Tag: humor

Dear J Crew

Dear J Crew,

We go together, you and I, like peanut butter and jelly.

visit us at jcrew.com

You fit me. I like your style and quality. You’ve spoiled me with not one, but two retail locations in my town plus a crewcuts store. Divine.

That’s why I regret to inform you I will be moving to a new town soon. A town that has no J Crew stores. A Cowtown.

Oh, I know I can order online. But it won’t be the same.

I’ll miss your quirky, cool salespeople, the convenience of trying on things before buying, your super in-store markdowns.

Today I appeal to your president and creative director Jenna Lyons. Please open a store in Wichita, Ms. Lyons. Do it for fashion. Do it for me.

bradley fair

Wichita is the largest city in Kansas with nearly 400,000 people. It’s the Air Capitol of the World. Home to the jet setters—Bombardier Learjet, Cessna and Hawker Beechcraft.

And it’s a seat of American success and entrepreneurship. Take a look at Forbes list of  the largest privately held companies in the United States.

Numero uno, Cargill, headquarters its beef operations there. Koch Industries, second on the list, is headquartered in Wichita too.

I’ve taken the liberty of scouting a location for you. Bradley Fair appears to be where all the happening cats hang. There’s only one vacant storefront left, so you better get cracking.

And Ms. Lyons, while you’re making plans for your store, will you ask Apple, DSW and Trader Joe’s to open stores in Wichita? It would be of great help to me.

the red phone

Also please see about installing a direct line to my new residence. You know, a red phone like the ones in the stores. With free shipping.

In the meantime, I’ll plan buying trips to your stores in Kansas City, Tulsa, and Oklahoma City. I’ll reach out to the delivery man in my new neighborhood. I’ll chat with your minions of personal shoppers online.

It may seem like I’m asking a lot. But surely you can understand. J Crew is my go-to store. The one that I want. The one I need.

the hip and the square

For the sake of the well-dressed, the hip and the square on the prairie, I implore you to act. Open a store in Wichita, Jenna. It will be worth it.

And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. Matthew 6:28-29 NLT

How do I live without you?

Posted on by Aimee 9

Soot

down the stairs

Life is not for the fainthearted.

Our past three houses have been old, old, old. Heated with radiators powered by boilers. The landlord for our current house asked us to schedule a boiler check.

Last Wednesday, grouchy service guy was supposed to arrive between 8 a.m. and noon. What time did he show up? Around 12:15 p.m.

It’s routine maintenance, I thought to myself. He’ll be gone in no time flat. Then I can get on with my life.

Three hours later, he’s still in the basement. Should have known I was in trouble when he told me he needed our garden hose.

“But I have all our stuff organized and stored down here for the movers,” I said. “Maybe you can come back and do this after we’re gone.”

“I’ll run the water down through the boiler and into the floor drain,” he said. “Your floor’s got a nice slope.”

the hose

A nice slope. Terrific.

I moved as much stuff as far away from ground zero as I could, retreated upstairs, and shut the door. The hours passed and it was approaching pickup time for my son at school.

“How’s it going down there?” I said from the landing.

“I’m done cleaning the boiler,” he said. Then he stepped into view. He was covered head to foot with grimy soot.

“Now I need to come upstairs and drain the radiators. Are they all clear where I can get to them?”

A mild panic ensued somewhere deep inside me. I think it was in my liver or maybe my spleen.

“Uh, give me a minute,” I said. “I’ll clear the way.”

He did not give me a minute, but came charging up the stairs.

roll with it baby

“Um, I need to get my son soon,” I said. “When will you be finishing up?”

“After I drain the radiators, all that’s left is cleaning up the mess downstairs,” he said. “Tell you what. Rather than me cleaning it, how about I give you a $50 credit and get out of your hair?”

“Okay,” I said cautiously. When he stepped out to his truck, I skedaddled to the basement.

A thin layer of black soot rested silently on every surface.

soot

“I don’t want the credit,” I said when he came back into the house. “Go ahead and clean it up. We’ll pay you the extra.”

That’s when grouchy service guy got sassy. All huffing and puffing, throwing attitude around, like the big bad wolf or a 16-year-old.

As he stomped down the stairs, I made a call. “I think you should come home,” I said to my husband.

Of course when my husband got home, sassy grouchy service guy sang a different song. The menfolk got on the phone with the landlord and worked out a deal. I didn’t care. My day was shot. I was done.

Come to find out, the soot now all over the basement had been a serious fire hazard as carbon inside the boiler. Perhaps we’d escaped flames via sassy grouchy service guy and a garden hose. God works in mysterious ways.

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord.
“And My ways are far beyond anything you could imagine.
For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so My ways are higher than your ways
and My thoughts higher than your thoughts.” Isaiah 55:8-9 NLT

Strong Enough to Save, Tenth Avenue North.

11th hour bumper sticker

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Posted on by Aimee 8

Gray

“There are no salons where you’re moving,” said my hair stylist of 10 years.

model hair

“No salons?”

“No salons that carry our line of coloring,” she said.

“Oh, Lord, have mercy,” I said with all reverence.

Women spend more time finding a new hair stylist than they do finding a new gynecologist.

“Our line is pretty exclusive, but I couldn’t believe it,” she said. “There are no salons with our products anywhere near Wichita. None.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” I said.

“There are other lines I can recommend,” she said and rattled off the secondary choices. Then she scurried away to pick my poison.

Ten years of successful haircuts and six years of spot-on color. All about to be sacrificed on the altar of corporate relocation.

pick your poison

She returned with my color in one hand and a small piece of paper in the other.

“This,” she said handing me the paper, “This is your recipe.”

“My recipe.” Cue Indiana Jones.

“And here’s my card,” she said. “Any good colorist should be able to translate your recipe. Have them call me if they have any questions.”

Whimper. What have I done?

“This is the last time I see you before you move, right?” she said.

“No!” I said. “I mean, no. I think I have another appointment in December. If I don’t, I’m making one. I must see you again before we move!”

“I’m sure we can work something out,” she said and slathered on the magic.

My mom colored her hair over the bathtub. She had her cosmetology license and her nursing license. All the bases were covered from peroxide to triage. She could bleach your hair, splint your sprain, curl, crimp, suture or stitch.

image from freefoto.com under creative commons license

The thought of me coloring my hair myself terrifies me more than going gray.

There would be no one to blame if I turned my brunette sherbet orange like an apricot poodle. Or platinum blonde like a towheaded surfer. Or jet black like a black, black sheep. Baa.

“Look younger, longer,” reads a Clinique tagline.

Look younger, longer? So at what point after longer am I to concede it’s a lost cause? When do I give up and go gentle into that good night?

what happens at the salon stays at the salon, unless you blog about it

One of my friends is a decade older than I am. She’s in better shape and runs faster now than she did when she was my age.

Her hair color? Vibrant, luxurious auburn.

There’s hope for me yet.

Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Luke 12:6-7 NIV

You gotta keep your head up, and you can let your hair down.

Posted on by Aimee 18

Squash on the Lamb

Tis the season of pies.

season of pies

Should come as no surprise

pumpkins to the left

To spy these fugitives hanging around
Behind the church where I found

pumpkins to the right

Them shivering in the chill and shaking.

sidewalk pumpkins

Alas, they’re not the type for baking.

The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble. Psalm 9:9 NIV

You don’t have to take the broken road.
You can turn around and come back home.

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Posted on by Aimee

Cranberry Mary

We finally gave in and purchased a second vehicle for me to drive.

cranberries, crystal & concrete

Did our research, saved our down payment, visited the dealership. Decided to buy the exact same make and model SUV we had before.

Newer year though. More bells and whistles. Like talking navigation and backup sensors to help me avoid kissing the guide poles at the drive-up ATM.

Even wanted the same color we had before. But Galaxy Gray wasn’t available.

If we waited, we’d miss the financing deal. And we’d continue sharing the truck.

“Isn’t there another color your wife would like?” the salesman asked my husband.

“Okay,” I said deflated. “White Diamond.”

I’ve only, always chosen neutral-colored cars. Black, white, gray. The maroon and gold Camaro was my dad’s idea and the Sahara gold truck was my husband’s.

“Or Dark Cherry is nice.”

The dealer couldn’t find White Diamond, but did acquire Dark Cherry. A red car. Maybe I could do this.

The day came. Dark Cherry arrived. “You’ll fall in love with it!” said the salesman.

I saw it. One word: burgundy.

“It looks burgundy,” I said.

“No, no,” said the salesman. “It’s red.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s more red than brown,” I said. “But it’s not true red.”

“Oh, that’s just dirt,” he said. “Let me have it washed and you’ll see it’s red.”

While we waited, I discussed the dilemma with my husband.

blue undertones

“You know I’m a Winter. Brownish-red is not my color. I would really feel more at home in gray.”

“Honey, Dark Cherry is your color,” said my husband. “It isn’t brown. It has blue undertones.”

I wanted a car. I didn’t want burgundy. Maybe it wasn’t burgundy. But it wasn’t red either.

“See?” said the salesman. “It’s red!”

Freshly-washed Dark Cherry glistened in the sunlight, casting out any hints of brown.

This is silly, I thought to myself. Grow up and be content with Dark Cherry. So I did.

Still, the whole color thing ate at me. Had I compromised too much? Gone along to get along? The stars were aligned: I was there, my husband was there, the car was there. How could I walk away?

In other news, one of my BFFs gave birth to her third child. She’d entered no man’s land—the first weeks of an infant’s life when you take care of baby and not much else.

Armed with my package wrapped in pink gingham, I drove to her house to deliver the gift. She cradled the baby while we caught up.

“And you got a car,” she said as she peeked out the window. “Look at the color!”

life is a bowl of cranberries

“Yeah,” I said. “I wanted gray but they didn’t have it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said. “I love that Cranberry.”

Yet another reason why she’s my BFF. How I’ll miss her when we move.

Hadn’t mentioned my angst over the intricacies of brown, burgundy and true red. Didn’t matter.

She saw the best and called it out. Named it. Reframed it. No more neutrals for me.

Now I’m quite taken with Cranberry. Decided to call her Mary. She has a bike rack for Cindy so the girls can be friends.

Cranberry Mary Momma Mobile. Watch out. Here she comes.

Like apples of gold in settings of silver is a ruling rightly given.
Proverbs 25:11 NIV

Linger awhile longer and enjoy The Cranberries with me. Anyone else think it’s ironic a group called The Cranberries filmed a music video in black and white?

Posted on by Aimee 13

Pho for Joy

Joy at My Universe is Still Coming Together loves the Vietnamese soup pho.

So do I. My husband and I have developed quite an appetite for Vietnamese food during our tour in St. Louis. From Mai Lee to Little Saigon Cafe, I’m convinced there’s an addictive ingredient in the recipes. Crave.

Joy loves her pho so much, she featured it on her blog. Twice.

Wonderfully, wickedly creative idea. So in a huge me-too must-do, I’m posting photos of my pho.

pho good :)
pho gone :(

Here’s to pho, to Joy, and to savoring every drop of life while it lasts.

Show me, LORD, my life’s end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting my life is. Psalm 39:4 NIV

Blink by Revive hits this home. The video link by DavidsDanceProd inspired this post’s verse.

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Posted on by Aimee 9

Free Thanksgiving Blog Button

If you were a fan of The X-Files, as was/am I, you’ll remember the quip in the closing credits from Ten Thirteen Productions: “I made this.”

Well, I made this:

How crafty am I? Don’t answer. That’s meant to be a rhetorical question.

The button, however, is yours for the taking. Copy and use at will in your social media to celebrate Thanksgiving. See? I’m using it in the sidebar to the right and as the profile picture on the everyday epistle Facebook page.

Come back tomorrow when, for my next trick, I plan to feature the Hebrews verse in a post AND link the post to this button! Wowza.

Those who refresh others will themselves be refreshed. Proverbs 11:25 NLT

Whatcha waiting for? Waiting for Tomorrow by Mandisa. You made me for so much more than sitting on the sidelines… 

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Posted on by Aimee 8

Not a Moo Moo

not a moo moo

Needed pajamas for a girls’ weekend away. My comfortable, old nightgown was threadbare. The loungewear department was calling.

As I swept across the sales floor at Dillard’s pulling things to try, I spotted it. A rack of baby terry cloth by Miss Elaine. Bright colors, soft fabric. I circled back for a closer look.

There I found a slightly A-line dress. No waistline, v neck, side seam pockets, tea length hem. Modern, close fit at the top. Loose on down.

The dressing room verified my suspicions. It was comfortable. Extremely comfortable.

So I bought it along with a couple more items for my trip. It was too warm to wear the baby terry dress at the time, and it was still full price. But I couldn’t leave that caliber of comfort in the store.

I bought it dreaming of a cool fall Sunday after church, pulling on the baby terry dress and lounging around the house. Making hot chocolate or popcorn. Watching movies. All cozy and warm.

Then it occurred to me. I’m only 40. Had I just purchased my first moo moo?

To me, Miss Elaine seems like an upper end line for mature women. And baby terry cloth? No pretty young thing I know would be caught dead in tea length baby terry cloth. No PYT even knows what tea length is these days.

mini patch pocket

It’s not a moo moo, I reasoned. It’s fitted at the top for goodness sake. And it’s got a mini patch pocket.

Besides who cares if it is categorically a moo moo? It’s one of the most comfortable garments I’ve ever owned.

I heard a Bible teacher once chastise us women for seeking our own comfort. Who did we think we were to put ourselves first and care foremost about our own well-being? To choose comfort instead of sacrifice?

Rather than a call to asceticism, I think she meant for us to see our own selfishness—as if we needed to be bashed over the head with the obvious and have the sacrifices we do make heartily invalidated. We wallowed in guilt while comfort was called on the carpet.

It’s fall now. A chill nips the edges of our daytime temps. I’m sitting at my computer, wearing my baby terry dress that’s not a moo moo.

The world is spinning into chaos outside the door of my little house. The economy is stalled indefinitely. There are protesters occupying Wall Street.

Decisions are not being made. Conflicts are left unresolved. People I know are divorced or alone, hurting, sick or dead. Winter will be here soon.

God comforts us. He wouldn’t do it if we didn’t need it. Over indulgence, selfishness, and hedonism are vices for sure. But comfort? Comfort is a necessity.

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 NLT

Going classical with Comfort Ye My People from The Messiah by George Frederic Handel. Sacred prelude to the holiday season.

trio of terry

Epilogue

Recently I hit Dillard’s clearance. Picked up two more Miss Elaine baby terry dresses that are not moo moos. Only $6.20 each. All rise for the Bargainista.

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Posted on by Aimee 18

The Three Bears Go House Hunting

public domain image

As we make plans to relocate to Wichita, my husband’s employer is sending us on a house-hunting trip. Momma Bear, Papa Bear and Baby Bear have different priorities for this excursion.

“Mom,” said the Cub, “we need lots of space.”

“What do you plan to do with lots of space?” I said.

“We need lots of space so we can have a soccer field,” he said. “Or a long-distance swimming pool.”

Papa Bear is also concerned about outdoor space. Give him room, lots of room. Don’t fence him in.

He grew up on a farm. You know what they say. You can take the boy off the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the boy.

Problem is, Papa Bear already has a job and farming is not it. Nor is landscape gardening. Nor lawn mowing.

Hobby, yes. Phenomenal green thumb, that man. But full-time work? And don’t think for a minute Momma Bear is interested in taking the reigns of a Deere.

Search criteria for Papa Bear consists of lot size, proximity to the neighbors, and what backs up to the property. Heaven forbid we back up to another house.

cubs sculpture, as seen at the National Zoo

“Here’s one,” he said as we perused real estate sites, “and we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone building behind us.”

“Why’s that?” I said.

“See this big field behind the property on the map?” he said. “It’s a cemetery.”

Momma Bear looked up to see if he was serious. He was. Dead serious. She huffed a low growl under her breath.

“What else have you found?” she said.

Papa Bear cracked a smile. “So living next to a cemetery is out of the question?”

“Completely.” Grrr.

Momma Bear’s main concerns are for the innards of the house. She would like an open floor plan so everyone can be together. She would like the heat to work in the winter and the air conditioner to work in the summer.

Enough room so every bear has his space, but not too much that she can’t clean up in a jiffy. A yard bigger than a postage stamp, but smaller than a park.

bear chair detail, as seen at the National Zoo

Our relocation agent has her work cut out looking for our just right.

One tidy, cozy, move-in-ready, little house on the prairie with a soccer field for a yard that doesn’t back up to another house or a cemetery.

Hibernating would be simpler. Any empty caves available in Sedgwick County?

Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. Ephesians 4:13 NIV

We can work it out.

Posted on by Aimee 24

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 wrong. Muzak 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!

Posted on by Aimee 9

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.

Posted on by Aimee 40

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.

Posted on by Aimee 10