If you haven’t been refrigerator shopping lately, don’t leave home without your sense of humor!

Our twenty year old top freezer refrigerator started making a strange intermittent sound. Have you ever heard the squeak a dog can make at the end of a big yawn? It sounds like that.

Being the proactive person that I am, I dragged Ron to appliance stores to research our options before we were caught in the cold (or would that be hot) without a fridge. . . . Continue reading

Throughout the month of December the stress of the Christmas holiday hangs over my head like a tinseled guillotine.

Every bell ringing volunteer who brightly greets me at the grocery store reminds me that I haven’t bought presents, haven’t put up the tree, haven’t scheduled a family Christmas get together. A couple of weeks ago when I went to the grocery store I completely avoided eye contact with the bell ringer.  I was not in the Christmas spirit at all.

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‘Twas the night before open house
at the minister’s abode.
The house needed updates.
Church members were told.

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I’ve met a few women whose main ambition in life was to marry a man of the cloth. I was not one of them. My goal was to meet a music major in college, which I did, but right before his graduation and our wedding he decided to become a minister. Nooooo!

If that wasn’t bad enough, I was a Lutheran – he was a Methodist. A Methodist!!!! My first and only experience with “them” had been traumatic!

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I’ve had my share of summer vacations. I’ve even written about them, but there’s one that stands out among all the rest – the time my husband was spotted allegedly throwing drugs off the Clay’s Ferry Bridge over the Kentucky River.

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When I was married to a minister I wrote humorous stories about being a minister’s wife and what it was really like to live in the church parsonage; the house owned and controlled by the church. I regularly dreamed and wrote about moving into a house that met “my” needs.

I wanted simple things: a shower, bigger closets, central air.  Each parsonage had something on my list, but with every gain there was a loss: get a shower, lose a garage; get a closet, lose the second bathroom. I became obsessed with my plight.  I was up against a parsonage Goliath, with an empty slingshot and not even a lipstick in my pocket to hurl.

Then the nightmares began! . . . Continue reading

I’m one of those chipper morning people. My husband is not. One Sunday morning I read an article out loud about the people who were making money off of the public school system’s Common Core curriculum. Ron responded with a negative comment, compelling me (as usual) to counter with a positive one until we were in a heated debate over a topic neither of us knew much about.

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woman eating ice creamSomething I’m eating is making me sick.
It clogs my nose. My throat gets thick.
Could it be ice cream, milk and cheese?
Does dairy create my wheeze and sneeze?

Something I’m eating is stopping me up.
My innards are blocked in a poop pileup.
Could it be chocolate, creamy and sweet?
I hope it’s not chocolate I should not eat!

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I loathe packing for a trip! I have a hard enough time picking clothes to wear each day, let alone planning what I want to wear days in advance! But one morning in March, I had to pack for a two night stay in Chicago for a Hay House Writer’s Conference.

My mind was scattered. I felt rushed. I should have packed the night before, but I watched the Katherine Heigl movie, “Killers” instead. It’s the one where she’s digging through her suitcase wondering why she packed all her socks, but no cute dress. I always chuckle at that scene.

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In 2010 I was asked to be a Mother’s Day speaker. My children were grown and gone with children of their own so I wrote a ten minute talk about my three rules for “Mothering, not Smothering”.

  1. Have a sense of humor when raising children. Without it, you’ll go down – fast!
  2. Wrap your teenagers in a positive bubble, then release it and trust they’ll be okay. If not, you’ll never get any sleep.
  3. Don’t give advice to your adult children, especially about marriage or raising children.

I let the talk simmer for a few days. When I read it again, I sounded like a preachy, know-it-all, goody-two-shoes contender for Mother of the Year. I had five days to rewrite. . . . Continue reading