A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum

Unfortunately, I don’t remember what it was.

Last week, something very funny happened, and I knew I needed to blog about it so you could all share in my laugh. But I was on my way to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. I gave myself strict instructions to write a note to myself so I could blog about it this week. But I promptly ignored my instructions. This was too funny to forget, I thought.

I forgot.

It just happened last week! I’ve gone through my week time and time again trying to remember, but alas, it’s gone. A shame, because I’m pretty sure it was something silly I did that we could all get a good chuckle from.


Last night, while watching a Hallmark Christmas movie on CBS (my movie and music standards drop significantly when it comes to Christmas), I realized the perfect job for me: a Christmas tree farmer. I’d care for each tree like it was my own, naming it, grooming it. And when the time came, I’d help each family find their perfect tree. People would come from many states because of my reputation. I’d also always have hot wassail available.

Except maybe I’d drink all the wassail. I consumed almost an entire pot by myself on Saturday.

(For those of you who don’t remember, I have four trees every year–three fake ones and a real one. I name them all. This year, I almost got a fourth fake tree to add to the collection when my sister-in-law told me about a crazy $30 sale on prelit trees, but they were sold out.)


I ventured out on Black Friday this year. But it doesn’t really count because, as I mentioned afore, we were at my parents’ house. They live in a smallish town, so Black Friday isn’t crazy like Dallas. This is why I had to go: my dad and husband decided to go to Best Buy.

Have you seen my husband at Best Buy or Fry’s? Dangerous.

So I went to keep an eye on them. Next door, Shoe Carnival was having a buy-1-get-1-half-off sale.

"Don’t you need new shoes?" I asked Chris.

So we went in. This really isn’t that significant except two things struck me as minorly funny.

One, Chris didn’t get any shoes. My dad and I walked out with a pair each, though. While there, I remembered that I don’t have winter black shoes. So I bought a pair of black comfy Sketchers.

Which brings us to minor funny number two.

"Those are winter shoes?" Chris said. "And you say you’re from the northeast." (He’s from Colorado.)

"I’m contextualizing for Texas. In Texas, winter shoes are non-flipflops." Although, really, sometimes you can wear flipflops in Texas in winter. At least I do.

I don’t know why that struck me as funny, but it did. Also, I love Sketchers. I can’t help myself. They’re so comfy!


I’ve always had weird dreams, often involving serial killers (I’ve chased serial killers, been chased by serial killers, been a serial killer, etc.). Now these weird dreams are taking a turn for the pregnancy. A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed that my belly button popped out exactly like a turkey timer–long and T-shaped and all. I kept trying to push it back in because I’m only six months pregnant and so obviously not done yet.

Two nights ago, I dreamed that I could take the baby out of my tummy and put him back in. Like a kangeroo. It was very convenient.

And scene.

I Love to Laugh Loud and Long and Clear

A young man takes up the quest to save the maiden fair (or her job) as well as health and dental plans for the office. Chivalry is still alive.

I wrote the screenplay for a short film entered in a film festival: The Adventures of Don and Cho

(Sorry about the audio–sometimes the lines are hard to understand.) I had such fun working on this one. I have to be honest–I crack myself up.


Chris and I did a preparatory spring cleaning (hey, I wasn’t going to tackle that closet yet). I organized all my music. My flute music is now separate from my piano music. Amazing. And I discovered all sorts of treasures–music I’d forgotten I had, music and poetry I’d written years and years ago, notebooks of my lessons through three piano teachers.

A good weekend.


For the first time in several weeks, I’m having a hard time keeping myself from dancing around the room. (And I may have been unsuccessful at restraining myself for a minute.) This is good.

Commercial Break

Tomorrow, I’ll continue my interaction with the Transforming Culture symposium, specifically with Eugene Peterson’s talk (yes, the translator of The Message).

In the meantime, some random thoughts.

Politics in a Waiting Room

While waiting for my oil to be changed, I watched news loop on the TV. Some interesting observations. During the transportation of the Olympic torch, there’s been protests to free Tibet. People climb the Eiffel Tower and the Golden Gate bridge. While I agree with their cause, I don’t see how climbing dangerous edifaces makes the point. Hillary Clinton encouraged Bush to boycott the Olympics (or at least the opening ceremony) which I find ironic considering her husband’s history with China.

The guy next to me, a very large man with a wife beater, a beard, a redneck, and numerous piercings, said the only thing he cares about is gas prices. If a candidate–it doesn’t matter which one–promises to lower prices and keep them down, that’s who he’s voting for.

This is why America has a bad name.

The news showed the reconciliation of a released hostage with his family–the whole thing right there for us to view.

This is why media has a bad name.

In Japan, women can hire host boys to entertain them at dinner. It’s sort of like geisha girls, I guess (in some ways, the host boys, who are in their twenties, looked like geisha girls). They said this is a huge step toward equality.

Yes, now we are equally taking advantage of the opposite sex.

New Blog

My dad has begun a blog. I never thought I’d see the day. His latest entry’s about encouragement and how Christianity needs more encouragers.

Good job, Dad!

The Yellow Brick Road

I found out yesterday that I’m a finalist for Genesis! Wahoo! (Everyone, do the dance of joy.) Wait, maybe I’m not supposed to announce it. Oh well. Pretend you don’t know. Here’s how the conversation went (complete with my inner monologue):

"Is Heather Goodman available?"

Great. Sales rep. Like I have time for this. How rude is it to just hang up? Barely tempering my annoyed voice, I answer, "This is she."

"This is so-and-so–" (She didn’t actually call herself so-and-so but gave her actual name, but I’ve since forgotten it, and who needs names at a time like this?) "–from ACFW. I have good news."

Did I apply for the scholarship? I don’t remember applying. How cool would it be if they randomly chose my name from a hat and decided to give me a scholarship so I can go to the conference in September?

"You’re a finalist for Genesis."

Silence. It’s either that or screaming. She probably won’t appreciate screaming.

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Transforming Culture Explained

If you want to see what a random sampling of mall critters have to say about the role of art in the church, go here.

I’ll leave you with David Taylor’s explaination of a successful artist. What I love about this is the fact that being grounded in God and Church makes for a better artist. Novel idea.

Renew Now