Tuesday, March 31, 2015


I usually miss the official spring service of The Messiah.  But not on purpose.  I grew up hearing my Daddy practicing the music as he prepared for the yearly Easter event at our church. Humming, whistling or just bursting out with a word here or there.  Wonderful.  Counselor.  He loved to sing. And he loved to improvise on the piano in his own special method.  Having played in the band, he knew music but I don't know if he ever took piano lessons.

I'm not up with the roosters.  I'm up with those earliest of morning birds.  My favorite morning birds bursting with the joy in a dark morning.  I don't know what wakes them up but you could set your watch by them.

When I was little, for some reason, I would wake up in the middle of the dark early morning which seems to be the darkest time of day.  I was wide awake and afraid, probably because every noise in the night had to have a reason and I would lie in bed trying to figure out in my nine year old mind what caused the noise.

One particular morning I was terrified.  I woke up and thought a man was crouched in the shadow at the end of my twin bed.  I had a foot board so I couldn't see but I had hung a small hat at the top of the short poster.  It may sound funny now but  I was scared beyond scared.  I couldn't decide what to do.  I could see the man and he wasn't moving and he wasn't leaving.  Of course, my mind probably couldn't reason enough to realize a real person couldn't crouch in this position forever and especially not breathing!

After what seemed an eternity of not moving my own position, I came up with a plan.  I can hear my trembling voice as if I were saying the words right now.  I didn't want anyone to be hurt and I wanted him to leave. Most of all, as a fan of too many detective movies, I knew I didn't want to see his face.  You have to believe me when I say I had been waiting a long time figuring this out.  This person's knees were most likely permanently frozen into place.  But I didn't know that.  I knew I wanted my Daddy.

I yelled out into the dark.  "STAY DOWN! STAY DOWN!  I don't want to see your face.  STAY DOWN!  STAY DOWN!"  Of course my plan had not gone much farther as to who would leave the room first.  Well, he didn't move.  In the background, I could hear the first early bird beginning to chirp.  To this day, I love that sound of morning around the corner.  And then another different bird.  I cried out again so loud I hoped my father would wake up and hear me.

He came hurrying down the hall, opened the door and turned on the light, running to my side.  What was wrong?  Of course, then all my bravery of resisting the man at the foot of the bed gave way to tears, finally.  My father picked up the cap on the poster, holding it up to show me.  He didn't laugh at me because he could see it wasn't funny.

How blessed to have a father who would come running to me, in the dark as I cried out, too scared to move.  And how wonderful to have a Heavenly Father perching The Early Bird on a branch near my window, reminding me it may be dark now but morning light is just around the corner.  And a chorus of morning birds singing Hallelujah, The Prince of Peace.

Monday, March 30, 2015


That kind of day.  Barely awake, lying in bed hearing a drip, just a little drip.  Maybe the lavatory handle wasn't tight enough.  Rolled out of bed to go check the handle.  The faucet was dry.  Back to bed.  Little bitty slow drip, drip, drip.  Almost slow enough to fall back asleep between drips. But they are a worrisome thing.  My mind woke up a little more and questioned my tub faucet might be dripping.  Nothing.  But the difference now was I had turned on the light and I chanced to look up and see the slowly darkening circle of a drip producing factory.  Made in America.  A second floor present just for me.

One can bathe fairly quickly under the threat of anything collapsing.  I did.  The circle was starting to bulge just a little.  I got dressed and hurried to the kitchen to hunt for breakfast.  My kitchen looked like every counter top at the house of waffles after Garth Brooks fans  headed for a snack, waiting in line for hours to squeeze into the little orange booths.  There maybe were enough coffee cups but dishes and silverware were flying left and right.  This happened to me recently.  Somehow I discovered a plate I thought was clean, while I was eating my second meal.  It had been washed for the dishwasher and placed in the rack.  I'm not too sure about a couple of utensils. Good thing I was not entertaining.

Since a pecan waffle was just a dream, an egg for breakfast sounded like a winner.  I like protein in the morning.  A couple of scrambled eggs cooked in sufficient butter (a personal choice/dilemma). Slowly cooked and gently turned to produce a soft cooked eggliterian delight, my daughter's favorite. If I weren't so lazy at the moment, I would share photos of my technique.  Oven toast is a family necessity although 7 out of 9 people pop their toast from a toaster which usually hangs around on the counter scattering old bread crumbs.  We prefer a 350 degree oven for nine minutes, pre-buttered with good bread.  We keep butter in an old silver plate butter dish on the counter.  My theory is that I use less butter when it is not cold from the fridge.  Anyway, quick and easy.

And then I remembered the egg carton incident of the previous evening when I considered breakfast for dinner.  Brinner.  Best dinner ever even without bacon.  Or the highly anticipated frozen sausage biscuits I purchased just for a treat.  Once again, breakfast is one of my favorite meals at any time of the day.  But the kitchen gremlin was just getting started and someone left the box out on the counter all day.  But of course, if the counter top had not resembled a commercial kitchen counter I would have seen the the biscuits.  Which was probably when I discovered the egg incident.

Your mother always tells you to check for broken eggs because you don't want those kind of cartons.  And that is what happened.  Like an apple, busted eggs can ruin the whole bunch.  And that was it for any hope of eggs until my next grocery trip.  I didn't bother to put the eggs down the sink because the kitchen gremlin was making me wonder what I would do about supper.  I did tie the carton up in its own bag and place it in my plastic trash can.

But over night that same gremlin put a whole in the bag and in the morning I had pre-scrambled eggs oozing in the bottom of the bin.  Trade off to another bag and as much cleaning as I could muster, being in a hurry by now.  Water, Fantastic and dish detergent.  No bleach because I was already dressed for the day.  I heated up a cup of yesterday's coffee for breakfast.  Breakfast of female heads of state.

Out the door to the manager to let them know about the leak.  Thankfully, my newest splurge (but not daily!) was on my side of the rush hour traffic.  Easy in and out.  I ordered my Tall Caffe Latte and added one pack of sugar for a hint of breakfast nourishment.  Their coffee ($) is so good I can understand why I haven't picked up this habit. One of my favorite people, never known to be extravagant, was addicted to this caffeine laced product.  It was always a shock to see him walking around with a cup in his hand.  But I now realize his sensibility was based on having that perfect treat and after all, he was a professor who did deserve  sustenance when dealing with students all day long.

No more excitement for the day until I decided to finally go shopping for a bath pillow to go with my newest, highly anticipated bubble bath just arrived from HSN.  My doorbell rang three times that afternoon, quite the oddity these days.  But now I could take a nice, relaxing bath to hopefully induce sleep, but not in the tub.  And the leak was fixed so I didn't have to worry about upstairs being downstairs.

I was returning a teapot, big brand, red, to this store which also has a big red emblem, famous for delightful commercials.   At home, when I boiled the water the very first time and opened the spigot to pour the water into my cup of tea, I burned my finger.  Who would make a teapot used for boiling water without an insulated thing a my jig.  And especially, a brand of such aid to kitchen people.  I couldn't get over the sense of that matter.  And then I realized, I did buy such an implement.

Returned the pot but no adequate replacement, now so eager to search of a bath pillow for my weary bones.  I walked all over. Towels, beauty products, back and forth.  How hard can it be?  One employee just said he didn't know and walked away.  Another employee fiddled with his walkie talkie for about three minutes but couldn't make contact with the other world.  I said, no bother.  I'll look again.  And I walked back to the linen area.  But of course, it is hard to find something when all of the pegs are empty.  Why would seven pegs for bath pillows be empty?  I had enough.  Between the sneaky teakettle and the disappearing bath pillows.

Next stop to a nearby store.  I knew they would have the best pillow known to exist because they always go beyond the norm to supply bed and bath products.  This store is like a candy shop and container store for women.  I think I saw a man in the bridal registry department, once, questioning his ability to really share in anything he might want for a wedding present, except bar ware.

No dilly dally for me.  The sun was setting and every joint was reminding me to be on the lookout for the superb bath pillow selection.  The man who works in this area knows his merchandise which is what I initially meant to mention but the eggs messed up my train of thought.  Good service is impossible to find except for the nice people in this store.  They go beyond the norm to try and find what you are looking for.  Retail therapy blog will have to wait.

And so will the pillow.  Even Mr. BBB was amazed at the run on bath pillows.  It makes you wonder.  Someday soon, I will find what I am looking for.  I guess the winter/summer/winter weather phenomena has take over and all those hot baths will soon make a run for hand lotion.  I bet Upstairs has a nice bath pillow.  I just don't want anymore sloshing leaks.  I thought about getting one of those fancy bath trays that reaches across the tub.  But this one had a wine glass holder, a tapered candle holder and a book holder.  That's alot of stuff to hang over my bath water.  The wine would be steamed, and I can't read by one little candle.  Besides, I have another story about reading dry books over wet surfaces.  Maybe when my pillow arrives, I'll share.