proverbs 19:11

"A man's wisdom gives him patience; it is to his glory to overlook an offense."

 

Working on this. Well, apparently God is working on this in my heart.

on the sewing rebound (and hoping this latest love will last forever)

I should probably be working but I was just catching up on some of my blog reading and decided it was time for an update of my own.

 

Lately my life has been a bit consumed with sewing. At a friend's invitation, I decided to "go public" with my pillow-embroidery skills and do a couple of craft shows to see if my wares would sell. So far, the shows themselves have not been too profitable, but the effort I put into organizing an order-taking system for the pillows has been. So, while the majority of my paying customers are still friends, and while I still have several gift pillows to make right now (Christmas is coming, you know) in the midst of all the paying orders, I feel rejuvenated and encouraged about how this little "business" is going (in quotes because...well...don't tell the IRS).

 

However, in the midst of all the excitement and busyness, I suddenly (a couple weeks ago) found myself needing a new sewing machine. The one I'd been using was only three years old, and the time I bought it I really thought I was getting a good brand that would last me for the long haul (It's a Huskystar--the more affordable line from Husqvarna/Viking--a trusted brand), it nevertheless has been jamming and skipping and behaving demonically a bit too much for my tastes lately. I think anyone who sews knows that sewing machines just act that way sometimes for no apparent reason. Usually they get over it and start working right again, but this time I'd had enough. One night, I spent hours just trying to use a zig-zag stitch to attach a "Buckeyes"-embroidered piece of fabric onto another piece of fabric (a task that should take five minutes on a good day), and by the third time I had to rip out the stitches because Husky-Beelzebub-Star insisted on eating the fleece and snapping the thread, I was done. I turned it off that night and swore that our three-year relationship of love and heartache was through. I now had actual work to do, with actual deadlines, and Husky could no longer be trusted. I needed a machine I could rely on, so it was time to get back into the sewing-machine dating game.

 

The first place I looked was JoAnn's, which is where I'd purchased my Husky, and I knew they sold quality machines there. In fact, a friend of mine had just bought a machine there a year ago and paid about the same price that I paid for Husky three years ago, and I'd been drooling over her machine ever since I first saw it. So, my point is, I had high hopes for the JoAnn's trip. I had a price in mind that I didn't want to exceed, but I thought my budget was more than reasonable, given my past experience and my friend's experience.

 

Wrong.

 

I should have known there was trouble when I was in line at the cutting counter, and my husband (yes, he came to JoAnn's with me--bless his heart) came over to me and muttered that there were sewing machines for sale that cost as much as our Corolla. (Granted, we buy used cars, and Mary Jo Corolla was 13 years old when we got her, but still) But in my heart, I was still starry-eyed and naive, picturing myself sitting in front of a lovely new machine, cranking out a perfect assembly line of pillows that would brighten the lives of children everywhere. Sure, there are Cadillac machines for sale--the ones that download embroidery patterns from the Internet and practically run themselves like a player piano--but I just wanted something simple and practical. Surely they had those for sale, too.

 

Wrong.

 

After finishing at the cutting counter and going over to browse the sewing machines, my first reaction was confusion. The cheapest machine was $330? On sale? Must be a mistake. Maybe all the cheaper machines were in another place in the store or something. So I asked the woman sitting behind a table (whom I'd assumed was an impartial JoAnn's employee but later found out was a Husqvarna/Viking dealer who works on commission) if they sold any machines within my (reasonable, I thought) price range. She actually snorted a little when she said, "OH no. They don't sell them for that low." Taken aback, I told her about the machine I'd bought there just a few years ago. And my friend's machine, just one year ago. Both around $200. As though she hadn't heard me, she repeated that the Viking brand simply did not sell machines for less than what was displayed there. At this point, I'm trying not to feel personally insulted (like I'm a big cheapo who just won't fork over the cash for a quality machine, so I clearly am in a lower caste than real sewers), and I asked her what brand, then, she would recommend for the price range I mentioned. Nose held high, she informed me that she would never recommend anything other than a Viking. (Again, this made sense later, when I found out that the sewing machine areas inside the JoAnn's stores are run by Viking dealers) Well, oooooookay then.

 

To make a long story slightly shorter, I did not end up buying a Viking. I would have liked to, but for some unknown reason, the company has apparently decided that marketing to people with realistic budgets is simply beneath them. And to be honest, I'm no longer convinced that their brand really is the best, anyway. If it were, shouldn't my trusty Husky have lasted more than three years? Anyway, I broke down and went to Sears and got a Kenmore, and so far, we are getting along swimmingly. The decision was borderline agonizing (I think I even had a nightmare about it one night)--when you sew as much as I do and really need to be able to depend on your machine not to let you down, you want a decision like this to be an informed one. And the right one. But I still, in my heart of hearts, don't think that a reliable machine with the basic functions and not a ton of bells and whistles needs to cost "one of these and one of these" (channeling the arm-and-leg chick from that one commercial). That's just a principle I believe in, but apparently Viking does not.

 

(And for the record, I pursued the Viking thing beyond the one rude saleswoman at JoAnn's. I did research on their Web site [and discovered that my friend's year-old dream machine is no longer being manufactured. WTH? Are you kidding me, Viking?], I contacted the company directly, and I also talked with another, much nicer saleswoman at that same JoAnn's. All of these avenues led me to the same conclusion--no dice, unless I got the barest of bare-bones machines [and while I'm not fancy, I'll admit that I wanted something slightly better than the absolute bottom rung of the sewing-machine ladder], which still would have cost me more than I wanted to spend.)

 

So, that's the latest drama in my life, and I'm glad it's pretty much over. (I say pretty much because my Kenmore is still within its 90-day return window, and I'm watching it very closely. We may be in a relationship now, Kenmore, but it's still early and I've got my eye on you. Don't break my heart like Husky did--I don't think I could take that again.)

missin' you

Today a coworker and I were sharing pet stories and cat pictures, and I was (of course) telling Obie stories and laughing to myself. That cat and his shenanigans.

 

I was then flipping through photos on my phone, looking for one of Cosette to email to my coworker, and I randomly came across one of Obie. And all of a sudden I wanted to cry. It's a fairly recent picture, taken spontaneously one evening when I was sitting at the kitchen table and Obie was sprawled on the floor per usual. I took it only so I could text it to my friend Sherry (I had just been talking about him to her that day, telling her how shamelessly he liked to lie around the house, exposing his goods for all the world to see), and it has been sitting in my picture file on my phone ever since.

 

Sigh. Man, I miss that cat.

reflections on joy, part 3

Lately, everything I read or hear about joy has been pointing back to the gospel of Jesus--the good news that he stood in our place and was killed so that we could be freed from God's judgment and enjoy eternity with him. Here are a couple of quotes I've been digging lately:

 

"So, have we nothing to do to obtain this righteousness? No, nothing at all! For this righteousness comes by doing nothing, hearing nothing, knowing nothing, but rather in knowing and believing this only--that Christ has gone to the right hand of the Father, not to become our judge, but to become for us our wisdom, our righteousness, our holiness, our salvation!" 

 

-from the preface to Martin Luther's Lectures on Galatians

 

"The redeeming love of Jesus gives rise to one grand and joyful passion." - Mark Bair

ISTJ meets INFP

Here's a semi-interesting story from my day (interesting to me, anyway) that gives a glimpse into how different my husband and I are. It's almost a typical day in the life of the Daltons.

 

This morning I got up and got ready for work like usual. I left on time, swung by Starbucks (yum) for a treat, and made it down 71 before the "oh my God, the roads are wet! Let's all go 5 mph!" traffic jam started, and I arrived at work at the usual time. In my mind, everything was going well until I reached for my keys to turn the car off and noticed that there was a much bigger wad of keys there than I am used to grabbing. Uhhhh, those aren't my keys...

 

Somehow, in my half-asleep, pre-caffeinated blur of a leaving-the-house routine this morning, I had grabbed Craig's keys and left mine on the table. Maybe for most households, this wouldn't be a problem, but in our case, the keys in my hand held the key to Craig's work truck. Problem. I then grabbed for my purse, certain that there would be like five missed calls on there, one for each level of panic as my husband nervously tried to alert me of my error before it completely screwed up his schedule for the day.

 

...Except my phone wasn't in my purse. I imagined on the kitchen table, lying innocently (or maybe smugly--I haven't decided) next to my keys.

 

Crap. I then grabbed my stuff and flew up to my office (well, "flew" might be an overstatement, considering I work on the 5th floor and spent a few minutes waiting impatiently for an elevator) where I threw it all on my desk and dialed Craig's cell number from my work phone.

 

Voice mail.

 

Are you kidding me? Aren't you wondering where your keys are? If it were me, I'd be glued to the phone. This was the first moment since we disconnected our landline a month ago that I wished we still had it. The only time that phone ever rang was (a) when a telemarketer was calling or (b) when one of us really needed to reach the other one but couldn't get through on the cell. Dang it. At this point, I left a frantic voice mail ("IhaveyourkeysI'msorryIleftmyphoneathomeI'mleavingrightnowIshouldbethereby8") and ran back down to the car (re: "ran," see previous disclaimer).

 

On my way home, all I heard on the radio was how the southbound lanes of both 315 and 71 were backed up almost to 270 (as I whizzed past the parking lot on 71 going the other direction...the direction I would soon be going on my way back to work), apparently because it rained overnight. Columbus drivers, you are seriously a bunch of sissies. WTH.

 

When I arrived home, sweaty and freaking out, I found Craig in the kitchen, cool as a cucumber. He actually laughed when he saw me fly through the door. "Forget something?"

 

It's days like today when I am grateful that I married a man with a personality nearly the opposite of mine. Some people might have been afraid of the wrath they'd face at home after a blunder like that. I was just worried that I'd make him late for his first job (which wasn't, as it turns out, until 10am, so the only thing he was "late" for was driving to the office to drink coffee and kill some time). And you know what, even if he had had an 8:00 job and I'd made him late, he still wouldn't have been mad.

 

I took the through-town route on my way back to work and arrived around 8:30. The whole debacle gouged a nice hour out of my morning, but other than that, it left me amused at my freaky-outy reactions to things and the contrast of my husband's mellow, go-with-the-flow approach to life. Yeah, we're good for each other. 

okay, let's attempt to blog or something

I've become a lame-o on the blogging front. I'm not sure what my problem is, but maybe I'll try to give it another shot before giving up completely. Although, I don't know why I'm even concerned with whether or not my blog is lame--it seems that a lot of people spend a lot of blogging time/space with concerns about their blog's quality, and honestly when I read that, my mental response is almost always "What are you worried about? I like reading about everyday stuff! That's my favorite kind of blog." And yet, when it comes to myself, I feel like I have to be some sort of masterful wordsmith, crafting these poetic and profound posts that make readers weep/laugh/think deeply about the deep things of life, etc.

I need to chill out.

Um, so what's been going on? Well, the Buckeyes lost last weekend, and that was sad. And I know the angry sports fans of Central Ohio are calling for Tressel's resignation with their fists in the air (or maybe that's just my husband) and scoffing at anyone who makes comments like "well at least we didn't get totally blown out," but I have to say that I was actually more impressed with the athletes' performance than I expected to be. The way people were talking before the game, you'd have thought the Buckeyes were going to take the field and immediately pee their pants and wave a white flag. Instead of that, they fought hard and kept it close. I thought they looked good, with the exception of a few mistakes (which USC matched with mistakes of their own--hello interception, hello safety). With my limited football knowledge, I'll probably have to agree that Tressel's conservative play calling kept the Buckeyes from winning a game that they proved, athletically, that they were capable of winning. And that sucks. But I'm still proud of them--they played a hell of a game and proved something to the nay-sayers who expected them to look like a bunch of weenies.

And that's my girlie football commentary of the week.

Other news? It's getting cooler, the days continue to get shorter, and that makes me sad. I'm trying to put on my big-girl pants, though, and get mentally prepared for the inevitable winter. God, sometimes I hate living in Ohio.

Labor Day weekend was nice. We went up to my aunt and uncle's place in Michigan and had a family picnic on Sunday. There was the typical quota of family drama and tension, but that's to be expected. The comedic tension-breaking winner of the day was my grandma, who interrupted an uncomfortable silence with uncharacteristic, too-funny comedic timing.

*tense silence following some loud scolding*
Nani looks up into the trees and quips, "It's so *peaceful* here!"

Win, Nani. That was awesome.

But tense moments notwithstanding, it was a good weekend. Craig and I slept in the yard in the sweet, retro camper (dubbed The Mystery Machine because of its resemblance to the bus from Scoobie Doo, although my aunt can never remember the name. "What do you call the camper? The Time Machine? The Hippiemobile?"). That was awesome, although neither of us slept very well (It's hard to sleep next to a 6'3" guy in a bed not much wider than a twin, especially when he's snoring an inch away from your face. Not that I'd know what that's like or anything.), and we got some quality time with my aunt and uncle and cousin, whom we don't get to see too often.

Let's see...other news? I'm still having some hair issues, this time with a color job gone wrong. I decided to stop the highlighting and just go back to my natural color. Now, my natural natural color is pretty dark, so i was prepared for a shock. However, the color my hair lady used was a shade lighter and definitely redder than what God gave me. It's a great color, and if I were going to continue cheating nature, I might stick with it. However, what I was going for was honesty, and this does not match my eyebrows. But the yucky part is that it doesn't really cover my highlights. So as long as I have my hair in a ponytail and you only look at the top of my head, it's fine. But if I have my hair down and I'm standing in the light, you might notice some odd streaks that look...well, kind of green. Um, no, this is not going to fly. So I'm going to try to get together with her soon to see if it can be repaired. We'll see how it goes. I'll let you know.

Oh, and speaking of hair, I never posted a curly-do picture on here, but I think I've sort of got the hang of it. Success requires a combo of products and a dryer with a diffuser, but the result is probably as good as it's going to get for someone whose hair is really only naturally wavy, not full-blown curly. Maybe I'll post a pic if I remember.

Oh, well here's one, sort of, although you can't see much of my hair. This is from our neighborhood barbecue (celebrating the completion of the patios Craig and his friends put in for us and our next-door neighbor) That is our friends' two-year-old "riding" one of the neighborhood dogs (a ginormous Rottweiler mix--we love him!)

the devil's funeral

On my desk, I have a tear-off calendar of quotes from The Office. Since the year only covers one season (and 365 quotes from 20-something episodes), some of the quotes they've chosen are a bit of a stretch and not exactly the

crème de la crème of pure Office humor. Today's, however, I found delightful:

 

Pam: "You mean 'leaves' as in 'dies'? You want us to throw Toby a New Orleans funeral?"

Michael: "If the devil were to explode and evil were gone forever, what sort of party would you have?"