Some Angels Smoke Cigarettes?

“God did not bring us out here to abandon us” I said. This was a rare moment of faith and optimism for me since I’m usually a worry wart.

I was with a group of college students on a study trip to Europe and Morocco. There were 20 of us and we were buzzing around foreign countries in three minivans. When we left Morocco half of our group had stomach troubles because of some undercooked tea. We had been driving through Spain for a few hours when several things began to happen at once.

Photo Credit: Matt Willmann via freeimages.com

First of all, one of the vans started to run out of gas. On another van, one student desperately had to go to the bath room.  In the front van, our professor was driving and his assistant was holding the walkie-talkies. The drivers of the other vans were complaining about their emergencies, but the professor’s assistant kept saying that we just needed to go a little further and drive for a few more minutes.

Well, bathroom emergencies and nearly empty gas tanks can only wait so long. At last vans two and three had to pull off at a gas station. Van number one kept going because the professor’s assistant had finally started to ignore the desperate pleas over the walkie-talkie. 

In just a few minutes the bathroom problem was solved and the van’s gas tank was filled with fuel.  But now came a new disaster.  One of the students was getting out of the van to stretch his legs, but when he opened the sliding van door, it hit a stone pillar and literally fell of the vehicle.

We had lots of strong young guys with us who could have lifted the van door back up on the track, but all but one of them was very ill from the undercooked tea from Morocco.

What were we going to do? The professor, his van, and one third of our group was who knows how far down the road and a van door had been dislodged from one of our vehicles. That was when I and others in our group suggested that we pray. Some people were still panicking so I said, “No, God has protected us this far. He’s not going to abandon us.”

We all stood in a circle and prayed for help. We had just said “Amen” when we were approached by a stranger. He was a tall, thin man with long black hair pulled back in a pony tail. He was wearing a green t-shirt and blue jeans. He was leisurely smoking a cigarette.

He looked at our van and assessed the situation and the damage. Then he pointed at the only strong guy in our group who wasn’t sick from the undercooked tea (he was also the biggest guy in our group). Lou walked over and took one side of the door and the stranger took the other side and they replaced it on the van very quickly.

We asked the stranger if he wanted money for his help and he said, “No, someone helped me once and this is my way of paying them back.”

The stranger started to walk away from the gas station toward the highway. Meanwhile we all bowed our heads to say a quick prayer. Now we were in a part of Spain where the ground was very flat, so you could see for miles and there were no other buildings in site. We literally had our heads bowed and our eyes shut for three seconds and when we opened our eyes the stranger had disappeared.

There was no where for him to go and he didn’t have time to run back in the gas station.

If that was an angel who had helped us on that day in Spain, when I get to heaven, I want to ask God why that angel was smoking a cigarette.

When a Little Town Became an Island

When I was a little girl I lived in a tiny town on a big hill surrounded by cornfields. In the cornfields around the big hill with the tiny town are lots of little creeks which sometimes overflow their banks and make little floods.

Flood Image Credit: Anissa Belkheir, via freeimages.co

This is a story about when my little town got a lot of rain and the creeks overflowed their banks and completely covered the cornfields and turned the little town on the big hill into an island.

At first it was fun. Dad woke me up early to go out and look at the flooding because it was the first time that the creeks had flooded that badly. The water was lapping up on the street heading out of town like waves on a shore. Wind blew and the sound of water made it sound like I was standing next to a lake instead of a network of flooded creeks.

The road (normally) went down the big hill and intersected with a major highway (which was now completely under water). Dad and I stood looking out at the flood and Dad said, “This is funny”.

I was wondering if there were more fish swimming in the water than normal.

A few hours later it seemed like the entire town was standing out on the “shore” on the little bridge that usually went over one of the little creeks, but now looked more like a dock.  People cracked jokes about how the farmers should have planted rice or celery instead of corn.

My mother was out there with Dad now and she was joking that we would have to buy boats to get out of town if the flood waters didn’t go away. Someone asked if anyone had called the local TV station.

Then all at once the mood changes a big red truck was driving down the road in the distance. He kept getting close to the flood waters and he wasn’t slowing down.

Everyone got quiet and watched. The truck’s driver must have thought the flood waters would be shallow enough to drive through. He was wrong. We watched helplessly as the truck entered the water over the highway and started to float away. Someone got a row boat out of a nearby garage and tried to push it toward the truck – but the rough flood waters were too vast and the boat simply drifted aimlessly with the current.

The truck started to capsize and my mom told me to look away. But the driver had climbed out of the truck and was clinging to it. We all breathed a sigh of relief when a natural resource boat came and rescued the man.

A few minutes later it happened again. This time a minivan floated into the water and a man, a woman, and three children, crawled out and clung to the vehicle. 

Children.

Many people in the crowd began to panic. The Natural Resource Rescue Boat came back and picked up the little family, but instead of taking them away like they had the truck driver, they brought them to the town.

The family had been on vacation and were far from home and had no where to go and no where to stay. One family in the town had a guest room where they could stay and another family donated pillows and blankets. Another family donated food. Everyone in the little town pitched in and made the hapless family feel more comfortable. They stayed one night and by the next day the flood waters had subsided and they could leave.

But on the day of the flood the state closed the highway so no one else could get trapped by the flood waters again.

Now, decades later, the cornfields around the big hill are green and the creeks mostly stay in their banks, but I’ll never forget when the big hill became an island. 

Dark Water

I spent years away from home, away from Iowa. While living far away, the Mississippi river, which is only 15 or 20 minutes from my home in Iowa became a symbol in my mind of where I had come from. When I finished Seminary, I came home and had difficulty finding a job...so I started temping to pay the bills...

For the better part of a year, I worked as a supply courier for a bank. One of the things I really enjoyed about that job was crossing the Mississippi River several times every day as I went through my route.
I loved looking at the river as I drove over the bridges. The water never looked the same twice in one day. Sometimes it would be bright blue, reflecting the color of the sky. Sometimes on the same day, with that same blue sky, the water would be a slick, oily gray or even a flinty black (which is why, I suppose the Mississippi is sometimes referred to as "dark water").
One winter day, snow was on the ground and the river had large pieces of ice floating down stream...I think the technical term is "ice floats".
Against the black water, the large ice floats looked like beef fat floating in the surface of a pot of greasy water.
Another day, early in the morning it was so cold that the water looked like like smoke was rising up out of it...The ethereal effect was magnified by the pink color the river stole from the sunrise.
My time in Iowa has been rocky at best. I want nothing more than to get back into ministry, to be a chaplain again. It's lovely living near my family, to be back near my river -- but life beyond the river beckons again. It is time to find a new symbol for my life, time to find other beautiful things to admire...

Goo Goo and the Gremlin

I grew up in a small town...no let me rephrase that...I grew up in a town with eight streets.  You could stand in the middle of it and see the surrounding cornfields.   My dad liked to joke that the mayor called one time to say that we would have to move out of our house if we didn't get at least one dead car in our yard by the end of the month.  

There were no stores in town.  The church got closed down because the boiler blew.  The post office burned down one fateful night and the building that WAS a dance hall in the 40's is now a car garage. My parents' house was across the street from a grain elevator -- one of the few working businesses in town. 

Just to give you an idea of what the culture was like, I'll tell you a little story.  My half-sister's husband and I were sitting in my parents' living room one afternoon watching TV when we noticed someone walking outside in the yard.  I went out to see who it was and when I came back, Mike asked, "Who was that?"  

"The Mayor," I replied.  

"What was the Mayor doing in your yard?"

"Reading the meter on the house."

"Why was the Mayor reading the meter on your house?" He asked, wide-eyed.

"What else would he be doing?"

Photo Credit: Yamamoto Ortiz Via freeimages.com

Most of the people in our little city were really nice.  Our neighbors (I'll call them the Douglas' for the sake of the story) have always been really good friends of ours.  Laurel and Dave Douglas are like another aunt and uncle to me.  They love to tease me about stuff I did when I was a kid...Sometimes I wish they'd forget certain things...

They have a lot of inside jokes with my parents too...one of our favorites has to do with the story of the neighbor on the other side of my parents' house: "Goo Goo" Summerset. 
Goo Goo (as he asked us to call him) and his wife used to stand out in their front yard and yell at each other...while standing two feet apart.  He used to put locks on his refrigerator door so his kids couldn't eat between meals and (trust me) he had more than his share of dead cars in the front yard.  He was a constant source of both annoyance and entertainment.  

One day my parents and I were working in our back yard when Goo Goo hurried out of his front door and started jumping around in his yard, yelling incomprehensibly.  Mom, Dad, and I stopped and stared at him for a few seconds.  What in the world was this guy up to now?  

Finally Goo Goo slowed down his speech enough so that we could understand him a little: "My Car!  My Car!!! Somebody stole my car! Thief!  Thief!" 

We all looked at each other in disbelief.  Who (in their right mind) would have stolen Goo Goo's car?  

Dave and Laurel called to us from their yard.  "What's got Goo Goo so upset?" Dave asked.  

My father cleared his throat.  "Apparently somebody stole ... his car."

Dave made a face.  "One of the dead ones?" 

Image Credit: Lena Povrzenic via freeimages.com

"It doesn't sound like it," Mom replied.  

Laurel snickered.  "Fine then...the Yugo or the Gremlin?" 

Meanwhile Goo Goo was still jumping up and down in his yard.  

"Do you think we should help him?" Mom asked. 

"It would be the neighborly thing to do," Laurel added. 

"He really seems upset," Dave said.

"And we have known the guy for years..." Dad muttered.  

Five minutes later, the five of us were sitting in lawn chairs in my parents' back yard watching the "show" in Goo Goo's yard.  By now, Goo Goo and Mrs. Summerset were in their front yard arguing about who had left the keys in the car's ignition.  Goo Goo also mentioned that he had called the police. 

"Oh good," Mom said taking a sip of her pop..."This is going to be a cop show."  

Ten minutes later, the police had arrived...and they started questioning Mr. and Mrs. Summerset about the last time they had seen the car, etc.

What the five of us found amusing was that although we were sitting in lawn chairs watching the whole thing go on, the police didn't ask us any questions or even speak to us once.  We didn't care though...we were too busy munching on our popcorn.  

"YOU HAVE TO CATCH THESE CRIMINALS!" Goo Goo exclaimed. "We're in the middle of a crime wave!  You can't trust anyone anymore!!!  No one cares about each other like they used to!"

"Wonder why he'd think that?" Laurel asked, leaning back in her chair.  

We all shook our heads and said, "Who knows?"

The police questioned Goo Goo for about 5 minutes.  They were getting ready to leave when one of them said, "Hey is your car a bright green compact car?" 

"Yes!" Goo Goo screamed.  "Yes!  It is!! That's what I've been saying!  Why?"  

"Well you know that grain elevator across the street?" The policeman asked.

"Yeah?"

"Well we found the car behind a silo."

"Someone stole my car and hid it behind a silo at the Grain elevator?"  He yelled this at the top of his lungs. 

"I don't think so.  The car's parking break was off and it looks like it rolled down the hill and ended up behind the silo." 

The police left a couple of minutes later and Goo Goo retrieved his car, parked it in his drive way and retreated into his house.

The show was over.  

Its awesome when you can enjoy good entertainment with your neighbors.

Walking through the Park on a Moonlit Night...

On the edge of the little town I live in is this manicured city park with a walking path, perfectly shaped trees, and frogs...I've never actually seen the frogs, you understand, but I can hear them.  Sometimes I wonder if people in China can hear them...
Truthfully, I'm not exactly certain if they are really in the park or in the decorative ponds in the back yards of the nearby houses.
What really bothers me about the frogs is the fact that they do not actually say, "Ribbit."  Its more of an incessant, "Orc, Orc, Orc"...  The sound would be unnerving if I didn't know what it was and where it was coming from.
On the far side of the park, kids are playing baseball under bright spotlights...Not that they would need the lights to play...the moon is full and huge -- like a giant neon light in the shape of a pancake.  There are no electric lights illuminating the walking path in the park, but I'm not afraid because the moon lights my way, guiding my footsteps.
Trees look different at night than they do during the day.  Something about moonlight -- the shadows it casts on the leaves makes them stand out, as though under a spot light -- they almost don't look real.  The individual leaves are defined in a formal way, like in a museum diorama...
The lightning bugs are out...not many of them yet, but enough to make me feel like I'm walking through a fairy land...I remember when I was a kid, how I used to love to catch them, watch them blink in my hand and let them go...I used to get so mad when the neighborhood boys would catch them and tear them apart.
Usually while walking in the park, I hear wind through the trees, cars passing in the distance...I don't hear that tonight...I can't even hear the kids playing baseball...All I can hear are the frogs..."Ork, Ork Ork"... like an amphibious Greek Chorus...Still can't see them...Maybe that's a good thing...

Bam goes the Mylar!

POP!  

You could hear the sound from the exploding balloons from all parts of the University Bookstore I used to work at...We had a very popular balloon department and as a cashier, it was also my job to help out there.  I seemed to have a talent for popping the balloons I meant to fill with Helium and put into pretty bouquets...I used to love the colors in the balloons, how the light went through them...the bright, vivid designs on the foil Mylar balloons...Trouble is, if you put too much air in them, or let them touch the ceiling (metal shards in the tiles), KABOOM, no more pretty rubber balloon!  

After working at the store for a few years, my boss let me help her pick out balloons she would order to sell in the store...I loved looking through the Mylar picture-balloon catalogs.  There were balloons with cute slogans on them: Happy Birthday, Good Luck, Welcome Back... 

Others had cute cartoon characters on them, or animals, or smiley faces...

We also had balloons for anniversaries and baptisms...

Most of the time, she'd order anything I picked, but occasionally she'd veto my picks... 

For some reason, my boss didn't like the Birthday Balloon featuring a Grim Reaper with the caption: "Don't worry...I'm just here for the Cake..." 

We were pretty fast at blowing those things up, but even when we were really hopping, we could only blow up 20 balloons per hour...Most of the time people didn't care, but sometimes you'd get a customer who'd call up and say, "Can I have 100 balloons in an hour please???"  

One time I told a customer that was impossible and about how many we could do per hour and she said crisply, "Is that your best?"

I didn't say so, but I thought, "No, Lady...we're just slowing down our pace because you have an annoying voice..."  Just for the record, I did NOT say that out loud...

I wasn't always good at blowing those things up...It took practice...there's a science to it...too little air, and the balloons look limp or sick...too much and the thing's libel to burst in someone's face (not good)...It took me two years to perfect the size...I always liked to make the balloons really big so they looked like giant light bulbs...oddly enough, that didn't sit well with my boss...She didn't like it if I let helium out of them either...waste of gas apparently...I suggested letting me use the extra gas to make my voice go high and squeaky, but she reminded me that I could suffocate that way...bummer...there's always a catch...

We also had this clear, goopy stuff we'd put into the balloons before we blew them up...supposedly it made the things last longer...I DON'T know if it was true or not, but it WAS fun to play with -- as long as I didn't get it on my clothes...If you accidentally put too much in the balloon, when you blew it up, it would be heavy, and hover in mid-air instead of floating happily like it was supposed to...this was ALSO a mistake I made a lot at first...

Then there's the ribbons...They look SOOO innocent...those things look easy to curl and tie onto the balloons, but the truth is that Balloon Ribbons are evil entities bent on making store clerks insane...

You have to slip knot them just right or the balloons escape...then curling them is an absolute nightmare...The trick is to run the sharp side of a pair of scissors across the flat side of the ribbon, making them curl (I cut myself a lot...do NOT try that at home...).  I was never very good at that...when I first started out I had the nasty tendency of shaving off half the ribbon, so it hung limply like a wet tea towel...not exactly festive...Finally my boss showed me the trick of using a letter opener instead of scissors...this kept me out of the insane asylum...

Then comes my nemesis...

Arranging balloons in a bouquet...

This is another activity that LOOKS easy...

It isn't...

You have to know exactly where to put each balloon or they all end up on the same level...or spaced unevenly...

It took me forever to figure out how to do this...

At one point, I was CONVINCED that the balloons would move on their own...I'd have them just so and they'd be unevenly spaced again...

My boss seemed to be a natural at this...

She was one of those elegant, capable ladies who did everything easily...I think the balloons secretly feared her...

The only thing that didn't make me crazy were the clips that we used to hold the balloons closed...we just twisted the bottom of the balloon three or four times and snapped the plastic clip into place...VOILA....that helium wasn't going anywhere...
When I was a kid and would blow up balloons for birthday parties or something, I'd get stuck tying the ends of the balloons into knots...I won't waste TOO much time there...except to say that I spent most of my time chasing the balloons around the room when they shot out of my hands like a jet every time my fingers got tangled up and I lost my grip...

Holding the balloon bouquets down was always a challenge too...for one or two balloons, it was pretty easy: you just needed a light plastic weight and everyone is happy...

For bouquets of 50 or more, things got harry....they tended to try to float away in spite of the weight dangling from their ribbons...

We had these weights that looked like giant Hershey's kisses...without the chocolate though...bummer...They'd work for moderately large bouquets, but sometimes the best thing to use was a stuffed animal...

For a while I was thoughtlessly tying the ribbons around the Teddy Bear necks, but my boss told me that looked like cruel and unusual punishment for the stuffy (like we were trying hang it or something)...so then I started tying the ribbon around the bear's waste...this was great unless I tied the ribbons too tightly...then it looked like a warped advertisement for a weight loss program...

If you're waiting for a point to this blog entry, or a punch line, you're going to be sadly disappointed, but I'll end with a quote from Winnie the Pooh that used to grace the back wall of the University Bookstore balloon department: "No One Can Be Uncheered with a Balloon..."

That's probably always true unless you're a teddy bear and some moron ties a bouquet of balloons around your neck...

Wayward Footwear...And Other Things that Are Totally Beyond My Comprehension...

I've heard many comedians make the same joke about socks and the dryer...

Its an old joke...

Its a trite joke...

Its funny every time...

WHERE oh WHERE did that other sock go?  

I have countless socks -- that I am afraid to get rid of because (sure shootin) if I throw the lone-socks away, the mates WILL show up...

If it were just a few of us that experienced this phenomenon, it wouldn't be that weird...

But we have ALL lost socks in the dryer...and we've ALL found the mates after throwing the other one away...

Where do they go? 

Is it elves? 

Gnomes? 

Does Elvis come back from his home planet and steal them?

WHERE ARE THE SOCKS? 

Why is it that there can be NO, repeat NO bird poop anywhere on a driveway or in a parking lot and yet MY car is covered in white deposits???  Why is it that to birds, cars look like toilets?  Cars have only been around for the last century.  Its not like they've been in bird territory for thousands of years, serving the purpose of a bird's WC...oh no!!!  They just decided to use them for target practice...

I wonder who the first bird to do this was...Brilliant bird...Probably had a bit of Tom Sawyer in him...(only instead of white washing a fence, it had to do with a model T...this is an after a while joke...you'll get it later...) 

Who decided that Green meant Go and Red meant Stop?  No funny joke here...just wondering...

What part of "NO CALL LIST" do telemarketers find so difficult to understand...

Does my dog actually know what I'm saying? Or has she learned to look cute because she knows I'll give her treats??? Or both?

How is anyone going to be able to run for public office in 20 years with things like Facebook and You-Tube around??? 

I can picture it now: 

Candidate #1: "Sir, did you really say, "LOL LOL...I just laughed so hard at that commercial, I have milk coming out of my nose!" ? How can we take you seriously in this position when you can't control your nostrils?"

Candidate #2: Well I'm sure voters will be interested in something you wrote on Twitter ... "I have just invented dirty dish art in my sink...I don't want to wash them now and ruin it!"  

Well, it might make the news more fun...

The Phone Call

Its hard to believe that it has really been 20 years since that dark morning in February, 1991 when my mother had her heart attack. 

I was just a kid and I woke up early that morning to get ready for my scout meeting.  I was trying to tame my frizzy hair when I heard my Dad call my name and say, "Your mother's had a heart attack." 

Dad's got a weird sense of humor, so I thought he was kidding...even though honestly I didn't get the joke.  "What?"  I replied.  I thought Dad was going to follow up with a sarcastic comment about how Mom was upset because I had left food on a plate accidentally when I did the dishes the night before or something like that.

I walked out into the living room where he sat on the couch putting on his steel-toed work boots.  

"I took your Mom to the hospital last night while you were sleeping," he said calmly. 

He wasn't kidding.  

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I asked. 

"You would have taken too long getting ready," Dad answered matter-of-factly.  "Mom could have been dying and I had to hurry her to the ER." 

"How is she doing?" I asked awkwardly.  

"She was stable when I came home last night.  I didn't stay because I had to come home -- even at your age, you shouldn't be home alone all night." 

"Can we go see her?" 

"No," Dad said.  "She's in the ICU and she isn't ready for visitors." 

"When will we be able to see her?"

"I don't know."

"You're putting on your work boots." Now I was matter-of-fact.  I had not been raised to cry in these situations...I just felt a little spacey...like in a dream. I watched as dad tied a tight Russian knot in the leather laces of one of his boots.

Dad nodded again.  "I have to go to work today.  I'll be leaving in just a few minutes.  I'm going to take you to stay with your grandparents tonight, so go into your room and pack an over night bag -- just enough stuff for a night or two. If you're still staying with Grandma and Grandpa after that, we'll get you some more clothes.  Hurry up, I need to get to the factory." Dad's working hours often went late into the night and he didn't want me home alone.

I hurried into my bedroom and packed an over-night case, including books and other things to keep myself occupied during my stay with my grandparents.  I don't remember the car ride to my grandparents' house, but I do remember standing with my father at their front door.  "I'm just going to drop you off here and then I have to hurry to work.  You be good now and mind Grandma and Grandpa."  

Dad stayed 10 minutes before leaving for work. Grandma gave me some breakfast and then said I could go play in the guest room for a few minutes.  I remember staring at my over-night case sitting on the foot of my bed.  It was blue and old.  The room had clean white walls and it was a bright day outside, even though it was overcast.  It was an unusually warm February.  

I sat on the bed, reading for a couple of hours.  Uncharacteristically, I didn't feel like playing and I escaped into a book.  I wanted to call my mother, but I couldn't.  She was in the ICU -- whatever that was.  I didn't know then.  It didn't sound good.  I knew what a heart attack was though and it scared me.  People died of those.  I wanted to hear Mom's voice.  

A while later, Grandma came to the door and suggested that I walk over to my cousins' house.  "It's warm outside and you can play with them," she said. 

Carrie and Katie lived down the street from Grandma and Grandpa.  Amy and Tom lived in town too.  Grandma said they would be over at Carrie and Katie's house too.  

I don't remember much about my visit with Carrie and Katie -- just that it was comforting being around my cousins and talking to them about what had just happened with my mother.  Carrie, Katie, and Amy and I decided that we would have a slumber party at Grandma's -- I remember thinking it was nice that they didn't want me to be alone...

Playing with them distracted me from my worry.  That night we had fun and Grandma let us make popcorn and watch a movie.  We went to bed early. 

The next day was President's Day.  No School.  Grandma, Aunt Linda, Amy, and I went shopping.  I still have two books I bought for myself that day.  I read for hours that afternoon, after we got back from shopping.  

I still hadn't talked to my mother on the phone, but I had gotten an update from Dad.  Mom had endured 3 heart attacks on the night Dad took her to the hospital.  She had almost died.  I would get to talk to her soon.  

I just wanted to hear my mother's voice. 

Tuesday morning came.  I had to go to school.  

Back then I was attending a Seventh-day Adventist elementary school.  It was a tiny brick building with two main classrooms and a medium sized-gymnasium stuck to one side.  There were only 17 students and six of them were in my grade.

Grandma and Grandpa took me to school that morning.  I walked into the front door with my head hung low...

I met my teacher in the hallway and blurted out.  "My mom had a heart attack." 

Mrs. Walker gasped.  "Really? Lynn? Is she okay?" 

"I think so," I replied.  I didn't really know though.  I would know if I could just hear her voice again.  

My friends at  school knew Mom really well from Church and were all worried about her.  They wanted to know when she was coming home.  "I don't know," I told them.

That night at my grandparents' while I was doing my homework, the phone rang.  I was sitting in the guest room studying for an upcoming spelling test.  I still didn't let myself think about my mom.  Grandma came to my door and said, "Your mom's on the phone for you." 

I jumped off the bed and ran to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall next to the counter.  "Mom?" I said into the receiver, terrified that there would be no answer.  

"Hi Sweetie," Mom's gentle voice replied.  

"How are you?" I asked.  "When are you coming home?"

Scary Santa

At the place where I work there is a life-sized Santa Statue...this is the single FREAKIEST thing I have ever seen....You know how Santa is usually portrayed as kind and sweet and adorable?  Not this one!  This guy has big blue eyes that follow you when you walk by AND his "eye area" (I don't know what else to call it) sticks out -- so its almost bigger than his nose...It kind of looks like an "alien Santa" or a sinister character out of "Lord of the Rings"...or "Star Wars"...

Everyone in the office is scared of this statue...We had him in a back corner, but someone unthinkingly moved him out where people could see him...he was freaking out workers sitting behind desks because of his Big, Unwinking eyes glaring at them, so we moved him next to the front door...trouble is, Ol' Santa started freaking people out as they walked in the building...(How to lose potential customers, lesson 1)...

I suggested turning him towards the wall, but someone pointed out that that might just make Santa mad (and none of us want THAT to happen)...

Every day one of us gets the job of checking to make sure that Santa hasn't moved on his own...I mean seriously, has "Child's Play" ever had a Christmas version? Freaky!

Over the loudspeaker, we have Christmas music playing..."Santa Claus is Coming to Town" came on once and we heard the lyrics, "You Better Watch Out, You Better Not Cry...Better Not Pout...I'm Telling You Why...Santa Claus is Coming to Town!!!"

I turned to the receptionist and said, "Wow, in this office, that sounds like a threat..."

-- Especially the part where the song says, "He knows when you are sleeping...He knows when you're awake..."

Scary...

I'll keep you posted...

No, Laura, there is NO Santa Claus...

I never believed in Santa Claus...this is probably a good thing...When I was 3 years old, someone took me to see Santa and I got so scared that I cried...Admit it, people, that red suit is SCARY!!!

My parents had logical reasons though for not wanting me to believe in Santa.  Mom reasoned that if I grew up and found out that she had lied to me about Santa, that I might start thinking Jesus wasn't real either...she wanted to be totally truthful with me...

When I grew up (especially with my personality), this turned out to be a good idea...while I was still a kid though, it got me into a lot of trouble...

My cousins were taught to believe in Santa...they thought the Big Guy brought them all their presents every Christmas Eve...even though they had no Chimney...I never figured that one out...I got in BIG trouble one year when I told them that there was no real Santa Claus...They cried and told my Aunt and Uncle who then went to my parents and told them how mad they were...

Even though my parents didn't believe in teaching me about Santa, they DID believe in having fun...

My father worked second shift at a factory and often had to work Christmas Eve...and he loved cookies...So every year, I would ask my Dad what kind of cookies he wanted on Christmas Eve...He always wanted Chocolate Chip!  Every Christmas Eve "Santa" would get milk and cookies and they were always gone by morning!!! 

Incidently, Mom and Dad ALSO did the same thing for me with the Tooth Fairy...I didn't believe in the Tooth Fairy, but I still hid my teeth under my pillow and voila!  The next morning I had a nickel...

Mom always told me that The Tooth Fairy was actually my father in a Tutu and Tights...

Yes I have been in theropy....

Merry Christmas!!!

Down Stream...

When I was a teenager I went to aquatic summer camp in the Ozarks for a week.  In the middle of the week, we took a canoe trip down the current river.  There were over fifty of us on the trip -- three or so to a canoe.  I didn't know how to steer, so I was remanded to the middle of the boat, not that it bothered me much: that gave me a chance to look at the scenery and chatter with my friends while we rowed... 

The sky was a beautiful sapphire blue and the river was lined with luscious trees and high rocks...The one downer was that the water had a putrid smell to it, so when the bags we had with us in the canoe got wet, they stunk. 

We had been floating down river for a few hours when one of our camp counselors told us we could stop and rest.  We were all restless teenagers, so few of us were really interested in sitting on the river bank for very long -- a couple of the counselors took a group of campers across the river where there was a cave they were familiar with...

At first I wasn't interested in the cave...I was talking with friends and watching the water rush by -- I soon got bored and wanted to join the others.  One of our leaders pointed out that if I crossed the river, the other campers probably weren't too far in and I could join them...

I wanted to do this, but I wasn't acquainted with the science behind swimming across a river.  When you swim across a swimming pool, there is no current, so you end up directly across from where you started most of the time.  In a river, there is a current and you move downstream with it -- so its usually a good idea to start crossing a little upstream so you down go too far down river -- I didn't know this and no one told me.  I was used to swimming in pools and lakes, so I started swimming toward the cave, giving little or no thought to the moving river water.   

Half way across, I lifted my head for a breath and noticed that I had moved away from the cave. "Duh," I thought, "now what?"  The opposite bank was sheer rock and I wasn't clear on my position.  Confused, I panicked and started getting swept down stream.  Stupidly, I called out for help and swallowed some water. 

"Am I going to drown now?" I thought. "Help Lord!" 

I looked down and saw some rocks under me. 

"Laura, watch out!" I heard one of my friends call from the bank.  Ahead of me I saw a huge rock in the middle of the water. I grabbed it and held on tight.  Once I regained my breath, I climbed up onto it and sat there for a moment, my legs drawn up in front of me...I felt like a mermaid on a rock in the middle of the sea (albeit an awkward, confused, and stupid one...).  The rock was huge...maybe three feet across, so I was sitting pretty comfortably.

I hadn't been swept away as far as I had first thought.  I was really only a few yards away from where I had started swimming and I felt like an idiot for having panicked (I was a teenager and I felt like I had acted like a child)...but now I was afraid to jump back into the water to swim to the bank, so I sat there...I figured my friends could retrieve me when they went by in the canoe...it would only be another 20 minutes till we started off again...

It didn't seem to occur to my fellow campers that I had made any mistake, that I was afraid, or that I was stuck on a rock in the middle of the river.  They seemed to feel that I had discovered something fun and they wanted to join me.  Four or five other teenagers swam out to the rock, climbed up top and then dove back into the water, whooping with delight...

I felt really stupid -- especially when each of them returned to the shore unscathed.  

Finally after about ten minutes, a boy about my age noticed that I seemed frozen in place and asked,"Do you need help?"

"Blonde moment," I said sheepishly.  "I'm scared of getting caught by the current again." 

He smiled.  "Its okay.  I'll swim with you.  Just move with the current and don't panic...you'll be fine."

HOW could I resist that? 

We jumped in together and swam to the shore without mishap.  A few minutes later, we were all back in our canoes, heading down river. 

My friends still wouldn't let me try to steer.

Turkeys...A Memoir

My Freshman year in college I was working as a grocery store Clerk...One day while I was working the register, a guy came through my line with this terribly depressed look on his face.  "Sir, what's the matter?" I asked.

"I have just had the worst day of my life," the man told me.  "I am a turkey farmer.  When it rained this afternoon, I accidentally left the door unlatched to the building where I keep my turkeys and they all got out..."

I knew where he was going with this...Turkeys are not notoriously brilliant animals...For some reason, when turkeys look up into falling rain, they have no way of keeping raindrops from going into the nasal passages in their beaks...so basically if a turkey gets caught in the rain, he's going to look up at what's hitting him on the head and he's too stupid to not look up or to get out of the rain.  Long story short, domestic turkeys always drown in rainstorms...this farmer lost his entire flock that way...

As Garrison Keeler pointed out in one of my favorite of his works, the word "Turkey" means looser or moron...no one wants to be called a "Turkey."   

I've also always thought turkeys were very ugly creatures and I've never been able to understand why people sometimes decorate their tables at Thanksgiving with pictures of them...They look okay cooked and on the platter, but in their living form, they're repulsive...it almost makes it so you don't want to eat the juicy meat on your plate...

Another thing that has always bothered me about them is, if you are what you eat, what if the intellect of the turkey can somehow rub off on you??? Let me explain what I mean...

While I was working at the grocery store, we had an interesting mishap involving a turkey...This one actually gets a little violent...(don't worry...no body gets seriously injured in my blog...)

In the meat department, one of the butchers was working with the ground beef when a woman came up to the window to tell him that she wanted her 18 pound turkey cut in half...

The Butcher smiled kindly and told her that it would be just a moment because he was elbow deep in hamburger...He could either call someone to help her, or he would have to take a minute and wash up...

She got so angry because he could not help her "RIGHT THIS SECOND", that she actually threw the turkey threw the service window in the direction of the poor Butcher...

She missed hitting him...Her husband was so embarrassed that he practically dragged her out of the store...

I've always wondered where her penned-up anger came from...could it be that she had eaten so much turkey that it had somehow affected her reasoning skills???  Probably not...I've known plenty of very gentle and kind people who eat a lot of turkey...it still makes me a little uneasy though...

Giggles...

The giggles...the phenomonen where you just can't stop laughing...this normally happens to me at places like parties (or when I was in taking a test in 11th Grade History Class and my teacher made me leave the room because I was distracting everyone with my laughter).
Lately, I was thinking abouthow I hadn't had the giggles in over a year (this was a mistake because it made the event inevitable...)
Last Saturday morning started out so depressing.  I did NOT want to get up.  I was late for church and I didn't get any breakfast... Then in Sabbath School (Adventist version of Sunday School), somebody called me "Young Lady"..." Ooh, don't get me started...
Then, Mom asked me to help her lead song service.  I was in a contrary mood, so I "tried" to sing harmony -- I stink at this... Mom kept giving me dirty looks, trying to get me to cut it out, but that just egged me on...
Finally, in the middle of the first verse of "Lamb of God," Mom actually wapped me in the stomach with the back of her hand...
Instead of making me behave like I think it was meant to, I started cracking up!  I mean a no-holds-barred belly laugh...Trouble is, I was in front of my church and we were singing about Christ's sacrifice on the cross.  I kept my laughter silent, but I was bent over laughing.  Mom was still singing, but she had this ironic, bemused look on her face.  I turned around and attempted to get a straight face again, but every time, I started to sing, I cracked up again. 
She motioned for me to get myself pulled together -- didn't happen.  Mom even tried pinching me at one stage, but that was no good...it just made me laugh even harder...(Does Mom strike you as a little bit violent in this story??? No pun intended)...
So when song service was over, Mom and I went back and sat in the pew next to Dad.  There was this guy sitting on the other end of the pew, nervously tapping his foot...trouble is, his leg bouncing was shaking the pew.  After 15 minutes of this (during the pastoral prayer and special music), Mom commented, "I am getting sea sick..."
Then Dad surprised us...He stood up like he was going to go to the Rest Room, but instead, he moved to the pew behind us.  One of our fellow Church members was wearing a top with the Chicago bears logo on it.  Her son was sitting next to her...
My father is a die-hard Packers fan.  Dad slid into the pew next to her son and whispered, "I noticed your Mom is a Bears fan...I just wanted to let you know that there is no statute of limitations on child abuse -- so when you grow up and realize how badly miss-treated you were by having the Bears forced on you, you can seek justice."
By now the boy and his mom were laughing so hard, I thought they were going to fall out of the pew...
And I had the giggles AGAIN!!!
I hope the pastor didn't think we were laughing at him when he started his sermon!!!

In Psalm 100, God's people are told to make a joyful noise unto the Lord!  To serve the Lord with gladness!!!  There are times when levity and giggles might be inappropriate, but it is always a joyful time when we can enjoy being in the presence of God -- It truly makes this world a better place!!!

Friday Night Celebration...

I always knew it was fun time when Mom got out her guitar.  "What should we sing first?" she asked.  

Mom and I had always loved singing together...All through my childhood, one of the highlights of the week was Friday night worship and singing Christian Music with Mom's guitar.  Some of our favorites were, "Just a Closer Walk With Thee", "There Will be Peace in the Valley", "Jesus and Me", and "We are One in the Spirit".  

Mom had a clear, beautiful alto voice -- and she loved to harmonize while we sang.  This often got interesting when I was a child because I had trouble staying on key...Usually mom would eventually give up and go back to singing melody...Sometimes when I'd sing a particularly odd note, Mom would stop playing and say (with a wry grin on her face), "What note was that?  An R?"  And then we'd both laugh and start singing again.  

Also, despite the fact that I am a definite soprano, I wanted to sound like Mom...so I would try to sing in a lower key...Mom never actually said anything about this, but I'm sure it sounded a little funny...She'd always smile though and ask what I wanted to sing next...

Mom's guitar was an old friend in our family...it was a sweet little classical guitar made of wood the color of my blonde hair.  It was the first gift Dad had ever given my mother.  Mom wasn't a fancy guitar player -- she was a hippie when she was young and she told me that during those days everybody learned to play the guitar.  Occasionally she'd accompany herself with arpeggios, but most of the time she'd strum rhythmically...I was a teenager before I realized anybody played the guitar any other way (despite the fact that I heard musicians play guitar all the time on the radio)...

Sometimes we'd sing for over an hour and then it was time for prayer.  Mom and I would each pray in turn.  It was always a very solemn and peaceful time when we prayed and I always loved it...

Next came Bible Study...We went to Church Saturday morning when I was a kid (and I still do, as Seventh-day Adventists), so Mom and I would go over our lessons for Bible Class the next day...After we were done with the Lessons, it was story time.  Sometimes Mom would read right out of the Bible and other times she'd read from a Bible story book...I always loved studying the Bible -- it was so full of incredible stories and I loved learning more about Jesus...

I think my favorite story about Jesus was the one where He calmed the storm by just saying, "Peace, be still."  Even thinking about that makes me feel more peaceful... Another one I loved hearing Mom tell was the one where Jesus raised the little girl from the dead...

In the Old Testament, my favorite story by far was about the brave Queen Esther who got to save the lives of her people -- I thrilled every time Mom read the line, "I will go to the king, which is against the law; and if I perish, I perish!" 

Come to think of it, most of my favorite stories in the Bible have the same theme: God solving an impossible problem... I've always loved thinking of God as the God of the impossible...nothing is impossible with Him...

After Bible story time was over, it was game time...and for my Mom and I, that meant "Bible 20 Questions..." 

That sounds more complicated than it really is...I'm sure you've played the game 20 questions -- you know, someone thinks of something and then you have to guess it in...20 questions...

Well with "Bible 20 Questions" all of the things guessed about have to be from the Bible...We had this down to a science...and both of us were VERY competitive about it...We would both pick the smallest, most obscure things we could think of from the Bible and make the other one guess what they were...A couple of the ones I managed to stump Mom on were, the dry bones in Ezekiel and King Xerxes' scepter (there were others, but its been so long I can't remember them).  Mom stumped me on a few too...

When Dad was home for worship, he didn't take "Bible 20 Questions" as seriously as Mom and I did...Dad liked to make things up that weren't really in the Bible (Dad: "You mean Rudolph the Reindeer isn't in there?"  Me: "Dad! Get real!")...Or he would purposely NOT guess an obvious one because he knew it would get my goat...(Me: "Dad! How could you NOT guess Noah's Ark???")...Dad liked to tease me...I secretly enjoyed it too, but I'd never let it on...

While we played "Bible 20 Questions", Mom and I would roast marshmallows in the gas fireplace...We each had long iron forks, and we'd stick the marshmallows on the ends of them and roast them just like we would at a campfire...We'd usually go through half a bag on a Friday night...I liked setting my marshmallow on fire, pulling it out of the fireplace, and blowing it out before sticking the whole thing in my mouth...

Every so often, some of the gooey stuff would melt onto the bottom of the fireplace...for years there was petrified marshmallow in there that Mom just couldn't scrape off...

By now it was late at night and time for Bed...Mom and I would pray before I hurried off to my room to go to sleep...The next day we'd rise early and go to church and even though Church was important, nothing could replace the Friday night Worship at home...

Root Beer Rudeness...

Have you ever gone to a store and been waited on by a rude clerk?  Have you ever wondered how in the world they keep their job?  I've worked as a clerk in the past and I am positive that if I had been as rude as some clerks have been to me, I would have been fired or at least reprimanded by the manager...

For my blog today, I thought I'd share some instances of exceptional rudeness...Warning: Some of these instances of Rude Customer Service were actually fun and I wish I could get away with them, but as I said earlier, I know that I WOULD get into trouble...

Dialog between myself and a clerk at a snack bar at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris...I had been abroad for 5 weeks, I was VERY homesick, and I wanted a Root Beer...Little known fact: It is next to impossible to find Root Beer in Europe...I thought they might have some in the airport (silly me)...I knew the French could get rude, but this was a beautifully artistic form of rudeness that I thoroughly enjoyed (both at the time and in retrospect)... This Dialog was originally in French, but (because I'm feeling generous and I want you to keep reading), I'll translate it into English:

Me: Do you have any Root Beer please? 

Clerk: (Said loudly and in a tone of vehement disgust) No, we do not have Root Beer here.  Root Beer is terrible...It is a horrible American Drink like Doctor Pepper.  It is disgusting!  You are in France now and you should learn how to enjoy good drinks.  I will give you a Coke instead and you will drink it and enjoy it and you will stop asking for terrible drinks like Root Beer!  

Me: Thanks? 

Recently, I went to the mall to buy a cover for my cell phone.  My service provider's store didn't have the cover I needed, so they directed me (unofficially, of course) to a kiosk that sold what I was searching for.  There was a clerk sitting behind the counter looking at a magazine.  I saw some covers that looked like they'd fit my cell phone...that's when the games began...

Me: How much are these covers? 

Clerk: (without looking up) Ten dollars.  

Me: Okay... (I looked for a moment or so and said)...Um, sir?  I think I've found one I want...

(This part wasn't rude...He got up, walked over to where I was and pointed out that I was looking at the covers for the wrong phone...When he showed me the right ones, he went back to his magazine, sat down, and began to read... It took me two seconds to find the one I wanted...Normally I might leave and buy somewhere else, but by now I think I was intrigued...)

Me: Uh, sir...I've found the one I wanted...

Clerk: Just a second ... (He continued to read his magazine for a few more seconds before standing up and walking over to me)...Are you sure you found the one you wanted?  

(I was almost tempted to say no to see if he would go back to his magazine, but I had to get back to work because my lunch hour was almost over...) 

Okay, this really happened...A clerk was standing behind the Register, glared at a customer walking past the register...ten feet away...no where near the clerk...I think the clerk needed a nap...

Clerk: THIS REGISTER IS CLOSED! 

Customer: (Startled) FINE!  

I was traumatized after I saw this happen...really...

Okay, I've talked about rudeness, but now I'd like to spotlight one instance of unbelievable politeness and kindness that I experienced once in London...I was at Heath Row and I was at a booth trying to exchange Dollars for British Pounds... The phone rang and the clerk asked, "Would you mind if I answered the phone?"

I had never been asked that by a clerk before.  In the US, clerks answer the phone and if you have a problem with that, its just too bad...I didn't even know how to respond at first, but I stammered, "Yeah, sure...Please...go ahead..."  

It was a little thing, but it made a big impression...

MOUSE!!! EEEEEK!!!

I have never liked mice.  I think they're cute in the pet store or if I see them outside...but not if I'm close enough for them to touch me.  In the house, they're absolutely insufferable and I scream whenever I see one.  Really.  I am aware of the fact that a mouse is a small fraction of my own size and that I am in no danger when one is around, but for some reason the mere sight of a beady-eyed fur ball makes me go into fits of shrieking...

My first memorable encounter with a mouse was when I was 3 or 4 years old.  I was out to dinner with my grandma, my Mom and my Mom's Step-dad.  We had a cat at home then named Tiger who liked to hide the mice she killed in our shoes (I think you can tell what is coming up)...

It was snowy outside and I was wearing boots.  Half way through dinner I leaned over to my mother and said quietly, "There's something furry in my boot."  

Mom ignored me.  She told me later that it was because she didn't want to discuss the "something furry" at the dinner table -- especially in a restaurant.  

I kept poking her on the arm.  "Mom, Mom...there's something furry in my boot."  My voice got louder.  Still no response. 

"MOM!"  

This time Mom told me to "Shhh".  

I've never "Shhhed" well and I am someone who is very difficult to ignore.  

I decided to take the problem into my own hands.  I did not want a furry friend in my footwear, so I took off my boot and dumped its fluffy contents into my mother's purse.  When Mom saw what I had done she was mortified.  "SEE?"  I said, pointing.  "There was something furry in my boot!"  

That is something that makes an impression on a little kid... 

When I was that age, my family and I lived in a farmhouse in rural Iowa and there were tons of mice in the house -- despite the fact that we had 9 cats at one point.  At night you could hear them running on the kitchen floor...it sounded like a coffee maker bubbling.  You could hear the coffee maker going off all through the night...

When I got a little older, we moved into a small town, but it was across from a grain elevator, so there were still plenty of mice around...

For years we had a Siamese Cat who was a super-hunter, so I saw very few mice, but then Sidney passed on (RIP) and the mice began to descend upon the house...

One night, while I was a Freshman in College and still living at home, I was working late in my bedroom when I encountered one of the furry intruders.  My computer desk was right next to the doorway.  It was 2 o'clock in the morning and I was half-asleep, but typing anyway.  Then I saw something in the corner of my eye...it was a fat mouse the size of a guinea pig...I screamed at the top of my lungs...The poor little rodent jumped back a few inches before retreating down the hall...

The funny thing was that my father slept through the scream.  Part of what's funny about that now is my father is the single lightest sleeper in the entire world.  If I'm visiting my parents' house while my dad is asleep and breathe too loudly the man wakes up...That night I screamed like a prom queen in a horror movie and the man didn't budge...I did wake up my mom though...she came out of her room groggily muttering, "Laura?  Are you okay?"  

Somehow the story of seeing a big bad ugly mouse doesn't seem very funny to someone who was jolted out of a sound sleep...

It was around that time when we got a new addition to our family: Bowzer the Cat.  Bowzer was my cat.  My best buddy.  My friend... My protector from the big bad mice...  My parents hated him, but that's a story for another blog... 

When Bowzer was young, he was a super-mouse killer.  One morning I woke up to the sound of Bowzer racing around my bedroom in a mad frenzy.  I didn't open my eyes because I desperately wanted to sleep in.  A few minutes later, everything got quiet.  I opened my eyes.  In the middle of my bedroom rug, I saw two little gray lumps...I couldn't make out what they were 'cause I wasn't wearing my glasses.  

When I slipped on my spectacles, I saw two mouse corpses in the middle of my floor.  

No shock to anyone, I screamed...

Mom yelled up the stairs, "What's going on?" 

"Bowzer put two dead mice near my bed."

"That means he loves you," she told me.  

I looked that up.  Its true.  It is a sign of affection when your pet gives you something its killed because technically it is giving up food for you...oddly enough I didn't "feel the love" at that moment.

"Clean um up and come down to breakfast," she added. 

"No!"  I replied.  "I'm not getting out of bed with the rodents there and I'm DEFINITELY not picking them up."

"Wimp!" Mom said.  

"Fine, you do it..."

"No!"  Mom retorted.  "John!"  Mom called to my dad who was watching TV.  "Go up and help your daughter!" 

"With what?"  He asked.  

"Bowzer killed two mice and put them in the middle of her bedroom and she won't get up until they're moved."

"Laura, pick um up!" He said. 

"No!"  I said.  "That's gross!"  

"That's gross," Dad repeated, mimicking my voice.  "Wimp!"  

"Whatever, Dad!  Are you going to force your beloved, cute, adorable daughter to handle rodent corpses?" 

"Since when are YOU cute and adorable?" 

"You said I was yesterday, Dad!"  

"That was before you made me stop watching the History Channel to dispose of your cat's leavings...He's your cat you know!" 

"Yeah," I agreed diplomatically..."But you're the man of the house and you're supposed to protect your family."  

"You're supposed to protect your family," Dad repeated in a high voice again.  "Fine, I'll do it...I'll get rid of the mouse bodies...The things I do for you...You'd think I loved you or something..."  

"I love you too, Dad," I said.  "Please get rid of the mice???"

"Oh, for Pete's sake! I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered.  

Dad came up the stairs with a bunch of paper towels and bent down to pick up the furry corpses.  "If he leaves any more of them, young lady, they're yours..." He said, glaring at me over the rims of his glasses...

"And deprive you the joy of helping your daughter?  Never!" 

Dad muttered something under his breath again and walked out of the room and started down the stairs...then Dad let out a yelp and his pace quickened into a run before I heard the back door open and close with a slam.  

"What happened?" I called down the stairs.

"One of the mice was still alive," he said.  "It started wriggling around in my hands so I threw it outside..." 

(I swear to you this next part is true) A few years later, Bowzer the cat gained a few pounds -- he ended up weighing 35 pounds...he was HUGE!  By then I had moved away to Grad School, but I was home on a Christmas visit.  Mom and I were watching TV one evening, when Bowzer strode into the living room with a tiny little mouse walking next to him...Mom and I stared in disbelief. 

It got even more unbelievable when the two of them sat down in front of the fireplace ...next to each other.  I was too shocked to scream...this did not look real.

Mom and I could not believe our eyes.  We looked at each other and then looked down at the happy pair who were apparently enjoying the warmth of the hearth.  

"Bowzer," I whispered to my kitty.  "Bowie...MOUSE!  There is a mouse next to you.  Chase it...Kill it!" 

Bowzer looked up at me and purred in response...I know in Heaven the Lion will lay down with the lamb, but I didn't want that to start on this earth with my pet cat and a rodent...

Mom stared at the scene for a few long seconds and said, "Laura, maybe the mouse is dead.  I'll get the broom and dust pan." 

Mom retrieved the items from the kitchen and approached the mouse and started to sweep the furry beast into the pan, but the moment she touched it with the broom's bristles, the mouse jumped up and scurried across the floor, finding refuge under the corner cupboard...Bowzer just stared up at us, blankly...

Its been years since then, and I'm happy to report that my parents no longer have mice.  They no longer use cats as mouse-killers though...Now they call the exterminator.