House Hunters.

We’re going to be on the HGTV show House Hunters! HOW do these things happen?!!
Simple “How to” list:
1. Email the producer. Describe our musical family and throw in a few jokes as well.
2. Answer the producer’s phone calls: be funny, witty, and try not to gush.
3. Prepare and enter our own home video: complete with children, jumpolines and a Top 10 List.
4. Answer the producer’s phone calls: Be funny, witty and try to sound as if producers call us all the time.
5. Sign a release form. Develop a meaningful relationship with the fax machine.

And after that? Well, we’ll let you know! They’ll be here on Wednesday to begin filming!

T-minus 12 and counting.

Chlorine.

I found leftover chemicals for a pool that’s been gone for 3 years. The directions clearly state: can be safely rinsed down the drain.

Safely?

Just ask my husband and his friend Peter, who now refer to Friday as “the day my wife tried to kill us.”

I began rinsing and pouring said chemical at a very slow rate. Less than 3 cups had poured out of my 2 gallong container, when trouble first appeared.

Series of cataclysmic events as best I remember them:
Clogged drain.
Get pokey thing. Poke said clog.
Drain runs for nanosecond.
Clogged drain. Again.
Eyes watering. Senses blurring.
Get plunger.
Firmly pack all powdered chlorine into pipe.
Eyes watering. Senses blurring. See image of Gandolf in the utility sink.
Asphyxiate anything moving in the laundry room… including Gandolf.
Call for husband and husband’s brave friend.
Bail. Plead for mercy on the court.
Watch He-Men bravely attack drain issue.
Clear path for He-Men to bolt thru garage and suck wind from mother earth.
Taste and smell nothing for nearly 5 hours.
Treat everyone involved to dinner.
Cheat death and live to fight another day.

catalyst.

last week i was at a conference with 12,000 of my closest friends. it was held in an arena which is latin for: giant people bowl.

we had gotten excellent seats. front row. on the floor. near the sweat. during one session i went to the restroom. which involved walking up 70 steps. that's right- no restroom on the main floor. it was a 70 step hike to the mezzanine, which is latin for: only fools sit on the main floor.

at the end of my restroom break i waited at the top of the steps. the session was ending. and then it happened: the break. and 12,000 of my closest friends were headed up the steps right at me. i plastered myself against the wall as they began to pass. i remembered how much i loved my husband who was on the main floor and whom i would likely never see again.

my moment came. 2 incredibly large men joined me near the wall. they too wanted to descend to the bowl! i listened and waited. and when they saw a space in the onslaught of people they took it. they began walking against the current. and i, like a vapor, attached myself stealthily to them.

it was working! i was going to make it down the steps! i had successfully spirited myself into the wake of those brave leaders before me.

and... after 4 rows... they ducked into their seats... row 4... with 66 rows left to go... these giant men were gone like the vapor i had tried to be. and i stood facing a large amount of bowl people prepared to tackle me.

i ducked into their row. row 66. smiled as if i wasn't terrified. and waited out the storm.

note to self: if you're going to follow, know how far your leader is going.

meltdown.

it was bound to happen. hard drive meltdown.

failure.

crash.

we use such terminal words to refer to this technology. very real, human words applied to this beloved family member of mine.

even in repairing it, mr. mr. referred to 'saving it'.

hope for a resurrection

transplant.

the most interesting part of it all is how nonplussed i was by the whole event.

my computer. my data. my work.

and mr. mr. more consumed with the failure than i.

i like him a lot.

Red dress.

A little over 40 years ago, so the story goes, my mom tried on a new dress. She had gone to town with dad and they had stopped at a department store just to look.

Now before we go too far I should let you know that 'going to town' was a significant event. Our family farm was located nearly an hour from the nearest real town. Buying anything, especially a dress, was not a casual event.

So mom tried on the dress. A red dress. She came out of the changing room to show dad. She was pretty. Real pretty. Dad encouraged her to buy the dress. But instead she looked at the tag. She crumbled. It was far more than she was expecting, and far more that she thought they could spend.

She said no.

He said, "Listen, if we can't afford the dress, if money gets that tight... then we'll just have to increase what we give away."

What? Seriously? Yep. Give it away.

Dad did not believe that everything he gave to the church, God would return in exact dollar amounts.

But he did believe that if he gave generously to the Lord, then the Lord would provide for them.

Sometimes the Lord even provided a Red Dress.