"That’s all that’s left of a life," my sister-in-law said yesterday. "A mound of dirt, fading flowers, and memories."
We were standing beside her mother’s grave, most of the people having gone home and the cemetery guy in his overalls pottering around raking up the last of the dirt.
As a minister’s wife in a church with a large percentage of elderly people, I am used to funerals. I have family and friends who haven’t been to a funeral in probably 15 years, and I can’t imagine. I have been at big funerals and small ones, funerals where we laughed and funerals where we cried and funerals where we did neither. I have seen what goes on behind the scenes, from making food for the meal afterward to stepping into the church nursery to nurse the baby and finding two black-suited funeral-home guys relaxing in the rocking chairs.
Most of these funerals have been for people who were no relation to me and who spent the last few years in a nursing home, which makes the final goodbye tinged with relief rather than deep grief. But in the last 6 months they have been closer to home.
Paul’s dad passed away in November. This time it was us on the receiving end of food and flowers, we who gathered to plan the funeral and who solemnly filed into the church in front of hundreds of people.
And yesterday we buried Geneva’s mom. Geneva, my brother Phil’s wife, is an only child, a weighty burden to bear at the best of times and a nearly-impossible load when one’s parents grow old and die. Her mom had such a bad heart that she couldn’t walk across the kitchen without gasping for breath, so a week and a half ago she had heart surgery. All went well for nearly a week, but then something went wrong, her heart stopped, and she was on life support until they shut down the machines the next day.
So there we were at the hospital, trying to be family for her because we realized that the whole weight of these decisions was on her and Phil. Should they pull the plug, first of all? Then, which funeral home, which casket, which day for the funeral, which songs, who should officiate?
Paul ended up calling the funeral home and working out arrangements for the service, bless him, since Geneva didn’t have any big brothers to do it.
The funeral was simple and nice and people told Irene goodbye and we buried her, and Geneva was left with, as she said, a mound of dirt, fading flowers, and memories.
And a lot more. What a blessing it is to those who come behind us to live a good life and die a good death. Everyone had good memories of Irene and knew that she had finished her work and was ready to go. No lingering doubts, no terrible shock, no nagging what-if’s. Just a gentle goodbye. What a gift.
Quote of the Day:
"I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself."
--Jesus
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
On Seekers and Such
Who would have thought that last post would generate such discussion?
First, to the ones who were troubled by the "judgmental" tone, your concerns may have merit because I genuinely disliked those "Amish" people I met. I was trying to be friendly to the mom, who was holding a baby. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Polite question about her children.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, say something to her teenagers off to the left.
Me: Polite question about where they live.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, talk to her teenagers.
Me: polite question about her husband’s work.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, talk to her teenagers.
It’s really hard to have a conversation with someone who won’t toss back the conversational ball.
My slightly-creepy feeling about all this was compounded by the fact that right beside us her teenage daughter was goofing off with her stepbrother in such an inappropriate way that it nearly made my skin crawl and the mom did nothing about it. It all seemed so incongruous with the whole Amish-imitation dimension.
So…afterwards I was trying to be charitable and see the humor of the situation but I willingly acknowledge that my motives were probably less than loving and I should examine my heart.
And, on another rabbit trail, I notice a few people use the term "seeker" for these folks. Having watched a long line of people from outside the Amish/Mennonite culture pass through the church, I feel that the term is often a misnomer.
As I see it:
True seekers genuinely want to live God’s way. The others are usually motivated by lofty visions of the "simple life."
True seekers think and pray long and hard about joining the Mennonite church. The others act on impulse and just as quickly grow disillusioned.
True seekers are willing to submit to a brotherhood even if things don’t always make sense to them. The others are determined to do things in their own way and on their own terms.
True seekers ask lots of questions and have a teachable spirit. The others tend not to listen to anyone.
True seekers wait a few years to establish credibility before they try to change anything in the church, and then they do it quietly and one-on-one. The others make a lot of noise, publicly, very soon after the disillusionment sets in.
As you may have guessed, I have found the "others" difficult to work with, and trying to help them feels like casting pearls before swine.
There are certainly true seekers who find that our church is not a good fit for them and leave amiably, but I wish to extend my admiration here to those who have successfully made the transition, most notably our friends TH, MH, and PL. I know it hasn’t been easy for them, and I think they ought to give Seeker Seminars, showing people how it’s done. In addition, they have all challenged me to a more genuine walk with God, and MH is a writer who has often encouraged me. Our church is better for having had them among us.
Quote of the Day:
"I wonder who ever came up with the theory that green beans are edible."
--Ben
First, to the ones who were troubled by the "judgmental" tone, your concerns may have merit because I genuinely disliked those "Amish" people I met. I was trying to be friendly to the mom, who was holding a baby. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Polite question about her children.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, say something to her teenagers off to the left.
Me: Polite question about where they live.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, talk to her teenagers.
Me: polite question about her husband’s work.
Lady: Answer the question, gooshy-goo to the baby, talk to her teenagers.
It’s really hard to have a conversation with someone who won’t toss back the conversational ball.
My slightly-creepy feeling about all this was compounded by the fact that right beside us her teenage daughter was goofing off with her stepbrother in such an inappropriate way that it nearly made my skin crawl and the mom did nothing about it. It all seemed so incongruous with the whole Amish-imitation dimension.
So…afterwards I was trying to be charitable and see the humor of the situation but I willingly acknowledge that my motives were probably less than loving and I should examine my heart.
And, on another rabbit trail, I notice a few people use the term "seeker" for these folks. Having watched a long line of people from outside the Amish/Mennonite culture pass through the church, I feel that the term is often a misnomer.
As I see it:
True seekers genuinely want to live God’s way. The others are usually motivated by lofty visions of the "simple life."
True seekers think and pray long and hard about joining the Mennonite church. The others act on impulse and just as quickly grow disillusioned.
True seekers are willing to submit to a brotherhood even if things don’t always make sense to them. The others are determined to do things in their own way and on their own terms.
True seekers ask lots of questions and have a teachable spirit. The others tend not to listen to anyone.
True seekers wait a few years to establish credibility before they try to change anything in the church, and then they do it quietly and one-on-one. The others make a lot of noise, publicly, very soon after the disillusionment sets in.
As you may have guessed, I have found the "others" difficult to work with, and trying to help them feels like casting pearls before swine.
There are certainly true seekers who find that our church is not a good fit for them and leave amiably, but I wish to extend my admiration here to those who have successfully made the transition, most notably our friends TH, MH, and PL. I know it hasn’t been easy for them, and I think they ought to give Seeker Seminars, showing people how it’s done. In addition, they have all challenged me to a more genuine walk with God, and MH is a writer who has often encouraged me. Our church is better for having had them among us.
Quote of the Day:
"I wonder who ever came up with the theory that green beans are edible."
--Ben
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Those Amish Wannabes
There is a strange new current running among the modern-day-hippie, back-to-nature, goat-in-the-backyard types, and that is to try to be Amish.
Back when my brothers were young and scoffed at as "dumb Dutch" in public school, it was inconceivable that someday the Amish would develop this mystique and romanticism among the "Englisch."
Some time ago, standing in line at Walmart, I saw a guy who was trying to look Amish. He had some major details all wrong, most notably the look on his face. I wanted to go tell him he looks way too pleased with himself to be a real Amishman.
A few days ago I met a whole family of this stripe. Bearded, suspendered man. Mom and daughter in white coverings and dresses with black aprons.
However, the whole effect was as incongruous as if I would decide to be Indian and try to wear buckskin, sit in a sweat lodge, and smoke peyote.
Mister had a striped shirt under his suspenders. The mom’s dress was much too short, and her and the daughter’s dirty, wrinkled kappa were vaschted over their buns.
My Amish aunts, who carefully starched and ironed their kappa on Saturdays, would have sat down in their rocking chairs and died before going out in public in anything so schlappich and flatschich.
In addition, both the mom and dad were divorced and remarried (verboten among the Amish of course) and the older daughter, who wore a scarf but wasn’t quite as "Amish," was dreadfully unladylike, unlike my cousin Lorene, who sat perfectly still all through Dawdy’s funeral in her neat black dress, with every hair in place and a careful candy-cane-shaped curl dripping down in front of each ear. (I was nine. Those curls were impressive.)
Conversing with the mom, I mentioned that I used to be Amish, a broad hint that she ought to ask this expert how she could be a little more authentic. Instead, she went into raptures about her new treadle sewing machine.
Ah well, it’s a free country, I guess. But my advice to the people who want to be Plain and Simple—not that I expect them to listen—is to wear bandanna scarves, order some jumpers from LLBean, read your Bible, and remember that cleanliness is next to Godliness. But pleeeeease don’t try to be Amish.
Quote of the Day:
"I just want you to know you’re invited to my funeral when I die."
--Jenny’s little friend Deana, to her friend Janane, when all the other little girls were inviting each other to their birthday parties
Back when my brothers were young and scoffed at as "dumb Dutch" in public school, it was inconceivable that someday the Amish would develop this mystique and romanticism among the "Englisch."
Some time ago, standing in line at Walmart, I saw a guy who was trying to look Amish. He had some major details all wrong, most notably the look on his face. I wanted to go tell him he looks way too pleased with himself to be a real Amishman.
A few days ago I met a whole family of this stripe. Bearded, suspendered man. Mom and daughter in white coverings and dresses with black aprons.
However, the whole effect was as incongruous as if I would decide to be Indian and try to wear buckskin, sit in a sweat lodge, and smoke peyote.
Mister had a striped shirt under his suspenders. The mom’s dress was much too short, and her and the daughter’s dirty, wrinkled kappa were vaschted over their buns.
My Amish aunts, who carefully starched and ironed their kappa on Saturdays, would have sat down in their rocking chairs and died before going out in public in anything so schlappich and flatschich.
In addition, both the mom and dad were divorced and remarried (verboten among the Amish of course) and the older daughter, who wore a scarf but wasn’t quite as "Amish," was dreadfully unladylike, unlike my cousin Lorene, who sat perfectly still all through Dawdy’s funeral in her neat black dress, with every hair in place and a careful candy-cane-shaped curl dripping down in front of each ear. (I was nine. Those curls were impressive.)
Conversing with the mom, I mentioned that I used to be Amish, a broad hint that she ought to ask this expert how she could be a little more authentic. Instead, she went into raptures about her new treadle sewing machine.
Ah well, it’s a free country, I guess. But my advice to the people who want to be Plain and Simple—not that I expect them to listen—is to wear bandanna scarves, order some jumpers from LLBean, read your Bible, and remember that cleanliness is next to Godliness. But pleeeeease don’t try to be Amish.
Quote of the Day:
"I just want you to know you’re invited to my funeral when I die."
--Jenny’s little friend Deana, to her friend Janane, when all the other little girls were inviting each other to their birthday parties
Sunday, May 08, 2005
Mother's Day
Paul gave me a porch swing for Mother’s Day. I was Slightly Suspicious (there’s good reason I have a Mom proverb that says, "Moms know everything") but I wasn’t positive. Then I got up early and peeked out the office window and there it was.
I went out there for my devotions and it was perfect. Russell Gerig has been here almost daily, re-siding the house, and it is looking exactly like I wanted it to look, like a 1911 porch and not a 2005 porch, solid and white. I decided if Jesus came and sat beside me on the swing I would really be in heaven. I am so blessed.
Japheth Stauffer, whom I knew at Stirland Lake, Ontario when he was a small child, sent me something he wrote for Mother’s Day. I want to share a condensed version with you:
As I grew up, Mother was always something of a fixture. Just as you get light by turning on a light switch, so when you would get a skinned knee, Mother was there. When I would wake up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, or get hurt feelings when someone at school said something that wounded me, Mother was always there. It never occurred to me to wonder if she would have liked to be somewhere else, or if she would like to work at the job she used to. I felt that God must have given my mother to me instead of the other way around.
It had never occurred to me that it was a real chore to get up in the middle of the night with me and that the only reason was because you loved me. I never considered that maybe you would have liked to have a career outside of our home but you chose instead to do with a little less. I never realized that naps were just as much for mothers as for children, and often you needed more than we would allow.
You would always hug me so tight, and I didn't know it was because you didn't want me to grow up too fast, or that you knew all too soon, I would be gone. Mother was always someone we came home to! I never thought what it must be like for her to see her brood grow up and go away. I never thought about these things, they just were!
How amazing it is when children rise up and, instead of calling for Mom to make breakfast, they call their mothers blessed. Today in his blog post Matt included a little tribute to his mom and acknowledged the gray hairs he’s given me. It’s so cool when children finally "get it," although I don’t think Matt will truly get it until, like Japheth, he becomes a dad.
And, in the midst of porch swings and tributes to moms, my heart breaks for a woman I know who just lost her daughter to suicide. The girl was such a sweet little thing back when she was Matt’s classmate and Paul’s student. Mothering can be the most glorious job on earth and the most hideously painful.
Quote of the Day:
"Mom, I’ve always been so happy about you, that you’re such a special mom."
--Jenny
I went out there for my devotions and it was perfect. Russell Gerig has been here almost daily, re-siding the house, and it is looking exactly like I wanted it to look, like a 1911 porch and not a 2005 porch, solid and white. I decided if Jesus came and sat beside me on the swing I would really be in heaven. I am so blessed.
Japheth Stauffer, whom I knew at Stirland Lake, Ontario when he was a small child, sent me something he wrote for Mother’s Day. I want to share a condensed version with you:
As I grew up, Mother was always something of a fixture. Just as you get light by turning on a light switch, so when you would get a skinned knee, Mother was there. When I would wake up in the middle of the night with a bad dream, or get hurt feelings when someone at school said something that wounded me, Mother was always there. It never occurred to me to wonder if she would have liked to be somewhere else, or if she would like to work at the job she used to. I felt that God must have given my mother to me instead of the other way around.
It had never occurred to me that it was a real chore to get up in the middle of the night with me and that the only reason was because you loved me. I never considered that maybe you would have liked to have a career outside of our home but you chose instead to do with a little less. I never realized that naps were just as much for mothers as for children, and often you needed more than we would allow.
You would always hug me so tight, and I didn't know it was because you didn't want me to grow up too fast, or that you knew all too soon, I would be gone. Mother was always someone we came home to! I never thought what it must be like for her to see her brood grow up and go away. I never thought about these things, they just were!
How amazing it is when children rise up and, instead of calling for Mom to make breakfast, they call their mothers blessed. Today in his blog post Matt included a little tribute to his mom and acknowledged the gray hairs he’s given me. It’s so cool when children finally "get it," although I don’t think Matt will truly get it until, like Japheth, he becomes a dad.
And, in the midst of porch swings and tributes to moms, my heart breaks for a woman I know who just lost her daughter to suicide. The girl was such a sweet little thing back when she was Matt’s classmate and Paul’s student. Mothering can be the most glorious job on earth and the most hideously painful.
Quote of the Day:
"Mom, I’ve always been so happy about you, that you’re such a special mom."
--Jenny
May Column
My Letter From Harrisburg is available at www.registerguard.com.
I have a list of people that I forward the column to each month. If you'd like to be added to this list (free of course) drop me a line at LetterFromHburg@juno.com.
Quote of the Day:
"It's not that they fight so much; it's just that I get tired of all the violence."
--anonymous mom, talking about her boys
I have a list of people that I forward the column to each month. If you'd like to be added to this list (free of course) drop me a line at LetterFromHburg@juno.com.
Quote of the Day:
"It's not that they fight so much; it's just that I get tired of all the violence."
--anonymous mom, talking about her boys
Saturday, May 07, 2005
Mouse
I love it when I’m right.
On Tuesday I went to town in the Radish, my red Taurus, and noticed that the kleenexes sticking out of the box in the front seat were all shredded, like a mouse had chewed them. "Probably Emily had a case of nerves after a hard day at school and sat there and tore up kleenexes on the way home," I figured before I discarded the torn tissues.
Two days later I drove to town again and again the kleenexes were shredded. Very strange. And I didn’t think any one had used the car in the meantime. "I think there’s a mouse in my car," I announced, but I don’t think anyone believed me.
I set a mousetrap next to the kleenexes and the next morning I looked and behold, a mouse was caught in it. Thankfully Ben doesn’t mind emptying mousetraps so he dispatched it for me in the fescue field. And the family knew that Mom was right after all with her strange suspicion.
It would have been nice to be wrong, in a way, because who wants a mouse in their car? (If this had been my sister-in-law Bonnie, and if the mouse had shown itself while she was driving, we would have found Bonnie and the car wrapped around a tree.)
But, as I said, it was nice to be right.
Quote of the Day:
"I gotta go get my hormones before I kill my children."
--Anonymous friend of mine (the one with dentures)
On Tuesday I went to town in the Radish, my red Taurus, and noticed that the kleenexes sticking out of the box in the front seat were all shredded, like a mouse had chewed them. "Probably Emily had a case of nerves after a hard day at school and sat there and tore up kleenexes on the way home," I figured before I discarded the torn tissues.
Two days later I drove to town again and again the kleenexes were shredded. Very strange. And I didn’t think any one had used the car in the meantime. "I think there’s a mouse in my car," I announced, but I don’t think anyone believed me.
I set a mousetrap next to the kleenexes and the next morning I looked and behold, a mouse was caught in it. Thankfully Ben doesn’t mind emptying mousetraps so he dispatched it for me in the fescue field. And the family knew that Mom was right after all with her strange suspicion.
It would have been nice to be wrong, in a way, because who wants a mouse in their car? (If this had been my sister-in-law Bonnie, and if the mouse had shown itself while she was driving, we would have found Bonnie and the car wrapped around a tree.)
But, as I said, it was nice to be right.
Quote of the Day:
"I gotta go get my hormones before I kill my children."
--Anonymous friend of mine (the one with dentures)
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Panic
For a non-teenager like myself, there's not much as frustrating as an uncooperative computer. Today, as some of you noticed, Life in the Shoe went completely blank. I fiddled and clicked, prayed and pounded, wished and begged. Nothing. I asked Paul for help. He couldn't do anything. Ooooooh nooooo all those posts gone and even worse all those nice comments. Weep.
Then I had the presence of mind to call on my friend Tom, a brilliant and helpful fellow over at Iced Tea Forever. (Tom, how do I link you?? Wanna comment and include your address?) "Republish the blog," he suggested. I did just that and it WORKED. Yessss!!!!!!! Applause, thanks, gratitude, relief.
Quote of the Day:
"Oh, a cat's life! Mom, do you know why I say, 'Oh, a cat's life!'? Because a cat's life is just wonderful. They can sleep whenever they want to; they don't have to ask before they cross the road; they can scratch and bite people whenever they want to and they never get punished; they can kill mice whenever they want to and they don't have to ask to go hunting."
--Jenny, who would actually hate being a cat because she couldn't talk all day
Then I had the presence of mind to call on my friend Tom, a brilliant and helpful fellow over at Iced Tea Forever. (Tom, how do I link you?? Wanna comment and include your address?) "Republish the blog," he suggested. I did just that and it WORKED. Yessss!!!!!!! Applause, thanks, gratitude, relief.
Quote of the Day:
"Oh, a cat's life! Mom, do you know why I say, 'Oh, a cat's life!'? Because a cat's life is just wonderful. They can sleep whenever they want to; they don't have to ask before they cross the road; they can scratch and bite people whenever they want to and they never get punished; they can kill mice whenever they want to and they don't have to ask to go hunting."
--Jenny, who would actually hate being a cat because she couldn't talk all day
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Public Speaking
I finally figured out why I like public speaking so much.
I average about one speech a month, but last week I gave two. The first was to the Junction City Business and Professional Women’s Club, about Kenya, and the second was to the ladies at the Spring Tea at the Mohawk Community Church, about Blooming Where You Are Planted.
(That same week, I also hosted birthday parties for Jenny and Matt and had an article deadline, which may be a clue why I was plotting a book about Mom’s Great Escape.)
Most people rank public speaking right up there with snakes as one of their greatest fears. Not me. I totally enjoy it. It energizes me, unlike shopping and planning meals.
Anyway, like I said, it finally dawned on me why I enjoy it so much. (Note here that I have three teenagers, all Smuckers.) I get up there to talk and everybody listens to me, no one interrupts, and no one argues. They all watch me with rapt attention, and nobody rolls their eyes or mutters, "That doesn’t make any sense." Afterward, they affirm that I had valuable things to say and ask if they can buy my book.
That’s why I love public speaking.
Quote of the Day:
Paul: Amy will need a special husband that won’t let her win all the arguments.
Emily: But but but what about me??
Paul: Oh, you will too.
Emily: Whew. I want to know I’m just as good of an arguer as Amy is.
I average about one speech a month, but last week I gave two. The first was to the Junction City Business and Professional Women’s Club, about Kenya, and the second was to the ladies at the Spring Tea at the Mohawk Community Church, about Blooming Where You Are Planted.
(That same week, I also hosted birthday parties for Jenny and Matt and had an article deadline, which may be a clue why I was plotting a book about Mom’s Great Escape.)
Most people rank public speaking right up there with snakes as one of their greatest fears. Not me. I totally enjoy it. It energizes me, unlike shopping and planning meals.
Anyway, like I said, it finally dawned on me why I enjoy it so much. (Note here that I have three teenagers, all Smuckers.) I get up there to talk and everybody listens to me, no one interrupts, and no one argues. They all watch me with rapt attention, and nobody rolls their eyes or mutters, "That doesn’t make any sense." Afterward, they affirm that I had valuable things to say and ask if they can buy my book.
That’s why I love public speaking.
Quote of the Day:
Paul: Amy will need a special husband that won’t let her win all the arguments.
Emily: But but but what about me??
Paul: Oh, you will too.
Emily: Whew. I want to know I’m just as good of an arguer as Amy is.
Monday, May 02, 2005
A Novel Idea
I have another idea for a novel. How about a story about a 42-year-old Mennonite minister’s wife who gets tired of feeling like she has to be all things to all people and…well, should she leave or resign or what?
I got started thinking about this when I read a book from the library about a 40-year-old woman with three snotty teenagers and a doctor husband who was at the beach with her family and without really thinking it through she took a walk down the beach and walked away from her life and went and started another life in another town. Of course, she soon replicated her former life as she took in a stray cat and then befriended a single mom and then took care of a boy whose mom left him and finally she had all the necessary epiphanies and ended up back with her husband.
Well, heaven forbid that I do anything like that but I think we all have our fantasies of escape when life gets stressful, like the bride that took off recently just before her wedding.
I think in my novel the leading character should leave her busy life to maybe go take care of her aging parents for a couple of months and there she will have all kinds of adventure and solve a mystery or two and have a great relaxing time and meet her old crush from high school and be relieved she didn’t marry him.
Meanwhile, back home, everyone will of course have all these disasters because the mom isn’t there to prevent or solve them.
Then she’ll come home ready to have her old life back again but lo, nothing will be the same. Her family will fall all over themselves offering to cook and do laundry, certain people in church will realize that they should actually do something about problems they observe rather than expecting the minister or his wife to solve them, her husband will appreciate her with unwavering devotion expressed by serving tea in bed every morning, and all the people in her life who talk too much will take up journal-keeping instead.
As I said, this would be a work of fiction.
I’m open to ideas for the title and further story lines.
Quote of the Day:
"Chad’s cuter than he is!"
--Amy, affirming that Aunt Margaret married the right guy, when she found out that a man she recently met was one of Margaret’s former beaux
I got started thinking about this when I read a book from the library about a 40-year-old woman with three snotty teenagers and a doctor husband who was at the beach with her family and without really thinking it through she took a walk down the beach and walked away from her life and went and started another life in another town. Of course, she soon replicated her former life as she took in a stray cat and then befriended a single mom and then took care of a boy whose mom left him and finally she had all the necessary epiphanies and ended up back with her husband.
Well, heaven forbid that I do anything like that but I think we all have our fantasies of escape when life gets stressful, like the bride that took off recently just before her wedding.
I think in my novel the leading character should leave her busy life to maybe go take care of her aging parents for a couple of months and there she will have all kinds of adventure and solve a mystery or two and have a great relaxing time and meet her old crush from high school and be relieved she didn’t marry him.
Meanwhile, back home, everyone will of course have all these disasters because the mom isn’t there to prevent or solve them.
Then she’ll come home ready to have her old life back again but lo, nothing will be the same. Her family will fall all over themselves offering to cook and do laundry, certain people in church will realize that they should actually do something about problems they observe rather than expecting the minister or his wife to solve them, her husband will appreciate her with unwavering devotion expressed by serving tea in bed every morning, and all the people in her life who talk too much will take up journal-keeping instead.
As I said, this would be a work of fiction.
I’m open to ideas for the title and further story lines.
Quote of the Day:
"Chad’s cuter than he is!"
--Amy, affirming that Aunt Margaret married the right guy, when she found out that a man she recently met was one of Margaret’s former beaux
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Randy's Question
I like Randy, one of Paul's many nephews. He has always had this conversational knack of asking the right questions to get people talking, and of listening to the answers.
For example, a while back Randy asked me if I ever plan to write a novel. Now how many 20-somethings do I know who would ask a 40-something aunt such a question? Not many.
I told Randy that I am not a fiction writer but if I ever write a Bethany-House-style novel the heroine will be ever so nice BUT fat and a bit ugly, AND she will marry the tall, dark, handsome hero. On second thought, maybe the handsome hero should have flaming red hair and be a great conversationalist.....(like Randy of course.)
Quote of the Day:
"I've learned a little from Mom and a lot from Zits."
--Matt, on what to say and not say to girls
For example, a while back Randy asked me if I ever plan to write a novel. Now how many 20-somethings do I know who would ask a 40-something aunt such a question? Not many.
I told Randy that I am not a fiction writer but if I ever write a Bethany-House-style novel the heroine will be ever so nice BUT fat and a bit ugly, AND she will marry the tall, dark, handsome hero. On second thought, maybe the handsome hero should have flaming red hair and be a great conversationalist.....(like Randy of course.)
Quote of the Day:
"I've learned a little from Mom and a lot from Zits."
--Matt, on what to say and not say to girls
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