Sunday Scribblings - My two cents

One of my dreams is to be an expert. In what? It doesn’t really matter. I just want to be one of those people that when there is some sort of crisis or breaking news story, they put a microphone in front of you and ask your opinion. Portland has an FBI spokeswoman that I have a little bit of a girl crush on. She as cool as ice when they start asking her questions and her answers always sound incredibly intelligent and you never question her expertise as a spokesperson and agent.

I want to be an expert.

I’m not sure in what area, but when Laini and Megg gave us the prompt for Sunday Scribblings this week, they pretty much said, “Have at it! Give us your opinion on anything.” So, in humility, knowing I’m NOT an expert but, being given the mic so to speak, I’d like to talk about something that pushes my buttons. Disciplining kids.

A few weeks ago, I posted about my lovely but fussy little nieces that spent the night with me. They wanted the nuts picked out of their eight-grain bread, girl-colored sleeping bags and wanted their own personal popcorn taster to make sure my brand of popcorn was not sub-standard to their home brand. I mentioned in my blog how I really felt that my kids were not that fussy and Laini asked how I had managed to raise kids like that. Well, I firmly believe it started before my kids were even born.

You see, I read a book that was a bit controversial but had come at the recommendation of a few friends. It was called “Growing Kids God’s Way” and it advocated some parenting practices and foundations that run a bit contrary to society’s view. Now before you think I’m some kind of cultish, over the top kind of person, let me just tell you - I’m not. I don’t consider myself a blind follower and there were some points of this book that I knew weren’t for me, but there were some basic philosophies that just made sense considering my belief system and what I believed to be true about the way we work as human beings. In this book I learned some basic philosophies on parenting based on 1) the Bible and 2) statistical data and testimonials to support their theories. Their basic foundations were:

Your child is a gift from God. She is precious and you are called to love her, care for her and teach her. However, your child should never become the center of your life. The moment you do that, you elevate them to a place they’re not meant to occupy and you put expectations on them that they will meet your needs instead of it being the other way around. A child doesn’t know what to do with these expectations and they can often lead to confusion and aggravate normal behavior issues to a point where they become overwhelming. My most important relationship is with my Creator, followed by my Husband, then comes my children.

I have always shown my children that I dearly love them and they are such a blessing in my life. But, I have always sought to teach them also a level of humility and acceptance that THEY ARE NOT THE CENTER OF MY WORLD and I’m not here on this earth to serve them. That is why my children understand, if all we have is 8-grain bread, they will need to put up with the nuts and mom is NOT here to be their personal nut-remover. Seriously, they know that I deeply consider their needs and their desires, but there is no guarantee that they will get what they want in every circumstance. I began this from day one of their little lives and so now as 9 and 12 year olds, they know, throwing fits doesn’t get them anywhere. Mom and Dad make the decisions, not the kids. I feel like setting these boundaries and being consistent with them has helped my kids in tremendous ways with dealing with disappointment, setting goals, and being very flexible and adaptable to new situations.

One of their other basic foundations was that kids need boundaries. Sounds good enough, but I can’t tell you how many might interpret this statement differently. My opinion – kids need more than just a line drawn in the sand. They need a six foot barbed wire fence. This is the point where some might shake their head and think, “She’s too restrictive, she’s too strict, she’ll suffocate her children with rules and regulations.” I would argue that if you spent a day with me and my kids, you’d see just the opposite is true. My barbed wire fences started out close in when the kids were young. They learned early on that mom and dad meant business when we said “no”. It meant “no”. As they got older and decided to test this more assertively, they realized the harsh consequences of trying to climb over the barbed wire fence. There was pain and discomfort. Not literal (although we have used spanking when appropriate – more when they were younger toddlers and swats on the behind carried more meaning that long discussions of the need to obey out of respect and safety). We made sure that if the kids chose to willfully disobey the rules we had established, there were consequences that meant something. As a result, we try to reserve those for the big infractions because we know that often a removal of a privilege or imparting discipline means disrupts the normal flow of the family but it is SO important in establishing respect and authority in the home and, most importantly, demonstrating love.

Those fences are often protection from things and situations they just are not ready for. As the kids get older and they see us push the fences out as they earn respect and trust, they see that those fences are built with love and a desire to see them succeed as human beings and not the desire to make their lives miserable.

Now let me just end by saying very clearly, my kids are not perfect. They still disobey. They still have respect issues sometimes (especially the 12 year old). They blow it – just like me. I am not anywhere near a perfect parent. I yell when I shouldn’t, I sometimes let things slide when I shouldn’t. But, I have tried to make sure that the majority of the time, I am holding the principles I’ve listed above. When I do, I see growth in my kids and in me as a mom. When I don’t, that’s when things start slipping into chaos. I can tell the natural order of things is off and we are all walking around in a grumpy funk. I know that every family is different and I firmly believe the same principles can be applied in two different families and look totally different but I’m a firm believer from the success we’ve had in our family that these ideas work for raising healthy, well-balanced, flexible and respectful kids.

And that’s my very humble two cents worth . . .

If you need more change in your pocket, read other writers' two cents worth here.

Late bloomer

This has been quite a year for me. Always a fan of the written word and an avid book junkie since toddlerhood, my love of reading has been a constant in my life. Right on it's heels was a simmering desire to write. The stories and essays were always there in my head, like a constant humming of people talking behind a closed door. This year the proverbial "heat" was turned up and the door cracked open as circumstances propelled me towards realizing this desire to be one that puts words to paper for the enrichment of my soul and the hopeful encouragement of others. There were opportunities through my job, my volunteer ministry and even in furthering my education through a writing intensive class.

And then there's blogging.

Who would have known that this wonderful world existed a year ago? I thought blogs were for hormonal, pimply teenagers to share secrets, slander and smut. Who would've known that I would connect with REAL writers, published authors, people who KNOW HOW TO WRITE and get paid for it? (Or at least, have their words published in a periodical of some variety.) Who would have known that I could learn so much from reading the daily writings of others, professionals and amateurs but all passionate about sharing their heart? How could I have imagined how their wonderfully creative expressions would ignite fires in my own creative heart that would start slowly, like a gentle flickering flame, but hold all the promise of blazing into a roaring campfire - if I keep feeding it? Who would have known? Not me.

As I get ready to watch another birthday scream past me at warp speed this weekend, I thought it would be fun to list ten things that I've done in the past year to bring me closer to the goal of having my writing "out there" for public consumption.

1. Wrote a 14 day devotional for adults taking short term trips overseas. Wrote introductions and study questions from the Bible about grace, justice, mercy, love and provision. I loved this project!

2. Adapted the 14 day devotional for a group of kids that went on one of the trips.

3. Started journaling again. Not super regular on the hand-written journaling, but trying to be better about this honest, truthful and sriving for UNEDITED writing.

4. Served on a "print team" for a major fundraising event. A great opportunity to work on a team of devoted folks for a great cause.

5. Participated in a very fun book club that kept me from reading the same kinds of books over and over. A great group of gals who have challenged me to keep thinking about why authors write the way they write.

6. Took a class about writing Bible studies from the local seminary. (The very kind teacher, a published author of studies herself wrote lovely comments on my work and even said she would pray that I would find a publisher - wow, that was a boost to my fragile ego!)

7. Was asked to write a study for our women's group by a highly respected woman in our church. She has been so supportive of me through this process and is one of my greatest cheerleaders. It's such an honor to be asked by her!

8. Took a "spiritual retreat" day in June. Wrote, took photos, walked and just enjoyed time with my Creator.

9. Entered one of my rose pictures in the county fair! (It's at the top of this post.) Something I NEVER thougth I would do! Tomorrow the fair opens and we're going to go see it hung with all the other ARTISTS and I will smile as I think of all the very talented women whose blogs have inspired me over the past few months.

10. STARTED A BLOG! One of the best things I could have done as it has allowed me to read so many GREAT blogs, "meet" so many interesting people and learn so much about the creative process. The words of encouragement and challenge have meant so much and I am so thankful for this. The act of journaling online, writing to prompts and peeling back the layers of writing "propriety" to get to the heart is something that I know will take my writing to a deeper, purer level.

When I see all that I've done in a year, I'm not so depressed about turning a year older. I will drink a glass of chardonay in the twilight of the evening, smile at the sleepy stars coming out for their night-shift and say a little prayer for all the women who have inspired me this year to be true to my God, be true to my heart and to be true to the desire to WRITE and CREATE!

Too much of a good thing

After posting my Sunday Scribbling yesterday came the trickle of regrets.

It was too long.

I didn't link to Sunday Scribblings (sorry Laini and Megg).

It was too preachy, too goody-goody, too foofy. It didn't really express the grit and sweat and passion that I would have wanted for an allegory about my personal faith.

It was a bit presumptious and egotistical to write it and post it. Too much like many other Christians that I don't appreciate when they try to sugar-coat what it takes to follow Christ.

I'm reading "The Artist's Way" right now and have just gotten to the part where she begins to talk about our inner Censor. No introductions were needed as my inner Censor jumped to attention as I was reading that part and squealed with delight at being recognized as part of the creative process. She didn't quite get that she's the NEGATIVE part of the creative process. The truth is, my Sunday Scribbling post this week was far more a product of my Censor than of me. I had to disguise my story in fairytale ballgowns to make it acceptable for the audience. Somehow, I don't think this is really what my creative self wants to write. The story is there, but it's like it's playing dress-up in someone elses clothing.

Well, we (me and my censor) have some things to work on, that's for sure. Thanks for reading these ramblings and sticking with me.

On a lighter note, my good friend flew into town a few hours ago from Muscatine, Iowa for a four week visit (she's staying with her mom). We have lots of fun things in mind for the weeks ahead, one of which is a trip to Oregon's famous Shakespeare Festival in Ashland next week to see a play and have a night out on the town. I can't wait! There's some birthdays this weekend (mine, my daughter's and my mother-in-law's) so I'm sure there will be some good eats and fun to come with that. And it is FINALLY supposed to cool off a bit this week. We pansy Oregonians just aren't used to living in desert conditions!

Sunday Scribbling - Thief

His hair was golden and it curved around his face like the petals of a flower. His eyes were an incredible shade of and gray, steely and cool like the blade of a newly forged knife. The music of the celebration wafted around him, but he heard only noise as he searched the room. He had come for one reason and he searched the guests for her. As he walked through the ballroom, the guests turned to stare at him. His beauty radiated like the cool light of the moon and he carried himself with such power and grace, slowly circling the floor, nodding to his associates with his lips pressed into a thin smile. And all the time he watched. Looking for the one.

She stood by herself, foot tapping to the rhythm of the music. She wanted to dance, but no one had noticed her. She was not dressed in paint and glamour like many of the other girls there tonight. She had a simple beauty that came from a pure and lovely heart. Her dark brown eyes sparkled in the candlelight and her dark brown hair flowed like a waterfall of soft curls down her back. She watched as the drunken ladies struggled to keep their footing while flirting with the dapper young men. She watched their brazenness and was embarrassed for them and amazed at their boldness at the same time. Perhaps if she drank the sparkling liquid on the silver trays someone would finally notice her.

As she lifted her delicate hand to summon one of the waitstaff over with the trays, a strong and gentle hand caught hers mid air and brought it to a pair of soft lips for a kiss. Surprised at the handsome man bowing before her, her other hand fluttered to her throat and self consciously pulled at a curl of her hair. He rose to meet her gaze and continued to hold her hand.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice deep and rich. Unable to answer from her surprise, she simply nodded her head and felt her feet move her to the floor, almost as if they were separate from her body. It was as if the bones in her feet were magnets drawn by an invisible force to follow this beautiful creature wherever he might take her.

His eyes held hers, and though decorum said she should look away, she was captured there. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His body felt strong and lean and he moved her around the dance floor like a master puppeteer moving her body with his to the rhythm of the music. Dance after dance, without rest, they swayed and circled and stepped and glided. All the while his deep gaze upon her. Finally, as the music slowed, he moved his head to break the hypnotic gaze and started to whisper in her ear.

His voice was like honey, sweet and thick and full of golden promise. He told her how special she was, how she was much better than the other girls. She was more clever and deserved to be treated as such. Then he went on to list the sins of each of the painted beautiful girls at the party. See that one there, he said, she lusts after one that is already married. That one there, she has sold her purity for that gilded gown and the jewels she wears. And that one, she has taken what does not belong to her with no regard for the pain she has caused because of it.

“But you,” he breathed sweetly, “you are special. Your purity shows through your face and your actions. I can reward you for this. You deserve it, you should be above all the others here tonight. Come with me and I will make you the one they speak of at parties to come. I will dress you in the finest silks and adorn you with diamonds and silver.” His eyes flashed cold gray flames within them as he looked deep into hers, “Just say that you will be mine forever. That you will offer me your lovely and pure soul for eternity.”

Her head was spinning and her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest. To be noticed! To be treasured and valued. To be thought of as worthy. It was all she had ever wanted. But the price, to offer was dear. And yet . . .

Just then, he came from the shadows. He had been watching intently. Standing on the edges of it all, waiting for this moment. He must move quickly, like a thief in the night. But not to steal what was not his, but to protect it from one who would openly steal what did not belong to him. He moved toward the couple and stood silently as they swayed to the last bars of music. As the song ended, the couple turned to see him standing close, still and strong, the gaze of his dark brown eyes holding them both.

Her partner stiffened in her arms and a flash of fear passed like a fast moving shadow across his face. “I see I am too late, another has come to claim you.” His eyes looked back into hers for a moment and she understood the message of the cold hard gaze. You have already chosen him, but I can still offer you more.

With a strong and powerful act of will, she broke her gaze with the gentleman and gave him a curt and simple bow and as she did, her beloved reached across and gently clasped her hand in his. It was worn and rough, a carpenter’s hand, a hand that served others. His simple suit bore no resemblance to the finery of her partner, but the strength that came from within him seemed to fill the room and extinguish the flames of the gentleman’s presence. The fine young dandy stared at his rival for a moment, then turned and walked quickly from the dance floor and disappeared into the shadows. Without his treasure, without his prize, his anger and frustration burned inside his soul and formed itself into a cluster of hateful accusations upon his partner. He slithered up to one of the painted ladies with particularly darkly lined eyes rimmed with drunkenness and whispered in her ear, “Look at that one over there. Isn’t she plain as a squirrel in the trees.” They snickered together. “And him, surely he has lost his way. The servants should be in the stables, slopping the muck from our fine animals.” The woman fell into a fit of snorts and giggles, dribbling her drink down the front of her beautifully embroidered gown, leaving stains of red against the gold and silver threads. He continued to fill her willing ears with lies and accusations, feeling the familiar power rise within him like the molten rock of a birthing volcano. The one he wanted had not chosen him, but there were many others who would choose to follow him. It was just a matter of finding their weakness. This one seemed to love the taste of gossip. She would be an easy prize to win.

As the music began again, the maiden felt her true partner’s strong arms circle her waist and hold her not too tightly, but in a way that spoke security and peace to her heart. The painted couples did not notice them, but she felt his fierce and devoted love for her. She knew that he would give his life for her and ask for nothing but her love in return. He would offer the gifts of the spirit, not of the flesh for her commitment and devotion. And he would give her worth and value beyond being one of the painted ladies at the dance. He had stolen her life, only to give it back to her with more. More love, more worth, more peace and more joy. She smiled as she looked in his eyes. She saw her future there, filled with love and care, with no promises of finery and wealth, but promises of eternal love and value and she thought, I have chosen my true partner. This is the one I am meant to be with. He is the one I love. And the music played, and they began the dance that would be their life together.

Countdown Meme

The mercury is hitting 105 today in Hillsboro, OR and it is HOT! We are chillin' inside tonight, eating shrimp salad and watermelon and looking forward to ice cream for dessert. To match the light dinner, here's a light blog entry that I borrowed from Deb.

10 Random things you may not know about me:
- I hate watching and form of boxing or wrestling (I say this because Brad just changed the chanel to one of those horrible cage match kind of fights - eeewww!)
- I love watching football - especially college games.
- I wanted to be an actress for a long time. I had the lead role in two plays in the 6th grade. I played Hecuba in "The Trojan Women" and the Conductor in a little play called "The Music Machine". It was not to be and now I have to get my fix through live theater every once in awhile.
- I love shopping for office supplies. They are like accessories for my desk and I'm a clearance aisle junkie when I go to Office Depot.
- I love growing flowers but I hate working in the yard. I wish I could just pay someone else to plant them and then I'll just water and enjoy them. (Wait, isn't that what a husband is for?)
- I had my first kiss at 15. The guy was 23. I know, gross . . . he worked across the street from me and he was my first true love (so I thought, now - a pedophile in my book). Thankfully, I was committed to abstinance and I told him so. By a miracle of God I made it out of that relationship with my purity in tact.
- The taste of raspberries always reminds me of my English Grandmother. She made tarts with them once while I was at her house and they were the lovliest thing I've ever eaten.
- I hate math. I made it all the way through college without taking a math class. I can measure, balance my checkbook and compute averages and discounts, but beyond that, I'm a bit hopeless. There were some times this year that I really had no clue how to help my daughter with her 6th grade math. It's kind of embarassing. Thank goodness Brad's got lots of friends in the teaching world with math endorsements!
- I got married at the age of 21. It was right for me, but I wonder if I'd want my daughter to marry that young.
- I never have taken any illegal drugs. They have NEVER held any appeal to me. I have too much of a fear of getting caught. I think I wrote about this in another meme - it's why I was such a "good" girl in high school. The fear of getting caught was much greater than any fun I'd have in the questionable activity.

9 Places I've Visited
- York, England
- Victoria, B.C.
- Nashville, TN
- Boston, MA
- San Francisco, CA
- Disneyland
- Seattle, WA
- Kansas City, MO
- Crazytown - my own backyard!

8 Ways to win my heart
- Buy me a book - any book!
- send me a card
- bake me a goody
- do something nice for my kids
- do one of my chores for me
- do two of my chores for me :)
- fight for justice in the world
- help someone in need

7 Things I want to do before I die
- see a college football game
- take Brad to England
- take Brad to Boston
- get published
- see my children grow up and marry incredibly loving people
- hold my grandchildren
- share my faith with my parents in a way that they would truly understand my committment to Christ

6 Things I'm afraid of
- Rats, mice and any other furry rhodent kind of critter
- drowning
- driving over bridges (not deathly afraid, just uncomfortable)
- Being separated from my family during a natural disaster
- Cancer (Breast cancer runs in my family and is 100% fatal - it strikes women in their 30's to 50's. It's on my father's side so many in the medical field think I'm not at any greater risk, but it's obviously genetic. I took high school biology and I know how basic genetics works. I get half from mom, half from dad. So how can a doctor assure me that I won't get that little gene that allows deadly tumors to grow? I don't obsess over this, but it is a big concern for me.)
- Alzheimers. I hate to forget things.

5 Things I don't like
- Water Chestnuts
- Cauliflower
- Horror Movies
- Red Wine (I know, I'm a freak!)
- Coffee

4 Ways to turn me off
- Complain endlessly, and be unwilling to take any advice to change
- Ignore me
- Criticize your loved ones in public
- Say you'll do something and then bail on me. This is ok once or twice, but if you make it a pattern, don't expect me to jump everytime you call.

3 Things I do every day
- make a cup of tea in the morning (English, of course!)
- tell my family I love them
- pray

2 Things that make me happy
- doing something nice or serving someone who wasn't expecting it
- hearing my kids belly-laugh

1 Thing on my mind right now
- Should I be watering, or is it still too HOT??

That's me tonight! I tag anyone who's interested in doing this little meme! Have a great weekend!

Back to the Future

Well friends, Friday was the big night. The 20 year reunion. I got all dolled up in my "dressy casual" duds and actually put make up on for the night. (I took a picture to proove it - my face looks like it's a ripe tomato but I think it's because I was in some weird light.) I passed inspection from my daughter ("Gosh mom - you have a lot of eye makeup on tonight.") and had Brad give me the ok that my panty lines weren't showing through my new pants, and like Cinderella in her magical mini-van, I was off to travel back in time.

The gala event was at a NW Portland hot spot called Uptown Billiards, and boy was it - hot, I mean. The joint is on the second floor and there was absolutely NO air conditioning or ventillation in that place. I had walked a good 12 blocks in my party clothes and after about 10 minutes of initial visiting and hugs with old friends, I could feel the sweat starting to roll down my back and my carefully applied makeup starting to liquify on my face. After my first over-priced glass of wine, I offered to give my two friends a ride home so they wouldn't have to take a cab at the end of the evening and I was so grateful to have a reason to keep ordering ice waters from the bar from the rest of the night. The bartender would scowl at me each time, but hey, I was the designated driver, how could he refuse me? (Besides that, I think I sweat off about 5 pounds that night!)

It was great connecting with old friends. One of the gals in my previous post, the one whose mom taught us to dance to the oldies in their living room was there. J. lives with her husband and two kids in Australia and she flew in for the event. We had a great time catching up and showing off pictures of the kids. That's her with her eyes closed in this picture: There were others that it was fun to chat with. There was the boy who grew up down the street from me and whose little weiner dog used to chase me everytime I'd ride by his house. He came to the reunion reluctantly at the urging of one of his friends (they were camping with their families and left the campgrounds to come for the evening). There was an old friend who married an absolutly darling gal and I can't wait to have them come over for dinner soon. And there was the absolutely terrifying and wonderful experience of chatting with a fellow classmate that now is the East Coast Editor of Better Homes and Gardens magazine. We didn't really "hang out" together in school but she was always nice and hung with some of the more popular kids. She chatted in a very humble and gracious way about her work when I asked her about it and I just was so excited to have the chance to talk with someone who is in the "writing" business. I didn't tell her about my rekindled interest in writing but I'm thinking about just sending her a note to say how nice it was to chat with her - a bit of a brush with writing celebrety and a pleasant one at that.

And then there were the strange and freaky parts of the night. The handsome guy in this picture - I have no idea who he is or was. He's so cute - how could I have not noticed him? He was really nice and said he remembered me - could I have had some snob in me back then? There was the cheerleader who never said a word to me in school who came up to me at the reunion and said, "OH MY GOD! IT'S YOU!" and proceeded to hug me. Confused I said, "Hi, C. It's great to see you again." I thought, She must have me confused with someone else. So I carefully turned my left side to her so she had clear sight of my photo nametag, the one with your senior picture on it and your maiden name on it so she would surely see she had mistaken me for someone else. "I remember you!" She said loudly poking me in the nametag. "Oh, I've been wanting to do that all night to someone." So I was your pick? Someone you never talked to in High School? I sat there stunned and thought, someone's been hitting the bar tonight. We had a meaningless three mintue conversation and then she moved on. Later, I read in her bio that one of the highlights of her life had been when she rededicated her life to Jesus. Go figure. I thought she was drunk on the froo-froo drinks - who would have thought that she was just one of those obnoxious Christians! (Disclaimer - do not send me hate email, I can say that because I AM an obnoxious Christian! Kind of like when African-Americans call each other the n-word. She's one of my kind, I can dis her and it doesn't count. So don't ya'll come after me. But puhleezz, don't get any ideas that I'm a charasmatic, sweet and sappy, huggin' perfect stranger kind of Christian. I'm much more of the broody, reserved, back row, polite hand clapping kind of Christian. Judge me as you will, just don't expect me to greet you with a holy hug and kiss like I swear this chick just might have if she'd been so inclined.)

And the big question, yes the loose girls still wore their clothes tight and drank too much. A couple of them obviously dissed me when I was talking with my friend, the former student body president and football hero who is one of the few people I keep in touch with. I don't think they realized that I was better friends with him than they ever were in high school. They walked up to us and started talking to my friend, obviously cutting me out of the conversation. Rather than get upset, I just smiled at my friend as he gave me the "HELP" look in his eyes, and I said, "I'll catch you later!" The party boys threw back their share from the bottles behind the bar and the pretty, homecoming princessess were still skinny and gorgeous in their designer duds. The "hotties" were still good looking, but some were obviously tortured and troubled and unhappy souls and the years of the wild life showed in their eyes. But for the most part everyone was excited to be there and willing to chat with anyone and talk about their families. That was the one thing that suprised me but maybe it was because I talked with more of the girls than the guys. Very few people asked what I did for work but they almost all wanted to know about my family. It was a great gift as I always enjoy talking about my family and I don't always enjoy talking about my work. Overall it was a great (but seriously overpriced) night filled with interesting characters and conversations. I'd definitely recommend this kind of a short trip down memory lane every few years, but I for sure wouldn't want to stay long!

Reunion Countdown

The big night is almost here. Friday night I'll be transported into the hell of high school cliques again, or magically and wonderfully, the lines of social stratas will fade and people will just be who they are and I'll enjoy talking to people who wouldn't have given me the time of day in high school. Which do you think it will be?

That's right bloggin' buddies - I'm off to my 20 year reunion on Friday night. I have such mixed feelings about the whole thing. I did go to my 10 and enjoyed it, but for some reason this one seems more intimidating to me. Maybe it's because I don't have a really cool and important job title to throw out there to the inevitable question, "What do you do?" It surely has something to do with the 30+ extra pounds I'm carrying since I walked down that aisle in my polyester gown during our graduation ceremony. The hardest part will be crossing that threshold by myself and walking into the no-man's land without someone by my side. (The cost was so high for the night, we decided I would go by myself.)

One of the blessings in this event already is that I have been able to reconnect with one of my best friends that I had lost touch with since the 10 year. He was my prom date and saw my name in the "slacker email" that one of the coordinators sent out to remind those of us lazy ones to get our registrations in. He promptly emailed me and said, "Is that really you?" and we exchanged a few emails catching up on our lives and showing off pictures of our families. He sadly won't be at the reunion, but his parents still live in town and I made him promise to call me next time they were in town so I could meet his lovely wife and beautiful little girls. If nothing else, the whole thing has been worth it for just that.

Who do I want to see? The boy who I had a huge crush on in Junior High who deliberately sought me out at the 10 and was so nice and had a blooming career in nuclear medicine. My dear friend who lived up the street from me and whose mom taught us all the old dances of the 60's in their living room. My friend who basically made some bad choices and wound up an unwed mother at 19 and broke contact with me over the years. I think it bothered her that I had done things in the "right" order, college, marriage, kids. (Not that I think that this is the right order for everyone - but she grew up in a very religious home and I think that my life was just another reminder of the poor choices she had made.) I'm hoping she's there and we can try again to resume some form of the friendship we once had.

Then there's just the curiosity of what happened to some of the more colorful characters. Are the slutty girls still going to look and act slutty? Or will they be dowdy housewives now? Will the chubby, homely, nerdy kids still be that way? Or will they look like movie stars? Will the athletes be carrying around spare tires instead of six-packs?

I'll take my camera and report back to you all after the big day!

Pimp time: The competitive monster in me wants to keep this to myself, but far be it from me to deny a published author a request. Check out Joshilyn Jackson's website and her lil' old contest - B4B - Blogging 4 Books. But watch out, I'm workin' to try to win one of the great prizes she's offering this month.

PS - Thanks to those of you who took the time to read the "Hotel" post and leave such nice comments. Ya'll do my heart good! Someday I need to update that story because since I wrote it, we took the kids there for brunch one Christmas and it was truly a lovely experience. Anyway - thanks again for plodding through it!

Sunday Scribbling - Hotel

Disclaimer - Sorry this post is a bit long. It just so happens that I wrote a paper for a course in college a few years ago about a Portland landmark, the Multnomah Hotel, and the part it played in my youth. I didn't feel like I could really cut any part of it out and really keep the whole of the story and the role this hotel played in my life. If you're up for it, I thank you for taking the time to read it! - K

When do we really grow up? Is it when we cross that magical threshold sanctioned by most governments on our 18th birthday? Or is it before then? The first time we tell a lie? Our first kiss? Maybe it’s the first time we make a big decision in our life without consulting our parents (usually to prove our independence only to show our lack of real knowledge and common sense). I’m beginning to think it happens when we catch ourselves looking back at our lives more often than we look forward. As I start to approach the age that I remember first noticing that adults seemed “old,” I am starting to realize the amazing comfort and satisfaction of memories. In the busy-ness of my life, it’s often my memories, my history, that give moments of calm and keep me grounded to what matters.

If memories are like a journey through one’s history, the Multnomah Hotel is a major landmark in my wanderings through childhood and early adulthood. The impressive building took up an entire city block in downtown Portland. Every day my dad would wait at the bus stop in front of my grade school for the number 55 Tri Met bus to take him to his office. The Multnomah Building, built in 1912 and used as a hotel until 1965, was home to the offices of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and other federal agencies from 1965 to 1992.On the weekends, we would often pile on the same bus with him and travel downtown to experience the sights and sounds offered by the city. The smells of these special outings are what I remember most. The bitter and smoky smell of the bus’s diesel fuel, the smell of fresh baked bread and hot coffee at the French bakery where my dad would buy me a chocolate chip croissant and the wonderful spicy smells of food cooking at the colorful stalls at the Saturday Market. These trips were always the highlight of my weekend. As well as providing quality time with the family and interesting diversions from our lives in the suburbs, the trips served another purpose. Most weekends our trip included a stop at my dad’s corner office on the third floor of the Multnomah Building to drop off or pick up extra work for the weekend. While I was always anxious to get to our planned destination, the building held a charm and beauty that made the visits an added treat on those weekend journeys.

The most breathtaking sight of the old hotel was the lobby. I remember the tall, square, marble pillars seeming gigantic and wondering how workers ever reached the ceiling to carve the intricate patterns that were gilded in gold. The height of the ceiling made me feel like I was in a royal palace instead of an office building. The lobby stood empty of furnishings like the empty shell of a beautiful dollhouse waiting for antique sofas and plush Windsor chairs to be placed inside. The deep maroon carpet, the intricately carved “MH’s” on the walls and the winding marble staircase hinted at a more glorious past than that of the average office building. I was always reminded of the scene in The Sound of Music when Julie Andrews opens the doors to the ballroom of Captain Von Trap’s home. I felt that kind of awe and amazement each time I stepped through the doors to the lobby–like the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen of Portland-society-past were waltzing around me to the strains of a mysterious orchestra.

Going up the elevators in the old building was always an exercise of faith. In the late seventies the building was beginning to show her age. One day, my dad told me offhandedly that a few people had gotten stuck in one of the elevators. They had only been trapped between floors for a few minutes, but it created a frightening possibility in my young mind. When the elevator would stop at the third floor I would always gratefully step over the threshold onto the solid footing beneath me and breathe a sigh of relief. In later years, I would take the stairs, just to be sure. In contrast to the beauty of the lobby, the corridors on the third floor had been stripped of any of their former hotel finery. The white walls and the florescent lighting always cast a gray light in the hallways. The dividers between each office space were gray as well giving the building a serious and stony air about it. The only artwork on the walls consisted of geological charts, maps and posters. My favorite was a large print diagramming a fiery volcano. It seemed so much more glamorous and exotic with its red and orange lava illustrations compared to the other dull earth tone posters of erosion, rock formation and soil composition. Little did I know that within a few years that my exposure to volcanoes would become much more personal as Mt. St. Helens rumbled to life. The exotic images of fire and lava were replaced with the harsh reality of mud flows and ash and the fact that this volcano in my back yard would demand that my dad spend extra hours at the office. Even as a young girl, I recognized the seriousness of his work. My dad’s job was, “to make sure dams were safe.” That’s what I told my classmates when we had the discussions about our parents’ professions. The awesome presence of the physical building, the old Multnomah Hotel, seemed oddly appropriate for the important work going on inside its walls.

My favorite visit to the Multnomah Building was one Christmas season when I was 12 years old. Christmas break did not hold much promise that year. My best friend Suzette had left on a plane to visit her grandmother in Arkansas. My other best friend, Jenny, had a houseful of rowdy cousins that were annoying pests and I chose to avoid the crazed atmosphere. Listening to music and watching TV grew boring after the first few rainy days of Christmas break. Two days before Christmas my dad suggested that I ride the bus downtown to meet him for lunch. I eagerly accepted the invitation looking forward to getting out of the house for a while. Besides spending time together and showing me off to his co-workers, my dad’s motivation for spending the afternoon together was to have my help in shopping for a gift for my mom. He always needed help picking out her gifts. Even last year, 20 years later, he showed up on my doorstep two days before Christmas asking me to go shopping with him. I was an experienced bus rider and lived in a much safer world for the average twelve year old than the one my daughter will live in. I set out on my journey from the grade school lot to his office. Feeling very grown up with my purse, my dark wool coat, hat and gloves I enjoyed the independence that comes from knowing that for a brief time, I was on my own in the “big city.” As I walked the three blocks from the downtown bus stop to my dad’s office I couldn’t wait to get to the brightly lit shops to view the Christmas decorations and the treasures they had for sale. My bravery and independence were soon tested as a tall thin man with scruff on his face and a worn dark coat over his shoulders approached me. Oh no, oh no. I quickly looked down at the sidewalk as I had seen other adults do on our trips downtown. I tried to hurry past but he weaved his way right in front of me. Looking up at what I was sure would be a desperate mugger I clutched my adolescent purse a little more tightly. With slumped shoulders and tired, red-rimmed pleading eyes he asked the dreaded question, “Could you spare some change, Miss?” At that moment all the bravery and independence I felt seeped out through my loafers and into the cold gray pavement. It’s the season of giving. I should give. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t give them money they’ll just use it to buy liquor. But he looks hungry. And cold. “I’m s–s–sorry,” I stammered in my twelve-year-old-voice, and I forced the frozen feet in my brown loafers to move quickly to the familiar outline of the Multnomah Building. When I reached the doors to the lobby, my heart was still furiously pounding under my thick wool coat. The warmth of the lobby air made my red, flushed cheeks tingle to the point right before pain. I stood for a few moments in the lobby catching my breath and waiting for my knees to stop shaking. My first trip alone downtown was not sheltered from the experience of hunger and homelessness. To this day I remember the warmth and joy of the day being nibbled at by feelings of guilt and shame as I enjoyed a nice lunch with my dad in the warm coffee shop at the Multnomah Building.

Some of the best memories of the old hotel are one of Rose Parades. Every year at festival time, I would excitedly count down the days till the Grand Rose Parade. No need for us to camp out on damp sidewalks or risk sunburns in the heat of an early June summer. The perfect viewing spot was looking out my dad’s third floor window. Though supposedly “painted shut” for safety, the sash easily rose at my father’s tugs. A perfectly climate controlled seat in the always questionable June weather. The beauty of the floral floats and the rose covered horses was a magnificent sight. It was an awesome adventure each year to see how many horsemen, horsewomen, grand marshals and princesses we could coax to wave to us on our third floor perch. Success was always easily measured because you knew they were waving at you and no one else in the crowd. Afterwards we would finish the day with a walk down to the waterfront for a few rides and fun-center goodies.

As I grew older and entered my high school years, it was no longer cool to go the parade with mom and dad. I opted instead to go with my girlfriends and watch the parade from the street. As we drove around looking for post-parade parking to head to the carnival rides of the fun-center, I directed my friend to a lot near my dad’s office building. Stopped at a traffic light I puffed away on my contraband cigarette and laughed with my friends. Suddenly, above the noise of the radio I was surprised to hear a familiar voice calling my name. “Kim! KIM!” it shouted. It was my mother sitting on the curb across the street from where we were parked. “Jeez!” I uttered through clenched teeth as I threw my cigarette into the ashtray of Vena’s car and slammed it shut. Mom walked up to the window of the car and proceeded to direct us around the block to a parking lot that still had some open spots. After a quick, “When will you be home today . . .” discussion, we were off, the smoke starting to pour from below the radio as I had forgotten to extinguish the cigarette when I threw it in the ashtray. I quickly grabbed it out and doused it in my freshly opened Diet Coke. So much for being cool. Because of this experience and others I decided the fear of getting caught smoking far outweighed any pleasure I got from it. All this happened in the shadow of the stately Multnomah Hotel.

Eventually, the US Army Corps of Engineers outgrew the old Multnomah Building. By the time my dad moved his office to the new building I was busy with my first year of college and any nostalgic desire to visit the old hotel one more time was crowded out with my job at a local restaurant, my studies and my on and off again romance with my boyfriend. I did visit my dad’s new building a few times before he retired in 1998. One particular visit was right around the holidays. My husband and I took our two-year-old daughter downtown to enjoy the Christmas decorations and to do some shopping. As we entered the new building, I noticed that he lobby was beautifully designed but it did not compare in any way to the lobby of the Multnomah. The large brass double doors opened to a marble entryway with a reception desk directly in any visitor’s path to the offices and elevators. After the tragic bombing of the Federal building in Oklahoma City, a uniformed guard was added to the landscape of the lobby. My dad, having achieved a seniority status in the company, received a beautiful corner office on the 10th floor of the high-rise building. His large windows offered a breathtaking view of the Willamette River and the downtown landscape. Most would argue that the modern building was a marked improvement from the aging Multnomah building, but as I stood in his office with my daughter, I felt a pang of regret that she would never see rose covered horses pass by his windows.

After the government offices vacated the Multnomah Hotel for their new and more modern facilities, the hotel’s future was questionable. What would become of this Portland landmark? After four years of remaining empty, two local businessmen with a reputation for highly esthetic projects examined the possibility of reopening the building as a hotel. After studying the history of the hotel they were convinced that they could restore this wonderful Portland landmark to its original beauty. The partners studied existing hotel chains to find the perfect company to renew the Multnomah as a working hotel committed to high quality service and community involvement just as the original owner had intended nearly 85 years earlier.

The grand opening of the Embassy Suites Downtown at the Multnomah Hotel was held November 15, 1997. Millions of dollars had been spent to make over the drab office space into luxurious living suites. Gone are the volcano and soil erosion posters on the walls. They have been replaced by emerald green and cream stripped wallpaper with a floral border of white and pink roses. Near the renovated elevators a cherry wood table with a brass container of colorful silk flowers stares at its reflection in a brass edged mirror. The corridors are no longer lighted by florescent lights but by frosted antique looking wall sconces and subtle recessed lighting in the ceiling. The lobby, no longer empty, has been restored to an elegance and beauty that I can imagine greeted the first visitors to the hotel in 1912. Once again there is a grand ballroom and one of the first events held at the hotel in 1997 was the Christmas party for the employees of the US Army Corps of Engineers. The Embassy Suites staff was more than hospitable to these former inhabitants of the building. My mom and dad returned from the holiday evening with stories of how the hotel staff graciously took the party guests to the spots where their old offices were and showed them the elegant suites that had been put in their places. Most amazing to my dad was the transformation of the old underground parking area to a swimming pool and health center. Their stories made me want to visit the grand hotel for myself to see my old friend in her new form.

In December 1999, the year of my 10th wedding anniversary, my husband surprised me with an overnight stay at the hotel. Walking through the doors into the lobby was like walking into one of my childhood fantasies. It was a week before Christmas and the lobby was washed in a golden light and dressed in its holiday finery. A tall, narrow noble fir Christmas tree stood in the center of the lobby, its silvery branches stretching up to the creamy white gilt ceiling. The tree was covered in gold ribbons, burgundy bows and glittery golden balls. Music from a string quartet playing in the lobby seemed to physically wrap itself around me and move me from the doors to the soft, plush, burgundy sofa in front of the tree. I sat for a few minutes while my husband checked us in at the desk. I looked at the familiar marble pillars and smiled as I thought to myself that they seemed brighter and steadier in the golden light of the lobby. It was a magical moment in time and space as I enjoyed the familiar surroundings in a new way. Not only would I have my precious memories of this old hotel, a landmark in my life, but I now knew it would be around to create new ones with my husband and with my children. As we walked to the elevator to drop of our bags in our room, a silly grin crept onto my face. “What are you smiling at?” My husband asked. Squeezing his hand, I replied, “Thank you so much for this wonderful gift.” The elevator doors closed and I didn’t feel the need to hold my breath.

A little bit of this, a little bit of that . . .

(4th of July Neighborhood Bike Parade)

I thought blogging would be so much easier in the summer. Free time, loose schedules. Ha! The days are so full that it's late in the evening before we start to wind down and there doesn't seem to be the energy to find creative thoughts to share. But a number of you were so good to comment on my last post about our beach trip so I'll share a few more pictures and stories of what's been going on this week in our neck of the woods.
(4th of July Neighborhood Block Party)
4th of July - Our neighborhood has a block party every year. I gave birth to this baby a few years back as a tribute to a block party I remembered attending in my old Nebraska neighborhood as a kid. I wanted my own kids to have that memory so we made flyers, conspired with the retired couple two doors down from us and planned a party. We were blessed to have two other families join us that year. Now, about 5 years later, we had close to 80 people attend and participate including nearly 30 kids in our bike parade. It's a great opportunity for our multi-generational, multi-ethnic neighborhood to freely mix and socialize. There are still some who hang back on the fringes of the party but we're working hard to make them feel included and hoping they'll come back next year. Brad was the great party guy and had all the adults and kids participating in water balloon toss games. Some great pictures!

(The Party Guy at work)

The birthday boy - Today was my little guy's 9th birthday. You have to understand that we've been planning this day for over 6 months. You see, when we were at the movie theater in the dead of November, we saw a poster. Not just any poster - the Pirates of the Caribbean 2 poster. And the date for the premier? July 7th - my guy's birthday. We decided then and there it would be a pirate birthday. So today we celebrated with chocolate gold coins, pirate eye patches and swords, a treasure hunt and of course, a trip to the theater to be transported to the high seas with Captain Jack Sparrow for a few hours. It was so fun and J. had a great time at his party. (For those interested - the movie was very good, great special effects, but not quite as good of a story as the first one. Worth seeing for sure if you're a fan of the first one!)

(J. and his buddies find the burried treasure)

Summer Reading Rebellion - One of my favorite parts of summer? The SRL - Summer Reading List. There's nothing better than a good book on a hot day (or any day, for that matter). In my last post I mentioned I was reading The Devil Wears Prada and Deb and Cate asked how I was liking it. Well, even though I went to bed exhausted at 11:00 pm last night I flipped on the light and told Brad, "My book's getting really good, I'm just going to read for about five minutes." An hour and half later, I was setting down the book having just read the last page and thinking, "Wow. That's not really how I pictured it ending." So my overall reaction, a great read, she does a great job describing the totally bizarre world of the fashion industry. But for some reason, reading the book made me a bit less interested in seeing the movie. I still really want to see Meryl Streep's performance of the dreaded Miranda Priestly, but I can't imagine that she'll really be able to capture the true evil nature of the woman. I don't know though, if anyone could , it would be her. I'd give it (the book) a thumbs up.

The reason I titled that section "Reading Rebellion" is because I have not even picked up the selection my book club chose for the summer reading. It was one I really did not have any interest in reading. They chose James Mitchner's Centenial for us to read. I went that very week to the used bookstore in my little old town area of Hillsboro and picked up an ancient looking trade paperback copy of it that smells like 20 year old cigarette smoke is trying to escape from the pages. I promptly put it on my bookshelf and since then have read three other books and have three more in line to read it before I pick it up again. On my nightstand: gods in Alabama by Joshilyn Jackson, The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron (have heard so many of you quote this that I have to read it now), and Shouts and Whispers, 21 Writers Speak about their Writing and their Faith. I know there's others just clammoring to get into my house as well and somehow I think Centenial's probably not going to see the light of day for a while. The competition for my late night reading time is fierce and only the strong should try out for the team.

I'm going to try to get to Sunday Scribblings this weekend but have to work tomorrow and Sunday and then we have a family dinner Sunday night. The prompt is "hotel". Hmmm . . . someone to make my bed, pick up my towels, clean up after me? I would really like to be at one right now, how's that for a start?

And we played . . . .

The trip to the beach was great. We started with a totally decadent and yummy breakfast at Camp 18. This landmark restaurant used to serve the logging crews of yesterday and has kept up with the decor. It's a log cabin with an axe handle for a front door. Inside, the atmosphere is warm and causal. We watched little yellow and black birds and little brown birds with red heads feeding at bird-feeders right outside the window by our table. Lovely breakfast entertainment.

Outside, we had a brief encounter with none other than big foot. After a quick photo-op, he excused himself to his next engagement and we piled back into the car for the final leg of the journey to our "promised land" for the day.

The clouds were out but they didn't dampen our excitement. Brad and the kids went tidepooling as we arrived just at low tide for the the morning. They had fun looking at starfish and other critters nestled in the rocks.

And we played. And I read (The Devil Wears Prada). And we napped. And we played some more. Then, when we were fully soaked by the sea air (and the kids were soaked by the sea water) we headed north about 20 minutes to Seaside - a tourist trap of a coastal town but one that offers some old-fashioned arcade entertainment.

A ride on the carousel, the bumper cars and some hamming in the hat shop provided some good laughs. We finished the day with an awesome meal of seafood at a local fish joint.

We all came home tired, but with our batteries recharged for the busy week ahead. It was a great day of rest and play!

Tomorrow is our neighborhood block party. We're baking package after package of brownies at the request of my neighbors. For some reason they love those packaged brownies and gladly trade me their homemade delicious Mexican dishes for my little old Betty Crockers! A sweet deal! I'll try to post some pictures Wednesday of the bash - happy 4th everyone!