Category Archives: Alphabet Posts

Alphabet Siouxsie

Well, we’re all the way to S. I thought about this one a long time when I did the last post and couldn’t think of anything. Let’s hope my creativity quotient is higher today.

S is for Stinker. Probably part of my good-girlydom, I’ve always been afraid of having bad breath or b.o., or worse. So, I used to chew gum ALL the time. For years, I chewed gum. I’m not much of a gummer anymore, but I do always have a box of Altoids along. Perhaps because I’ve always had a sensitive nose, I’m just not into stinking myself, or having any unpleasant smells around me, like a sour towel or washcloth. Now, I’m not so strict with other people being stinky. Kepler has natural ways of becoming a stinker. So, don’t worry — I’m not painting you with the same anti-stink brush I’m painting myself.

T is for Teetotalist, or Teetotaler, if you prefer. I’m trying to think. I think I had my first alcohol sometime around the age of 21, of course, since I wouldn’t break that rule! And I think it was probably about 4 ounces of wine. I’m not telling this so that you will be impressed at my “virtue.” Rather, I just laugh at myself because I’ve always been so careful to follow the rules. Like right now, I actually don’t drink any alcohol because I take a medication that shouldn’t be taken with alcohol. I really don’t get the appeal of getting drunk, and I’m not planning to see if I can figure it out. I’ll leave that to others. But, unlike the teaching I received at my very fundy church as a kid, “We don’t drink and we don’t chew, and we don’t go with boys who do.” I think alcohol can be a part of my life. And anyway, I do go with a boy who drinks.

U is for ulotrichous (thought you’d enjoy learning a new word, as I did) — No, I don’t have woolly or crisp hair.

V is for (ok, I’m running out of steam here) violinist. I did take lessons in 7th grade for four weeks, but I stopped after that. I do play the flute and the piano, and I did have a dream early on that I could have my kids learn stringed instruments and turn into the Taylor String Quartet. Alas. I crashed and burned while trying to simultaneously teach the kids Suzuki piano, take them to Suzuki string lessons, and do all the practicing and listening required in Suzuki music instruction.

I’ll save W,X,Y, and Z for next time.

More Alphabet Sioupsie

R is for Right-handed. Yes, that’s right. I am a leftie, a southpaw. And look at the other synonyms the thesaurus mentions: awkward, clumsy, dubious, gauche, insincere, maladroit, sinistral. I’m pretty sure I’m not any of those things, at least the ones I know the definition of! So, in case you don’t know, it’s a right-handed world. But, for the most part I think I have adapted ok. And so far, my kids are all right-handed. We’ll see about Kepler. I think the most brilliant idea I ever had as a left-handed person was to learn to write with both hands back in second grade. Alas. The teacher knew in her infinite teacher wisdom that this would be a very very bad idea, so she wouldn’t let me. And since I was a good girl (see earlier post), I didn’t even try to do it at home on my own time. But I showed her, didn’t I. I can read upside down and backwards and she can’t stop me!

Long Overdue Alphabet Post

Hey, how come nobody mentioned I had forgotten to continue on with this series??

N is for Nasty. You’d probably never find me on Santa’s naughty list. When I was a youngster, I was a really good girl. I was really afraid to do something wrong. I hated the thought that I might let my parents or my teachers down. And then there was the issue of wondering if God might be up there ready to send a lightning bolt if I messed up. I suffered great guilt and confusion during the sixth grade spelling bee – it was down to me and Tina Hansel as the two last spellers. Tina got the word, “socket.” Tina had a little twang in her speech and when she spelled it, I clearly heard s-o-c-k-e-t but her “e” sounded a little like an “a.” The emcee said she had spelled it wrong. I stood there, stunned. She had certainly spelled it right. I paused to think about what to do. I spelled it “s-o-c-k-e-t” apparently without the little twang, because I spelled it correctly. And I went on to spell the winning word. But the victory was bittersweet. I was so hard on myself for not standing up during that spelling bee and insisting that Tina had spelled the word correctly. Now I am grown up and I’m still a pretty good girl, when it comes right down to it, but my motivation is different. I just like being kind and friendly to people. It makes me feel really good. And I think Proverbs is right when it says, “He who refreshes other people will himself be refreshed.” Sure is true for me.

O is for Optically Gifted. At the young age of seven, I was clear that I wanted to wear glasses (oy vey, I say now). I read under the covers to try to speed along the process. And, sure enough, I was able to get glasses when I was seven. That means I have had to use something to help me see for almost 40 years now! I got contact lenses when I was 13 (oy vey). Back then, they didn’t have contacts that you could wear for five minutes and throw away with nary another thought. No, it was that whole clean them, boil them, neutralize them, don’t wear them too long. A list of rules as long as your arm. When I finally got around to looking into laser surgery to correct my vision, something I had dreamed of for so long, I was told that my distant vision would be corrected but I would lose my close up vision and that things would be blurry up close without glasses. At that point (and even now) I could see close-up very clearly without any corrective lenses, and I couldn’t imagine losing the ability to see the faces of my husband and children clearly in those lovely intimate moments when we are face to face. So, I said no to the surgery. Contacts act like suction cups on my eyes in minutes anymore, so I pretty much stick to glasses.

P is for Psychologist. At some point, I must have been planning to become one, though, because I majored in Psychology in college. I was too far into it to change when I realized that the field was (is?) very research-oriented. I just wanted to help people. I didn’t go on for my master’s although I flirted with the idea. I love the idea of helping people and I find ways to do that, even though I am not able to do anything clinically. I have been extremely blessed in my life to learn many principles that have made a difference in my life. I have also been extremely blessed to find healing and experience God’s grace in many areas. I still have some wounds that I am aware of, and probably some that I’m not aware of, and I still love the idea of being a group therapy leader, or somehow helping people work through the pain and difficulties that are still affecting them as adults.

Q is for Queenslander. Although I lived in Queensland for 16 months, I can’t claim it as home. I surely loved Australia and my friends and experiences there. One of the defining experiences of my life was living in Australia with Greg. I would definitely live there again. My favorite place in all the world, Eli Creek, is off the coast of Queensland. I experienced a lifestyle in Aus that just really suited me perfectly. I found Adrian Plass in Aus. Greg and I made some incredible memories there. Basically, I got to live out a dream I had had since I was a child.

More to come . . .

A Few More Alphabet Letters

K is for Kung Fu Fighter. So far, in my 46 years, I have not taken any martial arts classes at all. I have observed one of my children taking Tai kwan do lessons, but I haven’t gotten around to taking any karate classes. The only thing I think I would really like to do is take a women’s self-defense class, but I’ve heard one of the things they teach you is to yell out some profanity at your would-be attacker, and I wonder if I could do that. I’m not much of a kusser either.

L is for Lawbreaker. Once, about 20 years ago, I was shopping in a major department store here in town. I was carrying a large bag I had just gotten for Christmas. All of a sudden, store security took me by the arms and insisted I accompany them to the security offices. When we got there, they sneeringly said, “Do you know why you are here?” I raged back, “I assume you think I took something!” “Please empty your bag,” they suggested with a knowing look. I started slamming everything down on the counter, piece by piece, “Here’s my PURSE. Here’s my JACKET. Here’s the shirt I’m RETURNING to American Eagle. Here’s the CAN OPENER I just bought and here’s the RECEIPT.” They looked at each other. “Shoot,” they whispered. Their crack security chick was sure she had seen me put a shirt into my bag. And I was sure they hadn’t. So, they let me go. Even now, my entire family laughs about this because of all the people to detain for shoplifting, I’m not the top choice, you know?

M is for Medical Professional. Not even close. I can’t imagine spending my day around sick and/or dying people, although I have great respect for people who do. It actually amazes me the amount of stuff that doctors and nurses know. I do wish sometimes that I could be a fly on the wall of a treatment room for a week or so. I think doctors and nurses must hear some pretty outlandish things.

More Alphabet Soup

F is for Farmer. When I was a kid, I spent many magical days on my grandmother’s farm in Oklahoma during summer breaks from school. I loved her farm more than anywhere I had ever been. There was something so beautiful and special about the wheatfields gently swaying in the wind, and something so noble about my relatives bringing in the harvest. I felt so honored to ever be a part of the harvest, whether I was bringing “the men” meals in the field, or driving the combine (only once). Even though I was around the farm and farmers a lot of my childhood, farming and gardening did not rub off on me. I suppose I have always been moving a little too fast to see the value in me personally planting and waiting for the fruit or flower. I do have hope that someday I will enjoy gardening, but for now, I’m definitely not a farmer.

G is for Garage Saler. Once, when my husband and I moved to another country for an extended period, we did have a pretty big moving sale and made a decent amount of money. Besides that sale, I’ve had maybe two others and the last one convinced me that there is no way it is worth my time to stand outside for hours and hours just to make $36, which is the grand total I made at my last sale. Not only do I not like HAVING garage sales, I almost never GO to garage sales. I once knew someone who managed to find a missing piece from a toyset and she only paid a nickel for it! And I hear these kinds of stories all the time and I have no doubt they are true. For me, though, the occasional swing by a garage sale satisfies any small desire I have to get bargains this way. I also only like to shop this way when I have something I am specifically looking for. I was able to get a nice desk chair and very nice TV for $35 about a year ago. It might be the same thing as the gardening/farming — if I didn’t already have fifty-eleven things to do every minute of every day, maybe I would enjoy garage-saling. But, I don’t.

H is for Hair Color. So far, my hair color is whatever it is when it grows out of my scalp. I’m getting some gray at my temples, but I still don’t have much overall. My hairdresser would be glad to cover up that gray. But, my thought is, once I start, I have to keep on coloring, and I don’t like stuff like that. I can’t tell you how many times stylists have asked me if I’m growing out some color because my hair grows lighter in the summer, and never paying much attention to it, the blond eventually grows out, leaving me with two colors of hair. I’m not morally opposed to hair color or anything, although I worry about the chemicals in the colorant. It’s just that once I start, I don’t see any way to stop. I’ll just keep my natural color for now, thank you.

I is for Impudent. When I was a kid, my neighbor “Dr. D” called me “saucy and impudent.” I THINK he was just kidding, but with many jokes there is an element of truth. Impudent means “marked by contemptuousness or cocky boldness or disregard of others: insolent.” And I know that whatever I was as a child, I wasn’t any of those things! I was such the rule-following, good-girl, adult-pleasing child that I am hard-pressed to think I would have expressed contempt, cockiness, or insolence! Dr. D., maybe you were projecting!!!

J is for Jury Member. So far in all my adult life, I have not been called for jury duty. I’ve always wondered how people who serve on juries can really disregard information they get, either through something overruled in the trial, or through the media. Maybe someday I’ll find out by being on a jury where I have to “disregard” something.

That’s all the alphabet soup in the can today.

Alphabet Soup of Who or What I’m Not

A is for Attorney. Although I am not an attorney, I had plans to become one. My dad noticed my talent at giving people the third degree, and affectionately called me the “County Persecutor.” I thought this meant I should become an attorney, so planned to do so all throughout junior high and half of high school. Then I came to my senses.

B is for Blonde. Although my driver’s license says I have blonde hair, it’s really more of a brown color. Some of it turns blonde during the summer if I’m in the sun a lot, but I’m really not blonde. Wonder how that description got on there. Is someone else filling out this info? I just looked at the weight listed on there, and it seems to be off by a few pounds too. Hmmm.

C is for Computer Whiz. Back in the ancient days at my secretarial job, we got this neat new gadget called a “Word Processor.” It was cool! Way neater than the typewriter! But, this high tech tool required 40 hours of training on it. I was SO with it back then, it only took me 24 hours! But, now, I don’t have to be a computer whiz. Why? Cause I have KIDS! They have brain parts that make everything computer-related obvious and simple, so I just ask them.

D is for Difficult to Understand. I grew up in the heartland of the USA, where we have NO accent (ha ha). I believed that those in the south, the northeast, the southwest, the north, etc., had little speech quirks that made it easy to tell where they were from. And although I can tell if someone is from Boston, Alabama, Michigan, or Virginia, I realize that we midwesterners have a few little quirks of our own.

E is for Elegant. Oh I wish I were elegant, and perhaps I have a few little elegant elements, but when I think of Elegant, I think of beautiful clothing (which apparently doesn’t include jeans and running shoes), tall (5’3″ doesn’t qualify), and regal (I usually have some kind of food on my shoulder, thanks to my little guy). So, while I’m a lot of other things, I don’t really think I am elegant.

Unless I break this post into parts, I will be here all day writing. So, I’ll continue this on another post. Bet you can’t wait!