I went to go see a life size replica of the Tabernacle yesterday. It was a very odd and particular kind of thing . . . it didn’t really have the same look that had I imagined, although they had gone from the biblical descriptions. Of course, since the presentation was Christian, it was “How to find Jesus in the Tabernacle.” (I’m pretty sure at this point that going to see a Jewish reproduction of the Tabernacle would have been far more interesting.) I mean, I got the idea that if Jesus was lurking in the Tabernacle and I was looking for him, he could have just popped out of the Ark and said, “Ha! You would have never found me in there!” (You know that, “ye who look upon it shall die” thing would have deterred the search.)

Our oft tongue tied guide would point out a feature of the Tabernacle and ask this question, “What does that represent?” If you said, “Jesus” you were right nine out of ten times. If, however, you hit that rare occasion when the answer was other than “Jesus,” he would answer your mistake with a resolute and triumphant “NO!” (As in “HA-Ha! You fools! You know nothing- Nothing about this tabernacle or Jesus! I will now enlighten you!”)

First he told us where all the materials made to build the Tabernacle came from. “The linen came from Egypt; the ram skins came from New Zealand, the cloud came from Canada”. Let me repeat that. The Cloud, the “Glory of the LORD” came from . . . Canada. Fine.

Then he told us about the gate. “Does anyone know why the colors red, purple, white and blue were used?” “Jesus was a king (purple) who came from heaven (blue,) lived a perfect life (white) and shed his blood (red) for us.” (Or those are the most expensive/royal colors in the ancient world.)

“Does anyone know why the gate is thirty feet wide?” (He got me there, because I’m pretty sure the ancient Hebrews weren’t using the English\US measurement system.) The answer of course is that “Jesus’ earthly ministry began when he was 30 years old. OR maybe it was to be big enough that everyone could come to him through the door which is Him.” (So, even those double wide fat asses can come?)

“Please save your questions until after the tour. Thank you.”

The brazen alter had four horns. Why? “because Jesus had four horns?” No. The horns symbolize strength. “because the priests had to be really strong to get all those bulls up on top of that thing?” No, because when Abraham was going to sacrifice his son, there was a ram caught in a thicket by his horns. “But what does that have to do with . . .”
“Please hold your questions.”

The Table of Shewbread held twelve loaves of flat bread. “These loaves were pierced for quick baking. Just like Jesus was pierced.” (For quick baking?)

In conclusion, from this tour I learned that God is from Canada, Jesus’ favorite colors are red, blue, purple and white. Jesus thinks fat people are a-okay, but he did not have horns. He was a fan of the quick bake method.

I woke up the other morning with my finger pressing my nose. Now, there is no way to know for sure at this point, but I’m pretty sure that I was desperately pressing my nose in a vain attempt to turn my alarm off. (Some how confusing my nose with the snooze button) Yes, well --- these things happen.

I think I had a karmic moment tonight. I was sitting at a traffic light, in the lane next to the biggest ambulance I'd ever seen. For some reason I had the urge to lean forward and crane my neck up to look into the driver's seat of the ambulance. At that exact same moment that ambulance driver was craning his neck to look down and back into my car. I know it doesn't sound too unusual, but it seem so at the time.

I’ve taken to carrying a second purse. It started out as a lunch bag. It has now evolved into a bag I may or may not need at any given time. In my second purse I carry; snacks, water, a barrette, a bandana, the book I’m reading, extra batteries, lip gloss and a flyer from a fabric store. It has room for all the things I think I might want or need, but I don’t really want to be committed to carrying around all the time, so I can switch things out. Like “Mmm, this might take a while, I better take my book and my water, but I don’t think I’ll need my check book.” Switch out- leave one purse in the car.

So I’m taking step aerobics class. I admit it freely—I am a white girl with no rhythm. The leader is also a dance instructor. She’s a middle aged woman who steps and jumps and stretches and in general moves so gracefully. I’ve been there four times. I still flounder around like a dying fish. I watch the leader intently—she steps with her left leg—I see it, I comprehend it I know I should be doing the same thing—instead my right leg tries to imitate the movement (and does so quite poorly .)

I stop, I start again, “on the beat, one-two-three-dang off again!” Half a step off and doing everything backwards, I feel I must be the bane of this poor woman’s step aerobic career.
I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall off the step pretty soon.

The workout mat they handed me this week had the work “HELP” scratched onto the surface.
I feel the pain man. I feel the pain.

(outside a gymnasium) She came puffing through the door, and complaining bitterly with a adolescent daughter in tow . . . “This is ridiculous! It’s so Stupid!” She wears an exercise outfit. “I (huff-puff-waddle-waddle) can’t believe how STUPID it is!” She’s a larger woman.

The daughter: “Mo-o-om!” That sing-song three syllable “I can’t believe you are saying this out loud, there are people here!” chastisement a child gives to a parent.

The source of the complaint: She couldn’t find the elevator to get to the gym . . . which is on the second floor.

God forbid that a fat woman has to walk up twenty steps to get to a gym to do . . . whatever she was going to be doing there . . . obviously not the stair climbing machine.

I dreamed last night that I was explaining my materialism to a Lebanise man. Honestly, I should learn more about Lebanon.

How one thing leads to another . . . I forgot to feed my cat the other day, the result was that I peed on her toy. Funny how things work out. I got up and went into the bathroom to discover pads and tampons all over the floor with a light sprinkling of Q-tips. The cat must have been anxious. I peed as usual, but when I went to flush—I saw a blue thing, I looked closer, it was one of the cat’s toys, in the toilet. Already peed on. I knew I had to pull it out, else it would clog up the toilet. Ick.
In the living room, papers everywhere, in the kitchen—she had made tiny little puncture marks in the plastic cat food container . . .the one I bought because she kept eating holes in the paper cat food bags.
Mental note: don’t forget to feed the cat.

I just wanted to know how to crochet a granny square! I put in "granny square instructions" in google and the first hit said, "Granny square instructions" and I made the mistake of clicking on it . . . to find, much to my horor an pornography site . . . with pictures of old women doing . . . things . . .