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dolls.

19 Jun
Today, I learned about dolls.
China dolls.  German and French-made dolls.
I sat at a care center and thumbed through a quarterly publication for doll collectors.  Pat, the member I was visiting, has photos of her dolls interspersed with photos of her family members tacked on the bulletin board in her room.  She has hundreds of dolls.  She used to go to doll conventions.  She’s moving out of the care center at the end of this week, and moving in with her daughter and son-in-law.
Are you ready to move?, I asked.
I’m excited to see my dolls, she replied.  You’ll have to come visit and see them.  If only you could shrink to doll size then you could stay even longer and play.
We learned about the bleuette doll specifically.  I read captions to photos of the doll from the collector’s magazine but lots of the words were in French, as bleuette dolls were made in France for French girls.
Oh, Pat, I don’t speak French, I said as I found French words in front of me.
Congratulations, you’ve just started to learn, was her reply.
She’s funny.  And as I left I told her she was a blessing and a joy.  She made my [long] day.

story of my life.

5 Nov
Source: pete.com via Lindsay on Pinterest

Here’s what I know –

1 Nov
I made myself wait until November 1st – that’s today – to put Elf in the dvd player.  I nearly watched it last week but held off.  Now, dare I say, I’m ready for snow and to put up my Christmas tree.  [I’ve never been such a Christmas-so-early person.  People change.]  Just call me a cotton-headed-ninny-muggin.  [Elf only needs a full forty minutes of sleep a night.  Oh how I wish.]
I want to buy this water bottle.  Not because I need a new water bottle but because it’s Matt Damon holding it and promoting it for his new non-profit, water.org.  He’s my favorite.  
I painted my bedroom yesterday; photos to follow as the room comes together.  But know that I love it!
I bought bar stools to go with my bar height game table in the great room.  They arrived today via amazon and … they’re too tall.  Boo.  [Silly me to guess that a bar table would need bar height stools.  Wrong.]  Now to find someone with carpentry skills to shorten them for me?
I had two families of trick-or-treaters last night [church people] and one random guy dressed as Jason who knocked aggressively on my door at 10:20.  10:20!  I did not answer but stared at him from the peephole until he got in the car and drove away.  Needless to say, it freaked me out.  Freaked me out.  Like he really wanted two boxes of nerds anyways.
“I love you.  I’ll call you again in five minutes.”
“Buddy, you don’t have to call me again.”
“Good idea.  You call me.”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“I PAINTED A PICTURE OF A BUTTERFLY!”

lutefisk.

18 Oct
The day arrived – First Lutheran’s annual lutefisk dinner.  
I wore my white shirt, black pants, and donned my red apron before the noon-time rush.  I received instructions for how to set the tables, when to get the lutefisk from the kitchen, and where to find the lefse.  I helped a few tables and then it was time – a table of my own.
It was fun.  I poured water, carried bowls of corn, and wore this [“I’m the new gal, and I’ve never tasted lutefisk!”] paperclipped to my shirt, courtesy of Pastor Charlie [of First in Blooming – formerly of Salem in Montevideo] –

jD served the noon rush as well and Pastor Charlie made him a little label too, something to the tune of “I’m the new guy.  What does it taste like?”  Once we were done serving the lunch crew, the workers got to dine.  And this girl had to try lutefisk.  It was time to prove the paper on my shirt wrong. The white substance between the cranberry salad and the mashed potatoes.  This was my lunch time plate:

[suspense builds]  I went to the lutefisk supper tonight too.  A couple from ROG had invited me as their guest and when a congregation member invites me somewhere, I get excited and hate to turn it down.  And so I ate another meal in Blooming.
People asked me lots, “Well.  How was it?”
“I tried some at noon.  And didn’t have any more tonight.”

Enough said.

The texture was funky.  Not quite fish jello but not quite appetizing either.  I didn’t even eat the entire piece that you see in the photo, which is quite pathetic to the strong Lutherans who filled their plates – literally filled their plates – with the white questionable stuff.  
But I tried it.  Check that off the forced bucket list.

they’re onto me.

10 Oct
Yesterday at coffee hour, I stood chatting with a group of women.  One of them commented on how pretty my ring was.  It was a blue/green middle-finger ring day.
A second woman commented on how I wear a lot of rings.
Yup, I said.  And the bigger the better.
Then the third woman piped up.  Rings AND scarves.

Shut the front door.  They’re onto me.
Once they pick up on the cardigans, I’m done for.  
I also had a man tell me that I could only ever get rid of my dog if I found a man.
Excuse me?
We won’t get into that right now.

drugs.

29 Sep
I went to the care center in Austin this afternoon to visit a couple congregation members.  The first one – we’ll call him Steve – and I had never met.  I probably looked a bit lost, peering into his room to see if he was there.  Luckily [maybe?] the chaplain of the care center who I met yesterday at text study was just across the hall in another room.
Are you looking for Steve?, she asked me, walking into the hallway.
Who’s that?, yelled the woman in the room across the hall.
She’s another pastor, explained the chaplain.  
Is she on drugs too?
No, she’s not on drugs, the chaplain answered immediately.
On that note, we walked away and the chaplain took me to where Steve was hanging out with his wife and in-laws.  End scene.
My first instinct was to laugh but the chaplain kept a straight face so I managed too.  My second reaction was to ask, well, who else is on drugs?  And third, I wanted to ask this chaplain, whom I had only met once briefly in a larger group of people, what made her so sure that I wasn’t on drugs …

a wedding & a werewolf.

7 Aug
The day had arrived.  Friends Krissy and Matt were to be married and I was the one doing the ceremony.  It was my first official wedding I had officiated and the first time I’d ever signed a marriage license.  It was a full day leading up to the wedding at 6pm.  We had rehearsal in the backyard of Krissy’s parent’s house [where the wedding would take place – a beautiful yard with a pond] in the late morning and from that point on, it seemed I was on child duty.  There were seven [yes.  seven.] children under the age of eight in the ceremony and they needed lunch, naps, tuxes, and guidance for pictures.  There is just something about small short children in tuxes – they look like such little men.  Oh for cute.
three of the seven.
The wedding began only a few minutes late, complicated by a processional song that was not quite the one the bride had picked out and a few issues with the aisle runner.  Krissy and Matt stood before me and in front of one hundred family and friends who had gathered for the occasion.  Things were going well.
Except one of the bride’s sons walked up the aisle with a major attitude attached.  I’m not sure what had happened and I was too focused on Krissy and Matt to see what he was doing during the ceremony.  Crouched on the ground between the best man and the groom, he dug in the dirt with a stick and apparently, at one point, shoved grass down his brother’s shirt.  There was something more about dirt and throwing.  It didn’t much matter because, as if that didn’t distract the bride and groom and assembly enough, there was more.
Right around the time of the vows and rings, a mangy old Husky dog wandered into the ceremony and right up to where the bridal party stood.  This thrilled the children who were standing up front – they went right to petting the questionable dog and scratching his stomach.  I see this happening – as does everyone else present – and I can’t hold it together.  There’s a flippin’ dog to my left who just appeared and is now enjoying the attention.  And I’m almost worried the dog might hurt the kids.  What do I do?!  I stare at my papers and try to focus.  Laughter exploded once more when Evan, always a Twilight fan [thanks to his mother’s influence], asks, in reference to the dog, “Is it a werewolf?!”  I can’t even look at the bride and the groom because they are stifling laughter.  This was a point when ad-libbing and throwing a joke in would be good – but I’m just horrid on my feet.  Something to learn and grow.

But the wedding happened, surprise guest and all.  [It’s a neighbor’s dog, I guess.  He heard the party happening and wanted to see what was up.]  The wedding happened, Krissy and Matt are legally married, and the reception was fun.  The dinner and dance was held in a tent right next to where we had the ceremony.  I’ll admit I was skeptical when she said they were having their reception in a tent but it was  an awesome tent.  A Harry Potter tent, as Allen would call it.  There was dancing, a fireworks display, and bubble blowing.  The combination of champagne and the bouncy house only caused one bridesmaid to get sick.  [Just one!  Victory.]  A party rock anthem, sweet caroline, and both nsync and lady gaga.  I had a great time with Banana Lynn and Kyle, Allen, Timmy, and David – friends I don’t see all too often.  I am never opposed to the attention and affection my protective male friends from high school give me including dances aplenty, a “lover’s stroll” around the pond [with five others], and a few “sweetheart” and “darling” pet names; it was good and fun and I love them all.  
Next Banana wedding: Lynn and Kyle’s in September.  This is one where I’m joining pastoral forces with another pastor and will be delivering the message.  Wooten!  Can’t wait!

a gift.

26 Jul
I was showered upon with hugs, prayers, cards, love, and gifts at my ordination.  [yeah, yeah, yeah, lindsay.  you’ve mentioned this before.]  It’s true.  I want to share one of these gifts with you.  It’s one that came wrapped like this:
The same way in which I wrapped Lori’s ordination gift from Grace last year with old, old bulletin covers that still hang out in the copy room.  They’ve come in handy!  [I still remember carrying the ugly, tacky box into Lori’s church and putting it on the floor by all the other gifts.  The preaching pastor for the ordination, one Pastor Mary, was standing nearby and she sincerely complimented me on the wrapping.  “Oh.  Oh!  That’s so nice.  Wonderful.”  Really, Pastor Mary?]
Inside of this box I unwrapped while sitting on the grass outside, surrounded by the Grace folks and others intrigued by such folly [I probably attracted over by reading the card aloud with such emphasis and emotion.], were many things.  Many things.  Not pictured are the gifts from the 50th anniversary of Grace that happened this past June.  A cookbook, notecards, and an ornament.  Super cool.  Then there were these things –
A bat catcher.  Something every church/pastor needs.  [What will I do when I don’t have a Batman to catch the bats at Red Oak Grove?!]

A “cooky” pastry press.  Lynn showed me how to use it.  It’s for ladyfingers, eclairs and more.

A purple gingham apron, a piece of really strange red and green fabric, a purse/pocketbook thing [for church keys, I guess], and a new sewing book.
And, naturally, new cardigans.  Three to be precise.  A light pink, fleece gray, and a knit pink.  They’re only slightly sketchy and likely need to be washed.  [Courtesy of the thrift store in Dawson and excellent thrifting done by the staff.]
Good job, Grace.  Good job.

latest pinterest favs.

4 Jul

I think I’m going to spray paint nearly everything in my new home.  Do we think folding chairs would chip easily?  Would a spray paint primer work best first?  [I think I’m going to learn so much about spray painting nearly everything in my new home.]  These colors actually match my plates and the bowls that I drool over and will eventually buy …

This just makes me smile.  Look at her cubby knees!

Source: etsy.com via Lindsay on Pinterest

Oh, C.S. Lewis …

Maybe this can be a project for the week.  I need some organization of my thread and bobbins.

an over-exaggerated story.

2 Jul
We all have things that we’re afraid of and things that we dread happening.  Tragedy strikes unexpectedly and bad things do happen to good people.  We don’t have answers why, but often only more questions.
I realized one of my greatest [over-exaggerated] fears yesterday.  There I was.  Sitting in the non-air conditioned lobby of a ten-minute oil change business, filled with the odor of oil and the slow hustle of the greasy employees.  Sprocket [my car.  full name: Sprocket Automatron.  thanks for that, Sara.] was overdue for an oil change so I finally set my mind to drive to Janesville and get it done.  [after coaxing myself that a. I really needed to drop off a fedex package too and b. I could then see what was on sale at Joann’s.]  
I pulled Sprocket in at the awkward hand directions of an employee and left her to his whim as I took a chair and turned on my kindle.  [Jane Austen kick continues.  Northanger Abbey is the current read.]  As I sat reading, an employee approached the woman next to me and began listing off all the things that are “wrong” with her vehicle, the urgency of the repairs, and costs involved.
My breath shortened.  I found myself unable to read anymore.  I likely stared awkwardly at the exchange between the woman and the technician.  The technician – oh the nerve – even brought with him the air filter from her car to show the dirt and grime that had built up.
I started to bite my fingernails, waiting for when it would be my turn to speak with the technician about the state of Sprocket.  When situations like that occur, it makes me feel a couple different ways.  First, I feel like I’m a poor car owner who doesn’t care properly for my Sprocket.  I want to care for Sprocket in the best ways I can and when someone tells me that things are wrong, I let Sprocket down.  I let myself down.  Second, I feel like the technician calling me out in front of all the other people in the waiting area is unnecessary.  They don’t need to know my car’s mechanical diagnosis.  I wish they would pull me aside.  Third, I don’t have a job.  I can’t pay for extensive work or improvements, and when they tell me that such things are needed, it hits me hard knowing that I can’t provide easily for my Sprocket.
One of my greatest [over-exaggerated] fears may have been realized yesterday but it did not become reality.  Sprocket got through the appointment and oil transfusion nicely.  I felt like a proud car owner when the technician told me that the car seems to be in great working order.  I drove home sitting a little higher [literally – I adjusted my seat] yesterday, knowing that all is well with Sprocket for the time being.
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