I suppose blogging has fallen out of fashion. I realize that I have not done it for most of three years. Honestly, I just logged into this account to see if it was still here. I mean, truly, what else does one do at 4 am? I highly doubt if I have anyone who still checks on me here, because they have Facebook to see me. So... here I go, typing my random thoughts to the world, and wondering if anyone really notices or cares.
I care. I have to say stuff, and it doesn't much matter if anyone else reads or not. I am still here. Still buried by the clutter, still weighed down by the body struggles, still dealing with daily moral questions. Still fighting, still persevering, still sarcastic, still breathing.
Still typing.
Friday, July 20, 2018
Sunday, August 16, 2015
1 Thessalonians 4:11
It has been a very long time since I wrote an entry, and I have decided that tonight is the night.
Well, that sounded rather dramatic. I haven't got anything worth saying in the short attention span that applies to Facebook. I have a lot to discuss, and I am trying to limit my anger and sarcasm, which are both exploding off the charts. And I was awakened by coughing up bile, so I was out in the living room drinking tea anyway. And it is 2 in the morning. Why NOT write this all out? Seemed silly not to write. Writing is cathartic, so maybe it will help me work out the issue that is bothering me today.
Let me start with a question, and I really want you to think about it.
Do you fidget in church?
Do you fall asleep because the preaching is boring, or you haven't had a good night's sleep in a decade, or you were up all night helping your little one stay asleep?
I fidget. My hands must be doing something by rote, or my brain just can't handle the awake and adulting. Our congregation has one preacher that prints out a little outline with blanks to fill in. Keeps the adults listening for the answers. But he provides a cheat sheet at the bottom, upside down, just in case you missed it, or you are too impatient to wait for him to speak it. Many people doodle, answer deep questions from their children, read the whole Bible chapter we are in, do a different Bible study, write fiction, make notes to complain to someone who is unrelated to the actual problem they think they are having, let their kids scribble art on the back of the note page, or any number of other little ticks that keep their fingers or feet moving, which, in turn, engages the brain.
Apparently, my recent fidget has attracted the attention of a local elder's wife, who has now asked me twice to stop. I suppose I need to just change seats, so she can't watch me fidget. There is a congregation so much closer to my house.....
Last Sunday, I wore a white dress with flowers on it. The very same one that was what I wore for our new church directory pictures. It is a size 18, where a mere six years ago I was wearing a size 26 and should have been wearing a 28. It is the first of three dresses that I bought recently, because my body is becoming healthier on the inside and that is making the outside change dramatically. When I tried on the dresses, I had no idea what size I was, so I started with 22. I ended up buying three in an 18. They each fit on the first try, and I could breathe, they looked GREAT (oh, dear. I just shouted that in my head, in a Tony the Tiger voice. whew.), and I didn't have to do any short-girl modifications like hemming or raising the bustline by tightening the shoulders.
My recent (nervous tick?) fidget is to use my little nail clippers to trim my cuticles, and keep my nails looking nice. Pick here, clip there, file after.... but I refuse to make noise. If I hear my skin make the clippers actually CLIP in church, I put them down immediately. Nothing drives ME more nutty than clipping sounds. That sort of thing belongs over a trash can after a shower or doing dishes, so the nails are soft and pliable. Not at dinner, and not at church. One of the ladies catches at least of two of the grandsons, and actually clips their nails. No. Making noise in church is off my list. The last time this woman spoke to me, I asked Jeff if HE (sitting right next to me) could hear me making noise. He said no.
So on Wednesday, the friendly neighborhood elder's wife makes a running beeline to my car, like I am about to drive away with a baby carrier sitting on the roof. She starts by saying that the dress was pretty, and I am looking nice. (Thanks, at least you started with a positive, even if it sounded cheap and negative.) Then she says that I need to please stop with the messing of my nails. Well.... I know you have asked once before, and that pissed me off, because you gave me no reason at all then. This week's reason pissed me off more. And yes, I am saying PISSED, because I am angry like a cat hissing. Angry like a drunken Scot who has been told he is too loud, has a huge tab he cannot pay, and is no longer welcome in the pub.
"If someone was going forward to get baptized, and they saw THAT (referring to my fidget, regardless of what it is), they might say, 'Oh, well, I don't want to be a part of that.' You know? I have not seen that here, but I have seen it at other places. So if you could just, you know, please stop messing with your nails."
I just said, "Alright." She seemed like she had made her point and walked away. I drove away, feeling as if that firing squad had somehow missed. What lunacy is this?
So let me get this straight. I have to fidget to listen, but in doing something to stay awake at church, I have stumbled onto your pet peeve. Is this correct? And your pansy asinine excuse to get me to stop is that my actions might somehow be a stumbling block to a person choosing Christ?
I have yet to figure out how a person would let a fidget keep them from committing to Christ. Wouldn't that be the most shallow excuse out there? "I was about to go down and commit to this Savior who has already purchased me back from the eternal fires of HELL...... but then I saw this lady who was cleaning dirt out of her fingernails, and nodding at what the preacher said. NOPE! Can't stand that. Gonna go to hell, and blame her!"
Begin sarcastic questioning that will have a happy ending in a minute:
So what about the people who let their kids watch Big Hero 6 on their phone during the lesson? (I really have seen that!)
What about the people who are trying to contain their kids to three rows of running and acting up because they allow their child to fidget, because they know if they really made him/her sit down in the pew, there would be a Come-to-Jesus screaming demon attack and uprising? (Which certainly draws more glares from judgmental people who don't have children or any experience with special needs.)
What about the candy-wrapper-shuffling older couple next to this elder's wife, the man who can't stop saying AMEN to every second statement (a couple times really at the very worst wrong moment to amen to), and can't understand that the candy is in his mouth, and he should put the stupid paper down NOW?
What about the guy in the back with the oxygen tank that breathes to a slow, steady, marching sort of drum beat? We ARE an acappella church, can't have musical instruments here.
What about the babies that ping off each other across the auditorium, and distract everyone but the preacher, who can't hear them?
What about the people who are posting quotes from the preacher on Facebook? Live tweeting God's words can't be a good thing, can it??
We should be nipping this all in the bud right now!
End sarcastic questioning. Maybe I can start making sense. If you took any of that seriously, you can't read anymore of my blog. I am sarcastic in my inner depths. I can see how each of these would annoy someone, but they are all happening in our building every Sunday morning. There is nothing wrong with any of it.
Let me repeat, for emphasis: There is nothing wrong with any of it.
I got the opportunity to rant about this to a dear friend on FB chat. She is also a fidget, and also uses quiet nail clippers. She, her husband, and all of their three kids have to be moving or doing something. Fidgets unite! So I relayed the story, and got a few sarcastic answers back. I got a laugh out of it. I got peace. I am not the only one, and this woman's reasoning is flawed.
What if the person going forward saw elder's wife showing this snooty attitude over a small thing that has nothing to do with salvation? Would he/she really want to be a part of THAT??
Suddenly, this matter doesn't seem so deep.
I am highly tempted to take a huge box of crayons with me, the likes of which need a crane operator to lift, and has a sharpener in the back. I am certain I could find a huge coloring book. Leave the clippers at home, so I am not tempted to use them at all. The sarcastic in me wants to wear my usual jeans and a t-shirt, and sprawl out on the pew like a kid. Kick up my left foot, slap the pew with my right foot, peel the paper off the crayons in a noisy fashion, drum out "Amazing Grace" with the crayons on a hymnal under the coloring page. Right in front of her. Then I want to ask her if she would rather I use my extensive vocabulary skills and take the time in worship to write my Science Fiction novel. I won't be able to use it for NaNoWriMo this year, but I could seriously knock out a chapter every service. At three services a week, I could have a Robert Jordan sized book by the end of next year!
This whole thing just makes me wonder. What does this woman say to others? Is she this petty about other topics? Does she reserve this spite for just me? Her husband the elder is the one I have heard speak out against the practice of clapping when someone gets baptized. I am sorry, but the Bible says that there will be rejoicing in Heaven.... I am betting it is NOT quiet rounds of the angels sitting in pews, nonchalantly muttering "amen" and picking up a hymnal to follow the singing. I am guessing there should be whooping and whistling and cheering, with clapping and shouts of "AMEN!" and clapping and dancing. Baptism should be a party, not a wake. Worship should be reverent, certainly, but that doesn't mean it must be somber to the point of slumber all the time.
This worship style disagreement also has NOT ONE THING to do with salvation.
I understand the point she tries to make. Really, I do. She reasons that I am not paying attention because I am looking at something else. She thinks that my fidget is a purposeful distraction, that I am TRYING to make other people watch me, and not listen. That I have ignored her before, so now it is a personal attack on her every time I look down at my pinkie. She thinks that I do not hear the lesson, because my focus of vision is so close to my nose. She must not be a fidget like me. She can't refute what she does not understand. She thinks that asking me to stop applying her pet peeve to my hands will solve the issue.
All this discussion has really done is stir up gossip, and spark the rebellious sarcastic angry child inside of me. If a person has decided to follow Jesus, I am pretty sure they are NOT focusing on me. If they are watching anyone else at that moment, then the stumbling block in them is looking for an excuse and an escape.
When people look for an excuse to feel hurt, they will always find it. I fear that this woman is looking for a scapegoat to blame. She wants to blame me for her focus wandering. If she were focused like she wishes me to be, she would never have noticed me.
I could bring my clumsy attempt at crochet.
I could write my own stories.
I could clap at a baptism (if we ever have another. by her logic, we may not.)
I could read any number of books on my iPad Kindle reader. I have several from a cousin, and so many classics I missed when I was in High School.
I could bring the nail polish and remover and make it an all-out manicure.
I could start cleaning up HER nails.
I could start raising my hands during prayer, quietly asking God to take away my dry skin, and make the fidgeting over them unnecessary.
The point for me is that I cannot stop the fidget. My hands must be occupied. Do I ignore her again? Do I swap fidgets to try to get something less obvious? Do I change seats? Do I change congregations?
How can I put away the sarcasm?
Today, I plan to try to sleep on it. I cannot be graceful in the face of criticism if I have not had good rest. I am praying right now that I only use God's words to respond. I can't go wrong with those!
Well, that sounded rather dramatic. I haven't got anything worth saying in the short attention span that applies to Facebook. I have a lot to discuss, and I am trying to limit my anger and sarcasm, which are both exploding off the charts. And I was awakened by coughing up bile, so I was out in the living room drinking tea anyway. And it is 2 in the morning. Why NOT write this all out? Seemed silly not to write. Writing is cathartic, so maybe it will help me work out the issue that is bothering me today.
Let me start with a question, and I really want you to think about it.
Do you fidget in church?
Do you fall asleep because the preaching is boring, or you haven't had a good night's sleep in a decade, or you were up all night helping your little one stay asleep?
I fidget. My hands must be doing something by rote, or my brain just can't handle the awake and adulting. Our congregation has one preacher that prints out a little outline with blanks to fill in. Keeps the adults listening for the answers. But he provides a cheat sheet at the bottom, upside down, just in case you missed it, or you are too impatient to wait for him to speak it. Many people doodle, answer deep questions from their children, read the whole Bible chapter we are in, do a different Bible study, write fiction, make notes to complain to someone who is unrelated to the actual problem they think they are having, let their kids scribble art on the back of the note page, or any number of other little ticks that keep their fingers or feet moving, which, in turn, engages the brain.
Apparently, my recent fidget has attracted the attention of a local elder's wife, who has now asked me twice to stop. I suppose I need to just change seats, so she can't watch me fidget. There is a congregation so much closer to my house.....
Last Sunday, I wore a white dress with flowers on it. The very same one that was what I wore for our new church directory pictures. It is a size 18, where a mere six years ago I was wearing a size 26 and should have been wearing a 28. It is the first of three dresses that I bought recently, because my body is becoming healthier on the inside and that is making the outside change dramatically. When I tried on the dresses, I had no idea what size I was, so I started with 22. I ended up buying three in an 18. They each fit on the first try, and I could breathe, they looked GREAT (oh, dear. I just shouted that in my head, in a Tony the Tiger voice. whew.), and I didn't have to do any short-girl modifications like hemming or raising the bustline by tightening the shoulders.
My recent (nervous tick?) fidget is to use my little nail clippers to trim my cuticles, and keep my nails looking nice. Pick here, clip there, file after.... but I refuse to make noise. If I hear my skin make the clippers actually CLIP in church, I put them down immediately. Nothing drives ME more nutty than clipping sounds. That sort of thing belongs over a trash can after a shower or doing dishes, so the nails are soft and pliable. Not at dinner, and not at church. One of the ladies catches at least of two of the grandsons, and actually clips their nails. No. Making noise in church is off my list. The last time this woman spoke to me, I asked Jeff if HE (sitting right next to me) could hear me making noise. He said no.
So on Wednesday, the friendly neighborhood elder's wife makes a running beeline to my car, like I am about to drive away with a baby carrier sitting on the roof. She starts by saying that the dress was pretty, and I am looking nice. (Thanks, at least you started with a positive, even if it sounded cheap and negative.) Then she says that I need to please stop with the messing of my nails. Well.... I know you have asked once before, and that pissed me off, because you gave me no reason at all then. This week's reason pissed me off more. And yes, I am saying PISSED, because I am angry like a cat hissing. Angry like a drunken Scot who has been told he is too loud, has a huge tab he cannot pay, and is no longer welcome in the pub.
"If someone was going forward to get baptized, and they saw THAT (referring to my fidget, regardless of what it is), they might say, 'Oh, well, I don't want to be a part of that.' You know? I have not seen that here, but I have seen it at other places. So if you could just, you know, please stop messing with your nails."
I just said, "Alright." She seemed like she had made her point and walked away. I drove away, feeling as if that firing squad had somehow missed. What lunacy is this?
So let me get this straight. I have to fidget to listen, but in doing something to stay awake at church, I have stumbled onto your pet peeve. Is this correct? And your pansy asinine excuse to get me to stop is that my actions might somehow be a stumbling block to a person choosing Christ?
I have yet to figure out how a person would let a fidget keep them from committing to Christ. Wouldn't that be the most shallow excuse out there? "I was about to go down and commit to this Savior who has already purchased me back from the eternal fires of HELL...... but then I saw this lady who was cleaning dirt out of her fingernails, and nodding at what the preacher said. NOPE! Can't stand that. Gonna go to hell, and blame her!"
Begin sarcastic questioning that will have a happy ending in a minute:
So what about the people who let their kids watch Big Hero 6 on their phone during the lesson? (I really have seen that!)
What about the people who are trying to contain their kids to three rows of running and acting up because they allow their child to fidget, because they know if they really made him/her sit down in the pew, there would be a Come-to-Jesus screaming demon attack and uprising? (Which certainly draws more glares from judgmental people who don't have children or any experience with special needs.)
What about the candy-wrapper-shuffling older couple next to this elder's wife, the man who can't stop saying AMEN to every second statement (a couple times really at the very worst wrong moment to amen to), and can't understand that the candy is in his mouth, and he should put the stupid paper down NOW?
What about the guy in the back with the oxygen tank that breathes to a slow, steady, marching sort of drum beat? We ARE an acappella church, can't have musical instruments here.
What about the babies that ping off each other across the auditorium, and distract everyone but the preacher, who can't hear them?
What about the people who are posting quotes from the preacher on Facebook? Live tweeting God's words can't be a good thing, can it??
We should be nipping this all in the bud right now!
End sarcastic questioning. Maybe I can start making sense. If you took any of that seriously, you can't read anymore of my blog. I am sarcastic in my inner depths. I can see how each of these would annoy someone, but they are all happening in our building every Sunday morning. There is nothing wrong with any of it.
Let me repeat, for emphasis: There is nothing wrong with any of it.
I got the opportunity to rant about this to a dear friend on FB chat. She is also a fidget, and also uses quiet nail clippers. She, her husband, and all of their three kids have to be moving or doing something. Fidgets unite! So I relayed the story, and got a few sarcastic answers back. I got a laugh out of it. I got peace. I am not the only one, and this woman's reasoning is flawed.
What if the person going forward saw elder's wife showing this snooty attitude over a small thing that has nothing to do with salvation? Would he/she really want to be a part of THAT??
Suddenly, this matter doesn't seem so deep.
I am highly tempted to take a huge box of crayons with me, the likes of which need a crane operator to lift, and has a sharpener in the back. I am certain I could find a huge coloring book. Leave the clippers at home, so I am not tempted to use them at all. The sarcastic in me wants to wear my usual jeans and a t-shirt, and sprawl out on the pew like a kid. Kick up my left foot, slap the pew with my right foot, peel the paper off the crayons in a noisy fashion, drum out "Amazing Grace" with the crayons on a hymnal under the coloring page. Right in front of her. Then I want to ask her if she would rather I use my extensive vocabulary skills and take the time in worship to write my Science Fiction novel. I won't be able to use it for NaNoWriMo this year, but I could seriously knock out a chapter every service. At three services a week, I could have a Robert Jordan sized book by the end of next year!
This whole thing just makes me wonder. What does this woman say to others? Is she this petty about other topics? Does she reserve this spite for just me? Her husband the elder is the one I have heard speak out against the practice of clapping when someone gets baptized. I am sorry, but the Bible says that there will be rejoicing in Heaven.... I am betting it is NOT quiet rounds of the angels sitting in pews, nonchalantly muttering "amen" and picking up a hymnal to follow the singing. I am guessing there should be whooping and whistling and cheering, with clapping and shouts of "AMEN!" and clapping and dancing. Baptism should be a party, not a wake. Worship should be reverent, certainly, but that doesn't mean it must be somber to the point of slumber all the time.
This worship style disagreement also has NOT ONE THING to do with salvation.
I understand the point she tries to make. Really, I do. She reasons that I am not paying attention because I am looking at something else. She thinks that my fidget is a purposeful distraction, that I am TRYING to make other people watch me, and not listen. That I have ignored her before, so now it is a personal attack on her every time I look down at my pinkie. She thinks that I do not hear the lesson, because my focus of vision is so close to my nose. She must not be a fidget like me. She can't refute what she does not understand. She thinks that asking me to stop applying her pet peeve to my hands will solve the issue.
All this discussion has really done is stir up gossip, and spark the rebellious sarcastic angry child inside of me. If a person has decided to follow Jesus, I am pretty sure they are NOT focusing on me. If they are watching anyone else at that moment, then the stumbling block in them is looking for an excuse and an escape.
When people look for an excuse to feel hurt, they will always find it. I fear that this woman is looking for a scapegoat to blame. She wants to blame me for her focus wandering. If she were focused like she wishes me to be, she would never have noticed me.
I could bring my clumsy attempt at crochet.
I could write my own stories.
I could clap at a baptism (if we ever have another. by her logic, we may not.)
I could read any number of books on my iPad Kindle reader. I have several from a cousin, and so many classics I missed when I was in High School.
I could bring the nail polish and remover and make it an all-out manicure.
I could start cleaning up HER nails.
I could start raising my hands during prayer, quietly asking God to take away my dry skin, and make the fidgeting over them unnecessary.
The point for me is that I cannot stop the fidget. My hands must be occupied. Do I ignore her again? Do I swap fidgets to try to get something less obvious? Do I change seats? Do I change congregations?
How can I put away the sarcasm?
Today, I plan to try to sleep on it. I cannot be graceful in the face of criticism if I have not had good rest. I am praying right now that I only use God's words to respond. I can't go wrong with those!
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The One Where Candies Saved My Life
Our house got burgled. Again.
The last time this happened, two windows and a door were damaged before the door was kicked in. They had three hours to attempt to get in the house four times, and took many valuable things from us. We were not home, and I think they had been watching us to make sure.
I have a suspicion that every day since that one a year and a half ago, we have still been watched.
But this time, we were both gone separately. I had been babysitting all week, at the house where the kids live.
Tuesday night I could not sleep. Something was wrong, but I couldn't put a finger on it. I dreamed that we had popped a breaker on our house, and DH had gone out in the back yard to turn it back on.... where he encountered a large black bear. We were going to struggle, and it was going to be his struggle. I awoke on Wednesday, not liking what the day might hold. However, we had plans in the evening, so things would work out.
On my way home from the other house, DH and I were having what I now call "stoplight conversations". I will not write a text while driving. I shouldn't read them, either, but I sometimes do. So, this time, I was in busy traffic coming home. I had stayed out a little later than usual. I visited with the mom, we looked together at catalogs of jewelry for the party she is hosting soon. When I left, I thought of something that I wanted at Aldi, so I stopped there on my way. I ended up turned around, and went about 3 miles out of the way. I was still headed home in plenty of time to get ready for our date.
In our stoplight conversations, DH told me he was home. Next light, I listed my intersection location, and said I would be home soon. Another stop, I asked what he would like for dinner. After that, I read what his suggestions were for dinner out before our date. (No tacos, please.) The last light, I read the message that made my tummy do a flip. "Do you have my laptop?"
I didn't have another light to respond. I pulled into the driveway, shut off the car, locked it as I always do (without collecting my things) and went inside. DH was in a frustrated panic. His laptop, tablet and iPod nano were all missing. I started looking for how they got access.
We discovered a broken window on the opposite side of the house from the last time. The neighbor in the house next to us has been working to remove his wooden privacy fence, as he is getting it replaced this week. A trespasser would have been seen on that side of the house. This trip, they used the bushes that I have spent weeks trimming as a cover on the other side of the house. Though I have made great strides by myself on the landscaping, I had not done enough.
The thief/thieves broke a window in the "Dungeon", stepped over my stacks of stuff, and went directly to the places where these electronics were stored. They did not look at/touch/take any of my jewelry this time. This becomes very important in a moment. I promise to tell you in a bit.
We were both home by 5:30, and called the police almost immediately. Now, I try to be a reasonable person. I understand that a burglary, where the perpetrator is no longer in the home and no person got hurt, is NOT an emergency to the operator at 911. I get that. But we had plans.
I had paid a total of $86 for two cheap seats (plus taxes and convenience fees for ordering online) to see the Will Rogers Follies, put on by Lyric Theater, at the Civic Center Music Hall. 1. I knew the actors playing Betty Blake and Wiley Post. 2. I needed the laughter. 3. I had paid a LOT of money, and was GOING to be in those seats, no matter what. 4. I was totally terrified to leave anything in the house, for fear "they" would come back to get more of my stuff. I did not want to leave the house. I did not want to be in the house. I did not leave my laptop.
We both decided we were too stressed to eat. I took some cardboard and packing tape and a box knife, and proceeded to be in the hottest room in the house, hoping to "secure" the damage somewhat. We also decided that we were definitely attending the show, and must leave almost an hour before curtain. We had to drive downtown, find a place to park/pay for said parking and walk to the Civic Center from where we found our parking. Then we had to find the Will Call line in order to pick up the tickets. So we determined that we would have to leave by 6:40 for the 7:30 curtain. No officer showed up before we left. I still don't know if they ever did show up the day of the incident. It took them more than 45 minutes to get here on Thursday after work when we called again.
I don't normally wear expensive/valuable/inherited jewelry to go babysitting. I rarely wear jewelry at all, though I still have a lot of it that the first robbers never found. But on my Birthday weekend this year, my Bro and SIL came to hang out with DH and me for a day. When they came in the door, they handed me a box. In that box was a necklace that was my Mom's, that I had given SIL because I had most of the heirloom stuff, and "Mom had TWO daughters." I wanted SIL to have something. She is skin sensitive to plated and not as pure metals, so I made sure it was a 14 K Gold, and it had one large diamond in it, and was surrounded by 9 smaller diamonds. It is delicate and small, but real and beautiful. This necklace was sitting in a box out in the open, and was still there. Nothing in the master bedroom looked touched at all. I have been wearing it almost non-stop ever since. I won't let it go without a fight.
Either they were interrupted by Jeff coming home, or they are the same people who were here before and they knew that they already got the good stuff last time. I am convinced that it was the same people. (I have no other basis for this than they only took a few things, but the suspicion is strong.) Like they knew where to go and what might have been replaced. They missed the Wii that still isn't hooked up, they left the TV and the DVR and the two Blu Ray players. They left the remotes (they took every remote last time). They took a phone charger, because there were two black cords that were near the tablet, and they didn't know which belonged is what I would guess. The charger for my iPad (which was with me and not in the house) was left.
I sent a text to DH's Sis and her hubby, while they were working their church's Vacation Bible School. I asked for prayers for my heart (I have been overly angry about this), and our safety. They independently of each other offered any kind of assistance, from sleeping at their house to boarding up the window. On Saturday, the four of us spent most of the day trimming the hedges to be below the front window, so nobody can use them to hide anymore, and boarding up the window. I would like to say we are fine, but that is a dream from a few days ago. What I will say is that all they did was get away with stuff. They cannot steal what really matters. We are not harmed. We are just inconvenienced. While this will cost us more money, and probably raise our insurance costs again, we are left with more than most of the world will ever see, much less have. We are blessed beyond what we could ask for, even in this frustrating time.
I wonder a bit at the marvelous workings of our God. What if I had not been babysitting? What if I had not stayed late at the house, or not stopped at Aldi and then not gone out of the way to get home? What would DH have done if I were in Atlanta for the Thirty-One National Conference and 10 Year Anniversary, and he were home alone? What If ....
NO. Deep Breath! I could get lost in the What Ifs of danger. I must not think of it that way. I need to think of the What Ifs of protection and providence. What if I had been at home? Did they ring the doorbell to see if I were there? What if they came in anyway? I could be hurt, or dead.
There have been a rash of burglaries in the area, and one just a few weeks ago was a group of men who burst in and beat a 90 yr old woman inside her home, and stole almost everything they could pawn for drug money. She later died at the hospital. That was about 3 blocks from our house.
I was watching the Candy Kids, and I choose to believe that the children saved my life on Wednesday. No other explanation really fits.
The last time this happened, two windows and a door were damaged before the door was kicked in. They had three hours to attempt to get in the house four times, and took many valuable things from us. We were not home, and I think they had been watching us to make sure.
I have a suspicion that every day since that one a year and a half ago, we have still been watched.
But this time, we were both gone separately. I had been babysitting all week, at the house where the kids live.
Tuesday night I could not sleep. Something was wrong, but I couldn't put a finger on it. I dreamed that we had popped a breaker on our house, and DH had gone out in the back yard to turn it back on.... where he encountered a large black bear. We were going to struggle, and it was going to be his struggle. I awoke on Wednesday, not liking what the day might hold. However, we had plans in the evening, so things would work out.
On my way home from the other house, DH and I were having what I now call "stoplight conversations". I will not write a text while driving. I shouldn't read them, either, but I sometimes do. So, this time, I was in busy traffic coming home. I had stayed out a little later than usual. I visited with the mom, we looked together at catalogs of jewelry for the party she is hosting soon. When I left, I thought of something that I wanted at Aldi, so I stopped there on my way. I ended up turned around, and went about 3 miles out of the way. I was still headed home in plenty of time to get ready for our date.
In our stoplight conversations, DH told me he was home. Next light, I listed my intersection location, and said I would be home soon. Another stop, I asked what he would like for dinner. After that, I read what his suggestions were for dinner out before our date. (No tacos, please.) The last light, I read the message that made my tummy do a flip. "Do you have my laptop?"
I didn't have another light to respond. I pulled into the driveway, shut off the car, locked it as I always do (without collecting my things) and went inside. DH was in a frustrated panic. His laptop, tablet and iPod nano were all missing. I started looking for how they got access.
We discovered a broken window on the opposite side of the house from the last time. The neighbor in the house next to us has been working to remove his wooden privacy fence, as he is getting it replaced this week. A trespasser would have been seen on that side of the house. This trip, they used the bushes that I have spent weeks trimming as a cover on the other side of the house. Though I have made great strides by myself on the landscaping, I had not done enough.
The thief/thieves broke a window in the "Dungeon", stepped over my stacks of stuff, and went directly to the places where these electronics were stored. They did not look at/touch/take any of my jewelry this time. This becomes very important in a moment. I promise to tell you in a bit.
We were both home by 5:30, and called the police almost immediately. Now, I try to be a reasonable person. I understand that a burglary, where the perpetrator is no longer in the home and no person got hurt, is NOT an emergency to the operator at 911. I get that. But we had plans.
I had paid a total of $86 for two cheap seats (plus taxes and convenience fees for ordering online) to see the Will Rogers Follies, put on by Lyric Theater, at the Civic Center Music Hall. 1. I knew the actors playing Betty Blake and Wiley Post. 2. I needed the laughter. 3. I had paid a LOT of money, and was GOING to be in those seats, no matter what. 4. I was totally terrified to leave anything in the house, for fear "they" would come back to get more of my stuff. I did not want to leave the house. I did not want to be in the house. I did not leave my laptop.
We both decided we were too stressed to eat. I took some cardboard and packing tape and a box knife, and proceeded to be in the hottest room in the house, hoping to "secure" the damage somewhat. We also decided that we were definitely attending the show, and must leave almost an hour before curtain. We had to drive downtown, find a place to park/pay for said parking and walk to the Civic Center from where we found our parking. Then we had to find the Will Call line in order to pick up the tickets. So we determined that we would have to leave by 6:40 for the 7:30 curtain. No officer showed up before we left. I still don't know if they ever did show up the day of the incident. It took them more than 45 minutes to get here on Thursday after work when we called again.
I don't normally wear expensive/valuable/inherited jewelry to go babysitting. I rarely wear jewelry at all, though I still have a lot of it that the first robbers never found. But on my Birthday weekend this year, my Bro and SIL came to hang out with DH and me for a day. When they came in the door, they handed me a box. In that box was a necklace that was my Mom's, that I had given SIL because I had most of the heirloom stuff, and "Mom had TWO daughters." I wanted SIL to have something. She is skin sensitive to plated and not as pure metals, so I made sure it was a 14 K Gold, and it had one large diamond in it, and was surrounded by 9 smaller diamonds. It is delicate and small, but real and beautiful. This necklace was sitting in a box out in the open, and was still there. Nothing in the master bedroom looked touched at all. I have been wearing it almost non-stop ever since. I won't let it go without a fight.
Either they were interrupted by Jeff coming home, or they are the same people who were here before and they knew that they already got the good stuff last time. I am convinced that it was the same people. (I have no other basis for this than they only took a few things, but the suspicion is strong.) Like they knew where to go and what might have been replaced. They missed the Wii that still isn't hooked up, they left the TV and the DVR and the two Blu Ray players. They left the remotes (they took every remote last time). They took a phone charger, because there were two black cords that were near the tablet, and they didn't know which belonged is what I would guess. The charger for my iPad (which was with me and not in the house) was left.
I sent a text to DH's Sis and her hubby, while they were working their church's Vacation Bible School. I asked for prayers for my heart (I have been overly angry about this), and our safety. They independently of each other offered any kind of assistance, from sleeping at their house to boarding up the window. On Saturday, the four of us spent most of the day trimming the hedges to be below the front window, so nobody can use them to hide anymore, and boarding up the window. I would like to say we are fine, but that is a dream from a few days ago. What I will say is that all they did was get away with stuff. They cannot steal what really matters. We are not harmed. We are just inconvenienced. While this will cost us more money, and probably raise our insurance costs again, we are left with more than most of the world will ever see, much less have. We are blessed beyond what we could ask for, even in this frustrating time.
I wonder a bit at the marvelous workings of our God. What if I had not been babysitting? What if I had not stayed late at the house, or not stopped at Aldi and then not gone out of the way to get home? What would DH have done if I were in Atlanta for the Thirty-One National Conference and 10 Year Anniversary, and he were home alone? What If ....
NO. Deep Breath! I could get lost in the What Ifs of danger. I must not think of it that way. I need to think of the What Ifs of protection and providence. What if I had been at home? Did they ring the doorbell to see if I were there? What if they came in anyway? I could be hurt, or dead.
There have been a rash of burglaries in the area, and one just a few weeks ago was a group of men who burst in and beat a 90 yr old woman inside her home, and stole almost everything they could pawn for drug money. She later died at the hospital. That was about 3 blocks from our house.
I was watching the Candy Kids, and I choose to believe that the children saved my life on Wednesday. No other explanation really fits.
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Why Would You Have Been Worried?
I haven't been doing so well in the past few months.
We have had several issues in life, and the depression has kept me in a sort of hibernation for my own protection. 2010 stole my parents. 2011 we lost DH's grandmother (the last living grandparent he had), and had our home burglarized (they stole the best of mom's jewelry, that I hadn't even had for a year!). 2012 we lost my grandmother (my last living grandparent). My Bro and Sis had a still-born son. Then we had a hail storm that damaged our roof and two cars. In the past two months, we have lost three church friends to age and illness. I have two girlfriends separating from their husbands.
I feel like there is a big backpack full of rocks and bricks and bowling balls on my shoulders. It holds me back, pulls me down, and generally makes my life miserable.
I am amazed at how well I have held up, if you want to know the truth of the matter. I don't know why I haven't just hit the loony bin door in a white coat that helps me hug myself. The bad has been offset by good, but honestly, I haven't noticed it much. Do you ever feel that way? I notice that when the bad comes, the enemy likes to lie to me, and tell me that no good will come of it. I had quit watching for good. I had quit watching for God in all things.
I have gotten back into walking several times a week with Roadrunner again, which helps my mood. We talk about all sorts of subjects and sweat away the stress. Lately, I have been wondering if I need iron or caffeine, as our walks tend to wipe me out for the rest of the day. Today, I did a lot of grocery shopping. I accomplish much, but feel like a failure when I walk in my door and see all the accumulation of junk and dirt and dirty things that I haven't the gumption to clean/sort/trash.
Apparently, I need to mind my own advice to others. "Don't be so hard on yourself." I am a strict taskmaster. And perfectionist. And procrastinator. And judge and jury at my own trial. I gave myself my own conviction. Guilty! And that is enough of that.
My lovely friend Court had her healthy baby girl. I have yet to visit, but I am hoping to do that soon. My lovely friend Desi had a beautiful baby girl, as well. Through all the mayhem in my life, God has sent me some sweet pictures to remind me that HE is still alive, and helps us to keep living, daily.
Several people have come to me at church, saying that they notice that I have lost weight. MEN have spoken these words to me. Therefore, the walking is working. I don't notice weight loss, because I don't stand on the scale often, and I stare at the reflection every day and criticize it. I had noticed that I have rearranged where stuff sits, and I had to buy new SMALLER jeans to fit the new shape. Officially, I have lost almost 25 lbs from my highest weight ever, which was three and a half years ago. Small changes, adding exercise, removing junk food (to an extent), eating less in general at almost every meal, and keeping a food journal have helped in the process.
I am by no means "healthy" yet. I still let the depression take over sometimes. I have also tried to remember that each day is a gift and I should be grateful for the many gifts I have been given, and I should share them with joy.
I have purchased a few things that have helped me on my journey. Journal. Magnetic jewelry (I got it because it was pretty, and don't notice good or bad effects from it). Supplements that help my insides function properly.
I have NOT purchased a few things that I dearly desired, simply because I have no need of them in my clutter piles. There are books, movies and music that have stayed on the shelves at stores. I am learning to ask myself the Fly Lady questions: Will this bless my home? Do I love it? Can it bless me more if it goes to another home? Is this valuable? Can it be used by someone else to bless their home? Using these questions and her patterns of cleaning, I have filled three trash carts in the past two weeks. I have donated clothing to the local Goodwill. Over the past few years, I have taken several car loads of clothing that we no longer wear to Goodwill, as well.
Some of what was stolen has been replaced. Most of it was personal and emotional, original and irreplaceable. I don't think I can ever get back the most valuable thing they took, my naive notion that I was safe here. My mind says, "It was only S.T.U.F.F." (Stuff That Undermines Family Fun), and I don't need it." but my heart says, "They stole my mom when they stole the Family Ring."
I have to learn to live in this world of evil, and I have more to learn from my parents about how to handle evil with Jesus. I miss them fiercely.
I will be okay. It is just going to take a while longer than I thought. I have decided that is good. As long as I am working to improve, I am moving in the correct direction.
We have had several issues in life, and the depression has kept me in a sort of hibernation for my own protection. 2010 stole my parents. 2011 we lost DH's grandmother (the last living grandparent he had), and had our home burglarized (they stole the best of mom's jewelry, that I hadn't even had for a year!). 2012 we lost my grandmother (my last living grandparent). My Bro and Sis had a still-born son. Then we had a hail storm that damaged our roof and two cars. In the past two months, we have lost three church friends to age and illness. I have two girlfriends separating from their husbands.
I feel like there is a big backpack full of rocks and bricks and bowling balls on my shoulders. It holds me back, pulls me down, and generally makes my life miserable.
I am amazed at how well I have held up, if you want to know the truth of the matter. I don't know why I haven't just hit the loony bin door in a white coat that helps me hug myself. The bad has been offset by good, but honestly, I haven't noticed it much. Do you ever feel that way? I notice that when the bad comes, the enemy likes to lie to me, and tell me that no good will come of it. I had quit watching for good. I had quit watching for God in all things.
I have gotten back into walking several times a week with Roadrunner again, which helps my mood. We talk about all sorts of subjects and sweat away the stress. Lately, I have been wondering if I need iron or caffeine, as our walks tend to wipe me out for the rest of the day. Today, I did a lot of grocery shopping. I accomplish much, but feel like a failure when I walk in my door and see all the accumulation of junk and dirt and dirty things that I haven't the gumption to clean/sort/trash.
Apparently, I need to mind my own advice to others. "Don't be so hard on yourself." I am a strict taskmaster. And perfectionist. And procrastinator. And judge and jury at my own trial. I gave myself my own conviction. Guilty! And that is enough of that.
My lovely friend Court had her healthy baby girl. I have yet to visit, but I am hoping to do that soon. My lovely friend Desi had a beautiful baby girl, as well. Through all the mayhem in my life, God has sent me some sweet pictures to remind me that HE is still alive, and helps us to keep living, daily.
Several people have come to me at church, saying that they notice that I have lost weight. MEN have spoken these words to me. Therefore, the walking is working. I don't notice weight loss, because I don't stand on the scale often, and I stare at the reflection every day and criticize it. I had noticed that I have rearranged where stuff sits, and I had to buy new SMALLER jeans to fit the new shape. Officially, I have lost almost 25 lbs from my highest weight ever, which was three and a half years ago. Small changes, adding exercise, removing junk food (to an extent), eating less in general at almost every meal, and keeping a food journal have helped in the process.
I am by no means "healthy" yet. I still let the depression take over sometimes. I have also tried to remember that each day is a gift and I should be grateful for the many gifts I have been given, and I should share them with joy.
I have purchased a few things that have helped me on my journey. Journal. Magnetic jewelry (I got it because it was pretty, and don't notice good or bad effects from it). Supplements that help my insides function properly.
I have NOT purchased a few things that I dearly desired, simply because I have no need of them in my clutter piles. There are books, movies and music that have stayed on the shelves at stores. I am learning to ask myself the Fly Lady questions: Will this bless my home? Do I love it? Can it bless me more if it goes to another home? Is this valuable? Can it be used by someone else to bless their home? Using these questions and her patterns of cleaning, I have filled three trash carts in the past two weeks. I have donated clothing to the local Goodwill. Over the past few years, I have taken several car loads of clothing that we no longer wear to Goodwill, as well.
Some of what was stolen has been replaced. Most of it was personal and emotional, original and irreplaceable. I don't think I can ever get back the most valuable thing they took, my naive notion that I was safe here. My mind says, "It was only S.T.U.F.F." (Stuff That Undermines Family Fun), and I don't need it." but my heart says, "They stole my mom when they stole the Family Ring."
I have to learn to live in this world of evil, and I have more to learn from my parents about how to handle evil with Jesus. I miss them fiercely.
I will be okay. It is just going to take a while longer than I thought. I have decided that is good. As long as I am working to improve, I am moving in the correct direction.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Today Is The Day
Today is the day that I get up before 10, because I have things to do.
Today is the day that I find the smell in the kitchen, and clean it.
Today is the day that I do all the laundry in the house, and get it folded and put away.
Today is the day that I clean the living room, and set up the couch pieces that currently reside in the garage.
Today is the day that I call a service to clear trees in my back yard, trim/remove bushes in the front yard, and get some sod to resurface the yard.
Today is the day that I find a tile guy to redecorate the bath. Maybe he can frame the garage door on the side of the house, too.
Today is the day I stop wasting money on the gym I never bother to go to anymore.
Today is the day that I blog again.
Today is the day that I finally start up my novel.... again.
Today is the day that I stop eating for two, even though I am not pregnant.
Today is the day that I allow myself to say NO when someone asks me to do something I am not really wanting to do.
Today is the day that I stop making lists, and start working.
I think about many of these things every morning. And I get up out of bed. And I sit down in my spot on the couch, and open the computer. And it is then that I realize my addiction. I haven't blogged for MONTHS, I haven't cleaned beyond what is necessary to live, I haven't done much of anything! I have stared at Facebook. Whew! Need to stop that now.
This blog post will probably be posted to Facebook, as well. Why? Because I am that addicted.
In my professional life, I have almost always had a clean desk. It may be stacked with work, but I can always find the random piece for someone else. In my personal life, I can't say anything about organized. I have never had a good routine at home. I noticed that when I worked outside the home, the home was cleaner. I had to keep a routine!
When I was a child, our home was always cluttered. Mom and Dad both were pack rats in their own ways. Mom was a Collector, and I have that strong gene in me. I want this thing because it will match/coordinate with X, Y and Z at home. Dad was the Insulator, the one who said, "This is useful, and if I throw it out, I will need it tomorrow. I can fix that." Mom had Coca-Cola memorabilia all over the house, and a collection of lighthouses, and the collection of videos. The list grows larger every time I see what I brought home from her house. I have cookbooks, and books of every other sort. I have Precious Moments figurines, and things I have collected over the years since I left home. I also have broken computers, and parts to things I don't even remember a use for.
I can remember a time when my room was the cleanest in the house. It was a very short time. And probably right before I left for college.
All this rambling is to say that I have let the house run away without me. I have no control over the contents. The S.T.U.F.F. (from Flylady: Stuff That Undermines Family Fun) has taken over, multiplied like so many bunnies, and I am feeling crushed.
Today is the day. Today is another day in which I spend a minimum of 15 uninterrupted minutes cleaning ONE area. Dishes, probably. Sadly, Laundry and Dishes are my go-to chores. The first things I do, until I get tired and give up. I also have a goal of emptying one box. Open it, decide where things go and put them there, fold box flat and take it to my friend who is packing her home to move. Trash things... Donate things... Clean things... Find purpose or love in every THING I keep.
Psalm 118:24 (English Standard Version)
This is the day that the LORD has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.
So, Today is The Day.
Today is the day that I stop worrying about what others think.
Today is the day that I give up hounding myself over chores undone.
Today is the day that I allow myself to make mistakes, and be fine with that.
Today is the day that I write again.
Today is the day that I think again.
Today is the day that I water the plants. Hey, I have plants... that have survived me for over a year!
Today is the day that I stop allowing the rabbit trails to distract me.
Today is the day that I thank God for every thing I have, all I can do.
Today is the day that I expect great things from God.
Today is the day that I find the smell in the kitchen, and clean it.
Today is the day that I do all the laundry in the house, and get it folded and put away.
Today is the day that I clean the living room, and set up the couch pieces that currently reside in the garage.
Today is the day that I call a service to clear trees in my back yard, trim/remove bushes in the front yard, and get some sod to resurface the yard.
Today is the day that I find a tile guy to redecorate the bath. Maybe he can frame the garage door on the side of the house, too.
Today is the day I stop wasting money on the gym I never bother to go to anymore.
Today is the day that I blog again.
Today is the day that I finally start up my novel.... again.
Today is the day that I stop eating for two, even though I am not pregnant.
Today is the day that I allow myself to say NO when someone asks me to do something I am not really wanting to do.
Today is the day that I stop making lists, and start working.
I think about many of these things every morning. And I get up out of bed. And I sit down in my spot on the couch, and open the computer. And it is then that I realize my addiction. I haven't blogged for MONTHS, I haven't cleaned beyond what is necessary to live, I haven't done much of anything! I have stared at Facebook. Whew! Need to stop that now.
This blog post will probably be posted to Facebook, as well. Why? Because I am that addicted.
In my professional life, I have almost always had a clean desk. It may be stacked with work, but I can always find the random piece for someone else. In my personal life, I can't say anything about organized. I have never had a good routine at home. I noticed that when I worked outside the home, the home was cleaner. I had to keep a routine!
When I was a child, our home was always cluttered. Mom and Dad both were pack rats in their own ways. Mom was a Collector, and I have that strong gene in me. I want this thing because it will match/coordinate with X, Y and Z at home. Dad was the Insulator, the one who said, "This is useful, and if I throw it out, I will need it tomorrow. I can fix that." Mom had Coca-Cola memorabilia all over the house, and a collection of lighthouses, and the collection of videos. The list grows larger every time I see what I brought home from her house. I have cookbooks, and books of every other sort. I have Precious Moments figurines, and things I have collected over the years since I left home. I also have broken computers, and parts to things I don't even remember a use for.
I can remember a time when my room was the cleanest in the house. It was a very short time. And probably right before I left for college.
All this rambling is to say that I have let the house run away without me. I have no control over the contents. The S.T.U.F.F. (from Flylady: Stuff That Undermines Family Fun) has taken over, multiplied like so many bunnies, and I am feeling crushed.
Today is the day. Today is another day in which I spend a minimum of 15 uninterrupted minutes cleaning ONE area. Dishes, probably. Sadly, Laundry and Dishes are my go-to chores. The first things I do, until I get tired and give up. I also have a goal of emptying one box. Open it, decide where things go and put them there, fold box flat and take it to my friend who is packing her home to move. Trash things... Donate things... Clean things... Find purpose or love in every THING I keep.
Psalm 118:24 (English Standard Version)
This is the day that the LORD has made;
let us rejoice and be glad in it.
So, Today is The Day.
Today is the day that I stop worrying about what others think.
Today is the day that I give up hounding myself over chores undone.
Today is the day that I allow myself to make mistakes, and be fine with that.
Today is the day that I write again.
Today is the day that I think again.
Today is the day that I water the plants. Hey, I have plants... that have survived me for over a year!
Today is the day that I stop allowing the rabbit trails to distract me.
Today is the day that I thank God for every thing I have, all I can do.
Today is the day that I expect great things from God.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Snake Eyes, I Lose; Lucky Seven, God Wins
So I wrote my post about a Garden... and started it overnight, like I do many of these posts. I scheduled it to post the next day, June 1, 2010.
You know, LIFE is a gamble. We roll the dice, and get surprises all the time. Having babies, finding THE ONE to spend it all with, death, taxes... all have a way of just showing up when you least expect them, and whether you want them or not.
The surprise for me for June 1 was that my Dad died.
Yes, four months after my Mom passed away.
Yes, I was, to say the least, devastated.
I am still fighting the depression. I am still struggling to understand it all. I am not in a good place these days. But... I went back and read the entry after Mom died. I really do know who my friends are. I really know they are still around. I really know that I have no clue what life will bring next, tomorrow, or eventually.
I really know that my parents were certain that I was going to be OK. Maybe not today, probably not tomorrow, but soon enough, and for a long time. They raised me to be strong, self-sufficient, and persevering. They raised me to care, so they knew this would not be easy.
Dad died of Stage 4 Renal (Kidney) Cancer... and heart failure due to the fluid building up around his heart and lungs. That fluid was more cancer, trying to take over. When they found him, collapsed in the hospital room, they tried to revive him. Three doctors tried CPR. His body had given up the fight... and I am pretty certain his spirit had lost the will to live. His "fight" died with Mom. Sis said that when she and Bro went to go identify his body (uh, really?), that he had a smile on his face... an amazingly happy smile, that they had not seen in months. I think he knew where he was going, and that Mom was waiting there for him.
I never had any doubt that if there is a heaven (like I believe there is) and if any human has any chance of going there (I believe that Jesus gives us that chance), then my parents were going there. Others have told me they thought the same. My parents believed, and used every moment to live out that belief. They shared their meager blessings with any in need, even when it meant not eating as much for dinner that night. Dad fixed stuff. He tinkered around and found new life in things like cars, refrigerators and washing machines. Mom taught children for many years, and only retired when her lack of health forced her to. They showed Jesus to everyone they came in contact with. Their lives were bold and unashamed, yet simple and sparing.
We had a Memorial Service for Dad on June 26. I made it very clear to the officiant that there was to be no preaching. Mom's memorial was too "come to Jesus" for my taste. I don't think she wanted a church service, she would have preferred a good old-fashioned "singing". So we modified Dad's service to be more fun, more stories about him, and less "churchy". There were scriptures read, and there were a few preachy thoughts, but they were balanced, and not a "final call" for those in attendance. It made his brother laugh, which made me very happy.
Dad was a simple man, but never stupid. He learned all he could about everything. He knew amazing amounts of trivia, but could still talk to a child. He knew much about the Bible and the church, and could discuss the most in-depth meat-and-potatoes subjects, but he also knew the milk basics. He had very little tolerance for the milquetoast mediocrity that so many people have these days. He had an amazing vocabulary, and often used my spelling words within a week of my getting them when I was a child. I learned from him, and not from school or even Sunday School, the meanings of words like "usurp", "delineate" and "propitiation".
Dad used his knowledge of the medical field, that he gained in Vietnam, to help Mom. When she had toes removed, he learned how to dress her wounds. This meant that the nurse, who would have to visit other patients on a daily basis, could come just once a week to clean and measure and check the wounds. Dad was always very careful with Mom, and precise about her medications. He built his own graph to track her blood sugar and pressure levels, and what medicines he gave her.
I knew my Dad had preached a few times. He had notes from several of those lessons. I suppose I could ask the church for recordings, if I got brave enough to listen to them. One of the note papers had a kite design on the back. Dad was always doodling. He enjoyed kites, and designed his own box kite. He was pretty impressed with himself, until he found a book with a picture of his kite on the front of it. He hadn't known that others had designed this style of kite before him.
He also designed and printed his own targets for his shooting. Dad was an excellent marksman, and was always learning more about being a gunsmith. His hobby was to buy old military surplus, or antiques, and shine them up, and reload ammo for them. He had black powder rifles, and BB guns. He had rubber-band repeat shooters, and dart guns and even a crossbow. He built his own stocks for barrels he had, and taught my Bro and me how to use, clean and respect firearms. He was mindful of the Second Amendment to the Constitution, and how it protected the First.
Mom had never met a stranger, they were all just friends she was not yet acquainted with. Dad had never enjoyed crowds, but tolerated them for Mom's sake. After she died, he was very quick to say, "I am done now. Goodnight." and leave. Abruptly. And I think that is how he ended his life, as well.
Bro and I followed through with Dad's wishes to be cremated, like Mom was. We decided that we never thought of them as separate, but together. Their marriage really was a unity. So, we had their ashes mixed together, and then split in half, so each of us could do what we wished with the remains. My portion of Mom and Dad still sit in the box in the pretty felt bag I got from the funeral home in NM. Sis bought a beautiful box to put the remains in... and I will move them... eventually. I have offered part of my half to Mom's two sisters, if they wish to scatter some of the ashes in some special place that means something to them.
All in all, this year has been horrible. And wonderful. Yes, I lost both my parents, rather unexpectedly. But I have found parts of myself that had formerly lay dormant inside. I am much stronger than I ever thought I could be. I have positive outlooks where once only depression lived. I have deeper friendships, and pals who are closer now. I have recently come out of the fog.
The sunshine hurts my eyes, but my skin is soaking up the vitamins. The important things and people in my life are more precious. The less important and downright unnecessary are gradually removing themselves from my space. I can move now (I joined Curves with a friend to add motion to my weeks), where all I did for months was sit and stew in my misery. I can breathe. There is still a weight on my shoulders, but it gets easier to lift every day.
It isn't easy. Mother's Day and Mom's Birthday (she would have been 65) came and went, and I was a mess. Father's Day and my parents' Anniversary (this would have been 40 years) came and went, and I pretended I wasn't a mess. But I was. I still have to face Dad's Birthday (he was going to be 63 this year), and hear all the comments about how I am "too young to face this". I have to think that they died too young, but they had full, rich lives filled with faith, family, and fun. I know people who lost their parents when they were teens... THAT is too young. I don't feel too young at 36. I wasn't ready, but I don't know that anyone can be really ready for this.
My big "regret", if I ever were to hold those, is that I never got the opportunity to give them grandchildren. Infertility sucks when you desperately want a child. Mom had pretty much decided that she would never get any grandchildren. I don't know which hurt more, knowing I couldn't give her what she wanted, or that she had resigned the wanting. Either way, if I ever do have any children now, they will never get to know my parents. And that will be a deficit for my kids, because my parents were awesome people.
From the day they met to the day they married: 4 months.
From the day she died to the day he died: 4 months.
I really believe this is no accident.
This weekend is one year since I squashed grapes, and blogged about it. I believe that it is no accident that I should feel the need to blog now. I got a bottle of the Chateau L'Feet, and pondered the spiritual applications of wine. I was thinking about God, and what it meant to share these thoughts with you. And I think that maybe this blogging thing can come back to me. Slowly. Don't go expecting a new entry every day, or even every week. But please keep checking in on me. I am working on making my life as much of a testimony as my parents gave.
My friend Laura Speaker shared that her family philosophy about death is this: When we go to the garden and pick flowers for our table, we pick the most beautiful, the most vibrant flowers. The ones that end up as our centerpiece are at their peak of bloom, color and scent. Why do we expect God to do any less? The best, brightest and most beautiful flowers in His creation are the ones he picks to come home first. They get to set the table for the rest of us. That table is going to be the most welcoming thing about Heaven.
When I go, I want to have a smile on my face in the last moments. I want people to sing a few songs, bring a few flowers and remember that I tried.
Oh, and make sure to pour a glass of wine. Cheers!
You know, LIFE is a gamble. We roll the dice, and get surprises all the time. Having babies, finding THE ONE to spend it all with, death, taxes... all have a way of just showing up when you least expect them, and whether you want them or not.
The surprise for me for June 1 was that my Dad died.
Yes, four months after my Mom passed away.
Yes, I was, to say the least, devastated.
I am still fighting the depression. I am still struggling to understand it all. I am not in a good place these days. But... I went back and read the entry after Mom died. I really do know who my friends are. I really know they are still around. I really know that I have no clue what life will bring next, tomorrow, or eventually.
I really know that my parents were certain that I was going to be OK. Maybe not today, probably not tomorrow, but soon enough, and for a long time. They raised me to be strong, self-sufficient, and persevering. They raised me to care, so they knew this would not be easy.
Dad died of Stage 4 Renal (Kidney) Cancer... and heart failure due to the fluid building up around his heart and lungs. That fluid was more cancer, trying to take over. When they found him, collapsed in the hospital room, they tried to revive him. Three doctors tried CPR. His body had given up the fight... and I am pretty certain his spirit had lost the will to live. His "fight" died with Mom. Sis said that when she and Bro went to go identify his body (uh, really?), that he had a smile on his face... an amazingly happy smile, that they had not seen in months. I think he knew where he was going, and that Mom was waiting there for him.
I never had any doubt that if there is a heaven (like I believe there is) and if any human has any chance of going there (I believe that Jesus gives us that chance), then my parents were going there. Others have told me they thought the same. My parents believed, and used every moment to live out that belief. They shared their meager blessings with any in need, even when it meant not eating as much for dinner that night. Dad fixed stuff. He tinkered around and found new life in things like cars, refrigerators and washing machines. Mom taught children for many years, and only retired when her lack of health forced her to. They showed Jesus to everyone they came in contact with. Their lives were bold and unashamed, yet simple and sparing.
We had a Memorial Service for Dad on June 26. I made it very clear to the officiant that there was to be no preaching. Mom's memorial was too "come to Jesus" for my taste. I don't think she wanted a church service, she would have preferred a good old-fashioned "singing". So we modified Dad's service to be more fun, more stories about him, and less "churchy". There were scriptures read, and there were a few preachy thoughts, but they were balanced, and not a "final call" for those in attendance. It made his brother laugh, which made me very happy.
Dad was a simple man, but never stupid. He learned all he could about everything. He knew amazing amounts of trivia, but could still talk to a child. He knew much about the Bible and the church, and could discuss the most in-depth meat-and-potatoes subjects, but he also knew the milk basics. He had very little tolerance for the milquetoast mediocrity that so many people have these days. He had an amazing vocabulary, and often used my spelling words within a week of my getting them when I was a child. I learned from him, and not from school or even Sunday School, the meanings of words like "usurp", "delineate" and "propitiation".
Dad used his knowledge of the medical field, that he gained in Vietnam, to help Mom. When she had toes removed, he learned how to dress her wounds. This meant that the nurse, who would have to visit other patients on a daily basis, could come just once a week to clean and measure and check the wounds. Dad was always very careful with Mom, and precise about her medications. He built his own graph to track her blood sugar and pressure levels, and what medicines he gave her.
I knew my Dad had preached a few times. He had notes from several of those lessons. I suppose I could ask the church for recordings, if I got brave enough to listen to them. One of the note papers had a kite design on the back. Dad was always doodling. He enjoyed kites, and designed his own box kite. He was pretty impressed with himself, until he found a book with a picture of his kite on the front of it. He hadn't known that others had designed this style of kite before him.
He also designed and printed his own targets for his shooting. Dad was an excellent marksman, and was always learning more about being a gunsmith. His hobby was to buy old military surplus, or antiques, and shine them up, and reload ammo for them. He had black powder rifles, and BB guns. He had rubber-band repeat shooters, and dart guns and even a crossbow. He built his own stocks for barrels he had, and taught my Bro and me how to use, clean and respect firearms. He was mindful of the Second Amendment to the Constitution, and how it protected the First.
Mom had never met a stranger, they were all just friends she was not yet acquainted with. Dad had never enjoyed crowds, but tolerated them for Mom's sake. After she died, he was very quick to say, "I am done now. Goodnight." and leave. Abruptly. And I think that is how he ended his life, as well.
Bro and I followed through with Dad's wishes to be cremated, like Mom was. We decided that we never thought of them as separate, but together. Their marriage really was a unity. So, we had their ashes mixed together, and then split in half, so each of us could do what we wished with the remains. My portion of Mom and Dad still sit in the box in the pretty felt bag I got from the funeral home in NM. Sis bought a beautiful box to put the remains in... and I will move them... eventually. I have offered part of my half to Mom's two sisters, if they wish to scatter some of the ashes in some special place that means something to them.
All in all, this year has been horrible. And wonderful. Yes, I lost both my parents, rather unexpectedly. But I have found parts of myself that had formerly lay dormant inside. I am much stronger than I ever thought I could be. I have positive outlooks where once only depression lived. I have deeper friendships, and pals who are closer now. I have recently come out of the fog.
The sunshine hurts my eyes, but my skin is soaking up the vitamins. The important things and people in my life are more precious. The less important and downright unnecessary are gradually removing themselves from my space. I can move now (I joined Curves with a friend to add motion to my weeks), where all I did for months was sit and stew in my misery. I can breathe. There is still a weight on my shoulders, but it gets easier to lift every day.
It isn't easy. Mother's Day and Mom's Birthday (she would have been 65) came and went, and I was a mess. Father's Day and my parents' Anniversary (this would have been 40 years) came and went, and I pretended I wasn't a mess. But I was. I still have to face Dad's Birthday (he was going to be 63 this year), and hear all the comments about how I am "too young to face this". I have to think that they died too young, but they had full, rich lives filled with faith, family, and fun. I know people who lost their parents when they were teens... THAT is too young. I don't feel too young at 36. I wasn't ready, but I don't know that anyone can be really ready for this.
My big "regret", if I ever were to hold those, is that I never got the opportunity to give them grandchildren. Infertility sucks when you desperately want a child. Mom had pretty much decided that she would never get any grandchildren. I don't know which hurt more, knowing I couldn't give her what she wanted, or that she had resigned the wanting. Either way, if I ever do have any children now, they will never get to know my parents. And that will be a deficit for my kids, because my parents were awesome people.
From the day they met to the day they married: 4 months.
From the day she died to the day he died: 4 months.
I really believe this is no accident.
This weekend is one year since I squashed grapes, and blogged about it. I believe that it is no accident that I should feel the need to blog now. I got a bottle of the Chateau L'Feet, and pondered the spiritual applications of wine. I was thinking about God, and what it meant to share these thoughts with you. And I think that maybe this blogging thing can come back to me. Slowly. Don't go expecting a new entry every day, or even every week. But please keep checking in on me. I am working on making my life as much of a testimony as my parents gave.
My friend Laura Speaker shared that her family philosophy about death is this: When we go to the garden and pick flowers for our table, we pick the most beautiful, the most vibrant flowers. The ones that end up as our centerpiece are at their peak of bloom, color and scent. Why do we expect God to do any less? The best, brightest and most beautiful flowers in His creation are the ones he picks to come home first. They get to set the table for the rest of us. That table is going to be the most welcoming thing about Heaven.
When I go, I want to have a smile on my face in the last moments. I want people to sing a few songs, bring a few flowers and remember that I tried.
Oh, and make sure to pour a glass of wine. Cheers!
Chateau L'Feet, Vintage 2009, Baby Toes. White Wine. "And I helped!"
Last year, I went to Tres Suenos Winery, and harvested and stomped grapes. This weekend, I got the bottle of that wine.
They call it Chateau L'Feet. Yes, we stomped a few gallons of grapes in the bottom of a 50 gallon drum. I call it Baby Toes, because of a little boy, who was fine stomping, until he realized that he was IN a 50 gallon drum. And it was taller than he was, and he couldn't see anything but grapes and mommy's knees. He started screaming, so they took him out of the drum. He stomped all the way up the side, still having fun, I think, but just a little scared with claustrophobia in the drum. Who can blame his cute little toes? Not me.
"You aren't gonna drink that, are you?" several people asked. Some of them were grossed out by the thought, as if the fact that my feet, and the feet of many others touched those grapes, and it might taste of feet. Some of them were sounding wistful, as if they would take it and drink it if I didn't want it. The idea is the same. Did I have plans to just let the bottle sit some more, or was I planning to drink it?
I honestly don't know yet. I was planning on drinking it. The BOTTLE is what is important to me. The label has MY NAME on it. This wine was helped by ME, and the bottle was labeled just for ME. The bottle will end up as a centerpiece on a shelf of my bottle collection. I think it would be a dirty shame NOT to drink the wine I helped create. A full bottle of wine is heavy, and the shelf will be heavy enough with all those glass bottles on it.
I pondered God last year, about vines and the vinedresser, and the harvest and how it all was used as a "flannelgram" to teach the church about God's care for His people. This year, I ponder the wine. The waiting. The Becoming.
I wonder how wine was made in Bible times. Didn't they generally squish the grapes by walking in them? Doesn't the age and the fermentation take care of whatever icky stuff was hanging on? Basically, the fact that it is alcohol should kill any germs from any feet in the grapes, right?
When Jesus turned water into wine, I have to believe it was good stuff. The host of the party said it was good, and he wondered why the best stuff was saved for the end of the party. Seems they usually served good stuff to get you happily drunk, and then switched to the cheap stuff, because after you are drunk, you really don't care what you drink, as long as the glasses keep getting filled. Having never been drunk, I have no idea if this is so. I just know what I like, and usually wine isn't it.
The winemakers are a family of God-believing people. They are genuinely nice. They treat their growers with courtesy and respect. They follow the laws of the land, and check the I.D.'s provided by their visitors. They have a fair business, and they make impressive wines, award winning wines. I didn't realize how much I liked sweet wines until I tasted the dry wines they offer. (Ugh. Dry is just too tart for me.) And I didn't ever think I would have a "favorite" wine, knowing how much I detest grape juice in general. Some days, getting through communion on Sunday is tough. And that is one thimble full of Welch's 100% Grape. Usually purple, Concord grape juice. And more often than not, on the verge of being wine (or maybe vinegar is a closer description). Yuck.
Whenever this might happen, I do plan to drink the wine. I might even share a little with Jeff, if he is brave enough to try it. The empty bottle will be my prize. I missed this year, because I checked into it too late. Next year, I plan to do this at least once, maybe twice. I plan to get more bottles of Chateau L'Feet, maybe in RED next time!
This year has been a crazy, tumultuous, lost and even blessed sort of year. All this time, that wine was in a cask, and then in the bottle. Sitting. Waiting. Fermenting. Becoming.
How can it be good if I do not taste it? Consuming the wine seems to be the POINT of it all.
I think this year has been some fire, refining me like gold. This year has not been the calm waiting on God, like the wine. Maybe the coming year will be calm, like the fermentation hold. But then, fermenting is a process, and I bet the chemical transformation is anything but calm. Maybe I HAVE been the wine. I have gone through a transformation, and I will never be the same. A little more tart, a little more rich, a little more depth to my "character". A little fruity note, a little spicy note... some time spent in the cool of the cask, some time squeezed into the smaller space of a bottle.
All the while wondering... Who will find me? Who will taste, and see that the Lord is good? Who will appreciate my more subtle qualities? Will I be the bottle that has had feet in it? (I certainly felt stomped this year!) Has this process cleansed my impurities? Am I sweeter for the time spent, or am I a dry finish?
I don't know all the answers. I know the ONE who holds the answers, and He hasn't really been sharing them with me. I guess I get to do what my Dad always told me to do: Hide and Watch. So, I hide in the shadow of the wings of the Most High, and I watch to see what becomes of me. I am fermenting. I am being enriched by the waiting. I am Becoming a fine wine from the Lord's vineyard.
How SWEET its that?
They call it Chateau L'Feet. Yes, we stomped a few gallons of grapes in the bottom of a 50 gallon drum. I call it Baby Toes, because of a little boy, who was fine stomping, until he realized that he was IN a 50 gallon drum. And it was taller than he was, and he couldn't see anything but grapes and mommy's knees. He started screaming, so they took him out of the drum. He stomped all the way up the side, still having fun, I think, but just a little scared with claustrophobia in the drum. Who can blame his cute little toes? Not me.
"You aren't gonna drink that, are you?" several people asked. Some of them were grossed out by the thought, as if the fact that my feet, and the feet of many others touched those grapes, and it might taste of feet. Some of them were sounding wistful, as if they would take it and drink it if I didn't want it. The idea is the same. Did I have plans to just let the bottle sit some more, or was I planning to drink it?
I honestly don't know yet. I was planning on drinking it. The BOTTLE is what is important to me. The label has MY NAME on it. This wine was helped by ME, and the bottle was labeled just for ME. The bottle will end up as a centerpiece on a shelf of my bottle collection. I think it would be a dirty shame NOT to drink the wine I helped create. A full bottle of wine is heavy, and the shelf will be heavy enough with all those glass bottles on it.
I pondered God last year, about vines and the vinedresser, and the harvest and how it all was used as a "flannelgram" to teach the church about God's care for His people. This year, I ponder the wine. The waiting. The Becoming.
I wonder how wine was made in Bible times. Didn't they generally squish the grapes by walking in them? Doesn't the age and the fermentation take care of whatever icky stuff was hanging on? Basically, the fact that it is alcohol should kill any germs from any feet in the grapes, right?
When Jesus turned water into wine, I have to believe it was good stuff. The host of the party said it was good, and he wondered why the best stuff was saved for the end of the party. Seems they usually served good stuff to get you happily drunk, and then switched to the cheap stuff, because after you are drunk, you really don't care what you drink, as long as the glasses keep getting filled. Having never been drunk, I have no idea if this is so. I just know what I like, and usually wine isn't it.
The winemakers are a family of God-believing people. They are genuinely nice. They treat their growers with courtesy and respect. They follow the laws of the land, and check the I.D.'s provided by their visitors. They have a fair business, and they make impressive wines, award winning wines. I didn't realize how much I liked sweet wines until I tasted the dry wines they offer. (Ugh. Dry is just too tart for me.) And I didn't ever think I would have a "favorite" wine, knowing how much I detest grape juice in general. Some days, getting through communion on Sunday is tough. And that is one thimble full of Welch's 100% Grape. Usually purple, Concord grape juice. And more often than not, on the verge of being wine (or maybe vinegar is a closer description). Yuck.
Whenever this might happen, I do plan to drink the wine. I might even share a little with Jeff, if he is brave enough to try it. The empty bottle will be my prize. I missed this year, because I checked into it too late. Next year, I plan to do this at least once, maybe twice. I plan to get more bottles of Chateau L'Feet, maybe in RED next time!
This year has been a crazy, tumultuous, lost and even blessed sort of year. All this time, that wine was in a cask, and then in the bottle. Sitting. Waiting. Fermenting. Becoming.
How can it be good if I do not taste it? Consuming the wine seems to be the POINT of it all.
I think this year has been some fire, refining me like gold. This year has not been the calm waiting on God, like the wine. Maybe the coming year will be calm, like the fermentation hold. But then, fermenting is a process, and I bet the chemical transformation is anything but calm. Maybe I HAVE been the wine. I have gone through a transformation, and I will never be the same. A little more tart, a little more rich, a little more depth to my "character". A little fruity note, a little spicy note... some time spent in the cool of the cask, some time squeezed into the smaller space of a bottle.
All the while wondering... Who will find me? Who will taste, and see that the Lord is good? Who will appreciate my more subtle qualities? Will I be the bottle that has had feet in it? (I certainly felt stomped this year!) Has this process cleansed my impurities? Am I sweeter for the time spent, or am I a dry finish?
I don't know all the answers. I know the ONE who holds the answers, and He hasn't really been sharing them with me. I guess I get to do what my Dad always told me to do: Hide and Watch. So, I hide in the shadow of the wings of the Most High, and I watch to see what becomes of me. I am fermenting. I am being enriched by the waiting. I am Becoming a fine wine from the Lord's vineyard.
How SWEET its that?
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Pondering A Garden
While thinking about the possibility of gardening, I have thought a lot about God. I am sure this is no surprise to anyone who has a garden, but for those of us who have no idea how to garden, this is a big deal. I Corinthians 3:6: "I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow." I know this verse is referring to the Gospel being shared and churches being "planted", but I think it fits here, too. I may plant the seed, and Jeff may water, but God will make it grow.
My first thought is that God placed us in a garden. Adam and Eve had every kind of fruit, veggie and flower to tend. This makes me wonder if there is something built into us that makes us want to garden. Is there some desire to work to make things grow? I am fascinated by watching God give life to a little seed, and give me plants to eat. Much like watching a baby grow, I can't help but wonder at the awesome God we serve.
Second, I have realized how much I dislike heat. After the fall, God told Adam that he would eat "by the sweat of his brow". This "sweat" is minor to the burn of the sun that my skin is so quick to inflict upon me. I don't know how to keep plants alive. My mother drowned a cactus, because she didn't realize that one should only water it when it is raining in the desert. The only plants she ever managed to keep alive were the parachute fern and the bamboo.
Third, I have decided that I am late to the game. I should not try to plant now, as the season for planting is far past. My goal this year is to clear the area, and turn the soil. If I enrich it now, it will be ready for next year's planting. Gardening takes more than just putting a seed on the ground. It takes WORK (I have decided I am allergic to this "work" stuff...), and planning and determination. I have to decide what veggies to plant, and which plants can help others to grow bigger, sweeter, or more fruitful. I don't want to plant only tomatoes. I want squash, lettuce, carrots, corn, cucumbers... and I want to work on the roses I have discovered in my yard!
Fourth, and final for this note, I have to get dirty. Removing weeds is hard work, and messy. I have to turn up the dirt to allow in more air, water and sun, so that the plants I desire have plenty of those and room to grow. If I want to keep a pretty manicure, I do not need to bother to garden. If I want my table full of locally grown fresh fruits and veggies, I need to get down and dirty in the garden.
My first thought is that God placed us in a garden. Adam and Eve had every kind of fruit, veggie and flower to tend. This makes me wonder if there is something built into us that makes us want to garden. Is there some desire to work to make things grow? I am fascinated by watching God give life to a little seed, and give me plants to eat. Much like watching a baby grow, I can't help but wonder at the awesome God we serve.
Second, I have realized how much I dislike heat. After the fall, God told Adam that he would eat "by the sweat of his brow". This "sweat" is minor to the burn of the sun that my skin is so quick to inflict upon me. I don't know how to keep plants alive. My mother drowned a cactus, because she didn't realize that one should only water it when it is raining in the desert. The only plants she ever managed to keep alive were the parachute fern and the bamboo.
Third, I have decided that I am late to the game. I should not try to plant now, as the season for planting is far past. My goal this year is to clear the area, and turn the soil. If I enrich it now, it will be ready for next year's planting. Gardening takes more than just putting a seed on the ground. It takes WORK (I have decided I am allergic to this "work" stuff...), and planning and determination. I have to decide what veggies to plant, and which plants can help others to grow bigger, sweeter, or more fruitful. I don't want to plant only tomatoes. I want squash, lettuce, carrots, corn, cucumbers... and I want to work on the roses I have discovered in my yard!
Fourth, and final for this note, I have to get dirty. Removing weeds is hard work, and messy. I have to turn up the dirt to allow in more air, water and sun, so that the plants I desire have plenty of those and room to grow. If I want to keep a pretty manicure, I do not need to bother to garden. If I want my table full of locally grown fresh fruits and veggies, I need to get down and dirty in the garden.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Deafening Silence, Pregnant With Chaos
This year has not been about resolutions, even though I made a few. So far, it has been a year of great things (Terrible, yes...but great).
There is a country song by Tracy Lawrence that talks about hitting the bumps in the road and what you learn from it. He starts by talking about the bad things that happen, and then he reminds us that we "Find out who your friends are". The bit of lyrics that has humbled me this year is "they just show on up with their big old heart". I have had some bad things knock me down this year. I have also been blessed to be shown who my friends are. They showed on up, with their big old hearts and their open wallets and their soft prayers.
Last year, I kept putting off the writing. I don't know why. Maybe I had some sort of knowledge that this was going to be a blank time for my mind, and that left me with a blank page. It has happened before. When I was young, I knew something was wrong with my world, but for the life of me I could not give you an answer as to what it was. I was just sensing it. Impending doom. Dread. My grades went from straight A's to mainly D's and F's. At the end of January 1989, my grandmother died from kidney failure and complications from her Diabetes. And the morning after she died (peacefully in her sleep), I told my mother that we needed to call and talk to family, because Grandmother was feeling better today. As she was moving toward the phone, it rang and an aunt gave us the news. Empathy is a crippling gift, sometimes. When I can actually, not just figuratively but literally, FEEL what someone else feels it can be scary. Unfortunately, it doesn't come with a business card telling me the name of the hurting person around me.
So since squishing grapes, and a little after that, I have not written anything more than grocery lists.
This time, it was a lot closer, and the odd feelings were not quite so debilitating. Age has refined the senses, or maybe dulled them. My mother passed away on January 20. From kidney failure and heart troubles due to her Diabetes. We had a Memorial Service on February 20.
I just stopped.
I no longer wrote, read, or socialized. It got lonely and boring, and old quite fast. So I posted a few thoughts on my Facebook page. And I discovered that Laura Speaker is right. Writing is cathartic for me. I must do it to heal.
I had changed my music in the Playlist, to honor Mom. I put up the only copy I could find of "Flee as a Bird", one of her favorite hymns. I found Acappella's version of "The Lighthouse", as she loved lighthouses and really lived as if Jesus were her personal lighthouse. Now, I believe she is playing on the beach in the sands of time, with the sister she never got to meet in this life.
I am continuing to read "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Piccoult. This was the January book for my online book club. I must say that moving on has hurt. And has been slow happening. And is the most difficult thing I have ever felt compelled to do. Riding an emotional roller coaster when I never wanted to purchase that ticket.
It has also been good. I have communicated more with my Bro and Dad. Rare for both of them to actually talk at all, unless there was a subject that they love to share about. I found out who my friends are. I have amazing friends.
Terrible didn't stop making plans for me, however.
Dad had made a doctor appointment to check on some things. He made the appointment before Mom passed, but the actual visit was about 1 week after she passed. A week after that, he was officially diagnosed with Kidney Cancer.
My Bro was devastated. More than me, I think ... but it is hard to console others while living so deeply IN the grief for oneself. Not only had Mom been stolen from us on our watch, but Fate was punching Dad in the kidney, too. From what Dad has said, he seemed to know there was something wrong for a while, but he wanted to focus on caring for Mom. Now that she is not needing his careful watch, he can focus on caring for himself.
And nine months after I stopped blogging, I am here to try to start again.
I can never be the same. The pain has given birth to a new understanding, and I am hoping to express that in a coherent manner.
I don't know how well I will do at keeping up the writing. I don't know if I have anything to say anymore, or whom would even want to hear it. But, for the few who have tried to spur me on, I am going to start again. I am going to try. We all may have to wade through a fair amount of tripe, but I think we can look forward to more happy subjects and good words coming from me. OK, I am just hoping I still have good words in here.
Death is but a doorway between this life and the next. I believe that Mom is whole and happy and waiting for me. I can't believe she would be happy knowing that I am content to wallow in the grief.
I am standing in a dark room, wondering who turned off the light. Maybe it is time to find the light switch.
There is a country song by Tracy Lawrence that talks about hitting the bumps in the road and what you learn from it. He starts by talking about the bad things that happen, and then he reminds us that we "Find out who your friends are". The bit of lyrics that has humbled me this year is "they just show on up with their big old heart". I have had some bad things knock me down this year. I have also been blessed to be shown who my friends are. They showed on up, with their big old hearts and their open wallets and their soft prayers.
Last year, I kept putting off the writing. I don't know why. Maybe I had some sort of knowledge that this was going to be a blank time for my mind, and that left me with a blank page. It has happened before. When I was young, I knew something was wrong with my world, but for the life of me I could not give you an answer as to what it was. I was just sensing it. Impending doom. Dread. My grades went from straight A's to mainly D's and F's. At the end of January 1989, my grandmother died from kidney failure and complications from her Diabetes. And the morning after she died (peacefully in her sleep), I told my mother that we needed to call and talk to family, because Grandmother was feeling better today. As she was moving toward the phone, it rang and an aunt gave us the news. Empathy is a crippling gift, sometimes. When I can actually, not just figuratively but literally, FEEL what someone else feels it can be scary. Unfortunately, it doesn't come with a business card telling me the name of the hurting person around me.
So since squishing grapes, and a little after that, I have not written anything more than grocery lists.
This time, it was a lot closer, and the odd feelings were not quite so debilitating. Age has refined the senses, or maybe dulled them. My mother passed away on January 20. From kidney failure and heart troubles due to her Diabetes. We had a Memorial Service on February 20.
I just stopped.
I no longer wrote, read, or socialized. It got lonely and boring, and old quite fast. So I posted a few thoughts on my Facebook page. And I discovered that Laura Speaker is right. Writing is cathartic for me. I must do it to heal.
I had changed my music in the Playlist, to honor Mom. I put up the only copy I could find of "Flee as a Bird", one of her favorite hymns. I found Acappella's version of "The Lighthouse", as she loved lighthouses and really lived as if Jesus were her personal lighthouse. Now, I believe she is playing on the beach in the sands of time, with the sister she never got to meet in this life.
I am continuing to read "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Piccoult. This was the January book for my online book club. I must say that moving on has hurt. And has been slow happening. And is the most difficult thing I have ever felt compelled to do. Riding an emotional roller coaster when I never wanted to purchase that ticket.
It has also been good. I have communicated more with my Bro and Dad. Rare for both of them to actually talk at all, unless there was a subject that they love to share about. I found out who my friends are. I have amazing friends.
Terrible didn't stop making plans for me, however.
Dad had made a doctor appointment to check on some things. He made the appointment before Mom passed, but the actual visit was about 1 week after she passed. A week after that, he was officially diagnosed with Kidney Cancer.
My Bro was devastated. More than me, I think ... but it is hard to console others while living so deeply IN the grief for oneself. Not only had Mom been stolen from us on our watch, but Fate was punching Dad in the kidney, too. From what Dad has said, he seemed to know there was something wrong for a while, but he wanted to focus on caring for Mom. Now that she is not needing his careful watch, he can focus on caring for himself.
And nine months after I stopped blogging, I am here to try to start again.
I can never be the same. The pain has given birth to a new understanding, and I am hoping to express that in a coherent manner.
I don't know how well I will do at keeping up the writing. I don't know if I have anything to say anymore, or whom would even want to hear it. But, for the few who have tried to spur me on, I am going to start again. I am going to try. We all may have to wade through a fair amount of tripe, but I think we can look forward to more happy subjects and good words coming from me. OK, I am just hoping I still have good words in here.
Death is but a doorway between this life and the next. I believe that Mom is whole and happy and waiting for me. I can't believe she would be happy knowing that I am content to wallow in the grief.
I am standing in a dark room, wondering who turned off the light. Maybe it is time to find the light switch.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Grape Squishery Of 2009
When I signed up to harvest grapes at Tres Suenos Winery, in Luther Oklahoma, I was not expecting a spiritual revelation from God. But, in essence, that is what I got. The growing of grapes and the making of wine has been a part of the world's economy for centuries. God knew this exacting process would be around for a long time. I believe this is partly why He chose to use the "fruit of the vine" for His remembrance supper. It brings new understanding of Jesus saying "I am the Vine, and you are the branches."
A few years ago, a crowd of our friends attended a wedding at a winery. The bride wanted an outdoor wedding. It was very pretty. They have a small vineyard right on the property, and a small grove of trees on the other side of the main building, where the wedding took place. I fell in love with the beauty of it all. The wine was something new to me. I had never before found one that tasted good to me. This wedding had two flavors of wine that did taste quite good.
DH and I went back later, to an annual festival and wine tasting. We heard wonderful live music, tasted several varieties of wine, and had a grand time. We have been to the festival two years in a row, and are planning to attend our third this fall. The owners of the winery host a harvest in August every year, once the grapes are ready. This year, I signed up to be notified of the harvest. DH did not come, I was on my own this time.
I drove the almost hour from my home, and got there near 7:00 am. I met with the owner of the Winery and about 20 others. We then drove in a caravan to a contract vineyard about 8 miles away, to harvest a white variety of Sauvignon grapes. We snipped grapes off the vines from 8:00 until 11:00 am. Some of the grapes we harvested after the picture.
This is me, among the vines. The first picture of the day. A nice lady came by and said she wanted to take pictures, but her camera was at the house. I handed her mine, and asked that she take a picture of me (so she would know whom to bring the camera back to).
We were each given a white 5 gallon bucket. This is my bucket, mostly full of white grapes.
When those were filled, we put the grapes into bigger crates that could hold 3-4 buckets of grapes. This is one of those crates.
The crates were then picked up, and workers transferred the grapes to huge white containers, and brought back the crates to be filled again. This is one container being loaded on a forklift.
The owner had the load weighed, but he didn't know his empty weight, so there was no exact number for the weight of the grapes we harvested. He estimated that we picked around 3 tons of grapes.
This is one of the owners. His name is Richard.
We got to watch the grapes be moved from the small crates and big white containers through a machine that took off the stems, crushed the grapes, and sent them through a tube to large blue drums. This machine was quite noisy.
For our work the owners provided lunch. (The owner's wife had bought Red Table Grapes at the grocer for us.... and got picked on about it.) After lunch, we had the opportunity to personally stomp on a small batch of grapes. The owner had pulled many stems out of about one crate of grapes, and put them in the bottom of a 55 gallon steel barrel. We got to wash off our feet, and step into the barrel to mash the grapes. There was a baby about 1 year old, and he was having a stomping good time, and then he realized that he was not able to get himself out of the barrel. He cried, and continued to stomp all the way up the side of the barrel. Poor baby. His older brother was also having a great time squishing grapes, ending up in the barrel at least 3 times, with others and by himself. I was the second to last person to step on the grapes. Have you ever stepped on one grape accidentally in your kitchen? This was messy and fun, and totally squishy. These are my toes in the grapes.
The owner will further press those grapes and keep them separate from the rest of the harvest. He will bottle that wine, and put our names on it. He said there would be about 20 bottles from this barrel. White wine should spend about 6 months fermenting before they put it in the bottles, where it will spend another 6 months before it will be drinkable. A year from now, I will have a bottle of wine from the harvest I helped to pick. I plan to refer to it as Baby Toes. This was the baby.
The grapes at the winery property are purple grapes, but I don't know what variety.
The white grapes we harvested.
God truly is an artist. He created such lovely plants, people and processes. I plan to do this again and again. DH hopefully can come next time, and several of my friends have also volunteered. I have to go back there to collect this year's wine: 2009 Sauvignon Baby Toes. If you get a chance to taste wine from Tres Suenos Winery, do it. The name means Three Dreams, and the dreams of the owners have come to be a tasty reality.
A few years ago, a crowd of our friends attended a wedding at a winery. The bride wanted an outdoor wedding. It was very pretty. They have a small vineyard right on the property, and a small grove of trees on the other side of the main building, where the wedding took place. I fell in love with the beauty of it all. The wine was something new to me. I had never before found one that tasted good to me. This wedding had two flavors of wine that did taste quite good.
DH and I went back later, to an annual festival and wine tasting. We heard wonderful live music, tasted several varieties of wine, and had a grand time. We have been to the festival two years in a row, and are planning to attend our third this fall. The owners of the winery host a harvest in August every year, once the grapes are ready. This year, I signed up to be notified of the harvest. DH did not come, I was on my own this time.
I drove the almost hour from my home, and got there near 7:00 am. I met with the owner of the Winery and about 20 others. We then drove in a caravan to a contract vineyard about 8 miles away, to harvest a white variety of Sauvignon grapes. We snipped grapes off the vines from 8:00 until 11:00 am. Some of the grapes we harvested after the picture.
This is me, among the vines. The first picture of the day. A nice lady came by and said she wanted to take pictures, but her camera was at the house. I handed her mine, and asked that she take a picture of me (so she would know whom to bring the camera back to).
We were each given a white 5 gallon bucket. This is my bucket, mostly full of white grapes.
When those were filled, we put the grapes into bigger crates that could hold 3-4 buckets of grapes. This is one of those crates.
The crates were then picked up, and workers transferred the grapes to huge white containers, and brought back the crates to be filled again. This is one container being loaded on a forklift.
The owner had the load weighed, but he didn't know his empty weight, so there was no exact number for the weight of the grapes we harvested. He estimated that we picked around 3 tons of grapes.
This is one of the owners. His name is Richard.
We got to watch the grapes be moved from the small crates and big white containers through a machine that took off the stems, crushed the grapes, and sent them through a tube to large blue drums. This machine was quite noisy.
For our work the owners provided lunch. (The owner's wife had bought Red Table Grapes at the grocer for us.... and got picked on about it.) After lunch, we had the opportunity to personally stomp on a small batch of grapes. The owner had pulled many stems out of about one crate of grapes, and put them in the bottom of a 55 gallon steel barrel. We got to wash off our feet, and step into the barrel to mash the grapes. There was a baby about 1 year old, and he was having a stomping good time, and then he realized that he was not able to get himself out of the barrel. He cried, and continued to stomp all the way up the side of the barrel. Poor baby. His older brother was also having a great time squishing grapes, ending up in the barrel at least 3 times, with others and by himself. I was the second to last person to step on the grapes. Have you ever stepped on one grape accidentally in your kitchen? This was messy and fun, and totally squishy. These are my toes in the grapes.
The owner will further press those grapes and keep them separate from the rest of the harvest. He will bottle that wine, and put our names on it. He said there would be about 20 bottles from this barrel. White wine should spend about 6 months fermenting before they put it in the bottles, where it will spend another 6 months before it will be drinkable. A year from now, I will have a bottle of wine from the harvest I helped to pick. I plan to refer to it as Baby Toes. This was the baby.
The grapes at the winery property are purple grapes, but I don't know what variety.
The white grapes we harvested.
God truly is an artist. He created such lovely plants, people and processes. I plan to do this again and again. DH hopefully can come next time, and several of my friends have also volunteered. I have to go back there to collect this year's wine: 2009 Sauvignon Baby Toes. If you get a chance to taste wine from Tres Suenos Winery, do it. The name means Three Dreams, and the dreams of the owners have come to be a tasty reality.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
New Adventures Of The Traveling Bloggers Or The Chelf Life Of Flea Bytes
I enjoy travel. I love meeting new people. I adore getting to combine the two.
Back in July, on a Thursday, DH and I made a trip to Bricktown (downtown OKC). We met Jayme for dinner, with her immediate family, and some extended family, too. They were in town for the big annual family reunion, that was being held in a church building (less than a mile from my house). We had a really good Italian dinner at Zio's. We enjoyed walking around Bricktown and along the canal.
I had (conveniently for Jayme) left my camera in the car. Apparently, Jayme was nervous that I would chronicle our visit here. I don't like pictures of me, but I am happy to share pictures of others! No pictures this time. Good for Jayme, bad for the rest of us. Ha! I didn't want her to think that I had left her out of the journal, simply because there were no pictures. I loved visiting with them, and I wanted you all to know it!
We had a great time. Neal and DH are friends from many years ago, and it was nice for them to catch up, too. Ellie told DH he was "Ca-RAY-zy!" for not liking Strawberries. That was cute.
A month later, DH has this week off. He took a week of vacation to hang out with me, in honor of our 10th Anniversary (this Friday). We are doing much like we did when we took our honeymoon. Then, he was still in College, and I was working full time. I took one week, and we spent that week taking small trips. We spent our first two nights in a Bed and Breakfast in Guthrie, OK. We also took day trips to Wichita and Tulsa.
Monday this week we went to Tulsa. We met Flea. I don't remember precisely when I found Flea's blog, but we have been enjoying each other's blogs for around two years, I suppose. I knew when I started reading that we were kindred spirits.
She brought the "loquacious" Red Rocks with her. We met at DH's favorite place to eat that we don't have here in OKC, Fuddrucker's. We refer to it simply as Fudd's, as to not say terrible words accidentally. They make burgers to order... you can get a one pound burger that covers a plate! We ate, took pictures and visited for most of two hours!
This is Red Rocks... talking. He is quite into Classic Rock, and was a pleasure to talk to. He had to go home to make an original dessert for a Scout thing that night. Good looking, prepared, and smart. What more could you need from a kid?
Fred and Bessie also came, and enjoyed the picnic. This is Fred, making sure he got the last of the Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese sauce. (A must for the french fries.)
Here is Bessie, worrying about Fred and his balancing act to reach something.
Mr. Monkeysuit came, too. He is a ladies' man. Flea got some good pictures of him giving me a kiss.
Here is DH giving Mr. Monkeysuit the contemplative stare... and probably a warning about getting too fresh with me.
This is the Good Flea and Chelf, photo on my camera, courtesy of DH.
Thank you for coming along on the driving adventures of Chelf and DH. More entries to come, as the Anniversary Week progresses!
Back in July, on a Thursday, DH and I made a trip to Bricktown (downtown OKC). We met Jayme for dinner, with her immediate family, and some extended family, too. They were in town for the big annual family reunion, that was being held in a church building (less than a mile from my house). We had a really good Italian dinner at Zio's. We enjoyed walking around Bricktown and along the canal.
I had (conveniently for Jayme) left my camera in the car. Apparently, Jayme was nervous that I would chronicle our visit here. I don't like pictures of me, but I am happy to share pictures of others! No pictures this time. Good for Jayme, bad for the rest of us. Ha! I didn't want her to think that I had left her out of the journal, simply because there were no pictures. I loved visiting with them, and I wanted you all to know it!
We had a great time. Neal and DH are friends from many years ago, and it was nice for them to catch up, too. Ellie told DH he was "Ca-RAY-zy!" for not liking Strawberries. That was cute.
A month later, DH has this week off. He took a week of vacation to hang out with me, in honor of our 10th Anniversary (this Friday). We are doing much like we did when we took our honeymoon. Then, he was still in College, and I was working full time. I took one week, and we spent that week taking small trips. We spent our first two nights in a Bed and Breakfast in Guthrie, OK. We also took day trips to Wichita and Tulsa.
Monday this week we went to Tulsa. We met Flea. I don't remember precisely when I found Flea's blog, but we have been enjoying each other's blogs for around two years, I suppose. I knew when I started reading that we were kindred spirits.
She brought the "loquacious" Red Rocks with her. We met at DH's favorite place to eat that we don't have here in OKC, Fuddrucker's. We refer to it simply as Fudd's, as to not say terrible words accidentally. They make burgers to order... you can get a one pound burger that covers a plate! We ate, took pictures and visited for most of two hours!
This is Red Rocks... talking. He is quite into Classic Rock, and was a pleasure to talk to. He had to go home to make an original dessert for a Scout thing that night. Good looking, prepared, and smart. What more could you need from a kid?
Fred and Bessie also came, and enjoyed the picnic. This is Fred, making sure he got the last of the Jalapeno Cheddar Cheese sauce. (A must for the french fries.)
Here is Bessie, worrying about Fred and his balancing act to reach something.
Mr. Monkeysuit came, too. He is a ladies' man. Flea got some good pictures of him giving me a kiss.
Here is DH giving Mr. Monkeysuit the contemplative stare... and probably a warning about getting too fresh with me.
This is the Good Flea and Chelf, photo on my camera, courtesy of DH.
Thank you for coming along on the driving adventures of Chelf and DH. More entries to come, as the Anniversary Week progresses!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Top Reasons I Won't Have A Credit Card
This is a news article I saw on my local television affiliate.
~~~~~~~~~~
NH man swipes debit card for smokes, charged 23 quadrillion dollars (plus $15 overdraft fee)
By Associated Press
9:05 AM CDT, July 15, 2009
MANCHESTER, N.H. (AP) — A New Hampshire man says he swiped his debit card at a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes and was charged over 23 quadrillion dollars.
Josh Muszynski (Moo-SIN'-ski) checked his account online a few hours later and saw the 17-digit number — a stunning $23,148,855,308,184,500 (twenty-three quadrillion, one hundred forty-eight trillion, eight hundred fifty-five billion, three hundred eight million, one hundred eighty-four thousand, five hundred dollars).
Muszynski says he spent two hours on the phone with Bank of America trying to sort out the string of numbers and the $15 overdraft fee.
The bank corrected the error the next day.
Bank of America tells WMUR-TV only the card issuer, Visa, could answer questions. Visa, in turn, referred questions to the bank.
___
Information from: WMUR-TV, http://wmur.com
~~~~~~~~~~
Thursday Thirteen
"Reasons I Won't Have A Credit Card" and "Why I Think This Is Funny"
1. This was a DEBIT card, so I am still at risk.
2. 1% of this bill is more than four times the National Debt. (To copy the media, "That is QUADRILLION, with a Q!" Imagine the perky blonde anchor making you feel stupid, because you couldn't have heard it the first time.) I can live happily on that kind of money. The bank can never have enough.
3. Bank of America, the man's personal bank, is the bank known to give accounts to Undocumented Illegal Immigrants... I suppose they have to make up for that in some small fashion. I hope they don't think this is SMALL fashion.
4. I am sure that the numbers are meaningless..... no SSN or PIN in there. (Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!)
5. One of my friends on Facebook commented that the average daily balance would yield an interest charge that could be "ugly". They are allowed to be around 30%, especially if you are overdrawn.
6. How many people didn't get charged for their transactions that day, due to the keying error? I wouldn't want to be that person!
7. Cash Is King! Check out Dave Ramsey, and learn to survive without plastic. This is not a paid advertisement, just a personal testimony. I am not completely debt free, but imagine that as a goal! Now imagine that as a lifestyle!
8. I know that smoking kills you, but I thought it was for actually smoking! I am excited knowing that the guy is still alive after the SHOCK of seeing that bill.
9. Jesus said that our hearts are tied to our treasures. Junk purchased with plastic and debt are not treasures, but our hearts sit there with it anyway.
10. Nothing in the world like the Bank of America and Visa pointing fingers at each other. Poor guy had that balance on his personal checking account for a whole day, and nobody wanted to help him fix the problem.
11. The banks don't keep records better than I do. They can't! I am a perfectionist about accounting. I can't afford to let a penny slip by unaccounted for. I can't afford to write off mistakes. I can count!
12. Banks are really good at sticking you with fees when you really do overdraw... by a penny or two. Shouldn't they PAY you when the mistake is THEIRS?
13. Even Bakers know how to give a little extra to get a lot of loyalty. Banks could learn from this generous practice.
Blessings to you, more than money.
~~~~~~~~~~
NH man swipes debit card for smokes, charged 23 quadrillion dollars (plus $15 overdraft fee)
By Associated Press
9:05 AM CDT, July 15, 2009
MANCHESTER, N.H. (AP) — A New Hampshire man says he swiped his debit card at a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes and was charged over 23 quadrillion dollars.
Josh Muszynski (Moo-SIN'-ski) checked his account online a few hours later and saw the 17-digit number — a stunning $23,148,855,308,184,500 (twenty-three quadrillion, one hundred forty-eight trillion, eight hundred fifty-five billion, three hundred eight million, one hundred eighty-four thousand, five hundred dollars).
Muszynski says he spent two hours on the phone with Bank of America trying to sort out the string of numbers and the $15 overdraft fee.
The bank corrected the error the next day.
Bank of America tells WMUR-TV only the card issuer, Visa, could answer questions. Visa, in turn, referred questions to the bank.
___
Information from: WMUR-TV, http://wmur.com
~~~~~~~~~~
Thursday Thirteen
"Reasons I Won't Have A Credit Card" and "Why I Think This Is Funny"
1. This was a DEBIT card, so I am still at risk.
2. 1% of this bill is more than four times the National Debt. (To copy the media, "That is QUADRILLION, with a Q!" Imagine the perky blonde anchor making you feel stupid, because you couldn't have heard it the first time.) I can live happily on that kind of money. The bank can never have enough.
3. Bank of America, the man's personal bank, is the bank known to give accounts to Undocumented Illegal Immigrants... I suppose they have to make up for that in some small fashion. I hope they don't think this is SMALL fashion.
4. I am sure that the numbers are meaningless..... no SSN or PIN in there. (Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain!)
5. One of my friends on Facebook commented that the average daily balance would yield an interest charge that could be "ugly". They are allowed to be around 30%, especially if you are overdrawn.
6. How many people didn't get charged for their transactions that day, due to the keying error? I wouldn't want to be that person!
7. Cash Is King! Check out Dave Ramsey, and learn to survive without plastic. This is not a paid advertisement, just a personal testimony. I am not completely debt free, but imagine that as a goal! Now imagine that as a lifestyle!
8. I know that smoking kills you, but I thought it was for actually smoking! I am excited knowing that the guy is still alive after the SHOCK of seeing that bill.
9. Jesus said that our hearts are tied to our treasures. Junk purchased with plastic and debt are not treasures, but our hearts sit there with it anyway.
10. Nothing in the world like the Bank of America and Visa pointing fingers at each other. Poor guy had that balance on his personal checking account for a whole day, and nobody wanted to help him fix the problem.
11. The banks don't keep records better than I do. They can't! I am a perfectionist about accounting. I can't afford to let a penny slip by unaccounted for. I can't afford to write off mistakes. I can count!
12. Banks are really good at sticking you with fees when you really do overdraw... by a penny or two. Shouldn't they PAY you when the mistake is THEIRS?
13. Even Bakers know how to give a little extra to get a lot of loyalty. Banks could learn from this generous practice.
Blessings to you, more than money.
Which King is KING?
This was a mini sermon posted by my friend Rick Rossing, on Facebook.
I love the way he thinks! I had to share this with you today. Just had to.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tue {July 14, 2009} at 9:16pm
Michael Jackson was the King of Pop. When he died, millions cried. Thousands went to his funeral. Millions watched it on TV. Everyone wanted everyone else to know that they were friends of his. Michael Jackson impersonators are beginning to pop up everywhere. People are flocking to Neverland to walk where he walked and pay homage. But in a hundred years, who will really remember?
Elvis Presley was the King of Rock and Roll. When he died, millions cried. Many went to his funeral, and many watched it replayed on the news. Everyone wanted everyone else to know that they were friends of his. Elvis impersonators still pop up everywhere. People still trek to Graceland to walk where he walked and pay homage. But in a hundred years, who will really remember?
Jesus Christ was the King of Kings. When he died, thousands cheered. Only a handful of people stuck around to lay him in the tomb. Even people who knew him denied it. But after a few days, people started seeing him everywhere. His tomb is empty. Millions now take pilgrimages to the Holy Land to walk where he walked and pay homage, and millions more seek to be imitators of Christ. It's been almost two thousand years, and millions of people remember.
So which king do you follow? The king of pop, the king of rock, or the king of kings?
Do you want to live in Neverland, Graceland, or the Holy Land?
Jesus' tomb is empty. His promises are not.
Peace.
~~~~~~~~~~
I hope this humble thought has blessed you today!
I love the way he thinks! I had to share this with you today. Just had to.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tue {July 14, 2009} at 9:16pm
Michael Jackson was the King of Pop. When he died, millions cried. Thousands went to his funeral. Millions watched it on TV. Everyone wanted everyone else to know that they were friends of his. Michael Jackson impersonators are beginning to pop up everywhere. People are flocking to Neverland to walk where he walked and pay homage. But in a hundred years, who will really remember?
Elvis Presley was the King of Rock and Roll. When he died, millions cried. Many went to his funeral, and many watched it replayed on the news. Everyone wanted everyone else to know that they were friends of his. Elvis impersonators still pop up everywhere. People still trek to Graceland to walk where he walked and pay homage. But in a hundred years, who will really remember?
Jesus Christ was the King of Kings. When he died, thousands cheered. Only a handful of people stuck around to lay him in the tomb. Even people who knew him denied it. But after a few days, people started seeing him everywhere. His tomb is empty. Millions now take pilgrimages to the Holy Land to walk where he walked and pay homage, and millions more seek to be imitators of Christ. It's been almost two thousand years, and millions of people remember.
So which king do you follow? The king of pop, the king of rock, or the king of kings?
Do you want to live in Neverland, Graceland, or the Holy Land?
Jesus' tomb is empty. His promises are not.
Peace.
~~~~~~~~~~
I hope this humble thought has blessed you today!
Thursday, July 2, 2009
There Ain't No Doubt, I LOVE this Land! God BLESS The U.S.A. !!!
I enjoy Facebook. There are so many people to connect to. Friends from such a distant past, I have almost forgotten. Most people don't realize that I have a pretty good memory for names and faces. More specially for those who made an impact on my life. Apparently, I have made those kinds of impacts on the lives of others, when I was unaware.
I am finding people that I knew in High School (and before), but I thought they didn't like me. It was not like we were ever best buds. I kept up with the best buds. It occurred to me at my 10 year reunion, and I shared with my husband, that it hadn't yet been long enough. Some of the people I didn't like during High School were still the same, and that was immature. I said maybe they would really grow up by the 20th. Here we are just past 17, and the people I am connecting with (not all of these were unlikeable in the past, mind you) are more mature, more friendly and more sure of themselves.
Maybe that was the problem. We didn't like ourselves, so we projected that hate onto others, to give ourselves someone to blame. I know I did some of that. I know also that I can't be friends with everyone... but I can be a better friend to the ones who allow me into their circles.
People are surprising. This is why I watch them so much. Age, experience and having children gives one a new sense of self. When you stretch to let another person into your sphere, you can't help but grow. I have grown (physically, too...ugh) since I was young. I thought I knew it all.... now I know simply that I can never know it all.
I can't fathom why I thought people didn't like me. I never gave them a chance to speak for or against me. I still don't understand all of why I didn't like some others. I am amazed at the good memories that my friends-again have kept of me. I hope that I never take the olive branch of friendship for granted again. I beg myself to offer that same olive branch to another... and another... and another... without fear.
If you are my Blogger friend, or my Facebook friend, please know that I appreciate every one of you. You keep my world interesting and refreshing. I may do what my friend Jon did... Thanks-giving notes... to each and every friend. I can't do the video posts like he did, but I can try to see things from another perspective. I see that I need to focus on others for a change, not on me Me ME all the time.
Again I see that I complain so much. Why? God has provided a roof over my head, two and half years of allowing me to not work for "the MAN", and given me the biggest blessings, many of which I didn't know I needed! I need to focus on the happy, uplifting and joyful things in life.
This weekend, I get to spend our Nation's Independence Day with family, friends, food and fireworks. What could be better?
Happy Birthday, AMERICA!!!
I am finding people that I knew in High School (and before), but I thought they didn't like me. It was not like we were ever best buds. I kept up with the best buds. It occurred to me at my 10 year reunion, and I shared with my husband, that it hadn't yet been long enough. Some of the people I didn't like during High School were still the same, and that was immature. I said maybe they would really grow up by the 20th. Here we are just past 17, and the people I am connecting with (not all of these were unlikeable in the past, mind you) are more mature, more friendly and more sure of themselves.
Maybe that was the problem. We didn't like ourselves, so we projected that hate onto others, to give ourselves someone to blame. I know I did some of that. I know also that I can't be friends with everyone... but I can be a better friend to the ones who allow me into their circles.
People are surprising. This is why I watch them so much. Age, experience and having children gives one a new sense of self. When you stretch to let another person into your sphere, you can't help but grow. I have grown (physically, too...ugh) since I was young. I thought I knew it all.... now I know simply that I can never know it all.
I can't fathom why I thought people didn't like me. I never gave them a chance to speak for or against me. I still don't understand all of why I didn't like some others. I am amazed at the good memories that my friends-again have kept of me. I hope that I never take the olive branch of friendship for granted again. I beg myself to offer that same olive branch to another... and another... and another... without fear.
If you are my Blogger friend, or my Facebook friend, please know that I appreciate every one of you. You keep my world interesting and refreshing. I may do what my friend Jon did... Thanks-giving notes... to each and every friend. I can't do the video posts like he did, but I can try to see things from another perspective. I see that I need to focus on others for a change, not on me Me ME all the time.
Again I see that I complain so much. Why? God has provided a roof over my head, two and half years of allowing me to not work for "the MAN", and given me the biggest blessings, many of which I didn't know I needed! I need to focus on the happy, uplifting and joyful things in life.
This weekend, I get to spend our Nation's Independence Day with family, friends, food and fireworks. What could be better?
Happy Birthday, AMERICA!!!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Death, Life And A Little Bit Of Mediocrity
It has been a bad week to be famous.
A bad month (two), really.
There have been so many celebrities who have passed away recently:
Wayman Tisdale, 44. NBA star, and University of Oklahoma player before that. I hear he was an excellent musician.
Wayne Allwine, 62. The voice of Mickey Mouse for (very close to) my entire lifetime. His wife has been the voice of Minnie Mouse, too.
Millvina Dean, 97. The last survivor of the Titanic, she was just a baby in April 1912.
David Carradine, 72.
Ed McMahon, 86.
Farrah Fawcett, 62.
Michael Jackson, 50.
Gale Storm, 87. (I had to look her up, I am too young.)
Billy Mays, 50.
We joke that things come in threes. This is three sets of three. And this is not the definitive list, there have been other celebrity deaths since May. I am not going to make any pithy jokes today. The world has lost a lot of great talents recently. My childhood has taken a pretty hard hit.
On a more personal note, I found out this weekend that my Uncle has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. They caught it early, and it is a very treatable kind of cancer. He lives near and is familiar with M.D. Anderson, and my Aunt is a nurse. My mind keeps going back to Esther in the Bible... "for such a time as this". I know that God has prepared them for this trial. I would appreciate prayer on behalf of my family.
I hosted a baby shower on Saturday. My friend Ferret came with her family to be showered with gifts... from Kansas. And we had a friend drive up from Dallas. Yes, if you do the math... she drove 4 hours each way to spend only 2 hours with us! We have dedicated friends. The new house is not clean, but things are strategically stacked. I have several weeks to get ready for the housewarming that the wonderful ladies at church are going to give us.
I have noticed that I complain a lot. I am sorry for that. Of what use is complaining? I am blessed. I have a roof over my head, I don't owe money each month to a landlord anymore. I have two cars, two cats, two bedrooms. I have food in the kitchen, and energy to cook it. I have a full sized washer and dryer. I have so much to be happy about, yet I allow myself to be convinced that I am not worthy, or appreciative. Satan sneaks in and lies to me, and I allow those lies to take over my attitude. That is such a sorry existence. I need to be reminded (as often as the Jews in the Bible, it seems) that God is always here, and that He continually provides me with everything I could want and more.
Thank someone today!
A bad month (two), really.
There have been so many celebrities who have passed away recently:
Wayman Tisdale, 44. NBA star, and University of Oklahoma player before that. I hear he was an excellent musician.
Wayne Allwine, 62. The voice of Mickey Mouse for (very close to) my entire lifetime. His wife has been the voice of Minnie Mouse, too.
Millvina Dean, 97. The last survivor of the Titanic, she was just a baby in April 1912.
David Carradine, 72.
Ed McMahon, 86.
Farrah Fawcett, 62.
Michael Jackson, 50.
Gale Storm, 87. (I had to look her up, I am too young.)
Billy Mays, 50.
We joke that things come in threes. This is three sets of three. And this is not the definitive list, there have been other celebrity deaths since May. I am not going to make any pithy jokes today. The world has lost a lot of great talents recently. My childhood has taken a pretty hard hit.
On a more personal note, I found out this weekend that my Uncle has been diagnosed with prostate cancer. They caught it early, and it is a very treatable kind of cancer. He lives near and is familiar with M.D. Anderson, and my Aunt is a nurse. My mind keeps going back to Esther in the Bible... "for such a time as this". I know that God has prepared them for this trial. I would appreciate prayer on behalf of my family.
I hosted a baby shower on Saturday. My friend Ferret came with her family to be showered with gifts... from Kansas. And we had a friend drive up from Dallas. Yes, if you do the math... she drove 4 hours each way to spend only 2 hours with us! We have dedicated friends. The new house is not clean, but things are strategically stacked. I have several weeks to get ready for the housewarming that the wonderful ladies at church are going to give us.
I have noticed that I complain a lot. I am sorry for that. Of what use is complaining? I am blessed. I have a roof over my head, I don't owe money each month to a landlord anymore. I have two cars, two cats, two bedrooms. I have food in the kitchen, and energy to cook it. I have a full sized washer and dryer. I have so much to be happy about, yet I allow myself to be convinced that I am not worthy, or appreciative. Satan sneaks in and lies to me, and I allow those lies to take over my attitude. That is such a sorry existence. I need to be reminded (as often as the Jews in the Bible, it seems) that God is always here, and that He continually provides me with everything I could want and more.
Thank someone today!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Universe Has A Warped Sense Of Humor!
The car I got from Enterprise (paid for by the other guy's insurance) is a newer version of the car that hit me! Yes, I was assigned a 2009 Nissan Altima. The car that hit me was a 1995 model. This is a black car. I would never own a black car, not on purpose. Not in Oklahoma. The temperatures this week are supposed to be over 90 all week. With the 60% humidity and more, the temperatures are way too hot to have such a big dark car.
It is a smooth ride, turns soft like butter! Lots of fun cubbies to explore, way too many cup holders, and useless gauges to distract my attention while driving. I like knowing that there is a cruise control. But the first time I pushed the button to turn it on, I accidentally honked the horn. In fact, I honked three times before I realized that I was the one honking. I spent probably 10 minutes just adjusting the car to me, and making sure I could reach what I needed to reach. Can't damage the car right in front of the rental office, you know?
Zipper got stretched only, and is back home as of late last night. Thank you all for your prayers and good wishes. The next appointment in about 6 months will be the rod replacement surgery, provided she does not break them before that. She was showing Daddy the ropes this time, since he has not been there for a stretch before. Apparently, she was angelic for Daddy. He got to see the rare happy side of a girl on the edge. I have not heard how much she grew with being straightened out. Now we just need to get some more fat on her bones to cushion her.
I have been trying to trim our budget recently. Our house related expenses went up a little when we bought this house. So I am trying to cut back on brand name things. I went to Aldi. This grocery store has good prices on food that is not name brand. I decided to try their milk, since it was so much cheaper than others. Big mistake. This stuff tasted like colored water. I used to get 2% milk that tasted better. Mystic, who usually loves drinking milk after my cereal is gone, turned her nose up at it. That sealed the decision. I have decided to not skimp on milk. I am going back to Braum's. I found a store that has the 1/2 gallon for $0.20 less than the store near DH's work. For as little milk as I use, I can pay a little more for the good stuff.
I am off to clean again. Since I know your prayers work... please pray that I don't get bogged down by the work it will take to get my new home looking the way I want it. I can't imagine how to decorate anything, because I can't see past the junk I have in the way. If I can move my pride and junk out of the way, my home can be a more open place to share the hospitality I have in my heart. I know this goal is not so lofty that it can't be met. I know I can finally have a clean home, with God's help and yours. Thanks!
Be blessed today!
It is a smooth ride, turns soft like butter! Lots of fun cubbies to explore, way too many cup holders, and useless gauges to distract my attention while driving. I like knowing that there is a cruise control. But the first time I pushed the button to turn it on, I accidentally honked the horn. In fact, I honked three times before I realized that I was the one honking. I spent probably 10 minutes just adjusting the car to me, and making sure I could reach what I needed to reach. Can't damage the car right in front of the rental office, you know?
Zipper got stretched only, and is back home as of late last night. Thank you all for your prayers and good wishes. The next appointment in about 6 months will be the rod replacement surgery, provided she does not break them before that. She was showing Daddy the ropes this time, since he has not been there for a stretch before. Apparently, she was angelic for Daddy. He got to see the rare happy side of a girl on the edge. I have not heard how much she grew with being straightened out. Now we just need to get some more fat on her bones to cushion her.
I have been trying to trim our budget recently. Our house related expenses went up a little when we bought this house. So I am trying to cut back on brand name things. I went to Aldi. This grocery store has good prices on food that is not name brand. I decided to try their milk, since it was so much cheaper than others. Big mistake. This stuff tasted like colored water. I used to get 2% milk that tasted better. Mystic, who usually loves drinking milk after my cereal is gone, turned her nose up at it. That sealed the decision. I have decided to not skimp on milk. I am going back to Braum's. I found a store that has the 1/2 gallon for $0.20 less than the store near DH's work. For as little milk as I use, I can pay a little more for the good stuff.
I am off to clean again. Since I know your prayers work... please pray that I don't get bogged down by the work it will take to get my new home looking the way I want it. I can't imagine how to decorate anything, because I can't see past the junk I have in the way. If I can move my pride and junk out of the way, my home can be a more open place to share the hospitality I have in my heart. I know this goal is not so lofty that it can't be met. I know I can finally have a clean home, with God's help and yours. Thanks!
Be blessed today!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...
I want to send a BIG Thank You to Mamma Mia, who reminds me constantly to give myself a break! I have been hoping that I could get the house together and pretty in a week, two weeks, a month.... and here we are at very close to two months, and I sincerely don't feel very accomplished at all. I want to have a clean home. I really do! The trouble I run into is that I have given myself way too many breaks. I have essentially locked myself in the house, and while I can see progress, it is moving far too slowly for my taste. I want to do more work in less time. I don't know how to go about the housework efficiently. I have a new goal. Maybe stating it out loud on the blog will encourage me to work harder for it. I am hosting a baby shower in my home on the 27th. I have two weeks. I don't want to do all the work in the last two days. (I do work extraordinarily well under pressure.)
Zipper is getting stretched on Monday. We are hoping that she just gets stretched, and doesn't need new rods just yet. She will come home from St. Louis at least 3 inches taller. I am sure of it. Ferret had tried to give her more nutrition, to grow out and put some fat on her very skinny frame, but Zipper took it all and grew up instead, which means she is curved pretty badly. So, if you will please lift her and her family up to God, I would appreciate it.
I have a new Facebook Username. I don't know why I bothered. They wouldn't let me even look at "mychelf", but "chelf" went through just fine. I don't know how my moniker could be construed as vulgar or questionable, but I respect their choice. I have no idea what to DO with the Username, and am taking suggestions. If you are on Facebook, look me up: www.Facebook.com/chelf
I need some suggestions. I have a very dark and somewhat bland matte brown living room. The ceiling is even painted! I like it, it is different. However, it absorbs all the light in the room, allowing for no reflection at all. I find that light colored decorations look pretty good on it. It might actually get to be my Oriental themed room, with lots of pink cherry blossom art and brushstroke letters. What I am looking for is ways to make it a little brighter, without taking away the base color. I have considered sponging on a lighter Mauve or a red-toned Cinnamon to give it a bit of a glaze. I have considered repainting altogether, but don't want to do that right now. Does anyone have tips to making a dark room less intimidating?
Jumping June Bugs! I have to be up so early tomorrow! Back in May, my Honda Fit got bumper tapped. I was driving, and the big van in front of me stopped. I hurried to stop, and then tried to avoid getting hit from behind by angling to the right a bit. The green sedan behind me tried to avoid me by going into the left lane of traffic when he realized he could not stop, but we still glanced off each other. I did not hit the van, and the other driver did not hit anything other than my bumper. It is amazing how much it costs to fix such a light tap. His insurance is paying for the repairs, and I am delivering the car to the shop at the way-too-early hour of 7:30. It will take me 20 minutes or more to get there, so I plan to leave by 7. Ugh. I am a Garfield (TM) sort of person. I don't do mornings, and I despise Mondays. Both will happen tomorrow. I suppose complaining won't help nearly as much as getting to bed before midnight tonight will.
His insurance is also paying for the rental car replacement. They approved me for a full sized car! To replace my compact hatchback. I have no idea what make or model of car I will come home with. If I can save them a little money by downgrading what I get, I may try. Depends on what they offer me, I suppose. I might like to try out an SUV. (I can dream, right?)
Enjoy your own cars this week, everyone!
Zipper is getting stretched on Monday. We are hoping that she just gets stretched, and doesn't need new rods just yet. She will come home from St. Louis at least 3 inches taller. I am sure of it. Ferret had tried to give her more nutrition, to grow out and put some fat on her very skinny frame, but Zipper took it all and grew up instead, which means she is curved pretty badly. So, if you will please lift her and her family up to God, I would appreciate it.
I have a new Facebook Username. I don't know why I bothered. They wouldn't let me even look at "mychelf", but "chelf" went through just fine. I don't know how my moniker could be construed as vulgar or questionable, but I respect their choice. I have no idea what to DO with the Username, and am taking suggestions. If you are on Facebook, look me up: www.Facebook.com/chelf
I need some suggestions. I have a very dark and somewhat bland matte brown living room. The ceiling is even painted! I like it, it is different. However, it absorbs all the light in the room, allowing for no reflection at all. I find that light colored decorations look pretty good on it. It might actually get to be my Oriental themed room, with lots of pink cherry blossom art and brushstroke letters. What I am looking for is ways to make it a little brighter, without taking away the base color. I have considered sponging on a lighter Mauve or a red-toned Cinnamon to give it a bit of a glaze. I have considered repainting altogether, but don't want to do that right now. Does anyone have tips to making a dark room less intimidating?
Jumping June Bugs! I have to be up so early tomorrow! Back in May, my Honda Fit got bumper tapped. I was driving, and the big van in front of me stopped. I hurried to stop, and then tried to avoid getting hit from behind by angling to the right a bit. The green sedan behind me tried to avoid me by going into the left lane of traffic when he realized he could not stop, but we still glanced off each other. I did not hit the van, and the other driver did not hit anything other than my bumper. It is amazing how much it costs to fix such a light tap. His insurance is paying for the repairs, and I am delivering the car to the shop at the way-too-early hour of 7:30. It will take me 20 minutes or more to get there, so I plan to leave by 7. Ugh. I am a Garfield (TM) sort of person. I don't do mornings, and I despise Mondays. Both will happen tomorrow. I suppose complaining won't help nearly as much as getting to bed before midnight tonight will.
His insurance is also paying for the rental car replacement. They approved me for a full sized car! To replace my compact hatchback. I have no idea what make or model of car I will come home with. If I can save them a little money by downgrading what I get, I may try. Depends on what they offer me, I suppose. I might like to try out an SUV. (I can dream, right?)
Enjoy your own cars this week, everyone!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Praise For The Lord, For The House Is Good
Thursday Thirteen
Thirteen Things That Are Better About The New House
1. Faux Bay Window. (Bay Window is a dream of mine from way back!)
2. The roof is solid, and has no holes. Insulation! No popcorn texture ceiling.
3. Appliances are newer and bigger. (Washer, Dryer, Refrigerator and Stove)
4. Dishwasher!
5. Built-In Book Shelves. Two of them!
6. Bigger Closets.
7. The house is not falling into the backyard. (The old house had foundation issues evident in the cracks on the walls and ceiling, as well as the ridge in the floor.)
8. Full view front storm door. The cats have their Sun Worshiping spot again.
9. Colors on the walls, not just boring cream.
10. Curtains. (blinds that were broken at other house)
11. Working windows. Fresh air all the time!
12. Real Attic. (vs. hole in garage ceiling)
13. Bigger Bedroom
Thirteen Things That Are Better About The New House
1. Faux Bay Window. (Bay Window is a dream of mine from way back!)
2. The roof is solid, and has no holes. Insulation! No popcorn texture ceiling.
3. Appliances are newer and bigger. (Washer, Dryer, Refrigerator and Stove)
4. Dishwasher!
5. Built-In Book Shelves. Two of them!
6. Bigger Closets.
7. The house is not falling into the backyard. (The old house had foundation issues evident in the cracks on the walls and ceiling, as well as the ridge in the floor.)
8. Full view front storm door. The cats have their Sun Worshiping spot again.
9. Colors on the walls, not just boring cream.
10. Curtains. (blinds that were broken at other house)
11. Working windows. Fresh air all the time!
12. Real Attic. (vs. hole in garage ceiling)
13. Bigger Bedroom
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wait... I Have A Blog?
I am surprised how many of you have still come by to see if I have had any inspiration. Constantly surprised by my awesome friends. Thank you for not giving up on me.
I know I have appeared to just drop off the blogging wagon. I have been quite obsessed with the ease of Facebook. This is no excuse. I still need to write. I have moved my physical existence from a rent house to our first home. Having never bought a house before, I was overwhelmed. I didn't have an actual intention to buy the house until almost Valentine's Day. We signed the contract and gave our earnest money on March 9. We signed the mountain of paperwork and got funded on April 9. The beautiful house is ours, after a mere two months.
The word "overwhelmed" doesn't really cover it. I am swamped, tuckered, lost, disorganized, cluttered.... and then overwhelmed. It all looks like such a mess. I have so much stuff that seems less valuable now that it is in the new house. I have done a lot of laundry, and cleaned and organized... and it looks as if I have done nothing. I am clearly in need of a maid, storage designer, motivational speaker and life coach. Sigh. I keep plugging away at it, hoping that I can have things down to a manageable dull roar by Mother's Day, when my Mother is coming for a visit.
I asked the previous owner to trim the bushes back away from the house, so that we could get to the water access behind them. Yeah, someone really took that the wrong way. The bushes got trimmed from the front. I don't know whom to blame, because I realize that what I said was misinterpreted. I don't like the bushes, I wanted them gone anyway. But I was hoping to wait a year or two before removing them completely, and replacing them with a stone patio.
The cats have been getting used to the new place, too. They stayed in the former house for a few days longer than we and our stuff did. They came out of the safety lockdown room (old master bedroom) and looked at Jeff as if to say, "WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!!!" They spent the first two days in the new house climbing into places I won't let them go again, sniffing everything, and staring out the windows.
Marvel decided that he needed to be in the closet in the second bedroom. A bag fell, and in his efforts to escape, he got a shallow cut on his nose. Poor baby. It worries me that he was bleeding, but it stopped pretty quickly. I am hoping that he heals quickly, too. He does not like me cleaning his wound, and he will not be happy with alcohol being on the cotton ball that comes next.
Mystic has not injured herself, but has gotten to the top of the built-in bookcase, the top of our closet in the master bedroom, and the top of a bookshelf we brought in. She is a very vocal cat, walking around talking to the Ceiling Cat, or whatever she imagines is up there.
Obviously, the cats are fine. They are both crashed on the couch next to me right now. I would put a picture here of that, but the camera is in my purse, which is currently under Mystic's head.
This has been a pleasant break. I am going to get back to the cleaning and finding of places for all my junk. Thanks for checking on me. Keep coming by, anytime. I love visitors. Feel free to come find me physically, too. But if you drop by, be warned: I will put you to work!
Have a blessed day!
I know I have appeared to just drop off the blogging wagon. I have been quite obsessed with the ease of Facebook. This is no excuse. I still need to write. I have moved my physical existence from a rent house to our first home. Having never bought a house before, I was overwhelmed. I didn't have an actual intention to buy the house until almost Valentine's Day. We signed the contract and gave our earnest money on March 9. We signed the mountain of paperwork and got funded on April 9. The beautiful house is ours, after a mere two months.
The word "overwhelmed" doesn't really cover it. I am swamped, tuckered, lost, disorganized, cluttered.... and then overwhelmed. It all looks like such a mess. I have so much stuff that seems less valuable now that it is in the new house. I have done a lot of laundry, and cleaned and organized... and it looks as if I have done nothing. I am clearly in need of a maid, storage designer, motivational speaker and life coach. Sigh. I keep plugging away at it, hoping that I can have things down to a manageable dull roar by Mother's Day, when my Mother is coming for a visit.
I asked the previous owner to trim the bushes back away from the house, so that we could get to the water access behind them. Yeah, someone really took that the wrong way. The bushes got trimmed from the front. I don't know whom to blame, because I realize that what I said was misinterpreted. I don't like the bushes, I wanted them gone anyway. But I was hoping to wait a year or two before removing them completely, and replacing them with a stone patio.
The cats have been getting used to the new place, too. They stayed in the former house for a few days longer than we and our stuff did. They came out of the safety lockdown room (old master bedroom) and looked at Jeff as if to say, "WE'VE BEEN ROBBED!!!" They spent the first two days in the new house climbing into places I won't let them go again, sniffing everything, and staring out the windows.
Marvel decided that he needed to be in the closet in the second bedroom. A bag fell, and in his efforts to escape, he got a shallow cut on his nose. Poor baby. It worries me that he was bleeding, but it stopped pretty quickly. I am hoping that he heals quickly, too. He does not like me cleaning his wound, and he will not be happy with alcohol being on the cotton ball that comes next.
Mystic has not injured herself, but has gotten to the top of the built-in bookcase, the top of our closet in the master bedroom, and the top of a bookshelf we brought in. She is a very vocal cat, walking around talking to the Ceiling Cat, or whatever she imagines is up there.
Obviously, the cats are fine. They are both crashed on the couch next to me right now. I would put a picture here of that, but the camera is in my purse, which is currently under Mystic's head.
This has been a pleasant break. I am going to get back to the cleaning and finding of places for all my junk. Thanks for checking on me. Keep coming by, anytime. I love visitors. Feel free to come find me physically, too. But if you drop by, be warned: I will put you to work!
Have a blessed day!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Road Trip To Sin City, Part 4
... and the last in this series, I hope. I had to add these fun and funny pictures. I am working on another post, a deep thoughtful one. So here is a break before the depth.
Bro and SIL at the dinner the night before the wedding. There wasn't really a rehearsal, and her family didn't come to this dinner. I don't know if they weren't there yet, or just tired. But our family and their friends came. Aren't they cute? Poor kids were both sick, but the good meal and hot tea helped a lot.
DH and me at the same dinner. Bro took the picture. The one I tried as a self portrait was a funny angle straight up my nose. I won't bore you with that.
This was a funny picture of SIL's mom. We were waiting impatiently for the Limo to show up at the Stratosphere, to take us to the wedding site. Everyone with cameras was taking pictures. SIL's Mom and I took pictures of each other taking pictures of each other. Then I tried to get a good picture of her. I got this first. She joked that this was more real. I have another picture that is nice, but this one makes me laugh. Our families are going to get along well.
This picture is for the pure funny of it. This is in the Paris, right beneath the Eiffel Tower. I gather from the stuff we could see, that it is Asian food, but the name... is fitting.
When we walked around the Miracle Mile shops, there were columns that had different words on them. Each column had a different word, and each word was in all different languages. "Desire" has Pig Latin.
There was "Love". We pondered what language had "HAHA" as it's word for love. My comment was, "They're joking, right?"
I know a guy named Fred. I didn't know the name meant "Peace".
"Peace" had the best words. This was the longest individual word we saw. It almost took the whole side of the column.
Bro got a kick out of this one. Goom-Jigi. I really need to find out what language that is!
This is one of the lions in the MGM Grand. This is the view up to her, from a walkway. The plexiglass is all scratched up, this is a very clear picture of our actual view. She moved her paws to cover her face for that guy trying to get a camera up her nose. It was so nonchalant, but full of personality. "No more pictures, today, dear."
Later, this same lion got up and gave the people a show. She urinated on the glass...and immediately about 10 cameras were up in the air, trying to get the picture, from underneath her in that walkway. I was not under the walkway by then. She had about 50 people laughing and taking more pictures. From this, I gather that big cats don't cover their excrement like domestic cats do. (I like my cats using the litter box!) When she was done, she went back and lay down in the exact same spot she was in before. Like nothing had changed.
Sisters. Better than by blood, we are sisters by choice. We each refer to the other's Mom as Mom Squared. Our Mothers act like sisters, too. I met Best BFF when I moved to Gallup, at the age of 6. She was 7, and would turn 8 before the first year was out. We have shared all sorts of adventures. Vegas was better than the Arizona State Fair! (My favorite vacations as a kid, once neither of us lived in Gallup anymore.)
This is the current state of construction of the new bypass bridge at the Hoover Dam. I guess the plan is that the dam can still be toured and stuff, but the majority of the traveling traffic is not going to go over it anymore. This bridge had a sign that they were hoping to be done by 2008. They missed. But it is tall and looks pretty impressive.
I found the place where steak sauce is from! A mountain road near Flagstaff, AZ.
So Mamma Mia knows that I was not telling stories, here is the proof. I tried to go to her Uncle's restaurant in Albuquerque.
They were, however, closed. The sign explained it was a private party. Entrance would be granted by Invitation Only. *Sigh* So I didn't get the *BEST* Mexican food in the state. They had just had a Grand Re-Opening, and I was told that the employees were probably all drunk anyway, so it wouldn't have been fun. It is on my list for the next time we go through. Maybe we can meet up with Looney Mom again. (Yes, I am hanging my head in shame. I am a terrible long-distance friend. I didn't call at all. Bad Chelf!)
The yummiest hot Chai latte away from Vintage. This was the second trip to Perennials, as it was so very good the first time. I bought two of those mugs, one for me and one for my friend. (He and his wife are also big fans of How I Met Your Mother.)
I hope you have enjoyed my vacation documentaries. I hope to have many more adventures, and share them with you.
Bro and SIL at the dinner the night before the wedding. There wasn't really a rehearsal, and her family didn't come to this dinner. I don't know if they weren't there yet, or just tired. But our family and their friends came. Aren't they cute? Poor kids were both sick, but the good meal and hot tea helped a lot.
DH and me at the same dinner. Bro took the picture. The one I tried as a self portrait was a funny angle straight up my nose. I won't bore you with that.
This was a funny picture of SIL's mom. We were waiting impatiently for the Limo to show up at the Stratosphere, to take us to the wedding site. Everyone with cameras was taking pictures. SIL's Mom and I took pictures of each other taking pictures of each other. Then I tried to get a good picture of her. I got this first. She joked that this was more real. I have another picture that is nice, but this one makes me laugh. Our families are going to get along well.
This picture is for the pure funny of it. This is in the Paris, right beneath the Eiffel Tower. I gather from the stuff we could see, that it is Asian food, but the name... is fitting.
When we walked around the Miracle Mile shops, there were columns that had different words on them. Each column had a different word, and each word was in all different languages. "Desire" has Pig Latin.
There was "Love". We pondered what language had "HAHA" as it's word for love. My comment was, "They're joking, right?"
I know a guy named Fred. I didn't know the name meant "Peace".
"Peace" had the best words. This was the longest individual word we saw. It almost took the whole side of the column.
Bro got a kick out of this one. Goom-Jigi. I really need to find out what language that is!
This is one of the lions in the MGM Grand. This is the view up to her, from a walkway. The plexiglass is all scratched up, this is a very clear picture of our actual view. She moved her paws to cover her face for that guy trying to get a camera up her nose. It was so nonchalant, but full of personality. "No more pictures, today, dear."
Later, this same lion got up and gave the people a show. She urinated on the glass...and immediately about 10 cameras were up in the air, trying to get the picture, from underneath her in that walkway. I was not under the walkway by then. She had about 50 people laughing and taking more pictures. From this, I gather that big cats don't cover their excrement like domestic cats do. (I like my cats using the litter box!) When she was done, she went back and lay down in the exact same spot she was in before. Like nothing had changed.
Sisters. Better than by blood, we are sisters by choice. We each refer to the other's Mom as Mom Squared. Our Mothers act like sisters, too. I met Best BFF when I moved to Gallup, at the age of 6. She was 7, and would turn 8 before the first year was out. We have shared all sorts of adventures. Vegas was better than the Arizona State Fair! (My favorite vacations as a kid, once neither of us lived in Gallup anymore.)
This is the current state of construction of the new bypass bridge at the Hoover Dam. I guess the plan is that the dam can still be toured and stuff, but the majority of the traveling traffic is not going to go over it anymore. This bridge had a sign that they were hoping to be done by 2008. They missed. But it is tall and looks pretty impressive.
I found the place where steak sauce is from! A mountain road near Flagstaff, AZ.
So Mamma Mia knows that I was not telling stories, here is the proof. I tried to go to her Uncle's restaurant in Albuquerque.
They were, however, closed. The sign explained it was a private party. Entrance would be granted by Invitation Only. *Sigh* So I didn't get the *BEST* Mexican food in the state. They had just had a Grand Re-Opening, and I was told that the employees were probably all drunk anyway, so it wouldn't have been fun. It is on my list for the next time we go through. Maybe we can meet up with Looney Mom again. (Yes, I am hanging my head in shame. I am a terrible long-distance friend. I didn't call at all. Bad Chelf!)
The yummiest hot Chai latte away from Vintage. This was the second trip to Perennials, as it was so very good the first time. I bought two of those mugs, one for me and one for my friend. (He and his wife are also big fans of How I Met Your Mother.)
I hope you have enjoyed my vacation documentaries. I hope to have many more adventures, and share them with you.
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