Southern Living

What about him?

Could he come and help?

Is he for hir? Or for her?

Or maybe he’s for hire?

Or if he’s not for hire,

maybe he’d think about hiring her?

Or, do you think that her is spelled hir?

If so than he would not be for her.

Which is it?

Because as you can see, I need some help.

Guilty

as charged.

I want to learn to listen more than talk.

So, you know where I will be if I quit blogging so much.

And you can hope all you want that I will be reading your blog

instead of writing in my own,

but I don’t think that would be considered prayer time either.

No matter how far you can stretch your imagination.

Hungry?

How ’bout some Southern Fried Chicken?

Do you think that there may be a reason that Tennessee is the 3rd fattest State in the Union?

Is it a sign?

Satan is getting a lot of advertising time lately.

Playing games

We love to play games with our family and our friends.

Risk is one of my personal favorites. And, ask anyone in the family. I rule at risk. Why anyone thinks that a woman can’t be the head of the military is beyond me. I want to rule the world! Oh…hmm…I may have answered my own question there.

Anyhow, back to the post. In our family, we especially like to play cards.

The conversations and laughs that you can have while playing cards with friends are unparalleled.

We really thought it was funny when a new friend who had moved from out West was caught saying the great southern phrase “you is” during a card game a few months back. ie…You is up next. Translation…it’s your turn.

A couple of weeks ago we were again playing cards with some friends. I threatened LG that if he gave me that point I didn’t want that he would not be getting “any” that night.

He took mercy on me. Isn’t he so romantic?

Later as we were going to bed he reminded me that he had been kind. You know…in a hint hint kind of way. I said, “You have got to be kidding me. Your move in cards had nothing to do with my threat. We both know that the only reason you didn’t give me that point was because you had a heart and you had to play it.”

LG’s response: “So, I had a heart, doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yeah, I guess it would, if the heart was actually beating and not sitting in your hand having to be played.”

Go Vols!

I knew it was that time of year again when I saw the church sign.

I know you’ll all be surprised, but I haven’t photographed it yet.

It’s along the interstate right after the on ramp, and I am too cautious to stop, and too busy to make an extra trip out of my way to the front side of the building. Although the trip would most definitely be worth it.

The sign reads: God loves a Volunteer.

Knoxvillians are crazy about their UT Vols. Especially during football season.

I’m sure you’ll all be impressed that I captured this license plate while driving on the interstate. I think this plate belongs to Abigail’s first grade teacher. I didn’t get close enough with my camera to make sure it was her. It seems to freak people out when you follow them and then point your camera in their face.

I’m sure my anonymous Southern die hard will be appalled to hear that I don’t even own a piece of orange clothing. I am such an outsider. And it’s never more apparent than during football season, when Coach Fulmer reigns, even when his team doesn’t win. (which seems to be more often than not lately)

Personally, I love football season. I know that I can finally go to Wal-Mart on Saturday and not have to fight the crowd. EVERYONE is home watching the game. And for that, and for my husband’s law degree…I say…..GO VOLS!!!

Here is the soda pop display at the local Food City grocery store.

The Saints

I was at Wal-Mart doing my late night shopping last night.

I am known to hum or sing softly to myself while browsing down the aisles.

For some reason the song When The Saints Go Marching was stuck in my head.

While inspecting the breakfast cereal for the best deal, a woman stopped me in the middle of my measure. “It’s so nice to hear from a good Christian”, she declared.

I said, “Oh, excuse me, I just get a little carried away sometimes.”

She said, “Please don’t apologize. It’s wonderful.”

I was happy that she was happy. I was happy that she was a Christian too. I was happy that she took the time to tell me that she was glad that I was Christian. But, I was skeptical that she would still think so after finding out that I was a Mormon. Most protestant people in the South are taught by their clergymen that Mormons are not Christian.

I didn’t say anything to her. I didn’t want to burst her bubble. And, I was a little embarrassed that I was caught in my musical praise while dissecting the price per ounce of the Life cereal.

But, I would just like to take my Sunday post to declare. No matter what you have been taught by your pastor, please know this….I am true believer in Jesus Christ and his saving grace, and so are my other Mormon friends. We truly believe that we belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. And so we try to be saints.

And, if you don’t think I am a Christian because I don’t put something so sacred like my testimony of Jesus Christ on my bumper, I will gladly give you my best rendition of any gospel song of praise in the cereal aisle: “Oh when the Saints go marching in, how I want to be in that number, when the Saints go marching in.”