BLIND DATE--A GIFT OF GRACE

And they lived happily ever after!

Thirty-two years ago today, I met a blind date who changed my life forever. This is the way it happened:

In the days before Match.com and eHarmony, blind dates were arranged by friends or family. Mine was envisioned by a recently hired co-worker, Teri. Over lunch our conversation turned to the sad state of the dating pool. I bemoaned the fact that none my last five dates warranted a relationship.  

“I need to date around,” I sighed.

“I could set you up with a couple of guys I worked with before I got laid off. One is real macho and the other is sweet and sensitive,” she proffered.

“I’ve had macho. I’ll take sweet and sensitive.”

“I’ll give him a call. Maybe we can all go to lunch.”

When Sweet and Sensitive called, we chatted with ease. In fact we were so comfortable we decided not to include Teri on our Friday night date.

Friday, October 29, 1982, was a fun day at work. We all dressed in costume. Everyone brought food. We turned the music up and played all afternoon. If Facebook had been around at the time I’m certain some embarrassing photos would have been posted.

 When the clock struck five, I had one hour to turn from a wicked witch into an appealing first date. I raced to retrieve my 2 year-old daughter from the babysitter. Once home, I threw her a cup of apple juice and turned on cartoons. Zipping down the hall I discarded clothes and a long dark wig. I ripped off the false eyelashes and hooked nose as I jumped into a still cold shower. Shampoo flying, I washed my hair, scrubbed green paint off my face, and the remaining spirit gum from my nose. The hairdryer wasn’t the only thing turned on turbo as I dried my hair and quickly reapplied makeup. At exactly 6:00 pm Baby and I were dressed and peeking out the window when Sweet and Sensitive pulled into the driveway.

“He’s cute,” Baby said.

“Yes, he is.” I replied while hauling out my mental checklist: attractive – check; prompt--check; suit (employed) – check; late model car (not a beat-up truck w/empty cans in the flatbed)—check. So far, so good, I thought as I opened the door.

“Come in. I’m Lacene. This is my daughter.”

 He smiled and shook her hand.

 “Thank you for letting me pick you up right after work,” he said. “I work here in Norman, but live in Oklahoma City. I thought it would be more efficient to pick you up before I go home. I'll take a quick shower and we can go on to dinner. I made reservations at a restaurant close to my apartment. I’ll bring you home before you turn into a pumpkin." He finally took a breath.

I had some concerns about a stop at his apartment, but I liked the idea of a restaurant which required reservations. I had a date with one man who thought Furr’s Cafeteria was the perfect place to celebrate a new job. It was also the last date with him.

“That would be fine,” I said. “Would you like to sit and have a drink first?”

“If you don’t mind, why don’t we go on to Oklahoma City. We’ll have a 45-minute drive to visit.”

“Okay, let me grab my purse.”

He opened the car door for me and placed Baby in the back seat. He made sure the tail of my dress wasn’t hanging out before he shut the door. Good manners—check.

Baby screamed, “Oh, Mommy! My fingers!”

I jumped out of the car and grabbed her from the back seat. He was already at my side.

“What happened?” he asked.

He was so distraught I hated to tell him. “You slammed her fingers in the door.”

“Let’s get some ice on them.”

He took the screaming child from me while I dug for my house keys. I opened the door. He raced to the freezer, grabbed an ice cube and placed it on her fingers. She sat in the crook of his arm contemplating him with teary eyes. She had stopped screaming the moment he took her from me.

He knows how to handle children – check.

After a few minutes of ice and soothing words, Baby let us look at her fingers. They were red, but not bruised or broken. Luckily they were caught in the rubber weather-stripping and not the door itself. We breathed a sigh a relief that this date would not take place in the ER. We took her on to the babysitter’s where he insisted on paying.

Whoa, that wasn’t even on my checklist, I thought. I never had a date offer to pay the babysitter, much less insist on it. I may just marry this guy.

As we drove to his apartment I learned he was recently divorced after seven years of marriage. He had a five-year-old son. His visitation on alternate weekends never seemed enough, so he kept his son as much as possible during the week. His business administration degree came from OU. He went on to get his CPA while working for Arthur Young. The hours were long and hard on his marriage. When he and his wife separated he took a job in the private sector. He was now a financial manager at an oil well instrumentation company in Norman. He had been Teri’s boss before she got laid off.

Ahhh, that explains his efficiency and promptness.  I like it.

I gestured with my hands as we talked, and saw a flash of black. I looked down at my hands. To my horror I realized my nails were still painted black. (In 1982 Goth was not a trend, nor was blue, green or black nail polish. It was just weird!)

“Oh my gosh! I am so embarrassed,” I said. “In my rush to get ready, I forgot to take off the black nail polish from my witch costume.”

“It’s okay,” he winked. “I thought you were just kinky.”

I blushed and contemplated crawling under the seat. What kind of checklist is he keeping?

“Don’t worry about it. You look fine. It doesn’t matter," he said and meant it.Our conversation continued until we reached his apartment.

“Come on in,” he said opening my car door. I followed him to his first floor apartment. He unlocked the door and held it for me. I entered tentatively not knowing what to expect. I dated men in the past who decorated their living rooms with weight benches and barbells and smelled of old gym socks.He stripped off his coat and tie. “I promise I won’t be more than 20 minutes. Make yourself comfortable. Here’s the TV remote.”

I took the remote and set down on the couch. From that vantage point, I could see 400 square feet of tastefully decorated space. Ornamental pillows perched atop a crisply-made bed. A scented candle adorned a tidy kitchen counter. A bar set with two place-mats created the dining space. The tiny living room walls were hung with tasteful artwork. I was impressed. Did he do this? Or was the ex-wife still in the picture?

True to his word, he walked out of the bathroom 20 minutes later. Dressed in a starched white shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a Houndstooth blazer slung over his shoulder, he was a vision of masculinity. I followed his well-fitting jeans out the front door and tried not to stumble as I enjoyed the view. No well-worn circle from his chewing tobacco--check.

“Do you like Japanese food?” he asked.

“I love all kinds of Asian food. I was raised in the Philippines and Guam.”

“Good, I’ve made reservations at a Japanese restaurant that cooks your food on a Hibachi grill in front of you.”

“Perfect, that will be fun,” I smiled glad that it wasn’t a stuffy formal restaurant.

“We are a little early. Do you want to have a drink in the bar while we wait for our table?”

“I’d love to.” I said eager for a something to calm my nerves.

Over drinks I learned his mother and aunt had decorated his apartment, but the tidiness was all him. I told him: about my nomadic childhood as a preacher’s kid, and a missionary kid; how I married two weeks after my eighteenth birthday to our much older music and youth director; about the dissolution of our nine-year marriage, and the joy I found in my daughter. I shared how I had been laid-off from my well-paying job as a landman with the oil bust of ‘82. Being an unemployed single parent with no health insurance was a scary proposition. I took the first job I could find even though it meant a pay cut. I met Teri when she came to work after being laid off. 

We were deep in conversation when the hostess interrupted to tell us our table was ready. She led us to a long table in front of the grill. He pulled my chair and seated me. After perusing the menus, we placed our order. A few minutes later, I leaned over and whispered, "I think all that liquid has gone straight through me. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the ladies’ room.” I stood up and pushed my chair with the back of my legs. The chair stuck. I gave it another little nudge. It fell onto the folding screen behind us. The screen crashed to the floor startling everyone in the restaurant. All eyes were on me as I reached down to pick up my chair.

Sweet and Sensitive leaned over and whispered in my ear,

“If you’re not embarrassed, you ought to be.”

“I am. You horse’s behind!” I said angrily.

As I straightened, I caught his teasing eyes. The embarrassment faded and I laughed with him. After all he did slam Baby's fingers in the door. In a way it felt like we were even. This guy definitely had potential.

Did you see the fingers of God’s grace in my life? I found it much more traumatic to be involuntarily unemployed than to go through a divorce. If I had not taken the job as an administrative assistant, I wouldn’t have met Teri. Teri wouldn’t have introduced me to what I have called, for the last thirty years, God’s gift of grace to me, my Soul Mate.

IT'S A . . .

It's a Gender Shower! I heard of this fun new tradition three years ago when Daughter No. 1 was expecting her third child. What a great way to eliminate the problem of who to tell first once the gender has been determined. Just invite all interested parties, especially those competitive in-laws. Bake a cake which has been tinted or fill a wrapped box with ballons of pink or blue depending on the sex. No one knows the results until the ballons are released or the cake is cut (except a trusted cousin or aunt, the baker and the ultrasound tech).
Daughter No. 1 threw this party for an expecting couple whose two daughters play softball with her daughters. There was some discussion between the fathers as to whether the softball team would be increased or a baseball team started. Hence the theme of this party Baseball vs. Softball. Daughter No. 1 recruited her sister at Naylor Made Photography to create this cute invitation:

It was much cuter before I elminated the personal information, but the expecting couple's name and home address was the site of the Stadium. My daughter's phone and e-mail address were in the RSVP section. I love the pink and blue ticket stubs which include the date of the party as the Gate, Sec and Row.

Eacb guest studied the ultrasound before

before choosing Baseball or Softball.

Based on old wives' tale each guest placed
a sticker on their guess of boy or girl.

Blue Hawaiian Punch



Old Reliable --
 Raspberry Sherbert
and Gingerale
(my personal favorite)



  

My son-in-law made this adorable
fuit basket which I found on Pintrest



In addition to veggies, dips, chips & sammies
there were these yummy cookies



But the star of the show was the cake!

 

The moment we've all been waiting for!

 

It's a girl -- Softball!

 

Gifts for all the girls!



Our youngest is already practicing!



Gigi Goes to Prison

As we waited for the ferry to take us to Alcatraz Island I saw this banner –

“Rule 5. You are entitled to food, clothing, shelter and medical attention. Anything else that you get is a privilege. You earn your privileges by conducting yourself properly."

I love having my three granddaughters stay with me for a week of Camp Gigi (which is what they call me). I fix kid-friendly meals (i.e. mac-n-cheese and a minimum of veggies) bake their favorite cookies, and stock a freezer-full of frozen treats. We go to movies, museums, have tea parties, and at the very least go swimming every day. I do everything for them and expect little in return.
As they reach the age of sassiness, bickering, and complaining, it occurs to me that I am not preparing them to be productive members of society. Instead a sense of entitlement is being created. Don't you love being around people with a strong sense of entitlement? Whining, ungrateful people who don't take responsibility for their own happiness? Yeah, me neither. I know that's not what their parents are hoping for when they send them to Camp Gigi.
Maybe the way to eliminate that issue is to introduce more structure and a system of rewards or privileges. I believe if the children know what is expected of them they will rise to the challenge. I adapted the Rule & Regulations of Alcatraz and came up with the following:
RULES AND REGULATIONS OF CAMP GIGI 2012
RULE NO. 1
You are entitled to food, clothing, shelter and medical attention. Anything else you get is a privilege. You earn your privileges by conducting yourself properly.
RULE NO. 2
You are required to work at whatever you are told to do.
By doing good work on your assignments you earn privileges and/or pay for movies, museum visits, horseback riding lessons, cooking lessons, and time for recreation, i.e. bowling, swimming or going to the batting cages.
RULE NO. 3
Complaints for the purpose of creating dissatisfaction and/or stirring up trouble; or if you agitate your roommates into trouble, you will be subject to disciplinary action and loss of privileges (See Rule No. 1).
DAILY ROUTINE
8:00 A.M. – Morning wake up.
Dress, brush teeth and hair, make-up bed and prepare room for inspection.
In order to pass bedroom inspection all books and toys should be place in their receptacles; clothes should be hung or folded and properly stored. Bed should be made in a tight and orderly manner.
To pass bathroom inspection: towels should be hung up; toothbrush and toothpaste placed in the designated drawer, and sink wiped of toothpaste residue.
A laundry basket will be made available for all dirty clothes and towels. You will be instructed on the washing and folding of all clothing.
8:30 A.M. – Stand by your bedroom door, facing out, remain there until room has been inspected. (Ok, we might not make them stand outside the door).
8:40 A.M. – Breakfast will be served.
9:00 A.M. – Clear table of all used dishes, rinse and place in dishwasher
9:05 A.M. – Return to table for morning devotional
9:15 A.M. – Work detail assignments will be given
9:30 A.M. – If all work is completed without argument or complaint, a privilege for the day will be announced.
3:00 P.M. – Reading and quiet time
4:00 P.M. – Arts and crafts time
5:00 P.M. – Begin meal preparation as instructed
5:30 P.M. – Dinner. Be prepared to share a good memory of the day
6:00 P.M. – Clear table of all used dishes, rinse and place in dishwasher

6:05 P.M. – Calls home will be allowed. Correspondence to parents encouraged.

6:30 P.M. – Free time for movies or games

8:00 P.M. – Bath time

8:30 P.M. – Evening devotional, songs and prayer.

9:00 P.M. – Lights out.

You will note there is very little work time carved out in relation to hours of entertainment. I was a little afraid  of two things: the parents would balk at the rules and structure; or the girls would not want to come. No fear. The parents are thrilled they won't have to retrain the girls when they come home. I could even say they are grateful to have the assistance. We are on the same team after all. The girls are still excited about our special time together. They just wish we had two weeks. 

Grandparents.com is a great resource
for everything from coloring pages
to kid-friendly meals.

I’ll let you know at the end of the summer how my experiment works.

"Discipline your children; you'll be glad you did -- they'll turn out delightful to live with." Prov. 29:17 The Message

When Things Go Bad

Oh, the strawberries, blueberries and blackberries look so tempting. I load up my grocery cart. I plan to eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. By the end of the week I'm haunted by the sight of moldy berries and brown bananas sitting on my counter.  Then I hear mother's voice ciding me for wasting food and pleading on behalf of the starving children in China.
 I sleep easier now that I found this simple yummy recipe. You can substitute any berry you can salvage.
Strawberry-Banana Bread
1/2 c. shortening (part butter)
1 c. sugar
2 eggs
1½ tsp. vanilla
1 1/3 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
1 c. fresh strawberries, diced
2 ripe bananas, mashed
½ c. chopped pecans
Cream shortening, butter, and sugar. Add eggs, one at a time beating until fluffy. Add vanilla. Sift dry ingredients together and slowly add to creamed mixture. Fold strawberries and bananas into batter and add nuts.
Pour into loaf pans that have been greased and floured. Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour (large loaf) or 30 minutes for 4 small loaves. A toothpick stuck in the middle should come out clean when they are done. Loaves should be nicely browned.

Dice salvaged strawberries and
break up pecans



Mash bananas



Cream shortening, butter and sugar.
Add eggs, one at a time. Add vanilla
Sift together dry ingredients and slowly add to creamed mixture.
Fold in berries and bananas. Add nuts

 

Pour into greased and floured pans.
Bake at 350 for 30 minutes (4 small loaves)
or 1 hour (large loaf).

 



Enjoy!

Fifty Gray Hairs

“My friend said she is reading the best book ever. Fifty Gray Hairs or something like that. Have you heard of it?”


“Mom, you mean Fifty Shades of Grey,” She laughed. Yeah, all my friends are reading it.”

“Have you read it?” I asked.

“No, you know I don’t have time to read. They call it ‘Mommy Porn’,” she responded still laughing.

“Reeaally? I raised my eyebrow and grinned. “Maybe, in the interest of staying current, I should check it out.”

It didn’t take me long to find the books at Target. My mouth dropped open when I saw the words “Adult Erotica” below the synopsis. Huh, at Target? Surely it couldn’t be too bad. They don’t carry porn. I skimmed a few pages and put it back on the shelf.

When I go on a diet I purge the pantry and fridge of any refined sugar. If it’s in the house I’m going to eat it. I know myself. I’m weak, so I get rid of temptation. Books like Fifty Shades of Grey are my brain candy. My temptation is to fantasize. Sweetheart travels and I get lonely. The last thing I need is to be lonely and…how can I say this…stirred up. Sweetheart can’t live up to fiction any more than I can live up to an airbrushed Playboy model. I made a commitment to be faithful to him. Am I being faithful if I’m daydreaming about someone else? Is it respectful to him? The best way to avoid temptation is to run in the opposite direction. I learned the hard way.

I cheated the first time around. I could give you multiple reasons for my unhappy marriage, but they are not relevant. An affair didn’t just happen. (Anyone who says an affair just happens is full of poop.) It wasn’t an accidental kiss which led to more. I made a choice to be unfaithful long before the first kiss.

My best friend, at the time, encouraged me to find a boyfriend. She said I was unrealistic to expect one man to meet all my needs. She was in the middle of an affair herself. Her busy husband worked and went to school fulltime. He had neither the time nor energy for her needs. Her boyfriend took her to dinner and lavished attention on her, but she always went home to the security of her husband.

I bought into the idea. I wanted to stay married for the sake of my seven-month-old daughter. What a great plan. My needs could be met and I could stay married. So let the games begin!

When you open yourself up to the possibility of an affair, I guarantee you it will happen. It doesn’t matter how old you are, what you look like, or how much you weigh. Don't think you are exempt because you are "a good Christian" girl. Someone will accept what you are offering. Not the milkman maybe, but probably someone you already know. Odds are you see him at work every day. You are aware of the chemistry between you. You flirt a little and enjoy his response. When the whole office goes to lunch you sit with him to carry on your own conversation. Soon the two of you begin to have lunch alone, so you can talk without interruption. Next thing you know you find excuses to work late. You miss the bus, and he offers you a ride home. He stands behind you in the elevator. When you feel his breath on your neck, you turn to look him in the eyes. He wraps his arms around you and kisses you deeply. You accept his kiss and all that it means.

“Look, we’re both married and have children. We want to stay married. Let’s agree we are in this for pleasure. I don’t want to break up any marriages,” I said.

Surprised he pulled away. “You’re very open, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” I said. “I want to be clear. I’m not happy at home, but I don’t want a divorce. Let’s just have fun.”

We did have fun for a year. The excitement and anticipation of each encounter was exhilarating. I lost weight feeding on the adrenaline rush. He treated me better than I had ever been treated. I fell in love with him. He broke my heart. This was neither his first affair nor his last.

I didn’t get caught in my infidelity, but there are consequences even if you don’t get caught. I no longer listened to my husband’s dinner conversation. I daydreamed about my last rendezvous or plotted the next. My husband suffered in every comparison to my lover. I detested him for being oblivious to my blatant cheating. My heart was torn apart. Instead of repairing the marriage the affair drove a wedge to the base of our union.

I quit my job and moved away to give my marriage a fighting chance. I went for counseling alone. My husband wouldn’t go because as he put it, “I’m not the one trying to break up nine years of marriage. You get your stuff together and we’ll be fine.” Hope for a healthy marriage died. I knew I would always cheat on him. I contemplated suicide but couldn’t leave my daughter. So I left him, but not for the other man. I left him because I couldn’t stand the liar and deceiver I had become.

When God commanded me not to commit adultery, His intent was not to curtail my fun. He was trying to protect me. When I divorced I made myself a promise to remain single unless I could be faithful to my spouse. I planned to raise my daughter and live alone. I remarried 28 wonderful years ago. I have kept my promise, but I am always on guard against temptation.

Hope you can learn from my mistake.

Meal in a Basket

On Marilyn's first night home from the hospital, her husband gave her a granola bar for dinner. An intervention was staged on her behalf by the Bible Study Girls. I recruited my BFF to help me take two meals. BFF doesn't cook, but she's pretty handy with a credit card. She purchased a gift card to Marilyn's favorite restaurant. (One only needs so many casserole dishes in the fridge). 

The Tomato Basil Soup was already made, so my part was equally easy. I bought a loaf of French bread, bagged salad, light dressing, and fresh strawberries. To add color to the salad, I included fresh cucumber, yellow squash, and a tomato from another friend's garden. 

I could have stopped there, but having a sweet tooth myself, I decided to make this easy three ingredient Marshmallow Creme Dip. Combine a jar of marshmallow creme and 8 oz. whipped cream cheese. Beat until smooth. Add 1/2 tsp. almond flavoring. Serve with any kind of fruit or angel food cake or both! Yum!

When I take a meal to a friend, I don't want them to worry about returning dishes.  So, how should I package this meal? I had flowers from the grocery store, leftover paper shreds and a basket from Easter, a pint-size mason jar, and a roll of wired ribbon. I put a bow on the jar, plopped in the flowers, and tucked it in the corner of the basket. As a finishing touch I wrapped the basket handle with ribbon. It turned out like this,



Super easy. Marilyn can use the basket or pass it on.

If my husband saw this meal he would say, "Where's the meat?" BFF bought a roast chicken from the grocery store for the granola-feeding husband. A funny get-well card and a short visit completed our gift.

Proverbs 17:22 says, "A happy heart is good medicine and a cheerful mind works healing, but a broken spirit dries up the bones." AMP. Go forth and cheer!

Tomato Basil Soup

I love La Madeline's Tomato Basil Soup. I love it, but it is not conducive to my never ending efforts to minimize my middle-aged figure.  It is loaded with cream and butter. I have a created a soup that mirrors the flavor without added fat. I clean out the vegetable drawer and use up everything that needs to be recycled into my tummy. It's a great way to sneak in extra veggies and fiber to an unsuspecting husband or child. Get out your stew pot and I'll show you how it's done.

Tomato Basil Soup

In a tablespoon of olive oil saute:

1 cup chopped onions
1 cup of shredded carrots
Add:

2/3 cup minced fresh basil

1 head of chopped cauliflower

2 cans (28 oz) diced tomatoes, undrained
2 Tablespoons of Better Than Bouillon (in the soup aisle)
1 cup of water
Simmer for 20 minutes until veggies are tender.

Add:

8 oz. pkg low-fat or fat-free cream cheese

Puree with stick (immersion) blender until smooth.

Add:
2 cups 1% low-fat milk or fat-free Half-n-Half
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. pepper

Ladle into bowls. Garnish with basil and serve with bread.
*I like to toast slices of french bread, place one in the bottom of the bowl. Pour the soup over. Sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top and enjoy!

It tastes better the next day after the flavors have had a chance to blend.  I save my canning jars, put the soup in while warm and store in the refrigerator.  It also freezes well.

This week I took soup to a friend who had surgery and another friend with a newborn. The addition of a pre-packaged salad, fresh fruit, and a loaf of homemade bread made a pretty good spread.
Easy, peasy!