Summer comes to Southeast Texas

We have had the coolest summer EVER. . .by that I mean actual temperature. Normally by this time we are suffering through dry, dry, tinder dry conditions–blazing hot days with lots of humidity and big black clouds in the afternoon that tempt us with the possibility of rain but only bring heavier humidity and thunder then vanish leaving everyone cranky and even hotter than before.

This summer, however, it has rained. It has rained and rained and rained. It has rained buckets and wash tubs and galvanized pail fulls. We’ve had humidity. . .and it’s been warm, but yesterday was the first time in a long time when it was down right HOT.

Therefore, it was the perfect day to trek out to the woods, build a fire, and roast marshmallows. Right? Well, that’s what we did. Thad had been asking to make S’mores, and Tony wanted to collect some various leaves from the property where we will build our next house, so we had already planned to go build a fire in the camp site for some end of July fun.

It was sticky hot and the mosquitos were out full bore. The thick foliage provided shade but jealously kept the breeze way up in the canopy of pines. We tromped around in the woods, sweating and swatting–pondering the merits of green wood when roasting a marshmallow, wishing for shovels with which to dig holes, getting scratched by briars.

There’s a quote in Winnie the Pooh where Pooh Bear asks Christopher Robin what he likes doing best, and he says, “What I like doing best is Nothing. It’s when people call out at you just as you’re going to do it, ‘What are you going to do, Christopher Robin?’ And you say, ‘Oh Nothing!’ and then you go and do it.'”

So what we did was Nothing. But the leaves were collected, the S’mores were eaten, and then we drove home sweaty and itchy and sticky but happy where we all had nice baths then went to bed. And that’s what I call a good kind of day.

Great Mysteries of the Universe

So the other day I am running errands. It’s about 2:00 and I’ve not yet had lunch. I run into the Subway down the street (that I haven’t been to in years) and order my regular sandwich–6″ turkey on white with cheese, a little mayo, lettuce, bell pepper, onion, pickles, salt and pepper. I slide my card to pay and she says, “There is a dollar charge for debit cards.” To which I reply, “It’s credit–not debit.” To which SHE replies, “We don’t take credit cards–debit or cash only.” So I say “Thanks anyway.” And leave the gals at Subway to eat my sandwich or take it home for later.

I don’t really want fast food, but I run to Wendys, ’cause their new chicken salad Frescata is REALLY good. (No tomato on mine please.) I decide to get the meal so I can have a diet Coke, but I don’t want fries. If I’m going to have a lot of fat and calories, I’d much rather have it in the shape of a small Frosty.
So I say,
“Chicken Frescata, no tomato, diet Coke, and small frosty rather than the fries.”
“We can’t substitute a Frosty for fries?”
“How much is the Frosty?”
“Ninety-nine cents.”
How much are the fries?”
“Ninety-nine cents.”
“So the problem would be. . .?”
“A Frosty is a drink ma’am.”

Now would be the time for me to say that I KNOW that when they hand you your Frosty, they always hand you a straw AND a spoon. I find the straw rather laughable, because unless you get a melty Frosty OR unless you ALLOW your Frosty to melt on purpose OR unless you enjoy using a straw as a spoon OR unless you have the lung capacity and suction strength of a Hoover, well, the contents of your Frosty are NOT making it through that straw into your mouth.

And I say,
“Well, it seems to me that ninety-nine cents is ninety-nine cents. If I’m paying $5.85 for the combo and asking you to substitute same price items, it shouldn’t be an issue.”

So I pull up to the window and get a song and dance, at which point I say, “Okay. Just give me the sandwich.” And she says, “We’ve already scanned your card.” And I say, “I just want the sandwich.” And she sighs a deep, retail food worker sigh and says, “Well, I’ll do it this ONE time, but it WON’T happen again.”

I just smiled and said thank you as she rolled her eyes at me. Then I parked the car to eat my lunch. I started at first to feel angry that I’d had such a hard time getting sustanance that wasn’t deep fried in grease. . .then I started to feel badly for being such a pain. . .then I settled on just feeling happy ’cause I got my Frosty AND my yummy sandwich AND a diet Coke AND I got to sit in silence to eat it.

No big mystery there.

About

My friend over at Bringing Up Daisy has updated her “about” page. You might like to read why she started her blog in her own words. Those words of hers happen to have made me cry. . .which I’ve been known to do on occasion. . .and mostly because I love her and have traveled this road with her. I find her brand of wisdom remarkable and right on the mark as she sees things from a different vantage point this time around. She’s been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, and is willing to share her trials by fire with the likes of me. . .and now you should you so choose.

I’m a fan. Can you tell?

Whiskery Angels

I just love to talk. Have you guessed? That being said, sometimes my comments get a little out of hand. That just happened when I read this story over at a blog called “Save the Phillips.” Since I spent so much time typing it out, I thought I’d just share it with y’all. Carolyn, I’m sure, remembers the story.

The first time I traveled with my (then 15 month) daughter, we missed pre-boarding. The flight attendants (four of them) were none too happy and complained LOUDLY about my tardiness possibly delaying the flight. That being said, not one of them lifted a hand to help me load the stroller, massive carseat, and carry-ons. I was alone. In FACT, I was fussed at for having THREE carry-ons. One was my purse. One was a backpack. One was a diaper bag. I informed them that my child had her own seat and was allowed two carry-ons, therefore we were actually missing ONE.

As I huffed and puffed onto the Southwest flight to ARKANSAS, it was 9:00 a.m. on a business day. The plane was PACKED. When everyone saw me, those who didn’t visibly roll their eyes heavenward all of a sudden took great interest in looking at their laps. Then, an angel from God rose from his aisle seat (on the row of three seats), walked toward me and said, “May I help you?” I asked if he would hold Victoria (figuring he couldn’t really make it very far with a baby on a plane full of people) while I got the carseat buckled. He said, “Why don’t you hold her while I put away your luggage and get the car seat settled in. She’ll be happier with you. Do you need your back pack or just the purse and diaper bag?”

I could have kissed him.

Victoria cried during takeoff, so I sang her favorite song–“Old Macdonald.” The man said over the roar of the engine and my scream singing, “There is nothing more soothing than a mother’s voice.”

After we got in the air, I found out he’d been married for 37 years and was the father of four. . .all daughters. He helped us get off the plane, carried the car seat and my backpack while I pushed Victoria, and delivered us to Carolyn who was picking us up.

I don’t even remember his name. . .George? Henry? It may as well have been Gabriel for the “ministering spirit” he showed this sweaty, frazzled, frustrasted mommy. I’m pretty sure what he saw when he looked at me, other than a woman in need of some help, was one of his daughters. When I looked at him, I saw a halo atop the friendliest face I’d seen all day long throwing me a rope to cling to. I’m sure I imagined the halo, but God bless him wherever he is.

I started to write a post. . .

. . .but this sums it up.

Then this comment on that post totally cracked me up

His Girl says:

So I read this to the hubby…for reasons that needn’t be mentioned. And he said, “ask her what a fireman’s doing in bed at 6:45.” Don’t worry, I whacked him.

Whether he missed the analogy altogether OR was just being facetious, it’s funny either way.

*Addendum* It would HELP if I spelled “write” correctly.

Clumsy

One of my favorite Christian artists is Chris Rice. One of my favorite Chris Rice songs is “Clumsy.” If I could figure out how to get it on here, I’d do it, but the words will have to suffice for now. I give you “Clumsy”–the theme song of my life.

Clumsy by Chris Rice

You think I’d have it down by now
Been practicin’ for thirty years
I should have walked a thousand miles
So what am I still doin’ here
Reachin’ out for that same old piece of forbidden fruit
I slip and fall and I knock my halo loose
Somebody tell me what’s a boy supposed to do?

I get so clumsy
I get so foolish
I get so stupid
And then I feel so useless
But You’re sayin’ You love me
And You’re still gonna hold me
And that You wanna be near me
‘Cause You’re makin’ me holy
You’re still makin’ me holy, yeah

I’m gonna get it right this time
I’ll be strong and I’ll make You proud
I’ve prayed that prayer a thousand times
But the rooster crows and my tears roll down again
Then You remind me You made me from the dust
And I can never, no never, be good enough
And that You’re not gonna let that come between us

I get so clumsy
I get so foolish
I get so stupid
And then I feel so useless
But You’re sayin’ You love me
And You’re still gonna hold me
And that You wanna be near me
‘Cause You’re makin’ me holy
You’re still makin’ me holy, yeah

From where I stand
Your holiness is up so high I can never reach it
My only hope is to fall on Jesus

I get so clumsy
I get so foolish
I get so stupid
And then I feel so useless
But You’re sayin’ You love me
And You’re still gonna hold me
And that You wanna be near me
‘Cause You’re makin’ me holy
You’re still makin’ me holy, yeah