The Incredible Shrinking Dress

It was one of those rare finds, a dress that not only looked good, but was affordable. Well, it would look good once I took it in, since it was a few sizes too big. But I have a great imagination, and when I finally got the dress home and re-sewed the seams to take in the necessary inches, it fit me great. As a bonus, it felt good, too. The first day I wore it, I got at least five compliments. It definitely worth the time and trouble to take it in, because comfortable as well as cute is a rare combination.
We would have lived happily ever after, too, if I hadn't washed it.
I know, I know, it's my own fault for not reading the care label. But, see, the thing is, I 100 %, absolutely, positively, cannot stand clothing tags touching my skin. It doesn't matter if they're sewn in the neck, side, or waistline of clothing, if they're touching my skin, they're evil. So I always cut them off. Thus, I sealed the fate of the wonderful dress. It shrank.
When I discovered the laundry room disaster, I was next to desperate. I do have other clothes, it's true, but not all of them are cute and comfortable. So I carried this broom-handle skinny strip of fabric around the house, searching for some way of making it normal sized again. I tried a folding chair, I tried the back of the rocking chair, I tried pulling and stretching it with my hands, but it shriveled back to impossibly small as soon as I let go.
ARGH! If I'd only left it big before I washed it, it would probably have fit me just right once it was washed. But how's a girl to know?
I finally tugged it over the back of an upholstered chair. It didn't all fit on there, the shoulders weren't wide enough, but it was all I had and I left it overnight to dry.
The next day, voila! The skirt was wide enough again, wide enough for this woman to wear with a little bit of swish to spare! But wait... what's this? Two bumps right at hip height where the chair ended and the dress continued on. Great. Just where I don't need extra inches.
Next time I go to the fabric store, I'll just have to look for some fabric to match. I can cut some strips and sew them into the sides. After all, cute and comfortable don't come along every day.

Bad Red

Since we're studying Book of Mormon history history in Sunday School, it was only natural that the subject of the New York Sacred Grove came up. As our teacher talked about the miraculous feeling in the grove, my mind skittered backwards to my childhood days when I visited the grove with my family. While we were there, looking up into the heavens and wondering about the events from so long ago, my two brothers had their eyes on the ground, and each one managed to catch a small snake from those sacred grounds. I don't recall if they asked our parents or if they smuggled them in their pockets, but those snakes made it home.
My younger brother's snake was a mild gray color, and eventually had a batch of teeny little baby snakes which we discovered wrapped around the vents on the back of the old black and white TV set. (No, I don't know how they got onto the TV.) When I first saw them, I thought they were little black wires and I touched one. It was soft and it squirmed. I don't remember exactly what happened to them, but I believe my mother gathered them up into a shoe box, and then my memory fails me.
My older brother's snake was a dusky red color, and with a fiery temper to match, was aptly named, "Bad Red." My brother would hold Bad Red's mouth up to his ear and let the snake bite his earlobe, then walk around the house to show off his snake earring. I thought he was terribly brave.
Then, one day, Bad Red went missing. We looked for him, but had no luck until my mother went downstairs to get a load of laundry out of the washing machine. Her scream rose three stories, and brought my brother running. "Did you find my snake?" he asked. She had, right with the clothes flattened to the side of the tub by the spin cycle. The miracle is that Bad Red was still alive, and very much in the mood for biting earlobes. If you think a boy and his dog are a touching sight, you haven't seen a boy and his snake earring.

The Gloves of Love

We were in St. George, Utah, for First Night, a New Year's Eve celebration that involves walking down rows of vendors and performers and games on blocked-off Main Street. Even though it was St. George, Utah's "Dixie," it was cold. I'd brought a coat, and my son supplied scarves and hats. When we started down the street, my husband pushed a pair of thick camouflage gloves into my hands. I slipped them on and enjoyed their comfortable warmth. We listened to music impersonators for Billy Joel, Elton John, Willy Nelson, and Shania Twain, among others. We savored the warm, sweet smell of funnel cakes and mouth-watering Indian fry bread offered for sale. We watched the 10:00 p.m. children's fireworks display before our daughter-in-law, Jamie, took our two-year-old grandson home.

While walking toward the midnight fireworks display site, I grabbed Bob's arm. He had his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. When I slid my hand down into his, his pulled it out of the pocket for a better grip. I noticed that one of his gloves had the forefinger cut out. "That's for my trigger finger," he said, holding his naked fore finger up. (He meant the "trigger" on his camera.) I noticed that his gloves were thin. "I gave you the warm ones," he said, stuffing his hand back into his pocket. "They're nice, aren't they?"

I opened my eyes wide. "Why'd you give me the warm ones?" I asked.

"Why do you think?" he asked, giving me a grin.

I leaned against his arm as we walked. It's been a long time since Bob has given me flowers. He doesn't even say the words, "I love you." The closest I get are the words, "Luv 'em duts." But I'll tell you what, when it comes right down to it, I'll take a diaper changing, dinner cooking, glove sharing guy over lace and roses any day.

7 Things About Me

Marcia Ward tagged me for the "7 Things About Me" meme.

Rules of the 7 things Meme:
1) Link to the person who tagged you and post the rules on your blog.
2) Share 7 facts about yourself.
3) Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.
4) Let each person know that they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Okay, here go the 7 Things About Me, Like them or not:
1. Commercials can make me cry.
2. I was 30 years old before I got used to my height.
3. I'm surrounded by men. My husband and I have six sons. (No daughters.)
4. I really want a passport for my birthday. (Even though I don't have immediate plans to go anywhere, I still want one... just in case.)
5. The ickiest job I ever had was cutting hearts and livers out of turkeys.
6. I really like sparklies, I mean anything that sparkles makes me say, "ahhh!"
7. I can say the ABC's backwards.

I TAG:
We're Starting from Scratch
Wanderer in a Strange Land
VioletLady at Home
Under Construction
TigerSue's Jungle
Traci Abramson
The Bennett Family

Sing It With Gusto

Bob and I just got back from the obligatory elementary school Christmas program. There's nothing wrong with music, but it's easier to take while I'm working on something else. Life seems to be all about multi-tasking these days, more's the pity. But we were being good parents, going out in the cold, dark night to see our son sing a Christmas song.
While waiting for the 3rd grade's turn, we were delighted to hear "Blue Christmas" belted out by a bunch of preschoolers that couldn't have been more than knee-high, clutching paper guitars and swaying in their neon plastic sunglasses. Their voices filled the college gymnasium with energy, happiness, and enthusiasm. Bob even put his book down to watch and listen. Several chuckles from the audience punctuated the lively performance.
I had expected to merely endure the program with good grace, but with a beginning like that, I couldn't help but smile through the whole thing. Thanks to a bunch of elves in disguise, my Christmas season was better than before I braved the dark and cold.
So even if you don't have little ones in it, go see an elementary school Christmas program. It will be worth it.

Tin Can Pie

It looked heavenly, a soft yellow lemon filling crowned by a thick cloud of meringue. It wasn't hard to choose that slice of pie out of the apple, pumpkin, and chocolate cream sitting on the buffet table. I reverently lifted the slice in my hands, holding tight to the plate to keep the confection from floating away. Oh, yeah, this one was worth the calories.

I carried the slice back to my place at the dining table. I set it down at an angle worthy of a Southern Living magazine front cover. Then I settled myself in my chair and picked up my fork. I watched the tines descend to the point of the pie, the perfect place to start eating. The crust broke easily, promising a tender offering of pastry. I lifted the bite up from the plate, my tongue tingling in anticipation, my mouth opening just enough to let the pie slide inside. I closed my mouth around the tines of the fork and pulled the utensil free. Then I began to chew.

Instead of closing in bliss, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The soft pie in my mouth sent out waves of flavor so metallic, my tongue cringed. If there was a garbage can by my side, I would have made a donation. Although the texture was all wrong, mouthing that pie was like chewing on a tin can. Augh!

Only because of 49 years practice, my ingrained table manners forced me to swallow that first bite of pie. It remained an orphan in my stomach, destined to digest alone.

What had possibly gone wrong with that beautiful piece of pie? I can't imagine. The mystery will go with me to my grave. One un-mysterious thing is the lesson of that strange Tin Can Pie. You can't know what something (or someone) is really like inside just by looking at them. You don't need to take a bite out of them, but you can carry them around a bit and probe them with words instead of a fork. Someone who may look like a mud pie dropped in the gravel and scooped back onto the plate may prove to be the sweetest friend you've ever had.

Swimming Sideways

My son, Brian, got himself a couple of cute little pacu fish, no bigger than a dime. I bought Brian a fourteen gallon aquarium to go with them. You could hardly see the little guys in all that water.
But then something happened... Brian fed his pacu pair. And they grew. A lot. Those darling little punctuation marks turned into candidates for deep sea fishing. They probably measured about a foot long each, but they wouldn't hold still long enough for us to make sure. One thing we were sure of was that their tank was too small. They'd flick their tails and bump their noses on the glass, then execute a tight about-face and flick their tails once to find themselves bumping noses on the opposite pane of glass.
So we got them a bigger tank. But now the question arose, how are we going to move them? They wouldn't fit in any net that our pet store had, and Brian nixed the idea of a fishing pole and bait. What to do?
Big brother Zackary came up with the solution to scoop the fish out with a plastic gallon jug. It seemed the perfect solution for everyone but the pacu's. Once Zack cornered one and scooped it into the pitcher, it thrashed and fought like a maniac. After a startled pause, Zack finally poured the fish into the larger tank, where it promptly lay on its side and flipped its tail, swimming crookedly across its new expansive home.
The fellow's friend got the same treatment and acted the same way, we don't know if it was peer pressure or what. They both swam sideways, back and forth, back and forth, for several minutes. Bored of waiting, and without any signs of synchronized swimming moves, I left the room. The next time I checked on them, the fish went spastic, swimming like the water was on fire. (Well, you know what I mean.) So I turned off the aquarium light and left them alone for awhile.
Now the two are in fish tank heaven. (No, they didn't die.) They can flip their tails at least four times before bumping into the glass wall. They're swimming straight, and they can even go up and down if they feel like playing submarine.
I think that a lot of us swim sideways when we're thrown into a new situation, even if it's for our ultimate good. It feels like we're in someplace too big, too different, too scary. But soon enough we'll gain a clearer perspective of where we really are, and realize that we can go faster and further than we ever have before.
I say, bring on the big fish!