Bits for Sunday, September 14, 2008

I almost didn't post this one this week because I truly don't want it to offend anyone. Normally I don't even remotely joke about things like this, but hopefully you'll take it in the spirit in which I wrote it...

I’m not sure what things are like where you work, but in my office, we hear a lot about appeals. Exceptions to the normal boundaries of our rules. I will admit to you that this exposure to appeals has greatly affected the way I interact with businesses when I might be inclined to appeal one of their rules.

I remember the first time I was ever late with a credit card payment. You must understand that I am ridiculously organized about things like paying bills, because my parents raised me well to pay in full and pay on time. Period. End of discussion. This unfortunate late payment occurred during the worst Thanksgiving of my life (I’m sure I wrote about it back in the day) and it was literally the last straw of that weekend. In shuffling the papers on my desk, I found that unpaid bill staring at me…and I cried all the way to the store, where I paid it…and I cried some more the next month when I received the new bill with the late fee attached. I thought about calling the company to appeal…it was the first (and as far as I was concerned, also the last) time I’d ever been late and surely there would be some grace for just such a thing. But I didn’t call. Because the truth was…I didn’t pay my bill on time. Perhaps a hefty late fee would be just the consequence I needed to not let it happen again.

This morning in church, my Dad preached about the Ten Commandments – which, he pointed out – are not the Ten Suggestions. Makes me wonder about the appeal-happy people of the world. I wonder if, on Judgment Day, they’ll arrive at the Pearly Gates with a neatly typed (single-spaced) appeal letter outlining the reasons they didn’t precisely follow the Ten Commandments as stated. For example:

Dear God:

I understand I am about to be held accountable for my actions over the past…lifetime…and I wanted write this letter to ask for some exceptions to be made based on extenuating circumstances.

1. I do understand I was not to have any other god besides You, and really, if You look at it technically, I followed this one. I know that it looks like work came first because I stayed there for twelve hours a day (fourteen in busy season…just so I’m not lying), but You know…I was working as unto You! If I’m not mistaken, that is Scriptural. I also believe the Bible says that we’re to submit to authority, and my boss is the authority! He’s the one that asked for all the extra hours. I know I got a little emotionally attached to it, but I just wanted to make this explanation, so it didn’t look to You like I was really doing that on purpose with the intent to put You second in my life.


2. About the Sabbath. Scripture says to “remember” it – and I sure did. Many weeks I remembered it from the office, but I did remember it, and that was part of the command. And even though I was at work and not at church, I was resting. I could have been up on the roof repairing those shingles like my neighbor did sometimes (just thought I’d mention that in case You didn’t see it) but I was very much resting in the chair behind the desk, typing very slowly so as not to aggravate my carpal tunnel.


3. I never stole anything that created an alarm to sound when exiting a store’s premises, so I should be covered there. The long distance phone calls I made from work were really on an emergency basis, because they normally had to do with babysitting arrangements or dinner reservations, both of which, had I not done, would have led my spouse to kill me – which would be breaking commandment number six. I was really just trying to avoid that.


4. I definitely haven’t given any false testimony against my neighbor. Every blessed word I ever said about that cheating snake was absolutely true. I just wanted to warn others so that they weren’t dragged down by her conniving ways. Really, if You think about it, I was doing a public service.


5. And lastly, I would also like to point out that any thoughts that could be considered covetous were strictly the result of undue temptation sent my way by Satan – which really makes me kind of like Job. So those things were really not my fault and I think I should be given some leeway in those areas, especially since most of the time I kept them to thoughts only and never actually acted on any of them.

Thank You very much for Your consideration of these issues and I look forward to Your speedy (and in total agreement with me) reply.

Love,

Me

Okay so maybe it’s a bit exaggerated. But think about it. God does have grace and compassion, yes. But the buck does stop. And no amount of appealing is going to help when that happens.

I'm Sick

I hate being sick. Largely because it annoys me when my carefully crafted plans have to take a back seat to my unplanned illness. And then on a smaller scale...because it's no fun to be sick when you have to fend for yourself. I should throw in a disclaimer that two people did offer to come over. One was my Mom, and I know she has long looked forward to this day at home, so I did not want to interrupt her. The other would have had to drive an hour and a half to get here and I'm not THAT sick. Not with gas prices where they are currently located.

I could feel it coming on yesterday. The aching all over, the scratchy throat - the off and on fever - the thought that hibernation would just be the greatest.

So, ditching my plans to exercise and scrap last night, I came home, made chicken noodle soup (from scratch, thankyouverymuch), changed into my scrubbies, and curled up on the love seat. Two episodes of Friends, two episodes of Andy Griffith, two episodes of Cosby, half of Pretty Woman, and two episodes of Say Yes to the Dress later, I gave up and went to bed. I didn't journal, I didn't wish the cats a lovely evening. I didn't even care.

Today I was supposed to go to the zoo with friends. Instead I've been curled up on the couch reading a recipe book, channel surfing, and eating more chicken noodle soup (and a grilled cheese).

I'll have to exit the house at some point today - the gas tank in the car is on empty and there is church in the morning. Dad is preaching, so missing the service is not an option. :)

Hopefully by then I'll feel better anyway; missing work next week is also not an option.

Growing Up in a Day

I'll admit - I'm one of those who still does a lot of reflecting on this day. 9/11 did a little bit of something different to everyone - and for me it involved growing up more quickly in that one day than any big block of time around it.

Of course everyone has the "I remember where I was when I heard..." story about this day.

I'll admit to you (with a decent amount of humiliation) that I did not even know we had twin towers in New York. I certainly didn't know they were called The World Trade Center. And, not being a watcher of news, I had no clue that anything was happening that day. I was at work, and back in those days, our division (made up of multiple offices) had monthly division meetings. September 11th was a meeting day. I remember filing into the conference room that overlooks the gym and hearing this rumbling in conversation around me, but I had no idea what anyone was talking about. I remember someone from the Admissions Office coming into the meeting and telling us that the second plane had hit - but I was still clueless.

Later that morning, I went with one of my friends to her doctor's appointment. I was supposed to be going as moral support, but I'm afraid I was too glued to the TV in the waiting room to be of much comforting service. I just sat for however many minutes she was in the office...watching in disbelief.

That afternoon, I had a dentist appointment, and I sat in the chair, letting the ladies rip my mouth apart. For the first time, I didn't even notice. I was completely engrossed in the TV coverage. I was in the dentist's chair when the news came that gas had gone up to - well - pretty much what we pay every day, now! THAT was when I started to really get scared.

Of all the lousy times to pick...my parents had gone on vacation and were in Michigan at the time. My ex-boyfriend (who was still a good friend) was gone for work, and the longer the day went on, the more I wished that one of the two would come home. I did not like feeling alone.

Back in those days, I was a consultant for a rubber stamp company, and I already had a show booked for that night. I remember calling the hostess to see if she wanted to go on, and she said she thought it would be okay. I remember calling Mom to see if she thought it would be safe to go. She said probably.

So I went. I pulled myself away from the TV long enough to go about life and try to experience some normalcy. On the way home from the show that night, I remember stopping at an unfamiliar gas station to pay the $4 a gallon to try to cushion the tank a bit. I remember glancing all around as I pumped the gas, wondering if the next attack was going to hit Indiana. Crazy - but true.

And that was the day I grew up pretty quickly. That was the day I realized the world could completely fall apart and my parents might not be there. And there might not be a man in the picture to rush to the rescue. And yet somehow I'd have to make it work. I'd have to just pick up and keep going.

What I experienced is not even comparable to what those directly involved experienced. I've been watching some of the History channel documentaries this evening - and I just can't imagine being some of these people and trying to pick up and go after being right there in all of it. No matter how much I watch...I can't grasp it.

Bits for Sunday, September 7, 2008

If you were to visit my home, you’d find that my TV is usually parked on one of two channels – HGTV or the Food Network. If I could get a TV package that allowed for only ten channels, I’d be perfectly content – as long as those two were at the top of that list. This would explain why I’m always dreaming up new décor…and why I spend so much time in the kitchen.

I absolutely love to cook. It may be one of the smallest rooms in my house, but my kitchen is the place that gets a ton of attention from me. Mom says I’m far too ambitious to begin cooking projects very late in the evening…but it’s what I love to do. It’s the perfect wind-down project before bed.

Last week I told you that I used to think I wanted to teach and then I veered far from that plan. But if I’d actually gone in that direction, and if it were still a topic that got very much attention in schools, I think teaching Home Economics (or whatever politically correct term those classes are now named) would have been my calling.

I took pretty much all those classes when I was in high school – mostly to avoid taking health. (That shouldn’t shock anyone.) We had some sort of exchange plan that allowed us to take one semester of health or four semesters of home ec. I took the long way around, but I loved every minute of it. I learned to pack brown sugar down in a measuring cup until I’d probably doubled the amount that was supposed to be in it. I learned the water displacement method for measuring shortening (thank goodness Crisco invented shortening sticks after that, because I hated all methods of measuring shortening). I learned the proper way to set a table, and so many more things.

When I was in college, I began to realize that this cooking thing was really fun. I think three years of dining hall food, no matter how good it was, finally took its toll, and I became very interested in learning to make my own cuisine. I subscribed to my first cooking magazine and received my first cooking utensils – which I still have and use.

And now, all grown up, I cook all the time. I’ve heard a lot of people say that if they didn’t “have” to cook, they wouldn’t. But for me, cooking is what makes this feel more like home. There’s nothing wrong with a bowl of cereal for dinner or a trusty cup of Ramen on the go…but there’s also nothing like a real meal on a real plate at a normal meal time. (And an ever-ready stock of cookies or brownies stashed away somewhere, of course!) Today I sat in church listening to my stomach growl, knowing that waiting at home in the slow cooker was a ham…and that a freshly assembled pan of Paula Deen’s macaroni and cheese waited to be baked, and just to honor the teaching of the Home Ec gang, there would even be a serving of peas to complete the meal.

Am I a perfect cook? Absolutely not. Angela could tell you about the angel food cake disaster (I’ve not made another one since). There was the night when I learned that chicken still on the bone takes much longer to cook than boneless. The brownies that my dad renamed “burnies.” And I’m sure there are other things I’ve blocked out entirely. But for all the mistakes, I’ve turned out to be a pretty decent cook.

And I love to share the world of food, because I agree with the fine folks on Food Network – there’s something very personal and comforting about food. (And not just the overindulgence of it.)

One of my goals for this decade was to put together a collection of my favorite and best recipes…and not just the list of ingredients and the instructions. The tips that go with them…the stories of why I love those foods and the memories they have already created for me.

So I’ve decided to share some of my favorites here so you can try them too if you’re so inclined. Below, you'll find the very first one – my favorite pancake recipe. I even added pictures in case you’re a visual learner. I’ll post new recipes from time to time and if you’re looking for something new to add to your repertoire – I invite you to check them out and even better…try them!

Ultimate Melt-In-Your-Mouth Pancakes

** I've decided that tomorrow when I write the official "weekly bits" - I'm going to write about my love of cooking. And then from time to time, I'll post some of my favorite things to make - just in case you're looking for something new. So you can check back tomorrow for the official explanation of this project, but for now, here's recipe #1. **


I think it has been well established that I am not a fan of mornings. Therefore, my work day breakfasts are usually peanut butter and jelly toast...sometimes carted to work on a paper plate if I run out of time to eat at home. But Saturdays...those lovely leisurely Saturdays...I enjoy nothing better than sleeping in until my eyes just pop open...and then sauntering into the kitchen to whip up a batch of pancakes. It's one of my cooking traditions that I hope to continue after I'm married, unless I marry someone with an aversion to pancakes. I don't get to do this every weekend, because sometimes my Saturdays fill up and turn into breakfast-on-toast-on-the-go days too, but I dearly love the lazy weekends when I have the time to make these.

For many years, I tried to make pancakes from the boxes of pancake mix. But they always tasted odd to me. Perhaps they tasted like they were from a box of pancake mix. So I determined to find a good actual recipe for pancakes that was both easy and tasty. I stumbled upon this one in a church cookbook that was given to me several years ago as a birthday gift. (By the way - I love church cookbooks. They are written proof of why church potlucks are still the best thing in culinary life.)

The Recipe:

2 cups Bisquick
1 cup milk
1 Tablespoon sugar
2 Tablespoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 eggs

Stir all ingredients until blended. Cook on hot griddle until edges are dry. Turn and cook until golden.

And now...for you visual learners.

I prefer the generic versions of pretty much everything:


Mom taught me to keep my Bisquick in the freezer between uses to keep it from being overrun by ants or other bugs. I just store it in a gallon size Ziploc bag. Sometimes, though, it gets lumpy, so before I add any of the other ingredients, I press the lumps out with a spoon. No one wants to bite into a lump of Bisquick.


After all the ingredients are added, it should look like this - kind of runny:

Rachael Ray has her garbage bowl...I have my paper towel trick. I measure all my dry ingredients over a paper towel, so if they spill over, cleanup is easy. I also put my egg shells on the paper towel. When I'm totally done assembling, I just gather up the paper towel, toss it, and the kitchen is halfway cleaned.

The full recipe, as it is listed above, probably makes about a dozen pancakes. Because I only eat about three at a time, I cut the recipe in half (which works out very nicely - you don't need half an egg or anything impossible like that) and then I use half the batter on Saturday and half on Sunday. The batter doesn't keep longer than a day, but it will be okay just overnight in the refrigerator. I pour it into a storage container for the next day. This makes it nice on Sundays, too, because I can have a real breakfast before church, but I don't have to get up early enough to mix up a new batch of batter.

Even though I have a non-stick skillet, I still spray it with cooking spray because these do tend to really stick. I let them cook until they're super bubbly on top and the edges are dry enough to slip a spatula underneath to flip them. I cook mine on medium-high heat.


Yeah even after all this time, I'm still not a pancake flipping expert. The one at the top of the picture came apart and ended up being about half the size it was supposed to be. But it still tasted good. This recipe really does well on the perfect golden color part.

Mmmmm.....butter and syrup. The perfect ending to almost perfect pancakes. (They did taste perfect. They just didn't look perfect.)

So there you have it - my favorite pancake recipe. And these make not only a great weekend breakfast, but a great dinner, too. When I lived at home, Mom sometimes served breakfast for dinner. Pancakes, sausage, eggs...it was always a fun meal. And when I was in college, I lived on campus in an apartment the summer between my junior and senior year. My roommate, Christi, liked to make pancakes late at night and invite friends over for a pancake party. They were a lot of fun. And best of all - a pretty cheap meal!

Head and Heart Stuff

I haven't written for a long time. Okay a week. But in motor-mouth Bekahland, that might as well be a decade. And I wasn't sure...am still not sure...about writing now. But I'm doing it anyway.

Life has been busy, but not so busy that I couldn't write. School started for our students on Tuesday and work has been chugging along at a pace that goes beyond definition. I try my best to stay not just up with work...but way above it. Weeks like this make it tough - especially when I really really want to be my best and do my best for all the students, and I feel like I'm not able to meet all their expectations. Having said that, the group this year has been exceptional in the niceness category, so I appreciate that.

In all the fluffy stuff - the refrigerator finally died and I had to purchase a new one. The new one is beautiful (okay so it's plain white, very standard, absolutely no bells OR whistles...but it is STILL beautiful) and best of all - things inside are COLD! It's just a concept beyond anything I've known for the last few weeks.

Sunday night, my friend Angi invited me over to use her Cricut. (If you're not a scrapper, that's not going to mean a blessed thing to you...it's a die-cut sort of tool that I will never be able to afford but it's SO COOL.) Anyway, I made several things, some of which I can't post yet because some of you will have a spoiled surprise if I do! But I did make this for my niece...who should have it by now.

I was pretty excited.

And now to the non-fluffy. It's been a really tough week, and that has led to my posting hesitation. I don't really like to post the poor-me business because really...it's okay. But it is, after all, my blog, so I guess if I want to fess up to a rough time, then I'm certainly allowed.

This morning when I got up and headed for my daily devo book, I told God I needed something big. This followed last night's six (I think) kleenex meltdown over the prayer journal where I proceeded to tell God a variety of opinions I hold concerning some people who have disappointed me pretty significantly lately. I had to throw in a (sincere) apology to God that it took such intense hurt to bring me back to a drawn out conversation with Him. Why do I rush so quickly through my time with Him when life is good? Question of the ages, I guess.

So anyway, I opened the book and the first verse on the page said this: "Be still, my daughter." I had chills. I printed out every verse from the morning round and planted them right in front of my computer monitor to view throughout the day. Perhaps a practice I should employ more often?

I do have to stop here to tell you this which just made me giggle and helped ease the extreme tension of the day. One of my friends (whose name I won't mention in case she'd rather it be that way) sent me this as a potential alternate verse...."She drove the peg through his temple into the ground, and he died." I have to admit, it was tempting to write that one down too!

I joined a Beth Moore Bible study (via DVD...not one of the live studies...rats!) and it's about Daniel and prophecy. My dad would clean up on stuff like that. I somewhat get it, but parts of it feel about as natural as chemistry class. But one thing that did come through loud and clear was to follow Daniel's example to resolve to be strong no matter what. So as I've been hit with one "ouchie" after another this week, I've tried to remind myself to resolve to remember what I know to be true about the way God views me.

It's been kind of tough. There are some rumors that have been circulating about me in the past few weeks. I haven't really wanted to blog about this because I know some people who read might be hurt by it...but again...it's my blog. After about a year of fighting God on the issue, I made the decision to obey Him and leave the church I've been attending for a very long time. I didn't go because I was mad at anybody or disgruntled with leadership or anything of the sort. I was just simply obeying what I know God was leading me to do. I expected rumors, because situations like this tend to lend themselves to such things. I even figured out what some of them would be. But one in particular hit me from out of nowhere and it was really really hard to hear. I cried so hard because it made me question everything about who I am.

Add to that a week's worth of "fat days" - you girls get that, right? - and the complete loss of confidence over my ability to write...it's made for some tough, tough days.

So I say all of that with really no idea what I'm trying to say. I have no great concluding paragraph. This is just me and my bruised up heart hoping you were able to read this in the spirit I intended and not in some "poor Bekah" way.

Ahhhhhhhh....Shopping

It's been a WEEK. Work has, as I mentioned earlier, taken most of my brain from me. It's been pretty humid here too, which means exercising takes most of whatever energy is left after work. And then, of course, there has been the saga of the refrigerator (which has, to a great extent, settled down...so I'm hopeful that it was just ill and not terminal). Slap on top of it some rather unsettling information that had filtered my way throughout the week...I needed therapy.

Today I realized that I hadn't been clothes shopping since May. MAY. This is not like me. Now I'm not a huge shopper, but I do like to get a little something every now and then. (This summer was light on now and heavy on then.) Retail therapy to the rescue of all problems.

This weekend we've been permitted to wear school T-shirts to work - which is a luxury of great magnitude. We can't wear jeans, so that means I have to stick to the khakis. I realized that I had absolutely no appropriate footwear to go with a T-shirt and khakis. We can't wear flip-flops, no matter how dressed up. I don't believe in wearing any sort of athletic/canvas shoes at work. All my sandals are too dressy. So I had no choice but to SHOP.

And ahhhhh what sweet joy. One shirt (work AND church appropriate). One pair of pants (work appropriate). Three pairs of shoes (one pair that will work for both T-shirt days). Twenty dollars and seventy-four cents. Thankyouverymuch.

Vera

This time of year tends to sap my brain. The phone calls roll in at work faster than I can answer them, and after a while, I struggle to make sense of it all.

Yesterday, for example, I had a string of voicemails to return. I picked up the phone, dialed the number of one of the ladies who had called me, and when she answered I said, "Hi Rebekah, this is Vera from the Financial Aid Office." Pause, pause, pause. Then I said, "No, that's not right. You're Vera. I'm Rebekah."

Fortunately she had a good sense of humor and could understand days like that.

But it's my new name now. Just call me Vera.

Bits for Sunday, August 24, 2008

I like to consider myself fairly resourceful. Sometimes this translates to cheap. I’ll drive to three grocery stores to save thirteen cents on a loaf of bread. I’m the person who doesn’t have a stash of pocket change to use toward a vacation because I actually live on my pocket change. I’ll only make a purchase at Hobby Lobby if said item is half price that week. If it’s not, I will wait until it is – because at that point it has become a matter of principle. I view the forfeiting of a “ten dollars off ten dollars or more” coupon at Fashion Bug as actually throwing away ten dollars and will hunt carefully around the store for a purchase that brings me to $10.01 so I can pay pretty much tax only on my purchase and feel ever so excited about my frugal spirit. I purchase glue sticks in ridiculous quantities when school supplies are on sale so I have a year’s supply on hand and don’t have to pay the extra three cents a pack throughout the year.

Those are the minor things. I also heat my house with candles in the winter because I’m too cheap to run any sort of decent heat. If that doesn’t cut it, put on another sweatshirt and get under a blanket. (Thankfully cats have fur coats and so far they’ve not had to chip through ice in their water bowl, so all residents of my home seem to be happy.)

But it’s not just about saving money. It’s about figuring out how to make the best of things that don’t work as they should. For example…the light in my closet broke and I keep forgetting to ask the fix-it guy to fix it…so for now I just drag the floor lamp into the closet to find my clothes. Whenever I don’t have time to do that, I just grab something and hope it matches. If it doesn’t and someone has an issue with that…perhaps he or she would like to contribute to the light fund.

And if you think I’m going to be in any sort of hurry about that light – let me just tell you THIS. A year or so ago, the kitchen light (an Edison original) went out and it was a while before I rounded up an electrician to replace it. I was used to cooking by the glow of the Christmas lights above the cabinets, but when my sister came over to help me make broccoli salad one night, she gave me some strange looks when I pulled out the flashlight to check the status of the bacon on the stove.

I hadn’t realized just how much I temp-fix my house until today when I was talking to Mom before lunch. I told her that the radio in my bathroom has one of those flimsy cord-like antennas, and in order for me to pick up the station I need on Sunday morning (to hear my Dad’s program), I have to stretch it toward the towel bar and then stuff a towel around it to hold it in place. When I’m done, I have to coil up the cord and hide it in my makeup so Braeya doesn’t chew off any more of the end than she already has. The towel, at that point, needs to be relocated to its place over the bathroom door (over the top of it) to prevent the door from shutting…which locks the cats inside.

I’m afraid if the cats are locked inside and get bored, they’ll figure out how to get around the Tupperware onion storage container that currently hides the toilet handle. Braeya has a flushing addiction. That’s life at Bekah’s…flashlights, towels, and onion holders in the oddest of places.

There are some things, though, that the temp fixes just won’t cover. Remember how I just bought a new washer and dryer? Ever heard the saying that things happen in threes? Yeah. I think I have a second appliance about to croak. Literally.

I told Mom and Dad today that my refrigerator sounds like a pig being strangled. I even imitated the lovely screeching sound that has occasionally emanated from deep within it for the past several months. This weekend, said sound moved up to full time. I about moved out of my own house. Let the pig die!!!

Mom thought I was exaggerating. So I came home, called her, said, “Listen please” and stuck the phone in the freezer. When I returned to the phone, she said, “That is your REFRIGERATOR??? That doesn’t sound good.” As I was saying. Strangled pig.

Sigh. Yesterday I stood in the kitchen and shouted, “I don’t want to buy more appliances!!!!” The pig continued dying. I see another trip to the store in my very near future. Meanwhile, if things really do happen in threes, I hope the next appliance to go is something more along the lines of my toaster.

But I'm Too YOUNG!!!!

While I am grateful that hair and pudgy cheek conditions have improved since these photos,

I am still much too young to have a niece going to college!

My good little buddy...


...is a little too tall for things like this now.

But I'm very proud of her and very excited for her. College was definitely the beginning of the defining part of my life - and I am looking forward to seeing what it brings for her.
Still...let the record show...I am too young for this.

Fifty-Four Years

To go with my earlier post....

I know. I know. I look exactly like my mom. But what I'd actually like to point out is all that HAIR my dad has!!



This one is one of my favorite pictures from their wedding because I guess I just never expected this sort of photography that many years ago. The whole soft glow thing....very cool.
I would have posted this last night...but I was knee-deep in a typical Bekah overbooked night. I finally had to quit doing chores because I'd run out of room to write them in the day planner so I could proceed to cross them out as completed. (Oh come on - at least one of you does that!)

Anyway, yesterday was my parents' anniversary. Fifty-four years. I think it's great. Fifty-four years is milestone enough to celebrate with much thankfulness but not milestone enough to require a party. :D (I think my sisters and I are still recovering from the fiftieth shindig we threw.)

I shared in devotions at work that I'm very thankful for their long-standing marriage, though. It's given me many good examples of how to work hard and keep going even when it's tough. I know they don't' always see eye to eye on things, but I appreciate their determination to not let those things drive them apart.

Given that I did NOT get married at seventeen like my mom did, chances are, I'll never see the same length of marriage (and if I do, I'll probably be too out of my mind to know I've arrived) but I hope that if I ever do get married, I can enjoy a good long life with my husband!

So even though I'm a day late, congratulations, Mom and Dad! Love you!

Bits for Sunday, August 17, 2008

I know you’ve already seen bits and pieces of this story, but this is one that deserves to be told from the beginning, so I’m just going to start at the beginning and work my way forward.

My washer died. Yes, the infamous washer that ate my sheets about a year ago and at a later point in time ripped the ties off one of my long-standing dresses. That washer. I have no idea how old the washer was. It was quietly parked in its corner of the bathroom when I moved into this house eight years ago. It wasn’t anything fancy, and it had been known to cause the entire house to shudder during the spin cycle, but apart from the isolated incidents of clothing sabotage, it had been a good little washer.

The night it died, I planned to do three loads of laundry. Hot, warm, and cold. I put the first load in, went for my walk, came home, put that load in the dryer, put the second load in the washer…and suddenly I was very aware of wet socks. Never a good feeling. I looked down to see a stream of water rushing to the center of the room from underneath the washer. I hoisted myself over the top of the washer to look at the hoses (as though I would even know what I was looking for in this situation…but it seemed the thing to do) and found nothing that looked strange. Nothing spewed water anyway.

So I called Dad. It was that or 911. Dad (who is so good with appliance-challenged-daughter-emergencies) got in the car, toolbox in hand, and drove over to take a look at it. We formed an assembly line with plastic tumblers, emptying water out into the sink while beach towels (that otherwise get little use) mopped up the river that had slowed a bit from under the washer. By the time Dad left, having concluded that a plumber should be called, I was left with one half-soaked load of clothing staring at me from the laundry basket.

You know you have good friends when you can call them at 10:30 at night and ask to use their laundry room. I packed up the load (wet clothes are heavy!) and drove to the other side of town to use Marie’s washer, and then drove home and stayed up until 2 in the morning drying all these wet clothes.

The plumber came a few days later and pronounced the washer dead at an unknown age. Cause of death? Hole in the drum.

While the next step may seem simple, it was anything but. Obviously I needed a new washer…but did I also want to get a dryer? Or did I want a glaringly unmatched set residing in the path of everyday life? Did I want to pursue the idea of getting a space-saving stacked set? (That would require rerouting the plumbing, the dryer vent, and calling the siding boys back to the house for more work.) I spent hours online reading prices, sales, rebates, customer reviews, and appliance specs. I marched back and forth from the computer to the bathroom measuring and re-measuring.

As the dirty clothes piled up, I reminded myself that my mother could not do my laundry forever, so finally I jumped in the car and drove to the store to make “the decision.” I think choosing a husband must certainly be easier than the agony I went through of choosing a new washer (and dryer, since my OCD won out and I knew I could not function in a house of mismatched appliances). As it went, the salesman had an accent like the Geico gecko. He could have sold me every appliance in the store. I paced around in the washer aisle while he watched (with amusement, I might add) from behind the cash register. Finally I summoned him, pointed at the washer and dryer nearest me and turned away before I could change my mind.

He promised me next day delivery, until he discovered that my careful choice was on backorder for another two weeks. I told him I could just turn my underwear inside out for the next two weeks. I think he thought I was serious.

I came home, receipt in hand, much poorer, and spent the days following carefully choosing each day’s clothing, knowing I could ill-afford any spills or mishaps until the washer came.

This week I came home to find a message awaiting me from the automated delivery guy, announcing he had an important announcement for Frellanrebekah. After the second time through the message, I discovered that was their interpretation of my last and first names smashed into one and somewhat re-spelled. They left a toll free number for me to call and confirm, which I did, assuming it would be automated. Oh if only I had been so lucky. Frellanrebekah boy was nothing compared to the man I got live.

His accent sounded like Bella Karolyi's - and probably listening to him so much over the course of the Olympics was what gave me the one thing I did get out of the conversation. The end said “WewilluhcalluhyouondeuhFriday.”

When they “uh called me on de uh Friday” to confirm the two hour window for my Saturday delivery, the magic time fell between ten and twelve. I assumed that meant sleeping until eleven was out.

Or seven. Because that was when the delivery service first called to remind me they were coming. I don’t accept calls at 7 on a Saturday. Or 8. Or 9. Or 10. If you’re going to wake me up on a Saturday, somebody better be dead. I didn’t answer the seven a.m. wakeup call, but I did answer the one at 8. I answered it in my best “you just woke me up and someone better be dead” voice. It was the delivery service. Running an hour ahead of schedule. That okay?

What’s the point in a delivery window if you deliver outside the window? Fine. Whatever. I met them at the door with full bedhead, smeary mascara, and pajamas still on.

But for all my annoyance, I must say that it is nice to have a washer that doesn’t jar the house on spin…a dryer that buzzes to signal it has entered the anti-wrinkling stage…and a floor free of rivers.

In Case You Have Nothing to Watch...

I know, I know...there's just NOTHING on TV these days! ;)

Lori sent this link to me - if you want to check it out for the full scoop. The summary is this: Doug Wilson and Faber Dewar (both from Trading Spaces) did a six week design series which will air on TLC starting next Saturday night, August 23rd. They helped six Greensburg families settle into their new homes.

Lori and Cassie have been keeping me up to date on their treks about town. I happen to be a rather ridiculous admirer of Doug Wilson...and Cassie told me she'd said hi to him a few times. You know...while just out and about. I would have passed out.

So if you're looking for something to watch on Saturday nights, check it out.

Ick to Stress

I'm stressed.

I try not to let it get to me, because I absolutely cannot afford a sick day right now, but truth be told, I'm stressed.

It happens every year right before school starts. The work load increases, and because I'm a perfectionist, I demand a ridiculous amount of production from myself. (This is the sort of annoyance that allows me to understand exactly why Michael Phelps was annoyed even while breaking a record and winning gold...because he knew he could have done better.) Though I'm thrilled beyond words at the impending end of DST, the shorter days are forcing me to hurry much more in the evenings to get all the chores done before dark (and now before the Olympics start, too, so I can continue to find more life analogies in the daily happenings).

And there's just been lots of "stuff" going on in my life. I wish I had time to sit and ponder it more than I do. Pondering makes me happy.

But here's the laugh for today. Always gotta have a laugh in the stress, right? Remember my dead washer? Its replacement is scheduled for delivery soon, and today I had an automated voicemail telling me what I needed to do next in the great delivery proceedings. Automated male voice #1 announced the call and the purpose, and then about halfway through the message, he paused and automated male voice #2 inserted my name. I've been called a lot of things, but this was a new one for me: Frellanrebekah.

There you go, Chris. You can start a second list - name mess-ups. In this case I think I'd rather be Ralphetta.

Mom and Bekah Watch the Olympics

If I am going to succumb to the bad habit of being a grouch for the next couple of weeks due to Olympic-induced lack of sleep, I would like to drag others down with me. :) I'm starting with my Mom. She's retired. She's got time to watch hours and hours of TV. Right?

So anyway, I called her a couple of times tonight to see if she was watching. My sister (Julie) works with the mother of one of USA's synchronized divers, so I wanted to make sure she saw them dive. Later we watched some gymnastics - the floor routines.

But here's the crazy part. Mom (still operating on a rabbit ear TV until February 2009) was watching the same channel I was watching (on cable) - but hers ran about 3-5 seconds faster than mine. So on the floor exercises, she could tell me everything ahead of time. "Ooh...he stepped out of bounds..." and sure enough! A few seconds later, he went right out of the little line. The suspense of these things kills me, so I've decided she should just stay on the phone with me the whole time and let me know what to expect.

Bits for Sunday, August 10, 2008

I was halfway through the writing this week when I realized I’d already written about that particular topic. This is a very good example of why you should not try to watch the Olympics while writing something meaningful.

Normally I’m not such a sports girl. At all. If you asked me to tell you the channel location of EPSN on my TV…well…you’d have to wait for me to find the TV guide and read it to you. But there’s something about this Olympic spirit that gives me just a bit of sports fever. And this weekend I’ve kept very close to the TV…watching swimming, diving, biking, gymnastics, sculls (is that the right word?), volleyball…and taking crash courses on each thing as it flashed across my screen.

But aside from my fresh every-four-years encounter with sports this week, I have to tell you that God did a lot of teaching in my heart this week – and it was completely aside from anything Olympic-related.

For the past week, as part of my daily devotions, I’ve been following this little prayer guide I received. I loved it so much because every day had a theme (yay!) and all the theme words started with the same letter (double yay!) Search, Surrender, Seek, Silence, Stand, Secure, and Sing.

Sing is actually today’s, so I’ve not really explored that one too much yet, but the study on Secure last night really hit me.

I had stayed up far too late (as is the norm for Olympic season for me) and knew I was really going to regret that decision when the alarm sounded for church. I crawled into bed with my Bible and my journal and put the Olympics on mute. My heart was pretty restless, and I needed to know that God was aware of that. (As if the audible “AAAHHHHH” hadn’t been clue enough.)

I settled in with my prayer guide and flipped open the Bible to Joshua 1:9. The reference seemed familiar even before I arrived on the right page: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Perfect verse. I could have closed the Bible right then and known that I’d been heard, but I kept reading the other verses on the card. Deuteronomy 31:6…8…23…pretty much the same words in a slightly different order. It was exactly the confirmation I needed.

And it took me back to another time many years ago…when I was in junior high. The youth pastors at my church were newlywed college students, and they were just so sweet to me. They were very good influences during a time in my spiritual life when I was first starting to get excited about having my own thriving relationship with God. They encouraged all of us in the youth group to memorize verses and told us how the verses they knew best were ones they’d learned when they were younger.

This verse, Joshua 1:9, was the first one I learned under their teaching. It seemed an appropriate junior high verse…don’t be afraid, don’t be terrified…God is with you. Maybe life has become an extension of junior high…I’m not sure. I am sure, though, that I was very glad to re-encounter this verse this weekend. I needed these words. I needed to know that I could be strong and that God was going to be with me. I needed to be reminded that all security comes from Him and to try to find it anywhere else is futile.

And I needed to be reminded that it’s good to memorize verses. That’s one of my commitments for this decade – to work on Scripture memorization. (The memorization of the actual words…not just saying “I know it’s that yellow verse in the lower left hand corner of the page.”) What a perfect verse to push me forward in that commitment.

Pancakes, Toilets, and Volleyball

Nah, they don't really have anything in common.

It's shaping up to be a pretty perfect Saturday to follow a lovely Friday evening. It was so beautiful outside last night, so I went for a walk, cooked dinner, and settled in for a long evening's scrap while I watched the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. I was prepared to be unimpressed, but I was wrong. I thought the pageantry part was amazing. I loved the part that showed the movable-type "art" - but I had no idea people were powering that! Of course I loved the "human stamping" with the larger than life stamp pads that the athletes walked over to get into the center area during the parade of nations. And my favorite moment was that little boy that got to march with China at the end. That was great.

This morning I slept in late (the making of a perfect Saturday) and had pancakes for breakfast. That's my favorite Saturday morning gig, but I don't always get the chance to do it.

Thought I'd update you on the feline flushing in the house. Christina suggested I try double stick tape on the handle and given it was the most cost effective option of the list, I started there. Worked GREAT. The first time Braeya sneaked up to the toilet and stuck her little paw on that handle...she recoiled and I cheered. But never underestimate the perseverance of that little critter. I woke up two days ago to the sound of a toilet flushing...

...So back to brainstorming I went. I am now to plan B which seems to be working, but I guess only time will tell how LONG it will work. I'll have to take a picture of this for you, but a few years ago, I got an onion storage thing from a Tupperware party. It's designed to hold half an onion (so it's flat on one side and round on the other) and has a bit of a handle that you're supposed to use to hang it from a wire shelf in the refrigerator. I've never used it for that purpose, but I had to wonder if I could stick the flat side with the handle under the tank lid and let the rounded part hang down and cover the handle. It fits beautifully, but we'll have to see if she figures out how to move it. Plan C is to tape it down so I can lift it up but she (hypothetically) can't.

As for now...it's time to get ready so I can go back to scrapping. But I want to see how the volleyball ends. It's USA vs Japan and right now we're precariously close to winning...but could lose without a lot of effort too. My ex-boyfriend was a volleyball coach, so I thought I'd see if I remembered anything from what I tried to learn while we dated. Verdict? Not so much.

Summer Fun

I'm very bad about taking pictures in the summer because not much happens in Bekahland then. Not a lot of parties, not a lot of birthdays...not a lot of memorable moments. :)

But here's a small sampling from the past couple of weeks.

Faith came over to stamp with me. Faith's table:


Bekah's table: the coffee was what got me through starting at 8:00 AM...after having been up until 2 with the laundry fiasco.


Our matching scrap day shirts. Yes, we do this on purpose.

This past weekend I went to Ft. Wayne to see my best friend. We had our little birthday celebration. Belle (her dog, in case you're not able to discern that from photo below) helped me unwrap my gift.

And then she helped Lynnette with hers. Oh how I wish Kaegan and Braeya got into this sort of thing. It was hysterical.

Bits for Sunday, August 3, 2008

Today I lovingly bring to you what I like to call “the peril of the drive-thru window.” I’ll start by saying that I grew up in a home vastly divided on the issue of the drive-thru. My Mom (much like most mothers, I’m sure) loved the creation of the drive-thru. My, father, on the other hand, had nothing to do with them, insisting upon the extra personal touch of actually walking into the business.

In seasons of rain, sleet, snow, wind, ice, and extreme heat (so in Indiana…95% of the time) I agreed with my Mom. Why bother exiting a comfortable car to brave the elements for an ice cream cone? In seasons of social need (so in Bekahland…95% of the time) I agreed with my Dad. Nothing could top that actual face to face meeting, even if it was just to make a bank deposit.

I think you see the dilemma.

But the event that pushed me entirely to my Dad’s side happened when I was fairly young. It was probably a Friday because I’m pretty sure the bank drive-thru line was long with paycheck owners. Obviously the fact that I was in the drive-thru line tells me I was with my Mom. As we waited our turn for Mom to do whatever she came to do, we noticed some commotion in another lane. Long story short (and I’m not entirely sure how we figured all this out unless we overheard the hysteria), the woman trying to cash her paycheck ended up losing it somehow, somewhere in the bank chute. I don’t remember if the whole canister got lodged somewhere between her car and the inside of the bank, or if it came open and the check came out. Maybe we didn’t even know. But we knew that the woman and her “I need this to survive” money had been separated and it was not a pretty picture. And that soured me toward drive-thru windows for years to come.

It all happens in the drive-thru. The lid comes off the drink in transit between the worker’s hand and yours and 32 ounces of Mountain Dew showers your freshly washed driver’s side door. (This one is obviously not a personal example since anyone who knows me knows my driver’s door hasn’t been “freshly washed” since the last rain.) The quarter you’re trying to hand over slips through your fingers and rolls back to the car behind you, leaving you to scour purse and car seat for a new one while drivers six cars back start slapping the steering wheel and muttering lovely things.

And of course there’s the final acceptance of the food, followed by the merging into traffic only to discover that something is missing….a straw, or worse, the burger, which was the only thing scheduled to get you through the afternoon.

Because of these things, for years, I followed my Dad’s leading and boycotted drive-thru’s, but recent years of laziness have caused me to follow my Mom’s perspective.

Yesterday, however, provided a “this is why I should side with my Dad on the drive-thru issue” moment for me. I’d gone to Ft. Wayne to see my best friend and I had a great time hanging out with her…shopping…all the fun stuff. On my way home, I began to crave a Starbucks caramel frappuccino. The farther I drove, the more I craved.

So I found the nearest Starbucks, drove in, and headed for the drive-thru. It was blessed hot yesterday and my car was so cool (okay frigid) from a solid hour of blasting air, and I didn’t want to walk outside even for three steps to the front door. I was welcomed by the chipper barista and placed my order for a caramel frappe (because I normally order at Tree of Life, it just spills out that way). She verified my order and I scooted around to wait. I saw her coming toward the window and my mouth watered for the frozen drink.

But she was carrying a hot drink. She pushed open the window and said (rather cheerily, I might add) “Here’s your caramel latte!” NOOOOOOOOO!! Not latte. FRAPPE!!! I didn’t argue it. She’d repeated the order to me and through the magic of garbled drive-thru systems, she said and heard latte, and I said and heard frappe. I knew I should have said the full “frappuccino.” But then…doesn’t that sound exactly like “cappuccino” on the other side of electronic devices? I can’t win.

So until Starbucks gets a camera in their drive-thru to lip-read the orders, I think I will join my Dad in the persuasion that in-person transactions are better.

Eight Years Ago Today...

...I watched a baby's birth for the first time...and not on TV. As a rather big fan of A Baby Story on TLC, I'd seen a lot of births. But this was the first live and in person one I'd seen...and let me just tell you, they sure don't happen in 1/2 hour. Try 21 hours. No commercial breaks.

My friends were expecting their first baby and asked me to be present to video tape and take pictures. I was so excited when "the call" came (after a couple of false alarms), and I rushed to the hospital ready to document.

Before we got to that point, however, we had several hours of labor to get through. During that time, I learned how to count through contractions, administer ice chips without dropping any down the front of the fabulous gown, have my hand squeezed until circulation almost never returned, and PROMISE that this would be the very last push...knowing full well there might be twelve more to go. (Finally got caught on that one. Women in labor are very intuitive.)

I arrived at the hospital around 9:00 a.m. on July 31, and little Carol arrived at 2:54 a.m. on August 1. I had to drive home (45 minutes) and get up at 6:00 for a full day of work. Needless to say, I think at this time eight years ago, I was sacked out on a couch catching up on lost sleep.


In later years, I attended the births of her little sister and little brother, but there was something so very extra special about hers. She was the only one whose gender they chose not to learn ahead of time, and that made the entire thing extra exciting. Definitely sold me on that method. I was crying so hard when she finally arrived that I could barely see to tape!

This is one of only three pictures I have with baby Carol. We only got to keep her here with us for six months - another one of those very difficult moments of life that sent me questioning God and finding Him to be so faithful to comfort His hurting children.

I wondered today what we would be doing this weekend to celebrate an eight year old's birthday. I felt I needed to do something to honor her on this day. I've been flipping through the scrapbook, remembering her cute facial expressions and sweet smile...and the miracle of her birth...one of the most significant moments of my life.