Marmot Mail

About a Dog

2012-02-09T13:46:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a Dog. The Dog didn’t have the best beginning. When he was just a puppy, the Dog Catcher found the Dog and took him to live in a shelter. One day, a family got in their car and drove a long, long way, just to see the Dog. They had heard a lot about the Dog from many other people, and they believed that this Dog would be just the right dog to join their family. When they met him, they petted him, and ruffled his ears, and told him they loved him already. It didn’t matter to them where he came from. It didn’t even matter that some people referred to him as a Stray. The family saw way, way beyond that. To them, he was a Special Dog. They decided to take him home. They believed that this Dog would be just the right dog to join their family.

The family took very good care of the Dog, and as he grew, it was clear he was anything but average. Just as they had suspected, he was Special--and it almost seemed like the more they cared for him, the more Special he got.

The family always made sure the Special Dog had all the food and water he needed to stay healthy. Some days he had special treats—bones and fresh fruit and vegetables, (which, strangely enough, were his favorite.) When his family took him on walks in his new neighborhood , his coat shone and his teeth gleamed. They petted him and ruffled his ears and told him they loved him. People always commented on what a Good-Looking Dog he was.

He also had a lovely Backyard to play in. There was a huge, leafy tree to bark up, and plenty of squirrels and birds and cats to chase through the other trees. The Dog believed he owned the Backyard and he patrolled it proudly to keep his family safe. The family watched the Special Dog grow up. They loved him with all their heart and gave him everything he needed to be happy and loved.

One day, something terrible happened. Very early in the morning, when the Special Dog was just waking up, the snow fell and the wind blew and he heard a huge cracking sound in His Backyard. He wanted to go investigate, but his family called him back in the house. The Special Dog was very confused. Usually the family let him go out any time he wanted to. Why was the family keeping him from His Backyard? Just then, he heard another c-r-a-a-c-k and his big huge tree—the favorite tree he barked up-- split right down the middle like a stalk of celery.

The Special Dog was stunned. There was a glass door in the back of his house, that the family always used to let him out into His Backyard. He would always sit at the door patiently and wait for them to open it. But, now, all he could see out the glass was a huge forest of branches. The door wouldn’t open anymore. His Backyard was gone.

The Special Dog panicked. He cried and he whined and jumped, but no matter how many times he motioned for his family to open his door, it stayed locked. His Backyard was gone and he was trapped in the house.

A little while later, the family led the Special Dog across the house and into another room. It was a room that the Special Dog didn’t go into much, because THE CAT lived there. THE CAT stayed in a separate part of the house because he didn’t think the Dog was all that Special. The Special Dog never really understood this, but he accepted it all the same.

The Special Dog saw another glass door in THE CAT’S room, but it didn’t look anything like his door. Of course, he knew it couldn’t lead to His Backyard, because, it looked completely different. All he could see outside were branches from the big tree and a small patch of grass. The family could open this door, though and they motioned for the Special Dog to go outside.

The family tried many things. They talked to the Special Dog nicely and petted him. They pulled on his collar. They offered him treats. But, there was no way the Special Dog was going out that door. Finally, they got the Special Dog’s leash and hooked it to his collar. They pulled gently on the leash till they got him just outside the door. He stood out on the cement patio, sniffed the tiniest edge of the grass and then ran back inside.

The Special Dog searched and searched for His Own Backyard, but it was not to be found. He went back to his old door and cried and whimpered and whined and looked at his family. But there was nothing to be seen but a forest of branches. The family kept trying to take him back to the other glass door. They would open it and try over and over to coax him outside. “Go out and play, you Crazy Dog!” they said. But, there was no way he was venturing out into those tree branches and that little spot of grass. If only he could find His Backyard. Then, everything would be okay.

“You are going to have to go potty, sometime!” the family said.

The Special Dog didn’t understand any of the words except “potty,” He agreed that might be a good idea, but he wasn’t taking any chances. This time, when they let him out the other glass door he ran as fast as he could to the very edge of the grass, went potty and ran back inside.

It wasn’t His Backyard, but he certainly felt better.

That week, the days dragged on and the routine was the same. The Special Dog would stand at his back door and cry. The family would lead him to the other glass door and try to encourage him to go outside. Except for going potty once in a while at the edge of the grass, the Special Dog refused to go any farther. There was no playing. No more chasing squirrels, no more harassing cats on the fence, no more running through his back yard on patrol. It was all gone. Where had the family taken His Backyard? How could they be so mean to him? Why wouldn’t they bring it back? He would sit for hours staring out one door or the other. One wouldn’t open and the one that did, didn’t lead to His Backyard. It was a different life now.

Of course, some things were still the same. The family always fed him on time, and gave him plenty of fresh water. They brushed his coat till it was glossy and they took him out on walks. They petted him and ruffled his ears and told him that they loved him. Strangely enough, they also always insisted on taking him back to that other glass door and trying to coax him outside.

But, of course he wouldn’t go out. If only they hadn’t taken away His Own Backyard. If only things could be the way they used to be.

A few days later, a strange man came to the house, with a loud, noisy stick. The stick made huge whirring noises that the Special Dog didn’t really like. He thought wistfully about the days when he would’ve chased someone with a stick like that right out of His Backyard. He could hear the noise, and sometime even see the stick, but there was no way he was going out the door. Because it wasn’t His Backyard. So, what was the point?

A strange thing happened while that man was there. The more noise the stick made, the more the forest of branches began to change. Maybe it was shifting or maybe it wasn’t. The Special Dog couldn’t be certain, but, it did get his attention. It wasn’t like having His Backyard, of course, but it least it broke up the boredom.

The next morning, the Special Dog woke up and the family gave him his water and his breakfast like they always did. They petted him and they ruffled his ears like they always did. They told him they loved him, like they always did. Then, he went to sit at his back door--like he always did.

And then, something changed.

Because, when the Special Dog looked out the back door, it was back. His Backyard was BACK! This time the family slid open his own back door and he shot outside like a bullet. He ran round and round and round His Backyard. He came back to the family and licked them and then ran back outside again. He immediately set about sniffing all over the place. Yes, it seemed to smell like His Backyard. It did look a little bit different though. His favorite tree was gone, there was a huge pile of fat logs on the side of the fence and there was sawdust and little bits of branches everywhere he looked. But, the birds and the squirrels were out in the other trees, and everything else was just like he left it. Now, he could finally run and play again! His Backyard had returned. His life could go back to being the way it always was.

From the yard, the Special Dog looked back at his family standing by the door. Crazy Family! Why had they taken His Backyard away? Didn’t they know how much he needed it? Imagine trying to get him to go out that other door to the other place! How ridiculous they were! He was glad they had come to their senses, but he was still confused. Why change things when it was so much better to just leave them the same? To think of all those days he’d been trapped in the house without His Backyard. For what? He was proud he had held out and refused to step out into that other place. It was so much better to stay right where he was, and cry and whimper and whine and stare at his family for days until things returned to normal. Surely they could see that now! He had hated being in the house all that time, but he knew he had been right all along and that was very, very important to him.

Sometimes that’s very important to me too. But, I guess I shouldn’t read too much into this.

It’s just a story about a dog.

A Christmas Gift from Our House to Yours

2011-12-20T12:15:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of double-dipping, I just posted this on Facebook as well. It's one of our all time favorite Christmas treats and very fun to bake with kids!

Biscotti recipe from Sharon McCormick's Italian Nonni----but, if you make this, you have to call it Bee-SKO-tee---not Bih-SCOTTIE!
Mix together: 2 cups sugar, 1 cup melted butter, 1/4 cup anise seed, 2T water, 1 tsp almond extract, 2 tsp. vanilla and six beaten eggs. Add 5 1/2 cups of flour, 1 T. baking powder, and 2 cups coarsely chopped almonds, all in small batches to help make mixing easy. Mix well with wooden spoon, getting all flour from sides of the bowl. Cover with saran wrap and refrigerate 3 hours.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Spray 2-3 cookie sheets with Pam or oil. Roll the dough into the shape of long, fat playdough snakes OR long mole tunnels--depending on how you visualize...They need to be about 2 inches wide, and the length of the baking sheet. Bake one snake/tunnel thing per cookie sheet until slightly golden and firm to the touch (about 22 minutes.) Let the pans cool 30 minutes.

Cut snake/tunnel things diagonally into 1/2" slices. (You know---into the shape of a biscotti!) Place the slices back on the pans, cut side down. Bake for three minutes, then turn each piece over and bake another 3 minutes on the other side. Cool, store and eat MANY.

Answers to FAQ I know you are going to come up with:
1. Yes, only Americans say "Bih-SCOTTIE."
2. Anise seed is sold everwhere, it's with the other spices.
3. Yes they HAVE to be baked twice, or they are not real biscotti
4. No, I can't give you a better description than playdough snakes and mole tunnels---it's an old family recipe, you either get it or you don't (!)
5. When you go through the twice-baking thing, PAY ATTENTION AND CHECK OFTEN....they burn easily at this stage, which is a real drag after all your hard work.
6. Ever wonder what Heaven smells like? You'll know when these start baking! They say they keep for a long time, but we've never had them in our kitchen long enough to find out.

This is one of our Christmas traditions---Enjoy!!!!
P.s. I consider it an abomination to dip these in chocolate, or add frou-frou ingredients like cranberry orange tofu slices.....but, hey, suit yourselves--just don't tell me about it :)

Mail Call

2011-11-28T14:55:00.000-08:00

In the end of November, everything still feels possible. I just might write and mail Christmas cards this year, instead of scribbling out a half-dozen notes at the last minute and tucking them in with the presents.

I'm old enough to remember what a thrill it was to get stacks of Christmas Cards in the mail every December. My mother took all the ones we received and carefully attached them to a thick ribbon that framed one of the living room doors. If so many cards came that we had to employ a second door before Christmas Day, it was just further proof to the world of how many new friends we had acquired in the last 12-months.

The truth was, you could learn a lot of news about a family just by the signature on the cards---who was added, or who was left out. Someone died? Someone got married? If they got a puppy or a kitten--it was all included in the pictures on those cards. I remember being puzzled at the ones that arrived with names I didn't recognize--old friends of my parents that only wrote that one faithful note, once a year. My favorites were the pre-printed ones: "From the Smith Family." For some reason, those seemed like they came straight from the lap of luxury--outdone only by those that had printed names AND embossed return addresses. (I'd add that my other favorites were the ones whose covers shined with sparkly glitter that always ended up on my hands, but I guess that would really date me...)

It's funny how much care people took to send those greetings every year. As a kid, I remember my mom would pay me to handwrite ours. (She always said it was because she had bad penmanship, but as I got old enough to know what "Christmas Rush" meant, I figured it out.) I remember days of mailing fruitcakes to my cousin fighting in Vietnam,(would have made excellent weapons if they ran low,) and packages with knitted scarves to my relatives across country. Of course, postage was only four to five cents per card, back then, but it wasn't really about the money, even though we say it is. What it was really was about, was the time.

This year, I'll try again to write and mail Christmas Cards. Sure, I can e-mail, twitter, skype and IM my greetings in seconds, for free, no less. But it never seems the same. There's just something about tearing open that envelope---especially when the glitter sprinkles out.

790 and not a lurker in sight

2011-11-26T23:29:00.000-08:00

I'm excited that my blog is about to turnover to the big 800. That tells me someone is out there reading. But, who? I'll never know. The counter says you exist, but I haven't gotten a comment in eons. Stop by and say hello sometime :)

The Red Trees Come in November

2011-11-11T10:00:00.000-08:00

It's funny, I looked back at my last post and couldn't figure out why I titled it what I did. Then I remembered: October 15th is the day we moved to the PNW! We just celebrated our 11th year here, and I am never more grateful for our move than in the Autumn.
The last few years we've gotten a little cheated out of our Autumn by the early rain. Last October, it was already coming down in buckets, and that doesn't make for much of a fall display. When I was in Vermont last year, I kept thinking: why do they have so many red trees and we just have yellow and orange?? (As IF I had a right to complain...) This year, the rain has really held off and we've had some AMAZING days for picture taking and leaf-peeping (as they say back East,) And this year, I remembered: we DO have red trees--but only when the rains hold off till November!

Our daughter has been home with us this fall, doing some recovery work from a car accident. I almost feel guilty enjoying her so much since she's not here for a great reason. Still, I've had such a wonderful time enjoying the Autumn with her.
We've had an amazing time doing all the things we love best: picking pumpkins, harvesting apples and taking LOTS of pictures. This year, we've also gotten heavy into knitting--a new adventure for us both that helps her relax and calm down. Here are a couple of fun shots from around town.

The best day of the year

2011-10-15T18:13:00.001-07:00

The Eagle has flown--and landed quite nicely

2011-10-12T08:07:00.000-07:00

To those of you who have been wondering about, and praying for, my youngest eagle: I just want to report that we took him off to school Sunday and he (for now,) is a very happy boy.

I say "for now" because, I'll admit, the last year has made me tentative. Tentative and a bit afraid. He had such a difficult time. He was so sick, and so unhappy, and so disappointed that his dreams of going back East ended the way they did.

But God is good. Even if His goodness sometimes involves a lot of pain.

The boy is not completely well, but he has grown so much in the last year, and he is ready for this next step.

Before he left, I told him over and over to remember that there is no "perfect." There's only good and better.

Right now, Square One is good. Very, very good.

Thank you God. And thank you all for praying.

I'm Just Saying...

2011-10-07T15:57:00.000-07:00

A good friend of mine writes a semi-regular blog, which he always signs with the words: "I'm Just Sayin..."

I've always liked this, because it implies that--whether you agree with me or not--I'm just saying what things look like from my side of the fence.

You'll want to keep that in mind as you read the rest of this post.

To paraphrase Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol: "Steve Jobs was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner."

Please understand, I'm not being sarcastic, or insensitive here. The man died of pancreatic cancer. If you don't know anything about it, it's an awful way to die. In addition, he was, by most accounts, a nice person who didn't appear to deserve to have his life shortened in this way.

He was also an amazingly brilliant person. The things he invented were far beyond the scope of most people's imagination. And, speaking as a woman who has problems putting the AC cord in right side up when she is plugging in her hair dryer, believe me when I say, I am NOT minimizing the technological contributions he made to society. Some would say he may have invented technological contributions. None of this is lost on me.

My husband and I started our marriage in the Silicon Valley when Jobs' star was rising in the heavens. My husband even worked putting together an early Jobsian computer model that went out with 8-track tapes. Ever hear of the "Lisa?" Yeah, neither did many other people, but it was a model that existed, way back when--allegedly named for an old girlfriend of his.

All this to say that I am not a stranger to the cradle of technology or what it has given us.

But, I've been watching the memorials of Steve that have been popping up throughout the media.

And, I smell worship.

Steve Jobs invented machines. He was not pulling people out of burning buildings. He was not carrying water to them. He was not up all night, struggling with the issues of life and death and salvation. This was not person to person interaction. Those machines may have assisted in a lot of charitable and philanthropic efforts, but they were machines. In the words of one of my favorite young adults: He wasn't Mother Teresa.

I worry because a lot of people are mourning him. Sorrowfully. Yet I know for a fact that these are the same people who wouldn't be too shaken up if their neighbor down the street had died of pancreatic cancer. Or even a distant, obscure relative.

People are mourning him because they felt they knew him.

Why is that such a problem for me? Because we relate more today with machines and those who bring them to us, than we do to the people around us. The people who we really DO know and are actually a part of our lives.

Steve Jobs was our hero because he invented machines and machines are wonderfully safe. They have the magic power to keep us more and more anonymous in this world. Instead of going next door to see someone face to face, I can just text them Heck, I can text my daughter in the next bedroom and never have to talk to her either! Machines keep us protected and insulated---and unknown. And this seems to be what we all aspire to.

Steve Jobs helped make those things possible, and that is why he was a media nova. He and others like him, were part of the great wave that is pushing us farther and farther apart from each other, on the pretense of bringing us closer and closer together. No, I'm not ignorant enough to blame all this on him. But, when I hear the mourning, I hear the strains of worship.

Worship that I'm thinking should be going somewhere else.

And somewhere, far in the background, I also hear a Toby Mac song playing.

And the refrain goes: "I don't want to gain the whole world and lose my soul."

Someone very important said that a long time ago.

I'm just saying.

Beautiful October

2011-10-05T00:26:00.000-07:00

There's no doubt this is my favorite month of the year. The picture above was a shot I took last fall on the Connecticut River that divides Vermont and New Hampshire. Last fall, I was pretty sure I'd be spending a lot of time on that river, with my son going off to college there.

But, things have a way of changing.

The Connecticut River, along with a lot of the rest of Vermont, looks a lot different now, after some of the most severe flooding in the state's history. Today, I'm not sure I'd be able to find the same riverbank I took the picture of.

And, my son's direction has changed too.

A few months after this picture was taken, he came home and entered one of the most difficult years of his life. Pain, illness and healing have taken up the last 12 months for him. It has been a test of sorts. For all of us.

But, this Sunday, he will start a new adventure when he leaves again for another school, this time, much closer to home.

Beautiful October is full of surprises for our family. I wonder where the road leads next?

Courage

2011-09-23T16:07:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, this has been my word.

Do you ever go through seasons in your life where a word or a thought keeps coming up again and again--on the radio, in things people say, in things you hear at church, in things you hear on the street in town?

That's the way it is with Courage.

Lately, I've realized that I have spent a lot of years praying for things that have been right in front of me the whole time. Like provision--"Dear God, help me make the bills this month." Or decision-making--"Dear God, I've prayed as much as I can about this decision--please let it be the right one." Or sharing my life with others--"Dear God, please make me strong enough and give me what I need to share with that person about You."

Please don't misunderstand. There's no doubt, God DOES ask us to pray for what we need. But, I'm realizing that some of what I've been praying for, is stuff he has already given me the tools to deal with.

Like provision---He already told me he would take care of me no matter what happens.
And decision making---Didn't I already say I had prayed about it many times? Why am I still moving forward with uncertainty and fear when he PROMISES over and over that he will lead me?
And as for sharing---what about all those promises he made about sending the Holy Spirit to give me the power--even the exact WORDS that I will need, when the time comes?

That is why lately I'm realizing that I don't need to pray for things like these.
What I need to pray for is the COURAGE to follow through, pick up the tools he has already promised me and USE THEM.

Obviously, not every need falls into these catagories, but the more closely I look at my prayer requests, the more I see things that do. And the more I am moved to my knees to ask why I am having so much trouble reaching out and taking what he has already given.

What do you think?

The Reliability of the Source

2011-09-09T19:59:00.000-07:00

As I'm sure you know, this Sunday will mark the 10th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11. Tonight, I was watching the PBS Newshour when I heard a very interesting comment by one of their reporters.

The reporter talked about how people in New York are frantic after warnings by the U.S. Government of a possible repeat attack this weekend. The news anchor asked the reporter how reliable she felt the source of the government's information was.

That was what got my attention.

The reporter said that this was a very unusual situation. According to her, most of the time, the government will put together reports from several sources before confirming a possible threat situation. She said, the bottom line is: the more duplicate reports there are, the more they tend to believe a possible threat is true.

But, she said that when it comes to terrorism information, things are done slightly differently.

In that case, she said, they look to the reliability of the source. So, it doesn't really matter if there is one report or ten reports. If that terrorism report comes from from just one, highly reliable source, they will go with it.

Or as she put it:

"If you have faith in the source, that changes the way you react."

Hmmm. Does this remind you of anything?

How many times do I feel I have to get the opinion of every other person I know, in order to make the "right" decision?

There's nothing wrong with seeking the opinion of many people.

Wise people. Caring people. Godly people.

As long as I don't do it because I need the confirmation, and the reassurance, of many.

So, what if I tried to do it the other way around? What if I spent time---real, concentrated, sacrificial time--seeking the opinion of the One that really matters?

What if I spent less time asking others what they think, and more time looking to the Reliability of the Source--and then letting it change the way I react.

Reader Boards

2011-08-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

Are you familiar with reader boards? They are those signs that stand in front of businesses with personal messages on them. They can be changed at any time by just rearranging the letters. In our little town, they are used for anything from advertising a house for sale, to congratulations on a new baby.

This week, every reader board in our town and in the small town next to ours, says the same thing:
"Hospitalman Ryley Gallagher-Long. Our Hero. RIP. We will miss you."

I don't remember Ryley as a hospitalman. I remember him as a curly-headed 10-year-old, with a peaches and cream complexion and a taste for mischief. I also remember him, and his twin brother Wyatt, as two of my son's dearest friends in junior high.

The boys graduated from high school when my son did. My son went off to college in Vermont. Ryley married his high school sweetheart, and joined the Navy to work as a medic. Last month, he was sent to Afghanistan and three weeks later, he was lying dead after his group was apparently ambushed. The paper said Ryley had gotten out to tend to a wounded soldier. He was killed instantly by a shot to the chest.

"What kind of person shoots someone when he's trying to save someone's life?" my son asks me. I don't know that I have ever had an answer to that.

In about 15 minutes, we are leaving for a glow-stick memorial for Ryley. It was organized by his friends at a local place with huge outside gardens where we usually attend wedding receptions.

Not tonight.

The reader boards are everywhere you look. Today, flags appeared up and down the main streets here. That's what happens in a small town. You are so much closer to life and death here--and people come together for both.

A month ago, a dear young couple that are friends of ours had their first baby.

Next month, two of Daniel's other good friends will be married.

Daniel will be 20-years-old next week. The hour he was born, another friend of ours passed on. The irony wasn't lost on any of us.

By the time tonight is over, I will have gone to two memorial services in five days. The other was for a 25-year-old man who killed himself in a fit of despair.

I keep thinking about Joni Mitchell's Circle Song.

And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

About Gratitude

2011-01-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

So, I've been asking this question since Thanksgiving and I finally decided to post it. I'd love to hear what you think.

Can Gratitude exist if you don't acknowledge a Giver?

During the holidays, I spent a lot of time with people who don't acknowledge the existence of a God or Power. Yet, they exhibit what I'd call "Random Gratitude." I'd often hear them say: "I'm so grateful for my:" job, health, kids--- fill in the blank. (Okay, so, in my opinion, not enough people express gratitude for their kids, but I digress.) What I keep wondering is, how can you be grateful you have something unless you acknowledge that it comes from somewhere---or someone?

Can Gratitude exist in a vaccuum? Doesn't the presence of good (or bad) things in our lives just give more credence to the belief that a Giver exists?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

To my dear Lurkers

2010-12-31T09:23:00.000-08:00

I know you are out there--and I'm thrilled! I am about to reach my 100th post (this is the 98th,) and am wondering whether to continue this blog. If you are a regular reader and look forward to continued posts, I'd love it if you show yourselves and give a little feedback.
If you prefer to remain a Lurker, that's okay too--just know that you ARE appreciated :)
Happy New Year,
Marmot Mom
P.S. To comment, you need to create a google account and follow the directions from there.

Ice, Ice Baby!

2010-11-23T11:24:00.000-08:00

First, let me just say: :)

That's right, it snowed last night. Not enough to mean anything to anyone else. But enough to create ice so the buses don't run.

So, I am sitting here at the beginning of my 7 day holiday and life is good. The only two things that could make it better would be if Delicate Flower were home (she comes in tomorrow night,) and if we were getting paid for these days.

See, all you 12-month workers? There IS a dark cloud in my silver lining. Thanks to the magic of the education budget, these are all UNPAID days. Rats. Well, you can't have everything...time for another cup of tea.

Snow!

2010-11-21T19:40:00.000-08:00

There's a sandwich board out in front of one of my regular coffee haunts, that reads: "Guess when it's going to snow and win a prize." I've been thinking about checking in with dates like: December 18th and December 25th---little would I have imagined we'd get our first snow this morning.

It was a typical PNW day. I woke up, the sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. "I think I'll do a little raking in the back yard, later on," I thought to myself. So, I got dressed and went to church with the fam. When we went outside to get in the car, it was a little colder and there was some frost showing on the grass and on the neighbor's roof. Nothing unusual. We went to church down the street, and when we came outside after the service it was a little colder. We drove home and before we had started making lunch, it was snowing.

Such is life on the Minor Outlying Islands of the U.S., where our motto is: if you don't like the weather, just wait 15 minutes.

The snow stopped after a few hours and turned into rain. Presumably the air is colder now that the sun went down, and I am praying for ice. Ice? That's right. Snow won't keep the school buses from running but ice will---and since we only have a 2-day school week this week, maybe we'll get really lucky and go for a Thanksgiving Week hiatus.

I hear kids love snow days. I don't know much about that, having grown up in sunnier climes....but I sure know how school staff feels.(Insert evil laugh here.) Ice, Ice baby!

The Lyrics

2010-11-08T10:58:00.000-08:00

Everyone has their own way of listening to music. For TH and Bosco it's all about the music, the beat, the repetition of notes. I am all about the lyrics. The lyrics of a song can, and have, changed the entire way I view the world. When I hear truth in words it's a big deal to me. Sometimes, almost more than my heart can hold.

Lately, this is the song that God has used to reach out to me the most. I like the tune, but, it's the lyrics that I feel slowly changing my life.

My friend you know how this all ends
And You know where you’re going
You just don’t know how you’ll get there
So say a prayer

And hold on cause there’s good for those who love God
But life is not a snapshot
It might take a little time but you’ll see the bigger picture

Would you dare would you dare to believe
That you still have a reason to sing
Cause the pain that you've been feeling
It can’t compare to the joy that’s coming
So hold on you gotta wait for the light
Press on and just fight the good fight
Cause the pain that you’ve been feeling
It’s just the dark before the morning
--From Before the Morning, Josh Wilson

Think about it. And have a good day.

On Halloween

2010-10-31T09:34:00.000-07:00

Holidays keep changing over here.

Bosco is away at college and Delicate Flower came home yesterday on a quick sweep through on her way to a friend's party.

Now, I realize that those of you struggling through Halloween with small children, read this with a sigh, and more than a touch of envy. But I'll let you in on a secret: growing up is not all it's cracked up to be for a parent.

I have vivid memories of the frenzied excitement before the big day. Back when there were still school Halloween parades. Memories of princes and princesses and gypsies and indian girls and racoons. (For DF the costumes always included plenty of sparkles and for Bosco they always managed to have something to do with fur.)

It was all about last-minute attempts at sewing hems, (I later resorted to taping and stapling,) and endless fittings to make sure things were "just right." I remember arguments with TH about who was going to walk the kids around the neighborhood with my girlfriends and who was going to hand out candy. (I wanted to do both--he'd prefer neither.) There was Jack-o-lantern pulp all over the kitchen table, with endless newspapers that never seemed to catch the whole explosion.

One year, my girlfriend actually attempted to throw a quick party of sorts before the kids went out walking. Okay, it was a poorly disguised photo op. for the moms, but the kids had a blast and were none the wiser.

It all goes by in the blink of an eye, people. The ceremonial Sorting of the Candy after the Big Night---which in my house could take days. Deciding what to eat, what to save and what to trade. Wearing the Halloween costumes for months as they made their way in and out of the dress-up box. All the time announcing plans for what you were going to be "next year."

The years change and so do the plans. Okay, my daughter DID still dress up at last night's college party and my son called me from a party on-campus, but it's not quite the same.

Tonight, I imagine TH and I will take turns opening the door and holding back Rosco the Wonder Dog when the little people come to the door. We'll ooh and ahh over the little princesses and fairies that come early and groan at our students that usually trail by somewhere around nine with ratty pajamas and painted faces. ("Hey, Mr. X! I didn't know you lived here!)

In the end, I think the real magic of Halloween is in the kind of holiday it is. I mean, come on, a kid walks up to a random door, knocks, and is automatically given candy? Truly, does a child's life ever get any better than this?

So, for those of you still lucky enough to have little monsters going out tonight, let me just say ENJOY. Trust me, life won't end if they eat that extra piece of candy, or stay up that extra half-hour, (yes, even on a--gasp!--school night.) All will survive if they are asking you for those giant rites of passage: going out with "just their friends," or going to their first real party. The world will still be turning on November first, as it has for so many other parents before you.

And one last bit of advice---don't buy that cheap hard candy no matter HOW broke you are. Spring for the real chocolate or don't give any out at all.

After all, there are a few things that never change.

Livin' Large in a Small Town

2010-06-03T17:32:00.000-07:00

I thought about titling this post: "The Top Ten Reasons I love living in a small town." But, I immediately decided against that, since there are many more than just ten reasons I love living here.

It's been almost 10 years since TH and I moved the family from the craziness of the suburbs to a little town in the Minor Outlying Islands off the coast of the U.S. We did not move here by accident, we moved here by design. There are so many things here that make it a great fit for us--even the town name. (Sorry, but, even blogggers deserve a little privacy. You either know it, or you don't. If I told you, I'd have to kill you.)

One of the best things about life here is the consistency. There are things, and people, you can count on seeing over and over again--sometimes every week, sometimes daily. Then again, there are some things that are so extraordinary that you'd never see them anywhere else.

I thought about this, this afternoon as I saw the four older people standing out in front of the library. Three men and a women. They have been standing there, every Thursday afternoon, since we first sent soldiers into Iraq after 9/11. They carry signs saying things like "Bring Our Troops Home." and "End War." Five or six years ago, they were a bigger group and when you honked the horn at them or gave them the thumbs up, they would shake their signs from side-to-side and nod vehemently, or shout out a loud "THANK YOU!" as you drove by. These days, I honk and they offer me a slow wave and go back to talking between themselves. But it's another Thursday and they are still there.

I'm part of a small writer's group that meets with an English teacher at the high school. The other night I wrote a piece of prose in which I waxed on about the latest antics of the Mayor of Safeway. When I had finished my reading, I looked around smugly at the other three sitting at the table with me.

"So, can any of you guess who the Mayor of Safeway is?"

"Sure," they said. And in less than a minute, all of them had identified the man I was talking about.

He is a little less then five feet tall with a thick trunk and a beer belly and looks for all the world like a moving quipee doll. His hair is cut in a kind of mohawk, with the top sporting a waved curl--kind of like the old Hawaii-5-0 logo. The Mayor's most identifiable characteristic is his neck--or the lack of it. It's as if his head is directly attached to his shoulders, kind of like Humpty Dumpty or a Kindergarden drawing. A circle on a square.

Regardless of the weather, there are some things the Mayor always does: he always wears shorts, sandals and a tank top, he is always holding his cell phone and he is always talking on it. Our family started calling him the Mayor of Safeway because he can usually be found at one of the round, umbrella tables in front of the supermarket door. Occasionally he takes a break to rapidly stroll the store aisles. He's a man with a mission.

After we discussed the Mayor of Safeway, the group turned their attention to the Three Philosphers who always sit in the chairs outside BJ's Coffee. They rarely drink much coffee--although occasionally I see them dig in their pockets and run in for a cup. Mostly they just sit there, three old men in baseball caps, flannel shirts and jeans, feet crossed and stretched all the way out in front of them. They spend a lot of time arguing in loud voices, but you get the sense they are old friends even as they're disagreeing. The Three Philosophers are there almost every day. When it rains, they just drag their plastic chairs under the awning of the shop and keep talking.

When we don't run into The Mayor at Safeway, we usually run into Bobby. Bobby is a middle-aged bagger who happens to be developmentally disabled. The only evidence of this is that he speaks in a very high voice that, literally, carries across the store. When Bobby he sees you, he is always faithful to greet you with a big smile and a loud, cheerful: "HI!!!" And if for some reason you miss it, he will call out to you until he is sure you've heard him. Bobby is, quite simply, the best. He can make me go from self-centered to happy in a split second, and it seems like he has that effect on most people in the store. Our Safeway makes a great effort to hire a number of disabled baggers. I love it. It's one of the main reasons I patronize them.
More later.

There are winners and there are the rest of us.

2010-06-03T07:54:00.000-07:00

Scientists don't know this yet, but there are people that have the Winning Gene. My mother has it. My daughter has it. Me? Nada.

My mother almost never went to school events when I was little, because she was always working. However, one school carnival does stand out in my mind. She walked me down the hill to school and she was very curious about the Cake Walk.

"What do you do here?" she asked
"Well, you just pick a number and pay a dime(!) and then you walk round and round and if the music stops when you're standing on your number, you win a cake."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"And you win a whole cake?"

Do you know how hard it is to carry three cakes uphill six blocks?

"And to think, this only cost 30 cents!!" my mother marvelled.
Yes, that's right. She only played three times.

To say my mother is lucky would be a gross understatement.
She has won bikes, trips, contests, board games she's playing for the first time, and huge amounts of money in Reno. ("You mean you just put this little chip down like this?") Most recently, as an 83-year-old, she continues to win huge cash prizes for bowling. ("Guess my team just wins a lot!") The family joke is that it would be silly to scratch a lottery card without having her breathe on it.

I, like I said, carry no such gene.

Then, there's Delicate Flower.

DF started her winning career early in life with board games, and quickly moved up to raffles and contests. She regularly wins drawings, (she gets the best ornament for a prize--we get the lousy ones,) and scored a particular coup when she won an expensive fishing reel for her daddy out of a drawing of about a million people at a sports emporium. ("I just kept stuffing that little box with tickets...")

Last Sunday, we celebrated Teacher Husband's birthday with a trip to watch a baseball game down at DF's university. It was the last home game of the season--Fan Appreciation Day--so thoughout the game, they kept drawing names for little prizes.

"I put all our names into the drawing box!" I announced, right before the game.
"Oh, Mom, come on!" DF groaned, rolling her eyes. "Did you really?"
"Sure!" I said, cheerfully.

The first couple of innings went by. They called someone's name to win a mini-bat; they called someone's name to win a hat.

Then they called Delicate Flower's name.

"Delicate Flower! Come right up to the Appreciation Table! You just won a $25 gift certificate to the Student Bookstore!!"

"Great!!" she screamed, and scrambled up the bleachers to claim her prize.

For the rest of the game, the winners went back to receiving personal-sized pizzas.

How?? Why?? Who knows.

I keep thinking she and her Nana should team up on something, but I worry it might set off some natural phenomenon like the San Andreas Fault.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she said when she came back to her seat. "I promise never to tease you about putting our names in something like that again!"

Uh-huh. As if my signing us up had anything to do with it.

Okay, I'm back. Did I miss anything?

2010-05-21T10:37:00.000-07:00

God + Tea = Miracles
--Also, never underestimate the power of a good rant.
"All better," as my kids used to say.
Although, after everything is said and done, you gotta love that racoon picture. Fierce! Better expect to see him again next time I have a hard day.
Love to all! oxox

G-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r

2010-05-21T00:37:00.000-07:00

The High School boy has been home sick all week and, with a few exceptions, I have been home for about 12 days.

Man, this has got to end soon.

I want him to get well fast and go back to school or work. I want TH to have more subbing work and get the summer job he's looking at. I want to get all my calls, appointments and bills done for my mother. I want it to stop raining so I can work in the garden and go for walks. I want my shoulder to stop hurting at weird, unexpected times, so I can stop popping ibuprofen and eying the oxycontin bottle.

It's less than a month away from the end of the school year. These are usually the happiest days of my life. Unfortunately, I'm not working anymore, Delicate Flower is going to be in summer school for most the summer, The High School Boy may or may not be moving to the East Coast in the Fall and everything feels completely upside down.

Sometimes you just want to eat a piece of chocolate and take a long nap.

Wake me when it gets a little more normal around here.

Art imitates life, imitates art, imitates....well, you get the idea...

2010-05-15T20:53:00.000-07:00

According to Delicate Flower, the Electronic Journalism Major, I have touched greatness. Uh, huh, the girl says I'm achieved a higher caste of blogdom, if you will.

Let me explain

Remember the blog about T. Shane? Apparently someone who is a "Social Media Analyst" read that post and responded to it. DF says a Social Media Analyst is someone who works for a company by trolling on-line for mentions of their company/client's name. If possible, the blog mention is then used as positive publicity for their company/client. (Kind of like an online publicity agent.) In this case, the analyst responded to my post under the name "Price" and then sent me to a T. Shane link, proving, by the magic of cameraphone that Tom is the Real Deal!

(Yeah, I know, I have my doubts too....)

You can read it all yourself by trolling down to the T. Shane link and then checking all responses.

In a way this is kind of fun. (Those of you who know about my
"past" will laugh along with me when Price talks about producing radio commercials!!! lol!) Then again, it's kinda creepy.

Yes, boys and girls, your so-called original thoughts really are available to all. You know it intellectually, but it's something else again when you are called on it.

Hm...maybe I should be apologizing to Tom for the Picture of Dorian Gray crack???

A whole lifetime ago.

2010-05-09T16:54:00.000-07:00

Unbelievable as it may seem, our Delicate Flower was born 21 years ago today. She was able to come home from school to celebrate a great birthday weekend with all of us--an amazing feat considering she only has a few weeks to the end of the term! We love her and treasure her so much. Yes, I know I'm her mother, but, lets be completely honest......isn't she beautiful?! Happy Birthday Lizziebelle! oxox

Warning. This is more than a little startling.

2010-05-09T16:35:00.000-07:00

Each morning, when I get up, I ask myself if there really is a God. What I mean is: is there a random force in the universe who threw down a bunch of pieces and then sat down to see what happened, or is there a real being who loves me and cares about the way I live my life? I follow God because I believe He is more than a theory or a positive spirit. I want a relationship with a living being, not with an idea. To be really honest, my life is much too short to hang on an idea.
This morning, my husband showed me a moth on the front porch mat and I took a shot of it. To tell you the truth, I think this picture is more than a little startling. But, it makes me think, and it confirms my conclusion that God has an intricate plan for my life that involves a lot more than a random collection of coincidence, genes and DNA. I hope it helps you too.

Discipline By Dog

2010-04-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

So, I'm guessing some of you may be way ahead of me on this, but here it goes...
It's just starting to dawn on me that God could be using this Animal, (okay, Bosco's animal,) to reign me in a little. I mean, I didn't THINK I was out of control...but you know how that goes.
One of my biggest areas of struggle in life is just letting things happen without micromanaging the details. This weekend I've been noticing how sometimes I feel tied down by The Animal because I can't predict---or, control--his behavior. (Yeah, I've heard of trainers, but you can insert a LONG story there....)
For right now, anyway, he's more than a little feral, and it usually doesn't take long for that to get to me. He also represents more to do: buy (special, expensive) food, give medicine, walk, bathe, give shots to, bla bla bla. Naturally Bosco does most all of this himself, but I always get the feeling having him (the dog, not Bosco, ) makes for more money spent and more oversight on my part and I get easily irritated. (I'm being completely honest here, kids, so cut me some slack.) Now, put that together with the fact that this is a VERY sweet animal, and I really, really LOVE him, but we're probably getting ready to take over his care this Fall if my son goes off to college, and you have some seriously mixed emotions!!!

Think maybe God just wants me to chill a little while and not be so neurotic about everything? I do. He's a great animal, I love him, now I gotta relax. When it comes down to it, that could be a description for everyone I know and everything I've gotta do. God is just trying---once again--to get my attention to do the right thing.

Discipline. By Dog.

How long, O Lord?

2010-04-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I could have spent time reading my bible, talking with God and seeking his advice on a lot of things. I didn't. I spent the rest of the day in a repetitive cycle of crashing and burning.

Today, I got a little smarter. I got up and read for a while. I talked to God for a while. Do you know what I read? I read more in I Samuel about how Israel made a few plans of their own--and then spent the next years crashing and burning.

Is this a coincidence? If you want to believe that, I say, knock yourself out.

I know better.

So, if I know better, why, after all these years do I still put off doing what I know I really need? Why do I keep trying to drive down these roads without a look at my map? I am more than half way through my life--and in my third decade of being a Christian--How long, O Lord?

Friends, the time to apply what we've learned is now.

Aren't we getting a little old to keep learning the hard way?

Hah!

2010-04-22T22:23:00.000-07:00

No sooner do I make that last post, but what should I find?
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=532060798#!/pages/FARRELLS-ICE-CREAM-PARLOR/37815396901

Bittersweet

2010-04-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

This morning I had the privilege of reading I Samuel 1-3. It is one of my favorite pieces of scripture, first, because, it reminds me so much of my own son and second because it is the very definition of how parenting can be bittersweet.

Hannah is the childless woman who makes the ultimate trade with God. If God will give her a son, she promises to dedicate him for the rest of his life to the service of the priesthood.

Eli, the old priest, has raised his sons within the priesthood their entire lives. Yet, the passage refers to them as "worthless men," who were shameless enough to sleep with the women that served at the doorway of the (meeting) tent.

Using these two people, God makes a strange trade. Hannah does get pregnant and dedicates her little Samuel into God's service. But, the love and purity of her gift, triggers the death of Eli's sons, who, pathetically enough, are easily replaced by a little boy.

When our son was born, we used I Samuel 1:27 -28 on the invitations we created for his dedication ceremony: "For this boy I prayed and the Lord has given me my petition which I asked of Him. So I have also dedicated him to the Lord, as long as he lives he is dedicated to the Lord.

I handwrote this verse on each invitation, and still I remember internalizing it as a prayer and a promise: the knowledge that he was going to be the Lord's and not ours. The verse held extra special significance for us because I had such a difficult pregnancy and there we so many times we thought our boy wasn't going to make it to full-term. Of course, those of you who know him well, know that his life has not been an easy one. He has had to overcome so many obstacles in life--both real and imagined. But, everytime he has, our hearts have grown bigger as we've realized what an incredible man of God he is becoming. God has somehow used every last bit of it to reflect Himself in our boy.

But, back to Hannah and Eli.

One of the things that amazes me about these verses is the way it goes from the sweetness of Hannah following through on her promise, (we get a glimpse of the mother who tries to put off the inevitable by taking time to wean her baby, the woman who faithfully sews him his "little robe" and brings it to him every year,) to the excruciating way that God carries out justice in the death of Eli's sons.

No matter how many times I read it, the part where Samuel hears God calling him and recognizes his actual voice for the first time just thrills me to the core. (And can you tell me what was going on when God "came AND STOOD?" calling him in 3:10?? If that doesn't set your hair on end, nothing will!)But then, that horrible boom is lowered in verse 13, when God brings Eli up short: "For I have told him (Eli) that I am about to judge his house forever for the iniquity which he knew, because his sons brought a curse on themselves and he did not rebuke them."

Oh,God.

And I could not use that phrase more literally.

God, you are convicting my heart.

Why did Eli's sons go bad? Most of us would dismiss the issue by leaning towards one side or the other: blaming the bad parenting of Eli or the stubborn insistence of his sons to go their own way no matter how hard he tried. But life is not that tidy and I believe the real truth lies somewhere in between.

Those of you who know me well know I am no advocate of excessive discipline. When our children grew up, we got our share of comments from folks who thought we were making a serious mistake by not disciplining our kids physically. Yet, God's statement about Eli's parenting is chilling: "I am about to judge his house forever for the iniquity which he knew, because his sons brought a curse on themselves and he did not rebuke them."

God, what is our part here? What is MY part here?

And that is the point of my sermonette, (as my dear friend would say.) What is my part? God made it painfully clear that Eli was responsible for this. To his credit, Eli took it pretty well, when he responded: "It is the Lord; let Him do what seems good to Him." But that was kind of just shutting the barn door after the horse ran out. Eli blew it. It doesn't matter if he was 100% responsible or 25% responsible. He was responsible.

Do I blow it? Do you blow it? Once? Twice? Every day?

The answer to that still remains to be seen. I think it will be a long, long time before my dear husband and I know the state of "our house." But, without a shadow of a doubt, I'm convinced of two things:
1. That day is going to come
2. I have a part.

My part is different each day. It was different when they were two and four, now that they are almost 19 and 21, and when they turn 35and 37 —should I happen to live that long. I will always have a part---because I was the one that got the blessing of having them all these years.

God, please. Help me so that every morning I will hear Your voice unfolding what my part is today. And please, give me the grace and power to follow though with it--no matter how difficult it may become.

Your thoughts?

Because you've got a friend in the diamond business. Or do you?

2010-04-18T17:14:00.000-07:00

Amid recent concerns about earthquakes, famines and global warming, Teacher Husband recently brought an urgent issue to my attention. Since this as a question that warrants much closer examination, I, of course, have brought it to you.

Simply put: What in the heck is the deal with the guy from The Shane Company?

Do you know who I'm talking about? Tom Shane? That guy who drones on in a monotone in radio commercials about how "you've got a friend in the diamond business?" If you were born any time in the past 40 years, you must have heard him.

Now, I say 40 years, because that was when I turned ten and we had my birthday party at Farrells.

Farrells Ice Cream Parlor was the be-all and end-all for kids of my generation. It had a turn-of-the century theme and all the servers dressed in straw hats and red and white pinstripes. You never ordered cones at Farrells--at least I never knew anyone who did. Instead, you ordered these huge troughs of creamy frozen deliciousness like The Zoo. The mountains of ice cream arrived at your table, decorated to hilt with colored plastic animals and their cages. It all arrived on a stretcher-like contraption, carried by four pinstriped servers. They ran out of the kitchen as fast as they could carrying the stretcher, while bells, whistles and alarms rang out behind them. I think they may have sang Happy Birthday too, but I can't remember, so entranced was I with the whole production--not to mention the plastic colored animals.

To get to Farrells you had to drive about 25 minutes south to San Mateo to Boreal Square. Of course, driving there in a station wagon filled with squealing kids was part of the whole experience, so that was no problem. But, it was when we got to Boreal Square that I noticed a tall building--at least 5 stories high--that was labelled as: The Home of The Shane Company. (Bet you were wondering when I'd get to the connection here.) That's when it hit me for the first time that all those radio commercials were produced by a somewhat-local store. Why, for all I knew, Mr. Tom Shane himself could be sitting up there talking on the radio while I was down the square pigging out on Farrells ice cream! (Omigosh! I just remembered that one of their ice cream concoctions was actually called the Pig Out! Or the Pig Trough. Or something than had to do with a pig.)

The point being that as a child, I believed in Tom Shane. I didn't care much about him one way or the other, but he was just one of those things in life that was always there. Later when I moved farther south in California and north up to Oregon, I was a little disappointed to realize that The Shane Company was in no way local. Tom Shane wasn't just going to get you a good deal on a ring if you lived in the SF Bay Area, but he was also going to help you clean up if you lived in Santa Cruz, Salinas or Portland.

That may have been slightly unnerving, but nothing compared to the bombshell Teacher Husband dropped on me one day last month when were were riding in the car.

"Have you ever wondered why Tom Shane sounds exactly the same as he did when we were kids?"

OMIGOD! I'M 52!!!!!!! (Or 55, depending on which blog post you consult.) WHY IS TOM SHANE STILL MY FRIEND IN THE DIAMOND BUSINESS AND HIS VOICE DOES NOT SOUND ONE IOTA OLDER????

And this is where I turn to you for help, dear reader. What do you think? They can't be playing old tapes because the wording of the scripts are definitely up to date. (He even mentioned the recent recession the other day for gosh sakes.) It can't be different narrators because they all sound EXACTLY the same. Could there be some fiendish Picture of Dorian Gray-like plot here? I mean, what the helk is going on?

Please send your ideas. All your comments are encouraged and no theory will be considered too wild to be entertained.

--And while you're at it, tell if me if you ever went to Farrells. And don't tell me you never heard of it. I couldn't possibly be the only one who's THAT old.

Home again, Home again, Ziggety Zig

2010-04-14T21:07:00.000-07:00

It's true! At last! I'm spending the night at the home of my dear friend and her boys near the beach and tomorrow morning I will drive over The Hill to catch the flight home. (It's been nice to be back in the land where people know that "going over The Hill" has absolutely nothing to do with age.)
Thanks again to all of you who have written with prayers and good thoughts. God has been good to me, and has upheld me with his right hand many, many times this week.
My mom has settled into her new place amazingly well. It's really beautiful and I am very excited for her. I think she'll be really, really happy. We both survived The Big Move--well at least Act One of it. Act Two starts sometime this summer when The Fam arrives to clean and paint her old house and hold the mother of all yard sales. I am so looking forward to being able to come back with my family instead of all alone!!!! I have been missing Paul's wisdom so much in all these decisions I've had to make.
Please keep praying for me as I start to look at what is going to happen with my job. Things may be changing for me as I move more into helping my Mom manage her properties. You'll know more when I know more. (What is a blog for, if not to spill your secret plans???)
Thanks again--please continue your prayers for sanity and wisdom during my re-entry. If all goes well, I can stay home until the summer. I am looking forward to Paul and I watching our little baby boy graduate from high school and welcoming our girl home--for at least part of the summer.

Here's to being with my family and staying put for a while :)

And hope does not disappoint. At least, not usually.

2010-04-07T21:03:00.000-07:00

If you've followed this blog for any length of time, you've no doubt heard about Max.

Max was a large, orange tabby who steadily crept his way into our hearts about nine years ago. He came to us as the illegal squatter we were unable to let into our rental home. Eventually he won us over to the point that he had his own special entrance and was allowed to sleep in places of honor, like our bed and Teacher Husband's sacred recliner.

The things Max did were the stuff of legend: raised a kitten by himself, locked and unlocked car doors at will and gave kisses on command. Max, quite simply put, was a cat among cats.

One summer night, almost three years ago, he went out into the garden, like he always did, and just disappeared. We drove to shelters, put up posters and pounded the streets. No Max. As weeks stretched into months, we came to terms with our suspicions that he was most likely taken by one of the coyotes that roam the greenspace across the road. Sadly, too many cats in our neighborhood have met with that end. I guess we just always thought Max would beat the odds.

So, if that is true, if we really believe Max has gone to--for lack of evidence--a better place: why do I keep looking for him everywhere I go?

I have called Teacher Husband with at least three false alarms of a Max Siting. The latest one was yesterday morning.

"Paul! Write this down! 9234 C Street! I saw him! He was in the window--I think he was trying to talk to me! He kept tapping his paw against the glass! Paul, you have to get over there fast. I know it's him this time."

But of course it wasn't. Thank God I have a husband who is patient enough to follow up on my flights of fancy. It was a cat that looked so-o-o much like him, but it wasn't Max. Upon closer examination, Paul and Bosco saw that this cat's fur was too light colored.

It's always like that. Fur too light, eyes too wide apart, wrong markings on his sides, too big, too small. Never just Max.

Deep inside I know it's probably never going to be Max. So, why do I keep looking? Because people and animals come and go, but hope seems to live on. If there is just the sliver of a chance, don't we always need to keep looking? --For cats and for everything else in our lives that we have lost? Hope has a life of its own, separate from what we know is "real." Separate from what we can "see." I think God has given us Hope as a gift. That when all else says no, we still have a quiet, pounding will to press on.

Easter Night

2010-04-04T18:34:00.000-07:00

I have gotten e-mails from so many of you telling me you are praying for me. Thank you. It means so much to me.

Easter Morning

2010-04-04T08:09:00.001-07:00

He is Risen!

From the Bottom of the Basket

2010-04-03T12:14:00.000-07:00

Years ago I knew a woman who told me that she had decided to reach down to the bottom of her laundry basket and do all her laundry.

I mean ALL her laundry.

Not just the daily things, but those weird little pieces of fabric we put aside to do "later." Do you know what I am talking about? For me that would be odd-stiched potholders or little colored blankets that I am afraid will run or be ruined if they are thrown in with all the rest of the load. I keep them aside to do them "eventually."

The woman told me that when she got to the very bottom of her basket she found a pair of hot pants that she had set aside to wash sometime in the previous decade. That story kind of haunted me for a while, and I resolved right there and then never to let little pieces of fabric go unwashed for more than a year (or so...) However, that image of things just thrown to the side and saved for later has never left me.

I think we all do that. Maybe not with laundry, but with bills, letters to write, issues we need to work out with people, etc. You know, the stuff we set aside because we always have more pressing things to do. And, more frankly, the stuff we set aside because it's just too hard to do, and we want to keep avoiding it year after year--like the hot pants.

Of course, we'll get back to them later, right? Well, many times I do get them later. But unfortunately, there ARE a few things in my basket that just never seem to rise to the top. I just keep pushing them down as new stuff comes streaming in.

Changing households and states every few minutes like I am doing has caused me to look at that basket idea again. It seems that I have so little time in one place or with one set of people, (or one set of crises,) that I can't push the hard things down. I have to do them all right now. It's strange and painful doing this because I am so comfortable with my avoidance system. There are so many things I don't want to look at or deal with. Yet, the truth is, the one thing I really have no time for right now is the overfilled basket. The only option I have before me is the one I've avoided: dealing with these things one by one.

If you think of me, pray that I will adjust to this new system of digging down to the bottom of the basket , dredging things up and finishing with them. Because sometimes the only way out, is through.

I think it's called Reality.

A Stranger in a Strange Land

2010-04-01T22:26:00.000-07:00

On Friday, March 12th, I flew to California to spend the weekend with my Mom. The idea was to help her with bills and be back in time for the 11 a.m. church service on Sunday morning.

Not only didn't I make it to the Sunday service, I actually just flew home yesterday, the last day of March.

I arrived at my mom's house late Friday night, and had just taken my coat off when she fainted right in the middle of a sentence. I called an ambulance and spent most of the next two days in the hospital with her. A nurse at the hospital recommended a cardiologist who has definitely got a lot more on the ball. After 100 tests and several more still scheduled, we have found out her heartbeat is irregular and she had a lousy primary physician. Future tests may indicate she needs a pacemaker. If that is all she ends up needing, it won't be too bad for an 83-year-old.

Once I got her home, she gradually started to feel better. But the problem then, was that I was afraid to leave her alone. After more and more tests, and some reassurance from the doctor, I finally decided to come home for Easter. But one of the decisions we made while I was there was that the time has come for her to move into a retirement community.

I have never been away from my family for this long. Teacher Husband and Delicate Flower were able to join me for a couple of days last week during Spring Break, which really helped, but I didn't see Bosco for almost three weeks.

To those of you who have been wondering if I fell off the face of the earth, let me just say it certainly feels like it. I've been at my mom's house for almost three weeks, living in rooms that are not my own and driving around in rental cars. With no access to internet, it has been startling to realize how many friends I have that I only communicate with online. In some ways I have felt very alone, yet closer than ever to God. An added gift has been reconnecting with my cousin and two guys I went to college with. But, the best gift of all, other than my mom regaining her health, has been spending a lot, (yet, not enough!) time with my dearest friend from college. She is also going through a very difficult time in her life, so our talks and times together have been very precious to me.

All this happened while was driving around one of the towns where I grew up and started college. It has all been kind of surreal in a lot of ways. As I told my girlfriend: it's been hard to remember which reality I am operating in at different times. My life is far away from California, yet spending so much time there, brought back some happy memories of college friends and why they still mean so much to me.

Now that I am back home, I am, again, trying to ground myself in reality. This is where the feeling of being a stranger in a strange land comes in. It's been hard to remember where I am, what I am supposed to be doing when and where I'm supposed to go next. (I am flying back to California next week and staying for 8 or 9 days to help my mom move. Then, I come home till mid-June, when I will go back down to California to clean, paint and sell my mom's home.)

If you think of me, pray for my decision making and that God will show me how to make the best use of these confusing days. My mom is looking forward to the community she's chosen, (hey, I'm ready to check in there! It's beautiful!) but there is still a lot of work ahead for all of us.

Most of all pray that God will use me and that I will be faithful.

I think I'm 55. And a half.

2010-02-20T17:55:00.000-08:00

Okay, I know I've lost an alarming number of my faculties, but am I the only one who has trouble remembering how old I am?

The other day I said to Teacher Husband, "Now that I'm 53..."
"Wait a minute," he said with a frown, "you're 51, about to be 52.
I remember because I'm the same age."
"Uh, yeah, that's what I meant," I said.

But the truth is, I have a lot of trouble remembering how old I am--or am going to be--so I usually add a year or so, just to be on the safe side.

This has been happening for the past decade. At first, I used to joke that I wasn't really sure how old I was, then one day, I actually forgot. It was like that moment when you're baking cookies and can't remember if you put in two cups of flour or three. So, I guess I've just gotten in the habit of adding an extra cup.

When I mention my little quirk to other people, they are usually aghast.

"Well, whatever you do, don't make yourself older!" a friend of mine said, "you could subtract a couple!"

Really? And what purpose would that serve? Do you think people really can't tell how old you are? The first time you open your mouth and drop the name of your favorite TV show, talk about how you just bought new thongs, or start calling marijuana "dope," your goose is cooked.

Besides, it's not like getting the number wrong is going to bring you another year closer to death. We're getting older, and with a little luck we're going to get a lot older before it's all over. This is not a bad thing, people! Scripture talks about old age being a crown. Sometimes I think we credit ourselves with having a lot more power over our existence than we really do.

Do you remember when we were kids how crucial it was to always add that half year?

"Yeah, I'm nine--and a half," my niece informed me confidentially one year, "but I'm going to be ten in December!"

You go girl. Way to work that half year.

I'm thinking about adding an extra half year myself. If I can just remember if it's 54 and a half or 55 and a half.

False Springs

2010-02-19T07:08:00.000-08:00

The way I see it, I've seen spring about four times this year. Must be some kind of record.

That is how many times I've been to California since Christmas. Each time I leave the PNW it's cold, snowy or rainy. Each time I arrive down south it's in the mid-60's.

Mid-60's is what the PNW calls shorts weather--or at least that is what one of the people I met in the airport said. I tend to agree with that, but find it hilarious that my 84-year-old mother in California calls it "the cold rainy season."

"As soon as we get through the cold, rainy season, I can get some work done outside!" she complains. "Brrr!! Did you bring a coat?"

When the temperature dips to the low 60's, my dearest friend who I've stopped to see at the beach in California says: "Wow! There's really a chill coming on!"

I'm the one standing there in a t-shirt and jeans, looking towards the sunset.

I've been back and forth so many times in the past few weeks, that it was inevitable that one day I'd come home and find signs that spring could really be on the way here. The photo above is not from my garden, but it could be. I have grape muscari and baby daffs and lots and lots of tulip leaves popping up everywhere. This is the time of year, when I'm always surprised by what comes up. ("Wow, I don't remember planting that there...) It's also the time of the False Spring.

The False Spring is a wonderful little season in the PNW that comes several times between mid-February, (I'd say it's early this year,) and May. It's when skies turn blue, bulbs poke their heads up, daphnes perfume the air and the temps shoot up to the mid-60's. (Like I said. Shorts weather.) People are scrurrying around saying: "Wow! Beautiful day! Spring is finally coming!" It's the time I prune my perennials, dream of planting sunflowers and cosmos, and clear my garden paths of weeds.

But, of course, after almost 10 years here, I know it's just a few days before we'll be back into a cold rainy pattern--with maybe even a few more frosts in store. If we're lucky, we'll get another false spring or two to tantalize us. In fact, there's usually one during the week before Spring Break :)

Don't misunderstand me, I am not complaining about this cycle. It was actually one of the many reasons we moved to the Northwest. I wanted to live in a place where there are actually four seasons. And, despite what the rest of the world thinks about us, (two seasons: rain and less rain,) sun is highly overrated, my friends.

Down south I enjoyed spring, but here I experience spring. I'd never known what it was like to take a dead twig of a plant, broken apart in two storms, stick it in the ground and, despite rain, cold and snow, watch it start to turn green again and grow up into an entire vine filled arbor. Yeah, bulbs came up in California, but never like this.

So, I'll take those false springs ,then, I'll enjoy sitting back with my cup of chai and my warm fire and my sewing when the rain starts falling again.

Spring's Coming. Eventually. And if it's anything like the last nine springs, it'll be worth the wait.

The delights of summer

2009-08-22T22:32:00.000-07:00

Delicate Flower's Auntie came to visit and showed her an easy way to make some unbelievably wonderful strawberry jam. When Auntie left, she and I made a big batch of raspberry (my personal favorite.) About a week ago, at a yard sale, I ran into the friend who job-shares with me. She had dark purple hands so, of course, I knew where she'd been spending her spare time. She told me she and a friend had found a huge, beautiful site of blackberries ready to be picked. Naturally, I invited myself along this morning. Unbelievable! A huge patch where people had actually cut a road into and you could drive down, pick them at waist height, (a berry picker's dream,) and drive back out again! I picked half of a huge bucket and tonight there was blackberry jam on the stove and berries on trays in the freezer.

In other garden news, I have been branched out from flowers to veggies. This year we grew peas, green beans and cukes for the first time. It boggles the mind how healthy-ly we've been eating!!
We have tomatoes coming some time soon, and pumpkins that just may present themselves in time for Halloween--or at least Thanksgiving if it doesn't snow.
--I know this post sounds kinda Little House on the Prairie-ish, but, can I just go on the record as saying summer in the Pacific Northwest is a very good thing?!

Unexpected, this...

2009-06-02T19:39:00.000-07:00

So, Teacher Husband did not get rehired for next year.
This is a hard one.
“The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away. Blessed be the name of the LORD” (Job 1:21).

Just a little shout out

2009-05-26T10:11:00.000-07:00

...for some prayer :)
This is a HUGE week for us.. Today, we need to work on resolving some enormous financial issues. Tomorrow, Teacher Husband finds out if he has a permanent job or not next year, (read: budget cuts.) Saturday, my tiny, little baby boy is flying to Albuquerque, New Mexico all by himself and LEAVING ME for 3-4 weeks!!! W-a-a-a-a
This is a lot for Mom to handle in a week.......I need your prayers!
Thanks :)

(Latest pic of the tiny, little baby boy and his wonder dog, Rosco. Note the uncanny resemblance to each other????)

Plagerism? Nah, just borrowing

2009-05-18T19:46:00.000-07:00

Don't get the wrong idea. I did NOT write this.
It was written by a dear friend of mine, known through her blog as LlamaMomma. It was too wonderful to keep it to myself--hope it blesses you the way it did me.

Saturday, May 9, 2009

naked and unashamed
According to my husband, a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast can fix just about anything. Well, not really, but it can give a person the needed perspective to simply deal with what is. After a great night’s sleep in my quiet hotel room and a hot breakfast prepared by someone else, I enjoy a leisurely morning of writing, reading and email.Then as I get ready to climb into the shower, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. (For the record, there are good reasons I don’t have a very large mirror in my bathroom.) As I climb into the shower, I begin to beat myself up. You really need to tone up that flab, lose some weight. And where did those wrinkles around your eyes come from? Is there cream for that? You should pay more attention to these things.And then I hear myself and stop. Because, really, why do I need to beat myself up when I’m on a desperately needed getaway? What does God want for me today? Surely He’s not looking down at me thinking, “Wow. She’d be great if only she’d drop a few pounds and work out more.” How can I see myself the way God sees me? Can I see the woman in the mirror, in need of rest, and just curl up and take a nap? Can I see the wrinkles around my eyes with gratitude, for the years and laughter He’s blessed me with? Can I see my chipped nails and chapped hands and acknowledge my own hard work caring for my family each day? Can I look at a body that has had the privilege of hosting life, and respect myself for that sacrifice? Can I see a woman who nurtures her children day in and day out, remembering all that I do, not all that I don’t do? I stand in the shower and let the water wash over me. I remember grace, and breathe a prayer of thanks. Yes. Grace. It’s the only way I can stand before God. The only way any of us can stand. How does God see you today? How do you see yourself?

Why are you looking among the dead?

2009-04-11T08:16:00.000-07:00

Luke 24 New Living Translation
1 But very early on Sunday morning[a] the women went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. 2 They found that the stone had been rolled away from the entrance. 3 So they went in, but they didn’t find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 As they stood there puzzled, two men suddenly appeared to them, clothed in dazzling robes.
5 The women were terrified and bowed with their faces to the ground. Then the men asked, “Why are you looking among the dead for someone who is alive? 6 He isn’t here! He is risen from the dead! Remember what he told you back in Galilee, 7 that the Son of Man[b] must be betrayed into the hands of sinful men and be crucified, and that he would rise again on the third day.”
8 Then they remembered that he had said this. 9 So they rushed back from the tomb to tell his eleven disciples—and everyone else—what had happened. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and several other women who told the apostles what had happened. 11 But the story sounded like nonsense to the men, so they didn’t believe it. 12 However, Peter jumped up and ran to the tomb to look. Stooping, he peered in and saw the empty linen wrappings; then he went home again, wondering what had happened.
13 That same day two of Jesus’ followers were walking to the village of Emmaus, seven miles[c] from Jerusalem. 14 As they walked along they were talking about everything that had happened. 15 As they talked and discussed these things, Jesus himself suddenly came and began walking with them. 16 But God kept them from recognizing him.
17 He asked them, “What are you discussing so intently as you walk along?”
They stopped short, sadness written across their faces. 18 Then one of them, Cleopas, replied, “You must be the only person in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard about all the things that have happened there the last few days.”
19 “What things?” Jesus asked.
“The things that happened to Jesus, the man from Nazareth,” they said. “He was a prophet who did powerful miracles, and he was a mighty teacher in the eyes of God and all the people. 20 But our leading priests and other religious leaders handed him over to be condemned to death, and they crucified him. 21 We had hoped he was the Messiah who had come to rescue Israel. This all happened three days ago.
22 “Then some women from our group of his followers were at his tomb early this morning, and they came back with an amazing report. 23 They said his body was missing, and they had seen angels who told them Jesus is alive! 24 Some of our men ran out to see, and sure enough, his body was gone, just as the women had said.”
25 Then Jesus said to them, “You foolish people! You find it so hard to believe all that the prophets wrote in the Scriptures. 26 Wasn’t it clearly predicted that the Messiah would have to suffer all these things before entering his glory?” 27 Then Jesus took them through the writings of Moses and all the prophets, explaining from all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.
28 By this time they were nearing Emmaus and the end of their journey. Jesus acted as if he were going on, 29 but they begged him, “Stay the night with us, since it is getting late.” So he went home with them. 30 As they sat down to eat,[d] he took the bread and blessed it. Then he broke it and gave it to them. 31 Suddenly, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And at that moment he disappeared!
32 They said to each other, “Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?” 33 And within the hour they were on their way back to Jerusalem. There they found the eleven disciples and the others who had gathered with them, 34 who said, “The Lord has really risen! He appeared to Peter.[e]”
35 Then the two from Emmaus told their story of how Jesus had appeared to them as they were walking along the road, and how they had recognized him as he was breaking the bread. 36 And just as they were telling about it, Jesus himself was suddenly standing there among them. “Peace be with you,” he said. 37 But the whole group was startled and frightened, thinking they were seeing a ghost!
38 “Why are you frightened?” he asked. “Why are your hearts filled with doubt? 39 Look at my hands. Look at my feet. You can see that it’s really me. Touch me and make sure that I am not a ghost, because ghosts don’t have bodies, as you see that I do.” 40 As he spoke, he showed them his hands and his feet.
41 Still they stood there in disbelief, filled with joy and wonder. Then he asked them, “Do you have anything here to eat?” 42 They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43 and he ate it as they watched.
44 Then he said, “When I was with you before, I told you that everything written about me in the law of Moses and the prophets and in the Psalms must be fulfilled.” 45 Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures. 46 And he said, “Yes, it was written long ago that the Messiah would suffer and die and rise from the dead on the third day. 47 It was also written that this message would be proclaimed in the authority of his name to all the nations,[f] beginning in Jerusalem: ‘There is forgiveness of sins for all who repent.’ 48 You are witnesses of all these things.

He is Risen. He is Risen indeed.

Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake

2009-04-06T16:21:00.000-07:00

We've had two days of 70 degree weather and it's gorgeous with tulips and daffodils everywhere. Last week , Delicate Flower was home for Spring Break. (Of course it was cold and windy then.) In an effort to make Spring come sooner, we tore a cake recipe out of a magazine and made it on the spot. It was called Hummingbird Cake and boy was it good.

And, see? It worked! Spring came :)

Carry on my Wayward Son: Part II

2009-02-28T08:18:00.000-08:00

So, the thing is, we take him to the vet because we are going to be gone with one thing or another all weekend and we want to board him so he won't be alone all day. There are these five, nice, pet-loving, women who work for the vet who have always adored our cats.

Rosco? Another story.

He gets to the office and enters like Kramer on Seinfeld: plastered against the door with a wild look in his eye. Then he proceeds to run circles around the waiting room, stick his nose under the swinging door where the office staff is and try to shimmy under it on his belly.

All 90 pounds of it.

That's right. He's now almost 11 months old and 90 pounds of pure canine muscle, not an ounce of fat on him.

He sees one of the vet techs and immediately tries to jump up on her and lick her face. (Hey, just because they discriminate against his size doesn't mean he doesn't love them...)

There is a lot of smiling and nervous laughter amongst the girls as one of them carries him, (or is it the other way around?) to the back room where the kennels are.

On Sunday, we determine there is still too much to do and we would like to board him one more day. So, I call the office and conversation goes something like this:

"Hi, we are thinking we'd like to board Rosco just one more night because it's a little too complicated for us to pick him up today. Would that be ok? Do you have the room?"

Silence.

"Uh, would that be okay? You're not getting tired of him, are you?" I laugh.

"Uh, well, let's see".....she says in the slow, measured voice of a person who has a gun pressed up against their temple, "y-e-e-s-s, I think we have room.....Yes we do."

"I PROMISE I'll come for him tomorrow after work."

Nervous laughter. "Okay...."

The next day, when I arrive as promised, I bring my son with me. It's his dog and he and TH are the only ones that seem to have the strength to walk the beast on his leash.

The head tech is standing there smiling as we come in and she hands my son the leash.

"Well, maybe since you are here, you would like to get him from the back room for me!" she says a little too brightly. "I'm sure he'll be really glad to see you!!"

Hey, don't give me that Caregiver Speak, sister, I know what that means: Hurry up and take your kid cause he's driving me out of my freakin' mind.

A few moments later, my son brings Rosco out, panting and straining on his leash, ready for his next adventure. The office staff smiles.

"I hope he didn't give you too much trouble," I say, in the cold, clipped tones of a mother spurned.

"Well, " they smile at each other, "He's a good boy...and he's..... quite a handful!"

Rosco was glad to be home where his people understand and accept him for who he is.

And I gotta find a new kennel.

Carry on my Wayward Son

2009-02-16T22:55:00.000-08:00

Okay, maybe I never deserved any of this, but the facts are these:
My kids were pretty well-behaved when they were little and I was awfully spoiled.

By that I don't mean they were perfect, but that they were nice little people who were usually a lot of fun to be with. When I took them somewhere or dropped them off at someone's house, without fail, people had nice things to say about them. Grocery store, preschool, play dates. Lets just say I got a lot of good feedback.

I am happy to say that I don't think I let any of this go to my head. We had other health and financial problems at the time and I guess I've always thought their sweet dispositions were just a little perk God gave us during some hard times. I believe I gave most of the credit to God. As best I can remember, behavior was not related to my feelings of pride and self-worth.

Until now.

No, it's not what you think.

It's The Dog.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's true. I am a bad Pet Parent.

To Be Continued...

More Snow Today!!

2009-02-10T21:22:00.001-08:00

They say we've had 19 days this winter--that is a LOT for these parts. My tulips are all poking out of the ground---hurry, Spring!

Trimming the Fat

2009-02-04T07:33:00.000-08:00

Like everyone else in the country, we are cutting back. For once we are not unemployed. Yet. The school district budgets look worse each time the state projections come in and most of us are bracing ourselves for layoffs.

My bright idea to save money this week was to buy a picnic pork roast that I could put in the crock pot and turn into bbq buns. Picnic roasts are cheap, but easy to transform with slow cooking. For an added bonus point, I bought one with a bone in the center for you-know-who. A little free insurance for a quiet evening tonight.

There is a reason those roasts are cheap.

When I went to throw it in the crock pot, I saw the bone was surrounded by meat which was surrounded by fat.

A very, very thick layer of fat.

So I took out a knife and started to saw.

My knives aren't very sharp because I rarely cut much other than the soft chicken and vegetables that come to me from the store. My hands started to ache because the meat was so cold.

I ran my hands under warm water in my nice indoor sink and went back to work.

As I kept hacking away, my hands started to cramp again, this time because I was tired. I kept stopping for breaks so they could relax.

My hands have never been very strong. Other than a short stint on a farm, most of my work has been indoors at a computer or a typewriter. I started thinking about native american women doing this for generations. Crouching for hours with knives cruder but sharper than mine.

--Crouching for hours in the snow, with knives cruder but sharper than mine, cutting up an entire animal carcass.

As I slowly peeled off the layer of fat, I started thinking about stories my mother has told me about the Great Depression. Immigrant women yelling at the neighborhood butcher.

"This is nothing but fat!"
"It's the best I have right now!"

Meanwhile, the dog, lured from his slumber by the smell of the meat, kept nudging my hands. I remembered how many people I've seen in Mexican villages cooking most of the fat for dinner.
--And how I'd seen them still hold back a scrap or two to sneak to a dog waiting patiently nearby.

And I thought about Asian countries that look at dogs for other reasons at dinnertime.

And I kept cutting.

Finally, I was done. I threw the hunk of fat deep in the trash can because all the websites tell us fat is not really good for dogs after all.

And I threw it away because I could.
I have garbage service that comes to my home every week.

Then I washed my hands several times--this time with plenty of the hot water that comes straight to my tap. And I sat down to write this to you on my electronic computer that in a few moments will send these words flying to my friends all over the country.

I'd write, but I am trying to save on stamps.

Like I said, we're cutting back.

Forgot to include fairly recent pics of her new home!

2009-01-17T08:41:00.001-08:00

(... pre-removal of braces last month!)

Balancing things out

2009-01-17T08:13:00.001-08:00

People always ask me how I feel about Delicate Flower being away at college now, leaving me with just boys.

My husband, my son, one dog and one cat.

All boys.

Contrary to what they assume, I don't have problems with inconsiderate things like leaving the toilet seat up. My boys are too sophisticated for that. (Although I'm sure the cat would appreciate the drinking fountain opportunities.)

My biggest issue is the loss of balance.

When Delicate Flower is home, (as she is this weekend,) I revel in the estrogen injection.

Before she went away I never realized how differently girls and boys experience life. She comes home and we talk and talk and talk. And not necesarily about crucial things --often it's just meaningless details. Don't get me wrong, my boys are VERY verbal. No grunting Neanderthals here. They express themselves well and often. But it's not the same kind of talking you get with a girl. And I don't really mourn it until she comes home and then I realize how much I've been missing.

And of course I miss the way she sees things that no one else here sees.

Last night, before she went to bed she said casually said over her shoulder, "Oh Mom, I did the couch for you."

When I got up this morning I saw pillows straightened, throw blankets neatly folded on the back of the couch, colors of the fabrics casually sprinkled around the way she knows they look best.

I'm just going to pour myself a second cup of tea, and sit back and enjoy the balance.

It's all the way you look at it

2009-01-06T17:19:00.001-08:00

So, the snow continued, and continued, and it wasn't until yesterday morning that things really went back to business as usual.

It created a very interesting situation.

Usually, if there are snow days, it just means the roads are too icy for school buses and parents are stuck finding someone else to care for their children as they march off to work.

But, this time, there was at least a week or so when neighborhoods and main streets were fairly impassable and pretty much everyone was snowbound except for emergency services.

So the "average" working mom who claims it's her dream to stay home with her kids over Christmas should have been thrilled, right?

Not necessarily.

Today, I saw my friend Kerry working at the pharmacy counter. She works full time and has three children under the age of 11. I asked her how she handled child care during the storms.

"Well, I was home a couple of days, but their dad usually stays home with them," she said.

She paused for a minute.

"They love staying home with Dad because he's like another kid. They play in the snow, they play video games, they watch tv..."

She frowned and looked down at the floor.

"And they all have fun while mom just slaves away here every day..."

"Oh. I'm sorry!" I said. I really like Kerry and I had obviously touched a nerve.

"Oh no, no," she said, "it's probably a lot better this way. I don't think I would do as well as he does with them if I was the one that had to stay at home."

But, her face said something very different.

At school, I saw Gina who is a 5th grade teacher.
Gina is a beautiful, twenty-something, who is married to a man who's also a teacher. She has two adorable pre-school girls. While she works, the girls are cared for by her mother.

"So, I bet you were loving staying home with those girls for three weeks, huh?!" I said when I passed her in the hall.

"Uh, well, yeah kind of..."

"Really?"

"Well...my eldest kept saying: "Can't we go Grandma's today? I kept trying to get her to play and she just wanted to go see my Mom." She paused for a moment. "Yesterday, I told her I had to go back to work, and this morning she jumped out of bed and started yelling: "Yay! We get to go to Grandma's!"

Gina was quiet for a moment and then she smiled a crooked smile and said, "Well, at least the little one wanted me to stay home...she was sad when I left."

Two women who I know to be excellent mothers.

Not the reactions I expected.

The adult voices all around us say it is just fine for women to have someone else raise their children while they are working. In fact, some people even say it is preferable for the kids. I have read many things about how a working woman sets a wonderful example for her girls about how far they can go and how independent they can be.

I can't help wondering what this generation of children will tell us when they are finally old enough to have their say.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me....a snow shovel.

2008-12-24T11:09:00.001-08:00

Okay, you saw that earlier pic of our backyard, here's what it looks like 11 days later...The umbrella we used to have, snapped off several days ago from the weight of the snow, (hey, I got it at a yard sale.) Our poor gnome has almost completely disappeared.

Although this is considered nothing more than a flurry back East, we NEVER EVER get this much snow! The most I remember was 6 inches--and that was the time they cancelled school for a week.

"...I'm living in a White Christmas..."

Snow days...Snow weeks...Snow months...

2008-12-17T12:41:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's right, it just keeps on coming. I think I am getting TH's cold, which is kind of a drag. Other than that, we're bringing out books and puzzles and making Christmas cookies. Oh! And maybe we'll finally get around to decorating the tree today!!!(It's been chilling--and I do mean chilling---in a big bucket in the garage.)

Still no school---that's right, the buses can't run so it's a THREE WEEK VA-KAY! We're all pretty bummed because if there's one thing we hate missing, it's work.

I hear it's snowing like mad in the midwest and its dropped all the way to 40 degrees in California (horrors!) Enjoy the snow if you can, otherwise, have a nice hot cup of coffee for me and I will do the same for you. Happy sigh!

I LOVE SNOW DAYS!!!!!

2008-12-14T16:20:00.000-08:00

It's here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The first snow of the season!!!!!!!!!! And more importantly, tomorrow will likely be the first snow DAY of the season!

It snowed all last night, took a quick break and is supposed to ramp up again tonight, (Sunday.) The important twist is that temps are only supposed to be in the 20's tomorrow. For the uninitiated that live in warmer climes, that means ICE. Ice is our friend, because when there's ice, the buses don't run and when the buses don't run and 70-80% of your kids get to school by bus....heh-heh-heh........Snow = No School!!

Today, I remembered my favorite thing about snow days. It's pouring myself cups of hot tea, watching it snow and having NOTHING TO DO. Well...unless you count making Christmas cutout cookies, feeding hungry snowy high school boys that come to my door and making Christmas cards, which I personally count as a privilege.

O Happy Day!

Christmas Presents

2008-12-07T20:46:00.000-08:00

I told my high schooler that I thought he should stick to a certain dollar amount in buying family Christmas presents.

"That's not enough!" he protested. "I need to spend more than that!
He looked over his list.
"The present I was going to get (Delicate Flower) is $20.00! That doesn't leave enough for everyone else!!"

He knitted his brows in deep concentration.

"I haven't got a lot of money in the bank right now," he said slowly. "Maybe I should try to get a part-time job..."

What would Jesus do?

What about what does Jesus think?

Have you ever wondered what He thinks about the way we agonize over what to buy each other for His birthday? Who to buy for, what to buy, how and when can we get it-- (getting the most for our money, of course.) The thoughts that consume our waking moments and tie us in knots from November to December.

Will this gift be enough? Too much? What if I'm teaching my kids to be greedy? What if I don't buy enough to make them happy--or measure up to the other kids in their class?

Will this gift really show I care? Will this accidently reveal that I don't ? Maybe worst of all: will it show that I really care more than they've realized? What will I do if it turns out to be more, or less, than they are giving me?

What have we done?

I like giving and receiving at Christmas just as much as the next
person. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I believe God is pleased when I pick out a gift that brings happiness to the heart of the person receiving it.

But look at this mess have we created.

It's a roadmap of emotional payoffs and paybacks. By Christmas Day, we'll have everything but time and energy to think about the One who gave us the reason for a holiday.

For a Holy Day.

Jesus was born to die for our sins, not to send us into a frenzy for the four weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

We are so quick to pounce on non-believers because of their materialism. What about the attitudes of our hearts?

I don't know about you, but I think I still have a long way to go.

Happy December!

2008-12-03T16:05:00.001-08:00

You know what's so bad about December? I'll tell you.

It's when you're trying not to gain anymore weight, before Christmas.

That's right. You finally get it though your head how smart it would be to avoid massive calories in the first three weeks of December. You vow to "save yourself" for the goodies that will undoubtedly spill out of the woodwork somewhere around December 22nd, knowing this temporary denial will help you feel s-o-o-o much better about yourself after the New Year.

So, you are eating things like rice crackers and carrots, and you are trying so hard not to be around "real food" (read carbohydrates,) so you won't be tempted to snack.

Suddenly, it hits you. It's 4:15 p.m. and all you have to do is last another hour and a half before you can have dinner!

Then, of course, you realize that you're the one that has to do the cooking.

That's what's so bad about December.

P.S. (Yes, I know my blog is still stuck in the Fall. Winter decor coming soon.)

The Ministry of Reconciliation v.s. The Ministry of Selfishness--come on, is there really that big of a difference?

2008-11-10T07:37:00.000-08:00

For the past two weeks I have been engaged in an e-mail war with Bosco's teachers and administrators. I won't bore you with details, but suffice to say, I am right and they are wrong. (No, I'm not kidding about this. I'm not justifying either. I am just stating the facts.)

At the same time, something else has been happening.

My quiet times have become non-existent.

It started slowly--I've been busy, I've been sick with the flu, etc. But, when I wore out all the usual excuses, it occured to me,
I might be doing a little running from God.

Or, a lot.

Today, I finally strapped myself to my desk with a big cup of tea and opened up my bible to II Corinthians, Ch. 5 where I had last left off studying and this is what I read:

v. 18-20 "Now all these things are from God, who reconciled us to Himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation, namely that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and He has committed to us the word of reconciliation.
Therefore, we are ambasadors for Christ, as though God were entreating through us..."

Oops.

Do you think he meant the teachers and adminstrators as part of the people God is entreating through us? Can't see why they wouldn't be attracted to Christ now that I have--how shall I put it delicately?--reamed them a new one.

Yes, I am the chief of the Ministry of Selfishness. I am spewing venom on them for attacking my child. I say what I want to say to them, revelling in the fact that I am right and they are wrong, and, rubbing it in as much and as often as I can.

I think I may have figured out why my quiet times are slipping.

Has this ever happened to you?

Like my new Fall look?

2008-10-24T20:08:00.000-07:00

I love color. Happy Autumn!

Bears Repeating!

2008-10-18T10:43:00.000-07:00

For those that missed it...
I thought it might be a good time to (again) give you instructions on how to make comments directly online.

Go to https://www.google.com/accounts/Login
Follow directions to start a Google account that you can use as your very own.
Each time you visit my blogspot, just sign in, (top right corner of my blogspot.)
Keep in mind that when they ask your "username" what they really mean is your e-mail address.

There now, wasn't that simple? Blog on, Garth.

Vote Early, Vote Often, Pack Catnip

2008-10-17T07:09:00.001-07:00

I used to be interested in the election.
Now I don't care anymore.

Okay, okay, before I get the barrage of mail telling me how critical this election is, let me just preface by saying: "I KNOW! That's why I used to care so much!"

The fact is: those boys have completely worn me down.

It doesn't matter anymore to me who hangs around with whom or who wants to raise taxes how much, (c'mon, you know they're going to go up no matter who wins.) I don't want to know who fought and who didn't or who went to President Bush's BBQ's at the ranch and who didn't or who rolls his eyes and who doesn't.

That is why my new slogan is:
"Vote Darryl for President. It's all okay with him."

To start with, Darryl has no racial biases--conscious or unconscious.

He's orange and many of his closest relatives have stripes.

You can't beat that with a stick.

Next, Darryl doesn't hang around with anyone. He's a lone ranger kinda guy. No terrorists friends for him--or any other friends for that matter. As as far as choosing a questionable running mate--forget about it--he travels solo.

Darryl will never raise taxes for anyone. In fact, you'll be lucky if you hear from him at all during the daytime. (Those are some of his best sleeping hours.) Raise em, drop em--as long as those pet food-producing grain sales stay steady it's all the same to him.

And as far as pushing pork-barrel bills, other than a quick piece of legislation calling for the swift and mandatory sterilization of all dogs, you're not likely to see him championing any personal agendas.

Yes, indeed. The only pork he's interested in is on the side of a bone.

Darryl will never roll his eyes in a rude way, and he will never drop his head, shake it and smile knowingly. His eyes only have two settings--open or closed. And as far as we know, he has never smiled knowingly, (although I'd swear I've seen a fleeting evil grin when he brings in a mouse.)

Darryl has been involved in few skirmishes, but his motto is "he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day." So those of you who are concerned about war need not worry as long as President Darryl is around. (Although it is possible we might all have to undergo some basic training in jumping fences.)

Best of all, Darryl doesn't talk much.

As long as you keep that catfood coming and open the door when he has to go out, you won't be hearing much from his corner. He won't go blabbing on and on about all the things he's accomplished in life and all the things he's going to accomplish. When he wins this race he is going to spend most of his time sleeping on your bed.

Take it or leave it.

I'll take it. Darryl for President, I say.

I could do with a little peace and quiet. And let the record show that I have always been in favor of cat naps.

Irregardless...

2008-10-07T20:56:00.001-07:00

I love words.

I have spent most of my life making my living from them, so the least I can do is show them a little loyalty and affection. Sometimes, I get really stuck on the things people say, though. My boss tends to be most guilty in this area.

To put it mildly, I fixate on her word usage.

Take irregardless. What in the world does that mean? You DO regard something, since you have doubled back on the double negative? Or you don't regard it so much that you needed to emphasize it with two prefixes?

Another favorite is: "I could care less." Really? Exactly how MUCH less could you care?

My boss often talks about the need to "touch basis" with me, leaving me wondering exactly what basis feels like. Animal? Vegetable? Mineral?

And as long as I am harping and whining about words, lets talk about scripture verses that don't exist. (Although, I am sorry to say, I can't fault my boss for these.)

"God never gives you more than you can handle."
A-a-a-a-c-k! Blasphemy! He most CERTAINLY DOES!
The verse is "God does not allow you to be TEMPTED more than you are able, but with that He provides a way out."
"God never gives you more than you can handle" is back in Hezekiah 3:6---right next to "God helps those that help themselves."

What about you? Am I the only Word Nerd or are there expressions that drive you bananas too?

And they all lived happily ever after

2008-10-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

By now a lot of you have heard this news....but in case you hadn't: TH was hired last week for a great job!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He is in a district that is a bit of a commute, (not the most fun in these gas-conscious times,) but it's definitely do-able.

He is a Special Ed. teacher with a group of 14 middle schoolers and three (!) assistants. The Sp.Ed. director is really great and he has been welcomed very warmly and he really likes his new kids. BTW: They have learning differences but they are NOT behavior kids!! Hallelujah! No worries this year about being hit or stalked or slandered (!) He is very happy and grateful. Below is an excerpt of a letter I sent one of the (many) of you who have been praying for us. I wanted to share it with you.

All I can say is thank you, and thank God!

-------------------------------------
School started in the beginning of September and after countless applications and interviews, still no job. We kept asking people to pray but we knew that now that school had begun there was little hope of getting anything more than a long-term sub position at best. That meant we’d have to pay over $1,300 a month in health insurance on our own.

The week after school started, a woman found his application on the web and recruited him for a school district we had not considered. Turns out they had a “special situation” where a teacher was willing to stay through the beginning of school, giving them the time to find just the “right” person. Long story short, they were thrilled to hire my husband and he was thrilled to join them!!! We have a new insurance policy paid through the district and later this month we will receive our first check in months!

We wanted to thank you so much for your faithful prayers. We also wanted to tell you about how the job finally came through after we thought it would no longer be possible, and that after all those months of applying and being rejected by so many people, when the right job came along, it was the employer who sought him out! As if that weren’t enough, we looked back at all the applications he filled out and the many job situations he was willing to “settle for” for the sake of our family, and it turns out THIS job is the best of all the ones he was considering!

God is truly a Lord of miracles; of not doing things through the “normal channels,” and of turning the world’s wisdom on its head! Thank you for being a part of our testimony—we wanted you to rejoice with us!

Change

2008-09-08T00:11:00.000-07:00

This morning, Delicate Flower was a very happy girl. Her things were packed, and tomorrow morning we were on our way to move her into the new apartment near the university.
Then, about two hours ago she got an e-mail from the young couple that heads up her College group.
It seems that, after much soul-searching and prayer, they have decided to leave the ministry and the church.
Just like that.
Earlier this month they were on a short term mission with the students, the week before last they were talking about the big plans they had for the ministry this fall, and then, today, it was over.
Now my little girl is sitting on her bed, crying herself to sleep, saying it's never going to be the same.
And, of course, it isn't.

How do I tell her she is only beginning a lifetime of changes--some good, some not so good and some that will just plain break her heart?
How we long for the status quo in our lives! I can remember times in churches and ministries where things were really, really good. I remember brothers and sisters from those days, how close we were, how I hoped we'd always be together, moving from one adventure to the next.
Then, when I least expected it, someone would leave, someone would come, something would change. And it would all be over.
I think back on a lot of those friends with a sweet kind of nostalgia. But at the time, it was terrible. And of course, that is what is happening with her.

As I get older, I realize that people move in and out of my life, but the ministry and the call never really end. They just change as God moves us into the next season.

But, of course that won't make much sense to her right now. She is grieving what she knows will never be the same.

How do you deal with changes like this? What would you tell your children?

Apples and Bones

2008-09-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Our kitchen table is piled high with buckets of apples and the house is filled with their aroma. I spent most of yesterday afternoon watering and weeding the pumpkin patch.
Is there any better time of year than fall?
Cold mornings and 80-degree afternoons and leaves everywhere you look. This is when I remember why I was so desperate to move to the Northwest.
Of course at our house, the fall means the machinery of School creaks and roars back to life for the four of us. This morning, Teenage Son starts his first day of his Junior year in H.S., I start my first day with 5th and 6th graders both at school, and TH marches off to a substitute job in town with--get this!--bilingual first-graders. (Good thing he has has had plenty of multicultural experiences at home.)
Meanwhile, Delicate Flower is saying goodbye to friends and putting the last touches on packing she has worked on all week. She moves into her apartment in University City next Monday, but she'll actually come back home for two weeks before school starts.
It sounds pretty idyllic, but as I try to write this, Teenage Son is vying for water rights with Delicate Flower, (she wants to wash clothes, he needs to take a shower--can't do both at the same time around here.) Earlier this morning, I spent time hammering away at the garden gate after Rosco somehow managed to weasel his way into my compost pile. Rosco is currently chasing Darryl around the house in circles, as Darryl swipes at him every so often with a fistful of claws.
It's my hope that Rosco will settle down in his crate with the giant bone that our neighbors gave him as a treat, just as Daniel and I leave for school.
And that would be a perfect morning.

Prayers answered in mysterious ways. Are we really surprised?

2008-08-09T23:44:00.003-07:00

I have felt your prayers. Things are starting to take shape, but they are hardly the shape I expected.

God has moved me to NOT follow through in applying for the full time jobs. Why? Beat the heck out of me until I got to my mom's house earlier this week. Mom is not doing very well. It's now clear to TH and I that I am going to have to make a series of visits out of state to help mom get some things in order. I have to find her upgraded medical care, straighten out some financial records that need attention, look for an assisted care place for my uncle and possibly work on managing and/or selling some of her properties. Two weeks ago this had never entered my mind. Now I am making doctor appointments and plane reservations.

Life is strange.

In the midst of all this chaos and change, a friend we visited this week gave us a check that will take care of many of our living expenses this month.

Oh, and another possible job popped up on the web for TH. He is applying tonight.

Prayers answered? Yes, but, true to God, not in conventional ways. Stay tuned. As usual, it promises to be a wild ride.

Maybe a new chapter?

2008-07-29T21:14:00.000-07:00

Well, this hasn't been the best of weeks.

TH was told he was not permanently hired for the long term sub job he had last Spring. Then, he interviewed for a second job and was told he was not hired for that one either.
Poor TH. It has been hard to hang in there in the face of so much disappointment.
Add to that the ongoing slippage of the bank account and you have what amounts to a pretty dismal couple of days.

So, why a new chapter?

Well, there are a couple of jobs open this fall that I qualify for.
Each of them would bring us health benefits again, but the catch is I would need to return to work full time.

So, part of my mind says: "Hmm maybe it's my turn to work full time again after two years of half-time."
While the other part of my mind says: "I don't THINK so!!!"

So, the mind I'm really seeking these days is Christ's.

In faith, I am updating the resume and applying for three jobs I am qualified for--even though I don't want to go back to work full time.
In faith I am leaving next Tuesday for a 1 week trip we have had scheduled for a few months--even though that is the thing that makes the least amount of sense right now.
In faith, I have paid the last of the bills for the month, and am trusting God for next month--even as our bank account starts to zero out.

Thank you for your prayers for our hearts. Now can you please add in prayers that we will know the next step that God wants us to take?

How is this possible?

2008-07-26T12:16:00.001-07:00

The checkbook balance is dropping every day and yet I have peace and I have hope and I have a heart that is grateful to God.
I know it is your prayers that are holding me up.
I am so grateful you have not forgotten me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"All things are possible, with God."

I added $300.00 to our account!

2008-07-25T22:19:00.000-07:00

Didn't realize I still had them at my disposal. Praise God :)

And, thirty days later...or close enough

2008-07-23T21:54:00.000-07:00

The good news is: I still trust God as much as I did when I wrote the last post.
The bad news is: Still no job and now, absolutely no money. As I told a friend today: $300.00, no savings, no credit, no job.
I wonder what God is going to do next?
Will you pray with us?

Another thirty days

2008-06-28T12:07:00.001-07:00

I think I mentioned in an earlier posting that I once complained to a friend that I didn't see how we were going to make it through the month and her warm, comforting reply was: "you say that EVERY month!"

I've never forgotten that.

Because, I do say that every month. In fact, I said it again this month, because I thought, surely, this was the one where we were circling the financial drain. What I didn't know was that the car that needed to be repaired was $100 cheaper than first estimated; that we'd get paid three days early because it's the end of the fiscal year; that I could put off the ortho and insurance payments for another month, etc. etc.

THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS I DON"T KNOW.
I need to put all my faith in the the things I DO know:
"He will never leave you or forsake you."

Please pray for my faith. That I will look ahead confidently, not to the things that are ahead, but to the One that is ahead.

In the next week or two, TH will find out if he is getting the permanent job he has applied for at the h.s. where he was a long-term sub this year. Will he get it? Will he get a different permanent job? Will he have to go back to subbing? Will we be back to Square One?

Does it really matter?

If I believe---really believe--that God has promised to take care of us, can't I just leave it at His feet?

For one more month.

A bit more good news :)

2008-06-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

This is the latest e-mail I got from Kylie's dad.
Thank-you again for your prayers! Kylie is to be released from the International Hospital in Kampala, Uganda in a few hours. I spoke with her about twelve hours ago (8:00am pdt) and she sounded good and ready to get out. (Her mom) stated that she felt calm and at peace during this time knowing that so many people were praying for them. The rest of the group has stayed at the mission location over 2 hours away and they have been in contact with (Kylie's mom.) They have been progressing on the projects that they had planned to (painting the school and working at the orphanage). Now that Kylie is through the worst, the tension has been lifted for them.

I also found out today that the brother of the man leading the trip died just before the group was supposed to fly out to Uganda. The leader and his wife stayed behind a week for the memorial and now they are on their way to join the team in Uganda. This team has certainly gone through their share of trials in making it out to the field!!!! Please continue to keep them in prayer until they come home next Sunday--I know they appreciate all of you that are holding them up before the Lord. We need to pray that their work will be fruitful and that they will be an example to all who are there of what it is like to overcome adversity!

Good News about Kylie

2008-06-25T21:54:00.001-07:00

God is good!!!!!!
The surgeon made it to Kampala, Uganda in time to take Kylie's appendix out before it burst. He told Kylie's mom it had a half-inch tear, but PRAISE GOD he took it out, cleaned everything up and expects her to make a full recovery!
Thank you God for not letting it burst while the plane was still in the air. Thank you that You are in complete control of this little one's life and she is totally in your hands!
--Thank you to all of you who prayed. Please keep praying for Kylie's complete recovery. I love seeing the Body of Christ at work :)))

Enough about the dog

2008-06-24T22:16:00.000-07:00

A dog-break for an urgent prayer request:

We have a good friend named Kylie (h.s. sophomore) who just left for Uganda last Saturday for a short term mission trip with her mother and brother. Unfortunately, she felt very sick on her way over and when she arrived in Kampala, Uganda it was determined she had appendicitis. They sent for a doctor several hours away and we don't know if he can treat her or if they have to take her into surgery to get the appendix out.
Please pray now for her, her Mom and the whole team!!!!!
I'll keep you posted when I hear more--Thanks!

The dog who would be king

2008-06-23T16:25:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, there was a puppy named Rosco.
Yes, Rosco was only a puppy, but no one told him that.
So, when his family brought him home from the shelter, he proceeded to take complete control of their lives.

Rosco's bid for world domination started in the living room. He tried to chew chairs, climb on furniture, and piddle everywhere there was an open space. When he grew bored of this, he moved on to chewing robes, toes, flip flops, and shoelaces. He pulled kleenex out of boxes, scattering pieces all over the floor, and plucked onions out of baskets and peeled them before he was discovered. The recycling bag was his best friend. It was like a doggy-version of Goodwill: new treasures every day. He never understood why his family kept moving the bag higher and higher.

It wasn't long before he discovered his Greatest Sworn Enemy: white socks. If one of the unsuspecting family members wandered into the Living Room wearing white socks: God help them. Rosco would jump straight up in the air like a frog, and bark and yip like the family was undergoing a home invasion. No amount of cajoling could talk him down until the socks were pulled off and hidden. He was a puppy possessed.

When he finished conquering the living room and the kitchen, Rosco moved on to the back garden. The back garden was a domain formerly ruled by the mother in the family.

Formerly.

Now that Rosco was in charge, a whole new decorating scheme was implemented. Foxgloves, iris, tulips, and daffodils were OUT. As was the beautiful pink clematis growing up the side of the garden shed and the climbing white hydrangea that draped the entire back wall of the garden.

"OUT, OUT, OUT!" ruled the Internet, which confirmed through a variety of sources, that they were each horrifyingly toxic to canines. Instead, grass was chewed and yanked out, calla lily leaves were nibbled like salad greens and the stems of bleeding hearts were snapped under paws the size of cinnamon rolls.

To Rosco, however, the best two features of the new and improved back garden were clearly: the compost pile and the cat.

Darryl The Cat managed to give Rosco a wide berth in the house during the first few days he was around, often meowing and hissing at him from the other side of the kitchen door. But, when Rosco and Darryl met outside, all bets were off. Rosco advanced yipping on Darryl and Darryl answered the attack, with a frenzy of spitting and fur. After taking a few claws to the face, Rosco backed off a bit, giving Darryl the respect he was obviously due. Pretty soon, they fell into a rhythm of sorts: Darryl lay in the garden under the tree with the bird house, harassing the barn swallows when they tried to feed their babies. Rosco harassed Darryl.

Ah, the Circle of Life.

While the mother of the family struggled to find a Rosco-free place to move the compost pile she had just instituted that summer, Rosco delighted in the wonders the pile offered. Orange peels to gnaw and choke on, shreds of newspaper that could be dragged and sprinkled all around the garden, old moldy pieces of carrot or potato that could be roused up...ah, the possibilities were endless. When all else failed he could always just dig aimlessly and drag out some rotting piece of something or other and proceed to grind it down to nothing.

"Toxic bacteria!" screamed the vet.
"But, where else can I put it?" wailed the mother of the family.

While the battle raged, Rosco just kept digging.

Thanks to an act of God, revealed in the form of two pocket doors strategically built into the house, Rosco only had the run of the kitchen, living room and back garden. The bathrooms and bedrooms of the home were blissfully spared, often becoming hiding places for family members taking impromtu Rosco Breaks. But, from those rooms could now be heard a new call between family members as Rosco wriggled his fuzzy little bottom onto his new throne as Imperial Head of the Household:

"What do you mean it's MY turn to watch him? I watched him all afternoon!"
"Well who do you think got up with him this morning at 6:30 a.m.?"
"I gave him a bath!"
"Well I took him for a run!"
"Mom! Rosco is chasing Darryl again!"
"Mom!"
"Mom???"

But, alas, the mother of the family was standing outside in what was left of the garden, staring up at the bird house and wondering how the barn swallows would feel about having her move in.

See The Puppy

2008-06-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

See the Puppy.
The Puppy likes to play.
And play and play and play and play and play.
See The Puppy's Surrogate Grandmother.
The Surrogate Grandmother apparently still has the stomach flu she contracted earlier.
The flu makes the Surrogate Grandmother tired.
So very, very, very tired.
But The Puppy still likes to play and play and play.
See The Family.
The Family gets up early in the morning during Summer Vacation.
Does that make The Family happy?
Not necessarily.
But The Family does it anyway to keep The Puppy from barking and piddling.
The Puppy likes to bark and piddle and poop.
The good news is that The Puppy mostly piddles and poops outside in the designated area now.
THAT MAKES THE FAMILY VERY HAPPY.
But, the Surrogate Grandmother is still tired.
Very, very, very, tired.
Now, the Surrogate Grandmother remembers why it seemed like a good idea to stop after only two children.
The Two Children are realizing what it is like to get up very early, be at The Puppy's beck and call till bedtime and keep cleaning up after The Puppy.
That makes the Surrogate Grandmother very happy.
The Surrogate Grandmother laughs very, very, very hard.
The laugh is somewhat of an evil laugh.
Still, the Surrogate Grandmother feels its been proven once again:
There is a God.

I get a dog, read a book and take off running, (but not necessarily in that order.)

2008-06-18T01:41:00.000-07:00

So I have decided to stop being a lazy slug and start running.
Did I mention that the last time I ran was 1985? Well, no need to dwell on details...Bosco has been running daily for a week or so and I decided to join him. So off we go to the track of the school where I work just up the hill.
Right away I hit Obstacle #1---I am wearing gym shorts and I have vericose veins and what if one of my co-workers looks out the (many) windows and sees my (many) vericose veins? Oh, what the----heck-----I'm here so I might as well bite the bullet.
My goal was to run a quarter or maybe a half a lap around the track. Why count in quarters, you ask? Because my plan was to walk a quarter, run a quarter, and build up gradually. And because I thought if I went from zero to 60 after not running for 23 years I might die.

"Ohmigosh! She was only 50 and she died of a heart attack! Was it because she never excercised?"
"Well, in a way..."

So, I surprised myself by running 6 quarters on the first day!
Okay, I'm not going down to Eugene for the Olympic Trials, but for me it was a victory :)
So far I have been on summer vacation less than a week and I have achieved three goals: read a book, started running and have gotten (slightly) tanned.
What next? Climbing Mt. Everest?? Close. We got a puppy.
His name is Rosco, he is a shepherd/husky mix and every inch of him is adorable except his bladder....now I remember why we waited to long to get a puppy... Seriously, the kids are doing all the clean-up, I'm just dispensing advice. (I could get used to this!) He has us wrapped around his paws--which happen to be HUGE. This animal has feet for running across the frozen tundra! Only Darryl the cat avoids him like the plague. He keeps coming out to the Family Room after a nap and staring at him like: "Ohmigod! YOU'RE still here???" Very funny!

New colors and a new attitude!

2008-06-05T22:00:00.000-07:00

Had to spruce up the blog! One of the things I love most in life is color, and I love to change it out as often as possible--in my home, clothes, garden, etc. By the time I finish I probably will have gone through all the colors in the palette, so don't be alarmed to see a new look often, ok?

Five days left of school--but, hey, who's counting??
Ironically, I got one or two extra days of work this year because I ended up on a curriculum committee. It's okay. I asked for it, and am grateful for the extra money. I'll have to party with some serious lattes the day after:)

Almost summer. Now if we just had a little sun to go with it...

Six Random Things

2008-05-29T23:59:00.000-07:00

My friend LlamaMomma has tagged me to come up with six random things about myself to share. Most everything about me is random, so this should not be hard. Some are happy and some are sad, but I guess that is what randomness is all about.

1. Ever since I can remember, my favorite name in the world has been Elizabeth. When I was a little girl I used to pretend my name was Elizabeth. Most people change their favorite names several times by the time they are fifty. Not me. Those of you that know me well, know why I love it now :)

2. One of the angriest, most unhappy people I have ever met was the daughter of Ronald Reagan. I interviewed Maureen Reagan for something or other about 25 years ago. When she walked in the room it was as if an icy blast had entered with her. For a half hour she sneered, glared, rolled her eyes, looked exasperated, but never smiled. I'm trying to leave my politics out of this, but, let's just say I don't think Dad was taking any Parent of the Year awards. When I heard she died last year, I felt very sad.

3. One of the greatest comfort foods for me is graham crackers with milk. I remember my Nana giving them to me as a special treat at her house. I was less than 5 years old, but I still remember the cupboard when she kept them. She doled them out, one-half cracker at a time. I thought they were heaven. Guess what I like to eat when I'm tired and depressed?

4. I couldn't draw if my life depended on it. I can decorate and arrange things well, and I'm great at colors and composition. But, drawing? Even my stick figures are hard to interpret. This is not an exaggeration.

5. I took dance lessons from first grade through college. I have always wanted to dance in a musical or Broadway play. I haven't danced in years. Enough said.

6. In the past seven days, I have been to a funeral, had another student that died, and have yet another who is planning to commit suicide. Ladies and gentlemen, such are the last weeks of the year when you work at a school.
Yes, it has been a hard week. Hope yours is going better.

I have to do WHAT???

2008-05-16T18:52:00.000-07:00

So, about grocery shopping. This suddenly hit me the other day at Winco (known in other states as Pack and Slave.)

I am going grocery shopping, right?
First, I walk up and down the aisles for an hour putting every single item INTO the cart.
Then, I get up to the checker and take each one OUT of the cart.
Then, she rings me up and I put each item back INTO the cart.
Then I push the cart to my trusty dented car, take them OUT of the cart and put them INTO the car.
Then I drive home, (see the $10 bills flying out the window in gas money?) where I proceed to take all the items OUT of the car.
And put them INTO the house.
Of course, I finish by taking everything OUT of the bags and putting them INTO the cupboards.
Till it's time to cook , of course and then I take them....

STOP THE MADNESS!!!!!!!!!!

My girlfriend pays a significant amount to have her groceries delivered.
And to think I used to complain about her wasting money.

Chicken Delight: Part Two

2008-05-15T23:06:00.001-07:00

Okay, I'm back.

Yeah, I know you're wondering: it was chicken in a pita pocket. I cooked the chicken pieces with onion, curry, garlic, and mushrooms, put it in the pita and topped it with light sour cream, lettuce and feta. Not half bad, relatively healthy. Could have used some tomato and cucumber.

I should clarify my earlier comment by saying, it's not cooking that I hate, it's cooking dinner. The fact is, dinner comes at the worst possible time of the day. You're tired, you're out of imagination, if it's a hot day, it's the hottest time of all, everyone else is tired and cranky and absolutely NO ONE is patient.

Then, there's the fact that there are so many more interesting things to do at that time of day! Watch TV, play in the garden, visit with my neighbor Linda, take a nap,--pretty much anything but going in to the kitchen, pulling all kinds of things out of cupboards, putting them in a pot, stirring them over some hot flame and spooning them on to plates. Ick!

I tried to explain this dilemma to my family once. I told them that I would be happy to get up as early as needed and make them a big fancy breakfast every morning. Oatmeal, waffles, sausage, eggs---I'd do it all. Then I'd go to work and when we came home each night, we could all sit around the TV set and eat cereal like one big happy family. I thought this was a brilliant idea, but they snorted at me. (Except for Delicate Flower, who usually sides with me on whatever is easiest to do.) I was all too horribly unconventional for the guys and more than they could bear.

Don't cook tonight, call Chicken Delight!

It was working for me.

At least it's not as much of a time-waster as grocery shopping. I'll share the flawed theory behind that one next time.

Chicken Delight: Part One

2008-05-15T18:13:00.000-07:00

Before there was KFC, even before they called it Kentucky Fried Chicken, way back when I was a little girl, there was Chicken Delight.

I don't know if everyone had Chicken Delight, or if it was just in the S.F. Bay Area, where I grew up. I still remember the black and white television commercial with a chicken shouting into an old style telephone: "Don't cook tonight--call Chicken Delight!" (No, I don't know why the chicken was the one making the call, it didn't make sense to me either.)

Even at that young age, I remember thinking what a wonder it would be to have your entire dinner cooked and brought to your house! (Back then, I think dinner for six was something like $1.15.) Although we never really ordered Chicken Delight, we had much more personal experience with it than most, because our telephone number was just one digit off from theirs.

Me: Hello
Hungry Person: Hi, is this Chicken Delight?
Me: No, you have the wrong number
Hungry Person: Hi, I'd like to get the large family order, please.
Me: You have the wrong number
Hungry Person: How much would that be?
Me: You have the wrong number.
Hungry Person: Oh! Is this the wrong number?

Repeat about 5 times a day and you have an idea of what it was like to live just one digit away from a local phenom.

I bring up this story because I hate cooking dinner, and each night when it's (well past,) time to mosey on out to the kitchen and start dinner preparations, all I hear in my head is:
"Don't cook tonight! Call Chicken Delight!"

More after I go and ....oh, well, you know..........

A Forgotten Prayer

2008-05-11T21:30:00.000-07:00

A long time ago, when I was a young woman pregnant with my first child, I prayed a prayer over and over for the little girl I had not yet met. My prayer was that she would see, what I called, The Invisible Kingdom.

I prayed that as she grew, she would begin to see past what was right before her. That she would see the real forces at work in the world--the ones that were invisible to the eye. I nodded when I heard the then-popular slogan: "Question Reality" and I hoped she would. I prayed she'd see God acting and interacting in her life and that, though He was invisible to most, she would have the power to see Him as clear as day. I wanted her to recognize Him by His style, His attitude and His consistency. I wanted her to spot Him in the background of every scene and question what He was doing there. When other people complained about their situation and focused on the microscopic, I prayed she would have the gift of seeing the "big picture" and learn quickly that our present circumstances are nothing more than details that will pass.

I don't know how many times I prayed this prayer, but I know I prayed it all over again when I was pregnant with my son two years later.

Years went by with diapers and bottles and sleep deprivation, with some crying and lots and lots of laughter. Pretty soon, life was about school, and church and , then, college. Sometimes I'd pray the prayer, but not as often as before. Now, a lot of my time was taken up with prayers for day-to-day battles.

Just the other day, someone said something about "being invisible" and it all came back to me in a rush. How many times had I prayed that prayer--to see the invisible? And suddenly, it hit me that God had answered when I wasn't looking!

It makes me crazy when people say how great my kids are, and what a credit they are to my husband and I.

It makes me crazy because I know better.

In that great mystery of the faith, both my children walk with God because of God. God first chose them, and then let them choose Him and, somewhere in the mix , answered those prayers I prayed day after day. What and when and which and how, I really don't care. They point is that, as the Word says: "they live and breathe and have their being in Him," so much more than I could ever have imagined so long ago.

That was what I prayed for and that is what He gave me. Makes me wonder how many other things I've prayed for that I have forgotten about.

Thank you God. Happy Mother's Day to Me.

So I never thought I'd be saying this, but...

2008-04-19T01:19:00.000-07:00

...enough with the snow, alright already!!!!!!!!!!

I moved to the outer islands of the U.S. because I wanted more Four Seasons weather. However, it's April 19th and I need a little spring!!!

Don't get me wrong, I would still take cold, frosty weather over a hot spell any day. But, as Delicate Flower would say, this year is a weirdie. The daffodils have long since come and gone, I have a small army of tulips in my front garden, I am growing all kinds of seeds in pots that I put outside to harden and all of a sudden the weekend forecast is for snow?? G-r-r-r!

I was looking forward to a lovely weekend of burrowing in the garden, killing dandelions and planting sweet peas. Now, I am stuck inside doing stuff like cleaning the bathroom...ick. Not that it doesn't need to be cleaned--(I am about two steps away from being shut down by the health department,) but it's the principle of the thing.

It's hard to believe that just last Saturday, we were at a lu'au where it was so warm we were sweating! Now, here we are, tucking in for an arctic weekend.

I'm sure I'll be missing this coolness come July, but right now, these are trying times for a gardener :(

Tips for Better Living

2008-04-08T22:30:00.001-07:00

I have been working and doing taxes. Ick. Sadly, this has kept me much too busy to post.
If you work at school you know that this is when the jaws of Hell open wide and you enter the worst time of the year. Everything that everyone has put off all year, suddenly becomes Priority One. Old assignments, projects, grades, grant writing and anything else you want to throw in the mix, all rear their ugly heads and demand to be taken care of immediately. (If it has ever seemed to you that your kids have an inordinate amount of homework in the month of May and/or people want you to follow through on EVERY possible parental obligations: it is not your imagination.)
In our family, May is especially insane because we add in the birthdays of Teacher Husband and Delicate Flower. I love Delicate Flower, but she was supposed to be born June 15th, yet had the nerve to arrive 6 weeks early, right before I was supposed to give finals to my students at SJSU. (I've since discovered Delicate Flower has the nerve to quietly do a lot of things I didn't expect, but I digress...)
So, that's what I've been doing lately....school work, birthday prep and taxes.
Two quick tips to make your lives easier this month:
1. If you still haven't done taxes, I swear by Turbo Tax online. (Sorry, Raul!) If it can make sense to someone like me, surely it can work for anyone.
2. If you need a sensory break, rent "Across the Universe." (Listen up, Raul!) It's a musical love story set to the sound track of Beatles songs. I know that sounds strange, but actually it's quite beautiful. I was very hypnotized--kind of like reading someone's diary. Teacher Husband remarked it was the first time he ever heard someone covering Beatles tunes that didn't ruin them. I was amazed by the vocals. Check it out.

What are you up to this Spring?

Easter Morning

2008-03-23T16:47:00.000-07:00

He Is Risen!
........and, then you answer:

God is Good

2008-03-18T19:32:00.000-07:00

I got a call late this afternoon that the loan we were hoping to be approved for has come through! Borrowing is not my favorite course of action, but it is what God has for us right now. Praise Him. Thanks for your prayers.

Arrows

2008-03-18T06:50:00.000-07:00

This is what we used to call an "arrow prayer." The kind you just shoot up when you are right in the thick of it.
Finances are not good at all. I have to make some big decisions about how- to- pay -what today. Please, please pray for wisdom and for anything I may have overlooked.
Thanks for loving us :)

Two days past Fifty

2008-03-17T07:56:00.000-07:00

Thank you for your great birthday wishes! You guys are the best!!
My favorite attitude adjustment was from the Delicate Flower who wrote on my birthday card: "I hope you keep getting older for a very long time!" It was great to have you--and her--giving me the right perspective.

Gotta share a fun thing God did today, cause it seems like it should be passed on: Last week, some of the verses I was studying were Is. 55:1-3. A little obscure, but they popped up in a study that I have been working on off and on. They touched me so much that I wrote them on a card and shared them with Bosco. This morning, I spent an hour catching up on all the work e-mail that I missed while out at a training last week. What should show up but the same obscure little verses, with a detailed commentary, from a friend that sends me occasional devotionals! It blessed me more than I can say to remember that even the tiniest pieces of our daily walk are woven together by God. He misses nothing.

Here are the verses. If they blessed you, write and let me know--then you can pass them on:)

Come and buy wine and millk

Without money and without cost

Why do you spend money for what is not bread

And your wages for what does not satisfy?

Listen carefully to me and eat what is good

And delight yourself in abundance

Incline your ear and come to me

Listen that you may live.

Is. 55:1-3

Today is the day

2008-03-15T21:09:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is it. Today I turn 50. Geez, it's hard to even write it. This is definitely going to take a mental adjustment.
I am happy to report I am having a great day with TH and the kids. Lots of fun stuff. Now, if I could just get used to that number...

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

2008-03-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

I'm blaming it on the fact that someone was driving down the street with a coffin in the back of their pick up truck.

It turned out to be a tanning bed, but it looked so much like a coffin that Teacher Husband said: "Look, it looks like a coffin!" and turned his head to the left when he probably should have kept looking straight ahead.

That was when he rear-ended the pick up truck.

A pick up truck so burly that it didn't even sustain a scratch from the hood of our car that was completely crumpled in on itself.

--Did I already mention we were on our way back from looking at a used car that we were trying to buy for Teacher Husband?

If you have been following the story of our lives carefully, (and who wouldn't?) you've read that we have been down to one car in our family since the second car exploded on the side of the road back in August. THAT was when we were trying to haul up four enormous wooden apple bins from a little town about 40 miles up the freeway. (Hey! They were free!)

But, I digress...The point is, that we have been in desperate need of a second car, so TH and I finally went to look at one on Friday. We were just driving home in our own car, discussing how it looked like a great buy, when we saw the coffin--er, I mean tanning bed--and the rest is history.

The big burly man that got off the scratchless truck seemed to have sustained no injuries either. We were okay, it was the just the car with the crumpled hood. When we got home, TH checked under the hood and miraculously discovered, that nothing seemed to be out of place. He pronounced it good to drive and we felt blessed that was the worst of it.

The next day, I had to drive two-plus hours to University Town to pick up the Delicate Flower. (Did I tell you her car stopped working last week? Yes, folks, this is stuff IS too good to make up.) The drive down went fine, but when we stopped at the University Town Grocery Store, Delicate Flower said:
"Wow. Did you notice there is like, green liquid leaking out from under the car?"
I got off and found out that green liquid was pretty much pouring out of the bottom of the car. So, we drove the car with the crumpled hood and the pouring green fluid down the road to the only gas station I know in University Town. After some work prying open the crumpled hood latch, the nice gas filling person said: "You have a busted hose."
"I'm just visiting University Town to pick up my daughter," I said, got any ideas of where I could get it fixed?"
"You need to go to a mechanic."
"Uh...yeah, I kind of figured that...(what do you mean they won't do it at Trader Joes??!!) but, I don't live here so I am wondering if you can recommend a mechanic."
He directed me to a shop just down the road, and as I was hearing the cash register sound ring over and over in my head, we met the nicest mechanic we could have asked for. What an incredible blessing!

The good news was that he repaired the hose in a jiffy.
The bad news was that it turns out we also cracked the radiator while we were staring at the coffin.

Fortunately he was willing to fix them both there and then, so, $300 and 2 hours later, we were on our way home. In a whipping, blinding, pouring rainstorm where the two hour drive took three and a half--but, hey, I'll save that story for another day.

Just to recap: we have since purchased that used car for TH and he is very happy. I have a car with a brand-new radiator and a crumpled hood and when we take Delicate back down to University Town today, she has a brand new mechanic she can take her car to! See how it all worked out just fine?

Meanwhile, I have decided to find a little pumice-like rock that I am going to keep in the back seat of the car. Since we are broke again, I am obviously going to be driving the car around town like this for a long time. When people ask what happened to the hood, (oh, and they will--this is a very small town,) I'm going to tell them it was hit by a meteorite and show them the rock.

Because who's going to believe a story about a coffin?

Wait! This just in!

2008-02-22T22:03:00.000-08:00

I don't usually double-blog in a 24 hr. period, but I just remembered something very important I forgot to tell you. For those of you that have been following our family's saga of underemployment and lack of funds, I have good news ! Teacher Husband, as I mentioned, has been subbing for several weeks at a high school for behavior -challenged kids. First, they asked him to stay two days, then a week, then two weeks, then four. Today, the principal observed him in his classroom and told him she was recommending to H.R. that he be kept on as a long-term sub for the rest of the year!!! Plus, she was really complimentary about his teaching style which made him feel great!!! Yay God!!!!! We still have to pay our own insurance, (another blog all unto itself...) but at least we'll have a steady income till June.
God is good. All the time.
Your prayers have meant more than I can say. Thank you so much.
I celebrated tonight by doing what any average Mom would do---going out and buying a cart full of groceries :)))

Fifty of one or half-dollar of the other?

2008-02-22T16:06:00.000-08:00

"Oooh! You have a birthday coming up!" the saleswoman oozed ever so sweetly.

Uh-huh.

The birthday she referred to while checking my driver's license was the legendary 5-0, and it's coming at me with the speed of a bullet. If only my shoulders, knees and back still moved that fast...but, I digress.

Unlike many of my peers, I had no trouble with 40. For some reason, 35 was pretty traumatic, but 40 was just plain fun.

50? Uh, I don't think so.

Fifty is the age where I place people when I am vaguely indicating they're old.
"OH, I don't know, I think he's in his fifties, or something...."

Fifty was the age of my parents friends. The age at which you used to start contemplating your retirement funds. (Now it's apparently 24.) Fifty was the age when dads in our neighborhood started wearing Hawaiian shirts, black socks and Birkenstocks when they were barbecuing out in their back yards. For gosh sakes, my Aunt Julia, (a tale that I will save for another day,) was in her fifties! Now, that I think of it, Aunt Julia was perpetually in her fifties. In my mind's eye, I always picture her the same way: a short, round little woman with a gray house dress, flat shoes and gray hair in rollers.

Ladies and gentlemen, 50 means Grayness.

Fifty is a half-dollar, a half century, more than a half of a lifetime. People who are fifty drive nice cars, take cruises to the Caribbean and give out pretty good candy on Halloween. At least that is how I remember it.

I'm not sure my life looks very much like Fifty.

What about you? Any thoughts about Fifty? (Even if you aren't joining me on the precipice...)

Song fragments running through my stream of consciousness

2008-02-13T07:53:00.000-08:00

Holiness
Holiness is what I long for
Holiness
Is what I need
Holiness
Holiness is what you want from me
Take my heart and form it
Take my mind and transform it
Take my will and conform it
To Yours, to Yours, Oh Lord!

God is good
God is good
All the time

...You gotta think about Noah,
under his umbrella
when there wasn't a cloud in the sky
People would laugh
at his pet giraffe
and they'd snicker when he'd walk by
....you gotta keep doing your best
pray that it's blessed
He'll take care of the rest

Please bear with me

2008-02-10T23:23:00.000-08:00

I don't usually use my blog as this kind of a format, but this is a last resort, so here it goes...
We are having some pretty serious financial problems. Teacher Husband was unemployed for the first four months of the school year, and without boring you with the details, after begging, borrowing, but not stealing, it has finally caught up with us and we are pretty dire straits. In addition to not having money, we are down to one car. Since we are both looking for second jobs, it has become much more than just a scheduling problem. On a positive note, I should add T.H. has a four week sub job at a great school right now. It was supposed to be one week and they keep extending it cause they like him. It is a great situation. Wish it could be permanent, but no promises or guarantees.
Would you pray for us during this season? We want to trust God and do the right thing, but we are running low on energy and hope and we need the prayers of the saints to hold us up.
If you keep praying, I will keep posting :) Thanks

a(64 x 231-9)+-22/7 = No Way to Run a Life.

2008-02-09T16:19:00.000-08:00

Instead of having answers on a math test, they should just call them "impressions", and if you got a different impression, so what? Can't we all be brothers?– Jack Handey

If you know anything about me, you know that I consider these words much more than a simple quote from SNL's infamous Deep Thoughts. I have this quote hanging in my office, for gosh sakes. For me, this is a Way of Life.

So, imagine my dispair when I realized that it was time to bite the bullet and re-take the CBEST teacher certification test. Notice the phrase: re-take? That's right, I TOOK their nasty little test back in 1990-something. I got a perfect score in the reading/writing portion and my math grade was so low that I STILL failed the overall test. (I imagine them still having my test framed and mounted on the wall in some office as an object lesson to new CBEST employees."Look at this, Fred, it IS possible to get such a low math score that it throws off the entire curve for the state...)
Ah, but,the story gets better.
After failing, I tried to take the test two more times. I couldn't make it to the second test because I had some kind of Toddler Emergency, and I arrived so late for the third test that they shut me out of the building. (STOP LAUGHING! I tell you, these people are Nazis.) Through some twisted set of circumstances that I long ago blocked out of my mind, I ended up owing $60 to the Evil Empire of CBEST. They vowed that if I ever tried to take it again, I would have to pay the $60 plus the fee for the fourth test. I vowed to wash my hands of the whole abusive incident .

I didn't want to be a teacher anyway.

Fast forward 12 years or so. Different year, different state--heck, I've even changed the way I spelled my name. I start thinking about finishing Grad School to get my teaching credential and what do they want me to pass before I can be admitted? That's right. THE TEST FROM HELL.

--Now, if you've ever had the pleasure of taking the CBEST, you'll know I'm joking. The test isn't that bad at all--as a matter of fact, I found the reading/writing part quite pleasant. But, remembering 6th grade math operations. 22 years after leaving 6th grade?! Come on! They obviously didn't know that the whole reason I majored in Journalism in college was that you didn't have to take a math class after h.s. geometry.

So what does God do, in his infinite sense of humor? He places me at a school for 7 years where all I do, over and over, like some horrifying reincarnation simulation, is teach 5th and 6th grade math to students. When I took that test this morning I flew through it and aced every last problem!!!

Okay, I lied about the flying and the acing. Okay, I lied a LOT about the flying and the acing.

But, I think I may have passed.

Of course, that won't take the sting out of the fact that as soon as I logged on to register for the test last month I got a pop up screen like some demonic gremlin from my deep, dark past: "Hello! Our records show you still owe us $60 in testing fees!"

So, I paid them their blood money, but if I don't pass this time, I'm NEVER going back. Really. I mean it this time.

For those that missed it...

2008-02-08T11:33:00.000-08:00

I am getting some great notes from some of you about this blog, so I thought it might be a good time to (again) give you instructions on how to make comments directly online (and, gee, I'd love it if you would!)

Go to https://www.google.com/accounts/Login

Follow directions to start a Google account that you can use as your very own.
Each time you visit my blogspot, just sign in, (top right corner of my blogspot.)
Keep in mind that when they ask your "username" what they really mean is your e-mail address.

4. There now, wasn't that simple? Blog on, Garth.

Party Invitations

2008-01-19T12:19:00.000-08:00

After all these years I am still secretly thrilled when I get an invitation to a party. Must be unresolved little girl memories. I love everything about an invitation: the anticipation of who is going to be there, the possibility of a surprise, the decorations, the ice cream, the cake. Heck, I don’t even care if it’s one of those houseware or jewelry parties. The fact that I’ve been included in something the least little bit special is enough to make my heart beat a little faster.
This week, I’ve been a little down about the dreariness of January. Christmas is over, work looms for me and not enough work looms for Teacher Husband. Bills, like death and taxes, are always with us. You know what I’m talking about. It’s like that thing Mary Engelbreit says: “Life is just so DAILY.”
My heart hungers for something special, something to look forward to, something fun.
An invitation to a party.
I’ve been kicking this around for the last couple of days, and today I found one. But it wasn't where I expected it to be.

Come to me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My load is light. Matthew 11:28

I am looking for something to rescue me from the bleakness of January, and the Creator of Heaven and Earth invites me to sit next to him and learn from him: gently, calmly, quietly. I am looking for a temporary distraction. He offers a long-term cure for my restlessness. I want a break from my schedule. He is looking into my soul.

I have my party invitation. All that's left is my response.

All about Christmas

2007-12-28T13:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas is over, the New Year approaches and it’s time for MarmotMom to come out of hibernation and sniff the cold, crisp air!
I have gotten some sweet comments from some of you saying you’ve checked this blog and notice I haven’t posted since this fall. Thanks! It feels good to know somebody’s out there.
Life gets pretty crazy for me at school during the fall—and our personal lives have really paralleled it this year. It’s good to be back in cyberspace.
I couldn’t have asked for a better Christmas. For one thing, we had a White Christmas here for the first time in 70 years!! So, while the snow fell in big, fat flakes, the four of us sat together and started opening presents at eleven. (Most definitely another first in our home.) Christmas morning was a little on the small side because we are low on funds. But, God, in that, great, ironic way that He has, seemed to make it more fun than usual. It took us a longer time to open fewer presents, and it felt so great to linger over them, laugh at the unexpected ones and sniff at the sentimental ones.
Those that know me, know that I’m not exactly the mushy type, but at one point I felt in awe that our kids have become incredible gift givers. Each gift they gave had so much thought poured into it-- tailored so perfectly to what they really knew about that person.
It also blessed me more than I can express that we had so much fun just sitting around laughing with each other. If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard parents say: “Oh, they’re cute now, but just wait until they’re teenagers.” I had to stop both kids at one point and tell them that Christmases with them literally get better each year…Of course, we totally lost track of time and just barely made it to the Christmas Dinner we were invited to…(Thanks for being patient, Carole!)
Christmas was always such a train wreck when Teacher Husband and I grew up. Could it really be possible that Christ has actually crafted something worthwhile out of all that pain? When I look at my husband and my children, it’s not hard to see His ongoing work in my life as a Redeemer.

A quick brush with Death

2007-10-06T09:59:00.000-07:00

I just found a credit card bill that was due today. The trouble was, this was a credit card that we had accidently exceeded the limit on last month. That meant that this month I had a VERY BIG payment due. So, when I opened up the account online, there was a note IN RED that said "You owe A VERY BIG PAYMENT. If you cannot pay IMMEDIATELY you need to call us."

This is a bad way to start your morning.

I know enough from --uh, how shall I put it?--prior credit card experiences, that if you don't pay THE VERY BIG PAYMENT by the due date, they send you a letter saying they want you to pay the entire credit card bill right now.

This would have been a very, very bad way to start my morning. (See title.)

Flashback to what happened when I woke up today.
My mind was overflowing with things to do, and each one of them seemed legitimately urgent. (The credit card was not one of them. I had completely forgotten about that.) Then I started thinking about Mary and Martha. They are the verses God brings to mind when I, (all to often,) start my day like this.

"Martha, Martha you are worried and bothered by so many things, but only a few things are necessary, really only one, for Mary has chosen the good part, which shall not be taken away from her."

I decided that the first thing I should do was study in my bible--no matter how many other things wanted to crowd it out because of their "urgency." That was what led to finding the credit card bill. A bill which, just a week ago, God had finally given me a way to pay.

Once again, God looked out for me in my confusion. When my priorities are in order, the details follow.

Only a few things are necesary, really only One.

I'm OK, you're OK and she's OK too.

2007-09-28T17:06:00.000-07:00

Amazing College Girl has now been gone for......oh, forget it, I'm just kidding. I'm not really counting the moments she has been gone. We've talked and e-mailed plenty and I am convinced she's doing well.

However, I have apparently entered a whole new social set, by default.

Since we live in a very small community (here in the Outer Islands of the United States), I see moms and dads downtown all the time who have entered The Club of Those That Wait Behind. I've seen people like us interact before, I've just never been a part of it.

Other Parent that Sees Me on the Street: "Hi, have you heard anything?" (This is the greeting that has now replaced "Hello." Sometimes interchangable with "How are you holding up?")
Me: Yeah, I got a cute e-mail yesterday
O.P: Really? He doesn't write, but he calls a lot---thank God for cell phones, huh?
Me: Yeah! You know she's been sick!
O.P.: No!! Really?? Already?? How did she do with that?
Me: I think she's going to be okay, but she didn't even feel well enough to go downstairs to get anything to drink!
O.P: Poor thing! It's not like being home is it?
Me and O.P both shake our heads knowingly.....

I have an encounter like that about every other day. I find myself transfixed with things like postage rates, (did you know it's cheaper to send a package UPS when it's sent to a business address?) I randomly collect small empty boxes and I've been known to swing by Dollar Tree with two or three dollars in my pocket, just to see what's there! (Wait, better scratch that last one, I've always done that.)

In a lot of ways it's fun. She called yesterday to say the guest speaker in Art lab was the guy who invented "Kid Pix." Kid Pix!!!!!!! The software program that changed her life back when she was a Delicate Blossom before she became a Delicate Flower! Probably led to her becoming an Art major! Who knew?!

Sometimes it's confusing. Should she come home and get her car, when it turns out all public transit is free to students in University City? But, what if she goes somewhere with a group of people and wants to come home early and is stuck because she's in their car? (Holy cow, did I just write come home early?)

And sometimes it's just lonely. Like tonight, when it's Friday night and her brother wants someone to drive him into Nearby City to get Donuts. (College Girl took him there right before she left. Teacher Husband and I just snorted when he brought it up tonight.)
Or, the fact that I will probably end up taking Thing Two to the movies to see the Bourne Whatever-it-is-This-Time. I don't really like those movies THAT much...but he's kind of lonely.
Just him, you understand.
Years ago I gave my friend a t-shirt after she had her second child. It was of a cow tipped over in a field, four legs straight up in the air, stiff as a board. The caption was: "Really, I'm fine. Really."
Just like me :)