Friday, August 3, 2012
Here--Five Minute Friday @thegypsymama
Here where the pine trees begin at the edge of the yard, I see green and I sigh. The birds tweet and the dog sniffs beside me. I am content in this place. The sky is blissfully blue above my head and I cannot see a cloud. I wonder.
Here is the place of my heart. It beats with the rythm of the three people who live here, the dogs (both former and current), the echos of the past that are around me. I feel it comfort me with a quiet that I long for when I am away.
Here I know that I am loved. I know that I am accepted. I know that whatever happens will be okay. Arms surround me in comfort for all that is past and yet the future is there, too. They speak my language.
Here are memories of a distant time with pieces of them sitting on shelves and in cupboards. I long for the realness of them. But they are glass and china and pretend. And yet, by seeing these glimpses of them, I know that they are Here.
Friday, July 30, 2010
My dad
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.
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.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
A Project Filled Weekend
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.
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.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
A little stab at fiction--what is happening here?
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Sweet boy
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Making my list and checking it twice
...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.
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.
Monday, January 11, 2010
There's a theme here and I don't like it
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.
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.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Mammaw Burnett's Snickerdoodles
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. :-)
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. :-)
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Renee Bondi
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
All About Me
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?
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?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sounds
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...
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...
Monday, October 12, 2009
Reasons for blogging (and they are not what you might think)
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!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
All I know to do is keep on walkin'
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.
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.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
A red mower
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Chatterbox
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.
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.
Monday, July 27, 2009
On redemption
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.
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.
Friday, July 24, 2009
10 Things That Make Me Happy
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!
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!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Our little Bubba
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.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Hear ye! Hear ye! Schedule your mammogram today!
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
De-fense! De-fense!
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.
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.
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