Sunday Dinner

On Sundays Hubby and I find a place to eat dinner after we attend church. Sunday is my day for not cooking. I’m sure there is something in the Bible that supports the need for a break from the kitchen, but I've yet to locate it. When I find it, I think the wording will go something like: “No woman shall be required to labor in the kitchen for the purpose of preparing Sunday dinner.” 

When we enter restaurants on Sundays, we are often the only ones dressed up in what we view as “Sunday-go-to-meeting duds.” Our town is a town of casual dress, and sometimes I have to wonder what others might be thinking about us. But I don’t wonder enough to wear my jeans and sweatshirt to worship service.

A couple of Sundays ago we decided to go Italian and went to a favorite place that serves up great Italian dishes along with delicious salads and bread. The wait was not long, mainly because we never manage to beat the Presbyterians, or any other group of believers, to the restaurant. By the time we have choir practice and various other after church activities and meetings, the rest of the city’s believers are home taking siestas.

On this particular Sunday there was a table waiting for us and, as the hostess led us to our places, a young lady who was waiting tables stopped in front of my husband, smiled broadly, and commented, “I love your beautiful suit and tie.” 

This out of the blue compliment could be interpreted in one of several ways:

• Hubby really looks nice in comparison to the other male diners.
• Hubby looks so out of place in his suit and tie that he caused this shocked reaction.
• Hubby’s outfit is the first of this type of clothing the young lady has ever seen.
• Hubby has been mistaken for someone famous who actually wears suits when dressed up – maybe Jay Leno.
• Hubby looks really great in contrast to the frumpy clothes his wife is wearing.

I’m actually going for the last interpretation.  I think I feel a shopping trip coming on.

Bad Hair Days

Some might picture a bad hair day (BHD) by showing individual strands of hair pointing toward the sky as though the owner just stuck a finger in a light socket. That’s not the picture of a BHD for me. When I have one of those days, despite much blowing, brushing, and spraying, my hair stays plastered to my scalp like a kindergarten child clinging to Mom’s legs on the first day of school.

Many days during summer, I have terrible, horrible, no good, very bad hair days* (THNGVBHD), something probably much better understood by gals than by guys. But the cause of those bad hair days may be over for a while. We just skipped fall here in Colorado, and winter has begun. So I will be trading the bad hair days for snow days, the first of which arrived on Saturday. 

I was not aware that winter had turned up until I looked out my kitchen window mid-morning and saw something white floating in a downward direction toward the ground. At first I thought, What? This is only October 8.  So I kept squinting at the white stuff and thinking it might be seeds blowing out of season from the cottonwoods. It wasn’t. Indeed the cold stuff was here. (They say eyesight is the first thing to go. But in my own defense, cottonwood seeds and snowflakes are very similar in size, shape, and behavior as they travel toward earth.)

I probably should write an Ode to lost autumn. But as a child, when my third grade teacher, Ms. Hodgkinson, said we would be writing a poem for Mother’s Day, that was cause for me to panic. So I know that writing lyrical verse is way out of my league.

I think I’ll just go get my flannel jammies out of storage. But before I do, I should at least try to write a little thankful verse.

            Thankful for hibernating bear,

     Thankful for changes in the air,

            Thankful for soft and fluffy hair,

     Thankful bad hair days will now be rare.

How’d I do, Ms. Hodgkinson?

*Great read – even for adults:  Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst

Gummi Bears and Writing

Sometimes I feel inspired to write; sometimes not. Writing a dissertation is a good example of a time when I felt compelled, but not inspired to write. That dissertation is what I now refer to as my “Gummi Bear Project.”

It would seem that a looming deadline should mean scheduling writing into one’s day, thus making it a priority.  Not so for me!  Deadlines cause a little voice inside of my head to whisper, “You can do that later.” Because of my response to the quiet suggestion of the little voice, writing that I do against deadlines almost always takes place in the wee hours of the morning.  This is where the gummi bears come in.  When I’m writing during hours when I should be sleeping, I consume lots and lots of chewy food. After trying many things that messed with the computer keyboard and my waistline, I finally discovered gummi bears.

During the seemingly endless hours of reviewing research and writing “stuff” for my committee, I had probably tried every brand of gummi candy on the market. I also knew which stores to visit in case of a mid-night emergency. So, in light of the many pounds of gummi bears I have consumed, I am a self-proclaimed expert on gummi bears. From my experience, I declare the best of the best to be Haribo^® Gold-Bears^®. I still crave them while I’m typing.

I know, I know! They are little animal-shaped lumps made with sugar, glucose, corn syrup, starch, citric acid, gelatin, flavoring, coloring, and a few other things thrown in just for good measure. Empty calories!  I also know there are some who contend that gummi candies may harbor prions, cause tooth decay, and contribute to obesity. But, if you ever see an open package of Haribo Gold-Bears® beside my computer, be warned: I’m meeting a deadline. And, just so you know, my mood may be a little bearish. I just might attack in order to protect my food supply!