Life Scenes

Black Sheep Nativity

2012-01-15T15:29:00.000-08:00

Lily, our almost 3 yr old granddaughter, likes to put on a show for her family from time to time. So far it’s always been the same show, the biblical account of an angel visiting Mary to tell her she was going to give birth to God’s son, Joseph’s taking her to Bethlehem and the account of Jesus’ birth. Her parents had informed us that if she said “put on a show” this is what she meant, rather than something to watch on TV.

We kept Lily this weekend and she did indeed want to put on her show for us. We determined that performance time would be right before bedtime. Grandpa was to be the narrator and I would help with props and sound. As Director and Main Star, Lily took her roles very seriously. She directed me to go upstairs and get the wooden cradle, baby, and a blanket for her costume. When I came downstairs to put the cradle in place, she had just arranged a couch cushion on the floor which would be Mary’s bed and later also serve as donkey and manger. She came over to have me arrange her robe and when she was satisfied walked over to the cushion and lay down.

Grandpa began, “Mary was sleeping.” Mary shut her eyes tightly. “An Angel visited Mary and told her that she was highly favored of God and had been chosen to give birth to God’s Son, that his name would be called Jesus.” There was no movement, so Grandpa looked at me, and then said, “Mary woke up.” Instantly Mary was awake and sitting up. Grandpa continued, “Mary went to tell Joseph what had happened.” Lily walked over to Grandpa and said, “You be Joseph.” Joseph announced that he too had been visited by an angel, that he and Mary would be married, and that they were going to Bethlehem for the census. End of Act I.

Act II began with Mary astride the donkey and the Narrator instructing her to ride more animatedly, which she did. “Joseph and Mary made their way to Bethlehem, where they went to the inn to ask for a place to stay.” Grandpa stage whispered to Lily, “the inn is over by the window”. Mary moved to the window and Grandpa became the Innkeeper. “I am so sorry but there is no room at the inn. The best I can do is my stable, and you can have the cow’s hay for bedding.” Mary walked back to the cushion, now a stable, and prepared a place to stay.

Grandpa continued. “Mary and Joseph went to the stable with all the animals. And the baby was born and they named him Jesus as the angel had said.” Mary went over to the cradle and picked up her baby doll. “Mary was a very good mother, and she wrapped her baby in blankets carefully.” Apparently this information was to be part of the show. “That was the night a special star came out in the sky.” Another stage whisper instructing her to look up at the ceiling fan light, and she dutifully gazed up at the “star”.

“Over in the fields there were shepherds watching their sheep.” Mary was informed that the fields were over by the door. Then Grandpa had his brainstorm: “Duke is out there with the shepherds. Lily, wouldn’t Duke be a great sheep?” Before the props manager could utter a sound, she let Duke in and after he sniffed around a little he actually lay down in the vicinity of the stable. “And angels appeared to the shepherds telling of the good news, that this night a Savior was born. The shepherds said let us follow the star and go see this thing that has happened.”

And there was the little manger scene, complete with Mary in a long robe tending to her baby, a star shining overhead, and a 90 lb black “sheep” laying still by her side, looking perfectly composed, almost as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Our very own Black Sheep Nativity.

The Best Christmas Ever

2011-12-31T09:55:00.000-08:00

The house is quiet, but peacefully so. Rooms are slowly returning to their usual arrangements. The Christmas tree, decorations and china will be packed away in the coming days but for now they remain, visible reminders of last weekend when our house was full, our stomachs indulged and our hearts overflowing with love and gratitude to God.

I smile as I begin to corral from other rooms the toys and things that reside in the grandkids room. There is the Lego tray Tyler used when he played postman. That tray delivered custom designed Christmas cards to his parents, aunts and uncles, and his cousins – cousins who can’t yet read but who already understand family love and connection. I spy some curly ribbon on a chair, leftover from one of Reagan’s birthday presents. She enjoyed her Princess Pink-Pancake Birthday Brunch we had the morning after Christmas, and even let us set before her a 2^nd miniature birthday cake complete with lit candle so we could sing Happy Birthday to her again :) Huddled together on the floor by the couch are Spot and Snoopy. Lily loves all animals but especially dogs and along with her stuffed black lab they were carried around and loved on greatly while Lily was here. Emily’s beloved Bambi rests on a shelf in the grandkids room, head down as if he misses the children.

Traces of Emily and Molly testify to their delightful week long stay at Grandpa and Grandma’s. At 18 months one of Molly’s favorite toys was the basket of alphabet blocks. I find the colorful blocks casually tossed in the doll-sized red wagon, grouped near the books on the grandkids room floor, or perched precariously on Madeline’s head. The crib is still up; I’m not ready to put it away yet. Lying inside it right where Molly left her is church doll, who slept with Molly every night. Church doll looks a little cold, as she was immediately and efficiently stripped of her dress upon Molly’s arrival in bed the first night.

The red Christmas tray with Emily’s careful arrangement is still in the grandkids room; I can’t bear to disturb it yet. Emily loves the Nativity figures, and toward the end of her stay she asked if she could play with them. She gathered the various wooden and ceramic figurines and grabbed a cloth yellow star ornament from the tree along with all nativity scene ornaments. I watched as she carefully placed Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus in the manger. She grouped the animals off to the side with the shepherd (“Grandma, his shepherd’s stick comes out!”), and put the wisemen on the other side of the manger, still in their worshipful poses. She had several angels and they were arranged close to the manger, under the big yellow star which seemed to shine as brightly as the real one must have on that holy night so long ago. As she worked she sang her own version of the Christmas story, telling of the baby’s birth, how the animals gathered around and how the angels sang. Her child’s faith kept us ever mindful of Who we had all gathered to celebrate and what the Christmas season is all about (“Christmas is all about Jesus!”)

The little blue wooden table their mother used when she was a girl is still sitting in the living room next to the tree, right where we placed it for Emily and Molly to have lunch their last day here. The table has been cleared, but the chairs are pushed back expectantly as if waiting for the girls to come sit for their next meal. This too I want to leave in place just a little bit longer.

Moving on to the kitchen, there is very little left of the feast. Some savory slices of ham, a few delicious morsels of prime rib from the bones, a scant portion of Grandpa’s famous homemade au gratin potatoes. None of it will go to waste, and these too remind me of what a wonderful time we had together. I look around the dining room, remembering how beautifully Laura prepared the table, perfectly arranging the dishes and colored napkins in their gorgeous gold rings. I remember the talk and laughter of our children and grandchildren, passing steaming dishes around the table and asking for seconds and thirds of the meat and potatoes while still leaving room for sweet potato pie or Grandma’s Christmas cookies or a piece of Laura’s birthday cake. I can still see the little table, set at the foot of the dining table, where the oldest four grandchildren ate. Smiling, happy faces are still clear in my memory, and the warmth and camaraderie can still be felt in that room. The memories will still be sweet and fresh when I begin taking the Spode Christmas Tree china down and packing it away until next year. I’ll think about how glad I am that Laura loves the pattern as much as I do because one day it will all belong to her :)

Now it is New Year’s Eve. For me it’s no longer a time to go to parties and stay up past midnight; rather, it’s a time to sit quietly by the fire reflecting on how I’ve spent the time God gave me in 2011 and on all the things He has done for us, brought us through. Time to count my many blessings and thank the Lord for His gifts of life and time, marveling again at the wonder of knowing that every moment of every day of my life has been laid out for me before I was born (Psalm. 139). Best of all as a believer and Christ-follower of 37 years, no matter what the future holds I rest in the certainty my God is in control, unchanging and ever faithful, and I enjoy the freedom that can only come from being a humble servant of the living God.

It was indeed the best Christmas ever, and as I slowly let it go I’ll keep the memories and carry them into the New Year, full of hope and deep abiding joy.

The Girls are Back

2011-12-22T06:47:00.001-08:00

Squeals of delight. Arms outstretched wide as legs propel forward. Eyes shining with anticipation. And my granddaughters look that way too as we find each other at the airport! Is there anything more wonderful than being greeted by the cutest toddler in the world who smiles as she lifts her arms to be picked up and says “Ga-ma”?!

Emily, Molly and their beautiful mother are here for the week. The best Christmas gift ever, after Jesus Christ. What will we do while they are here? Well, we have to make a Target run of course – at least one – that’s a given. And a visit to the Austin Children’s Museum is a must. And have a visit from Aunt Lena, and Uncle Walter, and Aunt Tracy.

But we won’t spend the entire time driving in the car or in busy-ness. We’ll play a lot in the grandkids room – with Bambi, blocks, Noah and his animals, and lots and lots of books. We’ll chase up and down the stairs a million times and laugh every time we get to the top. We’ll make a gingerbread house, eat Grandma’s famous Christmas cookies, make some more cookies, play the piano, consider the presents under the tree, gaze at the lovely ornaments and lights, and walk by the inside Christmas dog Duke to hear him sing “Up on the housetop ho ho ho”. We’ll splash in the bath. Have wonderful dinners prepared by Grandpa and eat off matching Christmas dishes with special napkins. We’ll take some cookies to a few of Grandma’s friends and some neighbors. Their mother and I will watch a movie if we get the girls to bed in time, and spend every chance we get talking and sharing. We’ll hug and smooch and tickle a lot. We’ll have an occasional time out when little ones get cranky, but it won’t be needed often. We’ll read the Christmas story, and go to church together as a family on Christmas Eve. We’ll rearrange the figures on the nativity scenes set about in the living room, and talk about the wonder of the shepherds, the angels, and the wise men. We’ll pray, and thank God for our many, many blessings.

And if we are truly fortunate, we’ll nap :)

Turns out I DO have the camping gene

2011-11-06T12:31:00.000-08:00

I confess I wasn’t really looking forward to The RV Trip. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with family – I love that. But for me, prone to motion sickness and a complete lack of the ‘camping gene’, the idea of 6 hours in a large moving bus to go to a campground was not enticing. Even knowing how much my husband was looking forward to it, and how much fun he and his son would have jacking with every knob, lever, switch and handle on the unfamiliar rented vehicle the size of Delaware, and the lure of hiking in good weather (which I do enjoy) was not enough to overcome my reluctance.

My last RV experience was nearly 30 years ago. It too was across state lines, and the only significant memory I have of that trip was how nauseated I was and how sick I was for the entire trip. And there was the teeny tiny detail that neither Paul nor his son Chris had ever driven anything approaching 40’ long. Like I said, I’m not camper – my idea of camping is “which hotel are we staying in”. The only saving grace was that I’d be with kids and grandkids, so I decided to try not to worry about motion sickness.

We arrived in Plano Thursday night to the sight of a large RV in Chris’ cul-de-sac. An ear-splitting horn sounded as soon as we parked, and even in the rain Paul couldn’t wait to go check this thing out. I was happy with just taking our things to the room and getting ready for bed.

The next morning the RV looked bigger – much bigger than it had in the dark and in the rain. I began to feel hopeful about not being sick on this trip as we loaded up the food, gear and baggage. Tyler kept running in every few minutes saying, “We’re leaving in 15 minutes!” “We’re leaving in only 1 hour!” “We are leaving in 30 minutes!” Eventually we were all aboard and the leaving horn sounded. Dawn and the kids and I found places in the back while Captain Chris was in the driver’s seat with Grandpa riding shotgun.

Grandpa was in “jack with it” heaven. Seriously. He had a checklist and busied himself with checking all the latches, jacking with the window blinds, and scoping out the instrument panel. Took him a while to get into the navigator role, as we took our first wrong turn after only 30 minutes. But we got righted, and Grandpa continued with his checklist: “Generator - On! Inverter - On! Battery – oops!!” Those sounds along with other noises that can’t be described in this blog serenaded us in the back.

Meanwhile, behind the driver area we were having our own adventures. Dawn in particular had exceptional timing each time she went to the kitchen area to make a snack for the kids. Almost as if timed, as soon as she was at the counter opening or spreading or slicing she would get slung around from a sharp turn by the RV. I’d glance over to see her clinging to the counter for dear life, jelly caps and apple parts flying. But she was a great sport about it, and it was the source of some good laughs for us. We had a great sandwich lunch on the road and as we got close to the campsite Tyler and I played I Spy.

A gas stop was needed before we arrived so we picked a place with diesel and lumbered in. It took so long to fill up I was beginning to get worried we’d make it before nightfall. Later I realized a good chunk of that time was spent figuring out how to open the gas cap….

At the campsite we spotted our reserved site – a beautiful spot on the water with a great view. Captain and Navigator had quite the discussion about heading in v. backing in and finally decided to head in so that when we were inside we’d still have the great view. Carefully the RV was maneuvered into place, the jacks were lowered, and there we were with our gorgeous view. We had noticed that every other RV had backed into their spot, and soon it became clear why: the water and sewer hookups were on the other side. Fortunately one of our neighbors noticed our predicament and came to the rescue with an extra, long-enough hose. Now we were set.

It turns out DO have a camping gene! All it takes to activate it is the right amount of motion sickness pills and the most luxurious RV known to civilized man. In our case, the 35’ Discovery Fleetwood – 10 tons of fully automatic, fully equipped living space designed for comfort and ease. Once I realized I was not getting sick to my stomach, I could turn my attention to notice all the amenities. Plenty of seating for those of us not driving or navigating; fully stocked refrigerator and snack cabinets; 4 burner gas stove and microwave; coffee maker; working bathroom (including shower) while you were rolling down the road; built-in inverter so you can stay plugged in to charge and power cell phones, laptops, I pads, and whatever else needs power; ample storage space; and if you really want to relax you can go take a nap in the bedroom on the sleep number bed. Now this was camping even I could do!!

While we were camped in Lake Ouachita State Park we had many adventures. We took several hikes, some in the day time where we saw the beauty of God’s handiwork, and one at night guided by Laura the Park Ranger where we learned why owls aren’t afraid of skunks (they can’t smell them) and got to see and touch lots of animal pelts. One afternoon we had a boat excursion where we delighted in following two eagles trying to get duck for dinner – what a majestic sight that was! Our meals were fabulous – bacon, sausage, eggs and fruit in the morning with good coffee; barbecued chicken or burgers with all the fixings at night. Dinner was always followed by roasted marshmallows over the open campfire enjoying the cool night air and even the kids went to sleep easily after the day’s activities. For all our fishing we did catch one catfish, although it was too small to keep.

Sunday morning we had time for one last hike on the Dogwood Trail, then it was pack up and get ready to hit the road. We hadn’t been out on the street very long when we had to stop for something called a “dump stop”, which apparently involved disposing of our wastewater. I tried not to look or know what they were doing as I was already battling some motion sickness. I hadn’t considered the fact that leaving for the trip we started out on flat straight roads, for the most part, but coming home we started on winding, curving, hilly roads. But it was manageable, and fortunately I was able to read so a good book made the trip go by fast.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye to our kids and grandkids, and finish the trip with our last 4 hours on the road. Hugs and kisses all around, and as we drove off I was still marveling – I DO have the camping gene!!

Owl Visits

2011-09-28T17:41:00.000-07:00

They are in the trees by 8:15 p.m. It’s best if fresh water is in the birdbath before 8. But I’ve been late before, and as I walk out to the birdbath in the middle of the yard where with a full watering can of fresh water, the little gray screech owls watch me. Silently, but in an approving, patiently waiting way. I speak softly in sweet tones to them as they watch me dump out the dirty-bird water, rinse the bath and fill it with fresh, cool water, just waiting for them to enjoy

Almost always they come down for the first drink at 8:20 – you can set your clock by it.

They spend at least a minute looking on all sides before daring to dip their beak down into the water. They drink dipping their face straight down into the water, then curving their heads in an upward motion. So graceful and magnificent.

Completely quiet in flight, you won’t hear them coming. You have to be watching for them or you’ll miss them. However I have learned to discern the sound of their “screech”, a misnomer I think. It sounds more like a high pitched but soft and distant cat purr that dips into low notes before it ends. Almost imperceptible but once you know what to listen for you can catch it.

Most summers we are lucky to see one owl once or twice during the summer. But with the severe drought this year they have become regulars. Most nights there are two of them, but once we had three at a time and one evening we saw four of them perched on the edge of the birdbath. Amazing.

I think the two regulars are father and son. The big one loves to take a bath. After spending 4 or 5 minutes alternately drinking and watching, he’ll dip a foot farther into the bath. Then he glides into the center and before he’s done he will have completely immersed his head several times, his tail, his full wings and is delightful dripping when he flies up to the branch to dry and groom. At that point the little one lands or resumes drinking in earnest, but so far I’ve not seen him take a bath.

These silent, pretty, graceful creatures are fascinating to me. They captivate me with they way they watch their surroundings and are so quick to turn or react to sounds I can’t hear. The year I feel as if they are listening to me when I speak to them; I even saw one cock his head as I spoke while filling the bowl. I know they’ll be gone soon but in the meantime you can find me out on my back porch each evening by 8:15. Watching, and enjoying.

The Dress

2011-09-03T15:55:00.000-07:00

Lena found The Dress today! What fun it was to be there as she tried on various styles, culling down to what would become The Dress. I wouldn’t have traded that experience for anything.

I was so honored to be there with this “second daughter” of mine. I am not her biological mother, but in many ways our closeness couldn’t be more Mother & Daughter. She is also best friend to my daughter and the sister neither of them had. As a mom I have plenty of extra advice, comments, suggestions and in this case lots of ooohs and aaaahs, and Lena wanted to hear it all.

Lena is beautiful, very smart and knows what she wants, often to the point of stubbornness. But she is usually right. And when it comes to trying on wedding dresses, it is critical to know what you want or you’ll spend hours and hours just trying to decide on a style. She had decided on the simple but elegant approach – no poofy, no lace, no excessive beads or jewels, and good heavens don’t even think of putting a flower or fish netting anywhere near her! It had to be fitted not full, not traditional A-line, not too exposing of the bosom, the perfect white, and the perfect alignment of the bodice with that tiny, tiny waist.

On to the fitting room, where I fastened each dress and then retrieved it for the assistant to hang up. One hook for “possibles”, one for “no way will I wear that.” Several of the styles suited her, and there were two very nice ones that she was beginning to think she would have a hard time choosing between. And then she donned The Dress.

The Dress was gorgeous, elegantly flattering, the perfect cut and flow. The gathering beneath the bodice was worked to perfection, creating an illusion of an even smaller waist, gracing the hips perfectly letting the romantic chiffon panels flow down softly to the floor. As she stepped and turned, the panels slightly parted to reveal smooth satin underneath the outer material. She traded the single, flowered strap for two simple spaghetti straps and voila – the perfect dress for her destination beach wedding. You know it’s The Dress when you simply don’t want to take it off. Ever.

Lena is going to be a beautiful bride. And I will be there to see her say “I Do” in that gorgeous gown. Probably with a tissue to catch happy-tears.

Elevators, Parking Garages and Towers – oh my!

2011-08-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

I’m a city girl but not a Big City girl. I am intimidated by skyscrapers, tall towers, and elevators with more than 7 numbered buttons to push and parking garages. Actually, I detest parking garages – they are often illogical, not well-marked, can be dark and scary, and typically the only places I can park are at the extreme areas with the worst access and least climate control. Those nice, well-lit, close-in spaces are for the lofty folks who can park in “Reserved” or “Contract” without fear of the towing company.

Recently I visited our corporate office in another city. A city bigger than mine. Their offices are in a beautiful new space on the 11^th floor of one building of a four tower complex. Once you are inside their suite it is lovely, with beautiful views and all the amenities. But to get there you have to negotiate, tall towers, elevators with more than 7 buttons and parking garages.

When I arrived that morning I parked in a 2 hour visitor parking space. I knew I’d be there all day but at their former location the parking was ample and visitor spaces weren’t closely monitored. I exited my car and noticed what a looked like a grown-up hall monitor walking among the rows of parked cars, writing on a clipboard. I found my way to the elevators – thank goodness all the elevators in this building stop on floor 11.

During the morning I heard my co-workers discussing the new space, the move, and the parking and learned it might be wise to move my car. At a stopping point in training, I grabbed my keys and headed out to find long-term visitor parking.

Down the hall to the elevators, press 1. Exit that elevator into the building lobby, round the corner and exit into the parking garage area. Walk to my car. It’s easy when you are in 2 hour visitor parking.

I backed out, shifted into D and began reading the signs. “Exit”, “Retail Parking”, “Stop”, “Contract Parking” … ah, there it was “Long Term Parking on the Roof ↑”. On the roof? Geez, in this 108º weather surely it would not be exposed to direct sun. Round and round I drove, stopping, reading signs, wondering how there could be parking on the roof of a 30 story building. After a few minutes I was up on a level where I could see tops of trees and look down on buildings, and it seemed that the ceiling of this level of the garage had to be the roof. I found a space close to a stairwell and got out of the car, proud that I had found long term visitor parking. Spotting another ‘hall monitor’ I decided to confirm that, and I politely asked if this was indeed long term visitor parking. With a long-suffering look and no smile she replied, “Long term parking is on the roof. Just follow the signs.” Good grief.

Backing out the car again, I made sure not to run over the hall monitor and begin circling the levels again. A few minutes later I rounded a corner and saw the bright sunlight on two uncovered cement flats of parking spaces. Just outside the covered “Contract” parking was “Long Term Parking on the Roof ↑”. The cement slanted upward, walking distance to the closest stairwell was hard to calculate, and not a lick of shade in sight. Welcome to “Long Term Parking on the Roof ↑”.

Now that I was here, how the heck was I going to find my way back to the right building, much less the right elevator? I ended up back at the office by taking this route:

Stair 1 Level 4 stairs to Stair 1 Level 2 stairs

Walk all the way across parking garage to

Elevator 2 Bank D

Elevator 2 Bank D to Elevator 1 Bank D

Exit Elevator 1 Bank D in parking garage, find doors to enter building

Enter Elevator, Press 11

End up on 30^th Floor

When the doors opened onto the premier 30^th floor, a nice gentleman entered the elevator. Seeing that I was not getting off, he asked which floor I need. “I’m going to the 11^th floor,” I said confidently. He just smiled and asked if I was a visitor.

Needless to say I was not looking forward to the end of the day when I’d have to find my way back to car. The crazy thing was I could see my car from our breakroom on the 11^th floor. How could that be? I drove up and up and up, only to find later that I parked on the roof next to the 3^rd floor of the building??

At the end of the day I filled my water cup and headed bravely for the elevators. Enter elevator on floor 11, Press 1. The elevator immediately raced to the 28^th floor, where a nice lady got on with me. I confessed I was new to the building and not having the best experience with the elevators and parking. Immediately we were best friends – turns out she was a new employee to the building and was having the same frustration. I felt a little better.

Exit Elevator on Floor 1

Turn the corner, exit the building to parking garage

Take Elevator 1 Bank D to Elevator 2 Bank D

Exit Elevator 2 Bank D, walk across parking garage to

Stair 1 Level 2

Stair 1 Level 2 to Stair 1 Level 4

Exit on the highest level of “Long Term Parking on the Roof ↑”.

Walk down to car, open all doors and windows, remove sunshield, sweat profusely

To complete my parking experience, as I exited the roof level I couldn’t quite make the tight turn bounded by medians into the exit lane and so of course ran up onto the median. Put it in Reverse, back up, inch forward, back up, inch forward and barely make it through the space and merge into the flow of traffic exiting through the garage. Down all the levels, with only one wrong turn that required going into Reverse, and a few minutes later I was out onto the street. Freedom! Blue sky, marked pavement and regular street traffic never looked so good.

After the Grandkids Visit

2011-08-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Ramona sits on her shelf slumped sideways, one shoe half off, exhausted. The Peter Rabbit family rests quietly on their shelf, looking strangely expectant. Bambi, having been much loved as Emily's constant companion during her stay, is posed contentedly on the jungle shelf next to Baloo the Bear and Lion. The ring of alphabet blocks remains positioned on floor of the grandkids room as the center ring of Emily's circus. Mr. and Mrs. Noah and their animals are once again nestled in their wooden ark, marveling at their recent stint as circus performers.

The wooden wagon with its picture blocks that make a puzzle, Molly’s favorite toy while she was here, are right where she left them. All the books, replaced by Mommy and Uncle Walter on the last night, are tucked away neatly on their assigned shelves, looking quite pleased at how much they were read. A bright metallic sticker is stuck at child height on the wall at the top of the stairs; another is in the carpet just outside the grandkids room. Tubes of finger paint and some poster board lie unnoticed on the upstairs porch. Bubble wands tossed idly on the porch swing.

All the sippee cups and plastic plates are cleaned and put away; the booster chair is back in its storage spot. No more cheerios or goldfish to dodge on the floor, no more "haz-mat" diapers by "polecat", as Grandpa affectionately referred to Molly when she produced one of those. No more shape pancakes, no more icing birthday cakes together, no more baking cookies with lots of sprinkles. No more tea parties, no more train rides in the grandkids room for all the animals in baskets, chairs and boxes. No more block towers for Molly to knock over.

The house is quiet without that sweet toddler voice piping "tank u", without that little girl voice inquiring, "Grandma, have you seen Bambi?" or "Can you please pass me the scissors and glue?" The arts and crafts carefully made by Emily are stored in her crafts basket downstairs at the children's table. How many times was that table used by her mother for tea parties and crafts when she was that age?

Only Pete the Cat seems pleased that everyone is gone, and even he seems to look for them as he wanders the upstairs. There is a sweet sadness in the air, permeated by lingering joy and love and laughter. Oh how blessed are we to have such family love, to experience the full range of emotions God created in us, and to have faith that God willing we shall be together again soon.

Until then, I think I'll go downstairs and eat that last cookie with the blue sprinkles on it....

Reflections on Independence Day

2011-07-07T04:40:00.001-07:00

Three days ago we celebrated our nation’s 235^th Independence Day. July 4^th, a day of fireworks and picnics, a day or rest from our paid labor, and a day to recognize and remember the sacrifices of real people over 200 years ago that we might be free.

We are all blessed and very privileged to have been born in this great nation. We must never forget that our freedom and the liberty we enjoy were hard-won; they are not guaranteed and not to be taken for granted. The Founding Fathers (an amazing group of men, check them out if you never have) made it clear in their documents that our independence can remain secure only as long as We the People have a firm conviction that our liberties are a gift of God.

Did you know:

The Declaration of Independence is a one-time, one of a kind document?
The idea of a government getting its power from the consent of the governed, who are individuals with God-given not government-given rights, was new?
The Declaration states 4 clear references to our Creator God
The signers ranged in age from 27 to 70 years. They were businessmen, farmers, doctors, lawyers and preachers. Most were Protestant Christians, some with college degrees, some with military service.
Many of the signers had their homes and property destroyed because they declared their freedom.

Next time you are tempted to complain about that bad day at work or whine about how everything is going wrong lately, consider what it would feel like to come home to nothing – all burned to the ground viciously simply because you said you wanted to be free. I’m going to try to live a little more sacrificially in light of those great patriarchs. Not financially or water rationing for the yard – we are all doing that these days. But in time, giving more thought to how we got here and what I can do to stop the erosion of our freedoms by those who would make us dependent on government rather than its head. Putting my money where my mouth is. Writing articles as a citizen journalist. It’s not even a sacrifice compared to what those guys did. But it’s what I can do.

The New Tale of Peter Rabbit

2011-06-30T07:24:00.000-07:00

Lily spent last weekend with us. She’s 2 years old and a delightful child – easy going, extremely well-mannered, has a sweet loving spirit and is a great conversationalist. She is the grandchild of my husband’s only daughter which makes her even more special.

We had a delightful Saturday. After picking up Miss Lil right after breakfast we headed over to Target to check out the children’s clothes and shoes. We found some cute outfits and just the right pair of close-toed rubber soled shoes for our morning outing at Zilker Park. Such fun to take her on the Zilker Zephyr and ride the train through the park, looking down at the canoeists and dogs on Town Lake and enjoying the park musician who played guitar and harmonica at the same time, hat cocked sideways over his smiling face. I had wanted to feed the ducks, who used to always hang out by the canoes, but there were so many dogs I think they were in hiding. Lily was just as happy tossing our pieces of bread to the birds – the doves and pigeons became her new best friends. As they flocked around her on the ground she told Grandpa, “Look, they’re chewing the bread!” And she proudly announced there were so many there were “five birdies”!

Playing on the playground brought back memories of doing that with my children. It’s wonderful to bring out a mental photo album any time you want and enjoy special times from the past while living similar times. Only now I don’t have the time constraints of a young mother and I have Grandpa to help me carry and watch for danger. Sweet.

Leaving Zilker, it was on to Sandy’s for some good old fashioned burgers. They didn’t have a kid size burger so we got Lily a corn dog. She wasn’t sure what to do with it, but as soon as I showed her how to hold the stick, dip the dog in catsup and take a bite, she was all over it. Sans breading though - she wanted to get right to the meat of the matter.

After nap we decided to beat the heat by playing in the kiddie pool on the back porch. It got pretty crowded with Lily and Grandpa when Duke had to get in on the water play fun. But had no problem with that. A few plastic measuring cups, spoon and a funnel, keep the water hose running and you’ve got hours of 2 yr old entertainment. You don’t have to have a fancy pool or custom playscape in your backyard to have fun with kids, sometimes people forget that. What they want is you and your undivided attention; toys and things are a distant second on their list. Well, time, love and undivided attention are just what Grandpa and Grandma have. What a great day.

But wait, there’s more. At bedtime Lily likes Grandpa to read her a story while I get the pack n play set up (I can face one again, it’s been a month since The Rollaway Cart) and straighten up the grandkids room. She chose several books for him, but the one that had me rolling on the floor was The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Normally this is not a very funny story, but the way Grandpa read it that night was … vintage Grandpa.

Grandpa’s rendition of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Beatrix Potter’s classic story, was not exactly Uncle Remus style. It was more of a country, on-the-verge-of-redneck version – a twist only he could pull off. Here is what I recall of his tale – I can’t remember it word for word because I ended up laughing so hard it was difficult to concentrate. I don’t hear so well with laugh tears rolling down my cheeks.

As his story begins, Peter and his friends decide they want a new corvette. On the way to the car house [car house? Really?] they stop to eat some cabbage. They all get gas, and one of the rabbits gets some thing called the “squirts”. They continue their journey and make comments to each other about how bad they smell, with a lot of boy noises accompanying that dialogue. I don’t know how to type those sounds, just use your imagination. On the way they stop at Grandpa’s house to visit “old Duke” and get some barbeque, apparently the perfect food for little rabbits suffering from gas. They ate the barbeque and it was so good they never left and they all lived at Grandpa’s house with old Duke happily ever after.

Lily was riveted. Seriously. I couldn’t believe it, she never took her eyes off the pages as he turned them. She listened carefully as he read enthusiastically, with great style and fun voice inflections and only brief pauses to think of what to say next. Hey, this is the child who announced at supper that “Grandpa is a yummy, yummy cooker” and kept repeating “Thank you for this wonderful supper”. Of course she’s going to love his new version of Peter Rabbit.

Trouble is I’ll probably never be able to read her the real story; she’ll think I’ve got it wrong……

Family Reunion

2011-06-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

It is hard to describe how much I love my family. It’s a healthy love, not clannish or obligatory in any way; rather it is a connection so deep as to be unfathomable, and our desire to have gatherings regularly and spend time together has been there as long as I can remember.

My mom has often commented that we are fortunate to have what we have in our family, this bond that so many people do not have. The longer I’m alive the more I agree with her. As my sister said when we parted at our recent family reunion, how very blessed we all are! We want to keep up with what is going on in each other’s lives. We love our inside jokes and all the laughs that happen at our gatherings, we weep when one has a sorrow, we rejoice when there is an accomplishment or new grandchild, and we pray when there are concerns for we know that God is in control and He hears our prayers.

As the self-appointed family scribe for our annual reunions, I can testify to the endless supply of quick witticisms that dart between us. It’s so much fun, and usually so funny, that it is hard to keep up sometimes and hard to enjoy the last comment because the repartee is constant.

Like all families we are a blend of our past, present and future. Our ancestors on my mother’s side have been Texans for many generations, and as I like to say the blood and independent spirit of Texicans and American revolutionaries runs in our veins. There are professionals, college graduates, those established in their chosen trade or field, teachers, project managers, stay-at-home mothers, administrative workers, bankers, fireman, financial decision makers, pilots, those who have traveled abroad for work and for pleasure, business owners, purchasing and warehousing, high-tech managers, HR managers – and that’s just in my immediate family of parents, siblings and our children. As I write it I marvel again at the diverse paths our individual lives have taken yet the path we all return to is the one that starts with the umbilical cord. With the passage of time some of us have married, divorced, been widowed or remain single, and while our group is blessed with the spouses we have added our unity transcends marital status.

My heart is filled with gratitude that once again we were able and willing to gather for visiting and eating and swimming and boating and matching shirts and watching after the little ones, and we have all returned safely home to resume our daily lives. None of us knows what this coming year will bring, but we all know that, God willing, we will all be together again this time next year. And we look forward to it.

The Rollaway Cart

2011-06-15T05:14:00.000-07:00

As Emily would say, “Let me tell you about the rollaway cart!”

Recently my daughter and family moved into their first house. With the packing, moving, working, closing, Grandpa and I came to town for a few days to keep the girls. We arrived on Monday. We chose a nearby hotel with a suite so we could have kitchen, living room and a bedroom to put Molly down in a quiet place. It also served a hot breakfast & dinner, which was perfect for us with a 4 yr old and 1 yr old.

We checked in first to unload our baggage before picking up the girls and all the things that accompany little ones of that age group. When we picked them up, the trunk of the car quickly refilled with suitcases, pack-n-play, favorite dolls and stuffed animals, diaper bag, and blankets that are a must at nighttime. At the hotel, Emily became our official elevator button pusher: 3 for the floor to our room, 1 for the floor at mealtime and to get to the pool. There were lots of mini-adventures during the first 24 hours – Molly’s haz-mat diaper, going to breakfast with wrong way Mouse and wrong way Molly, and Grandpa taking Emily swimming – before Grandpa had to leave to get back to work. Dropping him off at the airport, I noticed both the girls were napping. It would be my last moments of quiet since I’d be keeping them by myself on our last hotel night. Back at the room we had a fun bubble-splash bath and we all slept soundly that night.

My plan was to check out the next morning and take them to their new home to get settled. That morning Emily & I read her favorite Bible stories, built pillow houses for Mouse and Rudolph while Molly busied herself trying to open every door, cabinet, and window without success. I began to corral our things for packing onto a bellman’s cart while they played. We had suitcase, pack-n-play, diaper bag, pillows, toys, gift bags – some ransacked & some saved for opening at the new house – and groceries. I loaded and re-loaded until everything was arranged and all I had left was the pack-n-play. Molly had a fresh diaper and a full bottle, Emily was busy helping “ride herd” on this 13 month toddler whom Grandpa had dubbed Wrong Way Molly. Every time you put her down she toddled off in exactly the wrong direction! Wrong Way Molly also has a thing for hiding her bottle – she has a knack for throwing it into drawers, corners, couch cushions – anywhere it will be difficult to find.

The girls followed me into the bedroom where I proceeded to collapse the pack-n-play. I have one at home and they are SO convenient, easy to put up and take down. At least mine is. This one was a bear. I re-read the directions and tried again, succeeding only in getting it halfway folded. It was getting close to check out time, the girls were getting hungry and I was getting quite frustrated. After a few minutes, Emily piped up: “Grandma, do you know what my mommy does when she’s frust-erated?” “No, Emily, tell me.” “She just tries and tries 100 times until she gets it. That’s what you have to do.” Indeed. I thanked her, calmed down and tried again. But time won out, and I ended up cramming the ¾ folded contraption unbagged on top of the luggage on our cart. It would have to do.

The next challenge was how to safely maneuver the loaded cart and Wrong Way Molly out the door, into the elevator, down to the ground floor and out to the car with only a 4 yr old to help me. But then, Emily is no average 4 yr old – she stepped up into a leadership role. While she held the heavy room door open, I held Molly firmly on one hip and with my free hand guided the cart out into the hallway, pocketing a room key at the last minute just in case I’d missed something. Emily was our line leader, steering the cart and singing the whole way as I pushed from behind. She pushed the elevator button, and when it opened I told her to wait in the hallway until I could position the cart inside the cab. She did, but it took me a long time to get the cart in. As I was just about to tell her to step in, the doors closed, leaving a stranded Emily in the hallway with her Grandma & sister inside the elevator! Thankfully I found the “open” button quickly. The doors opened and I could see on Emily’s face it was almost panic time. She ran in and got right by my side – that was too close a call. The thought of her left alone up there if I hadn’t been able to stop the elevator in time unnerved me. I clasped her hand tightly and when we arrived at the ground floor we managed to get the cart and us out all together.

Feeling relieved, we started down the hallway. Molly began to fuss and I reached for her bottle. It was not in her hand or the diaper bag. Yikes!! THAT was one item we had to have and quickly. Emily and I looked up and down the hallway but no bottle in sight. Slowly I realized she must have dropped it on the way or thrown it somewhere in the room.

Talk about a dilemma. I wasn’t about to make that trip up to the room again with the kids and cart, and I certainly wasn’t about to leave Emily with our cart to go look for the bottle. There was only 1 option. I said a prayer of protection for the cart, took Emily’s hand and said, “Let’s go find Molly’s bottle.” Emily was concerned about our things and what if they were gone when we got back. So was I, but we agreed God would have to take care of it.

Back down the hall, push the elevator button, back to the 3^rd floor, down the hall to Room 327. Thank you God for the room key in my pocket! We entered the room and began the search. After a frantic few minutes I spotted the bottle down in an empty brown shopping bag right where Molly had thrown it, probably while I was wrestling the pack-n-play, too busy to notice.

One final look around and then we were off – this time with bottle clutched in Molly’s hand. Down the hall, into the elevator, push the buttons, spilled out onto the 1^st floor and down that hall. Was the cart sill there? YES! Thank you God! As we started pushing an angel disguised as a building maintenance man rounded the corner and offered to help. We gladly accepted, and in moments we were safely outside. We thanked Mr. Martinez and I assessed the situation. My car was 4 spaces over from the ramp we’d have to use. It was almost noon on a hot June day and I was sweating already. I decided to have Emily stand by the cart at the sidewalk’s edge, and more importantly in the shade. I instructed her not to move, to stay by the cart and watch me as I deposited Molly in the car and moved it closer so we could load it. She assured me she wouldn’t move and I knew I could keep my eye on her. I left her holding a gift bag with brightly colored tissue stretching up out of the top.

I unlocked the car and started the AC. Then around to the back to secure Molly in her car seat. Back in the driver seat I adjusted the air vents and pressed “max”. With the car in reverse I turned to look over my right shoulder before backing out and did a double take as I saw our cart, packed to the gills, speeding across the parking lot by itself! Holy Hawks!! Where was Emily? What if she ran after it??

I rammed the gearshift into park, flung the door open and heard, “Grandma, Grandma!” I ran over to Emily, standing exactly where I’d left her, bag in hand, a totally bewildered expression on her face. “Emily, are you OK? Good girl for NOT running into the parking lot. What happened?” “Well, I was going to hang the bag on a hook on the cart but I never got to because the cart just rolled away!” Looking to the direction she was pointing, I saw our Rollaway Cart. Yes, that was definitely ours: 3 suitcases, pillows, a Cinderella sleeping bag, Bear & Mouse hanging on for dear life, bag of groceries, laptop bag, diaper bag, gift bags, & cpap bags hanging from hooks on the side topped off with Grandpa’s wet swim trunks spread over the top bars to dry. Totally a Beverly Hillbillies look. I looked back at Emily, waiting expectantly to see how I would react. She didn’t know if she should be scared, worried, laugh or prepare for rebuke. All of a sudden, I was done. Toast. The scare of Emily almost stranded alone on the 3^rd floor, anxiety over leaving the cart unattended, frantic search for Molly’s bottle, wrestling with the #$&(^$#)@ pack-n-play, and now the Rollaway Cart, stopped by a curb, openly displaying the guts of our hotel stay for all to see, but amazingly intact. I just lost it. I started to laugh. And I kept laughing, big belly laughs, hysterical double-you-over laughter that caused laugh-tears to roll down my cheeks. Emily started to laugh too.

So there we were. Laughing uncontrollably in a Hyatt hotel parking lot at high noon on a hot summer day with my baby granddaughter unattended in my car running with the AC full blast and door wide open, halfway backed out of the parking space, and our rollaway bellman cart illegally parked catty-wampus next to a curb in the middle of the hotel parking lot.

It was probably only a minute, but it seemed like forever before I could start to stop laughing. Actually, Emily and I are still laughing about the Rollaway Cart, but that day we were able to get it under control enough to pack the car and drive to their new house where Mom & Dad awaited their girls. Still chuckling, I gathered myself and got us back on track. Telling Emily to use the sidewalk to go to the car to check on Molly, I headed over to the Rollaway Cart and hauled it back to where Emily was faithfully waiting. Molly was happily drinking her milk, unaware of our hair-raising adventures. As I strapped Emily in we looked at each other and started laughing again. The entire rest of the day it went like that. We’d be going about our business and exchange a glance and start laughing all over again. At supper Emily said, “I’m still laughing about the Rollaway Cart!” so we told the story again to Mom and Dad. Weeks later, she came to visit me at work and as we lunched with co-workers she would say to each new person who entered the room, “Let me tell you about the Rollaway Cart……”

Anniversary Adventures – The Beach

2011-05-19T05:07:00.000-07:00

What is it about the beach and the sight of the endless ocean that has such an effect on me? The feel of soft dry sand under my feet or the cool wet sand as I stand amid the waves in their rhythmic quiet crashing all around me, their soothing sound washing over me. The contrast of the blues of the water with the lighter blue of the sky, and the wind blowing refreshingly over my skin. The warmth of the sun, the lack of a clock anywhere, the absolute freedom to just be. The specialness of a gorgeous new swimsuit (with the certainty that pictures of me in it will never, ever make it to Facebook).

We spent the last day of our trip at the beach. All of it. Paul convinced me that we could drive the Nissan on the beach, even though it was practically as low to the ground as a snake and is front wheel drive, and he was right. As long as you drive close to the water where the sand is packed you can go for miles. Of course, at times that presents a bit of an issue when other cars or people are parked right in your path. That happened to us one night earlier, and in our effort to go around we got stuck. Fortunately the beach was more populated that evening and within 30 seconds a couple of guys in an old beat up pickup stopped, handed us a shovel, and I got to drive on the beach – sort of – while my husband dug the car out. One of those experiences I don’t mind saying I had now that it is behind me, and a welcome reminder of how good it is to help strangers.

For this beach trip we drove to the last access point before the roads were completely blocked with sand dunes. We paid, were handed a plastic trash bag and told if we picked up some trash and brought it back upon exit we’d get half the fee returned. Cool, I’m an unlitterbug at heart, plus that would give Paul something to jack with as I sat relaxing.

I did do some sitting and relaxing, especially later in the day as the sun became more intense. But I found myself absolutely drawn to the hidden treasure of sea shells just waiting to be discovered. There were literally miles of them – the recent storms had washed up thousands on the shore. I have always loved sea shells, and each time I go to the beach I try to collect a few special ones. This trip I packed an entire 6-pack size cooler with them. I found tiny delicate ones, unbroken and perfectly formed with a small hole just the right size for stringing onto a necklace for a granddaughter. We found several large, grapefruit size shells, unbroken yet pitted by sand and water. There were a few unique shaped ones with colors that shone when you placed them under the water. Some were smooth, some had ridges. So many shades of blues, warm browns, tan and sand colors, bright white and a few in the pink family. I searched for hours, marveling at the selection and hoping to find that perfect conch. It is unusual to find one of those unbroken; I’ve only found one like that before, and this time all I saw were pieces that told me a few had been here, likely broken in the transfer from the deep to the surface.

Lunch was Leftovers with a Twist. Paul is especially good at this. Who knew you could take delicious fresh, caught-yesterday-and-prepared-by-a-gourmet chef trout with a side of garlic-creamed spinach and rice and use it as a dip for chips, Melba toast or rice cakes? And if you are my husband you top it with homemade queso, place some lettuce leaves on your plate for salad, a side of cheese and crackers, and voila, a fancy feast beachside. Delightful.

That was one of the most relaxing days I’ve had in years. Good mix of conversation and silence against the backdrop of that beautiful scene and pleasant sounds that only God’s nature can make. Time to beach comb, lie in the sun, rest in the shade, walk in the water, and reflect on the blessings God has poured out on me. In other decades I’ve had my share of tumultuous times; the thought of them enables me to fully savor the sweetness of times like these. Yes, we made some memories this trip, one that will always rank among “the best ever.”

Anniversary Adventures, Part 3 - Fishing Can Be Fun, Who Knew?

2011-05-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

My husband made it very clear when we first decided to go to S. Padre for this year’s anniversary trip that he wanted to go fishing – hopefully a day trip but minimum ½ day. That was fine with me, but then he said he wanted me to go with him. Fishing. On our anniversary. I love fish, but only eating it – I’m a city girl, not interested in trying to bait a hook or cast a line or heaven forbid clean it. But I felt it was the least I could do, go on a fishing trip with him if it would make him that happy. Especially since many of the things were doing were things I wanted to do. We agreed on ½ a day trip with a guide, and he would make all the arrangements.

On Day 3 he found the captain he wanted, finalized the trip and returned to the condo excitedly telling me all about Captain Cliff and how great it was going to be and how we got a great morning time slot and all we had to do was be there at 7:00 a.m. The Capt. would teach me everything I needed to know about how to fish. I’m not exactly a morning person but a promise is a promise. I dutifully set the alarm (one time during this vacation wouldn’t kill me) and the coffeepot for 6 the next morning.

It wasn’t the same as waking up naturally but it was doable. Plus there was less than zero need to fix hair or do makeup. We packed our cooler of water and snacks and arrived at the dock promptly at 7. Capt Cliff was there waiting for us, leaning against the door frame, no doubt sizing up ‘the wife’, remembering what he had been told about my complete lack of knowledge of all things fish and wondering what he had signed up for.

We walked out to the boat. I don’t know what I was expected but it wasn’t very big, or at least it didn’t seem that way to me. But once we went aboard, found our seats and settled in for the ride way out into the bay it was quite nice. The weather was perfect – cloudy, cool but not too windy and only a few other fishermen were out. Capt. Cliff is a very nice man with a calm voice, even temperament, decades of experience and plenty of patience. As I would discover, he also had the heart of a teacher which made all the difference for me.

He stopped the boat at the first spot and climbed down from his seat to show me the ropes. Capt. Cliff has four rules for fishing: 1) grip the rod securely with the reel stem between middle and ring finger, 2) position the line correctly, 3) open the bail, 4) always have both hands on the rod. I’m a rules and regulations kind of a gal, so I figured I could do this. I learned that there are actually techniques to fishing – things like stance, when to release the line, how to set the hook, how to free your hook from grass, and how to land both small and big fish.

As the morning progressed, I realized I was enjoying myself! My dad and brothers would never believe Paul got me to go fishing. I actually caught 3 fish, one of them a pretty decent size. Got my picture taken with the Capt. and The Fish – and the brothers who would definitely want to see proof. Capt. Cliff has a great sense of humor, and when he saw I was practicing what he taught he began to give me other ‘tips and tricks’ too. How to store your rod safely with the hook in just the right place while the boat was in motion or you weren’t using it. How to untangle a line that got crossed with another fisherman’s line (I had to use this one several times) and when to set the hook so your fish doesn’t get away. I had to learn that the smaller fish got pulled into the boat on the hook but the bigger ones have to be brought in with a net. When the net is used, you have to make sure to keep the fish under the water but not too close to the boat and definitely don’t let the fish go under the boat. That I could do because it meant I was the boss of that fish – bossy I can do :) Heck, he even loaned me a pair of polarized sunglasses so I could distinguish the different colors of the water and which areas make a good fishing hole.

The time really went by quickly, although towards the end of our 5 hour journey I was starting to feel muscles I hadn’t used recently from the casting and reeling in. When the trip was over and we arrived back at the dock, we had caught our limit – 10 beautiful speckled trout ‘in the box’ (that’s the technical fisherman term for ones that are big enough to keep as opposed to all the smaller ones you catch but have to release). But here’s the cool part: they clean them for you!! And bag them up too. Now THAT’s the kind of fishing I can do. I won’t say I’m chomping at the bit to go right back out for another fishing journey. But I must admit that fishing really can be fun – who knew??

Anniversary Adventure - Part 2, The Luxurious Life

2011-05-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

When we arrived last night, Paul went up first to open the front door and be ready to prepare me if necessary. As I slogged up the slippery steps, bags on each shoulder and hands full, he called out, “Honey, come in here, it’s really nice.” Hmmm, he didn’t sound like he was kidding, maybe we had lucked out with this place.

I dropped the bags on the porch and stepped inside. High ceilings, big rooms, perfectly selected Pottery Barn furniture, flat screen TV, completely equipped kitchen with lovely granite counter tops – and yes, a coffee maker with automatic timer. Separate living and eating areas, 2 baths, 2 bedrooms with comfy and pretty bedding in the master and closets stocked with beach accessories. Ah yes, the trip was shaping up quite nicely. THIS is my idea of a vacation.

We settled in then accessed email by phone looking for ‘Paul’s Survival Guide’ Becky had sent earlier, coming to the rescue with the only thing we managed to leave behind – all the intel about restaurants & recommendations. We chose Dirty Al’s for dinner on this arrival night; the shrimp and atmosphere did not disappoint :)

One of the best things about being on vacation is not waking up to the alarm clock. Day 2 dawned a bit hazy but with the promise of a gorgeous sunny day, and I slowly opened my eyes to the realization that I really was on vacation and I really didn’t have to go to work and I really could sleep as late as I wanted. I made it until 7:30 – what can I say, it’s my natural wake up time and as long as I’m rested it works for me.

One of the best things about ANY morning is waking to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Whoever invented the automatic timer on a coffee maker deserves a medal. After a leisurely cup we decided to make the one block walk to the beach and take a stroll, getting the lay of the land. As we walked across the sand to the peaceful sound of the ocean waves and the steady cool wind Paul quipped that he “loved long walks on the beach.” If he had a Facebook page I’d post that comment just to see the witty comebacks of his friends.

On our way back we spotted the Café on the Beach, a must on our list for breakfast. We sat at a table overlooking the water, savoring the eggs cooked to perfection, toast from a variety of breads, superb bacon, and just the right amount of fresh juicy fruit. I could feel myself starting to relax.

The one item I didn’t own to pack for the beach was The Right Hat. The Right Hat is very important: it must be a perfect fit with elastic to hold it securely against the wind; not too wide or floppy a brim or you’ll sail away in these winds like the flying nun; able to be folded without losing it’s shape; and of course pretty and stylish. To my delight Paul was quite happy to take me shopping for one, and as soon as we found it we planned to head to the beach for the afternoon. There aren’t that many shops on the island, but we hit almost every one. I found The Right Hat at Renee’s, the first store we went to, but was hoping to find a less expensive version elsewhere. I found gorgeous sundresses, fabulous swimsuits and sandals to die for, but no other hats like that one. When the shopping excursion ended, I sat happily in the car patting my big shopping bag with a new pair of sandals, a new swimsuit, new sundress, and The Right Hat. Paul’s wallet was much lighter and I was feeling extremely spoiled – just the way I like it :)

Our afternoon at the beach was so relaxing, and a reminder that married couples need to take time out just to be with each other and do things together for fun, strengthening the marital commitment in the process. Plus I got some good sun, which I really wanted to do. The people watching can’t be beat – we watched as one couple took turns burying each other in the sand, creating designs on top of the burial mound and taking pictures. The kicker was that the first one to be buried was the girl, who had apparently fallen fast asleep on the beach. We couldn’t figure out why she was so quiet and the guy kept smiling widely and laughing to himself as he arranged the sand on top of her. When his masterpiece was done he took a picture with his cell phone, partially dug her right arm out of the sand and yanked on it to wake her up, then raced out into the water. She was buried in up to her neck and it took her several minutes to dig herself out. When she did, she too raced into the water but with a different motive than his. Let’s just say that when they came back to their chairs on the sand, he submitted to her burying him in the sand, with his help, and she took her time to get him completely covered with an elaborate picture carved in the sand before she slowly got the camera, took several pictures and satisfied, smiled and sat down. To her credit, she did end up helping him to dig out, and he needed it.

Dinner at Gabriellas. Oh my, how can I describe it. A lovely old world style Italian place with the most attentive (but not too) wait staff you could wish for and food that is just out of this world. Paul had a seafood pasta dish, and I had fish with a delectable jalapeno-butter-oil-garlic sauce served on a light bed of spaghetti. A slice of Italian wedding cake to celebrate our anniversary completed the heavenly meal. Perfect end to a perfect day.

Anniversary Adventure - Part 1

2011-05-14T13:01:00.000-07:00

If you’ve seen the movie National Lampoon Vacation you’ll have an idea of how our trip began. With the perspective of a couple of days I can now call it an adventure, but I wasn’t in too forgiving a mood Thursday. After driving most of Wednesday night for the Surprise, I had planned to pack for the 6 day trip on Wednesday morning before we left. But first I had to blog about the Surprise since I was still enjoying the “after Surprise glow” the following morning.

As soon as I hit “save” and prepared for a final read-through, I heard a loud, thunderous boom and immediately the power went out. Thank God I’m in the habit of saving while I write. It had started to rain, for which we were very thankful – heck, I’ve been praying for rain for weeks now. The ending entry in my prayer journal for Wednesday was “we’ll drive in it all the way, Lord, just let it rain, rain, rain!!” God certainly seemed to enjoy answering that prayer on Thursday.

As the rain’s intensity increased it began blowing sideways. I realized all the things I still had on the upstairs back porch from Monday’s new carpet install were going to get soaked. Fragile and photo items were all in sealed plastic, but the furniture was just draped in sheets (it looked pretty Jed Clampitt out there). Since there was no light in the house I opened the doors and started hauling things in – so much for my plan to bring things in a little at a time, rearranging and organizing as I went.

When the power went out around 8:00 a.m. that morning, my husband had taken the Duke (of the famous Duke Disaster, see Blog in January) out for a walk before we left. They came back soaking wet, and reported that the power was out for blocks around – a transformer had gone out. It was going to be a while before we had power. We busted out the flashlights and began packing. I had gathered all the clothes already, it was just a matter of arranging them in suitcases. Apparently this would be a trip I would not embark on with my hair done or any makeup – I needed light to make that happen. I hated to start an anniversary trip looking like Ellie Mae on a bad hair day but I had no choice.

Suddenly the lights came on and fans roared back to life. Now I could get ready. I went to the bathroom to plug in the flat iron and pulled out the putty knife for my makeup. Then the power went off. Back to the bedroom to pack by flashlights. The next time the power brought the lights on I raced to the bathroom – the flat iron got a good 30 seconds of electricity, almost enough to do 2 sections of hair. Lovely. To heck with that, just finishing packing and go. I brought a packed bag downstairs and found my husband in the kitchen, packing what looked like leftovers into a very small cooler. When I asked what it was for he calmly stated that we would just have a snack lunch on the road and then eat out when we got to South Padre. Not exactly my idea of lunch on the first day of our anniversary trip with a 6 hour drive ahead of us.

As we pulled out of the driveway I had quite the attitude about the lunch situation. I figured we’d at least stop and get something on the way, but nooooo, his idea was for me to handle slimy lunch meat, processed cheese slices and oh by the way here is a bell pepper and pocket knife could you slice that up too? I didn’t know I was going to have to ‘cook’ on this trip. Too bad I hadn’t taken time to read my devotional that morning. When I read it later it spoke directly to my crappy, selfish attitude: don’t let petty grievances occupy emotional space, turn your energy to the challenges. Basically, ‘get over yourself’. Which I was able to do after a couple of hours of pouting and acting childish, while my husband wisely remained silent, knowing there would be calm after the brief storm. Good man.

It rained hard, cats and dogs and elephants and rhinoceroses hard, the entire 6 ½ hour drive. Like I said, God was truly enjoying bring answer to all the prayers for rain. Thankfully I didn’t have to drive, it’s so grueling to drive in rain that hard, looking for your exit in lunch hour traffic in a large city, then hoping you don’t miss your next one after 60 miles of gripping the steering wheel to avoid hydroplaning. It worked for me though, I had a captive audience so I read out loud, asked questions, and in general used up a lot of my words for that day. And we had lunchmeat-cheese-bell pepper roll ups to sustain us :)

At one point I had to stop for a restroom break, regardless of the pelting rain. We found one truck stop in Kingsville that still had power, and after taking the 4 steps to the entrance I was soaked. It was a good thing after all that I hadn’t spent time on hair or makeup, it would have been totally wasted. Back on the road for the last couple of hours. We gassed up in Port Isabel and I agreed to drive the last little bit of the trip. Which involved a long causeway bridge, invoking my fear of driving over long bridges. The experience was especially nerve racking given the high winds, driving rain, and other drivers who felt no need to go slow.

The nav system took us right to the front door of the rented condo, which we had never seen. The outside looked nice, but with the day we’d had who knew what awaited us inside. We had a good deal on the price, so I envisioned scratchy starched sheets, tiny kitchen table with matching metal chairs, and broken plumbing. Sure hope they at least had a coffee pot.

As we started unpacking the car and carrying bags up the stairs, it began to rain harder.

Surprise!

2011-05-12T08:46:00.000-07:00

My brother Shawn and I have always been close (except for when he was ages 11 – 16 and COMPLETELY annoying). As an adult he’s smart, witty, charming and handsome (just ask him) with a great sense of humor – a real ‘pull my finger’ kind of guy. He has lots of friends, is well-respected in his firefighting profession, and is beloved by his family. His wife Vicki knows the 1 or 2 flaws that I’m sure exist, but I don’t have to live with him so I can’t speak to those. He’s the perfect person to plan a surprise 50^th party for, IF you can pull if off. Which is exactly what our family did last night.

Our family’s tradition is to celebrate birthdays 2 or 3 times a year. We all gather to exchange cards and gifts for the giftees and enjoy the laughter and incomparable wit that is always present. We’ve never done a full blown he-doesn’t-have-a-clue surprise birthday party. We had a fabulous partial surprise weekend for my sister Marie’s 50^th, but she knew we were doing something to surprise her so it wasn’t the same. Since the fam was able to pull it off, I’ll go ahead and take credit for the idea. But a lone idea does not a successful surprise party make.

Originally I expected to be making one of my routine drives between our Dallas and Austin offices on Shawn’s birthday. Sometimes, if the timing is right and schedules allow, I’ll stop halfway in Waco and call Shawn to come meet me at George’s right off IH 35. I get a break from the traffic, we get a quick visit over a cold beverage, then I’m on my way. I thought I might be able to do that on his actual birthday day. Turned out I wouldn’t be making the trip that week. I already had my heart set on seeing him that day, I knew he didn’t have plans as they were leaving for a trip a couple days after and our family gathering wouldn’t be until the end of the month. It occurred to me we could possibly arrange a surprise party: it would be normal for me to call and ask for a visit as I passed through town and he knew our family wasn’t going to celebrate on the day.

Once the idea came into my head, I couldn’t shake it. I texted Vic to see what she thought and if it would work. She gave me the green light. Next, calls to mom, my sisters, all of our children, and some friends. We decided to try it and developed an elaborate plan. The local peeps would gather at George’s at a pre-arranged time, I’d call Shawn when I’m close to town ‘like usual’, then he would walk in and we would all yell surprise. True, the plan was original and quite brilliant.

The key of course was Shawn. He’s not exactly predictable, and things could change last minute. I began to lay the groundwork, trying subtly to ensure his attendance. During phone chats over the past couple of months I mentioned that I would be making some trips to the Dallas office in May and if one fell on his birthday day would he be available to meet me. He said he wouldn’t be at the station so that should work.

As the date got closer I got more and more excited. I could hardly believe we were really going to pull this off. A couple of days before the surprise I talked to mom Vic & sisters and everything was “Go”. The day of I told my boss I’d have to leave early and why, he thought it was great. Emailed Vic and asked if she thought Shawn suspected anything. She wrote back and said “he doesn’t have a clue.” Perfect – clueless was good. Marie and I exchanged a couple of phone calls – I had a small gift, we all had cards, Mom and Vicki were bringing balloons, Mom and Marie would get there early and secure some tables so we could set the stage. My co-workers went the extra mile and didn’t delay my leaving with questions or requests, they knew I was on a mission. All was going according to plan.

On the drive I kept talking about it to my husband, a captive audience. We were going to surprise old Shawnie, of all people! If I hadn’t been driving I would have rubbed my hands together in gleeful anticipation.

Twenty minutes from town I called Marie. All was set at George’s, people were on their way, it was raining – Thank God! – but everyone was still coming. I hung up and was going to make The Call when my phone rang. Shawn cell. I answered.

“Hey there, I was just going to call you. I’m about 20 minutes away I think.”

“Ok, where are you?”

Dang, where was I? I’d forgotten to figure out the appropriate town on the north side to answer his question and make the timing work. “Somewhere between Hillsboro and West, pretty close to West I think.”

“Well be careful. It’s raining here pretty hard, is it raining there?”

Geez, I had no clue what the weather was like in West, I was in Troy! God gave me a little help and right then it started sprinkling. “It just now started sprinkling, not raining hard here.”

“Really? Wow, the weather there looks worse than that so it must be coming your way. Listen, I’m over here at the Cryin’ Shame and I wondered if you might want to come over here. I’m already here, they bought me a brew for my birthday and it’s not far from the highway. But if you’d rather go on to George’s I can leave and meet you there in about 20 minutes.”

Aaack!!! We can’t change the venue – everyone’s already at George’s, appetizers ordered, Balloons tied on the chairs, tables positioned to be on the lookout – the Shame wasn’t gonna work. “Well, I guess I could, but George’s is so much more convenient for me. Would you mind just coming on over there?”

He said he would and we agreed to meet as planned. Whew, that was close. I called Marie and told her what had happened. We both gave sighs of relief at the close call, she updated me on who was there and who was on their way, and we hung up.

By now it was raining really hard. I had to slow down on the interstate just to make out the signs. But at least I’d managed to keep the Surprise alive, and that was all that mattered. Then the phone rang.

“Hey, it’s me again. Listen, it’s raining really hard now, and a friend just bought me another birthday drink, are you sure you won’t just join me over here? It’s really close to the interstate, I can tell you how to get here easy, and it’s not that far out of your way, really. I sure would appreciate it.”

Well great. Supposedly I was alone and on my way back home – any other time of course I’d be happy to meet where he wanted. It would be very suspicious if I did anything else, just wouldn’t be like me. So I put on a fake happy voice and said, “Ok, sure, that makes sense and it’s no problem at all.” I listened as he gave me specific directions on how to get there and then said I’d see him in a few.

I called Marie again. She said no way could they move everyone over there, logistics just wouldn’t work with all the moving parts and people still headed to George’s. She suggested I just go on over to the Shame, tell him what was up and get him to come over to George’s. I hated to be this close to the Surprise and not be able to pull it off, but maybe that was the only thing to do. At this point I had to go to the Shame. I told her to talk to Vic and Mom, figure out a plan and call me back. I looked up to see my exit and got off the interstate to get on Hwy 6, driving toward the Cryin’ Shame. And it was a cryin shame, I was so disappointed.

Phone rings again. This time it’s Vicki. “Look, we just can’t all go over to the Shame. We’ve staked out the best tables here, food is on the table, presents and balloons are ready, that’s not going to work. Why don’t you go to the Shame, tell Shawn you are hungry and really want the wings at George’s, get him to come over here?”

Hmm, I could try it, but there were lots of places around the Shame to eat and besides, I wouldn’t know a George’s wing if it flew in my face and Shawn knew it. I told Vicki as much. “How about this”, I said. “Call Shawn, tell him you’ve talked to me, asked me what I wanted to eat and you’ve already ordered it? Or something – I just don’t know what will work to get him to move.”

She said she’d call him and call me back. Geez, this was getting not only ridiculous but now the Surprise was on me! Dang brother.

Phone rings again. Vicki. “It’s all set. He’s on his way to George’s.” You’d better change course and get here as fast as you can.”

“What in the world did you tell him??”

“I told him I was already here, that I’d ordered my food and yours, and he needed to just get over here!”

Ah, the power of a wife :) Perfect. Only she could make that happen. Great, the Surprise was on again!

I looked up to see the exit for the road I needed to take to change course again and get to George’s hopefully before Shawn did. I jerked the car to the right just in time, barely making the exit and hoping I was in the correct lane – it was raining so hard I couldn’t tell for sure.

Down Waco drive, over to Valley Mills – dang these traffic lights! Speight, Speight, where was that …. Ah, there it is. Left at the light on Speight, then only a few blocks to George’s.

There was a parking spot in the front – thank you once again, Lord. We walked in and were met by my niece Melissa. As we made our way to the back of the restaurant I saw them – it was Perfect!!! The perfect location, by the windows where we could see when he pulled in, enough chairs with wonderful balloons tied to them, and our waitress Jennifer had just the right personality for our group. We were doing it – the Surprise really was going to happen after all!

After the drive from Austin I was ready for a visit to the ladies room, but didn’t dare miss Shawn’s entrance. I hugged everyone: Vicki – “thanks for saving the day, girl!”, Marie – “you picked the perfect spot”, Mom – “the balloons look great!”, pretty nieces Melissa and Mindy, and nephew-to-be Chase, friends. Paul found us places to sit and I looked out the window. Any minute he would be here, and I was going to have my Surprise :)

Sure enough, in about 3 minutes we saw his gorgeous new Chevy truck pull in, looking for a parking space. We waited for what seemed like hours, then I spotted his hat coming in the door. He walked inside, and went straight to the mens room. Great – HE got a potty break but I didn’t. Not fair.

Waiting, waiting, waiting. Another decade passed. Then I saw his hat again, and Marie said “You’re on – go get him!” I met him at the doors to the room, gave him a big hug. “Were you coming or going?” he asked. “I saw your hat so I was coming to meet you. Do you have a favorite table?” I replied. He looked at me kinda funny. In my excitement, I had completely forgotten the entire near miss – of course, Vicki had already told him we had a table and our food was ordered! Ooops.

“Oh, that’s right – it’s right over here.” I stepped aside so I could watch his face when he saw the table. It was priceless. The Look was everything I had hoped for and more.

He was definitely clueless, and completely, totally, utterly Surprised.

The rest of the evening was completely enjoyable. In typical Shawn fashion, once he got over the shock he was in full form, holding court at the head of the able, reading cards, reacting to presents (the adult diaper with motorcycle stickers over it was perfect for this Harley man) and making the rounds to hug and pretend-chastise everyone. At one point he told me how worried he was about the weather I was driving in coming in from the north side. It took a while to sink in that I never was in Dallas that day, that Paul and I made the trip from Austin just for his birthday. In the end he thanked us, and my happiness was complete – he really did enjoy his Surprise.

It wasn’t a huge party, it wasn’t fancy, and not everyone we wanted to attend could be there. But we did it: the family pulled it off and we loved every minute of it. A few Big O’s, good food, great fellowship, lots of smiles with laughter and much, much love. The perfect Surprise.

The Storm

2011-05-05T06:18:00.000-07:00

I have a good friend who survived Hurricane Alicia in the 1980’s. I can never forget her story of taking cover with mattresses and waiting out the storm in her apartment, having missed the chance to get over the causeway and out of Galveston where she lived as a medical student. She and a friend waited anxiously until the storm abated, and when it finally sounded safe to check the outside she opened her door on the 2^nd story only to discover there were no longer any stairs leading down to the ground. The metal and stone stairway was simply gone.

Fortunately I’ve never gone through anything like that. But last night I did my own anxious waiting as I watched the weather radar in my family’s hometown. Seeing the curved red blotches and little lightning bolts on the screen right over that area, and hearing the reporter talk about that city was one thing; talking to my sister on her cell phone as she calmly stated she was in the hallway and the tornado sirens were sounding the alarm was quite another. She assured me our mother was also taking cover in her house, not far from where my sister lives. And her daughter was ok at the moment too, although her new home was due east, directly in the path of the oncoming “storm with lots of circular motion”, as the newsman was saying. My sister-in-law and brother texted me with updates, telling me the worst had passed over their house, north of the main storm activity, and repeating that mom was ok. I exchanged calls with my daughter, living in another city also threatened by the storms and high winds.

What a huge relief to know that all those I love and hold so dear made it through. I have a new empathy for those in other parts of the world who have not been so fortunate, losing loved ones and homes to tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear or oil rig explosions, and tornadoes. As a friend said just yesterday after rafting at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, it sure puts my troubles in perspective.

Legacy of Mrs. Harper

2011-05-03T05:23:00.001-07:00

I saw Mrs. Harper last Friday. She hasn’t changed in 36 years, except to be a tad forgetful. Understandable now that she has great-grandchildren of her own. She recognized me even though it has been over a year since she personally waited on me.

The Harper family has owned Crestview Pharmacy forever. It is the oldest independent pharmacy in the city. When I moved here in the mid 1970’s and found Crestview it was always either Mr. or Mrs. Harper behind the counter. As their boys Jerry and David got old enough, they began to work in the family business and now manage much of the day to day operation. In all these years they have consistently provided accurate prescriptions in the correct dosage without a single mistake and in the friendliest, fastest, most efficient way possible.

But that’s not the reason I keep coming back. What the Harpers do best is build relationships. Just like their neighbors in the shopping center, the Prellops who own the Crestview Minimax, they know their regular customers by name, ask about their children and carry unique items in addition to the usual stock. When my children were little Mrs. Harper would always make sure they got a piece of candy while I waited on my prescriptions to be filled, and maybe an extra piece if they were sick – no charge, of course. She recalled those days on Friday as we visited – how she would make home or business deliveries – no charge, of course – and as mothers began working outside the home she would even deliver to the day care because the mothers trusted her so much to take the right medicine to the right place.

I have an old-fashioned charge-account at Crestview Pharmacy. When I go into pick up medicine I simply sign a charge slip and then pay my bill each month when it arrives. As my children got old enough to drive it was wonderful that I could send them to pick up their own prescriptions, let them charge it and not have to send them with money. Mrs. Harper recalled one time when a little girl came in with several of her friends and announced that her mom said she could charge candy for her and all of her friends. Mrs. Harper said, “I’m not sure that’s what your mom said, let’s call and ask her”. Immediately the girl confessed.

There will come a day when Mr. and Mrs. Harper will no longer work at the pharmacy, and that will make me very sad. It will be the end of an era, not to walk in and see his tall frame with dark hair and big glasses back at the filling counter, or over in a booth having lunch with a crony. Or not to see Mrs. Harper’s perfectly coifed gray hair and smiling blue eyes, looking almost exactly like one of my grandmothers. But I take comfort in knowing that Jerry and David will be there, and they have children so perhaps the legacy will live on past my lifetime. I’d like that.

The Project from Hell

2011-04-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

Unexpected phone call from the CFO. Nice guy. Tasked with the Project from Hell. An Audit of one of our divisions in another state. All of the auditors are brand spanking new, they know nothing about our industry or what we do. Assigns a portion of it to me with a 48 hour deadline.

Office door closed. Hunkered down, staring at my screens for 2 solid days, going cross-eyed from the Excel spreadsheets with only the color-coding of highlighted rows and columns to keep me from going completely crazy. Searching for files in our system, opening related pdf docs, then running OCR text recognition to be able to mark up some of them. Save As to a network folder so another can review the items and call with questions. Endless email strings to get answers to questions that matter only to auditors.

Coworkers with a great sense of humor. Large sign appears on my door: DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT KNOCKING ON MY DOOR – ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE JUST HERE TO WHINE ABOUT SOMETHING. Allison understands. Laughter for others. Nice.

Compassion for the CFO. Irritation with the unknown auditors who are just doing their jobs. Frustration with internal staff whose errors cause hours of managerial time to explain or ask forgiveness for. Desire to feel traction with the project. Desire to be done with the project.

Day 4. One last round of questions looking for new, different answers that don’t exist. Big, heavy, audible sigh. Talk to the boss for ideas and encouragement. Take a break to have a meeting. Unexpected wonderful outcome to the meeting. Return to office to tackle audit tasks to find the requests have been rescinded. I have unintentionally invoked and benefited from Dr. Kinneavy’s rule: if you wait long enough the deadline will pass.

It was going to be okay all along, I just couldn't see it. Big smile. Happy face. Life is good again. Thank you God.

Freedom

2011-04-06T08:13:00.000-07:00

Recently I heard two foreign pastors speak at our church. One was from Romania, the pastor of a large evangelical Christian church. He spoke of the amazing ways in which God answered prayer to start their church, grow it in spite of an oppressive communist government, to topple that government and even to establish an accredited university. You couldn’t miss the supernatural work of our Creator in that story.

The other was a young pastor of a small evangelical Christian church in Jerusalem. He is a Palestinian Christian. He spoke of persecution, and great faith in the face of it. He talked of masked men of that country’s predominant religion that came to his door to kill his father, more than once, and how God protected them. He has been beaten and threatened many times simply because of his Christian beliefs. His church has to keep moving from one rented building to another because the ‘religious’ men vandalize the buildings where any Christians dare to gather in public. At his church they used to keep water pots by the altar to put out the fires started by bombs tossed by those men. He told of two young girls who were converted from the Muslim religion to Christ-followers, and how they went from unhappy lives to daily joy in the Lord. They were so happy they shared their faith in Christ every day with the young children in their neighborhood. They were killed in their beds because of it.

I have taken for granted the incredible freedom we have in this country to worship wherever and whenever we choose. No one has tried to kill me for what I believe; the worse I have experienced is ridicule and that not often. I go to church not even thinking of a firebomb attack. It burdens my heart when I see any American freedoms jeopardized, whether by our own ignorant government or power-hungry people within it, or the truly wicked at heart who would see freedom squelched for their own reasons. Blood was spilt over 200 years ago in this country so I could have this freedom, and blood is spilt every hour of every day in other countries by those trying to keep others from exercising it.

May we cherish our freedom, live it out, and fight to the death those who would try to steal it.

Hardwired for Peace

2011-03-23T04:52:00.000-07:00

I’ve discovered I’m hardwired for quiet stillness, calm, and order. I long for my world to be that way and when I get pockets of it I am delighted. Usually it’s in the morning at prayer time when my soul is resting easy and my mind has not yet filled with the day’s obligations. The quiet winter sky or a beautiful spring morning with birds singing and just enough breeze that you can hear the leaves barely sway – that’s the time for me.

But I’m also wired for relationship and community, and that desire to connect with others hangs in constant tension with my desire for order and calm and peace. Connecting with other humans doesn’t usually bring those things – it brings laughter or love or birthday hats or shower gifts or memorial services or picnics or worship or breakfast or working together on a mission project or sitting on the porch with a sister. All important things, just not quiet and orderly.

The trick for me is to find the balance. I can only experience those other things fully if first the craving of my soul to “be still” is satisfied. Only the Designer of that soul can do that. Faithfully He is there each morning, ready to get my spiritual house in order and paving the way for the messy, wonderful connections of my life.

Recovery Moms

2011-03-22T05:19:00.000-07:00

Recovery moms is a term I use to describe mothers whose children are in some stage of recovery from drug or alcohol addiction. The kids range from pre-teen to teenager to young adult, but drug use at any age presents a special set of heartaches for the mother.

Recovery moms automatically exchange knowing looks when one says their child relapsed back into drug use and they are “going down that road again.” The one whose child is currently clean and sober, or mostly so, is quietly hopeful but never far from the memory of “that road”. It is so scary. But one of the wisest Recovery Moms I know, my dear friend Barb, recently gave me a new way to see that experience. She says that we are on that same road but the scenery changes. She’s exactly right. We are farther down the road – more able to handle it, and our kids have more recovery in them to call on when they find sobriety again. I believe the way that road ends depends on our individual relationships to God, our Creator and Author of the very universe. He can Reframe the pain, transform it into healing as “that road” intersects with healthy others, those He has placed in our path at that time for that very purpose. All we have to do is keep the eyes of our soul open and be willing to let Him do it.

I didn’t set out to be a Recovery Mom – no one does – but I am grateful for the life lessons I’ve learned and the precious friendships that have shaped my life for the better.

Growing things

2011-03-13T16:46:00.000-07:00

My neighbors have turned their entire back yard into an experimental garden. They are hoping to grow all kinds of vegetables, herbs, trees and some flowers. I so admire their commitment and ability to grow things.

I used to have a brown thumb, but I’ve gotten better at keeping things alive longer. The iris bulbs I planted years ago, given to me by a dear friend, bloom every year. They don’t always last long, and sometimes there are only a few, but the lovely purple flowers remind me that I can plant and grow things. Of course it’s really God’s design that causes the growth, but I get to be a facilitator and have the joy of seeing the blooms.

This year I’m adding a few pots in amongst the iris to try my hand at container gardening. We don’t have much sun so it’s hard to grow blooming things, but in this one little strip I think it might work. I spent a lovely Saturday afternoon messing with potting soil, fertilizer, flower seeds and a watering can – we shall see.

There is also my annual fern. I say annual because usually there is one freeze yearly my fern can’t survive, and this year the 5 nights of temperatures in the teens did her in. Each year I drive up to Breeds, my favorite local hardware store, and select the “fern of the year”. I like the bushy, deep green Boston ferns, but this year they had a slightly different type. More .. stately somehow, the leaves stand taller and are variegated - Kimberly Queen, a type that originates from Australia. I picked out the one that called to me – it seems there is always one that wants to go home with me – and placed it gently in the trunk. I repotted it for the hanging basket, watered and fertilized. Now to begin enjoying the beauty of a graceful green plant growing over the porch railing.

The Fern of the Year doubles as a home for Carolina Wrens who nest each year in the same spot and hatch their babies. Just days after I hung the new plant it was visited by this year’s new family. They love that spot. I think each year’s family are the babies from the previous year, but who knows. I only know I love hosting their extended stay – it’s my own private heralding of spring.

I love spring – growing plants, growing baby birds, growing in gratitude for the simple things.

Playing in the Puddles

2011-03-07T04:58:00.000-08:00

I got caught in a rain shower Saturday morning during my neighborhood walk. It was a tad too cold for that to be pleasant, but I had just visited with my neighbors and didn’t mind.

As I walked in the rain, my mind wandered back 20 years ago to when my children were little, both under age 6. We loved taking walks in the neighborhood after a spring shower. We would take off our shoes and splash in the puddles on the sidewalk. If it had been a downpour, we delighted in walking in the street right next to the curb where the rain rushed like a mini-river, swirling around and between our toes and running under our feet. I can still feel that water – soft and pleasant and clean, freely making its way through our foot-barriers and dancing on to its gathering place.

A simple pleasure, but a very fond memory for me. I wonder if my son or daughter remember how much fun we had - how we laughed at the silliness of walking in rain rivers, or how sometimes we got to see a beautiful rainbow. I hope so.

Joy Like a River

2011-02-21T04:41:00.000-08:00

That comes closest to describing how I feel about my granddaughters – “joy like a river floods my soul”. I had the privilege of babysitting them this weekend, Oh how it delights my soul to be with them! To care for their ordinary needs, to love them, play with them, sing together, have laughs over silly things, draw amazing pictures, spend long minutes observing and enjoying ‘weed flowers’ as we walk around the neighborhood. We make lots of memories, and I want them indelibly imprinted in my memory bank, forever available for retrieval.

How to find words to express the feeling I have when I walk in the door and hear “Grandma, Grandma!” in that precious, excited, 3 year old Emily voice. The depth and tenderness of our hug as we greet one another after days or weeks apart is a oneness that perhaps can only happen with the distance of an extra generation. The littlest one doesn’t know me well yet, but instinctively Molly knows I’m a safe person; everyone she loves seems to want me around and she ‘loves me forward’ in her own way, taking our future relationship on faith. What a gift!

While I am at their house Emily and I can hardly bear to be separated for even a moment. Shared ‘potty breaks’ is part of being a grandma when you are this close. I get to see the world through her view, and at night we can even see in the dark with our “shiny blue eyes”. A trip to Chick-fil-a for a salad and some chicken nuggets becomes a grand picnic in the park at their playground. A walk to the corner store becomes an adventure – what a freeing, exciting way to go through life! I love setting aside my adult thoughts and concerns; that way I don’t miss the fun of hearing “I’ve got Peas Like a River” in the car sung 57 times, or telling and re-telling the interrupting cow knock-knock joke, or hearing her sing a lullaby to her baby sister if she gets a little fussy because we’ve kept her out past nap time. The things that used to drive me nuts as a parent absolutely delight me as a grandparent – how does that happen? Now I can draw with chalk on the sidewalk all morning and not grow tired of it, or push Molly and the Clifford family in the stroller while Emily leads the way on her tricycle for most of the afternoon. Now I wish I could hold Molly for her entire nap time after giving her a bottle, sing to her all my favorite hymns, and gaze at this amazing creature who is a part of me.

I wish I could capture this season of life in a memory box to enter any time I wish. I try to, by recording her little voice singing and praying with my cell phone’s voice recorder. Replaying those sounds never fails to bring a smile to my face and joy to my heart. A river of joy without bounds, unhindered by the boundaries of time - my river to float away on any time I want.

Locked Out

2011-02-01T05:00:00.000-08:00

As I walked back from the guard station to my car the tears were welling up in my eyes. I was determined not to let them spill over until I was inside my own vehicle. This was so backwards! What kid of person cries because she can’t get INTO prison?? But there I was, sitting in my car feeling disappointed and sad, more for the women inside who were waiting on me than for myself. At least I knew what had happened; they would simply not be called to gather this day and would only be able to speculate as to why. I felt so badly for them; without a Kairos volunteer those who truly want to share their struggles on their faith journey and pray as a community would not be able to.

Prison ministry is not for everyone, but it appealed to me. I went inside as part of my first Kairos Weekend team almost 6 years ago, and I’ve been serving as a volunteer ever since. I have been on ministry teams and spoken at retreats before, but this was different. The unit in which I serve is a maximum security facility. Some people are unable to overcome the fear of being in a place with such high level security. It prevents unauthorized visitors and contraband from entering the unit, and inmates from escaping the grounds of course. But the high fences topped with rolled barbed wire that outline the grounds, armed guards in corner towers, constant perimeter patrol can be quite intimidating, not to mention the thick metal entrance doors opened only by a guard in another room for one person at a time.

Time, that’s another thing about volunteering in a prison. Leave your watch behind before driving onto the premises. Prisons have a daily schedule, but there are so many things that routinely interfere with it: malfunctioning computers, inadequate staffing for the day, the frequent turnover of staff which usually means very slow processing. Plus the things that can happen on the inside to disrupt the day – a fight breaks out or keys are missing which means instant lock-down (and nobody, visitor or staff, is going anywhere during lockdown), or a prisoner obtains a weapon and a guard or other inmate is held hostage. These are things I know about from my visits.

But time to the person on the inside is viewed altogether differently. She anticipates, or dreads, her day based on what the time. Is it time for count, or a prayer gathering, or a meal, or visitation? When something she looks forward to each week doesn’t happen and she won’t find out why until at least the following week, it can add to the despair and lack of hope that permeates the very walls of the place.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand fully that the people in prison, certainly the great majority of them, are in there for a reason. Doing time is part of the consequences of their actions; I don’t advocate for fancy digs or luxury items for them. Incarceration also keeps the community safe from those offenders. But for those in prison who truly, honestly desire to change their life when they get out, they need every bit of encouragement, help and hope while they are there. I want to be a part of the solution to reducing crime, for their sakes and for the safety and prosperity of us all. Low recidivism rates benefit all of society.

I realize we can’t rehabilitate the entire prison community, and even if we could many of them aren’t open to change. Ah, but what how wonderful to be a springboard for the hope of a better life on the outside. Especially if we can show them eternal hope for life on the other side. Now that is a thing worth doing. Which is why I don’t feel bad for my time spent driving to the unit and over an hour trying to get in only to be told that somehow my name got ‘dropped off the list’ and the warden would not let me in. My job is just to be a willing servant; it is the work of God and His angels to make heart-changes on the people inside, whether I make it in on a given Saturday or not.

One of the things I love about Kairos is the way that my volunteer name tag gets me onto the grounds so easily. It’s not my name that carries any weight; it’s the cross with the name of Christ and the Ichthys - the ancient Christian symbol - that acts almost like a free pass at the first guard station. Just like any visitors to a maximum security prison, we and our vehicle are subject to full searches at any time. When I am on foot anywhere on the grounds, and certainly before entering, I must be ready to be wanded and patted down. But to drive up, show my ID and my name tag and be waved on through instead of have my car searched bumper to bumper always amazes me. I live in a world where if I flash that name tag I’m more likely to get ridiculed or attacked than a smile and wave, and the irony of it strikes me afresh every time. Here the name of Christ is appreciated – the correctional officers have come to appreciate the difference a consistent Christian ministry on the inside can make, for them and the prisoners they guard. They know we are here to help, not to try and bring in contraband. Even as I write it, it sounds crazy – I get excited about my cool ‘access pass’ to get onto the prison grounds, and I’m moved to tears when I can’t get inside.

I pack away my name tag in its cloth pouch and say another prayer for the women who wait. And once again I take up my shield of faith - one of the enemy’s flaming arrows made it through today and interrupted my work, but it’s just one day. He doesn’t have that special name tag, and the servants who do will return week after week, knowing that we have nothing to fear, a kingdom to inherit and ultimately a victory to celebrate.

Priceless Friends

2011-01-28T05:14:00.000-08:00

I had dinner with two dear friends last night. May not sound like much to blog about at first, but you have to understand I don’t get out much. My sweet husband’s idea of taking me out is having dinner on our back deck. If he really wants to make it romantic, he’ll make sure Duke’s water bowl is full so we can dine with the sound of “lapping waves”. But my man and the Duke are at the family Ranch this weekend. There is much man-stuff to do, you know – tractor repair, target practice, framing and wiring for the remodel of the old house, wild hog hunting at night, but no duck hunting because the season is over. And plenty of good food too, my husband and his brother are both fabulous cooks. But that’s another blog.

Back to my dinner with friends. It had been an intense day at work for me, with a little more than the usual stress, so I was really ready to sit down in a nice atmosphere with people I enjoy and have someone wait on me. We chose a nice upscale (that’s just a fancy word for pricey) restaurant near work; I was there and seated by 6. Thankfully our drinks and appetizers just made it in under their ‘half-price apps ‘til 6’ – good food always tastes so much better when it’s ½ price. And yes, the entrees were excellent as well, but the best thing about the meal was the company. You can go to a nice restaurant any time – well, you can if you are blessed with a job and room in your budget for eating out. But in this crazy-busy world we live in finding a night that meets everyone’s schedule to have dinner with friends is not something to take for granted.

These two are particularly special to me. They were both part of my church family during some extremely hard years while my kids were growing up. One was my daughter’s youth leader at church for a number of years; not only was that youth group an important stable part of her life back then, but it was at a youth retreat that she accepted Christ as a teenager, so I am particularly fond of her for helping to channel my daughter into God’s plan. As it happened the other friend was more of an influence in my son’s life; their temperaments are quite suited to one another. His teen years were tumultuous, but the steady exposure to quality people like these two who really cared about him was a huge factor in him turning into a fairly well-grounded young man. He learned early on that God’s Plan A is other people.

I’ve shared women’s retreats, worked on retreat teams, sang in the choir and had some excellent laughs over the years with these friends. It’s a part of my past I wouldn’t trade for anything. What makes it all the more special is that now we are still good friends – better friends, in fact, than before. And when we share a meal we can talk about the present but we can also easily talk about the past because they know my history, and I know some of theirs. It’s a bond you can’t buy or fashion in a few weeks or pretend like you have when you don’t.

Great Meal – just a tad over-priced. Great Friends – priceless.

From Typing Service to Smartphone

2011-01-23T12:05:00.000-08:00

When I was in college I had a part-time job as a typist at a typing service. Before the days of personal computers people would bring their resumes and dissertations to professional typists who would prepare the final document for a fee. We were paid by the hour. Clients would have to come in for a proofing session with a hardcopy form to log all revisions so that we could make changes and produce the perfect final copy - without benefit of a backspace-correct key - prior to getting paid.

The typewriters in the shop were special. They were electrically powered but used individual metal key bars that hit the page based as the key was pressed. The owner had an amazing collection of different sets of keys. We would use a bail wire to change out a single key or entire set, and I learned to type in mathematical symbols, scientific characters and even a foreign language. I couldn’t believe what all could be done with the equipment we were provided. That was in 1975.

Last night I attended a Smartphone class. Sounds pretty hokey to all you 20-somethings out there, attending a class to learn all the features of your smart phone. But I’ve seen a lot of technological advances in my time on earth, and I don’t want to miss out on any functionality that is available to me at the touch of a fingertip. We were divided into classes based on the model of our phone. My husband was in a different class than I was – one for dudes with ‘studly’ phones. But even the features on my phone blew me away – who knew I would have a powerful computer the size of ¼ a deck of cards that could do internet searches based on my speaking a few words, or use GPS to locate a nearby restaurant or display a constellation or organize 8g of picture and video? Heck, who knew I would even be able to halfway speak the terminology? All of us take for granted the amazing world we live in, but I hope I never get too cynical or worldly to simply be amazed at what is accessible to me and others with the means to acquire such devices.

My phone doesn’t have voice to text, and the voice dialer just doesn’t work well with my voice. But my husband, oh he is a whiz at asking that thing questions, or commanding that it call a certain person, or asking it to search for something. While I was preparing to go to bed, I marveled as my husband asked his phone to tell him the current temperature and the expected low for the evening so we would know how to prepare the outside of our home. He asked me if I had a question to ask of it, and the one that came to mind is not something I’d share on this blog. But it gave us both a good laugh and reminded me that in this world of instant information some things are better left to be discovered at the pace of relationship, and that there is value in anticipation, discovery, and wonder.

New Doors and Eeyore Too

2011-01-18T04:49:00.000-08:00

So we priced those new French doors for the living room, following the Duke Disaster. Wow, I had no idea a set of those doors could cost $2,000. Without installation. My husband, being a man of his word, was determined to try and make up for the Duke damage by replacing the new doors. But after we poured over the color glossys of different styles, I told him that all we really needed was new security. If there was a way to make the doors we have lock securely with just the easy turn of a knob, I would be all for it. He promised to work on it on Saturday.

And boy did he deliver. I was out that morning doing errands and visiting with my son, and when I returned home Mr. Handyman greeted me with the news that the doors were fixed. I was so excited I dumped the mail onto the couch and walked over to check it out. A brand new shiny deadbolt lock was perfectly mounted on one door, two new strike-plates fixed sturdily into the other, and the lock moved easily from open to closed. Duke was standing on the other side hoping to be let into the house where previously he had to break and enter. But I had other ideas. I opened the door, said “Stay”, and then closed it and locked it with one quick flip of the knob. I did my happy dance, and I confess I even said “nanny nanny boo boo” in a singsong voice to the Dukester who was still standing on the other side. I tested my speed on opening, closing and locking the door several times, each time ending with a different salutation to the Duke: “Love ya, bye!” “See ya, wouldn’t want to be ya!” “Hey look, I’m in and you’re out!” It’s the little things in life that make us happy, and I am proud to stand before you and say I am a very happy wife. And my husband is a very smart – and handy – man.

There are other surprising new developments from the Duke Disaster. Saturday husband discovered Eeyore buried in some bushes in the back yard! He was wet and muddy but completely intact and hardly showing signs of trauma. I’ve already replaced the original Eeyore from a previous Duke invasion - that Eeyore ended up just a pile of cotton stuffing. I didn’t even list him on my list of casualties, thinking that perhaps I wasn’t meant to have Eeyore on my Pooh Bear and friends shelf. But here he was, dripping wet and ready to be cleaned and brave the Grandkids Room once again. This is progress! This is good news indeed!!

Replacement Grandma Bear came in the mail today, and she is happily adjusting to her new home on the Berenstain Bear books shelf. She will never know the anxiety of wondering when the Duke will wander in, ready for bear.

2011-01-15T15:29:00.000-08:00

Polishing my Monuments

There’s a place in the Old Testament, not sure which scripture, that talks about memorializing and remembering the important events in your life. The Hebrew people built altars and placed stones to commemorate significant places and events. A sermon I heard once called it “polishing your monuments”. The goal is to celebrate the victories God has won for you after the periods of testing and trial, learn from them, and always remember. When you do life becomes richer; you experience personal growth and maturity, and life can be very satisfying.

Earlier this week I celebrated my 9^th anniversary at my company. It has been a wild ride from the 5 of us in a borrowed conference room, an old desktop and monitor on loan from a co-worker, using the “sneaker-network” to print, and our first set of office supplies –a yellow legal pad and a few pens and highlighters – to the coast-to-coast company with over 100 employees that I now have the privilege of helping to manage. What a blessing to be a part of such a fine organization, work with great people, and hold a position that suits my skill set and is so fulfilling.

I wasn’t always good at this monument-polishing thing. Life was crazy in my early 20’s and I wouldn’t have recognized a monument moment if it bit me in the you-know-what. But they were there. I can see now how certain people were placed in my path in ways that could only be divine appointments. How I came to work for my current boss is one; friends I made during that time that are still good friends today is another. When I was a young married with toddlers, God placed me in a great church and I began to really study and learn about the Bible. That foundational digging in the Word grounded me and kept my faith growing and strong during the years that followed when I was a single mom with two teenagers.

Some of our struggles were the kind you wouldn’t wish on anyone, unsuitable for blogging. Others were more common – financial, the challenge of a one-parent family, and a house that was literally crumbing around us while we fought with the insurance company. But there were monuments in that period too. My pilgrim Emmaus Walk; my daughter’s graduation from high school a year early and acceptance into an excellent university; my son’s unique journey through adolescence had so many monuments following periods of testing and trial it’s a story unto itself; my writings during that time became the core of my book. And after 10 years of being a single mom God blessed me with a wonderful husband. He took the mess of my life and used it to bless me; all I had to do was be willing to surrender my circumstances to God and He was more than able to take it from there.

Blessed indeed. So many monuments to polish, so little time. What a nice problem to have.

Lessons Learned from the Duke Disaster

2011-01-11T04:35:00.000-08:00

My mother says that a seed of something good always comes from something bad. It’s been over 24 hours now since the Duke Disaster, and I learned some things from the post I did about it. I was reminded that writing isn’t just something I do, it’s who I am. I’ve known I wanted to be a writer since I was 10 years old. From the rhymey poems of a 10 yr old , the lovesick songs of a teenager, to the book I’ve written and am currently trying to get published – it’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do. I can’t not do it. It’s the main reason I journal my prayers each day (the other is it is so cool to go back and look at how God has answered them!) and it’s what gives me delight in sending handwritten notes to people. And God has placed me on earth in a time where technology makes it incredibly easy to reach anyone anywhere who might be interested in what I have to say. I love it!

Instead of taking my hurt out on my beloved husband or his beloved pet, I decided to actually DO something I’ve been wanting to do for a while. I started my blog, and with a few helps from my friend Allison within a couple of hours I had it set up and published my first post. It’s almost ironic – what a productive and satisfying result born out of reaction to destruction. I learned that it's not about my circumstances but my reaction to them.

Other lessons I was taught in the aftermath of Hurricane Duke: I would much rather preserve the relationship I have in my marriage by finding a way to work through my feelings than act like a shrew. I learned just how much sentiment one can attach to something that was given from the heart by someone who was once a big part of my life. I learned that it’s hard for men, the ‘fixers’, when the situation is something they can’t fix. I learned that Duke knows there is a time to respect our distance and just walk past me quietly with no greeting or snorting or nipping or tail waving. One day soon I’ll feel like petting him again and brushing him and talking to him, but not now, and he seems to get that. Which I appreciate; I’m not a fast transitioner when emotions are involved. I learned that I like Pete the cat’s new food bowl better than his old one. I learned that my daughter remembers the pink doll with the music box inside and knows why it is special to me. I learned that our carpet is so ready for replacement that even the dog is not interested in chewing or ripping it. I learned a new appreciation for my sister’s special way with words and helping me see things from a different perspective. I was reminded that my family has such tender, caring hearts couched in a delightful sense of humor bound with compassion. Why should I stay be upset about mere things when I have such wonderful people in my life? And after looking at Christmas pictures I remembered how much my granddaughters love Duke. Who knows, maybe one day they’ll teach me how to be a fan.

Oh, and my husband said he's decided we are getting new French doors in the living room :)

Why I'm not a fan of Duke the dog

2011-01-09T18:54:00.000-08:00

Two of The Three Bears were casualties – Baby Bear is missing his right leg and his left elbow is toast. Mama Bear is completely MIA. My beautiful Spode Christmas China butter dish lay shattered on the dining room floor, next to the thoroughly chewed collector’s Golden. In the middle of the living room rug were several unmentionables from the laundry room. On the stairway landing, Pete the cat was totally freaked out and very hungry. Upstairs, the Joan Walsh Anglund doll given to me by a cherished friend was found face down on the carpet, her right arm severed, lovely pink dress in tatters, and her hat hanging on by a thread. The companion blue doll was lucky, she came through it with only a mess of seriously disheveled hair.

There is a reason why Duke is an outside dog.

I’m a fair shot with a pistol; I can sure as heck nail a 100 lb black lab at a few feet. Only my love for my husband, who loves that dog almost as much as he loves me, is stopping me from grabbing his 22 and unloading a clip into that slobbery nuisance. But the more I clean up after The Incident, the more I am thinking his days are numbered. Possibly it is time for him to live on the family ranch – far, far away.

Those darned French doors in the living room. For the past 7 years getting them securely locked is a problem, so my husband keeps ‘fixing’ them. The others times Duke got in with free roam of the house netted small losses with large amounts of annoyance on my part. But this time, he outdid himself.

We arrived home this afternoon after a wonderful, fun and relaxing weekend at the home of our son and daughter-in-law for their 3 yr old’s birthday party. Truly an enjoyable time. I had steeled myself for the damage, and was most concerned about the Grandkids Room. My son called me yesterday to report that Duke the dog had once again broken into the house and that Grandma Bear (of the Berenstain Bears) had been the worst casualty. I could tell that he was probably downplaying the situation. Little did I know. He secured the door before he left, but like I said – those doors are problematic. Duke figured out how to get in again and greeted us inside the house when we walked in.

The pictures don’t really do it justice as my husband had already kicked into high gear and started to clean up, no doubt worried about how I would react to the disaster scene. I considered calling FEMA, but decided I needed to clean it up myself and begin the grieving process as I worked my way through the incredible mess.

Other than the Grandkids Room, I guess the worst part was the dining room where I had gathered all the Christmas things, including some next year’s gifts, onto the dining table in preparation for putting up Christmas when I got home. Instead I ended up wading through a sea of shredded plastic bags – Duke loves plastic bags – , mangled stuffed toys, tooth-marked gift books, half-eaten CD’s (packaging too) and tiptoeing around shattered Spode china, broken crystal coasters, opened candy canes and punctured boxes.

I discovered that Duke prefers candy canes over Godiva chocolate (great, we have a dog who is not only destructive but also has poor taste), brunettes over blondes and while he is capable of destroying Hallmark keepsake ornament packaging is disinterested in the ornaments themselves. He likes to select ladies undergarments from the laundry basket. And strangely enough, I learned that he can read - a small book my husband had received in his Christmas stocking was left in perfect condition on our bedroom floor. It had selections by author John Grogan (Marley and Me) and was titled Bad Dogs Have More Fun.

I was pretty calm at first. After all, I knew Grandma Bear was no more and had already searched the internet trying to find a replacement. When I saw the dining room I began to get more upset, realizing the damage and the cleaning I would have to do after the long ride home. At the top of the stairs my heart started to pound when I saw that the entrance to each room paved with trash from the small trash baskets. But when I walked into the Grandkids Room, I couldn’t help it – I let out a small cry and began to weep. The other stuff was just that – stuff. But the sight of that special doll mangled, with her pantaloons halfway off and face down on the floor as if she had been violated, was the last straw. She’s so old and unique I don’t know if I can find a replacement, but even if I can it won’t be the same as receiving from a special friend who had owned it for years and out of love gave it to me. Not the same at all.

By the time I got to the upstairs office, it hardly phased me that the trash basket was overturned and papers were everywhere, the catfood container was empty and the top was chewed off, the cat bowl I had already found in pieces strewn between up and downstairs, and a printer cord was partially worked over in the floor. There was also evidence that Duke had snacked in the litter box, but unfortunately I don’t think it was enough to hurt him.

I went downstairs and calmly asked my husband for his wallet so I could go to the pet store. No wonder Pete the cat was hungry, he hadn’t eaten in 2 days and he likely was a terrified witness to a weekend of canine gluttonous rampage. I also informed my husband that when I had tallied the cost of the items we would have to replace I would let him. To his credit he was busy downstairs in the living room, kitchen, laundry room and dining room sweeping and clearing debris. Quietly. Here’s what the weekend cost him so far:

Books $34

Grandma Bear $32

1 baggie of my brother’s homemade beef jerky

2 of the Three Bears TBD

1 box of goldfish $04

1 bag animal crackers $01

Spode butter dish (eBay price) $36

Catfood, food bowl, food container, flea medicine $47

Hallmark keepsake box TBD

2 new boxed tubes of toothpaste $03

1 tape gun $14

1 silver snowflake trivet $13

1 Peanuts character stocking stuffer $03

1 JW Anglund doll, 13” original (similar ones on ebay start @) $40

1 miniature stuffed bear $06

1 very unhappy wife ____

Subtotal, pending TBD items $233

I realize that I don’t have to replace all the stuff that was destroyed. I’m willing to forgive the goldfish and animals crackers and beef jerky, and I’ll even throw in the toothpaste and a couple of stocking stuffers. It’s still going to cost him over $200. Not to mention the cost of repairing those French doors, which WILL be fixed once and for all, and soon. Pretty hefty price tag for the privilege of owning man’s best friend.

Over time I’ll get over the stuff and the time spent cleaning up after man’s – not woman’s – best friend. I’ll probably even get over the doll, or maybe send her off to a doll hospital. They have them you know; can’t imagine how much it costs to have a collector doll repaired. None of the websites show a price list, you have to email them and get a custom quote. But I won’t be joining Duke’s fan club any time soon, if ever. Sure, he’s handsome, friendly, good with kids, and doesn’t bark too much and he’s extremely loyal to my husband. But’s he’s also smelly, has a tail the size of a baseball bat, snorts on me every time I go out on the back porch, nips at my clothes, steps on my bare feet, and every chance he gets HE CHEWS ON THE STUFFED TOYS IN MY GRANDKIDS’ ROOM!

I just went downstairs to find Duke inside, stretched out on the newly cleaned rug at my husband’s feet. I’m going to go clean my pistol.