I found Jesus!

It's true! And you'll never believe where!

My family went to the Texas Renaissance Festival last Sunday. Actually we go every year, sometimes two or three times. So yeah . . . as weird as it sounds, that's where I found Him - at the Renaissance Festival right here in Texas. The place where chain-mail clad women strut around wearing next to nothing. Where jousting and head lobbing are daily occurrences. Where wine flows freely (oh, but Jesus is used to that) and where two men compete by diving face first into a mud filled pit. That's right . . . face first.

And THAT is exactly where I found Him. Right there in the Sturdy Beggers Show.

You can check it out for yourself... it was right at the end, right after they'd taken their last dive into the mud, right after the one begger actually wolfed down a mouthful of the stuff and then kissed some unsuspecting audience member (no, it was NOT me this time!). But that's not what we're talking about here, is it?

No, we're talking about finding Jesus. And finding Him in the least likely place. You'll just have to see for yourself and let me know if you agree.

This is the image that squeezed out of the mud as the Sturdy Beggers made their final exit, ending the last show of the day.

So... what do you think? Jesus? 

Or just too much wine? 

Let the Buyer Beware!

Today's post is brought to you by way of Fred Haas Toyota out here in Houston, Texas--a store I will henceforth avoid. 


See, last month I bought a truck for my son . . . his first vehicle! LAST MONTH! Excited for him, anxious about this next step toward adulthood. Intentionally opting for a truck, something used, something I wouldn't be too upset about if he wrecked, being a new driver and all. 


And okay, so I'm a naive shopper. Okay, so I trusted the young man with the nice, honest looking smile. And so what if I thought he was listening when I told him how special this vehicle was for my son. 


And what if I've always had an underlying belief that all people are inherently good. 


And yeah . . . it didn't quite work out that way this time. Hindsight, I should have listened to my husband who wasn't as enamored with the truck or with the "deal" as I was. But I didn't . . . listen to him. Instead, I got to learn something! I learned that a warning indicator, one that suggests the catalytic converter has gone bad, can actually be temporarily reset. Go figure! And sure, I'll never know whether it was the dealer who reset it or the previous owner. 


But none of that really matters now, does it? What does matter is that I'd much rather be the kind of person I am, one who believes in the inherent goodness of people, than the kind of person who cheated and misrepresented the value of the truck. And yeah, sure, my mistake hit me in the pocketbook. But at least I still have my ethics intact. 


And here's a funny thing (see how I'm trying to find humor in all this!): the dealership actually wanted me to leave the truck with them to do the repairs! Are you kidding me!! What's that saying? "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." 


I do have to admit though . . . that's a pretty sharp looking container for a shiny new catalytic converter! 

Parting thought: My new mechanic says that any time a car salesmen opens their mouth, they're lying. 

I'm gonna have to remember that from now on. 

girls and Shoes!

What is it about women and SHOES?

I could end this post right here and everyone would know exactly what I’m talking about. But I feel the need to elaborate.

See, the other day I went running errands—dragging my unwilling hubby along with me. He was okay going to the HobLob for baskets and other sundry foofie items to girl up our newly remodeled bath.  And he was okay going to Target for matching towels. And it was actually him who suggested we pop into the shoe store that was boasting a 50% off sale. (But here I think it was more his reluctance to pass up a bargain than his tolerance for shoes.)

So, while what I really needed was an upgraded pair of fancy flip flops, what I found myself curiously drawn to were these: 

  

And these:

Okay, maybe even something that looked like these: 

Now I ask you . . . are these flip flops? 

I think not. 

I tried on a pair, hobbled up and down the aisle a few times, wondering where in my shockingly simple style of living would I possibly wear them. This from a person who thinks “going out for the evening” means margaritas at Willies Ice House followed by a good movie. And could I possibly wear these shoes there and not be looked at askance? Of course I couldn't. Not that being looked at askance bothers me, mind you.

   

And yet, still I wanted these things! It was like some long smoldering shoe lust had suddenly manifested itself and come to a raging head within my feminine psyche. I felt an uncontrollable desire to possess me a pair of these ridiculous things regardless their lack of practicality and the high probability that they would sit in my closet, collecting dust until I eventually offer them up in a garage sale. (Can you tell that I’ve succumbed to shoe temptation before?)

And my wonderful husband? He goaded me on! “Oh, honey, those make your legs look great. And look at that perky butt. You have to get them. You just have to!”

   

I’m like, "fine… will you take me somewhere shoe-appropriate if I buy them? And if so, where?"

But he had no answer. See, my husband is just as comfortable at Willies in flat shoes as I am. Made me wonder if he was hoping I'd strut around the house in my perky butt shoes just for him.

   

I’m a little baffled by the whole experience. Even a little embarrassed. Not to mention infinitely happy they didn’t have them in my size! Else I would have impulse-bought my way into a pair of shoes I’d have to dust.

Breathes a heavy sigh of relief.

Living in a "project"

No . . . not the projects. Rather, a remodeling project that took roughly three times longer than was promised. I began thinking of it more as a lifestyle change than a remodel, what with boards and tarps covering the hall carpet. What with all my toiletries tucked away in various boxes and me living out of them for ten weeks. What with men climbing in and out of my drawers—wait, that doesn’t sound right—in and out of my cabinets all day long.

But it’s finally winding down. The cleaning crew just left, taking ten weeks of tile shavings, granite fumes and carpet dust with them. Okay . . . so there are no lights yet or knobs on the cabinets. And there’s no glass door on the shower. But all those things are on their way and should be here and installed by the end of the week. And then finally I’ll have some undistracted time to myself when I’m not either waiting for a crew of worker dudes to show up or sharing my space with them.

You’re probably thinking: “how spoiled can one suburbanite get?” To be remodeling a bath during these times of economic turmoil when I’m lucky to even have a bath to remodel? And I’d totally agree with you! What room do I have to complain? And the answer is . . . none.

None whatsoever.

So I’m not going to. I’m just going to share what it’s like to FINALLY have some peace and quiet in the sanctity I can call my own.

It sounds a little like this:

Ommm . . .

I kid you not! J  

P.S. Pictures to follow shortly.  

Dust Bunnies . . . where do they come from? what are they made of? and why won’t they go away!?

I admit I’m not the best housekeeper to walk the face of the earth. Maybe not even the state of Texas. Or the city of Houston. Or my subdivision. Probably not even this cul-de-sac.

I am, however, the best housekeeper of this house. Of that I can be proud.

Even so, I know my “skills” (which were never stellar) have waned over the years. Oh sure, there was a time when I was maniacal about a spotless house. But with the mellowing of age, came the shifting of priorities. I no longer have the time, energy or desire to polish stuff on a daily basis. Oh, did I say daily? More like weekly. And lately . . . monthly. 

Even that was put on hold when we decided to invest in a three week project to remodel our two baths. It didn’t make sense to clean when the worker dudes would be traipsing in and out all day, trashing everything in their wake. So, what meager housekeeping I used to do was ignored during the remodeling.

The promise of three weeks turned into five, then seven, then nine. Next week will mark the tenth week of our three week project and, while I have dusted and cleaned in the rest of the house, I’ve neglected the areas being worked on . . . and I had the dust bunnies to show for it!

I couldn’t believe how they’d taken advantage of my neglect. They were everywhere! And they’d grown . . . I had bunnies the size of my Boston Terriers! If I’d waited another day, they might have taken over the house. Then who'd be here to enjoy those new bathrooms? So this morning, even with the shower door and lighting due Monday, even with the cleaning crew coming on Tuesday, I just couldn’t take one more second! I had to break out the Bunnie Buster!

I’m left thinking that Dust Bunnies, whatever the heck they are, earned their name from their ability to breed like rabbits. And I’m eternally grateful for my Dyson with it’s amazing bunnie busting capabilities.

All clean . . . again J  

At least for a month. 

Or so.