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
Monday, February 19, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
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
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
Friday, January 26, 2007
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
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
Friday, January 19, 2007
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
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
Saturday, January 06, 2007
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.
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
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
Saturday, December 30, 2006
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
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
Friday, December 22, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
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
Saturday, December 16, 2006
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"
Friday, December 01, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
“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.
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.
Sunday, November 12, 2006
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
Sunday, November 05, 2006
"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
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
Thursday, November 02, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
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
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
Monday, October 16, 2006
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
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
Sunday, August 27, 2006
"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
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
Sunday, June 04, 2006
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
Friday, May 26, 2006
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
Sunday, May 21, 2006
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
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