Family, Home, Together 

Gratefulness wrapped up in a package of times together. Take the time to pay attention, an attempt to really see, to listen, to be all present with them all.

• Family - together around the table
• re-reading the poem above the sink : Dirty dishes = evidence of blessing (and we have dirty dishes to prove the blessings)
• "Cling to JOY: audacious and unbridled joy, that looks for light in every thing, even in your waiting."  -Morgan Harper Nichols
• R and J - so sweet, so much fun. Grandbabies delight
• Duolingo French - start learning something new
• reading Beth Chatto - Drought Resistant Planting - her plant/word pictures are amazing, love her perspective
• first freeze, first snow - fall days becoming winter
• "While sight is an ability, seeing remains an art." Hidden Half of Nature
• finished two books I've been stalled on - now, on to more interesting reading
• fall leaves dancing, spinning on the freeway like a choreographed ballet
• time with the girls - their stories and challenges and smiles
• concert - Idina Mendez, Josh Groban, wow! amazing, inspiring, beautiful
• diving headfirst into NaNoWriMo - accepting the challenge, willing to make the change to daily writing
• C to vet - simple, easy, except she's so scared, leaned on A
• a fun flute lesson - more play than work
• W's surgery (dog) - long recovery for a recalcitrant patient
• W's reversals - backwards more than forward healing progress
• J here!
• Gift of time thru disappointment (3 day delay in arrival)
• Half-way, NaNoWriMo word count
• P and J here
• SSKB here
• Thanksgiving thankfulness
• full house
• request for gardening articles in PWView
• article in newspaper and From Ground Up out on the same day
• flute rehearsal with professional pianist and pro flutist, fun!
• emails with Jane - appreciate her!
• NaNoWriMo accomplished!
• next day, began new novel
• six broccoli plants still alive, even with the crazy cold
• Cheyenne Mntn Electric Safari with TVES, counting animal shaped lights, found 70, supposedly 85 but didn't ride tramway to the top.

Four Seasons in Rome

No, I'm not headed off to Rome for a year.

Anthony Doerr did, as part of a year-long artist fellowship he won. He, his wife and six month old twin boys traveled from their home in Idaho to an unknown apartment in an unknown city in an unknown culture speaking an unknown language (except the four hour crash course in Italian he took on a Saturday morning before they left). The journal he kept during that year became this book, Four Seasons in Rome.

"A good journal entry - like a good song, or sketch, or photograph - ought to break up the film that forms over the eye, the finger, the tongue, the heart. A good journal entry ought to be a love letter to the world."

The stories of their walk through the four seasons there, a few blocks from the Vatican, is subtitled, On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the World. Beyond recording the events, the adjustments, and the challenges, the book, for me, is a lesson in How-to-Journal.

"A journal entry is for its writer; it helps its writer refine, perceive, and process the world."

The five senses are recorded throughout - a means he uses to process his memories, and a vibrant way for the reader to be involved in the scenes he records. Sights, smells, tastes, touch, and sounds - all carefully, thoughtfully woven through his words. Standing shoulder to shoulder with mourners as the pope dies, and later, pushing their double stroller through the crowd of celebrants as the new pope is chosen. Describing to a baker, the rich bread smells around them, the focaccia bread he wants to order, misunderstanding the frustration, realizing later he was asking, in his broken Italian, for grapefruit sauce. Discovering new foods, making new friends, listening to the language, learning to understand it. Hunting down those vivid details, linking them together to build a sequence of thought, to "stay alert to the miracles of the world."

"A year is an infinity of perceptions: not just the shapes of starlings and the death of the pope and watching our sons learn to walk, but the smell of roasting meat in an alley, the dark brown eyes of a beggar on a church step, a single dandelion seed settling soundlessly onto the habit of a nun who is riding the train. This year has been composed of a trillion such moments; they flood the memory, spill over the edge of journal entries. What is it physicists tell us? Even in a finite volume, there are an infinite number of points."

In a way, this is discouraging. An infinite number of points? How could I ever catch them all? But that's not the point. Grab one. Grab two. Catch three. Record those vivid details, link together the sentences that help a reader (and me, the writer!) to see, smell, touch, taste and hear a world of beauty and miracles.

Anthony Doerr quotes Marilynne Robinson,

"There are a thousand thousand reasons to live this life, every one of them sufficient."

I think of Mary Oliver's poem,

"PAY ATTENTION
BE ASTONISHED
TELL ABOUT IT." 

Keeping a journal has been important to me for years. I have a box of old journals stashed in a closet. Never for publication, but for me to thumb back through if I am looking for notes, or find when something happened, or just for browsing. This book, Four Seasons in Rome, is not only an interesting read of their year as a family, as an artist, as an author, as part of a community, but also of the way he perceived and responded to the world around him, brilliant at capturing those images, and how he stayed alert to the miracles of the world. Now, when I write in my journal, I pay attention - not just recording feelings (as in emotions), but capturing a moment in time, using the senses as a means of paying attention, and searching for the right words.

I tried to find a good example of how he incorporates the senses in his sentences. It is an overall impression he leaves. I would call his journals, Impressionistic Journaling. Like the impressionist painters that paint in various dots and smudges and blends of color, but leave a distinct image on the canvas, he paints images with his words that leave a distinct image. Powerful, beautiful writing.

"Everything is radiant. Distant trees toss, faraway walls gleam. The mountains at the horizon have switched on like streetlights, stark and defined, giving way to more distant ranges.
Then everything goes dark again, the clouds knitted together, the mountains sucked back into silhouette, Rome sinking into shadow."

A Messy Thanksgiving

This short story is a re-post from three years ago

Monday

Sandy finished the Thanksgiving grocery shopping in the pet department, piling two ten pound bags of peanuts on the already overloaded grocery cart. She smiled. No one would be able to guess what I am going to do with these, she thought.

At home, she organized the food, checked off her lists. This Thanksgiving dinner for eighteen would appear effortless. But, of course, it wasn’t. The work happened now, before. She had separate lists, all organized and thought out, what preparations needed to be made in what order. Some of the family would be arriving late Wednesday night and she wanted to be ready, then.

With the wood floors swept, the furniture moved back against the walls, she turned her dining room table at an angle, assembled the two folding tables and pushed them end to end at an angle across her dining room and living room.

At three o’clock the stake bed truck pulled up out front. She met the two delivery guys at the door.

“Where do you want these bales, ma’am?”

“In here, by these tables.”

“Inside the house, ma’am?” His eyebrows disappeared under the hair hanging over his forehead.

“Yes, they will be the seats for our Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Inside. Really? You know these straw bales are dusty, dirty, messy, right?”

Sandy laughed. “Of course. Yes, bring them in here, please, four on this side, four on the other side. Thank you.”

“Okay, whatever you say. It’s your house.” The tough delivery guys looked at each other and shrugged.

As the bales were moved, wisps of straw floated around.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“No problem, that’s exactly what I want. Messy.”

“My wife would have a fit.”

Sandy laughed again. She wanted an unusual, a casual atmosphere. Unique. A memory. And they didn’t know about the peanut shells, broken open, scattered around. She felt like a giddy girl planning a surprise party for a special friend. A party where everyone has a good time and laughter echoes off the walls accompanied by the music of happy talk. Okay, she thought, maybe I am dreaming and being unrealistic. We haven’t had a peaceful family get together in quite awhile. Someone takes offense, someone irritates someone else, criticism flares. But, it is worth a try. I will do my part, and hope.

Everything would be white or canvas or gold. Enough color, just in the food. And the people.  The gold colored straw looked pretty scattered across the wood floor.  She pulled more pieces off the bales and scattered them around. Then, she covered the bales with canvas drop cloths, their edges tucked in underneath. They would be heavy enough to prevent straw poking seated bottoms. Another couple of longer drop cloths covered the tables, hanging down the sides. Gold spray painted gourds were placed randomly on the table.

 Oh, napkins. She forgot to buy white cloth napkins. Well, on Wednesday, when she picked up the flowers, she could go to the store and get the nicer, heavy, white paper ones. They would do. She added them to the list.

Tuesday

When Sandy walked down the hall into the living room Tuesday morning, she wondered what her husband, Jim would think of their house. He was away on a business trip until Wednesday afternoon. By then, she would have it all set up and messy beautiful. Her email invitations said, “Boots and jeans.” But would they imagine just how casual she meant it to be?  The floor needed more peanut shells, just like at their favorite pizza restaurant. In fact, she thought, that is where they should go for dinner Wednesday night. She would take Jim out to dinner. Get a few more ideas. Her son and his wife and the grandkiddos wouldn’t get in until late. She and Jim would have plenty of time to relax over dinner, talk about his trip, and enjoy some time together before the long weekend.

After her coffee and oatmeal, she spread the three lists out on the island, leaned on her elbows, her shirt sleeves rolled up, chin cupped in her hands. One list for what would bake in the oven. One for food that would be prepared and stored in the refrigerator.  One for menus, with added ideas for meals the rest of the weekend using leftovers. The tasks were already in order, prioritized by length of prep time and use of the oven. Normally she wasn’t quite so OCD, but she wanted this Thanksgiving to be easy breezy.  Certain people conflicts in the family had lightened up over the past year and she wanted, desperately, to be sure they stayed that way. But, not to worry. For now, start the pie crusts and mix the pumpkin bread. Turn on the oven.

Between tasks, waiting for the timer to ding, Sandy worked on the table. At each place setting she set out white plates. For place cards, she marked peanuts with a dark brown Sharpie, the letters of each person’s name. If the letters didn’t come out quite right, she smashed the shells and threw them on the floor. It wasn’t easy. She tried to make them fancy, ornate with swirly lines and flourishes. The bumpy shells were not a good writing surface, but she wanted to keep the theme. She decided that messy looked just as good, and it was better to fit each name on one peanut if she could. She experimented. Greg. Kendra. David. The longest name was Jessica. That took two peanuts. As she practiced and improved, the crunched, empty peanut shells deepened on the floor.

All day, the dishes rotated from island to sink full of soapy water and back again. Pie crusts baked. Pumpkin and cranberry breads ready to go in next. Sweet potatoes cooked, mixed, plopped into the baking pan, refrigerated until Thursday. Broccoli steamed, cheese sauce mixed, refrigerated in its glass baking pan. Water boiled, jello mixed with fruit, half of it chilled, then the other layer added and chilled. One by one, the items checked off her list. She wiped up flour and spills and splatters, then made more as she worked.

For a late lunch, she made a sandwich and sat in the big chair tucked into the corner to admire her decorations, absorb the yummy smells. Bake the pies, almost done. She relaxed, imagined the room full of happy, comfortable people. To her, this work, this weekend, was about reaching across the distance that was measured in more than miles.

As she was sliding the last pie shell full of liquid pumpkin on to the rack, her hand slipped, the pie tilted and spilled on the hot oven floor. It sizzled and smoked. Quickly, she set the pie on the counter and reached over to shut off the oven. That would have to cool before she could clean it out, then reheat it. She didn’t want the smell of burned pie overpowering the other wonderful aromas and interfere with baking the turkey Thanksgiving morning. She left the oven door open to cool faster. Well, it won’t take that long, she thought. She checked over her lists again. Almost done.  Not too bad, only one major mess to repair, then finish cleaning up the kitchen.

The cat came down the hall and stepped into the living room. She stopped and sat, looking around at the changes, unsure. She decided it was safe, took a few steps into the room. A peanut shell crunched under her foot. With the foot held in mid-air, she froze, like a dog at point, then turned and ran back to the bedroom. Sandy laughed at her. We won’t have to worry about her coming out here, she thought.

Wednesday

By noon, she felt ready. Almost. A few more tasks on her list, but everything was under control. She had cleaned the bathrooms, made up the guest beds, and swept off the porch, trimming some of the chrysanthemums that still bloomed. The day was cold and cloudy. At least I don’t have to sweep and wash the floors, she thought. She wiped down the front of the refrigerator and the stove and ran a dust cloth over the glass table top next to the couch. She looked forward to seeing the six grandkiddos all together. They hadn’t seen Greg’s twins since June. David, Becky and their two boys lived ten minutes away and they visited often. Jack and Kendra, with their two, Jessica and Ken, lived an hour away, not too far. Greg would be arriving tonight, the others in the morning. A houseful of noisy fun. She liked that.

Three o’clock. One last check of the lists. All crossed off. One trip out. She would stop at the florist to pick up the white osteospermum spoon daisies she ordered. And run into the grocery store to pick up the large white napkins she forgot to buy on Monday. She would tie them into a roll with a piece of twine. Easy and simple.

Later, as she stepped in the door, out of the pouring rain, arms full of flowers and a grocery bag, the phone rang. She set the things down on the table. Dropped her wet coat on a chair.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Hi Greg. I thought you would be on the road by now.”

“Mom. I am sorry. We are not coming.”

Silence. “You are kidding, right?”

“No, Mom, we are not coming.”

Silence. “Do I get an explanation?”

Greg answered in short, nervous, quick bursts. “Janet decided she wanted to have her own Thanksgiving. You know, in her own home, now that we have moved to this house, she changed her mind, said she wouldn’t come, wanted to stay home, keep the kids here, with her, on her time off from work, for the holiday.”

“Well, that is reasonable, except last minute. What can I say? Is this about not getting along with Kendra?”

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe, you know how they are together. She just said she wanted her own Thanksgiving. Mom, try to understand. I know you will understand. Please don’t be upset at me, or her.”

“I will really miss seeing the twins. I’m sure they have grown since we saw them last.” Sandy sighed. She tried to smile, at least with her words, but it was hard. Seemed these conflicts, lately, made family gatherings like walking on egg shells, afraid to offend, afraid to say the wrong thing, afraid, just afraid. She had wanted this to be different. And she thought it would be. Filled with laughter and fun and relaxed. Oh well, what could she do? Holidays could be messy. “Greg,” she said, “Say hello to the twins from me, and Janet, too, and have a wonderful holiday.” She didn’t mean it to sound sarcastic, but it came out that way, a little bit.

“You, too, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”

Sandy hung up the phone. She sat in the chair at the head of the table, looked down the length at the plates, already set, the golden gourds, the pile of flowers she had dumped at the other end. Four empty places. Should she rearrange? Wallow in disappointment? No, she thought, I’ll get the flowers in vases and water. No point in letting this ruin it for me, or for anyone else.

Outside, the rain pelted the windows and the wind whipped the tree limbs. Darkness fell early, the storm clouds wrapping a dark thick blanket over the sky. Again, the phone rang. Sandy looked at it, not wanting to answer. She heard her own voice, the cheerful message on the machine. Then, Jim’s voice.

“Sandy. Guess you are out shopping or something last minute. Our flight has been delayed…”

She grabbed the phone, interrupting his message. “Jim, I am here, sorry.”

“Oh, good, glad you are home. This storm is interfering with flights. I hope Greg will be fine on the road.”

“They are not coming. I’ll tell you later. When do you think you will get in?”

“They said about a two hour delay. I will call you when we board.”

“Okay. I want to take you out to dinner, to the pizza restaurant. I will meet you there, after you land.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you, soon, I hope.”

“Be careful.”

Someone knocked on the front door. Oh, now who could that be, thought Sandy. She opened the door and saw her neighbor, an older woman she rarely talked to. “Evelyn, come in.” She helped her take off her wet coat.

“I am so sorry to bother you. I know you are very busy.” Evelyn looked at the table. “That is, ah, interesting. Straw bales and peanuts?  Rustic. But the table is pretty. I am so sorry to bother you,” she said again.

“That’s okay. My husband just called to say he would be late. Come sit down.”

“Well, we just had a big tree branch fall on the back of our house. Broke through the patio cover, broke two windows on the back side.”

“Oh, I am sorry. Where is Fred, is he okay?”

“Yes, we were in the living room. I wondered if you have some tarp or something we can put up over the windows. Not too much rain is coming in, but the wind is bad. And the cold.”

“I think so, I will go look in the garage.” She stood up. “Evelyn. I just had a great idea. Our son and his family called to say they are not coming. We have extra beds, all made up, and room at the table, ready. Will you and Fred stay here tonight, and join us for Thanksgiving tomorrow?”

“We couldn’t impose on you like that, don’t be silly.”

“It is not silly at all. Like I said, I have the beds all made, the places for you at the table. It will be much warmer here until you can get the windows fixed. Jim can help you, but with the holiday weekend, it may be a few days before they get fixed. Please, stay with us. That is, if you don’t mind a casual meal. And our kids and grandchildren. I thought the straw bales and peanuts would be fun, for a change. Comfortable.”

“I noticed. Wondered why you were doing that. Most people get all fancy.”

“I will get the tarp, then we’ll go over and ask Fred to come. Please, I want you to come. I know Jim won’t mind. He will be glad to help you fix the tarp when he gets home. Oh.”

“What is it?” asked Evelyn.

“Well, we were going to go out to dinner. I was going to meet him after his plane landed.”

“I have a chili in the crock pot at home. Fred and I could still eat that, and come here after you and Jim get home. I would appreciate it, being able to stay here. It will be cold at our house with that wind and the damp. You are very kind.”

“Actually, it helps me not feel so disappointed that our son isn’t coming. I am glad you can stay with us. Very glad. You can see we have plenty of room for you.” Sandy pointed at the table.

“We will be honored. I wasn’t going to fix anything this year. Too much work for just us. Our kids are all busy, or too far away. We will enjoy being with you, being with your family. Much better than sitting by ourselves. Thank you.”

The scattered straw and peanut shells are evidence of my messy life, but even the messes are worth celebrating and sharing, Sandy thought.  I will accept this. An opportunity to help a neighbor, maybe gain a friend. I can enjoy what we have, use what we have, and share Thanksgiving, thankfully, with family and friends.

Martina's Cornbread

New cookbooks are fun to browse and explore. Some recipes work, and some - well, they are not put in the repeat category. This new cookbook, by Martina McBride, Around the Table, gives an interesting insight into her family life, her home, her style, and, of course, how she cooks. The focus of the cookbook is on hospitality, on the events and occasions and just-because times she welcomes others into her home. Each section has decorating ideas, music playlists (of course - what else would you expect from a musician?), menus, recipes, gorgeous photos, and practical tips for welcoming others into your home and life. And we have several new recipes that are definite repeats.

Her recipe for cornbread has become a frequent staple here. I cut it in half, this is a party sized batch.

Cornbread With Green Chiles And Pepper Jack Cheese

5 tbsp unsalted, melted butter
2 tbsp butter for greasing the pan
1 1/2 c buttermilk
1 1/2 c milk
4 large eggs
2/3 c vegetable oil (I use olive oil)
3 c all purpose flour
1 c ground yellow cornmeal
2/3 c sugar
2 tbsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground pepper
1 4oz can diced green chiles
1 c shredded pepper jack cheese

Preheat oven to 350. Generously grease a 13 x 9 baking pan with 2 tbsp butter.

Combine the buttermilk, milk, eggs, oil and melted butter in a large bowl. Combine the flour, cornmeal, 2/3 c of sugar, baking powder, salt and pepper in a large bowl.

Add buttermilk mixture to the flour mixture, stirring until just combined. Stir in the green chiles and the pepper jack cheese. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. (She sprinkles an additional 2 tbsp sugar over the batter - I omit this).

Bake for 40 to 45 minutes or until a wooden toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

We're serving ours tonight with chicken enchiladas, Confetti Rice (also from her book) and salad.




This is my favorite of her songs. I have posted it before, but I think it is worth hearing again. And again. "Do It Anyway." A great theme song.

(Guess this cuts off just before the end - sorry. It's still worth the listen, just keep singing it in your head)

2014 Then, 2015 Now

2014. A glance in review.

We bought a mountain cabin in May for a really, really good deal. In real estate terms, that translates to Needs Lots of Work. For now, it is a place to go most weekends in the spring, summer and fall (no heat there yet - a bit chilly for winter visits). A fun opportunity for adventure and learning construction for the teen guys and their dad (and me). Eventually, (soon?) it will be a place for family retreats and time together, and our retirement home. We are gutting, adding windows to widen and enjoy the view, re-arranging rooms, replacing old yucky spots, and getting rid of four legged, furry vermin who decided it was their home while it sat empty for years. I'm looking forward to the point when we can begin re-building, rather than tearing apart.

The type of books I read changed after we bought the cabin. I moved toward reading lots of decorating, design type books, looking for the style, ideas to use. My two favorites are Remodelista, A Manual for the Considered Home, and Country Living 500 Kitchen Ideas. Do you like before and after pictures? Me too. But as there aren't any "after" pictures yet, I will spare you the "before" shots. For now. Discovered I gravitate to the scandinavian style - their simplicity and unclutered rooms, full of light. For the new kitchen, I have three requirements: no corner cabinets, a walk-in pantry, and lots of light. What was a long narrow laundry room will be the walk-in pantry off the kitchen, the counter top and cabinets will be along one wall with a center island, and we are adding two large windows along the kitchen-open-to-the-dining room wall for the best view and light. Love it. Look forward to cooking up food for a crowd in that kitchen.

With the focus on decorating and remodeling, I realized something. The point of decorating or design is to ask:
                                           How will we live here?

Not so much how it will look, but will it work for us, how we live:
How will it be convenient? Or practical? Or comforting? Or friendly? Or light-filled? Or pleasant? Or welcoming? Or life-filled (people, pets, plants...). These are the questions that define a personal, realistic decorating style. These are the questions I want to answer in this new place of ours.

Our family welcomed  two new grandsons this year! Little feet to learn to walk in their daddy's steps.

We traveled to California, Oregon and Arizona for family visits. Had the opportunity to take a four generation guys-with-the-same-name photo. Priceless.

A seven month writing hiatus happened. No particular reason, just a pause, a space in blogging and writing. I missed it, the connection with you readers. Let's re-connect.

And now, 2015 has arrived. Shouldn't we be flying cars and eating precisely proportioned pre-planned packaged food for perfect health? 2015 isn't quite as futuristic as I thought it would be. Maybe that is just because I am slow to catch up with all the changes?

2015. Looking ahead, I plan to take a Master Gardener Class this year, something I have wanted to do for a long time. I think this year will be my window to make that happen. Looking forward to that.

We have the first trip of the year scheduled, to fly to Iowa the end of January to visit our family there, celebrate two grankiddos' birthdays and spend time with our son and daughter-in-law. Our travels are all family oriented, one disadvantage of having everyone spread out in six states, but I am grateful for the opportunities to see all of them. Hooray for special airline deals!

Ann Voskamp's, One Thousand Gifts, is a book I will re-read at least once a year. Last year Ann challenged herself to write a fresh gifts list to 1,000 in one month. Thirty-three or so gifts, listed, each day. That challenged me to re-visit my list, set aside during my writing hiatus. My list, counted at that point, would take ten a day to complete one thousand by the end of the year. Not as ambitious as hers, but for me, a good goal. And I did it! Once I started, it was easy to keep going, keep watching, keep paying attention daily to all the details of grace in my day, and to be thankful. My list is in a  small book I keep out on the table or countertop. (The gifts list posted above on the computer page is not current - but I will be updating it soon.) And the gifts of grace, listed daily, go on.

"The quiet song of gratitude, eucharisteo, lures humility out of the shadows because to receive a gift the knees must bend humble and the hand must lie vulnerably open and the will must bow to accept whatever the Giver chooses to give."

                                                                                                             -Ann Voskamp

This quote, the "quiet song," and "to accept "(welcome), tie together my word-of-the-year for 2013, quiet, and 2014, welcome. My word for 2015? Another post, to come.

Hello There

Hello There! I am new around here.

I love to keep everyone very busy. Then I sleep for awhile.

We went to the vet. That was okay. She was friendly and gave me hugs and a treat. But she said I was only three months. Hmmm, thought I was bigger than that.

The other dog here, she is okay. We are learning how to play together, but sometimes she is grumpy and doesn't want me to sleep next to her. So, when I see her going to lie down, I race to the blanket and lie down across it first. Then, she doesn't have to lie next to me. Aren't I nice?

There are two cats, too. One just sleeps all the time. The first day she hissed at me and I got the message, "Leave me alone." The other cat is more interesting. He hisses at me sometimes, but he is more fun to follow around, kinda chasing him. I guess he doesn't know I'm not going to hurt him, I just want to herd him. Maybe I'll grow up to be a famous cat herder. I'm a Border Collie mix, but haven't found any cows or sheep around here. Guess it will have to be the cats.

They buy me cool doggy toys to keep me busy. But the best toys? A golf wiffle ball - I guess someone is supposed to be practicing their golf game - but I love to toss them off the couch, run and catch them. They are noisy when they bounce on the wood floor, which makes them even more fun.

My people say they love the wood floors. Easy to clean up my accidents. At first, we had trouble. They would open the back door and say, "Go to the bathroom." So, I'd go outside and play, come back inside, run into the bathroom and piddle. They didn't seem to like that. But we are coming to a better agreement now. I do my piddles outside - almost mostly - and they smile and cheer me on. It's a big deal, I guess.

Oh, another really cool toy. It's this box on a small table I can reach. These white paper things stick out of it. I can grab the edge of one with my tiny teeth, pull it out, run to the couch and tear it up. Then, when I go back, there is another paper waiting for me to grab and play with. Perpetual toys, pretty cool entertainment.

Oh, and I am supposed to tell you. The lady here is writing a post about some book, a million little ways, by a cool lady called Emily Freeman (I think she is cool because she has a dog, too). But she (the lady here, that is), is having trouble writing it because she is taking care of me (and the other people and animals in the house) in a million little ways. She'll get it done eventually, bye for now - gotta run - I smell a stinky shoe!

Choose to Trust

Do you have ten minutes and twenty-seven seconds to watch this? Well worth the time.

Scott Hamilton, an olympic and world champion ice skater shares his heart, his health struggles, his trust in the Lord, his laugh, his tears.

"...I choose to look at the brain tumor as the greatest gift...because it made everything else possible..."

Two Cool Summer Fun Ideas

Need some fresh ideas for summer fun? Put together some creative people and ideas are bound to flow. One asks, instead of a water fight, how about a paint fight? The idea grows. I listen, wondering just how far these ideas will take flight.

A trip to the store for washable paints, squirt guns, face paint (for drama), cheap shorts and flip-flops. Dad's old t-shirts, destined for the rag bag will work as wearable paint targets.

They dilute the paint with water in soda bottles rescued from the recycling bin - next time, they will use more paint. Without funnels the squirt guns are tricky to fill, but they figure it out. (Need to put funnels on the list for such occasions). Cardboard pieces are set up as shelters, in theory anyway.

Ready. Set. Go!

Eventually, they escalate to bigger guns, the type that attach a small soda bottle to the high powered squirt gun. They aren't wet enough. Yet.

An afternoon made for memories.

The battle aftermath.

Another idea: the game, Qwirkle

Have you played this game? Good for a variety of ages and abilities - the brilliant and the not so brilliant. I have not managed to win - yet. What category does that put me in? Oh well, the game is fun without a victory.  Lots of color and a different look to each game as the blocks are combined in sets of color or shapes. A great game to build creative thinking skills. And have fun.
Amazon has Qwirkle, sometimes Target (not affiliate link, just FYI).

We Had a Blast Last Week

One daughter flew in from another state. Two daughters came to stay for days. When you live in an all guy household, some girl time is delightful. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate and enjoy all the guys, but the conversation topics are, well, different. I won't tell you how many times J rolled his eyes at our goofy conversations (because I lost count, or actually, didn't bother to count).

What do we do? Besides enjoy the rare minutes together...

We wander around the Scout Camp where one son works for the summer, appreciate the mountain air and scenery, inhale the resin smells of the pine trees, drink in the quiet.

We explore a hand-built castle, complete with a smoke breathing dragon when the huge fireplace is lit. They climb higher than I do, but are only half way up when they decide it is high enough for them.

We follow the path along the river, lush with cottonwoods and undergrowth, the desert moonscape like another planet just a few feet away. The desert becomes a close reality when one gal says, "Doesn't that stick over there look like a snake?" Another gal says, "Oh wait, it is a snake!" The snake poses for us, attempts to look inanimate, his head held high mid-air. We chase it away (I stand the farthest away) and find out later the Red Racer is known to have an aggressive attitude. Glad this guy decides we aren't worth the trouble.

We celebrate a birthday on the Fourth, with fireworks bursting over the roof of the house across the street, the city display a few blocks from our house. We have a burn ban after all the recent wildfires, and are grateful they can still do the fireworks - it is a birthday tradition for our July Fourth birthday girl.

We take hundreds of photos. No exaggeration. Of each other, of flowers, of trees, of clouds, of antics, of water, of the guys when they will cooperate, of whatever. Fun to watch what catches each other's eye, what captivates attention, what photo ops we create or notice. Lots of creativity at work, each an artist in her own way.

We play games, put puzzles together, attempt to cook healthy food (balanced with yummy desserts), watch old movies and a new one, relax and talk. Did I mention we eat?

Time with these adults, these children that once filled our house, makes me feel rich and full. Content. Grateful for who they are. Our unique history, our story as a family, written in the good times and the bad, built on memories and time, like this week, together.

thanks to G and H for great photos!

Thirty-Eight

A moment out of moments

of a life,

thirty-eight years together.

We still ask, "What do you want to do?"

More a time to be, be together,

than to do.

To look back to the hike that day

when he asked,

and I said, "Yes,"

thirty-eight years ago.

Today's hike,

plan, dream

wonder at life, together.

Still say, "Yes."

The scenery ahead,

mountain highs

valley lows

storms brewing

 turbulent waters

clear skies.

Wander through the next thirty-eight years,

together,

hand-in-hand.

scenery from our anniversary weekend at Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado

Trailer Travel

I have a new fascination with trailer travel. Recently, a friend sent me a link for tiny trailers. Not sure I could go that small. But that led to links about restoring vintage trailers. Which led to links about other trailer options. I was off in a world of imaginary travels.

We used to joke that when our kids were all grown and in homes of their own, my husband and I would get an RV to live in and visit them around the country. We are not at that point yet, but someday?

Have you had a trailer? Any thoughts? On our recent road trip I was impressed by the variety and quantity of the trailers out there. My theme song of traveling lighter could be well lived in a cute little trailer...

(in)courage (in)real life

"Life is a patchwork of the meaningful things we keep with us - memories, moments, and connections that serve as daily reminders of where we've come from and who our loving Heavenly Father says we are in Jesus...[it] celebrates the way God, in His generous grace, sews together every beautiful bit of our lives to form one masterpiece creation after another."

Many of the bloggers that inspire me are part of the (in)courage team. On Saturday, 6,000 women from all over the country - the world! - met at local bloggers' homes (in) real life to meet and connect and learn and grow together. A wide range of ages laughed and chatted, shared  ideas and smiled, making connections that transcended the details of our busy lives. Some of us were writers, some were blog readers, others were connected by friendships.

What we had in common was love. Love for family. Love in friendships. Love to the Lord. This colorful, cozy quilt of gals, stitched together with laughter and love, created a real life way to share and (in)courage each other.

Dayspring generously shared gifts of inspiration for each of us. I received this watering can, the creative quote shared above is from the tag.

Links:
(in)courage
(in)real life
dayspring.com