Ms. Ravelled in BreathingLand

Progress, marked progress in the epic battle of Meetinghouse v. Lungs. I walked into the chapel just before my 9:30 meeting and left right after sacrament meeting, having delegated (again) to my able counselors. I did not have the horrible honking and hacking that Ive been experiencing, just some tightness and heaviness in my chest. So I came home and ate leftovers and took a nap.

I think that the building is healing. I know that I am. And in my case, I think that choir practice helped. Whether it was the exercise aspect or the endorphins that come with singing, I felt better after choir practice than I did when I first sat down in the choir loft. I think this might be like unto my dear, asthmatic LittleBit strengthening her lungs through [sigh...] playing the trumpet. I hope my warblings were easier on the ear than her first tentative tootles.

Facebook continues to amaze and amuse me. I wonder what triggers the ads in the right-hand column. I saw a catalogue offering the very best pagan shopping experience to Witches around the world. Now, I have had good friends in the past who were pagan, and maybe some of you, my faithful readers, are pagan. And one of my favorite Eagles songs was Witchy Woman, but that’s about as close as it gets, chez Ravelled. Unless there is something about my attitude that y’all are not telling me?

I had so much fun at correlation meeting yesterday morning. The missionary elders were reporting on their teaching for last week, and they noted that one of the individuals had hydrophobia. I raised one eyebrow and asked, “Elder, are you saying that this person is rabid?” Hilarity ensued.

The elder hastened to assure us that the investigator was afraid of water, thus afraid of getting baptized by immersion, which is how we do it in our church. S/he has my sympathy, and my empathy, as I developed aquaphobia in 1988, while swimming laps at the natatorium at North Lake College. I’m fine in the shower. I’m sane in a waterbed. It doesn’t kick in until I can no longer touch bottom with my toes. (Which is one reason I have hesitated to take a singles’ cruise; that, and the idea of being trapped on board a ship with a bunch of lunatic middle-aged men, but I digress.)

“Glad to know that you are not suggesting your investigator should be shot in the street.” I may be a little too fond of Atticus Finch.

This from one of the priesthood brethren, “Well, if they did, we could baptize him/her by proxy in the temple, and that would take care of the whole fear-of-water issue.”

Yeah, it would.

We had a far more serious and helpful discussion about how to deal with the fear-of-water issue in the meeting which followed.

I am still eating up Things That Thawed. I couldn’t make myself throw away that whole bag of sweet potato fries, so I baked 3/4 of the bag last night and had them as most of my dinner, with no apparent repercussions. Preceded by a veggies-for-one container with peas and broccoli in garlic sauce, and followed with half a dozen of the meatballs that I love. [And a generous serving of applesauce which, after reading the label and finding corn syrup listed, will no longer come home with that brand’s label on the jar. I bought it at a time when pennies were really, really tight, and I was more concerned with cash flow than nutrition.]

That nap I mentioned? Almost six hours’ worth, which meant that dinner took place at 11:00pm with plenty of time to digest it before heading back to the sack. And also meant that I was a bit peckish at 2:00am; what better reason to cook up a pot of chocolate pudding?

Y’all know that I read, and enjoy, and learn from Unclutterer. Here is some good advice that is not immediately useful to me, as I am paying off my line of credit while making the final year of payments on Lorelai. But something to keep in mind for the future: What works for Erin is 50% of take-home to the checking account; 40% to the emergency fund; 10% to long-term savings. Right now I live on about 45% of my gross income. Trying to live on half of that, would have me sleeping under a bridge. I don’t do camping.

But it’s certainly something to work toward. I think it presumes a two-income home, unless the wage earner is in a far higher tax bracket than my own. (I remember when I had worked for the company for awhile, and $25,000.00 was on the horizon, and I was ecstatic! I even briefly contemplated buying a new Mustang to celebrate, except for the fact that I still had three children to schlep around and insufficient income to maintain a muscle car. I am doing considerably better now, LOL, and if I get the raise/promotion I may very well approach what for me is another financial milestone but would probably be ho-hum for most of y’all. If so, I might splurge on a skein of cashmere laceweight and make myself another cowl.)

I also think it presumes that one does not pay tithing, fast offerings, etc. Those are consecrations that make no sense to the worldly mind. Erin herself stresses that her allocations would not work for everyone, but they bring her financial peace. She also offers other useful links. [I just have to giggle at her comment, “When you have saved half a million in emergency savings (and I’m no where close to this amount yet), you may wish to consider adjusting these percentages.”]

Maybe if I live to be Methuselah’s age?

Hrm, I wonder how many pairs of socks I could knit, if I lived to be 969 years old? (Genesis 5:27). I cast on the toe for the second sock while waiting for sacrament meeting to begin. So far, it’s not arguing with me.

Smart sock.