It would have been worth it...

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Where is Mister Rogers When You Need Him?

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It has been said that I am easily amused. Little things fascinate me. I like to know how things work. I like factory tours and behind-the-scenes stuff and those specials on Discovery Channel. I was definitely brought up this way: I remember my brother telling me about a conversation he'd recently had about "Jet Puffed Marshmallows." Topics covered were: What does "Jet-Puffed" mean? How big-a-jet are we talkin? What keeps the marshmallows from exploding when "jet puffed"? Several weeks ago, the girls and I caught an episode of the rarely aired Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. In that one episode, the inimitable Mr. R shed light on two very interesting processes when he visited a sleeping bag factory and a dollmaker's workshop. Have you ever thought about how a sleeping bag is assembled? Me neither, but now I know, and I am a better person for it. So here are a few jobs I would like to shadow for a day (or watch Mister Rogers shadow them), because ev...
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Ask me what I did last night.

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A few of us have been wrestling a little bit lately with what it means to live in the grace of God. What does it mean to live fully covered by the Gospel? To embrace the freedom Christ secured for us on the cross? For me, last night, it meant big hair and hard rock. See, over the summer, I'd started to get a little self-conscious about my holiness. I was part of a study at church that consisted of mainly older, wiser, more conservative and traditional women. While I still felt largely like a voice of dissent - a raging postmodern compared to this crowd - there was a certain feeling starting to set in. An old nemesis. I can't believe I didn't recognize it, as we' spent so much time together in the past. Guilt. Guilt that I wasn't the teetotaling, perfect homemaking, gentle-speaking mother that I was being mentored to be in this class. I used my powers of wit and sarcasm to mask and suppress it, but with each chapter and interaction the guilt seeped deeper...wit...
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A List. Amy-Style.

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CoolMum & Dad have been posting about music lately - and it's had me stumbling down melody lane. Everyone loves a good list, right? Top 5 movies of all time, top 5 restaurants in town, top 5 rock ballads...oooh, rock ballads... The cool 'rents posted about their favorite love songs, complete with videos! But because my brain doesn't seem to work like other people's, my imaginary list-making turned into a blog. I seem unable to just make a list, without wondering WHY my list is the way it is. Por ejemplo, why is it that my favorite sing-a-long songs all tell some kind of story? I don't seem to opt for the love songs or the party songs. No, I crank it up for Don McLean's American Pie and Meatloaf's (yes, I said Meatloaf) Paradise by the Dashboard Light . At the top of my lungs, I sing along with Neil Diamond telling the story of Brother Love and his Travelin' Salvation Show. (Hallelujah!) And Billy Joel...well, he just gets his own list, but my favor...
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