jumping in on the conversation

My dad

2010-07-30T21:17:00.002-04:00

I have a distinct memory of flying on his legs while he balanced me in the air, only to crash me down into the couch. I remember him tickling me as a little kid until I cried and yelled 'uncle.' I can still see him grilling on our charcoal (!), round, red grill in the backyard all summer long. He loves to read and I do, too. He taught me that a personal note signed onto the bottom of a business letter, makes a statement. I learned how to mow the lawn from him--with a pushmower. He does not have a mind for technical things and is numbers challenged. Oh, do we have that in common! He cried with me when I didn't get cheerleading captain. We have the same sense of humor, always a little wry and a lot witty. I am tall like he is and look like his side of the family. I can sing and he...can't. :-) He loves Christmas music all year round.

My dad.

And now the colon cancer that he was diagnosed with last summer...the one in which he had surgery to remove it from his colon...has moved to his liver. No full details yet, but he had a PET scan that confirmed that the lesions were cancer. There is an appointment next week that I will call in to from Orlando. The doctor has already mentioned surgery to remove the lesions from the liver as it will rebuild itself and you can live without part of it. It seems he may be a candidate for that type of surgery and we are praying that he is. After some research online, it seems that there is good success rate and a high rate of life longevity if the lesions are not too large and can be removed. His doctor seemed very much in attack mode on the phone with him and has a goal of getting him cancer free.

This is hard. I have hardly mentioned it to my friends, only a few colleagues at work that needed to know. So I post it here to sort of let it out gently. I don't want to be the person that everyone says, "Can you believe all that has happened in their family? Sad, sad." Who wants that label? I recalled a conversation today that I had with a friend years ago. One of my coworkers son's was dying from leukemia. I said to her, "It could be any one of us." Four months later, my husband's dad was diagnosed with cancer and died that many months later. So, suffering and pain, are you here to stay? I don't want to watch my dad go through this. We still need him here.

A Project Filled Weekend

2010-07-18T21:50:00.002-04:00

I took a step in the right direction on the office makeover this weekend. Dan and I went to Lowe's and I grabbed several paint samples. We also had a great walk-thru on ordering blinds for our large window in that room. We took a book home to see how the samples look. I am leaning towards the natural wood type in a roman loop shade. These are not wood slats, some options look like sticks all pulled together. Earlier in the week, I had also checked out a book of samples from Costco, but their selection is quite slim.

Upon bringing the samples home and holding them all up on the wall, there are a few we like. One thing I had not really paid attention to before was that the black desk with cherry-like counter, also has reddish brown paint on the black sections. This makes it look weathered, but it can look really terrible with certain paint colors. In fact, it eliminated quite a few! So, my options are centered on warmer colors: pond, bungalow blue, cafe ole, corkboard and sprig. Don't you love color names? These colors are all from the Eddie Bauer collection at Lowe's and I do love me some Eddie Bauer.

A few of those colors are definitely on the bottom of the pile. I am not sure that I want to be wrapped in the corkboard color during the darkest months of the year. Also the sprig is extremely turquoise and as pretty as it is on a 2x2 square, I don't believe it will work for our four walls. This week, I will venture to good ole Home Depot to see what they have.

Today we ventured to Sandy Bottom Berries in Greenville to pick some blueberries and raspberries. After a few hours of hard work from Dan and I (and very little work from a certain 12 year old), I have now frozen 43 cups of blueberries and probably around 15 or 20 cups of raspberries. YUM. I plan to use them in the smoothies that I have most every day for breakfast and also will attempt to make some pies. Of course, blueberry buckle is on the horizon, as well as pancakes and blueberry pound cake.

It is so fun to pick blueberries. If you haven't tried it, I urge you to try. They are so pretty! Both of my buckets were filled up from two bushes plus one to top them off--that's how full they were. With a couple hours of work, you can get fresh berries from local farmers and that is a great way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

A little stab at fiction--what is happening here?

2010-07-17T18:37:00.004-04:00

He stood up hesitantly, yet knowing instantly that she had been wanting to do so, too. The swing music had made him tap his feet and smile broadly. But dancing now at 80? He didn't know if he remembered the steps. He didn't know if she would remember them either. The concert had progressed along, and he was overcome with emotion at times. He had caught the expression on her face, though--that dreamy look he could see in his dreams that only came when she heard music. A look that he didn't really understand, yet he knew it came when she was blissfully happy. That was always enough to make him feel the same.

That first song had taken him back to the minute he laid eyes on her. It was at The Cotton Club in Harlem. He had gone to the club that evening decked out in his uniform and like all young officers of the day, was ready to meet a girl. She had gone out for the evening with a group of lady friends as a birthday celebration. Those first notes had exploded and jived. The room was electric. As he glanced in wonder around the room, he caught the expression on her face. A dreamy, blissfully happy look that made her the most beautiful woman in the room. And at that moment, the room began to dance.

Amidst the smoke and the arms pumping and the crowd hopping and the drum beating, he lost her. But then, there she was. She smiled at him as he moved in front of her and they grabbed hands. She was alive with the dance and looked him straight in the eyes. They spun and kicked and clapped and whirled. There was no one else in the room, but the two of them. He silently thanked his mom for the dance lessons, grateful that he wasn't making a fool of himself.

That moment was etched in his mind in detail all these years later. He could remember the smells and the sounds. He saw the boys laughing and glancing his way. He felt the music pulsate as he sat in his chair and it was as if Cab Calloway himself had risen from the dead to play for them. And then he remembered her--the dress she wore, her hair pinned up, her long legs. And here she was...married to him now.

She stood up next to him as the last song began playing. He turned to her and asked, "May I have this dance?" She answered as she had done that night, "Yes, darling, you may. Forever."

*Written after Big Bad Voodoo Daddy concert as I reflected on the evening. The couples in their 80s taking in the music of their teenage years now re-mixed for a new generation. Former soldiers and debutantes, now wrinkled and white-haired. During the very last song, a couple of this age, jumped up and started doing the jive. Everyone around them turned to watch. They looked each other straight in the eye and clapped and kicked. You knew it had been years since they had done this dance, but the look on her face as she smiled up at him was breathtaking. You knew it would be a night they wouldn't forget.

I don't think I will soon forget them and their love.

Sweet boy

2010-07-14T20:58:00.002-04:00

I could hear you hop and slide down the stairs before I saw you. It was 11:00 pm and you had been in bed awhile, supposedly sleeping. You slipped into the room where I was working on work, the laptop in my lap and Tyson at my side. "Hi, mom. Whatcha doing?" you spoke as you quietly settled onto the floor in front of the dog with your old comforter wrapped tightly around you, your bare feet sticking out of the bottom.

After a few minutes of questioning, I realized you weren't sleepy and weren't ready to head back upstairs yet. I let you chit chat while I shut down the computer, listening to you analyze Tyson's feet, give him some sweet talk and wonder about the bumps under his skin. The conversation wasn't much back and forth, you only needed to be talking out loud it seemed to avoid the restlessness that had driven you out of bed. As I shut down the computer, I listened to your voice--deeper today than yesterday. I noticed your legs and how short the camouflage pj bottoms were getting on your legs. I saw your face--your blue eyes not hidden behind your glasses at this late hour and the almost shy way you looked at me while you talked.

You smelled the banana bread that I had made earlier that was cooling in the kitchen and you asked for a piece. We went to cut a slice and you jumped up on the stool, your face and shoulders framed by the light overhead. The rest of the room was dark and we smiled at each other over the lovely warmth of the bread.

As I said goodnight to you later by your bed, I laughed at how you had wrapped yourself in the comforter like a burrito all tight and warm. It didn't seem like that many days ago when you were a preemie baby, wrapped tight in a much smaller baby blanket burrito with your blue eyes peeking out at me over the edge. Now you have an alarm clock by your bed and don't sleep with stuffed animals. You still let me hug and kiss you, but I wonder how long it will be before that becomes uncool. So last night, I hugged you a few seconds longer.

Thinking on it later, I realized that I was watching a boy become a man. That your simple joy in being with me will change as you grow older. That the specialness of a mom and her boy sitting together is something to grab onto with both hands.

My heart is full thinking of us.

Making my list and checking it twice

2010-07-13T16:36:00.004-04:00

...And here I am now smack dab in the middle of summer. Many that read this blog in the past are probably long gone by now. But that is okay. If you still have me in your feeder and have not given up on me, you must be a true friend. Or stupidly curious about my life. Or you are married to me and have not deleted it from your phone.

Six months goes by in a flash, doesn't it? I have been in a fog from months of stressful overload on several projects at work. Even short trips seemed to wear me out. My personal life had been in a funk since January. And then, as the sun melts the snow, I woke up on Sunday with plans. There are projects to be completed. Life should be lived and not slodged through. You know that line in the old song--I can see clearly now the rain is gone? I really understand those words this week.

Last summer, one of my friends made a list of the projects that she wanted to complete in a month and then proceeded to work through them on the blog. I laughed at her organized spirit, because it seemed a dream that she could do it. But she did. And I was envious of the way she tackled it all with seemingly little effort. Okay, I know it took effort, but she was so dedicated to The List and made it a fun time for herself. How about I do the same thing?

MY LIST

1. Photos: As I have stated before, my right brain does not have the energy to deal with digital photos. And so my lazy self has accumulated three-four years of photos that only exist on a separate hard drive. It frightens me since our computer has taken to fits of virus chomping fever lately. So I have begun a Process. Over the last few weeks, I have been naming files as they should have been named in the first place. That's done. Yay me. Now I am doing light photoshop work on the files and deleting stupid photos that need not take up hard drive space. I have actually made progress on about half of the files. Once completed, I will burn photos onto discs as if it is what all the cool kids are doing. Sounds like so much fun. And my final step is to upload to Costco so that they exist in another environment besides my home.

It sort of feels obsessive but I have heard too many horror stories. I love photography too much to lose the work that I have done and the memories preserved. It is fun to discover all sorts of photos that I have loved and not printed. I am marking things to print and to enlarge for the next project...

2. The Office. Yes, it is a funny show, but I am talking about my home office. Last year, in Dan's "maybe I can work at home" arrangement with his temporary position, we purchased a great new desk/credenza set for this room. Isn't credenza a great word? We also have an old plaid couch that Tyson uses as his personal lounge chair and an antique mahogany bookshelf with claw legs. The curtains are an ugly brown purchased when we bought our house over 8 years ago when I thought brown curtains were great. The light fixture is also ugly. What was I thinking when I chose it?

Goals include:
*buy new fabric blinds for the windows w/room darkening lining (room is hottest room in the house because of afternoon sun)
*move out the loveseat--Tyson has another couch he can use
*hire someone to refinish an antique recliner that was Dan's grandma's chair, including re-doing seat cushions, to replace the loveseat
*buy a floor lamp and footstool to go next to recliner
*choose my own photos to enlarge/frame/hang
*buy new overhead light fixture
*paint room

Rather than overdo the project list, I think I should keep it at this. Nothing like opening the door to failure before I begin if I add more! This will be fun. I love the sense of accomplishment of checking things off. I will update on the progress as I go along.

Glad to be back.

There's a theme here and I don't like it

2010-01-11T19:15:00.004-05:00

Loss. Truly not my choice as 'word of the year' for 2009, but it is how the year began and how it ended. On December 22, my mom passed away after a 2.5 year battle with stage IV breast cancer. She is not suffering anymore and for that I am glad. I am, of course, still feeling my way through the effects of this loss on my life. And I am positive that I will still be working my way through it years from now.

We found out over the weekend that Jeff, a colleague from Baker Academic passed away as the result of a car accident last week. So eerily similar in time frame (January) and accident (head injury) to my friend Ann's accident 12 months ago. And with the same results. Death.

There are many times when I get angry over all these events and other losses I have had over the years. And even losses that my friends have had. Many, many over the past few years--it seems unnatural.

And yes, we feel release when someone is relieved of their suffering, as in these three particular cases. No one wants to live a life hooked up to machines and not able to communicate, to love, to laugh. But still, a young dad? Why did that eighteen year old kid have to cross the center of that icy road on that particular day at that particular time? Why a grandma that barely got to see her last grandchild grow to be a year old? Why did a doctor keep quiet for five years and not schedule a mammogram for this woman when she was of the age to get one every year? How can someone hide what they know is killing them because they are afraid of a diagnosis? Why did an icy road and fender bender cause the chain reaction that led to a truck hitting a mom as she stood outside of her car? Her kids are both autistic, and IS THAT FAIR?

I don't have any answers.
I cannot answer these questions this side of heaven.
I cannot answer them on a good day. Or with any verses from the Bible. Or any special word from God. Or with any miraculous sign written on a wall.

And it makes me mad.

Really mad. And overwhelmingly sad.

But I can do one thing.
I can find hope in the power of Christ's resurrection.
I can find peace in knowing that my friend Ann is in heaven.
My mom is in heaven.
My father-in-law is in heaven.
Jeff is in heaven.
They are whole and healed. Every single one of them.

And for today, it will have to be enough. Because it's all I've got.

Mammaw Burnett's Snickerdoodles

2009-12-10T20:52:00.003-05:00

Mammaw Burnett made these cookies over the years as my mom and her three sisters grew up. She continued to make them as she had grandchildren, and they were my absolute favorite cookie. My nickname from her became Doodlebug in honor of this amazing cookie and my adoration for it. My mom taught my sister and I to make them. I can still remember standing at the table or breakfast bar, rolling them in my hand and dipping them in the cinnamon and sugar. Even now, the smell of that combo as I stand making them in my own kitchen with my son, sends me right back.

My friend Jessica Turner of www.themomcreative.com is having a virtual cookie exchange today over at her blog, so I thought I would join in on the fun.

Here you go--enjoy!

Snickerdoodles

Preheat oven to 400 degrees

Blend together:
1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup shortening (butter flavored works well)
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 eggs

Sift together:
2 3/4 cups flour
2 t. cream of tartar
1 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt

Pour in slowly to the butter mixture. Blend together. Batter should be a bit stiff, but sticky. Chill. Okay to chill for an hour or so because the dough rolls together better when stiff. If batter is still too soft to roll into a ball, add a bit of flour and mix by hand until you get a dryer consistency (but not too much!).

While batter is chilling, mix cinnamon and sugar in a cereal bowl. I usually end up with an inch or so in a bowl. Making more is better than less in this case.

When dough is ready to roll, pinch off enough dough to roll into walnut size balls. Place about 2" apart on cookie sheet. Bake for 8-10 minutes or until lightly browned and cracked on top, but still soft. These cookies will puff up first, then flatten a bit. If the cookie will not come off the pan without breaking, they will need to cook 30 seconds or so more. After making them tonight, I think turning the oven down to 375 degrees after first batch will help the second batch to not get so dark. They are a bit tricky to not overcook, but so worth it. You want them perfectly soft, not crunchy. :-)

Renee Bondi

2009-10-15T21:16:00.003-04:00

Today I reconnected with an old friend, an author that I adore and admire. Her name is Renee Bondi and she is a quadriplegic. The first twenty-nine years of her life were experienced with legs and arms that worked. The last twenty have been spent in a wheelchair, relying on a caregiver to attend to her needs.

Twenty years ago, Renee woke up in the middle of the night after diving off the end of her bed onto the floor. She could not move. At. All. With barely a whisper of a voice, she called for her housemate, but she didn't couldn't imagine that she would hear her. But God nudged her friend out of a deep sleep and made her hear that whisper so that Renee could get the medical help that she desperately needed. Renee's story is nothing short of miraculous. She made it through those first months, and then the next year. Through another miracle she regained her breath control and begin singing again. She now travels around the country speaking and singing. She is a published author, an accomplished musician. And she gave birth to a boy 14 years ago.

What I have always loved about Renee is her sweet spirit. She didn't sign up for the life that she has now. She never would have imagined how her life would turn out. But in spite of the obstacles that she faces every day, there is no bitterness in her. Sure she has some really, really tough days. But she believes that God has her here for a purpose, wheelchair or not, and she will persevere. She believe in her ministry of speaking and recording, and that she is exactly where God wants her to be.

Seeing her today, I was reminded again that her worse days are far worse than my worse days. I have much to be grateful for, even when my world is a mess.

I have always loved this old song sung by Rosemary Clooney in White Christmas. The lyrics seem fitting today.

Count Your Blessings
by Irving Berlin

When I'm worried and I can't sleep,
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings.
When my bankroll is getting small
I remember when I had none at all
And I fall asleep counting my blessings.

All About Me

2009-10-14T21:14:00.003-04:00

I met Angie (angie128) a long time ago. Okay, so it was through Twitter this year. I do not know why I started following her (Although it sounds like stalking, it is not classified as stalking. It is following and it is okay). Anyway, I like her sense of humor, she cared when my dad had surgery, and she is a great writer. She also has a sister and it is fun to watch them interact. They remind me of the way my sis and I are when we talk and it makes me laugh.

At any rate, since I am on my new mission to blog every day and since I am on the third day and have run out of material...I am stealing from her blog. Why? Because it's the right thing to do.

So here is the All About Me quiz that she posted today, minus her answers. She posted her answers in two words, but I don't know if I can do that. My words tend to multiply.

Where is your cell phone? On me
Your hair? Long wavy
Your mother? Long story
Your father? Love him
Your favorite food? Too many
Your dream last night? Hard sleep
Your favorite drink? Riesling/Coke
Your dream/goal? Retire early
Your hobby? Scrapbooking/photography
Where do you want to be in 6 years? Almost 45
Where were you last night? Same place
Something that you aren't? Quiet/short
Muffins? Nope
Wish list item? New camera
Last thing you did? Goodnight Zach
What are you wearing? Underarmour sweats
Your TV? Glee/Lost
Your pets? Bubba Tyson
Your life? Crazy fun
Your mood? Lonely girl
Missing someone? My husband
Vehicle? Ford Explorer
Something you are not wearing? Socks/hat
Your favorite store? Anthropologie/Target
Your favorite color? Green/pink
When was the last time you laughed? Every minute
Last time you cried? Last week
Your best friend? Laughs/Talks
One place you go to over and over again? Target Target
One person who emails you regularly? Erin Bartels
Favorite place to eat? Mexican restaurants

Hey, I did it! Two words! I love my mad editing skills.

Geez, remember the sounds from last night? It now sounds like an animal is being murdered outside of my back windows. I do not like that sound. Ick. Ick. Ick. Squealing is bad. Screeching okay. Is there anything good on TV?

Sounds

2009-10-13T23:07:00.002-04:00

The last couple of nights, there has been a loud SCREECHING bird outside within a very close proximity to the house. Can I say how loud this bad boy is? Believe me, we hear screeching birds every night. We know what they sound like as they call to each other. One here and one there in the trees outside of our top floor windows. This one is different.

We've always assumed that the screeches we hear are a pair of great-horned owls since a great-horned owl injured himself in our back yard once. Dan had a heroic rescue of the shocked bird with an Indian blanket, a Pampered Chef oven mitt and his work gloves. He corralled him and put him in a box, where we invited the neighbors to view our prize in all his glory for three hours. We were waiting for the nature center to open! Don't freak out, people! We finally got him to a nature center where they proceeded immediately to put him to sleep. We were depressed for two days.

The point is: we know that we have owls.

On Monday as I left the house, it was still quite dark (thanks, Zach, for starting school at 7:30 am). As I drove down our little street, I saw a huge bird swoop down from my left and fly in front of my lights. He had a white underbelly and a huge wingspan. Then he flew right up on the other side of the street and Zach caught a glimpse of him on top of a tree. WOW. I think that big guy might be the noise maker!

I looked him up online today and found a site that had owl sounds as well. My scientific deduction is that we have a *barn owl* and not a great-horned owl this time!! They are amazing creatures with beautiful front feathers and sweet round faces. I hope I get a glimpse of him again soon. And he can make that racket all he wants. We have zero bunny population this summer. I think he's been busy!

On another noise related note, we have a trombone player in the house. Dan is the original trombone star in these parts, but now Zach is learning to play in band class. He has made a great start on playing since his first week. It's only been a month but he can play a few bars of When the Saints Go Marching In...over and over and over and over again. And you know how that darn song sticks in your head--don't you?!!! Well, now you can understand my pain.

I did walk outside for a minute tonight with Tyson and I could hear the trombone outside of the house. Maybe my barn owl and Zach should learn to play a duet. We could be famous (which is Zach's goal in life, you know) and go on the road. In fact, I think their trademark song could be the Michigan Fight Song and when they get to the part where you say, Let's Go Blue, the owl could screech three times. Hmmm....I'll be back...

Reasons for blogging (and they are not what you might think)

2009-10-12T22:18:00.004-04:00

And so I begin again. Why is writing so hard to make a habit? I wander off from here, then return. Weeks and days go by. Life continues. No one reads this, I tell myself, so why bother?

Here are some reasons for 'bothering' to blog:

1) For my son. Zach thinks there are many, many people who read this. And of course, I do not want to let him down. He actually thinks I blog, but that is another story. I cannot lie to him too much. It will damage his psyche or something.

So this happens yesterday: he bought blue racquetballs because they bounce super high. In the bouncing frenzy that followed, he mentioned that it would be cool if the president of the company who made the bouncy racquetballs, read my blog. And then if I posted pictures of him, and the president saw the photos, that would be so cool.

My son has a serious thing for celebrity...his own. And it is all available to him through my blog, facebook and twitter accounts.

2) To keep records. Reading Ali Edwards blog, changes me. Also, her spirit and her funny words and her art and her stories and photos and cooking. I know stories about these women, more sometimes than I recall about my own family.

Blogging helps me record *precious moments* such as (hunting story to follow--skip below if you do not like them!) when my husband shot his first doe with a bow in our very own backyard. And how my favorite words out of his mouth were this: "Since I shot it in the shoulder instead of further back, it didn't bleed as much and that is why she kept running. I couldn't see which direction she ran. Then I saw one hoof print and one drop of blood, then I knew. I tracked her down with just that." What a man. He was so excited. And I was happy for him. Truly.

Until tonight when I forgot about the uh, blood on the LAWN, and let Tyson out without a leash. I was not happy for him when Tyson came IN MY HOUSE with bloody feet from the rainy yard--the BLOOD from the night before. I was not happy for him when Tyson also left a small trail of an UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE from the bloody yard on my rug in the hall.

And now I have written it down and will remember it for all time. Isn't that precious?

3) To waste time. Yes, indeed. With Dan gone four days out of the week to the other side of the state, I can do this at night. Excellent. I get to stay up later than I need to, hone in on my writing skills, entertain myself, and well, use this to avoid whatever else that I was going to do every evening. I did that this summer and it worked so well! Gotta get back to doing it.

Wasting time. It's not just for college students anymore.

Welcome back. Oh, that was for me, but I welcome you back as well. Dan, if you are the only one reading this, I welcome you back--see I wrote about you! You are now as famous as Zach. And by Thursday night I will have forgiven you for the bloody mess on my carpet that was indirectly your fault. Although I could have used your help wrangling that dog all by myself as I tried to wash his paws off with a washcloth and soap. Remember how much he hates his feet touched?! Let's just pray for heavy rain tonight. And that Zach, your famous son, does not forget to take Tyson out on a leash. Love you!

All I know to do is keep on walkin'

2009-09-16T19:37:00.006-04:00

There are times when the world spins so fast that you feel as if you tipped one way or another, you would fall off. The that slightest move or misstep would put you flat on your face. I was writing this post in my head yesterday as I spun around yet one more time. It's been busy this past summer: juggling work stuff, going on vacation, keeping the home fires burning while Dan works out of town during the week, getting Zach ready for middle school, my dad's surgery, my mom's two surgeries...I needed give myself a break last night.

Instead I came home to a post on Facebook that a friend's husband had been killed in a car accident earlier in the day. She and her husband have two kids, one in 4th and one in 9th.

You hear news like that and your own troubles disappear. You only want to hold those you love, to take away the pain for your friend. It makes me want to yell at God. This is the second time this year that a friend has lost a spouse and both have been very near my own age. Their children should have both parents. These couples should have been able to celebrate golden wedding anniversaries. I simply couldn't stop crying last night. Heartache and pain in so many people's lives this year--cancer in both adults and children, jobs lost, death.

Because of my love for music, songs often come to me during hard times that I need to hear. Thanks, God, for the instant messaging. :-) Take a listen to Somewhere Down the Road. It is truly one of my favorite Amy Grant songs and the lyrics are wonderful. Somewhere down the road we will know the answers. It's just so hard waiting for them in the meantime.

A red mower

2009-07-30T22:58:00.009-04:00

When I was a high schooler, my dad decided that I could help mow the lawn every week. I was the prissiest girl on the street and I simply did not mow lawns. As a small girl, I had stepped on a large bee while barefoot and never had the desire to go outside again. Playing on the grass was full of the unknown, so whenever possible I protected myself. Shoes all the time. Blanket forts under the slide so that I wouldn't get dirty nor have to touch creepy bugs. No sweating. So, yeah, you can imagine the mowing idea didn't go over too well.

We had a red pushmower that looked ancient even then. My job was only to mow the front yard, but it was huge! Of course now, going back home I see that it would have taken me 15 minutes tops, but at the time you would have thought it was a field. I remember having serious issues starting that old contraption. You had to pull the chord back fast with some oomph or it wouldn't start. I would get so angry while trying to start it. It hated me, you see. And the darn thing was heavy! A skinny 10th grade girl was powerless to push it fast, so it took me forever to get it done. I grumbled and complained at every turn. Those were long, sticky, humid Indiana summers...

While Dan was out of town, I mowed my own lawn. The grass was threatening to overtake my house, so it had to be done. I've definitely mowed it before--the riding mower is such a treat compared to the red beast of my youth. But that night, I actually enjoyed it! (Dan is now reading this and thinking that he will concoct an evil plan to get me to mow every week, I'm sure). The temps were cooling down, there was a nice breeze and everything was so green. Our yard is surrounded by pine trees and they are getting so tall that it felt cavelike in the yard. I did see my share of creatures: two garter snakes (one I accidentally chopped up) and a big frog. And yes, I did scream when I ran over the garter snake.

It's interesting how years can make the same chore seem different. How age can sneak up on us and instead of hating something, we enjoy it. Instead of our parents taking care of us, we are taking care of them. Instead of mowing the lawn ourselves, we get our kids to do it. The circle of life is really here, isn't it?

My dad recently had surgery and found out he has colon cancer. I stayed at my old home during that time and walked around the yard with my dog. So many memories flooded back: the place where my sister's hamster was buried, the thin line of a garden that hasn't been planted in 30 years, the place where my swing set used to stand, the odd cinder block patio my dad built where the red charcoal grill used to stand, the sound of my sister laughing and running in the yard, the trees that I remember planting that are now taller than the house. It's all there. Where did time go? How can we stand in those places and feel as if it was only yesterday? How can we have the courage to move ahead into the unknown? I'm not sure, but I think it might be lurking just around the corner.

Chatterbox

2009-07-28T22:06:00.005-04:00

He was only gone a week. Scenes from conversations with an 11.5 year old boy about his week with grandma. See why it was so quiet around the house?

1. Zach: Mom, I want MEAT. Nanny didn't feed me any and I miss it. Can we have it tonight? Me: No, Zach. We are on a road trip home and I do not have any thawed out to grill. Plus, it's late. We'll get subs on the way home. Zach: I need BBQ. Or STEAK. Or sooomethinnnggg with MEAT. I just can't figure out why they didn't feed me any. It's just not like them. They always feed me ribs. I wonder why they didn't this time. (Sigh)

2. If I heard it once, I heard it 20 times before bed last night: Mom, there was this commercial I saw and it was so funny...it went like this...(proceed to fall apart in giggles). Me: Did you watch a lot of TV at Nanny's? Zach: No. I mean yes. Maybe. Kind of. But they have the hunting channel. I like that one.

3. Zach: I have this memory of the sun shining down on me and Poppa and we are laying with our heads on McKenzie. It's like a picture in my head, Mom.

4. Zach: I was thinking about when we used to go in the hot tub at Nanny and Poppa's old house. OH! And I remember Poppa sitting in the hot tub and you could see his fat belly sticking out of the water and I was swimming around. Huh. I haven't thought of that before until just this minute. Did they move that hot tub to the cabin? Where is it? Me: You have been to the cabin three times now and you just stayed there for a week, did you see it? Zach: No, I thought I just hadn't found it yet. Me: It stayed at the old house. You can't move a hot tub. Zach: Oh. They... SOLD THAT HOUSE???? Me: Oh. My.

5. Zach: One time, when I was at Nanny's, I was playing with Max (the cat) and he really likes me. He spits sometimes, but then he will sit on my lap. And he likes that new toy I made him with the string. Sometimes, when I was reading while I was at Nanny's, in the loft--you know in that bed up there? Max would come up the stairs and sit there waiting for me to go play with him. Max will miss me so much. He never even scratched me when he was spitting. He doesn't have front claws.

Glad to have you home where you belong, big guy.

On redemption

2009-07-27T20:23:00.006-04:00

Back home after a whirlwind trip to my in-laws cabin and to my sister's house. Zach needed to be picked up from a week spent with Nanny and Mike, so off I went with Tyson (he navigates from the backseat when he is not snoring).

The in-laws recently built a lovely cabin on some adjacent family property to the house where Dan grew up. There are stories on every corner of this land: from November deer hunts with Dan's dad, forts built by the 'crick' as it is called in these parts, a bear sighting by Dan and his brother, and numerous other exploits by boys too brave for their own good. Grandma & Grandpa's house was up the hill on another piece of land and Dan tells of days spent there away from his parents' prying eyes. His grandparents had plenty of farm animals and didn't miss an opportunity to feed their growing boys. What more could a boy want?

Dan's dad passed away several years ago and when his mom remarried, the dream was to build this cabin and sell the original house. As adult children, you wonder and worry and yell when a parent wants to remarry after the death of your father. Dan certainly did. Change is never easy especially when it involves emotional ties. But after this weekend, I will say that my worries about Mike, the step-dad, are subsiding. Okay, so yes, it's been years since they married, but the trust doesn't come easy when you loved your father (or father-in-law) so deeply. No one could take his place.

You see the other thing about Mike is that he has a past. Mike had screwed up his life before he met my mother-in-law. He'd divorced after several kids. He'd had an affair. He drank too much. He was in jail for something that I will probably never know. He does not have relationships with his adult kids. He had terrible anger issues. He smoked. He seemed to be a gold digger to a widow who didn't have any money. The trust would not come easy. It would need to be proven over time.

He immediately took to Zach when he married into the family. Zach was at an age where anyone was fun who would play with him and so they bonded. And of course, Zach does not know about Mike's past. As the years have gone by, their relationship has grown and developed. I asked Zach once if he felt Mike had taken the place of Poppa. He said no--his relationship with Mike was special. Just special, that's all. Last summer when Zach spent the week, the two of them camped in a tent out in the yard. Big fun. Last week, Mike called in sick to work so that he could spend an afternoon with Zach while he was staying with them for the week. He took Zach around to an enormous cattle ranch, a friend's farm and to McDonald's. Only the two of them. When I asked Mike why he had called into work, he said this..."Zach is growing up. He might not want to spend summers with us many more years from now. I wanted to hang out with him while I had the chance."

His words cut to my heart. Here is a man who does not have adult children visit him. Here is a man who tells his wife not to buy the other grandkids gifts for Christmas since he never sees them anyway. The grandkids don't know him and his children don't want them to have anything to do with him. Here is a man who has made huge mistakes in his life and who has one last shot at redemption. A boy who doesn't know Mike's past, accepts him for who is is now. Nothing more, nothing less.

Redemption is indeed a gift.

10 Things That Make Me Happy

2009-07-24T14:27:00.002-04:00

10 things that make me happy on a Friday:

1. Sunshine on my shoulder
2. Biggby Coffee
3. A massage at the chiropractor and the promise that we'll work to "get that back better"
4. That Dan wasn't hurt when his driver in China wrecked their car. Don't know extent of damage or circumstance but I am sure there is a story or two about the police station.
5. Going to pick up my boy Zach today. I might not recognize him. He may have grown a foot and his hair will be long and shaggy. He needed a haircut before he left, so now it must be all crazy!
6. My leather ring with the leather pink flower on it
7. Daughtry's new music which begs me to question...if I downloaded it from itunes is it still considered a CD? Or does that happen only when it is burned to a CD or you purchase it as a CD? Ah, the world of music in 2009.
8. The potential for an ice cream snack as I drive to pick up Zach. It might not happen, but it could. Wouldn't you like to know?
9. New books to read this week from the library: The Help by Kathryn Stockett and The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows.
10. My four nieces. I will get to see them on Sunday and hang out with them for 24 hours and embrace all their girlness. Love, love, love that.

Have a great weekend. Go get ice cream right now. You know you want to!

Our little Bubba

2009-07-23T21:56:00.008-04:00

Since all week it has been pretty much me and the dog around here, I thought it high time he make an appearance on the blog. Tyson is a Boxer and he is almost 12 years old. Yes, he is old. Yes, he is grey. And yes, he still acts like a toddler.

Tyson is the son of McKenzie who was our first dog. She died two years ago and I miss her every day. She was our first--baby or dog--and we spoiled her rotten. We were determined that she be a good dog and enrolled her in obedience school. And she failed twice. In the end, she was a good girl and obedient to the core. Her son, well, that apple fell far from that tree.

Okay, my husband would disagree with me because Tyson listens to him. Very well actually. He will give Dan the evil eye sometimes and heave a big sigh when told to stop or to do something, but he will do it. With me, when Dan is out of the house--even to walk to the mailbox--Tyson needs to share everything with me. LOUDLY. Dan says it is because I am a pushover, but I have tried. People, I have tried to use the firm voice or the Dog Whisperer Rules or any other pull-me-up-by-the-straps firmness that I can muster. He still barks at me.

I should rephrase. His barking is not random. He really is telling me something when he speaks. Here is the common theme,"I see the treats on top of the fridge. I know that you gave me one as you always do when you come home. But it is an hour later and I have slept on the couch and I have decided that I would like another." And so on, until he has decided that he wants my dinner or he wants to walk or he needs to go outside or he wants to lay on the deck in the sun. Did I mention he does this LOUDLY?

Don't get my wrong. This boy is my dog. And of course that is why he barks. Yes, I am indeed a pushover. Frankly, when he was a pup I was too tired to argue. He was born six months before my son and during Tyson's terrible puppy stage, I was learning the schedules of a newborn. Tyson probably had to speak loud to me in order to get my attention as I fed Zach and slept on the couch between feedings. No wonder he's like this.

He doesn't bark all the time though. The other thing he does quite well these days is sleep. Poor guy, I guess getting old bites. When he was a puppy and I was still pregnant, I was told to lay on my left side to reduce the swelling that I was beginning to show all over my big self. Guess where Tyson decided was the prime seat in the house? In the curve of my leg by my knee. It's still his comfort place to this day.

Crazy creature that he is, we wouldn't trade him for anything. In fact, knowing that this is probably our last year or so with him pains me. I can't think about it or I will cry. I never had a dog growing up and now I cannot imagine my life without that furry bundle of joy no matter how much he drives me crazy. He's been comfort when I was sad, kept me warm on many a cold Michigan night, made me belly laugh at some of his antics, and kept me company when I was lonely. Our little Bubba is my honey dog and I don't know what I would have done without him all these years.

What's that? Oh, I'm sure he wants another treat. Sorry he's so loud.

Hear ye! Hear ye! Schedule your mammogram today!

2009-07-22T19:47:00.006-04:00

Today was mammogram day for my second sixth month check-up. Yes that would be a one year check up officially, but that is what the doc called it--we're sticking to his story. I call this my "super duper" mammogram since I get the high-res scan at the shiny new hospital. (Sorry, but I am not gifted with the ability to retain technical terms. Tell me something with a long name and many consonants, and I will glaze over before you have finished speaking. Just so you know.)

Anyway, last year when my mom was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer, I immediately called my doctor for a little chat. It's funny how you go along with life, then someone in your immediate family is diagnosed with a disease and you immediately think it could show up in you the next day. No time like the present, though, and our lovely chat ended up with a mammogram scheduled. Excellent. Let the base line begin.

And wouldn't you know it, I got the call. Well, not THE call, but the one that says the regular mammogram was showing something that needed checking out with a super duper mammogram. Please refer to above paragraph for explanation of why this would happen. Remember the line about showing up the next day? You got it. Although I was highly suspicious of the machine that took the first scans since it looked like it was built before I was born. Sure, that was it.

Seriously, wouldn't it be ironic if I was diagnosed two weeks after my mom? And tragic? People would surely talk. And bring casseroles.

Not to make light of the situation, because I will say that those days waiting for the results of the super duper mammogram were intense. I am a highly imaginative little girl and I created scenarios that would chill you. My husband was worried. My girlfriends were worried. My sister was worried. We didn't tell my mom. And if you know her you are sworn to secrecy. In the end, the OTHER call came--the one with good news--and all was deemed clear. Good. Nothing to worry about. Whew.

So now I have six-month checkups that turn into yearly checkups on my super-duper-squash-me-ultra-mammogram machine. And that is what I did on my Wednesday.

Schedule yours today! I mean it. Go write it on your planner and call that doctor's office.

And I was thinking...you know those little stickers that they give you when you walk out of the voting place? "I Voted Today" they say. I think clinics and hospitals should give you stickers after a mammogram that say, "I Got Squashed Today."

You would certainly get attention.

De-fense! De-fense!

2009-07-21T21:06:00.004-04:00

I am a people person. Over the past three nights without my boys, this fact has been quite obvious. The silence around here is making me crazy. Oddly enough, when I was a child I was extremely shy and loved nothing more than coming home to recoup from being with people. Alone time was my favorite time of day. It's not that I didn't admire those that were outgoing and chatty because they were outrageously cool to me. Those that could perform on stage or skate at the Olympics or could be an actress were my heroes. But I never dreamed that I could be one of those people until the year that I was in seventh grade.

It was my first year at a new school and for the first time, I saw cheerleaders. Now in the early eighties at a small Christian high school, cheerleading was not the extreme sport that it has turned into today. I didn't have to do a flip or get tossed in the air by a hot guy. I only had to be brave enough to stand in front of a hundred fans on a good night and cheer for our boys at soccer and basketball. Without a doubt I wanted to be in that uniform. So I announced to my parents a few weeks before tryouts that I wanted to be a part of it.

I cannot imagine the shock my poor parents had. The girl who looked away if someone spoke to her? The girl who was oddly gangly and tall? The girl who could not speak above a whisper? Right. They encouraged me to try, but I can imagine many conversations behind closed doors about my obvious possibility of failure. In the end, I worked hard. I learned the cheers and the moves and found out that I could do the splits. I watched and listened. I made the junior high squad for Calumet Baptist High School.

And I found my voice.

I credit much to those many years of being a cheerleader (or yell leader as my mammaw always called it)...Confidence in myself and my abilities. Communicating to people during frustrating practices or leading a crowd in a cheer. Being part of a team and knowing that the bottom of the pyramid would fall without me. Supporting others with posters on lockers and excited talk before a game. Finding the humorous side of myself. Learning to tell a joke or telling a story to a crowd.

Sometimes, though, it is good to be alone. I have to remind myself of that. I cannot always have my boys around me nor do I constantly need to "be busy." I do need to stop and slow down. Often, I realize that I tend to use people as a crutch and don't allow myself that alone time. This week will be a good push for me to reflect, think and stir up my creative juices again. I can see already that is has stirred up the writer in me again. And I have some new project ideas buzzing around in my head. So, here's to possibilities for a wonderful week alone.

I promise to not talk to myself that much.

I miss the sound of your voice (with kudos to Matt Nathanson)

2009-07-20T20:55:00.006-04:00

A voice. The subtle nuances that define the one person in the world who knows you best. You wait to hear it from halfway around the world and it finally comes. Listening to it you can breathe again. A silly grin jumps across your face as you realize there is no delay in hearing him, his time is your time. It is as if he went to pick up a pizza or called on his way home from work.

There are a few differences: his Tuesday is your Monday. His day is your night. Bicycles buzz past him on a busy street. A family of four clings to a motorscooter and they somehow arrive at their destination in one piece. You hear the odd beeps of another place that exists beyond your imagination. Shouts and banging; birds singing at a new morning. He describes women washing their clothes in the river in front of him, up early with the dawn and facing a day that you know nothing about. Tonight you will put clothes in a washer and dryer. The hum will distract you while you watch a silly television show. There will be no manual labor. He is a window to another time, ancient in some ways yet modern in others.

There are more stories and laughter, but for now the voice is all you hear. A connection across thousands and thousands of miles, an ocean apart. He is yours. You are his.

Ruth Homer

2009-07-19T22:01:00.010-04:00

Today I had a blissful afternoon digging around antique shops in Mason, Michigan. My family does not enjoy this and was more than happy to let me enjoy it alone. It pleases me to see glassware and beautiful oak furniture, funny old signs and quirky figurines. I tend to gravitate towards books and postcards and jewelry, always on the watch for ancient Revell books since I work for that publisher. A surprise pops up every now and then that makes me laugh: an old orange Crockpot like my mom used for years with glass lid intact (hers broke), a pink metal trunk like the one that held my doll clothes, a Fisher Price plastic barn with the mooing door, pristine McDonalds and Burger King glasses with Star Wars or Strawberry Shortcake on them. I never buy these items, but they stir up the nostalgic heart in me.

One of the coolest items found this afternoon was a suede photo book with black construction paper pages on the inside. The cover was wrapped with a suede strap and had the name of the girl to whom it was given, Ruth Homer, burned on the front. The suede is a bit beat up and stained, but I had to have it. I have no idea whether this is an old prize or not, but it spoke to me.

I can imagine a young girl giggling with glee as she received this as a gift. Maybe her dad knew how to burn her name on it. Or maybe it was from a boy. Perhaps she learned how to do this as a craft project at camp, but yet it seems far too detailed for an inexperienced person to have completed. But wasn't it the best to have your name on something you owned? Since my name is highly unusual, I remember the pain of NOT having my name on something. HA.

I guess that's why Ruth Homer's little scrapbook spoke to me. She viewed it as too precious to mess up. It was difficult for her to paste pictures in this album because it would "ruin" it. I remember that feeling to well, being torn in your decision to keep something special because of your love for it. Today it was a great reminder to me to use the things that I love. They won't be ruined, only loved on. My friend recently hung a chandelier of her grandma's in her favorite place in her house, the sunroom. I use my antique tea cups to drink my tea or brew a pot in the Brown Betty that was Dan's grandma's. I wear Grandma Boydston's costume jewelry to work when I miss her.

We only have one life. Don't let that special scrapbook sit unused--fill it with the photos of your life. Drink tea from that cup. Use your grandpa's fishing pole. Write in the journal you were saving because it was pretty. Bring out your wedding china for your teenage son to eat on at dinner.

Use what you love. I think it will make your day.

On Love

2009-07-18T23:04:00.006-04:00

Kissing you goodbye, the tears stream down my face. I won't cry. I won't worry. I won't be overcome with the emptiness of you not here. Two weeks is significantly less time than a soldier going off to war is gone. The danger is not their danger. But flying to the other side of the world might as well be the moon. Or Flint, Michigan.

We have had to say goodbye so many times this year. I don't want to get used to it. In fact, tonight I am at a loss.

Over the next few weeks I will feel as if a part of me is missing. My arm. My leg. My heart. Brad Paisley has a song out now that says, I Loved You Then, speaking of the times along the way that we thought we loved that someone in our life. We thought love was profound and real, and then we are moved by our capacity to love more. We take love for granted. And then we are surprised by it all over again.

It's been over 17 years since I first fell for you. And I am surprised again by love.

Next time, I think I will stick with a can, thanks.

2009-07-15T18:45:00.008-04:00

After a blissful upgrade to first class from Denver to Grand Rapids, I thought my long day of travel would be full of great reading and a nap or two. Instead I became a soggy mess. Let me tell you the story...

I had settled in for a long flight. Library book (Heart and Soul by Maeve Binchy, if you would like to know) was on my lap and my Bose headphones were on while my iPod played some tunes. The businessman next to me had walked away to the bathroom. The flight attendant had asked me if I would like a drink. Ginger ale, thank you.

In first class, the middle arm rest is quite wide and allows a small area for drinks. My seatmate and I each had a glass and two cans resting there. The area was crowded and since I did not want to spill my drink, I decided to pull out the table from the other armrest. As I maneuvered it out with my right hand, I held my glass in the other. And that is when everything went horribly wrong. As the table moved to a flat position, the corner of it knocked the tip of my glass. The next thing I knew my lovely library book was filled with chunks of glass, ice and ginger ale that was beginning to run into my lap. Did I mention it was full?

Oddly enough, I never heard the glass shatter since my Bose headphones block out sound. It was as if a crash scene happened on TV without the volume up. One minute all was well, then smack. It wasn't. In reaction, I lifted the book up and when I did, all the ginger ale rolled onto my lap. I looked across the aisle at the other businessmen across from me. They were surprised as well, but did not move from their seat to give me a hand nor did they jump up to get a flight attendant. I was frantically looking around for help. I couldn't really stand up until someone took the book from me! I asked the men to get the flight attendant. And they looked back down at their reading material. Don't get me started on how I wanted to throw that glass at them.

Eventually the flight attendant and my seatmate arrived at my seat. The flight attendant grabbed the book and left to dump the glass. I got some thicker paper towels from her to soak up the ginger ale. My seatmate and I began to pick up pieces of glass from the floor, my seat, my clothes, his seat, etc. What a mess. To top it all off, my thumb was bleeding all over the place. After a quick bathroom cleanup, we put blankets on my seat and I got the joy of flying another hour or more with wet pants.

I looked as if my water had broke and I was about to give birth to a 7 lb 10 oz baby boy.

Next time, I think I will stick with a can, thanks.

Life

2009-07-01T21:20:00.004-04:00

It felt so good to blog last night. I am finding that the longer I take between making myself sit down and write, the more stuff pours out. Long post last night but I had fun remembering those bike rides. On Friday we will be visiting Dan's mom and step dad at their cabin. They don't have internet but I think that I shall take the laptop along. Sitting on that front porch looking out at the pond and fields might be quite inspiring. Although I have so many books now to read that I might end up shutting out the world with a few novels!

Zach is enjoying a summer free of the day care center. He's always gone to a summer program with field trips and adventures, but last summer he declared that he was too old. Dan and I didn't feel that it would be wise to let him be alone every day all week though, so we found a friend of his whose aunt lives next door. The aunt watches him two days, sometimes three, and he is a happy camper. He is pretty stunned that month one of the break is already complete. We have a week planned in July for him to spend at his Nanny's cabin, and he cannot wait. So cool for him to have that deep of a relationship with her and be able to swim in the pond and fish and do fun boy stuff. She will spoil him rotten and we are happy about it.

Dan is still working on contract at Eastman Outdoors. He seems to be very close with signing on full-time with them if we can get all the details worked out with the company for him to work from home. He would be in the office on the other side of the state twice per month for a few days. Even though they have not made the job official, he already has plane tickets for China at the end of the month! Who knew that my country boy would end up traveling overseas to a city of 17 million people! He will enjoy it I know as his adventuresome heart longs to try new things. Mine...does not. I like my house and these United States, thank you very much.

And so I will have some time to myself at the end of the month. Am planning lots of catching up on photoshop and photo saving. All that boring stuff that I have been putting off. A bug on my work computer scared me enough to make sure that my photos on my home computer get backed up soon. We have a separate hard drive but I need to burn them to disc. Gosh, I hate doing all that. Bores me to tears!!!

Worked hard at cleaning my desk off today before the long weekend. Feels good to have it done. Tomorrow will be cleaning out and filing a backlog of email and deleting a bunch of files on my harddrive. Again with the boring stuff, but I know that it will be good to get it over with.

Half day of work tomorrow--yippee!

I heart libraries

2009-06-30T19:07:00.048-04:00

I work at a publisher and I love libraries.

There, I've said it. Seems like an oxymoron for a woman who makes a living marketing books to the masses. But it's true.

Tonight I had to drop off a few books at that library that were in danger of being overdue. As I walked out--with two new books in tow that I happened to see on the express shelf--I let out a happy sigh. Oh, how I love the library.

As a girl, there was no place I'd rather be in the summer than the library. My parents didn't have much money, so obtaining books for an obsessive reader came either by donations from friends cleaning out shelves or by borrowing them. I don't exactly remember the first time I was allowed to ride to the library on my bike, but I do know that for years after I took liberty with that freedom. First on my banana seat bike and then on a larger one with a basket, that trip was my own little piece of heaven. The library had blessed air conditioning and since my house had none, I could get away from the stifling mugginess of Indiana summers with a 15 minute ride.

I lived in a subdivision that had sprung up in the early seventies with road after road of identical ranch houses. The long roads were connected by shorter ones that made a back and forth path for me to get to my destination. I liked to ride and spy on my neighborhood, wondering what certain houses looked like on the inside. I was never afraid nor did my parents worry for my safety. I would be okay. Nothing bad happened in the seventies to kids except perhaps poison in Halloween candy, but we checked those before eating. My rides were uneventful, yet big events.

I hated all the rules of my parents and church; the library was a place for me to be myself and be on my own. I discovered many writers during those visits: Catherine Marshall, Nancy Drew, Louisa May Alcott, Anna Sewell, Grace Livingston Hill, Marguerite Henry...such a variety! It was escapism at its best. Horse books and mysteries, romance and humor--I read it all. There was one summer in which I determined to read all the books in my section of the library. Don't know that I actually did it, but I started at A and kept going until school started.

Once I had grown up and had a baby, I determined that my boy Zach would experience libraries as I had as a child. When my husband would travel, Zach and I would go over to the itty bitty library by our house and pick out books. It became our own little tradition--a date night that was our sacred routine when we were on our own.

The library where I now live is not a big place, but it has character. There is an arch over the doorway with neat little windows. That archway desperately need sweeping since the cobwebs make it look haunted, but I guess it adds character. There are a few little side nooks throughout the building where a comfy chair has been placed to read. One such place is Zach's favorite. It looks as if it was a closet at one point, but now it is a sweet spot just big enough for a chair, table and lamp. A very tall, thin window is centered on the wall that looks out into the yard where a tree shades it in summer. A few years ago while waiting for swimming lessons to start, Zach and I would often stop at the library to wait and kill time. He still claims that corner he discovered as his own special place to read. An obsessive reader himself, Zach once told me that he didn't like going to the library. He only wanted new books. Why? I asked. Because the new books haven't been read by anyone else. He's a book snob at heart. Publishers of America love him.

To me, the fact that hundreds or thousands of people have read or will read the books that I handle, remains one of life's greatest mysteries to me. Where has that book been? The beach? Someone's backyard? To Europe in a carry on bag? Did that person love this novelist as much as me? As an adult, I now choose to escape with writers such as Anita Shreve, Adriana Trigiani, Maeve Binchy, Anne Rivers Siddons, Cecilia Ahern, or Elizabeth Berg. Often times a cookbook or craft book makes its way into my bag along with a few magazines for good measure. These books are loved on and don't have crisp papers or sharp jackets anymore. All have ugly plastic covers that crinkle when you crack open the spine. But with each and every stack that makes its way to my home, I feel the same thrill.

Potential. Adventure. Escape. Dreams.

Freedom.

To My Son

2009-06-02T20:19:00.004-04:00

Dear Zach,

Today is a milestone in your life, graduating from elementary school to make the big leap into middle school. This morning your dad and I will be seated in too hard metal seats as we watch you shake the Principal's hand and get a certificate that means much more than the paper it is printed on. You will strain and look for us among the sea of people and then flash that smile that I would know in a crowd of a thousand. And we will beam. And of course, I will take pictures. :-)

You came to us six weeks early on February 6, 1998. We weren't ready for you yet. Your room wasn't done and I didn't even have clothes to fit your tiny little preemie body. Your Aunt Tonya and Jammy had to shop and buy the only five preemie outfits that they could find at JCPenney. One was even a clearance outfit from Christmas. I look back at those pictures of us in those early days--Dad trying hard to hold onto you looking nervous, me with bloated face from the preeclampsia with HELLP syndrome that I had--and I can recall so many moments in great detail. I guess that I hadn't lost much sleep yet! McKenzie was a good little surrogate momma for you, pushing on your cradle and sticking her nose between the rails to get a good whiff of you. Tyson was a pup and only wanted to be let out about every ten minutes, beginning his life of driving me crazy, then batting those big brown eyes at me.

You were a gift. I remember laughter and giggles from a short, sturdy guy at two. The stubborn temper that you had as a tike and still continue to this day. How you loved and thrived on a schedule--we would have to warn you that something would be happening ten minutes prior or it would rock your world. The lines of Matchbox cars up and down the hall. The Lego builds that would engross first your three year old mind and continue still--the harder, the better. Sitting in front of Animal Planet and watching Steve Irwin and Jeff Corwin, learning every single detail of each animal and bug in the universe. You still know more about creatures than anyone I have ever met. Your temper that grew as you grew up--patient for awhile with someone, then WHAM-O, watch out! The caring spirit you have for animals and humans alike, worried about those that are upset or hurt. The random "I love you, mom" or "I love you, dad" yelled or stated from anywhere in the house or out on the town at any random moment of the day since you were teeny tiny. And the laughter, always the laughter that makes our world go 'round.

I remember when you walked into Lakes for the first day of K-5 and I will remember the day that you walk out of it. We are so proud of the little man that you are growing up to be. We've seen a maturing in you even over the last few months. You try not to cry when things upset you or you wait for bedtime to share your worries. And worry, you do. It's tough for you to control your imagination sometime--you are starting to sound like a few people I am related to! I know that you are trying hard to pray and think about what Jesus would want you to do. Dad and I can see those changes beginning in you.

Zach, Dad and I always have your back. We will support you and keep encouraging you the rest of your life. We want you to finesse your talents and abilities as you go through school, to discover things within you that we didn't find out about ourselves until we were older. We want you to find great friends that keep you moving in the right direction and that motivate you to be the best that you can be. More than anything we want you to mature and develop into a strong man of God and one that loves Jesus with all his heart. And when life gets too serious, we hope that you can always laugh in its face.

We love you Zachman. And we are so very proud of you.

Mom and Dad

Just Another Manic Monday

2009-06-01T22:01:00.004-04:00

Just another manic Monday
Wish it were Sunday
That's my fun day
My I don't have to run day
Just another manic Monday

Thanks to the Bangles, that song pretty much describes my day.

Before Dan left for Flushing this morning, I discovered that Tyson had bugs in his food dish. Several. He only had a small bit of food left in the bowl that he was eating. I glanced down while walking by, and something moved. Aack. Gag. Seriously gross. I do not do well with that sort of business and was gagging. My hero washed the bowl outside and then I scrubbed Tyson's whole food area down afterwards. Unfortunately, the rubber garbage can that we keep his food in, seems to have more in it. And we recently dumped the BIG bag from Costco in it. Okay, YEAH...enough about that...my stomach is starting to churn, too.

The day was back to back meetings with one conference call lasting an hour and a half. My email was full so I couldn't send anything out. I left late because I lost track of time and there is no one to start dinner but me. Then this evening, Zach found a 3 day old bird (we found pictures online of a similar bird) and my resident zookeeper wanted to save it. This bird only has fluff on it and was at least 20-30 feet away from any tree. Man, was that thing ugly, but it was so pathetic when it strained its beak apart like a hinge. Poor guy.

We ended up making a nest for it in a small pot then read that it was best to keep stray baby birds outside (Are you kidding? I wouldn't think of letting it in the house!). I convinced Zach that perhaps the mom will come back and feed it as the websites said. I also warned him that in most cases, these little guys won't make it. I haven't figured out what to do with it once we find it dead in the morning. Hmmm...

The beginning of a crazy week. Zach's fifth grade graduation is on Wednesday and Dan and I are volunteering at the park for their class field day. Half days, Dan out of town again, sales conference deadlines coming up--ah, stress. I even cried tonight reading Lakes Elementary's school newsletter. The back of it had the class supply lists for next fall's start of school. I realized that Zach had moved through all of those classes and I wouldn't be needing this one anymore. Moving on up to sixth grade with all its new challenges and growth. This week is starting out to be an emotional biggie for me.

As I sit here typing, the power flipped out. For the billionth time in the past few months, no less. Glad it popped back on, but I am sure the cable will have to be reset. I was going to work some tonight, but I think I need to go to bed and start the day over.

Here's to Tuesdays that are bright and shiny and new.

Inspiration

2009-05-24T09:27:00.003-04:00

This week went by in a flash. It wasn't necessarily that I was very productive nor did anything interesting. TV pretty much sucked up my time in the evening...had to watch American Idol and Dancing with the Stars finales. Zach had a project due this week--Famous People--so there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth when he uh, "realized" that he was not ready for the speech part of the day. Seems there were a few things last week that he should have brought home to prepare for this week. Crazy how that stuff just slips your mind! Ha.

Now Dan is home for the weekend and the sound of him puttering around the house makes me happy. Fixing my computer that had a virus, mowing the lawn, breaking apart two frozen pork roasts with his bare hands...you know, these are the reasons you need a MAN around the house. We had a great night out on the town Friday, celebrating our 17th wedding anniversary. It's always a good night when a date is involved since those seem to come few and far between. Grilled halibut with crab and asparagus made me do the happy dance. Mmmm...

During the day on Friday, Zach and I ran around doing errands. One involved taking back books to the library. It's a goal to not bring them in overdue and I did it this time! At any rate, I cannot walk in that place without finding something that I have been dying to read. And what do you know, it didn't fail me this week. The Gentle Art of Domesticity: Stitching, Baking, Nature, Art and the Comforts of Home by Jane Brocket nearly jumped off the shelf at me. Those of you who really know me probably are laughing extremely hard that this particular book would speak to me, but stop that. It did!

I saw this book at B&N weeks ago and loved the look of it. Beautiful color photos inside and the writer is a very popular blogger in England (http://www.yarnstorm.blogs.com/). I began reading yesterday and I cannot put it down. The writing is amazing. There is much about color and creativity and beauty, and the things you might expect about quilting and baking and knitting. Oh, and tea and family. This woman is very well educated and her writing style is so lovely to read. I cannot wait to get into her blog.

Here's a quote that I loved on inspiration: "Inspiration is inspiration, whether the end result is a painted masterpiece, a soul-searching sonnet, a richly colored homemade quilt or a batch of freshly baked scones. We shouldn't diminish our creativity by despising the results of our inspiration, but instead celebrate and exploit the wonderful feeling of elevated energy and the enthusiasm we experience when we feel inspired...Inspiration is the opposite of expiration, a drawing in, as opposed to a letting out. We can walk through life without seeing, without taking in the details, the words, the colors, the pictures, and miss the whole point of inspiration. Or, we can adopt an approach that allows us to stop a while and look and listen and reflect and enjoy. We can learn to sift through the mass of stimuli we encounter every day and to focus on what inspires us as individuals and, in doing so, create a way of seeing, a way of being receptive to inspiration. For the one thing that sets creative people apart is that they have all acquired the habit of being receptive to inspiration, actively seeking it or even simply recognizing it. Some may have to travel to the ends of the earth to find inspiration, others may find it hiding in libraries, at that tops of mountains, buried under the earth. But the domestic artist is in the glorious position of being able to find inspiration in daily, domestic life."

So cool. Love this book.

What I Should Have Said

2009-05-11T22:16:00.004-04:00

On Saturday, I nearly punched another woman.

Zach and I were so happy to have Dan home for the weekend. We'd had an eventful morning of drinking coffee, puttering around the house and even venturing out for the monthly Costco/Target run. And I had the brilliant idea of stopping off at Coldstone Creamery for a Mother's Day treat. YUM-O.

Upon arriving home, we began to unload the Explorer. I'd gone into the garage when I heard one of our neighbor's yell out at the end of the driveway. I had sticky meat packages in my hand, so I ran in quick to put them on the counter and wash off. As I walked back out to the road to say hi, she says this...Looks like you have the same belly issues I have! (pat, pat, pat) I was still not quite down the driveway so I said, what? Surely I didn't hear her correctly. And then she said it again!!! Yep, heard her right and yep, heard her laugh after she said it.

Dan continued to quickly walk back into the house (smart to stay out of that one!) and the neighbor's dog was yapping and I could see visions of this woman laying on the pavement...but I took a deep breath and ignored what she said. Then I mentioned something about the dog, and told her that I would see her later. And walked in the house FUMING.

Since when did women get the right to comment outright about another person's body shape. Have I seen this woman in 6 months? NO. Do we exercise together? NO. Do we even interact socially? About one bonfire per summer. Do I--at all--think that the two of us are anywhere near the same size? NO.

(deep breathing)

Knowing that I could not say anything back to her face without being unChristian and evil, I thought the next best thing would be to blog my feelings. It's always good to be public about your frustrations, right?

Here are 10 things that I wish I could have said:

1. At least I don't smoke.
2. At least my dog knows how to walk on a leash. That is the first time I have ever seen your dog on one. Didn't know that you had one!
3. You will always be at least ten years older than me.
4. You may be ten years older than me, but with all your wrinkles, you look twenty years older. I use face cream. It helps around the eye area.
5. Funny thing, maybe you haven't seen me but I have been exercising--running--past your house at least every other day for the past three weeks. I'm guessing that my little winter gut from these last few months will be gone long before yours.
6. Do you own a pair of tennis shoes?
7. Ever seen the movie, Mean Girls? Great one. Maybe you should watch it.
8. Note to self, when greeting a neighbor for the first time in over six months, it would be appropriate to at least say hello before picking them apart.
9. When picking someone apart, how about starting with the hair. Oh, no? Yours looks great? Hmmm...
10. Oh, are you pregnant? A little old for that, aren't you?

Why do stupid comments from people we don't even care about hurt so much? I couldn't pitch that one out of my head all night. I have gained weight over the winter. I was the exercise queen last summer and as soon as the fall hit, I stopped. I hibernated. Christmas was stressful and there were yummy goodies everywhere. Then Dan lost his job and I didn't really care what I ate or how often. So, yeah. I could lose some weight. But the point is...do we dare openly criticize someone for it? Wow. I had another friend mention to me over the winter that we were alike because we "caried our weight in our butts." Did I ASK for your opinion about my butt? Maybe I am sensitive because I have never weighed this much in my life, but good grief. Respect is respect. Let's support each other in the never ending battle of losing weight, not hurt each other.

Keep your opinion to yourself, sister. I'll ask for it if I want it.

On marriage

2009-05-07T20:09:00.008-04:00

Okay, so the story of the day is Kate Gosselin's interview on the Today Show. If you have not watched the clip, you can find it anywhere (today I don't feel like doing links--I know you are disappointed). I happened to catch the interview before taking Zach to school today and I couldn't stop thinking about it. The context for the interview was to promote Kate's new book, but of course Meredith could not avoid discussing the elephant in the room--Jon's alleged affair. Jon had pulled out of the interview at the last minute and issued a statement about the photos from US Weekly. Now video footage has appeared backing up the claim that he is cheating on Kate.

Why do we care? Because the show Jon & Kate plus 8 is the number one show on TLC right now. The whole world seems to care.

Anyway, she made a statement over and over again at the end of the interview. She said that the kids were the focus. They always were the focus. They would continue to be the focus. I wanted her to say...my marriage is my number one priority right now. I wanted her to say, Jon and I love each other and are committed to work through this. She did say that they were working on it privately, but a simple statement like that would have added to her support of their marriage.

A few years ago, Oprah had an author on her show who received backlash because she had stated in an essay that she loved her husband more than her children. I realize that Kate may not have been in the mindset to say that right now on national television. I am sure that she is very angry and embarrassed. But after all is said and done, those eight kids will leave the nest. Jon and Kate will look at each other and the silence will be deafening. Any of us who are married and have kids will feel this same emptiness. And I, for one, don't want to look at my husband and wonder who in the world he is and why we are together. I want our marriage to be the focus NOW so that later we can sit contentedly together and be happy to have loved each other.

Today I saw the cutest couple at the coffee shop. Probably mid-sixties, dressed in their golfing clothes, looking at their laptop together. They were sharing a drink and laughing and looking at pictures together. They were flirty and happy. And most obviously in love.

The picture above shows a couple that was on our ferry to Mackinac Island last summer. I could imagine them in their younger years but on the ferry, they were comfortable in the silence. I imagined him patting her hand, and the look of love in his eyes. They were beautiful. Just like the coffee shop couple. And just like I hope my marriage can continue to be.

I wish the same for Jon and Kate.

Smiling through the tears

2009-05-05T18:34:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a blistering torrent of problems, meetings to overcome problems, meetings to become aware of problems, and meetings about things beyond my control. I found out that I was a 'sporty red coupe' in one meeting, then crashed that beauty in another. And on top of it all, I missed my husband. We're beginning Week Three and I think the first day he is out of town, might become known as The Day to Get Through.

And on top of it all, I met J.

A friend had referred her to me because I scrapbooked. Of course, never denying a chance to talk photos and stories, I chatted with her about why she wanted to begin. Her answer dropped me to the ground. She wanted to scrapbook to remember her baby girl who passed away a year ago. Before that moment, I only knew her by sight and could not tell that behind that sweet smile was a woman in deep pain. Her baby had passed away at five weeks old after a freak accident involving another family member. She had not done anything with the photos since that moment but her sister had suggested she put together an album this week. Tomorrow would have been the baby's first birthday. We decided to meet today at lunch to look through her purchases and go through some of my albums and books to get her started.

Today J and I met at lunch. I showed her some simple ways to tell her baby's story suggesting that she celebrate her arrival and remember on page that her baby was incredibly loved. She has an older son and this book will be healing for him, too, and will serve as a wonderful memorial as he grows older. A fast formula concept that I suggested was to use a two-up album with simple, designed pages placed throughout where she could write the birth story, the details, how J decided on her name, who was waiting for her, and even some notes from family members sharing their love. Not knowing how many photos she had, I thought that it would give her plenty of space.

She was beaming the entire time and we got inspired through conversation. We are both mothers and could share our own versions of the births of our kids. We laughed about how neither one of us were planning on buying preemie clothes, but did out of necessity. Later as we started to pack away my stuff, I realized that there was a packet of photos sitting underneath some books.

Are these your photos? Yes, she said smiling.

As I opened the packet, I cried inside. Here was a stack of prints only about an inch high. The life of one tiny baby that fit in the palm of my hand. The pictures were too close and pixelated and blurry and there were far too few. One of baby and dad. One of baby and mom. One of baby and grandma. A bunch with big brother. I exclaimed over them as if I was holding that baby in my arms and could smell her newness. Look at her feet! I love that little tiny dress! Aren't babies funny when they make that face? I think she liked her brother alot. And look at him hug on her. Love that. I looked at her face and she was beaming again.

She didn't care that there was only a tiny stack. She had pictures to cherish her entire life. She didn't see the blurry shots or see the awkward angles. She saw her baby who has a name and a birthday. She could hear that cry and smell her newness and feel the softness of her cheek immediately after she was born.

I can't wait to see what she will create. And I know that no matter what, it will reflect her. She will have begun a different stage in her grieving and will have something tangible to hold in her hands. Documenting the stories of our lives, both bad and good, is important. Whether we have a camera that is from the dark ages or a slicked up 2009 model, it is vital that we record snippets of the day to day. We never can tell what lies around the corner.

I was listening to Christine Dente's Out of the Grey album today (yes, that is OLD!) and I heard this...

If I know you
You will turn this day
Into a perfect surprise.
If I know you
Like I know I do,
The worst of times
Will work out right

And I smiled.

Mother's Day Wishes

2009-05-02T20:13:00.001-04:00

One of the grand things about having a blog is that you can write out wish lists for others to see. I know my husband reads this blessed thing and will be rolling his eyes as he reads this. And so, the wish list might just stay as, well, wishes. Hmmm...you mean publicly saying that you want something does not guarantee that you will get it? Guess I will find out.

I thought I would start my first list for Mother's Day. I like to enable others and pass along important shopping information when I see it. Sort of like a personal shopper. These are the things that the little people or the big guys in our life might take the opportunity to purchase and give to us on that special day with shouts of love and exclamation for all the joy that we bring into their lives! *note to self: don't get carried away--remember husband reads this.

Okay, so my list would start with this: BOOKS. Sorry, I seem to have a thing for ALL CAPS today.

Anyway, here is one that I think could be a new fav, Perfectly Imperfect by Lee Woodruff. I read this excerpt online and immediately loved this book. If I could only write non-fiction like that--! I had already been captured by Lee's writing when I read, In an Instant, the story of her husband Bob's war injuries and how their family survived the ordeal. This one should be a good read, too.

Another book is Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life by Amy Krouse Rosenthal. I have already read this book, but have given and recommended it over and over. I want my own copy, dang it. I have a funny story of reading this on a delayed flight with Dave Lewis, my sales director, on my left and a stranger on my right. I was laughing out loud and sharing with them and in turn, our whole row began laughing out loud. THAT's how good that book is. I love happy books.

A cool gift for the scrapbooker is one of the monthly offerings from Jenni Bowlin or Studio Calico. Lots of fun goodies in the kit and plenty of inspiration. A great price for everything included, plus ideas galore on the site for what to make.

If you don't know how to use your Photoshop Elements very well, Jessica Sprague.com has the class for you. It's called Photo Editing and with video and assignments, sample photos to practice on, and great teaching techniques, Jessica Sprague will help you learn how to use that software quickly and efficiently. What's really, really cool is that once you have taken the class, you can go back to her site forever to refresh your memory or re-watch a video. Unlike a class that I took last year online. It was written on a blog and then she never would give us a full print out of the entire class for reference. Ever try going back to a blog to find out what you learned on day 6? Think about it...it would now be at the bottom of the blog...and what was it you wanted to find? I'm just saying. What a pain! Anyway, this class seems pretty cool. And it is 20% until Mother's Day.

Well there are a thousand things that I could post here...Target gift cards, iTunes gift cards, Starbucks gift cards. But what's the point?

My biggest Mother's Day Wish came true in 1998 when Mr. Zachary Daniel Bennett came into the world. I couldn't have this day without him. And for that I am forever grateful.

I hate digital cameras

2009-04-29T22:20:00.002-04:00

Yes, I really do.

I've been wondering lately who the wacko was that invented the darn things. I must ring him up and mention my pain and agony with his product. Obviously, he (I am sure it's a he) is laughing all the way to the bank as he has fully transformed an entire industry by making film cameras obsolete and pushing his invention to take its place. Oh, yeah, he is living large in a palace by the sea eating bon bons while the rest of us suffer.

Here's why I hate digital cameras. I am a right-brained creative type. I have no patience for technical stuff. No memory for learning the processes that have anything to do with computers. For heaven's sake, it's taken me three months of blogging to figure out how to do a link on a word and it was right in front of my eyes every time I logged on! Any type of thing where I need to have a system of organization is lost on me. I am visual. If I have seen it, I remember where it is if it is on my desk. It doesn't have a special name or a special folder, it has a location that is over on the right upper side of the desk or the left under that.

Herein lies the issue at hand. Digital photography was not made for right-brained creative types. Sure, we can take some amazing photos (and I do--really). Okay, let's be honest, we take thousands of amazing photos. In the olden days when there were no iphones or ipods or itunes, I would pull the cute little cartridge of film out of my camera after I had taken 24 pictures. I would take it to my local Target or put it in the mail and send to a place like Snapfish. I would know that in an hour or a day, my lovely photos would be printed and waiting for me. I could take them home, pour over them, slap them into my photo box for future scrapping and be so happy. No, they weren't always perfect and I missed some shots that I thought would be perfect, but there was only 24.

Did I mention that we take thousands of photos?

The number 24 is never spoken in these parts now unless Dan wants to watch the show and kicks me off of the good TV.

Now I have to do all the work. I only remember to upload when I turn the camera on and it is almost full. Of course, I am always somewhere very important and more pics need to be taken so I swap out for another memory card...which is almost full. When I return home, there is the choice of watching American Idol or uploading photos.

Hmmm...did I mention how great AI is? Should I do a link?! Okay, no.

Once I force myself in front of the computer, go to my photos, I start to scream. My filing system is not the way I want it and I can't find that particular picture that I took when Zach was 9 years old on vacation because everything is in weird files. I need to upload to Costo for prints, I need to burn CDs from my hard drive (yes, I do have two), I need to photoshop some pictures, I need to rename files...did I mention that I haven't uploaded the memory cards since after Christmas? Yeah. That, too.

I am so far behind that I do not want to sit down and begin work because it overwhelms me. Heck, I could care less about scrapbooking all of them--I am not one of those women--but I just crave a bit of organization in my photo life. Detail work is not my forte and makes me insane. And no, I do not have a Mac and I am sure that is the answer to all my problems. I have the books--Photo Freedom and have read Ali's blog and Cathy's blog and I know how others do it. But I cannot get these systems to work for me.

So that is why I hate digital cameras. Sure I feel like a professional with the amazing pictures I have. But I hate the rest of the work that comes along with that. No pain, no gain? Self-discipline? Do I have to?

It all makes me very grumpy.

Scared of the Dark

2009-04-27T10:27:00.005-04:00

After torrential rain on Saturday, Sunday's bit of rain seemed tame by comparison. As the afternoon wore on, the day turned into a lovely evening complete with blue skies and nice temps. And then the power went out. For the second week in a row, the house became silent for no apparent reason and candles became our only light source. This time though, Dan became the hero and hooked up the generator since Consumer's Power seemed to be keeping the future moment of repair a secret. Many others had the same idea and the street soon became alive with the rattle and roar of gasoline-powered machines. Lights began popping on one by one.

Zach was back and forth to his friends house checking on progress and helping Dan set up our power source. I was surprised when he breathlessly decided to come into the living room and sit with me. Grabbing the blanket on the couch he reported that he was scared. I thought one of his friends might have said something to begin this line of thinking, but it wasn't that. He didn't know what brought the feelings on but wondered if I felt the same. No buddy, not this time. We have food and water, a generator that works, lights that blow away the dark and we are all safe. He then proceeded to ask a million questions about electricity and how it all works--Zach's typical way of processing. Thankfully, Dan came in then and helped fill in the gaps (Uh, there were many!).

We never could get to the source of his fear so we let him sleep in his sleeping bag in our room (next to Dad's side of the bed) to help him feel better. Of course, 30 minutes after he went to bed, the power came on again...

This time, I wasn't afraid.

But I do remember a time though when I was very afraid. In 2001, as days went by after September 11, I felt fear in the pit of my gut. I had a toddler who did not know why he couldn't watch Blue's Clues on TV since his parents were glued to CNN for more details of the attacks. I remember shopping at the grocery store for non-perishable items to store in the pantry and stocking up on water. I think of the many meals where I barely touched my food because I was sinking into a depression. Visions of having to escape--something, but what?--out to the fields behind our house left me terrified (I am visual to a fault). I carried happiness around the house in order to be calm in front of my baby. Fear? Yeah, it was there. Fear of the unknown certainly was causing it, and I was in a desperate search to gain back control of my little world.

I felt that fear again this morning as I listened to a Dr. explain swine flu and the perceived epidemic that we could have soon. But this time, many years after 9/11, I think I am a bit stronger. I fought back against that gnawing at the pit of my stomach as I listened to the radio and I do it as I type. I don't want to give in to it. I refuse to let fear run my life as it does in others. There are people close to me that consistently let fear overtake them and then pass that along to others. They live in such dread that fun and living life and celebrating get squashed in the "what ifs."

As I told Zach last night, God is in control of each situation in our lives. He knew the minute that the power would turn back on. He knows every detail of our lives. He simply asks that we trust him. Trust that he is involved deeply in our lives and that his presence will sustain us when we doubt. And when we tremble. And when control is out of our reach.

Please, God, give me that faith every day.

Red Velvet Cake Hair

2009-04-23T22:14:00.002-04:00

During this season's American Idol, a girl named Allison Iraheta (okay, just figured out how to do a hyperlink--very exciting) has moved all the way up to the Top Five. She's only 16 and had the funkiest pink/red hair that you have every seen. One of our local deejay's, Todd Chance, calls her "Red Velvet Cake Hair Girl." It makes me laugh.

But it also got me thinking about food, of course. And I decided that I had never eaten Red Velvet Cake before. What a travesty! But then our fabulous friend, Oprah, published a recipe for Red Hot Velvet Cupcakes with Cinnamon Buttercream in the February 2009 issue of the magazine. It's from a new cookbook called Baked and there is a Brooklyn pastry shop of the same name.

I had to try it. We are having friends over tomorrow night to play Guitar Hero World Tour (I am sure that will bring some stories!) and so in honor of Red Velvet Cake Hair Girl, I've been baking the cupcakes tonight.

It's been puzzling though as to why the recipe calls for cider vinegar! This is not an easy recipe to be sure, lots of separate bowls and special things to do. And oh my--so full of fat. Come on people, it uses buttermilk and shortening and butter...YUM. I will make the icing on Friday since I ran out of butter tonight. Yeah. Good for weight loss.

Anyway, I needed to know about the cider vinegar thing, so I googled it and this terrific article on the cake's history came up from the New York Times (I'm getting good at the hyperlinks!). I guess something about the combination of cocoa with the vinegar causes it to go red, then it is supplemented with red food coloring. My recipe called for 2T but I ran out, and so it only got half of that. Oh, well, I don't like to use red food coloring anyway. But the cakes are amazing!

A lovely little treat for a fun night.

The Sound of Laughter

2009-04-22T13:24:00.007-04:00

As I walked outside for lunch today, I smiled at the sound of laughter from the school behind my office. The teacher had called the students inside and their voices filled the air.

Ah, recess in the spring. I was immediately transported back to my younger years and how I had loved those sweet moments outside and away from the classroom.

My elementary school belonged to a church and our playground was a parking lot. There was a swing set off to the side and someone would draw out several hopscotch and four-square areas with chalk. A small field was next to the parking lot on one side and there was always plenty of butterflies and bees flying around. That field was where I saw my first patch of lily-of-the-valley and smelled their wondrous scent. I looked for them every spring once I had discovered where they grew. On another side of the lot was the pastor's residence which had a deep green yard and a huge shade tree. The pastor had a dog--a gorgeous and good-tempered miniature collie who adored kids and stayed in the yard like a good boy with only cement parking blocks as a barrier.

I was a quiet and shy girl growing up (people probably won't believe me knowing how I act now!) but I would often keep to myself at recess. There was nothing better than sitting on those cement blocks under the tree and petting the dog while gazing at the pastor's house and on down the street. It was a tree-lined road with beautiful white houses from the fifties, all nice and tidy with those terrific green lawns. I would imagine myself living in one, dreaming about the mysteries behind the doors. I was always excited to see if the pastor's curtains on the side window were open and I could see inside. There was a round glass lamp in the window and in my mind, I decorated the whole room around that one piece.

On a good day, I would venture out to play with my friends. Candy was my best friend and we would make elaborate outlines of house on the ground with sticks and rocks. We would pretend many things in those rooms from meal prep to entertaining to decorating (I see a theme here). Exciting times until others wanted to join in or a stupid boy would wreck it.

As we got older, there were more dramatic moments of not getting picked for teams (over and over again, I would be last) or the discovery that boys were kind of cute. Many conversations on that black top were about Ponch and Jon from CHiPs, wondering what they were like and pretending they were our boyfriends. And there was always the jumping, jumping, jumping of hopscotch or the bounce of that red rubber ball at four-square.

One momentous day that I see very clearly 30 years later, is the time that one friend taught me the words and tune to "Let's Get Physical" by Olivia Newton John. We sang it out loud to practice and deep in our hearts we knew it was wrong. It was a rock song after all. Not until years later did I discover the true meaning of the song and why it was possibly wrong to sing it. A stunning moment. In my naive Christian school state...I had thought it was talking about exercising. It's true.

As the days warm up this spring, take a moment to drive by a school mid-morning and remember. There may be some great times from your past that come rushing back.

Happy Little Deer

2009-04-21T23:44:00.004-04:00

Every day while driving to work I have the potential to see creatures from the animal world. After all, we pretty much live in the country so we will happen upon deer grazing in a field or a crane flying low in the sky.

This morning, I rounded the corner...and what to my wondering eye should appear but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer! Okay, so I didn't see the sleigh but I can guarantee that I saw more than eight deer. How about 25 or so? Yep, as I drove I looked ahead and saw three deer poised near the road. I slowed down and realized that there were rows and rows of the things. All in a type of triangular pattern with one deer in the lead (roadrunner, I presume) and the rest fanning out behind--first three then six, etc. I slowed way down because heck--I am not stupid. That many deer would crush me should they be so stupid as to trot across the road. They decided not to go forward and instead all turned quietly around and threaded into the woods. No one was really hopping or leaping, just filtering through the trees and gone. Wow.

It reminded me that a few years ago on that same curve, I had a buck cross the road in front of me. Super wow. I slowed down to get a glimpse of him perhaps on the side of the road. As I stopped, I realized that he was STANDING RIGHT THERE. Gulp. We stared each other down eyeball to eyeball for a few minutes and then he jumped away. I had almost begun to sweat it out that he didn't like me and I would soon be on one of those "When Animals Attack" specials!

We often see deer in our own yard and they are truly gorgeous (the pics above are from my backyard). For awhile we had a one-legged deer that could actually bend down to eat even though she was missing her front leg. We've had twins and more than one very large group go through. I even saw a buck back there once, too. I might add that my husband has never seen one near us...it ticks him off. Ha!

2009-04-20T22:56:00.002-04:00

I recently discovered Kal Barteski's blog and art (http://lovelife.typepad.com/my_weblog/). I am in love. She is a mom of two and an amazing artist. I love her philosophy of life and the energy that she brings to her days. If you read her blog, you will see very quickly how every day has a plan. Every day has a goal.

I was frustrated at myself today for my lack of energy and motivation. It could have been because of the weather--I got a mini sunburn on Saturday and then today it turned very cold and rainy. It might snow tomorrow and Wednesday!

Today was also Dan's first day at his new contract job. He will be living in Flushing, Michigan for five days and then be home on the weekends--for 4-6 weeks. I am so proud of him, but know that this job might not be truly where his heart is leading him. He wants money coming in and this will help. It may work into a full-time job where he can work from home most of the time and for that opportunity, we are grateful.

It definitely made me feel melancholy today.

There is a lot that Zach and I will need to re-establish as we manuever this world of "just us" for awhile. Today in true Kal Barteski style, I wrote my To Do list for this evening. And I am proud to say that I did most of it! I even exercised inside on the eliptical machine--what a concept. :-) And blogging...and changing the sheets on my bed...and a load of laundry (got 2 done!)...and fixed the garage door (stuck on manual when we lost power overnight)...and fixed the internet that was down...and exercised. Oh, yeah, I mentioned that but I am very proud of myself. YAY!

And like a good mom with a pre-teen, I took away Zach's Nintendo DS when he kept telling me "no" for something. Gotta start out the week on the right foot and reminding him of the rules will help me stand my ground, making life smoother later. Sigh.

Okay, I didn't want to go to bed late on the first night of the week, but well, I am.

Tomorrow--new day, new mood. Go!

Things I learned about marketing from attending CBE

2009-03-21T17:23:00.003-04:00

The past few days I have been in Dallas, Texas for the Christian Book Expo. The first of its kind and perhaps the last. While it is probably not appropriate for me to blast this fiasco here, there are things to be learned from it on marketing and the importance of getting it right.

1) Target marketing works better than scattershot marketing. So many times I hear authors say their book is for everyone. Everyone? Really? Moms and young people? Pastors and old men? Sassy singles and business execs? Not a lot in common, those groups, so no--your book cannot possibly be for everyone. Similiarly, setting up a convention in the middle of a big city just because it's in the Bible Belt and has thousands upon thousands of people to draw from...doesn't make those people want to attend. But situating a convention in a suburb of that Bible Belt town, in a smaller venue with easy in/out access, and a smaller list of major authors might be a stronger draw. You can target the college down the street, provide incentives to people for bringing a friend, have video eblasts sent to the pastors of the local churches helping them understand the concept, promote on the radio, have speakers on local radio for the weeks prior to the event talking it up, etc. All local people interested in what is happening in their own community.

2) The venue is important. A group of people in a smaller venue makes a different impression than the same amount of people in a cavernous convention hall. Enough said.

3) It's all in the details. From the signage out front to the workshop organization to the time frame of the event, it all matters. We make impressions on the people we are marketing to by the way our ad looks compared to others in the same magazine. Is our copy punchy and to the point? Can we tell the selling points of two books by the same author? How will a consumer know why those two non-fiction books are different if their covers look similiar? Every part of our marketing needs to be sharp and competitive. If the consumer does not understand the mission or the description in a few seconds...there is no point.

4) Never assume. Don't be presumptuous enough to assume that the consumer wants to attend your event or wants to read your book or wants to watch your movie. Why would they when there is so much competition for their time? Make your product so appealing that they cannot pass it up. Think about the price. Think about the economy. Think about felt need. Think about every detail of the cover or package. If you start to assume, then I believe that you start to fail. You get lazy and you get careless and scrappy marketing becomes a thing of the past.

5) Even at a bad event, it is worth the trip to spend quality face-time with your authors. They love the attention and deserve it. In the end, make the best of bad situations and realize that they could be publishing elsewhere, but aren't. Keep your authors happy.

And so we come to the end of the things I have learned while attending CBE. I like learning from other people's mistakes instead of my own. :-)

Giving thanks when thanks is due

2009-03-19T18:49:00.003-04:00

I'm going to blatantly plagerize a friend of mine whose blog was titled this...Giving thanks when thanks is due. Not a new idea of course, but one that we often overlook. So I will give it a shot as these last few months have been hard and I have been wallowing in them.

My husband lost his beloved job. Now this wasn't any old job that people pick up in order to make ends meet. This was a job that he loved and could be described perhaps as a dream job. But it ended without a backwards glance and here we sit in the aftermath.

A friend's wife passed away who I spent lots of time with in my early married life. But now I wish I had known her better. I wish I had made time to call her in the past few years to hang out. I wish life hadn't gotten in the way.

The book industry that I adore is taking hits like every other industry. We have had to cut salaries and the office staff has takent to working in the warehouse every month to help out with overhead expenses. Marketing budgets are cut. It's losing it's sexy exterior and becoming another job sometimes. It's more important than ever to be creative and find new ways to promote, but it's hard. Risks are riskier these days.

My friend's idea was to bring back the gratefulness. To look at her life to see what she was grateful for and to make room for that in a consistent basis in her life. Perhaps it would change all of us if we stopped to that on a daily basis.

So here is my list for today:

1) My husband. Nothing makes my day better than to see his face when I walk in the door. I love it when he switches couches to sit right next to me and put his hand on my leg while we watch TV. I know that he is working so hard to find a job and I know that his perseverence will pay off. I love that he is the calm to my craziness. He consistently pursues me with a love that I can only hope to ever show him. He is my world.

2) My boy. Zach is a gift. There was a time when we didn't think we could have kids, then we did, but under such harrowing circumstances that we decided to not risk it again. He is truly and simply the second best thing that ever happened in my life. I love his wit and sense of humor (he does not get that from Dan--Ha!) and his sweet spirit and steadfastness. I can't wait to see what he does to make an impact on this world someday.

3) My sister. She calls and I always laugh. We think the same things at the same time. Then we say them in unison. I love her beautiful daughters with a passion that I never knew I would have for someone else's children. I want them to grow up to call me on the phone from college or from their own homes, just to chat. I love our differences and our shared experiences and our dreams.

4) The simple things. A cup of coffee at home now instead of Starbucks. Coupons. Free blogs. Magazine subscriptions. Mad Men on DVD. The sacred hour of Lost viewing with my hubby. Slow Saturday mornings of reading and lounging around in pj's. Cleaning out cabinets of long-ago lotion shopping splurges. An empty laundry basket. Laughing together. Dinner together at home around our table. Pride in how much money saved on a grocery trip.

All these things get lost in the business of our every day, but when one is forced to live life differently...these things again become important. I believe that I can feel changes in our family through this shared sense of loss. We are more empathetic to those in need. We hug tighter. We watch our words/anger/shouting simply stop before they begin. We are beginning to remember what is really important in life.

And for that I am truly grateful.

It's About Life

2009-01-17T10:23:00.002-05:00

I was going to post about something completely different this morning, but instead I need to write about life. I found out yesterday that a friend of mine, Ann Baker, had been involved in a very serious car accident. She is now in ICU with a head injury and all kinds of machines hooked up to her waiting through the first three days to see the extent of her trauma. I have worked with her husband, Dan, for probably over a decade now and he's become a great friend. They have two autistic children who require tons of extra special care.

Oddly enough, I had received Ann's (belated) Christmas card letter earlier this week in which she shared her journey over the last two years of dealing with the diagnosis of autism, depression, quitting her job and moving to a new house. But in the end, she had such joy. God had brought her through a season in which she learned to trust him more and learned to feel his presence in a new way. In fact the family photo enclosed was an imperfect one, but one that fully represents their life right now...Dan with a funny look on his face, Adam running out of the photo, Ingrid not looking at the camera and her nightgown askew, and Ann with her head thrown back laughing at it all.

That photo and letter had been on my mind all week even before news of her accident. How often in our lives do things shove their way in that we don't want and never asked for in life? What is our reaction? Do we take it all in and accept it or do we move through it kicking and screaming? In this case, I feel like kicking and screaming, but somehow I know that in the midst of those times in our lives, God understands.

I cannot stop thinking and praying of this precious family. I fully believe in the power of prayer and know that there are hundreds of people lifting Ann up before their God.

But it breaks my heart...

A young mom should be home with her babies and the love of her life. Not in a cold hospital room waiting for a miracle.

"Why do things always have to turn into a battle with you?"

2009-01-08T20:33:00.004-05:00

I remember these words coming out of my dad's mouth often in relationship to my sister and I as we were growing up. And now, I am wondering the same thing with my son.

It was an exciting day. We found out that Z was chosen to be in the spelling bee next Wednesday at school. He even got to call me from school to tell me at work. Such a big deal! And I made a big deal of it then and on the way home from school, asking how he was chosen, what he had to do on that day, wondering who else was on the team, etc. When we got home the conversation, I immediately turned to practice and how he would get prepared for next week. He said that he had already read parts of the spelling bee book when he was at his Before and After Care program at school and studied them. That he would study the whole book like that. I told him that when he works on his normal weekly spelling list, he writes them all out, and we usually ask them out loud. That he remembers them better that way. Simple statement.

And then a NO from him.

Let's try again. Z, you do better at your spelling words when you actually say them out loud and at the spelling bee that is how they will test you is to speak them. With your voice. Standing straight up and looking them in the eye. And yes, you will practice them out loud tonight and every night. We need to help you prepare for this and you may not do it all alone.

Another NO. And then a battle and long conversation about attitudes. Then I called a restart. I had him apologize to me (something my dad made me always do that I hated!HA!) and then I grabbed him by the hands and danced around his room, yelling and laughing and celebrating that he'd been chosen to be on the spelling bee. We talked about other things for awhile as he put away his clean clothes in his room and calmed down together.

Then we had the discussion again about practicing and doing your very best especially when you have been chosen for a specific job. That his team would be depending on him, etc. I made him (and me) talk as the ideal situation would have been when we arrived home and it went much smoother that time and later when we practiced words aloud, there was not one issue. And we had fun doing it.

Ah, the preteen years are upon us. The struggle to be independent and do it the way you want to do it, if only to be opposite of your parents viewpoint on a situation. I struggle so much with being the squawking, yelling mom when he gets in that mood because I want him to just listen to me. LISTEN, kiddo. Most of the time I am on his side and we really are saying the same thing, he just doesn't hear me. Oy.

He was agreeing that he needed to practice, and I was, too, but not in the same way. He heard me say that he was a failure, but I was saying that a different style of "training" would be necessary for this biggie. He was hearing that he wasn't good enough, when I was saying that he absolutely could do this, but that he was not perfect and still needed to practice.

I told him tonight that I was going to be hard on him for these kind of reactions, because I did not want us to begin habits of communication that follow him as a high schooler. But I also need to not let my perfectionist and firstborn tendencies push him, push him, push him. He wasn't ready for the conversation of how to prepare right when we got home from school (gosh, isn't that some kind of freak example from Dr. Leman's Firstborn Advantage?!)--I think he had only wanted to celebrate with me and be excited for awhile longer before I brought up the subject of work.

Deep sigh. Parenting is tough and I have a feeling that it won't be last time our personalities clash. I'm wondering more and more if it's because we are so alike...

Hmmm...nah, couldn't be!

In search of the perfect pair of jeans...

2009-01-03T18:18:00.002-05:00

Jeans. A simple word that evokes images of pure comfort, a lovely shade of blue and durability. Many women cringe at the thought of replacing that one pair that so perfectly fit your body (oh, be honest, they don't really fit the way that they should, but you like them enough). And in fact, the search for the pair of jeans for a woman is tough and often involves tears and throwing things in fitting rooms. Both Oprah and What Not to Wear have devoted entire shows to the process of what to look for and, of course, what not to put on your body type. But since I am short the $200 requiring me to find that perfect pair, they shall never touch my body.

The jeans that I speak of today, though, involve a certain young man who will be 11 in a month. This dude is anti-jeans and has been since he was three and announced to me (while screaming) that "they hurt me!!!!!") and refused to wear them since--it was the seams at the waist that bothered him. I would pay Dr. Leman to fix that.

Okay, I will admit that there are many things in life that we can coerce, force, bribe and uh, force, our children to do, but wearing jeans was a battle not to be won. And I have tried. Even if he would have worn them, after the age of three, finding jeans to fit that young skinny body of his was impossible anyway, so I do feel for the guy. It's been a life cluttered with the frustrations of long mall trips trying on several thousand pairs with the promise of ice cream afterwards, but ending in yelling and swearing (by mom). When the adjustable waist craze arrived, I was the first in line, but even with a slim--they would fall straight off his waist. Friends, I have gone through every brand in America...I SWEAR TO YOU...and there has been only one kind that finally fit my child that he would wear. Lands End. $20 per pair. Elastic waist slims, with ugly reinforced knees.

No, they are not going to win a fashion show, but they have been worn and I thought the battle had ended. Sigh of relief. Then, he got taller and skinnier and white socks came into my vision over the past month as he has gotten ready for school. Gosh, I never wanted a geeky kid. In fact, I always wanted a smartly dressed one that you see in the Pottery Barn Teen catalog that looks and acts like my Zach.

So off we went to the mall today with the goal of making Zach look cool. He was not happy about it one bit and slunk around between the racks, trying to ignore the fact that his mother was insistant that he find a real pair of jeans. In and out of the fitting room, he modeled each pair for me with a look of disgust. WHY OH WHY do the people who design clothing not understand that pre-pubescent boys have no waists and no butts???? Someone must think that they all wear "husky" as there were about 10 racks of those, but slims were hard to come by. Finally after about 15 pairs, we found four of them to take home. Two each of two different kinds, but they look cool and fit for the most part.

Now, the true test will be Monday morning as he gets ready for school...will they mysteriously not fit? Will they be worn all day and then be declared itchy and rub his side raw from the seams? Will I need to hire a seamstress to remake a pair of jeans from the top down to fit my boy?

I think maybe I shall become a clothing designer when I grow up. I could become a billionaire if I only knew how to sew...

Of New Year's Resolutions and food

2009-01-02T17:57:00.004-05:00

Okay, so my friend says that you must blog on the first day of the New Year, even if it's boring stuff. Well, I seemed to have missed the first day of the year with all the craziness at my house leftover from the night before. Kidding. New Year's Day brought Dan watching football and me escaping to Alpine to find the bargain love at Target, Marshall's and T.J.Maxx. But that little venture left me depressed as I realized that the weight that I had lost in the fall was back, with friends, I think.

And so, I proceeded to further feed my love of food by picking up a book on food to read last night...Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen by Julie Powell. I have had this for several years now--isn't that always the way with books? We are so excited to get them, and then we banish them to a bookshelf to wait for a brilliant discovery years later. Poor things. Anyway, the book is about this...Julie Powell's life was falling a bit out of control when she picked up her mother's copy of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking while visiting home. She decides to cook her way through the book, her husband tells her about this new thing called blogging...and the rest is history. She got a stinking publishing deal out of it--wow. Anyway, as I read Julie's entries, I realize several things: 1) aspic is disgusting, 2) I would have gotten bored after the first ten recipes, and 3) I will never attempt to take bone marrow out of a cow's leg.

That said, the book is humorous and has some great lines including this one:
"...That's what's so great about blogging--people, some of whom you've never met and know nothing about you, pay inordinate attention to you, and pretty soon you are convinced that you're clever or crazy or daring or cool or whatever it is you'd like to convince yourself you are. Which is also, of course, the downside of blogging. Because you probably aren't."

And speaking of food again...I go now to my New Year's Resolutions. Brilliant, isn't it that a total of 5 people read my blog and now will be able to hold me accountable to them? And one of them is my husband? Dan, you may stop reading now.

1. Stop eating. Okay, that's not a good start. How about this? Get back on the Bob Greene plan and eat more fiber, excercise every day, drink a blasted amount of water, eat those salad greens and stop snacking on all those sweets. Amen. Did I mention that I promise to exercise? Okay, we're good starting Monday.
2. Write more. As in, get off your butt and blog, woman! And from that shall come forth words upon words upon words that maybe could be used on other projects.
3. Quality time is important with Zach and Dan. Laugh together, play together, and hug them more times a day than you can count. With a certain 10 year old turning 11 in a month, remember that time's a fleeting. And for that matter, Dan is not getting any younger either. HA!
4. Get that Photoshop Elements book out and practice (because it's a really cool book and you paid good money for it). Besides continuing to take pictures as often as I can, figure out the camera more and then learn how to photoshop the end results to make them BETTER. Technical techniques are not my forte so this will take awhile to accomplish. Just guessing on that.
5. Be grateful. I do have so much in my life to be happy about, but yet I constantly forget to tell myself what they are. I have a Gratitude Book that I've been writing in and it's a nice way to mini-journal, but also to keep a running list. After reading that John and Kelly Travolta's son passed away today, I realize more and more how precious life is.

So, there. The second day of January and words upon words upon words have been written. Gotta love that. Here's to 2009...what can we dream it to be?

2008-12-30T08:16:00.003-05:00

I could hear the wind miles before it arrived, its powerful arms careened across the field towards the cabin. I kept thinking it would go away. I wanted it to be like all the rest that had been billowing across the field that night, hitting the house and then dying down. Some creaky walls and whistling through the windows perhaps, but not the kind of wind that has fear on its back. Not the kind that feels as if it will be bad before it gets to you. Not the kind that makes you and your husband sit up straight in bed and start scrambling. The noise was deafening and it was still coming towards us. They always say that tornadoes sound like freight trains and that is exactly the sound that I was hearing. Dan peaked out the window (although without his glasses I don't know what he was seeing) and then yelled at me to get Zach and go downstairs to the basement.

At 3:45 a.m. on the Sunday after Christmas, I was not very clear in my head. But I did recognize the word "downstairs" as the fear settled inside me and jumped out of bed. As I got up, I could feel that wind pushing that house. This is not any house--it's a brand new log cabin that my mother-in-law and her husband built with logs that are about 2 foot in diameter. This thing is solid, people. But the feeling in the room as I gathered up Zach and some blankets was energy and movement, really like nothing that I have ever felt before. As we stumbled down the stairs, the noise was louder and louder. I yelled at my mother-in-law as I passed her room that we should go to the basement and kept on moving. Zach was so calm. For being pulled out of sleep like that, he followed directions and blindly kept moving. We settled on a bed in the cold, darkness of the basement to wait.

After about five minutes, it died down enough for us to feel safe again and we tripped up stairs towards our beds. Zach and I didn't go all the way up to the loft, but stayed on the couch. He felt comfort there, halfway between safety and the roof, but wanted me with him for awhile. When he slept, I snuck back to my bed and listened to the wind. Sleep wouldn't come, of course, not when adrenline has rushed through your body. Oddly enough at times like these, songs are the first thing that pop into my head. As I shook a bit in fright as strong winds continue to pelt the walls, the chorus from Amy Grant's How Can We See that Far played over and over again...

But like your daddy said
The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay
And the same rain that drowns the rat will grow the hay
And the mighty wind that knocks us down
If we lean into it
Will drive our fears away

Okay, so I always thought it weird that Amy wrote a lyric with the word rat in it, but the rest is excellent for thinking about on a windy night. This year has been intense. I can't describe the fears that I have been shouldering as I watch my mom fight cancer. In fact, the weeks prior to Christmas weren't great for me. Anger has been welling up at odd times and I guess I am beginning to go through some of the stages of grief. Our dog had been gravely ill over Christmas and I thought we would have to put him down, but drugs were starting to kick in the last few days and he is okay for now. I am taking a pay cut at work, and watching the fear on the faces of those around me as we look at poor sales figures and ponder the economy.

That mighty wind is knocking me down.

But leaning into the wind gives such an image, doesn't it? Last summer as we took the ferry home from Wisconsin to Michigan, Zach and I went to the top to check out the view. The ferry was cruising in at such a speed that Zach could lean forward and that wind would bolster him up. He looked like he was flying with his arms stretched out at his side and his jacket swinging around him. There was a big smile on his face and his laughter was tossed around me. Such a difference than when he would turn around and the wind was at his back, pushing him onto the floor. Such power. Such force.

Amazing that when we turn and face that wind head on, we are not knocked down. We are held up by the arms of the one who can careen across the field and sound like a freight train, yet who can also wrap us up in love the split second that we collapse in trust.

I'm choosing that option. May it drive those fears away.

2008-11-03T22:35:00.003-05:00

Dear Diary,

So sorry I have not written. I have been very busy doing all the stuff that adults do such as trick-or-treating (I mean accompanying my son while he went trick-or-treating), wasting time online (there is this new thing called Twitter and Facebook), reading a book or two (yes, we still do that with actual books), and most of all playing the Guitar Hero game on the Wii (believe me, it's way better than Atari) with my husband. Oh, and my son.

You see, we recently purchased Guitar Hero World Tour. This involves a lead guitar, a bass guitar, a set of drums and a microphone. Much fun can be had by playing eighties rock songs and seventies hits and even a few nineties gems with fake instruments on a video game. Seems the days of Pacman and Tetris have morphed into something completely different in the year 2008. Funny thing is...my sense of competitiveness has grown with the purchase of this new game. My husband challenged me to move beyond "easy" level to "medium." And so I did. I am not a firstborn for nothing. Challenge me and I will take up on it in most cases. I double-dog-dare you.

I'm getting pretty good now if I do say so myself. My husband plays the darn thing more than I do and has already attempted the "hard" songs...show off. But I'm here for the Throw Down. He's gone for two weeks on and off this month and I will show him. I'm going to practice every night and master "Eye of the Tiger" or "Beat It."

It seems like only yesterday when I was dancing to "Eye of the Tiger" at a friend's slumber party and now...my son knows it? Weird. And Michael Jackson was too cool for words when I was in 7th grade. My friend even had the red leather zipper jacket. Maybe for effect, I should put on a marl knit sweater and leggings. It might put me in the mood to rock.

Well, I'd better lock this yellow diary up tonight. Don't want that husband to accidentally see what I've written. My secret's safe here, I think. I can't let him know my plan to take over Guitar Hero Universe...

See you tomorrow!
XOXOXOXOXO
Twila

As Alanis Morisette once said, Isn't it ironic?

2008-10-07T23:00:00.005-04:00

I recently stayed at the Gaylord Texan in Dallas. It's part of the chain of hotels that Gaylord owns, the original hotel residing in Nashville. These hotels are well known for their biosphere-like atriums that are the centerpiece of each location. Rooms go around the sides and the sun shines in through the glass to the plants and people below. They are all quite beautiful, but if you stay for several days they tend to make you feel as if you are a specimen under glass.

At any rate, this particular hotel has one bit of weirdness. There is a lovely restaurant near the creek that runs around the interior of the hotel. With tables outside and trees/flowers all around, it seems as if you are in a sweet cafe. The best stuff lies inside the restaurant where the enormous buffet becomes a sight to behold. In fact, it is the first buffet I've seen where a section (friends, this is a section!) is devoted solely to dips. Spinach dip, crab dip, veggie dip, cheese dip--well, hello. We might as well call it as it is--the "1,000-calorie-per-bite" section! Splendid.

It is, I had some.

Anyway, once you grab your caloric plate of food, you take your seat at the tables near the creek to enjoy din-din. But wait! And what to my wandering eyes should appear?

Oh. My.

The workout room. I do not lie to you. As you eat your hefty meal of cheese dip and beef stroganoff and pretend to eat a salad, you may look across the creek to the backsides of thirty people on treadmills. I am sure you are thinking that this is not as bad as it seems. But, oh, yes. It most definitely is. There happens to be floor-to-ceiling windows with which to view those thirty backsides as they jog their little legs off.

Eating at this restaurant with that view begins to make one feel pretty bad. And so you get more dip.

But it gets worse. If you are on that treadmill acting smug, thinking that you have really made a breakthrough because you have gotten your (overly large) butt into shorts and walked down to the workout room on vacation or a business trip, no less--think again. As you workout you have the priviledge of looking at the mirrors in front of you that reflect that darn BUFFET. So, you are delirious with pride that you are working out, but in your head you cannot stop thinking about the large beautiful chocolate cake on the end of the buffet. It screams at you. The smell fills the entire workout room. Women all around you begin moaning. One falls off the treadmill and passes out from her desire! And then reality hits you. You must walk past the entrance to the restaurant on the way back to your room.

Who plans these thing? Obviously someone with a wicked sense of humor.

A little square of love

2008-10-02T13:09:00.002-04:00

Getting away on a business trip always gives me time to think. Time to process events of the prior week, time to look out of a window at 30,000 feet and see what my life looks like. I know that during a normal week, I am most often running around like a chicken with his head cut-off only seeing two feet in front of my face. And, yes, sometimes making a face plant on the carpet when I fall over those two feet because I am going too fast.

Before I left the other night, I wrote on a bunch of little stickies and stuck them around the house. I told Zach to have a good day and to smile. I told Dan that I loved him. I reminded them to give Tyson his treats. I expressed love in the form of a 3" x 3" yellow piece of paper. As I talked to them last night about those notes, I thought later of how happy it made them.

Simple words on one of the most basic staples of life. It took five minutes of my time, but it made a huge difference in my relationship with the people I love most.

It reminded me of a story that a good friend Carol Kuykendall tells. Here husband was in serious condition from a brain tumor and a stroke in a hospital in Denver. There was a real possibility at the time that he would not make it. Her adult children rallied around them offering love and support. After they left her at home one night, she found little sticky notes stuck everywhere in her house. On mirrors, in the kitchen cabinet, on the fridge...all from her kids expressing their love and encouragement. You see, she did this for them when they were kids and they were paying it forward to her all these years later.

Telling someone that you love them is one of the most basic staples of life. They are simple but powerful words. They can change your life when you hear them for the first time. They can make the anger go away. They can break down a wall between people. They can cause peace.

Once those words are said, though, they stick.

I love you. Simple. Powerful. Don't miss the chance to say it.

Wasting time is truly an art

2008-09-28T23:20:00.004-04:00

I didn't realize how much having my husband around on the weekend keeps me moving and doing until these last two when he's been out of town. When he's around, wasting time or uh, relaxing, happens more in chunks of time rather than all day. Because there is stuff to do and places to go and things to get done. And most of the time, that's is a good thing. There is stuff to do and places to go and things to get done.

Last weekend without him here--I was busy cleaning, getting oodles and oodles of clothes together for Goodwill, mopping (I hate that), laundry, etc. But then I got done. This weekend, there was a few things to do, but nothing that took time. So for two days in a row, I stayed in my flannel pj's all morning and did not take a shower until noon. I felt like a rebellious college student. I slacked off and let Z play the wii waaay longer than he should have. We did get out for awhile on Saturday afternoon but only because I forced myself to get in the car and enjoy the sunshine for one more day before fall hits with a vengence. Today though, I couldn't get myself to leave the house.

See, as my husband knows best, I am a homebody.

Yes, the people at work might be surprised at that statement, since I am very social in their presence. Most of them would describe me as opinionated and loud. My laugh tends to carry out of my office and several times a week, people will shut the door to make me go away.

But, home is where my heart is. As a child I was painfully shy. I remember cringing when people would talk to me and never believing that I would be able to carry on an adult conversation. So even though the outside persona can now carry on with the best of them, my inside persona can't wait until I get in the car to drive home. To retreat and sit and reserve my opinions for another day. I guess there is still a bit of that little girl in me after all these years.

In a few weeks, we'll all be home at the same time on the weekend and I'm sure you'll find me around town, happily (or not) gallavanting around on errands with my husband and son in tow. There will be stuff to do and places to go and things to get done. But the day will end on the perfect note when I can finally sit at home with my tea in hand...wasting time.

Breathless

2008-09-27T10:17:00.005-04:00

Lately, I have been wanting to put things in order. Let's be clear, I am definitely not the neatest person in the world (it's that right-brained creative side of me) but I am also not the messiest. But the events of the last six months or more have sent me on a tailspin.

My mom was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer in April. Two key employees left my department within the space of four months which left me with only one other employee. My husband and I travel often. Sometimes he is gone for a few days one week, then I am gone the next. Back to back. All year long. I was involved in a small group every two weeks that I taught. Volunteering as the "room mom" for Zach's class left me party planning for every major holiday. For fourth graders. I don't DO that very well, I plan work events that don't involved cupcakes. I was also teaching a four-year old Sunday School class every other week. My desk at work became buried under piles of manuscripts and to do lists. The house seemed to have corners and dark closets that multiplied with stockpiles of stuff, like a squirrel getting ready for winter.

And it all began to leave me breathless. So, I stopped. Cold turkey. I *un*volunteered for the Sunday School class. I resigned from the small group leadership...and actually the group itself. I will only show up to Zach's class on party day to support him and help out as needed. But, thank God, I don't have to figure out the games anymore! In a frenzy, I cleaned the desk. People were pointing and looking at me as if I was some zoo creature they had never seen. I've organized more piles for Goodwill than I care to count and am cleaning parts of the house like a mad woman. I've taken time for myself and am rebuilding a wardrobe that I love. And I bought red shoes. At work, I've hired two wonderful women that, I swear, will change the world.

Sure, there are some things that won't change. My mom still has cancer, although she is much improved and there are very positive signs that the cancer is in a managed state. Dan and I still travel, but I am making plans for scheduling date nights on the calendar, even if it's for a month from now. Life is chaotic. There are responsibilities and bills to pay and hobbies we want to enjoy and guilt we face and pain that we don't understand. But in the whirling dervish of our lives, we need to find that center again. That core of who we are.

In the pulling back, we can refocus. We can remind ourselves that we are individuals with needs. That life is too short to ignore what matters most. That it's okay to make time to stop and play the wii with a son who is now ten and going to middle school next year. It's okay to dig out that passion for writing, dust it off and devote time to it. It's okay to sit with your husband on the couch during Monday Night Football and laugh at his antics, secretly enjoying the fact that you are perfect for each other. It's okay to put aside time to create for fun. It's okay to become crazily fixated on taking photos again for the art of it. It's okay to begin running because you feel amazing when you are done.

And it's more than okay to be able to pray with a freedom that comes from knowing that you have done what you needed to do. It feels so good.