You Know Your Diet Needs Help When...

...the most vegetables you've eaten in the last month consisted of the tomato sauce on your pizzas, and the sauerkraut on your Reuben sandwiches.

A Love Note

Years ago I called my parents desperate for money. They mailed me a check with the enclosed note. The first line is from my Mom. The next from my Dad. The note hung on my refrigerator for years. During a visit, my sister Cassie (begrudgingly, it seems) added the last line. This is something I'll treasure forever, and I wanted to share it with my blog friends.

A Very Spooky Story

With the weather turning very fall-like, I thought it would be nice to do some baking. There was a new recipe for Layered Pumpkin Bread from Kraft Foods that I was wanting to try.

When I went grocery shopping last week, I purchased all the necessary ingredients, including a package of Neufchatel cheese.

On Tuesday evening, I did my baking and the bread turned out to be delicious. I recommend you try this recipe out. Because of the cream-cheese layer, it's a little more special than your normal Pumpkin Bread, and it doesn't require any added spreads like butter.

But here's the SPOOKY part. This evening, I reached in to the refrigerator for something when I noticed the package of Neufchatel cheese I'd just purchased on Saturday. And since I have no recollection - recent, near recent, or otherwise - of any other purchases of Neufchatel or cream cheese of any kind, HOW OLD WAS THAT PACKAGE I'D USED??????

Murphy's Laws on Meatloaf

1. The chances of dropping the chopped onion on the floor is directly proportional to the number of onions you have left.

a. Corollary: The chances of said onion dropping in a pile of dog hair is directly proportional to the need for said (last) onion to the tastiness of the recipe.

2. The chances of noticing you forgot an ingredient after you've already started mixing the meatloaf with your hands is directly proportional to the goopieness of the mixture.

I'll let you know how it tasted later.

I am Doubly Blessed

I found this old clipping while cleaning out my spare room.

Feels Like Winter

If "to everything there is a season" then I'm in winter. And my experience with Erie weather tells me sometimes winter can last nine months. I know that there are some days that are colder than others and there is an occasional warm, sunny day thrown in; but winter in Erie...you don't expect much. And as the winter drags on you begin to dread getting out of bed.

Such is the way I feel right now.

I'm tired of the dark, lonely days of winter. The iciness cuts into my bones, making it hard to stand against the frigid blasts of cruelty and selfishness, the sting of accusations against my cheeks. I know there's the sure hope of spring and summer, but they seem such a long way off and I'm cold today.

I don't know how to pray. Should I pray for a shortened winter? Should I pray for a warm coat and hat to get me through this emotional winter? At times, I feel tempted to take matters in to my own hands and just crank the thermostat of anger and revenge way up. But there's a cost to that, which I'm not willing to pay. I thank God for His wisdom in understanding this. But I can't make any guarantees that I won't slip on the slick sidewalks of temptation and fall flat on my face.

I guess this is where grace comes in to play; the God-granted ability to navigate the snowy obstacle courses without slipping, sliding and falling. Surely the hinds running through the high places encountered snow on those mountain tops. At least I'm on the flat grounds of Erie.

Come spring. Come Lord Jesus.

The Burgeoning Storm

A storm brews inside of me.

My barometer falls

While the pressure inside me builds.

My heart is ready to release its torrent of anxiety

And destroy whatever is in its path.

How does one stop the onslaught?

How does one hold back the wind and the rain?

Left unchecked, it will uproot me

Leaving me to wither and die

And become but tinder.

Rescue me, Lord.

Save me from the cyclone.

Shelter me from the wicked winds.

Keep me dry and rooted

In the security of Your arms.

-Anonymous

The Heart of a Parent

The last 12 Octobers, my thoughts drift and dwell on my Mom. It's only natural since she died October 30, 1994. Today, I remembered a time in 1979, when I took a job at Conneaut Lake Amusement Park for the summer. The job required me to live at the park-supplied housing, which was not all that great. The work as a ride operator was less than challenging, the hours were demanding, the working conditions horrid, and often required the assistance of "Ecology Boys" to clean up after accidents. I HATED IT.

The morning after my first day, I called my mom sobbing, asking her to come get me. She told me things would get better and that I had to stick it out. The job didn't really get better, but I did stick it out and eventually, I no longer cried myself to sleep, made some friends and learned to deal with it. )In fact, that was my first up close and personal experience with Christians.) My dad later told me my mom said it was one of the hardest things she ever had to do.

Of late, I find myself asking God to come get me. Things here on earth are less than ideal. People are mean. Life can be so incredibly lonely. I want, I need the safety and comfort of my Father's House. But He tells me to wait. Things will get better, He promises; but in His time, not mine. And I think that even though He knows the outcome, it must hurt him to see His children suffer.

The Man of My Dreams

Like Father like Son

My father is a manly man. He was a City of Pittsburgh Fire Fighter who raced in to burning buildings to rescue people. He's a shot and a beer sort who had a history of putting up his dukes to anyone who would use certain foul language (the "f-word" for one)in front a his wife or children. He's got a deep, masculine voice. So it's absolutely hilarious to hear him giggle.

When he's telling a story that strikes him (but not always those to whom he's telling the story) as especially funny, his normal laugh raises a few octaves to a high-pitched giggle! Even funnier is when my brother, Bruce (almost as manly as his father) starts laughing at Daddy's laugh. Bruce's laugh progresses from a deep manly laugh to a higher pitched "whoo-whoo", to a silent struggle to breath. I've actually seen him start to turn blue! This, of course, leads everyone else in the family in to deep belly laughs.

In my family, we don't need to exercise. Laughing is an aerobic experience.

Parts is Parts

The hospital where I work belongs to a Group Purchasing Organization (GPO) who negotiates contracts collectively for all it's members, thus allowing smaller institutions to garner volume pricing. The contracts run the gamut of medical products, furniture, plumbing supplies, and food. Anything a hospital might need.

Today, I was reviewing a contract update listing some new or revised contracts for various product categories - Urological products, Nebulizers, Masks, and...Further Processed Chicken. Further Processed Chicken? Not just Processed Chicken?

I think I'm going on a "no chicken" diet - processed, further processed or otherwise.

________As If There's No Tomorrow

My house has been a wreck for months. I can't remember the last time I dusted or did any type of cleaning other than a cursory pickup. But today, I've been cleaning/dusting/picking up/throwing out like a storm! In fact, I was just thinking to myself that I'm cleaning as if there were no tomorrow. Which begs the question, if there were no tomorrow, why would I spend today cleaning?

A Belated Birthday Wish

Yesterday was my blog's 2nd birthday. And in my true fashion, I'm a day late in wishing it a happy birthday.

I've enjoyed my blogging experience. It's given me a forum to share my stories and to express myself. Blogging has challenged my writing abilities. Prior to this, my writing talents had been confined to memos and policies where my vocabulary is limited to what the average hospital worker can understand.

The title of this blog was suggested to me back in high school, where my English teacher enjoyed my humor. She suggested I write a book and call it Barb's Best (she especially liked my puns). Well, 28 years post-high school and I'm not on the NY Times Best Seller List. But some people I like and admire have my blog linked to theirs. What's the NY Times know, anyhow?

Happy Birthday, Barb's Best! You've now entered the Terrible Two's.

An Economical Beauty Tip

A new treatment for dry, flakey lips and wrinkles around the corners of your mouth - eat corn-on-the-cob with lots of butter and salt. The salt exfoliates and the butter moisturizes. It's especially effective if you're a messy eater.

My Nest is Emptying; I Didn't Even Know it Was Full

Christopher D is moving up to the next Sunday School level this year. After 3-1/2 years of meeting with him every Sunday morning, I'm going to miss the little guy (really, Ray & Jane - I will).

Today, during worship service, the full impact of this fact hit me - all these kids are growing up and moving on and I'm left behind.

My Barblings are 13, 10 and 9; busy with their various activities, I don't see them as often as I used to. And when I do, I'm no longer the main attraction. I'm not needed for baby-sitting and the allure of an overnight stay at Miss Barb's has been replaced by slumber parties with friends.

This is not unusual, I know. Millions of parents experience this. But as a single, childless woman, I'm not prepared for the sufferings of "empty nest syndrome". Barren womb - yes; empty nest - who'd have thought it.

There are many other children coming through the ranks - Olympia, Joseph, Timothy, Lily, Anneke, and new ones joining them - Josiah, Malachi, Owen. They're wonderful kids, and I love all of them, but they can't replace the ones moving on.

And somehow, I feel like I'm getting hit with more than my share of empty nest suffering without the benefits of parenthood.

I know, I know...I don't have the responsibilities of parenthood, either. In no way do I mean to imply that I'm suffering any more than the next person. But I love the kids and take my small role in their lives very seriously. And I never expected this as a part of being single.

Quote of the Day

"The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child."

-Joe Holdsworth

I might add that it's also worth stealing one from an awake child, as well; provided he's not too sticky.

The Measure of a Friend

Around March I attended a Pampered Chef party hosted by my friend Elizabeth. It seemed that after every item the demonstrator displayed, I would comment "I have that; but I never use it." This brought back memories of the very first Pampered Chef party I ever attended - about 15 years ago.

A co-worker invited me to attend the party with her. And after every demonstration of pie-related paraphernalia, Karen would say, "I have that." and "I bought that." etc, etc, etc. After about eight "I-have-that's", Karen turned to me and said "Of course I never bake pies."

A month after the party, Karen came in to work with a picture of a beautiful 2-crust apple pie that she had baked. She took a picture and had it developed (remember this was the pre-digital age) as proof to her friends that she had actually baked a pie (using all her pie utensils, of course).

Flash forward to March, 2007. At Elizabeth's Pampered Chef party, they demonstrated a utensil I did not have and had never seen before. It was a really cool adjustable measuring spoon. I had to have one and I figured Karen could use one as well, so I ordered two. When I received the order, I put Karen's spoon to the side, waiting for the chance to mail it to her at her Texas home. Before that could happen, though, Dora found it and chewed it to bits.

Because I really wanted Karen to have one, I reordered another. For various reasons, the order did not come in until last week. Elizabeth gave it to me at church on Sunday and I carried it in my purse until Thursday, when I realized it might get broken. So I put it on the dining room table with the intention of mailing it on Saturday. I even found a nice little box in which to mail it. However, when I came home from work last evening, I found spoon #2 in chewed up pieces on the living room floor.

I think I'm just going to send my own measuring spoon to Karen. I really think she'll like it and besides...I don't really use mine.

A Twist on Tennyson

Tennyson once wrote "Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Is this true? Or more to my own experience, is it "better to have loved and lost than never to have been loved at all"?

I know I've been loved - by my family, my friends and even, as much as they are able, my dogs. But obviously, these are not the love relationships to which I am referring.

I've known people who've been in: good relationships, bad relationships, good relationships turned bad, good relationships that turned bad that turned good, bad breakups, and all the other possible combinations. I don't know if relationships are worth the agony they can bestow. I have no personal experience, and so my mind and heart are overwhelmed with questions, the loudest of which is - is it better to have loved and lost than never to have been loved at all? I've been told by people (who I assume are trying to make me feel better) that this is God's protection. I think it's just sad and lonely.

If anybody has any wisdom to impart, I'm open.

Age Spots

I've noticed in recent years that the veins in my hands are more prominent. In an article I recently read, a dermatologist explained that this is a sign of aging. Apparently, the hands are one area that actually lose fat as one gets older.

Many of the aging signs mentioned in the aforementioned article have been concerns for me - neck-creep, frown lines, the lines from my nose to my mouth... to the extent that I have thought that if I had the disposable income and could stomach the idea of needles in my face, I might seriously consider Botox. In fact, I have read enough on the subject that I actually know that those lines from my nose to the corners of my mouth are called naso-labial folds.

However, despite their age-related cause, I actually like the prominent veins and tendons in my hands. I've found myself flexing my hands in such a way as to make them appear. It wasn't until a few days ago that I understood why I liked them so much. As I was hugging one of the Barblings, I realized my mother's hands were like this. This is how her hands looked when she hugged me, held my hand, stroked my head. I remember those tendons and veins popping out as she mixed meatloaf and stuffing (with her hands, of course), as she turned pages in the books she read, as she sewed buttons on my blouses.

I'm not much like my mother in her temperament - she was much calmer than I, better organized, a better listener, a better housekeeper. But if all I've gotten from her are her hands, I show them off proudly.

1:09:35

I participated in my first ever bike race on Saturday, along with the Barblings 3, in the Highmark Quad Competition. I finished 341 out of 369 competitors; the majority of the 28 people I "beat" were under the age of 12 and I highly suspect that the adult contingent of those 28 were parents of the under 12 set, who faithfully stayed with their children. I, on the other hand, left my Barbling #2 behind - but I'll save that story for another day. The point is that all of us finished and did better than we ever expected.

BTW - Dad Lane finished in a blazing 40:28 (and thought he should have done better) and then turned around and rode with Barbling #3 to the finish; then turned around again to find Barbling #2 and ride her to the finish. Mom Lane, the wisest of the group, was team photographer.

Finally, another member of Faith Reformed, Elder Swanson (by virtue of his office, not his age) also competed and blew us all off the road at 37:13.

Next year, I think we should have a Faith Reformed team. Anyone else care to sign up?