Happy Fun Girl: This is only a Test....B-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!

Happy Fun Girl: This is only a Test....B-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!:   Back in the day, one of the worst things that could happen to a 10 year old was having their television programming interrupted for ...

This is only a Test....B-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!

 

Back in the day, one of the worst things that could happen to a 10 year old was having their television programming interrupted for something like a presidential announcement.

 

Or, even worse, the dreaded emergency broadcast system test.

You remember it, don't you?

 

It was that super high pitched humming noise that caused the cat to run upstairs and made you have to cover your ears for what seemed like an eternity while you waited for Gilligan's Island to come back on.

 

You just wanted it to stop.

 

In 1971, there was a big mistake and the EBS system sent out a wrong message on WOWO.

(You can hear the actual message if you click that link.)

 





This is the teletype message that went over the wires:

MESSAGE AUTHENTICATOR: HATEFULNESS/HATEFULNESS

THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ACTION NOTIFICATION (EAN) DIRECTED BY THE PRESIDENT. NORMAL BROADCASTING WILL CEASE IMMEDIATELY. ALL STATIONS WILL BROADCAST EAN MESSAGE ONE PRECEDED BY THE ATTENTION SIGNAL, PER FCC RULES. ONLY STATIONS HOLDING NDEA MAY STAY ON AIR IN ACCORD WITH THEIR STATE EBS PLAN.

BROADCAST EAN MESSAGE ONE.

MESSAGE AUTHENTICATOR: HATEFULNESS/HATEFULNESS

 

***********

 

Testing stinks and I admit, I don't always send out the right message.

 

My oldest daughter has been studying to take her final real estate exam.

 

And because I am completely inadequate to help her with the math, but still wanted to be a supportive and loving realtor mom, I bought her the ever so helpful PSI Study Guide.

 

She immediately sat down and started circling her answers in the book.....in ink.

Royal blue.

The pen was royal blue!!!!

 

"Why are you marking up the book with ink?" Okay, yes. I may have had a tone here.

"What difference does it make?"

"It was a $35.00 book! Those are test questions. You can't go back and retake them or study because then the answers are all inked up in the book."

 

She has tattoos inked on her back.

I should have known she wouldn't care about a test booklet. :)

 

"It's my book. Who cares?"

"I bought the book so you could study it over and over."

"If you'd shut up and quit being crazy, I could study."

 

PSI in my house means Please Start Insulting me.

And so it began.....

After a few other less than respectful comments, mostly from her, I failed the test of loving the sometimes unloveable.

 

I'm sure I maybe even started it by wanting her to use a pencil and only circle lightly.

I've circled this territory before.

It's never good and it's definitely not light.

 

My blood began to boil and I immediately remembered a recent sermon on tithing and the importance of breaking the neck of the firstborn and offering it to God.

 

Take her. Please.  

 

Resist...resist temptation....resist the devil and he will flee.

But......not before I had a chance to semi-slam two grilled sandwiches down on the counter, making everyone flee.

 

And after they fled, so did I.

Greatly resisting the urge to runaway for good.

 

I'm a grown woman.

I ran away last year.

It didn't work.

 

I keep threatening to move to Mexico where I can really learn my Spanish fluently like I've been wanting to for the last several years.

Last week, I resisted that urge and resolved to just move my living room furniture around.

 

Test, passed.

 

Last night, not so much.

I took an hour long road trip out to the hill country instead.

 

Singing, "Lead me to the Cross," in between my steering wheel rantings.

Funny that I ended up at the gate of the Hughes Ranch on Hwy 87.

It's a massively lit up yellow cross on a hill that can't be missed.

Nice.

 

Another test, failed.

I wanted to spend Sunday with my family. I did not want to be making food at 9 o'clock at night.

I wanted to be loving.

I intended to be loving.

 

Do you know certain people that just know exactly what buttons to push.

It's like they are sent on a mission to push your buttons.

 

We war not against flesh and bloodl....blah, blah, blah...I know.

Please Lord, make my buttons less pushable!

 

When she played the crazy card, 'loving' jumped out the window and the door opened for hatefulness to walk right in.

 

Rid me of myself, I belong to you.

 

"because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance." James 1:3

 

This has been a test of the emergency broadcasting system.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled programming.

 

Thank God.

I just want to see Skipper and Mary Ann.

Happy Fun Girl: Iron Sharpens Iron? Enough Poking Already!

Happy Fun Girl: Iron Sharpens Iron? Enough Poking Already!: I woke up the other day.....horrified. Not because I found out the Monopoly people have done away with the iron in favor of a cat. A wo...

Iron Sharpens Iron? Enough Poking Already!

I woke up the other day.....horrified.
Not because I found out the Monopoly people have done away with the iron in favor of a cat.
A wonderful, wonderful cat, I'm sure.
Because, in addition to their nine lives, I hear they also have great vision.

I have great visions, but am still trying to lose my "I" site.
EOJ. Eyes on Jesus.

Seriously, my eye site has taken a turn for the worst in the last few years.
And I sleep on my side, which causes me to wake up with wrinkles deeply embedded in my chest.
Hence, the horrification.

There are enough things in my life I am trying to 'iron out'.
Chest flesh should not have to be one of them.
I can't even wear a v-neck for the first three hours in a day because the wrinkles are so obvious and they need time to flatten out.

My love for V-Neck sweaters goes all the way back to Mrs. Mitchell, my music teacher at Arey Elementary who taught me to play guitar.
She was a gorgeous blonde who wore hers, Chrissy from "Three's Company" style, and accessorized with light brown Go Go boots.

She let us sing, "Dust in the Wind," for a school music concert and gave me confidence through my first recital and strumming, "Michael Row the Boat Ashore," and "Killing Me Softly."
Ha! :)

Pull that off with braces, a face full of pimples and a bad perm.
Man, I loved that woman! She made me feel confident, just by walking beside her.

Sort of like Jesus does when I walk with him I guess, minus the Go Go boots.

Now that I think about it, she had some wrinkles too.
But she never let them effect her ability to shine like a rock star.
Even when I noticed the other teacher giving her dirty looks, I guess because she didn't look like the rest of them.

Constantly, I am finding new creases in my clothes....and character.
I hate that.
I mean I guess it's a good thing, because I'm growing, but because of my obvious creases, I feel like shrinking.

Seriously.....I need spandex for this kind of stretching.
Plus, spandex doesn't wrinkle.

Some mornings, I look in the mirror and only see a wrinkled mess.

Coldwater Creek has these Perfect No-Iron Shirts and people just love them.
Being a wash and wear kind of girl, or sometimes wear two or three times and then wash, I'm not a big fan of ironing.
So, I've asked the ladies, "Are they really No-Iron shirts?"

"Oh yes!" they usually reply.
"Huh. Good to know."
 I like the way they look, especially with their lacy camisole underneath.
There's another wrinkle I guess. I don't have one of the shirts, but a camisole I do.
I like to sleep sexy.
And I don't want to iron.

Also, I don't want to walk around with my wrinkles showing all day.
Plus there's that whole iron sharpens iron thing....and I'm tired of being poked.

Ironing is sort of becoming a lost art.
There are easier, drop stuff at the cleaners, options available.
Creative Homewares on the web offers the following advice for those who prefer pioneering with ironing:

Before you ever begin to iron, plug the iron in, adjust it to the correct setting, and allow it to preheat. You will know your iron is ready for use if it sizzles when you spray a bit of water on it.
First, let's define correct, because, not only am I sizzling, I'm beginning to steam.

Locate the tag on the garment you are preparing to iron. It will provide you with information about the material. Some clothes, you will find, should not be ironed.

Others have a very low tolerance for heat, so you'll have to iron them at a gentle setting.
Gentle setting?  There is a gentle setting?
I had no idea!

Use high heat for cotton and linen.
I do not cotton to any of this. Many mornings I wish I could pull my I don't know how many thread count linens over my head and call it a day already.

Cotton mixes and wool are ironed on a medium level. Use a low setting for silk, nylon, polyester, and other like fabrics. If you are using a steam iron, make sure there is the proper amount of water inside.
I am still thirsty.

When you actually begin to iron, take your time to ensure the garment has been stretched flat across the ironing board.
Feeling about as stretched as Stretch Armstrong thank you very much.

This will save you some time in terms of re-ironing wrinkles that you put in.
Big Gulp on that one.
GULP!

Also interesting that the heat is distributed through the soleplate.
Sounds like solemate, but totally different.
Here comes that steam setting again.

Lordy, Lordy, I feel my temperature rising!
Is that the whistle sound of steam I hear?

Not exactly a fog horn whistle blowing, but I get it.
When the heat is applied, it gets out the wrinkles.

I am Pressed, but not Crushed, persecuted not abandoned.

Happy Fun Girl: What Moves You?

Happy Fun Girl: What Moves You?: By the time I was a senior graduating from high school, we lived in about 15 different houses. Each move, my mom would pack and unpack...

What Moves You?

By the time I was a senior graduating from high school, we lived in about 15 different houses.
Each move, my mom would pack and unpack and make us feel like we were finally home.

She'd bake cookies and make costumes and plant gardens and do all the wonderful 'mom' things that make a house feel like a home.

But when you're renting, there is always a little bit of uncertainty and unsettledness.

Maybe the owners will decide to sell, move back in, or maybe rent it to their cousin's family.

If I were techy, I'd post the video clip from Meet the Parents where Ben Stiller goes over to the ex-fiance's tricked out house and standing in his gorgeous kitchen Owen Wilson asks, "Are you a homeowner Greg?"
And Greg stutters, "I-I-I rent..."
I'd put a caption on it that says, "Don't let this happen to you!"

But it's happened to me.
And many of us.
I am a realtor who rents.

It's ironic that as much as I am not really a person who is all about social status and having stuff, when people ask where I live, I feel like I have to go into a dissertation of how I ended up in an apartment.
And then I get the holy spirit, "Gotcha." :)
There's that pride again.

I have to remember that my identity is in not in the fact that I have a #11303 behind my address, my identity is in Christ.

And there are sometimes very good reasons of course that people rent.
I just always wanted to own my own home and recently moved from one that I loved.
Currently I am in "all things will work for good for those who love God" mode.

Always, always, I've loved homes and yearned for a place to call my own.

I spent my earliest years playing with my yellow roofed Fisher Price house and I actually played Barbies until I was in high school.

I even hand made rolls of paper that I bound together with the rubber bands from my braces so that I could have a realistic looking newspaper sitting at the front door of my Barbie Dream House.

While other girls dreamed their way through bridal magazines, I scoured the pages of Better Homes and Gardens.

I imagined mine a craftsman style bungalow type.
Super homey.


A place where lunches and backpacks sat on the bench near the back door and the welcoming smell of fresh baked cookies wafted through the air when the kids got home from school.

A place where little hands made crafts and rolled play dough on the counters while I prepared and sometimes burned dinner.

I wanted a front porch where we could all sit together and watch the sun rise or set, and a swing in back overlooking the pool where I would one day sit with my grandchildren and read books like "Goodnight Moon," and "The Giving Tree."

My home didn't always have Better Homes moments, but there were some days there that seemed like the very best.

Home is where you go when the rest of the world just gets to be too much and you just want to be...
At peace...with the people who really love you, faults and all.

There is nothing so wonderful as a crackling fire, a good read and a super snuggly dog on your lap.
Nothing as fabulous as having a gazillion screaming girls gathered around the dining table ready to blow out candles....again.
The same girls you have been watching grow up since they were in kindergarten.

And the smiling face of a newborn baby granddaughter, even in an apartment.
These are the things that move me.

Making a move is not always easy.
Packing and unpacking boxes, or baggage, is hardly ever fun.

But we just have to keep moving forward.
Eventually, we will be home.

What moves you?
Maybe I can help.
RE/MAX

Happy Fun Girl: Bless my mess, Oh Lord I pray...

Happy Fun Girl: Bless my mess, Oh Lord I pray...: This morning I woke up cleaning one mess after another. Baby Dog pooped on the floor in the middle of the night and the holy spirit i...