the REmissionary

where the sponges live

I’ve got a cottage cheese bucket on the sink – doesn’t everybody??

I started out with a Cool-Whip ® container (emptied of its original contents, just so ya know). Why would I have these things on my sink? Well, for sponges, of course! A Cool-Whip ® container makes a great holder, but gets a little water-logged. The drips from the sponges collected in the bottom and made it necessary to empty and clean more often than I wanted to fool with. Being the frugalist that I am, I just couldn’t bring myself to actually spend money on a fancy dish to contain those wet sponges. What about poking holes in the bottom of the Cool-Whip ® container and setting it inside a bigger container? Well, that worked better, but it was kinda ugly – made the sink look cluttered. What about a cover for the outer container? Yes. That would work. So here’s what I did!

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harmonicals, organ donors, and mother-belly

I love having a houseful of people over. Dinner is always an excitement . . . a challenge . . . how badly will I confuse myself this time? “Did I remember to cook the asparagus? Where’s the beef? Spencer! Stop trying to kiss Sally – she doesn’t want dog slobber on her nose. No, Johnny, don’t eat the dog food, wait for dinner. Susie, don’t push your brother through the doggy door. Honey, where did I set the potatoes down? No, they’re not on the table – oh, there they are, on the fireplace. Let’s see – oh, forks! We need forks. Does everyone have a plate?” Then it’s all hurry-hurry to get the food on the table before the hot stuff gets cold and the cold stuff gets warm. And then the blessing, and the meal begins. Ah, the food, conversation, laughter, sharing thoughts and plans and ideas, and just plain ol’ kickin’ back with a cup of coffee and the feet up after dinner. What a blessing. And that major mess in the kitchen? In my opinion, it’s the sign of a successful dinner!

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In anticipation of the day, I’d gone to Dollar Tree and stocked up on a few fun things for the kids to explore. One of the little goodies I’d found was a package of pretend mouth organs, as we used to call harmonicas. Well, it didn’t come out exactly right as I was recounting the goody-list to the kids’ mom. I don’t know if it actually counts as a stumble over my words . . . I didn’t fall, I just sort of slid into third base on that one. Yes, I did. I said “harmonicals” – which entertained the entire group immensely. Me, the proofreading, stickler-for-the-right-word, grammar nazi, spelling-bee champion secretarial type – I said harmonical. We didn’t need that candle in the corner; my face lit the entire room up quite nicely for several minutes.

Speaking of organs, we were given a wonderful Lowery electric organ on Saturday, just in time for this get-together. One of the guests asked, “So, your office is now an organ donor, eh?” Yes. Thank you, Village Missions!!

thanks to the organ donor!

thanks to the organ donor!

After all the guests had gone home, I cleaned the kitchen and put the dishes and food away, all the while singing along as hubby played that organ. He was playing one of my favorite old hymns, “Sweet Hour of Prayer.” I was amazed at how many of the words I could recall, since we haven’t sung that song for a very long time at church. What a wonderful, pleasant, delightful time – and to think I hated doing dishes as a kid! But then, I didn’t get to do them to organ music.

All that time preparing the house for having friends over, and the hustle-bustle to get the kitchen back in order after everyone leaves, seems to release my mind from worry and encourages the memories to flow. As I was cleaning the sink (and not being very neat about it), I realized I’d just soaked my blouse clear across my belly. That brought a flood of memories of my mother at the kitchen sink. Her belly was perpetually soaked right at sink-height. I discovered something about myself (actually, I’ve known it for a very long time): I think I’m a mother-clone. I find myself doing many of the same things she did, even down to the bellysoaking method of kitchen cleaning. Do you have mother-habits too?

just like Mother's!

just like Mother’s!

*sigh* tomorrow is another day. I’m thankful to have been so blessed today, and to be even more blessed tomorrow, as I have a job to go to, and a house to live in, and friends and family to love and be loved by, and a car to drive, and a . . . well, you get the picture. Good night. Time to sleep, perchance to dream. :lol:

we go together like a bird and a feather

I was born to be married. For 25 years I belonged completely to my late husband, and when he was taken away I was lost. I drifted and wandered, looking for a place to belong again. I longed to feel that connection, that completeness of being united with a soulmate. I was a fragment, a part missing from the whole. Then I met my honey - also widowed – and I began to feel whole again. He completed me, and I completed him.

He’s the bird. I’m the feather. He is the foundation . . . the strength . . . the only place I fit. Without him, I’d still be blowing around in the wind, snagged in the thistles and thorns of life. With him I have direction and purpose. I am made beautiful by beautifying him. He needs me and I need him. A feather needs a bird to be complete.



The bird needs the feather to be complete. Without me, he would be naked and vulnerable. The feather is part of his strength; it protects, complements, and adorns him. With the feather, he can spread his wings and fly – he can accomplish great things, dare to pursue his dreams, withstand the storms, and look magnificent all the while. My bird sustains his feather, and this feather is his covering. How well we work together!



Are you connected?

(for the DP Challenge: Born to be with you)


they have names. they all have names.

They’ve given you a number, and taken ‘way your name.

We all have names; even secret agents have names. Ask ol’ Jimmy-boy. He may tell you his number is 007, but his NAME is Bond. James Bond.

Hello. My name is Girl. Lubby Girl. I live in the USA, and I have a husband and children and family and friends and a dog. His name is Boy. Spencer Boy (well, I can’t say his name is Girl. Spencer Girl, now, can I?). Husband’s name is Hubby.

I once thought my name was Charlie Brown, but it’s not. That’s my complex’s name. See, even a complex has a name – we all have a name!

When I was a kid, I used to pretend my name was Marsha. Funny – I don’t even like that name much any more (sorry, all you Marshas in the world…sad but true). Back then it sounded sophisticated and worldly to me. It sounded like success.

Marsha, dahling, what have you done with this place? It’s perfectly mahvelous!

You’re the famous Marsha? Oh, please . . . would you autograph this copy of your latest book for me?

Dr. Marsha, Dr. Marsha! Can you save him? Oh, I knew you could!

It’s Marsha – the world-renowned singer. Please, Marsha the Magnificent, sing for us!!

My dear Marsha, could you spare a moment to teach these young ladies the finer points of painting? Thank you so much – you’re the epitome of artistic genius.

Lies. The whole thing. I wasn’t Marsha then, and I’m not Marsha now. I’m not an interior decorator, but I can arrange a room. I’m not a doctor, but I can affix a Band-Aid. Nor am I an artist, but I can draw a pretty mean stick figure. And I’m certainly not a singer, but I love to sing anyway. Nope, you guessed it, not a famous author either – but I can write . . . and I can sew.

I’m just me, and I’m OK with that. I have a name that fits the me that I am. I don’t have to be The Great Pretender any more. And neither do you.

Good night. Don’t forget your name.

(written partly from sleep-depravation and partly in response to the writing challenge, “The Great Pretender.”)

busy busy busy

What a gorgeous weekend we had! It was a little hard to stay indoors and sew, but I did manage to get a few things made this last week, and even got three or four done on the weekend. I love it when I can point to progress.

We’ve had a bit of remodeling going on at work. Our offices are downstairs, and the upstairs is an actual house. It’s used for guests, board meetings, Candidate School, and that sort of stuff. The kitchen and board room needed some TLC, so new carpet and linoleum were put in, and the cabinets given a much-needed facelift. New countertops and paint also helped with the updated, fresh look.

The board room is an enclosed upper porch, which means the kitchen window looks into the board room. That plain bare window needed something . . . like . . . maybe a shade for privacy, and something to dress it up a bit. My coworker didn’t want curtains, just a simple topper. She had some fabric she wanted to use, and asked me to make a topping. Another coworker cut a 1X6 board to fit the window, and I took the board and the fabric home and looked at them for awhile. I figured I’d wait for an idea to come strolling along and just nab it as it went by my brain-window. And there it was, sauntering down Gray Cell Street. Aha! That’s the answer: make the cover like a sleeve.

So I did. I wrapped the fabric around the board and measured it, and added an inch so I’d have a good 1/2 inch seam allowance. I hemmed the ends and sewed the long seam to make a sleeve. I decided that, since we would not be taking it off to wash after all (that was our final decision, after talking about it for a few days), I could just glue the batting right to the board. It made it just a bit challenging to slip that very close-fitting sleeve all the way down the 52″ board, but perseverance paid off. I eased it down over the batting, and amazingly, very little of it pulled loose from the board – which was easily fixed.  And it fit well enough that there was nothing else needed to keep it in place. I sprayed it generously with Scotch-Gard, and another coworker attached it to the kitchen window. I’m hoping to get a picture of it on the window at some point.

looks better on the window than on the sewing table

looks better on the window than on the sewing table

There was quite a bit of the material left over, and you just KNOW it was given a new purpose in life. It became two oven mitts, three hot pads, and a mug-rug. The original ones had lived a long and useful life in that kitchen, and were begging for retirement. My coworker granted them early retirement – even before she knew replacements were coming. Good thing there was plenty of fabric left! The neat thing is, now the window covering and the hot pads/oven mitts match. Kinda feels good to contribute to the kitchen makeover. :grin:

And, since a couple of the missionary wives have had babies, I got to make a bib and burp cloth too. One more set to make, and I’ll be sending those off to the little cuties soon. The tradition has been that we send a card and a little gift of some sort when a missionary couple have a baby. Since I enjoy sewing, that job has been given to me. :grin: I love it!!

for a baby named Caleb

for a baby named Caleb

burp cloth

burp cloth

One more thing . . . I noticed the kitchen didn’t have one single tortilla warmer in the whole place. Well, I can’t let that happen. I’m working on one right now – it should be ready this week. Sneak peek allowed.

start of the tortilla warmer

start of the tortilla warmer

Sooooo . . . how was YOUR weekend??

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