchen management ideas.

Since I am not known for being organized (at least not at the level of having any helpful tips), I want to share with you how I organize a grocery list.

Whenever I make a grocery list, I divide it into categories, leaving space under each one. Then, I fill in the items I need. Here is an example:

Deli
1/2 pound turkey breast

Produce
tomatoes
lettuce
oranges

Meats
ground beef
chicken breasts
something for dinner tonight

Frozen Foods
popsicles
box broccoli
toaster strudel

Dairy
milk
sour cream
cheddar cheese

Breads
loaf bread
rolls for dinner
hot dog buns

Snacks
something for lunches
tortilla chips

Sodas
diet coke
bottled water

Misc. (like detergents, cat food, etc.)
Tide
dryer sheets


I also separate the list into certain aisles. After I've shopped at a store a few times, I remember that the salsa is on the same aisle as the soups or the spaghetti sauce, for example. So I group those items together on my list.

Here is an example of separating them by aisle/type of canned good:

Other
cream of chicken soup
beef broth

Spaghetti sauce
Pasta
Parm. cheese in the can

You can just divide up your list each time or, if you are really organized, you can make up a grocery list form on your computer and print one out every time you shop.

Grouping items on your list together that are near each other in the store keeps you from running from aisle to aisle and then back again.

You know that feeling. You are in the dairy section and look down at your list and say,"Oh Man, I need some tomatoes!"

Then you go back to produce to get the tomatoes, look down at your list and see "sour cream."

I hate that.

Do you have any more tips for kitchen management? Share them over at Shannon's.

Well said.

Something worth reading today.

Growing Legs To Walk the Talk by Grafted Branch, Restoring The Years

Not that I'm biased or anything.

I saw Fireproof with a friend over the weekend and I thought it was great.

Of course, it was made in my hometown of Albany, GA, filmed partly at Phoebe Putney Hospital where I was born, and stars everyday people from the church that started it all...

But, it was very good. Whether you are a believer or not, you'll enjoy this movie. Kirk Cameron stands out in the amateur cast and adds star quality to the film.

I promise you will laugh and cry. There are even few scenes that may have you on the edge of your seat.

I just want to thank God for this movie. It was number four at the box office over the weekend. That says something to Hollywood.

Have you seen it? What did you think?

Fireproof opens this weekend.

So, have y'all heard about Fireproof?

The film, starring Kirk Cameron, tells the story of a firefighter husband who takes a stand to save his marriage and protect his wife's heart.

Wait a minute. A movie about people who want to save their marriage? Huh? Yes! It's true. Imagine the impact this film could have if only we would support it.

Another movie opens this weekend. It promises to be romantic, entertaining, the perfect "date movie" or "girl's night out." It's a little different from Fireproof. Just a little.

If you are browsing the movie schedule this weekend, I encourage you to choose Fireproof over the competition.

Hollywood is listening. It's time for us to speak up for marriage.

Trying to be a steel magnolia while dodging tumbleweeds.

When I started writing this blog over two years ago (my how time flies when you are boring people to tears), the reason for the blog name had a meaning.

I knew I would write about The South, being southern, and what all of that means to me. I knew that most of it would be a little "different" (the southern way of saying something is strange or odd.)

People in The South just do things their own way. We're sometimes known for elegance and manners, but we are anything but refined and fancy. Our food is famous for taste but not-so-much for fine dining. We appreciate good shopping, but not the big city lights that shine on the storefronts.

We're simple in a lacy doily, lots of rules, let me tell you why you can't wear those white shoes on Christmas way.

To sum it up, this ain't New York.

The blog name stuck like an old windowpane in humidity and now I'm writing about eating White Lily biscuits made thanks to the loyalty and sympathy of my Mama and (cough, cough) Newman.

I'm living in Smalltown, New Mexico and, guess what. This ain't New York either.

I feel a little bit like a fish out of water.

You could say I'm out of my natural environment.

My natural environment is filled with hair spray, make-up, cleaning products with every combination of letters and numbers from the Periodic Table, artificial plants (unless you count my potpourri) and let's don't forget my beloved Febreze.

Basically, I've found that Cinnamon Apple-scented dead flowers and a mist of Linen Fresh work well with bleach. It gives the illusion that you've cleaned the entire house while doing laundry and baking fresh pies.

How did I get off on that subject?

Anyway.

This blog o'mine, still aptly named, has taken on new meaning in every sense of the word. And I love using every word I possibly can.

Only now I will be using words like "isolated beyond a Target's reach," "dryer than a new wife's first Thanksgiving turkey," and "Lord, give me understanding 'cause I'm all out of Won Ton Soup."

Or something like that.

Works For Me: Easy Fall Wreath

I like crafts. Give me a glue gun and I am in Hobby Lobby Heaven.

But, I realize that the glue gun, besides the fact that it will singe a layer of skin from your fingertips (hmm... may be an explanation for this), can be intimidating for the non-crafter.

By the way. I've noticed that people who aren't crafty can usually bake.

Just an observation.

(I don't bake.)

Except for biscuits and cornbread.

So, here is a tip for those of you who may not tackle a fall or Christmas wreath from scratch, but want something with a little more pizazz than a store-bought wreath.

Purchase an inexpensive decorated wreath. Then, look for a few seasonal items you like and add them to your wreath.

For example, you could find a fall-ish wreath with say, leaves and a few flowers. Then, add a few artificial pumpkins, gourds, or other items you like. Wal-mart (and they aren't paying me either) is a great place to look. They usually have wreaths ranging from $10-$20 and a 97 cents display with great floral picks.

And, remember, you don't always have to have ribbon. You can make a wreath look great without bows.

This is also a great way to freshen up last year's wreath!

For more ideas, see Shannon.

So, sometimes Newman and I CAN get along.

After a very pitiful and desperate recitation of my wish list, Mama went on a Good Baking Flour quest.

Finding White Lily and Jim Dandy grits was easy.

The Chicken Won Ton soup? Not so much.

My daughter loves Campbell's Chicken Won Ton soup and Campbell's has not paid me to say that. Although, I am not above any form of monetary compensation.

We can't get the Won Ton here. Apparently, folks around town are not fond of the Won Ton. However, I can get lots (and I mean lots) of corn, red or green chile sauce, and some seriously delicious salsa.

Because people like to say, "salsa."

Anyhoo.

Mama searched high and low for the Won Ton soup. Harvey's. Winn Dixie. Wal-mart. She finally discovered the treasure of the concentrated, high-sodium goodness at Publix and bless her heart, she bought six cans.

Six cans!

Do you know how heavy cans are for shipping rates?

And bags of flour?

Not to mention boxes of grits?

So, last week a very heavy package, loaded with Authentic Southern and Faux Chinese goodness arrived on my door step. It was Christmas in September, y'all.

Now, all I have to do is buy a new sifter and we will be slathering the butter on some melt-in-your-mouth light and flaky biscuits.

I'm telling you, White Lily biscuits are so good, they'll make you wanna slap your mama. Unless, of course, she mailed you the White Lily...

Submit

I had seen the commercials at dinner with a man cradling a child, a shack in the background. I felt real compassion for them.

I did.

And I turned the channel.

I read Shannon's and Sophie's blogs and I felt like I went to Uganda with them. I cried over their stories about children in poverty and I've laughed about Shannon's monkey alarm.

I prayed. Really. Prayed. I knew that one of those kids was supposed to be a part of my own family.

In fact, one night I was on the Compassion website and I saw a little girl in a Girl Scout uniform.

Meant to be?

I went back to the site again and saw that she was sponsored- Thank God.

I felt a tugging at my heart and I honestly felt guilty for not letting the tugging pull me in, but somehow I felt like I was supposed to wait...

Then I saw her.

She wore a dress that looked like it was too big for her. She stood straight for the photo, her hair plaited, and she didn't smile. She was a little girl in Haiti who could have been eating cookies made from dirt for dinner. I knew that it was time to let that tugging pull me as far as He wants me to go.

I filled out all of the necessary information, name, address, credit card number. It was all so matter-of-fact for such a profound, important step. One last button was left. I moved my mouse and clicked.

Submit.

Submit is a word that gets a whole lot of bad press in our day. The world tells us that submitting to anything or anyone (except our own desires) is weak, pathetic, behind-the-times.

Let me tell you, friend, once you let go, once you stare into those eyes and let them stare back at you and into your heart, all you want to do is submit. You feel that tugging and you let Him pull you in.

The first time we received a letter from our sponsored child, we were thrilled. I cried when I unfolded her letter. Through an interpreter, the little girl I saw on a website shared her love for Jesus. I treasure all of her letters and drawings.

She is so much like any other 6-year old girl. She needs love. She needs school. She loves crayons. She loves Jesus.

We keep her picture on our refrigerator and when we moved, I placed her picture in a box we always take with us. The box holds our family photos.

Just over a week ago, as Hurricane Ike closed in on the Caribbean, I thought of our sponsored child. I worried over her picture and prayed in His Name. I imagined her huddled in her home with her mother, listening to the howling winds and pounding rain.

In my growing concern for this sweet child was a seed of hope. I knew that through our sponsorship, a Compassion worker was there in Haiti. There when I could not be. There with this little girl and her mother. There in the name of Christ.

They are still there. Compassion workers are reaching out to sponsored children, to hurting families and communities. They are able to do so because people just like you and me let that little tug pull them in. Then they moved their mouse over a button on a website and clicked.

Submit.

Mr. Poe, I've got one for ya.

So, I'm sitting here this morning watching Regis and Kelly, sipping on my coffee, and catching up on blogging.

I hear a squawk coming from the back porch.

Then a screech and another squawk. It is obvious that there are at least two birds back there so I tip toe to the back door for a peek.

Two crows were perched on my daughter's play set squawking at their friend on the fence. One other unknown bird was on the glider on the porch and another (maybe his cousin?) was resting nicely on the patio table. Goodness knows what else he was doing on the patio table.

None of them saw me. They just made themselves right at home.

Meanwhile, Maggie the Lame is sleeping peacefully on the couch, completely oblivious to any crow or other unidentified bird out back.

That forty bucks we wasted at the Humane Society? Best money we ever spent.

So now I don't know what I am supposed to do- buy a new bird feeder or a scarecrow.

Either way, I get the feeling, they'll all be back.

Yeah, this ain't New York.

Jimmy crack corn or just cracked.

Just so you know, I haven't met the snake. He is probably somewhere deep in the corn field behind our house.

(Insert my friend Nancy's Children of The Corn joke here)

Anyway.

I am trying really hard to become acclimated to my new surroundings. It is times like these that I wish I were more like a real chameleon as opposed to just a hair chameleon...

But I digress.

The air here, it is dry, dry, dry and I could use some tips from the peeps. I have managed to find a great hair and skin regime, but our lips are literally cracking. My poor daughter is having the worst time.

Any tips or ideas on what to do for dry, cracked lips? We are applying really good lip balm before bedtime and in the morning.

Any certain brands?

Other ideas?

Thanks, y'all!

Eve never had to deal with this.

Y'all remember that pond we used to have out back at our old house?

With the water moccasins?

Well.

The other day we found the remnants of a snake skin out behind our house here.

It was a whopping 5-feet long.

If it were standing up, we'd be nearly eye to eye.

My heel isn't big enough to handle that guy.

When God walks with us.

We all want to be a Daniel. He had an unwavering commitment to obey God.

Today I'm over at the Internet Cafe sharing about Daniel's friends, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.

Grab a cup of coffee and come on over!

Ike

I can't really write anything today without thinking about all the people already feeling the effects of Hurricane Ike.

If you are fortunate enough, like me, to have the luxury of power, water, and a day without fear, please join with me to pray for these precious people.

Praying...

I Choose To Remember

Originally posted September 11, 2006

My grandparents could tell me where they were the day of Pearl Harbor. My parents could tell me where they were the day Kennedy was shot. Now, I will tell my daughter where we were the day her world changed, September 11, 2001.

We were traveling home from a visit with my family. It was a long drive and we decided to spend a night in a hotel en route. Traveling in the car for long periods of time with a little one is not easy.

That morning, my husband had already returned from breakfast. I always either go down for breakfast later, or my sweet husband brings breakfast and coffee up to our room. He has done this since we first married.

He was in the shower when the first plane struck. I was watching the Today show. Katie and Matt detailed the facts they had at the time- that a plane had hit one of the towers of The World Trade Center. No one knew why or how a plane could collide with a tower in broad daylight, on a clear day. Cameras were rolling as smoke filled the air from the crash.

I yelled through the bathroom door and shared the awful news with my husband.

"Must have had been off their IFR," he said.

Then, it happened. The second plane hit. I was sitting at the end of that hotel bed and just began to sob. I told my husband the news. By then, we both knew this was no accident.

My daughter was very young at the time so, I was able to watch the news without her knowing what was truly happening. I just kept sobbing and sobbing, and praying. Those poor people.

I remember going down to the hotel lobby and watching the news with the other guests. We were sipping our coffee just like any other morning. But, even then I think we all knew that this was something big, something bigger than we had ever experienced in our lifetime.

I asked my husband if it was safe to be on the highway again. What would happen next? How do we know what is going on? How will we know if it is going to be safe on the roads? He explained that we were probably safer on the road, than in a hotel- full of people- a prime target for an attack.

We packed our things and headed home, listening to the radio to the rest of the terrible news. The Pentagon. That Pennsylvania field.

The image that will never leave my mind is the photo of the person pushing a grocery cart full of small children, running away from the towers to save their lives. I will never forget that.

I will never forget the events that took place that day. I choose to remember. I choose to remember so that I can learn from what happened, and by remembering, I can one day tell my own daughter where I was September 11, 2001, the day my world changed forever.

But it goes deeper than that...

I have to tell her what it felt like to be afraid of strangers who looked different from me. I have to tell her that I felt guilty for those feelings.

I will tell her how I was afraid to open the mail, and that I would always wash my hands immediately after getting the mail from the mailbox.

I will tell her how the military sprang into action to protect our President, our air space, and our own lives.

I will tell her that I was afraid to go to the mall or downtown, for fear of another attack in a public place.

I will tell her that many people died as a result of these attacks. Some of them died that day. Others died years later in Afghanistan and Iraq while protecting our freedom.

I will tell her that the attacks on September 11 were an act of religious war, no matter what people say.

I will tell her that Jesus Himself said we would be hated for His Sake.

And I will tell her that our God is a God of judgement and soverignty. He is also a God of Love, and because of that Love, He sent Jesus to die on our behalf. Once we ask forgiveness of our sins and ask Him into our hearts, He will dwell there forever. He died for all people- for me, for her, and for Osama Bin Laden. But, we choose to receive His gift or turn it away.

To live in fellowship with Jehovah God, we must take the only path He has given us- through the blood of Jesus Christ. Then, and only then, can a person live and die in peace. Once Jesus dwells in her heart, nothing will separate her from God. No bomb. No war. No man. Nothing.

"Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are accounted as sheep for the slaughter. Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us. For I am persuaded, that neither angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8: 35-39

Works For Me: Journaling with kids

My daughter loves creative writing. This year we've decided to journal at home every day when she gets home from school.

I found some cute, themed bulletin board cut-outs. The theme I'm using now is fish. Every day before she comes home from school, I write a topic on a Post-it note, stick it to the back of the fish, then tape it somewhere in her room. When she comes home she has to find the fish.

Using the Post-it note makes it easy to recycle the fish. You could use any shape or cut out that you have designed yourself. My daughter loves the ocean, so fish was an obvious choice.

Be creative and silly with topics. It doesn't have to be prize-winning. Anything that can be a springboard for creativity is key.

Examples to get started:

"What I Did This Weekend"

"My favorite (you fill in the blank) is ..."

"If I were any animal, I would be a (blank) because..."

Other ideas:

1. Give your child guidelines and goals, depending on age. Five sentences may be enough for your child, or too much. As their writing improves, they will naturally add sentences on their own.

2. If your child is a perfectionist or over-achiever and gets stressed out easily, limit their journaling time and tell them the journal entry does not have to be complete. The entry is not an essay.

3. Make sure journaling stays fun and does not become overwhelming.

4. Encourage them to journal the same time every day.

5. Let your child pick out the journal. An inexpensive composition book works well. Have them decorate it with stickers or drawings.

6. As their writing progresses, mix up topics and writings styles. Introduce poetry or ask them to write a joke or song.

7. Don't grade them. Use the journal to monitor their progress without them knowing it! If it becomes a graded assignment, it's no longer fun.

8. Creative journaling is different from a diary. Be sure they know you will be reading their journal.

9. Journaling isn't limited to writing. Encourage your child to draw or illustrate in their journal.

I've found that journaling helps with penmanship, spelling, grammar, as well as creative writing. The more kids write, the better their writing becomes.

Journaling is also a fun way to peek into the mind of your child and see the world through their eyes.

One more thing- Be sure to date and keep them. They are real treasures!

For more tips, visit Shannon.

Steven Curtis Chapman on The Early Show

Steven Curtis Chapman is scheduled to sing his song Cinderella tomorrow morning on the CBS Early Show.

I hope you'll take a moment to tune in and support the Chapman family.

Tactical Precision

Somewhere between the garden and the curse, God gave Eve a very unique gift. Since that time, Eve's genes have been passed down for generations.

And may I just add that I'm glad that her genes, as opposed to her jeans, were passed down? Denim made from fig leaves- itchy.

Anyway.

This gift has kept on giving. It's called "The Ability To Find Stuff." Every mom, since the beginning of time, has had this ability.

Caesar's mom had it...

"Mother, when you are completely recovered from that new surgical technique, could you find my toga pj's?

Women throughout history have kept up with powdered wigs, the crank on the Model T, and stacks of scrolls, slates, Trapper Keepers, and Blackberries.

Moms are the reason nothing is ever lost forever. The only exception was the moms of Atlantis. Who knows what happened there.

In fact, history could have been altered if the Powers-That-Be had only used this ability. I'll go ahead and tell you the flat-out truth, if they had sent Mamas into Iraq, we would have found the WMD's, no one could have hidden them from us, the whole world would have felt safer, and Bush's ratings would have soared.

I'm just sayin.'

Y'all know I'm right.

But, since no one asked me to find any nuclear bombs, I am stuck with the task of finding things like socks, shoes, special toys and last minute items Hubs may need on his way out the door.

This gift of finding stuff is perfected on a very personal level. Some of us find things because we know where we put them. (A place for everything, everything in its place.)

Some of us find things because we can picture the other stuff surrounding the item. You could call it domestic photographic memory.

"Mommy, where's my belt?"

"Probably on the floor with the clothes that you didn't put in the hamper."

I've perfected domestic photographic memory. I can find a needle in a haystack or a saved, dead insect in a plastic tote. When something is lost, my family asks me, before they look for the item themselves.

At any given moment, I'm on call, seeking and searching for dried up butterflies and paperwork from 1994.

It ain't WMD's, but it's the best I can do.

Prayer

Hanna, Ike and Josephine.

Sounds like a really bad band from the 70's doesn't it?

Please pray for the people and property in the paths of these storms, especially for those areas in other countries that do not have government relief. As devastating as a storm can be, as unorganized as some relief response can be at times, we are still so very blessed to live in this country. Others are not so fortunate.

And, for those still recovering from Gustav- we have not forgotten. You are in our thoughts and prayers!

Your vote counts.

In the heat of the primaries, I was standing at the grocery store check-out, ready to swipe my card. The cashier and the bagger were discussing two candidates, Hillary and Obama.

Squirming in my flip flops and yoga pants, I waited for the total.

As the cashier gave my total, she looked up at me and said, "I think it would be nice to finally have a woman President. Don't you?"

Knowing my response would not be well received, I gently answered, "Yes. Just not that one."

The cashier stared at me in wonder.

As I pushed my cart away, I turned to both the cashier and bagger and said,"But, that's what is so great about this country. We each have a voice and a vote."

I was sitting on the couch, watching television last night. Daughter was tucked in bed and Hubs was on the love seat suffering through the minutia of The Republican Convention.

My husband does his civic duty. He stays informed. He votes. He just doesn't get fired up about it.

Politics is for me what college football is for other people. The only difference is that I don't eat chips and dip during the inauguration.

We watched together last night as Sarah Palin gave her acceptance speech. To be candid, I haven't quite made up my mind about McCain's choice. Although I'm passionate about politics, I've always considered myself rational about the election process.

But, last night, as the first conservative woman to be nominated for Vice President of the United States spoke eloquently and boldly before the nation and before her husband, daughters, and special needs son, my emotions crept up into my throat and I found myself crying.

I was moved.

Moved by the idea that I could identify with her more than any other candidate.

Moved by the idea that she could be second in command.

Moved by the idea that she could be in command.

It was then that I could, in some small way, also identify with African-Americans across this country who are moved when Obama speaks.

Let me be clear. This white girl from Georgia can never, ever fully comprehend the past and current injustice of black people in this nation.

I can never, ever fully understand what their ancestors suffered.

I can never, ever know how much those who overcame and continue to overcome the past, those who forgive and march on, appreciate the opportunity to take those steps toward true freedom.

I can, however, understand the emotion.

To some extent, I'm feeling it. At least I did last night. For a moment, I was sucked in.

Conservative, stay-at-home, and working women of all races are talking this morning about Sarah Palin. They're talking about how great it is to see someone like them. They are blogging and emailing in between homeschool lessons and car pool trips.

They're talking about how wonderful it is, how it feels.

Politicians know this. All of them. Democrat. Republican. Independent.

They pay people millions of dollars to design posters and commercials, write speeches, build platforms, and even select wardrobes for their candidates.

All of it is crafted to impress us, to make us feel, not make us think.

They know that an African-American man who experienced the sixties is going to be genuinely moved by a speech touting victory. They know when to tell a cameraman to close in on that man's tears. They're politicians. That's what they do.


They know that a conservative mom sitting on her sofa, watching The Republican Convention is going to be moved by a woman with a family who stands for life and values. They know to tell the cameraman to zoom in on a sleeping baby or a little girl waving to the crowd.

They know that this same man and this same woman will feel a certain way about a candidate.

In fact, they're counting on it.

While it is indeed historical, monumental, and, dare I say, emotional to observe as the first African-American is nominated for President and the first conservative woman is nominated for Vice President, we can not, should not allow that emotion to guide us into the voting booth.

Republican or democrat, conservative or liberal, we must be moved by our own convictions, by our rational judgement of the candidates' policies, by our responsibility to make an informed decision.

We must ignore the camera shots, and the media hype, the policitics-as-usual. We must wipe away our tears because of, not in spite of, historical triumphs.

When we do, we will think through our choice, ignoring racial and gender lines, and clearly see the best person for our country.

And while we must never grow cold or indifferent to the wrongs, the injustices and the victories of this nation, we must use these lessons in history to strengthen and educate us for our future, for our children's future.

Yes, it would be nice to have a woman for President, for Vice President. It would be nice to have an African-American for President. But, I can't let those feelings, those hopes influence my vote.

So, I wait. As do you. We wait and watch as this election unfolds.

Somewhere in this country is a grandchild of an African-American man who triumphed through the sixties and a daughter of a conservative woman watching and waiting for us to make the right decision in November.

In fact, they're counting on it.

We should have our own show on TLC.

A conversation at our house a few days ago...

Hubs to daughter- "Maggie requires a lot of work. Every morning she meows to eat, then she meows to go out, then she meows to eat again, then she meows to be petted. It takes a lot to take care of Maggie."

Me- "You only have to take care of her for one hour. I have her all. day. long."

Mrs. Duggar, you may have 16, or is it 17 kids? I have one child and a cat. Top that!

Gustav

Please join us as we pray for everyone who evacuated, those who stayed behind, for law enforcement who remain to protect people and property, and for the relief workers waiting to go in and provide aid when it is over.

Miracles can and will happen in the midst of this storm. God is with you.

Go ahead and preheat the oven.

For all my displaced Southern friends, looky here at what I found.

If you don't have a Mama to send it to you, this will work just as well.

Happy Baking!

Priorities, people.

I was on the phone with Mama today, catching up from the long time we've gone without talking, which was probably less than 48 hours. A lot can happen in two days.

While we were talking, she asked if I needed her to send me anything. She specifically asked if I could find any good grits. Then the conversation went something like this...

Me- "Well, now that you mention. I do need a few things. Can you please send me some Jim Dandy grits and some White Lily flour?"

Mama- "Oh, you use Jim Dandy grits."

Me- "Yes. Will you please add a bag of Martha White flour for N?" (N is a friend who moved here, too. She is from Alabama.)

Mama- "Yes. Just make a complete list and let me know."

Me- "We think we may be able to get some Martha White flour eventually because some of the stores have Martha White cornmeal. For now, though, could you send some Martha White flour for N?"

Mama- "Yes. And do you want me to send you some White Lily cornmeal?"

Me- "No. I use Martha White cornmeal, so that's fine."

Mama- "Oh, you do."

Me- "Yes. I don't mind Martha White cornmeal but I'd prefer White Lily flour. All I can get are Pillsbury and Gold Medal."

Mama- "I used to use Gold Medal years ago.... can you get dried black-eyed peas?"

Me- "I don't know. I haven't looked."

Mama- "Well, you let me know. Make a list and I'll send it."

If you aren't Southern, you probably haven't even read this far and are in the middle of napping. If you are Southern, you completely get this conversation and may be thinking to yourself about what brands of flour, cornmeal and grits you prefer.

And you might be thinking about how you prefer dried, frozen or canned black-eyed peas. You are also thinking to yourself that my Mama is one good woman to help me prepare for New Year's Day in August.

And, yes, you're so right.

Edited to add: I found dried black-eyed peas at Wal-mart. Dried is the only kind I will cook. I did a little dance right there in the aisle. Well, not really.