Whew. Got done with the Praisefest music festival thingy at my church, which my hubby pulled me into. The music festival was his idea, so of course this meant that I had to take part, whether or not I knew anything about music festivals and how to run them.
I was in charge of publicity, and since of course this is only the second time our church has put on this summer music fest, and since there were no instructions, I had to figure out things as I went. Such as, gee, it takes a while for a printing company to print up t-shirts, and they need electronic files with color separation. Of course, I know nothing about color separation. Or how many t-shirts to order, because, gosh, nobody really remembers how many were ordered and how many sold the last time, or in what sizes. So, I took a wild guess.
Never a good thing.
I ended up with far too many, and so have all these nifty t-shirts on hand. I hope I can sell them at church between services. Please God.
And speaking of God, since this whole shebang was to glorify God and all, I think He should have taken some responsibility for getting people to buy the t-shirts. I mean, seriously, you’d think He’d give a nudge to the faithful: “look, nifty t-shirts, glorifing Me. Go buy them and save that poor suffering woman over there in the sun from going into serious debt. You’d be doing a Good Work.”
I dunno, either God was not nudging hard enough or maybe the faithful weren’t being faithful enough to hear.
Yeah, yeah, I sound grumpy. Most of it, I realize, is feeling some major empty nest syndrome. The Alien Child went off to Washington State University in Pullman early this year--two weeks early so that he could help work on the renovation of his fraternity house. Normally, the boy would be playing some down-and-dirty blues, gospel, and rock electric guitar along with the youth band and the adult band. But this year...well, I don’t think I’m boasting when I say the bands sounded a bit thin without his guitar. He’s got very good at playing, and can improvise around pretty much anything.
And then there’s the fact that he was really really nice this summer. During the summer of his senior year in high school, there were times he was downright nasty and irritable. Difficult to be around. It wasn’t too hard to let him go to college with a sigh of relief, despite the empty nest twinges. But this summer, he returned even more Alien than ever. Kept his room reasonably clean without protest, did his chores without being told, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, worked hard at his summer job without complaint, and was cheerful and upbeat pretty much the whole time. I tried to get in a few nags, but it was useless; the boy either had finished the work before I told him to do it, or he was working on it as I geared up for a good spate of nagging.
(sigh) Well, it may well be that he’ll be snagged by one of the campus pastors for their band during the school year. The Pullman United Methodist minister had heard the Alien Child play at the Annual Conference and was at once seized by what I can only characterize as an unholy avaricious spirit and has recruited the boy to play at the Pullman church’s and youth outreach band. My fear is that the Alien Child will wish to spend his summers playing with the band at Pullman, rather than come home.
But no, I won’t think about that. And I will try not to become what I am sure he sees as Stalker Mom, the kind of Mom that sends e-mails every day, and obsesses over why he isn’t e-mailing back, worrying that maybe he’s been run over by a truck, or even abducted by the aliens who allowed him to grow up under my care. After all, it is wholly possible that those interesting markings in the acres of Palouse wheatfields around Pullman, WA could be, might be, probably are, alien crop circles. Both the hubby and the Child said they were tracks made by wheat harvesters, but they are obviously without imagination, or more likely, were trying to assuage my fears by hiding the facts. It’s clear to me that any one of the grain silos or barns along the way to WSU could be hiding an alien spaceship, ready to take my dear Alien Child away forever....
Ahem. Anyway. Empty nest. Yes indeedy. Got it bad. And it isn’t helped by the fact that I’m tired from all the activity today. So, off to bed, and I’m sure I’ll be more coherent and reasonable in the morning.
--Karen H.
I was in charge of publicity, and since of course this is only the second time our church has put on this summer music fest, and since there were no instructions, I had to figure out things as I went. Such as, gee, it takes a while for a printing company to print up t-shirts, and they need electronic files with color separation. Of course, I know nothing about color separation. Or how many t-shirts to order, because, gosh, nobody really remembers how many were ordered and how many sold the last time, or in what sizes. So, I took a wild guess.
Never a good thing.
I ended up with far too many, and so have all these nifty t-shirts on hand. I hope I can sell them at church between services. Please God.
And speaking of God, since this whole shebang was to glorify God and all, I think He should have taken some responsibility for getting people to buy the t-shirts. I mean, seriously, you’d think He’d give a nudge to the faithful: “look, nifty t-shirts, glorifing Me. Go buy them and save that poor suffering woman over there in the sun from going into serious debt. You’d be doing a Good Work.”
I dunno, either God was not nudging hard enough or maybe the faithful weren’t being faithful enough to hear.
Yeah, yeah, I sound grumpy. Most of it, I realize, is feeling some major empty nest syndrome. The Alien Child went off to Washington State University in Pullman early this year--two weeks early so that he could help work on the renovation of his fraternity house. Normally, the boy would be playing some down-and-dirty blues, gospel, and rock electric guitar along with the youth band and the adult band. But this year...well, I don’t think I’m boasting when I say the bands sounded a bit thin without his guitar. He’s got very good at playing, and can improvise around pretty much anything.
And then there’s the fact that he was really really nice this summer. During the summer of his senior year in high school, there were times he was downright nasty and irritable. Difficult to be around. It wasn’t too hard to let him go to college with a sigh of relief, despite the empty nest twinges. But this summer, he returned even more Alien than ever. Kept his room reasonably clean without protest, did his chores without being told, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, worked hard at his summer job without complaint, and was cheerful and upbeat pretty much the whole time. I tried to get in a few nags, but it was useless; the boy either had finished the work before I told him to do it, or he was working on it as I geared up for a good spate of nagging.
(sigh) Well, it may well be that he’ll be snagged by one of the campus pastors for their band during the school year. The Pullman United Methodist minister had heard the Alien Child play at the Annual Conference and was at once seized by what I can only characterize as an unholy avaricious spirit and has recruited the boy to play at the Pullman church’s and youth outreach band. My fear is that the Alien Child will wish to spend his summers playing with the band at Pullman, rather than come home.
But no, I won’t think about that. And I will try not to become what I am sure he sees as Stalker Mom, the kind of Mom that sends e-mails every day, and obsesses over why he isn’t e-mailing back, worrying that maybe he’s been run over by a truck, or even abducted by the aliens who allowed him to grow up under my care. After all, it is wholly possible that those interesting markings in the acres of Palouse wheatfields around Pullman, WA could be, might be, probably are, alien crop circles. Both the hubby and the Child said they were tracks made by wheat harvesters, but they are obviously without imagination, or more likely, were trying to assuage my fears by hiding the facts. It’s clear to me that any one of the grain silos or barns along the way to WSU could be hiding an alien spaceship, ready to take my dear Alien Child away forever....
Ahem. Anyway. Empty nest. Yes indeedy. Got it bad. And it isn’t helped by the fact that I’m tired from all the activity today. So, off to bed, and I’m sure I’ll be more coherent and reasonable in the morning.
--Karen H.
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I hope tomorrow is a much better day, on all fronts, than today. And that the T-shirts get snabbled snappy-quick.
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