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Happy 4th! 7/1/2009 Firecrackers have been popping outside my bedroom window all week. Oh, not "right" under where I sleep, but somewhere off, down the block and all across my little town. Yesterday I was walking my dog through the park and watched a group of young boys lighting fuses and making mad leaps away from the explosives sizzling on the ground. There were yelps and shouts as they lined up shot after shot. Which made me smile and remember... I remember when the big excitement was taking a roll of cap-gun "bullets" and pounding them on the driveway with a big rock until they popped!! Later, I graduated to a small, red firecracker (whose name I can't recall) with a short, gray fuse. I preferred those over bottle rockets (which all the neighbor boys seemed to favor) those and Black Cats, which were much too LOUD for me. July 4th will be a little low-key for us this year. The C.O.B.'s in our family (Chairmen of Blasting--also known as our sons-in-law) won't be with us this weekend. It's been a LOT of years since I've actually lit a firework. Remember the scary thrill of holding a sparking-sparkler!?! Usually my dad held a match to the end of the metallic-gray stick until it exploded into sparks. That was the cue for my cousins, sisters, and I to run around the yard like crazy-kids writing our names in the dark night sky. Big, loopy letters. . .R. . .O. . .X. . .Y. . .! Ah. . .memories. Ah. . .the 4th. Have a good one! Global Warming???? 6/29/2009 Okay, let me just start by apologizing to Al Gore. Sorry. But, here's the deal. . .it's really hard to believe in Global Warming when you have a lake cabin in northern Minnesota and it's the END OF JUNE and you have to turn on the FURNACE in the middle of the day to stay warm!! (And that was AFTER I put on a fleece jacket for a couple hours in an attempt to warm up...and that's saying something coming from a woman living in hot-flash-city!) It was warm when we left North Dakota. The kind of day when you can't imagine ever being cold again. All I brought along to the lake were shorts and sandals. Who knew I'd need a parka? So...I'm sitting here looking out at the lake. There have been white caps on the water all day long. The wind has been howling so hard it almost blew the canopy off our boat lift. And it's down right cold. Actually, it's almost warmer outside than in, but when I opened a window all that entered was a very cool breeze, so cold that it caused me to put on socks WITH my sandals. (Gasp! Don't tell the Fashion Police.) They say the icebergs are melting in Antarctica. That polar bears are losing their habitat. I'm not saying that's not true, but before they pronounce that global warming has taken the world by storm, I think Al Gore ought-to spend a weekend at my lake cabin. Just so you know, it's BYOB. . .Bring Your Own Blankets!! Summer Solstice! 6/21/2009 June 21st. The longest day of the year. The day when summer begins. Honestly, growing up I never took much note of the summer solstice, after all, there were two more months ahead until I'd have to head back to school. Days and days, and a lot of long evenings to enjoy the North Dakota summer. There didn't seem to be much need to mark a day when summer had just started. Like I said, I didn't pay much attention to June 21st. . .until I happened to be in Paris, France on the longest day (and night) of the year. Little did my husband, my two daughters, and I know what we were in for when our oldest daughter finished up her junior year of college in Europe and we decided to take a family vacation to take advantage of her time overseas. After a long day of traipsing through museums and churches and more museums (and more churches), my little family was simply looking for a place to eat when we stumbled across a rag-tag group of musicians. They were what looked to be an elderly man playing an accordion and possibly a granddaughter stroking a violin. We stopped to listen and dropped a coin in the upturned hat near their feet. We didn't have to walk too far, when on the corner we saw a group of four doing what appeared to be an impromptu folk dance to music playing from more musicians gathered on the street. Something was up. We knew no French (other than a smattering of words like 'very good,' 'good morning,' and 'do you speak English?') but somehow we pieced together what was going on. Turns out in Paris there is a law against playing music on the street without a permit. Apparently, at one time there were a lot of folks who liked to do that. . .enough that the-powers-that-be felt they needed a law to prevent it. But, some music-loving soul added a loop-hole to the law. . .on the night of the Summer Solstice anyone who felt like it could play any kind of music right on the street for all to hear. . .all night long. And so it began, the night I learned to love the Summer Solstice. We eventually did find a place to eat, but it took a long time, mostly because we had to keep stopping to marvel at the variety of music all around us. There was a rock band set up in front of the Louvre museum. There was a full-choir (dressed in black and white and standing on risers) in front of the Ritz Hotel. (And just for the record, we weren't staying there.) All over town there was music and people who loved to perform, and people (like us) who loved to listen. It was a night of music. A night of wonder. A night I will never forget. I'm going to spend the rest of tonight watching a program on the Food Network, but in my heart I'm going to be in Paris. . .all night long. Sweet deal . . . 6/14/2009 Okay, I’ll just tell you right off the bat that I am NOT a “car person.” Honestly, every car on the road looks pretty much like a Taurus to me. . .unless it’s a VW. Now that I’ve got that out of the way, I’ll tell you that when my husband and I bought our family business we sort-of ‘inherited’ a car along with the deal. It was a 1909 Buick. Yes, you read that right, a nineteen-oh-nine Buick. A car that is now 100 years old. At the time we got it, the vehicle was painted, stem-to-stern, flat-gun-metal gray. Frankly, it was pretty ugly, but it didn’t look at all like a Taurus. (Which, of course, wasn’t even invented back in 1909.) My husband, who is sort-of a ‘car person,’ got someone else busy restoring the car to a spit-shined, white-with-green-striping Buick, with gleaming brass fixtures. Even I had to admit it was transformed into a “gorgeous” vehicle. But the trouble with an old-but-grand vehicle like that is that there aren’t a lot of occasions to drive it. Most of the time it sits in storage and when we do get a notion to dust it off, the brass fittings are covered with layers (and layers-on-layers) of tarnish. This past weekend our neighboring town was celebrating its’ 125th anniversary. What better excuse to drive the old-buggy in a parade? My husband determined to shine all that brass using a couple old toothbrushes and a LOT of elbow grease. Frankly, I felt a little guilty thinking about him doing all that work by himself, so I offered to help. Between the two of us we put in over fifteen hours spiffing things up. (Okay, so hubby put in most of the hours. . .but I really did help!) To say we were both a bit proud when the job was done is an under-statement. We bought a whole case of mini-Tootsie Rolls and were looking forward to the parade on Saturday. The morning dawned. Absolutely perfect weather for a parade. Not too hot. Not too cold. And, almost a miracle for North Dakota: No Wind! It was time to drive the polished Buick onto a trailer and head for the parade. And that’s when all our hard work went “south.” The engine fired-up. . .a piece of metal fell to the ground. . .a drive-shaft (or something) almost pierced the radiator. . .and just-like-that our trip to the parade got derailed. Our car was all-dressed-up with no-way to go. To say we were disappointed is another under-statement. Even so, we weren’t sorry we’d spent the time getting the car back to its former beauty. I’ve been thinking. . .I’m guessing when-or-if I ever make it to 100, I might have a few parts that don’t work-so-great, but I still hope there are a couple people around (like my kids) who can still appreciate me just the way I am. (Come to think of it, I’m a tad over half-way-to-one-hundred right now and already I’ve got some parts that could use an over-haul.) I’ve decided things could be worse. As of right now we’ve got a gleaming 1909 Buick and a spare case of Tootsie Rolls. Sounds sweet to me! I've got questions. . . 6/6/2009 I've been thinking. . .there are certain questions in life that are difficult to answer. The prime example being: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Then there is the little-bit-less of a riddle: If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one to hear it, does it make a sound? And then, I've got my latest dilemma. On Monday I looked into the backyard and saw my dog with his head poking through the fence. He was tugging, and yanking, and pulling bits of plastic bag and garbage right out of the side of our huge plastic garbage can sitting on the other side of the fence. I went out to investigate and, sure enough, our garbage can had a LARGE hole broken out of the side of the plastic. And it took our dog to discover it. Obviously, the garbage can is done-for. But I got to thinking (and here's where I discovered my dilemma): How do you throw away a garbage can? I'm serious. Think about it. If I leave the garbage can out in the alley with garbage in it, the garbage guys will take the garbage and leave the can. If I leave it out with nothing in it. . .well, they'll assume I have no garbage this week and I'll still be stuck with the broken can. And it seems really wasteful to put the garbage can into a gigantic garbage bag~! The chicken and the egg. A tree falling in the woods. And, now, this. I hope my brain doesn't explode~! Spur-of-the-moment surprise! 5/31/2009 The wind was howling. The temperature was c-o-l-d. There were white-caps on the lake outside our cabin in northern Minnesota. It was almost supper time and my husband and I were ready to hunker down for the evening when there was a knock on the window of our sliding glass door. The dog barked. There stood our neighbor (bundled up against the cold). “Grab something to drink,” he said, “and come take a ride on our new (to them) pontoon!” “You’ve GOT to be kidding,” was my exact quote. “No, I’m not.” He smiled. “Grab something and get down to the dock.” He nodded his head toward the whitecaps. Now, I am NOT a spontaneous kind of person. Shifting gears in the middle of a late-afternoon isn’t the type of thing I do often and, yet, I somehow understood that there is only ONE “maiden voyage” for a new (to them) pontoon, so I hollered to hubby and off we went. We bounced and bumped through the waves. Their grandkids shouted when a spray of water showered us all. A rogue wave hit the bow and flooded past our feet. You know what we did? We lifted our feet and laughed! In short order we rounded the point, went under the bridge and found a bay filled with nothing but sun and calm water. Our neighbor cut the engine and we bobbed in the late afternoon balm. There aren’t all-that-many times in life when I sit back, look around, and think, “What could be better than this?” But, that’s what I did late Saturday afternoon. Good friends. Warm sun. A new (to them) pontoon. What could be better?? Hope you have that kind of moment this week! Dial-up Dilemma 5/26/2009 Just in case you're checking my blog for some fascinating new insight this week, I thought I'd let you know that I'm giving you (and me) the week off and the reason is. . .two words: Dial-up internet. (Or is that three words? Do hyphens count?) Oh, and while I'm at it, let me add four more words: is driving me crazy! In translation. . .I am away from my usual desktop computer (the one I love) and am using an old, ancient, decrepit laptop with an antiquated dial-up connection and I am getting a lesson in patience. Or maybe it's a lesson in "impatience." Either way, I'm tearing my hair out, trying to stay connected to the "real" world. And I'm also realizing how MUCH of my time is spent at the computer, and how lost I am without high-speed access. I feel just a little bit like I'm in a time-warp of some sort of future-version of "Little House on the Prairie." Let's call it, "Old Computer at the Lake." And, just in case you're thinking, "Oh, she's at the lake and rather than blogging she's sitting outside on the deck with her feet up." Will it make you feel any better if I tell you that is it COLD here? Foggy. Windy. Rainy. And did I mention COLD??? To sum up and clarify my wisdom for the week: Dial-up internet is driving me crazy! Pearly Whites. . . 5/18/2009 Tuesday. 1:00 p.m. I am laying pretty much heels-over-head in the dental chair, scheduled for a routine cleaning appointment. My dentist, Dr. X (I'll call him), is explaining that he has a new type of cleaning instrument he'd like to use on me. "It revolves 25,000 times per minute. It saves a whole bunch of time so I don't have to hand-scrape quite as much." He says this all as if there's been a new revolution in the teeth-cleaning-industry. Anything new-and-improved in the dental-realm I'm all for. "Go for it," I told him. "Oh," Dr. X added last-minute-like, "it squirts a little water to help things along." By this time he'd already invaded my mouth with the high-fangled apparatus. There was a high-pitched revolving-kind-of-noise. The kind that makes you think of fingernails on a chalkboard. The kind of noise you try and pretend you're not hearing when you're at the mercy of high-powered dental equipment. And then, suddenly, I was being saturated with a very fine mist spray of water. So much water that it sort of took my mind off the high-pitched revolving whine. A little water, he'd said? How about making that a LOT of water! When he stopped the apparatus I came up for air, sputtering. "Are you sure this isn't water-boarding?" Dr. X stood over me, hands filled with sharp dental equipment, and snidely chuckled. (And I swear this is true.) "Tell me what you know," he said. "What's your next book about?" It took a fraction of a second for his words to sink in. It's not often I've full-bellied laughed at the dental office. But at this point both the dentist, his lovely assistant, and I were all-out laughing. It took awhile before I could quit chuckling and let him actually get back to cleaning my teeth. Quite a switch from my normal, white-knuckle approach to all things dental. Tuesday. 2:00 p.m. I'm home. Teeth cleaned. Still chuckling. Here's hoping you have a good laugh this week! Pretty Much Perfect 5/10/2009 Ring-brrrrinnnggg! My phone rang one day a week-or-so ago. It was my daughter, Tegan, on the other end of the line. “Mom? What would you think if Rachael and I came home for Mother’s Day?” What would I think??????!!!!!!!!!!! My mind did some quick gymnastics. Rachael lives in Minneapolis. Tegan lives in Chicago. It’s not often, given the logistics, that we are all together at the same time. It usually takes something major, like Christmas, to get us all in the same room. Would my girls really come all the way to North Dakota for a short celebration like Mother’s Day?? Of course I wanted them home! Of course!! I guess at that point I was assuming Tegan could read my mind right through the phone. “Mom?” she said, puzzled-sounding. “You sound a little under-whelmed.” Actually, what I was, was speechless. I hurried on to assure her that I would LOVE it if my girls were here for Mother’s Day. I would absolutely LOVE it!! And so, they came. . .loaded down with all the fixings for a special brunch. There was even a printed menu: Sparkling Sunrise Fruit Punch (with crushed raspberries floating on top), Apple Cinnamon Scones, Quiche Lorraine, Spinach Salad w/Raspberry Vinaigrette, ending with Fresh Fruit w/whipped cream. And coffee. They didn’t even forget about a centerpiece for the table: a bouquet of fresh, white, perfectly blooming Lily’s. Saturday was a “girl’s only” day. My mom, my two daughters, and I. We sat around the table drinking punch out of fancy glasses (and coffee), eating delicious food, and reminiscing about all sorts of little things. My daughters even came armed with “Mom-questions” straight out of a magazine. We were “forced” to answer such questions as, “How are your kids like you? How are they different?” We didn’t have time to think about our answers, so I said that one of my daughters is a bit of a ‘fretter,’ like me. The other one is a little more (on the surface) happy-go-lucky, like her dad. But now that I’ve had a whole day to ponder, what I wish I would have said is that I hope my girls got all of my good qualities (besides the big brown eyes they inherited from me) and none of my not-so-great ones. (I’m not even going to start making that list~!) But, after spending this weekend with them, what I know is the one thing they did get from me (and I got from my mom) is the love of family. We never really have to “do” anything when we are together. Sitting around talking and laughing (and sometimes tearing-up a bit) is more than enough. Yes, just being together for Mother’s Day (actually, any day) makes it pretty much perfect. Sweet memories. . . 5/4/2009 Most days I’m perfectly content to be living in the twenty-first century. I have conveniences that my great grandparents couldn’t even imagine. For instance, as I type this I’m “doing laundry.” For me ‘laundry’ doesn’t involve heating water on a wood-fired stove, or scrubbing my clothes on a washboard and hanging them around the house to dry. I also like my microwave and the remote control for my TV (on the rare occasions when my husband isn’t holding it). But, this weekend as my husband and I were driving home from a weekend at the lake a bit of nostalgia jumped up and poked my heart. On the occasion that we don’t fly to the lake, the drive home from the lake is five hours. Five hours that usually spans a fast-food meal and a stop for a snack somewhere along the way. Yesterday, after a burger and a Coke, a few handfuls of trail mix, and some strawberry Twizzlers, a unanimous vote decided we should stop for ice cream at the next exit. We pulled off and I ran into the ice cream place to get us each a small treat. I had an ice cream cone in one hand and a small dish of soft serve (with nuts) in the other. I handed the clerk a five dollar bill. “That will be seven-oh-nine,” she said. I pulled out a dollar bill, and then another one. “Seven-oh-nine,” she repeated. I’d left my change purse in the pickup, so I reached for one more dollar bill. My head was spinning as I tried to do the math. Just how much was a small ice cream treat, anyway? Times two? Several miles down the road later, I was still doing the math as I spooned the last bite of ice cream into my mouth. Seven dollars for two treats? Really? Why I remember back-in-the-day when I could stop by Maggies Café and get a whole ice cream cone for a nickel. Two scoops for a dime. And if a person was feeling really hungry (and decadent) you could get three scoops (vanilla, topped by a scoop of chocolate, topped off with a scoop of strawberry) for fifteen cents. Yes, you read that right, fifteen cents. And, if my memory serves me, a whole banana split with three scoops of ice cream, a banana, syrup toppings, whipped cream, nuts and a CHERRY was twenty-five cents. Twenty-five cents. Oh, I’ve read the statistics. The ones that say something like, “Adjusted for inflation an ice cream treat today costs no more than it did in 1958.” Yeah, right. I don’t believe ‘em. Sometimes I feel sorry for kids today. There’s no such thing as walking into a penny candy store with a nickel and coming out with five pieces of candy. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed my ice cream yesterday. . .but sometimes I enjoy my memories more. Time Crunch 4/27/2009 Okay, I’ll admit it, I was lazy this weekend. Oh, that’s not to say I wasn’t busy, my husband and I were out-of-town for part of the weekend attending a retirement event, then we did a little visiting with family, eating out, and a little shopping. We got home late Saturday afternoon and the thought of turning on my computer (the computer I’d had turned off for two days), made me feel lazy. (Ever feel that way, too?) I knew there would be a multitude of e-mails waiting for my attention and, frankly, I just wanted to curl up with the book I was reading and get lost in a story. Or else sit down and watch a couple movies I had waiting for me. I debated with myself: Read? Turn on the computer? Watch a movie? Turn on the computer? Guess what won out? Let me tell you, it wasn’t the computer. And so, here I am on Monday, faced with even MORE e-mails than I would have had to deal with on Saturday afternoon. Not to mention a couple loads of laundry that need my attention, several phones calls that need to be made, some prayers that need saying for my daughter (who is interviewing for a job this afternoon), a Bible study lesson that I HAVE to do today (the study is tomorrow), a library meeting at my house this afternoon, and. . .well, I could go on-and-on. Somehow I know you understand. So, let me close with a little quote I have pinned to my bulletin board. It’s by Leonard Bernstein (a very busy man in his day): To achieve great things, two things are needed; a plan, and not quite enough time. I’ve got a plan for my day and I’m already short on time, which means I should be able to achieve great things today! I’d better get at it. . . Shpreckin zee French? 4/20/2009 Let me just start by telling you I’m not a cussin’-kind-of gal. Oh, that’s not to say if I dropped an iron anvil on my foot a not-so-nice word might slip from between my lips. But, for the most part, I try to limit my expletives to phrases like, “Oh, good grief~!” So, if I tell you I got a new computer operating system this past week, maybe you’ll understand why I felt like I was inventing new words (not so nice words) all week long. I swear, for three days, every time I sat down at my keyboard “something” was amiss. For starters I’d lost my “friends and family” address book. It had somehow merged into what I consider my ‘business’ contacts and I had to comb through not-quite two-thousand e-mail addresses to pull out what I needed. Then my keyboard simply quit working. You know how hard it is to work at a computer with NO KEYBOARD??? After a frantic call to my computer guru people, unplugging and re-plugging the keyboard connection solved that problem. (Okay, so I’m no technical-genius.) I’ll leave out the multitude of other “little glitches” that stymied me and jump right to the last straw. I have my e-mail program set up to automatically spell-check all out-going e-mails. Well, my new dictionary decided it knew NONE of the words I typed. Absolutely, NONE. The spell checker stopped on every single word. The. And. In. It. EVERY word~! I clicked around my new system, trying to avoid what might be the gazillionth phone call to my computer place. I couldn’t find anything that would correct the automatic-spelling-fixer. This was something I was NOT going to get used to. In desperation I picked up the phone. . .again. Even my computer person was stumped on this one. Between the two of us we finally discovered that my new, upgraded word processing program would only check words written in, get this. . .FRENCH. Yes, you read that right. French. Which might not have been so bad if I knew more French words than ‘French fries.’ That’s when I started inventing a new ‘Roxy Dictionary.’ Maybe some of my new words were French. . .who knows? I didn’t type them, only muttered them under my breath. At that point I had to push myself away from the computer and take a break. I exercised to let off some steam. I slept on the problem over-night. The next day I called a different computer genius and he was aware of this system-wide problem. There was no “English” dictionary included in the software. Now who in-the-heck thought of THAT??? Anyway, he was able to remotely take control of my computer (which I didn’t know was possible) and within seconds he down-loaded an “English” fix-it for me. I felt as if I’d run a marathon. . .and finally finished! I think I’ve got all the glitches out of my e-mail system now, next up, is learning to work in Word 2007. I’m hunting and pecking my way (and I ordered a ‘help’ manual in case I get lost). So far, I haven’t had to use any of the ‘French’ I taught myself last week. Wish me luck! Joyous Easter! 4/12/2009 I was sitting in church this morning, watching as the Youth Group performed an inspiring "dramatic movement" of the Easter story, then listening as the "little kids" sang a peppy number that went something like, "He did it! He did it! He did it! He said He would die and live again and He did it!!" How cool is that promise, anyway?! But do we really comprehend it? In-between the celebrations this morning I found myself reflecting back on Easter week. Maundy Thursday I was in church, too. That somber evening service is usually one of my favorites, but this year I'll admit, I was distracted. There was a very little girl sitting in front of us and as the service began she started fussing. As the service continued with scripture reading and communion, she grew more and more agitated until, finally, she was just down-right inconsolable. I'll tell you right out, I felt like I didn't get a thing out of the service because I was so caught up in the tribulation of the little one in front of me. Until this morning. Today, Easter Sunday, as I sat in church and thought back over the previous few days, I thought of Jesus on the cross Thursday evening and that inconsolable little girl. And it hit me. . .maybe she was the one who had it right. We should all be weeping at His death. His sacrifice. For the first time ever it dawned on me that the crucifixion was more-than-likely not a silent event. I'm guessing Jesus' mother, disciples and friends were in tears, too. Audibly sobbing. Sitting in church this morning I was struck anew with the incredible power of Easter. The sheer sorrow and the sheer joy! Resurrection is the Ultimate victory. Tears transformed. Wow! Joyous Easter!! Enough already! 4/5/2009 This past week my little town, in two days, got thirty inches of snow! Wait. . .I can already hear you saying, "Roxy's not kidding when she said she's a weather-junkie." No, I'm not. But I really am hoping that this is the LAST time this season I have something weather-related to blog about. Let me just tell you, thirty inches of snow is a LOT to get at-a-crack. And it just so happened that my husband was out of town on a business trip when the sky decided to dump on those of us left at home. Which meant the snow removal was completely on my back. . .and arms. . .and legs. . .and. . .well, you get the picture. The deluge started on Sunday evening and didn't stop until early Tuesday morning. I woke up Tuesday filled with can-do spirit. I was going to shovel my way out of this mess. I ate some breakfast then opened the door leading to the driveway. Snow fell in on me onto my boots. Okay, maybe a cup of coffee first. "Okay," I said to myself, sipping my hot brew, "you can do this." (A little internal pep-talking never hurts.) I bundled up, grabbed the shovel and proceeded to create a cleared-out little space right outside the garage door. Whew. . .over two feet of wet, heavy snow is hard to heave around. I stood straight, stretched my back, and dug in again. A few shovel-fulls later I stopped to survey the scene. The city snow plow had come by and the end of my driveway was barricaded with snow that, if I'd been standing out in the street, was close to chest high! All of a sudden my "can-do" spirit deflated into "can't-do." I realized the task in front of me was next to impossible if I hoped to be out of my driveway by, ohhhh, say. . .May Day. I went inside and called our trusty friend, Jim. (Who just happens to have a little Bobcat snowplow.) Within a few minutes Jim and his son, Joel, came riding over the horizon (well, really, they just came tooling down the street) to my rescue. Amazing how quickly nearly thirty inches of snow can disappear in front of a man, a son, and a machine. (Wow! Thank you guys!!) The weatherman in Bismarck has said that if we get another inch-and-a-half of snow (and we average between 4-6 inches in April) North Dakota will have had the snowiest winter in North Dakota HISTORY~! Now that may sound like some record, but the fact-of-the-matter is, I've already lived through the current first-place snowiest winter eleven years ago. At this point, most everyone in North Dakota seems to be rooting for us to break-the-record. After enduring this long, cold, snowy winter, we might as well have bragging rights to something! Think Spring!!!!! March Madness 3/29/2009 When the morning paper arrives each morning the first thing I do is pull out the sports section...not to read, rather to set it aside and "not" read it. No one who knows me will ever accuse me of being a sports fanatic. Back in the day when my girls were playing high school sports, I was the Mom in the bleachers who had a book open during warm ups, time outs, and half time. Oh, I loved watching my girls play. . .but that was the point. . .they were "my" girls. It's hard for me to muster up much enthusiasm for a game my kids aren't playing. (Sorry~!) So, when North Dakota State University (NDSU) qualified for the NCAA Basketball Tournament in their first year of eligibility, I surprised myself by wanting to be there to watch the Bison play. I don't know a soul on the team, or even anyone who knows anyone on the team, but NDSU is where my husband and I met, we worked at the University our first four years of marriage, and my daughter and son-in-law are also alums and were planning on driving in from Chicago for the game. Since my other daughter and son-in-law live in Minneapolis (and I hadn't seen them since Thanksgiving) a trip to the Twin Cities was the perfect way to scratch all those itches. Now all this planning didn't happen over-night. My Chicago-kids had already purchased their game tickets on Ticketmaster by the time my husband and I decided to go. By then the Ticketmaster website said, "SOLD OUT." Somehow I found tickets for sale on a U. of Minnesota website and clicked at the first available tickets I could find. The game was being held in the Metrodome which is HUGE. I knew there was going to be no easy way to hook up with the kids, but maybe with cell phones we might be able to scope out each other and wave across the stadium. My husband and I arrived at the venue and made our way to "our" section: number 219. Who should be standing right there but our daughter! After laughing and hugging and finding out they were in the exact same section, we pulled out our tickets to compare row and seat numbers. Okay, now get this. . .they were in Row 4, Seats 24 and 25. My husband and I were in Row 5, Seats 24 and 25. Yes, we were smack dab behind them. We couldn't have planned that if we'd tried! Everyone I've told the story to has said (and I quote), "That's almost a miracle." I agree! Even though I know God has waaaaay more important things to worry about than where I sit at a basketball game, it's kind of nice to think that just maybe He did a little cyber-nudging and managed to let me sit right by my daughter and son-in-law. Even though "my" team lost (they played a GREAT game against last year's defending champs!), I felt like a seat-lottery-winner! We had a fabulous time at the game and later over a wonderful dinner cooked by my Minneapolis son-in-law at their condo. (He is a superb cook!) I've never quite understood what this "March Madness" was all about. . .now I do and (if it means a chance to hang out with my kids) I love it!! - - - - - Please continue to pray for those affected by the flooding in North Dakota. There are many displaced families and those who have lost homes near us. Bless them, Lord. Perfect Storm 3/23/2009 Sorry to be a little late this week in updating my blog. I'll write about hubby's and my trip to Minneapolis (and the NCAA tournament) next week. . .but today I need to tell you about the "perfect storm" of weather we have here in North Dakota. I know, I know, I'm starting to sound like a broken-weather-recording. . .but I have admitted to a weather fixation so please, put up with me. We've had record snow fall here in North Dakota this winter. We're used to snow in these parts, it's the metling snow (the stuff we can't push around) we have trouble with. We were expecting some water problems this spring but nothing like what we ended up with. Today, alone, schools all around us were cancelled due to flooded roads. The kids simply couldn't get to school. Ditto for lots of workers, too. The highway coming into my little town was flooded. The police were there allowing one vehicle at a time to "swim" into town. My husband came home at noon saying the highway on the other side was flooded, too. No one was going anywhere it seemed. Yesterday, we had a thunderstorm and the electricity went out. It was foggy most of last night and today. Right now it's raining, along with little-tiny bits of hail hitting the ground. And, get this, there is a BIG blizzard in the forecast for tonight and tomorrow. Excuse me while I go stand by the window, I've got a picture-window-sized screen to the outdoors. Take my word for it, it's better than the Weather Channel! Beeeeeeeeeeeep! 3/15/2009 Big things I can handle. It's the "little things" that drive me nuts. Take, for instance, the random beeeeeping noise I was hearing from somewhere in my house for two solid days. I'd be sitting and eating breakfast and I'd hear a soft-but-insistent beep. I'd get up to go investigate. . .and then it would stop. I'd sit back down--there it went again. I'd stand up--it would stop. I'd sit down. I'd get up. (See what I mean about driving me nuts? I was a human jumping bean.) I became convinced the noise was coming from one of my husband's techno-gadgets that he keeps in a basket on the kitchen counter. The next time I heard the noise I made a mad dash to the basket. Of course by the time I got there the noise had stopped. I dug in the basket and checked his cell phone to see if it was running low on battery power. Heck, it wasn't even turned on. I checked our GPS unit. That, too, was on 'off.' Still, I heard the noise. I moved the basket of gadgets into the other room, thinking maybe even in 'off' mode they were still making noise. There it was again. No, the noise was definitely not coming from the basket. I gazed up to the top of our staircase thinking maybe the new smoke detector we had put in earlier in the week was the culprit. Innocent, I determined. Where in the world was the noise coming from? There was a strong possibility I would lose my mind before I found the source~! And then, as I happened to be walking past our rather large kitchen garbage can I heard the beep-beep-beep coming from (of all places) inside the can! Ah-ha!! I just knew it, my husband must have thrown something battery-operated away and this losing-my-marbles feeling was all his fault! Carefully, I dug through junk mail, a squashed cereal box, and some assorted garbage. The beeping started up again. . .I was getting close. My hand wrapped around a box and pulled it out. Oh, good grief, the noise was coming from our old smoke detector. . .the one "I" had thrown in the garbage, along with the battery that now seemed to be fully-operational. It took a few stabs with a screwdriver for me to lever the contraption open. (After I confessed all this to my husband he told me there is a little 'drawer' that simply slides open to house the battery. . .no screwdriver needed.) But, at that point I didn't care what it took, that noise was going to stop N-O-W!! I'm happy to report the smoke alarm has been put out of its misery. . .and so have I. And here's a safety reminder. . .check your smoke detectors. If you need a spare nine-volt battery in good working order, I've got one on hand. ; ) Breaking news. . . 3/8/2009 I’ve been belly-aching to my friends for weeks now that I really need to get my Snow Village taken down. I put it up for Christmas, intentionally left it up another month (okay. . .two) just because it’s winter here in the Dakota’s. But after my husband and I returned from two weeks in Arizona (where we basked in palm trees and green grass. . .cactus, too) my Snow Village sitting atop my bookshelves looked way out-of-place. And, yet, it’s such a project to take down, which is why it was easier to whine to my friends about the need to get it put away, than to actually do it. It’s pretty bad when friends start threatening to show up on your doorstep to give you the needed motivation. Well, yesterday I bit-the-bullet and took it down. Like most put-off projects, once I got started it took me a matter of less than a half hour to get it put away. I’d spent more time complaining about taking it down than I did doing it. Sheesh~! Note to myself for next year: Don’t talk about it. . .do it! Here’s the note I sent my friend when I was done: This just in: A small Snow Village in Wishek, North Dakota has been reported completely decimated by a powerful unseen force. The lone survivor, a villager found hiding in a piece of cotton batting (fake snow) said, "There was no warning. The village lights were off. We were all sleeping when what looked like extremely large human hands started picking the houses right out of the snow. I've never seen anything like it." Early reports say this same phenomena hit the village in 2008, as well. Investigators are on the scene. Shhhh. . . .don’t tell them it was me. ; ) Home 3/1/2009 A couple years ago the singer, Michael Buble’, became famous for a song titled, “Home.” I bought his CD and played that one song over-and-over-and-over as I traveled out and about on various speaking engagements. Even now, a couple years later (and an ever worse case of middle-aged-memory), I can still recite most of the lyrics by heart. (Don’t ask me to sing them or you’ll be sorry~!) He sings about being in wonderful places. . .like Paris, or Rome, but the only place he really longs to be is home. I felt like that on Friday. My husband and I had been traipsing around the Phoenix, AZ area for two weeks. (He had a solid week of work, then we took some time to ‘play.’) The weather was nearly perfect. The food we ate was more than delicious. The hotels we stayed in were the kind where you could order the bed you slept in and have it delivered to your house. The only trouble was, by day twelve I didn’t want someone else’s bed. I wanted mine! I also wanted Gunner, my dog, to snuggle. I wanted my own brand of morning coffee along with the Bismarck Tribune. I wanted my desktop computer. And my familiar routine. Somehow I managed to “tough-it-out” in Arizona for a couple more glorious-weather days. . . Last night we made it home. The only part of our homecoming I wasn’t looking forward to, was the snow left behind by a BIG blizzard we just happened to miss. I anticipated slogging our two-weeks-worth of luggage through eighteen inches of white stuff blown across our driveway. Ugh. Instead, as our pickup lights bounced down our street last evening, we could see someone had come and cleared out the snow. YAY for great neighbors. (I haven’t found out ‘for sure’ who did the work. . .but I will. . .and thank them!) We were finally home! I felt myself instantly relax as I stepped from the garage into the kitchen. Ahhh. . .home. Yes, the stack of mail my mom had picked up while we were gone, looked daunting, but I eagerly started sorting through it. And that’s when hubby and I heard the chip-chip-chip of our upstairs smoke alarm. We investigated and thank goodness there wasn’t a fire, but there was some sort of problem with the smoke detector. Lorren changed the battery and that seemed to solve the problem. . .and then it didn’t. And then it started beeping and chirping and it just wouldn’t quit. And then it did. And then we went to bed. And then it started up again. And again. And again. Lorren did everything he could think of to make it quit. It didn’t. Taking the battery out completely didn’t solve the problem since the alarm is hard-wired into our electrical system. The chirping continued at intervals just far enough apart to make us think we could actually fall asleep, and then beeeeeeeeeeeepppppppppppppp!!!!!!!! And then it would quit. Ah, silence. Maybe this time was the end of it. We closed the bedroom door and I put in ear-plugs. . .just in case. When I woke up this morning I commented that the chirping seemed to have stopped. Lorren informed me it was only because, sometime in the middle of the night, he took his life in his hands and yanked the wires right out of the ceiling. So, okay, we’ll be calling the electrician on Monday. It would be a small price to pay for a good night’s sleep in our own bed. We got ready for church, running a little late because it just felt so good to sleep in our own bed at last. We bundled up against the cold and dashed out to our pickup in our slick-as-a-whistle cleaned driveway. The pickup battery was deader-than-a-doornail (whatever a doornail is). Lorren tried the jumper cables. No go. The deader-than-a-doornail pickup was parked right behind our car. It was now too late to even think about walking to church. And so, we went back into the house we’d been so looking forward to getting back to and read the Sunday paper. (And I got to drink the coffee I’d been dreaming about.) Welcome home. Five Things. . . 2/21/2009 There's been a fun little "thing" going around the internet. It's called "Twenty-five things..." What it adds up to is that you're supposed to write down twenty-five random things about yourself and send them to your friends, inviting them to do like-wise. My daughter, Tegan, pulled me into the game. She sent my her twenty-five things and asked to see mine. I wasn't so sure about this 'game.' I mean, really, trying to drum up twenty-five things about myself had the potential to be a little bit like staring at my belly-button--how interesting could that be?? But, I found my daughter's list fascinating and decided to play. Once I got going my mind couldn't stop. Long after I'd written twenty-five, I found myself adding more. . .and more. I finally had to make myself s-t-o-p~! Even I have to admit I'm simply not that riveting. Don't worry, I'm not going to make you read all of mine. But, in the spirit of fun, I will share a few. Just to get you started. Then, it's your turn. . . 1. As a child I loved small spaces...like hiding out under my bed. As an adult I'm terribly claustrophobic. 2. Being surrounded by books gives me a sense of comfort. 3. I start feeling really antsy if I haven't spent some significant time reading over the course of a couple days. 4. If possible I'll take the steps anytime over an elevator...that whole claustrophobia-thing, you know. 5. I really don't like sweating...but I'll do it for a good workout on the treadmill...or a hot flash. ; ) Like I said. . .now it's your turn. Have fun! There went the bride. . . 2/12/2009 Today is my husband’s and my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Honestly, if I read that sentence without knowing “who” my husband and I are, I would assume it was an “old” couple I was reading about. Instead, it’s me. . .and my husband. Thirty-five years. Wow. We’re not old. (Are we??) ‘Seasoned’ maybe, but not o-l-d. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. Maybe in honor of our anniversary, or maybe just because she was cleaning closets, my mother showed up at my house last week with, of all things, my wedding dress. It’s been hanging in her hall closet (on a simple hanger/no ‘slip-cover’) for all these years. I’ve lived a few blocks away from my mom for thirty years. You’d think somewhere along the way she would have gotten sick-and-tired of my wedding dress taking up residence in her closet and handed it over to me. Instead, she’s been the keeper of it all these years. Which made me think about my own closets, and all the “stuff” in them that belongs to my daughters. (Rachael!! Tegan!! Can you hear me???) There are assorted t-shirts from all sorts of camps and athletic events. There’s a doll, or three, living on a chair or a closet shelf. Old prom dresses. Stacks of photos. Even a pair of tennis shoes. (Rachael!! Tegan!! Can you hear me???) I did the math. If I am the keeper of all these things for thirty-five more years I will be ninety-five (95!!!) by the time my closets are cleaned out. Heck, at that point I’m going to shoot for an even hundred! And, no, just for the curious, I did NOT try on my wedding dress for old-times-sake. I simply took it from my mom and hung it in my closet. It’s very happy there. Happy anniversary to us. And Happy Valentines week to you! Tell someone you love them. Sun-Day 2/8/2009 I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I am a bit of a weather-junkie. My favorite part of the evening news is the weather forecast. Now, my husband will chime in and tell you that I’m also a major pain-in-the-backside when it comes to riding in a vehicle in the midst of bad roads and visibility. As much as I “appreciate” weather, I like it best when I can enjoy North Dakota winter from inside my cozy home. But “inside” gets a little old come February. We’ve had a c-o-l-d and snowy winter this season. Global warming hasn’t quite kicked-in in these parts. (All the snowmen I’ve talked to are extremely happy.) Minus-zero (or temps thereabouts) have folks in these parts hunkered down. We leave our vehicles running as we dash into the post office for the mail. We hunch up our shoulders and scrunch our chins into the warmth of our scarves as we hurry back to our cars. There’s no time to stand out on the street and talk to each other. Instead, we give each other a quick nod and get about our business. Chit-chat is going to have to wait. . .maybe until spring~! And then, just when a person thinks our cold weather is never going to end, we get a reprieve from the deep-freeze. This past week we’ve had a regular heat wave. Temps in the high thirties and low forty’s are nearly like a Caribbean vacation. (At least I like to think they are considering I’ve never been to the Caribbean.) Folks walk around with their coats unbuttoned. They stand out on the street and visit, taking in the sun. Instead of driving, I walk to do my errands, just so I can soak up the gorgeous day. People in my little town are always friendly, but they are even more-friendly when we get a string of balmy days in the middle of February. I live in North Dakota. I could go on and on and on and on about the weather. Instead I’m going to wish you a wonderful week. . .I’m heading outside. I’ve got a day to enjoy! Dog-gone-it! 2/2/2009 On Saturday I got to see something I’ve dreamt about for years (and actually thought I’d never, ever, have a chance to see). But first I need to tell you how I got there. . . My husband and I took a long weekend to check out our lake cabin in northern Minnesota mid-winter. From the top of the hill we had to hike through snow up to our knees to reach the cabin, but that was part of the adventure. Our struggle through the deep, white-stuff made cozying up in our little cabin that much. . .well. . .cozier. Everything was buttoned up so tight even the mice (which have plagued us in the past) weren’t able to find their way inside. We lit a fire and snuggled in. But even relaxing can get a little tiring. By Saturday we were chomping-at-the-bit to “do” something. But what? We’d read in the local paper that there were dog sled races at the other end of the lake and really, since we have no plans to head to Alaska any time soon, when would we ever get a better chance to see one. Now, I need to tell you, I’ve had a long fascination with dog sledding. Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s a hobby I can pretty much guarantee you I will NEVER take up. But the “idea” of it has captured my imagination. So much so that I’ve read quite a few books on the subject, including my favorite, “Winterdance: The Fine Madness of Running the Iditarod,” by Gary Paulson. (It’s a GREAT story!) Anyway, after all my book-learning on the subject I’d developed my own version of what a dog sled race would be like. It turns out I was right. . .and wrong. Even though it was a bright, sunny winter day, the key word was “winter.” The races started out on the frozen lake and it had somehow never occurred to me that simply standing on ice for two hours (and more) would make my feet very cold. (Remember, all my dog sled reading has taken place while I’ve been curled up in a warm chair, my feet tucked snugly under my backside.) Yes, I’d anticipated the sound of yelping dogs. . .and there was certainly enough of that as my husband and I wandered around the starting area as folks readied their teams for the races. The dog sounds varied from lazily bored, to ‘let’s-get-this-show-on-the-road!’ But, what surprised me the most about the whole experience was how quiet the actual race was. I’d imagined the teams of dogs running, pulling, yelping. I was wrong. As the race unfolded, as the teams of dogs and sleds neared where I was standing a quarter-mile or so down the course, all I heard was the soft ‘shush’ of sled runners being pulled through the snow. Nothing more, just shush-shush-whoosh and they were past. It wasn’t the noise and commotion that took me by surprise, it was the soft silence. And, isn’t that so much like life? It’s not so much the hum and hurry of every day that makes us stop and take stock. . .it’s the quiet moments when we pause and drink in life around us. Here’s wishing you at least one new adventure this week and time (and silence) to savor it! What a country!! 1/25/2009 I don't often watch TV in the middle of the morning, but this past Tuesday had me glued to the small screen as I watched the Presidential inauguration. It doesn't matter what my personal-politics are (which tend to lean toward the conservative side), whoever our new President is I plan to pray for him (or "her," someday). As I watched the hoopla leading up to the actual swearing in, I found myself getting choked up a couple times. Do we live in a great country, or what?! There they were, all the "players" in the run leading up to the election, John McCain, Hillary, the sitting President Bush, and all the still-living former Presidents. At times, during the race they'd seemed like mortal enemies and yet, here they were, smiling, shaking hands, laughing, hugging, clasping a shoulder in congratulations and good will. There are countries in this world where a change of power (like what happened on Tuesday) would only happen in a spirit of fear and maybe bloodshed. Instead, we get to celebrate! I am so proud to live in a country where ordinary people are entrusted to do extraordinary things. I pray that our leaders are given wisdom and are surrounded by wise counsel. God bless America! Such a small world. . . 1/18/2009 It's a small world we live in these days. Within seconds of something happening halfway around the globe, I can hear about it in my little-town office in Wishek, North Dakota. Which is exactly what happened a week ago. Our oldest daughter, Rachael, is in Costa Rica right now. I don't like having her that far away (where she lives in Minneapolis is far-enough from me, most days) But I've learned, after a certain-age a "mom" can only offer her opinion on these sorts of things in a limited way. Rachael went there to take part in an International Study Program (she's getting her MBA) and then plans to travel a bit with her husband, before coming back to the U.S. So, last week, I'm sitting at my computer (as usual) when an e-mail from her comes in. Yay! I love hearing from Rachael, knowing she's safe-and-sound even if she's a couple thousand miles away. (It's a Mom-thing.) And then I read what she wrote: Just a quick and exciting update: there was a 6.2 magnitude earthquake in Costa Rica today - the center of which was about 20 or so miles from where I'm studying. It was a crazy feeling. I was outside reading and the ground literally rumbled - like I was standing on an uneasy skateboard. This lasted about 15 or seconds then there was another 15 or so seconds where the ground was pretty wobbly. The building in front of me literally moved (or maybe that was me). Everyone was running out of buildings and shouting. I spoke with quite a few people from Central America and this was the largest earthquake they've been in "since they can recall." Exciting??? She wrote that the earthquake was exciting??!! A six-point-two earthquake and my "little girl" is twenty-miles from the epicenter. Ahhhh...that's just a little too close for my comfort. I wrote back and told her that ever since she'd left Minneapolis I'd been praying for her safety, but never ONCE did I think to pray about an earthquake! Like I said, it's a small world these days. Within a short period of time we learned that there were some lives lost in the earthquake. An especially sobering thought when my daughter was right there. I said some extra prayers for those who were grieving and sent some extra-praise heaven-ward. Please keep my daughter safe no matter where-in-the-world she happens to be. And then, a few days later, even though I didn't know anyone personally involved, I was thanking God, again, for the Miracle on the Hudson River. . .so many lives spared in such a miraculous airplane landing. Here's wishing you a wonderful week no matter where you happen to travel. Not so bad after all. . . 1/12/2009 I don’t often use this space to belly-ache. The way I see it there is enough complaining in the world without me adding my three cents. But, somewhere along the line I lost a whole week out of my schedule and I’m still trying to figure out what happened. The loss of “time” had nothing to do with the holidays just past, and everything to do with a cold. . .that turned into bronchitis. . .that has me hacking away like a cat trying to cough up a hairball. I've been down-for-the-count all week. My feeling not-so-great started a week-ago Sunday and just kept getting worse. Finally on Thursday I dragged myself over to the clinic. I’ve had bronchitis about a hundred times in my life—okay, maybe that’s exaggerating just a little—but put it this way, I’m a “veteran” of the disease. Right off the bat, with only the whisper-of-a-voice I could manage, I told the doctor what I thought I had and he didn’t disagree. After looking down my throat, in my ears, and up my nose, he listened to my breathing—make that ‘coughing.’ He sat down, made a few notes on his chart and then wrote out a prescription for antibiotics, a decongestant, and a shot in my backside. . .something I thought only happened to little kids~! I was hoping for a miracle-cure. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. But, according to my husband, I’m “sounding better.” Although inside my head my voice sounds like a bad actress for a cold medication commercial. On the upside, even though I haven’t been able to get outside for a walk in over a week, I have come to the conclusion that coughing with the zeal of a World Wrestling Federation athlete is good aerobic exercise AND a good substitute for stomach crunches. All kidding aside, I’ll admit I’ve been feeling a little sorry for myself. Constant coughing can wear a person down. And then, this morning, I read the e-mail from a writer I know who is battling another round of cancer treatments. Sort of put things in perspective for me, if you know what I mean. I’m off to pour myself a cup of coffee and another swing of cough medication. All things considered, I’m feeling pretty great. Have a good one! I resolve. . . 1/5/2009 Tick. . .tick. . .tick. . . Can you hear it? The clock is already ticking away the minutes and days of the New Year. I know some folks don’t put much stock in New Year’s resolutions, but I’ve always taken the view that this time of year is a blank slate waiting for me to write something new on it. I like setting some do-able goals. . .having something to “shoot-for” so-to-speak. But, I will admit, the older I get the harder it is for me to think of things I want to “resolve” to do. . .or not do. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m anywhere near perfect, it’s just that I find myself less-and-less motivated to make any big changes in my life. The way I see it, being content isn’t a bad way to go into a New Year But, when a girlfriend of mine grabbed some New Year’s questions off the internet and sent them my way, I couldn’t resist filling-in-the-blanks. So, here I go. . .four things I want to do (or not do) in 2009: 1. What do I want to learn this year?: Okay, I'm not "nuts" about doing this, but I'm going to do my best to read a book on writing that has been on my shelf "forever." It's a classic in the field and I've been "meaning-to-read-it" for years. (For the curious the book is: “Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting,” by Robert McKee. At least it “sounds” important. Ha.) I've already read Chapter One. Chapter two today? Maybe? I will!!!! 2. What good deed will I do this year?: Hmmmm....well, my Mom and step-dad are thinking about down-sizing. If they decide to do something about it I will help them sort-and-pack. Other than that...I'm just going to have to keep my eyes open for opportunities. 3. Who do I want to be more like?: That one is easy. I have a very good friend (who doesn’t live near me) who has pursued a rigorous Bible Study program for a number of years. I’m always amazed at her many insights. . .and a bit envious, since living in a little town I don’t have access to that sort of group study. I want to be more like my friend! While I’ve read the Bible through many times, I’ve longed to study it more. So, in order to do that I’m starting a two-person Bible study with a new friend of mine. We’re starting our study on “Esther” next week. 4. What bad habit do I want to kick?: Here's a tough one for me. I am so not a spontaneous person. My automatic response when asked to do something new is usually, “I don’t think so.” It’s not that I don’t want to do what I’m being asked, it’s just that I don’t switch-gears that fast. I need time to plan, and think, and get it on my schedule. So. . .okay, I'll try and not say "No!" so fast when my husband asks me to do something that is not in my immediate plan. I will at least try and say, "Let me think about it." Four simple questions that weren’t so ‘simple’ after all. What do you want to learn? What good deed will you do? Who do you want to emulate? What bad habit is waiting to be kicked? Now it’s your turn. . . Happy Day! 12/29/2008 My phone has been ringing. My mailbox (both e-mail and snail-mail) is full. A friend took me out for breakfast. My mom is taking me out for lunch. What’s going on, you ask? It’s my birthday! I have a little ritual I do on my birthday. Since my special day is so close to Christmas my birthday gifts get stashed under the tree until today. (I am NOT a open-things-early kind of gal.) At some time today I will fix myself a cup of tea, gather my gifts ‘round and, all by myself, open them. My daughters think my party-for-myself is a little bit “sad.” They seem to think I should be surrounded with people watching me open my gifts. . .but the fact of the matter is that I really dislike being the center-of-attention. I rather enjoy my special quiet time, a time when I can remember the gift giver and slowly savor the thoughts sent along with my presents. I plan to have a perfectly-lovely day. After lunch I’ll go for a walk with another friend and we have more friends stopping by the house this evening. Time spent with friends and a little time for reflecting spent alone. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate. Excuse me while I get on with my perfectly-lovely day! Tis the Season. . . 12/21/2008 Really, it shouldn’t have surprised me. After all, this is the season to have things coming down chimney’s. . .right? There I was yesterday afternoon, curled up in a chair near the fireplace (which was NOT burning) when I heard a bit of commotion that sounded exactly like something (or someone sliding down the chimney. I stopped watching the movie and turned my head. It’s been a long time since I truly believed in Santa. . .but it’s hard to argue when you could kind-of-swear you just heard him sliding down your very own chimney. I looked. I listened. Nope, nothing. I went back to my movie. And then, fast forward about sixteen hours, I’d just slipped into my coat, hubby and I ready to head out to church, when I heard something. Something coming from the fireplace. I went near. There was nothing to see, but there was definitely something scratching up inside the flue. If I was a swearing-kind-of-person I think I know what I might have said. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time we’d had something fall down the chute. If it was another squirrel, well. . .I didn’t even want to contemplate that. That was a tale (tail—ha!) that involved first a cardboard box and a cookie sheet, then a makeshift noose made out of twine, and finally a fishing net and a blanket. . .and I’ll let your imagination take it from there. Whatever it was, it had already spent the night, another couple hours wouldn’t hurt any. So, off we went to church. And then we came home. Praying hadn’t done any good in the ‘creature-removing’ category. My husband decided we’d better take a look at what we were facing. He turned the damper knob fully expecting a rambunctious squirrel to drop. When a medium-sized black bird dropped into sight we were both a little (make that a LOT) relieved. It occurred to me that the bird might not actually be a black bird, covered as it might be in soot. But, I wasn’t about to turn into an aviary expert. I just wanted the thing out of my house. . .and NOT flying around my house and/or perching in our Christmas tree! Hubby tried to net it with a fishing net, but the little creature was having nothing to do with that trick. So, my husband got out the yellow work gloves and tried to gently nab him. He did. But “Blacky” escaped . . .flying into the living room and perching on the window sill. Just about then our bird-hunting dog decided to get in the act. He jumped on the closest chair and pretended like he was thinking about what-to-do. Blacky took one quick look at our dog and took flight, soaring through the house (while I for some unknown reason, screamed) and flew right smack-dab into the sliding glass door, knocking himself unconscious. My husband gently picked him up, jostled him a bit to see if Blacky was still breathing, and then in a gesture fit-for-film he tossed him outside, up-up into the air. Blacky took the opportunity to take wing, soaring high above the trees in our backyard and off to parts unknown. Thank goodness. All that to say. . .if you hear something sliding down your chimney. . .well, you just never know. Christmas is the season for believing what seems impossible. Merry Christmas! Waiting. . . 12/13/2008 The whole state of North Dakota seems to be holding its breath today. All week the weatherman has been forecasting what could be a "major blizzard" over the weekend. The weekend is here. Events have been cancelled. Plans put on hold. All in anticipation of what "might" arrive. Like everyone else, I'm hunkered down and waiting. I just looked out the window and a fine, powdery snow is starting to fall, kicked around by a gusty wind. I have to be honest, as long as I have nowhere I "have" to be the next two days, there's something incredibly cozy (and a little bit exciting) about waiting for snow-wind-and-cold-temps to arrive. Getting snowed-in has it's own rustic charm. Business-as-usual gets put on hold for a day or two. It's free-ing somehow to look outside (and not be able to see across the street) and know it would be foolish to run to the grocery store for a can of tomato paste. We can make-do with what's already in the cupboard. Mailing out bills (or even Christmas cards) can be put on-hold until the storm passes--that mail isn't going anywhere, anyway. There are a million things I could be doing today: wrapping that one-last Christmas present to put under the tree. Doing some menu planning for the company that will be here over the holidays. Instead, in the spirit of Christmas I've decided, just for today, to simply "wait." To curl up with a book (or maybe a movie) and enjoy the anticipation of what's-coming. There's something to be said for waiting. After all, isn't that exactly what we're all doing? Waiting for the grand news of the birth of a Child. Waiting for Him to come into our hearts once more. In this busy, busy season sometimes the very best thing we can do is. . .wait. And so, I will. - - - - - PS: Today is my dog's birthday. He's 10. Happy Birthday, Gunner! Cut-off~! 12/7/2008 Someone cut in front of me at the checkout line of the grocery store the other day. Urgh~! There I was, three little items in my hands, hanging between the two busy checkout lanes, waiting to see which one would clear up first, when a lady practically mowed me down with her shopping cart and pushed her way right in front of me. I didn't say anything. I live in a small town where everyone-knows-practically-everyone-else, and we've learned to put up with each other's quirks. . .or we try our best to, anyway. But, I'll admit, her action didn't set well with me. And even now, several days later, I find myself reliving the stepped-on feelings I had as she elbowed her way ahead of me. What was she thinking?? Did she think I wouldn't mind? Or wouldn't notice? Or, did she simply not care? I can't understand why such a little unkind action (that this lady more-than-likely has no idea she did) has clouded my thoughts so much. And then I got to thinking. . .how many times have I unintentionally stepped on someone's feelings? Walked right past them as if they were invisible while I'm caught up in my own little world of pressing concerns? How many times have I passed someone in that very store and neglected to say, "Hi! How are you today?" (That kind of greeting is the sort of thing we do in our little town.) How many times have I run into the post office to mail something and rushed right past the person holding the door for me, mumbling 'thanks' as I hurry to the counter? (Not realizing he was on his way to the counter to mail something, too?) There's a Bible verse in Matthew about all this: Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Why indeed? It's so much easier to see other people's "specks" and completely ignore the "log" I can be. I've got a busy week coming up. Most days I spend alone at home. This week I'll be out-and-about quite a bit. The perfect time for me to practice-what-I'd-like-to-preach: Notice others. Over-look 'specks.' Be kind. Pass out smiles and compliments generously. I've got my work cut out for me. Wish me luck. Special minutes. . . 11/30/2008 It happened so fast. One minute this past Wednesday eve, I was standing at my living room window wondering, "When, (oh, when,) are the kids ever going to get here?" And the next, I was standing in my kitchen this early morning (at 4:51 a.m.) hugging the first-couple-to-take-off-after-Thanksgiving, good-bye. The in-between days seemed to fly by. One minute we were eating African Chow Mein (an old family favorite from the 1950's. . .I called it a retro-hotdish). The next minute we were answering the phone with, "Gobble, gobble." (Our traditional Thanksgiving phone greeting amongst family. Yeah, we know, we crack ourselves up~!) Then we were stuffing ourselves with turkey and trimmings. . .all of them! There was a game of Trivial Pursuit. . .the 90's version which highlighted the complete-and-total generation gap in the room. We ate another big meal of strudels (a German heritage favorite) and ribs. There was a game of Catch Phrase that had us belly-laughing. We walked. And talked. We visited friends. The guys hunted (pheasants). The gals decorated the Christmas tree. We ate some more. And more. And then it was Sunday and we were saying good-bye. It was one of those happy/sad kind of leave takings. Happy (so happy) for the time together. Sad (no, I'm not going to cry), knowing we won't be seeing each other for months-and-months. I'll admit, it was kind of nice to have my nice, quiet house back this afternoon. But, I'll take the 'commotion' over quiet any time. As I plunge head-first into Christmas preparations I'm counting my many blessings. . .and each minute of the time I was able to spend with my girls, our sons-in-laws, my nephew and his girlfriend, my mom and step-dad, and my husband (and our dog) these past few days. Sometimes I wish there was a rewind-button on life. I'd do it all over again in one of those special minutes! T-H-A-N-K-F-U-L 11/24/2008 It’s that time of year again. Time for me to make a mini-list of things I’m thankful for this season. I’m hoping as you read along, you’ll find lots of little things (and some BIG ones) that you’re thankful for, too. Let me start with: "F"--has to stand for 'family' and 'friends.' I know I say this every year but, honestly, in my humble opinion there is nothing better. . .not on this earth, anyway. "A"--I'm not much of a snacker but, some days, around three o'clock I feel the need for a little pick-me-up. The first thing I almost always reach for is a good, crisp, cold, apple. I'm not fussy...Fugi, Gala, Braeburn, Delicious, Granny Smith. Any apple will do. I love 'em. . .and so does my dog. We share. ; ) "M"--Musing. I was going to say "mulling," but the older I get I realize what I'm doing more-and-more these days is 'musing.' Oh, I used to 'mull.' I spent much-too-much time in my younger years wondering just "who" I was and what I was supposed to be doing in this world. I more-or-less seem to have figured that out (or else my impact in this world doesn't seem quite as dire as I used to think it was). Now I've found my thoughts have taken a less introspective and broader view. These days I'm more likely to muse about my kids (and what-they're-up-to-and-when-they're-coming-home-and-how-long-until-we-see-them-again). Musing is more fun. "I"--I should say something profound for this letter. Something like "intelligence." But, honestly, the first thing that came to my mind was "ice cubes." Yeah, I know, kind of silly. But then, I grew up with those hard-to-use, metal ice cube trays. The kind that were hard-to-fill and usually spilled when you tried to put them into the freezer. They also produced a too-thin, sort of cracked version of an ice cube. So, it gives me a small thrill every time I open my freezer and find automatically-made, perfectly shaped ice cubes at my fingertips. (Sometimes the best things are the little ones!) "L"--Laughing, hands down. I have a sister with a keen, off-beat sense of humor. At least one a week, usually more often, she has me belly-laughing and I love it! "Y"--You. What good is writing if there is no one to read it? This Thanksgiving (and every single day) I'm thankful for YOU. For reading my musings. For occasionally writing to me to tell me what my words have meant to you. Thank you for being you! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving! More than enough. . . 11/16/2008 I hear a lot of people worrying-out-loud these days. The uncertain economy has just about everyone I know cutting back their spending. . .not so much because they can't "afford it" right now. . .but, they are worried about what the future may hold. Personally, I sensed this financial-crisis looming for sometime. The simple laws of physics says that anything that goes up must come down. Anyone with a basic understanding of gravity had to see it coming. . .that is if they took any time away from shopping to think about it. And so it's come to pass with housing prices, the stock market, and even the price of gas (the one bright spot. . .but will it last?). It's frustrating, when you're used to immediate-gratification, to put off buying something you think you "need." The previous generation lived through the Great Depression. They learned to make-do or do-without. They say (whoever 'they' is) that 'experience is the best teacher.' If that's true (and I think it is) I'm thinking now it's a new generation's turn to learn a lesson from the past. Hiding behind my computer monitor, I found a little quote pinned to my bulletin board. (It's been hiding there for years.) It's printed on the back of a sugar packet (who knows where I picked that up?) and seems to sum up something we should keep in mind as we face a future that may hold not quite as much as we're used to. Here it is: "If you don't get everything you want, think of the things you don't get that you don't want." Hmmmm. There are all kinds of things I don't want. Illness, for instance. Or, how about a fender bender? Nope, don't want that, either. I don't need (or want) a new car. . .the one I drive is just fine. I don't want war on our soil. I don't want new neighbors. . .I love the ones I have. Ditto for a new dog. The one I have is great! And ditto-again on the husband and kids issue. I love mine! I think you get the idea. If we think of all we already have, we have more, more-than-enough. Put that way, I'm mighty blessed. And I'm guessing, you are, too. Have a great week! Clean Machine. . . 11/7/2008 Wow. . .there's nothing like unexpected "company" to light a cleaning-bonfire under a gal. Namely, me. Let me explain. I haven't "spring-cleaned" my office in cough, cough years. What's that you say? You didn't quite hear what I said? That's all right. Really. Trust me, you don't want to know. (And, yes, I know it's fall, but in these parts any kind of deep-deep cleaning goes by the name of 'spring.') Hey, in my defense, I've been rather busy writing and (sometimes) cooking meals. And even though I have a Cleaning Princess who magically transforms my house once every two weeks, I do need to do some regular straightening up around this place. Every place except for my office. Even my Cleaning Princess doesn't touch that room. There really was no need. It's the sort of space that's pleasantly-cluttered. Okay, maybe 'pleasant' is a stretch, but I know where everything is. . .and I like it that way. And then came the phone call. "Hi, I'm from North Dakota Living Magazine and I'd like to come to your house and take some pictures of you in your office." WHAT??!!! Sure I'd written an article for the magazine. I'd been told they planned to run it in the December issue. But when they asked me to write the article they said nothing, nothing-at-all, about photos. In my office, no less. I must have blacked-out just a little at that point. All I heard was that the photographer would be showing up at my door a week from Thursday. Yikes~! They say "cleanliness is next to Godliness" and believe me, my office wasn't looking any too holy-like. But a fire akin to the burning-bush ignited that day. Need-less-to-say, I have been immersed in "stuff," dust, and cleaning products since I hung up the phone. I said I liked knowing where everything was in my office. . .the truth is, there was a LOT of stuff on those shelves I had no idea was even there. I've been shoveling. . .er, cleaning, like a mad-woman. A woman with a mission. I've unloaded stacks and stacks of books, old magazines, and computer discs that dated back to the origin of cyberspace. Some went to Goodwill, a lot went to-the-dump-to-the-dump-to-the-dump-dump-dump! (Yeah, I'm starting to get a little tired and. . .punchy.) There is no way I will have this whole (rather small, but surprisingly jam-packed) room spic-and-span by next Thursday. But I have managed to clean off a good, camera-ready section. I'm so proud of myself. I can't believe how much "lighter" I feel without all that "stuff" surrounding me. Of course, I'm vowing to NEVER let things go that long, get that 'stuffed,' again. We've lived in this house for thirty years. . .and, apparently, I've been accumulating all that time. I'm doing the math and I realize that if I live another thirty years I'll be nearing ninety. The way I see it, the next time this room gets "spring-cleaned" it will be my kids who get the honor. It's all yours kids~! What an inheritance! Treat or. . .trick~! 10/31/2008 First of all you need to know that I come from a long-line of respected practical jokers. My Grandpa Jensen was known for pulling pranks, and my mom inherited every gene of that inclination and then some. Keep that in mind. On Thursday I had my annual "for-women-only" kind of check-up. I got to the clinic and in short order got weighed (ugh) and ushered into an exam room. The nurse took my temp and my blood pressure (it's always "low"--good!). Then, as usual, she told me to go ahead and get undressed and my Physician's Assistant, Polly, would be in soon to examine me. The nurse pointed to the flimsy gown on the exam table along with the white sheet. I was supposed to put on the gown and cover my legs with the sheet. All routine stuff when you've been doing it annually for decades. The nurse left the room and I got busy following directions. In short order I had the gown on and had hoisted myself onto the exam table. As I arranged the white sheet across my legs it dawned on me that Halloween was the next day. Ohhhhhhhhhh. . . .this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I heard rustling outside of my door and then P.A. Polly's voice ask, "Is it okay if I come in?" Just like that, as if it was an inherited reflex, I pulled the sheet over my head, stuck my arms out in a ghost-like way, and waited on my high perch for Polly to come into the room. In the fraction-a-second it took for her to come round the door, it occurred to me that instead of thinking my little trick was hilarious, she might actually think I should be committed. . .but it was too late for second-guessing. "Boo!!" I said. There was a moment of silence and then a loud burst of laughter. I pulled the sheet off my head and laughed along. Whew! Saved by a good sense of humor. Here's hoping you have lots of laughs (and a few fun 'tricks') this Halloween! Hold on to your head~! 10/27/2008 Do you remember those old cartoons where a character would be walking into a wind so strong that the cartoon-person would be bent over almost horizontal?? As a kid I remember laughing my head off over that out-of-reality kind of notion. It "ain't" so funny now. Today in North Dakota we had that kind of wind. Honestly, I don't know that I've ever lived through/walked through this kind of wind in my life. It was bad enough that my mom (who is married to a retired preacher) called and said, "We're not going to church today." (Because of the wind.) I thought for sure she was joking. But she wasn't. I offered to pick them up and drop them off at the church doors. She "thought about it" for a half-hour and then decided to take me up on the offer. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that my step-dad practically had to hold onto my mom to keep the both of them upright when they got out of my vehicle, and it took the both of them to get the car door open when I dropped them back off at home after church...one pushing from the inside, the other tugging from the outside. It would have been funny if you were sitting in a movie theatre watching the commotion. Not so funny when you're the folks smack-dab in the middle of it. After church I talked to a friend of mine as we attempted to walk outside. "Do you know what W-I-N-D stands for?" she called over the stiff-breeze. "What?" I screamed into the gale forces around us. "Weather In North Dakota!" Funny. Ha. Ha. And to think. . .this is only the beginning. We have another six months of "weather" ahead of us. W-i-n-d and s-n-o-w. Maybe it's only a coincidence that they are both four-letter words~! Here's wishing you a week of balmy temps, moderate breezes, and the kind of days that don't have you holding onto your hat just to keep your head on!! What a difference a friend makes. . . 10/20/2008 This past weekend I had my last-of-the-season speaking engagement. The fact of the matter is that since I live in very-rural North Dakota, most anywhere I get invited to speak is a LOT of miles from my driveway. I’d Mapquest-ed my route and knew that I had a close to six-hundred mile round-trip ahead of me. Honestly, I was dreading the drive. While I always have a grand time once I get to an event, it’s the “getting-there” that gets to me. After all, there are only so many songs I can sing-along to on the radio. And while I’ve listened to my fair-share of books-on-CD, I’ve found it’s hard to concentrate on what amounts to a five-hour monologue. But, I’d agreed to be there and was ready to bite-the-bullet and make the drive. And then, my good-est friend (let’s call her ‘Ethel’) said she’d take a half-day of personal leave from work and ride along with me. WOW! My whole attitude about the miles ahead of me changed in an instance. My friend and I live in different towns, so we don’t get to see each other all that often. We had a lot of catching-up to do. We met along the highway. Ethel got into my car and we started talking. We stopped for a quick to-go bite to eat. We stopped for gas and the bathroom. But we never stopped yakking. Before either of us realized it we were there! How in the world did that happen? The gals in Powers Lake rolled out the red carpet and made us feel right at home. They put on a fabulous Friendship Tea, and before we knew it Ethel and I were back on the road home. You’d think since we’d had five non-stop hours of talking on the way there, we wouldn’t have much left to talk about on the return trip. Not so. We jabbered for another five hours straight. My throat was starting to feel swollen from gabbing so much. . .but I didn’t care! And then we were suddenly back to the spot she’d left her car. I’ve come to the conclusion there must be some sort of time-warp that happens when you’re with a best friend. Minutes and hours seems to disappear as you laugh together, share concerns, as well as dreams. What a difference a friend makes! Down Memory Lane. . . 10/13/2008 This past week my mom, two sisters, and I took a drive down some highways, byways, and gravels roads in South Dakota. We were taking a “girls-trip” down memory lane. My mom has always been a storyteller. My sisters and I grew up listening Mom tell tales about her growing-up years on two farms near Hayti and Lake Norden, South Dakota. We heard about how she used to run down the lane and across the road to play with her best friend, Virginia. I remember the time she told how her dad saved his hard-earned money (this was back in the Depression years) to buy himself a metal lunch box and then accidentally ran over it with the tractor. Knowing how poor they were, I cried when she told that story. She told about how they would go to the county courthouse to get clothes from the relief barrels, and how she and her three sisters, a brother, and their Mom and Dad all shared an upstairs bedroom because it was the warmest room in the house during long, cold winters. She told us stories about her cousin, Wally Antiunte, and what a joker he was. She talked about her cousins, Joanne, Joanie, and Donald, too. All these years I’ve heard stories about these people and they’d become almost like characters in a novel that made up my mom’s life. And then, this past week, I actually met these people! They weren’t just “story-people,” they were real, live, living-breathing, reeeeaaaallllyyyy nice folks. And I was related to them. Or, in the case of Virginia, my mom’s best childhood friend, I simply felt like I was related to her. We saw the farmstead where so many of Mom’s stories took place. We drove past the courthouse, then stopped to take a picture in front of her old, one-room schoolhouse. (The very school house where, during recess one day, she snuck and tried on her teacher’s high heels. . .and got caught. Her punishment was to spend the rest of the recess period kicking the side of the school house. I got a photo of Mom pretending to kick it again.) We stopped at the cemetery where Mom’s young sister, Shirley Rae, is buried, along with her parents and grandparents. So many special memories. So many special people. And such a special, special time to share with my two sisters and my mom. You know, as we drove down memory lane this past week, it occurred to me that my mom and I are both storytellers. The difference between us is that I get paid to tell my fictional stories. (Although not as much as you might think.) And while my mom doesn’t get one single cent for her stories, the truth is they are worth so much more than mine. Her stories are priceless. On the road. . .again. 10/4/2008 This past week I had three speaking-things on my calendar. And while I pretty-much-every-time have a wonderful time at these events, I have to admit the "getting-there" is getting-to-me. I live in North Dakota, practically on the South Dakota border. Where I was speaking was not-quite-in-Canada. That amounts to a LOT of miles to drive by the time I get there and get back home. By the time I pulled back into my garage late Thursday afternoon, my mind was pretty much numb. . .along with my back-side~! Along the way I drank enough coffee/Diet Coke/water/Frappacino to float-a-boat. (I had to do something to keep alert. And, of course, having to desparately search for bathroom stops helps in that department~!) I used to come home after these sorts of outings and jump right back into my regular schedule. Mail to sort? No problem. E-mail piling up? Give me an hour and I could wade through it. Laundry to do? I'll get it done while I'm checking e-mail. Phone calls to return? I'm on 'em. But, I have to admit, things have changed. As a roving pirate might say, "Oh, blimy, Mate. I'm starting to feel-me-age." Three days on-the-road now days, pretty much means three days (make that four) to get caught up. The good news is that all that time on the road gives me a LOT of time to think. And this trip I came home with a revelation: After driving eight-hundred-and-fifty-four miles in three days I've pretty much ruled out long-haul trucking as a new career choice for myself. Whew, one thing I can cross of my list~! Have a great week! I'll be off on another driving adventure. . .honk if you see me. You’d think I’d learn. . . 9/27/2008 When I give it any thought, I imagine most writers as being rather introverted. We spend hours, days, weeks, and months sitting alone in front of our computers. We “talk” to imaginary characters in our minds. It’s a rather solitary kind of work. Which is why I’m always surprised when I attend a writer’s conference. It’s LOUD!!! Maybe it’s because we’ve got all these pent-up words inside of us. Things we’d like to say to someone real. Face-to-face. A week ago, I spent four days in Minneapolis at the American Christian Fiction Writers annual conference. I taught a class on “How to Plot a Character-Driven Novel,” did some manuscript critiques for up-and-coming writers, and took part in a mega-sized book signing event at the Mall of America. I always get a little nervous right before one of these types of conferences. While I know there will be a few familiar faces there, the majority of the attendees will be ‘strangers’ to me. What in the world are we going to talk about? You’d think I’d know by now that when you have a common love—Writing. Reading. A fascination with all-things-books—there will be no lack of conversation. And there isn’t. I had a grand time catching up with “old friends”—Deb Raney, Susan Meissner, Angie Hunt, Jim Bell, Nancy Moser, Randy Ingermanson, Judy Miller, Rachel, Rene, Terri, Ann—I could go on-and-on, but I think you get the idea. . .there was no reason for me to fear there’d be no one to talk to. And then I’d forgotten about the new friends I’d make. Christina, Sherri, Ruth, Kellie. . .the names go on and on. How does a person get to be fifty-something and not have these things figured out? Here’s one more thing I learned (finally!), when you share a common love of the Lord, there are no strangers. We’re all in the same ‘family’ and that’s a great place to belong. Have a great week! Keep it lite! 9/14/2008 I have a dilemma. This afternoon I need to pack for a week in Minneapolis. I’m going to the big city to spend a couple days hanging out with my daughter and son-in-law, and then I will move to a hotel and teach a class at the American Christian Fiction Writers conference. In all I will be gone exactly a week. And that’s the problem. I might have mentioned before that I am the Queen of Over-packing (a trait I inherited from my mom). Well, due to my recent surgery (scroll down to read the details), I’m under a limited-lifting order from my doctor. “Twenty pounds the first two weeks,” he said rather sternly. “Thirty pounds the next two. And then take-it-easy for at least another four weeks.” Fine if all I have to do is sit at my computer. Not-so-fine when I need a wardrobe for seven days (and nights) away from home. Added to the fact that my suitcase weighs fifteen pounds UNpacked~! A friend suggested I pack “gossamer” clothes. Which would be fine if I were. . .oh. . .Tinkerbell. Instead I am a middle-aged-housewife who likes options. And shoe choices. I’ve got my pared-down wardrobe hanging on my closet door frame. I’m doing my best not to add a blouse, or a skirt, or a pair of slacks every time I walk by. But it’s hard~! I’m here to tell you that packing for a week away would be SO much easier if only Eve hadn’t eaten that apple! Mending Mania 9/8/2008 It’s been a discombobulated week~! My unexpected surgery Tuesday night. A stay in the hospital. And then home to recover. Add onto that my mom having a diagnostic test which dictates surgery later this week. Goodness, our family will have their share of doctors (and bills) this month. I’m up and moving. Slow-but-sure. Well. . .sometimes not quite so “sure.” I tend to have low blood pressure and that has been a bit of a problem as I hobble about the house. But I have managed to stay on my feet, when I’m not flat on my back, that is. I’m doing what a friend of mine e-mailed: as they say at dog obedience school----"HEAL!!!!!!!" Have a great, and healthy, week. Yew-ouch!!!!! 9/3/2008 It’s hard to believe that at this time yesterday I was on my bedroom floor, writhing in pain, trying to decide if the misery I was feeling was worse than childbirth pains? I decided it was. After all, when you’re in childbirth you know what the outcome will be. . .I didn’t have a clue what was wrong with me. Pulling myself off the floor, I stooped/crawled down the steps into my office and looked up appendicitis on the web. (It was the only ailment I could think of that seemed to fit the searing pain I had in my lower abdomen.) I had some of the symptoms, but not nearly all of them. How bad does pain have to get before you head to the doctor? My husband had a meeting and (thank-the-Lord) stopped by the house before he headed back to work. When it dawned on me that I was (again) lying on the floor and trying to call out to him for help, it finally sunk into my thick head that, yes, maybe I should head to the clinic. After an excruciating time of waiting to be seen (really, in a little clinic like ours nothing takes all that long but, I’ve learned, pain makes time seems to d-r-a-g.) I was given an exam. (Ouch! Yes there! Ouch!) Then morphine. (Now, I really do have an inkling why a person could get addicted to a drug that brings relief like that.) Then a CAT scan. The verdict was a "good sized" hernia with an intestinal loop (or something. . .I was still in a lot of pain and much of what I was told didn’t quite sink in). Plan A was for my husband to rush me to surgery at a hospital in Bismarck (100 miles away). There was no Plan B. I was at the emergency room by seven, operated on and in a hospital room by ten-forty-five. And now, not even twenty-four hours later I’m back at home, at my computer all stitched up. (Yes, Mom, I know, I know, I should be laying flat on my back in bed. I’m getting there. Honest.) I just wanted to say that I am extremely grateful for our cracker-jack small-town clinic and my excellent PA who made the rapid diagnosis. For my husband, my knight-behind-the-steering-wheel, and the surgeon who was willing to stay at work well-past-his-bed-time to cut me open and stitch me back up. And to my faithful friends and family who spent some extra time praying for me last night. Your prayers were answered. . .and so were mine. Be well, my friends. Too much to do. . . 8/25/2008 I've come to a conclusion. Drum roll here..........brmmmmmmm.......... I'm tired of multi-tasking. There, I've said it. I am sick-and-tired of multi-tasking. Whew. That felt good! I think the reason I'm so fed-up with it is that I've gotten so darn good at it. I can do all sorts of things as far as my phone cord will stretch. (And, yes, I am one of the last hold-outs. . .I don't have a cordless phone. . .yet.) But I can talk on the phone and load the dishwasher with one hand. I can prop the phone between my chin and shoulder and wash a whole sink full of dishes all the while I gab. And, I can dust mop my kitchen floor while I keep one ear tuned to the nightly news and the other ear tuned to the microwave, waiting for it to beep and let me know that dinner is ready (or thawed). And, if the phone rings while I'm doing all that. . .well, I can answer that, too~! But, even though I'm really great at multi-tasking, I'm tired of it. I don't like being so short on time that I need to sort through the mail while I'm waiting for the green beans to boil. I'm not nuts about stuffing dishes in the dishwasher (or taking them out) while I'm waiting for the coffee to perk. Or jotting a thank you note while I'm "on-hold" with the bank. Just once, every now and then, I'd like to enjoy the actual task I'm doing, rather than be thinking of one, two, or four other things I could get done while I'm waiting for my computer to boot up in the morning. Maybe it's my age-and-stage. I've had fifty-four-and-three-quarter years to cram as much into a day as possible, maybe it's time to cut myself a little slack. I'd like to take a moment to enjoy the smell of coffee brewing. To take some relaxing deep breaths while I wait for the microwave. And maybe, just maybe, learn to enjoy folding clothes just because I'm grateful to have a washing machine and a dryer and the fact that I'm able to do these tasks for my family. You know, I think I'm going to do just that. . .as soon as I post this blog, fold the clothes in the dryer while I plan the meeting I have later today, sort through the mail while I'm waiting for my husband to come home for lunch, oh! and get the two loads of clothes I hung out on the line inside before I make a mad dash to the post office. I can see I'm going to have to work on this. . .I guess old habits are hard to break. Have a great (and not too busy) week! Too much talkin'. . . 8/17/2008 I'll be the first one to tell you that being a writer can be a lonely occupation. I spend hours-and-hours alone at my computer listening to the fictional voices in my head. (At least I hope they're fictional...ha!) There are many days when I barely speak a word out-loud other than a few sentences to my husband in the morning before he leaves for work and when I see him again at the end of the day. Not too long ago I read about a study that said men speak something like five thousand words a day (don't quote me on the exact numbers, I'm just remembering the gist of the study) and women speak more like fifteen thousand words a day. I quoted these statistics to my husband and we both laughed, because we know in our case, my hubby gets the BULK of the words allotted to him and me. It's not that he's a jabber-box (although he can be when I'm in a hurry to get somewhere and he's visiting with someone about who-knows-what), but in his job he gets to do a lot of talking each-and-every-day. I don't. Which has developed into a little joke between us when I smilingly accuse him of "using MY words." You see, while I don't have a need to talk a LOT, I do like to talk to more than the fictional people in my head. There are days when I long for someone--a real someone--to talk to because I've got WORDS that I need to say OUT LOUD. . .but there is no one nearby to listen. All that to say I loved it when my youngest sister came to spend a couple days with me at the lake a couple weeks ago. I'd spent almost two days by myself before she arrived and I would have run outside to meet her car if she hadn't surprised me by arriving a bit early. Need-less-to-day I was glad to see her and we began chatting instantly. She had stories to tell. I had lots of questions. I had things that needed saying. She was a great listener. We went out to eat barely squeezing the food in-between all we had to say. We went back to the cabin and talked some more. . .until after midnight. The next day we started in again over coffee, continuted talking while we shopped and had lunch, then settled down after supper and talked some more. At some point one of those "question-games" came off a shelf and we answered random questions posed to each other. . .and told stories they brought to mind, again until after mid-night. Yeah, I probably made up for a few of the days when I don't get to say all my words. In fact, we talked so much, and I was so out-of-practice, that I actually had a sore throat from talking so much. Did that stop me? Noooooooooo. I enjoyed every minute of our time together, sore-throat and all! I'm back home again. Back to spending days in front of my computer. Back to storing up my words. I'll be seeing my sister again in about a month. Oh, boy! Look out. Fifteen thousand words times thirty days adds up to a whole-lotta gabbing! Call me Nancy Drew 8/11/2008 I've developed sort of a mini-hobby of late. Well, actually, I can hardly call it a hobby. I mean, it's not as if I pursue it every day, or even every-other day. I'm not scouting craft stores to stock up on supplies. I don’t go on weekend retreats and stay up until all hours stitching or gluing. But, get me on the right track and I won't give up until I've found what I'm looking for. And what I'm looking for is a song. Or songs, with an "s." I've developed a mini-obsession tracking down songs that I hear. . .and down-loading them from iTunes. (Yeah, I know, I’m fifty-something. Maybe not quite the iTunes demographic, but I’m hooked.) I might find myself humming along to a new song on the radio, the D.J. neglects to announce the name of the song or the artist, but I've got a chorus line running through my head. It's enough to give me a start on tracking it down. Or, I might be paging through a magazine while keeping half-an-eye on a TV program. In the background of a commercial I hear a tune, a catchy tune. There is a chorus. Three words, or maybe four that I can remember. Enough to set me on a search for a song I can't quite get out of my head. It’s down-right amazing what the internet can do for a Nancy Drew Wanna-Be like me. With a few words typed into Google I’m on my way. All it takes is a few clicks of my mouse. I turn up the volume on my speakers and I’m ready for action. Is that the tune I was looking for? Nope. Click. Click. Yup! I’ve discovered a whole new world of music. Artists young enough to be my kids. (Or, yikes! In some cases, grandkids~!) Put some earbuds in my ears and connect them to my iPod and who would ever guess I’m a music-loving, silent-singing, mind-dancing, imaginary rock star? To look at me you’d think I’m nothing but a middle-aged-housewife. Shhh. . .It’s my perfect disguise. Orange-you-glad? 7/24/2008 A couple weeks ago my husband and I flew to the lake for the weekend in our little plane. It was a b-u-m-p-y trip but we landed safely. On the way through town to our cabin we swung into the local grocery store to pick up some milk for breakfast in the morning. “I’ll run in,” I told my husband. “I’ll wait out here (with the dog),” he replied. Adding, “Could you get some orange juice, too?” Now, you need to know, I am not an orange juice connoisseur. I’d rather eat an orange than drink one. So it’s usually my husband who ends up picking out his own orange juice at the store. But, “sure!” I could grab a carton of orange juice for him. No problem. Until I got to the orange juice half-an-aisle. Who knew there were so many choices when it came to a simple thing like orange juice? I stood in front of the large section, wracking my brain trying to remember what kind of orange juice my husband prefers. No pulp came to mind. I scanned the shelves. Orange juice from concentrate, one carton read. Contains pulp, read another brand. Growers Style, said another. “What’s Grower’s Style?” I asked the shopper next to me. She didn’t know, either. I decided I’d get a not-from-concentrate kind and NO pulp. Now that I had it whittled down, I scanned the shelves. No pulp-No pulp-No pulp, I repeated to myself. I finally found a carton that looked just right and tucked it into my cart. I hurried through the store, grabbing some cereal and milk. When we finally got to the cabin I carried the groceries inside and proceeded to put my purchases into the cupboard and fridge. “I got your orange juice,” I told my husband holding the carton out for him to see. “No pulp.” And it was then, as I held the carton at a certain angle, that I spotted, in LARGE letters, all the way across the top of the container: MOST PULP!! MOST??? MOST PULP???? The very thing I was trying to avoid is exactly what I bought. A chuckle bubbled in the back of my throat. I looked at my husband. He was shaking his head and smiling. And then, what else was there to do? We both started laughing. Ah, the joys of middle-age-eyes (and brain~!). He drank his MOST PULP orange juice all weekend and didn’t complain even once. I’m thankful for a husband who knows how to laugh about the little-things in life. . .and his (sometimes ditzy) wife! When life hands you lemons. . . 7/7/2008 I have to admit, being bombarded with news about the failing economy, rising gas prices, global warming, the war in Iraq, you-name-it, I’ve been in a glass-half-empty state of mind. I was ready for a little good news. And I got it. . .in an e-mail from a friend. She said I could share her story. I’m sure you’ve heard about the flooding in Iowa. That’s where my friend lives and, while they haven’t been personally flooded, the waters were a little-too-close-to-home to think it’s “someone else’s problem.” But what could she do besides pray? And then two young neighbor boys showed up on her doorstep. They were clad in white t-shirts and in fourth-grade handwriting they’d fabric-painted their names in BIG print, then added a big red cross and underneath that wrote: Red Cross. They were raising money for flood relief in a near-by city. Would my friend like to buy some lemonade as a donation? Well, here, I’ll let her tell the next part: I just bought two glasses of lemonade for $25.00 each. I sat down to write a check, meaning to give them a thrill and write it for $10. Somehow my hand just wrote $50. My friend went to the door and handed over her donation. She said the one kid took a look at the check, screamed at the top of his lungs, and took off down the sidewalk. While he was running he showed the check to his buddy who let out another holler, and they ran, screaming, all the way home. She wrote: Really, that’s the best feeling I’ve had in awhile. And her story was the best feeling I’d had in awhile, too. Every time I read her e-mail, I smile. And then my heart gets this “full” kind of feeling. The kind of feeling when you know someone has done something really, really good. The kind of good you just want to turn around and pass on to someone else. I’m keeping my eyes open for little kids and lemonade stands. I hope you do, too. Happy summer!
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