Clarification: A bot got my email accounts. Had to change them all. Like untying a great big, password-protected, social media knot.
“I’m too old to learn all this,” I said to the tech support guy. He’s probably 15. Wunderkind.
I suppose it’s good for the old Gen X girl to gain cyber survival skills. May start a new club. Blog Scouts. Or Web Life. Or Jedi Warriors.
Oops. That last one’s taken. My mistake, Mr. Lucas.
If you would like to contact me for any reason, the new address is:
aimee(at)everydayepistle(dot)com
Ideas, encouragement, and freelance opportunities are especially welcome.
May the ex nihilo creative power of God be with you as you navigate His universe this week.
neither is this…
By faith we understand that the entire universe was formed at God’s command, that what we now see did not come from anything that can be seen. Hebrews 11:3 NLT
I took the photos of R2D2 and C3PO at the Star Wars: Where Science Meets Imagination exhibit developed by Boston’s Museum of Science. Disclaimer: I’m not being compensated to promote this exhibit, but I highly recommend you see it if it comes to your town.
Our newish dishwasher is an epic fail at cleaning dishes. We suspect the hard water of Wichita is the culprit.
A few nights ago, I did what any modern woman does to solve domestic issues. I posted our problem on Facebook to see if anyone had suggestions.
More than 50 comments later, I had a nice list of options to try including Cascade, Lemi Shine, and vinegar.
MORE THAN 50 COMMENTS?!
My new friend Pam, a mother of six who’s blogged for five years at It’s Time for More Coffee, could relate. She commented:
“Some days I realize I’m blogging all wrong as well. My number one post is still about Dr. Scholl’s Orthotics. Really? I blog about a lot. I bare my soul. What gets people’s attention? Shoe inserts.”
move over and lemi shine
No wonder those product review bloggers do so well. Not only do they get free samples, lucrative sponsorships, and hoards of followers, but they also get invited to the coolest brand parties at the blogging conferences. Swag a-plenty.
Cooking blogs are another thing all together. My friend Leah’s recipe for Hawaiian Rolls Ham Sammies went viral. When she disclosed to me the number of page views her blog Beyer Beware received as a result, I experienced a momentary loss of consciousness.
I came to with my mind racing. Maybe everyday epistle needs a food feature.
Holy meatballs. Angel food cake. Consecrated cherries in the year of jubilee.
I mean, who wants to read about the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb when there’s cookie dough brownie fudge cake balls to be made? Why ponder where God intersects with contentious societal issues when bacon wrapped grilled scallops with sweet ginger glaze are calling?
Leah’s Ham Sammies is a yummy, simple recipe with straightforward ingredients. And Leah consistently produces delicious content like this.
Every week, persecuted, hypoglycemic carnivores like me visit her for Hunk of Meat Mondays. What’s not to like?
That’s all well and good, but it still doesn’t explain the enthusiastic response to my dishwasher detergent question. Maybe no explanation is needed. Maybe the comment stream accomplished its higher task of restoring my faith in humanity.
It reminded me there are good people out there who want to help. Who want to speak. Who have useful information to share.
Welcome to the blogosphere. From dishwasher detergent to Ham Sammies and everything in between, we have a lot in common, you and I. And what a wonderful place to discuss it.
time to finish
Go to work in the morning and stick to it until evening without watching the clock. You never know from moment to moment how your work will turn out in the end. Ecclesiastes 11:6 The Message
Waves of humans stripped down to the skivvies we call bathing suits. Nothing and nowhere to hide.
The throbbing sun bakes this oasis, this jewel of blue on the drought-worn prairie. We flock to the relief of the pool. We gather at the watering hole: elephant, antelope, crocodile, hyena.
My child, energized by the water and the people, skips between activities. I follow as his guardian and his insurance that he won’t swim alone today.
We begin with the obstacle course. Training for American Ninja.
lily pads
Children slip across floating lily pads. They scurry and swing along rope webs. They drop and dog paddle ferociously to the finish line.
I observe, taking note of my offspring’s competitive streak. Between his father and me, he didn’t stand a chance of missing that trait, poor thing.
Herds of middle schoolers run together in co-ed packs. High school girls saunter like giraffes in triads, while high school boys buzz in larger, amorphous groups, joking and oblivious to their surroundings.
Tattoos litter bodies. They punctuate skin and recoil like secret sin exposed in the sunlight.
toes and shadow
A dragon crawls around a woman’s torso. A cross marks a man’s bicep. A clover nips a lady’s ankle. And on another man’s chest, the infant footprint of his son who now swims beside him, a baby no more.
The hip, young women have accentuated their navels with piercings. Glittery rhinestone stars. All I can think of is how this will look should these girls grow up to bear children. Their tummies bulging with pregnancy, I imagine the star navel rings popping like buttons on shirts. Timers on turkeys.
Soon my child is ready to move on. Bravely I stand, the only person older than 16 in line for the slide.
orange anaconda
There are two water slides. The orange closed tunnel and the blue open air. Like closed and open MRI machines.
My child screams with delight as the giant, orange anaconda swallows him whole. Down into its narrow, black throat he disappears. I’m next in line.
I’m usually not claustrophobic, but the tunnel seems too long and too dark. I whiz around curves and pray for light. I wonder if this is what it feels like to die.
A burst of sun and water and the snake spits me out. Has my child survived?
He’s already back in line to slide again.
thrill of the day
We traverse the lazy river. We revisit the obstacle course, and I think it must be his favorite thing. Then we see it.
Children run to the foot of the great bucket. The alarm bell rings faster and faster as the bucket tips. A torrent of water splashes down on the crowd of shrieking kids. They disappear in the flood. They scatter as the water dissipates and drains away.
This. This is the thrill of the day.
I stand beside my child the next round. We watch the white water crash toward us. Drench us. Wash and cool us.
We are alive. And for a split second this summer, I am a child again.
How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know Him. 1 John 3:1 NIV 1984
Write your heart out. Go for broke. Ursula K. Le Guin
Ann’s here
There are days I’m tempted to quit writing and go to work at Ann Taylor.
You may have expected me to say J Crew instead of Ann Taylor. Well, J Crew has yet to respond to my request to open a store in Wichita. Better get with the program, Jenna Lyons. Ann’s here and she’s vying to be my go-to store.
Ann Taylor. Pretty clothes. Sweet discount. Sleek space. Well-defined career opportunities.
I can hear the imaginary trolls of Nightmare on Aimee Street. “Yes!” they say. “It’s about time she got a real job.”
Why are they still hanging around anyway? Be gone, oh ye of little faith!
Back to Ann. I could work while the child is in school. Cook fine dinners from Pinterest recipes in the evenings. Sleep normal hours instead of waking up in the middle of the night to plink plink plink away at the keyboard until I’m cross-eyed.
I wouldn’t wonder where this is going, what’s the plan, how will I get there. Wouldn’t need to take a stand on controversial food, social, and cultural issues or dread negative comments. Wouldn’t fear people hating me and my blog because there would be no blog. There would only be Ann.
Ann is a possibility. She hangs like a life jacket on the back wall of my brain.
Until I remember the rush of writing and publishing and facilitating a dialogue. It’s like a throwing a mini party with every post. I can’t get that with Ann.
I can have a pleasant career, a steady paycheck, and very nice clothes with Ann. No shame in that, but it’s not my passion. I can sell dresses with cheerfulness and take joy in the new arrivals each season. But it’s not the thing that makes me sing.
no parking no waiting
There’s a little stream of stories inside me that hasn’t run dry yet.
God provides. God provides.
What if I just write until it does?
Shall we go for broke, you and I?
What do you say?
And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, He will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith? Matthew 6:30 NLT
Not the laser printer kind. The skincare kind. I know it’s supposed to exfoliate. Every skincare program includes it. But it’s way too harsh for my very dry skin.
“Oh, no! You can’t do that!” they say. “You just need another formulation. You must exfoliate with a Clarifying Lotion in Step 2.”
Must. A small but mighty manipulative word.
There are skincare lines that boast of a kinder, gentler exfoliation. A-thousand-points-of-light toners, smelling of orange blossoms and chamomile. Might as well splash cold tea or rose water on my face.
Seriously, what does toner do? Is it necessary when an occasional 7 Day Scrub does the trick to get rid of dead skin cells?
Daily cleansing and moisturizing is what my skin needs to be healthy. Like confession and restoration. Toner is optional. Like legalism in a bottle.
very dry to dry
It’s an added step. An upstanding thing to do perhaps. A requirement by those who added it. Usually does more harm than good. Absolutely not a deal breaker to get the desired results.
I don’t want to get by with less than what I need or less than what’s best. But I don’t want the unnecessary, heavy, drying burden of add-ons either.
My time’s too precious to succumb to legalism. My skin’s too dry to use toner.
Then Jesus said, “Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you. Let Me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light.” Matthew 11:28-30 NLT
Have you ever encountered legalism? How did you let go of it or have you?
Disclaimer: I’m not being compensated to promote Clinique, nor do I mean to pick on them. Personally, I like and use Clinique products. Just not the toner.
A few months ago I noticed tweets about people getting +Ks.
influential about unicorns
What was this mysterious letter sign? How could I get one? A little digging led me to Klout.
When you sign up, Klout gives you a score. “The Klout Score measures influence based on your ability to drive action,” reads their website.
I write content and publish it. You read it. Klout measures how well my content influences you to do something crazy like share it with others, thus advancing our plans to take over the world.
I signed up and received a nice, steady score. Even got a coveted +K signifying super influential-ness. All was well in the land of Klout until Klout began naming the topics about which I was influential.
“Klout believes you are influential about Blogging.”
Yes! I knew it!
“Klout believes you are influential about Bacon.”
I like bacon. I’ve written about the loss and recovery of my Seduced By Bacon book. Hadn’t thought of myself as influential about bacon, but we’ll go with it.
“Klout believes you are influential about Earthquakes.”
Wait. I’ve never written about earthquakes. Maybe they meant tornadoes or natural disasters. Can a bad pedicure be considered a natural disaster?
“Klout believes you are influential about Unicorns.”
What? Me, a unicorn whisperer?
My friend Jesse found this one amusing enough to award me a +K for Unicorns, effectively securing it as my most influential topic. Thank you, Jesse. Remind me to return the favor by awarding you a +K for Pirates or Coleslaw.
“Klout believes you are influential about Magic.”
Now I know something’s wrong here.
The topics of everyday epistle range far and wide. We discuss it all because we can. Variety is the spice of life.
influential about bacon
Instead of finding the common threads in my content, Klout interprets this breadth as 14 random topics I’m influential about. Adding insult to injury, they dubbed me a Klout Style Specialist.
“Your content is likely focused around a specific topic or industry with a focused, highly-engaged audience,” says Klout. Right.
Maybe they have a point. I need to focus. Pare down. Organize. Search engine optimize. But I still have my doubts.
There are ways to influence your own Klout score, apart from simply creating and publishing great content. Yet there aren’t ways to measure the quality of the content you produce or the quality of your readers and their comments.
No extra credit for correct spelling, grammar, and punctuation either. What kind of grading system is this anyway?
Besides all that, cyber terrorists, competitors, or prankster friends can influence your Klout score in undesirable ways. Not to mention the attacks by aliens.
“Klout believes you are influential about Space.” Go figure.
Xanadu to you, Klout, with Magicby Olivia Newton John.
“Think of a mercenary socialite, holding a calculator and trying to figure out who to invite to a party based on import. Then put whatever number she arrives at on every guest’s lapel. That’s Klout.” posted by Nicolas Thompson in The New Yorker
Our summer schedule doesn’t allow time for the mom to make it to yoga class. I bike and swim with my son, but yoga quest is officially suspended.
I can hear my instructor. “I see some bellies that look like they’re on vacation,” she’d say when we weren’t properly engaging the core in class.
She’d be mortified to see that now my belly really is on vacation. It’s on a Mediterranean cruise, complete with an endless antipasto bar and a Big Gulp Coke. Sip on that, Mayor Bloomberg.
It’s gone to Disneyland where dreams really do come true whether you exercise or not. You’ve never seen Snow White on a StairMaster, have you? All you need is a little Tinkerbell, a pumpkin, and a pair of glass slippers.
My belly unfolds like a beached whale on the sand. It spreads out like a jellyfish washed ashore. I took it to Vermont, home of Ben & Jerry’s for crying out loud. Can you say Vermonster?
Enough! It’s not that bad. It’s not yoga-belly either. My pilates paunch has gone kaput. The core is no more.
Thanks to Roy, a reader in Columbia, Missouri, we discovered the starlings featured in yesterday’s post are actually a fine family of barn swallows.
Roy was kind enough to include a link to photos that helped us identify the nest and the birds. Mother-Daughter Press & Gay Bumgarner Images might as well have shot the pictures at my house.
Barn swallow child doesn’t have quite the same je nais se quoi as starling child.
And this isn’t the first time I’ve had to eat crow on the blog, nor will it be the last. But this is the first time I’ve had to do so over an ornithological misnomer.
“The point is that the bird kept jumping out of the nest,” said my husband.
Yes, dear. Reminds me of a certain blogger we know.
Enthusiasm without knowledge is no good;
haste makes mistakes. Proverbs 19:2 NLT
Little Bird by the Annie Lennox: I’ve just got to put these wings to test.
In the realm of respite, there are restful vacations and there are very busy vacations. My family gravitates toward the busy.
Mr. Whetstine goes to Montpelier
None of us had ever been to Vermont until last week. We were going to make the most of it.
We cruised Lake Champlain, shopped April Cornell’s comeback store in Burlington, visited the state capitol in Montpelier, toured the Ben & Jerry’s factory in Waterbury, and witnessed the birth of a goat at Shelburne Farms (timing is everything, folks). That was the first half of the week.
The second half bowed to my husband’s business commitments. He worked while I entertained our energetic seven-year-old in an unfamiliar city.
this way to Ben & Jerry’s
Our itinerary included swimming, hiking, tree climbing, rock skipping, iPhone games, MythBusters marathons, and a shoreline run to the U.S. Coast Guard station for a band-aid.
We arrived home exhausted, hauling 135 pounds of laundry, a bevy of memories, and one air travel induced backache, namely mine.
A very busy vacation requires a stay in recovery.
“Mom,” said my son, “next time can we just go to Kitty Hawk?” He remembers restful vacations are possible even for us.
We vacation busy because we don’t want to miss a thing.
We vacation restful because we all need time out to recharge.
Lake Champlain
Most vacations fall between the two extremes. There are degrees. There is balance. There is a remote, beachfront condo braving the wild ocean somewhere in my future.
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from Him. Psalm 62:5 NIV1984
Book lovers rejoice. My copy of Seduced by Bacon has been recovered.
Guess where it was?
whoomp there it is
On the cookbook shelf in the kitchen. Who’d have thunk it? Mere weeks ago I feared it was a casualty of our move.
Found it by accident while looking for my smoothies recipe book—which incidentally is now missing. Happened upon Seduced by Bacon as I combed the cookbook spines.
Sometimes what we’re looking for is exactly where it’s supposed to be, maybe even right in front of us, whether we see it or not.
Gives me hope Cassatt will turn up, too. And I’m thinking of a new motto:
Leave no book behind.
Works for lost books at home and returns to the library. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with the bacon that’s long overdue.
“I was ready to respond, but no one asked for help.
I was ready to be found, but no one was looking for me.
I said, ‘Here I am, here I am!’
to a nation that did not call on my name.” Isaiah 65:1 NLT
My dog Ella loves cat food. To her it’s a delicacy.
Gracie the princess cat
Ella went with us to Kansas City where we visited a friend who owns a cat named Gracie. Ella approached Gracie, tail a wagging. The feline was reserved.
As the humans visited, we lost track of our animal children. Then we heard it.
“Hiss! Spat! Smack!”
We turned to see the cat retract as the dog slid across the entryway floor. An investigation told the story.
Ella had sniffed out Gracie’s bowl of cat food and devoured every last morsel. She was still licking her muzzle to erase the evidence. But the cat knew the dog’s crime and was not pleased.
There’s something in cat food Ella finds irresistible.
The higher protein content? The smell of fish? The fact that it’s not for dogs?
She’s been known to raid litter boxes and ingest deposits left in our yard by cats traveling through, all for trace amounts of that something. We stop her the second we catch her in this undignified behavior. We scold her. But the temptation is too great.
She gets dog food. Good dog food. The expensive kind we have to buy from the veterinarian. She ignores it until she’s sure there will be no table scraps, no milk in the bottom of cereal bowls after breakfast, and no cat food.
Ella the baby dog
Gracie’s mom Janis thinks I need to get a cat. All true writers have a cat, she says. Low barrier to entry. I can do this one.
Besides, my son wants a Siamese cat named Bill or an orange tabby named Teddy. I could probably talk him into a gray named Louie. If only we could convince my husband, the cat magnet who insists he doesn’t like cats.
Ella votes with her eyebrows (terriers have eyebrows) and ears.
“Would you like a puppy?” No response.
“A bunny?” Slight ear prick.
“How about a cat?” Her eyebrows and ears stand at attention.
“Yes,” they say, “with cat food, please.”
Temptation comes from our own desires, which entice us and drag us away. James 1:14 NLT
Desiree, a salesperson at my go-to store, once said of the J Crew design team, “They don’t disappoint.”
Ella dress in porcelain paisley, jcrew.com
She’s spot-on. I mean, look at this dress.
Yes, I borrowed the photo from the J Crew site without asking permission. It’s fair use since I’m commenting on it. But please, Jenna Lyons, charge me with piracy.
Throw me in J Crew jail where I’ll be forced to wear navy blue and white reverse sailor stripes and work in exotic locales like Tanzania, Bali, and New Zealand.
Sentence me to a lifetime of schoolboy blazers, cotton capris with a hint of stretch, and vintage V-neck tees in Byzantine blue, heather graphite, and the perfect shade of bright plum circa spring 2010.
Now about this dress named Ella. Exquisite. Prettiest thing I’ve seen since last month’s J Crew catalog. Oozes summertime when the living is easy.
If you read this blog, you know my dog’s name is Ella. Perhaps Jenna Lyons has been reading this blog, too, and she’s been inspired.
“See that little dog Ella?” I can hear her telling the crew at the Crew. “Who owns a creature of such intelligence, taste, and style? Feel the epistle. Inhabit the epistle. Express the epistle!”
Ella dog in wheaten fur
Voilà. Out comes the Ella dress in porcelain paisley. Named after my dog. And a steal at only… $298?!
Why do you do this to me, Jenna?
How could you design a dress for me at the end of the traditional spring-summer shopping season when my clothing budget is as dry as the sun-scorched earth of Al Gore’s inconvenient truth?
How could you introduce it in May—the month of Mother’s Day gifts, graduations, and summer camp deposits? How could you name it after my dog then price it oh so high above me?
This is one reason J Crew is successful. Besides quality, design, color, and hipness factor, J Crew appeals to those of us in the masses as attainable and out of reach at the same time.
That, and they steal writers’ dogs’ names for their dresses.
