I'M DREAMING OF A WHITE CHRISTMAS

I love the holidays. I'm even giddy about "Silver Bells" and any Christmas song sung by Bing Crosby. When the kids were little, I taught them to sing Bing's song,"Melenkilinkilaka". It drove Lance bananas. Just think of it, Christmas is just one big Broadway musical for an entire month! People, even strangers, are friendly and smiling and humming show tunes for the annual show called "Christmas".

I know I've been a Christmas nut from at least age 3. My mom and dad dressed their three girls up and took us two hours away to Oklahoma City to see Santa Claus. My mom said that I had on a beautiful navy velveteen coat, white stockings and black Mary Jane shoes and the minute I saw Santa for the very first time, I ... I...I...wet my pants. I'm still that excited, minus the damp britches. In December, I get up earlier than usual, I hum in the grocery store; in general, I'm in a good mood. And it's not for the anticipation of a potential present, because I really don't even care what I get. I must be somewhat altruistic because I want to believe in True Happiness, in Goodwill Toward Men, in Peace on Earth, in Not Gaining Weight Over The Holidays.

But whether it's a country full of people sharing my show tune obsession or that every year Christmas is the time I feel Hope envelope me, I just want to once again believe that people are good and life is good.

So until next post...I'm dreaming of a white Christmas (even in the South where it rarely snows...)

FOLLOW THE LEADER

I was driving down the road today and looked to my left and saw what seemed like a scene from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. There were as least two to three gazillion small black birds in a parking lot and driveway of a business. Then, as we have all seen before, one bird, took off and the entire gazillion took off too into what looked like a rehearsed aerial show. They ducked and weaved and swooped and dove all with the precision of the Blue Angels.

A few hours later, I came back by that same spot and every one of those birds were still there. All, in mass, were sitting on top of the roof of a convenience store. The roof was completely full of the birds sitting side by side, row by row. The leader sat so bird after bird plopped their winged backside in their assigned spot.

This got me thinking about God. Am I in sync with Him? When he moves, do I keep my eyes on him? When my life tumbles and loops and twists us around, do I have my eyes on my Leader? When he is still, am I? Will He lead me to my intended destination?

I’m sure the birds were on their winter trek south for the winter and maybe they stopped at the convenience store for a potty break and a drink. Or maybe there was some “birdie Morse Code” that told them to relax and sit a spell.

I’ll go by tomorrow to see if they’re still there. And I will remind myself the same as my “car ride devotional”—to “follow my leader.”

Hello out there in Blogsville,

I'm not sure if anyone really reads these things or if this is actually a writing discipline I'm doing only for myself. Oh, well...

October 20th was my 27th anniversary. Little did I know when I was planning our wedding so many years ago that the date was going to compete so much with the general football population of the United States of America. Maybe I should have been clued in when we were planning to get married in September but between my dad and Oklahoma football and Lance and South Carolina football, there was not a date that would fit where both of them would show up on the same day, thereby, we were married on October 20th because Carolina was playing an away game and Oklahoma was at Kansas.

Somehow, since I'm forgetful, I rarely remember ever year or so when Lance says to me,"Honey, let's go to the mountains for our anniversary this year." To me, the mountains mean cuddling up by a fire, hiking, roasting marshmallows and eating s'mores. To Lance, it means that South Carolina is playing either Vanderbilt or Tennessee and he can be efficient and cross off two things on his list.

So a week ago, we went to the "Lance-type" mountains. I must say that it was a perfect fall day and from the top of the Vandy stands, I could almost make out several trees turning colors.

The other thing that's weird to me is that on this "romantic" weekend we spend it with other people (friends that go with us to the game) and talk about "footbally" type stuff. Then when we get back to the hotel, we watch the other games we missed including instant replays. This is not my idea of lovey-dovey.

Since I barely pay attention to the things I like to do, you can imagine what sitting like sardines on concrete benches does for my focus. So, to be polite, I think up other things to think about. First, I looked at the Vanderbilt fans. I couldn't find a Vandy Redneck anywhere! Instead of hearing..."Listen, here you
#%$$#%^&&*** ref; I heard, "Listen here, old chap..." Odd. Then instead of the stadium smelling like beer, I could only smell coffee. Weird.

During my 2nd half contemplations, I started thinking about their mascot name...the Commodores. Now, a commodore is a naval officer, BUT not the top officer of a naval fleet. Shouldn't they have named themselves the Admirals? It's like saying, "Come on you team of less than the best." I don't get it, really.

So I've tried to tell Lance that I'm planning next year's anniversary. I think first we'll go to the mountains to a bluegrass festival, apple dunking and a mountain flea market. Then on a hayride back to the hotel, we'll talk of that antique compote dish that we had to bargain for and to top it off we'll watch the "reveal" of several HGTV shows and then watch the instant replay in slow motion of the woman crying over her new room. It's gonna be just perfect. Better yet, I think I'll surprise Lance next year so don't tell him; I wouldn't want to spoil it!

Until next post,

Mama Chick

MAKE A WISH

As with most women, there are body parts that make me crazy. I could just list them in alphabetical order, but instead have decided to focus on just two. My hair and my eyelashes make drive me nuts. Before I had leukemia and chemo, I had such long and luscious hair and lashes. But after the zap of intensive chemo, I emerged first as bald as our national symbol of the bald eagle (except the eagle just has his hair slicked back). After my hair and lashes grew back in, I assumed that I'd get the beautiful curly hair that people talked about. However, my chemotherapy was the kind that kills off some of the hair follicles so I emerged with about half as much hair as I began in my life. So throughout the years since cancer, I've tried all kinds of remedies to strengthen and add volume and fullness to my hair. I've changed colors like a small child coloring a rainbow on a piece of paper.

On my weekly trip to Target, I finally decided to buy some false eyelashes. Since I didn't know where to find them, I quietly whispered to a red-shirted clerk. She said very loudly, FAKE EYELASHES? WE HAVE SOME FAKE EYELASHES ON 26B AND SOME FAKE EYELASHES ON THE END CAP. That was not the incognito way I had planned.

When I went to 26B I had so many options to choose from. There are black flutter, black spiky, black and silver glittery and something that looked like black fur or a Groucho Marx mustache. There are complete eyelash sets and then a whole set of individual lashes. After perusing for several minutes, I picked up black basic and a few individuals. I also got some eyelash glue and an eyelash wand to help me put them on.

Last night, before my kids came to eat dinner, I thought I'd try them on. Oh, my goodness, that's when I realized that I needed to actually see to put them on. I was trying to look through my bi-focals and position the lashes close to my own lash line without the glue showing plus add a few single lashes for thickness.

When my kids got here, one said, "Hey, mom, you've got an eyelash on your shirt...Make a wish! Throughout the night, I kept hearing that phrase because sooner or later, most of the eyelashes fell off.

So if you need a wish for something today, please make one on my eyelash. They are still falling like the leaves on the trees outside.

Until next post,

MamaChick

AND GOD SMILED

Once a month the "CHICKS" have a brown bag devotional where we bring our lunch and hear a devotional about the fruit of the spirit. In September we talked about love. We always leave with something for homework that we'll, in turn, talk about the following month. So our homework was to 1. Act lovingly to someone who clearly was treating us wrong and 2. Look for an unusual way that God tells us that he loves us.

In this blog, I'll write about #2.

It was a busy week here at the Jones Abode. We should have had a revolving door so we could get our "stuff" done a little faster. I am always curious why we'd be so busy when our kids are grown. It's like we have saved up everything we ever thought we may possibly want to do and now we're doing it. Anyway, during that time, I was dog-sitting some black varmint. I drove home from something I was doing to let the dogs out--(no reference to the GA bulldogs) and then head back to whatever I was so engrossed in.

I ran into the house and yelled, "Come on dogs, let's move it...Go...Go...Go (I do mean go). When I went outside on the deck, I looked up and there floating by me was a Mylar smiley-face balloon. I stopped my ranting around and glared...Floating about 5 feet from me was this balloon that literally bounced and hopped by until a gentle wind took it up. But not into the sky, but stuck high in our big pine tree. After two weeks, it's still there smiling.

It may be way too "off the beaten track" to say that God smiled at me, but how many times have you been in a hurry and in the only four minute window that you'd be outside all day, did a balloon linger near you. I had found my #2 homework from our session.

And GOD smiled...May he smile at you this week.


Until next time,

Mama Chick

THE PERFECT FRIDAY NIGHT DATE


It was one of those Friday nights that Lance and I had planned to go out to "a dinner and a movie", but that's not quite what happened. After teaching my class, I got comfy in my standard yoga pants and some insipid shirt. When Lance came home, he asked if I wanted to go out on the deck first. It was one of those nights where we kept asking each other, "Where do you want to eat?" He would suggest someplace and I said,"No, I had that for lunch." I would say, "How about bar-b-que?" and he said that he wasn't in the mood. This exchange went on for several rounds. Usually when that happens, it means that neither of us are all that hungry.

We both ended up at the railing of our deck and, for no apparent reason, I leaned over the deck and spit. Lance was taken back and said, "In our 26 years of marriage, I have never seen you spit."

So what ensued next was something so juvenile, so infantile, so ridiculous...We had a spitting contest!

I spit again and then Lance spit. I spit; he spit. Then Lance began rating the spew. He deemed me the "shotgun" because I got it everywhere. Lance then became known as the "sharp shooter" because he had a direct target and hit it.

Then it happened, he accused my spitting as inferior. I came back with that I should not be judged by his expectations. I pointed out that people are created differently, how we "shotgun spitters" need love too. Everyone needs to be tolerant. The world is not made up of just "sharp shooters". The world is big enough for both kinds of spitters and that God loves us all.

After I chastised him for his lack of political correctness in including all spitters as one family, we got in the car to find a place to eat. Since I didn't want to change from my junk clothes, I thought we'd go through a drive-through, but "Mr. Sharp Shooter" talked me into going into Teresa's. "Come on," he said, "It's Friday night, we won't see anyone there."

As we entered the door, I immediately saw half of TrueNorth in there. No one said anything about my tacky yoga pants; I think they were looking at my still-wet spit on the front of my shirt.

You may be thinking that maybe I need a hobby, but you see, one of my hobbies is having a blast with Lance on Friday nights. And other than the SPIT HAPPENS JUDGMENT, it was a perfect date.

Until next post,

Mama Chick

REFLECTIONS FROM MAMA CHICK

Yesterday was an interesting day, in history and in my life. It was the 5th year anniversary of Sept. 11. Lance and I were talking about why it is that a 5th, 10th or 20th...anniversary seems poignant. It just seemed to us that we reacted with more indepth thought than say the 2nd, 3rd or 4th year anniversary of 9/11. We watched news clips, T.V. shows and read magazine articles like the attacks had just happened.

I delved into the survivor's "how life goes on" stories. I wanted to know how everyone was doing. Part of the raw emotion was gone, but there were "forever" tears in their eyes as they talked of how to live as a survivor of the unthinkable.

To me, the question of this generation is, "Where were you on Sept. 11, 2001?" This reminded me of an earlier question of "Where were you when Kennedy was shot?" or just as stopping as the discussion of the Depression that my grandparents talked about. These are telling statements of deep emotions that people must face.

I call these "earthquake moments" where the ground shakes beneath us and we don't even know if we are going to survive. Many of us have had personal ground upheavals with a death of a loved one, a divorce, a betrayal or a diagnosis.

My personal pivot that stopped my world always struts its stuff this time of year. Twelve years ago in September, I was minding my own business when I went to the doctor for a routine blood test and within a day, my world had changed. I found out that I had leukemia. After trying to take such news in, and telling my children and family, I went through many gyrations such as totally falling apart to forming a plan to have hope to nightmares to delving into my faith, I began a new starting point on which to measure life. I have many stories about how I faced cancer; those might be other blogs later. It's just that September is when I was diagnosed and September is when the terrorist attacks happened and so they seem to be a combined reflection.

Deep emotional reflection is what I saw on the faces of the survivors of 9/11. Yes, they had continued with their lives and they had questioned why and had raised
their children and had even learned to laugh again, but their moist eyes told a story that would never be forgotten. By their deep sighs, I knew that this incident would only be a gulp away from tears.

I am teary as I write this. Is it because of cancer or terrorist attack? What I think is that I'm teary over how God envelopes us at our lowest and gives us hope and hope and hope again.

Hope is my favorite word. If anyone reading this ever finds themselves needing hope, I'd like to be the friend that walks you to the place of having our Father hold you and sway you and keep you in a blanket of hope until you are comforted.

Until next time,

Mama Chick

BLOG BITE

Now that I have a blog, I tend to look and edit everything I do to see if I could use it for a blog bite to write about. So for awhile, I'm afraid that my blogs could be boring because contemplating isn't that visual. Since I'm reevaluating my life, I don't even remember what it is that I do anymore. I used to like to sing folk songs and change the words of The House of the Rising Sun to the words of Amazing Grace, but no one has done that since the 70's and I doubt that TNC will restart that one up. I continue to dart around and do too many things a little too fast, but I think that Kiefer Sutherland has that wrapped up in the series 24. So, I guess that idle chatter will have to suffice.

This week I am dog-sitting a black terrier-type dog named Maddie. Don't get that confused with Mattie, my black terrier-type dog. Earlier this week, I convinced Lance to help clean out the garage. He sold his apartment business over two years ago and all his tools ended up in the garage. Since our back door (by the garage) is the only one we use, I just thought that we should make a path. I don't think our journey team has ever seen us with a clean garage. It's usually like "hi"...(kick a rake)...and "how are you"...(fall over a wheelbarrow) or "you look so good"...(knock head on sports equipment) or "let me help you with that" (as I slide into home base on the painting drip cloth.)

So, I guess that's it this week in blogworld--contemplation, dogsitting, and garage cleaning. Or maybe I could talk lance into painting my toenails for me.

Until next time,

mamachick

COLD NOSE

My dog Mattie is my constant companion. She's a black terrier-type pound dog that I rescued from a certain inferno. She is so devoted to me and loves and trusts me without question.

I started my marriage with a black Scottish terrier-type dog named Scooter who lived for 13 yrs. After Scooter died, I waited an entire 5 days to go to the pound and get Gizmo, a black terrier-type pound dog. This worried Lance because he said that if he died that, with calculating the dog years, that I would only wait around about month to replace him. I am curious what point he was trying to make.

I happened upon dog #3, Mattie, when I was on my way to Publix. A dog rescue unit had set up outside the grocery store. I had to look; the dogs were drawing my attention like M & Ms on Halloween night. As I was browsing, I saw a black terrier-type dog. She was wooing me to pet her and play with her and buy her cute little doggie outfits and talk baby talk to her and probably "give her a home where the buffalo roam..." (this is from a show tune.)

So, I dared the impossible, I called home to ask Lance what his thoughts were on getting a second dog. He had previously told me that he was a one-dog man and that if we were to get another dog, I'd have to give up one of the kids. (Hmmmm...something to think about). So the call home was to see if God had given Lance a little wisdom on his dog policy. Gee, Lance was in a golf tournament and not home and couldn't be reached by phone. Hmmmm...who should I ask next? I chose my daughter, McKenna, who was a dog nut like I was. I told her to bring Gizmo, dog #2 to the store and if Gizmo tried to eat the little dog, it would be a no, BUT, if Gizmo didn't eat this little hot dog, then it must mean by divine judgment that we NEEDED another dog.

OK. Skip the gnashing of teeth by Lance. God had clearly deemed that He wanted us to SAVE a doggie soul from the fiery furnace. We named her Mattie and she has been my constant companion since the day I came home with her.

She follows me from room to room. She sits behind me when I'm working on the computer or eating at the dining room table. She sits on top of the sofa and puts her head on my shoulder when I am watching TV. She sleeps like a hyphen (horizontally) between Lance and me. But my favorite thing she does is that when she follows me, she is so close to me that she touches each of my calves with her COLD NOSE. It's step, touch (cold nose), step, touch (cold nose), step, touch (cold nose).

She is always so close to me that I feel her presence. That got me to thinking that I wish I would be so close and in step with God that I was with his every step. Maybe, that is something that I should strive for...God-step; follower step; cold nose--God-step; follower step; cold nose...


Until next time,

Mama Chick

Blog Bog

I'm a little "bogged" down about writing a "blurb" on my "blog" today, mainly because i feel like a "blob".

Life has changed for me quite a bit this year. I have just come off one of the busiest years of my life and now i'm living in one of the slowest years. I'm living with no kids at home anymore, a job change, a new, "what's my purpose now? kinda time.

I've been several things throughout my adult years. I started in public relations at a hospital and then in PR at United Way of Delaware. I've dressed up as cartoon characters and marched in parades. I made odd things out of felt, glue, and cardboard before one could virtually buy anything on the internet, i interviewed, wrote articles and radio shows to highlight a featured person or agency. I made brochures the old fashioned way by literally cutting and pasting.

A few years later, became a preschool teacher. I did that for awhile and then I became a music and drama teacher. Most of the time, I was just filling a need, either for a friend or an inherent, deep down need of my own to change or evolve. I am either directionless or I have too many interests and can't narrow down one career for a lifetime.

When I moved to N. Augusta, I worked as an artist-in-residence in CSRA schools teaching drama and creative writing. I've taught seminars in personalities, budget decorating, organization and marriage.

So now as i contemplate what I want to do now, the only thing i feel i have left is to be a school crossing guard or say"my pleasure" and work at Chic-Fil-A. I really wish I had made a master plan to "be a teacher" or "be a nurse" or "be an airline pilot" or "be an international spy", but i didn't do that. So here i am after twenty something years of working, wondering what i want to be when i grow up.

Maybe i'll be a cowgirl...a trapeze artist...a clown (no, clowns scare me). I'll take any suggestions.

Until next time...mamachick

Don't Walk


There are rule followers and rule breakers. I look like and sometimes act like a rule breaker, but I'm actually a rule follower. When the traffic light blinks,
Don't walk...Don't walk...Don't walk; I don't. Even if there's no traffic. I act like it's one of the 10 Commandments. Keep off the grass; express lane--10 items or less; one coupon per customer; kids meals for 12 and under...


Well, last week I started out following a rule and then...

I'm working on a project for or chicks women's retreat. One of the items to giveaway is a black/white marbled composition notebook. It will be cover with a cute "chicks" material. But first, I needed to get the notebooks so we could make the covers...160 of them. Usually, the books cost around $1.50-1.99 a piece, but since this was back to school time, they were on sale for 50 cents. How could I pass up this bargain? The problem was that the ad said that the limit was 10 per customer. They had a rule: Limit 10 per customer.

Day 1
The first day I went to KMart and got ten notebooks (the legal limit); I took them to the car. Then I went back in and bought ten more notebooks and checked out through the garden entrance; I took those to the car. I went back in and got ten notebooks and checked out with a different cashier; I took those to the car, but then I got nervous and thought that the notebook police were watching me so I went home with thirty notebooks.

Day 2
Eckerd's also had theirs on sale. I went to the Eckerd's in North Augusta and bought all they had--37 notebooks.

Day 3

I went to Eckerd's in Augusta. I bought all they had--3.

Day 4

I went to K-Mart in Augusta. I was back to the ten limit rule. I went in the front door, bought 10 notebooks and took them to the car. I went back in and bought 10 more notebooks and checked out with another cashier; I took those to the car. It was hot that day and it felt like a battle so I decided to throw caution to the wind and just load up the cart with the number of notebooks I still needed, face possibly going to "over the limit notebook" jail. I wheeled up a cartload of the composition books and held my breath. The cashier didn't even balk, question, or call on the intercom for help. He just totaled my bill, swiped my card and let me go. He didn't even care about the limit. I had spent four days working on covert operations. I had lost sleep about if I'd be able to get all the books I needed. I could have just bought them all the first day without any antics. But then, that wouldn't be a good story unless, of course, I was returning to my car and walked while the Don't Walk sign was flashing.

Until next post or something else wacky happens.

mamachick

August 3rd or 4th


Boiled Okra and Tomatoes


Last week I had lunch with my father-in-law at an assisted living house. He invited me, had a special table set up for the two of us and pulled out my chair in chivalrous fashion. My father-in-law's name is Mr. Thweatt, Mr. T., for short, and he's 94, almost 95 years old.

I am amazed by him. In April this year, Lance's mother, Mr. T's wife, died after many complication from a heart bypass. She had the bypass in October and never really got the quality of life she wanted.

A few months after is when Mr. T. decided to go into assisted living, and not because he can't function, but because he decided that it would ease everyone's mind to know that there were people around to help him at all times. He still has his house four blocks away; we can it his vacation house. He visits it several times a week.

Mr. T. has decided to buy a new computer and learn email and web surfing. He has decorated his room with golf and Braves memorabilia. He bought a bookcase and put it together himself. Then he bought a desk and was in the process of putting it together when I went to visit him. His son asked him why he didn't pay to get it put together and he said that he has plenty of time and it would save him $75.

That's how I want to be as I get older...Useful, excited for each day to come, learn something new. I have been taught by Mr. T. and also another family member from my growing up years.

When I was young, we would often go to Oklahoma City to visit my great aunt Ollie. She was full of life although her life was not full. She married at age 15 at 6 a.m to her first husband. The traveling preacher came through town at that time and so that's why the early wedding. After the wedding, they each went to work. Her husband then died when she was 30. She lived with family members for several years until she turned 60. That's when she married Mr. Miller who basically wanted someone to cook and clean for him. After his death, she moved to our small town and lived in a little apartment.

As a high school student, I went to visit her about once a week. One of the times she had just finished fixing her lunch and asked me to eat with her...It was boiled okra and tomatoes. I couldn't hurt her feelings so I decided to spin the food around and make yummy sounds so it would seem like I had eaten some. It, possibly, was the worst meal in my life. It makes me gag to think of it.

Every time I got ready to go from my weekly visits, Aunt Ollie wanted to give me something, anything, it was her way of thanking me for coming over. Many times, it was a pretty card that someone had sent her. Sometimes it was two or three postage stamps so I could write someone. She liked it best when i would just sit and watch the Billy Graham crusade or PLT with Jim and Tammy Baker with her.

What I know from these two elderly people I admire is that to be productive to the end, I must do the following:

1. Face the facts--Mr. Thweatt faced the fact that he needed to be looked after for meals and medical problems so he placed himself in the assisted living.

2. Learn something new--Mr. T. decided to learn the computer at 94.

3. Do what we can for ourselves--he still had the ability to put a desk together and so he did.

4. Do what we have to do without griping--Ollie got married at 15 and then went to work and later accepted her place to basically be Mr. Miller's maid and cook.

5. Give what we have--I never left Ollie's house without getting some kind of trinket.


I pray that God will remind me to live like this now, and then maybe later it will be ingrained into me. It's never too early to have the wisdom of the old.

Until next post,

J-lou aka Mama Chick

friday
july something
1,000 degrees in the shade


DISTRACTED BY JUNK

now that my kids are gone and married and have places of their own, i am busy trying to clean out every single solitary thing in my house. all closets, drawers, garage, etc. i am making a proverbial "garage sale pile". i do this often and usually end up taking it to a community donation bin because i get sick of the junk piled up.

i make myself crazy because i can't quite get things put away. i get distracted at looking at the pictures i find or i decide that i need to get a drawer divider from walmart and then get distracted at walmart by the fish tanks and never get back to the task of getting stuff cleaned out.

experts say that one has to have a reason to get up in the morning to live a good life. so is my reason to get up to once again try to de-junk? lance wants to be a minimalist but i reminded him that he married me and he knew what he was getting into.

i had a gigantic toy closet when i grew up. i was supposed to keep the toys tidied in the shelves, but the toy closet scared me. it was long and narrow and with my vivid imagination i believed there were monsters and scary things in there. i would open the door to the closet and throw my toys inside and slam the door shut before evil toy clowns or something grabbed me.

about once a month, my mom would tell me that it was time to clean the closet. at least she asked me in the daytime. so my plan was always call my neighbor, kim, over. (she was the one with the surrey). once she got there, i'd say that my mom just told me that i couldn't play until i cleaned the closet. she always offered to help. she must have had a organization gene even as a child because she's the one that got me motivated. the closet got straightened and we had time left to play with the toys. then her mother would call her home. i went about my business until my mom had me clean up my toys and so i would open the toy closet door and throw in the barbies and board games and quickly shut the door so no gargoyles would escape...and the cycle would continue.

what i need today to help me get this house in order is to call kim over...too bad she lives in oklahoma city.

until next time....

How Show Tunes are Part of my Life

Went on a "Mattie" walk today. Mattie is my black terrier-type pound dog. Mostly when I walk I listen to sound tracks from movies and sometimes show tunes. Most of my friends don't get my music choices. I think that each note in the air was created by God so any music that inspires me is "Christian" music. I think I like sound tracks because when I'm walking I feel like I'm in a movie about I guess, a middle aged woman walking her dog. So far, I don't have a plot for that movie. I also do a lot of thinking and praying when I walk, but that doesn't show up well on a movie screen either.

The show tunes just make me happy. Possibly I like them because my home state, Oklahoma, has a whole musical about it...."when I take you out in the surrey, with the fringe on top."

Speaking of surrey with the fringe on top...My next door neighbor growing up in Hobart, Oklahoma had a miniature surrey with fringe and bicycle foot pedals. She and I rode to kindergarten in the surrey. Wish I had a picture of that. So I guess if I ever play the game of saying something that I have done but most people haven't , I'd probably have to go with the surrey thing.

This blog thing is quite interesting. I get to write down some of the weird stuff that floats through my mind, and I'm not particularly bothering anyone by doing it. The only question I have is this something that could "be used against me in a court of law" if my kids want to prove that I'm incompetent...I said incompetent, but incontinent.

until next time...mamachick

Guess what? I'm learning how to blog!

Ok, my first post is gonna be about the women's ministry called chicks. I go to an "out-of-the-box" church that lets us use our creative juices and spiritual gifts. One of my gifts is being quirky (that is a spiritual gift, isn't it?) and my passion is to help women become their very best for and with their Savior. That's why we created chicks. It's an acronym that the women of TrueNorth Church use to help us remember the types of things we are working toward so we can be women who:

C=Connect with God
H=Help, hope and heal
I=Intercede with prayer
C=Catch the call (evangelism)
K=Keep life simple
S=Serve others with our spiritual gifts

So, until the next post, i'll be working on those 5 callings.

Until the next time...Love, Mama Chick