Clutch Chatter

Guts Doctor

2012-02-08T16:36:00.000-08:00

My husband has been suffering (though cheerily) with an illusive ailment for several years. It swells his digestive track, and makes his life miserable. There has been little to do to make it better. Unprocessed food and pharmaceuticals have been nearly ineffective, but this story isn't about that.

Last week he swallowed a small camera, that made its way through his digestive system and then out (see photo). It sent information to a pack that he wore all day. The pill got stuck, and he had to have a procedure to push it through. While in his throat, the doc took a biopsy.

He even smiles when there's a complication.

As my husband woke up from the ordeal, the doctor talked to me. He told me he took a biopsy, and that the problem might be Eosinophilic esophagitis. Eosinophilic esophagitis? That sounds like something someone made up to use 23 letters in a name. He explained it to me briefly, and as he walked away, I took out my fancy phone and Googled it. You can too if you want, though it is rather boring. I had it on Wikipedia in 5 seconds, reading about it.

Do not ask where this pill has been!

Today, ten days later, I got a letter from the doctor in the US mail. It was printed from the same Wikipedia site I read, stem to stern, last week. I know the intent was to inform us about what is going on inside my husband's body, which is really kind. It did make me laugh a bit too. I'd like to welcome the "guts doctor" to the Information Era! It saves paper.

Photo A Day: January

2012-01-26T09:10:00.000-08:00

I made a challenge for myself to take a photo a day with my phone. It is a fun challenge, but one a day is a challenge. It was a good thing to try something creative everyday, and see what feels right. Some days/themes felt wrong, for instance: My Bag and Colour (it was Australian).

Here were the photos that I liked the best:

The themes, from the top left, clockwise:

Morning: My coffee pot and my kid's reflection

Something I Made: the girl and the hat

Reflection: Me driving (I took this waiting in the car, not driving)

My Sky: looking up through the Douglas Fir at my house

Two Days of Hands

2012-01-25T09:52:00.000-08:00

Somehow, my husband set his phone to play music as an alarm, last year. The phone didn't hold much music, and the first song on the list was "With My Own Two Hands", by Ben Harper.

Every morning, a few minutes before seven: descending bass line....dun, dun, dun, dun, dun.....I can change the world, one, two, with my own two hands....

The first few days that this song pulled me out of my slumber, and got my feet to the floor, I was in a fog. I'm usually in a fog until 10 am. I wasn't processing the song, it was just noise. Here is the song. You only have to listen to the first 5 bars or so, after that it is obscenely repetitive and inspirational.

Normally I can lie in bed for a slow start, but not to this song. By the fifth measure, I was out of bed. It was like a bit in my mouth, I had to get up. I started to wonder why this song was making me uncomfortable and exhausted. (I started thinking about it after 10am.)

It is a tall order to wake up everyday being prompted to change the world with your hands. You can't do it by lying in bed until 7 am, or, that is what it feels like if it's the first thing you hear every day for a month.

I do want to change/influence the world for the better, every day. Yet, I don't know how I did yesterday, and I'm unsure how I might do today. Gandhi said that I should be the change I want to see in the world. Jesus said, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. I'm vacillating between doing good, and just being. Am I doing enough? No. Am I enough by design? Yes!

What I want is that just being me, is enough to make the world a better place. I can't wake up to, "I Can Change The World" because no one can DO enough. I don't want to try. Waking up to this song just makes me feel like a failure.

Little darlings, I decided that if I have to wake up to a song, I choose, "Here Comes the Sun".

This Is The Hand, Joe Dimaggio

2012-01-24T09:58:00.000-08:00

When I was in college, I read many books for young adults. One was Pink and Say. It is about an unlikely friendship between and black boy and a white boy, during the Civil War. The meaningful part, is that one boy has shaken hands with Abraham Lincoln. When the two boys become friends, they shake hands, and one boy tells the other, that he has now shaken the hand, that shook the hand, of Abraham Lincoln.

Now when I meet people who have good stories and have met influential or famous people, I think about our hands. My grandpa shook hands with Wyatt Earp. I have ~~sat on the lap~~ shaken the hand of a man who shook the hand, of Wyatt Earp. I once spent the day with the friends of Martin Luther King Jr. I have shaken the hand, of a hand.....

This week I met a man who played baseball with Joe Dimaggio. He is in the hospital, and in his late 90's. Our conversation was difficult. What is it like to look back on a life, full of adventure, tragedy and love? How do you process nearly 100 years of birthdays, babies, Christmas, cars, coming and going? What does it mean to live a life of hope? Why is the end of the story so sad? Why is the middle of the story so hard? How could the colors of a life be so vibrant?

His tears were the answer: there is no answer. His life has been rich with, well.... life! One day at a time, he lived/lives. That day, he remembered. I got to be a witness to his story.

Yet, his life is bigger than just one story. Our stories connect, and there is no story without each other. Knowing our time together was winding down, I put out my hand. He looked at me through his tears, and grabbed my hand. I told him that now, my hand has shaken the hand, that shook the hand, of Joe Dimaggio. I took a piece of his story with me as I walked out of his room. My hand and his hand, his hands and Joe Dimaggio's, my heart and his heart.

I'm On Fire

2012-01-15T12:43:00.000-08:00

For my birthday in the summer I got an iPhone. It goes against my pragmatism to get such a fancy (smart) phone, but I love it! LOVE! It has been 1/2 years since I got this new phone, but it is as if I just got it 5 minutes ago. I have happily made an exception to my usual policy of practicality.

I have an application on the phone that is called Instagram. It is a forum to share photos, much like Facebook, but just photos. After you load a photo to Instagram, then you can put a filter on it or zoom in. It is pretty creative. You can also look at photos that your 'friends' have taken. I like it, because I really only like looking at people's photos on Facebook.

This month there has been a challenge to take a photo everyday on a theme. The day I took this photo, the theme was 'close-up'. This is my hair. This is the fire that comes out of my head. This is what I have to contend with, up-close.

I used to be offended about the stereo-types and nick-names assigned to red heads. Aren't stereo-types judgmental? I don't want to be judged for something that I did not choose, or how I look.

Finally after many years, I have relented. This brightly colored mop does tell you something about me. I am fiery, I am temperamental, I'm hot-headed, I'm passionate. My locks are curly and messy, and I'm in good literary company: Anne of Green Gables, Little Orphan Annie, Pippy Longstocking, Mary Jane. I have little influence over the condition of my hair, much like my ego. All I can do is take care of it/me, and accept it/me as I am, the package and the product.

My phone is helping me be happy being me, which is not you. Just don't get me mad, because I can lose my temper quite easily.

Mad Milk Disease

2012-01-12T21:39:00.000-08:00

I know you are thinking that we already talked about cows this week, because of Cowboys & Aliens. I like cows. I'm surprised I have so much to say about them. I'm a redhead, and we can get fired-up about needless things. So, here goes:

Are we so far removed from our food that this seems logical? The milk this ad council is trying to sell you does not need to be shaken because it is HOMOGENIZED!! It has been processed, just like almond, soy, rice, and hemp. After it is heated to kill any living organisms, then it is pressed through a sieve with tiny holes, so that every piece of milk is the same (homo) size, then they (the milk folks) add vitamin D.

Adding Vitamin D is a throw-back to the industrial revolution (over 100 years ago). People started to get vitamin deficient because the sky was dark with coal smoke, so the milk manufacturers added 'D'.

If you had a cow you, or a friend, milked 2x a day for a total of 8 gallons per day, then put that milk into the refrigerator, then you would have to shake it, if you wanted it to be all the same consistency. It might make you as mad as this woman, and if it did, I know a great therapist. Maybe milking a cow in the wee hours of the morning would be cathartic for you, if you have so much anger.

We should know where our food comes from, and how it is made. I'm not a cow-milk person, unless it comes from a cow I know, and then I can't get enough. I'm sure I was a mom's milk person, but I'd have to ask my mom.

What I do know is where my food comes from, so I am not blindly persuaded by advertising. This ad is banking on our ignorance, and is deceiving. Rice milk is just as bad/good for you as milk is. Milk is not sacred, unless you are an infant mammal. Even then, species is important for survival.

Anyway, drink what you want/can.

Review: Cowboys & Aliens

2012-01-10T18:31:00.000-08:00

The tag-line on my blog is, "there's a good story in every day". You would think that if you were a cowboy living in a town invaded by aliens over 100 years ago, you would find a good story. I could find a good story there, an adventurous, compelling, good vs evil story. This movie has the potential to tell a good story, but.......there are so many 'buts'.

There are so many things going on in this movie that you don't even care about one of the characters. There are so many simultaneous story lines and themes, there is no theme. The thin plot is a medium for CGI slimy aliens. It was literally: action scene, action scene, talking, action scene, slimy alien, death scene, action scene (this was the outline for the writer(s), I'm sure).

Remember when you cared about Jason Borne? The whole of all three movies was a long run-on action scene, but I cared.

I love a good cowboy movie, and love a good sci-fi, so I was disappointed that this movie was so silly.

If you want good cowboy and alien entertainment, watch Firefly. It's a television show that only ran for one season, and was summed up with a great movie after it was canceled.

Better than Words

2012-01-09T13:08:00.000-08:00

Over New Years, we took a long weekend and went to visit friends in Ohio. It's not a tourist destination, but it was a vacation. We took a break from emptying boxes at our new house, and sunny warm winter weather. We traded it for limited obligations and warm and satisfied hearts.

These are folks who are teaching me to love, and be loved. There are more, but my mind/heart is full of our time together today.

Review: Tree Of Life

2012-01-06T11:41:00.000-08:00

Last week I watched "Tree of Life". Here is what I think about it:

I think it is like cilantro: either you'll like it or you'll hate it.

Some reasons you may hate it are its raw topics: grief, parenting, death. If you watch movies to escape and relax, then don't watch.

Another is "Tree of Life" parallels the story of a family with the story of the cosmos. It visually interjects cosmic events (Big Bang and extinction of the dinosaurs) and the story of a family and a boy losing his innocence. If you need action, watching the Milky Way for several minutes might be difficult to endure.

I can say that I liked it because of my demographic (30 something, parent).

"Tree of Life" is artsy. It is wonderful to look at, but hard to watch. It exposes the edges of daily life that we try to rise above. It is difficult to watch Brad Pitt be a 'bad dad', but I know that I am also making mistakes. That is hard to watch, like looking in a mirror. When I see bad parenting in movies, it is usually dramatic. The parents are drug addicts, narcissistic movie stars, or aliens, not real people, like in this movie.

The one flaw I saw in the movie was more of a question. Why was Sean Penn in this movie? His part made no sense to me, not even in the end. They could have saved 40 minutes of this long movie by taking that bit out. I see what they were trying to do, but they failed.

I was moved by this movie: moved to look inside, up, and snuggle with my kids. It is a story of redemption, just like my story, so in that way it was worth watching.

Mennonite in a Little Acroyoga

2011-12-27T17:41:00.000-08:00

I recently finished reading "Mennonite in the Little Black Dress". I loved it. I loved it because I felt known. The last 1/3 was predictable and a bit slow, because there was a natural outcome to the writer's choices and those outcomes occurred.

Despite this, I loved it because it reminded me of how I was raised. We are not Mennonite, but I guess my grandparents were, and they raised my grandma, and my mom, and she raised me. My mom found a man with similar sensibilities, and then, here I am!

I'm sensible, and practical. I didn't try alcohol until I was in my 20's or a cigarette until then either. I still haven't tried dancing, and I don't watch TV (okay a little I do, I cheat on Netflix). I don't swear, and I can make anything into a meal just by peeking my head into the fridge. I'm a peace-nick. I just realized that a blow drier will make my hair look cute. These are things that made me feel like I am just like some other people: Mennonites. "Mennonite in the Little Black Dress" made me realize I'm not the only one.

My brother-in-law, Ben, has been doing Acroyoga. It is yoga in groups, people balance and stretch and do tricks much like an acrobat, hence the name Acroyoga. It looks fun, but there is touching involved. It is not a sensible activity. My brain tells my body, NO! Do not try acroyoga, even if it looks fun, and relational. My heart says YES! Your brother loves you, he is safe. So I tried it, and I like it. It makes me feel like a kid playing with my dad. It makes me feel strong and balanced, and not just my muscles, my whole self.

I'm being vulnerable to share the video, but I'll do it anyway. Most people wear yoga clothes to do Acroyoga, I wear long jeans and a wool sweater.

Comfort and Joy

2011-12-23T13:50:00.000-08:00

I have been a spiritual care volunteer at our local hospital for 3 years. Every year at Christmas I have a tender heart for all the sick folks that have to stay there. Sometimes spiritual care is listening, or encouraging, or being really honest with someone who is sick. It has been my experience that it is sometimes praying for people.

Today I visited a 93 year old woman who was there because she was old and maybe had pneumonia. I thought I knew what to expect of our visit. Usually when I know what to expect, I'm wrong.

She was very sweet when I introduced myself. She seemed uncomfortable, and I said so. She said that we spend our lives trying to get comfortable, and I agreed. I asked if she was a 'praying kind of lady'. Her eyes lit up when I asked. She looked at me clearly with all her heart and responded, "do you need some prayer this morning?"

It took me a second to understand: she was wondering if she could pray for me. Her question lifted my already cheery spirit. I had to contain my happy laugh, then I said that I was actually there to pray for her, which I did. I prayed for comfort and joy, even though she already had the latter.

It is my hope for you as well. Merry Christmas.

Christmas Must Be Tonight

2011-12-22T09:38:00.000-08:00

Enjoy Jeremy's Christmas tune, and merry Christmas tonight!

Our Hearts Are Home

2011-12-22T09:14:00.000-08:00

I have loved him since I was a girl. Now I have loved him longer than I have not loved him. He is not perfect, we do not love each other perfectly, but we are doing our best. Loving him has made my life bigger and more beautiful than I could make it. His love for me has brought out the best in me, inspired me, and been the fertile ground where I can flourish.

I am a fiery plant: temperamental, passionate, impatient, insecure, and angry. I remember today, 16 years in, thankful to the mystery that orchestrated this exciting, magical, adventure of love. I am thankful we can celebrate that our love can overcome the obstacle that is marriage.

Icy Morning

2011-12-19T13:20:00.000-08:00

I took this photo this morning on a popular trail from town. It is popular when it is warmer, which by 11am it was, and I passed many trekkers on my walk back. On my way though, I was alone, but I didn't feel alone. It seems so forested and dense now, but several generations ago the hills were bald and miners were busy on the creekside. I tried to imagine them as I walked, and hummed Christmas music.

War is Over for the Race Horse

2011-12-15T09:47:00.000-08:00

War is over, if you want it. This silly Christmas song jabs me every year. One reason is, it is so catchy. I can't stop humming it. My childhood was full of folk music the Beatles, and Peter Paul and Mary. They sing an old folk song that Lennon (or Ono) used the melody for his Happy Xmas song. The former was about a race horse.

I'll tell you why I think it is silly: the lyrics. I'm supposed to be moved by their benevolence yet the poetry is so flimsy, that I am not. It may be sacrilege to openly state that this song does not move me, even as I am nearly a pacifist. It's just that it could be so much better. "I'll be Home for Christmas" tells the story. After saying that, today I'm making an exception.

"War is over if you want it". I've always wanted war to be over, wanting it has made no difference. War is a primitive response to conflict. I can see how warring tribes thousands of years ago used it, but can't we evolve? Packs of wild dogs war for territory, as well as primates.

If we have learned anything, it is that war causes global suffering. As our troops leave Iraq, even that will cause suffering. Leaving a fruitless war you start, causes suffering, staying causes suffering. It is a dead end.

Today it is nearing Xmas (or for some of you, Christmas) and once again I can't get that 'Old Stewball' melody out of my head. Today a war IS over. Today those children singing "war is over" as a descant to Happy Xmas has taken form. Just like those angels who came to the shepherds, saying "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." A sliver of heaven on Earth.

I hope you have fun

I shall proceed from the simple to the complex. But in war more than in any other subject we must begin by looking at the nature of the whole; for here more than elsewhere the part and the whole must always be thought of together.

Karl Von Clausewitz

Trying New Things II

2011-12-13T10:24:00.000-08:00

I'm trying a lot of new things lately, but I'm not the only one. My girl is crazy about her children's chorus. She is eight, and because she has parents in a community choir, and mad vocal skills, her choirmaster asked her to participate in an advanced choir. Last weekend the community choir and her children's chorus joined together for holiday music. It was a great opportunity for our community to see the FANTASTIC work these kids do.

The first concert I attended, I was wondering if I had low expectations. Would it be so terrible that it wasn't worth paying for a ticket? It was quite the opposite. People spend 2x as much to be a part of such wonderful choral music (if they like that kinda thing). They sound so pure and perfect. They perform music that children much older don't get. I am a proud mamma.

Look how she is concentrating and so focused.
Not even the adults are that determined.

My girl is busy. She would rather climb a tree or do a puzzle than read a book. She rarely focuses on anything for too long. I saw a determined and focused person, if she loves what she is doing. She sat through 4 rehearsals and performances perfectly. She sang perfectly. Every night they sang "In the Bleak Mid-Winter" I had to brush away some tears.

Forest Floor

2011-12-08T09:04:00.000-08:00

Our new home is pressing up against 700 acres of forest. There are miles and miles of trails. I found these tiny umbrellas on the forest floor. They sparked my imagination. I hope they do the same for you.

North by Northwest

2011-12-07T09:53:00.001-08:00

This week, 2 people told me I should blog about movies I love. I love movies. The problem with blogging about movies I love, is I haven't seen many I LOVE for over a year. The fact is I have seen quite a few movies I end up falling asleep in, not because I am too tired, but because they are too boring. I love a good story.

I have seen thousands of movies. My dad got me started on old movies from when he was a kid and before. B-movies about blobs and monsters from the 50, musicals, thrillers, academy award winners, Danny Kaye, and science fiction. I think he has good taste. Really I don't care what genre a movie is, as long as it has a well crafted story. This is why so many movies I have seen lately have been so terrible: un-compelling stories.

I am going to review movies, but only movies I like. It will be more like a recommendation. I usually don't watch a movie twice (except for Christmas movies), but I'll watch some of my old favorites again, and then tell you what I think.

I'll start with recommending 'North by Northwest'. It was made in the late 50's and is by Hitchcock and stars Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint. What's not to love about that? If you only watch new movies, you should try this old one. It might remind you of some newer movies, but this one is fundamental. There is mistaken identity, a beautiful girl, a lot of running, an airplane and did I mention Cary Grant?

5 Reasons I love Science

2011-12-05T18:49:00.001-08:00

Our brains are mysterious things. I'm sure there is much for us to learn about, that is beautiful and will answer so many mysteries.
Enjoy!

Stupid Fun

2011-12-04T17:38:00.001-08:00

I've neglected this spot for 2 reasons. One, I had to move last week. Two, I got injured in a rear-end car accident 4 days before I had to move. Wasn't it also Thanksgiving last week? My favorite holiday? Now my house is moved, thanks to some generous friends and family, and my neck, back and arms are working again. Mostly my brain is working again and we found the kitchen table.

Here are the photos of us making "ginger bread" houses with graham crackers and frosting. It was a blast and as soon as the kids started, the adults couldn't help but join in. It was what I call 'stupid fun'.

Merry Christmas.

Before the mess

Pre-sugar spike

What Would Developers Create?

Silly boy mid sugar consumption

Letting the sugar go to our head after a creative afternoon!

Kittens

2011-11-19T08:35:00.001-08:00

I've been reduced to watching kitten clips on You Tube.
I don't really like cats so much, and I don't know why I think this is so cute, but it is so cute it borderlines saccharin.

Send Somebody

2011-11-14T11:17:00.001-08:00

I learned this song today, and it made me happy, so I'm sending it on to you.
Thank you for stopping by!

Trying New Things: UPDATE

2011-11-13T15:37:00.000-08:00

This is the video of me concentrating, and trying not to say "One-and, Two-and, Three-and, Four-and". My back up plan for missing my notes has been to sing the note in time, but you can tell that it is not a bell. What Wondrous Love Is This? 40 seconds of video seems long.

I'm a fledgling musician. I can accompany my voice with a guitar, mandolin and ukelele (which means I'm a big hack). I can sing, and my voice is my instrument. I can count time, read music and I have relative pitch.

This morning I debuted as a bell ringer in a hand bell choir. I played the E's and F's in the base clef. I have been to 3 rehearsals, and it is fun, and new. I joined because I really like the sound of the bell choir, and my mom is in it. I'm such a newbie, but I'm having patience with myself to learn a new ~~sport~~ instrument (?). I have traditionally thought that bell choirs were cheesy. Certainly there is that element, the quilted vests, the white gloves, but it is fun. My husband thought it was so funny that he took video of me, and was laughing so hard. I think he is just jealous of how much fun I am having.

So what if I am liking it?

It is like the video games that you pretend to play an instrument, waiting to strum the guitar at the exact moment, but there is sheet music, and you get weeks of rehearsal.

I think I am the only ringer with a tattoo.

Veterinarian Day

2011-11-11T10:15:00.001-08:00

8 year old- Mom? What's a veterinarian?

35 year old- Oh! Someone who is a doctor for animals.

8 year old- Mom, why are we celebrating veterinarians?

I'm grateful for veterinarians and veterans today.

Murmuration

2011-11-10T09:33:00.001-08:00

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

I have a terrible case of ornithophobia. I have had it my whole life. Even songs about birds as a child scared me (...Seven blackbirds baked in a pie...). At the same time that I am afraid of birds, I am thrilled by them. I enjoy seeing them, if I am inside and they are outside. I am terrified of them if they are near me. It makes my knees weak, like some folks get if they are up too high.

Starlings (I call them Parking Lot birds) are especially nerve-wracking, which is why watching this as a video is perfect for me. It is amazing, and terrifying.

Less From the Back Seat

2011-11-09T16:07:00.000-08:00

The universe has shifted. I know I said it may be 5 more years of bickering in the back seat, but it may be a bit less, three minutes less. Today driving home from school I was the loudest person in the car. I asked how the kids' day was and halfway through the sentence, I released I was interrupting. I was interrupting silence, so I stopped talking and enjoyed the three minute car ride.

Those three minutes in the car were full of quiet because my two ruffians were BOTH with their noses in a book. The smaller one, Little Farm in the Ozarks, and the bigger, one of the last of the Redwall series. Also, my son is just big enough to sit in the front, so they can not physically fight, and that extra 6 inches helps out with the bickering (who knew?). Now they both have the reading bug, and it was a perfect storm!

I've gotta say that I'm gloating. And even now they are quasi-bickering over the fairness of Halloween candy distribution. For three minutes this afternoon, I felt a successful parenting moment.

Thanksgiving is the New Christmas

2011-11-08T14:15:00.000-08:00

Everyone is supposed to love Christmas. I do.

Now I am going to explane why I don't like it as much as I'm supposed to. I'm admitting it, even though it is close to taboo to admit that Christmas is a bit much for me. It is my feeling that Thanksgiving is everything that Christmas could be. Let me explane.

You know all the reasons there is to love Christmas. The weeks of parties, music, cookies and sweets, gifts, more parties, children, travel, decorations and family.

Every year my children have class parties, my husband has work parties, my church has youth parties, there are family birthdays as well as our anniversary. This year we have added a Jr. High Bollywood dance recital (really?), our daughter's choir performances, our choir performances, and hand bell performances. All of these activities are tromping on top of buying gifts and celebrating Advent (counting down the days 'till Christmas). We also have to be moved out of our house on the 1st of December, but that is just this year. Most of these festive activities are not unique to this year (Bollywood Jr. High dance recital?).

Last year I watch the Charlie Brown Christmas and cried tears of "good greif". There is too much to do at Christmas. I am missing the point of Christmas and there is no way around it. I have to participate in the menagerie of festivities. On their own, each activity is manageable, but in quick succession, it is a flood of fun. A serving of ice cream is yummy, but not so much if you have to eat a gallon right now.

I used to think it was that I was putting some imagined expectation on Christmas, because it was magical when I was a kid, thanks to my parents. I want to love it, like I used to. Now I don't have the expectations I used to, but a calendar and a schedule to keep.

If I could have what I want for Christmas, it would be that Thanksgiving is the new Christmas. There aren't piles of music to learn, months of preparation and pre-Thanksgiving parties.

All I have to do is deliver juice boxes to my children's classroom the day before school is out, and a potluck item for the actual day of Thanksgiving. Then, I get to enjoy the people around me and remember how thankful I am, all weekend. It is just as spiritual and sacred as Christmas. I am so thankful for that.

Bully Dog in the Grocery

2011-11-08T14:11:00.000-08:00

I pretty much love my pets, and I love the people in my life more. This seems reasonable, but I guess not to everyone.

The other day at the grocery store, I realized that some people love their pets more than I do. I think some people love their pets as much as they love a human. They have a strong and satisfying relationship with a dog, or a cat. This is a feeling/thought that I have never had. I have felt the unconditional love of a pet for me, and that is nice.

Last week in the paper product isle was a pitt bull. We call them "Never-let-go" dogs. That pretty much sums up what I think of them. They are cute, but if they get ahold of you, they will never let go. This is bad. I hear people say that it's an undeserved, bad reputation. I know why they have a bad reputation.

They are used to fight and kill. They are used to guard illegal and legal drug cultivation. If they get you, the owner can get his drugs and money back, and then the dog can continue to eat you for lunch. People mostly have this breed to be intimidating, or to seem tough because they are not. Also, some of these kinds of people love their bully dog. So much so, that it is not okay to leave them in the garage at home, but rather bring them along to get oranges and toilet paper.

The dog at the grocery had an orage vest on, and one of those collars that if you tug on it, it will pinch the dog with pokey spikes. The pokey-spike-thing (and the breed) was what alerted me to the farce the owner thought she was pulling. She was masquerading her dog as a helping dog, so that it could come shopping with her. I'm sure no one would ask her to leave. One, because you would not want to insult someone by questioning their motives, and two, the dog could kill you and your small children if you got close enough to talk to her.

I know folks who raise helping dogs. They are labs. They are not intimidating. They are endearing, soft and well behaved. They are smart. They do not require special spiky collars. If you see one in the store, you are not afraid. No one is fooling me (or rather for very long)!!

Moving Box

2011-11-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

I think the cat does not want to be left behind. ~~The thought has crossed my mind.~~ I guess I should wait to tape up this box?

A Winner Never....

2011-11-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

"The Upside of Quitting"

I initially listened to this podcast because I thought the title was, "The Upside of Quilting". I was pleasantly surprised that it was about "quitting" not "quilting", though both would be nice to hear about.

Sometimes being dyslexic is exciting, because you never really know what you are going to get, or if you are at the right address, at the right time. It can be interesting, or embarrassing, but I am choosing interesting. If you ask my husband, he would pick "annoying", and to his "annoying" I would say, "I make it worth it".

Not quitting got me to the top of Mt. Whitney

Back to the quitting thing. This episode made me feel better about myself. It made me remember that my failures are often stepping stones. What a terribly boring saga, if all I did was win, win, win. There are times I have quit at winning.

In college I never got a "B". I only got "A's". I'll admit that I chose something that was not terribly intellectual, but I still tried hard. I learned what professors wanted, and I gave it to them 91%-100% of the time. By the time my senior year came around, I no longer cared about getting good grades, but by then I had a 4.0 and 4 months of school left.

My last semester, a speech professor told our class that she did not give "A's". That was throwing down the gauntlet, as far as I was concerned. It was on!! I was going to have to get "A's" my last semester of university, and I did. Really? A speech class that no one gets and "A" in? She did give me a 89.4%, and I went to her and pointed out that her assessment of our speeches, by nature, was subjective. It was not a math class, and her margin of subjectiveness would bump me into the "A" range. I graduated Summa Cum Laude.

A few years later, after one semester of Grad school, I flunked out. I received a letter from University of Nevada, Reno, stating I was not longer qualified to participate in their university education. I failed because I quit 2/3 of the way through the semester, knowing what quitting meant.

What a liberating feeling, to be a quitter. Since then, I have been striving to be a better quitter. I did not crumble into a million pieces when I quit grad school. I survived, and well. Now, if I don't like a book, I quit reading it. If I don't like my dinner so much, I quit eating it. If a movie is terrible (which is often) I turn it off. I realize those don't cost me much, but it is a start. Even though I am the first born in my family, I am trying not to act like it.

Perplexing Story

2011-11-01T10:10:00.000-07:00

I love telling the story.

I have seen some fun things that I could tell a story about, and then sad and terrible stories spring up around me. It makes me reconsider the worth of a story about a dog in a grocery store, or what costumes my kids are wearing for Halloween. Are those really important stories?

This morning as my kids were eating breakfast with us around the table, talking, energetic and happy, I had to remind myself that this time with them is my story, and it is one that I can't attach any language. Today is the day I have with them, and it is a beautiful, enchanting saga.

I do want to tell about the dog in the grocery store, but it isn't amazing, or beautiful. There will be a time for silly stories, but for now it just doesn't seem important to me.

This Too Shall Pass

2011-10-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

I love this. I have watched it so many times, maybe I account for half the hits for this video. It feels good, and is full of truth, and physics.
I'll dedicate it to my pal Peter G.

I know you have seen it too, but it is a good reminder. Peace and Love....

Everything is Going to be Okay

2011-10-29T18:04:00.000-07:00

"Everything is going to be okay", but it isn't. As a chaplain at our hospital, folks will say this in the midst of a health crisis or death. I never understand why. I am a very compassionate person, and I think it is a lie. No, everything is not going to be okay. I have not felt like those silly people who say "everything is going to be okay" until today.

I learned that my friends who teach abroad were hit by a drunk driver in a taxi, injuring most and killing my dear friend's dad, well, he was my friend too. Now my friend is being flown to Dubai to get medical care, with her husband and mother in law, leaving behind the body of a wonderful father. I am sitting by Facebook waiting for updates, calling my friends, and telling myself this very lie, to make the time go by.
Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.
I'm going to have to change my mantra, I know, but for now this little lie is getting me through the moments of uncertainty. It is all I can muster, in terms of hope, during these long hours of unknowing.

The truth is, it is not going to be okay, it is too late for that. It's not even an appropriate response. This tragedy has changed the trajectory of my friends' lives for ever. As time is ticking by, and we numbly and distractedly sit in a place of worry and unknowing, it is not too late to hope.

Sending all my love and hope across two continents, an ocean, and several seas to you Katie, Peter, and Ellen.

Tahoe Bucket List

2011-10-28T16:13:00.000-07:00

I hear people tell stories about their adventures, and then say I should add it to my "bucket list", the list we all should make of things to do, places to go and people to meet before we go for good (kick the bucket). I have found that I rarely know what is on my "bucket list" until after I have experienced it, and have the feeling that my "musts" are not your "musts". I could tell you that everyone should snorkel with sea turtles in Kauai, give birth to a child, and stay up all night by a camp fire singing, but those are things on my list.

I could also tell you to visit Lake Tahoe, California in fall, before it snows, and after all the tourists leave. I go every year and I love it every year. The colors are vibrant, the skies are clear and crisp, the water is so blue there isn't even language to describe it. The Kokanee Salmon are like red ribbons underwater in Taylor creek.

Today we walked through a meadow above the lake, and the ground was yellow with leaves. Fallen logs from last year littered the aspen grove in the meadow, and we balanced from log to log. The only casualty was a few bee stings for my brother in law, and he accidentally provoked them. I added the time to my "bucket list".

Dumpster Diving Diva

2011-10-26T16:10:00.000-07:00

I'm not a diva. I sing soprano, and have met dozens of real life, in the flesh divas. In college a diva even wore a Jessica Rabbit dress to rehearsal. I am nothing close to diva. The title is misleading, but I liked the alliteration and the paradox. I'm probably dead center, between diva, and dumpster-diver. Well, except for this morning when I actually was dumpster-diving for moving boxes.

I am no stranger to combing the rodent infested back-side of the local retailers and groceries. I intend to perfect the art/demoralizing predicament while packing up this time, as we move to another house.

The easier approach is to simply buy new boxes, but I am way too thrifty to buy something if I can scrounge. If you ever find yourself having to move, here are some tips, techniques and advise for moving-box-procurement. Enjoy!

Watch the weather. No one likes fishing through rotting cardboard. If it looks like rain, do not delay.
Go early, less people are out shopping before 9am and it is less likely that someone will see you head first in a cardboard only dumpster.
Disregard the expired animal life to the left and right of the cardboard only dumpster. Yesterday there was a mummied bird of prey (just in time for Halloween?).
Bring the stool your children used to reach the sink as toddlers if you are less than 5 foot 6 inches (my height). Your arms are not long enough to reach that choice box just inches from your fingers. You are too scared/smart to jump into a dumpster to get it, after watching too many crime investigation shows on television(when you had television) even if it says cardboard only. Which leads me to...
Do not prop yourself up on the edge of the dumpster like a gymnast on the high bar and hope that you can reach down, resting on your hips, to get a box. While it is true you may reach it, you can NEVER reverse the predicament, and you will fall on your head into the boxes (I have low body-mind connection).
Heist broken down boxes from shoe shops and craft shops. They smell way better. Pizza shops and grocery stores are going to have more stench, and rodents.
Dive into the recycle bin at your local newspaper. Ours puts out all the stacks of misprints and trials into a big bin that anyone can fish through. This morning, I asked a man loading it if there was any extra stacks I could take home to use for my dishes. He looked around sneakily to see if anyone was looking, and then carried a 25 lb. roll of left over, newsprint-less paper to my car. I didn't even have to lift it (that was the only diva bit about the whole morning)!! Shhhh....

Pre-Halloween

2011-10-25T16:58:00.000-07:00

Every year the week before Halloween is a troublesome time for me as a mom. I don't want to buy a costume for my kids at Wal-mart. I want them to get creative with a costume and yet have been discouraged by their (okay, mostly my daughter's) unwillingness to be flexible. The mermaid costume I make will not be as ubiquitous and as perfect as a plastic one from a chain store.

In the past several years I have privately vowed not helped them hardly at all with regards to Halloween costumes, only to be disappointed later. I will take them to the good-will thrift shop, and sit in a floral love-seat while they rummage through old t-shirts. I will apply cat and Ang/Avatar make-up. I will not spend hours making them a costume only to have my son wear something else at the last minute in a panic. I am learning how to mother better, not more.

This year is no different. I have been promoting more creative costumes, and brain-storming with them. My daughter will likely be some colorful, whimsical-something-or-other, bemoaning that she does not have a plastic costume from K-mart, and cute as a button! My son this year wants to be a hiker. He thought of this all on his own. I thought it was a great and creative idea.

Today I figured out where he got his idea. My parents are out of town, and I am feeding their new cat. Also, all week we have been collecting hiking stuff from our stash in the closet. Standing inside my parent's house today, we spied the perfect hiking attire. A walking stick by the door and a hat on the hook. My boy grabbed both, ready for Halloween. It turns out he is not only dressing for Halloween as hiker, but also his grandpa!!

Finished Product

2011-10-24T11:33:00.000-07:00

Update: The cider is done, the cider is good, the cider is on-tap.

It was a novelty this fall as it was different from brewing beer. There was more labor, peeling and pressing, and less sitting around watching water boil. It was like painting a room, a lot of prep, the the paint went on quickly after we set up. The paint is dry in only a week. With beer there is a really slow start, and then a lot of waiting for the finish line. Also, apple cider is not notorious for bloating like beer.

That's all I have to say about that.

Silhouette Vacation

2011-10-19T19:48:00.000-07:00

A nice break from the everyday. Good fun and good people.

Frenzied Passat

2011-10-17T09:52:00.000-07:00

Last week I heard a whisper in the depths of my mind,

"take the car to the repair shop and have it checked out before you leave on vacation for a week."

I even ran into the man who repairs our 16 year old car, and told him I hoped I didn't have to see him much, other than socially. Now that our car most likely won't ever run again, we will only have to see him socially.

5 miles from my grandparents town in the Sierra Nevadas, the car made a dramatic departure from this life. It went into overdrive, 5,000-7,000 rpms. I put it into neutral, pulled to the side and turned the key to the off position. The car continued it's frenzied demise, though I had turned it off. Smoke was pouring out of the tailpipe, and the engine roared!! Silas said, "everybody out". It did feel like it was going to explode. The kids jumped out and ran away, in a cloud of smoke. I got out and followed them. Silas jumped into the driver's seat and was able to kill the engine (or kill it some more).

We did end up at our destination in a rental car, but only after loading and unloading a week's worth of beach supplies five or more times, from one car to another. From our porch, to our car, to my grandparents trunk, to my uncles's truck, to the rental trunk, to the hotel room. It was an exciting and dramatic beginning to what is supposed to be a relaxing week at the beach.

Our car is cooler than yours, as it is a VW, it get 40-50 miles per gallon, the interior/exterior is in great condition, and it wasn't expensive to purchase. Now we have to think about getting another car, and I just like the old one.

We now need to be able to travel back to our home at the end of the week, but are a bit stuck. At least we are stuck at the beach.

Update: How to Make Cider

2011-10-12T10:21:00.000-07:00

There is 5 gallons of apple cider, fermenting in my bathroom. The yeast won't do their job in the cool garage, as well as they will in the house. I don't want this sticky goodness to overflow in the carpeted closet, so the compromise was the bathroom. If it overflows here, it will run over the side of the tub and onto the carpeted bathroom floor (who carpets bathrooms?). I'm thinking it won't overflow, though it is quite active and alive, it even makes noise!

The stopper in the top is filled with alcohol, and lets the gasses cause by fermentation out, but sugar loving bacteria from getting in. It is pretty nifty and scientific if you ask me. The thing about fermentation is that it does release gas, which I guess is best in the bathroom after all.

Yesterday, our daughter was in the bathroom, and came running to me holding her nose. "Mom!! Did someone puke!?!?!" I'll admit, it does smell like the dorm bathroom my freshman year of college in our bathroom.

I am not sure it is a good sign, or a bad sign, as this is our first attempt at hard cider. Beer doesn't smell bad fermenting. I could open the window a crack, but that would cool the room down and slow fermentation. I could shut the bathroom door, but then I'll walk straight into it, in the dark night.

State Park Insurance

2011-10-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

When my dad is 65, in a few years, his health insurance, which is my health insurance, will pay for his gym membership. I'm guessing the insurance company has calculated the numbers. If you receive Social Security, and work out at a gym, they save money. At first it seems pretty generous.

My suggestion was the health insurance companies in California might be able to pay the bill, in the name of good health, for the State Parks that are closing soon. They could make up the difference. I was quite proud of my genius for about 1/2 second.

Blue Shield of California could pay the bill for the lacking state park funding, or they could pay my hospital bill.

How to Make Apple Cider

2011-10-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

Apple Bath

Chopping

Apple mash in a food-grade bucket

The Press

1/2 way done! 7.5 gallons total

Today we processed the apples we picked from my parents' tree. The apples have been 'sweating' in the garage for a few weeks, which really means they have been getting over-ripe. My parents came over, and it was a family project. We chopped the apples up in our Vita-Mix, and put the mash into a bucket. We rented a press from our local brew supply shop, and spent 4 hours making 7.5 gallons of drink.

After we picked all the fruit, processed it, cleaned the apples, took the compost away, cleaned the floor, cabinets, counter and even my elbow, from all the apple slop and sugar that got everywhere, was it worth it? I'm thinking what you might be thinking, as you can not taste the final product. The second the juice hit your mouth, you would rethink our time and effort. Some (5 gallons) of the juice has champagne yeast in it to ferment into hard cider, and a small amount is just going to be sweet.

It was a lot of time working on a project with people I love, so even if the drink was bitter, the time was sweet.

Coming and Going

2011-10-06T12:01:00.000-07:00

I volunteer doing spiritual care for the sick, families and staff at our local hospital. It used to be called chaplaincy, but the word has too much hidden behind it. Maybe the word is too religious, when being born, being sick and dying are spiritual not religious.

I found this photo, on the National Geographic page today. It sums up my experience caring for the hearts of people who are coming and going.

It is green, from the heart.
I have to have open hands, a symbol of my open heart and head.
I have to be brave. Not only for the sick, but for the changes this work has caused in me.
I have to be still, and take in what is, when people are suffering. Can I hold space when others are tossed by fear and grief? I open my hands and then yes, I can.

This photo reminds me that I am not alone.
This photo is the answer to my question, "why me?".
With my hands open, I hear the answer, "because you can".

Last weekend I sat with a family, as they said goodbye to their mom and grandma. I sat with a young woman in labor whose baby was born dead. This photo is a comfort for me today.

I have many stories, about visiting sick people. Some tragic, but if you don't think of death as tragic (sometimes it is, but mostly it is not), they are miraculous, affirming, comical and mostly unbelievable! I think I can share a few.

Stripes & Polka Dots

2011-10-04T10:05:00.000-07:00

I am ridiculously sensible, and suspect I have little fashion sense. I know what I like, and I wear it. I try to put on my clothes before I can count to five, so that I don't change my mind. I love jeans, polka-dots, stripes, hoodies, bright colors, and square toed shoes. My brother-in-law once asked what the Norman girls might do if square toed shoes go out of fashion, and I was surprised they were fashionable in the first place. He is immeasurably more cool than I am, so I took it as a compliment.

I know what would happen if the clothes I like go out of fashion, I will find more at a thrift shop. Or, I will become a victim of the 'mom jean of the future' phenomenon. For now I'm fortunate that the clothes I wear seem to be found at departments stores, and more importantly, consignment shops. There are certain fashions that I have trouble with, some are: high heels, leggings, scarves, belts (other than for holding up my pants), halter tops, strapless tops, and slacks. If you see me in anything like the aforementioned, you can be sure I will be running to the closet as soon as possible to get into my usual clothes.

While at camp this summer, I only had a few days worth of clothes. I had some for summer weather, which I never wore, and warmer clothing. I wore the same clothes nearly every day out of necessity. I couldn't borrow clothing because everyone we know there is pint-sized, and clothes are very expensive to buy.

One day I came to class to teach my English lesson, and my student, who is 15 was wearing the same clothes as me. The same clothes. Striped blue and white long sleeved shirt, black sweater and jeans. It made me wonder about my choices as a 35 year old stay at home mom. This girl is less than half my age. I could be her mom. Her mom is probably my age. This girl, Simka, and I turned out to be fast friends.

Was she a kid dressing too old for her age, or was I dressing too young for my age? I had to ask myself, am I the pathetic lady trying to be young because I am dressing like an 8 year old? As you can see, I am quite insecure about the things I like, even though I still like them. Am I the lady unknowingly in the 'mom jeans'?

When I arrived home I found my friend Heather and her family. We were so glad to see each other and we are the same age. We happened to be wearing the same clothes. It reminded me that it might be less to do with my age, or my lack of fashion sense that I dress like the people I love without planning it that way. It may be more like fate or fortune. When I see my square feet I am reminded that my sisters also have the same feet, and it makes me feel good. It isn't chance or luck that I am like the people in my life. It seems they influence me inside and out.

Goodwill Running

2011-09-29T22:06:00.000-07:00

I got to the trail-head last week for a jog and realized I had worn flip-flops. Deciding what to do, I spilled the contents of my water bottle onto the floor of the car. I then happily remembered I left my running shoes in the trunk. I debated if I should crawl back in bed because of my bad fortune all before 9am. If you take advirsity as a sign, then you will never exercise. So, I hit the trail for a long run.

At mile 2.5 I passed two ladies who I knew were retired teachers. One, the principal of my elementary school. I passed them saying "Good morning, teachers! Thanks for teaching me to read!". I surprised them with my greeting, and sped by them.

When I turned back I knew I would see them again, so I stopped to properly greet them. What happened next was entirely unexpected, and I was glad I didn't give up on my run.

I told the teachers that it was more precisely Mrs. U who taught me to read with Dick and Jane. I then told them that I did learn to read, and also what it felt like to have my nose in the corner. Mrs. U made me put my nose in the corner when I was six. I am a tender sweet person, and I always have been. I wanted Mrs. U to like me, so I was good. That is about all I remember of her, and the drawings of Dick,Jane, and Spot.

I have lived a charmed life, and have mostly been treated with kindness. Mrs. U was the exception. I didn't realize how tender I was about it, until the retired principal, Carol Judd, was apologizing. She apologized for not being able to protect me from my teacher's cruelty.

I told her it was fine, and I made it through. She told me again, that she was sorry and that it was not my fault. I did nothing to deserve shaming as a six year old. I then told her that it worked out just fine. She then told me that it wasn't fine, and that she had a bad feeling about my teacher. She was never able to do anything, and she was sorry. She did not apologize for my teacher, but for herself. It was personal.

Really, in comparison, to the atrocities that so many people survive, being shamed in the corner is negligible. Though, with her persuasion, I had to give in. The sky above me opened up, and some white light shined in a dark place. It wasn't my fault! She was there the whole time hoping to look after me, just like my mom and dad, just like the teacher next door in room 7.

I felt as if the issue was taken care of before my run. Both my children have been in room 6 for a total of four school years. The teacher in that room now, has recaptured the space for me. Mrs. Judd asked me if I had 'saged' the room, and I thought I had. I think the real sage was Mrs. Judd, 30 years later.

I had two and a half miles back to my car to think about what she said, which for me is a long time. When I was in my early 20's, I saw Good Will Hunting. I think every generation has a coming-of-age story that is meaningful for their time (The Graduate, Garden State, etc.). For me, it was Good Will Hunting. It touched me, and I knew people like Will Hunting. It was like saying I know people who are like the Prodigal Son.

Running back, I realized the story of Good Will, though less so, is about me too (which is why it is so good). I am bit liberated from the trials of growing up. Everyone, no matter the magnitude, needs redemption.

Thank you Mrs. Judd! How do you like them apples?!?!?

Caution!

This clip has that 4 letter word that is used so often now, it nearly isn't a bad word, except I can't say it very well.

Be warned.

Also, it wasn't so dramatic for me, which is why I didn't win an Academy Award.

Growing Up Norman

2011-09-25T21:03:00.000-07:00

Perfect apples on a perfect day.

Growing up Norman

My dad picks up after shaking the tree
(also my finger, isn't it a cute finger?)

Silas picks next to a bird's nest.

When I was small my parents designed and built a passive solar (which is active now) house, and planted an orchard nearly all themselves (I picked up wayward nails). Today we six picked a bounty of apples, pears, grapes and plumbs. I'd like to thank my Papa and Mom for feeding us kids and grandkids for more than 30 years.

Now we I have a lot of work ahead. I think we will cook some, and press some. Next week I rented an apple press so that we can make cider, hard and sweet!

Cows and the Chevy Nova

2011-09-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

Just through these doors are two milk cows.

I can remember few events from when I was very small. One is when my 2nd sister was born when I was three, and I remember a trip to the dairy farm my uncle Herb managed near Fresno, California.

My Grandma Foth took me in her green Chevy Nova. At least, that is the kind of car it was in my memory. The kind that had 2 doors and a triangle window too high to see out of if you are a pre-schooler in the back.

This is where the story gets a bit gruesome and why it is memorable for me. I stretched up to see the farm as we pulled in. Before I saw the milking barn, or a cow, I saw a man carrying a dead, newborn cow. He walked with it to a pile of more dead baby cows and dropped it. They were black and white. We then visited my uncle and saw the milking barn and my memory fades after that for about six years.

In my mind all the colors were clear, the green car, the black and white cow, the color of the dirt road. I wasn't scared. I wasn't repulsed. I think because I was so little, I remember how I feel, and it was more than a feeling. The world was so big to me, and confusing. I saw that there is something mysterious about death, and birth, and a farm. I don't think developmentally I was able to judge the event. It just was, but it was formative.

As an adult, when I see cows, and surprisingly enough I see them, that day at the beginning of my story has shaped how I think about cows. I know it is silly. I have no profound feelings or thoughts about cats, dogs, deer or raccoon, all of which I have seen dead by the roadside. With cows, I see how nearly soul-less, soft and dim they are, and it touches me.

This summer in the Czech Republic, we went to get milk for the week. We walked to the edge of town and met a Czech woman, selling milk. Her milk tasted like milk. If you buy milk at the grocery store, and that is the only milk you have had, then you do not know what milk tastes like.

The kids enjoyed seeing something new, and the woman was proud to show us her farm. It was clean and the smell reminded me of the story I just told you.

Sibling Rivalry Reprieve

2011-09-18T18:35:00.000-07:00

For about five minutes last week my kids forgot they are brother and sister, and were friends. I had a camera. It reminds me that they will not be bickering in the back seat of the car forever, just about 5 more years.

Czech Foodies

2011-09-15T07:59:00.000-07:00

Everyone loves corn on the cob.

I have two friend in the Czech Republic who, as you can see, are very much in love. They love each other in a way that is bigger than themselves. They love each other in a way that makes people wish they were loved as much as Petr and Ida love each other. I have had the pleasure of knowing both of them before they were in love, and watching their love and faith grow. Just last month they welcomed a baby girl into their family. More love to go around. This story, though, is not about love as much as it is about food.

Petr & Ida

So much culture revolves around food as well as language. We have to eat and we love to eat together. It was around a table with my husband Silas and friend P.R., that Ida told a story about food. I'll tell the story using my best language skills.

Ida, who is Czech and speaks wonderful English as a second language, was telling an embarrassing story, in English. A few days before, at a table full of people, she began to touch Petr's food. She had been missing touching his food because we had been at camp for several days. She had not been able to touch his food while at camp. (At this point in the story my mind is going crazy. Is it a difference in culture that touching other's food is a sign of marital bliss? Is this a language problem? Does she mean she likes to cook his food? I just sat at the table listening as if the story made perfect sense, but it didn't)

While eating dinner the other night, she began to touch what she thought was Petr's food. Finally after a while of this "food-touching" another man at the table questions, "who is touching my food?" (at this point I was able to eliminate some of my previous questions, okay, all of my questions. I was on the wrong track completely, the story made no sense at all, and people in the Czech Republic have the quirkiest traditions)

She went on to explain how embarrassed she was to be touching someone's food, which was not her husband's. I imagined her hands covered with universal brown sauce from the plate to her right, when she meant to be dipping her fingers in the sause and meat to the left. Whoops?!

Being confused is something you have to get used to while visiting a place where their language isn't your language. We just listened to the story, like it was no big deal.

After her story would have been the time for us to sympathise with her utter embarrassment. We didn't. No one nervously laughed with compassion. I was both completely embarrassed for her and her story and completely confused.

Finally someone poked a bit farther into the story to make some sense of it. It was a language problem, or, it was an accent problem. While we thought Ida was saying "food" the whole story, she was actually saying "FOOT"!!!!! Ah-ha!!! As the reader, you probably saw that coming the whole time you were reading. After a week of exhausting youth camp, and jet lag, and the story being told near mid-night, all I heard was "food".

I think it is a way better story if you use the word "food", but Ida was touching Petr's foot, not his food. I think she does touch his food when she cooks it, but it is not a Czech custom to finger your spouse's goulash.

Unconditional

2011-09-08T17:21:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it is better to show than to tell:

Sometimes it is better to listen than to speak:

A blog to remind myself.

Sweets from a Sweet

2011-09-07T14:08:00.000-07:00

Our girl had $6 burning a hole in her pocket. Last night she tried to buy everyone a scoop of ice cream with it after we played tennis. It was in her pocket at school today because she wore the same shorts (yes it's okay) and because we didn't let her buy the ice cream, we bought it.

Today when I picked her up, she was full of, well, whatever it is that makes her radiate. She told me that she found her $6 in her pocket and also saw the farm stand was open at her school. During recess, she picked out all the veggies she thought I might like and put them into her backpack (you know mom, that purple one). She then donated $6 to the collection.

She wanted to show me the food while we were driving home, which really just turned out to be a life lesson for her: never put ripe tomatoes in your backpack with an eggplant (don't worry I had a towel).

I felt proud that my girl would want to buy me vegetables, I felt known by my daughter. I also felt mad at myself. Last night I assumed that she wanted to spend her money so that she could have something sweet. Really, she wanted to spend her money to be sweet.

Grocery Story

2011-08-31T21:20:00.000-07:00

While we were away, our car was parked in the Bay Area. The Bay Area around San Francisco can be a very very nice place, and it can be dodgy. I don't think my sister parked the car in a dodgy area, but some punk took the time to scrape the tags off of my car. It is clearly vandalism. Anyone can see that they have been scraped away, and clearly I am not the person who would sabotage myself (okay, sometimes I do, but not deliberately). I need to fix the problem before the authorities see it, and with me, they always do.

I need to take the time to go to the DMV and tell them the story, and probably pay some fine. I also will have to endure the inhumane treatment that we all have become accustomed to at the DMV (with rare exception).

That's the setup. I really want to tell you something that you may not know about the Czech Republic. It isn't some scandal about a pen stealing leader (see the video below), or an old ghost story from a tower in a castle, but about the grocery.

When you stay in a country for 5 weeks you have to eat, and I went to all kinds of groceries: big city groceries, mall groceries, airport groceries, closet groceries, green groceries, bio groceries, super markets, and small village shops. In the Czech Republic, there are groceries EVERYWHERE!! The big Czech secret is that the workers from the DMV in the United States, and the grocery clerks in Czech Republic must be genetically linked.

At first I thought it might be a language barrier problem, and after staying a while, I realized they just hate their jobs. They look down, they mumble numbers (which doesn't help in a foreign language) and they certainly don't smile. They also are sitting down, which only adds to the pathetic ambiance. I attempted to give my 'American Smile', as that is all I can do without knowing how to speak Czech, but I only tried twice. It made me feel even more foolish. The astonishing part of the 'checker attitude', is that it is my experience that nearly every Czech person is as friendly and fabulous as you could meet, even if all you can say is 'hello'.

I asked around to see if this was usual, and it is. No one thinks that the lady ringing them up might smile, or look at them, or ask about their kid. I almost felt like I was in trouble buying cheese and bread. Is this the wrong kind of cheese? The only place I ever feel that way, is the place I need to go. I'm already feeling guilty and ashamed that someone else defaced my licensee plate, and I haven't set foot in the numbered line yet. At least I don't have to go there very often.

I Don't Speak Czech

2011-08-25T13:14:00.000-07:00

Flier for our English courses.
Morning sessions for children and evening sessions for adults. I could tell you what this flier says,
but I don't speak Czech.

My beginner students.
The board in the background is a chalk board. Remember those? The other class had a smart board, luckies!

English teacher and helpers.
You can't tell by photo how much I love these folks.

I love blogging and writing. I haven't posted in a long time, because all my creative energy and all my time has been used up these past two weeks. I used up the time on people, so it wasn't a waste of time.

I taught for a week in Jablonne, Czech Republic. It was amazing. It was grueling. It was amazing. I'm only repeating myself for emphasis, and because I am still delirious from jet lag.

It was an opportunity that I did not take for granted. In the morning I taught three sessions of English for beginners. The challenge for me with them was the language barrier, and that I am not used to classroom management for such small people. It is hard to manage 7 energetic students when you can not talk to them. I did have a helper, and she, I think, was mostly teaching the class. I really just sat in the corner and watched (okay, no I didn't, but Simka was a life-saver).

I also went class to class to talk and sing to the other sections of English. Then, we would eat, go home for 2 hours, or to the lake or for a run, and then back to school. In the evening we taught 2 sessions of adults. Two of those evenings we had presentations and music provided by me. I had never ever taught anything to adults, and it turns out to be FUN!!!!

I felt on display in this small town all week. I am not that person, though I am putting it out there by blogging, I get that. If you are reading this, you probably won't make me a cake, or take my photo, or ask me about the economy, geography of the United States or for some music. By the end of the week, the hours of teaching and conversation had used me up. It used me up in a good way, just in time to get on a train, get to Prague to get to an airplane and sit with my squirrelly kids for 11 hours in the air and watch 3 bad movies. Boy was I beat.

I'm back. The kids are in school. My mind is clearing from the fog. I am nearly happily un-busy. I am reluctantly unpacking.

Labyrith

2011-08-11T15:19:00.000-07:00

The labyrinth from the center overlook.

We visited a labyrinth last week as for a day trip. Labyrinths are confusing with a purpose. Labyrinths are known to have a spiritual, physical and mental purpose. This place helped me make sense and be accountable for myself for all three, while we are in the Czech Republic (and beyond).

It is fun here, for sure. It has been an amazing experience to stay in a place so long. Also, it has been challenging. Not too challenging, but there are many things that I am sure are unknowingly confounding me. There are cultural differences, language barriers, sleep deprivation, transportation issues, and personal preferences that contribute to the culture shock for me. Though it is not the driving factor while we are here, it is something we have to work with. It is like this Labyrinth. It has been a mental, physical and spiritual challenge for me.

When we navigated this labyrinth at Brandys nad Orlici, we did it together. We gave ourselves time, and we asked for help from people who have managed to get to the center before us. When we arrived at the center, we were able to climb some steps to be able to see over the whole of the maze, and yet not give away our position to the others, still wandering.

I can not look over our entire experience here yet, as I have not arrived at the center, and climbed the steps. I am sure that will come with some time at home. I'm heading to bed, and ready to round a hedge more tomorrow.

Hard to Say Goodbye

2011-08-07T10:52:00.000-07:00

It is hard to say goodbye. I am just terrible at it. I was watching a TED talk about the power of being vulnerable and the strength you have in following your impulse (there is more to it than that, so check it out below). It was a light in a dark part of my heart. The woman's talk made me realize why I hate saying good bye. I hate it because it exposes me. It is saying, I love you, I'll miss you, you have a place in my heart that can only be filled by you.

My usual mechanism when saying goodbye, is to skip it. It turns out, that is quite rude, and points out what a chicken I am. I have been trying to skip out on goodbyes for ages. This year visiting the Czech Republic, I have been trying to say goodbye, without fear. Even though it is hard. I spent the morning saying goodbye. I said goodbye to many folks who, years ago, I thought I might never see again. Now they are a part of my life. I had to say goodbye to my husband. The whole time, I was telling myself, if I could just keep it up for a count of five, I could keep it up. It is like a sporting event, if you just keep running, you can keep running.

Saying goodbye is important. It reminds me how much I love my friends, and that I want them in my life.

Hobu Hunting

2011-08-04T23:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went gathering wild mushrooms. Okay, Valerie found them, and I carried the basket. I didn't find one good one, Valerie found them all. It's okay I got skunked, as the setting was enchanting, the conversation was superb, and I had a new experience.
I usually am quite competitive with myself to get it right the first time and succeed. I am trying to have more patience with myself doing new or difficult things, and just enjoy participating.
I didn't have a choice but to enjoy gathering mushrooms, though I didn't find any myself. One reason is that if you get a bad mushroom, just to get one, you might poison yourself. Rushing is actually dangerous. Also, the good mushrooms are not the flashy ones. They are harder to find. I had to let my eyes relax, and look for the mushrooms that were blending in. Val has been hunting them 48 years longer than I have. I can't really be hard on myself that I was no good at it. Valerie didn't mind, and even made them for dinner for me, though I was not a mushroom contributer. She really is a teacher and a friend.

So there are some life lessons from hobu hunting. I would also like to add an addendum, which is, do not try this at home. I know most of you in drier climates don't have the option, but for those of you who have mushrooms in the forest near your house, you should take my Czech friend Val with you, just to be safe. We ate all the mushrooms last night for dinner, and no one died or hallucinated.

Safety First

2011-08-02T11:15:00.000-07:00

Silas and Martin have a beer in the middle of the busy street at night!

This is my fifth visit the Czech Republic. Every time I am here I learn more about myself and about this culture and my own. Now that I have been here several weeks I am learning about safety.

At the giant grocery store, like a Wal-Mart, called Tesco, they have some very unsafe kiosks. The one I am thinking of is the bread slicer, in the bread section. Could you imagine being able to slice your own bread at the grocery? The first idea I had, was to put a small dachshund into the machine, then I imagined putting my hand into it, then I imagined my kids doing that. I am now thankful that you have to pass your bread over the counter for the lady in the bakery section to cut. If she gets cut, she is covered by her union dues. Here I am covered by no one, yet if I get hurt I can afford medical care. Scout hurt her leg, and had x-rays, and a cast in the emergency room for $60.

There are many liabilities that I see here. One I have noticed is railings and walkways. Right now, I could walk right onto the train tracks, or right off of the balcony, or right into the river. At the zoo I could have been very injured by the paths, as they were difficult to maneuver, if I were in a wheel chair.

Here you can walk around with open containers of alcohol, and people do. Silas did it last night. He waited with our friend Harry, until the road was clear, and then sipped a beer for the photo. I'm sure he felt rebellious, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he just felt like a person (who could be hit by a car any moment in the dark).

For the most part, I am all for rules that keep people safe. What I am realizing is that we are only as strong as our weakest members. Some folks will put their hands in a bread slicer, let their kid tumble off a train platforms, or drink beer in glass containers while walking home in the street. Those people must have troubles. Here is the Czech Republic, those troubles are your own. In the US, those troubles are everyones!

I'm going to talk on the phone while I drive.

Enchanted Forest

2011-07-31T06:35:00.000-07:00

We hiked yesterday with our friends Harry and Lucie, and all our kids, and Steve and Sarah Kuhlman, and their short people. We finally ended up at this awesome labrinth of sand stone. The stone is soft enough that it has erroded a bunch, and some stones are 40 feet high, and then hallways between. As you can see, it was cold, but we had warm tea and good friends, so it didn't seem so bad. The kids got to pick blueberries, which to me is a highlight to any day.
Picking black berries just isn't the same as blue berries, though I'm guessing if we had blue berries wild in California, I'd like black berries better. Justus couln't stop imagining. Between the forests and the castles, he is in imagination heaven! We have been enjoying his ideas, until it gets about 10pm.
Our friend Harry is a budding photographer, and he took all these fun snaps. Hope you enjoy them.

2011-07-29T09:31:00.000-07:00

Silas was asked to share what was the most meaninful part of Engish Camp this year. I didn't know he was asked to share at church, so I felt panic for him when I heard his name in Czech. Fortunately he didn't have to improvise, as I would have. This photo is of him sharing, and our friend Petr interpreting.

You know he is sharing about Mother Theresa in this photo. About how she did a lot of small things that added up over a lifetime. Silas said that there was nothing more important at camp than the small things we did with great love. I agree. I was in such agreement, I was a bit tear-y when he got back to our pew.

I thought it was a good photo to share today.

It's a Brick House

2011-07-28T09:41:00.000-07:00

Here is Justus near Wenceslaus Square in Praugue. He and Scout painted a brick that will be used to build a house for people here with special needs. We paid for the bricks, painted them, and they will be used to build a real house.
Scout was disappointed not to be able to bring the brick back with us to California. I was not disappointed.

Eleven!

2011-07-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of my life truly getting interesting. Amazing and adventurous things are always happening to/for me, but the human experience of having a child, has been divine intervention. I see folks post that their kid is having a birthday on Facebook, and quickly move to the next post. Actually it is a very profound thing, celebrating the birth of a person. I realize that when it is my baby.

Today something is changing beyond that. It seems the more I am a mom, the less my kids' lives have to do with me. I am reminded: that is the point of it!

Eleven! Eleven is when we meet Harry Potter, and Anne Shirley of Green Gables. Eleven seems to be the age where our adventure starts to have more to do with us, and less to do with who our mom and dad are.

It is my wish for my boy on his 11th birthday, that his adventure will be full of wonder, adventure, redemption, creation and magic!

Happy Birthday to my sweet boy!

Don't Stop!

2011-06-24T09:50:00.000-07:00

I'll stop for you.

Today I stopped for a woman whose car was broken, the hood up, at an intersection. I had to wait for several cars to go around her. As I pulled behind her, I notice the tops of car seats in her back seat. As I pulled around her car, I noticed her. She was my age, standing in the shade, looking worried.

I stopped. I asked her how I could help her. It was an easy help, which involved moving her small boys into my car in the shade, and pushing her car out of the intersection.

I guess the surprising thing was how many people drove around her before I got to her. I know there are times when people do stop for one anther, and also am surprised by how often I am the first to stop. There was nothing ominous or sketchy about this woman on her way to drop off her boys at vacation Bible school.

I know doomsday is coming where thieves are hoarding the last tins of tuna in their broken down car. The last ten men on earth lure you to their broken car (counting on the milk of human kindness during an atomic winter), and ultimately process your remains into tins labeling them "tuna". We have all seen that movie.

I think that people pass by others in need for reasons besides fear, though mostly it is fear. Another reason might be selfishness, and thinking he has nothing to offer. As it turns out, the only reasons to pass by a person in need, are bad (except self preservation, I don't stop for the grungy man in a broken conversion van, or if I feel the situation is dangerous in any way).

Here is why I stop, and it is not because I am good. I am just as fearful, selfish and insecure as anyone else.

I don't want to miss anything. If you don't stop, you will miss something, something good, something adventurous, something life changing, which isn't to say that it might be hard. Think of all the times you've stopped, and something unexpected happened. For me, it is immeasurable, as this blog is a testament to.

Several years ago, I stopped when I saw a boy, maybe 5 years old, in the culvert on the side of a busy road. I am sure I was not the first person to see this small person alone in a dangerous spot. I parked my car to guard him from traffic, turned on my flashers, and called 911. I sat with him until the police and his mother came, and there was something different about the boy. No one stopped, until the police were there. The boy was very autistic, and wandered out of his house and around the corner several blocks. His mom was CRAZY with worry and guilt for losing him for 40 minutes. Either the drivers of the 50 cars that didn't stop before I got to him didn't see him (scary) or didn't think they could help (scary). I felt like that day I actually helped someone, just like I felt this morning as I pushed a Jeep Wrangler to the side of the road.

If I had passed by, I would have missed it. I am sure if you are the kind of person to read this, you are the kind of person who will stop. How many times have I been on an adventure because I took the time to pay attention? I can't know.

DIY Hula Hoop Tutorial

2011-06-10T17:10:00.000-07:00

It is officially summer vacation and is officially beautiful outside. It is my intention to stay outside as much as possible, and only inside to cook, sleep and other necessary tasks.
In celebration, we went to our local hardware store to get the items required for super-awesome hula hoops. Here is how we did it, step-by-step. It is so easy even kids can do it!!

Basic materials: 1 inch irrigation tubing 100-150 thickness, cut to a length so that the hoop hits you in the lower-ribs.
(I sweet-talked the nice guy working at the yard to cut them for us with his sharp knife. Smile and bat your eyelashes)
1 inch couplings
Sand paper
not shown:soap, hot water, black duck tape (you know what those look like)

We sanded the tube so that it will be a bit sticky.

We then washed the lumber yard off the tubes.

After heating some water, we soaked the ends in warm water to make them more pliable.

These are the 1" couplings and dish soap. I put some dish soap on each end, so that they were slick.

After the tubing is soft, and the coupling is slick, the whole mess slides together easily, making these:

This is our finished project.
One for mom, son, and daughter. Maybe the kids will do this, instead of bickering.
Maybe I will do this instead of losing my mind with bickering.

Here are the happy kids.
They had a competition to see who could do it the longest, then they tried some fancy moves.

It only took us about 30 minutes to make them, and $10. I had purchased some flimsy ones for them for $5 each, but they seem useless compared to these. Now, we can spend the rest of the summer by the pool, reading, gardening and hula hooping (it is too cold to swim in, for an adult, but it sure looks nice)

You Can Never Go Home

2011-06-06T10:31:00.000-07:00

"You can never go home" is a paradox. It is how I try to think about each day. I try to live in this moment. It is more true, if you move away from your hometown, as an adult. I, however, deliberately moved back to my hometown after several years away. I don't know what I was expecting, and for sure I wasn't stupidly thinking I was coming home to the same place I left. I came back with kids, 10 years of marriage, and a university degree.

Now that I have been back for several years. My hometown not only shaped me as a child, but is my home again. I struggle with how sentimental I should be about my story, so far, and my stuff. Sometimes I am very sentimental, and then I move and throw/give all my stuff away. We are in a lean time for stuff, and a rich time for people.

At my church, my sister, mom and I set a table for a tea. Tea is my thing, but tea settings aren't so much. Rules and etiquette make me feel rebellious. Groups of women make me feel shifty.

Like I said, I got rid of all my stuff (or never had any), so I don't have tea settings, which is fine with me. We set the table with my grandparents tea service from the 50's. I cut flowers from the yard to decorate, and I didn't compare how homespun our table was to the fancy tables nearby.

As my sister and I were sitting at a table full of contented ladies, I unexpectedly felt very sentimental. All these people were enjoying one another partly because of my grandmother's stuff. We could have been eating from plates made in india, sold at Ikea for $2, but we weren't. It was an unusual, and mysterious feeling for me. It felt like home.

The Kids Shall be First, & the Moms Shall be Last.

2011-05-08T10:48:00.000-07:00

An omelet with hollandaise and provolone, strawberries with whip cream, fancy bacon, and a delectable cup of steaming hot coffee in my favorite mug. The final treat was a fried potato, the kind you can find at your local fast food restaurant, but better because we are eating at home. My heart and soul longs for this wedge of treat-y potato goodness. This was the breakfast which was laid out in front of me for Mother's Day.

Silas had been working with the kids in the kitchen to perfect the feast. They were a bit like spaced-out cats or chickens, so it was my pleasure to find something to do outside of the kitchen to wait for breakfast. I could hear my son turning the whip cream to butter as he stared out the window.

I was served first, so I was taking my time eating, so that we could all eat together, and so that I could eat that potato last. The kids sat down, then soon Silas. I opened the card from the kids. Someone got milk to cool the coffee the kids like. I had worked my way through the strawberries, and two bites of bacon and omelet, still pushing the pleasure of the potato off just a bit.

Just then, the full jug of milk my son was yielding, tipped my full mug of coffee into my plate, saturating the majority of my breakfast, including the perfect potato, with coffee. What couldn't fit into the plate, splashed onto the table full of Mother's Day cards. Wet bacon, floating omelet, and spongy, soggy potato. The coffee is soaked up in an old beach towel, and the food is in the compost.

I'll be honest, my heart sunk, I really wanted to eat that potato. I'm writing this in past-tense, but it really only happened 30 minutes ago. It is the kind of thing some say, after you let the disappointment go, "We can laugh about later." For me, I could laugh about as it was happening. It typifies the experience of mothering for me.

If you feel you can control what you are going to eat, when and how much you sleep, how clean your floor is, or going to the bathroom by yourself, then being a mom is the best learning experience for you. This Mother's Day reminded me that loving my kids is a sacrifice of which I am perfectly willing to participate.

As the coffee spoiled my breakfast, sure, I was disappointed, but I laughed right away. I laughed because it was comical and I laughed with joy.

Coffee soaked card and beach towel.

Longing

2011-04-23T10:30:00.000-07:00

Every year at Easter I find myself having the same feeling. It's a feeling besides the tickle in the back of my throat, itchy skin and sneezing nose. It's such a strong feeling, almost as physical as those allergic reactions to procreating plants. It is a physical longing, yes, but as we are more than just a body, my physical wants can also be spiritual.
I am longing to walk barefoot on my wood floor with warm feet. I'm longing to look down at my arms, without seeing the stretched and frayed cuffs, of my over-warn sweater. I want to wait for hot water in the shower, and to dry off, without a short episode of hypothermia.
This year Easter is later in the year than usual, and yet I still find myself with the same sense of longing for the next thing. It made me wonder if there is a connection. It seems that I'm not the only one stricken with longing at Easter, or this season of the year. People through the ages have been wanting for the bounty and rebirth of Spring and Summer. They are wanting for their physical comfort, and the unseen part of themselves. Could you imagine Easter in November? No.

Today, the unseen part of me is basking in the moment, and looking forward to blueberries, flip-flops, mosquito bites, late evening barbecues, zinnias, swimsuits and tomatoes.

What do April Snow Showers Bring?

2011-04-11T09:44:00.000-07:00

It was snowing while I was running on the treadmill on Friday. I watched the snow fall into the trees while I booked with my iPod tunes in my ears, in relative indoor comfort. Here is what was running through my head:

If it weren't for modern technology, I couldn't run during a snow storm. Also, if it weren't for modern technology I wouldn't need to run during a snow storm.

If I lived 100 years ago, I'd be hauling and chopping wood, milking goats, walking miles to the grocery and eating potatoes from the cellar from last fall. I wouldn't have time to get antsy from all the cold, dark weather of the last six months. I wouldn't have the free-time, or the need to run. What an interesting and exciting time to be.

Moms of Hazzard

2011-04-08T08:01:00.000-07:00

I am driving a car I made money on (kinda). Usually cars are not investments, they are like boats, or RVs, they cost more money than they are worth in the end (which is why I don't like to get an interest-bearing loan for them). Here is how it worked:

I used to drive a 1993 Honda Civic which my grandpa bought for me ($0 for me), then I had a kid, and we didn't fit in that two door car. We bought another two door car, whose seats folded into the dash so I could nearly stand in the back seat to put the babies in car seats. That car, which was a 1998 WV New Beetle, went to car heaven in 2009.

The insurance company gave us more than we paid in 2003 for the car, and we bought the next car, a 1996 Passat, for less than the insurance gave us. Leaving us $1000 in the black! ( I get it, with gas, repairs and maintenance, we didn't really make money)

Photo courtesy of my then 5 year old with a point and shoot camera!

I have now been driving a "free" car, which is old-ish, for 1 1/2 years. It gets great gas mileage, it is a turbo diesel, it can go fast, it is comfortable, it is cute, and it is green. Sometimes I think I will need a new car, but then I remember, the newness will wear off, and I like my car. There is one problem. The doors do not work, meaning, some or most do not open or shut. I am wondering how many doors need to be broken shut, or open, before the car is useless.

As I was letting the irony of a working car with no working doors wash over me, I remembered another cool car that has no working doors. As long as my windows work, I don't need a new car!!

I can imagine my children jumping through the open window from the pick-up line at their elementary school. I'll be the coolest mom ever?

PS pretty cool old guy that can still do that!!

Phone of Man's Desiring

2011-04-06T20:56:00.000-07:00

I'm gunna buy this phone just for the ad, just like the VW Passat TDI.

Lucky Cat

2011-04-06T09:51:00.000-07:00

My friend asked me a question about my cat yesterday, that made me think about him a bit more than usual. The thought is quite basal, my cat is alive. He is quite fortunate to be alive. He once traveled 3 miles through the woods from my in-law's house while we were in Europe for 2 weeks. We arrived home thinking he was lost, but he was just starving at home, with no one to feed him. You can read about that super awesome story here. He was shredded by some dogs, and we super-glued him back together (really, it worked! no vet bills).

X-ray, one of the biggest cats ever.

I got this cat because I hate mice, more than I dislike cats. I don't really like cats, but I HATE mice and rats. I keep a clean house, but was pestered by rodents until 2006 when we got a cat. The mice are gone, and we don't have to put poison or traps out to steer clear of Hantavirus.

The question was, "It seems you just feed your cat, so it doesn't die?"

Which made me check myself. It didn't take me long to answer yes. Sadly, yes. My cat is rather soul-less. He's a slave to his belly and his own satisfaction (typical cat). I don't hate him, but didn't even think that I'm solely maintaining a live creature so that he wont die. I am. I feed him what he doesn't get from the rodents. He whines all day so that I might feed him more, he relieves himself in the warm, dry garage, he poops in the flower beds, and he slithers into our house and into the inner-workings of our couch to hide.

I should move away from maintaining our 'pet', and enjoy him. I should accept him for his 'cat-ness'. His characteristics are attributes that turn me off in others, and I HATE in myself: selfishness, gluttony, laziness, dirtiness, hairy-ness, sneakiness, dependence.... It's no wonder I don't like our cat, because I see in him the things I don't like about myself, and I'm allergic to it.

Hear This....

2011-03-23T20:42:00.000-07:00

I am in the midst of parenting bliss, and I know it!! Both my kids are as creative, enjoyable, thoughtful and helpful as they have ever been. I have left the sleepless nights, running at the park to catch a falling toddler, and endlessly cleaning the floor of finger-foods behind me. I soon will venture into pre-teen and teen drama, mood swings, an empty fridge and worry about my kids driving. For now, I am reveling in all the interesting things my children have to say. They are wealths of knowledge about grade-school topics.

Our son is usually a walking encyclopedia (remember those?) but lately our seven year old has joined in. We now have Boyipedia and Girlepedia (I'm sure it is parenting justice for years of babbling at our folks, we both are that way).

Our girl has a way of getting our attention when something is particularly interesting.

"Hear this Dada!...
   did you know the sun has spots
   did you know that Earth is the 3rd planet from the sun, and mars is 4th
   the sun is 15 billion degrees
   the sun is the biggest star,
Boys: No it isn't
Girlt: I mean in the solar system
Dada, hear this....."

I imagine each bit of trivia like a newsboy selling newspapers (remember those?) on the corner. To her, it is that exciting.

Let's Put On Our Thinking Caps!

2011-03-21T12:59:00.000-07:00

Federal funding for National Public Radio was cut last week. Our federal government is sustaining itself on temporary budgets because we spend more than we make. On the whole, I've been unimpressed with federal programs. They don't seem to impact me (besides the free medical care while a dependent of the military, free university tuition, and housing allowance. Thank you America!). It seems to me the federal government is in the business of impacting BIG things, and I am a small thing. A small thing I partake of is NPR. I know it has a liberal bias, but so do I, so I listen.

When I heard that the funding had been cut, I assumed that it was because our government is financially stretched beyond our means. I am still assuming while writing this post. I have only ever made a budget for my small family, and can only relate the scenario to my personal finances (which I can judge the government, because they are in order).

If we were living extravagantly on our credit cards because we were spending more than we earn, it would be moronic to cut toilet paper out of the monthly expenditures. Would we expect that to impact our finance enough to help? Would we expect that our kids wouldn't get angry, after using toilet paper their whole lives? My eight cars are too expensive, my house is too expensive, my insurance is too expensive, my trip to Antarctica was too expensive, my Whole Foods groceries are too expensive.......

People don't really NEED toilet paper, but isn't it super nice? It is a modern luxury, just like NPR. We might even think, 'how did we ever live without this white, soft paper product?'

I'm hoping that there is a silver lining. It is my observation that when funding gets cut, and it is something people care about, people get creative. Loads of money oftentimes make us turn down our creativity. I'm hoping, that institutions are like people, or actually made of people.

*all the facts in this post I learned from NPR, National Public Radio, are assumptions, exclusively my opinion, or I made them up.

Something Old, Something New

2011-03-10T21:15:00.000-08:00

I guess I'm in a sentimental mood, or maybe I am just sentimental. I think it's the latter. I'm sentimental about stuff, people, places, music and photos. I fit in lately, as things like, retro, vintage, up-cycling, and going green are popular. I don't think it has always been so trendy (example: the 80's). I'm not one for trends: capris, Ikea, Justin Beiber, and Farmville. I think they are silly and leave little scope for imagination!

Even when this photo was taken of me,
the tiny ring was hiding in the attic, in an old toiletry case.

When my grandparents passed away, when I was in my early 20's, I got their wood furniture from the 1950's. Maybe it was trendy back when my dad was a boy, but now it is old. Good, and old. I also received a small, and long forgotten, antique ring of my great-grandmother's. It is now more than 100 years old. It had a tiny diamond, and a thin band, for a person who's genes did not pass on to me. It also had an antique setting, and whimsical engraving on the outside.

For the last 15 years (before that, maybe 30 years) it has been sitting in a box, taking up beautiful, dark space. I would see it now and then, like when we moved. It only fit on my pinky, and made the small-ish finger look like a sausage. Another drawback was that if I wore it, it would break. Besides its beauty, it was useless, and unseen. It's daintiness, and beauty was almost a complete waste on me.

Before Christmas, my husband took me into my friends jewelry store. He asked if they could take the modest diamond out of the setting from my engagement ring and put it into the little antique ring. They also made the ring bigger and stronger, to suit the farm-hands I inherited from my mother. When they returned the ring I felt all the sentiment and tenderness I could feel, for a thing.

I felt the presence of a woman I never met. She was the mother of one of the best people I've known. The diamond was from my sweet young husband, years ago. I put the new/old ring on my hand, a hand that has been changed with the generations, and felt all that love.

I know that jewelry is a thing, and I strive not to be taken by shiny things, and yet it conveys what is in my heart.

Today when I read the blog my friend keeps for her jewelry store, the very same shop which artfully made my grandmother's ring mine, I realized sentimental is trendy. All this time I've been thinking trendy wasn't my taste. It turns out the whole point of jewelry is sentiment.

Girl Books, Boy Books

2011-03-07T09:08:00.000-08:00

Growing up my parents read to us every night before bed. We also watched old episodes of The Andy Griffith Show and The Rifleman, so I did get to watch television also. We are carrying on the tradition of reading to our children, which our parents faithfully passed to us.

I have to admit that I am a bit dissatisfied by the latest choices of books, and I think it is because of my 'Y' chromosome. We read a Terry Pratchett book which was about a police department, in a world on a disk with fantastic creatures. Then, a book about an ancient Egyptian war, set in modern times. Both were full of intense battles and boyish humor. If you only read an hour a night, aloud, a medium-sized book can take up to a month to finish. Some of my dissatisfaction is that each book is taking so long to read, although they are not bad books.

At the breakfast table last week I started to plead my case for Anne of Green Gables. Two of the people in our family are female, which I think the book was written for, and the other half could give a little. They could consider that a story without a battle or an ogre might be meaningful.

Silas conceded, he wouldn't mind reading a book about me. ME?!?! I started into what was sure to be a fiery lecture about," how.... Anne and I....well, he must know those books are fiction, from the author's imagination, and...anyway, well.....I really think the kids....and you know, well.....Shut-up, Gilbert!!!"

Today, I found a copy of Anne of Green Gables on ~~Gilbert's~~ Silas' desk.

Silas & Tyson
1993?

Update: good husband/bad man

2011-03-03T19:35:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow Silas has a colonoscopy. He has to return to the office where he had an endoscopy. I guess they don't have a camera that goes all the way through, he dopily asked after the first procedure (they do have a fancy camera pill).
I'm curious about what will happen this time, as he visits the same nurses, and is sedated again. I'm sure silliness will ensue. I hope it is blog fodder, and that whatever the heck is wrong with him will come to light, so he can feel better. I mostly hope for the latter.

good husband/bad man Part III

2011-03-01T11:55:00.000-08:00

I'm waffling on the title of this post. It could be 'good man/ bad husband', but I think I'll keep it the way it is, and let you decide. Also, be warned there is some bodily fluid in this post, so stop now if you are anything like me!

The concept of sympathy is near to me, but I think who ever coined the term didn't understand the concept in regards to vomit. If you are a 'sympathetic puker' then you know it is mis-named. I feel no sympathy. I feel things like revolution, gagging, aggravation, and stomach cramps. I do not feel sympathy. This is an especially challenging feeling in regards to parenting. I had NO IDEA that parenting would require such a strong constitution.

It seems that at unpredictable intervals, one or both of my children are sick from one end or another, usually on a trip or in the middle of the night. It was a stretch getting through the diaper phase of parenting, but the messiness sporadically continues. I can walk 20 miles in a day with a huge pack, I can stay up all night, I can fast for a day, I can climb the highest peak in California, I can run for an hour, but I can not clean up after my children when they are sick. This is where that good husband of mine comes into the story.

We are parenting together. Only months after becoming parents, we discovered that I only add to the problem/mess, when trying to clean up a mess. My part of the team, is staying out of the way, or rinsing off a kid in the shower (even that is questionable). Near the beginning of our life as parents, in a moment of feeling bad that I was unhelpful, or even more destructive, I told Silas I would clean the bathrooms in exchange for his super human ability not to vomit while mopping. I feel that this is a reasonable trade, even though I intend to be an octogenarian.

Fast forward ten years, at 2am, after both our children had emptied the contents of their stomachs onto the beds, carpet, and hallway. Silas is quickly taking care of business as I try to help with the relief efforts, though I know I'm not supposed to. I then find myself hunched over, trying to control myself and Silas angrily yelling at me from down the hall, "get away from here, you are just making it worse!!".

Silas is not a yeller, and is very very slow to anger. I think the stress of cleaning up and managing two sick kids is frustrating, at best. It was so uncharacteristic of him, I was momentarily stunned. What was I supposed to do, just go back to the warm bed and leave him alone? That's what I did. I did, however, have clean towels and sheets ready, clean clothes to change the kids into, and things manageable enough before hand, that he was close behind me going back to bed. I understand that he would raise his voice to be perfectly clear, that I need to stick to my end of the arrangement.
Yelling = bad man

Silas, just before a night of cleaning a sleeper car in Egypt.

mopping up puke= good husband

Freebie List

2011-02-22T21:51:00.000-08:00

Long before Friends, Monica, Chandler, Ross, Rachel, Joey and Phoebe, had a celebrity "freebie list", my grandparents had one. A freebie list is a set of people who you are allowed to cheat on your spouse with, should they come to the door of your house for you. The other spouse would have to stay behind, knowing it was a "once in a lifetime opportunity" for the other. Yes, my Methodist grandparents. Both have been gone for a long while now, as well as the celebrities. On the long running sitcom Friends, the list was 5 celebrities, but for my grandparents, they only got one: Rita Hayworth for my grandpa and Gregory Peck for my grandma.

This is how I imagine the scenario playing out. My grandparents would be sitting by a fan in the house, on a hot Central Californian day, playing bridge, or rather a 2 person card game, and drinking water, while my dad and uncle were out in the street riding bikes. A black car would pull into the drive, and either Rita or Greg would ring the bell. My grandma would make a cute surprise noise, and my grandpa would get the door. Depending on the whoever it was, the grandparent in question would quietly go to the bedroom and fill a suitcase, and without a word, leave in the black car for Hollywood. As if a switch had gone off in his or her head, like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers (it is the 50's in my imagination, so I'm sticking to the theme).

There are a lot of holes in this plan beyond the morality of it. I'm positive my grandparents told their children this quirky plan, to reassure them that they never would leave one another (as well as just kidding around, they were funny folks). They said it to confirm their love for one another until death parted them. What are the chances of the most famous movie actors of the day coming to the front door? Imagine George Clooney coming to your house, right? What are the chances?

Inadvertently, the legacy that my grandparents left us was probably different than their intention. For my father, it left him with worry as a child: what if those famous people just do happen by our house in Merced California? It is something a kid could worry about. For me it left me with a huge crush on Gregory Peck!

good husband/bad man Part II

2011-02-18T17:01:00.000-08:00

Last week Silas had an endoscopy. The doctor and nurses sedated him to see why his stomach has been giving him trouble. I was his ride home, so after the procedure I found him in the recovery room. He was behind a curtain with a young nurse (younger than me) on a cot, laying on his side. The pretty nurse told me he was very sleepy, and very chatty, then she smiled at me, sweetly sideways. This is the part of the story where my concern for his condition turned to curiosity.

The nurse told me every time they tried to wake him, he would groggily look at them and say, "You're not pretty enough to be my wife!". He would fall back into his dopey sleep, and they would try to wake him again, and he would say the same thing. Had he thought that it was going to be me waking him up each time? The nurses giggled, and were not offended.

I shook him awake, and he looked at me and smiled. He was dopey! He was telling the nurse how he might invent a program for her computer to make it work better, just before she stepped out of the curtain. I told him what he had said to the nurses, and he was embarrassed a bit, so he said loudly, through the curtain, "you are pretty enough to be my wife". I could hear her giggling behind the curtain.

I learned two things about what my husband is actually thinking, without his filter. The first is that he is a pretty big nerd. He holds back a lot of technical details and geeky computer inventions (my 5th grade son also has this trait). I'm grateful for his nerd-i-ness, as it puts food on the table, and he is well rounded and social. I'm also grateful I'm not responsible for all those details in his head.

The second thing I learned, was really just a reminder. Silas thinks I am the most beautiful person he knows. Compared to the other women in the doctor's office, if I were comparing objectively, which is a terrible thing to do, there was no winner. I might be the winner, in that I was not in hospital scrubs, but my 'mom uniform', which might be a 6 out of 10 rather than a 5.

How Silas views Tyson

What I actually look like.

Every girl wants her husband to think she is the prettiest girl in the room, and mine does. The flip side, which is the 'bad man' part, is it could mean that he thinks you aren't as pretty as I am. I don't think the two are mutually exclusive. I think the real danger is if I thought I was prettier than you, and I don't. I don't even care what you look like, I like you anyway. I think Silas doesn't actually care what I look like either, because I can be an ugly person, he loves me despite myself. Our time together has helped him love me: body, mind and spirit, and I reciprocate.

Teacher Credentialing, Huh?

2011-02-17T11:56:00.000-08:00

i recieves this here letter froms the State of california credenttialling dept. Todays. I sended the monies in just like they said, $51 for the prosess of.

I realize that I'm not the authority on spelling or grammar, but c'mon!! I'm worn a bit thin, as they would say to send in $51 in black and white, then the next day send me such a poorly written email. I wonder what state the author of this letter went to school in?

The letter asks me what I think, and I think if you are writing to teachers and prospective teachers, write more gooder.
also....

$55-$51=$4

Maybe I'm thinking too much.

date		Thu, Feb 17, 2011 at 11:19 AM
subject		Re: Credential application

11:19 AM (17 minutes ago)

Hi Tyson,

The Commission receives your application packet and a check $51.00 again. It is insufficient fee. The current application fee is $55.00. You may send me an additional amount $5.00 to my attention as I am holding your stuffs. Let me know what you think.

J T

Cashiering Unit

Certification, Assignment and Waiver Division

Commission on Teacher Credentialing

good husband/bad man

2011-02-16T19:03:00.000-08:00

I've named this blog for my husband, and have quite a bit to say on the subject of his goodness ~~and badness~~. I've so much to say it may be the start of a series, or chapters. First, some disclaimers: I have been married to this ~~bad~~ good husband since 1995, and despite himself, I'm in love with him, no matter what. I'm in love with him more now than ever and have been married to him all of my adult life, and a bit of my childhood (who's an adult at 19?). I won't be bashing him.

On with the story......

Last summer we traveled to the Czech Republic with friends. While touring Prague, Silas, the spouse in the spotlight, bought me a yellow rose at a market while we waited for everyone to buy souvenirs. From the market, we took public transportation to the Little Eiffel Tower to look out over the entire city. Walking through a garden to the tower, I dropped my rose. We noticed just in time to see a school aged girl find the rose on the ground, and pick it up with obvious delight.

I noticed the girl's face the same moment as Silas was bounding like Tigger back down the path towards her. I saw him squat down and talk to the girl for a moment, then she gave him the rose. As he ran like a school boy back towards the group, my friend leaned in and said, "Silas, he is a good husband, but a bad man". This is exactly what I was feeling as well. What a sweet guy to go get the rose, what a jerk for taking a rose from a little girl. The passing comment of a friend, summed up Silas, I just never thought of it so clearly. Silas loves me, despite all others. This is a very attractive attribute from my perspective, and only sometimes mildly embarrassing, and usually not.

After some awkward moments walking, I told him ~~I would rather~~ it would be alright to let the girl keep the rose, and I'll keep the memory of his kindness: getting me a rose, giving it to a pretty little girl. As we entered the tower he did give the rose back to the girl. I'm sure she will always remember a stranger giving her a rose (her mom was there too). The girl was all smiles as we headed up the stairs of the tower.

Small Library

2011-02-09T10:50:00.000-08:00

Any free moment that our boy has you can find him reading. He has out-read his dad and me in the 6 years he has been riffing quickly through the pages of the Youth Fiction section at the library. Some moms take extra time to make sure their son reads enough, I sometimes offer a computer game or cartoon up to our boy.

This month I realized that most of the books that are appropriate for him (and some not), he has read. The only series I could find that he has not read was Anne of Green Gables, which I don't know if I can get him to read (though he will love it once he starts, the feisty heroin might remind him of his momma!).

He is 10, and on the precipice of being able to read more edgy things, and by edgy I mean Jack London. I was a bad mom and let him read "Call of the Wild" when he was eight, or so, and it ended in tears and sadness for his young, sweet, heart.

On that note, last week he decided to do a biography on his current hero, Brian Jacques, for school. He wrote the Redwall series, which pits good against evil in the form of rodents. It is perfect for my kid. He learned that Jacques had visited our local book store, and was daydreaming about getting to meet him (he is a kid and didn't realize that Jacques is from England, thousands of miles away). He went on and on about it, just last week.

Monday I had to tell him the sad news, that over the weekend, Brian Jacques died suddenly. I told him, and he cried, and hugged his dad. We talked about how lucky we were to have been able to know a part of Jacques, through his writing.

My boy is on the cusp of the world opening up to him. He will learn about the vastness of our world, and the suffering in it, because he is a reader. I am loving my boy for his innocence while he still has it, and am excited for all the conversations I can have with him, about great ideas, far away places, history, science, and religion as he grows. Now that nearly all the books in the Junior section have been read, soon he can climb the stairs and start in on the Science Fiction, Mysteries, Biographies and Novels.

I Want My Gym TV

2011-01-30T23:12:00.000-08:00

Beware: The next few paragraphs contain some grumbling. Be warned.

I joined the gym this winter to exercise despite wind, rain, snow, cold, sleet or otherwise. At my gym, and any other gym anywhere, there are televisions bolted to the ceiling and turned on. I would guess there are about seven or more where I go. There is some magic to getting the individual sound from each one to your ears, but I haven't figured that out yet.

I have not had television for almost 8 years. I don't watch sports, talk shows, reality TV, commercials, documentaries, promos, or news. I do watch 30 Rock and Battlestar Galactica, streaming on my computer. Television is not something that will keep my attention for the 4th or 5th mile on the treadmill (music will). I do, however watch/observe it. Here are my observations about television:

There are cloning devices or CGI used on 24 hour news networks. Men, mostly, all look the same: 45-65 years old, white, greying hair, square black glasses, 15+ pounds overweight, blazer, and rosy cheeks(they look worked-up about something important). This is particularly spooky when at church, you see several men in the same uniform. This maybe because there are only dark, square glasses available from the optometrist, and if you are that age, you need specs.
There are only four or five 'newsworthy' stories everyday, run by all the news channels, concurrently.
If you are trying to watch a match of the Australian Open while running and zoning out to music, the television to the right and left are probably playing a recap of that same match. You can not watch the match usually because you don't have a television, and Australia is already well into tomorrow, so you can't watch it live, giving away the ending of the match you are watching blow-by-blow, simultaneously.
There is always an older man, who will change the seventh and final television to a 24 hour cable news channel, so that all of them are cable news.

I'll admit that my avoidance of mass media is purposeful. At the gym, I am like a child watching TV for the first time, I can not look away. I can't hear what the TV is saying, and I believe my ignorance about television may skew my observations.

29 Hours to Minnesota

2011-01-24T14:22:00.000-08:00

Last week I drove from Northern California to St. Paul, Minnesota with a friend who is moving. I now am somewhat of an aficionado of Minnesota in January compared to most of the people in my neighborhood. After nearly 48 hours in the state, and the coldest weather they have had in several years, I feel accomplished.

When I left my house, it was 60 degrees, and forgot my husband's coat in the closet. Why would I think of grabbing it on the way out? I'm not much of a detail person, and also not much of a coat person. Coats make me feel like someone is choking me, which is why I suffer while skiing.

Fortunately, while traveling along I-80, there are several (~27) discount shops for outdoor supplies. Also, all winter clothes are on sale. If you do not yet have a coat in Wyoming, Utah, Nebraska, Iowa or Minnesota this year, you are probably a popsicle, and someone will find you during the spring thaw.

In the end, we drove for three days and made it to the 'Land of a Thousand Lakes', where the state drink is milk, and the state muffin is blueberry. Here is my trip log in bad cell phone photos:

It starts to snow in, Evanston, WY for 20 minutes! No coat.

It is sunny and COLD in Nebraska. Still no coat.

I purchase a coat in Cheyenne, deeply discounted, of course.

Minnesota is essentially tundra. -22 without windchill.

Inga scrapes ice from the INSIDE of the windows.

I am happy to live where there are 4 seasons which are moderately moderate! I'm also happy to be home!

Facebook Vacillation

2011-01-14T16:30:00.000-08:00

I vacillate between hot and cold on Facebook. Sometimes I love it, sometimes I hate it, sometimes I am addicted to it, and sometimes I'm ambivalent.

Here are some of the reasons I'm cold:

Photos of food. There are some great sites out there to look at photos of food, really yummy looking food. I am sure that your food is yummy, but it looks kinda bad unless you are a bang-up photographer.

357 photos of your trip to the beach. You are only in 2, and those are fuzzy. I love photos and photos of people doing fun things, but I can't really look at the virtual 7 rolls of bad photos you took.

Being someone who you are not, on FB.

Being who you are on FB. Be a better person than you really are, on FB. I don't mean fudge, I mean put your best foot forward. Don't be mean or even sarcastic, it doesn't translate.

Folks who over share angry opinions. If you are angry about your opinion, it isn't valid for me.

The mundane. Some people share EVERYTHING on FB. Enough said!

Letting everyone know where you are and how long you will be there, or posting, "looks like you are at 123 Main St all week!! LOL". We are not totally in control of who sees our posts. I'm not "checking in".

The reasons I'm hot (besides my appearance):

I can connect to media that I might not find on my own because I only look a the stuff I look at online. If someone posts something interesting, I can learn something new, or at least smile!

I can continue community with people I don't live near or see often.

I can play Scrabble on FB.

I can celebrate life events that folks share on FB.

I can mourn life events that folks share on FB.

I can play Scrabble on FB.

I can remember/celebrate important events with family and friends.

January Summer Read: An Update

2011-01-11T00:02:00.000-08:00

I gave up. I had aspired to reading a long book during the winter months. I just gave up. I blogged about already here if you are tracking what a failure I am.

There are several reasons, the main one: It was too hard. I am a smart-ish-type person, or I think of myself that way. This book was not too hard to read, though it was rather wordy, and there was jargon in it that made it slow going. It's a drag if you are already fighting dyslexic reading. Slow becomes tedious.

This winter has also been very cold for these parts. I know you live where it is colder, and yet, I am cold. This book took place 400 years ago, in England, in the winter. Not only the dark ages, but a cold season. Page after page was about the dank, dark, frigid conditions of the setting.

I got 50 pages into 700 and took a pause. My grandmother told me that I had to give every book at least 50 pages before I decided to put it down. In her honor, I think about every book I read at about page fifty. Is this book a good book? Do I want to read this? Has the story even started yet? Catch 22, I've tried it twice, but can't do it! I decided, I'm too cold to read the book I'm reading now, which is another way of saying, I don't feel like reading it.

I went to the library and got a 200 page book that said, "A great summer read.-People Magazine" splashed on the cover. The book is white, and has bright colors on it. The language is about fourth grade reading level, the subject is light, modern, and takes place in the summer. My toes are warmer already, though it may be the slippers, socks, blankets, sweats and hoodie I'm wearing.

I'll try the other again in July.

Let the Mall Fall Down

2011-01-09T21:51:00.000-08:00

I feel like an alien at the mall. I have been to a mall only a few dozen times in my life. Every time I am there I don't know what to do. It is like the first day at a new school, or in a new country, when you are not exactly sure where to put your bag, where the restroom is, or what to say to seem like you are supposed to be there.

This is how I find myself at the mall. Do I talk to the overly friendly ladies at the kiosks in the middle of each hall? Are those kiosks like mall-telemarketers? Do I look people passing in the eye? Do I keep to the right of the isles?

I'm not good at buying things that are fashionable or being in public with strangers. It really doesn't matter as I don't live near a mall but still I am riddled with insecurities when I rarely find myself there. It is these very things that drove me to the customer restroom at the back of the Gap, in the mall several towns away. It wasn't even the real mall restroom, it was the one for ladies who have been trying on the Gap jeans, behind the changing rooms. The restroom is my trick. If you are at a party or crowd with me, I will dash for the restroom just to get a grip (the life of a true introvert).

I'll back up. I wouldn't have been at the mall, except that some people i like asked me to come with them for a flash mob singing of the Hallelujah Chorus. I had received a few emails, and figured that type of thing wasn't for me. It turns out, that if your friends call you, it is your type of thing. We even had sushi, which means I was, for the most part, totally in! I guess everyone else in Norther California also got the invite to the mall to 'secretly' sing the Hallelujah Chorus. I love music, I love my friends, I love sushi, but I hate the mall.

It came as no surprise to me that we were all evacuated from the mall that night, as several thousand folks intending to sing, compromised the structural integrity of the mega-building.

As a person who is unfamiliar with malls, nothing happening there is a novelty. The whole place is a novelty. While I was in the bathroom, hiding from the "mob" portion of the flash mob, there was a loud speaker announcement that we needed to evacuate.

I'm not a fool. If someone tells me to evacuate, I do. I wanna be the first person to evacuate. I even knew where the exits were, as the crowd grew, so did my anxiety. The voice over the speakers didn't say why we were participating in a mass exodus, rather than singing a Christmas song, but I left. I left out a different door than the other 6 thousand folks there. I left before all the trendies could finish purchasing their fancy jeans. I left before a fire could burn the whole joint down (which was a problem, as the mall nearly burned all down 6 weeks prior, still not strange to the alien-who-is-me).

I participated in pandemonium. There were folks in their cars for hours waiting to leave the mall exits. A mall should be able to hold a person (or two) for every parking space. My dad, who was a county planner, explained the parking lot is extra-too-big, so that when you drive by, you think the mall is not crowed, and pull in. It turns out if every space is full, all those people will break the mall.

The Hallelujah part of the evening was who I was with, my friends, which didn't change because things didn't go as planned, and I survived a flash mob.

Van Gogh & Vivian Maier

2011-01-04T20:13:00.000-08:00

This is simply beautiful. Even with the attention span of a kid raised on Sesame Street, I couldn't stop myself from watching this.

Drunk Oven

2011-01-03T13:53:00.000-08:00

My oven in our rental didn't work until our landlord bought a new one a few days before Christmas. Before this, I would stand at the oven, while it was hot, reading the portable thermometer I bought at the grocery. When the temperature was too high, I would open the door until it cooled slightly, then shut the door until it was again too hot, repeating step one.

Baking cookies this is a reasonable thing to do, standing in the kitchen opening and shutting the oven door for 15 minutes. Imagine this if I was baking a pie, a roast, or bread. I took the pressure off myself to cook from scratch this holiday season. I didn't want to feel neurotic with the oven door in my hand for 1 hour and 15 minutes, while the temperature hovered around 425 degrees: open, close, open, close, abierto, cerado, abierto, cerado....

I am grateful to such a landlord who would fix the problem. I'm used to problems being mine, and it was refreshing not to have to shoulder the responsibly for something that was not mine!

One aspect of the experience that was not refreshing was the odor of the installers who came to my door. They called because they were late. I was fine with their tardiness at that point, it was snowy out, it was lunchtime. When they came to the door I realized I have been too understanding. Their smell told me they were not eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a juice box for lunch, or that they were late because it is hard to drive in the snow. Their stink was unmistakably alcohol.

I pause at the door before letting in the older worker. Do I let this man into my house to work with electrical outlets and wiring? Does this smell necessarily mean he is currently inebriated, or is it the stench from last night? I decided it was the former, and let them in anyway. I then went for a walk, while my husband stayed home to 'supervise'.

When I arrived home, the new oven was working, and I imagined all the pizza I could bake, cookies I could bring to parties, and fresh bread smells wafting through the house. I didn't feel sorry for two grown men who drink enough to smell like it by lunchtime, I didn't worry if they installed the oven wrong. I simply was glad the oven worked, and if it didn't, it wasn't my problem. This maybe foolhardy, but after 2 weeks, nothing has exploded.

Twenty-ten

2010-12-30T19:46:00.000-08:00

I had been writing a reflection for the year 2010, but this sums up nicely, without me having to type anything! I got hooked on these folks in the Spring, they say it for me.

Also thanks to my kids, husband, franks, helmuths, music, pratts, siblings, outlaws, czechs and friends for making it rich & worth it.

Bad Mom

2010-12-23T09:29:00.000-08:00

During most of December my family has had the flu. I have not had the flu, and I could say that it was my superior immune system, but I got a flu shot, and it worked. The flu takes ages to recover from, it is hard to breathe, you can't sleep, you have low energy, and food tastes funny. I wondered why the very cute packages of chocolate from the advent calendar were piling up on the counter in the kitchen. I finally put them in a dish, one for each child. They weren't too sick to open the little doors, but they weren't in the mood to eat the candy! Could a kid ever be too sick for one piece of chocolate a day? Could two children be that sick at the same time?
As the mother of these people who are not eating their sweets, what am I supposed to do? I was thinking I would tell them that they had to eat them, as if they were lima beans. As soon as they are done with the Halloween candy, I'll make them eat the Christmas candy, in time for Easter.

Bear Prints for Jim

2010-12-22T12:05:00.000-08:00

The world is full of mysteries, some are more mysterious than others. Animal prints aren't very mysterious or miraculous, and yet, they are a sign that something was there and now it isn't. I was reminded of this, looking at these photos, and wondered why I would even be moved in the moment to take them: They catch my eye, like a magic trick. The animal is gone (in the case of the bear, not far ahead of me) and while I'm looking down, the creature is pulling away from me.

Camel print in Sinai Desert, Egypt

Black bear print, Malakoff Diggins SP, California

Yesterday a man traveled ahead who has left as many tracks as a man can. Tracks of Peace, and Love, Compassion and Grace. As I look down to marvel at what he left, he is pulling ahead of me, just over the horizon. I know he is there, I just can't see him yet. I hope to follow.

I'm not the Only One

2010-12-16T13:40:00.000-08:00

It seems I'm not the only one who has been thinking about the quality of Christmas music.
Here is an article from NPR:

Annoying Songs for Christmas

Smoochin' Santa

2010-12-15T09:56:00.000-08:00

Christmas provides people who love music, hours of festive listening and music making. It also provides us agonizing listening experiences in long grocery lines. For every inspiring, sensational Christmas song that echos through concert halls across the world this season, there are also those unfortunate tunes that litter the easy-listening radio tracks.

It is one of the latter tunes that was confusing to me as a young person, and by young, I mean until I was 33, which was last year.

There is something virtuous and enchanting about Christmas (besides the commercialism, and pregnant-virgin-teen), so I was righteously upset by "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". Did someone in the 1950's think that it was okay to spin the story of Santa: twinkly eyed, bowl full of jelly, tarnished with soot?

How could it be that Santa would be cheating on Mrs. Claus with the singer's mother? The thought frightened and shocked me! Would Santa really come to a kid's house, with toys and Christmas cheer, while the reindeer waited on the roof-top, prancing and pawning their hoofs, and kiss someone else's wife? Besides the song just being bad, to me, it was unethical, and messes up Christmas.

I've come to my senses, the song is still terrible, but in a moment of clarity last year, I figured out why this song is even allowed to be a Christmas song. Mommy is kissing Santa, because Santa is really the dad, dressed up as Santa! AH-HA!!! I have been known for thinking outside the box, but I missed the point of this song for three decades.

There is still so many things wrong with it, the main one being, that if you are a smart kid, or smarter than me, you could tell there is no such thing as Santa just from this song, but I've come to realize that it is not unethical. I still think it should be banned for the sake of believing, smart, children everywhere.

Baby Sitter

2010-12-14T14:17:00.000-08:00

Addi, Emma, & Baby

This is my sister, and my dog. The dog loves my sister more than anyone in the whole world. The dog is small, noisy, and weird, but for some reason she has the personality of a real dog, which I like! I guess she wanted to be right in the middle of the action, or wanted to sit on the baby's lap?

Christmas in the Trenches

2010-12-12T13:59:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas

Magazine Aspirations

2010-12-11T14:02:00.000-08:00

Thursday I found a book in the mystery section at the library which was recommended to me. Usually if a book is recommendable, it is also checked out and I have to wait in line for it. It was sitting on the shelf waiting for me to pick it up, and check it out.

I recently read the top 100 books the BBC thinks are the best loved books. I have read 65 of them, which to me, seem a lot! I have read hundreds of books in my life, simply for the joy of a good story. The book I picked up, however, I am not sure if I can read. The book is An Instance of the Fingerpost.

As I was checking the book out, I told the librarian, that lately I've had magazine aspirations in regards to reading. This book might be 80 magazines long! With the hustle of life, kids to raise, parties to go to, cards to send out, gifts to buy, trips to plan, cookies to bring, socks to match, and detail upon detail to tend to, a 685 page book might not be in my near future. If I renew the book, I can only have it 6 weeks! That is NEXT year.

There was a time when I could read without interruption, for years. Now I can not. I am having to let my love of reading sit up on the shelf for a while. Someday my kids will move away, and I won't have so much to do, and I'll read all the long books I didn't get to read in my 30's, and miss my skinny, soft-faced, school aged children.

I'm going to try to read the book anyway, it has got to be better than a magazine, or even 80 of them. All I have to do it stop blogging and heft the book into my lap, easy, right?

Sponge Bob Boy Pants

2010-12-07T19:40:00.000-08:00

I took my 10 year old son to a Christmas party at a hotel in town. I took him instead of my husband because we had nightly choir performances for a week, and I hadn't seen my kids all week. Before dinner we visited the toy store and the book store, and I just enjoyed watching the boy who is leaving childhood faster than he knows, look at wind up toys, science kits, plushies, bouncy-balls, and books.

He stood in the buffet line and talked to all the grown-ups, answering their questions without fear at the party. He ate two heaping platefuls of lasagna, and washed it town with a cup of tea (or two). He engaged all the folks at our table with fun commentary on the books he is reading, and the projects he is working on.

As we left, in the hotel bar, was a Celtic band. He stopped and one man gave him a drum lesson, and let him sit in on two songs. Their table was strewn with bar food and empty beer glasses, and they slapped him on the back and told him 'good job'. He even got a penny whistle in exchange for a tune next time! Overall it was a dream date to go on with my son.

I left the hotel with a smile, thinking of the time, knowing it was meaningful for both of us. I was also smiling with a laugh in my belly remembering the quiet thing he told me while we were eating, in between his very grown-up conversations. He leaned in, and told me quietly (which is a feat for any boy of ten: quiet):

Mom, there was this Spongebob where Patrick the starfish ate his pants, then he burped up the pocket and wiped his mouth with it, then ate the pocket.

The Earth is Not Made out of Trees

2010-12-05T11:49:00.000-08:00

What is insurance? Insurance is a service provided, wherein you pay monthly, to insure that if some calamity befalls you, that your life won't be destroyed by the high cost and devastating effects of of illness/floods/car accidents/fire. If everyone pays a bit, the statistics are that some will need more, and others will need less, averaging the cost overall.

The concept of insurance seems to have been lost in the EXTREME cost of healthcare in our country. Health care is so expensive, in large part due to the corrupt insurance companies, that insurance insures our family against very little. Let me explain:

Our family has health insurance through my husband's job. We also pay premiums, high co-pays for doctor visits, and have a high deductible. We do this so that we can keep the direct cost to our family and to my husband's company as low as possible, and yet it is still very very expensive. We also do other things to keep our health care costs down. We eat healthy food, get plenty of exercise, sleep 8 hours a night, eat broccoli, and drink clean water.

In September, our daughter injured herself riding her bike. She required a trip to the local ER, morphine, an ambulance ride, another big city ER, pediatric surgery, a hospital stay, a catheter, pain meds and 3 weeks of recovery. This excursion cost $20,000.

The whole time it was happening, yes, I was worried about my daughter, but also, I was consumed with the cost and our insurance. It has been my experience as the mother of active and accident prone children, as well as being victims of accidents/fate, we are also victims of our insurance company and billing departments.

When we arrived home, I was waiting for the papers from the insurance company telling us that we owe them a detrimental amount of money. Three months passed, and I thought I was wrong, but this week we got the bill for $3,000.

We called the insurance company, and because our girl was sitting in the ER past midnight, they have a loophole to be able to charge us for inpatient services overnight, which apparently are our responsibility to pay for.

I guess I was wrong to hope that insurance might insure our financial safety in the face of an accident. Now we have to fight the institution, and the loophole, which is kinda making me feel sick. We will not be paying $3,000. We paid our deductible, our premiums, and our co-pay. I'm grateful that my daughter was able to be sewn back together, and disappointed that the healthcare industry is so terribly broken. I have no choice but to submit to it.

Yesterday, I received a mailer from Blue Shield of California, my insurance provider. It said, "The Earth is Not Made out of Trees". It was their attempt to go paperless, prompting me to use their website instead of sending me a bill in the mail (which is great for this tree lover). I am assuming they are going paperless to cut costs.

Isn't it funny? Sending me an exorbitant bill, though they are the ones who are insuring my safety? Sending me paper to tell me not to use paper?

Security Czech

2010-11-23T16:42:00.000-08:00

Several months ago, I turned off my media outlet: NPR. I don't have a television, and I only try to read global news pertaining to music or movies. I guess I don't even consider it 'news'. When my favorite actors are in a new movie it's not news, but I love movies.

I was driving to wait my turn in the elementary school pick-up line when a story came on about sea turtles swallowing crude oil in the Gulf of Mexico. The turtles can't taste that the floaties are not jellyfish, and swallow the oil to their detriment. I switched off the radio imagining the carnage, and haven't turned it on since. I realized that I am not impervious to media, but I am significantly more sheltered from it than before. That's why when I heard a group talking about the TSA being a bit too personal in the security line at airports, I knew there must be some news hype about it.

It also sparked my curiosity enough to Google it, and endure the media-induced frenzy on the subject. I have had and intimate pat down while traveling last summer. It did not insight a frenzy in me. It did make me think about why it was okay for a total stranger touched every square inch (or centimeter. I was in Europe.) of my body through my clothes. Up to that point in my life the folks who had touched me like that have M.D. after their name, shared an umbilical cord with me, or are currently married to me. I can now add a female Czech airport security guard to the list.

What was offensive about the encounter was not the woman's hands (okay maybe a little). It is a concession to travel. Couldn't the woman see what a good person I am? Didn't she know that I'm positively more good just by looking at me? I was offended that she couldn't judge by my appearance that I am an upstanding, contributing member of society.

A bad person is bad. They will stand in the security check line at the airport and let the guard pat them down with malice in their heart, and the confidence that they are circumventing the security. If everyone knows they will be strip-searched, x-rayed and hung by their ankles before air travel, the bad guys will do that, and then do the bad thing they intended, despite the safeguards.

Despite my goodness, doesn't the woman running her latex gloved hands all over me know that? It is nearly too simple to understand. Bad people will find ways to do bad things, despite our best efforts, that's what makes them bad.

Braver than Before

2010-11-18T16:55:00.000-08:00

I'm trying to be braver about this blogging thing, and actually blog more, as I enjoy it. Though my mind is mush right this moment, and I could tell you that I spaced out on a run and ran more than I meant, to get back to my car, and now have a terrible head ache because I am so distractible while listening to good running music, blah blah blah..... Rather than do all that, I'll post some photos of myself, as this is my blog, I'm a bit loopy, and I can do what I want. I've been told people don't want to read, they just want pictures. So here:

Looking inebriated at Disneyland

As you can see, someone was following me around with the new camera.