Technological discoveries

I just love this little thing . I didn't really need one this big but I'm loving it. I put all my cd's on it and during my lunch hour I can listen to these guys or these guys and sometimes them and him and them and even her and her. I haven't even figured out how to download (or is it upload?) videos yet but How cool would that be? Watching a movie in the cafeteria of Large Corporation? But now I've found even more goodness. I have discovered Podcasts. I knew of their existence but I couldn't imagine why I'd want to do that. A friend clued me into this site and I am now a Podcast devotee. I've been listening to Chip Ingram and Jack Graham and Alistair Begg and getting blessed over and over and over again. I even subscribe to some so that every time I charge my iPod I get the latest broadcasts automatically.

That's my good news to share for the day. Tomorrow afternoon begins our annual ladies retreat. For about 5 cents I would back out of going just because I'm feeling so overwhelmed. Tyler is coming home next weekend, Matt graduates from college the week after which means I'm going to have overnight guests. My house hasn't been clean since I don't even remember. It's end of the month which means financial close at work and then immediately following that is off cycle outlooking time. I want to get a WalMart greeter job I think. Surely that's easier on the brain. BUT since I'm on the committee and I have the speakers' gifts in my bedroom I believe I'll be at the retreat and I know I'll end the weekend being glad I went.

Pray for us! I know God has a blessing and a word for me - I just ask for a heart that is open to hearing it and a calm spirit to slow down and receive it.

Writing under the influence

I have a pinched nerve in my neck/shoulder area. It's not so much painful as it is extremely annoying. It's making the underside of my left arm and the palm and fingers of my left hand numb. Not quite completely numb -- it's that tingly-ness (if that's not a word it should be) of a limb being "asleep" and then regaining feeling. So last night I took a muscle relaxant. LAST NIGHT. That would be the evening of the previous day. Nearly twenty four hours ago. I am STILL so sleepy, foggy, drugged feeling. I don't like it a bit. I don't know why anyone would want to abuse these kinds of drugs.

I have great intentions about a whole lot of things but I'm not very good about consistently doing many without some sort of outside influence or aid. Several years ago I came across a website that referred to a prayer calendar. I looked at it and immediately saw it was worth printing. I have one copy of it sitting here in my cubicle where I see it everytime I look ever-so-slightly to the left. It is titled "Praying Daily for Your Children". It has 31 days of prayer suggestions listed to guide us into prayer for each of our children with specific goals in mind. For instance today the subject is prayerfulness. The lead in for your own personal prayer is "Grant, Lord, that my children's lives may be marked by prayerfulness, that they may learn to "pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests." It lists Ephesians 6:18 as the reference for this request. Each day has a topic and a verse. Sometimes you may only pray that simple sentence or other times you have the time and ability to pray at greater length - but at the end of the month you have asked God to bless your child with things that will strenghten their characters and bless the lives of all who meet them.

And that, dear internets, is what we want for them more than anything else. Right?

Food Court Musical

This is genius.

Good news for Michelle

I have high cholesterol and have been taking medicine for at least 10 years - maybe longer. Even with that I never could get my numbers under 200. My HDL (the good kind) is high and that was the only good thing ever about those little digits. My mom had two stents put in this past November so all of a sudden things became more ominous. I had to go back and get my blood work done only four months after the last one. It was my last chance to try and get it down or we were going to have to increase my dosage. I really didn't want to do that -- it's not that good for your liver. So anyway -- I tried again. There isn't a lot to cut out that I ate -- I'm not into fried stuff and I prefer fresh fruit to any brownie or candy bar or cookie. There was only one more thing I could do that I hadn't ever tried. I gave it my best shot and got my results yesterday.

Peoples my total cholesterol was...........176!!!!!!! My goodness gracious sakes alive - it's pretty much a miracle. I doubt it was ever that low in my life. When I first started taking medicine it was over 300. Diet & exercise didn't change it so we knew it was hereditary - thus Zocor. But now -- not just a little bit under 200 mind you. And to what do I owe this success? Just watch TV my friends and you'll know the answer. Good Old Fashioned......... every single morning. I love it. Now I'm just crazy about it!! Try it. You'll like it.

PG Rated Blog - just this once

I love Dave Barry. This is probably the funniest thing I've ever read -- certainly the funniest thing since I can remember (which considering my memory probably isn't saying that much. A serious subject but a hilarious article.

A Journey Into My Colon..And Yours
By Dave Barry, Syndicated Columnist and Comedian

OK. You turned 50.
You know you're supposed to get a colonoscopy.
But you haven't.

Here are your reasons:

1. You've been busy.

2. You don't have a history of cancer in your family.

3. You haven't noticed any problems.

4. You don't want a doctor to stick a tube 17,000 feet up your butt.

Let's examine these reasons one at a time. No, wait, let's not. Because you and I both know that the only real reason is No. 4. This is natural. The idea of having another human, even a medical human, becoming deeply involved in what is technically known as your ''behindular zone'' gives you the creeping willies.

I know this because I am like you, except worse. I yield to nobody in the field of being a pathetic weenie medical coward. I become faint and nauseous during even very minor medical procedures, such as making an appointment by phone. It's much worse when I come into physical contact with the medical profession. More than one doctor's office has a dent in the floor caused by my forehead striking it seconds after I got a shot.

In 1997, when I turned 50, everybody told me I should get a colonoscopy. I agreed that I definitely should, but not right away. By following this policy, I reached age 55 without having had a colonoscopy. Then I did something so pathetic and embarrassing that I am frankly ashamed to tell you about it.

What happened was, a giant 40-foot replica of a human colon came to Miami Beach. Really. It's an educational exhibit called the Colossal Colon, and it was on a nationwide tour to promote awareness of colo-rectal cancer. The idea is, you crawl through the Colossal Colon, and you encounter various educational items in there, such as polyps, cancer and hemorrhoids the size of regulation volleyballs, and you go, ''Whoa, I better find out if I contain any of these things,'' and you get a colonoscopy.

If you are as a professional humor writer, and there is a giant colon within a 200-mile radius, you are legally obligated to go see it. So I went to Miami Beach and crawled through the Colossal Colon. I wrote a column about it, making tasteless colon jokes. But I also urged everyone to get a colonoscopy. I even, when I emerged from the Colossal Colon, signed a pledge stating that I would get one.

But I didn't get one. I was a fraud, a hypocrite, a liar. I was practically a member of Congress.

Five more years passed. I turned 60, and I still hadn't gotten a colonoscopy. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from my brother Sam, who is 10 years younger than I am, but more mature. The email was addressed to me and my middle brother, Phil. It said:

`Dear Brothers, ``I went in for a routine colonoscopy and got the dreaded diagnosis: cancer. We're told it's early and that there is a good prognosis that they can get it all out, so, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that. And of course they told me to tell my siblings to get screened. I imagine you both have.''

Um. Well.

First I called Sam. He was hopeful, but scared. We talked for a while, and when we hung up, I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis. Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, ``HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!''

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called ''MoviPrep,'' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor. Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.) Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes -- and here I am being kind -- like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, ''a loose watery bowel movement may result.'' This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but: Have you ever seen a space shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, ''What if I spurt on Andy?'' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that? Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the hell the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was Dancing Queen by Abba. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, Dancing Queen has to be the least appropriate.

''You want me to turn it up?'' said Andy, from somewhere behind me.

''Ha ha,'' I said.

And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, Abba was shrieking ``Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine . . .'' . . and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ.

But my point is this: In addition to being a pathetic medical weenie, I was a complete moron. For more than a decade I avoided getting a procedure that was, essentially, nothing. There was no pain and, except for the MoviPrep, no discomfort. I was risking my life for nothing.

If my brother Sam had been as stupid as I was -- if, when he turned 50, he had ignored all the medical advice and avoided getting screened -- he still would have had cancer. He just wouldn't have known. And by the time he did know -- by the time he felt symptoms -- his situation would have been much, much more serious. But because he was a grown-up, the doctors caught the cancer early, and they operated and took it out. Sam is now recovering and eating what he describes as ''really, really boring food.'' His prognosis is good, and everybody is optimistic, fingers crossed, knock on wood, and all that.

Which brings us to you, Mr. or Mrs. or Miss or Ms. Over-50-And-Hasn't-Had-a-Colonoscopy. Here's the deal: You either have colo-rectal cancer, or you don't. If you do, a colonoscopy will enable doctors to find it and do something about it. And if you don't have cancer, believe me, it's very reassuring to know you don't. There is no sane reason for you not to have it done.

I am so eager for you to do this that I am going to induce you with an Exclusive Limited Time Offer. If you, after reading this, get a colonoscopy, let me know by sending a self-addressed stamped envelope to Dave Barry Colonoscopy Inducement, The Miami Herald, 1 Herald Plaza, Miami, FL 33132. I will send you back a certificate, signed by me and suitable for framing if you don't mind framing a cheesy certificate, stating that you are a grown-up who got a colonoscopy. Accompanying this certificate will be a square of limited-edition custom-printed toilet paper with an image of Miss Paris Hilton on it. You may frame this also, or use it in whatever other way you deem fit.

But even if you don't want this inducement, please get a colonoscopy. If I can do it, you can do it. Don't put it off. Just do it.

Random nuggets

It's been Monday all day long. The bright spot was I got to wear blue jeans to work. Not only today, but all week long. Last week I donated $20.00 to the March of Dimes and so got to wear blue jeans. It's called "Blue Jeans for Babies" week. Our rah-rah "reward" the last couple of years is Casual Friday every time we sign a contract worth $100 million. Twice this year we've signed a contract worth one billion dollars and for that -- a whole week of blue jean wearin'. It's funny how such a seemingly little thing makes such a huge difference in my whole thought process about the week. It feels a little less like work for some crazy reason. A little thing, but it makes for big smiles.

I have found another super product that is worth mentioning. Have you tried these?
WONDERFUL is all I can say about them. I've taken carrots and also snow peas to work in them. We have commercial microwaves so they are probably more powerful than the one I have at home but I cooked one serving of baby carrots in a minute and a half. I like my carrots just a little firm -- it was perfect. You can cook meat, vegetables - whatever suits your fancy. You season the food but add no water. Five Stars.

Tonight I made PW's Onion Strings. I felt so virtuous to be doing something that gave the impression of working hard in the kitchen. I don't like onions but the rest of the family does and they loved them. So, another PW recipe tried and loved.

And that's what's on my mind today. Pitiful isn't it?

Of dying cucumbers and Homeland Security...

I avoided it as long as I could. I tried to pretend it wasn't there. I prayed someone would do it for me. I wished for my fairy godmother to wave a wand and the ugliness would be gone.

It didn't happen. It was going to be up to me. Guilt -- the gift that keeps on giving finally got me moving. I cleaned out my refrigerator this afternoon. It was to the point that it was downright frightening to open the door. I half expected something not human to reach out and pull me in to the land where cucumbers go to die a slow green mushy death. There were refried beans in there that I had to hold my breath, take off the lid and dump in one swift move. I watched my front door, breathlessly waiting for it to be kicked down by a swarm of hazmat specialists. Would Homeland Security believe me when I told them that I was not getting ready to launch a wave of biological warfare?

Because it was easier to buy more than to see if you could find it in the black hole that was our refrigerator I have no less than 8 pounds of butter at the moment. I have about 20 kinds of yogurt. And no less that 5 different kinds of hot sauce.

Now I need to go lay down. I feel nauseated. But before that I have to post proof that I did do it. I really did.

Rant

The last two weekends I went shopping. There are very few things I hate more than shopping but the wardrobe has gotten pretty pathetic. So I hit the big sales. I looked. I tried on. I went through the clearance racks.

I was a teenager in the 70's. I lived through the geometric prints & the baby doll tops. In junior high I made the dress I got my school picture taken in. I loved that dress. A royal blue, cowl necked tent dress. It just sounds lovely doesn't it? Only a prepubescent girl should wear such a thing. Fast forward to the 80's. I was pregnant. Twice. Two times I wore maternity clothes. Getting pregnant was very hard for me so I was excitedto be wearing those maternity sacks clothes. Now it's the new millenium. I am not pregnant nor prepubescent. I do not want to relive the 70's nor experience pregnancy again.

Am I the ONLY woman out there that feels this way???? What I am about to show you is frighteningly representative of the choices I found. ALL of these come from the women's section of the stores - not the juniors. Looking for a top to wear with your wardrobe staple, the black pant? How about this: or maybe this:
Maybe you want to wear khaki's and so you could top them with this:

One of the things that was driving this shopping trip was the discovery that I did not have a single dress to my name. Not one. I realized this a few weeks ago when I was getting ready to sing for a funeral. Finding a dress is even more difficult than finding a shirt. What middle aged woman out there would (or should) wear the following: or maybe this:

This is just wrong.

I double checked. I was not shopping in the juniors. It wasn't the costume department. An all out protest is in order. Somebody help me here - can I get an amen?

Blooming

I was a very young new bride the first time I heard the phrase “Bloom Where You Are Planted.” I heard it in the context of a class I was in called “The Preacher’s Wife”. We were being instructed as to the vagaries of the life we were preparing ourselves for and the certainty that we would not go and live in one place for the rest of our lives like those with secular jobs could do if they chose. Somehow the message came across (and probably through no fault of the teacher) of a jaw-set, grim determination that I should make the best of it. I don’t know about you but when I hear the phrase “make the best of it” I am not overcome with joyful anticipation.

Recently I heard a phrase that I liked a whole lot better - “Bloom with Abandon”. When the kids were little we would take them to the park to play and no matter how many times we’d go they were always ready to go again. They’d run to the car and jump in without a fuss and watch out the window for the first glimpse of their green oasis. They could hardly wait for the car to stop before they were tugging at seatbelts and trying to get out. They obeyed the rules that they wait until I opened the door for them, but only just barely. I would get around to their side, open the door and out they would jump. They would squeal and run as fast as their little legs could carry them to the object of their affection at the moment. There was not a care in the world in their minds – it was time to run and jump and scream and laugh all done at top speed with as much energy as they possessed. Pure unbridled joy. I noticed that it never mattered what was going on in our lives or even in the car minutes before we arrived. They could have been scolded, they could be fighting with each other, they could have just been to the doctor and gotten a shot but looking out that car window and seeing the park erased all of that in a second.

That’s the kind of emotion I think God wants to invoke in us – as we near Him, as we grow in our understanding of the Spirit’s role as our comforter, our help, as we learn to love Jesus more – he wants us to jump out of the mundane and into the joy that he promises. Our Father longs to see us run and jump and squeal with joy as we run to him. Throw all caution to the wind and revel in his love and his presence. That’s what blooming with abandon means to me -- leaving all cares behind, eagerly reaching forward to grow in his awareness and in a sense of responsibility to share the incredible love he has for us.

When I would take the kids to the park in those days long past I would open the door and let them run while I would shut the door, lean against the car, and stand and watch for a second. I’d take that minute just to enjoy their enthusiasm, to rejoice in the knowledge that I had given them something that made them so happy. I like to think that it brings a smile to the Lord’s face when I do the same with this life he’s given me.

Come let us sing with joy for the Lord. Let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation. Let’s come before Him with thanksgiving and extol Him with music and song. Psalm 95: 1-2