Process or Product?

Process or product: which is more important? Writing this blog is a process. If I actually get something written, that is a product. Experts make a pile of bucks trying to help people be more productive, developing charts, giving seminars, etc. I'm examining the issue for free!

Take my blog: every week, for the more than 80 weeks, I've been focusing on productivity. But the process is important, too. The process for writing goes something like this: On Sunday, I rest! I check my e-mail and Facebook to see if I have any comments on my last posting. I’m kind of shameless that way.

On Monday I begin opening my ears and eyes for the next “hook” that will get me off and running. If I can think of an idea early in the week, so much the better. It gives me time to ruminate – did you know that the word ruminate comes from the Latin word ruminan, meaning to chew the cud, as a cow does? One dictionary defines it as “to chew again what has been chewed slightly and swallowed.”  Yup, that’s what I do!

The ideas don’t always come quickly. Sometimes, it takes quite a few days before a little light bulb goes off in my cranium. But when I do get the idea, I begin writing a “beginning”. If it works, it’s easy. The words and ideas flow, and all the neural connections are firing.

But sometimes, the writing is heavy lifting. Maybe I collect and ruminate on a number of ideas before something sticks. Then I write, but nothing sounds right. Or, the days are filled with “stuff” that gets in the way, so I have no time to write.  

Perhaps you may have guessed that this is what is happening to me right now. Earlier in the week, I began thinking about the process/product idea because I was working on a quilt/art project that’s been years in the making. That's a long time to process something before a product results.

Our son and his good friend Mark painted this "en plein air" in the Edmonton River Valley back in 2004. I thought it would make great fibre art. I tried making it once in 2008, but the "product" ended up in the garbage.

It's seven years later. In the meantime I went through a process of learning. Now I think it's working!

I knew it was going to be a busy week, so on Monday, instead of writing, I chose to work at my art and quilts. On Tuesday, I had very important things to do: a meeting of a group of quilters, and a walk in the sunshine, followed by tea with a friend. On Wednesday, I was an Oma instead of a writer or quilter. Our 6 year old grandson has made it very clear to his parents that he is not yet ready for all=day schooling, so he’s home for another year. On Wednesdays, we get him hanging out at our place. (We should pay the parents for the privilege, but don’t’ tell them that!) Instead of writing my blog, I baked with him, played games, sat down for our ritual eggs and bacon breakfast, etc. On Thursday, the resident sweetie and I were traveling to visit the other grandies. When we arrived, believe me, there was no time to write. We cuddled, ate,  snuggled, read stories, cuddled, laughed, and caught up on what we’d missed since we’d seen each other last.

Now it’s Friday morning. I got up early so I could be alone for a bit to write my blog, but the kids beat me. They don’t have school today (PD day), so they’ve created a schedule of activities for me. We will be making pillowcases and other crafts together, and this evening there’s a concert we’re attending together. Ditto for Saturday.

So I’ve given up. I left them to watch cartoons on TV, while I set up my computer on the kitchen table to write this up as quickly as possible. I'm eager for a product. But even as I’m writing, they’ve joined me here with a bunch of recipe books, and lots of ideas on what we will be cooking up for breakfast – french toast and fruit kebabs. It seems the product -- my blog– has been co-opted by the process of being with my loved ones this week.

And yet? I'm laughing all the way to the craft room. The blog, it appears, has written itself.

Conclusion: Process or Product -- they're both important. That's my two cents worth!

The goal was making colourful pillowcases. Job done! And the process of making them was terrific, too. The girls decided the picture needed to include the quilts I've made for them over the years.

The Clean Gene

 February 16 was “Clean Monday”, a national holiday in Greece and Cyprus. On that day, citizens enjoy outdoor excursions, feast on shellfish and unleavened bread and fly kites. Sounds good, doesn’t it?

Unfortunately, it’s followed by Clean Tuesday and Clean Wednesday – in fact, the whole week is called Clean Week, a week designated to give your home a thorough cleaning.

I say unfortunately, because if there is a gene for clean, I don’t have it. There!  I have come out of the closet and admitted that I have been fighting all my life with cleanliness and its cousin messiness. What a relief to let you in on this hidden problem.

I love clean: clean white t-shirts, shiny kitchen stoves, dustless light fixtures, and sparkling windows you can see through. I do my very best to keep our home (kinda) clean, but I do not have that clean gene that shows me where the dirt is. I just don’t see it until it reaches out with its sticky fingers, grabs me by the neck and  throttles me so I have to pay attention.

 “They” say “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” But I say, “Cleanliness is next to Impossible.” The Dutch have a saying I’ve been hearing all my life: Opgeruimd Staat Nettjes. Literally, it means Neat and Tidy looks Good. I’ve heard it all my life, true, but until scientists learn to insert a clean gene in my DNA, neat and tidy is a constant struggle.

I am fascinated by people who have clean genes in spades, the ones who see the spider webs in the corners, the dust under the buffet, and the stains in the teapot. You can step into their homes any old time, and all will be lovely and serene and clean.  I see those imperfections, too, but generally not until I know that guests will be arriving imminently. Funny how that gives you a new way of looking at your surroundings. Company’s coming? Time to call Molly Maid! (I wish!)

Without the clean gene, things often go awry when I do get down and dirty on the dirty. Washing windows results in streaky panes; the crumbs I swept out of the drawers hop right back in when my back is turned. A week after I’ve cleaned out the fridge, the RS shows me a dish he found there that contains what he diplomatically calls 7 Layer Dip (the first 6 layers being mould.) Where did that come from?

Yesterday, I got out the vacuum cleaner to clean out the sewing machine (it was overdue, long overdue.) Not only did the vacuum do a good job on the thread barf and dust bunnies, but it also sucked up some essential working parts. I ended up having to disembowel the dust bag, spreading out the grimy entrails on a newspaper to retrieve the missing parts. For some people, clean is easy. For me, it’s a full time job.

In the absence of the clean gene, I have learned to live with, and be grateful for, the genes that I do have. I like this plaque, also Dutch:

"Creative people don’t have messes; they just have ideas laying around all over the place."

Then I look at this poster that trumpets a pretty strong message:

If I believed that, I'd be doomed. But I realize that just because someone says something strongly doesn’t mean it’s true. Cleanliness is good, and we do the best we can, but it isn’t everything. In the long list of attributes that reflect the Creator’s handiwork, I’m guessing that cleanliness is far down the list, coming after kindness, compassion, mercy, love, hospitality, joy,  and yes, creativity as well.

It’s good to remember that the Greek celebration of Clean Monday originated in the Eastern Orthodox liturgical calendar. The Sunday evening before Clean Monday, parishioners go to church and observe the liturgy of forgiveness. As part of that liturgy, they bow down to fellow worshipers and asked for forgiveness for the times they’ve wronged or hurt each other.

Opgeruimd Staat Nettjes – Neat and Tidy looks Good. But even better is cleaning up the insides of our lives and creating harmony in our communities: it doesn’t take a clean gene-ious to do that!

Loose Ends

How do you feel about loose ends?

a few of the loose ends adorning my studio worktable

I ask, because it is the name of the challenge that our Small Worx group has been given. We are to create a piece of fibre art that explores the theme of Loose Ends. We were also given a picture frame which we have to incorporate into our art.

Hmm. How do I feel about loose ends? I look in the dictionary to give me some food for thought. Loose ends, says one dictionary, generally refers to “a minor unresolved problem or difficulty, especially a final detail preceding the completion of something.”

I know about those loose ends: clothes that need mending filling a basket in the closet; spring cleaning that should have been done last year; boxes of stuff  that need to be brought to the thrift store, and cartons of bottles and cans that should be recycled; another report to be filed.

About those kinds of loose ends I feel annoyed with myself. Why don’t I just pick up my “to-do” list and get it done? The energy it takes to suppress those loose ends while I embark on new projects is much greater than the energy it would take to get the jobs done first. Grrr. Based on those feelings, my “loose ends” piece will feature a tangled mass of threads messing up the fabric of my life.

Another definition of loose ends is “unfinished business.” This sounds more serious. I have those kinds of loose ends in my life, too: words that I’ve said that I need to retract in a conversation or letter of apology; my dad’s incomplete biography, which I promised before he died, that I would finish; deciding what to do with all my crow pieces (a book? A show?)  It's unfinished business. A piece of art work based on this definition would look more like a ragged wall hanging with gaps throughout.

There’s also the phrase “at loose ends,” which has a different meaning altogether. People who are at loose ends are bored, purposeless, without direction. A piece of art based on the idea of “at loose ends” would give off melancholy vibes. It might be composed of long strings in browns and greys of varying lengths laid out on a dull piece of fabric There would be no center of focus in such a piece.  I have days when I feel at loose ends, but thankfully not too many. When I feel at loose ends, it’s a good idea to get out of my own way and turn my eyes outward to see what I can see.  This world is full of things to explore and try, to learn and to practice.

When I checked to see if there were any quotes that used the term "loose ends", I found this: "She was a loose end. I like mine tied up." - from The Vampire Diaries. Okay, I’ll leave it to your imagination what that piece of art would look like. I don’t want to go there.

Actually, sometimes I love that there are so many loose ends in life. We make our lives by taking the threads that are handed to us, and weaving them together. Hopefully, we create something beautiful, but there will always be a few loose ends that still need to be incorporated into the weaving. One of the questions in my current course on end-of-life issues is this:  “Do you have any unfulfilled goals or dreams that you hope to fulfill before you die?” Well, duh! I guess so! Imagine if you would answer, “Nope. It’s all done! I’ve ticked in all the boxes on my life list, neat and tidy. All my loose ends are tied together.” Well, then, what would be left to do? Rest  on your laurels and watch the world go by until you die? Most people, when asked, would say they hope they die with their boots on, busy tying up loose ends -- and leaving a few for others to pick up and carry on.

A loose end--I painted it on silk last year, and then put it away.

If you've read this far, dear readers, thanks for listening to my musings. Now that I’ve explored the challenge pretty thoroughly, I actually do have some ideas about what I'd like to do with this piece of art, and I’m eager to get to work on it.

But first, I have a few loose ends to tie up!

Old Dogs, New Tricks

I read this on the internet the other day: “It was bad enough when your parents signed up for Facebook, but now the wave of social media confusion has swept up your grandparents. It’s estimated that 22% of grandparents are now using social media, and probably 90% of them are using it horribly wrong. Prepare thyself, it’s only a matter of time before nana announces in all caps on your wall that’s she’s eating more fiber and regular again.” They could have added: "Why won't they just learn?"

Oh, I’m learning, all right. I’m learning that it’s not cool to use my son’s wall to ask why he’s posting when he should be marking students’ papers and exams. I’m learning that sometimes when you see what your nieces and nephews have been up to on Facebook, you wish you hadn’t looked. (Not you, Gini.) I’ve learned that you don’t sign off a Facebook post to your grandchild with the words, “Love, Oma xxx”. I’ve learned a whole new vocabulary: stalking, trolling, unfriending, and an alphabet soup of capital letters: LOL, LMAO, and WTF (although grandmas shouldn’t be using those last three letters, ever – who knew that it didn’t mean “We Think Fast” or  “Waiting for Tea”?)



Apparently, the youngsters who wrote the beginning paragraph think you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Facebook, Twitter and the like is beyond oldsters, and WTH, let’s add cell phones to the list. The old crows buy their cell phones, then walk around the mall with the Hallelujah Chorus emanating from their handbags. Eventually, they realize someone is calling them, but by the time they get their phone out, the caller has hung up. There they stand, helplessly squinting at the flashing light on the screen, wondering how to retrieve the message. A mailbox? A password? Do I swipe left or right? Why won’t this ##@@%% thing work? (True confessions time: guilty as charged.)

 “Why won’t they just learn?” ask the digitally savvy.

In one respect, they’re right.  Sometimes we think because we know about phones, how different could it be to operate the latest model? But the people who know all about cell phones and can make them dance, sing, and even cook dinner, maybe,  had to learn how to use them once upon a time. “Why won’t you learn?” they ask. And gerontologists point out that sometimes, we “people of a certain age” just can’t learn well anymore because we’ve stopped cultivating the habit of learning. We’re coasting on our past accomplishments. @TEOTD*, we’ll B LFT BHND BCOS we’re 2LZY 2 KP up. (I’m making this up as I go along, but it sounds good. I’m tempted to say I’ll cross stitch this reminder and put in on my fridge, but then again, perhaps I should get with the times (GWTT) and store it in a digital file.)

However, there is good news, friends! Hurrah! Studies (well, at least one study, which is what I choose to believe) says that OH YES (caps mean I’m shouting this), old people can learn new tricks. They just don’t do it as fast as young people because – get this! – they have so much more information tucked away in the grey matter that needs to be filtered and evaluated. The phone rings: my grey matter immediately zings back and forth between old memories of the wall box where you had to lift the receiver and talk to the operator; the rotary dial phone that hung on the wall in our hallway; the push button bedside model; the first remote models, that you could take outside with you (but not too far, or you’d lose the conversation.) And don’t get me started on numbers: the first phone number I memorized as a kid – LE 7-7778; the party line we had out in the country: 987-2488; the number we had for 22 years in town ... etc. etc. That’s a lot of stuff  that young folks don’t have stored, nor do they need to remember, because it’s all in their digital directory (but one day they’ll be sorry, because the phone will die, and they’ll be lost.) Do I hear an AMEN! PREACH IT, SISTER? Oh, sorry, got carried away. The bottom line is, we haven’t lost much – just speed. And when you slow down, you learn something of an entirely different sort.

You learn that hanging out with your 6 year old grandson for one day a week is delightful, even if you don’t get much done. He has young knees, so he’s good at picking up pins off my studio floor. Once, he found 52 of them. For my part, I’m the moneybags: I pay him 2 cents per pin. We’re both happy. I’m learning that without all the gadgets and electronic doodads to distract me, it’s easier to be present in the moment, enjoying the small things life has to offer: a cup of tea in the afternoon, the sound of birds in the garden, the squish of wet grass under your feet.

You learn that life is shorter than you think, so you take a deep breath and savour it. You learn to  appreciate the people who invented Facebook, and Skype, and perfected a cell phone that takes photos, and who keep pushing boundaries. They’re teaching us that there are so many things out there that are exciting, and that if we try, if we keep on learning, we too can join that select society which  is IMing and LOL.

*@TEOTD = at the end of the day.

PS: I blew it. In 2014, I declared January 19 Wholly Crow Day (See post for Jan. 18, 2014). I forgot to remind you a few weeks ago to celebrate that important day.  If you need a reason to have a party, Wholly Crow Day might be a good theme. Better late than never.

I decided to update the Wholly Crow poster by giving the bird a cell phone. She's a quick study; it will be no problem for her.

Just Ten Minutes

I have enrolled in a course about end of life issues. This is good, but it involves homework. Groan.

Our instructor, however, is a great motivator. And she’s smart. She gave us each a little card which reads, “Can I do this for 10 minutes?” which we are supposed to attach to our workbook.

The theory is, we’re to look at the card and even though we aren’t too excited about doing homework, we tell ourselves we’ll just do ten minutes worth. Surely we can devote 10 minutes of energy to deal with issues of eternity and beyond. 

You can do a lot in ten minutes. Just to satisfy my curiosity, and also for your edification, I decided to take ten minutes to Google what you might be able to do in ten minutes. (For your part, can you spend just 10 minutes reading this info?)

In just 10 minutes a day, your face can look 20 years younger if you use Eva Fraser’s facial exercises. Look at this woman: born in 1928! Can you believe it? I too could look 20 years younger by following her example. The fine print, however, says results will be seen after about 6 months of regular practices, each of which is preceded by warm-ups. That’s a lot of effort I would need to put in so people will think I’m 46. And that’s only my face, mind you. What about the rest of the bod? A 46 year old face on a 66 year old body? No thanks.




Hula-hooping for just ten minutes a day – 5 in the morning, and 5 at night, will shave 2 inches off your waist in just 5 days, says Kelly Osbourne of E! fame. Hmm. If you start with a 26 inch waist (ha ha), and lose 2 inches every 5 days, how long would it take you to disappear altogether? Sounds like math, and it will take me longer than 10 minutes to solve that problem.

On one business website, a keener wanting to get ahead of the crowd asked, “What can I learn in just 10 minutes?” The best answer: “You can learn that you can learn something in ten minutes. Twenty minutes later, you will learn that you just learned that you can learn something in ten minutes. Thirty minutes later...”

“There are just 7 steps to making your own ice cream, and seriously, it only takes ten minutes,” says one website. I stopped reading. If I made ice cream, I’d need to take up the hula-hoop, too, which means 20 minutes of my day would be spoken for. Actually more, since I’d need to take the time to eat the ice cream. I’m sure I could eat lots in ten minutes.

Then there’s how to completely relax in just ten minutes: a meditation exercise. I can’t tell whether it works, however. If I had done this exercise I would not be able to finish this blog.

And just how many hot dogs (including the buns) could you eat in 10 minutes? Sixty-eight if you are competetive eater Joey Chestnut.  And just  how long would that take to work off, afterwards? Well, a hot dog is 450 calories, and 10 minutes of working at the computer, which is what I’m doing now, only burns 17 calories. You do the math. It may take you longer than 10 minutes.

As must be becoming clear to you, it took me way longer than 10 minutes to assemble this information. One thing leads to another, and before you know it, 10 minutes has become 45 minutes.

It took me a little while longer than 10 minutes to figure out that our instructor had tricked us. Each “just 10 minute” session has stretched out way past that, of course. Still, it’s a good trick, and helpful.

For instance, I had a project that I’d been avoiding: making a lap quilt out of my brother-in-law’s shirts. I promised his widow, my sister-in-law, that I’d do that, but I was avoiding it because I didn’t like the shirts, the colours, the smell of them...but with the “Just 10 Minutes” principle in mind, I pulled the box out of the closet. Surely, I could spend just ten minutes cutting them apart and getting started.

And then another ten minutes cutting them into strips. And another ten minutes sewing them into squares. The ten minute increments stretched, but it was no longer a project I avoided.

So I’ll say, “Thanks for the tip, teacher. At least I got my homework done.”  In just ten minutes... and then some.

Join the Club

I don’t think of myself as “old woman” much, even though I am. I have blogged about the aging process, and I’ve accepted this reality. That’s a big step. But another step might be, how do we who are older present ourselves to the world?

Check the thesaurus, and you will find a host of titles for old women: dame, matron, old bag, queen bee, granny, biddy, old bat, old girl, dearie, old trout, dowager, matriarch, hag, crone... (If you’re a male reader –  I know I have a few – there are titles for old guys, too: veteran, relic, old poop, old fart, codger, duffer, geezer, gaffer, old goat, old timer, back number, old fogy, fuddy duddy...) Listing them like that, it makes me think they’d be great in a chorus of a song.  Stompin Tom would have a field day...and if you remember him, then yes, you are probably one of “those”. But I don’t much like any of those titles. This is not how I view myself. Old women should just wear beige and shut up? I think not!

I was thinking about this because I’d been invited (again) to celebrate a milestone birthday with a friend by going out for lunch. Yes, again...it seems to be happening with some frequency. Hanging out publicly with grey-haired friends over lunch  probably reinforces the common stereotype of older women gossiping away the hours, putting in time till the hands wind down. The blue rinse set, taking up valuable table space, moving seamlessly on from lunch to afternoon tea, giggling hilariously over ... well what on earth do the old dears have to laugh about, anyway? Oh, if only they knew!

So I looked for a card for my friend. This is what I found:

The Resident Sweetie, seeing this picture, asked, "Holy Crow, is that what you call a murder?"
"Voices of the Southwest" photography by Elzbieta Kaleta

That card inspired me. Four crows having fun/ four friends having lunch – there was a certain symmetry to the two.  I decided right then and there to form an Old Crows Club.  Oh, I had fun in the studio that week, creating personalized membership cards that reflected the personalities and interests of my Old Crow Club Charter members.

The back side of the card identifies the bearer as a member of the Old Crows Club, entitled to all the benefits thereof, namely wisdom, friendship, laughter, respect and support.

Fun, yes, but it was serious fun. Being an Old Crow is, I decided, a much better and more honorable title than any of those I’ve listed above. Think of the characteristics of old crows:

Old crows are wise crows (at least most of them are.) They have lived long, and they know much. They pass their wisdom on to younger crows, and because they do, the crow family thrives.

Old crows are adaptable. They have seen change coming, and their motto has been: Adapt or Disappear. They have survived because they have been flexible and have not been afraid.

Old crows are beautiful. No matter how old they are, their feathers still have an irridescent sheen and their eyes a bright shine that marks them as ageless.

Old crows are valuable members of society. They teach youngsters, they clean up garbage, they shout out warnings, and they protect the vulnerable.

Old crows are intelligent. They solve problems, and use the tools that are at hand to achieve their purposes. They are able to take small steps in order to achieve a larger goal.

Old crows dare. They can be fearless and audacious when they need to be. If you see a mad old crow, you’d better run!

Old crows are social. They belong to a group and enjoy hanging out with them. They are not afraid of being alone, but they know that there is strength and support to be had in a circle of crows.

Old crows like to play. They’re never too old to swing from a branch, take a sunbath, tweak a dog’s tail, play hide and seek, or canoodle with a partner.

Many people fear old crows, thinking of them as harbingers of death. Old crows know that death is part of the life circle. They make their peace with it. They love life, and they mean to live, and live well, until they die.

Young crows have many of these characteristics, it’s true – and there are many younger folk who are honorary old crows. But old crows have had the traits for longer, and have achieved mastery of many skills that young crows still need to learn. Old crows are happy to contribute to this learning. They know that what’s good for the young will be good for the old, as well. Old crows are vital to the well-being of the crow world.

The Old Crows Club: it’s quite a club. Old Crows can hold their heads up high and look the rest of the flock straight in the eye. If you belong, caw it to the world.  Wanna join? You’re welcome!

Our motto: Look 'em in the eye and stand proud! (and don't forget to laugh a lot.)

No Resolutions

This year, I am not making resolutions.

Instead, I’m making predictions. I will have the comfort of knowing that my predictions are much more likely to come true than any resolutions I might make. So here they are:

1. I predict that this is the year that I finally get a hearing aid. It’s not nice for my friends and family to have to repeat everything two or three times before my face lights up in understanding. I must say this, though: they shouldn’t be speaking so softly, or at such a high pitch, and they should never mumble. I don’t know why this is so difficult for them, but they don’t seem to be able to change. So I will have to accommodate them and be the change I want to see.

Something to look forward to? There are actually a huge amount of cartoons on the subject of hearing aids. This was one of the tamer ones.

2. This is the year I will be doing battle with my girth. Several years ago, I lost 30 pounds and it stayed off. But about a month ago I stepped on the scales and noticed just the teeniest, weeniest upward creep. I have not stepped on the scale again. Who wants to do that at Christmas time, anyway? But now it’s a new year. My prediction is that when I next step on the scale, the upward creep will have taken bolder, bigger steps. Sigh. I will make no predictions as to who will win this battle, me or my girth. But I will give it my best shot. Yes!

3. This is an easy one, like shooting fish in a barrel: I will start projects that never get finished. In defense of myself, this is not a unique problem amongst creative people. The most creative people I know are the ones who aren’t afraid to step up to the plate to act on a new idea. If it doesn’t work out, well, so what? You can’t go wrong with new ideas: either you create something unique, or you learn something about yourself and your abilities. So bring it on!

4. The Resident Sweetie and I will have differences of opinion, and no matter how much we resolve that we will do better the next time some controversial – or should I say adversarial? – subject arises, we probably won’t. We will huff and puff and steam silently, we’ll have imaginary conversations in our heads that always leave ourselves as the winners of the debate, we’ll stomp around for a while, and then we’ll make up. That’s life. Well, anyway, that’s our life. I hear some people have serene relationships that purr along like a well-oiled motor.  Our marital engine has been known to backfire and blow a gasket, but it’s a well-loved engine and we’re quite fond of its idiosyncracies. We’ll keep it.

5. The house will always need cleaning before company comes. Always.

6. I will have library fines to pay. The RS will say to me, “The Library called. They want their pound of flesh.” (If only I could pay my fines with a pound of flesh ... but no, it's money they want.) I will pay them, gladly. It is the price of having a wonderful world of wonder at my fingertips.  And speaking of books, I predict that many, many times this year, I will start a good book, and stay up till way past my bedtime because I need to find out what happened. This is even though I know how it ends, because I couldn’t resist peeking. Gasp! Yes, I’m one of those horrible people who often checks out the ending half-way through. And no, it doesn’t spoil the book for me at all. Honest.

Current reads. Guess where we hope to go this summer? Holland ... and France.

7. Tough but true: I will make many mistakes, mess up, do things and say things I shouldn’t have, and not do things that I should have done. That’s the bad news. The good news is that there is forgiveness: divine forgiveness, self-forgiveness, and forgiveness from the injured party. I love that, and I love the relief that it brings.

8. I predict that I will hear the angels sing. Meredith at Fabricland told me that if I bought a certain pair of very expensive scissors, I would hear the angels sing when I used them. So I did (with the gift certificate the RS thoughtfully and obediently gave me for Christmas), and she’s right. I heard the Hallelujah chorus loud and clear. I predict I’ll hear the angels sing lots this year.

New scissors and new project. What more could I want? (Hearing aids? Don't need them to hear the angels sing! )

9. I predict that life will be a fine balancing act between good times and dull, between hard work and blessed rest, between solitude and companionship, between illness and health, between joy and sorrow, and so much more. That’s life, in all its glory. And as the “auld Scots” at church remind me, “Och, aye, dearie, we’re still on the richt side of the sod, so there’s no need to blubber.” (Make sure you gargle the “ch” sounds and roll your rrrrrs when you read that.)

10. And because we can predict all we want, but only Who knows what will happen, I predict that often I -- and you, too -- will be surprised by the unexpected. (Maybe I'll step on the scale, and my girth will be no girthier. Maybe you'll drop in unexpectedly and our house will be clean ... enough. Maybe after I take the hearing test, they'll say, "Nope! You don't need hearing aids." Hee-hee!) 

I'm hoping your year -- and mine too -- will be full of delightful surprises.