My Life as a Lucy Skit: Episode 1

I like to call this episode:  The Back and the Bottle

For those of you not familiar with my utter disregard for the English language when it comes to phrases, you can check out my Melissaisms post so you understand what a “Lucy skit” is, especially if you were born before the year 1980.

My back has been sore, really sore, for about four weeks now.  Some days, I felt like Fonzie in his “old suit” from Happy Days moaning and groaning as I rolled out of bed.  No, seriously, I literally had to roll out of bed, let my feet flop onto the floor, and then drag myself up by the bedpost.  If it didn’t hurt so much, it’d be pretty hilarious.  Actually, never mind, it hurt and it’s still funny.  Laugh away.  It took me three minutes to make my way to the bathroom for morning ablutions (which is not the same as absolutions, by the way).

Anyway, on this particular day, the pain was so bad that I just decided to stay in bed, rock the heating pad, and catch up on Season 1 of Suits.  Epicurially speaking, I was exceptionally well stocked with my Trader Joes baked corn chips, a big bottle of orange seltzer fresh from the frigid-y fridge, and my iPad.  There may have been some chocolate.  Look, I’m wounded, chocolate heals all ailments.  Don’t you judge me!

So I’m flopped down in bed, pillow under my knees, heating pad scorching my back (I really need to figure out how to lower the temp on that thing), enjoying the episode of Suits where Harvey and his protege, Mike, trade witty movie quotes and Harvey solves an insolvable legal situation within the last three minutes of the episode, when I have this strange thought:

Huh…this bottle of seltzer sure is sweating.

I touch my leg and it’s damp.  Seriously, people, this is the way my mind works.  I think:

Wow, that fridge must have been cold.

I ignore the bottle and continue watching the show.  Did I notice that the bottle was on its side?  Sure, but the cap was on.  That’s the great thing about caps: they keep the liquid inside the bottle.

I finish the episode and move on to the next one.  But my leg is really wet now and so I tap it again.  Then, I partially lift the covers and see a wet spot the size of a baseball on the bed.  My first thought is:

But the cap was closed…

Or was it?

Doesn’t matter.  This looks bad and there is no way I can pin it on the cat.  Cats simply do not urinate orange seltzer.  Plus, I get it into my head that my husband is going to think that I wet the bed in the middle of the afternoon.  (Swing back to the illogical comment about urine and smell.)

So, after a moment or two of, “I can’t believe that bottle leaked”, now I’m cheesed because my back hurts and I gotta hide the evidence that I was eating in bed!  Okay, corn chips, tossed on the floor.  Luckily, they landed open side up or that would have added insult to injury.  Get it?  Injury?  Back injury?  Whatever.  The mint M&Ms (oh right, that’s what I was eating) land on the night table beside me, clicking against each other in the (thankfully) sealed bag.

At this point, it still hasn’t dawned on me that liquid and a heated blanket make for “electrifying”, yet potentially Darwinian, stories and that I’d probably dodged a major bullet.  I managed to wriggle gracelessly out from under it and drop it on the floor.

I finally (again) flop myself off the bed, but not before fighting with the cover sheet and comforter, which had suddenly wound themselves around my legs and the pillow while I was trying to escape from the heating pad.  Let me tell you, every single twist ached.  You know the kind.  The one where you surprise yourself with a yelp.   I was like a puppy surprised by the bite of a really big flea.

Okay, now that I’m finally out of the bed, I have to bend over and pull all the covers back to get a good look at the mattress.

Wow.  That’s a lot of liquid.

That’s not a baseball, that’s a beach ball!

We’ve had an issue with particularly industrious (and committed) ants in the kitchen lately and I start to freak out, thinking all sorts of inane things.  You’d think I was on some kind of psychotropic drug with all the freakouts, but no, it’s just my own mind doing it’s thing.  So I have this scenario in my head where these ants somehow make their way from the kitchen, all the way through the living-room, down the hall, into our bedroom, smack dab into the middle of the mattress.  And then I start to imagine all these little creatures nested inside the bed,  burrowing and having babies, waiting until the black of night when we’re asleep and unaware, to slip out and start walking over my face and arms.  I started feeling invisi-ants immediately.  (Seriously, I just had to check my arm.  Even just writing this, I totally thought I had one walking over it.)

Not much I can do about the mattress, so I have to lug that freaking comforter off the bed.  The cat freaks out and thinks it’s play time at the zoo.  He launches himself onto the covers and has a field day.  Now I have to get the fitted sheet off the bed, along with the pillow top cover thingy, which means (you guessed it) more leaning, more stretching, more groans.

Rather than just lift and carry, instead, I grab the fitted/pillowtop and drag them down the hall.  Miko goes crazy and chases the sheet all the way down the hall.  I have to somehow get this mass of fabric out the door without the cat (who is an indoor cat, but likes to spontaneously make a break for it when the side door is open), down the steps, close the door (more twiiiiistinggggg), and into the garage where the washer and dryer are.

Mission one accomplished, I go back inside where the cat was waiting for me with his nose pressed against the crack of the door, ready to bolt.  One stern command from me and he backed off.  I was in no mood!

Now I have to go back for the dang comforter, which is bulky and heavy and wetter than I thought.  If I can’t lift some iddy biddy sheet and a pillow top, you know I’m going to be miserable with this thing.  So, whatever.  Deal, Mel.  I grab it and begin dragging.  This thing is far more voluminous that the other fabric and it’s clunky!  I’m draaaaaagging it through the house, doing a little impromptu floor sweep as I make my way down the hall, and draaaag it through the recycle bags, and the cat dish, and the shoes, and the ant traps right by the door in the kitchen.

Another warning to the cat as I slide open the dining room door and haul that thing outside, close the door and try and flop it on the outdoor chair to air out.  Well, I can’t get the stupid thing to hang right so that the wet part is facing the sun!  So I’m fiddling with this fabric monstrosity, grabbing (and pulling, and tweaking my back) more chairs over so finally I have this tent-like structure made out of comforter in the backyard.

I get back inside and open the sliding glass door in the bedroom with the hope that the breeze will help with speed-drying the mattress.  It didn’t occur to me that perhaps a door to the outside world just a few feet away was even easier access for ants.  Unlike the kitchen, say, which was all the way on the other side of the house.  Finally, I just had to accept the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to replace the mattress with a new one by the time Ron got home and maybe ants weren’t attracted to orange seltzer.  It’s not like it was a sugar-filled (‘scuse me, corn syrup-filled) bottle of Coke.  Maybe seltzer (even flavoured) was too bitter to even be appetizing?

Back to the bed.  I’m not even near done.  I still have to replace the fitted sheet!

Anyone who has ever made a bed knows that the fitted sheet is the worst part.  The leaning.  The bending.  The lifting.  The slip of fabric falling back.  The lifting again.  The tucking.  The realization that the stupid sheet is facing the wrong direction!  So now I gotta fight with that.

Again, the cat’s riding the sheet like it’s Splash Mountain in Disneyland.  I’m not going to lie when I say to you that I considered just locking him inside it, cute or not.

So all of this pretty much kills my movement-free day.  Hours later, the sheets have been replaced, the bed is made.  Before Ron even had a chance to ask, I had to spill my guts about the seltzer.

After all that, his response was:

That mattress hurts my back.  We should replace it .

Roll credits.

And yes, the cat was all up in my grill when I pulled the comforter inside, dragged it down the halls (through the stuff, and stuff), and up onto the bed to make it.  Again, he was all yeehaaaaa!!! flinging himself on top of the comforter, under it, around it, like a cowboy on a bucking bronco.  Clearly, if he was a good cat, he would have been more sensitive to the fact that Mommy’s back hurt and to knock that crap off!

Seriously, this is just a day in the life of me.  I can’t make this stuff up.

Video: Despicable Me’s Best of Agnes

I don’t know how I managed not to see Despicable Me in the two years since its release, but I made up for it two days ago on iTunes.

Can I just say:

Loved it!

I thought it was going to be about some crotchety villain doing bad stuff. Somehow, I totally missed the part about three orphan girls and dismissed the whole matter entirely. Then, a few weeks ago, my husband and I went to see a movie and watched the trailer for Despicable Me 2.

So, for Father’s Day, my husband opted to watch that. (Jack the Giant Slayer was second choice and I totally dodged the bullet on some crime drama.)

Agnes was ADORABLE! I mean cute with the foofy ponytail and big brown puppy eyes, but that voice and those subtle inflections just sold it for me! So, since I’m still high on the cuteness of not only Agnes, but the movie itself, I thought I’d share the love.

Enjoy!

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Church

So, I volunteer at my church on Tuesdays to help with cooking.  It’s funny that I’d volunteer for this because I don’t particularly like cooking.  I do, however, love to talk and that’s what we do while we’re cooking so it works out beautifully.  Actually, that’s not true.  I like cooking, just not on a schedule.  Only when I’m “in the mood”.  Oddly enough, doing it for a cause makes it fun.  Who knew?

Anyway, so this kitchen has utensils and such, but they’re donated and things get misplaced or disappear or fall apart.  Ultimately, a bit of a mish-mash of stuff.  So I decided, after a quick conversation with a fellow volunteer about how awesome ceramic knives are, to go out and buy some knives so I could take one with me.  That way, I always had the right tool for the job.  Seriously, cutting vegetables with a boning knife does not work.
Coolest Knives EverMy husband and I went to Sears and I picked up these super awesome colour- coded knives.

Red is for meat.

Green is for vegetables.

Yellow is for poultry.

Blue is for fish.

Is that not the best???

Get it?  Water is blue,  and fish swim in water, and so it’s like this whole mental connection to the colour.  Brilliant!!!!!

I joke, but seriously, I was really excited about this.   To know me is to understand that little things like colour-coded knives, like flannel or bubble wrap, make my day.

Awwwweeeeesoommmmeeee!

Okay, so somewhere along the line of falling in love with the pricelessness of the color-coding, I somehow neglected to notice that they’re not actually ceramic.  They’re stainless steel.  But they’re colourful!

Anyway, moving on.  So one of the other issues in the kitchen was that the gloves were a “one size fits all” kind of deal, and anyone who has shrimpy hands like I do, knows that one size truly does not fit all.   On the first day helping out, I lopped off the tip of my glove.  I may as well have been wearing mittens.  So I decided to pick some up.  How hard can it be to find food prep gloves?

Uhm, well, apparently pretty hard.  We went to two stores and everything was this One Size Fits All conspiracy.

So I hopped onto Amazon, spent about 45 minutes researching, and found some really awesome gloves that are not latex, fit like a – I’m gonna say it – glove, and can be found in size small.  AND…they’re purple.  Who doesn’t love to rock the purple when you’re preparing food?  Amirite?!

Okay, for the record, none of this has anything to do with the title of the post.  I just wanted to set the stage.

I’m running late and I knew I’d be bringing my knife with me and a set of gloves.  So I threw the gloves in a ziploc bag (why, I don’t know, to keep them together?) and tossed the knife (okay, I didn’t “toss” it, I placed it carefully, sharp side down) in my purse.  I pranced to the car, high on my own brilliance at finding the perfect glove, and made my way to church.

CHiPsAbout fifteen minutes into the drive, I hit bumper-to-bumper traffic.  Ugh.  Always the same spot, too.  Anyway, I’m just rocking out to my iTunes and staring at the vanity license plate in front of me, trying to figure out the wordplay, when a Police Officer on a motorcycle pulls up beside me and looks over.

And then it kind of dawns on me that I have surgical gloves and a brilliant red knife jutting out of my purse.

I know I’m heading to church to chop vegetables, but he doesn’t know that.  I start to freak out a little, wondering what he’s thinking.  Does he think I’m off to hack up someone and dispose of a body?  Is he going to pull me over?  Am I going to end up on the evening news?  Is there a law against carrying a knife in your purse?

You know how someone says things like, “Don’t look” or “Be cool” to you and your natural instinct is to do the opposite?  I start freaking out.  In trying to be oh-so laissez-faire about the whole thing, I just looked guilty.  Luckily, the police officer just glanced, ignored me (and my obvious distress), and scooched through traffic between lanes off into the wild blue yonder.

Crisis averted.

It made for a great story when I got to church.

Melissaisms

[insert word]-sickles:   Fingersickles = cold fingers.  Melissasickle = cold Melissa.

BP:   Big Plan.  As in, “Hey, what’s the BP for tonight?  Dinner and a movie?”

Foofy:   Sticking up, out, or all over the place (as in a bad hair day).

Futz:   To fiddle around with something until it is ruined beyond repair.

Habawa?:   A question.  It means, “come again?”

Melvention:   Something I create.  Maybe I haven’t created it yet, but I had the idea for the invention right?  A melvention.  An intermelvention would be a totally different situation and not at all pleasant so I won’t add it here.

Mish Mash:   A whole mix of things.

Schwack:  Many.  A whole lot.  More than a little.

Smunched:   Squished.  Flattened like a pancake.

Snarf:   To eat very very quickly and with great enthusiasm.

Snockered:  Drunk.

Vocabularical:  Having to do with vocabulary (or lack thereof).

PHRASES

“Let’s roll!”   This means, “Let’s go” or “I’d like to leave now.”  My husband bugs me about this all the time.  He quotes it to me with a deep cowboy voice.  Maybe I’ll change my phrase to “Let’s ride!”

“Break free from society.”   This means do your own thing, baby.  I used to use it a lot in high school.  (Tragic, that I treasure it still.)

“Chaps my hide.”   This means “that is upsetting me greatly”.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff.”   A favourite of my mother’s.

“I hate rabbits.”   Before PETA shows up at my doorstep, let me clarify!  This is an utterly useless phrase used while sitting in front of a campfire and the smoke has just traveled your way and is choking you slowly.  You use this phrase and supposedly the smoke should go someplace else.  Look, I was a kid.  We thought stuff like that worked.  <g>

“SBD (Silent But Deadly)”:   Not that I’m proud of it, but this was in reference to wayyyyyy too many bean burritos and their charming after-effects.  My sister and I used to love to torture each other with this phrase, even when it didn’t apply.

“Lava Lamp”:   Fun to look at, but not that bright.  (I have to thank my ex-roommate for that one.  I got it from her.)

“Lucy skit”:  A situation so inane that it may as well have been scripted (as in, The Lucy Show).  “It was a total Lucy skit when she fell into that vat of grapes at the wine tasting last week.”

“Mental Margarita”:  I find it incredibly ironic that a woman who doesn’t drink has more than one reference to alcohol.  Anyway, this is when you allow your brain a momentary lapse of intelligence.

“Oddly compelling.”:   A situation or food that both draws and repulses you at the same time.

When Disagreement Gets Personal

Forgive me, I’m going to rant for a bit here.

I’ve been around long enough to understand that when it comes to the news, there must be a focus. This is the foundation of every article, report, op-ed piece, etc.

And there’s plenty to discuss.

As a Christian, I’ve been accused of many things. One guy told me that I was poisoning my children (since I don’t have any children of my own, I’m assuming he meant my step-children), that I was practically personally responsible for outlawing stem cell research and causing millions of potential deaths in the future, and that I was essentially a very judgmental and dangerous person – among other things.

This glowing character assass-, er, evaluation came via a comment on Facebook from a guy I’d never met in my entire life. As far as I can tell, he had no background information on my faith, my political views, or my home life, and he certainly didn’t know me personally. But in one fell swoop he managed to toss me in a box, label it “fundamentalist whack job”, and wrap it up in a nice neat bow of judgment, intellectual superiority, and scorn.

Now, I realize that “no one ever won an argument on Facebook, ever” and I’ve had many discussions on many topics in that social format which are probably not going to change anyone’s feelings on whatever the discussion is about. I sometimes hope, but that’s okay, I don’t always agree with things my friends post on Facebook either. As a “Bible-thumping” Christian in today’s world, my opinion (doesn’t really matter on what, it seems) is oftentimes not only viewed as intolerant, but in some cases (as mentioned above) “dangerous”, “mean”, “archaic”, and “irrelevant”.

It staggered me to see someone so angry with me, who’d never met me before, had no idea of my personal motivation (to reason, to explain, to give a different perspective, to love unconditionally) to lambaste me so critically. What was the subject about? Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. For people who know me, I have melted to mush when I’ve heard, “I know that you’re coming from a place of love, I just don’t agree” and that is the biggest compliment they could say to me. They know my heart. They know I love them, even if they disagree with me or I them.

I have yet to be called a bigot, which would be quite ironic, since I did change my opinions. So I’ve seen both sides of certain hot topic arguments and have changed my worldview based on logic and reason and, ultimately, faith. How many of us today can say the same thing?

For your edification, this is Webster’s definition of a bigot:

a person who is obstinately or intolerantly devoted to his or her own opinions and prejudices; especially : one who regards or treats the members of a group (as a racial or ethnic group) with hatred and intolerance

I like healthy discussion and I love my friends, family, co-workers, and even people I have never met. I understand that my personal opinions on some topics will make some people, on principle, frustrated.  I feel the same way sometimes. I also understand, all too well, that some people just do not “get” where I am coming from.  It doesn’t, in any logical way, resonate with them intellectually.  It is folly. It’s ridiculous. I know the feeling because I’ve felt it, too. Do I judge people for what they do in their private life, no. Do I know how God feels about it? Yes. Have I done things in my private life that God doesn’t approve of? I certainly have. Do I love people any less? No. Does it make any difference to me? Absolutely not.

So why not?

It comes back to having walked a few miles in those shoes. I have broken every single Commandment (especially in light of Jesus upping the ante in the New Testament – check out Matthew 5 sometime) so I know all about “sin” (a word most people, I find, really do not like hearing) because, apparently, I’d unintentionally mastered it. This is not me bragging about past exploits or saying I have it all figured it out now. This is me saying, I don’t judge because how can I judge someone else for doing something I’ve already done? That’s ridiculous. And hypocritical.

The problem is that when some of us even get a hint of guilt, we go on the offensive. No one likes to feel bad. Or guilty. Or ashamed. So rather than feel those emotions (or convictions), it’s easier to go on the offensive rather than really examine why we feel that way. I know this, too, because I’m a master of deflection. I don’t throw myself under the bus to be falsely humble, I throw myself under the bus because I’m guilty like everyone else. Anyone with the ability to remember knows what it feels like to be chastised or corrected by a parent, a teacher, a boss, or a friend.

It’s unpleasant. All we want to do it make it stop or find someone else to blame. It’s like tickling. The initial response isn’t to laugh, it’s to make the other person stop. But feeling uncomfortable about something in a healthy way is not a bad thing, it leads us to examine our actions, our motivations, and hopefully, bring about some kind of wisdom. But it is never, if ever, immediate and to expect that from each other when we debate or discuss is not only pointless, it’s unreasonable. We need time to process our feelings, examine where our own faults lie, and find a way to make sense and move forward. For some of us, it takes some time, but we eventually own it and act on it. For others, there is no debate, there is no discussion, there is no self-realization. It is the other person’s fault. End of story.

When I discuss a topic, I have a position. A worldview. So does whomever I’m speaking with. We are equally allowed our personal viewpoints. One of us may be right, one of us may be wrong, we may both be partially right, or equally completely wrong.  That does not make either one of us “better” than the other. In fact, when I discuss something that is particularly important to me, I force myself to remember what my opinions were before I became a Christian so that I can empathize and understand the other person’s viewpoint.

I remember having political discussions with my husband (at the time, he was a conservative Christian and I was a bleeding heart liberal agnostic) and I distinctly remember thinking the very same things about him that people now accuse me of!  Ha ha!

As Dr. J. Vernon McGee would say, “My chickens had come home to roost.” (And people say Bible-thumping Christians are judgmental!) So I know what it’s like to be utterly frustrated by someone whose opinion does not line up my own and to feel absolutely dumbstruck by their seemingly ridiculous worldview – and to assume that I am somehow smarter, better, and more moral.

So I just want to reiterate this one point when it comes to disagreement because I grow so tired of people (I’m not going to accuse just liberals of this because I’ve seen conservatives do it, too) using the words:

  • hypocrite
  • hate
  • bigot
  • judgmental
  • stupid
  • crazy
  • brainwashed
  • sheeple

Believe it or not, even if we think we are right, those words – by definition – are judgmental and bullying. Bullying is not just for playgrounds and high school, it applies everywhere. So even though we may feel our cause is just, calling someone else names, makes us the kind of bully we profess to want to stop. Think about that for a second. Okay, now think about it for a few seconds more. One more time, for good measure. Attack the argument, not the person.

To be clear, disagreement is not hate. Following up on personal beliefs at a political level is the foundation of our worldview. There is no separation between church and state when it comes to life because we vote our conscience in all arenas, not just the political. Your “church” may not be God, but it could easily be your belief that there is no god, or there are several, or that science is the be-all-end-all.

And, let’s be honest, people may scream for tolerance and for others not to judge (unless it applies to a belief system they don’t agree with), but all of us do it every single day. We are all judgmental, from clothes to movies to games to personal choices to faith (or not) to parenting to public personalities – every single one of us. Having an opinion is okay. Delivering it badly is not. That is the distinction. There is a time and a place for everything. There is also this little thing called tact. And before we are to open our mouths, we need to consider something crucial: what is our motivation?

  • Do we love someone and don’t want to see them hurt?
  • Do we simply have a different viewpoint on how “that thing” should be done?
  • Are we angry at a perceived injustice?
  • Are we frustrated at the world in general and this is just one more “thing” to add to the list?
  • Does our personal experience somehow cloud our judgment on that issue because we were “burned”?

One of the greatest things I heard at a Love and Respect conference is this. Most people are good-willed people. They do not wake up in the morning and say, “Wow, I really hate everyone, how can I screw them over in some way today?” Most people’s intentions are good, even if (on both sides, remember) sometimes misguided. I say most people because there are plenty of people out there whose only goal is to further their own selfish agendas and they are not at all concerned about who may end up as collateral damage along the way.

My approach in any argument is usually, what does God have to say on the matter? He is my ultimate authority through the Bible. And, given His opinion, and my motivation to love my friends and family and fellow human beings, I usually take that stance. For example, I’m not pro-life because I want to remove the rights of a woman when it comes to her body, but I want to protect the right to life of the infant inside her, too.

Obviously, I want everyone to go to Heaven and stay the heck out of Hell, but I also realize that there are just going to be people who either don’t want to believe, disagree on some critically fundamental concepts, or don’t even think about eternity because death is, quite frankly, scary. I can’t argue people into Heaven and they can’t argue me out of it. It’s free will, and we all have it.

So, at the end of the day, the point is this: agree, disagree, debate, disagree some more. Do it.

Even God said, “Come, let us reason.” But consider the approach and the words chosen because they are powerful and enduring. Anyone who has ever held on to a bad review, a dig, a slight, a hurtful exchange, a horrible argument, an unnecessarily harsh or unfounded opinion, or a painful conversation knows exactly how that feels. And, if we are ever on the delivering end of that painful exchange, we must suck it up and have the decency to apologize because unless we have no conscience whatsoever, we know when we have crossed the line.

I’m not going to lie, owning up to mistakes and bad judgment when it comes to word choice, is hard. If it was easy, the Blame Game wouldn’t be a global best seller available in every language. It takes a big person to admit when he is wrong and a bigger person to humbly apologize (not the back-handed apologies that come with a “but”) and seek forgiveness for hurtful words.

So what about the person on the receiving end? In the end, another quote from Love and Respect: our response is our responsibility. The phrase “You made me” does not and will not ever wash with me, nor should it for any human being with a brain and a mind of his own. It takes the whole notion of free will out of the equation and deflects guilt, shame, or anger back onto the other person, who may have been sincere and loving in their delivery.

Own it.

Expect that it’ll take some time to get over the hurt feelings, but listen to the message. Did they have a point? In business, there have been many times that I hated the delivery, but I listened to the message because it was valid. Sometimes it took longer than other times to get there, but eventually I did. I had to get through many layers of personal feelings and irritation at the word choice, but had to acknowledge the validity of the argument or point if it was sound. And there were plenty of times that my direction changed based on some valid suggestions.

At the end of the day, words are powerful. They can lift up and tear down. We are equally entitled to our opinions, but we are also equally responsible for how we express them. We can’t control how someone is going to take them, but we can control our delivery, our motivation, and it’s our responsibility to do so. But, with anything, a grain of salt works wonders, too. If anyone is looking to be offended, they will be.

Video: A Pep Talk from Kid President to You

This is truly inspiring. Erm, it’s maybe a little humbling, too, when a kid has to tell you obvious wisdom, but this is touching and funny and makes you think. And, c’mon, he’s – like – as cute as Emmanuel Lewis from Webster.

Hey, we are all on the same side.

Nugget of Awesome: Red Sky at Night

Do you know where the proverb, “Red sky at night sailors delight, red sky in morning sailors warning?” comes from?

If you said Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, you would be right. But only partially. Here’s the quote:

“Like a red morn that ever yet betokened, Wreck to the seaman, tempest to the field, Sorrow to the shepherds, woe unto the birds, Gusts and foul flaws to herdmen and to herds.”

Before that, Jesus said it in the Bible in Matthew 16: 2-3 (ESV)

He answered them, “When it is evening, you say, ‘It will be fair weather, for the sky is red.’ And in the morning, ‘It will be stormy today, for the sky is red and threatening.’”

What Jesus was really talking about:

You’d think it would be about sailing! But nooooo. He was referring to the unbelief of the Pharisees and Sadducees asking for a “sign” right then and there to prove to them that he was the Son of God.

Jesus said the people in Jonah’s day (remember those three days in the whale?) had better faith than these men did. The divine was in their midst and they were blind to it.

Back to the origin of the phrase. Honestly, I have no idea, probably a sailor.

From the makers of Nuggets of Awesome You Didn’t Know Came From the Bible. (I just made that up, but maybe I’ll do it again and it’ll be a thing.)

The Bible: not only relevant, but keeps you from sinking your boat.