Of Victoria's Secret and Chicken Cutlets . . .

This week I turned once again to my book 642 Things to Write About.  Today’s prompt:  My most embarrassing moment.  Oh boy….it’s gonna get real up in here. 

Dirt, bugs, backyard forts….these were the things I loved when I was young.  My penchant for climbing trees, making insects my friends, and building forts in the woods often tricked people into thinking I was a boy.  I was fairly scrawny when I was young, so I had to wear boys’ jeans throughout elementary school.  My hair was kept short.  I wore glasses.  I was mistaken for a boy by a passenger on an Amtrak train, a pastor of a church, and a classmate in 1^st grade who, when I came to school wearing a dress, asked if I had run out of boys’ clothes and had to raid my sister’s closet.  I understand why people got confused.  I was boyish in every way. 

I started growing out of the boy stage by junior high.  I wore trendy girls’ jeans (Seattle Blues, A Smile, and Jordache for you 80’s types), grew my hair out a bit, and put some flesh on my previously bony body…except for my chest.  When I learned that the most frightening thing about junior high school would be changing in front of other girls in P.E. class, I immediately begged for a bra.  I just couldn’t be that girl who was still wearing the pull-over training bra or (Heaven forbid) a simple t-shirt.  I needed a genuine bra, complete with lace, adjustable straps, and a front-clasp.  Thankfully my mom understood the social anxiety I was under and purchased two legitimate bras for me, and I didn’t die a horrible death that first day I had to change in front of my worldly peers in 7^th grade P.E. class at Canfield Junior High. 

But let’s be honest:  The bra was completely unnecessary.  There was no flesh filling it.  The straps were doing no work.  But my tender 12 year old psyche was saved by the illusion of a necessary feminine undergarment.  In fact, I was lovingly teased by my family for being a “pirate’s dream” (old sunken chests, har har har), and my sister gave me “Itty Bitty Booby Pills” for my birthday.  As my girlfriends began descending the lingerie alphabet (into the world of B’s and C’s), I was stuck with A’s (great for my grades, but bad for my early teenage self-esteem). 

I kept thinking that eventually my body would catch up with my friends’ bodies, but no…to this day I am a straight-A student (so-to-speak), and I can say I am okay with it.  But there was a time when I tried to enhance what God gave me.  I never pulled the old sitcom trick of stuffing my bra with Kleenex like a young Vicki Stubing did on The Love Boat, but when Victoria’s Secret came out with the Wonder Bra, I admit that I tried it.  And then a new-fangled invention appeared on the market:  The “Chicken Cutlet.” 

If you have never seen chicken cutlets, let me describe them for you.  They are often called chicken cutlets because they kind of look like them.  They are flesh colored, usually made of silicone or some other soft material, and they fit inside the cup of the bra to provide extra “oomph.”  Well, I was given a set of these cutlets and thought why not give ‘em a whirl?  So one day on a whim, I tucked the rubbery inserts inside my bra and set off for work.  I don’t know if they made a noticeable difference in my appearance…I actually forgot the little guys were in there.  I am a teacher, so I spend most of my days on my feet.  I am also rather…flail-y...when I get caught up in a good book discussion. 

So picture this:  It is mid-afternoon.  I am teaching in my small portable classroom stuffed with desks and the students in my European Literature class.  The class was comprised of only girls, the first and only time I have ever had the pleasure teaching an all-girl class.  We decided to read all the books that boys would have been unexcited about, and we giddily avoided the “guy books” like 1984, Brave New World, and Heart of Darkness.  Instead, we opted for titles with heroines like Emma and Tess of the d’Urbervilles.  It was Heaven.  We talked freely as girls, shared our feminine tales of woe, and sighed in unison as the credits rolled at the end of the theatrical version of Pride and Prejudice (starring Kira Knightly).  Well, I don’t recall which book we were reading or what exactly our conversation was about, but I can tell you that I was standing in front of the room waving my arms around about something when the inevitable happened:  One singular cutlet broke loose from its prison of a cottony A cup and simply dropped out of my shirt.  That’s right, folks, it was cutlets gone wild right there in the middle of sophomore English class.  Now, the good Lord blessed mankind with the ability to react instinctually to certain life-threatening events that don’t even require our brains to be engaged.  Somehow this blessed gift from God kicked in because even as the cutlet was making its descent from my shirt to the floor my body was kicking into survival mode.  I was never very athletic (usually near the end of the team selection for kick ball in elementary school, I confess), but somehow my foot managed to connect with that cutlet with the kind of skill that would make David Beckham proud, and even before it hit the classroom floor with a sad little quivering thump I managed to punt the little sucker behind my desk and out of sight. 

To this day I don’t know if anyone saw the rogue cutlet escape, and somehow I managed to continue teaching like nothing at all had happened.  But suffice it to say that as soon as class ended I made a swift trip to the ladies’ room to remove his cutlet friend and have never invited them back into my wardrobe.  They still occupy a corner of a drawer, mainly to give me a good laugh whenever I see them, and to remind me that the size of one’s bra does not determine one’s character or happiness.

Starting Summer Right...With Ice Cream!

Now that summer is upon us, I am knee-deep in books to read, chores to complete, and a calendar of days to fill.  It is indeed thrilling to look down a long line of days just waiting to be occupied with all the good things that get ignored during the school year.  One of the things I did to prepare for this summer was take a trip to the bookstore, armed with a gift card.  In addition to two novels by John Green, I found a book of 642 writing exercises.  I thought it would be fun to try a random exercise each week, and here’s this week’s prompt:  “Your most transcendent ice cream experience…”  Since summer was practically invented for ice cream eating, here’s my response: 

State Highway 41 winds north through several small North Idaho towns, closely flanked on both sides by towering tamarack, white pine, and Douglas Fir trees.  You’ll be lucky if your phone maintains cell service for the full drive, and you need to be on the alert for deer and other game crossing the road.  The road slices through mountains and forests, and in the winter months you would be wise to watch out for black ice on the curves.  This is the kind of highway that is off the beaten path, taking travelers through small towns, alongside pastures dotted with horses, cows, and red barns, and past family-owned cafes.  One of the towns you will encounter is Spirit Lake, a little dot on the map with a beautiful lake, rich history, and some of the best ice cream you will ever eat. 

Turn onto Main Street and you will find a town straight out of a film set for Little House on the Prairie.  Make your way down the street, past the Old West Hardware store, the train and antique store, Joe’s Hole Saloon, The Funky Monkey Bar and Grill, the White Horse Saloon, and the Linger Longer Lounge.  There, across the street, you will find a little building with a green-striped awning.  Tables with green umbrellas sit outside, inviting customers to rest a while as they eat ice cream before the summer sun can melt little rivulets that run down their wrists.  Before you step inside this quaint little shop, read the sign above the door:  Spirit Lake Video.  That’s right, your destination to the best ice cream ever is inside a video store.  This video store also features fudge and ice cream; the goodies behind the counter are part of Knick-Knack Paddywhack, though both businesses are owned and operated by the same family. 

As you meander past the old-fashioned fudge counter and racks of DVD’s for rent, you will find yourself staring into barrels of ice cream of all colors and flavors.  It was the delicate yellow and white swirls that caught my eye that fateful day I nearly cried in public when I took my first bite of Cascade Glacier Lemon Meringue Pie ice cream.  The young lady behind the counter took my order, a single scoop in a waffle cone, and reached the scooper inside the three gallon container.  Within minutes she had piled a mountain-sized mound of the gooey treat and pressed it inside my cone.  After my husband received his equally monstrous cone, we headed outside to sit in the sun to enjoy our snack.  The ice cream was thick and creamy.  Tart lemon bursts were paired with sweet vanilla undertones, and an occasional piece of pie crust was an added textural bonus.  Already the sun was causing small drips down the side of my waffle cone, so I ate faster, pausing only to say, “Oh my word this is good!” and lick the drips from my fingers.  By the time I had dominated the mountain peak of ice cream so that it was level with the cone’s edge, I had stopped speaking at all, now just making little happy noises as I watched people pass by the shop.  I nibbled around and around the waffle cone, enjoying the way the lemony-vanilla ice cream had softened the cone to perfection.  Finally, I came to the best part, the “cone butt” as I like to call it, where the ice cream pools for one final burst of ice-cream-and-cone heaven.  My stomach was full and happy as we loaded into the car, and sometimes I catch myself reminiscing about that delicious drive up north one Saturday afternoon. 

So this summer, if you are looking for a little adventure that ends in pure bliss, make a 26 mile trek north to a little lake town that offers a slice of heaven in a cone.

A Word about Words . . .

At night, when it is very quiet, my ears hum.  I like to think that reverberating in my ears is an echo from all of the day’s activities.  The ghosts of all those words buzz with such force I think I can even feel a vibration. 

If you think about it, we are bombarded by words all day long:  Our eyes run over letters and commas and periods and sentences from morning until night; our fingers pen or type words for work or just to leave a note for a loved one; we hear snippets of conversations by those around us, by people we don’t know; we speak with strangers and friends and acquaintances; some of us even talk in our sleep!  We release and receive probably thousands of words (if not more) each day.  What do all those words add up to, I wonder?

Today a student who just graduated from the school where I teach gave me a letter.  At the end of each school year, part of my freshmen final requires my students to write a letter to themselves.  They show me the letter, which I just check for the required length, then they seal it inside an envelope, affix a stamp in the upper right corner, and wait for a year and a half for that letter to reach them.  This has been a wildly well-received exercise, and when the juniors receive a missive from them former selves, they often are surprised and amused with the person they encounter.  They see their freshman handwriting, hear the angst in their freshman words, and reflect upon how far they have come.  It turns out that one of my students included a letter to me in her envelope, and she saved it for after she graduated.  Today I received the kindest words written four years ago, words that encouraged me and nourished my soul.  Those words, written on college ruled paper with a standard number two pencil, carried immense power, grace, and kindness.  Those words penetrated into my heart and built me up.  I will cherish her words and will keep that letter forever, because those words breathed life and joy and meaning into my spirit. 

How is it that letters connected into words that are connected into phrases and sentences and thoughts can penetrate into one’s soul?  How can mere words have so much impact in a person’s life? 

We should be very careful with our words. 

In a single word we can build someone up or tear someone down.  With a handful of words we can steal or instill hope.  Words can bring life or take life, connect or destroy hearts, bring laughter or tears.  We carry with us the words of those we love even after those loved ones are gone.  Words can lead others on a pathway of healing or a road to destruction.  Careless words spoken in haste can live on forever, released into the air like angry wasps waiting to sting.  Kind words spoken in truth and love can act like guiding stars for years to come. 

In the Bible there are over 130 mentions of the tongue.  Repeatedly the Bible describes the tongue as “restless,” “untamable,” “a fire,” and a bow waiting to fling an arrow, or a sharp sword.  With words the tongue can wound.  The tongue can mislead.  The tongue can instill fear.  The tongue can destroy.  But according to Proverbs 12 the tongue can also bring healing.  Using thoughtful words the tongue can build up.  The tongue can bring knowledge and healing.   Proverbs 15 says that a gentle tongue is a “tree of life.”  Proverbs 18 says that “death and life are in the power of the tongue.”  A happy tongue sings.  A wise tongue instructs.  A kind tongue edifies. 

It is easy to forget the power that we carry within our words. 

Words live on even after they are spoken, and they buzz and hum in our ears, rattle around in our brains, and settle into our hearts. 

What words do you allow into your life?  Silence those voices that only wound you with words.  Shut the door to them.  Don’t let destructive people harm you with their careless words. 

What words do you release into the world?  May they be words that bring life and hope and healing.