Why I Love My Hips

I Love My Hips

I love my hips. So do these goodies!

   For the first time in decades, I’m not worried about my hips getting larger as the holidays approach.  I love my hips. I feel sorry for all those skinny-as-a-preacher’s-wallet supermodels slinking down the runway in their pencil skirts. They’ve never discovered the splendid uses of hips.

drawing copyright Ron Levellie

     In my hipless days, if I wanted to tote a box of Christmas decorations from the backyard shed to the house, I had to carry it in both arms, like a hug. Made navigating across the yard a bit rough since I couldn’t see where I was stepping. Now I simply perch the box on one hip, breeze across the yard, open the door with my free hand, and collapse into the room.

     Hips are also useful for bouncing hungry or colicky babies while stirring macaroni on the stove. Without hips, you’d have to plunk junior or princess in their highchair and listen to them wail while you tried to fix supper. A ton of macaroni has been rescued from burning by the marvelous invention of hips.

Out of the mouths of babes...

     I discovered my favorite use for hips on a recent visit to see my grandchildren. I sat down on a playground swing and realized there was no danger of me falling out, no matter how high I flew. My handy hips had me wedged in tighter than a sailor on shore leave. But I knew I’d never revert to being hipless again when my six-year-old grandson stepped behind me to push. 

In his innocent-as-a-lamb's voice he said, “Grandma, you’re easy to push, because your bum is so big!” 

     That’s why you won’t find me refusing mashed potatoes or eggnog this holiday season. How can I let my little guy down? I do wish they’d find a way to get me out of this swing, though. 

The above is a chapter from my newest book, The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul, the perfect gift for every Scrooge on your Christmas list! For more information about a fun giveaway connected with the book, please visit Karen Lange's blog with me today. 

What are your favorite Christmas foods?
Other than books that make them laugh, how do you help the Scrooges on your Christmas list? 

It's a Small(er) World.

I noticed the other night at supper how napkins are shrinking. It’s bad enough that they fluff them with air pockets to make them look plump; now they are decreasing their dimensions.  One used to cover my whole lap; now it barely fits on the top third of one thigh. If they keep this up, I’ll need half a package at each meal. It's a small(er) world. 

Candy bars have also been shrinking with the times.  It used to take me five bites to eat my 100 Grand bar; now I have to get out Grandma’s magnifying glass to see it before I pop it into my mouth in one nibble.

And have you seen how the ice cream containers went from half a gallon to 1.5 quarts? We used to serve ice cream with our birthday cake; now we simply wave the carton over each plate as a sweet remembrance of the way things were.

 

Coffee can shrinkage is another travesty.  Remember when coffee was sold by the pound? Now it comes in  12 or 13 oz. packages, for the same price.  Soon they’ll be selling it by the cup, and charging $3.50. Oh, they’re already doing that!

TV shows now take up only forty-five minutes instead of fifty-two. Today's cars are the size of my grandchild's scooter. Even Band-aids barely cover a boo-boo anymore. 

I'm so relieved that Jesus' love never shrinks or diminishes in strength. Jesus stays the same year after year, century after century, forever--even if my favorite pants shrink to the size of a dinner napkin. 

The above is an excerpt from my second book, The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul.

What have you noticed shrinking in your world? 

What Can We Learn from Cats? 12 Furry Lessons

Cartoonist Ron Levellie copyright 2014

Cats: most people either hate or love them. The haters contend that felines ruin furniture, kill songbirds, and consider people their slaves. The lovers argue that cats control rodents, relieve stress, and cover up their poops.

I find my “spoiled brats in fur suits” brimming with wisdom. Here are some insights I’ve learned from the roguish angels:

1. If you fight with the other household cats, you won’t have energy left to ward off enemy cats.
2. It’s okay to have whiskers and pointy ears.
3. Look for a patch of sunshine, and stay there.
4. Naps are cool.
5. Don’t fuss about your food, or the one who feeds you may start buying a cheaper brand.
6. Purring will get you everywhere.
7. Master the “Shocked and Innocent Look” if someone laughs at you. Better yet, stick your nose in the air and saunter away, pretending you don’t care.
8. Naps are fun.
9. Act as if you know what you’re doing even if you don’t have a clue.
10. Convince those around you how blessed they are to live in the same universe with you.
11. Refuse to give up. If one bird escapes, climb another tree.
12. Naps are refreshing.

Similar to cats, people are a mix of aggravating and endearing qualities. When I’m tempted to dismiss a brother or sister as too ornery to tolerate, I remember how God bears with my faults and stupid mistakes. Receiving His unconditional love frees me to love myself and others, focusing on positive qualities. Now if I could only convince my husband to see the good in our kitties . . .

From My Heart to Yours: I believe God gave us pets to help us laugh more. Whether you like dogs in tutus, cats hanging by their claws from tree branches, or pygmy marmosets yodeling to their friends, observing animals is one of the most relaxing, fun activities on earth.

The above is a chapter from my humor/inspirational book, The Heart of Humor, a compilation of 45 funny stories and 15 articles, lists and links to help you add more laughter to your life. 

Did any of my cats' suggestions for a happier life resonate with you today? 

A Surefire way to Predict Winter Weather

The Woolly Worm Report

drawing copyright Ron Levellie

Did you know there is a surefire way to predict winter weather? According to early American folklore, you can forecast the harshness of an upcoming winter by examining the brown band around a wooly worm’s middle. The thinner the brownish red band, the harsher winter will be.  

flikr image

But I have my own methods.  As we go on a walk up the country lane near our home at Nevins and I spot a wooly worm scooting across the pavement, I’ll note its coloration. If it’s dark brown or black, representing the bare earth, I predict a mild winter with no snow. If it’s orange—a happy, warm color—I maintain the upcoming winter will be warmer than usual. And if the wooly worm is white or tan, I report that winter will be fast and fun, with snowfall only on Christmas Eve.

Scientific? Hardly. Accurate? Rarely. But my overly biased wooly worm reports make us laugh every time. And giggles help us get through the long, freezing months better than gripes.  I imagine even the wooly worms laugh. At me. 

I may not be able to predict the weather, but I’m convinced that the Apostle John predicted accurately when he told us Jesus is coming soon. I hope you and I will spend eternity together with Him, in that lovely city where every day is bright, and every wooly worm gives a sunny report.

The above is an excerpt from my book The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul, a combination of funny stories and articles on how humor helps.

Do you like Winter? Or Summer? 

How to Talk to Your Pets

 If you have pets, you know how fun and enlightening a  conversation with them can be.

     My twenty-pound, orange and white cat, Rocky (shown above hugging his buddy, Pokey)clambers onto  the  love seat while I’m reading. His nose nudges my hand.  “Meowrrr?” he says.

     “What’s that, Rocky?”

     “Meowrrr?” he says again. He probably thinks I should have listened the first time, and then he wouldn’t need to repeat himself.

I force my gaze from the book to scratch his head. His amber eyes glisten with joy. I once read in a mini-paperback while waiting at the checkout counter that cats hear high tones better than low ones.

I want to make sure Rocky knows I care, so I raise my voice three notches.  “What’s goin’ on today?” I squeak.

“Meow,” he says, closing his eyes. Is he disgusted at my Minnie Mouse talk, or in kitty heaven?

Just to make sure, I switch to baby talk. “Tell me all about it, Rocks. I know you understand these things.”  

He purrs, and arches his back. Good—it’s kitty heaven. “Meow,” he answers.

“That’s wonderful,” I chirp, “I’m so glad to hear it.” I return to my book, still petting him in an absent-minded fashion. “You are so wise. You amaze me every time we talk.” 

Dog owners tell me that words are unnecessary—their canine pets can read moods and communicate with their eyes and body language. The owner of a pot-bellied pig used in therapy claims the little porker can help patients overcome depression. The day of my brother’s funeral, my uncle’s talking macaw gave me a huge release from my grief by making me laugh.

I might one day consider owning these other types of pets. But I’d hate to lose that unique ability to communicate with my cats in their own language.

The above slightly-exaggerated story is an excerpt from my book, The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul.  

Do you have pets? How do you talk to them? 

Were you asleep when they handed out the "I love housework" gene?

            Not all women have it. A few of us were still asleep the morning they handed out the I love housework gene.

“Dust bunnies are for wimps” became my motto when I discovered dust kangaroos, with families of dust joeys springing out of their pockets every few days to stir up some fun.

            Because we live in the parsonage and my husband’s desk is a pulpit, I figure I should try to appear neat once or twice a year. So I force myself to clean by inviting guests to dinner.

The only problem with this clever plan is that I wait until the day of the party to start my cleaning mania. I race around the dining table disrobing chair backs of their sweaters, flinging them into shocked closets. The windowsills resent my removal of the dust that’s kept them warm for the last six weeks. My kitchen floor gets tipsy on Spic ‘n’ Span.

            After the guests leave, I flop on the couch and moan. “Why do I torture myself like this? What possessed me to invite seventeen people over? Well, at least the house looks sparkly. Let’s keep it this way forever!” I know I am duping no one but me. It’s as realistic as stating, “I will never overreact again.”

The only time I enjoyed housework was when we were first married, and the pride of reigning as queen over my own domain spurred me to dust, mop and scrub. That cleaning frenzy lasted two whole weeks. After that, I concocted my brilliant invite friends over scheme.

        

           Once we had kids, I began worrying: what if they asked their Kindergarten teacher what a dustpan was? To avoid this embarrassment, I gave them chores at very early ages. But we had to hold off when our daughter whipped a sewing kit out of her pocket and offered to mend her preschool helper’s ripped jeans.

When the kids were eight and eleven, we took them to a discount store and let them pick out their own laundry baskets. On the way home I casually asked, “Guess what we’re doing today?  I’m going to teach you to wash clothes.”

            From the rear view mirror, I caught our daughter’s eyes roll as he snorted, “I knew there had to be a catch!”

            “Someday you’ll thank me,” I said.

            As teenagers, our kids did all the cleaning except changing the sheets on our bed. It worked beautifully. Until our daughter moved to college, and my son and I divided her chores between us. He got his done all right, since I raised his salary two dollars a week. But mine…well.  I always have had a fondness for baby kangaroos.

 Do you enjoy housework? If not, how do you force yourself to do it? 

The above is an excerpt from my book The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul, in a chapter entitled In This Corner. 

How to Re-Purpose Grossly Green Mouthwash

From Grossly Green to Sparkling Clean

     When my husband bought the monster size of Grossly Green mouthwash, I wondered if we’d live long enough to finish it. Or die trying. Whoever invented this stuff either has taste buds of steel, or they hope that their least favorite politicians will buy a case and gag to death. 

     Each time I used some was an excuse to chase it with an ice cream cone or a candy bar. But that only worked for two weeks. It’s not worth a new wardrobe two sizes bigger just to have lovely breath. 

     We can’t throw it out; we’ve invested half a week’s salary in it. Those economy sizes require the money with unknown president’s faces on them.  We could pour it into fancy bottles and give it as Christmas gifts. But our friends may reciprocate next year.

     I discovered the solution to our dilemma while preparing for church one morning in the bathroom. I noticed a ring in the toilet, and rummaged for some bowl cleanser. All I saw under the sink was half a bottle of Grossly Green. Aha. No self-respecting toilet will dare stay dirty after a few swishes of this chartreuse poison. 

     My husband may wonder why it’s disappearing so fast. I’m sure he was expecting it to last a decade. If he asks, I’ll just point to our sparkling, whimpering toilet and tell him that his bargain of the century works better as a bowl cleaner than a mouthwash. 

     Do you sometimes feel that you missed your calling, and chose a wrong path? You don’t need to live in regret. Just put your life in God’s hands. In spite of poor decisions, He can give you a fresh start to do something significant with your life. Not to shine toilets, necessarily, but to shine for Him. 

The above story is a sample chapter from my second book THE HEART OF HUMOR

 

Have you re-purposed something gross? Do tell!

Have You Noticed This Shrinking Trend?

Drawing copyright 2013 Ron Levellie

While eating baby-back ribs recently, I noticed how dinner napkins are shrinking. It’s bad enough that manufacturers inject air into the napkins to make them appear plump. Now they’re decreasing their size. One used to cover my whole lap; these days it barely fits on the top third of a thigh.

Candy bars have also been shrinking with the times. Years ago, it took me five bites to eat my Gooey-Wooey bar. Today I have to get out Grandma’s magnifying glass to gaze at its loveliness before I down it in two nibbles.

And have you been as shocked as I have how ice-cream containers dwindled overnight, from half a gallon to one and a half quarts? We used to serve ice cream with our birthday cakes. Nowadays we simply wave the carton over each plate as a sweet remembrance of more generous times.

Coffee-can shrinkage is another travesty. Remember when you bought coffee by the pound? These days it comes in 12 or 13 oz. packages, for the same price as before. Soon they’ll be selling it by the cup and charging $3.50 a slurp. Oh, they’re already doing that.

TV shows take up only forty-five minutes instead of fifty-two. Today’s cars are the size of my grandson’s scooter. Even Band-Aids barely cover a boo-boo anymore.

I’m so relieved that Jesus’ love never shrinks or diminishes in strength. Jesus stays the same year after year, century after century, forever—even if my favorite pants shrink to the size of a dinner napkin.

©      From My Heart to Yours: Although I tend to base the worth of an item on its size, that doesn’t matter when it comes to problems. God is bigger than any or all of them. Next time one threatens to steal my joy, I need to remind myself of the huge, powerful hand of my Father.

The above is a chapter from my humor/inspirational book, The Heart of Humor, available on Amazon or Barnes and Noble. 

Are you bugged by this shrinking trend? What large items do you miss the most? 

Why I Feel Sorry for Modern Kids

I feel sorry for modern kids. Or should I say kydz? Today’s parents either don’t know how to spell, or they’re trying to be cute.

Not long ago, David was always D-A-V-I-D. Little Davey didn’t need to spell his name to the librarian, his Sunday school teacher, or the softball coach. Now he totes flashcards and wears a name tag day and night. It might be Dayvid, Davidde, or Daivihd. Same with a perfectly decent name like Mary. Her flashcards could read anything from Mahree to Mayrie to Mairey.

I cringe to think where this generation of creative spellers is leading us. Imagine a family singing together on a road trip. Sister starts, “There was a farmer had a dog and Bingo was his name-o, B-I-N-G-O...”

Brother interrupts, “That’s not right. Kevin has a dog named Bingo and they spell it B-E-E-N-G-O-U-G-H.” Family bonding takes a huge step backwards.

Or what about Sunday school songs? The leader steps to the podium and charges into, “The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me…” when a redheaded girl in the front row corrects him.

“We don’t spell it that way anymore,” she says. “We use the new spelling: B-Y-E-B-I-L-L.” He stumbles off the stage, his hopes for a shining career as a song leader dashed.

I know, I know. Embrace progress, move forward, don’t dwell on the past, change is good, etc. I agree. But please don’t tell me I’m going to turn on the T.V. one day and hear “M-I-K-K-E-E  M-O-W-H-S!”  

 (Drawings copyright Ron Levellie)

Do you have an unusual name? How about your kids?  

The above story is a chapter from my second book published by Elk Lake Publishing,  

The Heart of Humor: 60 Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul. 

 

Cats: Do You Love 'em Or Hate 'em?

Cats: most people either hate or love them. The haters contend that felines ruin furniture, kill song birds, and consider people their slaves. The lovers argue that cats control rodents, relieve stress, and cover up their poops.

I find my “spoiled brats in fur suits” brimming with wisdom. Here are some insights I’ve learned from the devilish angels:

• If you fight with the family cats, you won’t have energy left to ward off enemy cats.
• It’s okay to have whiskers and pointy ears.
• Look for a patch of sunshine and stay there.
• Naps are cool.
• Don’t fuss about your food, or the one who feeds you may start buying a cheaper brand.
• Purring will get you everywhere.
• Master the “Shocked and Innocent Look” if someone laughs at you. Better yet, stick your nose in the air and saunter away, pretending you don’t care.
• Naps are fun.
• Act as if you know what you’re doing even if you don’t have a clue.
• Convince those around you how blessed they are to live in the same universe with you.
• Refuse to give up. If one bird escapes, climb another tree.
• Naps are refreshing.

Similar to cats, people are a mix of aggravating and endearing qualities. When I’m
tempted to dismiss a brother or sister as too ornery to tolerate, I remember how God bears with my faults and stupid mistakes. Receiving His unconditional love frees me to love myself and others, focusing on positive qualities.  

Now if I could convince my husband to see the good in our kitties…

The above is an excerpt from my second book The Heart of Humor: Sixty Helpings of Hilarity to Nourish Your Soul. 
 If you like to laugh and discover new ways to add fun to your life, you'll love The Heart of Humor.

Do you love cats? Or hate 'em?