USMB Coffee Shop IV
- Thread starter Foxfyre
- Start date
Ernie S.
Diamond Member
I have the teeshirt
blackhawk
Diamond Member
saveliberty
Diamond Member
- Oct 12, 2009
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I fix things in priority order, not order received.
Overcast, windy as all get out and weather guy at our news station said to expect at least an inch of rain. So..since it is lightly misting right now and the sky is the color of my cloak in my avie, I got the candles ready. Our little neck of the woods is notorious for losing power. Which is why I LOVE having natural gas stove cuz whats in the crock pot right now (cheesy potato soup) can be transferred to a big stock pot. Just in case, mind you. 
BRING IT! We WANT it! Give us some RAIN!!
BRING IT! We WANT it! Give us some RAIN!!
Kosh
Quick Look Over There!
saveliberty
Diamond Member
- Oct 12, 2009
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Portent and hither and yon Gracie? Got a hot game of Scrabble going on or what?
Does cooker mean microwave or hotplate Dajjal?
Does cooker mean microwave or hotplate Dajjal?
- Moderator
- #28,812
And the shuttle crew would go bananas.
Hi guys!
Hi guys!
- Moderator
- #28,813
No gold for you!
saveliberty
Diamond Member
- Oct 12, 2009
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No gold for you!
Probably a unicorn, with the horn, no ground and all.
blackhawk
Diamond Member
- Thread starter
- #28,816
Good morning all. As soon as it warms up a bit and melts the ice off the roads, we'll be headed north to spend the rest of today and this evening in the north Texas Panhandle, pretty much on the Oklahoma Panhandle border. I'm unlikely to have internet access there or tomorrow when we're on the road home, so I'll be off line until tomorrow evening. And I'm going to look forward to getting home a lot.
It was a conventional electric oven with two hot plates, and it went bang. Well I don't do any cooking anyway, I just heat up tins of food. So I can get a small double ring hotplate to replace it.
saveliberty
Diamond Member
- Oct 12, 2009
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Not a lot of parts to an electric oven, the repairs should be straightforward.
Nosmo King
Gold Member
With one more Advent wreath candle to light, we are all too rapidly approaching that magical day, that day that brings joy and apprehension in equal measure.
In my faith, we celebrate the approach of Christmas by a simple yet profound ceremony: the lighting of white, pink and finally violet candles arraigned on a wreath which lays upon the altar. Families with young children are tapped to perform this ceremony throughout the weeks before Christmas. I remember when our family was asked to do this. We got ourselves spit shined up, double checked runny noses and untied shoes and chocolate milk stained shirts, then took our place at the altar.
The oldest child (me in our case) takes a place in the pulpit to read the Christmas story from the Book of Matthew. It is to read from a family Bible and is the one shot at commanding the attention of the congregation without getting swatted across the seat of the trousers for an embarrassment.
We did not own a Family Bible. That was just not a tradition in our family. There was no heirloom passed down from generation to generation. Rather, I carried Pop's Masonic Bible to the pulpit. There are plenty of Masons and members of the Eastern Star in our congregation so there was no stigma attached to reading from a Masonic Bible. The translation is still the King James version. The only distinctive difference is the gold embossed square and compasses on the cover.
But Pop liked to store important information in the pages of his Bible. Stuff like the combination to the safe at our family business, checking account numbers, and occasionally grocery lists. As I took my prideful spot before the adoring group of Presbyterians and opened the scripture to the Book of Matthew, a veritable waste paper basket full of notes and papers poured out.
All our preparation, all our concern for making the best impression fell onto the floor. I soldiered through, my Pop stuck the match and lit the candle lighter and passed it to my younger brother. I then squatted down behind the pulpit and retrieved as much paper as I could. A whisper to the minister assure the family that a more appropriate time to retrieve the documents would be arraigned. And with that, we limped from our place of honor and took our seats in a pew in back of the sanctuary.
In my faith, we celebrate the approach of Christmas by a simple yet profound ceremony: the lighting of white, pink and finally violet candles arraigned on a wreath which lays upon the altar. Families with young children are tapped to perform this ceremony throughout the weeks before Christmas. I remember when our family was asked to do this. We got ourselves spit shined up, double checked runny noses and untied shoes and chocolate milk stained shirts, then took our place at the altar.
The oldest child (me in our case) takes a place in the pulpit to read the Christmas story from the Book of Matthew. It is to read from a family Bible and is the one shot at commanding the attention of the congregation without getting swatted across the seat of the trousers for an embarrassment.
We did not own a Family Bible. That was just not a tradition in our family. There was no heirloom passed down from generation to generation. Rather, I carried Pop's Masonic Bible to the pulpit. There are plenty of Masons and members of the Eastern Star in our congregation so there was no stigma attached to reading from a Masonic Bible. The translation is still the King James version. The only distinctive difference is the gold embossed square and compasses on the cover.
But Pop liked to store important information in the pages of his Bible. Stuff like the combination to the safe at our family business, checking account numbers, and occasionally grocery lists. As I took my prideful spot before the adoring group of Presbyterians and opened the scripture to the Book of Matthew, a veritable waste paper basket full of notes and papers poured out.
All our preparation, all our concern for making the best impression fell onto the floor. I soldiered through, my Pop stuck the match and lit the candle lighter and passed it to my younger brother. I then squatted down behind the pulpit and retrieved as much paper as I could. A whisper to the minister assure the family that a more appropriate time to retrieve the documents would be arraigned. And with that, we limped from our place of honor and took our seats in a pew in back of the sanctuary.
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