I spent Easter weekend in Alabama with my daughter and her family. I had such a nice time! It was great to be together with Ann-Marie and her husband Brannon and their little girl Mary Ellen. My other daughter Molly came, too. We drove from Atlanta together. My hubby stayed home, still recuperating from back surgery.
I missed him, but it was so special to be with Mary Ellen when she went on her first Easter egg hunt; and then be up on Sunday morning when she found her basket. OOOOH, she said very liltingly and sweet. Then she tried to eat a bag of M&Ms...the actual bag. Didn't taste so good so she stopped and went on to the next item in her basket.
I bought her a Barbie doll. Of course. Barbie is my BFF and Mary Ellen needs to learn all the wonderful things about Barbie. I got my first Barbie when I was 7 years old, and the shiny vinyl suitcase in which I carried her and all of her outfits and plastic accessories. So cool. Imagine..is there any other girl toy that can span three generations? I think not. My pretty pony, strawberry shortcake, smurfs...they're gone...but Barbie is eternal.
Maybe she has Jesus in her heart.
That would be a cool Barbie...Christian Barbie. She could wear a cross necklace, a Jesus T-shirt and carry a Bible protected in a Bible case or a leather bound one with her name engraved in gold. Her pink plastic Corvette would have Jesus bumper stickers. She would come with a Christian rock CD and when the music played she would raise her hands in the air toward Heaven. She wouldn't be available to play with on Sundays and Wednesday nights...and Skipper could go to AWANA. Ken wouldn't be around much because Barbie practices abstinence and wears a purity ring. They would only date in groups, so Midge and Poindexter would need to come along. Perfect.
I like this idea...
Think I should e-mail Matel ...
Many Blessings!
Happy Easter....Jesus Christ is risen from the dead. He's alive!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
What's happened to my neck? And my faith?
"I Feel Bad About My Neck" is a funny book by Nora Ephron about aging. Not aging in the sense that one is already aged and continues to do so, but in the sense that one has become aware she has crossed the line in the sand and is truly growing old. Not older. Old.
In recent photographs of myself, first thing I notice is my neck. When did it get those lines in it? When did it start to look like my grandkids' stacking rings?
I have tried to de-wrinkle it, but to do that, I have to make a face like a lizard. Doesn't do much for the rest of my face, you know.
I have a puggy nose, thanks to my Irish ancestors. (We not only love to eat potatoes, but our facial features look like spuds.) Anyway, to make my nose look less upturned, or in truth so it doesn't look like you can drive a truck up my nostrils, I usually try to put my chin down in photos. Now when I do that, my nose continues to look less ... well, opened up ... but I produce a double-chin and my neck collapses in folds. I've tried having photos taken with me slightly below the camera so I am looking up. It helps, but it looks like I'm trying really hard, which I am.
Funny, when I talk to people face-to-face, I rarely think about what I look like. I just go on and on. My chin might double, my nostrils might flair, my nose might tip up, and my neck might fold. I don't think about it. I'm too busy talking, telling my story, my point of view, relating to a sister, or connecting with a stranger.
I've had photos taken while I was in a conversation. How candid I am when I speak; how candid are the photos. I look like I'm choking or having a seizure or rolling my eyes in disgust or saying "Duh. Doit ta doit ta doit" or asking the listener if there is something up my nose. I do not look like I'm worth listening to. I look like something is wrong.
What feels wrong is getting old. As a Christian, I should be happy about having one foot in the grave. It means I'll soon be in Heaven with Jesus. The apostle Paul writes a lot about approaching the end of his life and his longing to live in eternity with Jesus. He even had a look-see at Heaven during his earthly life. His life -- his ministry -- was coming to an end and he was ready to move on. (He was killed, by the way. He didn't die peacefully in his sleep, aided by lots of morphine.) I read what he writes and I want to share his aging eagerness.
But I want to look good in the process. How awful is that?
In recent photographs of myself, first thing I notice is my neck. When did it get those lines in it? When did it start to look like my grandkids' stacking rings?
I have tried to de-wrinkle it, but to do that, I have to make a face like a lizard. Doesn't do much for the rest of my face, you know.
I have a puggy nose, thanks to my Irish ancestors. (We not only love to eat potatoes, but our facial features look like spuds.) Anyway, to make my nose look less upturned, or in truth so it doesn't look like you can drive a truck up my nostrils, I usually try to put my chin down in photos. Now when I do that, my nose continues to look less ... well, opened up ... but I produce a double-chin and my neck collapses in folds. I've tried having photos taken with me slightly below the camera so I am looking up. It helps, but it looks like I'm trying really hard, which I am.
Funny, when I talk to people face-to-face, I rarely think about what I look like. I just go on and on. My chin might double, my nostrils might flair, my nose might tip up, and my neck might fold. I don't think about it. I'm too busy talking, telling my story, my point of view, relating to a sister, or connecting with a stranger.
I've had photos taken while I was in a conversation. How candid I am when I speak; how candid are the photos. I look like I'm choking or having a seizure or rolling my eyes in disgust or saying "Duh. Doit ta doit ta doit" or asking the listener if there is something up my nose. I do not look like I'm worth listening to. I look like something is wrong.
What feels wrong is getting old. As a Christian, I should be happy about having one foot in the grave. It means I'll soon be in Heaven with Jesus. The apostle Paul writes a lot about approaching the end of his life and his longing to live in eternity with Jesus. He even had a look-see at Heaven during his earthly life. His life -- his ministry -- was coming to an end and he was ready to move on. (He was killed, by the way. He didn't die peacefully in his sleep, aided by lots of morphine.) I read what he writes and I want to share his aging eagerness.
But I want to look good in the process. How awful is that?
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