No, not me. A real doormat. We needed one for the front door with winter here, so I told him to pick one out. This is what we got. Ask him what it means.
It is November 22 once again, the tenth November 22 since my Dad died of cancer and went home to heaven. It’s hard to believe that much time has gone by–almost a third of my life so far without my daddy. Hard to imagine. I decided that for this tenth Joyaversary I would post 10 things (of many) my dad taught me during the 22 years, 8 months, and 5 days God gave me with him:
1. There is nothing broken that daddy can’t fix.
2. Always leave at least half a tank of gas in your vehicle in the wintertime, and when you fill up add one bottle of “Heet“. Your car almost always starts right up!
3. Defend your daughter against school bullies–even if it means calling their parents. You’ll be a hero! 
4. When you get your oil changed, tell them you don’t need a new air filter. Then go to Walmart, buy one for about $10 cheaper, and install it yourself.
5. Talking while deer hunting scares away the deer (and gets you kicked off the hunting team!)
6. When cleaning bullheads (or other fish), bury the scraps in the garden for fertilizer. And give the cat at least one head to munch on.
7. Chocolate Chip Cookies cure writer’s block.
8. Buy your daughters stuffed animals–even if they’re in college.
9. Santa Claus and Toothy the Tooth Fairy do exist. Their penmanship is also mysteriously similar…
10. Memorize scripture. If you are ever in a situation where you can no longer read or do not have access to a Bible, God’s word will always be with you.
Thanks, Daddy. I love you. I miss you. I’m looking forward to one day celebrating my joyful entrance into heaven with you.
“I do hereby testify that I am a Christian. I have placed all my hope of life hereafter in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. His death and resurrection have given my life meaning and make my death a peaceful passage to eternal life in heaven. I want my family and friends to know that for me to live with Christ, and to die is gain. I ask my children, whom I love and who have brought me great joy, never to forget these instructions of Christ to be faithful to him until death and to proclaim his Gospel to every nation. Share God’s word of salvation in Christ with everyone at home and wherever you go in this world. May God grant you peace, love and strength as he guides you through life. Then, at the end of time, we will be reunited in heaven as God’s happy family.”
– Taken from Arnold’s Last Will and Testament
I don’t blog about infertility much, which I’ve been meaning to. Just seems too painful to talk about. I’m oversensitive to things–like the fact that my sister-in-law got pregnant the first time they tried, or the fact that I have 10 nieces and nephews and no kids of my own.
My mom asked me tonight how things were going. I’ve been on metformin for months now and no real signs of ovulation. If I’m still not ovulating by February, the doc is going to put me on Clomid as well.
“Is that a–what do you call them–fertility drug?” Mom asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “It promotes ovulation.”
“Is there a down side to that?”
“Well, there is the possibility of multiple births,” I replied.
My mom started laughing. “I guess that’s one way to catch up,” she said. I started laughing too. I had never thought of that, and even now am still giggling at the thought.
No one could have anticipated the shriek that came from the kitchen as the diligent housekeeper turned on the machine. Mrs. C—– jumped back as blue smoke billowed from between the buttons of the old gadget. Sparks flew at her, and she quickly pulled open the door. There was no doubt about it, the dishwasher was dead.
Since moving into the new home of her employer, Mrs. C—– had quickly adjusted to life without a stove. After all, what meal couldn’t be prepared with just a microwave and hotplate? And the new George Foreman grill which produced steak so juicy no doubt the absent oven would have been jealous. She had even managed doing laundry at the laundromat for over a year, until the ice and snow of the dark Alaskan winters became too much for the beloved housekeeper and her compassionate employer found the means to purchase and install a washer and dryer inside the house. Mrs. C—– was delighted even further when the man of the house received a check from the treasury of his Uncle Sam, a distant relation in Washington, D.C., and presented his darling domestic with a brand new shiny black stove.
“Well, Mrs. C—–,” he said when the stove had been installed, “That should just about complete the requirements for immaculate housekeeping, eh?” She was quick to agree. All the appliances were present and accounted for. That is, until this latest eruption in the kitchen. How was she going to break it to the boss? Would he now have to ante up more money for yet another appliance? Much to her surprise, the master of the house took it rather well. A few extra days’ work paid for a new shiny black dishwasher, and Mrs. C—– was satisfied.
Several weeks later, after finishing all her household tasks, Mrs. C—– stepped into the kitchen for her past-due dinner break. Having spent all her energy completing the duties of the day, the weary housekeeper decided to heat up a turkey and cheese sandwich in the microwave. How odd, she thought, the cheese isn’t melting. Did I accidentally change the power from hi to zero? . She stopped and reset the microwave, making sure the power was on high. Nearly a minute later, the cheese still wasn’t melting. Upon further examination by opening the door, she discovered the sandwich was cold! Yet another cookery contraption crippled in the helpless housekeeper’s care. What would the master say!
Braced for sharp admonishment, Mrs. C—– addressed her employer after he had settled in after a long day’s work. The master of the house calmly listened as his darling domestic poured out her tale of yet another cooking catastrophe, then with a smile assured the forlorn housekeeper that the microwave would be replaced and there was no need to fret. Mrs. C—– couldn’t hide her cheery smile when, as promised, her employer installed a new shiny black microwave within the month.
“That should do it then,” he told her kindly. Mrs. C—– was sure that nothing else could possibly perish in that kitchen. She continued with her day’s work, convinced that all was right in her kitchen and therefore all was right with the world.
Later that month, a hissing sound drew the unsuspecting housekeeper to the kitchen to investigate. What could be making that horrid sound? she mused. It seemed to disappear as quickly as it had come, and Mrs. C—– shrugged it off, believing her paranoid mind was just playing tricks on her. But she did notice how filthy the floor had become, and it was obviously overdue for a sweep. Soon the delectable domestic was engrossed in her work, forgetting for the moment what had brought her into the kitchen in the first place. Sssssssssssss… she heard again. Ssssssssssss….pffffffffffft. Mrs. C—– watched in horror as dust flew out from under the refrigerator. Not again! she thought woefully. But soon all was back to normal, as if nothing had happened.
Weeks passed without incident. Both the master of the house and his harmonious housekeeper had settled into an affable existence with working appliances. Neither of them suspected there would come a day when the refrigerator would again rouse from its placid state and besiege them with such shrieks as a screeching fan belt or tortured mouse would make. Is this the bitter end of the last appliance standing? Is Sears, Roebuck, and Co. to extract even more wages from the master of this house and his captivating housekeeper? Stay tuned for the next installment of…
THE MYSTERY OF THE DOOMED DEVICES
Years ago I attempted to publish a wedding song I had written for my older brother’s wedding in 1995. It was rejected. Sadly, I gave up on attempting to have anything published since then until now.
I received an email from my younger brother with a hymn translated by one of our WELS Missionaries currently serving in China at the Asia Lutheran Seminary. With his (the missionary’s) permission I arranged it from guitar chords and a melody line to a hymn version, and later a choir version which my choir sang for Reformation Sunday. The hymn is based on Psalm 46 and was originally written shortly after WWII when many churches were being closed by the Red Army. Anyway, he encouraged me to send it to NPH for publication. Since I used to work there and helped to edit the Altar Book as well as LAtPPY, I sent the manuscripts and mp3 of my choir singing the selection to my former boss. We’ll see what happens next.