She was in a bad mood all evening, clingy and whiny and generally not pleasant to be around. But the moment I pointed my camera towards her, she snapped to attention and dried her tears.
(Unfortunately, the moment the camera was put away, the tears began again.)
Here she’s attempting to crawl straight into the lens.
The Little Miss is certainly not camera shy!
I meant it when I said that the only lamb we’d be feasting on at my Seder would be Christ.
I really intended to serve beef (and beef only).
But lamb was the only meat (apart from ham) that I could find with a bone in it.
I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to lie.
We’ll be enjoying lamb (and beef) tomorrow night.
Usually, I have a super-abundance of ideas to blog about and not anywhere near enough days in which to put the blogging. That’s still probably true, but for the past several weeks I’ve had no time to organize my thoughts into blog format.
I’ve been saved by the never-ending Haggadah series (which was written as one long post about a month ago and then split into what you’ve gotten over the past several weeks)-but my pre-prepared posts have run out.
I’m officially on empty.
Enter the Simple Woman’s Daybook, a lovely look at what’s going on today.
Outside my window…
Darkness. Darkness when I left for work and darkness when I arrived back home.
I am thinking…
That self-pity is not an attractive look on me.
I am thankful…
That God loves me enough to bring me into difficult seasons.
In the kitchen…
Leftover dishes from the weekend.
I am wearing…
This evening’s dinner on my shirt. One of the (many) down-sides to eating on the run.
I am creating…
My Haggadah for the Seder I’ll be celebrating this weekend.
I am going…
Crazy.
I am wondering…
Whether I will be able to get enough done tomorrow to allow me to actually take off the day I allotted as vacation (to prepare for my Seder) this week.
I am reading…
Without a Doubt by Kenneth Richard Samples
I am hoping…
That I can wake up at a decent hour tomorrow morning.
I am looking forward to…
Going to a friend’s wedding in Colorado in a few weeks.
I am learning…
About Prader-Willi, the Trinity, and woodworking
Around the house…
Clothes that haven’t been laundered, sawdust and splinters from making some leaves for my dining room table, and a yard that’s begging for a cutting
I am pondering…
The number of hours in the day
A favorite quote for today…
“Your circumstances are not your life. Christ Jesus is your life.” ~Cindy
One of my favorite things…
A warm bath on a chilly night.
A few plans for the rest of the week:
Taking Friday off (maybe?), having 20+ over for a Seder, decorating some blown eggs (maybe?), and seeing my brother (but not his new wife, sad face) before he leaves for Okinawa
A peek into my day life…
You don’t want to see my day, unless you’re really keen on calculations of weight loss and tube feeding formulations or completing reports or auditing supplement use…
But I’m sure no one would ever NOT want to look when I’ve got a picture of the Little Miss to share.
She came up for my 27 Dresses birthday party a couple weeks back and I had fun taking pictures of her after the party was over.
Don’t forget to check out more daybooks here.
It’s been over five years since my stint as a hotel housekeeper, and most of the lessons I learned have faded from my memory.
Such is the nature of memory, even in one as young as I.
But a few nights spent in a hotel during state survey are enough to bring back a few notes I’d filed away in my mind from my housekeeping days.
Particularly, notes on what makes for a classy guest.
A classy guest, you see, makes herself at home in her hotel room–but not too at home. She hangs her clothing in the closet, leaves her toiletries beside the sink, sets her Bible beside her bed, and maybe has a pillow or blanket of her own laying across her bed. She does not trash the room, leave her personal belongings strewn across the floor, or cover all available surfaces with half empty food and beverage containers.
A classy guest takes advantage of amenities–but does not abuse them. She acknowledges the pretty bottles of shampoo and conditioner, uses them while showering, and leaves them in the shower for the next day. Should she end up with a partially used bottle, she’ll tuck it in her bag, but she’ll never systematically empty the room of amenities every day, hoping that the housekeeper will refresh them. She might take home a bottle or two, but never seven sets of bottles.
A classy guest honors the hotel’s property enough to leave her luggage on a luggage rack rather than hoisting it onto the bed where it’ll destroy the mattresses lifespan. She has a sense of fitness and chooses to put things where they belong instead of dropping them willy-nilly wherever they fall.
A classy guest leaves the bed looking slept in, but neat. She understands that the housekeeping staff are going to make assumptions about who she is and what she does, but she isn’t keen on revealing secrets to the staff. If wild midnight romps occurred here, she’s not sharing–which the staff certainly appreciate. On the other hand, she recognizes that the staff make beds for a living–and she isn’t going to try to make the bed just for them to remake it every day.
A classy guest leaves a kind note or a tip (or both) for her housekeepers. It needn’t be much–although coins are not particularly appreciated unless accompanied by a handwritten note from a child. Most housekeepers are raising their families on meager incomes, struggling to make do in a nation whose language is not their native tongue and whose customs are not their own. Some are refugees, some the more “ordinary” immigrants, others are honest but less-educated natives. Either way, they can use a kind word and a couple dollars to ease their monotonous days.
Does anyone else have any hotel experience? Do you have any pointers to add?
The maid put the toilet seat lid down.
I didn’t look behind me.
I sat.
There was no hole.
Awkward.
My little sister Grace recently posted a meme that asked a whopping 81 questions about someone you know.
In the interest of time and, well, interest, I’m shortening it to 8 questions and using it as a way to introduce you to my little sis.
1) What’s her name?
Gracebug Joy
2) Do you get along with this person all the time?
Nope, which is what one of my old teacher’s said distinguishes a true friendship from a fake one. Grace and I are very similar, both rather passionate and emotional–which means we also tend to butt heads on occasion.
3) Has she ever cooked for you?
I believe she has-on many occasions, I’m sure, but I’m remembering a hamburger and pasta dish at my house. She cooks on occasion, but has mentioned that she feels that every time she cooks something a certain one of our brothers “one-ups” her by cooking something similar (only better, in her mind).
4) Does she have a nickname for you?
That’s a good question-I’m not sure? Grace? Help me out here!
5) How many times do you talk to this person during a week?
It depends. Sometimes several times, sometimes never. We live at a distance and I’m not much of a phone person. But we enjoy talking whenever I’m home or she’s up here, and we share the occasional text or Facebook conversation. Grace also knows that if she ever wants to talk with me about something, she can post it on her blog, of which I am a faithful reader and commenter.
6) Have you ever had a sleepover with this person?
Once upon a time, Grace slept on a rollaway bed in the school room. Then Anna and I stole her to live with us in our room. She probably will experience lasting dysfunctional sleep patterns for having spent her preschool and elementary years sharing a bedroom (and often a bed) with her teenaged sisters. Now, we have the boring sort of sleepovers, where she comes to stay at my house overnight because that maximizes time together when there’s an hour and a half drive to be made to get together.
7) Would you date this person’s siblings?
Absolutely not. Unlike some siblings of mine, I do not date my siblings’ siblings.*
8) When is the next time you will see this person?
Next Thursday, at her show choir concert (in which she has a solo part-You go girl!)
Grace blogs at A Teen Girl’s Mind. There, she shares, well, what’s on her mind. Generally, it’s angsty, emotionally-charged philosophical-political-high-school-drama-filled stuff. (Which I realize may not be your cup of tea. Fine with me, but I love her bunches and always enjoy interacting with her about what she’s written.)
* A so-thinly-it’s-not-even-veiled reference to my brother, who is dating our sister-in-law’s sister.
Not every dietitian (even in my company) wears the dress-code mandated white coat. But I do.
I wear the white coat because it gives me an extra dose of professionalism, because it differentiates me from visitors, because it has pockets to keep my essentials handy.
Mostly because it has those pockets.
But finding a coat that fits me can be an issue.
If I choose a women’s coat, it’s generally intended for someone much shorter than I–and usually has a band that’s supposed to fall at the waist but instead falls inconveniently just below my bust.
If I choose a man’s coat, it’ll be long enough, but tends to fit rather like a bag on my otherwise shapely figure.
I was thrilled to find a coat that fit a little over a year ago, although I was a bit disappointed to find that it was branded “Grey’s Anatomy”.
When I went back six months (or so) ago to get a second coat to replace the one that was starting to get ratty, I couldn’t find one in my size (medium). I bought an extra-large and cut it down to size.
Unfortunately, the next time I went back, it was to discover that the particular style of coat that actually managed to fit me was no longer being sold.
What’s a girl to do?
I’m not sure what most girls would do, but this girl went to Walmart and bought some white twill curtains on clearance.
Then she carefully cut her old coat (the first one, size medium) apart and marked each seam and fold. She used the old pieces as a pattern to cut a new garment from the twill and painstakingly pieced it together into a replica coat.
Finally finished, she loads her pockets and takes some pictures before preparing for bed.
(The first picture is of the store-boughten coat, the second of my newly homemade coat. I think I like my homemade one even better than the store-bought one.)
The Little Miss’s Christmas Eve outfit completely inspired me. Hats are where it’s at.
And so I have determined to wear my hats this year. Each hat, in fact. All dozen plus of them.
Starting with Hat #1, a fur number with sequined detailing and a small net veil.
And I figured I’d share a Christmas picture from my family since we were all together and took photos this Christmas. (Despite my best attempts, I think we’ll have to resign ourselves to having at least one of us looking ridiculous in any photo we choose–since at least one of us was a little too silly in a few too many photos.)
I have absolutely no skill for gift wrapping.
My family can testify that this is neither false humility nor misplaced perfectionism.
I am truly awful at it.
Which is why I didn’t even try this year.
The gifts are covered, the names visible. That’s the point of wrapping, right?
And there is something starkly beautiful about all those brown paper packages–so long as you don’t mind lots of wrinkles and large clumps of tape.
I’ve been in Columbus over a year now, and I have yet to find a mechanic in Columbus.
I’ve been blessed that Luci’s a pretty reliable gal. So long as I change her oil and give her some Heet in with her gas in the winter, she serves me well.
But even the best of cars occasionally develops a cough.
Luci just happened to develop her cough last week on her way to Grand Island.
When the steering wheel started wobbling and the car started shaking, my first thought was potholes (and then I thought “What potholes? I haven’t encountered any of those yet.”) My second thought was tires.
I had new tires put on Luci a couple months back while I was in Lincoln for the day–is there some sort of “bolts start getting loose” thing after buying new tires? I know that my bike mechanic told me to get my bicycle all tightened down after I put 50 or a 100 miles on it. Maybe cars are the same.
The maintenance man at work thought that was a reasonable scenario. I should get Luci’s wheels rotated and aligned.
So I did.
Then I drove back in the fog, unsure of whether she’d been fixed since my fog-driving (especially with the people that I had in front of me) was much different than my ordinary-clear-day driving.
Next day, I knew that it had not fixed it. But I didn’t have a mechanic in Columbus, and I was on-call to the degree that I didn’t feel I could just leave my car somewhere. I needed to be able to jump in my car and head to Grand Island at the drop of a hat.
So I didn’t get it fixed right off.
Monday night, it got worse and I decided that I would have to find Luci a mechanic in town whether my schedule liked it or not.
Then I went to Grand Island.
As I pulled into the parking lot, my brakes weren’t as smooth as normal–and I started to smell something burning.
Luci needed the emergency room. No more limping around. She needed a man immediately.
My dietary manager set up the meeting and we dropped Luci off with Kim.
Kim fixed her up right away. He was honest, fast, and affordable. He let me know exactly what the repairs would cost and even showed me the parts he replaced so I could see that he wasn’t just making up the need for replacement.
Luci’s found her man–but, once again, not in Columbus.
Geez–even my car figures she’ll have better luck elsewhere.
:-)