The dress

The wonderful thing about clothes that fit, is that when you move, they move. They don't go up when you reach up, and get caught on something (most likely, excess you) when you put your arms down.

I loved this dress the minute I saw it. I bought it to wear to my daughter's wedding... perfect day, pefect dress, wonderful memories.


But this lovely dress has been packed away for a few years... seems the dress stayed the same, but I changed. First, it stopped moving when I moved. Then, I couldn't move in it. So, surrendering to the battle of the bulge(s), I carefully folded the beloved dress and packed it away in the cedar chest.

It makes me laugh when I meet people that I haven't seen in ages who say, "you haven't changed a bit!" They don't know about the dress... and I'm not going to tell!

Those that be planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing. Psalm 92:13,14

for Memoir Mondays - Two Writing Teachers

First day of school

Two Writing Teachers

It was Barbie's Big Adventure... my senior year of high school, the year you don't have to prove anything to anyone, because, well... you're a senior! You know it all!

But this was more than just high school. I was on my own. Sort of. I had talked my parents into letting me finish high school at a christian school 60 miles away from home. Arrangements were made for me to live with one of the school families (friends of my parents) for the year. Labor Day weekend, I arrived at their home loaded with suitcases, school supplies and high expectations.

In the move, I gained another little sister and brother and they were the only people that I knew at the school. The first day of school held both anticipation and fear - would I find a friend? would I fit in? will I be glad I made the move?

Tuesday after Labor day dawned bright and HOT. I came out of my bedroom wearing my carefully chosen outfit, to have some breakfast and wait for the bus. Mrs. T., the mom of the house, greeted me happily, teased me about being nervous and then handed me my lunch box.


Yep! You read it right. My lunch box. It was red plaid... metal... the kind second graders love to pop open at lunch time to see what mouthwatering delights mom packed today.

I objected. (Nicely, of course. My mother would expect me to be respectful.) Mrs. T. was firm - the lunch box is for you and you will take it to school.

I suggested a lunch bag. She didn't have lunch bags.

I offered to use a grocery bag, any bag! Nope. The lunch box was my ticket out of the house.

In the end, I relented. There was no other way to end the standoff and maintain peace. Just as someone announced the arrival of the bus, I realized there was still a way out of this humiliating introduction to my new classmates. I flew to my bedroom, grabbed my long dress coat, and threw it over my armload of books and lunch box. It was 80+ degrees, but carrying my coat sure beat carrying a red plaid lunch box!

And this was just the first day of my Big Adventure.

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths. Proverbs 3:5,6

The windows

I’ve stopped waving. I can’t see their car anymore, but I can still hear my daughter’s voice giving us her usual farewell.

“Bye! By-y-y-y-y-ye! By-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-ye!” I picture her head out the window, hollering a little louder just in case we are still standing on the steps to the house. And we are… clinging to that distant voice that carries through the night air.

Another visit is over. One by one, carloads of our kids, their kids and the dogs all drive in different directions to their homes.

We stand still for just a minute more straining to hear that voice, but it’s quiet now, so we head up the steps to the house. The dining room light shines through storm door windows that are covered with fingerprints, handprints and some very doggy looking smudges.

It’s late. I can wash windows tomorrow.

The morning sun reveals just how many kids made their way through that door. The bottom rows of windows are a mess! With Windex in hand, I pause just a moment and relive the laughter, the tea party, the hugs.

No one will be stopping here today. The windows can wait till…

Rejoice in the Lord, ye righteous; and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness. Psalm 97:12

Two Writing Teachers

Memoir Mondays - Food

I was challenged by the Memoir Mondays prompt at Two Writing Teachers. Write about memories at a beloved eatery, they said. I knew immediately the spot to describe.

There is a place I have been eating for years… and the memories are as varied as the foods.

My dining room table.


My dining room table is why I learned to cook. Six people waited there to see what I had to bring to the table. Together we taught our tongues to try new cuisines, new animals, new textures. We filled our bellies with Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas chili and Fourth of July baked beans. We built a repertoire of “remember when” stories over Mexican Beef Rice, pumpkin soup, and cherry cream pie.

At my dining room table we endured soon-to-be ex-boyfriends, evaluated future sons/daughters-in-law, and strengthened new and old friendships. We entertained Marine buddies that we would never see again. We fed neighbors that wouldn’t go away!

Around my dining room table we have celebrated birthdays for family members from four generations, and mourned the loss of my brother, my father and my son.

On every occasion, upon being seated, we joined hands and the gathered circle bowed heads while my husband thanked God, who provided food for our bodies, and salvation for our souls.

I love my dining room table.

Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways. For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee. Psalm 128:1,2