This year we hosted a Christmas party for our church small group, which has actually become quite large. It was a really fun night, although we cannot take credit for the festivities. Phil and I, lacking in certain talents, asked others to perform songs and reading and such. Our friends brought so much food that we ran out of table space (and second table space, and third table space). Our “talent” went out of their way to make the evening special, with music and singing and a great version of the twelve months of Christmas (a parody on the twelve days), which even included fun props.
We decided that the fun thing WE were going to contribute (since it did not take the ability to play the clarinet or guitar) would be an Ugly Ornament Exchange. You know, we all have “THOSE” ornaments. If you are newly married like Phil and I, they are out on the tree. For others of you, they are tidily packed away in the boxes – the ones you “couldn’t quite fit” on the tree this year. Riiiiiight.
People were quite delighted to bring us their worst tree ornaments. About half of the ornaments were nicely wrapped, and it was a good idea, because even as it was, they were groaning over the ornaments they ended up with.
Phil and I, being a bit short- sighted, thought only of the fun that would come from seeing what was in the “bottom of the box” for each family. We did not think of the ramifications of asking people to take home someone else’s ugly trinket. And, as a result, we laughed quite heartily as people opened their ornaments, cringed, and chuckled with the story that went along with it. But when the whole group started congregating around our own tree, we got a bit nervous. We don’t know who started it (although we suspect our pastor) but, one by one, each Ugliest Ornament was carefully placed on our tree. “You can keep them here!” they collectively (and excitedly) said.
So, all in all, it was a fun game…to play at someone else’s house.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Sunday, December 24, 2006
On Christmas Eve
There is no snow tonight. In fact, the weather over the past month has been a far cry from this same time last year. I remember quite clearly, because this time last year we were moving into our house, buying our first (and second and third) snowshovel to clear walkways. It was the first time I realized how much it really took to heat this house. (When we moved in,we had 15 percent of the propane tank full, or 150 gallons of propane. It took three weeks to burn that up) Needless to say, we quickly tracked someone down to inspect our chimney so we could use our woodstove! To survive, we kept all but four rooms of the house completely closed off, and all of our boxes in the garage. It would be months until we unpacked more than the bare essentials.
The wind whipped around us whenever we ventured out in the cold, the wind chill in the teens on even the warmest of afternoons. The wind howled around the house starting at about 3pm each evening, a constant hum that reminded us just how lucky we were to have a brick house- the straw or stick houses would have been long gone.
This year, however, has been mild. A bit chilly, but barely a wisp of wind most days. It has allowed us to do some overly "Christmasy" things, like load hay bales into the back of Phil's Hidden Valley Ranch truck, put a lantern on a post, and go carolling with 15 of our closest church friends. (Which was quite fun, really, even when Phil accidentally flooded the engine at the last stop and half of the passengers had to get out and push the truck to a running start- ah the memories!)
The mild weather has been good to us, allowing preparations like putting a wood burning stove into the garage (so Phil can work in freezing temperatures), and splitting wood that we have received from neighbors. Slowly, we have been able to prepare for the upcoming winter weather. Our house is three times the size it was last year, making it trickier to "tighten up" this time of year. While last year we lived in four rooms of the house, this year, we are using all of the rooms both upstairs and down (which means more windows and more cold air!)
Last year, Christmas Eve was sad and quite lonely. We thought of family, of friends. We were cold, and though our tree was lit and we had presents, the joy of the season was missing.
This year, we have had so much hubbub over the Christmas season, I can't believe Christmas is tomorrow. And though I still get teary eyed over family back home, it is because I miss their smiles, their stupid-jello salads, their Clam chowder and the laughter that went with each family get-together, not because we are lonely. For we have been surrounded with loving people here, too. And for this I am extremely grateful.
But, I think, we miss the point in focusing on either one this Christmas Eve. Because Christmas, though it is a time for families to gather and presents to be exchanged, is first and foremost remembrance of the birth of Christ- the child who would bring salvation to the world. And though we were lonely last year for our family, and though we are surrounded with people this year, either can be a pitfall where we seek out comfort in such trappings instead of the one true Comforter. It matters not where you are, nor who you are with, but Who is in your heart on this Christmas eve.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas tonight- may your fires warm your homes, your dinners include lots of jello-salad, and your tables be surrounded with people you love.
The wind whipped around us whenever we ventured out in the cold, the wind chill in the teens on even the warmest of afternoons. The wind howled around the house starting at about 3pm each evening, a constant hum that reminded us just how lucky we were to have a brick house- the straw or stick houses would have been long gone.
This year, however, has been mild. A bit chilly, but barely a wisp of wind most days. It has allowed us to do some overly "Christmasy" things, like load hay bales into the back of Phil's Hidden Valley Ranch truck, put a lantern on a post, and go carolling with 15 of our closest church friends. (Which was quite fun, really, even when Phil accidentally flooded the engine at the last stop and half of the passengers had to get out and push the truck to a running start- ah the memories!)
The mild weather has been good to us, allowing preparations like putting a wood burning stove into the garage (so Phil can work in freezing temperatures), and splitting wood that we have received from neighbors. Slowly, we have been able to prepare for the upcoming winter weather. Our house is three times the size it was last year, making it trickier to "tighten up" this time of year. While last year we lived in four rooms of the house, this year, we are using all of the rooms both upstairs and down (which means more windows and more cold air!)
Last year, Christmas Eve was sad and quite lonely. We thought of family, of friends. We were cold, and though our tree was lit and we had presents, the joy of the season was missing.
This year, we have had so much hubbub over the Christmas season, I can't believe Christmas is tomorrow. And though I still get teary eyed over family back home, it is because I miss their smiles, their stupid-jello salads, their Clam chowder and the laughter that went with each family get-together, not because we are lonely. For we have been surrounded with loving people here, too. And for this I am extremely grateful.
But, I think, we miss the point in focusing on either one this Christmas Eve. Because Christmas, though it is a time for families to gather and presents to be exchanged, is first and foremost remembrance of the birth of Christ- the child who would bring salvation to the world. And though we were lonely last year for our family, and though we are surrounded with people this year, either can be a pitfall where we seek out comfort in such trappings instead of the one true Comforter. It matters not where you are, nor who you are with, but Who is in your heart on this Christmas eve.
I wish you all a Merry Christmas tonight- may your fires warm your homes, your dinners include lots of jello-salad, and your tables be surrounded with people you love.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Christmas Tree Hunting
Last year, having only been in our home for two weeks when Christmas rolled around, Phil surprised me with a tree on Christmas eve. He happened to pick up one of the last two trees on the lot (quite a gem with two tops and a hefty left-side). It took a bit of trimming and creative positioning, but it ended up being a very pretty tree for the appropriately discounted $5 price tag.
This year, I was surprised once again when Phil and our friend Michael braved the winter cold to head into town in the big "Hidden Valley Ranch" truck to pick up a tube tree. Or at least that's what I called it. They smush many hundreds of trees onto semi trucks and drive them across the country from Washington and Oregon to sit on the tree lots in front of Iowa's Menard's and Walmart stores. Because they have to sit in such tight quarters, they are bound into tiny tubes. We were assured it would "relax" with the warmth of the house. (Thankfully, they were right!)
Lot trees, by the way, were always a bit "no-no" in my family. So were fake trees. A real tree was appropriately hunted, cut down, and brought home from the woods. Though we tried many different tree farms over the years, our routine remained the same. It looked something like this:
On a December Saturday morning, one that was usually drizzly, we would decide that yes, this was tree hunting day. My sister, giddy with the idea, spent the rest of the morning preparing for the event, while the other three family members (or five, once we were both married) would spend the time watching TV, playing games, or reading. About 15 minutes before we had intended to leave, there would be much commotion and searching for lost snow boots(because rain equals mud). Once we were all packed in the car, my sister and I took stock. What was the plan? How would the perfect tree be located? This part of the trip, I would later learn, was fruitless.
Upon arriving at the tree farm- we would pair off- Me and Sis, Dad and Mom (dad, of course, carrying the saw). Each tree we saw was too short or too fat or too lopsided. Too many or not enough branches. Dad and mom would each find multiple options for us, and we would quickly decide why it was a tad bit inferior. Mom, being the shortest of all of us, would often pick trees vertically challenged, while dad, impatient, would find trees just "not quite right". Kristina, however, would bide her time, being the last holdout of the group.
See, while we were all dilly-dallying around in the morning, she was carefully choosing her wardrobe- three shirts, one coat, long johns, stretch pants and jeans. Two pairs of socks squished in well-insulated shoes. She could be as choosy as she wanted, because she was the only one who was warm.
Back together as a family, we each decided to keep our opinions to ourselves. As time wore on, Kris walked around, comfortable, while we each tried to bring attention to the good points of a particular tree. We started to take layers from her. First, the scarf. Then, the hat. Then, the coat. Finally, she would mention she liked a particular tree. Before she could walk around the back, dad was on the ground, cutting it down. Invariably, halfway through the cutting, she would see a bare spot and squeal "STOP! We can't get this one!" but Dad, undaunted by his youngest's plea kept on cutting.
This year, since I could not be in on the hunt, Kristina called and informed me she would be enlisting the help of technology to involve me. She would send pictures of potential trees via cell phone. Delighted to be involved, I settled in, next to my warm fire, and waited. This time, I think I had the hand up. "Did you remember all of your layers?" I asked, mixing my hot chocolate. "Sure did!" She replied. "Good! Don't forget, I want to see and be able to comment on EACH option." I settled in with a good book, waiting for the first pictures to come across the phone, wondering just how long she might last this year.
This year, I was surprised once again when Phil and our friend Michael braved the winter cold to head into town in the big "Hidden Valley Ranch" truck to pick up a tube tree. Or at least that's what I called it. They smush many hundreds of trees onto semi trucks and drive them across the country from Washington and Oregon to sit on the tree lots in front of Iowa's Menard's and Walmart stores. Because they have to sit in such tight quarters, they are bound into tiny tubes. We were assured it would "relax" with the warmth of the house. (Thankfully, they were right!)
Lot trees, by the way, were always a bit "no-no" in my family. So were fake trees. A real tree was appropriately hunted, cut down, and brought home from the woods. Though we tried many different tree farms over the years, our routine remained the same. It looked something like this:
On a December Saturday morning, one that was usually drizzly, we would decide that yes, this was tree hunting day. My sister, giddy with the idea, spent the rest of the morning preparing for the event, while the other three family members (or five, once we were both married) would spend the time watching TV, playing games, or reading. About 15 minutes before we had intended to leave, there would be much commotion and searching for lost snow boots(because rain equals mud). Once we were all packed in the car, my sister and I took stock. What was the plan? How would the perfect tree be located? This part of the trip, I would later learn, was fruitless.
Upon arriving at the tree farm- we would pair off- Me and Sis, Dad and Mom (dad, of course, carrying the saw). Each tree we saw was too short or too fat or too lopsided. Too many or not enough branches. Dad and mom would each find multiple options for us, and we would quickly decide why it was a tad bit inferior. Mom, being the shortest of all of us, would often pick trees vertically challenged, while dad, impatient, would find trees just "not quite right". Kristina, however, would bide her time, being the last holdout of the group.
See, while we were all dilly-dallying around in the morning, she was carefully choosing her wardrobe- three shirts, one coat, long johns, stretch pants and jeans. Two pairs of socks squished in well-insulated shoes. She could be as choosy as she wanted, because she was the only one who was warm.
Back together as a family, we each decided to keep our opinions to ourselves. As time wore on, Kris walked around, comfortable, while we each tried to bring attention to the good points of a particular tree. We started to take layers from her. First, the scarf. Then, the hat. Then, the coat. Finally, she would mention she liked a particular tree. Before she could walk around the back, dad was on the ground, cutting it down. Invariably, halfway through the cutting, she would see a bare spot and squeal "STOP! We can't get this one!" but Dad, undaunted by his youngest's plea kept on cutting.
This year, since I could not be in on the hunt, Kristina called and informed me she would be enlisting the help of technology to involve me. She would send pictures of potential trees via cell phone. Delighted to be involved, I settled in, next to my warm fire, and waited. This time, I think I had the hand up. "Did you remember all of your layers?" I asked, mixing my hot chocolate. "Sure did!" She replied. "Good! Don't forget, I want to see and be able to comment on EACH option." I settled in with a good book, waiting for the first pictures to come across the phone, wondering just how long she might last this year.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
It's been so long, hello old friend
The computer crashed Wednesday morning.
We test drove and purchased a van Wednesday afternoon.
Wednesday night we took up the red carpet in the bathroom.
Wednesday night we replaced the red carpet with flooring that doesn't stain your feet.
Thursday morning two friends arrived from Washington.
Four days of whirlwind excitement and good times followed.
Sunday afternoon Friends head home.
House seems extra quiet.
Boot up borrowed computer and hook up to internet- remember I have a blog.
Decide I better explain why I have not posted in awhile.
I will post pictures and deeper explanations soon. So much to share!
We test drove and purchased a van Wednesday afternoon.
Wednesday night we took up the red carpet in the bathroom.
Wednesday night we replaced the red carpet with flooring that doesn't stain your feet.
Thursday morning two friends arrived from Washington.
Four days of whirlwind excitement and good times followed.
Sunday afternoon Friends head home.
House seems extra quiet.
Boot up borrowed computer and hook up to internet- remember I have a blog.
Decide I better explain why I have not posted in awhile.
I will post pictures and deeper explanations soon. So much to share!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Another thing to be thankful for!
As if there is not already enough joy to go around this holiday season, we became "Auntie and Uncle" once again last night! Phil's brother Eric and his wife Reya welcomed the first little one into their family last night -quite unexpectedly! Four and a half weeks early, but a healthy 4pounds 14ounces, Clarence Michael decided he just didn't want to miss the Thanksgiving festivities. Eric is in the Coast Guard, stationed in Honolulu, so we can't pick up and hold the little guy, but we are SO thankful he is healthy and that mom is doing well, too. So many blessings...
I started making Christmas stockings about two weeks ago, and I am glad that Thanksgiving is over so I can put up the finished product without getting virtual glares from my mom, who is an avid "Wait until it's time" Christmas decorator. This morning, until we can call and talk to the new mama mentioned above (we are four hours ahead out here) we are listening to Christmas music, putting away fall, and ushering in the holiday season.
This year also marks the first year since I have been married that I have not had to work on Black Friday. We have missed most of the holiday shopping frenzy because of the blatant lack of media in our house, and as a result I was quite content to sit at home -do no shopping and resist fighting the crowds today. That was, until a cousin brought out the ads yesterday at Thanksgiving. Suddenly items that I had never before coveted were now on my "oooh THAT would be fun to have" list. So, all day my poor husband has had to listen to "Well, maybe we SHOULD go to Target...I mean, I know I don't need anything, but what if there is a good deal?"
Because he is the steadfast one in the family, and because we are really trying to keep our holiday low-key this year, he keeps reminding me that we don't need anything, and therefore should not go out looking for anything. So, in that spirit, I have resisted. Then I got a phone call from my sister- out in the trenches of Kohls, telling me about the DVD player she got for $130 off, and the kids clothes that were discounted 70%...oh the pull of retail. And then, I read this article http://www.kcci.com/money/10389831/detail.html and remembered just how crazy black Friday really is. No, we don't really need a garden gnome...even if it is only $1.99.
I started making Christmas stockings about two weeks ago, and I am glad that Thanksgiving is over so I can put up the finished product without getting virtual glares from my mom, who is an avid "Wait until it's time" Christmas decorator. This morning, until we can call and talk to the new mama mentioned above (we are four hours ahead out here) we are listening to Christmas music, putting away fall, and ushering in the holiday season.
This year also marks the first year since I have been married that I have not had to work on Black Friday. We have missed most of the holiday shopping frenzy because of the blatant lack of media in our house, and as a result I was quite content to sit at home -do no shopping and resist fighting the crowds today. That was, until a cousin brought out the ads yesterday at Thanksgiving. Suddenly items that I had never before coveted were now on my "oooh THAT would be fun to have" list. So, all day my poor husband has had to listen to "Well, maybe we SHOULD go to Target...I mean, I know I don't need anything, but what if there is a good deal?"
Because he is the steadfast one in the family, and because we are really trying to keep our holiday low-key this year, he keeps reminding me that we don't need anything, and therefore should not go out looking for anything. So, in that spirit, I have resisted. Then I got a phone call from my sister- out in the trenches of Kohls, telling me about the DVD player she got for $130 off, and the kids clothes that were discounted 70%...oh the pull of retail. And then, I read this article http://www.kcci.com/money/10389831/detail.html and remembered just how crazy black Friday really is. No, we don't really need a garden gnome...even if it is only $1.99.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
The riggors of childhood
The downside of having a mom with a blog is that she always wants to catch those cute moments with her camera. In the midst of those embarrassing, awful moments where most moms would just help you up and out of your predicament, she wants to find her camera and take a photo.Like yesterday. Ryan likes to play with these pots and pans from my kitchen. He carries them around, puts things in them (oh! We’re having plastic horse for dinner…) and generally strews them about the house. Yesterday he decided to use one of them as a chair (just the right height, I guess). But instead of sitting on the bottom of the pot, he ended up easing himself onto the top, his rear end sinking to the bottom and his little feet dangling over the edge.
He looked at me with shocked eyes “What has happened?!” and instead of going over and helping him out, I ran to get a camera, unable to stifle my laughs. I returned moments later, but by the time I had the camera on and focused, he was already working on an exit strategy. This was the only picture I was able to get to chronicle the event.
And the whole thing (including the slight bit of guilt I felt at not immediately helping him out) reminded me of this past Halloween.
When children are 4 and they want to be Spiderman or a fairy princess, they are delighted when you can turn them into such a character- if only for one day. As kids get older, they learn to create their own fictional character, adding to the fun.
But when your son is 19 months old and you wrangle him into a bee costume, it is for no other reason than you want to see him in a bee costume, and you want pictures of him in a bee costume. Sure, I stood him in front of the mirror, talked to him and tried to impart on him the idea that he was pretending to be this flying creature...but it was to no avail.And when you are purchasing a costume for a child this age, with the full knowledge that they could care less what they are going to be, you search for three things - price, convenience, and cuteness factor. In your parental simplicity you forget to think like a child, through all of the ramifications of certain costumes. When I picked out the bee costume, and put it on Ryan the morning of the church "trick or treating" party, I had no idea that the three year olds would make a game out of running from the bee....you know, because it stings?
So when the Butterfly Princess and Woody and Mary's Little Lamb ran squealing past me down the hall, it took me a minute to put it all together. "The bee is coming! The bee is coming!" Ahh...I thought...kids are too creative for their own good. Slower and more stumbly, Ryan ran after them, not grasping the point of the game and only looking to play with his buddies. Smiling, he was having a blast. Thankful that he didn’t understand the kids were running from him, I was quickly reminded of what it feels like to grow up. I didn't realize I would have to work with a backward learning curve, here. Iwill have to get past my naiveté before preschool, I’m afraid!
He wears size 7 shoes now.
My son is growing up.
I know, he has been doing that sort of thing for, oh, about twenty months or so now. Ok, 20 plus 9 months. But it has hit me more in the last month, these small milestones that seem so mundane individually, but spell something much bigger when linked together. My son is growing up. And while I am not looking forward to the day when he will say "Moooomm! Not in front of the other kids!" Or "You can just drop me here, I will walk the rest of the way," I find that I am really looking forward to having an "older kid". Each day as he learns and understands more, I am able to see more of what goes on in his little head. Though I have to be so much more careful (because he can reach EVERYTHING) I can also be more lax on things (he doesn't run headlong toward the stairs anymore).
Yesterday at the doctor's office he stood on the big kid scale. He put his hands on his tummy as the nurse prompted, and stood perfectly still on the scale while she weighed him, listened to his heartbeat and checked his breathing. I can still remember so vividly undressing him to lay him on the scale and the cries that came from the cold stethoscope of a nurse he didn't know. I even remember his first two doctor's visits when he would fight being stretched out to be measured- the nurse would push his little knee down to take him out of his curled position and he would protest with great anger. But yesterday he just walked out of the "weighing room" like a big kid, carrying his coat and following the nurse to the exam room.
I think that because I am with him all the time it is hard for me to remember to let him grow up. I get in my routine and forget to challenge him, to slow down and let him help. And because of this I am thankful that he is always asking to do more- pushing himself down so he can walk rather than be carried, grabbing the large pieces of wood and hauling them over to be placed in the fireplace.
He is a joy to watch, and I so look forward to the days as he gets older. Giving him cookies and asking about his day when he comes home from school, seeing him run downstairs with anticipation on Christmas morning, teaching him how to plant in the garden. As the mom in me wants to hold onto him now, while he is cuddly and wants to be read stories all the time, that very same mom also wants him to grow up and be part of the world around him, to learn to read on his own. It's strange, this "parenting" thing- what it does to your emotions and your psyche. The fear and the pride and the protectiveness and the love. I wasn't properly warned, I fear. Then again, I don't really know how you would impart that kind of knowledge on someone unless you gave them a child to raise.
I know, he has been doing that sort of thing for, oh, about twenty months or so now. Ok, 20 plus 9 months. But it has hit me more in the last month, these small milestones that seem so mundane individually, but spell something much bigger when linked together. My son is growing up. And while I am not looking forward to the day when he will say "Moooomm! Not in front of the other kids!" Or "You can just drop me here, I will walk the rest of the way," I find that I am really looking forward to having an "older kid". Each day as he learns and understands more, I am able to see more of what goes on in his little head. Though I have to be so much more careful (because he can reach EVERYTHING) I can also be more lax on things (he doesn't run headlong toward the stairs anymore).
Yesterday at the doctor's office he stood on the big kid scale. He put his hands on his tummy as the nurse prompted, and stood perfectly still on the scale while she weighed him, listened to his heartbeat and checked his breathing. I can still remember so vividly undressing him to lay him on the scale and the cries that came from the cold stethoscope of a nurse he didn't know. I even remember his first two doctor's visits when he would fight being stretched out to be measured- the nurse would push his little knee down to take him out of his curled position and he would protest with great anger. But yesterday he just walked out of the "weighing room" like a big kid, carrying his coat and following the nurse to the exam room.
I think that because I am with him all the time it is hard for me to remember to let him grow up. I get in my routine and forget to challenge him, to slow down and let him help. And because of this I am thankful that he is always asking to do more- pushing himself down so he can walk rather than be carried, grabbing the large pieces of wood and hauling them over to be placed in the fireplace.
He is a joy to watch, and I so look forward to the days as he gets older. Giving him cookies and asking about his day when he comes home from school, seeing him run downstairs with anticipation on Christmas morning, teaching him how to plant in the garden. As the mom in me wants to hold onto him now, while he is cuddly and wants to be read stories all the time, that very same mom also wants him to grow up and be part of the world around him, to learn to read on his own. It's strange, this "parenting" thing- what it does to your emotions and your psyche. The fear and the pride and the protectiveness and the love. I wasn't properly warned, I fear. Then again, I don't really know how you would impart that kind of knowledge on someone unless you gave them a child to raise.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Oh so very city
The other morning I was reminded anew of just how much city has been ingrained in me. I was driving to see a friend- on a long, straight, gravel country road. There were no houses to be seen in either direction, just some rolling hills and a few grain storage bins.
As I rounded the top of a small hill, I noticed a large pickup parked on the side of the road. Odd, I thought to myself, but quickly dismissed it, probably just a farmer checking on his field- taking soil samples or something.
Before too long, I came upon two men in orange vests, and a pair of dogs. A short barrage of possibilities ran through my mind- A search party? Did someone lose something? Inmates doing road cleanup? Would inmates have dogs?
And then, nearly passing the two men, I notice they each have a gun. My heart stops and for a minute I almost duck, expecting bullets to come flying through my rear window. They aren't inmates! They've excaped already! Surely they were waiting for some unsuspecting soul to drive this way to hijack their car!
But before I look too crazy, my new country-brain catches up with my old-city brain and I realize they are just hunters, out for pheasant season. I soothe myelf with the reminder that guns are OK when held by people hunting game...they aren't going to just shoot whatever comes across their path. One of the hunters waves at me, and I smile as if I see strange unkempt men with guns and dogs walking down the side of the road all the time- doesn't bother me a bit, really.
Oh the adjustments one must make...
As I rounded the top of a small hill, I noticed a large pickup parked on the side of the road. Odd, I thought to myself, but quickly dismissed it, probably just a farmer checking on his field- taking soil samples or something.
Before too long, I came upon two men in orange vests, and a pair of dogs. A short barrage of possibilities ran through my mind- A search party? Did someone lose something? Inmates doing road cleanup? Would inmates have dogs?
And then, nearly passing the two men, I notice they each have a gun. My heart stops and for a minute I almost duck, expecting bullets to come flying through my rear window. They aren't inmates! They've excaped already! Surely they were waiting for some unsuspecting soul to drive this way to hijack their car!
But before I look too crazy, my new country-brain catches up with my old-city brain and I realize they are just hunters, out for pheasant season. I soothe myelf with the reminder that guns are OK when held by people hunting game...they aren't going to just shoot whatever comes across their path. One of the hunters waves at me, and I smile as if I see strange unkempt men with guns and dogs walking down the side of the road all the time- doesn't bother me a bit, really.
Oh the adjustments one must make...
Monday, November 13, 2006
On Generosity
So, the car that has been my mode of transportation for 8 years is no longer. The insurance company totaled it and came to pick it up on Friday. It was my first car, one that took me through high school, community college, university, and my fist job. It endured West Seattle and the U-district (three break-ins, one purse, and one cd player later). It brought my baby home from the hospital and survived nearly a year in the wilds of Iowa, only to be bested by a daredevil deer.
The upside, however, is that we still had our comprehensive insurance, (even though my thrifty nature fought against it over the past few months), and we will be able to buy a different car. One that I did not abuse during my teen years, and hopefully one that does not need immediate repair work. It may even be able to carry five people comfortably.
But the real blessing here is not in the insurance, but in the generosity of our neighbors. It’s hard to understand the enormity of this without fully grasping where we are. Two weeks ago I would have said “I just don’t know how He is going to do it…” and yet these two weeks have passed and I see a light at the end of the tunnel. It warms my heart that even when times are rough, we are not alone.
So, to lay pride aside in order that you might understand the blessings we have received, here we go. It’s a bit lengthy so bear with me.
1. When my parents were visiting, we learned that there was a problem with the well. It would be either $60 or $700 to fix, more likely the latter.
2. Our propane tank was down to 10% full (in an old house like this, during the winter, that lasts about a month, depending on the usage. Filling up the tank is around $1200.
3. We smashed the car. We would need a new one…oh, immediately. The other car we have is a 1950’s truck without seatbelts, not exactly family friendly. No matter what, to get a safe car we were going to put around $1000 into it, on top of the money we get from insurance.
4. While Phil has work, and has been bringing projects in, he does not get paid for them until the owner delivers the items. This can be up to a month after the project is initially finished.
So, it felt a bit like the world was closing in on us. And you probably look at this list and say the same thing “Wow…I don’t see how this is going to work either, unless you just have this endless supply of money laying around!” And we don’t, so this scenario seemed very scary to us, as well. So, we prayed- for direction, for relief, something.
We kept these issues to ourselves for the most part- telling only a few family members, because, well, we have it all together, right? We finally decided to ask our small group for some prayer – that we couldn’t really see a way out of me going back to work, or making some big change in our lives.
Later that evening, someone left us an anonymous gift – it was small in comparison to our overall need, but it allowed us to breathe a bit. There was compassion and care and selflessness in the gift and it made me cry for the sacrifice I knew it was.
The next evening we had invited another couple over for dinner. When she walked in the door she carried with her a laundry basket of meat- all of this stuff she wouldn’t/ couldn’t use, she explained. “One way we can lighten the burden,” she said lightheartedly. Being farmers, they have this supply of meat, and shared their bounty with us. And again, we breathed in a bit deeper.
That Friday, our friend Mike called- he was back from a three week trip seeing his family, just checking in on the neighbors. I told him my deer story, and laughed with him about keeping his animals in their rightful fields, rather than running across the street, and all. He wished me luck on the insurance stuff, and said he would be by later to check in.
The next day he stopped by and asked Phil if he might be willing to “store a car” for him this winter- he had “too many, you know”. He explained that, since he would be with family out of state, he needed a place for his car. Would we be able to store it? And, of course, drive it around a bit to keep it warm. Phil saw through his attempts to save our pride and gladly accepted the loaner car.
He drove the car over two days later, vacuumed, cleaned, gas tank topped off. He brought with him a long list of notes about the car (like the door beeps when it’s open, whether or not the key is in), his insurance policy number as well as his roadside assist policy number (both of which we are covered on, he explained). He included his home, away, and cell number, as well as a duplicate copy of the information for me to keep in a separate location. There were jumper cables in the back, extra belts, an assortment of fuses and relays, flashlights and a tool box that would make dad proud. When I would have been happy with just any old thing to drive for the interim, he has gone all out to see that we are taken care of and safe. (He did ask that I avoid hitting deer with his car.)
We called the propane coop that same day and they came to fill up our tank. They offered to prorate our bill over the remainder of the period with no charge. In English, that means we only have to pay $185 per month rather than $1200 this month. It’s something they do all the time, they explained.
So, I can take stock today, two weeks later:
1. We had well guys come out and look at the well this past week. They said nothing was wrong mechanically, just some mineral buildup that kept the water from getting in so fast. The guys were extremely nice, and worked fast. We haven’t gotten the bill, but it will be less than we originally expected. **
2. We have a full tank of propane, and a manageable monthly bill.
3. We don’t have to worry about getting a new car for three months- so we can save up for the right car and pick it up at our leisure.
4. Our freezer is full of yummy meat.
5. Our hearts are warmed with the reminder that God can do ALL things, whether or not we see the outcome for ourselves!
I think of the times we have the opportunity in our own lives to be generous to someone in need, even if the need isn’t that great or isn’t even expressed. We certainly are not the neediest people I know, and it makes me uncomfortable taking things from people. But here is the truth- we each have something that can lighten the burden of someone else: a phone call for encouragement, a letter in the mail, a fresh baked pie. A car you aren’t using or all of this leftover produce from your garden. It seems so small to you when you have it, but so big to someone receiving it.
These people individually had no idea the scope or depth of our upcoming burdens- they only saw that there was a need they could help to meet. But in all, it worked out to be this beautiful harmony – and we were taken care of, each burden lifted. How neat is that? I hope that one day I can fine-tune my instincts as well as these people have – to learn to give of myself when I see even a small need, because I never know what else is going on. I want to be an instrument in someone’s life like they have been in mine!
**(On a side note, we had our first snow of the season the same day these guys came out to work on the well. It started as a little drizzle, and ended up being a regular winter storm. They were champs about it, and we served them a hot lunch as a small token for the resolve it took for them to keep going in the storm! The snow was absolutely beautiful, though. I have been really afraid of winter- secretly fearing the cold weather- but that snow reminded me of how beautiful winter is. The snow is so bright and reflective you can't help but be thankful for it! OK, as long as you aren't working in it.)
Friday, November 10, 2006
New Translation?
Me: This is getting bad. I drink like four cups of coffee a day.
P: I know. We drink more coffee now than we ever have before.
Me: I didn't have any last night and now I have a headache- I've gotta have some really early this morning.
P: Yup, bring yourself back to that normal level of "extremely caffeinated."
Me: Exactly. Now where's that coffee?
P: And you know, in the end times, when everyone turns into cannibals, they will bite into one of us and and go "WOW! THOSE people are definitely not from around here! Give you a zing, don't they!"
Me: Will there be cannibals in the end times?
P: Oh, I guess I don't know. Sure?
Me: "Are these like those Seattle morsels we hear about? You know, the ones that actually taste like Starbucks?"
P: Ok, that's taking it too far.
Me: Hey! You introduced the people eaters- don't blame this downward spiral on me!
P: I know. We drink more coffee now than we ever have before.
Me: I didn't have any last night and now I have a headache- I've gotta have some really early this morning.
P: Yup, bring yourself back to that normal level of "extremely caffeinated."
Me: Exactly. Now where's that coffee?
P: And you know, in the end times, when everyone turns into cannibals, they will bite into one of us and and go "WOW! THOSE people are definitely not from around here! Give you a zing, don't they!"
Me: Will there be cannibals in the end times?
P: Oh, I guess I don't know. Sure?
Me: "Are these like those Seattle morsels we hear about? You know, the ones that actually taste like Starbucks?"
P: Ok, that's taking it too far.
Me: Hey! You introduced the people eaters- don't blame this downward spiral on me!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Because every mom knows what it's like to have baby residue on their clothes.
"Here, Ryan! Lookee here!" Phil cynically and loudly beckons our innocent child to get involved in an act of outright revenge.
"Mmmm M and M's! Soooo good! You eat these and go see mom!" I hear Phil snickering in the kitchen.
We had been in the middle of lighthearted banter when I left the room in a mock-huff, retreating to the couch where I sat, arms crossed, waiting for him to come sheepishly apologize.
But this, this was a new tactic- one I had not seen before.
Ryan, little feet pounding, ran with his arm outstretched into the living room, showing me his prized M&M. Being the generous toddler he is, he offered his bounty to me. I took it from him, popped it in my mouth, said thank you, and gave a wry smile to my husband, who just happened to be observing the event by peeking around the door.
Immediately his head disappeared and again came his beckoning call:
"Ryyyyyan! More candy in here!" He shakes the M&M jar loudly. The little feet run full speed ahead to the awaiting treat.
"Here, one for your mouth, and then one for each hand. Go see mom!" He says, his voice dripping with excitement that transfers to our 18-month old. Ryan runs into the living room again, smiling, little fists clinging the candies.
My husband's head appears once again around the doorway, and I cock my head sideways, glaring a bit at his shenanigans. And then he lets out a laugh as he sees the intended results.
A long stream of blue juice dripping from Ryan's mouth, his smile revealing equally blue teeth.
"That's it, give her a nice big hug and make sure to rub your face on her khaki pantleg!"
At least he's creative.
"Mmmm M and M's! Soooo good! You eat these and go see mom!" I hear Phil snickering in the kitchen.
We had been in the middle of lighthearted banter when I left the room in a mock-huff, retreating to the couch where I sat, arms crossed, waiting for him to come sheepishly apologize.
But this, this was a new tactic- one I had not seen before.
Ryan, little feet pounding, ran with his arm outstretched into the living room, showing me his prized M&M. Being the generous toddler he is, he offered his bounty to me. I took it from him, popped it in my mouth, said thank you, and gave a wry smile to my husband, who just happened to be observing the event by peeking around the door.
Immediately his head disappeared and again came his beckoning call:
"Ryyyyyan! More candy in here!" He shakes the M&M jar loudly. The little feet run full speed ahead to the awaiting treat.
"Here, one for your mouth, and then one for each hand. Go see mom!" He says, his voice dripping with excitement that transfers to our 18-month old. Ryan runs into the living room again, smiling, little fists clinging the candies.
My husband's head appears once again around the doorway, and I cock my head sideways, glaring a bit at his shenanigans. And then he lets out a laugh as he sees the intended results.
A long stream of blue juice dripping from Ryan's mouth, his smile revealing equally blue teeth.
"That's it, give her a nice big hug and make sure to rub your face on her khaki pantleg!"
At least he's creative.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Soured Yogurt or Healthy Yumminess?
I have always liked to eat somewhat healthy. Well, that's not entirely true. I like to eat some things that are healthy to offset the wonderfully rich goodness of others. For example, my Starbuck's drink is a Grande NONFAT white chocolate mocha WITH WHIP. See? Cancelled out. During college my roommate and I would eat simple meals - plain spaggetti and butter and parmesan cheese. We would add some peas on the side so the meal would appear well-rounded. Then afterward, of course, we would snack on double-stuffed oreos. Again, a wash. As a result, my diet was simple, easy to prepare, and relatively tasteless.
When I started dating Phil, though, my diet had to change. He simply wasn't content with plain chicken breasts or noodles with Johny's seasoning salt. Even if he did get rewarded afterward with brownies. He wanted flavor. Spice, grease, red meat, real vegetables, a regular array of foods. Though hesitant, (and mostly out of early-dating politeness) I began to inch out of my comfort zone. I learned to like (among others) broccoli, thai food, salmon, asparagas and squash, all of which I had previously strictly avoided. He opened my eyes to the beauty that is real whipped cream and egg nog (although I am still a holdout on things like gravy for breakfast).
Over the years my affinity for tasteless, low-fat foods has comingled with his love of rich, high-in-fat foods and we have come out better for it. (Believe it or not I actually weigh less now than when we first met, althoug I have no idea how) We now eat a more balanced, tasteful cuisine. But although we have come to the same conclusions with our tastebuds, there are still two areas where we often disagree.
1. I am very cheap. If I can get a bargain, I will certainly take advantage. I have no brand loyalty and am willing to go for the best bargain even if it means buying "Mom's best" Toasted O's.
2. Phil is a purist. He believes the best thing we can do for our health is actually look at the ingredients in what we eat. You should have seen the time I brought home margarine thinking "This is two bucks cheaper than butter!" He was on the internet in seconds, telling me how partially-hydrogenated oils will slowly kill us, one artery at a time. As a result, we don't use things like "Coffeemate," or eat processed foods very often. Though also a fellow cheapskate, he is willing to pay the extra funds it costs to eat "simple foods". (Though the health nut in me has to say it confuses me how a man who will not eat margarine downs biscuits and gravy with a side of sausage for breakfast, but that's another story.)
So here we are, last night, ready to sit down to a meal. We had a pork steak (that was fabulous, by the way), a green salad, and a baked potato. I was quite proud of myself for producing a low-cost, good-tasting meal. But my husband balked at me. I made a fatal error by placing THIS on the table.
I bought this at the store for $.25! It was some crazy sale and they were offering these 16 oz tubs of sour cream, four for a dollar. Lowfat, cheap, what bargain hunter could pass this up? Not I, surely.
But as I slid it across the table to him, he looked at me, appalled. "You don't want me to EAT this, do you?" He melodramatically picked up the container to study it closer. Smiling wryly he then took the tip of a spoon and gingerly dipped the very end of it into the tub. He dabbed his tongue with the offending stuff and said with a scrunched-up face "It tastes like sour yogurt."
"It does not!" I protested, laughing now. I had been caught.
"Oh yes it does! Who puts soured yogurt on their potato? Look! There isn't even any CREAM in this stuff! It's all skim milk! And gelatin! Gelatin is a meat product, and it's in your sour cream!"
$.25 deal or not, I am about to hear why this is the worst possible purchase on the planet.
"It's like 'Whipped Topping'. They can't say 'Whipped Cream' because there is no cream in it- nothing natural about it. This is false advertising! They should just call this Soured Topping. Here, would you like some Soured Topping with your nice, moist potato?" At this point he begins to talk about all of the awful things technology has allowed us to do with food.
Having heard the diatribe before, I mentally make a note NOT to buy fat free sour cream again. (Lite, then, I tell myself. I'll take my chances.)
When I started dating Phil, though, my diet had to change. He simply wasn't content with plain chicken breasts or noodles with Johny's seasoning salt. Even if he did get rewarded afterward with brownies. He wanted flavor. Spice, grease, red meat, real vegetables, a regular array of foods. Though hesitant, (and mostly out of early-dating politeness) I began to inch out of my comfort zone. I learned to like (among others) broccoli, thai food, salmon, asparagas and squash, all of which I had previously strictly avoided. He opened my eyes to the beauty that is real whipped cream and egg nog (although I am still a holdout on things like gravy for breakfast).
Over the years my affinity for tasteless, low-fat foods has comingled with his love of rich, high-in-fat foods and we have come out better for it. (Believe it or not I actually weigh less now than when we first met, althoug I have no idea how) We now eat a more balanced, tasteful cuisine. But although we have come to the same conclusions with our tastebuds, there are still two areas where we often disagree.
1. I am very cheap. If I can get a bargain, I will certainly take advantage. I have no brand loyalty and am willing to go for the best bargain even if it means buying "Mom's best" Toasted O's.
2. Phil is a purist. He believes the best thing we can do for our health is actually look at the ingredients in what we eat. You should have seen the time I brought home margarine thinking "This is two bucks cheaper than butter!" He was on the internet in seconds, telling me how partially-hydrogenated oils will slowly kill us, one artery at a time. As a result, we don't use things like "Coffeemate," or eat processed foods very often. Though also a fellow cheapskate, he is willing to pay the extra funds it costs to eat "simple foods". (Though the health nut in me has to say it confuses me how a man who will not eat margarine downs biscuits and gravy with a side of sausage for breakfast, but that's another story.)
So here we are, last night, ready to sit down to a meal. We had a pork steak (that was fabulous, by the way), a green salad, and a baked potato. I was quite proud of myself for producing a low-cost, good-tasting meal. But my husband balked at me. I made a fatal error by placing THIS on the table.
I bought this at the store for $.25! It was some crazy sale and they were offering these 16 oz tubs of sour cream, four for a dollar. Lowfat, cheap, what bargain hunter could pass this up? Not I, surely.But as I slid it across the table to him, he looked at me, appalled. "You don't want me to EAT this, do you?" He melodramatically picked up the container to study it closer. Smiling wryly he then took the tip of a spoon and gingerly dipped the very end of it into the tub. He dabbed his tongue with the offending stuff and said with a scrunched-up face "It tastes like sour yogurt."
"It does not!" I protested, laughing now. I had been caught.
"Oh yes it does! Who puts soured yogurt on their potato? Look! There isn't even any CREAM in this stuff! It's all skim milk! And gelatin! Gelatin is a meat product, and it's in your sour cream!"
$.25 deal or not, I am about to hear why this is the worst possible purchase on the planet.
"It's like 'Whipped Topping'. They can't say 'Whipped Cream' because there is no cream in it- nothing natural about it. This is false advertising! They should just call this Soured Topping. Here, would you like some Soured Topping with your nice, moist potato?" At this point he begins to talk about all of the awful things technology has allowed us to do with food.Having heard the diatribe before, I mentally make a note NOT to buy fat free sour cream again. (Lite, then, I tell myself. I'll take my chances.)
Little Chef
I love helping mom when she is cooking! I get to stand on a chair...pour stuff into bowls...and even smash the spoon around in all the goop! Did you know that flour tastes good? Try it sometime- just take a big handful and put it in your mouth (quick-like so yer mom doesn't catch ya, though). My favorite part is when she leaves the room to get eggs or sumptin and you can eat from the end of the spoon (you gotta play it cool when she comes back in, though, she doesn't take too kindly to such a thing).
Above all, my favorite part of the whole shebang is the end, when she puts down the batter mixer and I can snitch it - so much good stuff on there! Mmm!
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Sneaky?
Those new tools look pretty neat. I wonder how I could get my hands on those...
I know, I will just climb up here on this sewing box and get close, and sneak little touches in here and there.
Who am I kidding? That will never work! She will see me.
Unless...
Yes, that's it! I will find dad's hat. That way she will think it's him, not me! Dad gets to pick up and touch and play with those tool-thingies.
Now where is that hat?
That's it...just climb...riiiight up here...reeeeach...look casual, like you do this every day...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Hunting With the Wrong Weapon
New Iowan's Beware: Truths about your state.
1. There are currently 8 gazillion deer roaming around Iowa.
2. As a new citizen, you will become aware that deer are not only pretty to look at, but they are also a driving hazard. While initially you will be somewhat nonchalant about this risk, as you begin seeing many deer laying on the side of the road, hearing of deer-related accidents and roll-overs, you will grow to be extra cautious, and over-concerned regarding these animals and your vehicle.
3. You will slowly become used to seeing small herds of deer crossing the road, grazing in fields, standing in ditches, eating your garden. (Take heart, they only eat things that are green and not surrounded by a ten-foot fence.)
4. Some experienced Iowan's will tell you to invest in these state-of-the-art whistles which adhere (with high-tech tape) to your car. You will hurriedly drive to your local supply store and buy said whistles and begin to drive with greater confidence.
5. These whistles do not work. Even when you have four (instead of the recommended two) attached to your car.
6. If they do in fact work, there also happen to be suicidal deer, who come a-runnin' when they hear the aforementioned whistles.
7. Deer are bigger than you imagine. They look small, cute, graceful even as they graze in the fields. But when they run in front of your car, you realize that they are VERY large. Looming, even. (And those are the does).
8. When you run into one of these large animals, keep driving. Don't stop and survey damage because you will be on a country road, with possibly one headlight and no street lamps, in the middle of the night. Keep driving home, because once you stop you might learn that your car has performed some type of automotive acrobatics and the radiator is punctured or your battery is squished into your fanbelt, and you won't be able to start it again.
9. You will be thankful for the comprehensive insurance on your car that you contemplated dropping earlier in the year.
We are fine, although I cannot say the same for the deer we hit last night. I was driving and Ryan was in his carseat. The deer was pretty crafty, hiding stealthily in the wide, deep ditch until the exact moment when I topped the small hill and was making my way down. He decided to make his move, quickly but not quick enough. I was able to hit the brakes and avoid hitting him at 60mph, thankfully.
I was only about four miles from home and was able to keep driving until I arrived at home, shaking but still in one whole, unbruised piece. Ryan is fine, too (although I am not sure my post-accident jittering didn't give him a bit of whiplash). The car didn't stop hissing for about 15 minutes after we got home, which leads us to believe there might be some "internal" damage done to the car. We are in the middle of figuring out what to do with the car, since it might be totalled or it may just need repair work (lots, and lots, of repair work).
10. You can buy a $10 roadkill tag in the event you do run into a deer, and would like to keep it for the "good meat".
11. At all costs, avoid telling your husband WHERE the deer was hit when he mentions this piece of trivia.
1. There are currently 8 gazillion deer roaming around Iowa.
2. As a new citizen, you will become aware that deer are not only pretty to look at, but they are also a driving hazard. While initially you will be somewhat nonchalant about this risk, as you begin seeing many deer laying on the side of the road, hearing of deer-related accidents and roll-overs, you will grow to be extra cautious, and over-concerned regarding these animals and your vehicle.
3. You will slowly become used to seeing small herds of deer crossing the road, grazing in fields, standing in ditches, eating your garden. (Take heart, they only eat things that are green and not surrounded by a ten-foot fence.)
4. Some experienced Iowan's will tell you to invest in these state-of-the-art whistles which adhere (with high-tech tape) to your car. You will hurriedly drive to your local supply store and buy said whistles and begin to drive with greater confidence.
5. These whistles do not work. Even when you have four (instead of the recommended two) attached to your car.
6. If they do in fact work, there also happen to be suicidal deer, who come a-runnin' when they hear the aforementioned whistles.
7. Deer are bigger than you imagine. They look small, cute, graceful even as they graze in the fields. But when they run in front of your car, you realize that they are VERY large. Looming, even. (And those are the does).
8. When you run into one of these large animals, keep driving. Don't stop and survey damage because you will be on a country road, with possibly one headlight and no street lamps, in the middle of the night. Keep driving home, because once you stop you might learn that your car has performed some type of automotive acrobatics and the radiator is punctured or your battery is squished into your fanbelt, and you won't be able to start it again.
9. You will be thankful for the comprehensive insurance on your car that you contemplated dropping earlier in the year.
We are fine, although I cannot say the same for the deer we hit last night. I was driving and Ryan was in his carseat. The deer was pretty crafty, hiding stealthily in the wide, deep ditch until the exact moment when I topped the small hill and was making my way down. He decided to make his move, quickly but not quick enough. I was able to hit the brakes and avoid hitting him at 60mph, thankfully.I was only about four miles from home and was able to keep driving until I arrived at home, shaking but still in one whole, unbruised piece. Ryan is fine, too (although I am not sure my post-accident jittering didn't give him a bit of whiplash). The car didn't stop hissing for about 15 minutes after we got home, which leads us to believe there might be some "internal" damage done to the car. We are in the middle of figuring out what to do with the car, since it might be totalled or it may just need repair work (lots, and lots, of repair work).
10. You can buy a $10 roadkill tag in the event you do run into a deer, and would like to keep it for the "good meat".
11. At all costs, avoid telling your husband WHERE the deer was hit when he mentions this piece of trivia.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Tag! YOUR it!
Which way would you prefer to follow God's will for your life?
The youth group leader sits on the back of a chair, posing the question to ten kids. I sit, one of five adults who are there to answer questions and lead them.
Option one. I will follow God's will, but I want to know what, when, and how, and what the outcome will be.
The question tumbles out of his mouth and he has to say it again. I catch it the second time around.
Option two. You tell me where to go, Lord, and I will follow, step by step.
He searches for a spark of understanding among the faces of the kids. Twelve, thirteen, eleven. Middle school. Pre-teen. Just learning about dating and cliques. Fighting with more than we could have imagined at that age.
One boy raises his hand. "I think one."
A girl delicately and quietly responds "I choose two."
While I sit and try to listen to the kids answer, it hits me. This lesson isn't directed at the youth group. It's directed at me. I want my option to be number two, because that's the right answer. But really, I have chosen number one. (You can read it in my last post or you can just believe me.)
All at once the pieces fall into place and it becomes crystal clear- I have not been asking for direction, I have been asking for answers and results!
Tell me the end of the story, then I will read it! I want to know if I win before I start the race! Before I turn left I want to know the end of the road! Before I move to Iowa I want to know WHY we are going! If I am going to stay at home, tell me the purpose! If I am going to support my husband wholeheartedly show me the benefits! I want to go on your adventure, Lord, and I want to be excited, but show me not just the path but also the prize!
I search the room, self-talk ruining the lesson for me. I haven't heard anything the leader has said for minutes now. I see the pastor standing in back, also contemplating the scriptures being read. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
I think of how we came to Iowa...so naive. We knew only where our house was to be. We had plans, sure- for me to stay home and for us to have a house. We had no idea where God would lead us or how He would take care of us. Almost stubbornly we decided to follow His will for our lives, even though it meant giving up so much. We had no idea the friends we would meet here, the lives we would impact or the lives that would impact us. I had no idea the inner strength I would have to gain in order to survive and thrive as a new mom in a new land, and an old house. And yet, here I stand, watched over and cared for, better than I could have dreamed.
But it's easy to forget, right? It's easy to look past the friends (because they have been there) and the house (because it's just a place) and the support (you've been there for like, what, 9 months now...practically forever). Times get tough and I so easily forget who watches over me and how well I am taken care of -I scramble, like a cat that has lost its balance, searching for a foothold-just give me somewhere to stick and outstretched claw and put my world right-side up again!
All of this fear...uncertainty...can it be that I have lost sight? Can it be that I have begun to demand answers rather than just focus on living my life step by step? Oh ME of little faith! We are not asked to know all of the answers, only to follow.
Excited noise fills the room and I return from my reverie. I stand, too, ready to partake in the game which is already being organized. Glorified tag it is. I watch them run and laugh and build friendships. I squeal with them when, at a full sprint, one gets away from a pursuer. I taunt the hunters and side (secretly) with the prey. I don't know what they take home from the lesson...how much can you internalize at that age? I'm not really sure. But, just maybe, one day one of them will need to make a big decision-and they will remember this night- and the important stuff we talked about before playing tag.
The youth group leader sits on the back of a chair, posing the question to ten kids. I sit, one of five adults who are there to answer questions and lead them.
Option one. I will follow God's will, but I want to know what, when, and how, and what the outcome will be.
The question tumbles out of his mouth and he has to say it again. I catch it the second time around.
Option two. You tell me where to go, Lord, and I will follow, step by step.
He searches for a spark of understanding among the faces of the kids. Twelve, thirteen, eleven. Middle school. Pre-teen. Just learning about dating and cliques. Fighting with more than we could have imagined at that age.
One boy raises his hand. "I think one."
A girl delicately and quietly responds "I choose two."
While I sit and try to listen to the kids answer, it hits me. This lesson isn't directed at the youth group. It's directed at me. I want my option to be number two, because that's the right answer. But really, I have chosen number one. (You can read it in my last post or you can just believe me.)
All at once the pieces fall into place and it becomes crystal clear- I have not been asking for direction, I have been asking for answers and results!
Tell me the end of the story, then I will read it! I want to know if I win before I start the race! Before I turn left I want to know the end of the road! Before I move to Iowa I want to know WHY we are going! If I am going to stay at home, tell me the purpose! If I am going to support my husband wholeheartedly show me the benefits! I want to go on your adventure, Lord, and I want to be excited, but show me not just the path but also the prize!
I search the room, self-talk ruining the lesson for me. I haven't heard anything the leader has said for minutes now. I see the pastor standing in back, also contemplating the scriptures being read. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
I think of how we came to Iowa...so naive. We knew only where our house was to be. We had plans, sure- for me to stay home and for us to have a house. We had no idea where God would lead us or how He would take care of us. Almost stubbornly we decided to follow His will for our lives, even though it meant giving up so much. We had no idea the friends we would meet here, the lives we would impact or the lives that would impact us. I had no idea the inner strength I would have to gain in order to survive and thrive as a new mom in a new land, and an old house. And yet, here I stand, watched over and cared for, better than I could have dreamed.
But it's easy to forget, right? It's easy to look past the friends (because they have been there) and the house (because it's just a place) and the support (you've been there for like, what, 9 months now...practically forever). Times get tough and I so easily forget who watches over me and how well I am taken care of -I scramble, like a cat that has lost its balance, searching for a foothold-just give me somewhere to stick and outstretched claw and put my world right-side up again!
All of this fear...uncertainty...can it be that I have lost sight? Can it be that I have begun to demand answers rather than just focus on living my life step by step? Oh ME of little faith! We are not asked to know all of the answers, only to follow.
Excited noise fills the room and I return from my reverie. I stand, too, ready to partake in the game which is already being organized. Glorified tag it is. I watch them run and laugh and build friendships. I squeal with them when, at a full sprint, one gets away from a pursuer. I taunt the hunters and side (secretly) with the prey. I don't know what they take home from the lesson...how much can you internalize at that age? I'm not really sure. But, just maybe, one day one of them will need to make a big decision-and they will remember this night- and the important stuff we talked about before playing tag.
Friday, October 27, 2006
The fear of mediocrity
2002
Driving home on the Seattle bus. It was evening in the winter - it would have been black except for the million lights. Cars and businesses and streetlights lit up the city and gave an almost magical glow to the ride home. The air was brisk and it smelled like snow. Christmas was coming and I would spend an entire weekend at home.
I felt so important. And really, I wasn't. I was part of a huge contingent (some 30,000) of University of Washington students, who in the next few years would flood the business market with high expectations and dreams of success.
I worked two jobs throughout college- different ones here and there- nanny, office clerk, marketing intern. Nothing too original or exciting. But I was working, I was passionate, and I was going to be someone some day.
Driving home on that bus. I was alone. I worried about money...grades...my future...but in some odd way I was content- joyful even. I had no idea what the future held for me but I watched the buildings pass and I could feel important as if just by being in this big city and going to the college of my youthful dreams gave my life meaning.
2006
Are you happy?
My dad calls. Concerned.
I mean, you are so far out there, alone.
I'm not that alone, though. I have friends here, and Phil and Ryan. We are far from neighbors, but it's not like we are isolated. You don't spend that much time with your neighbors, right? It's like that.
But I have a job...I am involved in the community. Time alone is good for me when I can get it. It's just that I worry about you. These are the most productive years of your life...
I know, dad. It scares me, too. This fear of mediocrity. Like I could be something so great but instead, all I am is a mom, and a wife. A homeowner and a friend. A daughter and an aunt. I have no job, and I have no master's degree. I am not a highly paid executive nor am I aspiring to become one. I have never flown to London on business. I fear, dad, that I will be nothing more than a person- important to those only who love me. That my daily routine will not involve important business meetings or commutes with my trusty Starbucks to comfort me in the wee hours of the morning. My days will instead consist of cleaning and laundry, cooking and child-rearing. Much less glamorous and you can imagine I have fought one or two battles in my mind over this one.
I worry that I will be insignificant. That I am wasting my life day by day when I could be so much more successful. I think of how much easier our lives could be if I were to just stop all of this stay-at-home nonsense and have a real career, already. I tell myself that Ryan would certainly be fine growing up in daycare.
Today I made cookies with Ryan. He rocked back and forth and danced on the chair as I let him pour in flour and chocolate chips. He snitched at least ten chocolate chips before I could wrestle the cup from him and pour the remainder in the mixer. When I let him down he ran and hid from me in the other room. I didn't notice we were playing the game until I walked in the room and heard a scuffling, silence, and then a small giggle. I called "Ryaaan" and was rewarded with louder laughter. I snuck behind him and startled him, sending him into peals of laughter that warmed my soul.
I miss you, dad. I miss mom and I miss friends. I miss family. I worry about money and the future. I worry that I will be discontent with a life of mediocrity. But unhappy, I am not. We laugh and have fun. We have good dinners with friends and work hard on fixing up an old house so it can be our home. I know you miss me, so I don't know if that makes you happy or sad. Maybe both. Its the kind of thing that put my stomach into knots the entire morning following our conversation. Because your fears echo those of my own. You stand on the side of the small voices in my head, the fearful, worrysome ones that tell me there is MORE to life. Its the kind of tearing at my heart that is so painful- one part of me wanting to be someone important, the other part of me knowing I already am someone important.
But there's joy that can be found. Contentment can be had anywhere - for you and for me. You have a daughter 1800 miles away. I have an entire family 1800 miles away. But you still laugh, and enjoy life. And so do I. Its not the same, all of this long distance stuff, but it can still be good. And I love you. Don't forget that. Through it all and even though I live out here I still love you all so very much. And I'm sorry its hard for you.
Driving home on the Seattle bus. It was evening in the winter - it would have been black except for the million lights. Cars and businesses and streetlights lit up the city and gave an almost magical glow to the ride home. The air was brisk and it smelled like snow. Christmas was coming and I would spend an entire weekend at home.
I felt so important. And really, I wasn't. I was part of a huge contingent (some 30,000) of University of Washington students, who in the next few years would flood the business market with high expectations and dreams of success.
I worked two jobs throughout college- different ones here and there- nanny, office clerk, marketing intern. Nothing too original or exciting. But I was working, I was passionate, and I was going to be someone some day.
Driving home on that bus. I was alone. I worried about money...grades...my future...but in some odd way I was content- joyful even. I had no idea what the future held for me but I watched the buildings pass and I could feel important as if just by being in this big city and going to the college of my youthful dreams gave my life meaning.
2006
Are you happy?
My dad calls. Concerned.
I mean, you are so far out there, alone.
I'm not that alone, though. I have friends here, and Phil and Ryan. We are far from neighbors, but it's not like we are isolated. You don't spend that much time with your neighbors, right? It's like that.
But I have a job...I am involved in the community. Time alone is good for me when I can get it. It's just that I worry about you. These are the most productive years of your life...
I know, dad. It scares me, too. This fear of mediocrity. Like I could be something so great but instead, all I am is a mom, and a wife. A homeowner and a friend. A daughter and an aunt. I have no job, and I have no master's degree. I am not a highly paid executive nor am I aspiring to become one. I have never flown to London on business. I fear, dad, that I will be nothing more than a person- important to those only who love me. That my daily routine will not involve important business meetings or commutes with my trusty Starbucks to comfort me in the wee hours of the morning. My days will instead consist of cleaning and laundry, cooking and child-rearing. Much less glamorous and you can imagine I have fought one or two battles in my mind over this one.
I worry that I will be insignificant. That I am wasting my life day by day when I could be so much more successful. I think of how much easier our lives could be if I were to just stop all of this stay-at-home nonsense and have a real career, already. I tell myself that Ryan would certainly be fine growing up in daycare.
Today I made cookies with Ryan. He rocked back and forth and danced on the chair as I let him pour in flour and chocolate chips. He snitched at least ten chocolate chips before I could wrestle the cup from him and pour the remainder in the mixer. When I let him down he ran and hid from me in the other room. I didn't notice we were playing the game until I walked in the room and heard a scuffling, silence, and then a small giggle. I called "Ryaaan" and was rewarded with louder laughter. I snuck behind him and startled him, sending him into peals of laughter that warmed my soul.
I miss you, dad. I miss mom and I miss friends. I miss family. I worry about money and the future. I worry that I will be discontent with a life of mediocrity. But unhappy, I am not. We laugh and have fun. We have good dinners with friends and work hard on fixing up an old house so it can be our home. I know you miss me, so I don't know if that makes you happy or sad. Maybe both. Its the kind of thing that put my stomach into knots the entire morning following our conversation. Because your fears echo those of my own. You stand on the side of the small voices in my head, the fearful, worrysome ones that tell me there is MORE to life. Its the kind of tearing at my heart that is so painful- one part of me wanting to be someone important, the other part of me knowing I already am someone important.
But there's joy that can be found. Contentment can be had anywhere - for you and for me. You have a daughter 1800 miles away. I have an entire family 1800 miles away. But you still laugh, and enjoy life. And so do I. Its not the same, all of this long distance stuff, but it can still be good. And I love you. Don't forget that. Through it all and even though I live out here I still love you all so very much. And I'm sorry its hard for you.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Craving and Satisfaction
Ever since the fall weather came I have had a perpetual craving for pumpkin items- bread, cake, bars, pie. It just seems that fall food should include pumpkin. Last week (was it just last week?) we made pumpkin bars while my mom was here for a church get-together. We only took half the pan (it was a big recipe) and you can imagine the rest of the pan did not last long in our house.
But it also fed a bit of my craving, making it ever so slightly stronger. When we were invited over to a friend’s house last night, I was excited to have the chance to once again indulge my craving and make a big pan of pumpkin bars with yummy cream cheese frosting.
Come to find out a few hours (and two bars) later that P had to work late and we would have to postpone dinner. Since the only recipe I have makes this enormous pan of bars, (I know how halve recipes, I just didn’t feel that the situation warranted it, okay?) here I was, stuck with a cookie-sheet full of nice, fluffy, creamy pumpkin bars.
Do you know how painfully easy it is to eat one of those things? They are squishy, and can be eaten comfortably in two or three bites. They don’t taste too rich or filling, and one could even rationalize that the pumpkin is somewhat healthy.
So I eyed this pan of bars, fully aware that if I were to indulge and eat half of the pan (as I figured I was capable of) I would be victim to a lot of teasing from the late-night worker upon his return home. Then, I told myself, all I would have to do is to simply put the bars in another container. Arrange them artfully in a smaller pan in preparation for tomorrow’s get-together. I could snitch to my heart’s content and no one would be the wiser.
But I held myself back from this tactic- it would be too easy to eat way more than would be medically advisable. So, there they sat, taunting me, in the original pan. I stayed clear of the kitchen intentionally, knowing that a mere glance at the treat would draw me near.
When P finally arrived at 11, he was delighted to find desert waiting. Being a good husband he didn’t even mention the 6 empty spots. But then, group mentality set in and there was free-for-all. Who would know how much either one ate? Needless to say there are few bars left this morning, and I am quite fearful of the coming winter. Lots of time to be inside and bake and lots of events demanding baked goods. If I come out on the other side 30 pounds heavier I don’t even have a baby to blame it on. This could get ugly.
But it also fed a bit of my craving, making it ever so slightly stronger. When we were invited over to a friend’s house last night, I was excited to have the chance to once again indulge my craving and make a big pan of pumpkin bars with yummy cream cheese frosting.
Come to find out a few hours (and two bars) later that P had to work late and we would have to postpone dinner. Since the only recipe I have makes this enormous pan of bars, (I know how halve recipes, I just didn’t feel that the situation warranted it, okay?) here I was, stuck with a cookie-sheet full of nice, fluffy, creamy pumpkin bars.
Do you know how painfully easy it is to eat one of those things? They are squishy, and can be eaten comfortably in two or three bites. They don’t taste too rich or filling, and one could even rationalize that the pumpkin is somewhat healthy.
So I eyed this pan of bars, fully aware that if I were to indulge and eat half of the pan (as I figured I was capable of) I would be victim to a lot of teasing from the late-night worker upon his return home. Then, I told myself, all I would have to do is to simply put the bars in another container. Arrange them artfully in a smaller pan in preparation for tomorrow’s get-together. I could snitch to my heart’s content and no one would be the wiser.
But I held myself back from this tactic- it would be too easy to eat way more than would be medically advisable. So, there they sat, taunting me, in the original pan. I stayed clear of the kitchen intentionally, knowing that a mere glance at the treat would draw me near.
When P finally arrived at 11, he was delighted to find desert waiting. Being a good husband he didn’t even mention the 6 empty spots. But then, group mentality set in and there was free-for-all. Who would know how much either one ate? Needless to say there are few bars left this morning, and I am quite fearful of the coming winter. Lots of time to be inside and bake and lots of events demanding baked goods. If I come out on the other side 30 pounds heavier I don’t even have a baby to blame it on. This could get ugly.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Boy Scout
Now that the weather has cooled down considerably we have started to have constant fires in our fireplace. Last year we perfected the fire-building-and-keeping skills (well, I perfected mine, as P was already quite adept in this area). For example, we can now keep a fire going all night long, and have a fair amount of coals in the morning to work with. You can imagine that a day when we "let the fire go out" to clean out the ashes is both nerve-racking and relieving. Relieving in that we rely on our propane to heat the house for a few hours, and nerve racking because I doubt whether I will be able to effectively start another one, my main role being "fire keeper" and not "fire starter". (However, the task this year has been considerably easier because of the many little scraps of wood produced by P's wood shop.)
I also have a helper this year. We have spent much parental energy sternly teaching him to stay away from the fireplace. (Quite a feat, might I add, because it is not really "hot" in the summer, and it is difficult to explain the dangers within an empty fireplace to an 18 month old.) Regardless of our attemps, the warm glow of the coals draws him each time we open the doors of the fireplace to add more wood. P is more excited to have him involved than I am- he will let the small boy lift the big pieces of wood and hand them over to be placed carefully in the fire. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep Ryan in a fireproof bubble at the neighbors house two miles away when I go near the baby-killing inferno.
This confuses Ryan, and each time I head to the front door with the intention of bringing in new fuel, my helper is fast on my heels, ready to be of assistance. Yesterday, for example, I brought in three pieces. He tried to lift them, and my protective mamma-arm kept him clear away. "Too hot!" I tried to explain.
He understood this term and took a step closer, blowing with all of his might like one would on a spoonful of warm soup. "Just gonna cool it down some, then, mom!" When I still would not let him close, he watched from a distance, and then noticed something else. He reached over to pick up a glove, and put it on his hand to mimic my own preparations. At this point the protective bear in me also noticed that he really just wantd to be of help, like dad lets him. So I closed the fireplace up, let him come close enough to lift the log up to me. I exclaimed a big "Thank you!" for his help and off he went, satisfied with his contribution.
Next I think I will begin teaching him how to filet fish using his very own pocket knife. Or perhaps how to hunt and trap small game animals., since we are in Iowa after all, and fishing for food isn't really "advisable".
I also have a helper this year. We have spent much parental energy sternly teaching him to stay away from the fireplace. (Quite a feat, might I add, because it is not really "hot" in the summer, and it is difficult to explain the dangers within an empty fireplace to an 18 month old.) Regardless of our attemps, the warm glow of the coals draws him each time we open the doors of the fireplace to add more wood. P is more excited to have him involved than I am- he will let the small boy lift the big pieces of wood and hand them over to be placed carefully in the fire. I, on the other hand, prefer to keep Ryan in a fireproof bubble at the neighbors house two miles away when I go near the baby-killing inferno.
This confuses Ryan, and each time I head to the front door with the intention of bringing in new fuel, my helper is fast on my heels, ready to be of assistance. Yesterday, for example, I brought in three pieces. He tried to lift them, and my protective mamma-arm kept him clear away. "Too hot!" I tried to explain.
He understood this term and took a step closer, blowing with all of his might like one would on a spoonful of warm soup. "Just gonna cool it down some, then, mom!" When I still would not let him close, he watched from a distance, and then noticed something else. He reached over to pick up a glove, and put it on his hand to mimic my own preparations. At this point the protective bear in me also noticed that he really just wantd to be of help, like dad lets him. So I closed the fireplace up, let him come close enough to lift the log up to me. I exclaimed a big "Thank you!" for his help and off he went, satisfied with his contribution.
Next I think I will begin teaching him how to filet fish using his very own pocket knife. Or perhaps how to hunt and trap small game animals., since we are in Iowa after all, and fishing for food isn't really "advisable".
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Scary?
Our friends Chuck and Amanda have two boys- a three and a half year old named Parker and three month old Benjamin. They are a wonderful family and just happen to be our Pastor and wife.
Ryan enjoys playing with Parker so much that as we are pulling up to his house, Ryan starts to squeal and bounce his legs up and down as if that will make the car go faster (a la Flinstone). Upon arrival and being freed from his restrictive carseat, he doesn't so much as give me a backward glance as he runs up the hill toward his chum.
Amanda told me a story about Parker the other day that I just had to share. She went in to wake him up one morning, and he gave her an excited smile.
"I had a GREAT dream last night, Mom!"
"Really? What was it about?"
"I was in my bed, and there was a MONSTER right outside my window!"
"Oh my..."
(Using his hands for emphasis)"And then I got up opened the window and I could see its EYES!"
"And this was a good dream?"
"Yes!"
"You should tell Dad that dream..."
"No, it would probably just scare him."
So later Amanda walked downstairs and asked her husband if he had heard Parker's dream. "No, he said I would be too scared and wouldn't tell me."
Ryan enjoys playing with Parker so much that as we are pulling up to his house, Ryan starts to squeal and bounce his legs up and down as if that will make the car go faster (a la Flinstone). Upon arrival and being freed from his restrictive carseat, he doesn't so much as give me a backward glance as he runs up the hill toward his chum.
Amanda told me a story about Parker the other day that I just had to share. She went in to wake him up one morning, and he gave her an excited smile.
"I had a GREAT dream last night, Mom!"
"Really? What was it about?"
"I was in my bed, and there was a MONSTER right outside my window!"
"Oh my..."
(Using his hands for emphasis)"And then I got up opened the window and I could see its EYES!"
"And this was a good dream?"
"Yes!"
"You should tell Dad that dream..."
"No, it would probably just scare him."
So later Amanda walked downstairs and asked her husband if he had heard Parker's dream. "No, he said I would be too scared and wouldn't tell me."
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
On why I love being a mom
So, our guests went home. And the house is quiet.
The clouds came the same day everyone went home, and they have stayed.
Rain, of course, has also made inconsistent appearances.
And, it's cold.
The sun is hidden and the drearyness of the past few days begins to echo in me.
To combat the quiet, I numbly turn on the radio, the music doing little to lift my spirits. I return to my office, read email, and then decide there is little else to keep me from attacking my housework. I close down the computer and amble on out to the living room.
Ryan, unaffected by the drearyness outside, is standing in the middle of the room, bending his knees and stomping is feet rythmically to the music - all alone. He does a spin and laughs at himself. Then he spots me and gives a little squeal, and stomps his feet faster. I can't help but feel lifted up, and I start to dance with him, both of us off- beat, both of us enjoying the hilarity of watching eachother dance. He squats and wiggles and spins, laughing. The music seems louder and more upbeat. They day seems brighter already, and can't help but be thankful that I am a mom.
The clouds came the same day everyone went home, and they have stayed.
Rain, of course, has also made inconsistent appearances.
And, it's cold.
The sun is hidden and the drearyness of the past few days begins to echo in me.
To combat the quiet, I numbly turn on the radio, the music doing little to lift my spirits. I return to my office, read email, and then decide there is little else to keep me from attacking my housework. I close down the computer and amble on out to the living room.
Ryan, unaffected by the drearyness outside, is standing in the middle of the room, bending his knees and stomping is feet rythmically to the music - all alone. He does a spin and laughs at himself. Then he spots me and gives a little squeal, and stomps his feet faster. I can't help but feel lifted up, and I start to dance with him, both of us off- beat, both of us enjoying the hilarity of watching eachother dance. He squats and wiggles and spins, laughing. The music seems louder and more upbeat. They day seems brighter already, and can't help but be thankful that I am a mom.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Visits
Note to reader: We have just completed a month's worth of visits- both sets of parents and my sister spent time with us this past month. It was wonderful to have them and hard to see them go.
“We’re coming”
Anticipation and anxiety all at once well up inside me as I grasp what it means to have visitors on the way. Thoughts flash through my mind- I want to share with them all that I have experienced since we have been together, share my world and my home and my life. And once the realization sinks in, the motivation that was asleep inside of me stirs and takes on new life – there is so much to do!
In what seems like endless frenzy, we prepare for the upcoming visitors. I make list upon list, readjusting and rethinking. What would be perfect? What would be possible? What can I live with? We start with big, impactful, messy projects…where we can barely walk through the house and we eat nothing but leftovers because we don’t have time to cook. And then reality sets in that we cannot always eat leftovers or sometime soon we will have no food left- over. So we jump in on smaller projects- cleaning up the mess from before and prioritizing what’s left to do (a never-ending list of possibilities).
We spend sleepless nights finishing before they come. The anticipation of their arrival is overtaken by a momentary anxiety. What have I forgotten? What if a million bugs come or we have no water? What if we can’t get along in one house for a week without a television? Maybe we should buy a television…
And thankfully, they call, just to say “Hi” and I remember how very much I miss them and can imagine that they miss us too. I am once again assured things will go just fine.
In the evenings, we start to plan meals and fun things to do for our guests. We dream together of long talks and card games. Of bonfires and good dinners. We talk about how much has changed and how big Ryan is getting. I can’t wait for them to just BE here.
They arrive – through hugs and hello’s we are reminded of just how much we have missed them. I am thankful they are here and yet another part of me aches, makes me homesick for them all over again, even as our visit is just beginning. Days of jockeying and settling go on as we each figure out our new roles. How to survive in one house (without a TV) together. And finally we set a silent, understood routine- and I begin to wonder how I will survive without them here to play with Ryan and help with dinner. How we will find things to talk about without four days to rehash.
We laugh together and work. They work too hard and I wish they would stop and enjoy- they wish I would let them work a bit harder (I am blessed with helpful family and friends).We catch up. I am reminded of how life continues even when I am not there. People grow and change. We talk about each other- the lives we are leading. I learn new things about them and am intrigued by the changes in their lives. We talk like no time has passed at all, really. They spend time playing with Ryan and he delights in having new playmates. He gets to be carried and held and is pampered with more treats than usual. We don’t fit in as much activity as we had wanted, but we enjoy the things we can get to.
And before they leave, I start to feel lonely for them all over again. Homesickness sets in and I am melancholy- I chide myself-they aren’t even gone! I begin to think of others at home I miss, too, and I dream of curling up very small and stowing away in their luggage. Hurriedly I bring to mind people here, friends and family that I do have close by. It quells some of the pain but also makes me feel torn. Home in both places. Homesick for both places. But the sadness that comes from such confusion is strangely comforting. I have come to love the feeling of deep longing- it makes me feel loved and blessed- I have people to miss and long for! It makes me feel alive in a way I can’t really explain, even though it hurts.
And then they leave. We lament about how we worked too hard; we should have spent more time talking and enjoying. And then we turn back to the house, thankful for the accomplishments we’ve made. Inside, the house echo’s with intense quiet. It’s so loud I can barely stand it. And I miss them all over again – how did we manage before we had everyone here? How did I ever get anything done? Suddenly it seems like the miles stretched between us have somehow gotten longer. I call them on their cell phone, just to remind myself that they aren’t really that far away.
Its a few days before I’m able to return to my previous routine. Before I can stand the quiet I had come to appreciate. I work hard to keep the motivation alive, but it waxes and wanes without a goal. So, I talk myself into dreaming up new goals. At dinner, the conversation still holds and we slowly settle back in to our own rhythm. During our talks, we discuss the next visit – what we would do and how fun it would be, and our loneliness is salved with such anticipation. We laugh, remembering the funny things that happened and the cute things Ryan did. We tear up as we look at pictures we took and read the entries written in our “guestbook”. We think of ways to span the miles- phones and letters, small gifts and pictures, visits! I am reminded that even though we are miles apart we don’t have to be distant, and I am inspired once again to forge on, to build our lives – here and there.
When are you coming again?
“We’re coming”
Anticipation and anxiety all at once well up inside me as I grasp what it means to have visitors on the way. Thoughts flash through my mind- I want to share with them all that I have experienced since we have been together, share my world and my home and my life. And once the realization sinks in, the motivation that was asleep inside of me stirs and takes on new life – there is so much to do!
In what seems like endless frenzy, we prepare for the upcoming visitors. I make list upon list, readjusting and rethinking. What would be perfect? What would be possible? What can I live with? We start with big, impactful, messy projects…where we can barely walk through the house and we eat nothing but leftovers because we don’t have time to cook. And then reality sets in that we cannot always eat leftovers or sometime soon we will have no food left- over. So we jump in on smaller projects- cleaning up the mess from before and prioritizing what’s left to do (a never-ending list of possibilities).
We spend sleepless nights finishing before they come. The anticipation of their arrival is overtaken by a momentary anxiety. What have I forgotten? What if a million bugs come or we have no water? What if we can’t get along in one house for a week without a television? Maybe we should buy a television…
And thankfully, they call, just to say “Hi” and I remember how very much I miss them and can imagine that they miss us too. I am once again assured things will go just fine.
In the evenings, we start to plan meals and fun things to do for our guests. We dream together of long talks and card games. Of bonfires and good dinners. We talk about how much has changed and how big Ryan is getting. I can’t wait for them to just BE here.
They arrive – through hugs and hello’s we are reminded of just how much we have missed them. I am thankful they are here and yet another part of me aches, makes me homesick for them all over again, even as our visit is just beginning. Days of jockeying and settling go on as we each figure out our new roles. How to survive in one house (without a TV) together. And finally we set a silent, understood routine- and I begin to wonder how I will survive without them here to play with Ryan and help with dinner. How we will find things to talk about without four days to rehash.
We laugh together and work. They work too hard and I wish they would stop and enjoy- they wish I would let them work a bit harder (I am blessed with helpful family and friends).We catch up. I am reminded of how life continues even when I am not there. People grow and change. We talk about each other- the lives we are leading. I learn new things about them and am intrigued by the changes in their lives. We talk like no time has passed at all, really. They spend time playing with Ryan and he delights in having new playmates. He gets to be carried and held and is pampered with more treats than usual. We don’t fit in as much activity as we had wanted, but we enjoy the things we can get to.
And before they leave, I start to feel lonely for them all over again. Homesickness sets in and I am melancholy- I chide myself-they aren’t even gone! I begin to think of others at home I miss, too, and I dream of curling up very small and stowing away in their luggage. Hurriedly I bring to mind people here, friends and family that I do have close by. It quells some of the pain but also makes me feel torn. Home in both places. Homesick for both places. But the sadness that comes from such confusion is strangely comforting. I have come to love the feeling of deep longing- it makes me feel loved and blessed- I have people to miss and long for! It makes me feel alive in a way I can’t really explain, even though it hurts.
And then they leave. We lament about how we worked too hard; we should have spent more time talking and enjoying. And then we turn back to the house, thankful for the accomplishments we’ve made. Inside, the house echo’s with intense quiet. It’s so loud I can barely stand it. And I miss them all over again – how did we manage before we had everyone here? How did I ever get anything done? Suddenly it seems like the miles stretched between us have somehow gotten longer. I call them on their cell phone, just to remind myself that they aren’t really that far away.
Its a few days before I’m able to return to my previous routine. Before I can stand the quiet I had come to appreciate. I work hard to keep the motivation alive, but it waxes and wanes without a goal. So, I talk myself into dreaming up new goals. At dinner, the conversation still holds and we slowly settle back in to our own rhythm. During our talks, we discuss the next visit – what we would do and how fun it would be, and our loneliness is salved with such anticipation. We laugh, remembering the funny things that happened and the cute things Ryan did. We tear up as we look at pictures we took and read the entries written in our “guestbook”. We think of ways to span the miles- phones and letters, small gifts and pictures, visits! I am reminded that even though we are miles apart we don’t have to be distant, and I am inspired once again to forge on, to build our lives – here and there.
When are you coming again?
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Effects of Procrastination
Comment from mother-in-law on previous post regarding sinkroom light:
You know you have procrastinated on something too long when the original issue gets so lost you don't even remember there being one. Here I am thinking they just couldn't find the light switch when in actuality our safety-conscious uncles were trying to keep our house from burning down. (Electrician! Come back to Iowa!) I see another ten month stretch...I hope I can talk dad into another visit before then!And I hate to be the one that says this, but I "think" Uncle Bob left the
lightbulb out because he wanted Phil to look at the frayed wiring, which he felt
was unsafe. For your Mama's peace of mind, Phil, give him a call please. The
smoke needs to continue coming out of the fireplace chimney, not the back room.
More room
Just issued:
Marshall County
Freeze Warning:
Issued at: 10:48 AM CDT 10/11/06, expires at: 7:00 PM CDT 10/11/06
Freeze warning remains in effect from midnight tonight to 8 am cdt Thursday. Temperatures will drop into the 20s across all of central Iowa tonight, bringing an end to the growing season. A freeze warning means sub-freezing temperatures are imminent or highly likely. These conditions will kill the remaining sensitive vegetation. NOTE: Also will prevent any chance of exterior painting. (Very strategic, I didn't see that one coming in October!).
The good part about this (tiny bit) of frustrating weather is that I have had time to tackle indoor projects. One thing I love about having a house in constant remodel is that it is always getting bigger. You need storage? Paint a closet and, Voila!
Three weeks ago we finished Ryan's room and moved him upstairs (he had been sleeping in the downstairs den). With that complete, it left this wonderful, empty room that has now become my office! Slowly but surely our house is growing bigger and we are able to unpack boxes. It feels so nice to settle in. Plus, I have an office!
I don't think Ryan really gets it yet, as he immediately took over the scheduling of appointments and web surfing. I had to remind him, this was "adult space". He just looked at me and grabbed some of the paperwork on the desk to "re-organize". He is really excited about the new place to store "his pens" and "his stapler."
Marshall County
Freeze Warning:
Issued at: 10:48 AM CDT 10/11/06, expires at: 7:00 PM CDT 10/11/06
Freeze warning remains in effect from midnight tonight to 8 am cdt Thursday. Temperatures will drop into the 20s across all of central Iowa tonight, bringing an end to the growing season. A freeze warning means sub-freezing temperatures are imminent or highly likely. These conditions will kill the remaining sensitive vegetation. NOTE: Also will prevent any chance of exterior painting. (Very strategic, I didn't see that one coming in October!).
The good part about this (tiny bit) of frustrating weather is that I have had time to tackle indoor projects. One thing I love about having a house in constant remodel is that it is always getting bigger. You need storage? Paint a closet and, Voila!
Three weeks ago we finished Ryan's room and moved him upstairs (he had been sleeping in the downstairs den). With that complete, it left this wonderful, empty room that has now become my office! Slowly but surely our house is growing bigger and we are able to unpack boxes. It feels so nice to settle in. Plus, I have an office!I don't think Ryan really gets it yet, as he immediately took over the scheduling of appointments and web surfing. I had to remind him, this was "adult space". He just looked at me and grabbed some of the paperwork on the desk to "re-organize". He is really excited about the new place to store "his pens" and "his stapler."
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
The battle continues...
Wind: I cannot go on any longer. I have worked so hard at sabotaging this "painting" process, but as soon as I rest, she will joyfully come and finish painting- effectively winning the battle. I can't let this happen!
Rain: I might be able to help you out, old friend. I know this woman from Washington. Though she is one who does not carry an umbrella (mocking my great efforts), she is not so foolish as to put paint on during a rainstorm. Perhaps we should talk business.
And so it was that as I headed out this morning, steps light and paintbrush in hand, I was greeted by yet another contender.
Rain: I might be able to help you out, old friend. I know this woman from Washington. Though she is one who does not carry an umbrella (mocking my great efforts), she is not so foolish as to put paint on during a rainstorm. Perhaps we should talk business.
And so it was that as I headed out this morning, steps light and paintbrush in hand, I was greeted by yet another contender.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
The wind and I
Do I ever mention how much I adore you, you (sometimes anonymous) blog readers? Normally, I would have allowed myself to be inside on a day like today- a day that is warm but extremely windy. Instead, I climbed up to the second story on a ladder and hung on for dear life as I painted the trim of my house a chocolaty brown.
The day started just fine- the wind and I were getting along quite well –me with my procrastination on finishing the house painting and the wind practicing for its winter performance.
But then, I changed the game. I decided that if I were going to post a blog about how my mom and dad in law helped me to paint my house and make it very beautiful, I should have some pictures to go along with it. And, in order to have pictures, the painting should be complete. So I decided to defy my procrastinating nature and brave the wind. As I climbed up the ladder, the wind decided it was unhappy with my decision and tried with all of its might to take me (by force, if necessary) from my painting goals. I stood firm, clinging to the shivering ladder and holding fast to my paintbrush.
Not to be outdone, the wind rolled over the fields, delighted to gain speed unabated. With no houses or trees or skyscrapers to slow it down, it rushed along at a respectable 340 miles per hour (give or take).
Two hours in I decided I needed a break from the battle. As I sat down we heard a thud out the window. Upon peeking out I discovered that the wind had won the battle against the ladder. A really big, heavy ladder.
Fine, I said resignedly to the wind, have your fun. You win. I wasn’t really trying anyway. But rest assured, when you need a break from the battle…I will scamper out there and finish that painting. I have a blog to write!
The day started just fine- the wind and I were getting along quite well –me with my procrastination on finishing the house painting and the wind practicing for its winter performance.
But then, I changed the game. I decided that if I were going to post a blog about how my mom and dad in law helped me to paint my house and make it very beautiful, I should have some pictures to go along with it. And, in order to have pictures, the painting should be complete. So I decided to defy my procrastinating nature and brave the wind. As I climbed up the ladder, the wind decided it was unhappy with my decision and tried with all of its might to take me (by force, if necessary) from my painting goals. I stood firm, clinging to the shivering ladder and holding fast to my paintbrush.
Not to be outdone, the wind rolled over the fields, delighted to gain speed unabated. With no houses or trees or skyscrapers to slow it down, it rushed along at a respectable 340 miles per hour (give or take).
Two hours in I decided I needed a break from the battle. As I sat down we heard a thud out the window. Upon peeking out I discovered that the wind had won the battle against the ladder. A really big, heavy ladder.
Fine, I said resignedly to the wind, have your fun. You win. I wasn’t really trying anyway. But rest assured, when you need a break from the battle…I will scamper out there and finish that painting. I have a blog to write!
Oh for a light
The following events might be humerous to some of you - to others, they might be aptly deemed tragic.
It's difficult to explain the impact of this event without some background, so here we go. I've mentioned before that when we first moved in, we had a lot of help. We had uncles and aunts and grandparents and parents painting and taking up carpet. They helped with many facets of repair to prep our house so it was livable. A few uncles took on the main floor bath, which is a room off of the kitchen. Now, I am unclear as to the actual events, but from memory, I recall that one uncle took down the light fixture so it could be cleaned. Some mishap occurred, and when he went to put in the new lightbulb, he flipped on the switch and it no longer worked. He tried it a few more times, and so did others involved. Since they could not figure out why it was not turning on, he removed the lightbulb and mentioned it to Phil and I.
For 10 months this fixture has sat, lightbulbless, for the day when it took high enough priority to be addressed. Now, in the interim, we have changed things around a bit. We took out the "bathroom stuff" and removed the carpet. When we needed the entire kitchen cleared out for its floor to be removed, we moved the sink cabinet into that back room - and it is now called the "sink room".
During the day, this was not a big deal. I was thankful to have running water and a connected drain (both of which had been absent prior to the cabinet move) and a little thing like a light just didn't bother me that much. But the newness of the connected drain and endless supply of running water wore off, and soon I found myself longing for the ability to do dishes in the evening hours without straining to see food particles in the faint light provided by the adjacent room. The dark hole that was my washroom started to grate on me. Slowly and surely, it was moving up the priority list.
But we were apprehensive. Phil knows how to do some wiring, but he didn't know how much work this little project would entail. With all of the other things on his own list, he pushed this item to the sideburner (ie. very rarely was he the one doing the dishes by candlelight).
Upon my parent's arrival for their latest visit, my mom asked if I wanted dad to try and fix the light in the sink room. Being that he is an electical engineer and has a bit of background with such things, I was confident he could figure out what was going wrong. I enthusiastically agreed and two days into his visit, he began to tackle the problem.
He first asked me for a lightbulb. I had one of those. He screwed it into the socket and asked which switch was supposed to operate that light. The one in the sink room, we discovered, was actually the light to the back porch. The switch that operated the sink room fixture was actually right outside the door, next to another kitchen light. Who, we wondered, would wire the room this way? It was awkward, strange. But, it was reality.
So, he tried the switch. And the light turned on. Yes, it simply turned on - and as bright light flooded the room, ten months of struggling to see in the darkness danced through my memory. I recalled all of those evenings when my "dish dryer" would pass back insufficiently washed dishes - a taunting "missed a spot" that could have been avoided with one simple action. A three minute trial and error session conducted by yours truly. But did I experiment? Tragic, I tell you.
In hindsight, though, we probably would have had a hole in the ceiling and the wiring strung throughout the room and power turned off to most of the house before we tried screwing that lightbulb in again. So, really, it was good that we had an experienced electrician address the issue.
It's difficult to explain the impact of this event without some background, so here we go. I've mentioned before that when we first moved in, we had a lot of help. We had uncles and aunts and grandparents and parents painting and taking up carpet. They helped with many facets of repair to prep our house so it was livable. A few uncles took on the main floor bath, which is a room off of the kitchen. Now, I am unclear as to the actual events, but from memory, I recall that one uncle took down the light fixture so it could be cleaned. Some mishap occurred, and when he went to put in the new lightbulb, he flipped on the switch and it no longer worked. He tried it a few more times, and so did others involved. Since they could not figure out why it was not turning on, he removed the lightbulb and mentioned it to Phil and I.
For 10 months this fixture has sat, lightbulbless, for the day when it took high enough priority to be addressed. Now, in the interim, we have changed things around a bit. We took out the "bathroom stuff" and removed the carpet. When we needed the entire kitchen cleared out for its floor to be removed, we moved the sink cabinet into that back room - and it is now called the "sink room".
During the day, this was not a big deal. I was thankful to have running water and a connected drain (both of which had been absent prior to the cabinet move) and a little thing like a light just didn't bother me that much. But the newness of the connected drain and endless supply of running water wore off, and soon I found myself longing for the ability to do dishes in the evening hours without straining to see food particles in the faint light provided by the adjacent room. The dark hole that was my washroom started to grate on me. Slowly and surely, it was moving up the priority list.
But we were apprehensive. Phil knows how to do some wiring, but he didn't know how much work this little project would entail. With all of the other things on his own list, he pushed this item to the sideburner (ie. very rarely was he the one doing the dishes by candlelight).
Upon my parent's arrival for their latest visit, my mom asked if I wanted dad to try and fix the light in the sink room. Being that he is an electical engineer and has a bit of background with such things, I was confident he could figure out what was going wrong. I enthusiastically agreed and two days into his visit, he began to tackle the problem.
He first asked me for a lightbulb. I had one of those. He screwed it into the socket and asked which switch was supposed to operate that light. The one in the sink room, we discovered, was actually the light to the back porch. The switch that operated the sink room fixture was actually right outside the door, next to another kitchen light. Who, we wondered, would wire the room this way? It was awkward, strange. But, it was reality.
So, he tried the switch. And the light turned on. Yes, it simply turned on - and as bright light flooded the room, ten months of struggling to see in the darkness danced through my memory. I recalled all of those evenings when my "dish dryer" would pass back insufficiently washed dishes - a taunting "missed a spot" that could have been avoided with one simple action. A three minute trial and error session conducted by yours truly. But did I experiment? Tragic, I tell you.
In hindsight, though, we probably would have had a hole in the ceiling and the wiring strung throughout the room and power turned off to most of the house before we tried screwing that lightbulb in again. So, really, it was good that we had an experienced electrician address the issue.
Monday, September 25, 2006
One by one, hoorah, hoorah!
It was April, and though the snow had left the ground, we still had fires burning each day to keep the chill from the air. As the temperatures steadily increased, we began to feel the stir of excitement for spring. For less trips outside to get wood from the stack; for days without sweatshirts and boots. And it was on the way.
But as the cool weather gave way to the warmth, another unexpected, and unwelcome guest came with it. Small. Unassuming. Daunting.
A tiny ladybug.
Scratch that. We could have dealt with one ladybug. As a child I remember being told that if you could get a ladybug to land on you, it would bring good luck. Sitting in my backyard, I still remember the day I sat for so long that I started to blow on my tiny goodluck charm - willing it away even if it DID bring good luck. A ten year old just simply cannot sit still forever. No...one bitty bug would have actually been kind of cute. But this bug had friends. Many hundreds of friends.
All at once, it seemed, they woke from their winter slumber and flew in great numbers to the warm walls of our house. Walking up and down the walls, around windows, in and out of outlets. They flew onto light fixtures and walked the rim of teacups. They. Were. Everywhere. Ryan, crawling age, was delighted at his new moving toys. We vacuumed and cleaned and dusted. We asked them politely to leave and when that didn't work, threatened to turn them into little art collages in place of the macaroni. When they called our bluff we threw tiny tantrums and begged them to go.But still they stayed.
During this same week, we were busy preparing for guests - four of our friends from Washington were coming and we wanted to give them rest, a respite from their jobs and the fast paced lives they lead. So, we were fixing up the bedrooms upstairs. Painting...caulking...taking up carpet. (Our new mantra, it seemed.)
And one week after the barrage of insects had started, our friends arrived. I can look back now and laugh, but what a shock it must have been to arrive to a house full of ladybeetles! (Iowa? Ohm, it was...buggy.) Not being the kind of people to relax (even when you tell them to), soon after they settled in, they each took on some household task. Michael armed himself with the vacuum- insect hunting. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that he spent hours rounding up the pests- keeping count. Over 800 in one day. He would clear a room, and come back twenty minutes later only to begin again. (He's an engineer, an analytical type. That's the only explanation I can give for his methodical counting.)
Thankfully, despite the bugs we were able to really enjoy our time together. We had the vacuuming routine, and as the numbers marched in, we marched them back out.
The day before they went home, we went to town to run some errands. While at the hardware store, the guys happened to find an insect killer that was house safe.(Why we did not do this sooner, I do not know.) Arriving home tired from our shopping trip, we all sat down to rest. Phil took the spray upstairs to the worst (and thankfully unoccupied)room bug hotel to test it out. Ten minutes later, he flew down the stairs "Hey! Come look at this!"
We all ran up the stairs to a room where hundreds of ladybugs lay dead on the floor. Tifani laughed "YES! The wicked witch is dead!" Tycen grabbed the bottle and ran to all the windows, spritzing the corners. We were all relieved to put a stop to the crawling intruders.
But a funny thing happened. Two days after they left, there were no more ladybugs to be seen. None dead on the floor. None crawling on the ceiling. We joked that maybe it had been a plague... an odd phenomenon at the least.
And the last four months have been delightfully ladybug-free.
Last week we had a cold snap - temperatures dropped down to the fifties in the daytime. I saw my first ladybug in four months crawling in that nice, warm front room on the wall next to the window. A chill ran up my spine. I searched tentatively for more, and sure enough, his friends were right behind him- lemming style. They had been in the fields, and were now looking for a good place to winter. It had not been a plague, merely a routine.
And though we have visitors on the horizon (just days away) I am not worried. We have preventive ammunition this time. We bought the gallon-sized version of our magic potion and sprayed nearly the entire outside of the house. Now, we watch them fly up to the house, scurry around to find a nice, dark crevice to crawl through and BAM! The deflector shield (reminiscent of star trek) takes them down! (I am excited about my bug spray.)
No, my small friend, you won't winter here this year. I don't care if you bring good luck or not. And I mean it about that macaroni thing.
But as the cool weather gave way to the warmth, another unexpected, and unwelcome guest came with it. Small. Unassuming. Daunting.
A tiny ladybug.
Scratch that. We could have dealt with one ladybug. As a child I remember being told that if you could get a ladybug to land on you, it would bring good luck. Sitting in my backyard, I still remember the day I sat for so long that I started to blow on my tiny goodluck charm - willing it away even if it DID bring good luck. A ten year old just simply cannot sit still forever. No...one bitty bug would have actually been kind of cute. But this bug had friends. Many hundreds of friends.
All at once, it seemed, they woke from their winter slumber and flew in great numbers to the warm walls of our house. Walking up and down the walls, around windows, in and out of outlets. They flew onto light fixtures and walked the rim of teacups. They. Were. Everywhere. Ryan, crawling age, was delighted at his new moving toys. We vacuumed and cleaned and dusted. We asked them politely to leave and when that didn't work, threatened to turn them into little art collages in place of the macaroni. When they called our bluff we threw tiny tantrums and begged them to go.But still they stayed.
During this same week, we were busy preparing for guests - four of our friends from Washington were coming and we wanted to give them rest, a respite from their jobs and the fast paced lives they lead. So, we were fixing up the bedrooms upstairs. Painting...caulking...taking up carpet. (Our new mantra, it seemed.)
And one week after the barrage of insects had started, our friends arrived. I can look back now and laugh, but what a shock it must have been to arrive to a house full of ladybeetles! (Iowa? Ohm, it was...buggy.) Not being the kind of people to relax (even when you tell them to), soon after they settled in, they each took on some household task. Michael armed himself with the vacuum- insect hunting. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that he spent hours rounding up the pests- keeping count. Over 800 in one day. He would clear a room, and come back twenty minutes later only to begin again. (He's an engineer, an analytical type. That's the only explanation I can give for his methodical counting.)
Thankfully, despite the bugs we were able to really enjoy our time together. We had the vacuuming routine, and as the numbers marched in, we marched them back out.
The day before they went home, we went to town to run some errands. While at the hardware store, the guys happened to find an insect killer that was house safe.(Why we did not do this sooner, I do not know.) Arriving home tired from our shopping trip, we all sat down to rest. Phil took the spray upstairs to the worst (and thankfully unoccupied)
We all ran up the stairs to a room where hundreds of ladybugs lay dead on the floor. Tifani laughed "YES! The wicked witch is dead!" Tycen grabbed the bottle and ran to all the windows, spritzing the corners. We were all relieved to put a stop to the crawling intruders.
But a funny thing happened. Two days after they left, there were no more ladybugs to be seen. None dead on the floor. None crawling on the ceiling. We joked that maybe it had been a plague... an odd phenomenon at the least.
And the last four months have been delightfully ladybug-free.
Last week we had a cold snap - temperatures dropped down to the fifties in the daytime. I saw my first ladybug in four months crawling in that nice, warm front room on the wall next to the window. A chill ran up my spine. I searched tentatively for more, and sure enough, his friends were right behind him- lemming style. They had been in the fields, and were now looking for a good place to winter. It had not been a plague, merely a routine.
And though we have visitors on the horizon (just days away) I am not worried. We have preventive ammunition this time. We bought the gallon-sized version of our magic potion and sprayed nearly the entire outside of the house. Now, we watch them fly up to the house, scurry around to find a nice, dark crevice to crawl through and BAM! The deflector shield (reminiscent of star trek) takes them down! (I am excited about my bug spray.)
No, my small friend, you won't winter here this year. I don't care if you bring good luck or not. And I mean it about that macaroni thing.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Fall begins
The fields are turning shades of brown and tan, and the cooler temperatures are setting in. A few fields around here have already been harvested I am sure most of you know this, but I didn't - so I will explain.There are three types of corn- seed corn, sweet corn, and field corn. Sweet corn is picked when it is ripe and ready to eat fresh. You see it in the grocery stores and farmers markets. Seed corn is corn that is planted specifically for next year's crop preparation. They "detassel" most of the fields to ensure they are pollenated correctly.
And field corn is what most of the state is made out of. It takes less care and maintenance than sweet corn because critters don't really like it, and if you tried to eat it you would be sorely dissappointed. It goes to things like Ethanol production, corn syrup and corn starch, and probably a million other things (just read the back of your food labels sometime...) They let it grow and ripen and then overripen and then dry out. When it is harvested the stalks are so dry the are a pale tan. Soybeans (what most farmers rotate with corn) are also dried before they are harvested.Therefore, in the spring the fields are black with turned dirt for the harvest, the summer brings out a lush green as the fields grow, and then you can see fall first in the fields, as they turn color much like leafy trees do - ripening and drying at different times. Beautiful shades of reds and golds make the landscape into a beautiful patchwork. I thought that once this "drying out period" happened, it would be less enjoyable to look at the scenery, but instead I think it is probably more beautiful. You can't really go anywhere without being reminded of the season as a result.
I know the farmers are gearing up for harvest because I overheard two men saying "those roads are going to be treacherous until mid-November, now that harvest is beginning..." (I'm thinking, have you SEEN Seattle rush hour?). It's also evidenced by the fact that we have not had a real visit with our farmer friends for a few weeks; the "stop in's" lasting only a few minutes here and there. Yesterday I talked with the wife of a local farmer. She mentioned that if the rain will hold off, they will start harvesting this week, and be finished by Halloween. Between now and then she doesn't expect to see him much, because just like planting, they work day and night to complete the harvest.
Yesterday they cleared the field right in front of us. They had three huge combines going and took it all down in an afternoon. It looks so bare and is a constant reminder that cooler weather is on the way. There are still hints of green in a few of the other surrounding fields, and I have joked that I might just call up the people who farm them and ask if they would put off harvest for a few more weeks...just so I can continue to admire the landscape. It sounds reasonable to me.(I took the top picture from the roof of our house a few days ago. The second picture was from early August, when the temperatures were hot and the fields were tall and green. The last one is of the combine running through the field in front of our house, harvesting soybeans.)
Conversation with a farmer
Farmer Mike: So, this here neighbor invites me to an "Old guy's" group over in Story city.
Me: Oh yeah? That's neat!
Farmer Mike: Well, kind of. I mean, I went once. These old guys sit around and drink coffee, eat for 20 minutes, and then just leave!
Me: Food doesn't sound so bad...and coffee, that's good, too.
Farmer Mike: Here's the thing- they don't even talk about anything good. They just discuss who died last month. It's all business.
Me: Really?
Farmer Mike: And hey, I told the guy, if I'm going to drive all the way in to town for some "old guy's" club, at least let me tell some tall tales and lies!
Me: Oh sure...that's understandable...
Me: Oh yeah? That's neat!
Farmer Mike: Well, kind of. I mean, I went once. These old guys sit around and drink coffee, eat for 20 minutes, and then just leave!
Me: Food doesn't sound so bad...and coffee, that's good, too.
Farmer Mike: Here's the thing- they don't even talk about anything good. They just discuss who died last month. It's all business.
Me: Really?
Farmer Mike: And hey, I told the guy, if I'm going to drive all the way in to town for some "old guy's" club, at least let me tell some tall tales and lies!
Me: Oh sure...that's understandable...
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Refined by the fire
Dear brothers and sisters,* when troubles come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow. So let it grow, for when your endurance is fully developed, you will be perfect and complete, needing nothing. James 1:1-4
I used to loathe our house.
Phil bought our house without me ever stepping foot in it. I was working, and so he had to fly back on his own and decide if this house was going to work. Being a remodeler, and a carpenter, the house looked ilke a lot of work, but it had "good bones" he said. We had been married two years, and had worked on our first house together. I was confident in his decision making skills...but I had no idea he could be so bold.
It was the last day of November when we first looked at the house we were to purchase the next day. It was cold and windy and the road to the house seemed like it was the longest road in the world. It was 1 hour from our Uncle's house, where we were staying - forever away from civilization. We stepped out of the car and our feet crunched on the newly fallen snow. The trees were great masses of sticks and the flowerbeds were full of dead weeds. The outside of the house was mostly brick, but as I walked up to the house I could see that what paint was there, was wearing away with the weather.
As we walked through the house, a feeling of dread came over me. We had to buy this house. This was now home. The cracked walls and the peeling paint. The worn green/brown shag carpeting. The white, rusted metal cabinets in the kitchen. I had never seen something needing so much work, let alone lived in such a place.
I held my 7 month, just barely crawling child in my arms, terrified. Everywhere I looked I saw walls that needed to be repaired and replaced. There was no way I could live here. And yet we were under contract to buy it the next morning. Not to mention the semi-trailer full of furnishings that had come over snowy ground to be there. Had it been spring, I could have hopped in that truck and just headed home. But the roads were just too treacherous now.
I said nothing as we walked because I was afraid of what would come out of my mouth. My in-laws called and wanted to meet up with us. "Great!" I thought, THEY will talk some sense into my husband.
As they walked through the house, they said nothing. I wanted them to yell and scream and refuse to let us buy the house. But they didn't. Phil and his dad walked through the upstairs again and I sat with my mom-in-law in the middle of the living room floor, crying. "Why would God abandon me like this?" I asked through tears. Being ever so wonderful, she just replied, "He hasn't. This might be difficult, but He is still here, walking with you three."
That night at dinner, I was able to get everyone in a discussion about not buying the house. I was feeling pretty good about this. I had no idea where we would put al of our things or where we would live, but the great thing is we were discussing NOT buying the house. But my father in law stopped the discussion. "The fact is, you guys are under contract to buy it tomorrow. Now, the question is, where do we go from here? How can we get this house ready for you guys?" While I hated that statement, it was true. And it turned our thoughts from excape to action.
Over the next two weeks, Ryan and I stayed at Phil's uncle's house while parents, uncles, aunts, and even grandparents worked on the house. (We kept Ryan and me home because I was nursing, and we didn't need Ryan exposed to any lead.) They patched and painted and removed carpet. They worked through most of the downstairs - the living room, front room, and den. When we finally decided that it was safe for Ryan and I to be out there, I decided I had better come to grips with the house. We were still not ready to move in, but with Phil now working and his parents visiting relatives, it was up to me to finish preparing.
As I drove out to the house that first day, I had grand plans of what I was going to accomplish. I dreamed of fully-furnished rooms and waxed floors. I dreamed of unpacking kitchenwares and making a home.
But when I opened the kitchen door to come in the house, the dread returned full force. I just hated it all. I turned to leave. I would come back when there were people to help...noise in the empty home to soothe my nerves.
But as I settled into my warm car, my conscience held me still. Just one project, I told myself. I forced my feet to walk back inside. I got out the wax, and started to wax the front room. I put Ryan in a playpen to take a nap, and just started to work, one side to the other. And I expected to have to fight myself to stay there, just through this project. But a funny thing happened. As I worked that floor, so focused and small as it was, I started to enjoy myself. To see beauty come from something small I had done. When I allowed myself a break, I turned to look out the window. Two walls of that room are covered with windows, and I took in a deep breath as I surveyed the white landscape. It really was beautiful. And serene. There was something calming about the quiet and the solitude. I could see for miles. (I have since found myself drawn to that front room many times- it was so comforting to look out at the land- already perfect without any "projects".) While waxing that floor, a stirring inside my heart made me feel just a bit more at home. I could stand back at my work and think "yes, that was worth it."
And this past 10 months has been that way for me so many times. I will look at a room or a closet and think "I just can't DO this". But when I force myself to do one small thing, and then another, before I know it, I have a beautiful landscape.
My house has been a lot of work. When we first moved here I avoided inviting people over, from embarrassment, and fear. As I walk through my house now, I can do so with pride. Each room slowly repaired and restored with elbow grease and firm resolve. But along the way, something inside me has happened, unexpectedly. Over these past 10 months. I, too, have been toughened...refined. When I see other people's homes with as much work as mine once had, I can joyfully dream with them- help inspire them to what COULD be rather than what is. And they still have to walk it. They still need the paint and the scrapers and the patch compound. Its amazing to me how something as seemingly simple as a house can be refining for someone - that it can teach discipline and endurance and also the frivolity of possessions.
There are still so many things to do - there is still red carpeting in the bathroom and the outside still needs to be painted...but I see it differently now. I can see the potential underneath that my husband saw that first time he walked through the house. Before we came, a friend showed excitement for our new adventure, assuring us that if God had not let us down yet, he was not about to do so now. Looking back on that first day, that feeling of abandonment seems so distant to me now. I can see where God has stood by us, giving us friends and support and a beautiful home.
I used to loathe our house.
Phil bought our house without me ever stepping foot in it. I was working, and so he had to fly back on his own and decide if this house was going to work. Being a remodeler, and a carpenter, the house looked ilke a lot of work, but it had "good bones" he said. We had been married two years, and had worked on our first house together. I was confident in his decision making skills...but I had no idea he could be so bold.
It was the last day of November when we first looked at the house we were to purchase the next day. It was cold and windy and the road to the house seemed like it was the longest road in the world. It was 1 hour from our Uncle's house, where we were staying - forever away from civilization. We stepped out of the car and our feet crunched on the newly fallen snow. The trees were great masses of sticks and the flowerbeds were full of dead weeds. The outside of the house was mostly brick, but as I walked up to the house I could see that what paint was there, was wearing away with the weather.
As we walked through the house, a feeling of dread came over me. We had to buy this house. This was now home. The cracked walls and the peeling paint. The worn green/brown shag carpeting. The white, rusted metal cabinets in the kitchen. I had never seen something needing so much work, let alone lived in such a place.
I held my 7 month, just barely crawling child in my arms, terrified. Everywhere I looked I saw walls that needed to be repaired and replaced. There was no way I could live here. And yet we were under contract to buy it the next morning. Not to mention the semi-trailer full of furnishings that had come over snowy ground to be there. Had it been spring, I could have hopped in that truck and just headed home. But the roads were just too treacherous now.
I said nothing as we walked because I was afraid of what would come out of my mouth. My in-laws called and wanted to meet up with us. "Great!" I thought, THEY will talk some sense into my husband.
As they walked through the house, they said nothing. I wanted them to yell and scream and refuse to let us buy the house. But they didn't. Phil and his dad walked through the upstairs again and I sat with my mom-in-law in the middle of the living room floor, crying. "Why would God abandon me like this?" I asked through tears. Being ever so wonderful, she just replied, "He hasn't. This might be difficult, but He is still here, walking with you three."
That night at dinner, I was able to get everyone in a discussion about not buying the house. I was feeling pretty good about this. I had no idea where we would put al of our things or where we would live, but the great thing is we were discussing NOT buying the house. But my father in law stopped the discussion. "The fact is, you guys are under contract to buy it tomorrow. Now, the question is, where do we go from here? How can we get this house ready for you guys?" While I hated that statement, it was true. And it turned our thoughts from excape to action.
Over the next two weeks, Ryan and I stayed at Phil's uncle's house while parents, uncles, aunts, and even grandparents worked on the house. (We kept Ryan and me home because I was nursing, and we didn't need Ryan exposed to any lead.) They patched and painted and removed carpet. They worked through most of the downstairs - the living room, front room, and den. When we finally decided that it was safe for Ryan and I to be out there, I decided I had better come to grips with the house. We were still not ready to move in, but with Phil now working and his parents visiting relatives, it was up to me to finish preparing.
As I drove out to the house that first day, I had grand plans of what I was going to accomplish. I dreamed of fully-furnished rooms and waxed floors. I dreamed of unpacking kitchenwares and making a home.
But when I opened the kitchen door to come in the house, the dread returned full force. I just hated it all. I turned to leave. I would come back when there were people to help...noise in the empty home to soothe my nerves.
But as I settled into my warm car, my conscience held me still. Just one project, I told myself. I forced my feet to walk back inside. I got out the wax, and started to wax the front room. I put Ryan in a playpen to take a nap, and just started to work, one side to the other. And I expected to have to fight myself to stay there, just through this project. But a funny thing happened. As I worked that floor, so focused and small as it was, I started to enjoy myself. To see beauty come from something small I had done. When I allowed myself a break, I turned to look out the window. Two walls of that room are covered with windows, and I took in a deep breath as I surveyed the white landscape. It really was beautiful. And serene. There was something calming about the quiet and the solitude. I could see for miles. (I have since found myself drawn to that front room many times- it was so comforting to look out at the land- already perfect without any "projects".) While waxing that floor, a stirring inside my heart made me feel just a bit more at home. I could stand back at my work and think "yes, that was worth it."
And this past 10 months has been that way for me so many times. I will look at a room or a closet and think "I just can't DO this". But when I force myself to do one small thing, and then another, before I know it, I have a beautiful landscape.
My house has been a lot of work. When we first moved here I avoided inviting people over, from embarrassment, and fear. As I walk through my house now, I can do so with pride. Each room slowly repaired and restored with elbow grease and firm resolve. But along the way, something inside me has happened, unexpectedly. Over these past 10 months. I, too, have been toughened...refined. When I see other people's homes with as much work as mine once had, I can joyfully dream with them- help inspire them to what COULD be rather than what is. And they still have to walk it. They still need the paint and the scrapers and the patch compound. Its amazing to me how something as seemingly simple as a house can be refining for someone - that it can teach discipline and endurance and also the frivolity of possessions.
There are still so many things to do - there is still red carpeting in the bathroom and the outside still needs to be painted...but I see it differently now. I can see the potential underneath that my husband saw that first time he walked through the house. Before we came, a friend showed excitement for our new adventure, assuring us that if God had not let us down yet, he was not about to do so now. Looking back on that first day, that feeling of abandonment seems so distant to me now. I can see where God has stood by us, giving us friends and support and a beautiful home.
And my house continually grows on me. Last night we had people over for a fall dinner. We roasted turkey, dug potatoes from our garden, picked a squash, and made an apple pie. We sat around a table in my dining room, dark with reds and golds. The kids ran around and played games and the adults talked. It was the beautiful clatter of family and friends. It was home. And after, we collapsed into the chairs and surveyed the landscape - strewn with dishes and toys - and it was nice - like the snow, serene and quiet, silence resonating throughout.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Monkey
Ryan loves other kids. Mostly, I think, because he learns so much from them (how to get more of this or that, how to "cooerce" parents, new tricks to try and new things to explore, to name a few). So, when we are out and about, if there are other kids around, those little bright blue eyes soak up everything from those kids. Most recently, we were at the library and there was a small girl- just over 1 - who was a "climber". Ryan has never been a climber. The only things I need to worry about "baby proofing" are things he can get when standing on the floor (which is actually quite a lot of things, believe it or not). He watched this girl, enthralled, for just over 10 minutes before we left.
Naturally, when we got home, he decided to try some of this girl's strategy. It's like a whole new world has been opened up to him. From ten minutes in the library, he realized that he does not have to view the world from two feet tall any longer! There are much higher vantage points - "the better to see you with, mom!" he assures me with his squeals. The only good thing is that he is not very adept at it yet. Since he has never been a climber, and does not yet have the necessary climbing skillset, it usually manifests itself in the child sprawling his arms over the object (couch, chair, etc) lifting a leg, and giving little grunts as if that will help him fly up onto it.
But, he is starting to realize not everything is out of his reach. That's right, clean clothes baskets and boxes of apples are definitely within said climbing range. Yesterday, in fact, I walked into the living room, and noticed Ryan was a foot taller. A closer look revealed Ryan, doing a little "victory dance" on the top of my sewing basket. Hmm. Maybe we won't be visiting other children much, after all.
Naturally, when we got home, he decided to try some of this girl's strategy. It's like a whole new world has been opened up to him. From ten minutes in the library, he realized that he does not have to view the world from two feet tall any longer! There are much higher vantage points - "the better to see you with, mom!" he assures me with his squeals. The only good thing is that he is not very adept at it yet. Since he has never been a climber, and does not yet have the necessary climbing skillset, it usually manifests itself in the child sprawling his arms over the object (couch, chair, etc) lifting a leg, and giving little grunts as if that will help him fly up onto it.
But, he is starting to realize not everything is out of his reach. That's right, clean clothes baskets and boxes of apples are definitely within said climbing range. Yesterday, in fact, I walked into the living room, and noticed Ryan was a foot taller. A closer look revealed Ryan, doing a little "victory dance" on the top of my sewing basket. Hmm. Maybe we won't be visiting other children much, after all.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Of Funnel Cakes and Mini Cows
The Iowa State fair is one of the largest in the country. It pulls in over one million visitors each year and as been going on since 1854. You can purchase over 20 food items on a stick there. I had been pretty excited to see it, simply because of all the hype surrounding it. Plus, there were to be butter sculptures of a cow and Superman. The cow, well, because they do a cow every year, apparently, and Superman, because the latest Bulletproof man is an Iowa native. Only in the midwest could you find a lifesize cow fashioned entirely of butter. How could I miss such an event?
For a month or so I had looked forward to this fair. When we found out that Phil was going to be putting in a few days of work at the booth for RVP1875 (he was demonstrating the "old" ways of furniture making) I was very excited. We had another excuse to go.
There was a twist- however. The original "Butter Cow Lady" would not be sculpting this year. No, her apprentice of 15 years, a 29 year old Iowa native, would be at the helm of the ship this year- on her own for the first time. Concerning? Yes. But a deal breaker? No.
After winding our way through traffic and the maze of rides and games we found ourselves headed toward the many exhibition buildings. There were multiple livestock barns - one for attle, one for pigs, another for sheep and goats. There were four or five buildings dedicated to crafts, tradesmen, and contests. It was quite the production. Upon our entry to the Agriculture building (the butter cow building), we saw fifty or so flowers lined up. Though all were beautiful, they had been judged and ribboned accordingly. There were squash and pumpkins and a hundred other produce items with their rating pinned for all to see. This was the butter cow barn, however, and my eyes searched for this exhibit more than any other.
I suppose it can be chalked up to media hype. For all I knew listening to the ads this cow had its own building, and Superman himself was going to stand next to his creamy-image admiring the likeness. (On a side note, can you imagine having someone carve your likeness out of butter for the one million fair visitors to gawk at?) I envisioned the woman painstakingly working with her chisels as onlookers oohed and ahhed at her skill and patience. The cow, three times the bulk of a living heifer would be so real you could almost hear it's "moo."
Alas, as I walked around the building there were a scant three windows, with the sculptures already completed, unspectacularly set for the viewing. Don't get me wrong, it was very cool to see the butter all worked up in the shape of a cow or Superman. But the cow's head was a little small. And Superman was a bit short. I snapped my picture in between the crowds closing in to see the projects that took a week and over 55o pounds of butter to complete. But, not to be dismayed by the fact that it was "only" made out of butter and didn't really dance or sing, one had to be pretty impressed that the woman actually scuplted something so large and lifelike out of the stuff. Besides, it has been an Iowa fair tradition since 1911!
We decided that we should keep the "newness" alive and buy a funnel cake. Neither of us had ever had one, and you only see those at the fair. For a mere $5 we purchased the fried sweet treat (really though, a large, prettily-shaped donut) and enjoyed the ongoing feeling of new endeavors. We did, however, pass on the porkchop-on-a-stick and the giant roasted turkey leg.
All in all, the fair was huge, but it was not so abnormal. Although we did see abnormal things, like a 3000 pound cow as well as a dwarf cow (those are REALLY neat, by the way). We spent the day walking through throngs of people and felt the frenzie of the fair. And then, we retreated to our car, and drove the hour and a half to the country, where things were quiet once again, and the chirping of the crickets faded our memories of the swarms of people. Ahh, it was good to be home.
For a month or so I had looked forward to this fair. When we found out that Phil was going to be putting in a few days of work at the booth for RVP1875 (he was demonstrating the "old" ways of furniture making) I was very excited. We had another excuse to go.
There was a twist- however. The original "Butter Cow Lady" would not be sculpting this year. No, her apprentice of 15 years, a 29 year old Iowa native, would be at the helm of the ship this year- on her own for the first time. Concerning? Yes. But a deal breaker? No.
After winding our way through traffic and the maze of rides and games we found ourselves headed toward the many exhibition buildings. There were multiple livestock barns - one for attle, one for pigs, another for sheep and goats. There were four or five buildings dedicated to crafts, tradesmen, and contests. It was quite the production. Upon our entry to the Agriculture building (the butter cow building), we saw fifty or so flowers lined up. Though all were beautiful, they had been judged and ribboned accordingly. There were squash and pumpkins and a hundred other produce items with their rating pinned for all to see. This was the butter cow barn, however, and my eyes searched for this exhibit more than any other.
I suppose it can be chalked up to media hype. For all I knew listening to the ads this cow had its own building, and Superman himself was going to stand next to his creamy-image admiring the likeness. (On a side note, can you imagine having someone carve your likeness out of butter for the one million fair visitors to gawk at?) I envisioned the woman painstakingly working with her chisels as onlookers oohed and ahhed at her skill and patience. The cow, three times the bulk of a living heifer would be so real you could almost hear it's "moo."
Alas, as I walked around the building there were a scant three windows, with the sculptures already completed, unspectacularly set for the viewing. Don't get me wrong, it was very cool to see the butter all worked up in the shape of a cow or Superman. But the cow's head was a little small. And Superman was a bit short. I snapped my picture in between the crowds closing in to see the projects that took a week and over 55o pounds of butter to complete. But, not to be dismayed by the fact that it was "only" made out of butter and didn't really dance or sing, one had to be pretty impressed that the woman actually scuplted something so large and lifelike out of the stuff. Besides, it has been an Iowa fair tradition since 1911!We decided that we should keep the "newness" alive and buy a funnel cake. Neither of us had ever had one, and you only see those at the fair. For a mere $5 we purchased the fried sweet treat (really though, a large, prettily-shaped donut) and enjoyed the ongoing feeling of new endeavors. We did, however, pass on the porkchop-on-a-stick and the giant roasted turkey leg.
All in all, the fair was huge, but it was not so abnormal. Although we did see abnormal things, like a 3000 pound cow as well as a dwarf cow (those are REALLY neat, by the way). We spent the day walking through throngs of people and felt the frenzie of the fair. And then, we retreated to our car, and drove the hour and a half to the country, where things were quiet once again, and the chirping of the crickets faded our memories of the swarms of people. Ahh, it was good to be home.
What year is this?
To perpetuate the notion that we might actually have moved in with the Amish, Phil has just completed a two-wheeled cart. That's right. It's not motorized...and it's pulled by horses. No, we didn't decide to move in with the our non-electric friends; he built it for a customer who will be giving horse-drawn wagon rides to children with disabilities.He has been sub-contracting with RVP-1875- a company that does all of its woodworking as if it were still 1875. This means that they use only hand tools (save for one hand-powered rip saw), fell their own trees, and even make homemade stains and finishes. This was the first piece that he was asked to make for this company, and it turned out to be a challenging one. For this piece, though, he was allowed to use some power tools (thankfully, because the 300 some bolts would have been a bit of a chore with a hand powered drill!).
Nonetheless, it has been a really neat project. He had to do quite a bit of research (you know, he doesn't exactly build handicap-accessible wagons every day) but the end result turned out beautifully.The woodworkers out there will appreciate hand jointery neccessary for a piece like this - (a dovetail lap joint connecting two sides flared at 10 and 25 degrees. The piece de resistance is a wedged through-tenon holding it all together.) The wood-illiterate wife in me says "wha?". But that's what happens when you don't use things like nails to hold the wood together. You have to be a bit creative.
His next piece is a sideboard - pictures to come.
The great thing about working with this company is that he is using his own shop for building these pieces. When we first started working with them, I thought "Great! All of this extra time to work on my house!" and it has turned out to be "Wow, look at your well-furnished shop..." With this company, for example, he will need to build a special bench- one that can be used with hand planes and such. All of his other (very well organized) benches are for "different purposes." It's not that I'm jealous or anything (Oh, to have a kitchen so well put together!) but then, my husband would remind me (gently) that it has been awhile since our kitchen made us any money...
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