Because I Pause

ordinary extraordinary

2012-01-29T22:30:00.004-05:00

I wrote this in December but never put it here. Here it is. She had a marvelous time.

Today is extraordinarily ordinary.

In a room that was once known as the Large Unfinished Room and is now known as the East Room -

a room where the wife of a president did laundry,

where troops bivouacked,

where an explorer resided,

where presidential daughters married,

where a son played with goats and where that son's father later laid in state after he was assassinated,

where the Civil Rights Act was signed,

where Sunday services were held,

where a president wrestled

in that very room El,

an ordinary, extraordinary girl,

will play her oboe today.

She may hit a few bad notes and struggle to stay in tune,

but she will also play brilliantly and her joy and her smile will light the room.

I am humbled today with the thought that any ordinary person,

regardless of the location of the room in which they do their best at what ever they do,

is free to be extraordinary.

the beat

2012-01-02T08:20:00.006-05:00

Mo was one voice in a group of girls who had the honor of singing in the snowflake scene in the Philadelphia Ballet's production of George Balanchine's Nutcracker at The Academy of Music. It's a phenomenal production. The Philadelphia Boys Choir usually sings during the scene, but they cannot make it to all the performances. Mo's school choir director has a long standing arrangement that this group of high school girls will sing when the Boys cannot. She was in the group three years in a row. I was able to go see the show her first year and her last year. The first year, when she was a sophomore, I also got to go along as a chaperone for one of the performances.

Backstage at the ballet felt homey and also foreign to me. I was a gymnast when I was a girl and I experienced a different kind of backstage, yet there were many familiarities. There is a lot of visible action and there is also a palpable stillness - waiting readiness. Ballerinas wear ridiculous makeup that looks completely unnecessary up close (as an aside, I struggled with the spelling of unnecessary and ended up with 'unnecescary', which I love!), yet from afar, the makeup is perfect. One ballerina sat gracefully on the floor, needle and thread in hand, mending the costume she was wearing. The sounds are more hushed the closer you are to the stage. There are a lot of ropes and wires leading to seen or unseen things. And there is a lot of staring, I suppose it's because we, the unfamiliar, were on the move through their well oiled backstage gears. The singers have to make their way through the backstage area, including a gauntletesque hallway filled with dancers and crew, to a box just off stage where they crowd together and sing before the audience.

The choir performs - the lyrics are one word, "Ahhhhh" - for just a few minutes right before the intermission and then they are done. It's glorious!

(Pardon a second aside - The whole time backstage I was scared I would trip over a wire or an outstretched leg and break the whole show. I move through life like that, I've realized recently. Perhaps I've always known that about myself and just didn't want to face it. I am backstage ushering perfectly capable people to where they already know they are going and I am trying to follow in their wake without screwing something up from behind - and thank you for your indulgence because when I started writing, I thought this really didn't have anything to do with me and it turns out it has everything to do with where I turn my eyes. Turns out, I am a singer even if I'm slightly out of tune.)

Mo told me something interesting last year, after her last performance as one voice in a group of singers in one scene in the Nutcracker ballet. If you've seen the show, you know that besides professional dancers and young dancers and young singers in that one scene, there is also a live professional orchestra.

Now, on to what Mo said.

It's a temptation for the singers - having just prepared their voices, having waited at the ready, and having trekked backstage and through the dark - it's a temptation for the singers to watch the well lit, decorated, masterful dancers.

If the singers do watch the dancers, they will ruin everything.

The dancers listen and rely on the singers for the beat. The singers must look to the conductor for the beat so they will be with the orchestra. The singers have to keep their eyes on the conductor. If the singers ignore the conductor and watch the dancers, the singers might take the beat from the dancers.

The show only works if all those people, young and old, students and professionals, keep the beat of the conductor who is only slightly elevated and dimly lit there in the pit.

Daffodil in December

2011-12-18T16:18:00.001-05:00

What sweeter music can we bring
Than a carol, for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! Awake the string!

Dark and dull night, fly hence away,
And give the honor to this day,
That sees December turned to May.

Why does the chilling winter’s morn
Smile, like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like a meadow newly-shorn,
Thus, on the sudden? Come and see
The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
‘Tis He is born, whose quickening birth
Gives life and luster, public mirth,
To heaven, and the under-earth.

We see him come, and know him ours,
Who, with his sunshine and his showers,
Turns all the patient ground to flowers.
The darling of the world is come,
And fit it is, we find a room
To welcome him. The nobler part
Of all the house here, is the heart.

Which we will give him; and bequeath
This holly, and this ivy wreath,
To do him honour, who’s our King,
And Lord of all this revelling.

What sweeter music can we bring,
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?

~~Robert Herrick

when I heard

2011-12-09T09:25:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we brought Mo home from her first semester of college. We were in the car for thirteen hours and thirteen hours in the car is a test of endurance. We listened to the audio version of A Christmas Carol for a while and we listened to a lot of music, and toward the end when we were all getting punchy we sang along.

That's when I heard.

She no longer sings like a teenager.

Her voice is a woman's voice.

I heard.

silence

2011-12-09T08:38:00.003-05:00

It's weird to return here after such a long silence - a silence that is surely longer than the dates indicate. In some places in me, it's the silence of my whole lifetime.

Silence, I'm thinking this more and more as I get older,

silence carries a lot of weight.

And when it's broken, when it should be broken, it's weighty then too.

But the breaking of particular silences will not happen here, at least as far as I can see. Not that anyone has asked or expected it, at least to my knowledge. So if you're here hoping for a morsel or a tidbit to chew or hold or hold forth or offer onward that ain't happening, my friend.

As much as I love the written word - the shapes of letters and the combinations of them that make each word possible and then the assemblage of words that put together ideas or emotions into paragraphs and poems - as much as I love the rules of grammar and the breaking of those very rules,

as much as I love the written word,

some words are meant to be spoken, and maybe only once. They are offered to the hearing and they are either taken in by that one or the many

or they are not.

And with that, they are gone.

So I guard the many words of my particular silences and choose carefully my hearers.

The hearers of these particulars are not here.

But there is plenty here to be heard, if one cares to stick around and listen.

t-h-r-o-u-g-h

2011-10-10T12:54:00.003-04:00

According to my recollection, Mo learned to spell the word 'through' one day in second grade when the teacher had her get down on her knees and crawl underneath a table and out the other side saying these letters,

t - h - r - o - u - g - h

back and forth, under the table, saying the letters.

Clever teacher.

Mo hated learning to read and she hated learning to spell and she pretty much hated school because there was way too much work involved. There is hope for kids like her though. She does love to read now, and from what she tells me, she is loving what she is learning in college. And she is even doing her work - I think.

I had breakfast with a friend this morning, and while we ate I told her about something.

Something I've been t-h-r-o-u-g-h.

I realized at some point during the telling that I am truly on the other side.

It's through. I'm through.

I'm standing on the other side. The knee bruises and rug-burns are almost just memories at this point

and boy, does it feel good to know through.

A Weird and Entertaining Conversation at the Local Drugstore

2011-10-06T14:57:00.003-04:00

Carlton (the cashier): Do you have a Wellness Card?

Me (the customer): Yeah, can I give you my phone number?

Carlton (straight faced, bored tone): If your husband don't mind.

Me (smiling): Blah-blah-blahhh-blah-blah-blah....

Carlton (all business): Three dollars and sixty four cents.

I give dollars. He gives back some dollars and cents.

Carlton (for the hundredth time today): Thank you. Have a good day.

Me (now laughing): That was funny. You made my day.

Carlton (still straight faced, no emotion): You can tell your husband I made your day.

I have no idea if Carlton knew he was funny or not, but I laughed all the way out of the store, across the parking lot and into my car.

out loud again beginning with 422

2011-09-26T10:44:00.003-04:00

grateful all these months

counting out loud again

422. the habit is the goal. repeat. repeat. repeat.

423. tall glasses of cranberry orange juice with lotsa ice.

424. souvenirs. stories.

425. stories are souvenirs.

426. family. family. family. fam.i.ly.

gilded

2011-09-19T09:07:00.005-04:00

My kindergarten handprint smells of dust years.

A layer of gilt wipes away with the dirt.

Gold clings best around the edges and in pudgy fingers.

The palm though.

The exposed palm does not cling long to paint nor earth.

The palms, mirror lined, release by reflect.

short on time

2011-08-13T07:51:00.001-04:00

in my work clothes

2011-08-05T00:01:00.004-04:00

Today was our pick up day for the CSA. Besides the already harvested veggies (and a honeydew melon) in the barn, we were able to harvest for ourselves all the green beans and tomatillos and cherry tomatos we can eat in a week. Well. We were in the field for an hour. Mo and I picked green beans for a while and then she cut some flowers while I dove into the tomato jungle.

Here are some things I thought about or noticed while I was shoulder high in tomato plants. Or shortly thereafter. In no particular order. Except the last one, because it's the big thought.

Tomato plants are prickly and they have a rather appealing unpleasant smell. I don't mind.

My tomato picking jungle neighbors seem to be surprised when I talk to them. I am an introvert, but being out in the dirt and tall prickly plants makes me daring and chatty. Perhaps it has something to do with my teenage detasseling days. Why not have fun? We're all hot and sweaty and dirty. I want to drown out the bees and mosquitoes and celebrate Jackpot! with someone other than myself.

Hey, if you come straight from work, you may want to put a change of shoes in your car. High heels don't work on the farm. I didn't say that out loud, honest. It was one of my nasty judgey thoughts. It's not a short trek to the field and I sure couldn't have walked it in those shoes. And then I saw the mom with the blue shiny dress shirt crouching down to pick green beans and her little maybe four year old girl at the end of the row was all, mommy I'm waiting right here at the end! Ayyy, the time is short mommy. Pick the green beans in your work clothes, I say. Not out loud. And no longer judgey-like.

And this. Ripe cherry tomatoes fall into the harvester's hands. They do. They beg for release and the vine waits for just the slightest bit of pressure as a signal to let go. A nudge really. A swipe. The barest touch. Then release into the harvester's palm. Release and fall. Today I saw so many unharvested tomatoes. When they sit on the vine too long, they burst. They begin to rot on the vine. What looks like Jackpot! is not. It's messy. Disappointing. Waste.

I choose release.

measuring time

2011-07-25T08:29:00.006-04:00

I do not remember how old I was when I began measuring time in the refrigerator.

It was summer, I'm sure. It was hot in Iowa, always hot in the summer, always hot, even in the morning. There was cereal for breakfast every day. It was cool, always so cool in the refrigerator, and the milk carton had an expiration date to be trusted.

I noticed the milk would expire on my birthday.

I noticed the milk would expire on Christmas Eve.

I noticed the milk would expire the day after the last day of school.

Three days before my graduation, the day of our wedding, one day after her due date the milk would expire.

Now, it seems, everything in the refrigerator has an expiration date. Bottles, jars, jugs and cans expire and I've grown skeptical of their authority.

But the little girl in me? She still believes the almighty carton.

This morning after my run I craved orange juice. It's hot, so hot this summer, and I ran early today and I desperately wanted to stick my whole entire self in the refrigerator. Instead I settled for as much cooling as I could absorb with the reach for orange juice. I grabbed the carton from the back of the fridge and wondered when I bought it and if it was still good.

I noticed the expiration date.

Is it August already? No. Still July.

But by the time the orange juice expires, Mo will have been at college for exactly one day less than one week.

**Thanks Madeleine, for the title, for the phrase - measuring time.

delooming things

2011-07-18T07:57:00.006-04:00

I'm a procrastinator. I love to get things done, yet there is a hitch in my getthingsdone that prevents me from getting around to the getting done of things. The hitch is me.

I'm the problem. Yep, it's definitely me.

I admit it.

One of the scariest things I've learned as a parent is that my kids do or say or think the same actions or words or ideas as me.

Mirrors.

Sometimes that's good, but sometimes it's decidedly disappointing.

I'm a procrastinator and I have passed on my procrastinatorly ways.

Mo has a lot of post-graduation and post-Kenya trip 'thank you' notes to write. This morning we were talking about them and she, or maybe it was Steve, used the word 'looming' to describe them.

Looming.

Looming things.

Things loom.

I have a lot of things to deloom. The procrastinator in me detests the to-do lists but the artist in me is intrigued by the possibilites of delooming.

Simplicity.

Negative space.

Peace.

These things await those who master the art of delooming.

Today is my Delooming Day. I'll delight in every little thing that gets undone.

the card

2011-07-02T02:12:00.007-04:00

I walked into the church kitchen just as one woman handed it to the woman beside her. It's easy to tell when the card isn't intended for you. The transition is smooth, the pen is taken up and the writing gets written, and the card moves through sets of hands until you take your turn. When you're the card's intended though, conspiracy is immediate. Unspoken. A turned shoulder shields it from view. It's placed behind her back on the countertop. Maybe it's forgotten in the last gulps of coffee as the children arrive for another day of VBS.

This card was.

Forgotten.

The shoulders and the backs walked away with their now empty hands and their thoughtful hearts and remembered not the card on the countertop in the church kitchen, on my birthday.

Later I went back to the kitchen for some something needed by the crafty kids in the craft room, and there it was. Intended for me, this card. I considered peeking.

Later.

Later the card would be put into my hands by the ones who took the time to write, those who were glad I was born.

But later never came and the card ended up who knows where and my feelings were just the teensiest bit hurt that day. And the next. I decided sometime that week that being upset over a card wasn't worth the trouble.

I adored those women. Something got forgotten, but I wasn't forgotten. I didn't get to read their words, but I got to read their eyes, their actions, their spoken words. That was good enough. Still, there was a bit of a sting that eventually faded.

And I too, even I, forgot the card.

I hadn't thought about it for years. It happened two moves ago, three churches ago, but the other day I was talking with someone about how no matter where we live VBS seems to always coincide with my birthday. Somewhere in that thought process I remembered the card.

Later a question hit me.

Who found the card?

That day, the next day, someday someone found the card that was intended for me and never delivered to me.

But maybe they thought I carelessly, thoughtlessly left it behind.

Walked away.

spent

2011-06-24T07:01:00.005-04:00

A month or so of lasts. Hoopla. Some firsts. Milestone upon milestone.

Whirlwind.

Whirl.

Then quiet.

Survived.

No.

No, we enjoyed.

Joy!

We faked competence. We asked. We learned.

We smiled. She smiled.

Now we have a graduate. Now we have an adult child.

Yesterday she left for two weeks in Kenya. In sevenish weeks she will go off to college.

Away.

I feel a bit like a deflated balloon. One that spent the last month or so flying around the room as its insides made a staccato escape. One that had a slow leak and was unaware of the gradual loss of tension, shape, volume. I'm not sure which balloon I am. Maybe both. The result is the same.

Limp. Useless. Spent.

I am believing this is normal.

I've been assured it is.

Smiley Gratefuls

2011-06-22T09:39:00.003-04:00

415. She graduated.
416. She smiled and smiled and smiled.
417. We smiled that much.
418. So many generous, thoughtful, unexpected kindnesses to her. To us.
419. Girls in white dresses.
420. More traditions understood.
421. Progression, transition. expectation.

pak choi and swiss chard and rad - ishes!

2011-06-03T21:00:00.010-04:00

We've joined a CSA - Snipes Farm.

Yesterday we got our first distribution.

Tonight Mo and I made bruschetta with pea greens, Swiss chard, an onion, and basil from our share. We also got radishes, pak choi, 1/2 head of lettuce, broccoli, and we took the potatoes because our partner offered to keep the beet.

Along with the perishable food, there was potential food - a pepper plant which I planted last night. I am the keeper of the pepper! I hope it survives and produces at least two of them. While I was planting the pepper, I discovered some teeny tiny volunteer cherry tomato plants that came up from the frostbitten tomatos I left on the vine last fall. More potential.

FYI - Pea greens taste like peas. Swiss chard tastes a bit (ok...a lot) like dirt, but it is a nice dirt flavor.

I have no idea what to do with pak choi.

And here is the slightly researched but mostly based on instinct recipe.

Pea Greens and Swiss Chard Bruschetta

Pea greens, a large handful

Swiss chard, several leaves

Basil, a couple large leaves

Garlic, 2 cloves, pressed for the topping and 1 clove, pressed for the bread

Tomato or two

Onion, 1/2 small

Olive oil, 1 T for the topping and several T for the bread

Balsamic vinegar, 1 tsp

Lemon juice, 1 tsp

Salt

Pepper

Chop the pea greens, swiss chard, a couple of basil leaves, press a couple cloves of garlic, chop some tomato and onion. Add about a tablespoon of olive oil and about a teaspoon of balsamic vinegar - but the ratios I saw on other recipes were sometimes 1-1, so if you like vinegar don't be stingy. One of us doesn't like vinegar, so we went light. Add about a tsp of lemon juice, some salt and fresh ground pepper to taste. Brush the bread with an olive oil/garlic mixture and toast at 425 for about 2 minutes.

The Pickle Years

2011-06-01T08:01:00.005-04:00

I remember the pickle years. There were only a few of them. I was a small girl.

*****

Pony tailed, kool-aid mustached, mosquito bitten, dirty heeled, stubbed toed.

Crowded, in the way, too many questions, not a help.

Watcher. Budding observer.

Sweaty mommy. Her harvest. Hurry. Cucumbers. Dill.

Jars. Pots. Steam. Smell. Pop.

*****

We've joined a CSA this summer. I wanted to do it for years. We're sharing a share with another family. Our first pick up date is Thursday. Thinking about green and growing things reminded me of the backyard garden of my childhood, vine warmed tomatos, REAL baby carrots, cut chunks of peppers spread out on cookie sheets in the freezer, masking tape date labels...

Previously Unwritten (with some new) Gratefuls

2011-05-30T07:13:00.002-04:00

Many previously unwritten, but not unnoted:

405. Mo's college decision made.
406. Spring sprung... sprang. Whatever. Spring exploded.
407. El's orchestra trip to France and Monaco.
408. Lasts...some snuck by and some were celebrated and a few more are to come.
409. Mo's quiet way of serving without expecting anything in return.
410. El's taking charge of the family boo boo's and her fascination with healing, anatomy, biology, life.
411. Mo is 18 years old! 18 - A legal adult who can take herself to the doctor and sign her own documents and other stuff that I delight in discovering and then telling her to do it herself.
412. Prom hoopla.
413. New appreciation for some mature, established relationships.
414. Encouragement.

Allergy World

2011-05-16T07:30:00.003-04:00

Welcome to Allergy World, where all your favorite allergens meet you at the gate...

Allergy World has something for everyone: from the fast-paced Staccato Sneezo to the leisurely Eye Burner, our rides are designed to capture your attention in any season. Spend your morning on the Cough'nWheeze, your afternoon with ItchyThroat or The Incessant Dripping, and your evening on the old standby Iknowitbugsyoubut I'msufferinghere.

Enhance your experience by taking a side trip to our very own EczemaNation and don't forget to grab some Miserabilia to share with friends and family!

Once you've discovered Allergy World, you'll return year after year. Guaranteed.

it is senioritis

2011-05-14T13:27:00.001-04:00

The Best Mother's Day Gift Ever

2011-05-09T09:22:00.006-04:00

Several years ago my Mother’s Day gift made me jump up and down. I even squealed and clapped my hands.

I felt special. Important. Appreciated. Thrilled. Yes, I was thrilled!

The gift wasn’t jewelry, perfume, or flowers. It wasn’t a day at the spa. It wasn’t breakfast in bed, a picnic lunch on the beach or dinner at a nice restaurant.

That year, I asked for a specific gift. Steve thought I was joking at first. He raised his eyebrows. I said it again. Again with the eyebrows. I assured him that this was all I wanted. Truly...

-----

The rest of the story is here.

Today I blogged at Northampton Patch. Actually, I wrote this last week and then I hemmed and I hawed, I stalled, I almost backed out and then I came to the conclusion that it really isn't a big deal if my neighbors and my kids' classmates and their parents see my run on sentences and lazy grammar and excessive use of commas and the word 'and'.

Want your voice to be heard? Want to see if there's a blogger in your neighborhood? Now that I pressed 'submit', I do.

I started following Patch months ago when I found a link to an article (with video!) about our girls' winter choral and orchestra concert. It's a great source for local news and events.

See if there's a Patch in your community.

stand

2011-04-20T09:30:00.002-04:00

I am walking on a desert highway beside Steve. We're in the midst of a crowd of people walking the same highway, all walking in the same direction and there is not a car in sight. Just people. We're walking with purpose, but slowly. We're tired, but not trudging. I am outside of myself, as it is in the way of dreams, and yet I am also myself. It's a familiar place, also the way of dreams. The conscious me wonders maybe then, or maybe wonders in the memory of the dream. Did I see this place in a movie? Did I see it from a car window? I don't know. It all - the dream, the setting - has the feel of familiarity, of significance, and perhaps that's why I'm reminded of it on occasion for twenty years or more.

We're walking with people we've never met and no one is talking, yet there is communion. There is no soundtrack. There is silence. The me outside of me sees the road and the people as moving from the left to the right, then sees an explosion directly in front of me, which is to the left of the dream me. Everyone is aware of the soundless explosion, the iconic mushroom cloud fills my sight and I am now the dream me. The explosion is far away, but I fall to my knees along with the people.

The mushroom cloud expands. I see me on my knees, the forward motion of falling puts me slightly in front of Steve. I see that he does not fall. He stands watching.

The me on my knees, aware of his upright presence behind, wishes I had his courage. I wish to stand with him and then the dream ends.

____

I am in Haiti, holding a sleeping toddler after the feeding of a hundred or more, and the children run about and the music blares and I stand in response to the words. She, movement and dancing, smiles some words about this song and I say out loud how can you not respond.

I stand and I sway and I pat a fully clothed diaperless bottom.

This is no dream.

____

We learn about Seder from one who spends his life in knowing tradition and I hear as if for the first time about looking back and looking forward and repentance and joy. And there is communion and I wait for joy. There is a woman and a guitar and a song of response.

It is the same song. Of course it is.

How can I not respond?

I stand.

____

Days of Elijah
by Robin Mark

These are the days of Elijah
Declaring the Word of the Lord
And these are the days of Your servant Moses
Righteousness being restored
And though these are days of great trials
Of famine and darkness and sword
Still we are the voice in the desert crying
Prepare ye the way of the Lord

Behold He comes riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun at the trumpet call
Lift your voice it's the year of Jubilee
Out of Zion's hill salvation comes

And these are the days of Ezekiel
The dry bones becoming as flesh
And these are the days of Your servant David
Rebuilding a temple of praise
And these are the days of the harvest
The fields are as white in your world
And we are Your laborers in Your vineyard
Declaring the Word of the Lord

Behold He comes riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun at the trumpet call
Lift your voice it's the year of Jubilee
Out of Zion's hill salvation comes

The White Way of Delight

2011-04-14T19:32:00.003-04:00

State Street in spring.

"But they shouldn't call that lovely place the Avenue. There is no meaning in a name like that. They should call it--let me see--the White Way of Delight. Isn't that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name of a place or a person I always imagine a new one and always think of them so. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Hepzibah Jenkins, but I always imagined her as Rosalia DeVere. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight." -- L.M. Montgomery

Thank you, Anne.

going

2011-03-28T08:41:00.003-04:00

She is going.

Yes, we knew this before she was born. She was there in me all safe and warm and then one day she was outta there and in the world. And she, our little RiahBear, was less safe and less warm but still pretty warm and safe.

With us.

And we knew for all these years that she would be here with us for a while and then she would leave. Someday she would leave and it was our job and our pleasure to teach her what we can teach her and it is our dream that she will go out there and do whatever she's here to do while being whoever and however and wherever she is intended to be.

So she will go.

She knows there is more to learn and it's away from here and it may get cold and sometimes it might be unsafe there, and if not this there then the next there, and still she knows she must go.

Because warm and safe were just the beginning, not the goal.

And so Moriah is going.

obvi

2011-03-13T08:34:00.003-04:00

Who needs urban dictionary? I have El.

The B Side

2011-03-07T09:38:00.016-05:00

I learned this past week that Johnny Preston died. He was the artist who performed the classic song Running Bear.

Running Bear is one of the songs I associate with my childhood and my teenage years because it was on our jukebox. Here's a bit from a blog post in which I talked about our jukebox:

" I got a couple of slots to myself. I remember listening to Blondie's Heart of Glass and some Loverboy too. It was fun to hang out with my friends and listen to my records with that thumpin' jukebox bass.

The jukebox taught me to love the Moody Blues' Nights in White Satin, The Beatles' Twist and Shout, and Willie Nelson singing Blue Skies. I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it. I spent many nights playing with candles, eating peanuts while my parents played cards with their friends, and letting the lyrics take me places.

But I never could like that song Forever in Blue Jeans. Neil Diamond freaked me out. "

Occasionally I get the urge to make a list of all the records I can remember from the Jukebox. I'd like to make an iTunes Jukebox folder and hear them again in some sort of context. So rather than brush off the urge again, I'm starting here and now. I guess it'll be a work in progress. I'm not sure I'll be able to find out what was on the B side of some of the songs, but I know I'll recognize it if I see it.

Sometimes the B sides got played as much as the A sides. Some of them I can't remember at all.

Beatles - Twist and Shout / There's a Place

Blondie - Heart of Glass / The Tide is High

Buddy Holly - Every Day / Peggy Sue

The Doors - Light my Fire / ?

Doug Kershaw - Natural Man / Mama Said Yeah

Joe Tex - Ain't Gonna Bump No More (With No Big Fat Woman) / I Mess up Everything I Get my Hands on

Johnny Preston - Running Bear / Cradle of Love

Loverboy - Turn Me Loose / Prissy Prissy

Moody Blues - Nights in White Satin / Tuesday Afternoon

Neil Diamond - Forever in Blue Jeans / Remember Me

Neil Young - Heart of Gold / Sugar Mountain

The Platters - Great Pretender / ?

Willie Nelson - Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain / Bandera

Willie Nelson - Blue Skies / Georgia on my Mind

And one song with so much profanity that I just can't bring myself to list it here. But if you know the one that has to do with a truck and rodeo and being the teensiest bit angry, well, that's the one.

bound to come some troubles gratefuls

2011-03-05T08:02:00.004-05:00

396. a glimpse of her heart

397. give and take

398. liberal use of the backspace key

399. those things said

400. headway

401. deliberate guilt free me time

402. friend gifts

403. consolation

404. finding He's there

one foot on the gas and the other on the brake

2011-02-28T09:12:00.002-05:00

My car's been making this noise since just after Christmas. It's an intermittent noise that only starts up after driving for approximately 20 minutes. It starts quietly, and then grows into a horrible alien howl. It only does it when my foot is on the gas or when I'm coasting. It will stop if I touch the brake. It will stop if I turn left or bear left around a curve. Sometimes it will stop (or start up again) when I hit a pothole in the road.

We took the car in for repair a couple weeks ago and they charged us $28 to tell us that they couldn't replicate the problem. But the problem is getting worse and it's pretty embarrassing to drive around in the car and I've started to wonder if the wheel is going to fall off or the bottom drop out or if I my hearing may be permanently damaged in the upper ranges.

So yesterday I was in the car with Mo and the howl commenced and with that my nerves began jangling and with that I kind of jerked the car left and right while doing some quick brake tapping - which she found ridiculous and so did I. I said maybe I should just drive with one foot on the brake and one on the gas. So we laughed a little which helped the nerves some and it reminded me of a story.

I have some funny driving stories that involve my mom and her driving, but I'm only going to tell one now because I've limited this whole 'chuck' thing to 30 minutes and we're almost there, believe it or not.

My mom drove with one foot on the gas and one on the brakes. That's how she learned and that's what she did the rest of her life. Now, I didn't notice until I became a driving expert after one day of driver's ed class at school. (I have lots of driver's ed stories too, but I suppose that they will have to wait now too. Hey this 'chuck' thing is working! (For me anyway. Ha ha, doupble parentheses and I left in a typo! Yay! Exclamations everywhere!)) I told her she wasn't supposed to do that - one foot on the brake and one on the gas, remember? I got a bit off track and needed to remind us where we're going. She wasn't supposed to drive like that. It's unsafe.

She told me too bad. Too bad, she wasn't gonna change. And she didn't.

Yesterday I realized that I do that. I do a lot of things with one foot on the brake and one foot on the gas. Old habits, even dangerous ones are hard to break. Or brake. Tee hee.

37 minutes of 'chuck'.

chuck

2011-02-28T09:00:00.002-05:00

My sister-in-law worked a brief stint in the local elementary school cafeteria. I don't think she liked that job much. My immediate family got something lasting from her time there though. It's the word 'chuck'. As in,

"There was chuck today."

That means someone threw up in the cafeteria.

***

I can't seem to settle down to write anything lately. I'm distracted by the details of my life and when I sit down to write, I edit and restate and reword until I'm weary and walk away. And I've said nothing.

I've decided that in order to try to get past this, I'm going to spend some time 'chucking' on this blog. I'm not going to stew about the right word or the right grammar, or punctuation, or dangling prepositions or too many commas or run on sentences with typos.

Nope. I'm gonna 'chuck'. Maybe I'll go back and edit later. Get outta the way.

Gratefuls for today

2011-02-16T08:48:00.004-05:00

392. Dog dreaming in sunshine patch.

393. The Heavens are Telling (automobile version) - One girl sings oboe and the other girl sings soprano and when they are not in the car with me I still hear them.

394. Found time.

395. These hard things.

blotched but scoured

2011-02-10T13:18:00.004-05:00

I spent time in a house of mourning today.

It's hard. Every time, it's hard.

Another friend is a widow. Too young to be a widow, and yet, when is one old enough to be a widow? Another fatherless child. A child who had a sick dad for half his few years. A child whose sweet baby face belies his questions and experience.

I was reminded of a passage the pastor mentioned at my mom's funeral. I cannot number the times I've read this. Though I know it's true, it's still hard to understand. And that's okay. Today I've switched back and forth between these versions, comparing them. Interesting, the differences between the two essentially say the same thing.

Blotched. Scoured. Invested. Rebuked.

Let me stick to it. For the better.

Ecclesiastes 7:1-8 (New International Version)

¹ A good name is better than fine perfume,

and the day of death better than the day of birth.

² It is better to go to a house of mourning

than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of everyone;
the living should take this to heart.

³ Frustration is better than laughter,
because a sad face is good for the heart.

⁴ The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.

⁵ It is better to heed the rebuke of a wise person
than to listen to the song of fools.

⁶ Like the crackling of thorns under the pot,
so is the laughter of fools.
This too is meaningless.

⁷ Extortion turns a wise person into a fool,

and a bribe corrupts the heart.

⁸ The end of a matter is better than its beginning,

and patience is better than pride.

Ecclesiastes 7:1-8 (The Message)

1 A good reputation is better than a fat bank account.

Your death date tells more than your birth date.

2 You learn more at a funeral than at a feast—

After all, that's where we'll end up. We might discover

something from it.

3 Crying is better than laughing.

It blotches the face but it scours the heart.

4 Sages invest themselves in hurt and grieving.

Fools waste their lives in fun and games.

5 You'll get more from the rebuke of a sage

Than from the song and dance of fools.

6 The giggles of fools are like the crackling of twigs

Under the cooking pot. And like smoke.

7 Brutality stupefies even the wise

And destroys the strongest heart.

8 Endings are better than beginnings.

Sticking to it is better than standing out.

Grateful Sentences

2011-02-05T10:49:00.003-05:00

391. Sentences. They seem to have flown away. Someday they will return and speak for me.

A shovelful of gratefuls

2011-01-15T06:34:00.004-05:00

Oh, the snow! It's a blowy snowy winter. In my humble opinion, there's too much snow. Each individual flake seems insignificant, yet they add up to piles

and piles

and piles.

The wind, with the most aggression I've seen in twelve winters here, tirelessly shifts the piles to flakes again, only to pile them somewhere else

and somewhere else

and somewhere else.

I bend so I will be able to lift my own shovelful of winter.

Scrape.

Scoop.

I stand to measure the weight of it, and as I twist to finish my own version of snowpile rearrangement, I count gratefuls in snowflakes or clumps. Too many individuals are unseen, but the impression made with each single act of bending

and scraping

and scooping

leads to building mountains

and mountains

and mountains.

I bend again.

377. Someone who could make a difference intervened for Mo.

378. El's wisdom teeth extracted without complications.

379. A restful break from routine.

380. Seeds shaped like birds in flight.

381. Her grasp of freedom, of independence, of responsibility.

382. Friends who hear my heart.

383. Steve making my coffee first.

384. Shopping by appointment.

385. Unexpected gifts.

386. A game we can enjoy as a family.

387. Laughter.

388. Praying out of a bad dream.

389. Pondering and repondering this:

It is winter... but go out on a winter day and stop at the first tree you see. Here and there on the bare boughs you will find a tiny knot and within it, plaited, folded, crumpled or coiled, lies the glory of the leaves to come. They are all there covered up, for God has many thoughts over his baby buds and many plans for toning down the light that might draw them out before their time... --Lilias Trotter

390. Pondering and repondering this:

2 Corinthians 1:3-7 (The Message)

All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too. When we suffer for Jesus, it works out for your healing and salvation. If we are treated well, given a helping hand and encouraging word, that also works to your benefit, spurring you on, face forward, unflinching. Your hard times are also our hard times. When we see that you're just as willing to endure the hard times as to enjoy the good times, we know you're going to make it, no doubt about it.

drama doesn't work anymore

2011-01-06T19:31:00.002-05:00

I got a lovely new pair of glasses. The frames are dark as the blackest night, with a diamond star on each side...

Has anyone ever gotten used to progressive lenses?

Am I the only one who has the barest sliver of the world in focus?

Must I endure this sore neck from turning my head

just so

for the

two

years?

--Me, as Anne of Green Gables, at 45

Ghosts of Christmases Past

2010-12-21T22:11:00.005-05:00

Once a girl swallowed a magic pebble on Christmas Eve. Her mom had to call the doctor to find out whether she should throw it up right now or let it take a leisurely trip down and out. Down and out was the winner. A few days later the mom was exceedingly happy to fish a glowing blue orb out of the commodious sea.

One year later a girl suddenly stood up and ran away from the traditional Christmas Eve chili dinner. Time was of the essence and the door leading to the commodious sea was closed. A chili volcano erupted. The dad did not take pleasure in the aftermath. The girl declined all offers of chili for at least a year. It's possible the dad did too.

Nothing unusual happened on Christmas Eve in the following years. The mom and the dad were relieved.

small

2010-12-20T22:38:00.002-05:00

I see small best.

I treasure small.

I see tree,

not forest.

No scope. No panorama.

I see less.

Leaf.

Bark.

Bug. Bud.

Bird. Limb. Knot.

Minute. Detailed. Intricate. Individual.

Invisibles in forest vision.

You conquer forest,

dreamer.

I linger among trees.

Dreamy.

Small, small me.

gratefuls beginning with 360

2010-12-15T00:04:00.004-05:00

360 brings to mind turn, turn, turn...

swirly swirls of a dry blowy snow

in a warm car with my loves, watching

classical christmas on pandora

in a warm car with my loves, listening

no rush to decorate

only decorating this much

maddening expectable changes at work

that mostly keep boredom away

the cheese always moving

this rat can roll with it (better than I credit myself, sometimes)

a driver's license

a driver's permit

another car

lost the six most michelinian pounds of my michelin man middle

can see the difference

can feel the difference

am liking the difference

360-376

Illume

2010-12-02T19:07:00.004-05:00

In the dark

the freshly licensed driver

made ready for her maiden journey.

Her sentimental mother

stocking footed in the cold

readied the camera.

(the picture would have been here)

Instead

her startled mother

jumped up and down

waved her arms

muttered.

The new driver left with unlit headlights.

Post Thanksgiving Gratefuls

2010-11-26T23:46:00.005-05:00

350. Ran my first 5K with Steph and Steve.

351. I still feel like running.

352. After months of failed automatic back-ups on the external drive, I figured out how to make the computer and the external drive talk to each other and got a successful back-up.

353. The computer died after the successful back-up.

354. Steve borrowed some equipment from a friend and was able to load the info directly from the old drives into the new computer. Even though we didn't even need the back-up, it was a relief to know it was available.

355. We got an iMac! I am supposed to love it! I am trying to figure it out and it's a good thing I like learning new languages! It's a good thing! (If delete = backspace, what = delete?)

356. Mo decided she was in charge of the Thanksgiving Feastmaking this year and I don't ever need to do it again. She did a fantastic job. Yum.

357. We invited friends over to eat with us at the last minute on Thanksgiving and we didn't even clean up the house like we were having guests and they didn't even care.

358. El's birthday event was a smashing success. And a surprise. And fun.

359. After a summer of drought I was sure the fall colors would not be very interesting. I was wrong. It was a spectacular season.

The Squeeze

2010-11-11T18:36:00.003-05:00

On my way home from work I was thinking about sponges.

Sponges are really good at soaking things in until saturated, but they won't release the stuff they've soaked in unless they are squeezed.

(Or dry out, but that's another analogy).

It made me consider the areas in which I feel squeezed.

I thought about what I release when I am under pressure.

I'm ashamed by how much of it is bad.

And just what am I replacing there in the voids for the next squeeze?

Still Running

2010-11-06T00:31:00.002-04:00

It's past midnight and I really should be sleeping. I can't go there now, so I am here.

My brain is full. Maybe dumping some of what's on my mind will help?

I started running two (2!) months ago and I can now run 25 minutes straight. No stops or walks. My run is often more of a trudge. Perhaps it's as slow as a walk at times. I press on. The goal is to run a 5K at the end of November. Steve is working toward that too. It's fun to have a common goal outside of our daily routine, a goal that doesn't revolve around marriage or kids.

We used the Couch-to-5K Running Plan to get started. At first, it's a thirty minute walk with occasional run time. I wasn't strict about the schedule. If I thought I couldn't advance, I repeated a workout. I took some days off in Week 4 when my knees screamed, "HEY! WE ARE 45 YEARS OLD...WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!?" There are two options to the plan, timed runs or distance runs. I got an app for my iPhone that gives voice prompts so I'd know when to walk and when to run. I didn't even measure distance until a couple weeks ago.

I am slow.

Since I am doing the longer runs now, I've switched to Nike+GPS. It updates me on my pace, time and distance. After a run, I can look at the map and see where I was fast and where I was slow. Today I ran 3.26km in 25:18 and burned 207 calories. Unfortunately, I probably drank at least 207 calories in Pepsi tonight. Oh, that is why I can't sleep!

Familiar Gratefuls

2010-10-20T19:19:00.003-04:00

343. Fall leaves on blacktop after rain

344. Yellow trees in morning fog

345. Prescription given without doctor visit

346. Itch relief

347. Pain free running

348. Bittersweetness

349. Friends who become family

College Application Grateful

2010-10-09T19:50:00.003-04:00

342. I am thankful for college application essays. I know my Mo hates writing them, but they are a picture window to her beautiful soul. It's a privilege to read them.

One(ish) Word Gratefuls

2010-10-08T22:03:00.003-04:00

336. Texting

337. Commiseration

338. Anticipation

339. GiftCardRedemption - yeah, so I cheated on that one.

340. Cheating - tee hee.

341. Silliness

one month doth a habit make

2010-10-04T22:15:00.003-04:00

I am a runner. I can say that because I've been running for exactly one month and I haven't quit running and I don't plan to quit.

I am a runner.

JOY on her bucket

2010-09-30T19:17:00.004-04:00

Did I tell you this before?

(don't let the dangling prepositions scare you!)

I think I've already started that thing older people do -

you know -

they tell you stories about that shopping trip six months ago on a Saturday morning:

It was in the spring. Yeah, because I drove the new car and they had bulbs for sale out front, Pepsi was on special and so was that Dial soap, you know the yellow bars? Not the liquid, no way, that's such a waste, it's the bar soap for me! And I ran into Buddy, you know from the shop? Remember him? That reminds me did I tell you about the phone call I got while I was in Arizona? Don told me that George had gotten hit by a car and died. You know George walks along the road looking for cans so he can turn them at the store for a nickel and anyway he was out walking after a snowstorm. A snowstorm! Yeah, I think it was the one that hit the day after we left. That's why we left early, you know. It was all icy and he didn't really get hit by a car and die, he fell on the ice and broke his hip. I found that out from my brother after we got back. Thought George was dead for oh, about two months. Or was it three? Guess he won't be walking along the road getting free cans anymore, heh heh heh. Oh and Buddy, well he just had a hip replacement last week, but that doesn't have anything to do with it. Buddy told me to come into the shop because that part I'd been waiting for was finally in. And I didn't even have that car anymore, I had just gotten the new one...

So, do I have a point to my story? I think so, but maybe it's just a point in my running narrative that will get missed in all the details. It doesn't matter to me what you think though, because like the older people I know, I'll just tell the story and it'll be up to you to follow it or roll your eyes and say you've heard it all before.

When we moved here eleven years ago, some new friends allowed us to stay in their house for a week while they were on vacation and while we waited for August 1st, the closing date on our home.

We were getting ready to leave because they were getting ready to return, so we tried to be good house guests and cleaned up after ourselves. I like to clean my way out of places, so when upstairs was done I worked through the living room and the kitchen was the last room. I needed to mop the floor, so I found the mop and the bucket and the cleanser, and just as I was about to start running some water into the bucket, I saw it.

JOY

In tiny print, written in black on a blue bucket was this single, small, humongous word. Yes, I know that is an awkward sentence, but this is my story now listen!

Now I suppose I could get all obvious and say something like, "We ought to tackle our housework with JOY!" Something like that. It would be a nice, predictable way to end all of this. I could get up from here feeling oh so good about myself and go tackle some laundry with JOY because seriously, there is a lot of laundry that needs done here and it seems that I'm the one who'll be doing it.

And it's possible that the obvious conclusion, what I first thought of the JOY bucket, was even her intent when she wrote it. I know I certainly need to write JOY all over a whole lot of things that make me think WORK, or YUCK, or WHATEVER, I GUESS I'LL DO IT BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IS. So the obvious conclusion is actually a valid exhortation to find JOY in one's daily dailies. I'm not knocking it.

But you know, my friend of eleven years is a gentle and understated sort of woman and her bucket said

JOY

So I think now I know what she really meant. There is a quiet JOY to be found in unexpected places.

Sometimes those places are dirty buckets.

Or stories about shopping trips.

And I think I made my point.

Again?

but - he is getting better

2010-09-28T22:19:00.003-04:00

El made this. I must give credit where credit is due. She's created a masterpiece depicting the last two months of life with our dog. And yes, we can laugh because he is getting better.

Caspian's (ok, also OUR) woes began right before July 4th. He's had a skin infection twice, and this second infection spread to his head.

He got a nasty case of conjunctivitis that started with red eyes and progressed to the red part swelling so much we often couldn't find the iris, leaving him temporarily blind. See above. But - he can see again now.

He's drooled constantly for weeks. The drool had the viscosity and adhesive properties of Elmer's Glue for a while. See above. But - now it's just thick enough to hang down in slimy strings. He likes to rub them off on the couch right before we arrive with a towel. (As an added disgusting bonus, he leaves froth in the bowl after he gets a drink. Froth. Like beer bubbles).

Blindness has prevented Caspian from engaging in one of his favorite outdoor pastimes: eating poop. See above reference to his breath. But - dog poop breath is only slightly worse than sick dog breath.

While he hasn't been eating poop, he has had mild interest in his food dish when we've helped him find it. He often got a bit of kibble stuck in the corner of his mouth, or more accurately, on the semi-dried drool/hair clump at the corner of his mouth. See above. But - I removed last clump yesterday.

I have nothing to say about the yellow teeth. They are just extra information. See above. But - they do add interest to the composition of the piece.

There's more. But - it's not in the picture.

PS. I need new carpet. And a new couch.

rainy morning gratefuls

2010-09-27T09:10:00.000-04:00

316. Rainy morning, of course.

317. The rightness of obedience.

318. How much our girls like each other. Still. In these teenager years.

319. Twenty two years, one month and one week of marriage.

320. Time. Alone. For a while.

321. Mo seeing the spiders at the same intersection as I did days later.

322. A compliment to a daughter, because she's awesome.

333. El telling me about her sense of smell, and telling me she likes my smell.

334. Risky, vulnerable moments that are met with grace.

335. Friday morning conversations with my man.

Summer Gratefuls (in numeric but not sequential or significant order)

2010-08-28T04:32:00.004-04:00

302. Spider silhouette on darkening sky.

303. Discovering Chicago together.

304. Fabulous week at camp.

305. Being with family.

306. Fire pit and tiki torches and new chairs.

307. Nice surprises that squeeze my heart some.

308. Test results that are positive. Which means negative. Which means good news.

309. Laughing with each other.

310. The long summer sunlight in the evenings at camp.

311. The sliver of daylight shining on the improbable tree between high rises.

312. The brewing storm over a mid west town.

313. Giordano's Pizza. Newtown Pizza. Homemade pizza.

314. Returning from work to find the girls have finished 'the list'.

315. Friends who feel free to come over on short notice because they believed the open invitation.

prime gratefuls

2010-07-16T09:11:00.006-04:00

I had a birthday. I went out to eat two times. The three people I love the most made it extra special. It is a milestone year - it ends with a five. The month and day are seven and thirteen.

I cannot work in an eleven. I don't care. Much.

This is the prime of my life.

301.

--Shortly after I wrote this I remembered an eleven. We moved here eleven years ago that week. Why I feel the need to update this to include the eleven is beyond me...

sleight of hand

2010-07-04T07:12:00.003-04:00

In a particularly cruel sleight of hand, Middle Age has replaced my hourglass figure with that of the Michelin Man.

What's wrong with my skin?

Let's hear some virtual applause

Indignities of the Day

she embarrassed her daddy and made me laugh all hysterical like

2010-06-19T21:54:00.003-04:00

While taking apart a flashlight El says, "Wow. Did you ever notice that battery sizing is the same as bra sizing?"

I wonder aloud where the 9 Volt fits.

2 am gratefuls

2010-06-17T01:59:00.002-04:00

295. Roadside tiger lilies in the rain.

296. Roadside tiger lilies in the sun.

297. Smelling fresh turned earth in the morning.

298. Smelling fresh cut grass in the afternoon.

299. School's out.

300. Summer's here.

Notice

2010-05-27T07:31:00.003-04:00

Long time coming grateful

2010-05-22T08:21:00.003-04:00

294.

I've needed to be quiet lately. It's easy for me to be grateful for some things

daily glimpses of protection

or guidance

or the glory of creation

moments of awe and wonder

over where I've been and

who I am now and

those I have the privilege of serving.

I do those gratefuls well. They're elementary for me. They're memorized like multiplication tables and spit out by rote. There's danger that they will lose their true significance in trying to write one hundred answers in five minutes or by singing the sixes to the tune of Jingle Bells.

Six times six is thirty-six.

Six groups of six stinky socks equals thirty-six stinky socks.

Six sixes.

Thirty-six.

Always.

It's remarkable.

And that's how I've tried to live my gratefulnesses.

But there are deeper gratefuls I've had to work toward lately. They are the hard won, higher math kind of gratefuls. They require acceptance that

'n' stands for the unknown

and 'x' is the way things are

and 'y' is my responsibility.

And perhaps they plug into this formula somehow.

Romans 5:1-5

I'm not there yet. I'm not grateful yet.

But I want to be there and I am working toward there. I can be grateful for that.

the best ice water

2010-05-02T22:22:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I start to write something but something else shoves its way in and decides to take over.

So tree pruning and Death and Dying Reports will just have to wait for another day, because there is only one thing to say right now.

I get myself a glass of ice water and sit down to write. A certain daughter snatches the glass out of my hand and drinks some of my cold water. I breathe out my Longsuffering Mother Sigh and pretend it really bothers me.

She says I make the best ice water.
She kisses my cheek and says I am the best mommy ever.

She grins her grin.
And she says goodnight.

Goodnight.

It took a whole year for me to remember to write (some of) this, but that's because there was more than I thought to it.

2010-04-28T19:51:00.006-04:00

I think I've said it before, but I have the most beautiful drive to work. Some days I want to speed past the turn and keep driving. Something about the hills and the trees and the seasons and all Creation right there along Route 532 takes hold of me and leaves me teary eyed - or just plain giddy.

Hawks eat snakes. I did not know that until a few weeks ago when a hawk snagged a snake at the side of the road. I had to hit my brakes hard, not to get a better view, but because the ascending hawk and the wiggling snake nearly hit my car.

The low part of the road parallels a creek. The creek draws the eye most days, but there is a little pond on the other side of the road at the base of a driveway that is worth watching as the seasons change. A redbud tree grows by the pond and the clearing behind it is the perfect green for the tree. Scandalous. I never noticed the tree until this year and when I saw all that color, the only word I could come up with to describe it is scandalous. You know, scandalous in a good way. According to the dictionary, scandalous cannot be used in a positive context. I think it can though, especially in regards to the redbud tree on a canvas of green.

It's the green I've meant to write about, sorta. More specifically, it's new grass - and how it took me back to when my babies were babies.

Background is necessary here too, I guess. Ever since I was a little girl, I've had visions while riding in cars. It sounds so weird when I say it like that, but it's true. I don't mean real things like what I've described above, close encounters with hawks and breath stealing trees, I mean things transforming before me in an outdoorsy, otherworldly, Wonkaesque kind of way. It's a game I play. Sometimes it plays me.

Here's one example. I used to run beside the car on the way to Grandma's house, each step made perfectly at the top of a mile marker or road sign or billboard. Sometimes I took the easy route and ran across the tops of electrical poles, but most of the time I took to the low road. I was big. I had long legs, perfect legs for making all those steps on the tops of the signs and poles. I never missed. Big steps. Long steps. Elevation changes. I never fell. It was mesmerizing and it ate up the miles.

So, back to the grass. This happened last year.

I was driving to work in early spring, in the first of the green days, after a rain. The grass was new and longish. Long enough to almost need its first mowing. The grass grows all the way to the road at that place and there is a gentle rise from the road. In my mind I stretched my hand out to that rise. I could see every individual blade of grass, each one it's own length and shape. Some still sparkling with raindrops and some already dry. I saw them all. My hand stretched out to touch each one of those individual blades of grass and they each leaned toward my hand, reaching for my touch. At that moment, my girls were babies again and the gentle rise was their baby brows and the grass was their baby hair and my hand -

the reach of my hand was enough to make each one of their uncut, individual baby hairs lean in to me.

And I touched them all, each hair.

I pulled them close and I smelled them again, my babies.

And in this place I never had to cut their hair.

I tried to make it happen again this year. I waited all winter for the days of new grass, the rain, the stretching of the blades. On the perfect day, in the exact place, I looked for the vision.

I saw it, but it was a memory.

trees - day two (gratefuls abloom)

2010-04-08T19:52:00.003-04:00

293.

flowering trees abound

oh!

to weave, and lose my fingers in weeping cherry's tresses!

stately bradford pear surveys

aglow

such a purply not-red redbud

at distance

each skyturned dogwood blossom poses afloat

and the apple orchard basks pinkpinkpink

orderly disorder under sun.

Break Gratefuls

2010-04-03T01:41:00.003-04:00

288. Awesome time with TN family.

289. Lots of driving hours for Mo - without incident.

290. Crossing Zorb off the Bucket List.

291. The anonymous gift that made it all easier.

292. Safe home.

trees - day one

2010-03-25T06:55:00.004-04:00

Trees

I think that I shall never see 
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day, 
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear 
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me, 
But only God can make a tree.

Joyce Kilmer

Helen rooted me.

She planted scripture in her conversation without quoting chapter and verse.

She was humble.

Unthreatening.

Sure.

She tended my love of simple words.

She gave me this poem from memory on a Saturday morning. I stopped dusting for a moment.

Perhaps that was the day she asked me to wash her feet.

peachy gratefuls

2010-03-23T21:17:00.002-04:00

284. The peach pie that El gently insisted we get from the farmer's market.

285. The peach horizon under the rain clouds this evening, on the way in.

286. The short time spent on something that could have taken a long time.

287. The way the clouds looked like mountains on the way out.

The Recipe

2010-03-22T17:47:00.006-04:00

Cam, I am asked me for a recipe today, so I decided to share it here - along with a story. Any recipe worth it's chocolate chips has a story.

These cookies were banished from my home and my presence nearly 16 years ago. I forgot about them until recently. El asked what I craved when I was pregnant with her. I told her I didn't think I craved anything. The only thing I could remember was going on a date with Steve and eating french fries and a piece of chocolate pie for dinner. Weird preference maybe, but not a craving. I didn't feel right about my answer though. Her question bugged me.

Shortly after her question, El was supposed to take a couple dozen cookies to school, for sale in the cafeteria as part of a fundraiser for the orchestra. (Batches 1,2&3)

And suddenly I remembered The Cookies.
And suddenly I could answer her question.
And suddenly I slapped some poundage on the behinds of everyone I love, for these yummies are not conducive to weight maintenance.

Indisputable fact. The best recipes come from church cookbooks. Janesville United Methodist Cookbook(that's the church where we got hitched!) is a small, red, three ring binder. Tucked behind a blue tab with the modest label COOKIES & BARS, at the bottom of page 93, is the beloved Recipe. I am forever indebted to (and furious with) a woman with the initials CB.

Quite recently, Cam, I am named them Your Pregnancy Cookies, as in, "Oh, yay, I hoped you'd bring Your Pregnancy Cookies!" (Batches 7,8&9)

Warning: this recipe must be tripled. Honestly. One or two batches will not make it to tomorrow. Mo made some cookies yesterday. Steve just finished off the last one. (Batches 15,16&17, and yes, the numbers are off because I could only double batch one time, due to the tragic circumstance of running out of chocolate chips)

Chocolate Cookies, Your Pregnancy Cookies*, or The Recipe**

1 stick margarine (I use butter)
1 T. water
1 c. brown sugar
1 c. chocolate chips
2 eggs
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt

Cook margarine (butter), water, and brown sugar over low heat until melted (or may microwave). Add chocolate chips; stir to melt. Beat in eggs, flour, soda, and salt. Bake on ungreased cookie sheet at 350 for 8-10 minutes.

Some advice:
cook the butter-water-sugar mixture until the sugar does not seem 'grainy' any more;
let the mixture cool below egg cooking temperature before you add the eggs;
the dough is the right consistency when it doesn't stick to your fingers;
the dough will look strange - don't worry.

*No, I am not pregnant. Puh-leeze.
**I am reminded of the Baldwin Sisters on The Waltons. CB of Janesville United Methodist Church has honored us with her Recipe. I entrust it to you to honor and protect; revere it, for it holds healing powers. Or perhaps it will begin your downward spiral. See you at the bottom.

in like a lion gratefuls

2010-03-07T08:23:00.002-05:00

282. Umpteenth chances given.

283. Umpteenth chances received.

alone

2010-02-15T07:34:00.003-05:00

i'm here all alone in the house

everyone else has somewhere to be

but it's here, all alone, for me

so often i ached for alone

what i would do with such richness

but today it's here and i confess

alone is dismal company

Snowy Week Gratefuls

2010-02-13T07:33:00.003-05:00

275. Husband shoveling more and again

276. Children shoveling

277. Neighbors shoveling

278. Shoveling induced soreness

279. Finding saved documents with a one word search

280. Amended insurance claim

281. Holdback check

Isaiah 9:6

2010-02-09T22:36:00.004-05:00

Isaiah 9:6

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

I first believed because Ed preached.

I started going to church with Steve when I realized he had not gone crazy and joined a cult that was going to steal all our money (what money?) and invite us to spend the rest of our lives in a compound. The church shared space with an exercise club. Can you really blame me that my mind headed down the cult trail?

During the week, sweaty women peered at their overweight reflections on the mirrored walls and imagined themselves in perfect bodies. On Sundays, we faced those same mirrors and considered eternity. And sometimes we checked out what others were wearing.

I started going to church with Steve after seeing him change for the better; while I was there I listened. I hid under my hair and cried. I hated those mirrors for months.

Ed preached Isaiah 9:6 for four weeks leading up to Christmas. I listened. I needed to hear that God generously gives wisdom without finding fault. I needed to hear that God is mighty and that does not mean He is mean. I needed to hear that God will always, always be there for me. My Abba. I desperately needed peace. Jesus.

Desperate girl

crying behind her hair

lifted her head and received.

***

Tonight, hundreds of miles from here, Ed's family and community gathered to mourn and to celebrate his life.

If I were there, if I had the guts to stand up in front of a group and speak, I'd say that I'm thankful Ed introduced me to my Jesus through Isaiah 9:6. I learned a lot from the Four Quaker Questions, and I love to use them on others. He was right - behind every face, there is a drama going on...

And there's more, but you know, I can't talk when I'm all choked up.

274. Ed

Woodsmoke Gratefuls

2010-02-06T10:27:00.003-05:00

267. Fluffy flakes

268. Shoveling husband

269. Sleeping until I'm ready to not sleep

270. Toasted bagel with butter

271. Coffee in the brown mug

272. Nothing urgent

273.

Three times catching the scent of frozen air with a taste of woodsmoke -

sometime last week

sometime today

sometime next week

Jeepers, Creepers

2010-02-06T08:49:00.003-05:00

A couple of weeks ago someone decided that it was blog de-lurking day, and a bunch of bloggers asked their readers to de-lurk. I de-lurked at exactly one blog. I don't like de-lurking. I like lurking. When I get bored with a blog, I can stop lurking and no one is the wiser. Lurking is harmless right?

My kids no longer call people 'stalkers'. They use the word 'creeper'. I guess you could say I am a bit of a blog creeper, but in a good way. I don't have much time for commenting and making blog-friends and all that, so read-only is all I have for some blogs.

Anyway, those of us brave enough to de-lurk were supposed to tell her (among other things) when and where we had heard of her blog. I honestly cannot remember when I found her blog. I cannot remember when I found a lot of the blogs I read. I do know HOW I find a lot of blogs though. I subscribe using Google Reader, and Google is my own personal creeper. Google knows more about me (and you) than me (and you). For example, my friend Google asked me this morning if I wanted to put a couple of events on my Google Calendar based on dates I had written IN AN EMAIL. I did want to, and I did put them on my calendar. Thank you, my organized friend. I also feel a bit creeped out, and I am starting to wonder if I want to be your friend.

Google Reader has a 'Recommendations' tab that uses info from the blogs I read to see what type of blogs they are and what they all are reading to recommend more blogs for me to read. I've found some interesting reads that way. Those are the ones I lurk. I suppose that's how I found the de-lurking blog. I liked her writing and related to her struggles and I stayed. Sounds kind of creepy, huh?

I also find blogs through the people's comments on other blogs. I made most of my blog-friends that way. I appreciated their comment somewhere and I started reading their blog. I suppose those people seem more approachable to me and I have more courage to comment and begin to build a friendship. I have a few blog-friends. I've neglected them lately. I'm sorry.

I also have friends who blog. I believe that our friendships are enriched by knowing and sometimes talking about the things we write.

The other day I noticed that my own blog's subscribership - Blogger does not like that word, but I do - had spiked. While I wasn't paying attention, it zoomed out of the low 20's to the mid-20's. Whoa! What happened? I looked at the analytics that Steve set up for me a couple years ago, and noticed that a lot (ok, nearly all) of the traffic came from 'Next Blog'. People (like me) who use Blogger have a link at the top of their blog to go to the next blog. I have no idea how this works, this choosing of the next, but I do know that I have been 'next' to a lot of blogs lately. I do not click 'Next Blog'. It's a scary box, and I don't want to open it (again).

Steve says the 'Next Blog' link had been removed from Blogger for a while, and then reappeared recently. I guess that's why I have the new traffic at my blog. People who visit by that road stay for an average of 0 seconds. I guess I'm not offering enough 'WOW!' or 'EEK!'

I guess they must not be looking for 'HMM...' which is all I have to offer.

So, are you a creeper? When and how did you get here? Care to de-lurk?

gratefuls on a saturday morning

2010-01-23T08:26:00.002-05:00

263. Basking in morning sunshine.

264. A sweet song.

265. Togetherness.

266. Having no agenda.

Haiti

2010-01-16T09:17:00.007-05:00

I type and backspace over it. I restate. I backspace. The annoying upsy downsy line of the cursor flashes. Flashes. Flashes. | | |

I have something to say and I don't know what it is. I have something to do and I don't know what it is. I don't know yet.

Ready.

Set.

Go.

My journey to Haiti began long before I arrived, and has not ended. Never will.

I don't know when it began. Here's what I remember.

There were news stories. There were stories from Steve's childhood of a former neighbor. There are people I know.

There were hurricanes. A blog. There was another that embedded a news story in February 2009 of how Haitians are eating dirt baked into cookies to fill their stomachs.

There was a stirring. Prayer. A phone call received. Another made. There was a connection. Decisions. Immunizations. There was action.

There was travel. Worship. Work. Play. Laughter. Dust. Beans and rice. Braids, some of them reddish from malnutrition.

There was an earthquake.

There is now.

There are many ways to help.

Here's one.

Grateful #262. "My" people in Haiti are ok.

New Year Gratefuls

2010-01-09T08:30:00.003-05:00

258. A new decade, a new year.

259. Dry spells, because the new green that follows is sweeter than that which preceded the dusty brown.

260. My eyes on her eyes.

261. Yes, when no question has been asked or thought.

"...she was counted too"

2009-12-19T06:37:00.005-05:00

There are moments with my kids that sneak up unexpected-like on an ordinary day and parade by with a slight wave or a faint smile of acknowledgment. Then, if I am fortunate, they wake me up early so that I will savor them. This one woke me today.

El got a letter yesterday from Margaret, her eight year old sponsored child in Kenya. Margaret's letters are dictated so this one is filled with quotations. "She says" this and "she asks" that and in the end, "Bye, bye and God bless you," she concludes.

This part - "She informs you that in Kenya last month there was a census where people were counted and she was counted too. "Have you ever heard of a census?" she asks." - got the biggest 'awww' from El and prompted her to write back immediately. El told Margaret that she first learned of censuses when he learned the story about Jesus' birth. She told her she was glad that Margaret was counted in the census.

So sweet. She was really saying that Margaret matters to her.

She counts.

Grateful #257

Indignities of the Day

2009-12-15T08:08:00.001-05:00

"And now...Indignities of the Day! Brought to you by your sponsor, Perry Menno Pause. What do you have for us today, Perry?"

"Well, Stefanie, first someone - we would never say who - won't be able to see that pesky chin whisker due to their failing eyesight! They'll have to tweezer that bugger by feel!"

"OK, I'm sure they can handle that, that's nothing new."

"There's more! Once they yank it out and hold it at arms length so they can see it, they'll find that it's THAT color."

"THAT color, oh no!"

"Yes, Stefanie, and to further make their day undignified, they won't be able to remember if THAT color is spelled with an 'e' or an 'a'!"

"Thank you, Perry! Thank you!"

Harley, you've been talkin' for a thousand miles!

2009-12-11T06:12:00.006-05:00

I started writing this a month ago, and left it in draft because it wasn't going anywhere. Perhaps it hasn't gone anywhere yet, but I feel a need to complete something, even if it's just a bunch of related/disjointed thoughts.

***

I'd bet our family has spent more than the average amount of time in the car. Our extended road trips are a result, some would say punishment, for moving so far away from family. One of our first long trips was Utah to Iowa and back when the girls were four and two years old.

It may help to interject here and now that both girls were early talkers. I know that everyone thinks their kids are the smartest ever, the most highly advanced, blah, blah, and blah. But really, our kids started talking early. Mo's first word came at nine months when the 'b' sound she was experimenting with became 'b' words. Ball, button, balloon, bottle, baby - 'bah', 'buh-n', 'buh-nnn', 'ba', 'beh'. I counted her words on her first birthday, and the more than one hundred words in her vocabulary included strawberry and butterfly. ('BAH-deh-lee-deh-lee' and 'BUH--deh-lee-deh-lee'. They count. Yes, they do.) El's trajectory was similar to that point, though not as diligently documented since she is second.

Maybe all those 'b' words should have been a warning bell, a beam lighting futurity. I come from a quiet family. In my memory, dinners were often silent until I grew weary of only hearing silverware clicking on plates and faint eating noises and did something about it. I was the youngest, so there must have been noisier times in our home, but many of my memories begin about the time my older siblings reached the sullen, silent teenager phase. I had, for the most part, control of the noise level for a considerable number of years. I liked it that way.

***

The ramble above was a result of what follows.

Steve just looked over our phone bill. Keep in mind we were gone for ten days in Italy.

Texts sent last month:

Me: 31

Steve: 102

Mo: 241

El: 2118

Assuming that the bill is for around 20 days, that's further proof El talks nearly 70 times more than I do and close to 10 times more than her sister.

And Steve talks three times as much as me.

***

We've started a new Bible study at church, and this one is about the tongue. Someone brought up the 'fact' that women speak 3 times or 4 times or however many times more words in a day than men do. Familiar with that theory? It does not hold true with Steve and I. I even said so, out loud, but I don't think I was heard. I am most often the silent one. Not always, but often. In some ways my silence is my defense against saying something I will later regret. In spite of the fact that I am quiet by nature, I am still quite practiced in speaking, then thinking. This study should be good.

***

When we were in Iowa, on that road trip when the girls were four and two, my mom gave El a Happy Meal toy to play with. Pluto (or Goofy?) was on a little boat and a big blue fish was wound up to the end of the boat by a string. Pull - I can't think of a good sound for that - the fish, and whirr, the fish went back to the boat.

The drive home, for me, is characterized by two things:

PULLLLLL

WHIRRRRRR

PULLLLLL

WHIRRRRRR

PULLLLLL

WHIRRRRRR

And:

Steve, as we neared Roundaboutthemiddleofnowhere, Wyoming quoted Jimmy Stewart in The Cheyenne Social Club: Harley, you've been talkin' for a thousand miles!

***

Some journeys require a lot of miles and a lot of words. You can quote me on that.

Choices

2009-12-03T08:13:00.005-05:00