Nebraska just won. Whew. The games aren’t pretty, but we’re getting the job done, eh? I really like that new QB, but his team could stand to catch a few of the balls he throws them. Not that I should be posting things about football. I’ll leave that to my husband who knows all the right terms and things.
I should start with last night. I pre-made as much as I could for the brunch – muffins, cut some fruit, mixed the eggs together, etcetera. I didn’t really think this would take much. Two hours? But then, I also ironed the linens for the table, the napkins too. I set the table so it would be all together for today. And I started to reach melt-down level. Not because of the heat, though it was warm. Not because of the impending nature of hosting people we only sort of know and with whom we hope to make excellent conversation. No, it was because it took FOREVER. The mixing and baking and mixing and cleaning and cutting and preparation took twice as long as it should’ve. I blame the lack of counter space and the fact that I have no dishwasher.
Currently I’m reading Nick Hornby’s “How to be Good.” I love his stuff. I’m guessing any of you who know me well know that I am in love with “About a Boy.” I don’t like this one as much, but it’s very much a good read. Not that I’m endorsing it, for all of you who are offended by language or coarseness, of which there is not an overwhelming amount, but enough to make fourteen-year-old church goers wonder if I am a Christian for liking something so debased. Anyway, the book has a Healer (you know the kind…hippie, poor, dirty) and he doesn’t believe in using dishwashers. He moves in with the narrator (not in a sordid way) and proclaims that he will not use a dishwasher until everyone has one because he doesn’t think it’s right that rich Londoners have when others have not. I am one of those have-nots and I am both grateful for this hippie’s stand and outraged that he wouldn’t use it. I’ll tell you that as soon as I have one, I will not hold out until you also have one (although, I’m guessing you already do. you do, don’t you? DON’T YOU?!).
So, this morning after going to bed close to 1am (due to the dishes and preparing and all) I get out of bed at 7 and prepare for a women’s thing. It was banal. I nodded off. I will not join, for reasons other than boredom. Reasons more like these:
1. Should I join the ‘small group’ women’s deal, it will preclude my involvement in a church women’s ministry and isn’t that the point? why get together with “seminary wives” simply because we are all “married to seminary students”. Why get together and bemoan our fate of cloistered husbands? Why not go minister to women who are dealing with things other than “I don’t get to see my wonderful, godly husband” and “my needs are being met” and “pay attention to me. me. me.” These are not the things women should get together and “share” or “pray for”. These are things that should not be allowed to bloom. Die to self, woman! Die to self!
2. The program for self study means you read 16 books (in four years) and write a one page report on each. I could not imagine this. It is beyond me. Should I be outside of myself and surrounded by small children and a person who required external motivation or who even responds to external motivation, I might find this quaint or wonderful. I find it trite and mocking. This is because I read. I read quite a lot, actually and I certainly don’t need someone to motivate me to read sixteen books. Good night, I’ve read more than that since we’ve moved here a little over a month ago. Granted, they weren’t necessarily theologically based, but when Jud says “this book is really good”, I’ll read that one. When Jud says, this book is dry, but worthwhile, I’ll read that one (probably slowly, but I’ll get it done). But to have some bizarre program involving no real work and the adult equivalent of gold stars and happy faces? No thank you. I stopped memorizing scripture for Lisa Frank notebooks in 5th grade.
3. The decorations were appalling. Purple, silver, pink and red. All in full glory. It hurt to see it all. Poor font choices. Poor “brochures” though I use it loosely. (I realize this is not a real reason. I realize that this reveals an ugly part of myself that is snobbish and rude. Though you should know I didn’t say these things out loud to anyone but Jud, and you will keep my secret, right Internet? Yes. I am a snob. A women’s ministries snob. I can’t help it. I’ve been spoiled.)
Okay, so after sitting through 2 1/2 hours of this, I finally got to leave and go prepare my home for the brunch (which was rescheduled to 1pm in order to accommodate the women’s ministries event and a GES thing that Jud went to where JB Bond and Bob Wilkin were). The meal went really well, although one attendee was a vegetarian, I was glad to have the egg casserole and the fruit because I don’t think she eats white flour either. I love this woman. She is very sweet, beautiful and great at conversation and I certainly don’t want to sound like I don’t like her as a human being, because that isn’t the case. But I must say that it seems like more and more people in my life have food allergies, life choices and aversions to things that 10 years ago no one but burnt out Californians cared about. Of course, these people would argue that’s why the cancer rate has sky rocketed and why I will die from my body loosing feeling — because of all the petroleum in my lotion. Yes. That must be it. Petroleum.
Actually, my too cute for words doctor, whose husband does play by play announcing for Texas Tech (he’s headed to Lincoln in a few weeks and she was telling me about how he said there is nothing quite like being in Lincoln on a Saturday in the fall), has set up an MRI or MRA or both to look at my brain and see if I’ve had a TIA or if I have MS. WebMD, you were right! Though, my doctor says she doubts either of these and there is probably absolutely no way of diagnosing this and despite the fact that it wasn’t the very first episode, it’s probably just a fluke. I’d much rather live in that world than the one where I’m getting tested for MS. Those letters are awfully scary when placed side by side and capitalized. I totally doubt it anyway (although when looking at my photo id badge for work before I left for this appointment, I was sure I could see my left side drooping. The more I looked, the more evidence I saw of a stroke. While driving I realized that the picture was taken a full week before the episode. So, as it turns out, the left side of my face has always drooped. What I should really be hoping for is a mini-stroke for the left side of my brain so that my right side will droop proportionately to the natural droop on the left.)
Goodness this post got long. I’ll stop. Because Nick Hornby wants me to come read some more and I always do what he says.
the tamarisk tree 