Aero-Phobia!

It was a day like any other day.

Last Tuesday afternoon I was inside the house just taking care of business like usual when I heard a plane overhead. Then I heard a blood-curdling scream from our little guy in the backyard. I looked out the back door and saw him run from the back fence toward the house, screaming all the way. What could be the problem? Did he get bit by a spider? Did a squirrel get too close? Did he stick his hand through the fence and get bit by our neighbor's dog? He ran toward me, crying. When I picked him up he buried his face in my chest, And then he looked up at the sky, pointed and blabbered on in his 23-month-old language. I was at first confused, but then I realized: my boy is afraid of planes.

I imagined the Japanese conducting a bomb run on Pearl Harbor. "You afraid they're going to get you, boy?" I asked as I carried him into the house.

I don't know when this started. We have had numerous planes fly over our homes during my son's young life. At our old place out in the country, planes of all sorts would fly pretty low. I don't remember him being afraid when we'd run outside to see the single engine Cessna or bi-plane buzzing the powerlines. We'd even wave and at least once got a wing dip in response. But since moving back to town, where we are closer to a nearby naval station, we get all sorts of very loud aircraft fly overhead. Perhaps that's what's scared him.

But he's not afraid of helicopters. We get plenty of those, too. When one is flying nearby, Ulie waves and yells hello. Even if he hears one from inside the house, he looks up at the ceiling, waves and hollars hello. I bought him a little toy helicopter the other day, which he loves.

At any rate, when a plane flies overhead, and if Ulie is in the backyard, like today, it's like World War II all over again around here.

I think I might have to build a air raid shelter.

Bill

A travelin' man, his daughter and getting a little jumpy, perhaps

Our oldest and I just returned Saturday from a quick trip to Northern California, where we ended up after driving a couple of friends going through a rough time. It was a 18-hour trip down beginning Wednesday night, and a 16-hour trip back beginning Friday night. Certainly not a fun trip but one where we all got closer together and to the Lord and learned to lean on Him more, which should be the result of going through any tough time.

Our oldest is becoming quite the prayer warrior, as that was her assignment there in the waiting area outside the courtroom. She said to me a couple of times that she didn't think she was being much help, but I told her that she was doing what God has gifted her to do, and that is pray. And prayer was much needed in that courtroom. It's a sad case all around, but we pray that God's hand will move and the right outcome will be made by the judge.

But the lack of sleep sure has made for some tension here. We got back at about 8:30 a.m., only to scarf down some food, shower and run off to work. While I got some sleep on Saturday night, I still was pretty tired and a little on edge when Sunday came and we headed off to church.

So, there we were in the McDonald's drive thru after dropping off our oldest at a horse barn where she works from time to time. We felt as if we were hit from behind. I watched the van behind us as the driver edged closer to our rear. Wham! It felt like we were hit again. I got out and said loudly, "You hit us twice!" The lady in the van, looked at me bewildered. "I did?" she asked as she peered over the dash. I got out and looked at the bumper. At least five-feet separated us. I then told the lady that it must have been something else and went back to my van. Glory and I then noticed our four-year-old in the back slamming herself back into the seat as hard as she could; just playing around. How I could mistake a 40-pound girl goofing around in the back seat with getting rear-ended is beyond me, but I did. Embarrassed, I got out again and apologized to the lady. She said no problem. I don't think I made a complete fool of myself, but getting out and telling the lady that she just hit me twice was probably a little premature.

Fortunately I got some more sleep this weekend and am ready for whatever comes our way this week. I think I will avoid the drive-thrus, however. I'm finding that I am imagining things right now.

Bill

If I Could Scoot 2,000 Miles

And I have.

This morning my Honda Ruckus topped 2,000 miles on the way to work. 2,000 miles in just 14 months. It's been a lot of fun scooting around this area, to and from work mostly.

The reason for getting the 49cc scooter was to save some money. And it seems I have. I get 100 miles to the gallon. At an average of $3 per gallon over the past year, I have just had to shell out $60 for gas. That's one tankful in the van. The same 2,000 miles in the van would have cost $300. I did have to take the bike in for a tune up this spring. That bill wiped out the $240 savings we've enjoyed, but still, it has paid for itself.

Now that we live in town again, and that I am just three miles from work, there is no reason why I can't drive the Ruckus year-round and save more money, which really helps our budget-minded family.

I have earned the respect of the most grizzled Harley riders who have been impressed by my Honda's fuel efficiency. I appreciate the nods and waves of I get, but I know I'm not in their league...yet. I just wish I could go faster and look a little more menacing. While 42 mph is fun, it doesn't blow my hair back. And I probably would look stupid in leathers on that thing. And a tattoo that reads "Born to be wild," or "Mama" in a heart wouldn't look good on me either.

Perhaps a Harley is in order.

Someday.

Bill

Love of my Life

I hope you feel like this, today...on top of the world! Have a wonderful Birthday, Honey!

Happy 14th Birthday!

Our bloomin' sweet daughter:

Crying out to God

So the bridge collapse in Minnesota last nigth has got us wondering about something.

Ever notice that whenever there is some tragedy (natural disaster, a murder or other crime against a person, or any other horrible event), people cry out to the Lord, or thank the Lord if things aren't as bad as they thought or if they barely escaped, etc?

In short, they invoke the Name of the Lord.

That's fine. That's good.

It makes me more and more certain that people do believe in God and know that He's there somewhere. For those who have experienced loss during these tragedies, I often hear and see in the media quotes to the effect of blaming or at least questioning why GOD allowed this to happen. Some might criticize such complaints, but I have had to rethink this. For me, I am encouraged that they really do know that there is a God and that He is out there somewhere. At least they are one step closer to acknowledging Him directly, which is what God wants.

I take this one step further with those who say there is no God or don't believe in Jesus or any deity for that matter. Why then, when swearing, is the name of God or Jesus invoked? Curious. When one stubs their toe on the living room coffee table, they don't say "Oh BUDDHA!!" No, it usually is a cursing with God's name or Jesus' name in it. Makes me think that in our innermost being we all know that God is out there somewhere, whether we like it or not or whether we want to believe it or not.

And while we don't understand God's ways, I believe He is looking on even those who died in Minneapolis last night. I just pray that He will give comfort to those who lost loved ones in that mess.

Bill

Border Crossings

Going up to B.C. yesterday was a lot of fun. We had the pleasure of taking Glory's sister and niece back across the border so they could fly back to their home today. Our visit, though a short 24 hours, was refreshing. I like being in their presence as they encourage me in my walk with the Lord. I find that I am too serious and regimented. Where's the sweetness of the Lord? In them, I see it, and I want it, too.

Crossing into B.C. was uneventful. The border guard was professional and nice, too.

Coming back into the U.S., well, that's another matter.

I have long thought that my countrymen at the U.S./Canadian border are just a little too serious. The young border enforcement agent who greeted us at the crossing was all business. No smiles. No laughing. Nothing. Not even when he determined that, yes, we were who we said we were, and, yes, these were, in fact, our children, he asked if we were bringing anything into the U.S. The only things we bought were from Tim Hortons, so I responded accordingly.

"Just some Timbits and a cup of coffee," I told him matter-of-factly.

He paused and told us to go on our way.

When we were safely away from the guard, Glory burst out laughing, and suspected that he, despite his demeanor, was laughing, too.

Well, I answered his question, I responded.

That's not what he meant, Glory explained.

We're going back there in a couple of months when Glory heads to Saskatchewan for a week. Perhaps I can bring enough Tim Hortons to even share with the guard when he asks me what I bought in Canada.

Bill

Renovations Part II

So we had a conversation with the neighbors yesterday after returning home from church. They filled us in on the goings-on at our humble abode before it was our humble abode. It so happens that the people that were there before the people that were there before us owned not only our house but our neighbors' house, as well. Over time, our neighbors told us, they have had to shell out about $20,000 to get the house up to code. Great. As if money isn't tight enough.

One event that was not entirely welcome for our neighbors was the fate of their doorbell. When using it one day, the wiring caught fire. I'm sure that kind of greeting would be quite traumatizing for a friend coming over for a friendly chat and a shared supper.

"I-I don't know, o-o-officer," Bob stammered to the cop on scene, with the charred ruins behind him. "I just brought over some barbeque for them and rang the doorbell. The house just burst into flames."

"Really? That's what happened?" the cop asked.

"Yeah," Bob replied. "Now what am I going to with these ribs?"

Our neighbors warned us about lots of things, most of which we already knew. The foundation in the king and queen room (old garage) probably isn't up to snuff because it was poured without permits. The wiring is going to have to totally be replaced. They weren't surprised to learn of our need to replace the flooring (with which we are about done replacing in the kitchen.)

It's good to have neighbors that are in the know about things that affect us. Knowing that these neighbors who have seen the inside of our house know the history of how it got that way gives us comfort that if something goes wrong, they likely will be able to let those who handle such things know what happened to us and why.

Now, where's that doorbell?

Bill

To add to the original post: the whole conversation started when they asked us if we knew anything about the fence. We didn't but we had noticed how odd and piecemeal it seems to have been built. Turns out they had a deal with the owners of our house that they would split the cost of the fence and build it together. Our neighbor went out and purchased lattice, posts and other fencing supplies and had it sitting in their yeard ready to go. Lo, our neighbors came home one day to find that part of the fence had been built, and badly so. No money was offered, much less given, for the materials used and it was too late to start over. So, we've given our neighbor the green light to tear down, rebuild, put up, or whatever he wants to do to the fence. Just as long as their dog does her business in her owners' yard and not ours, I'm happy!

Glory

Renovations

So we had a bunch of friends over last Sunday after church for an open house. It was fun showing the 97-year-old new-to-us house around to explain what we would like to do in the coming years.

And years it will take, too. There's the kitchen floor that needs to be retiled. There's hardwood floor underneath the carpet that Glory and I want to expose and varnish. There's painting, painting, and more painting that needs to be done. There's a stairwell that should be replaced. The list goes on.

We already have started on the kitchen floor by removing the ancient original tile. That job possibly could get done by week's end if we can stay with it. I nearly slit my left wrist last night with the putty scraper I was using to peel the tile off the floor. Fortunately it wasn't that deep but a scar will likely remain.

So all this renovation reminds me of the work God does in our lives. There are layers to peel away exposing a bare foundation that only He can refinish to make beautiful again. Our walls that need spackle and paint remind me that there are dings, scratches and scrapes we get in our lives that He smoothes over with a refreshing whitewash. An old air conditioner awkwardly placed into a hole in an old door remind me that there are glaring things that God gently points out to me that they obviously don't fit and need to be removed. The original windows in our house let out a ton of heat in the winter time, much like a life that's not insulated with the Word when times get tough. And that ugly homemade not-up-to-code electrical job in the garage reminds me that some things in our lives better be removed, and quick, lest we burn the entire house down.

Now if we can just figure out what to do with sap-dripping trees over our driveway. That's getting to be quite nasty and our Volvo is sure to be encased in it before too long.

Bill

Feelin' hot, hot, hot!!!

The heat that most of the west has been experiencing the last couple of weeks finally hit us yesterday. Today was the hottest day of the summer with a high of 97 or so. That's really cookin' for this part of the country. Glory and the kids tried their best to keep cool during the day by staying indoors with the curtains and shades drawn.

I hae tried my best playing Superamazing hubby and dad when I got home from work by loading up the family and heading out to somewhere cool. Yesterday it was the land of the never-ending stuff: Costco. Glory and I finally bought a membership to that place and yesterday was payday. What a crazy place: a dumping ground of mostly junk most people don't need, but we managed to find things that we use. Now we will have those things to use until 2013. Murron called Costco "California." Seems to her that the store looked a lot like a Target store Murron and I visited in Sacramento last month. Some memory Murron has!

Today we trekked on over to Target. Funny that despite the heat there were very few people there. Usually the place is packed. Then we headed to Sears. Glory looked for a bug zapper. We were notified by our local department of health that our neighborhood is experiencing a high volume of mosquitoes and that if we're not careful, we're going to die tomorrow from West Nile Virus. We can't have that, so we needed to buy something to protect ourselves. We finally found a good zapper at Fred Meyer. While there, though, Glory and I noticed people buying up air conditioners. We both shook our heads. Glory noticed the same thing at Sears. What a waste of money. Sure, it's been hot the last two days and tomorrow we'll experience the final day of this, but come the weekend and beyond, it will cool down. Beginning next Tuesday we're supposed to start a week of rain. So, in other words, normal Washington weather. Those AC buyers should have put their money to good use buying bug zappers. They're more likely to die from Yellow Fever than from heat stroke. Around here, anyway.

Bill

From Colorado, to California, through Oregon and home to Washington

Bill took Elizabeth on a hike up on Mount Garfield. They ran out of time before getting to the top...just imagine if they made it even higher than this!

Bill and Glory stepped out for this shot in the Rockies...grin.

Murron loved the smell of this gorgeous orange blossom.Another photo of Bill and Glory to add to the Capitol building series!A near sunset view in front of Mount Shasta. The whole gang of six at Crater Lake! Ulie was thrilled to play around on the shoreline and then MacAulay finally got his chance to enjoy the sound of the surf in the safety of Glory's arms.

A 4,000-mile road trip, reunions and a dog named Diesel

The family just returned from a two-week, 4,000+ mile road trip from Washington, through Oregon, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, back throough Utah and Nevada, and then on to California, Oregon and back here. What a wonderful time of family, scenery and lots of character building, too.

The purpose of the trip was to see both of Bill's grandmothers in Colorado and California, which we did. We hope that the kids, especially the little ones, remember them.

We also saw lots of friends and other family along the way. It's a privilege knowing so many people across this country. We saw family or friends in every state except Nevada. That gave us something to look forward to each leg of the trip. Those visits were very precious to us. It's a blessing to know that there are some people God has placed in our paths over the years that we can pick up where we left off.

We met a couple in Boise Bill hadn't seen in 15 years. Although we were able to meet them only for an hour and a half over breakfast, the fellowship was sweet.

We also visited with a family who used to belong to our church here in Washington and who now are pastoring a small church in Utah. Though we were very late getting in, they stayed up for us, had beds ready and visited with us until well past midnight. We appreciated their hospitality and understanding that only another large family that has traveled cross country could possess.

We also met our baby's namesake in the Denver area. One of our little guy's middle names means badger. It was great the little badger met the big badger in the mountains of Colorado.

We met Bill's college friends in Denver and their new baby. It was great seeing their lives changed and their family.

We met tons of relatives as well as friends we suprised, in western Colorado. We wanted to meet others but there wasn't time.

In California we met some of Bill's family, some of whom Bill hadn't seen in nearly 30 years. It was interesting watching various family dynamics, and, for Bill, getting reacqainted with some cousins he has very clear childhood memories of. It would be nice to reestablish a permanent connection with them.

We saw Crater Lake. Very nice!

We then met with another of Bill's college friends and his family in Oregon. The visit was much too short, but that's the problem with long road trips.

And what family vacation would be complete without a vehicle disaster? We decided to watch the sunset on the beach at Long Beach, WA. We (Bill) strayed too far off the packed sand and got the van stuck. After trying in vain to dig out, and snapping a climbing rope we had when a passerby came to help, we had to get some real help. Shortly before sunset, a huge moustachioed guy named George and his huge Mastiff Diesel arrived in their huge 4x4 to pull us out. The job took all of 30 seconds and cost us $85. But it was worth it, and we still had time to watch the sun go down, giving the perfect ending to a great trip. We arrived home shortly before 3 a.m.

We came home with a lot of memories, thoughts and ideas for future trips, as well as confirmation that we are where God wants us to be despite wondering at times if He's calling us somewhere else. We do know that we need to visit our friends and family more often. We pray that we will be able to do that as He provides the means to reach those people.

Bill

"Are You Still Pregnant?"

Friday seemed promising but nothing came of it. Bill started feeling very sick on Saturday with chills and fever so we missed church on Sunday because of this. He missed work Monday and Tuesday as well - you have to shackle and chain this guy to the floor to get him to stay put so you know he's got to be feeling rough when he misses work. So, we're looking at this delay in childbirth as God's answer since we wouldn't want to jeopardize this baby's health in any way.

Today would put us a week overdue but we're actually doing very well. I think it's funny that my little baby ticker is stuck at the same comment, now! Bill was feeling well enough to go to work and I'm getting a few things done before baby arrives and we plan our move into our new house. God is so good to us and we're excited to see His plan continuing to unfold in our family.

Oh, and we would never leave anyone in the dark about our baby's birth so just know that, unless something happens, you probably won't hear anything. Our family and church friends know this, too.

Until then, I'll leave you with the title question...and other silly things that fly out of people's mouths when a woman is pregnant and overdue *and some great comebacks I can't wait to try out*:

Them: "Are you still pregnant?"
Me: "What??? NOOoooo!!! I'm not pregnant!!! How rude of you to think that!!!"

Them: "You haven't had this baby yet?"
Me: "Oh, but I did have the baby. It wasn't the right one, though, so we had to return it. It took us forever to find the receipt, too..."

Them: "When are you going to have this baby?"
Me: "Just as soon as people stop scaring him/her into staying put. Babies are very sensitive to their environment, you know."

Them: "Any news on the baby?"
Me: "I keep looking, honestly, but Foxnews and CNN just don't give much coverage to this kind of thing, these days. Jerks!"

Them: "Have you tried castor oil/bumpy drives/walking up and down stairs/straddling curbed sidewalks/spicy food/sex?"
Me: "Yes, and nitroglycerine/bungee jumping/throwing myself down stairs...do you know where I can find illegal explosives?"

Them: "When are you due?"
Me: "Actually, I'm not. This is really embarassing, for me, but I really just developed an eating disorder because deep down I'm very VERY ANGRY!!!"

Parting the Waters

Everybody keeps telling me I should be resting up. "Everybody" would include my husband, my kids, my midwife, my friends, my neighbors, my grocery checkout lady. Basically, everybody who has even glanced at my very large belly tells me I need to go and rest. Honestly, though, I think they're just tired of looking at me with my full-to-capacity-womb and want to put me out of sight but, of course, not out of mind.

Last night I noticed that I was quite literally waddling, now. I know what genuine waddling looks like, too, because our neighbors have two ducks who hang out together and waddle over lawns and gardens. It looks cute when they do it, but I just look like a very pregnant lady trying to navigate around furniture and between walls and doorways. I have used this to my advantage, and shamelessly so. A couple of Sundays ago I was waiting to fetch myself a cup of coffee, after church, and there were about three men nattering away at the table. Yes, men do indeed natter. They weren't migrating elsewhere anytime soon, either, so I stated, "I'm pregnant and I need coffee." It was like the parting of the Red Sea! What power and authority! Just to make doubly sure, last week I employed the same technique to fetch our kids from their CE classes. And yet again, the waters parted and I passed through, barely needing to waddle and inch!

Bill has discovered that my pregnancy has worked to our advantage in selling our house, as well. At least it would appear that way. We have a couple ready to close the deal and move in, all the while seeing my belly expanding with every visit to our home. They know this birth is imminent so it has seemed that they have been quick and decisive and are not asking us to do much in the way of repairs to this nearly ten year old manufactured home. And we have a house waiting that really appeals to us and will fit into our long-term plans of living in town and raising our children close to their friends. Again, the path is clearing and we are well on our way!

Now, if I just had the same power and authority to part the amniotic waters at will and usher forth this little boy through the canal and into our world. Alas, that task belongs to him and him alone.

Glory

Bragging Rights

I turned my back on Murron for a few short moments and discovered this:I did not teach her this. No one did. She blesses me so profoundly!

Glory

The Home Stretch

First of all, I want to say how much I have appreciated Bill's postings while I have taken my pre-natal mental hiatus. You'll have to trust me on this one; you would not have wanted to read anything I might have posted during this time.

So, take a look at this:

That's my darling little pregnancy ticker which, today, should read that I am 2 weeks away from delivering Craig Boy II. Sounds like some kind of sci-fi warship, huh? Well, that's not too far from his movements, of late. Remember the Alien movies, any of them? That would be my tummy. While I was laying on our little sofa, the other day, Elizabeth placed a piece of 8 1/2 x 11 cardstock on my tummy. Craig Boy II started moving around and Elizabeth said, "It looks like a hoverboard!" It did, until I started laughing. Then it looked like the shingles that have flown off our roof during our pacific gale storms. Anyway, the entire family has been entertained by this phenomenon. Even Ulie delights in seeing my tummy and saying, "Baby!" before he proceeds to open a drooling mouth and perform impressive zerberts on his brother's warm dwelling.

So, that's about it, for now. When the waiting game gets really dull and I am deep into obsessing over every pelvis plunge, Braxton-Hicks, hip separation, and abdominal cramp, you might read a new entry or two. Until then, it's all about tummy butter, hot therapeutic baths, and LOTS of good wholesome naps. Those are Bill's orders, anyhow!

Glory

Enticements and clean toilets

We have a new soda machine in the hallway of my workplace. It has one of those environmental sensors on it so it will turn itself off if no one has ventured by in a while. The object of such sensors, they say, is to conserve energy. I think it's an insidious way to tempt one into buying something one doesn't need by honing in on one's other senses...or perhaps by scaring the daylights out of the would-be consumer.

The other day while walking down the hall, I became startled when the machine suddenly whirred to life, blinked on and off and on a couple of times, charged the freon in the cooling chamber and beckoned me to buy an icy cold beverage. After I stopped shaking, I found myself hypnotized and started patting my pockets for change. Fortunately I didn't have enough money that day, but I realized to my shame how easy I could give in to corporate suggestion.

Speaking of scary things, we tackled the master bath toilet over the weekend by replacing the wax gasket underneath the bowl. Who knows how long it had been since that pleasant task was completed. It had to have been several years, at least. I had gloves on, and that was enough protection for the job, but I wondered about that guy (you know the one) who has to replace the wax seals underneath the commodes at the public library, the gas stations or even the bus depot in Seattle. If I see that guy, I think I will shake his hand--provided he's wearing gloves--and buy him a nice lunch.

Perhaps the commode creators ought to come up with a sensor device like their soft drink counterparts. The toilet would know when the gasket needed to be replaced and could blink, honk or make some other noises to let you know. That way, if it scared you half to death, you'd already be in the right place.

Bill

Butlering, Sushi and a bad sun

This week I have played host to nearly two dozen people taking a training class near here to become car seat technicians. I have wanted to have such a class here for a couple of years and finally it's happened. Instead of teaching, however, I have played butler, and that's been a lot of fun. These folks are getting the best out of me: the best lunches, the best breakfasts, the best service; no call-in pizza for me. They get the best, including my wife's gourmet cooking.

Recently, Glory and I watched "Remains of the Day," in which the dutiful Mr. Stevens serves his employers, all the while trying to be oblvious to their shortcomings, politics and mannerisms. Service is the key, says Stevens. Everything else doesn't matter. Sadly, Stevens realized too late that he missed out on many things in life while blindly serving.

While I have been very busy doing my regular job and these extras that have come my way, I find that I couldn't be a Mr. Stevens. There's just too much happening around me not to notice. My little 17-month old boy recently started saying the name of our goldfish, Sushi. "Sooo-shee," he says very slowly. He also gets excited when he sees bananas on the counter. "Naaa-naaaa," he says while smiling and chuckling. What a sad existence for me if I didn't listen to little voices uttering new words. Mr. Stevens would be annoyed hearing little voices.

Our four-year old, while trying to shield her eyes from the sun, remarked suddenly in the car on the way to church tonight, "the sun...is no fun." Glory and I laughed heartedly at that. Mr. Stevens would not have laughed at this. Mr. Stevens probably doesn't see the sun very much.

Then there's our teen, who can talk a mile a minute while covering every topic one can think of. Usually each topic will fold into something about horses, but that's OK. Mr. Stevens would not have children in the house, and would not know much about horses, except that very proper important people ride on them from time to time.

I like to think I have a balanced view of things. I hope that as I get older I don't get so wrapped up with work that I miss out on what's really important -- things that can never be captured and experienced again.


Bill

Hide and seek

Most of the people with whom I associate have at least three phone numbers -- work, home and cell. On any given day, one should be able to contact them at their domicile or their place of employment or virtually anywhere else-- the store, on the road, in the bathroom, whereever!

Some of this need to always be at the beck and call of anyone who wants to contact us at anytime, anywhere, is a little annoying, but I guess that's our fault for giving in to demands of being connected and wired to the rest of the societal collective.

I live not too far from a mentality that seems not have given in, and I must take it or leave it.

While trying to get in touch with a colleague who was teaching at a remote training facility in the Cascade mountains, I had a devil of a time trying to track down the phone number. Since this facility is located on property owned by the city of Seattle, I called them. I got put on hold, forever. Then I called another number. No one was there, and the recorded voice stated that all messages would be checked twice a week. I didn't know if one of those checks would have been made on a Thursday, so I hung up. Finally, I called some executive director and ended up with his executive assistant. She didn't know the phone number, and suggested that I call all the numbers I previously tried. When I told her I had had no success, she suggested I call the general store that is about 10 miles from the location of the training facility and, in her words, "see what happens."

The lady at the general store said that, yes, she did have the phone number in question, but it was around there "somewhere." She asked her co-worker for the number. I heard her helpful colleague ask her who it was who wanted to know, and perhaps the caller could call the main training office number in another town. Fortunately, the number was found, and I was in business.

When I finally reached my destination, and before I was able to talk with my co-worker, the lady on the other end said that they don't publish the number. Well, that was helpful.

I think I have gotten used to easy access these days. With a few taps of the keyboard, I usually can track down whatever and whomever I want with relative ease. But if someone doesn't want to be found, it's frustrating.

But, I guess for people who live upriver and up in the mountains, being hard to reach is a skill they seem to have mastered. In one of these upriver towns, though, I know from experience that if they can't be found at home, or at their place of employment or out plowing the fields, they can be found at the local tavern. So, perhaps they aren't trying to hide after all. Perhaps their location just is on a need-to-know basis. And if you ain't from there, and if they don't know you, you don't need to know.

Bill

Recycled memories and new hairdos

The last seven days or so seem to have forced me to remember things from my past.

While riding my Honda Ruckus from work last week, the scent of the air took me back to my high school days, when I would walk home at night after working through the dinner rush at the family restaurant. Pockets of cold winter air would meet a breath of warm air on a certain turn of a dirt road leading to my house. It seemed to bring a sense of comfort after a long day of school and work. Last week's experience was no different.

On Friday, at a bowling alley going away function for a co-worker, the oily smell of french fries instantly took me back to 1983, when I spent Christmas break with my mother. Mom managed a pizza joint at the time in this little Wyoming town of about 300 people, if that. I probably hadn't thought of that memory in a decade or more. A guy named Moose, who had an uncanny resemblance to John Denver, befriended me, and taught me how to play pool while my mother baked pizzas in the back.

Then, Saturday, I clicked on the news on CNN and saw that a certain pop star shaved her head bald. I was reminded of Sinead O'Conner. This particular singer isn't anything like ol' Sinead, so I guess baldness is where the similarities end. Oh well. I never got into Sinead's music too much, but I respected her stance as an artist, and one who didn't want to be in the business just to receive awards and accolades.

Tonight, Glory made calzones. While watching her make them, and inhaling their aroma, I was transported back to 1988, when I was a freshman in college. The university had greasy, cheese and sausage-packed calzones for sale in the evening study hours --and they delivered to the dorm rooms! I don't know if I accomplished much while studying, but I sure accomplished packing on 15 pounds that first semester.

It's interesting what sounds, smells and sights will cause us to remember and reflect. Also interesting is what we sometimes pine away for. It would be great to order up some calzones and invite Moose over for a game of Nine Ball at a tavern somewhere. Perhaps afterward, I could walk home, feeling the warm and cool air on my face, while listening to Sinead's "Nothing Compares to You" on the Walkman.

Yeah, that would be great.

Bill

Super Mutant Hero Family

I think our family could be one of those super mutant hero families that we watch on screen and try with which to identify. But those celluloid freaks got nothing compared to what we've got going on.

Forget Rubbermade Man, or whatever his name is. Forget Recycled Number 2 Plastic Girl. Forget the Amazing Blow Torch Boy. We've got the Super Mutant Hero Family that puts all to shame.

In our supersecret hidden lair headquarters, our army of six stops crime and even ordinary everyday life with our superhuman arsenal of superhuman strength and superhuman abilities.

Superamazing Juggling Pregant Chef Ladymom: This woman defies imagination with her superhuman ability to manage a plethora of skills, all the while managing the home with feats of agility and grace. Her belly expands by the hour with a Superhuman Baby Boy who wants to leap from the womb more than two months early. She soothes everyone's supertempers with her supertalented fingers on the piano. Possessing a superkeen mind, Superamazing Juggling Pregnant Chef Ladymom is a walking encyclopedia and dictionary that freely dispenses information to The Superamazing Confuser, The Superamazing Organizer Imagination Pixiegirl and the Super Superamazing Devours Everything Yelling Boy.

The Superamazing Everywhereman: Everywhereman is, well, everywhere: at home, at work, at church, at the gym, teaching classes, not teaching classes, paying bills, taking the mutant family to doctors, dentists, midwives, friends, neighbors and everywhere and everyone else. His 1986 Olds is an on-the-road miracle of motoring by being able to take Everywhereman on his and the mutant family's quests for employment, health, recreation and nutrition. Everywhereman also battles ridiculers and scoffers on his Honda Ruckus Superamazing Scooterbike when on quests for fuel savings.

The Superamazing Confuser: Able to blister the cognitive abilities of all in her path, the Superamazing Confuser shreds her opponents by keeping them off balance through a barrage of questions and comments using her patented multi-tiered attention span system formula approach. She is effective in rendering her targets helpless by causing them to wonder what they were asking her in the first place. It is expected that Superamazing Confuser will soon possess superior eluding skills, matching her verbal ability to do the same.

Superamazing Organizer Imagination Pixiegirl: Don't let her petite, doe-like features catch you off guard. Pixiegirl lives in the world of rigid organized imagination. When she asks her hapless victims to play, they play HER way. Forget about playing regular Horsey. Forget about playing the usual game with dogs, cats and bears. No no. There is a certain way all is done, and those in her clutches won't know how -- even if they ask. Oh, and pick up those toys, or she will do it for you. And be sure to keep the night's water glass on her dresser, just so.

Superamazing Devours Everything Yelling Boy: The Boy is a whirlwind of teeth and lungs. No banana is safe. No ear is immune. He specializes in making his presence known and remembered. Often noticed for his pleasant features, The Boy rubs it in with charm, but then asks for payment in food and attention. He also has the ability to amplify his demands by a factor of 10 decibels with each passing minute.

Superhuman Baby Boy: Has not yet arrived, but if his moves in the womb suggest anything, he will put everyone in the Super Mutant Hero Family to the test.


Bill

Post Op Blues

Our little girl had her tonsils removed two days ago. We already can tell she's breathing a lot better as her tonsils were very huge and were blocking a part of her airway. It was a long wait to get them removed, but we're grateful now it's all over.

It was a little rough in the morning of her surgery, having arrived at the ENT's office at 7 a.m., and watching our little girl go through what she had to in order to get better. I do hope our other kids don't have to go through anything similar.

When we were leaving the surgeon's office, our girl groggily said to me from the back seat, "I don't want to see a doctor!" I told her that she wouldn't have to again (for that, anyway.)

The good thing about surgeries is the food! On the first day, she enjoyed eating her share of applesauce, ice cream and yogurt. It didn't take too long for her to realize, however , that something wasn't quite right. She was being hustled. It became reality when she saw her brother eating a banana. She wanted one, too. When Glory whipped it up for her in the blender, she cried bitter tears.

"I don't want a banana like that!" she cried. Poor girl.

It's going to be two weeks of pureed food for our little patient, and all of us will be quite happy when this fortnight is over. I promised her I would buy her a double cheeseburger in two weeks. She loves "bubble" cheeseburgers. That seemed to brighten her spirits for a couple of seconds.

I must say one of the hard parts for me is being told by the nasty nurse before the surgery that I couldn't hold my daughter's hand when he gave her the gas and put her to sleep. I know the staff have their reasons, all of them valid, but I was not too pleased being told I had to stay in the post op room while they carried our crying and frightened little girl to the OR. It's like having your kid being ripped from your arms by complete strangers. Someone should look into things like PST for children who have had surgery. I'm sure it's more common than people realize.

But now things are fine. It's just 12 more days of soft foods for our little girl. I hope she can be patient for that bubble cheeseburger.

Bill

Memories of cats

It's hard to know sometimes what I like more: my kids being small or being older.

I do like them small, but the disadvantage is that they have little memory. It's always sadened me to think that they would not remember their family members should something happen to any of us.

So when our little girl started relaying stories some time ago, incorporating events that had actually happened, we knew we were at the point that she would remember things important.

Last night while we prepared to go to bed and were ready to pray, our three-year-old mentioned Mona.

Desdemona, our white feline, and Othello, our black cat, were part of our household until last spring when we gave them away to an acqaintance who lives on a farm. Though we liked our cats, we didn't like the fleas they brought with them from the outside. We also didn't like the jealousy that Mona displayed through peeing on everything after our little boy was born. With little kids, the price just became too high to have cats in the house.

So it was a sad day last spring when we dropped off the cats at the farm, or Hell's Outhouse, as we have called it. As soon as I carried him out of the van, Othello spied the farm family's big Saint Bernard charging out of nowhere toward us. Othello leaped from my arms, leaving me resembling a scratching post, and bolted toward a cattle pen. He ended up getting trapped between the gate and the fence. We retreived him and petted him and he calmed down. Too soon afterward, Othello and Mona were left to settle into farm life as we sadly drove away.

The cats have come up in conversation from time to time, so it doesn't surprise me when even our little girl brings them up. But last night was particularly sweet.

We started to pray, and our little girl asked where Mona was. I reminded her that Mona was living at a farm with all sorts of animals. I told her Mona was having lots of fun with the cows, horses, pigs and dogs.

She wanted to be sure that the cats were OK, and asked other questions, like if the cats were warm and if they are being held by someone. I assured her that the cats are being cared for by someone who loved them. That someone is one of our oldest daughter's friends.

"Is she nice to them?" she asked.

Oh yes, she's very nice to them, I told her.

"Is she careful?" she probed further.

I again told her that the cats are in a good place. We then prayed for the cats and for everyone else, too, before going to bed.

Today she asked again about the cats and prayed for them at lunchtime.

The cats played an important part of our kids' lives, so I am sure we will be hearing about Mona and Othello for years to come.

Bill

Confessions from a power line underdweller

We live underneath a power line -- a BIG power line -- and I suppose that residing under such a life-sapping monstrosity would result in a lot of things bad for the Haven Five: nervous tics, uncontrolled swearing, groceries already microwaved and ready to eat within seconds of pulling up the driveway, rotting flesh, etc.
Fortunately, nothing of the kind has happened in our almost three years living in Electromagnetic Hell.

That's good.
But I wonder if some of the 20-odd house hunters who have even remotely considered our house their next abode believe that is what's in store for them and their loved ones should they decide to relocate here.
Through the fall and winter we have been treated with compliments on our lovely property: "Nice home," one has said. "I love the layout," said another. "Do you like having the firepit in the backyard?" queried a nice gentleman who likes the odd backyard barbecue. However, four out of five "satisfied" clients who ended up passing on our house have commented that they don't like the power lines. It's frustrating, considering that one can see them from a mile away. It's not like our house conceals the power lines as people drive up, only to shock and surprise the otherwise contented buyers when they scope out the backyard.
"Whoa! You didn't tell me you had power lines out here!"
"Sorry."
I really don't know what the big deal is, though. Like us, most of the folks in our neighborhood have families, and so far I haven't seen any of our children sprouting third arms or an extra eyeball or two. Even the pets seem normal to me. That chicken we caught last week didn't smell even slightly broiled. But my sense of smell has been off lately. I could have been mistaken.
Well, anyway, as we enter our fourth month as motivated house sellers, we will continue to put the smile on our collective faces and try our best to convince that one lucky house hunter that this already is his or her home sweet home.
But we may have to steer them into the master bath to have a second or even third look at the huge garden tub they can't live without when they begin asking about that buzzing coming from the backyard.

Bill

To Catch A Chicken

I made my way through the front room of our house to the kitchen when suddenly I heard a rustling outside the room window.
Wind? I wondered. It has been a very windy and rainy month, but through today it was calm.
I glanced to the window and looked at what could have been causing that racket.
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Screeeeech!"
A bird! It was huge. I saw a blur of it fall below the window sill.
As I looked for a flashlight, Glory made her way to the window, as did our kids.
"It's a chicken!" she said loudly.
A chicken? What in the world..?
Our neighborhood is known for the presence of eagles or hawks, not chickens. This was something I had to see.
I went outside, and sure enough, the reddish-brown chicken was flapping away, tangled in our rhododendron bush by our window. Gently, I reached down for the poor bird, talking in soothing tones as I did. It fluttered away from me, going deeper into the bush.
Glory came out with a flashlight and gloves.
Glory grew up on a farm where she was in charge of the chicken chores. Surely she'd know what to do, I thought. I asked her for her expert opinion.
"Do I grab him by the legs or what?"
"Yeah, you can, but you have to be careful," she replied.
Glory handed me the gloves so as to not get my hands scratched. She manned the flashlight. Cautiously, I pulled away the branches and revealed the quiet cluck, probably scared to death.
As I grabbed it around its body, the chicken seemed to wail or scream, calling for help from anything within a mile...or two.
"SCWRAAAAAAWWWWWWKKKKKKK!!!!!"
I pulled the frightened beast close to me and stroked its little head, telling him/her it was going to be OK. The chicken calmed down.
Then we promptly took him inside.
We were hungry.
No, no, we looked around and figured it was one of our neighbor's chickens we have seen in their yard. Glory and I took the bird to the neighbor and knocked on the door. After the customary greeting, I got down to business.
"Is this your chicken?" I asked.
He seemed befuddled, dumbfounded or something. He stammered out a yes, and asked where we found him. We told Jarod the harrowing story. We all had a little chuckle. Gingerly, Jarod took his chicken to the garage. We shook hands and bid each other goodnight.
Glory and I congratulated ourselves for saving the bird, and we thanked God that we could help that chicken.
For some reason, I felt like crying.

Bill

Reflecting and waiting

It will be a quiet Christmas at the Haven.

That's fine by us.

There will be the kids with their gifts. Holiday treats will abound. We'll watch a few movies, probably over and over and over again.

And we'll likely think about this year that has passed. And what a year it has been, filled with sadness, excitement and adventure: my grandfather died in January; our brother-in-law passed away in the winter; Glory, our little boy and I too a trip to Texas in April; and we enjoyed an eventful excursion to the wind-swept canola fields of Saskatchewan that ended in the Cascades spectacularly 60 miles from home when our van lost its transmission. Yes, we've had our share of memories.

Now we're in a hold pattern.

It seems that the watchword for the fall has been "wait." And wait we have: waiting for our house to sell, now going on three months; waiting too see if I still had a job while the powers that be crunched the numbers to determine if it could afford me; waiting for changes in our church family.

And now waiting for our littlest addition to arrive in the spring.

We've been given closure on some issues but we're still waiting for answers on others. I still have my job, which is good for everyone. Our church is holding service in a hotel conference room, but that's been good for many reasons. Our house hasn't sold despite being shown nearly two dozen times, but that, too, has been good because it forces us to keep the house clean and appreciate that we even have a place to call home. And when the baby comes, he will have a warm place to nestle with his mother.

With waiting comes expectations, and we're expecting great things to come in 2007. We have our plans and dreams, but, powerless at this point to bring them to pass, we're just waiting and praying, wanting to be on the same page with the One who ultimately determines whether we can indeed have them.

"Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, spend a year there, buy and sell, and make a profit'; whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away. Instead you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we shall live and do this or that.'"
-- James 4:15.

Bill

Mr. Trash's Christmas

From the day that we moved into our house our little girl has been intrigued by the Waste Management trucks. She loves to stand by our window or sit on the front step waiting to see how they collect our garbage and take it away. Week after week she would do this. She had her second birthday, then her third, but almost without fail she would watch this scene unfold every Tuesday.

The guy who picks it all up has pretty much been the same guy. He noticed our shy little waif, usually still clad in pyjammas, and started waving at her. She would run away from the window or just stand there with her fingertips tucked between her lips. It would be a bold step, then, when one day she raised her little hand up just slightly and attempted a wave back. This brought a beaming smile from "Mr. Trash" as he had come to be called. Not long after, she would smile back as she waved a little more confidently each time.

She knew the sound of the trucks, she knew when a substitute driver was there, and she would be upset if she missed it altogether from sleeping in or just not being near enough to the window.

So, today, she had a very special job that she knew was hers alone to do. Bill had picked up a gift card from Starbucks, and I tucked some candy canes and chocolates into a little sack, then attached a card and a bow. Our little elf got dressed and stood with her hand ready to open the door at any time. She heard the truck, she walked up to Mr. Trash as bravely as I've ever seen her, and handed him his little gift. He said something sweet to her, then he was gone.

And this mommy has never been prouder.

Glory

Happy Birthday

It has come to my attention that there is a birthday girl in our midst.

I have been priviledged to know Trinka since August 2003. We have been at MeetChristians longer than we have been blogging, which is a long time.

This fine lady is a woman of excellence in all areas of her life. Reading her blog is challenging and motivating every time. I love her insight and wisdom and hope to know her for a long time to come.

Have a fabulous birthday, Trinka, and God's blessings for another year!

"RoyalBlue"

Names -- Where the behinds are

Our precocious three-year-old wanted to play Barbies and stuffies with me yesterday. With the weather here of late, I have had more time than usual on my hands to get into our children's world. That's been fun. And Educational.

She was playing with her large plastic white stallion. I had the pink "My Little Pony" pony. As the little pony, I asked the stallion's name.

"He doesn't have a name," our girl said.

"How come," I asked.

"Because he doesn't have a name on his bum," she replied.

I paused.

"What?"

"He doesn't have a name on his bum," she said again, matter of factly.

She showed me. True enough, there are characters printed right on the underside of each toy. Barbie has a name. So does the My Little Pony. A little, ugly lizard we found on the street last year has a name, too.

But not the stallion.

If only identifying real-life people and animals were that simple.

Then again, I'm glad it's not.

Bill

“All the way home I’ll be warm…”

On Saturday morning we woke up to a soft layer of snow on the ground and lightly dusting the evergreens around our home. It didn’t last nearly as long as Elizabeth would have liked. She is the most snowsick teen I know. She prays for snow every autumn and carefully examines every bit of sleet that hits the ground on colder fall days. This day it had turned to rain and by late afternoon she had gone on a tirade as only 13 year old girls can. Her eyes – that already have an eerie unknown color - were crackling. It wasn’t pretty.

Sunday after church we had some friends coming over for Thanksgiving Leftovers Lunch. It’s a sort of ceremonial event where we finally consume the rest of the turkey, gravy, stuffing, and other seasonal delicacies with friends to help us. Elizabeth kept glancing outside in hopes of catching any stray flakes falling into our yard. She was entertaining her friends as best she could but I knew her heart was elsewhere in the stratosphere of ice crystals and clouds. The sky responded and by the time the light had begun to dim there was enough snow on the ground for the kids to make a modest snowman and throw several snowballs at each other. Our porch was quickly laden with snow packed gloves, hats, coats and shoes. That night Elizabeth fell asleep under four layers of blankets and sleeping bags with the curtains drawn and the window opened widely letting the chilly air caress her face as she slept. Bill stepped in and closed the window tightly and pulled the curtains shut.

Our bedroom alarm sounded Monday morning and we opened our eyes to a magical winter wonderland of thick snow and crusty ice on the pavement. I lazily implored Bill to stay home from work. He scoffed at the idea of this minor skiff impeding his ability to navigate his way to the office. I understood well his thinking: he’s a Colorado native and quite skilled at winter driving. However, not all the drivers are as skilled as he. I checked wsdot and sure enough there were spinouts reported and some roads were closed. After considering this for a few moments and placing a call to his director - who also told him about the spinouts and road closures – Bill decided he would not be going to work.

We all stayed warm and cozy inside all morning and part of the afternoon. While the schools were closed, homeschool was still up and running. Periodically Elizabeth would ask, “Can I be done?” to which we replied consistently, “Not until you’re done.” I baked cookies while Murron and Ulie played with plush toys and Barbie dolls. Bill worked around the house. We were all biding our time, really, until the wind slowed and the snow cleared a bit before we decided to head out and make the most of it.

After Ulie awoke from his nap we all donned our warmest clothes and grabbed a sliding saucer and took to the hill. It’s just a little hill but it has enough slope to get up a nice speed. We all took our turns and eventually Ulie had had enough so I bundled him up, walked back home, and put on the kettle of water for cocoa. Not long afterward Bill and the girls followed. Murron’s rosy cold cheeks told me how she had thoroughly enjoyed herself and would have stayed longer if her dad and sister weren’t coming home.

Elizabeth looked every bit serene and thoughtful. Perhaps hoping she could have stayed longer as well. Maybe wondering how many more days of snow-filled fun she would have this winter. Or savoring this special moment in time when she was in her element with God’s blessing of the flakes, mounds, dustings, and drifts of snow.

A Weekend To Remember Marriage Conference

We finally did it.

We planned, prepared, and prayed for Bill and I to get away for a childfree weekend. The idea was to go to a marriage conference because, as you might have read, our marital bliss is in jeopardy. We wanted to spend the time with some friends who were like-minded - minus the marriage in jeopardy part. As some friends who have attended similar conferences have attested, the sessions are fantastic, the leaders are experts in their field and NEVER argue or disagree in the privacy of their homes, and the people who attend spend wonderful romantic moments frolicking on surf-swept sandy beaches. Surely this was the medicine that Bill and I needed.

As our friends discovered, however, the conference was sold out. AAaacckkk!!! Didn't they realize that WE were teetering on the edge of despair and doom? Wouldn't they make a tiny exception because of our looming demise? Hadn't they room for two huddled spirits seeking safety and refuge in the embrace of their wisdom? We were distraught. Could anyone hear our pleas for help and hope?

Yes, oh, YES!!!

Mark and Karen heard our pitiful cries and intervened as only two friends could.

They booked a suite at a resort and we made arrangements for our children to be cared for by Rudi and Geneva . Then we packed for three days and two nights of desperately necessary coupletime...

IT WORKED!!!

We had fun, laughed, cried, bared our souls, ate five star gourmet dishes prepared by someone else, and God was present in ALL. From conversations in the hot tub to walks along the beach reading Psalm 148, we were being carefully and delicately connected and we know we are incomparably better for it.

So...we're thinking maybe next weekend...perhaps???

Glory

"Four!"

Sleepy times at our house sometimes drag on far longer than they should. Between prayers, kisses, bathroom visits and teeth brushings, this can go on for an hour, complete with nagging comments from Glory and me and telling the kids to hurry it up.

But, sometimes little statements from our kidlets tend to douse the fires of frustration.

Eldest child, while brushing her teeth, saw her 3 1/2 year-old sister tromping into the bathroom, again!

"Go to bed. I'll be there in a minute," she asserted, with toothbrush in her mouth.

"I have to go potty!" our toddler cried.

"What number, one or two?" oldest sister asked.

"What?" she asked, having no idea what her sister was asking.

"What number, one or two?" she asked again.

There was a slight pause.

"Four!" our little one responded.

Yikes! Both Glory and I, while listening to this from the dining room, started laughing.

"No," our teen said. "One or two?"

"Two," our little girl said, still clueless, but playing along with her sister's question.

She didn't go number two.

Bill

It's Over And I Didn't Even Know It.

Bill and I are getting a divorce.

I had no idea!

And neither did he!!!

While he was at the gym, yesterday, an associate that he knows was asking him how things are going. They made a little small talk. Then she blindsided him with this question:

"So, how is the divorce going?"

Bill was stunned.

"We're not getting a divorce," he replied.

But still he was doubtful. Was I telling him everything? Did he miss something? Would I speak to him about this?

He called me and said, "I have a serious question."

"How serious?" I asked, playfully.

"Oh, quite serious," he replied, gravely.

"What's the question?" I inquired.

"Are we getting a divorce?" He asked, sternly.

"Not that I know of. Are we?" I returned.

"No..." he answered and proceded to tell me of his encounter.

So, last night we told our home fellowship group about it which stunned them as well.

No one knew except the lady at the gym.

Maybe I need to work out more often, and visit with that lady. She seems to know some things.

Glory

Vanity, vanity. All is vanity

It's that time of year again. That time when all the politicians are out in force making appearances at places you never see them at any other time of year trying to convince you that they care.

Care about what?

Themselves! That's the answer.

OK, not that I'm vain. Of course not!

But there I was at the local gym, trying hard like I do to get my thick body looking thin. I've been trying hard for a looong time now. I end the day (every day) asking Glory if I'm making progress. I just want to know. I'm not vain.

Anyway, this isn't about me.

So while sweating on the treadmill a couple of weeks ago I noticed a new face that looked somewhat familiar. I smiled a nonverbal hello and went on sweating. The next day he was there again. And then the next day, and the next. I then realized that he was one of the district court judges who's up for reelection.

My guess, judging by his physique, is he doesn't need to be there. I do! What's he doing there?

What's he doing there?

Getting votes!!

Election day is two weeks from today.

He'll get reelected. Lots of business owners, lawyers, teachers, county employees, etc., go to the same gym.

This judge is smart.

But, still, he's vain, unlike me.

Bill

Update!

Okay, fine!

Here it is for all of you who have been whining about our blog:

We have our house up for sale and we have a contingent offer on a house that's closer to work and church and most of our friends. It's a little nervewracking and we're a little impatient but still trusting that this is the right thing to do.

We are busy, but because of having to keep our po-dunk telephone line open we just don't crank up the dial-up as often as we normally have. We're not Luddites, yet, but it's starting to feel very house-on-the-prairie-ish in these parts.

We are having our fourth baby the end of April. That means that Glory has to be very discriminating in how her energy is spent. Things are looking good, though, and the baby's heartbeat is strong and steady.

So, that's it. When there's more to share, like house sale news, ultrasound news, etc. we'll get it posted...alrighty?

B and G

"NO, no,no,no,no,no!! Close this..."

...So she said to me when, after a couple months of silence from Bill and Glory, Bill tried to publish a blog.

Glory then directed Bill to the Blogger button, had him press it, and then, as if by magic, the appropriate page sprang to view. As if by magic.

Did I write, "as if by magic?"

"This is really cool," Bill thought to himself. "What will they think of next?"

It was an appropriate question.

Linus McSpadden, a rogue programmer associated with the Blogger site, already had in mind his next evil and malicious plan: publishing tools for Bloggers that required only speech. "Let us do away with typing altogether!!" he shouted from his computer terminal. "Bwahaaaaahaaaaa! Bwaaahaaaaa (cough)..."

No one heard him, for he was alone. He could not stop coughing and ended up choking to death.

"You're silly," Glory told Bill, as Bill typed away.

And so Bill remained quiet.

The clock on his computer read 9:58 p.m.

"But clocks don't read, silly," Glory said snidely.

"There is no such thing as the written language 'silly,'" Bill retorted. "And what do you mean by snidely? What's a snide?"

"Duhhh!" Glory chided. "The man in Dr. Suess' story about the pale green pants with nobody inside them, hid out in a field of Snide and got brickles in his britches. Everyone knows that."

Glory laughed like a crazy woman and went to get some cashews. Bill got bored.

They went to bed.

Glory snored.

Bill

Questions and rope swings

"Where's Dad?" our three-year-old exclaimed as she tromped through the house. She then saw me on the couch putting on my running shoes in our living room. "Oh, Daddy."
"Hi," I said.
She looked at my shoes. "Are you going to the van?"
"No, Baby," I said, lacing up my shoes.
She looked at the TV for a second then turned back to me. "Are you going to work?"
"No, sweetie."
There was a longer pause this time. Looking down at the floor she asked her question with a tinge of sarcasm mixed with sadness.
"Are you going home?"
I looked in her eyes and wanted to laugh and cry. "Baby, I am home."
"Oh," she replied.
Before I could remind her for the umpteenth time that we are home and that our house is our home, my eight-month-old squawked in the front room on Glory's lap.
On to the next subject.
"Oh! It's Baby," my toddler said.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"In the front room," was her quick reply.
With my shoes tightly laced, I started heading out to the garage to use the Nordic Track. Little girl quickly followed behind and strapped in to a rope she uses to swing.
Glide, glide, push, swing, Daddy-push-me, went on for a half hour to the beat of 1980-ish Bryan Duncan.
No more questions needed. Just time with Daddy in the garage. And that was fine by me.

Bill

Daily Routines

This morning I am taking an hour's rest from what has become a morning ritual. I have become more diligent than ever before in taking care of housework early in the day. I throw open our bedroom curtains and tie them back to let in the daylight. I make up our bed and get all the lumps out. Then I pick up whatever might be on the floor and toss it into the laundry hamper. Next I move into the bathroom and wipe out our sinks, swish out the toilet and pick up the floor. In the kitchen I put any dishes left over from breakfast into the dishwasher and sweep the floor (today I will mop). Lastly I vacuum the carpeted areas and straighten out cushions and throw blankets.

Spiritually my routine isn't much different, which doesn't surprise me. I open my morning devotional to let God's light shine into my sleepy thoughts. In prayer I get out all the lumps of resistance to His direction and surrender my tasks to Him. With His help I see what things need to be cleared from my path so I can do what He asks without hindrance. I clean up and scrub out any attitudes that would render my efforts to serve my family as fruitless. Finally I serve my family with a ready heart and create an atmosphere where they might also come to a closer relationship to Jesus.

Unlike housecleaning, however, the order of my day in spending time in prayer and devotion is important if I am to be open and available to what God wants me to do. It's like the teacup that looks clean and pretty on the outside but has been left dirty and unwashed on the inside. There are things that need to be taken care of if I'm to be of use to anyone.

You are so careful to clean the outside of the cup and the dish, but inside you are filthy...First wash the inside of the cup, and then the outside will become clean, too. Matthew 23:25-26 (NLT)

Glory

Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3,...

Being a homeschooler I have the opportunity to observe how Elizabeth prepares for and takes tests. Most of the time she's ready and able to do her absolute best. Other days, well, she's not. So, after the tears are dried (she's a girl, after all), more reviewing, and better preparation, she retakes the test and always does me proud.

On Friday my daily devotional from Proverbs 31 spoke to me about preparing for the tests that come our way. Whenever God teaches us His truths and brings us into further understanding of His will, the tests follow closely after. We've been given the lesson and now we must put our learning to practice. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don't. But we know that the lessons will surely come as will the tests.

Bill spent a wonderful day with another friend at a men's retreat where he was challenged and motivated in his walk with God. Today our pastor spoke directly from Job and shared how it applies to us. On the drive home Bill appeared tense and as we talked it became very apparent that he was bracing himself for the test that was sure to come. He was considering how well he prepared for it and what the result of his test would be. I love this man who is so teachable and honest before God. We pray that we truly learn what God teaches so that we are ready when the tests come.

"How can I prepare?"

1. Report to class regularly.
- Read your Bible.
- Learn what the Scripture means and how it applies to your life.
- Memorize.

2. Use Study Hall wisely.
- Waiting for the answer to come is not down time - it is the study hall of life.
- While in the 'wait' room or 'study hall' prepare and practice for the next tests. What we do while we wait determines the outcome of our test.

3. Get tutoring in areas of weakness.
- Pray, developing a deep relationship with Jesus, the Teacher.
- Listen until you hear the answers to your questions.

4. Practice whenever possible.
- Review regularly what you learn.
- Study groups are necessary for accountability and success.

Glory

Transition

"Ulie's crying, " Bill remarked sleepily at 6:55 a.m.

It was already well past sunrise and we could hear the sound of plastic trash bin bottoms scraping against the driveways. Bill got out of bed and trekked beyond the other side of our room, past the front room, across the dining room, and through part of the living room to Ulie's room.

Ulie's room. Burgundy curtains block out most of the sunlight. His crib is tucked into a corner. His little table with metal basket style drawers sits closeby. Quackums, Love Monkey, and other fuzzy friends are there with him. A small twin bed is available for a parent/child sleepover if necessary. Mom made sure of it.

Both Elizabeth and Murron made the transition to their own rooms at approximately the same age. A few nights of adjustment was all they needed and they settled in to their own quarters like good little troops. All my questions of, "What if I don't hear him crying?" or "Is he going to be warm enough?" have already been answered by his older sisters. Ulie will be fine.

Will I be fine? Knowing this is just the beginning of letting him go, yes, I will be fine. I will be fine when he stays with a babysitter for the first time. When he has his first sleepover I will remain intact. When he leaves for a weekend or more doing whatever God calls him to do I will live. And when he is gone from here although part of me will go with him, God will gather me close to Himself, cradle my heart, and soothe me to peaceful unworried rest.

Glory

What's That Smell?

Now that it’s getting into the 2nd week since we’ve been back from Texas, I know this blog is past due. The truth is, I neglected to keep a journal of the days’ happenings so I really don’t have the head start a written record would have provided. Nonetheless, as I think about our trip, the things that I recall the most are the smells. Being a perfume addict (I had at one time 30+ fragrances in my collection, not including body sprays or bath splashes) I remember scents easily, and aromas trigger my memory in ways that sometimes even photographs do not.

It was moderately early when we all grabbed a quick breakfast of fresh toasted bread and loaded up into our van to take the girls to our friends’ house. The sun was already out and we could hear the muffled highway traffic through the trees and houses in our community. The air was crisp and laden with the frosty smell of chilled wet grass and leaves. More than our natural surroundings, though, our excitement and anticipation permeated the atmosphere.

After dropping the girls off we arrived at the hotel early enough to enjoy a steaming cup of aromatic coffee courtesy of the hotel where we were to catch our shuttle to the airport. A lady sitting on the other side of a large coffee table in the lobby noticed Ulie and started chatting with us right away. There is just something about babies that invites complete strangers into your world to talk about their own children, their hopes and dreams, and their lives. She shared how she wanted to live in the quaint little island of Friday Harbor but was taking care of her aging parents. Having been to the island I could easily recall the salty air and musty smell of soil that never really gets dry at all. She talked about a couple who wanted to be buried on the island and while the wife was battling cancer they would pack a picnic and dine al fresco where their bodies would eventually be laid to rest. As she shared how she had also purchased her own burial plot there I could almost smell the freshly turned peat and crushed rose petals from graveside services I had attended in the past.

Our shuttle had arrived and we stood in line amid travelers taking their last carcinogenic puffs from their camels. Hating the smell I hoped none of it would linger on my clothes too long. We boarded the shuttle and when I snuggled in close to Bill his cologne cleared the smoke out of my nostrils. I sniffed in his Drakkar deeply and smelled it again, albeit mingled with parfum de bebe, when I cuddled Ulie close to my face. There wasn’t anything exceptional to note about checking in baggage and boarding the plane. Just the expected shuffle of bodies and carry-ons and the blast of jet fuel fumes seeping through the cracks in the walkway to the aircraft. We learned quickly that the lady that shared our row of seats is a Christian and we talked at length about Bible studies and churches. A few hours into the flight the unexpected happened: the flight attendant handed her a large envelope and a small jewelry box. Having caught the writing on the envelope it said “Happy Anniversary” She carefully opened the envelope and I could see that she was savoring every perfectly penned line knowing that, although Hallmark prints quality cards, the thoughts and feelings were coming from her husband’s heart. She carefully wiped at moist eyes then opened the jewel box to find a beautiful white gold heart pendant encrusted with diamonds. I asked how many years and she responded like a young bride, “We’ve been married 18 years but we’ve known each other for 22 years.” I asked where her husband was and she pointed to where he was sitting. Then I commented that she was showing a great deal more restraint than I would and she giggled. Her floral perfume floated along the aisle as she got up from her seat, reached into her own carry-on, found a large envelope and handed it to him. The husband then got up from his seat and they both made their way to the back of the plane to be more private. Just moments later the same flight attendant brought two champagne flutes and two champagne bottles to their little anniversary celebration 32,000 feet above the ground. I am sure they were flying much higher than that.

Later, as a passing comment, we talked about roses, which I love the most of all flowers, and she hinted that perhaps I could help revive her roses. It would be nice to do since I am anxious to see what her particular choices would smell like once they are in bloom. Sweet and spicy or fruity and flowery. She handed us an unopened bottle of champagne and said it was for our own little getaway. We exchanged addresses and once the plane had landed in Dallas we went our separate ways.

“Texas stinks!” I blurted out to Bill as we walked through the airport terminal. “Does Texas always smell like this?” He assured me that it did and I wasn’t imagining it. In trying to describe it, I would have to say it smelled a mixture of old clothes, dusty ranches, muddy ponds, and overcooked peppers. There is history in Texas to be sure so it didn’t surprise me that it would pervade the air around us. Before we boarded another plane to Austin we met a couple who were also planning to attend the same conference that Bill was attending. In a matter of minutes Julie and I discovered our shared faith in God and since she wasn’t actually part of the conference either we exchanged the names of our respective hotels and determined to meet up one of the days.

Once inside our hotel we were greeted by a complimentary snack of a small package of Oreo cookies and a bottle of water. Crisp white damask linens graced the bed and a supple leather chair stood ready at the desk for any writing we intended to do. It smelled clean, perfect, and restful. Amid airing out our freshly laundered clothing, taking our showers, and enjoying our room service meals it began to smell like our room. Our home away from home. I like that about staying at a hotel longer than just one night, in this case three nights. The next day Bill and I walked to a restaurant for lunch. The air was hot and dry and the air was thick with the odor of sun-baked pavement and cement sidewalks. The buildings looked old and I wondered what stories they would tell of this city. Once back inside our hotel, Bill having returned to his sessions at the conference, I called Julie and we arranged to meet the following day.

Julie and her husband were staying at the historic Driskill hotel, a place where state politics were discussed among the politicians themselves. A section of the hotel was undergoing some work so occasionally the smell of broken plaster and sawdust would find its way into the lobby where a cleaning lady was diligently polishing the curved dark stone pillars with a citrus-scented solution. Rich Victorian carpeting accented the deep velvet and oiled leather furnished seating area where I waited for my companion for the day. Again I realized how an adorable baby can melt even the most guarded and reserved of Texas gentry, this time a distinctly southern Belle who told me in a soft melodic drawl, “What a sweet baby!” We chatted briefly about her son being a Governor’s page for a day before she left to meet her husband. Julie showed up shortly thereafter and we took a walk to a Starbucks. She and her husband live near Seattle so it was a natural choice for us to sit and talk among other sippers enjoying their aromatic beverages before we walked to the capitol building. The streets were alive with restaurant smells and freshly blooming flowers as we blended with other pedestrians walking to their various destinations. As for Julie and I we simply enjoyed each other’s company far from home and sharing our lives if only for a day. Even though we talked about the Alamo, and some American history, our fellowship was sweet and fragrant with the love of our Lord who graciously arranged for us to meet and fellowship with each other.

That evening as I shared the day’s events with Bill I realized that God had breathed a fresh sweet life into me and into our marriage. The next day Bill, Ulie, and I walked back to the capitol building to take a few pictures and talk about going home. I love seeing Bill in places where his knowledge of history is met with the exact locations where history unfolded. He loves seeing me in new territory where I gather and collect images and impressions like artifacts to use in my writing or my art. And before we boarded the plane to go home I made sure to inhale the bouquet of our experience deeply.

Glory

This Just In!!!

I know I said I would blog about our trip to Texas, and I will. But what is a prouder-than-punch Momma to do when her evening nursing session with the baby is interrupted by a Pictionary Jr. board and these incredibly talented and inspired flower images???

If this is her work at 3 years old, I KNOW my hands are going to be full in homeschooling her...and soon!

Wish me luck and say some prayers!

Glory

Travelling Companions

Tonight I must ensure that all five of us are packed and ready for the weekend and beyond. Our girls will be staying with our friends while Bill, Ulie and I catch a shuttle to the airport. There the three of us board a plane to Dallas, Texas then hop over to Austin. Bill has a conference and Ulie and I are along for the ride and the change of scenery. And, of course, to keep Bill company.

It's my first time in Texas, though, so I'm sure we'll have a blog to tell of it, later.

Kick up yer boots!

Glory

He Is Asleep

It is very late. After the last little sucking motions of his tongue I know. All my efforts to soothe, console, and lull have been met with sweet success.

I carefully lift his little head out of the crook of my arm which is now practically numb. I tuck soft folds of bedding beside his little tummy, Then I tighten my abdomen to lift myself off the mattress without jostling the sleeping infant. I can finally get ready for bed.

After completing my hygiene routine I tread softly back into our bedroom. I quietly slip the covers from Bill’s side of the bed and begin to slither between Bill and our slumbering baby. I am stealthy as I become like the air between the bed linens and my husband’s body. It is not unlike disarming a missile. Or, as Bill artfully describes it, like a hot dog rolling itself into a closed bun. No matter, I am relieved when my gymnastics are over and I am nestled against my husband’s shoulder and our son is still asleep.

I want to celebrate my victory. I want to talk until the wee hours of the morning. I want to listen to guitar instrumentals. I want to kiss a little…or a lot! I raise my head off Bill’s shoulder and look at his gentle peaceful face. The reality hits me like a cold shower.

He is asleep.

Glory

Called To Service

Today, I am feeling reckless so I will abandon all dignity and composure and tell you the truth: I like attention. I like to be seen and applauded for whatever I happen to say or do. I am a shameless entertainer and I take extreme pleasure in self-promotion.

So it takes me by surprise when God provides me with opportunities to visibly serve. Why, I think, would God choose such an irrepresible performer like me to serve in a public manner? It would seem that sometimes He lets us shine for Him and this week He has given me plenty of opportunities; some are temporary and others are long-term. But it does make me wonder if there's a catch. Almost immediately I know the answer: of course there is.

It's humility. Like a pane of glass in the sunlight, the reflected image is more visible when the glass is purer and the light is brighter. Likewise humilty is essential for us to disappear and reflect the image of Jesus.

“Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself. Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. Let this mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus . . .” (Philippians 2:3-5).

Glory

Waiting For Him

This morning I was blessed with Bill's lingering presence as he didn't have to leave our house until later than usual. We shared banana bread, coffee, and devotions before he finally pried himself away from my pleas of, "Come home early..."

It isn't always like this, though. Most mornings our home is much quieter when he leaves for work. Most mornings are like this...

He doesn't wake me when he gets up to have his shower. I am still asleep. He dresses for work noiselessly while I dream my last dreams. I don't hear him leave our room to get coffee and grab a little breakfast. I only hear him when his hand touches the doorknob to our bedroom door.

He comes back into our room and wakes me gently. He says, "I have to go to work, Honey." Sleepily I kiss him before he leaves. Then I listen. I listen to his footsteps through the house. I listen to the door open and close. I listen to the engine start. I listen to him drive away.

Then it begins. I tend to the house. I care for our baby. I get breakfast for our toddler. I get our oldest daughter started on homeschooling. I get the bed made. I call him to ask him what he’s doing. I straighten up the dining area. I make lunch for our kids.

I do some laundry. I call a friend or two. I keep our baby happy. I hug our toddler before she takes a nap. I visit with our oldest. I call him to ask what he'd like for dinner. I clean the living room. I play some music.

I am busy. Not so much with tasks, chores, and projects. My mind is busy with memories of being with him. I am thinking about him throughout all I do. My heart is busy with emotion, passion, and longing. Because the truth of the matter is, I am not really busy doing anything. I am a homemaker only secondary to what I am truly occupied with. When he comes home from work and asks me what I have done all day, I must tell him the truth. Nothing else has demanded my attention as much as this. I was waiting for him.

As a believer of Jesus, no matter what else I do with my days, I'm waiting for Him, too.

Glory

Homecoming

As expected, when I arrived in Seattle the first face I saw was Elizabeth's and she lit up like 4th of July fireworks when I smiled and opened my arm - the one not holding Ulie - and hugged her close to me. I heard Bill call out, "Come back, Murmur!" then I saw her bouncing toward him and I saw her smile at me. I stooped down to squeeze her a little before she wiggled out of my grasp. When I saw Bill I felt a warm rush like the aroma of banana nut bread coming out of the oven.

I was home.

I think I could live anywhere on earth with my husband and children and, foreign or not, I would be home.

We talked as we waited for my baggage to make its appearance on the carousel then Bill handed me a vente coffee from Starbucks. I couldn't take my eyes off him, it felt so nice to see his smile and hear his laugh again. How perfectly sweet and comforting.

I'm sure this is almost exactly what getting to Heaven is going to be like.

Glory

Alone...

For the past week I have been solo parenting while Glory has been seeing family. Now, I think I do this pretty well: the house always is clean, the dishes always are done and there isn't laundry to do. I am sure that if it were necessary I could garner many awards at being house husband.

But the other day when I was checking in with Glory she remarked: "So the house is clean but it's lonely..."

Yep. That is true. Lonely it is.

Oh sure, I have had fun with the kids. We've made paper airplanes. We played Bear Bowling (We stood markers on their ends on the squares of our tile floor and then bowled them over with stuffed bears -- or launched them into the markers from across the living room. Way cool!) And we cooked different meals together.

But we've done it alone. And that stinks.

Good thing that our days of flying solo are over. And when we do have to go it alone for a while, we can take some comfort in knowing that it doesn't last long.

Just one more day!

Bill