Posts filed under 'Fun and Fiction'
Every morning our whole family puts on the Whole Armor of God. Even the two year old is learning the process (although he always wants to skip to the boots of the gospel of peace). We go through the process of pretending to physically put on the spiritual armor usually at the breakfast table (first thing in the morning most mornings).
I thought that was enough, until yesterday. It was only after a straining serious of events that my husband faced and the resulting attitudes and actions that spilled over on the rest of the family that I realized we were missing a vital piece of the Armor – one you have to find BETWEEN the lines of scripture.
Never leave the house if you aren’t covered with positivism. Positivism is like the oil poured of Jason to keep him from being burned by the bull (Jason and the Argonauts). Facing the world with a positive mind force will keep you from being burned by the circumstances that you are bound to encounter.
Positivism is the ability to look at a situation and find the one positive that you can hold on to. For many people, the fact that I was stuck on dialup while trying to earn a living online might seem like a negative, but I would NEVER have learned to balance my time as well otherwise. There is always a positive to what ever situation you might face. The key is finding it – no matter how small – and repeating it over and over again until it takes hold in your heart.
The Armor of God has saved my family on several occasions. I know that it is important that we make that early connection with God each morning – as a family and as individuals. Now I just have to help them find their own positivism and be sure that they leave the house fully coated every day.
April 8th, 2008
My husband has always made me wonder – just a little, in the back of my mind. Something just wasn’t quite right. For fourteen years I have suspected, but now I know the truth. My husband is a thief. Last night (actually early this morning), I caught him.
The really sly thing (and probably one of the reasons I haven’t been able to catch him red-handed) is that he doesn’t take it all at one. It’s just a little here and a little there so that no one notices. The few times I have mentioned it in the past, he’s always changed the subject and usually suggested it was something I did myself.
This morning, it happened again. I put everything right and dosed back to sleep. It wasn’t too long until everything was out of balance once again. I am a light sleeper and I notice these things. My husband is like a parrot – so long as it is dark (or you cover his head) he can sleep. But the truth can no longer be denied.
My husband is a sheet-stealer and his victim is MY covers.
Fourteen years he has had me convinced that I was “kicking” the covers off in his direction. It’s not like I haven’t kicked things off the bed before. I regularly kick his cat across the room at night – she has a fetish for my feet.
I’ve got him now, though. Not that I think he will actually admit to being a sheet-stealer. He’d sooner admit that I actually was right most of the time (and we all know that AIN’T about to happen). No, he’ll try to turn the table and make me out to be the bad guy. But I know the truth; of course the truth won’t keep me warm on a cold winter’s night.
Instead of confronting him, I think I will just plan for the inevitable. I can store an extra blanket next to my side of the bed or maybe even make the bed with two separate top covers. On the rare occasion that he makes the bed up, I can then calmly explain that it was the only way I knew how to curb his night time desires. Even if is doesn’t buy it, I’ll finally be warm through the night.
January 12th, 2008
The calculator came out last night. A new client added more work and my monthly earning figures was about to skyrocket. I needed to plan for all that incoming wealth.
Like most of the times I start “planning,” my reality took a quick turn towards fantasy. This is the time when I imagine a big pay off (for my book, from an anonymous donor, from the money tree in the back yard). I have decided that with just One Million Dollars, I can do all that I need to do and still have some money for a vacation. 
The break down is fairly easy. AFTER taxes and tithe I would:
1. Get those mortgage papers and burn them.
2. Put a chunk of the money in savings.
3. Hire a contractor to fix and remodel this house.
4. Build a pond.
5. Build a barn.
My need to write would not diminish because of the new found wealth. If anything, I would be free to truly write what I wanted instead of feeling obligated to write what I was offered.
I did some more calculations. Each day I get about 30 new visitors to this site. So, if each of you would just write me a check for $10 then I could have my million in just 100 days. If you would only up it to $100 dollars, then I would be set in just over a month. Now I see how these pyramid schemes get started 
.
Oh well, I still have my dreams! Today I will probably figure out just home many articles I need to sale each month to make these figures a reality for my life. Numbers are fun.
Your turn: What would you do with ONE MILLION DOLLARS?
December 13th, 2007
It’s not easy being a good wife – especially when football season in the south rolls around. College football is a required pass time in the Bible Belt. Not only are there the games to consider, but the post game attitude (made worse if a loss is involved). I should expect that my spouse will disappear about the time of the baby’s nap and won’t re-emerge until it’s time for church on Sunday.
Last year during this time, I was writing a column about college football. I tried watching the games with my husband, but I think it disturbed him even more to have me by his side doing commentary. Some one I the family needed to stay balanced I guess.
Because of the interest that was piqued in me during my stint as a sports writer, I’m keeping up with some of the teams. I secretly watch a few quarters here and there, but I turn the channel to a Lifetime movie if my husband wanders into the room.
Most people would consider that sharing experiences will bring a husband and wife closer together. Sometimes it’s NOT sharing experiences that help with the bond. So I’ll be the good, southern wife that knows nothin’ about playin’ no football – and hide in the bathroom with the sports page at night.
Are there things in your life that are just yours and that you don’t really want your spouse to become a part of? It’s okay to want to have some time alone or with your own interests. God made us all special and our spouse is usually a complimentary person not a duplicate.
September 22nd, 2007
I’m not paranoid, I just don’t like sharks. Because I now have children and because children have an uncanny way of copying my likes and dislikes, I’ve been working hard to overcome my deep, deep, deep, dislike of these creatures (and their land cousins).
It all started with a magazine I read about the mega sharks. It talked about the amazing hunting skills these creatures, and all sharks, possess. They could smell the idea of blood from 100 miles away (okay, that was an exaggeration, but sharks really are amazing hunters).
Living in North Alabama, I didn’t have to worry much about sharks, but my friends teased that one day sharks would walk on land just to get at me. Now let’s fast forward to college, which I attended in Mobile, Alabama. My first night there, we got off on a discussion about my feelings towards sharks. My new friends loaded me up and drove me to the city park (just two miles from my dorm room. Posted all around the pond are signs that say “no swimming - alligators”.
Thus, my feelings for alligators were born, and it has continued to grow over the years.
First there was my stint as a lifeguard at the Gulf State Park, in Gulf Shores, Alabama. Right after I signed the employment contract the guy says “oh, I forgot to mention that we have alligators, but we haven’t seen one in the swimming area in about three years.”
“Great,” I thought to myself, “I would much rather we not be able to see them.”
My first day on the job was a bit tense. If something moved in the water, I watched closely, whistle poised, just in case I needed to get everyone out of the water. I didn’t have to wait long. I was literally on the lifeguard stand for two hours when I spotted my first - live and in the wild - alligator. Who cares that it was only a foot long. Who cares that all it did was stick its little head up, look around, and then go away. It was alive, and it was an alligator.
We spotted one every week from there on out. (Did you know that alligators smile? They do at me anyway.) It was a plot. They were all out to get me. If I wasn’t on duty, the alligators just didn’t show up. I changed my cologne, my soap, even the color of my swim suit. But they always knew where I was.
I wasn’t much on the life saving that summer, but it was at that lake that I became convinced of an alligator conspiracy. And I knew that since the alligators and sharks are really the same thing, then they must share information. They all knew. I wasn’t safe in any of the water. I did the only thing I could; I moved back to north Alabama.
Whew! There were no more bayous and no more oceans. Back in the north, I was far away from the fangs, and those grins. I felt safe, but it turns out I wasn’t.
It was all the beavers’ fault. These horrible damn creatures were causing problems in Wheeler Wildlife Refuge (which just happens to be a short swim up the river from where I live). Someone had the brilliant idea to use alligators to thin out the beaver population. After all, the alligators wouldn’t possible survive our winters up here (like they have never seen a horror movie like Lake Placid – the creatures ALWAYS survive).
No one called to ask me what I thought. I would have explained that a buck-toothed rodent was highly acceptable when compared to a man-eating machine. Instead, the alligators were released, the beavers were thinned out, and the memo was sent to all the fellow alligators that just up the river is “that girl we all were told about.” (At least, that’s the way it happened in my head).
Getting into the lake around here requires all of my concentration. I can’t focus too much on what I can’t see. I have to focus on all the “information” I’ve heard from the alligator “experts” about how the animals (that can kill me with one bite) are really afraid of me. If I splash loud enough then they will go away, right? Expect in “Jaws” it was the splashing that drew him in.
I think we may have to move on up to Tennessee. There aren’t any alligators up there, are there?
August 27th, 2007
I have never been a football fan. If my husband wanted to watch his favorite college team – the Auburn Tigers – then he had to go to his dad’s or a friend’s house. Football was not my cup of tea. Why a bunch of boys wanted to run around a field and hit each other while chasing a pig never made much sense.
Big games were tolerated – the Super Bowl and the Iron Bowl - occasionally. I did manage to even attend a few “Bowl” parties out of moral support for my husband’s obsession. Even with the fanfare surrounding the monumental games, football just didn’t do it for me.
It’s not that I don’t like sports. I love sports. I grew up around brothers, male cousins, and a whole gaggle of guys in the neighborhood. I ran track, played volleyball, basketball, and baseball. At the University of South Alabama, I became enamored with soccer (yes, the players themselves had much do with that infatuation).
Living in Mobile provided me the unique experience of the Senior Bowl – where all the top college senior football players come together for one last game. I actually attended one of these while at college. Even the “stars” of the sport couldn’t get me excited. Our seats were so far from the action that I found myself bored. (If you ever find yourself bored at a football game, don’t yell out “Homerun” when the team scores. It’s not as funny to everyone else as you will think it is.).
After ten years of a no-football zone, I think my husband resigned himself to being away from the house starting each August. It was this last season that something near miraculous happened to change his fate and my outlook.
I had a chance to write for a football website – ironically it was about my husband’s team. Not only did I become intrigued by the game, but I actually found that with just a few minutes each day I was able to keep up with the fundamentals of the sport and even able to impress my husband with my foresight and knowledge (Don’t tell him you are quoting footballfan200Z from the internet. Take all the credit for yourself).
Every day (sometimes less often) I took some time to scan the sports page for interesting football stories. If that wasn’t possible, I would cruise some of the online football sites or blogs – it’s almost sad just how many of these are available for your viewing. It turns out that football had plays and strategies, and it even takes some brains to figure it all out. This blew my whole theory of the dumb jocks and the pig.
I didn’t study the stats of the players like many diehard fans would do. I did find out about a few standout players – some personal history and talent facts. It was finding out about the players that made the game much more personal – and more enjoyable for me.
The family reunion is only a few months away, but I’ll be able to hold my own when the talk swings to sports. I don’t know the name of the plays, or the details of the strategies. I will turn the talk to the player’s positives and negatives. I know the players, and that puts me way ahead of most women out there. If I weren’t married, it would probably be a good way to pick up guys.
Taking time out of a busy schedule to read about or research a game you don’t even like may not be what you had in mind. I’ve compiled some basic dos and don’ts for the women who don’t want to know football, but do want to appear that way.
- Know which team your significant other is rooting for and cheer when that team catches the ball or kicks the ball through the goal posts (those white sticks on the end of either side of the field) – these are both good things.
- Know which person is in charge of the team. You don’t have to know his name, but at least know his title – “Coach.”
- If your team takes the ball across the line at the end of the field (also referred to as the end zone because it is at the end of the field) it is called a “touchdown.” I covered this earlier, but it is still important. Whatever you do, don’t yell “homerun.” Many a firm relationship has been crushed by just such an action.
- Under no circumstances should you try to talk to your significant other during the game. Save all questions about the game or the team’s reasoning for that odd play until halftime or after the game or better yet just ask someone else.
- Anything about the relationship should be discussed AFTER the season is over – but before basketball season starts. You should have a window of about 4 hours.
- It is not okay to read a novel during the game. You have to at least pretend to show some interest.
- To make the ultimate impression, purchase seats to your significant other’s favorite team and make the game a surprise. Live games score BIG points in the wow factor.
How ever you approach the game of football, approach it you must if you have a football fan in your life. Be careful, if you get to close you are likely to fall into the mayhem. The next thing you know, you have your face painted and are screaming on national television.
As for me, I’ll stick with the facts and look forward to March Madness.
July 27th, 2007
Forget all those diets that are high protein or low carb. Forget all the hours of sweating and yoga. There is a new way to be less than you ever have been before. They say it’s the next “best thing” to hit the fitness world in the last decade.
The High Fiber diet allows participants to eat all they want and still drops the weight right off. Some say they can feel the weight falling off of them even as they chew their meals.
This new sensation in nutrition comes at weight loss from two main angles. First, it helps you control your appetite while still offering you the opportunity to eat all you want when you want. Second, the high fiber contact actually burns calories through chewing.
Unlike many of the fad diets that have bombarded the market, this is the easiest and least expensive way of shedding all those unwanted pounds. With every purchase, you receive the special card board box developed for this diet plan. In it you find the manual that teaches you how to prepare your meals out of ordinary cardboard. An additional benefit of the program package is that it is actually the first meal you will prepare.
This amazing plant by-product has enough fiber to clean anyone out.
The High Fiber Cardboard diet may seem stiff and bland at first. With our easy guidelines, you will see that it is a diet designed to fit any pallet. Try toasting up a little slice till it is dark brown on the edge. This gives you the smokey flavor of a perfectly grilled steak. You can also roast bits with some garlic cloves – “Tastes like chicken,” says many of the pleasantly surprised participants.
These are only two of the many unique ways that the manual has for preparing filling breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. You will never get board with this new direction of eating. It is not a diet that is just thinking out of the box, it’s actually eating it.
June 18th, 2007
“We’re so glad you made it back today.” The usher was pumping my hand like he expected to get water.
I smiled politely. “What do you want?” I thought, but I actually said, “Thank you. I’ve been enjoying the services.”
He cast his line. “You ought to think about joining us.”
“You know, I have been thinking about that.” He had a nibble. With lightening precision, the application and pen were thrust towards my hands.
“Huh?” I was startled, but followed the billowing paper.
He guided me to a back room. “We have a place set up just for you to fill this out.”
I looked at the paper the usher was holding. APPLICATION FOR MEMBERSHIP. I could make out the words even from this distance. “Do you mean I need to apply to your church?” The memory of my first job interview swept into my mind – sweaty palms and shaking resume not excluded.
“No. It’s not like that. We just like to know more about you when you join. That way we can make sure we get you plugged in to the right place.” He jiggled the paper a little, and I followed him into the room. From the distance I thought I heard a deep laughter, but I turned my attention back to the form at hand. NAME, ADDRESS, PHONE NUMBER, DATE OF BIRTH. It all seemed harmless. I glanced up at the usher and thought I noticed him in the corner dancing a jig of excitement - he’d hooked one. Then I noticed him still by my side and realized it was just a mirage, or a dream, and I returned my attention to the paper.
HOBBIES, INTERESTS, GIFTS. I guess this kind of information could help them find a place for me. I scribbled down a few of my favorites. The usher was grinning like a possum. Although I’m not completely sure how they do that.
EDUCATIONAL BACKGROUND, SPIRITUAL BACKGROUND. I was stumped. The usher sensed my trepidation and was quick to guide me through this rough point. “That’s nothing’. That’s just what church you’ve been going to before now.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “I guess that does make sense.” There was that laughter again. The usher tapped on the paper to focus my attention down, and I obliged.
EMPLOYER, WORK PHONE, SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER. He could see my anxiety before I had spoken a word. He tapped the paper at the line I was reading. “That’s for your benefit. This ways, the accountant has a record of what you tithe, the percentage of your income, and he can have the tax papers ready faster.”
I heard more laughter, and this time I looked around. The usher seemed oblivious. I decided to read on before doing anymore writing. SHIRT SIZE, PANT SIZE, SHOE SIZE. I shook my head. “That’s for the uniform - for the choir of course.” His grin only worked to make my hair stand on end.
EYE COLOR, HAIR COLOR, WEIGHT. “Is this a misprint?” I was pointing to the weight portion of the list. It all seemed to be getting a bit Stepford for me. I looked over my shoulder, but the coast seemed clear.
“Oh no, it’s important that we have an accurate estimate of the congregation. You see, this church is built on a faulty foundation. In order to keep it from falling in we have to evenly distribute the people. We need to know your weight in order to do that.”
I watched the usher for a moment, but he was serious. This was more in depth than I wanted to get into at the moment. “Um, I think I’ll just take this home with me for now.” I folded the form and put it in my purse. “I don’t want to rush things.” I stood up. His look seemed to crush in on itself. It wasn’t going to happen this time and he knew it. He sighed.
“No, you don’t want to do that.” He gazed longingly at my purse as he walked me to the door. He noticed another new couple out of the corner of his eye – two for one – and I was no more than a story in the back of his mind about the one that got away.
“From now on, I think I’ll find out what I’m getting into before I go getting into it.” I drive away. From the distance, I swear I still hear laughter.
April 20th, 2007
The words were probably Latin. She knew that he preferred to write to her in that dead language. Her instinct was to wad the letter up and throw it away. The mere feeling of it made the flesh in her fingers crawl. She didn’t toss the letter. She looked over her shoulder and then around the parking lot. He was watching. He was always watching. She couldn’t see him, but she could feel him. She grabbed the rose that had been perched under her wiper with the letter and darted into her car. She locked the doors without even awareness. He was watching her.
The letters had been coming for over a month now. They first appeared after she broke off their relationship. The break up had been uncomfortable for her and apparently unacceptable to him. At first, it was only a note now and then, always written in Latin and accompanied by a rose. Lately the frequency had increased. Now the letters were longer and the words were imbedded harder in the paper. Daily she moved her car, but he always found it. The sight of the white rectangle stuck under her windshield always made her heart skip and her palms sweat.
At nights, he would sit under her third floor window on the picnic table below. He never tried to get to her apartment. He never yelled or threatened. He would just sit calmly at the table and she would know he was near.
On the nights he couldn’t be at the table, he would call her. The excuses were always the same. He just wanted her back. All the attention was just to show how much he wanted her back.
The evening before exams, he had watched her window until late into the evening. She looked out before crawling in bed and he was still there. Just the thought of him below her made sleep uneasy, but she tried. He must have given up his tableside vigil, because the ringing phone later disrupted her restless slumber.
“You have to come back to me.”
She had heard it all before, and nothing had changed for her. It was over and there was no going back.
“I won’t live without you.”
She was through. He would have to find a way to live without her. She couldn’t take it anymore. She hung up the phone and unplugged it from the wall. Sleep seemed to come much easier after that.
The next morning her whole apartment building was buzzing with the news. The neighbors had found him lying in his apartment unconscious from an overdose. The ambulance arrived in time to save him, but he would be in the hospital for a while.
Would she go visit?
No, visiting would make it worse for him, or maybe just for her. By not visiting, she might finally be able to convince him that it was over. She was going on with life. That it did not and would not include him was something he would have to choose to live with for himself.
December 30th, 2006
“Sin will kill you!”
I was pretty sure the preacher was talking directly to me, at least he was pointing directly in my direction. It was my first time back in the church in over a month. There always seemed to be something that got in the way of my attendance. Maybe it was sin.
The little round preacher was bouncing up and down with excitement. His belly jiggled with each syllable of condemnation. “If you don’t change your ways now and quit all your sinful ways, the devil will drag you right down to hell with him.”
I pictured myself on a kind of “Chutes and Ladders” of salvation. If I smoked, I slipped down. If I attended church every time the doors opened, I climbed up. If I drank a beer while watching the game, back down I went. Sin really was a slippery slope
The more excited the preacher got, the more the audience participated. “You drunkards and druggies and homosexuals need to wise up and walk right. Sin has your days numbered.” The preacher seemed to have a particular dislike for the BIG sins. It was like those people had a direct chute to hell. Not once did I hear him condemn the speeders or cursers or procrastinators, but then those are little sins.
Through out his tirade against sin, the belly flailed around with the excited preacher.
He worked the crowd into a fury. All around me the congregation was on their feet clapping and spouting support. “You tell them brother.” “Go on!” “Amen!” They knew the importance of all those sinners finding their way to salvation.
Ever so slowly, the frenzy died down. The march against sin was over for now. The music stopped and the preacher stepped behind the mike. “Don’t forget tonight’s fellowship supper. There will be plenty of food there, so be sure to join us. I’ll be there. You can tell by looking at me that I like to eat and am not one to miss a meal.”
“Gluttony,” I coughed from behind my hand, but by then the congregation was speeding out of the parking lot trying to beat the Methodists to the nearest restaurant.
December 10th, 2006
