Journal Entries

I went shopping for a bathing suit Saturday. It’s always such a TREAT to go bathing suit shopping. Actually, it was an accident. I would NEVER intentionally leave my house with the sole intent of purchasing an article of clothing certain to make me cringe, shriek, cover myself with my arms, and dissolve into tears. (And that’s just in the dressing room.) Which explains why my one-and-only bathing suit is fifteen years old. And, according to my sons, not in style in any known decade. But it fit. Kind of. The only problem was the seat had this big rip in it. Now, in my opinion, although my sons would differ, I did a really good job of sewing up the six-inch gash in the seat. In case you’re wondering, it ripped when I got snagged on a submerged tree limb while tubing with our church youth group. Let’s just say I got “hung up” for awhile. This was a source of enormous merriment to the teenagers in our youth group who offered no help at all, probably because they were too busy doubled over laughing. (Okay, YOU try to get out of a wet inner tube while your rear […]

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There’s a five-foot inflatable palm tree in my bathtub–and I don’t know why. There’s a bowl of cookie dough hardening in my refrigerator–and I didn’t put it there. I have colored beads, foam visors, sawed off dowel sticks, leather shoe strings, glue, and multi-colored baskets scattered among three days worth of dirty dishes on my kitchen counter. I spent most of last week making imitation Torah scrolls out of sawed-off broomsticks and discount wallpaper. My house is torn upside down, we haven’t eaten a decent meal in days—and I’m wearing a toga. It’s Vacation Bible School week. Our theme is: “The World of Jesus.” Our whole family is involved. My daughters-in-law are teaching the two-year-old class, my youngest son is the videographer, and I’m helping out in the make-believe synagogue. My husband is the ringleader, dressed in an authentic outfit our son sent him from the middle east. This educated, intelligent, man leads songs each night along the lines of “I’m A Big Green Frog And God Loves Me.” Our grandkids “helped” all weekend by running through the church chasing each other and screaming–while we tried to decorate. The most children we’ve ever had at VBS is 121. That was […]

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So, there I was, leaving Wal-mart’s parking lot, waiting for traffic to clear. Close on my left was a young Amish man, sitting in his horse and buggy, in clothes my great-great grandfather would have worn.The Amish are new to our area, and we’ve not yet grown used to them, or to the sight of their black buggies swaying down the highway. It feels rather like a rare and exotic animal has moved into our midst. We watch them covertly and marvel at their living habits. (I was captivated by the sight, a few weeks ago, of an Amish man perusing Walmart’s extensive shampoo selection. He stood a very long time, reading labels, in his black hat and beard. I concluded that Amish men like to have shiny, bouncy hair, too!) Anyway, while waiting for the traffic to clear, I caught a glimpse into the buggy, and did a double take. There, plastered all over the inside front, was a picture of Jeff Gordon, along with other NASCAR memorabilia. Emblazoned above Jeff Gordon’s face were large, reflective, press-on letters proclaiming “Git R Done!” Obviously, this Amish man has some issues. While trotting down the highway at five mph staring at […]

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