The Camel Look

It's late afternoon. I've just returned from an Awana conference in Fort Worth and am enjoying some quality time with my couch. Dad is getting out equipment to paint the hallway.

"Can I help?"

"Sure. Grab a paintbrush."

I start at the opposite end of the hallway. It's a toupe/beige/camel/cream colour. Cumbersome large brush in hand, I begin to paint a patch of wall. After a few minutes, I notice bristles coming out of the old brush. Standing back, I realize there is quite a bit of hair on the wall. Hmm... kinda gives it that authentic camel look. Maybe no one will notice. Or maybe I'll start some new interior decorating craze -- camel walls.

What my dad does notice is that I can't colour in the lines... I've managed to splatter the baseboards and door framing. Now I have to go to the Home Depot and get trim paint.

Never take life for granted...

How often do we thank God for every breath He gives us? Do we hug our friends and family, telling them how much we love them, because we don't know if it's the last time we'll see them in this life?

Minutes after I made my last post, I received news that my best friend and her siblings were in a car accident with their grandparents. The SUV flipped three times in the air and landed upside down. Miraculously, no one was killed. The worst injury received was a cut that required stitches. My friend's brother had just remembered to buckle is seatbelt minutes before the accident. He could have been dead.

My God is a merciful God.

Worms in a Bowl

I'm an adventurous eater. As long as it doesn't move, I'll try it. Of course, there are times I regret eating (especially that time I tried Chicago's version of the hot dog -- I haven't touched a hot dog since), but most of the time I like what I try (or at least have bragging rights to eating things such as ostrich and squid).

What's amazing to me is some of the weird stuff I find in my own pantry and refrigerator. Around noon I decided to rummage in the pantry. Hidden behind some cans was a lumpy package of what appeared to be noodles. The writing was all in Korean, except for "green mung bean noodles." Hmm... this looks interesting, I thought. I vaguely remembered eating some type of bean noodle before. Mom didn't care for the consistency, but I think I liked them.

After looking up cooking directions on the internet (since I couldn't read what was on the package), and cooking the noodles, I set about to find a sauce to put on them. In the back of the fridge I found a small jar: "Hoisen Sauce" it read... the rest was in Chinese. I put some of that in the pot, along with soy sauce, Thai peanut sauce, and lemon juice. Did those flavors go well together? Heck, I didn't know, but I tossed them in anyway.

Only until after I dove into my bowl of noodles did I discover why Mom didn't like them. They had the same consistency as worms. The Hoisen and Thai sauces combined made my eyes water and nose run. Interesting. I took a few more bites.

"Hey, Carey, if you don't want your noodles I'll eat them," my younger brother called from the kitchen table. This is a common phrase from Jeremy (If you don't want it, I'll eat it) and is often met with NO, but this time I decided to be a kind sister and let him have my noodles.