Wednesday, November 20, 2013

I'm Pedi-"Cured"


You know how some people say, "You can't tickle yourself,"?  They're wrong.  My feet are so ticklish that I can easily tickle myself.  Before you take this as an invitation to tickle me the next time you're in my presence, understand this - when people tickle me, I want to slug them.  Seriously.  Some people find tickling to be fun and cute.  And don't get me wrong, I love the giggles that erupt out of my children when I tickle them from time to time.  But hear this now - if you tickle me on purpose, I cannot be responsible for what harm may come to you.  Being tickled flips a switch inside me that makes me want to lash out.  I feel immediately irritated and angry, and my teeth, jaw, and fists clench.

This is the #1 reason I was never interested in getting a pedicure, closely followed by the utter lack of understanding of why any human being would choose to minister to the feet of strangers.  Yeah, I know that Jesus washed the feet of his disciples, and I've washed people's feet before.  But to make a career out of cutting toenails and sanding callouses off other people's feet is outside the realm of my comprehension.  Sure, it can be fun to polish somebody else's toenails, but the rest of their job gives me a big case of the icks.  I love shoes.  I do not love feet.  They're goofy-looking, often dirty and smelly, and just plain gross sometimes.  I never understood why people would get pedicures - I can tend my own feet and polish my own toenails, thank you very much. 

My first pedicure was a gift from my parents, just before Scarlett was born.  I was terrified.  I was just certain I'd kick the woman in the face.  Repeatedly.  Honestly, there were several moments of sheer ticklish terror, as she sanded the bottom of my feet.  But overall, it was a pleasant experience.  I can't say that it was relaxing, as I was too focused on not jumping or squealing, but at least no injuries ensued.  And my baby was born to a mother with soft, pretty feet.  Phew!

I've had a few pedicures since then, and it gets a little easier each time.  It's nice to have someone care for me in such a unique way.  As I got the above pedicure while on vacation last week, I started thinking about the people (mostly women) who earn their living by caring for other people's feet.  It's not a glamorous job, but it is an intimate one.  They see where we're sensitive and where we're toughened.  Pedicurists may not know where we've been in life, but they see how our paths have affected us, in a small way.  They cradle and massage the parts of our body that get us to important places in our lives.  So last week, I looked upon my pedicurist with a profound respect.  This woman probably doesn't make a lot of money, nor does she get much respect in the world, but she cares for strangers in an intimate and quietly profound way. 

So can I finally find pedicures relaxing?  Not quite.  But I have a deeper understanding of why people get pedicures, and a true respect for those who give them.  You might even say that I'm pedi-cured.

Friday, November 8, 2013

Forty Years


I'm in my 30's.  For about 9 hours.  Or 22, if you take into account the actual time of my birth.  On my 30th birthday, I was sung to by a whole congregation of people, just before I had to tell them that Erik and I would be leaving 4 weeks later.  Not my favorite birthday memory, though my 30's have truly been the best decade I've ever had.  I got 2 fantastic kids, a great congregation, a better sense of who I am, and some special friendships out of my 30's.  Not too shabby.

I'm not bothered by turning 40, so bring on the, "Lordy, Lordy, Jennifer's 40!" if you must.  What other words rhyme with "forty" anyway?  Sporty, shorty, snorty, warty, Gordy, Morty.  Not a stellar selection of rhyming possibilities.  Even if you're a little bit more creative with words, I'm not sure I need a birthday rhyme about the health of my aorty or my fondness for Havorty cheese.

In thinking about everything I've experienced in 40 years, I started thinking of what else I could've been doing.  A lot of things happened in the Bible "for 40 years."  Just think, I could've been wandering in the wilderness for 40 years, eating manna and quail and complaining about everything.  Several passages talk about how the Israelites' clothing and shoes didn't wear out in those 40 years (wow!), and apparently, their feet never even swelled while doing all that wandering.  I also discovered that the length of my life is the same as the length of David's reign and Solomon's reign.  And in Judges "the land rested for forty years" a whole bunch of times. 

I'm thankful for the amazing people and experiences I've had in the 4 decades of my life.  Since I'm not a beer-lover, I'll slightly twist the lyrics of the popular country song, and then it's a pretty good representation of things: "God is great, life is good, and people are crazy."  Crazy keeps life interesting.  My life is plenty interesting. 

I'm confident that my 40's will bring me fewer diapers to change and more sleep.  I'll worry less about whether I'm doing well enough at all my roles, and I'll be more confident in what I'm able to do well.  I'll spend less time wondering if people will like me for who I am, and I'll spend more time trying to get to know people for who they are.  I expect I'll accumulate a few more wrinkles and a couple more pounds in my forties, but even if they do come, I hope they'll be wrinkles coming from joy and pounds coming out of great fellowship.

I guess that's enough for now.  I've gotta go enjoy the rest of my 30's.  The 40's are coming, and I'm ready.  Almost.



Monday, November 4, 2013

The joys of home ownership

When Erik and I were first married and living in a parsonage in Montana, all we wanted was our own house.  We watched HGTV constantly and talked about what our first "real" house would be like, and what we'd do to it.  Then we got our opportunity.  When we were called to Beloit, we had a long weekend to find the house we wanted to buy.  This house was cute, had many features we liked, and would fit all our furniture.  We moved in nearly 10 years ago and quickly repainted several rooms.  Having black or dark teal baseboards in the upstairs bedrooms didn't particularly agree with us.  The previous owners must've been especially fond of dark teal.  It was everywhere - front door, shutters, trim, wallpaper, even the bathroom carpeting.  Plush carpeting?  In a bathroom?  That didn't last long.  Over the years, we've done a great deal to the house - new siding, new windows, a new shower. We installed a fireplace, French doors to the bedroom, water softener, and a bathtub in the master bath.  We replaced flooring, appliances, garage door, and replaced the deck with a patio.

We've had our share of home-ownership issues.  In the last year alone, we've had raccoons in the attic, a branch that knocked a hole in our roof, (leaving our bedroom ceiling a lovely leak-brown color), a broken water heater the day before Easter, and a leaky floor in our basement.

As I've mentioned, we must have bad appliance karma.  We're on our 3rd washing machine and 3rd dishwasher.  In 10 years.  Our brand new dishwasher was delivered 2 weeks ago.  It looked shiny and beautiful...sitting in the middle of our kitchen for 2 weeks.  It didn't fit in its space.  What?!  It's standard size, so it's not that we bought a behemoth.  It turns out that when our kitchen was remodeled, years before we arrived, folks cut some corners.  Apparently, when you install cabinets, you leave an inch between the cabinets and the counters, to allow room for the dishwasher.  And since the old dishwasher was slightly shorter, they didn't see the need for that.  I expected that we'd need to replace the counters or at least cut out the countertop over the dishwasher, and replace it with butcher block.  But our handyman first tried cutting out the tile floor in the dishwasher gap.  No good.  He finally brought in a friend, and they detached our counters and put in the 1-inch space, put the counters back, and trimmed it out.  Not a job that elicits, "Oohs and ahhs," from people, but at least the dishwasher is in its eternal home, our dishes are clean again, and my dishpan hands can be a thing of the past.

I've breathed a sigh of relief and hope we're done with endless handyman visits and major complications for a while.  Wait...I hear scratching in the attic.  We'll just pretend it's the home ownership fairy, doing a healthy house dance for us.  Yeah, that's it.