The Amazing Spiderwebbing Woman

house spider

“What do you do?”

“I have a blog.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Here’s my card.”

Everyday epistle?”

“It’s not what you think. I mean, it’s not a devotional per se.”

“What’s it about?”

That question strikes me dead in my tracks. What’s it about? What’s it about?

At a marriage conference once, I heard a speaker talk about a woman’s talent to “spiderweb” in conversations. How it can drive a man into circuit overload.

Spiderweb used as a verb. Very appropriate. Goes something like this:

I don’t like ice. Except when I take my child ice skating. We wear bike helmets to protect his sweet little noggin.

She shoots a gossamer thread.

He insists we both wear helmets to ride our bikes in the neighborhood. I like my bike. And I love my neighborhood.

Another thread. And another.

But not as much as I love the South. Although we’re moving to Kansas. I think I might like to be a cowgirl there. Blogging is a lot like being a cowgirl.

A dozen fine, silken strands fly out and connect the rings. 

I love blogging. Keeps me connected with some of my BFFs. I didn’t know what a BFF was before I joined Facebook.

Spinning, spinning.

I love Facebook. Sometimes I wonder if there’s unfinished business between me and people I friend. But life goes on and so do you. It’s like playing tennis.

She swings around the delicate starburst to the center, ready for the plunge.

I never learned to play tennis. And my son hasn’t learned to tie his shoes yet! You can learn most things in books. I love books and the library.

Going in for the kill.

I love music also, but sometimes I get the lyrics wrongMuzak is another story. One time I met Steven Curtis Chapman at the airport. He wouldn’t remember my name. Most people misspell it. Anyway, he’s so cool and very down-to-earth.

She drops down and…

Vanilla Ice is cool too, pun intended. He may be more down-to-earth now that he’s rehabbing houses on DIY. Yeah, Vanilla Ice is all right even though, as I said before, I don’t like ice.

You’re caught.

“So what’s your blog about?”

“It’s about a lot of things. You should probably just read it for yourself.”

Good idea.

She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. Proverbs 31:25 NIV

Spider-Man and I would like to wish you a fun and happy Halloween!

Lipstick, Interrupted

mica

In admiration of Ilene Beckerman’s book Love, Loss, and What I Wore, I give you my life in lipstick.

L’oreal Mica. Love at first sight. Faithfully wore it under Bonnie Bell rollerball lip gloss until the 80s crumbled with the Berlin wall.

Neutrals flooded the early 90s. I fell for Clinique’s Honey Ginger in a free gift with purchase. Head over heels, I broke up with Mica and never looked back.

But Honey Ginger was too orange for me. I began seeing Think Bronze on the side.

Then in 1995, I got married in real life. A Clinique free makeover introduced me to the soft, creamy neutrality of Tenderheart. It would be my steady companion for 10 years, with interludes of Bronze Leaf.

In 2005, I emerged from a postpartum haze looking a little worse for wear. Time for another Clinique free makeover. The gentlewoman in the white lab coat coddled me.

berrylicious

“You’re a Winter,” she said. “I’d hate for you to miss out on color. Let’s try some berries.”

She spoke my language. I was a Winter. I am a Winter. I needed berries. I needed Berrylicious.

Berrylicious sang on my lips. A soul mate in a tube. We spent four beautiful years together. Until that fateful day in Macy’s.

“What do you mean it’s discontinued?!” I said as the salesgirls cowered. All I have left are the flattened remains in the silver cylinder, tarnished with years.

Tried Water Violet for a spell. Tried Heather Moon. Returned to Tenderheart, with interludes of Chocolate Ice.

tenderheart & chocolate ice

Finally, I could stand it no longer. I took my pitiful, leftover Berrylicious on a mission to color match.

After a few discouraging tries with other brands, I stood staring forlornly at the Macy’s Clinique display. The gentlewoman in the white lab coat approached.

“Have you tried Perfect Plum?” she said, “It’s the Butter Shine formulation.”

The heavens opened. Perfect Plum wasn’t Berrylicious, but it was, well, perfect. We’ve been inseparable.

perfect plum

I go through tubes of it, relentlessly applying and sealing with gloss. Bonnie Bell rollerballs are no more, so I’ve taken up with the seasonal delicacies of Philosophy high-gloss, high-flavor sweet candy lip shine instead. Mmm.

Had a scare earlier this year in the makeup capitol of the mall. Couldn’t find Perfect Plum in the Clinique case at Sephora.

“Do you have any Perfect Plum?” I said breathlessly after a sprint to the Macy’s Clinique counter.

They did and I do. Clinique headquarters assured me it’s not discontinued. Yet.

Berrylicious is gone forever. So is Honey Ginger. My other past Clinique colors are still available. And recently I bumped into Mica at Walmart.

Mica looks good. I was tempted to buy. But I look good too. So I’m dancing with the Perfect Plum who brought me. For the time being anyway.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Hebrews 13:8 NLT

perfect plum stash

Finally, a link up to The Go-Go’s! Our Lips Are Sealed.

Disclaimer

I’m not being paid to endorse any of the companies mentioned in this post. One company could, however, consider throwing me a bone for all the press I give them here and in The Great Clinique Heist of 2011. We’ll call it even for discontinuing my favorite lipstick.

Title inspiration thanks to Girl, Interrupted.

Ella Comments on the 100th Post

Friday’s post was our 100th. The shameless self-promotion continues. Hey, we only reach 100 once.

If you haven’t read Lyrical Interlude and the comments—and logged your own story of “lyricosis,” now’s your chance. It’s good for a smile to start the week.

Speaking of smiles, here’s what Ella had to say about the 100th post:

Enough said. And enough with the fanfare.

newshound, as seen at Nordstrom

Time to craft a story or play fetch, which is in a lot of ways the same thing.

See you later this week with a new post.

…the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied. from Proverbs 13:4 NIV

Snow Patrol Called Out in the Dark. Why? Because I like it. So will you.

This is your life, this is your time.

Lyrical Interlude

lady with pink guitar in the The Loop

The year is 1986. I’m walking through the mall with one of my favorite cousins. A Sade song pipes into the common space.

“No need to ask cause it’s cool for Loretta,” my cousin sings at the top of her lungs. “Coooool for Lorettaaaaa!”

The year is 1992. I’m sardined into a friend’s late-80s Honda Accord.

There are four of us girls in the car and at least half of my friend’s earthly belongings. Honda makes a sweet second closet.

We’re listening to a classic rock station. “Come on, baby,” my friend sings at the top of her lungs. “Don’t feel the rebirth!”

The year is 2011. A couple weeks ago to be exact. Life in the Fast Lane by the Eagles plays on the truck radio. I’ve only heard this song 6,500 times. The first time when I was maybe eight.

off broadway at Vintage Vinyl

Some of the older kids at the pool where we hung out were obsessed with the song. They played it repeatedly over the loudspeaker, dropping quarter after quarter, alternating between the jukebox and the foosball table.

We younger ones staked out our spots at the corners of the foosball table, our chins hovering just above the surface to watch the games.

Swack! Block. Zip! Slide. Za-ping! And goal. Life in the fast lane. Surely make you lose your mind.

What a great song, I thought as I sang alone in the truck at the top of my lungs. Think I’ll post a line on Facebook.

“They had one thing in common, they were good and bad.”

Reveled in my coolness until a few hours later when a friend (or two) informed me those were not the words. I Googled it to be sure. Gasp. I’d been singing it wrong for more than 30 years.

In my mind, I’d camped on what one friend termed moral dualism, the conflict between good and evil that rages in the world and inside us. All the while the Eagles had something else in mind. Something more Hotel California.

Blueberry Hill

Musicians would do well to enunciate. Or sing cleaner lyrics. Ones that make sense to people who aren’t cocaine dealers.

Cool for Loretta instead of Smooth Operator? Maybe.

Don’t Feel the Rebirth rather than Don’t Fear the Reaper? Absolutely not. Rebirth sounds too much like afterbirth. Ew. Needs more cowbell.

Life in the Fast Lane? The Eagles’ lyrics work in the context of the song’s story. Drug addiction, outrageous parties, nasty reputations as cruel dudes.

But in the context of real life, where most of us reside, my line is miles better.

I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. Romans 7:15 NIV

Go Cards!

Exit the fast lane for Seven Bridges Road. Watch for shots from Busch Stadium along the way in the video link.

What’s your favorite lyrical mishap?
Come on. Share a bit!

The House That Rural Built

Today’s post will also be featured on Rural Women Rock.

homestead barn

Confession: I didn’t grow up on a farm.

My husband did, but we don’t live on a farm now. Or even in a rural area. We live in St. Louis. Before that we lived in Chicago. And we’re moving to Wichita.

So what am I doing on a blog called Rural Women Rock?

Did you know 17 percent of Americans live in areas deemed rural? That’s 50 million people.

And, get this, a staggering 80 percent of our nation’s land is rural.

Rural spreads way beyond the Corn Belt. It exists in every state of the Union. So do its values: hard work, family, community, love of God and country.

milk can

For 85 years, my husband’s family operated a dairy farm in south central Missouri. At one point, they had 1,600 acres and 200 milking cows.

All that changed the gut-wrenching day in 1993 when the dairy cows were sold. There was no other choice. There was no way for the dairy farm to continue.

A portion of land remains in the family. My in-laws still farm some livestock and crops in addition to their day jobs. To live rural is to live resourceful.

One year, I traveled the Midwest on puddle jumpers for my employer at the time. My assignment? Get a firsthand glimpse of Farming, USA.

The sheer vastness of cropland left me stunned. Rows and rows, fields and fields of corn and soybeans, wheat and barley. A giant patchwork quilt of farms.

hay rake

America’s cropland is exquisite. The dirt in the South where I was raised is the dramatic red earth of Tara. But in Iowa, the dirt is chocolate cake. Fluffy, dark, rich. Nothing else like it in the world.

A quote from the EPA: “The United States is blessed with more arable land than any other nation on earth.”

Did you read that? We’re blessed.

Only about one-fifth of our arable land is used for crop production and one-fourth for grazing livestock. Farmers make this small percentage go a long, long way.

Today each one American farmer produces food for 130 other people.

old silo

And Audubon ain’t got nothing on rural. Nature thrives in rural.

Have you ever seen a flock of wild turkeys float freely down a dirt road, bouncing like a bunch of walking pillows?

Or watched a wolf’s shadow sweep across your truck’s headlights on the way back to your cabin?

Have you witnessed the timeless words of The Holly and the Ivy come to life in a field before your eyes? Oh, the rising of the sun and the running of the deer.

I have, and I was just visiting.

This is the land of spacious skies and amber waves of grain. The fruited plain, bountiful, free. It is our forgotten heritage as Americans.

A few more conclusions quoted from the EPA:

tractor wheel
  • The U.S. farmer is the most productive in the history of the world.
  • Food is more affordable in the United States than in any other developed country in the world.
  • There is a definite trend toward fewer farms producing an increasing share of agricultural products in this country.
  • In spite of many challenges, U.S. agriculture is uniquely positioned to provide for the food and fiber needs of a growing world community.

Not to mention the food is delicious. Blue plate. Meat plus three. My mother-in-law makes a powerful concoction she’s understatedly dubbed cheese potatoes. Now that is how the west was won.

Women who live rural, just like women who live metro, support their families and communities in ways too numerous to count.

Theirs is a sisterhood of endurance through hardship. Perseverance with grace in times of boom and in times when there’s no other choice but to sell the cows.

hay bale at sunset

Chances are, most Americans will never live rural or set foot on a working farm.

Most of us are are far removed from the technology and commitment it takes to run the most productive farms in human history and meet the demands of the world’s table.

And yet agricultural exports, born of rural America, are a bright spot in our stagnant economy. Many things can be jettisoned when money is tight, but people have to eat.

I’m on a blog today called Rural Women Rock because they do.

Who they are, what they do, where they live matters to America and to the world. Daily we reap the benefit of their harvest. We live in a house they built. And for that, we are truly blessed.

The LORD will indeed give what is good,
and our land will yield its harvest. Psalm 85:12 NIV

Delightful song by Ashton Shepherd, Where Country Grows.

The photos in this post were taken on the Whetstine farm in Cabool, MO.

Don’t Save the Marshmallows

My mother used to tell me not to save my clothes. Go ahead and wear your best today, she’d say. Guest blogger Karla Foster explains how the same applies to the marshmallows.

jet puffed

Rummaging through my pantry, I came across a bag of marshmallows. I almost returned it to the back corner, but decided to bring it into the light instead.

Expiration June 2009. Oops.

Apparently, one day in 2008 I thought it might be nice to make Rice Krispies Treats. How many times since then had my hand brushed across the marshmallows looking for another ingredient?

I’d think to myself, “I should make something with these.” Then in the same breath, “No, I should save them.”

Not now. No time. Save for later. As I stared at the marshmallows now in our trash, I thought about what was missed because of my excuses.

as seen at Good Works, www.goodworksfurniture4u.com

The marshmallows could have been a quick dessert for a family in need. A greeting to a new neighbor. A snack for a friend’s kids. Or even a sweet reward for lots of us working out at the gym.

Recently, a member of our Sunday school class entered the hospital in a life and death battle. This only gives me more pause to consider that I am not guaranteed a later. There is just today. There is just now to do what God is calling me to do.

Be holy as I am holy. Go and tell all the world. And so much more. There are kind words to share, notes of encouragement to be written, prayers to be lifted.

Why wait? And for goodness sake, don’t save the marshmallows.

Do not withhold good from those who deserve it
when it’s in your power to help them.
If you can help your neighbor now, don’t say,
“Come back tomorrow, and then I’ll help you.” Proverbs 3:27-28 NLT

The Winans’ voices are smoother than s’mores. This song is an oldie—even older than Karla’s marshmallows, but such a goodie. Take a listen now to Tomorrow.

guest blogger Karla Foster

Karla Foster and her husband Bill are dear friends of ours.

Besides teaching Bible study and apologetics classes with Bill, whipping folks into shape as an aerobics instructor, and making the occasional pan of Rice Krispies Treats, Karla enjoys a successful career in IT sales.

Oh, and she’s a Tarheel, which never hurts on this blog.

Pink October Free Blog Button

I hate cancer. You do too? Funny how things come together in social media.

Inspired by And Cuisine for All, our masthead went pink this month to support Breast Cancer Awareness. Then I noticed the Versatile Blogger button on Life is a Bowl of Kibble and discovered Jeffrey Miskell who designed it. Decided I needed a button too. Asked around my blogging friends, tapped into picnik.com and voila! Created my first button-badge-image widget.

Introducing Pink October. A small, defiant fist raised in the face of cancer.

I invite you to use this button in your social media this month. Copy and paste it on your blog or website to honor survivors, those battling cancer, and those who’ve lost loved ones in the fight. Pray for an end to all cancers.

I’m serious. It’s free for the taking. Grab it here, use at will, and pass it on.

In all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us. Romans 8:37 NIV

Now by Your grace I stand. Healing is in Your hand…

Truth or Consequences

please park on the street

Have I mentioned my husband and I are sharing a large Ford F-150 Super Crew? Oh, yeah. That’s come up here before.

The truck and I drive carpool to school. The roads surrounding the school get packed tight with mamma-mobiles.

One day, I’m driving through the maze when another vehicle approaches. There are cars parked to the left. Cars parked to the right.

Only enough room for one of us to pass.

For those readers who live in places like North Carolina (aka the Good Roads State) where this is unimaginable, I invite you to experience St. Louis.

By the way, I live in Nelly’s ‘burb—I’m from the Loop and I’m proud. Foul language, that guy, but you can absolutely dance to the music.

Back to the story. I spy a space along the curb where I can duck my truck to let the other car pass. I’ve almost nosed into the space when I feel a soft thump.

I jump out to take a look. Oh, dear. The back end of my truck scraped the front bumper of a very nice SUV parked along the curb.

banking kisses

Those additional few feet or so of truck are my nemesis. My husband says I must love our bank because I keep “kissing” the guide poles at the drive-up ATM.

I don’t even feel it when it happens. I wouldn’t know it happens except for the tell-tale yellow scratch marks.

But there I was standing in front of the scrape on the very nice SUV knowing for sure who done it this time.

I docked the truck far away from all other vehicles and ran back to the scene of the crime. The owner, another parent, had returned and was pulling away from the curb. I waved for her to stop.

In the extras on Gone Baby Gone, director Ben Affleck makes a profound remark. I know you’re skeptical, but hang with me for a minute.

“The right thing is really difficult to do because it has consequences that are unpleasant oftentimes,” said Affleck. “Otherwise everyone would do it.”

The other parent hadn’t seen the scrape mark. If her husband had found it first, they would have assumed it was her fault. I could have bolted that day without admitting guilt. But people, this was a no-brainer.

no trucks

Not saying I always do the right thing. And please don’t congratulate me for doing it this once. No, no, nooo. I fail. I fail. I fail. As do we all.

There was no question I hit the SUV. Needed to make it right. Golden rule. Black and white. Not a shade of gray for miles.

A little more than $800 later (told you it was a very nice SUV), you can see why Affleck’s remark is profound.

Be the person who does the right thing. Do it though it costs you. Do it even if, especially if, you’re the only one.

For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Galatians 5:14 NLT

Digging this new song by Jason Gray, Remind Me Who I Am.

Facelift

as seen at Kate Spade

Notice something different?

The everyday epistle masthead got a facelift.

I keep looking at it thinking, this is not my blog. I imagine that’s what it’s like after any cosmetic surgery.

The procedure was quick and painless, now back to work.

Thank you, Kristin Scully. You make us look good.

Charm is deceptive, and beauty does not last;
but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised. Proverbs 31:30 NLT

This calls for one terrific, cheerful, quirky song: Different by Ximena SariñanaKeep in mind I’m not here, I’m from a different world.

PS: Our masthead is also donning pink for October in support of Breast Cancer Awareness month. Go pink to honor the cause.

Miss Ruby’s Wisdom

OPI an affair in red square

One of the best bits of parenting advice I’ve ever received came from a salon stylist in Nashville.

I’d known her for the length of my spa mani-pedi. Long enough to glean a jewel of wisdom.

She’d been through a lot in her life. Divorce, moves, changes, children.

Before settling down as a stylist, she ran a country restaurant. Woman after my own heart. Regulars called her Miss Ruby, not her real name.

We got to talking about our kids as the paint dried. She told me about her son who’s older than mine. He sounded adventurous. Recently tried sky diving.

I told her about my son’s daredevil tendencies. How they show up in his climbing antics, his inventions, his stories, and his wardrobe choices.

From across the manicure table, Miss Ruby looked me straight in the eye and said in no uncertain terms, “You let him be his own little person.”

Bingo. Exactly what I needed to hear.

backyard siege

What Miss Ruby didn’t know is that if I like you, I personality type you. I have also been known to do your colors and identify your fashion style, but that’s another post.

Using “Nurture by Nature,” written by Myers-Briggs experts Paul D. Tieger and Barbara Barron-Tieger, I’ve already guessed my son’s personality type.

So far it appears I’ve typed him correctly. Even if I’m wrong, his father and I will be wise to heed Miss Ruby’s advice.

We’d probably all be wise to heed Miss Ruby’s advice when dealing with the different characters in our lives.

So he wants to wear clothes that don’t match? Head-to-toe camo to school? Stripe on stripe?

Tell long, involved stories about the new Star Wars movie he will make when he grows up? Create “newspapers” and hawk them to neighbors for $19.99?

Describe in detail armament he will design when he joins the United States military? Stage a battlefield in my backyard with lawn care implements and vacuum cleaner attachments to reenact a siege?

ruby slipper detail, as seen at Nordstrom

Let him be his own person, she said.

Much obliged, Miss Ruby. I believe your nickname has you pegged.

Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. Proverbs 31:10 KJV

Cool song and fantastic video for this post. Watch the toys build music city as the Kaiser Chiefs sing Ruby.

Westward Expansion

October 6, 2011

Uncertainty is no place to call home. Relocation is no picnic either.

As many of you have guessed, we’re moving this show to Wichita.

The man and his wife. The boy and the dog. The MacBook Pro (God rest your soul, Steve Jobs) and the blog.

There’s relief in making a decision. There’s also apprehension, excitement, hope and loss.

Responses have rolled in from across the blogosphere.

Here’s the Diehl is wondering what’s the deal through tears. Mine and hers. With strains of Green Acres playing in the background.

The would-be stand up comedian asked if I know Kansas is not in North Carolina.

A lifelong friend assured me she always wants the best for me. How comforting, humbling and cool is that? Makes me want to break out in Count Your Blessings. Then cry some more.

Another lifelong friend wrote the most amazing sunset she’d ever seen was in Kansas. Suggested My Antonia by Willa Cather. Done.

arch base

Ms. Moderation dubbed me Carolina Cowgirl, a title I adore. If the blogging thing doesn’t work out, there’s always rodeo. Or clogging.

Pinke Post wasted no time doing what she does so well. Connecting me with her people on the ground in Wichita. The woman is a rock star.

And Cuisine For All sent sage advice. Don’t worry. Take time to absorb the changes. You’ll be fine, she wrote. She’s ventured far from her homeland. She should know.

Traveling With the Jones has logged enough miles to know too. Told me to embrace change. Enjoy the ride. And just think of all the new material for posts!

My faithful friend who shall remain anonymous assured me Cowtown is not in Kansas because it’s in Texas.

And a fellow Southerner in exile in the Midwest told me you can raise a southern gentleman in Kansas. “It’s about values,” she said. “The expectations we have for and of them, saying ma’am and sir and being able to shuck an oyster.”

There are many other words of treasured wisdom, prayer and encouragement. Read more on Tuesday’s post. Add your own if you like.

under the arch

One more here, in the gentle eloquence of Via Peregrini:

Our souls are quite particular in where they find their homes. Yet, sometimes, they find in the new, the unexpected, something for which they’ve longed and you’ll discover that you can’t imagine life without that place, for that time.

Our years in St. Louis have taught us the history of westward expansion. Thomas Jefferson’s Louisiana Purchase in 1803. Lewis and Clark pushing across North America in the spirit of discovery.

Those who followed their path west were filled with dreams. Pioneers, farmers, soldiers, cowboys, gold miners, gangsters, hippies, writers, artists, entertainers. None of them had the luxury—the blessing—of toting a virtual community along. None until this latest crop.

We’re headed west. I hope you’ll join us for the adventure.

Send me Your light and Your faithful care,
let them lead me;
let them bring me to Your holy mountain,
to the place where You dwell. Psalm 43:3 NIV

In a big country, dreams stay with you

pink hydrangea

I hate cancer.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Our masthead dons pink to show support.

Honor survivors, those battling the disease, and those who’ve lost loved ones in the fight. Pray to end this and all cancers.

Thank you to And Cuisine For All for the idea.

Moondance

October 2, 2011 at Eckert's

We interrupt this cliff-hanger for a very important birthday.

I have always fallen in love in the fall.

The kindest boy I dated in high school. My nicest beau in college. The most amazing man I married when I was 25.

I fell for them all in the fall.

It should come as no surprise then that the sweetest one, my little boy, was born in October.

Funny, creative, sharp, sensitive, kind, energetic. He is a gift to his father and me.

Happy Birthday, pumpkin pie. I love you every season.

Happy Birthday!

Children are a gift from the Lord;
they are a reward from him. Psalm 127:3 NLT

Time for a song that is quintessentially autumn. Time for a Moondance.