I had three boys in under five years. Not a particularly noteworthy feat, but enough to keep me wavering between “on my toes” and “off-balance.”
Especially in the store.

So as not to be forbidden access at every establishment we frequented, I told my boys repeatedly to “touch with your eyes.” This meant they could admire toys, bouncy balls and jars of jam via the sense of sight only. NO TOUCHING.

My draconian shopping rule got us through the childhood years without leaving a wake of scattered toys, rogue bouncy balls and broken glass.

Today I don’t think my grandsons need to be told to touch with their eyes.
EVERYONE touches with their eyes.
We have no choice.
Physical stores are closing their doors left and right.
We shop online and examine merchandise with nothing but our sense of sight.

Online shopping is convenient. I get that. Harried parents don’t need to drag cranky children from one store to the next looking for the perfect birthday gift, for the right size pair of shoes, for a bag of apples. No worries about little ones breaking things, or the necessity to frisk them before leaving the store for pilfered gum, candy or bouncy balls.

But now we grownups have to touch with our eyes too. One of my favorite department stores declared bankruptcy and a few boutique clothing shops I like went belly-up.
Just when I need a scarf to match a greenish skirt for a wedding, my real store options are shriveling. Online shopping it is.
I’m not sure if the skirt is Aqua or Turquoise or something between. Emerald maybe? All these colors and more are available from online scarf world. There’s one greenish scarf that looks close. Maybe if I hold the skirt up to the computer screen— The color is called Gloaming. (Gloaming?) Maybe it matches. Or maybe it doesn’t.

What will the scarf feel like around my neck? I’m the type driven to violent distraction by tags the scratch and have had to stitch up more necklines than I care to admit. My eyes tell me the fabric of the Gloaming-colored scarf  is “lightweight woven viscose.”
But my fingers have no knowledge of how viscose, lightweight or otherwise, feels.
I’m touching with my eyes but these fearfully and wonderfully made orbs have limitations.

How can I tell, looking at an online image, what a “Homesick” candle smells like? Would I enjoy the mix that makes “Honey Lavender,” or would it be too sweet? My nose might get confused in a candle shop, as I take off lids of jars and sniff each candle, but it is a happy confusion.

Smooth wood, rough wool, cool leather, fragrant perfumes and silken nightgowns; delicate lace, crinkling cellophane, and mouth-watering chocolate wafting from the candy counter. The physical store is a smorgasbord for the senses.

There’s plenty to see when shopping online, and sometimes even to hear. But the rest of my senses are itching for new sensations. I hope real, actual, brick and mortar stores aren’t soon as hard to find as Jiffy Frosting Mix. (Yes, it’s true. Jiffy discontinued their boxes of white and chocolate icing and I am bereft.)

Anyone want to come over while I hold the scarf option on my laptop under my chin? Tell me if Gloaming brings out the color of my eyes.

Jesus took 3 disciples up a mountain.
 His clothes became white as light,
 God spoke audibly from heaven,
 and Moses and Elijah, who had been dead several hundreds of years, came to discuss issues of life and especially death with Jesus. (Read about it in Mark 9.)

It appears that while these three phenomenal, unprecedented events were occurring, James and John stood silent.
 Then we have Peter.
 He suggested they build tents and camp out up there. With the Son of God and…the guys who had died.

WHY this inane comment?
Because “he did not know what to say…”

Say friends, I’m over at Heart”wings” today.

I hope you can hop on over to read the rest of the story.

http://www.heartwingsblog.com/2018/06/grace-for-the-chatterbox/

(I guess you could call this The Tuesday Prude Plus One. Because—Wednesday and all that)

As of last Friday we’re married 32 years. I thought dinner at a nice restaurant on a lake would be nice. My husband thought he would continue the tradition he began in 1986— coming up with something totally unexpected.

“Let’s go to Amana Colonies and stay overnight at a bed and breakfast.”

He won.

We stayed here:

Die (pronounced “die,” according to the lady at the woolen mill. My 3 years of high school German begs to differ) Heimet Inn. That is a maypole in front. THAT IS A MAYPOLE!!!!!!

We slept here

We ate breakfast here. Was it good? I had to stop my husband licking the plate. Or was it the other way around?

Yay us!

Do you know about Amana Colonies? I tried to explain it to my son.
It is one part tourist attraction.
One part “Save our History.”
Two parts of getting on with the practical business of living.

Weaving wool. A most fascinating and beautiful piece of machinery.

Made right in the colonies. Spalted maple. Not spelted, Prude. Remember. Not spelted.

It was settled mid-19th century by German pietists seeking religious freedom. They found what they wanted in lush, quiet, uncrowded northeast Iowa.

450 buildings from those early days still stand in the seven settlements that are known collectively as Amana Colonies.

See? Like these.

The Minneapolis Moline tractor wasn’t around in 1855. But in my opinion, any era of world history could be improved by the addition of a Minneapolis Moline.

Most houses were brick, but these stone ones are fascinating. Those Germans knew how to build!

The Ox Yoke restaurant. Wiener Schnitzel, anyone?

Confession: I took this photo and the previous one last November when we dashed through the colonies on our way back from California.

The colonies functioned as a commune for decades, which sounds really cool. Unless you have to live in one. By 1932 the good folks still wanted to worship as they felt led but were ready to live more independently.

Philosophy of Christian Metz, founder of Amana Colonies. A man after my own heart.

No, for those who wonder. They aren’t like the Amish.

Well, except that they are (were?) pacifists who value hard work and fine craftsmanship and simplicity and piety. And food. Oh, and they went to church 11 times a week.
Now, don’t you feel like an impious slug?

Who knew the Germans liked things so cozy?

Maybe at the height of tourist season you can’t walk from the German restaurant to the German beer hall to the toy store to the woolen mill to the German brewery to the locally handcrafted furniture store without side-stepping two hundred walkers and vaulting dozens of children in the throes of tantrums. (There isn’t a water slide or arcade to be had for love or a Deutsche mark.)

You should go to Amana Colonies some day. It’s an oddly satisfying place—fully twenty-first century with a semi-transparent overlay on 1855. A totally unexpected place.

Kind of like my husband.