Barely Legal

Warning:  The title of this blog is more suggestive than its contents.

I've blogged about my relative age before.  My observations of my story give me more and more to blog about and this post is pointing out the borderline ridiculous.

Here in California, marijuana consumption is nearly legal.  This is an excellent opportunity for small businesses to sell paraphernalia to the occupants of California for this nearly legal activity.  These popular stores are called head shops.

Does this hoodie make my head look young?

It was in one of these shops that I found myself.  Well, it wasn't just me, and we were there looking for fully-legal smoking tobacco.  There were 8 of us in the shop, thinking it really was just a smoke shop until we were all bodily inside.  Four of the people with us were born in the late 90's and early 00's, making them clearly underage.  They also are our children.

If you were like us, and not paying attention, then you wouldn't have seen the tell-tail signs, which were pretty obvious.  I figured it out as my feet cleared the threshold, I am not exceedingly naive.  The most conspicuous sign was actually a sign, it said 'No one under 18 allowed', which no one really registered.

Though I didn't get a good look, I got the general impression.  A brightly lit counter.  Ads on the walls with white lights on bikini-clad tobacco girls.  One part of my mind was telling another, this might not be the shop for pipe tobacco.  There were a few shelves of brightly colored, kitschy tobacco products......and that was when the shop girl came out from behind her Oz-like curtain.  This was also when my ability to take in my surroundings ceased.

She looked at the adults and informed our party, that anyone under 18 could not be inside the store.  She started pointing at the children, age 13, 11, 10, 7 and just when I thought there should be a pause in her voice, or a breath, she pointed to me.  She did ask me for my ID instead of just throwing me out.  I didn't have my ID, it was in the car, which meant no matter what I had to leave the shop.

I'm old enough to know when I should just take a compliment.  It wasn't worth an explanation and it was totally worth the laugh when the whole deal was over.  I'm old enough to filter my words and not say: "I'm old enough to have a kid who is old enough to step through the front door." but since I'm telling you about it, maybe just barely.

Little Bit of Hallelujah

This last week, was full of time with friends and family.  Sometimes, I'm encouraged by my children, friends, my husband, and then sometimes in miraculous and delightfully unexpected ways.

I think a pod of dolphins swimming at the bow of a boat with you for an hour, might be as encouraging and satisfying an experience as one can have.  I hope these photos convey the Hallelujah my heart feels.

Not making a silly face for the camera

Even excited in line at the Happiest Place on Earth

Hunting for treasure.

Salty Ice Cream

How my kid thinks about the world is creative and beautiful.
She gets eczema sometimes.  Here is her observation, as we made home made ice cream tonight ( I know it is October).  With her elbows on the counter she said:

Ice cream has salt in it?  OH!  Salt is very very good for you.  Salt is very very good for eczema!

We have given her salt bathes to soothe her burning skin.  I like the way she thinks but I still asked her:

Do you want me to slather you with the ice cream? 

Face Blind

I pay attention to coincidence, or a better way to say it: I don't believe in coincidence.  It might be hard to  turn away from dazzlingly obvious coincidence, but for ages I let small things pass by, without giving them credit.  I've stopped doing that, and am paying attention.  

As I clean house, or do boring things, I like to listen to NPR programing on my iPod.  This week I heard a story about 2 men who are face blind (Prosopagnosia ) on Radio Lab.  Face blind is a condition where a person can not discern one person's face from the next, or if they know the person, because they can not remember what they look like.  It is really debilitating because it seems that folks affected by face blindness have a huge hurdle when it comes to relationships with people. 

I was interested in this condition because I have had similar experiences with letters (Dyslexia).  I've seen individual letters, or letter strung together to make words for 34 years, but sometimes, it is as if I have never met that letter or word before.  It is interesting that I enjoy writing, as one might think it nearly impossible for me to write or read, but I can.  I can read and write, just more slowly than you.  I have made some adjustments so that you might not be able to tell that I can't tell the difference between "3BE",  how many "r's" are in arrive, and which way the hook on a "J" swings.  The folks on this radio program do the same thing, except with people.  

One of the men took the approach to stay in.  This way, he doesn't run into people.  Not being with people is his way out of awkward situations with his siblings, and boss.  He has to talk his way out of a lot of situations anyway, even if he does stay in.  He is a neuroscientist, so I'm sure he sees people sometimes and he has an assistant who helps him (he can do that, he's rich, I can't hire someone to read numbered exit signs for me, even if I were rich).

The other man does the exact opposite.  He treats everyone he meets as if he has known them his whole life.  He is outgoing and friendly, just in case he is speaking with his mother, but can't remember what she looks like.  He looks at everyone without condition.  He recognizes no one, and treats them as if he loves them.  I am sure, he still has to talk his way out of a lot of awkwardness, but the difference was striking.

This story was nagging at me because I could relate, on two levels.  The first I already mentioned but the other was more subtle.  While driving yesterday, I heard another story about a woman who fell in love with a man who is face blind (which ended badly, as you might guess).  Confirmation that it was no randomly nagging me.  Before Tuesday, I'd never heard of Prosopagnosia once in my whole life, and here it was twice in as many days. 

A light went on in my soul.  I am like the first man, mostly staying in.  You might not notice it, but I'm hiding it, and I can talk my way out of it.

I want to be like the second man.  It is more brave of this man even though he probably is as confused as everyone with this condition.  I want to see people for who they are each time I see them, even if I don't recognize them.  I get that it is a curse to not recognize people, but it seems that making the most of it, strong-arms you into being a loving person.

I have been stricken with my ability to put conditions on people I know, and people I love.  If I strive to live in the moment, then I have to realize I'm not in the moment at all,  and to love better.  The time I get with people is the time I get with them.  It is redundant, but profound.  A person with face blindness has to enjoy a person for the time they have with them, and try to treat them well.  They have to use tricks like I use to keep letters and numbers straight.  They have to be careful.  I'm admitting that I didn't realize how profoundly bad I am at loving unconditionally.

You can listen to the episode of Radio Lab here.

Old Cake

 

We like cake.  The band Cake is really what I'm thinking of specifically.  Personally I could never eat another slice of the dessert, and not be missing anything.  

     I know that people get to a certain age, and they see folks they know are their age, such as at a reunion, and they think to themselves, "do I look that old?".  I know that I am doing pretty well for my age, this isn't about that...... but it almost is.  

     When I first started to listen to Cake, I was in high school.  I don't know know if they were popular then, as they were a local band.  I know they are famous now, 17 years later.  Seventeen years later!?!?  So in my pubescent mind, the band members were older than me, and cooler than me.  I stored that information without really thinking about it.  

     If you look at the jacket's art on their recordings, you can't tell what the band members look like.  The art and layout makes me want a piece of candy (but not cake).  Up until last week, I had NEVER thought that actual, living and breathing fellows from Sacramento were who makes Cake, Cake.  Clearly I had never seen them in person or in a photo.  

This guy:

is the lead singer and and ring leader for the band.  Does he look 25? 

     I was shocked when he took the stage.  I wasn't so much thinking, 'Am I really this old, this guy looks 45?!' as I was thinking, 'Am I really such a numbskull to think that the band members of Cake are still 25?'.  I was surprised that I even came close to thinking, 'Am I really this old?'.  I don't feel old, or even old enough to get to think that yet.  I'm not even half way done, or at least that is my intention.

At the concert in Oakland, besides skipping the MC Hammer bit, and enjoying myself maybe even a bit too much, I was thinking about how old Cake is.  

     Maybe when I was younger I imagined they were cool, because they were musicians, and they were older than me, and they were famous, and I was not.  Now nearly nothing about the situation has changed, except they have more wrinkles and life experience (by percentages, I'm gaining on them).  My life experience since I was a kid, tells me none of that matters on the cool-meter.   Someday I will be older, I can hold my own as a musician, and I don't want to be famous.  It was nearly like going to your childhood house, or nursery school, and realizing how small the building is as an adult, or that even if cake is supposed to be yummy, it is okay that is isn't your favorite.  Even still, Cake is rad!

'This American Life' Wrecked My Life

I listen to This American Life podcast every week. I purposefully do not partake of mass media news. I don't have a television, I don't listen to the radio, and I might skim the BBC world headlines. I choose 'This American Life'.

There are some who believe that it is important to be informed about the events unfolding around us. I agree and yet hearing story after story about sea turtles eating crude oil in the Gulf or millions displaced by floods in Pakistan solicits a physical and emotional response in me that is too strong, I have to turn away. Just as I turn, I can't stand not knowing what is going to happen, and I have to look back to make sure the whole world hasn't slid into the abyss.

Having said that, I'm devoted to this weekly radio program. I'll admit not every episode is noteworthy, sometimes it is, and sometimes it wrecks me. They do occasionally have current, newsworthy episodes, but mostly the stories are, as the title suggests, about people. I can't fathom global politics, but I can contemplate my neighbor.

At the beginning of the summer I listened to this episode:

407:

THE BRIDGE

Originally aired 05.07.2010

We bring you stories of bridges from three different countries, including one in China that's famous for its massive size and its high suicide rate. One takes it upon himself to patrol the bridge, looking for jumpers. You can read entries from the watchman's blog here. This and other stories where we stop before getting to the other side.

ACT ONE. TROUBLED BRIDGE OVER WATER.

There is a four-mile-long bridge in Naan-jing China, famous for how many people jump off to commit suicide. In 2003, a man named Chen Sah began spending all of his weekends on the bridge, trying to single-handedly stop the jumpers. Reporter Mike Paterniti tells his story of meeting Mr. Chen.

You can read some of Mr. Chen's blog posts about the bridge here. A story Paterniti wrote about Mr. Chen appears in GQ Magazine. (15 minutes)

Song: "The Bridge", Dolly Parton

The reporter follows a man around as he patrols and pulls desperate people off of the bridge before they kill themselves. This isn't the kind of story I should have listened to, but I couldn't stop listening. The most interesting part of the story was how the man rescuing people actually felt after he pulled someone down. He was a bit angry and bitter, it was a job he felt compelled to do, but didn't enjoy. One would think he would be more calm and centered. This story set a stone down somewhere inside of me.

A few weeks after hearing this story, we were driving in our VW Vanagon, home from a restful camping trip. Coming from the coast, into the Central Valley of California, it was 104 degrees, up from the foggy 50 that we left in the morning. We were all miserable in the old, un-air-conditioned bus. We debated. Only 40 minutes from home, we had to stop to get cooler. Do we muscle it out, and drive home, or do we stop for a few minutes to cool off? What happened next made that choice matter.

Feeling a bit more refreshed, we headed home over a bridge, that divides two valley towns by a river. The bridge is high, over a river, industrial space, and a race track ( for all the setup, you can guess what is going to happen next). At the top of the bridge, sitting on the outside of the railing, was a woman, getting her courage to jump.

Without thinking, I told my husband to pull over at the end of the bridge, grabbed my phone and hopped out of the moving van. I started quickly back up the bridge and called 911. I had a bit of a walk to contemplate what I thought I was doing, and talk to the dispatcher, on the way to the woman.

My mind was racing: What am I doing? When I see her, I'll pull her down, like the man in the story does, but if she is standing, I won't, because I don't want to go down with her. What am I going to say to her? If she does jump, then I'm going to have to remember it has nothing to do with me, but if she gets down, maybe I had something to do with it. Do I really think I can recover from seeing this woman take her life? What will I say?

Before I saw her, I was looking over the railing to the grassy racetrack below for her body. I could hear sirens for her, then see her silhouette come into view, not sitting, but now standing on the railing taking deep gulps of air (not going to pull her down). I recognized the deep breathing as I have jumped into the river from a tall rock, and needed those same breaths to gain courage. As I got close enough to see her, the police were arriving from both sides of the baking bridge. I was ahead of them walking fast, and she said to me, "Come any closer, and I'll jump". I stopped. I put my arms in the air, in surrender, but the police pushed by me, ignoring her command.

Then, for what seemed a day, or as if there was no such thing as time, there was a stand-off. The police shouted at her, not with anger, but with commanding force. I stood, taking up space on the bridge, imagining I was there for some reason. She was backlit by the setting sun, and as thin as the light post she used for balance on the railing. As the shouting continued, I could not look at her one more second. I would look away, but then, not knowing if she had jumped, have to look back to her ashen face. It was like a cruel tennis match.

At this point, I was 90% sure she was going to jump. The officers crept towards her, yelling at her to get down, but she wouldn't. All the while, I'm looking towards her, and then away for a moment, and then back again. I was trying to stop my hands from shaking, and to be there. The tension inside me was too much. I think it was too much for the lady on the bridge as well. The officers, without asking her if she was a mother, asked her to think of her children.


She got down.


It turns out those police officers do that talk-down quite a bit on the 10th St. bridge in Yuba City. It was clever to assume she was a mother. It would be the reason I would get down (or never get up there in the first place, no worries!).


I've had a lot of time now to think about that late afternoon. I know it was about that woman getting down off the railing, but I was there too. So for some reason, it was about me as well. I can't take any credit because she got down. I never spoke to her. That day I found myself in a similar situation I am faced with the news.  I want to see what happens, but I often have to look away.  It is too graphic.


What I can do is fight the bitterness and anger that comes with darkness and current events. I don't want to be like the man in China miserably pulling folks off the bridge. Tragedy isn't something that happens globally on the CBS Evening News. It isn't something I can choose to look away from, and yet if I stare it in the face, like the man in China, I'm bitter and angry.

I could not have driven by that woman on the bridge. There are 6 billion of us here and any tragedy is personal.


In my attempt to hide from the 'real' world, by listening to non-newsworthy personal stories on a weekend public radio program, I found a kernel of courage on the 10th St. bridge. I found that I can look for as long as I can, and then I can take a break, and I don't get to ask why.

Summer Days

It is the last day of summer vacation.  Right now both the kids are still sleeping, and my plan was to get them up at a more reasonable time, so that when school starts tomorrow, they'll be ready.  I got up at a reasonable time, and am enjoying the quiet, and the fact that they are so peaceful and resting.  Tomorrow the excitement begins.
Last night we made juggling balls using birdseed and balloons after dinner, and today we will get school supplies, and head to the water, to pack as much into the day as we can.
In the quiet, I'm reflective about our summer:

We didn't eat one meal inside our house, we ate outside, breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I picked up pool towels, cooled my heals in the water, and watched the kids splash and play all summer in the pool.  Justus read nearly one book a day, and I realized this as he was filling out his book reading journal.  I perfected the navigation of the library website and retrieval system (I'm sure just in time for them to upgrade), and checked out books 3 and 4 at a time for him.
Scout's teeth started to come in, and she grew taller and more mature, making her less like a sweet and soft little girl, and into a school girl, still sweet and less soft. That little Scout is tucked safely away in my memory.
We spent time at the coast (no summer weather) and a lot of time letting go.
I had to let go of having a garden, which was hard, but also good.  Silas let go of a few extra pounds, and we both said goodbye to some dear friends heading to Central Asia.  We said goodbye to our old house, and some old ways of thinking.
Saying goodbye isn't as entirely bad as I let it be in my mind.  It can be quite liberating.  The part that is scary, or more so, invigorating is the unknown.  I'm hoping that the rest and the joy I found this summer, even as things came to an end, will carry over into the unknown that starts tomorrow.

English Camp 2010

These photos sum up our time in Czech Republic at camp teaching teenagers English.
My class new how to talk english weller than i!
It was a time of learning and love for everyone!  It is hard to express in words or on a blog, so the photos will have to do for now.
There were several awesome photographers there, so there are many beautiful photographs.  By 'many' I mean several hundred.  You can check them out HERE.

3-D Fad

I know I've blogged about this mural before.  I'm reflecting on why this art is just not doing it for me.  I think at first it was just the change that I didn't like, and now there is more to complain about.

I don't keep up with the usual things people complain about, taxes, aches and pains, religion, politics, healthcare, and kids these days, and yet I feel like whining about this mural that I see daily.  I think my criticism of it is as valid as most people's criticism of the list I mentioned before, pretty thin.

I get the latest and greatest is 3-D.  It is fitting that this would be on the side of the movie theater, except that to my eye, NOTHING about it is 3-D.  It doesn't trick my eye like Avatar, or make me want to look at it at length like an Escher.  This is a pretty good photo of the mural, and taken from almost any angle,  I'm not seeing it.

When I was a kid, we drove to a central valley town, that had a similar mural, and it was fantastic.  It was like the first time you blow out trick candles and don't know that they are going to light the second they go out.  When you are a kid it is so cool.

I guess when I pass by this everyday, I'm reminded how I want to be filled with wonder and excitement, like a child.  How did I end up being the person who is complaining on a blog about stuff, instead of pointing out the wonder and awe that our world is filled with.

I'm going to try not to be such a grown-up.

Fireflies No Matter What

Our two kids love music.  It only makes sense, or, I was desperately hoping they would love it, and have it in their bones.  I will love them for who they are no matter what, but.... (I'm skeptical when a mom says, "I'll love them no matter what but...." and am saying it anyway)  I am happy they have great pitch, sweet singing voices and some sense of rhythm.  Now, I would like them to learn an instrument, but for now, life is full, and they are still musical pip-squeaks, so there is time for piano, saxophone, bass guitar, and drums. Like I said, I'll love them for which ever musical venue they choose, well, I really didn't say that, but what is true is I'll love them for whoever they are, no matter what.

In the car to school last week, Scout was singing along with her favorite song.  It is a nonsense song on pop-radio called Fireflies by Owl City.  She loves it so much, I even purchased it from iTunes.  We were on our second run through the song, Scout singing full voice, line for line perfection, when she turned down the music (don't worry, the airbag is disabled in the front seat).

She said, "Mom, do you know why I am learning this song so well?  It is because if that guy who is singing dies, I can take his place."

I love her no matter what!

Fear Kiboshed by Salamanders

If you watch the television, and sway one way or the other on politics, you probably have some anxiety in regards to the environment.

If you are an environmentalist (or something like that), you might be afraid that our over-use of..... well, everything, is a foolhardy path to our demise, for ourselves and our posterity.  The television is full of gloom and doom scenarios ending in your grandchildren as climate refugees in a global famine.  If things pan out in this direction, there is something to be afraid about!

On the other hand, there are the folks who think global warming is a bunch of hype, or even a conspiracy.   You might be skeptical about the those who are passionate, or even angry, about the environment.   You might feel that 'going green' is a trend, and see those who back it as hypocrites.  In a cold snap, some of your friends might say, "see, so much for global warming" as a joke.  If you are one of these types, you might not be so against conservation, just the people who say that they are.  You might not be so terrified of a bad end game, just bad political policies that hamper your liberties.

So what about my garden?  I found a salamander while weeding a bed yesterday, and I started thinking about Earth Day and Global Warming.  I'm very sentimental about salamanders.  I guess it's because I haven't so innocently found one since I was a child.  Also they are absolutely cute and say something about the overall health of my yard.   They are everything a frog dreams of being, if frogs could be better than they already are.  I have no idea why witches would use one in a brew.  I think they should use bananas or old warts, but never a salamander.

Watching that little creature, smoothly taking sticky steps in my palm, set my mind at ease about the whole debate.  It made it more manufactured to me.  What if every policy maker, creationist, republican, democrat, evolutionist, parent, grant writer, child, teacher, news anchor, skydiver, christian, and scientist had a garden, and found a salamander?  How might it change the world?

With amphibians, which seem so rare and beautiful,  hiding in my garden, the fear and hatred people feel towards one another seems rather silly.  Amphibians are very dependent on the overall health of their habitat, which is why I'm glad I gave away my television before Earth Day.

Wonky Tooth

Scout has been noteworthy as well.  She has learned to read!!

I think six has been harder for her than other ages because she has had to mature A LOT.   This has made being her mom more interesting.  She has some fun things to say, questions to ask, and stories to tell.  She is so smart, spunky, and really knows who she is.  My favorite thing about her learning to read, is her love of music.  She is loving the hymnal, and counting time (yes, I said, counting time), and reading the words.  More than that though, her voice is soooooooo sweet and perfectly in tune.  That makes a musical momma proud!

3rd Place

Justus had a tough year at gymnastics.  He was unsure of his routine at the beginning of the season.  He was so unsure of himself, that he didn't do well.  In all honesty, the coaches changed around a lot, and when he finally got a steady coach, he took off.
Last weekend at his home meet, Justus came in 3rd.  For a kid who was coming in LAST just a few weeks ago, this is pretty amazing.  He was quitting after this meet, but who could quit when they are on top?

Look at his face!  He was so excited you can't see his face.  He is saluting with his whole self!

Real Estate vs. Real Life

What does Tyson know about real-estate?  Basically just what she has learned by informing herself while buying a house.  Why is Tyson blogging in third person?  Who knows, so she'll cut it out.

I'm un-officially documenting the sale/loss of our house on another blog.  Here is the link:

http://realestatevsreallife.blogspot.com

Knock yourself out....

The Girl Who Lived!!

Justus has a sweet-spot in his heart for a girl in his class. She is pretty, sweet, blonde, energetic, imaginative, and SMART. She stands out, a perfect girl for Justus to have as a friend.

Camryn was in a terrible car crash on the icy road after Christmas. She was in a coma for 4 weeks, and had a broken femur and traumatic brain injury. Justus was devastated. He was aware enough to know the gravity of the situation. After winter break he returned to school, and to the playground, without his friend. He felt her absence.

In what is nothing short of miraculous, Camryn is now home, attending school, therapy, and surviving her accident. Not only is she surviving, she is thriving, and moving ahead with gusto. She is going to be okay!

After her accident, her head of beautiful hair was shaved mostly off. She is sporting cute caps, and pulling it off with style. In a display of solidarity, Justus shaved his head yesterday. Though it is in no way as hard for him, as it is for Camryn, he is very particular about his hair. Obsesive Compulsive is a good way to describe it. He was super excited to do it, until it was over and 5" of hair was gone. Now he is a bit bashful, and having to get used to a lighter head!

I am so in love with my boy. I can only imagine nearly loosing a child, and thinking of it I feel a bit ill. I am in love with the person my boy is becoming and how attune to his surroundings right now. I am glad to get to spend time with him and look forward to the decades of time we have together!

He was so bashful about the haircut, he didn't want me to post a photo of it, even though it is fabulous!

I'm so happy Camryn made it through alive and well. I'm happy for her mom and dad, her family, her classmates, her husband, her children, her grandchildren, and for Camryn!! Keep up the good and hard work!

Sunny Legs Revealed

I know everyone is clamoring for the missing photo from my last post. After weeks of waiting, here it the photo in question!

Notice the dent in my shin where a log from the woodshed pegged me! Ouch!! It doesn't look bad, but geez, it hurt!!

Depression vs. Skin Cancer

I left my camera at my sister's house. On the camera is the perfect photo for this blog. It is a sunny photo of my white legs, pulled up pants, pushed-down striped socks, and heavy winter shoes. I was sitting outside of a gymnastics meet for my kid at Stanford. It was sunny and 'warm'. I would wait to get the photo off of my camera so I could use it for my blog, but by that time, this post will seem irrelevant. It may be June before I see that camera again, so I'll get it off my chest now.

I have been thinking about the fine line that I walk in the winter between Vitamin D and Prozac. I know the sun is low on the horizon, and that I get less UV during the winter. I also get that I get less "D" over all during this long season. Only to make things more complicated, I am a sunscreen-aholic. I have to be a devout sunscreen-etarian so that I don't get overwhelmed by the sun during sunny months. Even though it is February (no sun, not for days, weeks, and months), I feel a pang of guilt when I don't put on my SPF 15 every morning. I wonder if I feel disproportionate guilt due to the fact that I may now have seasonal depression.

Am I overreacting due to my dislike of dairy products and that glowing orb in the sky? Have I been out of the sun so long that I can't get control of myself in the longest months of the year? Do I like getting carded for buying alcohol so much that I would have to check myself into a sanatorium? Maybe a few more wrinkles on my face would be worth it through the winter.

In a valiant compromise, I decided to pull up my pant legs and let my shins see the sunshine. I ate a hot dog (summer food) and let folks laugh on the inside as they passed the goofy red-head in the sun, outside the Gymnastics Center at the prestigious institution that is Stanford University.

Wrestling the Angels

After last week's Wednesday, I woke up ready to greet this one with a smile and routine.

Last week, a coyote scared my kids into hiding in the car, and our dog scared it off of the deck. I was right behind the dog chasing the coyote away with shouts. Running in the morning ice, I fell hip-first onto a deck chair. This is the hip that has clumsily hit the ground hard, more times that I would like to admit (see previous posts).

Later that day, I found the body our our cat outside in the grass. The reason the coyote was on the deck in the first place? He was there to eat our cat, and we scared him away before he carried her into the woods, though not before he loudly killed the cat and scared the kids. I had to bury the cat in the yard with two crying kids.

After a week of ice packs and sleeping on my right side (which is the wrong side) I decided to take an easy walk up the hill. This was after a perfect morning of stay-at-home-mom-ness. I even thought to myself as I walked up the driveway, "what a perfect way to redeem last Wednesday" beyond my folded laundry, clean house, full fridge, and clean floor.

Walking up my little road to nowhere, I saw cars parked to the side, and a woman crying. I got closer and saw a man stroking the head of a half-dead baby dear. The failed christian in me turned to walk home, but the tears of the woman and the kindness of the man moved me forward. The woman grabbed me and hugged me. I told her I was so sorry. She cried more. If the man moved away from the deer, it would struggle to run. It was a gruesome sight. The woman cried more, I stepped closer to her side. We waited for the sheriff to come to get the deer, and it seemed like ages, though at most, ten minutes.

No sheriff arrived, but a Grass Valley policeman. He was very neat and trim and young. Summing him up, I didn't really think he had much to offer the scenario until he put his hand to his side to unlock a gun from his holster. The woman cried and ran to her car not wanting to watch, just as two more cars came to the scene just trying to head up the road and stopped.

I turned to look away, but not in time. I saw the officer take out his gun and shoot the baby in the head. There was blood. A terrible thing to watch for us all, but not as bad as watching it struggle. A terrible thing for a passerby to drive up to during lunch time. The officer put on some gloves and pulled the body off the street. Everyone turned and left slumping a bit.

I had some time to think about what had happened as I walked back to my house. Last week's trauma was about how things we work hard for can easily be lost. I am still recovering from falling in the ice, I am still sad to see the bag of kitty food in the laundry room. This week's trauma was about what I do have.

I came upon that scene, not by accident. The reason is who I am. I can comfort in the midst of suffering. I didn't turn and leave, telling myself that I would only be in the way. What I brought to the woman, was who I am. Who I am is all I have. I didn't add to the gruesomeness of the moment by walking away. In this way, last week's trauma was redeemed with this week's trauma.

My hip still aches terribly. It looks terrible. Today I'm going to use it to remember.

Camera Curve

Our little Kodak point and shoot camera broke/died in October. I have been taking photos by hauling my laptop around, and relying on others to document Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, a trip to the ocean, a family wedding, 2 giant snow storms, my sister's 30th birthday, and Justus' gym meets.

Yesterday our new camera arrived in the mail. I was as excited as if I were 6 years old getting my first Cabbage Patch doll, or my green banana seat bike. I was excited because the photos I have been able to take in the last several months are really poor quality. I was also excited to get a really nice camera and take some good snaps, until I opened the box last night.

The line between excitement and anxiety is quite slim. There are 5 manuals in as many languages, not to mention photography jargon, a dozen buttons, and hundreds of settings. I'm overwhelmed with where to start. Do I start at YouTube or the jr. college? I think I start by taking photos. I almost forgot that I could start learning by taking photos, which is where the word 'overwhelmed' really suites the situation. I'm going to give myself more than 12 hours to get the hang of it. I am also going to post one of the photos I took last night, just cause I can (as opposed to yesterday at this same time).

Appropriate Idiom

I can't think of the best title. There are too many hokey puns and applicable idioms, that there isn't a 'best'. My favorite ones are 'a head above' or ' hard headed husband' (just for the alliteration, not because he is). As you can see, this is about my husband, and I don't want to make fun of him with a pun or saying, so I'll just leave the title alone.

In a dramatic turn of events, Silas forgot to put the guard onto the hair clippers, during what was clearly a bleary-eyed, early morning, repair job. He took the blade to his head, leaving a 2 inch strip of pure Silas head. We all came running to the bathroom to the sound of laughter, and then we joined in! There was no working around it, and Silas had to shave his already balding head entirely.

This style seems to be quite popular for men our age. I have yet to decide what I think of it, even as some of you reading this have this exact same 'haircut'. On one hand, it is handy. An easy way to ease one's way through rough patches of balding. It is an immeasurable step up from the comb-over. It isn't denying the change, and yet steering one clear of the Bozo the Clown look. In this same category I am lumping those men who for simplicity sake, just shave their noggins.

Then, there are the other guys: The kinda tough jerks who shave their head so that people will do what they say! I would lump them into an insecure military/police/skinhead crew. The kinda folks who are just not happy with themselves, and the rest of us have to suffer. The problem for me is that sometimes one guy can be in both groups. Or, I might assume the latter when it really is the former or vice-a-versa. I guess the point here, as in my previous blog, is you really can't judge. I sit around and think about this kinda stuff anyways, so then I do judge now that my very own husband is in the 'bic-club'.

Since this is a new idea for me, and I spend a lot of time looking at and thinking about my husband, I'm going to have to get used to it. 15 years ago we cut his long fluffy hair on the back porch of his parent's house, so he could join the Air Force. Every 2 weeks or so, since then, Silas or I have cut his hair, to regulations, whether he needed it or not. Now we can wait a few extra weeks, and it will be back to how it was before, balding on top (and on the back) and thick and dark on the sides. Then I won't have to think about it...