Friday Flashback

The forecast this weekend is for rain (surprise *snark*) and wind (hmmm - could be interesting). In fact, one local weather forecaster is whipping himself into a frenzy about this "wind event" that could be coming our way. He's saying things like "damage" and "significant" in the same sentence. G-r-e-a-t.

This was the weekend that Brad and I had set aside that I could go away by myself for a little "me" time. I have two talks coming up in the next month, one for a young moms group and one for my Tuesday morning women's group and some writing projects that I wanted to work on. The original plan was for me to go to the beach, but the recent heavy rains and the forecast for more heavy rain has made me wary of going too far from home. So it's likely I'll stay close to town this weekend. Besides, all I really need to get some work done is a quiet hotel room ANYWHERE with a coffee shop nearby.

All this buzzing about a potential windstorm has made me thing about our last big windstorm here in Portland in early December of 1996. One of the managers at work was a real weather nut and he knew this was going to be a big deal so he sent us all home early that day. I went to pick up my daughter at daycare and remember feeling a few gusts that shook my little Nissan Sentra like it was a toy. By the time I got home, we had already lost power. I put little N. in her room with the blinds open and it was light enough for her to play while I rounded up candles and flashlights for the evening. While grabbing candles out of my china hutch, I watched a rickety portion of our old fence fall to the ground like it was made of popcicle sticks.

After a while, little miss N. started to get bored. "Mama - can I watch Cinderella?" I had explained to her earlier why we couldn't turn the lights on but she was only 2 1/2 and didn't really get that the t.v. also ran on electricity.

I patiently explained that we couldn't watch Cinderella while the power was out. "Why don't we have power?" she asked.

"Because there is a big windstorm right now sweetie. Look outside at the leaves blowing."

"Mama - can we ask God to stop blowing. I really want to watch Cinderella!"

It was a very loooooong evening with a toddler who just couldn't understand why God wouldn't want her to have electricity so she could watch her beloved Cinderella. The power was out until the next morning but we were the lucky ones. One of my co-workers lost power for five days.

I'm hoping this wind event is a little less extreme. I'm all for the excitement of extreme weather every once in awhile (as long as folks don't get hurt) but I'm going to ask God to keep the power on this weekend. Being alone in a hotel room with the lights out doesn't sound like much fun!

Have a great weekend everyone! Hold on tight!

Lessons from the October Blues

I realized after I wrote my October Blues post last week, that I had made a promise to you all that I wasn’t sure I could keep.

After spilling my guts about my frustrations with the firing of one of our pastors and my decision to confront church leaders on what I saw as a real failure to communicate in an honest, real and respectful way, I promised to share with you all what I had learned through the process.

To be honest, I feel a bit like I led you on. You see, from reading your blogs (my bloggie friends) and to most people in the world, if I make a list of the things I learned through this process, there will likely be the collective uttering of, “Duh!” in the blogosphere. The things I would share would probably be concepts that many of you learned long ago and you might wonder, “Sheesh! Does this gal live in the real world?”

Well, yes, I do live in the real world, and I probably knew many of these lessons before this experience but, like a lot of life’s lessons, and certainly the ones that God seems intent on teaching me in my life, I often need the remedial classes to really “get it”.

So here’s a few thoughts on what I learned/re-learned through this process:

Lesson #1 - It’s really hard to go against the grain of your personality, even when you know it’s a good thing. I think about this with people who suffer abuse or addictions. It’s so easy for those of us who are not living in that world to throw solutions their way, “Just leave him. You don’t deserve that. Just don’t smoke that. Just say no.” Easy. Makes sense. A no-brainer, right? But if your history, your life story wasn’t written that way, if your soul and being aren’t wired that way, it’s not that easy. I would say that my life story, my heart, my soul, my desire and drive in all I do is that everyone would just get along and we avoid conflict at all cost. I grew up in a home where I heard my parents raise their voices to one another – oh, let me see – maybe 4 times in 18 years. Now, I’m not naïve, I know they fought, they just never did it in front of us. My story is one of always seeking to have everyone just “get along”. Raised voices are like fingernails on a chalk-board. I hate conflict.

I knew I needed to express my disappointment and frustration with the events going on at my church, but it was like scaling a craggy, dangerous mountain to get beyond the thoughts of, “You’ll be labeled – troublemaker, complainer, divisive,” even knowing that I had a legitimate base for my concerns. There was fear of damaging relationships with people that I love and consider family. There was fear that I would be misunderstood, judged, demeaned or criticized behind my back. All things that may not intimidate stronger, more outspoken people, but things that sounded worse than a physical beating to me.

So, with strength and determination that came from my heavenly Father, my husband and I believe from the great lessons and months of support of my bloggin’ tribe, I moved forward in spite of the fears and insecurities. The lesson? It was hard, the outcome wasn’t what I really wanted , but I know in my heart that it was the right thing to do. I have no regrets and I know the next time will come just a bit easier with the seeds of courage that were sown through this experience.

Lesson #2 - I learned that I need to make sure that I raise my children to trust themselves and not be crippled by fear when they need to speak up, take a stand, or ask the important questions. Recently, my daughter was having some struggles with one of her soccer teammates getting quite critical and bossy with her during the games. I could see that N. was getting flustered and upset by the constant badgering. The mama bear in me wanted to roar and tell this bully to leave her alone, but the voice of experience (and maybe wisdom?) said, “Let her work this one out on her own.” I want my children to be peacemakers and examples of humility and service as I believe we are called to be, but I don’t want them to be doormats. Because of my personality and my upbringing, I need to be more intentional about encouraging them to stand up for them selves.

Lesson #3 – Even though you are incredibly passionate and convicted that your point of view is right and correct the powers that be, may not agree. If you read my first post, you know that my concerns didn’t get my pastor his job back (not that I was really expecting this). The frustrating thing now, is that even though it’s been over a month since I turned in my letters, no policies or procedures have changed to prevent the communication gaps from happening in the future. I had three meetings with the three “big dogs” of the church, but there’s been no actions taken in response to my concerns. I’m struggling a bit with the whole, “Well, that was a waste of time!” response. I KNOW it wasn’t a waste of time to write the letters and have the meetings, but it FEELS a bit like a waste of time at this point. I know it’s important though to speak up so that when they are ready to listen, there is a voice to be heard instead of just silence.

Lesson #4 - There is a big difference between being heard and being understood. I think this is a lesson I can use as a wife, as a parent and as a friend. How easily do I slip into the patterns of, “Just hear them out so they will go away.” I’m not implying that this is what the pastors did to me, just saying that if I had multiple folks coming to me with complaints this would be an easy pattern to slip into.

Lesson #5 – Relationships are hard. (Here’s where you all say, “Duh!”) Even the ones with those who share the same tenants of faith that you do. I’m so grateful for my church family, and yeah – I feel a bit betrayed, stung, hurt and angry about this whole situation, and it would be easy to cut and run to the shiny, pretty church down the street and start over with a whole new family, but - I’ve made a commitment to these people. They have heavily invested in my life, my husband’s life, my children’s lives, as I have invested in theirs, and I’m in it for the long haul. Just like a marriage – we will have tough times, we won’t always get along, there will be times when I want to wring their necks until their eyeballs pop out of their head because I feel like they just DON”T GET IT. But I love them. They are my dysfunctional, imperfect, geeky, frustrating, brothers and sisters and we are all so blessed that we share a faith in a God who can love us in spite of all of the crap in our lives. If the Mighty God, Creator of the Universe can put up with them and love them, why shouldn’t I?

Well friends, hope that didn’t sound too preachy or sappy (listen to me, can’t even share my own lessons without a disclaimer so no one is offended). I wish I could have just a bit of the salt and vinegar that runs through the veins of my blogie friend, Amber. Then I would be able to tell you, those are the lessons I learned and if you don’t like them, you can go to . . . Oh, there’s another lesson – next time, have Amber ghost write my letter for me!

Blessings all!

Sunday Scribbling - Morning

I had grand designs to write a brilliant fiction piece for this prompt, but the inner critic is on a rampage and has convinced me the story needs more work before it sees the light of bloggerdom. Determined NOT to miss ANOTHER Sunday Scribbling, I'll humbly offer this vanilla flavored, hastily written, safe, benign look at my recent mornings. And we'll hope the inner critic goes on vacation soon. Very soon.

Friday morning.
I knew I didn't have to go into the office so decided to sneak in 15 extra minutes of sleep - it wound up being 35 minutes and the morning was off to a rushed start. The young man was already up and greeted me with, "Mom - I learned a lot of stuff watching the news this morning!" How long had he been up? "Did you know you can live to 100 if you do Tai Chi?" Great. Milk. Waffles. Syrup. "Boy! Girl! Breakfast is ready!"

Everyone made it out the door to school and now it was time to relax. My first morning off with no husband, no kids, no responsibilities in weeks. Ahhh. Hot cup of tea. Morning Newspaper. Bliss. Phone call from a friend. Catching up on my favorite blogs. Watching the fluffy part of the news. Rachel Ray and her quirky show all about a guy's birthday. A quick trip to the church to drop off some photos and then lunch at my favorite salad and chowder joint. A great morning!

Saturday morning.
Sleepy - rising early after a late night visiting with my nephew and niece-in-law. They came for a quick overnight visit to spend a little time with us and the kids. They are my favorite houseguests! They are so helpful and love spending time with the kids and talking. Breakfast was yummy pancakes made by the Mr. with my favorite - crushed pecans in them. We were off early for soggy, windy, cold soccer games where I got to watch my kiddos shine as they both worked with their teams to push to victory. Both sets of grandparents, their favorite cousin and his fantastic wife cheering them on from the sidelines. The kids literally glowed with the praise and attention. It was an awesome site to see. A real morning of memories for us all.

Sunday morning.
A restless morning. The dog paced around early but didn't want to go out in the rain for a potty break. I was up early but still tired. Fell back asleep on the couch and dreamed high-stress dreams. The back in college, missing homework, looking for centerpieces for 75 tables for church event, scrambling to finish major writing project kind of dream. Woke up feeling mentally exhausted. Needed to be at the church to help set up and take pictures for a retirement celebration. A rushed morning and my daughter decided to act every bit of her "tween" self and flip me attitude about leaving them at home alone. I drove away in my car wishing for a relaxing morning where I could sip my tea, read the newspaper and watch the pouring rain from my living room instead of driving down the highway with knots in my stomach. Deciding that a cup of tea could be at least enjoyed on the road, I stopped at a grocery store with its own Starbucks inside. My $1.30 cup of tea was rung up at $1.75. Wrong morning to do this to Mama G. I gritted my teeth and in the kindest voice I could muster, I explained to the grocery store, Starbucks barista wanna-be I would NOT be paying $1.75 for one tea bag and some hot water. I think she recognized that look in my eyes that said, "Really - you don't want to mess with me over $.45 or someone's gonna have to face the wrath of one very cranky gal who's walkin' on the edge of control here!" She quietly looked down at the register and then timidly pointed to the sign which showed that a "tall" tea was $1.35. I figured the safest thing for everyone involved was to pay it and hightail it to the car, so the immediate threat of meltdown was averted.

It was on to the retirement gig where I was just off all morning. Only about half of my pictures turned out and I feel like a giant goofball walking around with a camera around my neck snapping pictures like I know what I'm doing and seeing the end result and thinking, my 9-year old probably could have done better. Grrrr. This was not a morning I'd want to do over again.

It seems in the phenomena known as "mornings" they are either really good or really bad. Why is that? Is there really no in between? Would I trade the good and bad in for a guaranteed "ho-hum" every day? Probably not. Because when a morning is bad, you at least have the hope that the rest of the day can get better. And when a morning is really good, the whole day is golden.

October blues . . .

So, my friends. Here we are. November 2nd.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out.

Thanks to all of you who have been so kind to visit during the past few weeks when my blog posts were a bit moany and groany about how busy I was. And those of you who are still visiting even though there have been dry deserts between my posts. Thanks for sticking in there with me. And please know that even if I wasn’t commenting on your blogs, I was sneaking time to read them as much as I could.

But this is a new month. Things are slowing to a much more reasonable pace at work, with the kids and just with life in general. And I’ve missed this. I’ve missed writing about more than just what is on my calendar. I’ve missed doing the kind of writing that stretches me, challenges me and makes me honestly express what’s going on inside though the gift of words.

So here goes . . . (excuse me as I climb back in my saddle, pick up the reigns and click my tongue at my creative self with a “giddy-up” old girl . . .)

I’m glad it’s November. October is my least favorite month of the year. A close second behind September. They are both crazy busy, but the difference is that October always seems to bring heartache and sadness with it. It started back in 1986 when my first serious boyfriend broke up with me in October. I spent a good portion of the month depressed, sad, angry and feeling very un-loveable. I was a freshman in college, still trying to find the me that was freed from the stereotypes of high school and overwhelmed by the new adult realities that lay before me. It was a bad month for me. Eventually the young fellow and I reunited, only to break up again the next October. Again, more heartbreak, sadness and tears as I realized this was it, he really wasn’t the “one”. (Happy sidenote: The fellow ended up marrying one of my best friends and we keep in close touch with them. They are so dear to us and I’m so thankful that we kept our friendship through everything that happened when we were young and stupid.)

There have been car accidents in October, lay-offs from jobs, and a fatal illness that took my Grandmother a few years ago. Nope – not a real fan of October. When I turn the calendar on September 30th, the superstitious British girl in me wants a drawer-full of good luck to ward off the October bad mojo.

But, I’m not a girl who really believes in luck anymore. I’m a girl who believes that a loving and powerful God watches me, protects me and walks beside me through the hardships of life no matter what month they come in. I’m his precious child and He’s never closer to me than when I’m hurting and crying out to him for help.

This October – the trial – de jour was one I didn’t see coming. (Okay – don’t know enough French to say “of the month”. Tara of Paris Parfait – maybe you can help me with this one?) This one hit me in the gut like a surprise sucker punch. I spent the month working through the news that my church was “releasing” (aka “firing”) a pastor that had played a significant role in my ministries. The letter that announced this decision was a frustrating example of not considering the needs of the audience when written and left me feeling like my parents had just told me my brother was moving out and now could I please pass the potatoes? What the heck?

This pastor had served faithfully for 16 years and was being let go because of philosophical differences, not a moral failure or even not meeting the requirements of the position. The announcement came at the end of a “state of the church” letter and in my opinion, the brief sentences offered just did not honor this man’s (or his family’s) sacrifices over the years. I would have expected my reaction to be, “Bummer – but I know he’ll be fine. Not my problem. He’s a great guy, extremely gifted, talented and passionate about ministry. He’ll find another job." That should have been it. But no; this news gnawed at me, kept me up at night, brought me to tears on more than one occasion. I just couldn’t get away from the intense feeling, that as the church, God’s church, we’re just not doing this right. There’s has to be a better way. A way that honors the authority of the senior pastor to choose the staff he wants but a way to express to the family of God – this is painful, and it’s okay to feel that pain, acknowledge it and honor the decision without dishonoring anyone’s service to God.

So came intense times of prayer, talking with God, writing letters, re-writing and re-writing letters and finally getting up the courage to send the letters to the senior pastor, executive pastor and chairman of the elder board. Now, think for a minute friends. I’m a ½ breed proper English girl with a mother whose mantra was, “Don’t make a fuss.” This was so out of my comfort zone, I couldn’t even find my comfort zone on the map! To make matters even more challenging, during the month I was invited to have follow-up meetings with all three of the “big fish” to talk about my concerns. As a gal who has chronic leaky eyeballs, these meetings were a challenge to keep rational, stick to the points in my letter and not just yell, “You’re all just being really mean!” It was during this time that I wished I could have the super-powers of draining my tear ducts before meetings so I could come out feeling like an adult and not an adolescent.

Well in the end, the pastor is still “released”, I felt like I was listened to and even “heard” on a certain level by the powers-that-be, but I’m still not convinced that the true heart of my concerns were understood and will be addressed so that policies and procedures are in place to make sure communications that go out to a mailing list of 1800 will be reviewed to consider the audience to which they are trying to reach. I guess only time will tell. It was an exhausting process which seems silly – it wasn’t like a life-threatening emergency or me losing my job, but for a gal who hates making waves, it felt like swimming across an ocean.

Well, this post is getting pretty long, so I think I’ll save the rest for tomorrow. I wanted to talk about “voice” - how the events of the past month have influenced what I think and how I feel about my voice as a woman, as a professional, as a follower of Christ, as a human being, as a writer, but I don’t want to scare you all off on my first real post for weeks.

Thanks again to those of you who have encouraged me over the past few weeks. You are all such a blessing to me!

Crazy boys . . .

Oh, to be young and have this much time on my hands!

Spasmodic.

Peekaboo . . .

No - not really hiding. Not on purpose anyway. Just busier than all get-out with a three week "conference" going on at work.

Great events. Great people. Lots of details. Late nights. Hope for the world. That's what it's been about.

And gift baskets.


Here they are in all their glory. Inside each was:
- Stumptown Coffee
- Nike hats
- Saltwater Taffy
- Stash Teas from India
- A glass etched Stash Tea mug
- Moonstruck Chocolate Bars
- Roasted hazlenuts, chocolate covered hazlenuts and hazlenuts with dried fruit
- Homemade Biscotti
- Homemade photo cards (thanks Michelle at Full Soul for that idea. Yours will be in the mail to you as soon as you send me an address!)


The concert was Sunday night and the band Caedmon's Call gave us a wonderful show. The musicians were so gracious and thankful for the little touches we put into the "green room" to make them feel more at home. There was fresh, line-caught, smoked Chinook Salmon, Salmon spread, fresh apples and pears from the local farmers' market, a wonderful dinner made by the catering staff at Sunset Church and Sparkling Pinot "Spruce Goose Juice" from Evergreen Orchards in McMinnville. Mandy Mann, and her husband Kevin were the opening act and she went above and beyond by filling in for the absent lead femal vocalist of CC who was home with very sick kidos. They were all just so kind and humble and - well, normal. They obviously love what they do and they are passionate about making a difference in the world. The concert offered attendees the opportunity to hear the plight of the Dalits of India. They are the people of the lowest Hindu caste and face enormous social and economic persecution. Tables at the concert were set up with pictures of Dalit children needing sponsorship to attend special schools set up by our partner organization and that evening, a record number of child sponsorships were collected. How great that our efforts and work provided not only a fun evening for people in Portland, but a real chance at hope for children half a world away . . . It makes the tiredness I feel this week much easier to bear.

Thanks to those of you who have asked about the blog and keep checking back despite my irregular posting lately. It will get better. I promise! In addition to the busy work schedule, I've been faced with some pretty heavy personal challenges lately. Nothing earth-shattering or tragic when compared to the events of the world, but some things that are causing me to ask hard questions about some of my beliefs and practices and how I communicate with others. All great fodder for the blog entries, if I can just keep up with the rest of life and make the time to write it down.

Blessings to you all!

Slogging through

Sometimes life feels like a muddy field.

Here in Oregon, many families have a great tradition of driving by the Christmas tree lots and heading out to one of the many Christmas tree farms to cut their own tree for the holidays. Often, the grounds are wet with weeks of November rains and the mud is thick. It grabs hold of your old tennis shoes, or rubber boots, whatever you've suited yourself up with for the battle. Sometimes you win, you find the spots that have grass or straw covering them and that little bit of vegetation breaks the pull of the mud. Other times, you mis-step or you are so busy looking for the perfect tree, your foot falls just right in a soupy, sticky spot that seems to pull at your foot with a force you wouldn't expect.

No - I'm not ready to talk about Christmas yet. I'm talking about mud. The sloppy, sticky, stuff of life we need to walk through to get the prize. That's where I am right now. Looking for that beautiful, perfect, lovely piece of something but getting stuck in the mud in the process.

It's been a tough couple of weeks. My mind is consumed with preparing, checking, searching, researching, tending, running, sitting, talking, listening, fixing, driving, doing. What I'd really like to do is look up from the mud and see that gloriously perfect life that I'm working so hard for be waiting for me with golden adornment and tropical vacation in hand.

I'd really like to rest. But for now, I'll keep on. Slogging. Through the mud. Because I know the perfect tree is just over the next hill. Really. It will be.

Won't it?

You won't see this in Vogue . . .

The perfect new accessory for fall . . .


The wonderbird Keeko - part time pet, part time fashion icon.

My bloggie-friend Deirdre is starting a new fun weekly writing prompt called "Teaspoon Tuesday". Her topic this week is what would we do with a million dollars. Here's my top 10 list.

1. Buy a new, nicely loaded min-van for hauling kids all over the town.
2. Buy a big screen tv for my honey to watch his sports.
3. Buy some nice dark jeans that flatter my body like Clinton and Stacey always talk about on "What Not to Wear" and not look at the pricetag.
4. Buy my friend Ruth a super-sized fridge. (The woman has three sons and packs her fridge with food like the cartoon closets that look like they will collapse if you pull one item out of them.)
5. Sponsor a Dalit Education Center in India for lower caste children.
6. Walk the streets of Portland and hand out giftcards to the homeless.
7. Make a substantial donation to the Arab Baptist Seminary in Beirut, Lebanon to assist families (Christian and Muslim) who were displaced by the 34-day war.
8. Take my family to the following places; Nashville, TN (to visit family); York, England (to visit family); Disneyland; Disneyworld; Hawaii; Mexico; India and China.
9. Make donations to organizations and causes close to my heart. Northwest Medical Teams, Mercy Corps, American Cancer Society, Special Olympics and my church.
10. Pay off my house, but still live there. I love our house and our neighborhood! I think I would opt for new furniture and maybe a kitchen remodel. :)

What would you do if you hit the jackpot? For more Teaspoon Tuesday, go here.

Life's a Dream?

The wind is blowing here today and it's one of those glorious fall days where the sun is shining, the air has a crispness to it and leaves are starting to drop from the trees. Truly picturesque. Makes me want to grab the camera and go out taking pictures. Maybe I just will (after I catch up on some of your wonderful blogs in this few minutes I have before soccer carpool).

Well, I tried to do Sunday Scribblings this week. I'll post it at the end of this post but won't link it because I'm tired of always being tardy. In fact, I had a dream about that last night. Anytime my life starts edging up the crazy scale, I start having dreams about school. I used to have these horrible dreams that I had to go back to junior high or high school as an adult because there was some gross error and I never really passed all my classes. I used to think these dreams were all related to the fact that I didn't finish college and they stemmed from some deep sense of failure. I know that one doesn't need a college diploma to be successful, but I think a part of me always felt like I let my dad down by not finishing. Well, when I went back to school a few years ago and finished my degree, I really thought my nights of dreaming about school were over.

No such luck. The dreams certainly eased off for awhile, but it seems that whenever there's stress in my life, I revert back to the "late for class, missing homework, missing a schedule, can't open my locker" kind of dreams. At least last night, for the first time, I was dreaming that I was in college again. I feel sort of good about that - like I've graduated in a sense. Could it just be that my subconscious starts laughing hysterically when I try to put myself in junior high or high school in my dreams. "Ha! This chick is WAY too old to walk the halls here anymore. After all, she has a REAL daughter walking the halls of a middle school now. Bump her up to the college dream thread - same pressures, just a different campus with people closer to her own age." I'm such a freak sometimes. OK, most of the time.

So being a parent of a middle schooler is going well. (I'm crouching as I write this, waiting for the sky to fall.) There are some issues we're working through. Like the whole, "Did you remember your books? Your PE clothes? Your soccer gear? Your fees for your classes? Your lunch? Your lunch money? Your homework . . . " Gah! That kid has a lot to remember and she's not always the best at that task. She's doing pretty good, but the one thing we are working on is fully brushing her hair as opposed to the obligatory 4-stroke effort she seems to think does the job. Her long hair tends to get knotted just under the surface in the back, just far enough around that she has trouble reaching it and therefore, thinks it must not need brushing. For some reason, this drives me absolutely INSANE and I'm constantly asking her to brush it again and in true mother/daughter fashion, half the requests end up in a raised voice, a rebellious stomp or tearful pout depending on our moods and which number request we're on. Is it really too much to ask a 12 year old brush out her hair? I hate obsessing over this because my mom was always very critical about my hair and frequently told me, in public, how bad it looked. I am trying so hard NOT to be my mom in this area but I really just have a visceral, physical, blood-pressure through the roof, kind of reaction when she goes out with the chronic bed-head look. So all of you out there who have kindly commented on my parenting skills and thought that I might just deserve "Mother of the Year" honors, you'd better scratch my name off the list, because I think this pretty much disqualifies me.

Ahhh . . . feeling better now that that's off my chest a bit. Thanks ya'll. Oh - and thanks to everyone for the great suggestions for the gift baskets. My good friend Cheryl (who is an awesome floral artist) took me to "market" on Friday here in Portland. Did you know that there are shops where floral designers buy all the cool stuff they use for parties, weddings and other celebrations for much cheaper than we buy it at the local craft store? It was a real treat wandering the aisles and seeing all the very wonderful, creative tools and goodies out there for making pretty things. We found great baskets, filler and other fun things to decorate the green room at the concert (Caedmon's Call - October 22nd - in case you missed my last post). I'm really getting excited to meet these talented artists and see the concert process from the view of the green room (OK - not as one of the band or a real technical groupie, but as the gal who is going to try to make it cozy and yummy with lots of NW goodies - I'll take what I can get.)

This post is getting too long, so I'll post the Sunday Scribbling exercise tomorrow (or soon . . . how's that for being non-commital). Gives me a little time to polish it up a bit. Take care ya'll!

Ideas Wanted

My workplace is hosting a variety of events in the next few weeks with a global focus. One of the events is a concert by Caedmon's Call, a group who is working with organizations around the globe to promote equality for all people groups. Specifically, they work with one of our partner organizations, Dalit Freedom Network, promoting justice, education and social freedoms for people of this persecuted caste in India. We are so excited to have them here in Portland on October 22nd.

So here's where I need you my friends. I'm responsible for putting together gift baskets for their hotel rooms and the "Green Room" at the concert venue. What would you like to get in a gift basket if you were an internationally known band promoting causes like social justice, compassion and helping those in poverty have a real chance at improving their lives? Keep in mind, we're a non-profit so there won't be any Rolexes or I-Pods in the baskets. What kinds of foods, crafts or other items from Oregon would be nice to have with you to remind you of your visit here? Any ideas? I'm hoping that your creative spirits will inspire me with just the right items for these baskets to make them feel welcome and appreciated. Thanks for the help!

Gratitude Thursday

Well, I’m still living in Crazytown this week, but after the whiny tone of my last post about the G-homestead, I thought I’d try something different. I’ll take a page from Ms. Oprah and other wise souls and make my very own gratitude blog post.

Today I am grateful for:

One of my major writing and design projects for my job is done and in the mail. I have been blessed by some very nice complements from my co-workers on the piece and even though I see the parts that I’m not happy with and the places where I thought I could have done better, I’m trying to be truly thankful for their kind words and accept their kind words gracefully. It’s hard, my nature is to not believe people when they tell me they like what I’ve done. I don’t know why I’m so jaded – I think it’s the inner critic in me that says, “They’re just saying that because they feel sorry for you.” Or, “They’re just saying that because they don’t want you to feel bad.” Which, when I start walking down that path, does nothing but make me feel bad. Gah – I think I’m going to name my inner critic the White Witch, like the one from “The Chronicles of Narnia” and picture myself as Susan piercing her evil heart with an arrow shot from my magical bow. (OK – I know Peter kills her in the book and the movie, but I’m SO Susan in all my doubts and fears – so I’m going to be the one who shoots her when she starts criticizing me with her ice cold silvery daggers of doubts. My critic, my revenge.) Anyway – I’m thankful for all I learned doing the project and that it turned out presentable.

Mark – the bulk mail guy at the post office who patiently answered all my questions and then praised me for a job well done when my totals all matched up on our 1500 piece mailing. The guy is just a gem!

My darling husband. He’s fighting a nasty infection that has lodged itself in his foot and is making it almost impossible for him to walk. The poor guy feels horrible (physically) and keeps apologizing to me. I have a keeper here folks. Please pray that this will heal quickly as he’s really miserable.

My little lady. She had her first Middle School dance tonight. I can’t believe I just typed those words. I remember dancing with her in the living room to The Little Mermaid when she was about 2 and a half! Thankfully, when I picked her up today, there were no tears or frustrations about boys not asking her to dance, only a peeved young lady that one of the teachers broke up a perfectly good Conga line because there was too much “touching” going on somewhere in the line. (Thanks Mr. C.) We've had some great discussions lately about the issues that go along with growing up and I'm so grateful for her obedient heart and teachable spirit. Don't know how long this will last before the real rebellion kicks in but I'm grateful for this for now.

The boy. The young man is so creative and expressive and bright as the sun is hot. But sitting down and doing worksheets – definitely not his idea of a good time. The little guy has been stepping up the efforts on the homework though and has had a great attitude about it this week.

The schedule is easing up. I have actually been able to be home a few nights this week. Hooray! I cleaned a particularly nasty cupboard of arts and crafts supplies last night and started weeding through our books to get rid of some that just don’t make the cut for ones I want to read again, ones I might pass on to someone, or, ones that were so profound that they will never leave the walls of this house without me. It feels good to be in my nest. Speaking of nest . . .

Keeko the wonderbird. She is settling in and the loud fits of chirping and singing only seem to be happening about 2-3 times a day. The rest of the time, she seems quite content. Brad has been great about this little feathered one as he was not really crazy about the idea of expanding our family. I think if Keeko keeps on her good behavior, she’s secured her immunity for the time being.

Good TV – Studio 60, Gray’s Anatomy, The Office. Yay for new stories, great writing and the gift of laughter.

You! My blogging friends (and even the lurkers who aren't leeaving comments - you know who you are *wink*)! You all have been so encouraging in your comments and kind words. They are like a cool shower of blessings during the dry times when all there seems to be is duty and obligation. Thanks Michelle for the nice compliment on my flower pictures - I've actually thought about making some into cards. When I get a chance to work on them, I'll email you and find out where to send some!

Thanks for stopping by everyone! Please leave me a note in my comments of some of the things you are thankful for today. If you can't think of anything, let me know that too, and then I'll lift up prayers for you this week. I'd like to do that for you as I know that others have done that for me during the dry times in my life. Thanks again! Really . . . thanks!

Sunday Scribbling - Instructions

Inspired by Jenny who had a wonderful post about really short stories and Tara who had a wonderful little Scribble this week, here’s a mini-Scribble. It’s a bit “dark and twisty” for this mom from the burbs, but it’s the one that has wrestled itself to the top of the brainstorm heap and was the tough bully among them that said, “It’s my week this week”.

The gas can thumped against her leg as she walked back to the car.

With each thump she could feel her heart starting to slow down from the frantic pace of earlier in the night.

She wasn’t an evil person. She didn’t want to hurt him, even if he deserved it. But he did have to face the consequence of his actions.

She put the gas can in her trunk and traced her steps back from where she had come. When she saw the slick glimmer on the pavement in front of his driveway, she stopped.

God - why does he love that thing so much? she thought. It’s old and ugly and the seats have springs poking through the cushions. What is so important about that old truck? Why does he love something like that and he can’t love me?

The answer was in the palm of her hand. Not the answer to the question, but the answer to this pain she felt tonight.

In white letters on a red background, "Close cover before striking."

For more Sunday Scribblings go here.

Don't call the police . . .

Dear friends,
Yes, I am still alive. No need to contact the FBI, CSI or that cutie-pie on the new show "Kidnapped". I am in that special pergatory, h - e - double toothpics part of being a parent called "September". This past week had three back to school nights, five soccer practices, a heavy workload and the start back to my responsibilities as a small group leader for our weekly women's meeting at church. All that plus gobs of laundry, errands, feeding the rugrats, keeping them on track with their homework and shuffling through the mounds of paperwork sent home in backpacks has kept me out of the bloggosphere.

And I miss you all! I feel like I'm spiritually and creatively dragging for lack of my "fixes" from your incredible blogs. Please know that I'm hoping that this weekend I'll have a chance to catch up on your entries and hopefully put something thoughtful and insightful on this little 'ole blog.

But, because it's still September, don't anyone hold their breath too long.

Sunday Scribbling - Research

Well, there's nothing that will send you googling quicker than a orphan pet finding it's way into a household. So all the great ideas I had for doing research on North Africa, Breast Cancer, my favorite place in the world - Fountains Abbey, Organ Donation - these all took a back seat to my immediate need to know how to feed and care for one very lovely little Peach-faced Lovebird that moved in today.

About two weeks ago we lost our lovely neighbors across the street. Well, they're not really LOST, like freaky magnetic island in the middle of nowhere lost, but moved to another part of town, lost. We loved this family and had become good friends with them and enjoyed exploring the different cultural differences in our families. The mom had a hobby of raising birds and my daughter had spent many hours at her house watching her care for the many birds. She gave us this lovely gift today as she's expecting her 4th child and is trying to pare down her extensive bird collection so she can focus on her family.

So Keko (keeko) joined our family today. We are struggling most right now with what to call it. He? She? Did you know that the only way to definitively tell the sex of a lovebird is to have it's DNA tested? Okay, maybe it's just me, but that could really stink if you were a lovebird trying to make a love connection. Just how do THEY figure it out? Hmmm . . . write that one down to ask the Creator someday . . .

Mrs. N gave us a wonderful supply of bird food but tonight I learned that lovebirds also need a variety of fresh fruit and vegetables. Tonight Keko dined on birdseed, broccoli and banana (we're nothing if not fans of alliteration). I also learned that avocados, rhubarb leaves and apples seeds are poisonous to birds.

Lovebirds love their toys. They need to chew and toys made of leather, rawhide or natural substances work best. They don't necessarily like to be alone so tomorrow we're going to try to get a mirror so maybe we can convince he/she there's a buddy right next door. We let her/him out of her/his cage for a bit of a stroll around tonight and he/she seems content with her/his new surroundings.

The real unknown is the noise factor. That could immediately earn Keko a ticket on the next raft off the ark if he/she tries to start revelee too early in the morning. The research says that these can be noisy little birds if they don't get enough attention. We're hoping that the kid's fascination with little peach-faced Keko holds out and they can sufficiently tire out the little critter so it sleeps in until a descent hour each morning.

I'll try to post actual pictures of Keko in a few days, but for now the canned google image above lets you see how cute the little guy is. Or girl . . .

Bloggerfest PDX

About nine months ago, I stumbled across my first blog. I found it through a weekly email that highlights talented up-and-coming creative artists. Christine Miller (a.k.a. Swirly Girl) wrote the most amazing, rich, relevant and personal journal entries to go along with her beautiful art. And more than that, she demystified the art of creating. She let you in on her process, her thoughts, her insecurities and her triumphs. I was hooked.

Soon after I started reading her blog, she wrote about an upcoming retreat with her blogging friends in California. I quickly followed the links like a starving bird devouring fresh baked bread crumbs. For days I read the reports of their wonderful retreat and how it had nourished each one's creative spirit. How great, I thought. To share that kind of an experience with people who love doing the same things you do would be so fun.

Well, I had a little taste of that wonderful encouragement and inspiration last night when I got the chance to meet Laini (Grow Wings), Alexandra (Marvelous madness), Liz (be present, be here), Jennifer (Life's Snapshots) and Deirdre (Writing Anam Cara) for dinner in Portland last night. We were treated to a lovely sushi dinner by Deirdre's wonderfully generous partner, R. (I'm not sure how he feels about being "revealed" in blogs so I'll protect his identity, besides, he might not want to have all his friends knowing he has the habit of picking up tabs for tables full of people he's just met!) A surprise guest joined us for gellato after dinner - Laini's husband Jim (Jimbo Jabber).

What a wonderful time of getting to know these great women (and the fellows, too)! The conversations were rich with encouragement, creativity, and above all, acknowledgement of this wonderful device - blogging - that can bring perfect strangers together to find they have so much in common. I drove home feeling like I need hours more of time to ask each woman all the questions that were swirling in my head. I'm hoping that this was just the first of our get-togethers and that we'll have more opportunities to connect in the future.

(OK - my camera battery was dead so I didn't get any pictures, but go to Jennifer's site to see us posing pretty on the streets of Portland!)

Five years ago . . .

Five years ago, I was getting N. off to second grade and getting J. ready for his first day of pre-school. It was a morning of conflicting emotions. Saddness, joy; loss, pride; peace and fear. I remember asking myself, "Living on the other side of the country from where most of the devastation had occurred, how scared should I really be?" As the tragedy unfolded on the 24-hour news coverage, I realized the risk to me and my family was slight, but it was soon clear, things would forever change.

Things I remember from that day:
- N. walking into the kitchen just as I watched the first tower fall to the ground on our little 13 inch t.v. She asked, "Mommy, what happened to that building." Choking back tears, I explained, "There was a bad accident and it broke the building and it fell down." "Were there people still inside there?" she asked. I had to look away from her 8-year old face as the tears wouldn't stay back any longer. "I hope not," came out of my mouth. "I hope not," came out of my heart.

- We live near a fairly busy community airport. There are always helicopters and small planes flying in the area. After living here 14 years, I almost tune them out, but on September 11, 2001, the skies were eerily silent in our little suburb.

- Hearing the announcement that they closed our nearest shopping mall. In a rare moment of silliness that day, I remember thinking, "Things must be really bad if the mall is closing."

- The flags. The rush of patriotism in the days following. I wore my flag pin today that it took me weeks to find after 9/11. Buying N's soccer team red, white and blue ribbons for their hair for the game that week. Trying to buy an American flag for our house, not knowing why it was all of the sudden so important, but it just was.

- Taking J. to pre-school that day and huddling with some of the other moms in the corner trying to keep the joy of the special day but feeling the heaviness of knowing, however cliche it might have sounded or felt, the world had just changed and our children would live a different life than we ever did.

- Trying to reach my parents by phone in England to make sure they were OK and just to hear their voices.

- In the days following the tragedy, I forced myself to read the obituaries printed in the paper. I finally had to stop as the grief would just press on me like a dark, heavy blanket that I couldn't drop. I kept praying for the families, but for my sanity's sake, I just couldn't read about another family who had lost someone they loved so much.

I received this today from a weekly email service I subscribe to and I thought it might be a fitting way to mark the day. No matter how you express your personal faith, I hope this is one lesson we could all take hold of from that very sad day five years ago.

THE MONDAY MEMO

LET THEM KNOW

In the movie "Love Actually" Hugh Grant's character says in the introduction, "When the planes hit the twin towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge. They were all messages of love."

There's something about tragedy that gives us insight to what really matters. Today we'll be reminded of the terrible events that took place five years ago. We'll hear the stories and see the pictures and relive some of the heartbreak. Hopefully, we'll also capture fresh perspective on what we value most, as individuals and as a society.

Most of us have no trouble expressing our political opinions. Those around us know where we stand on the war, what we think of the President, and who we blame for each turn of events. But do our loved ones know how we feel about them? There are things in life more precious than politics -- even more precious than life itself. These are things over which you have greater influence. You can't, by yourself, change what governments do. But there are some big things you can do single-handedly: You can make sure the special persons in your life know who they are and what they mean to you.

Take some time today to send a message of love. If you don't know how to say it, maybe you can begin with Paul's words to his friends in Philippi, "I thank God every time I think of you." (Philippians 1:3)

--Steve May

A sad day

Today, I made my kids cry. They weren't in trouble. I wasn't pulling out a nasty splinter or ripping off a tough band-aid. I was actually doing something good for them but the response was tears, gasps and sadness that filled their faces and hearts.

I had to tell them the news that one of their childhood idols was gone. The Crocodile Hunter was one of the first shows we used to watch as a family. There was many a Saturday night that we would rush home from church, whip up a plate of nachos and sit down for an exciting night at the Australia Zoo with Steve, Terry and his friends. We went to see their movie on opening day - fans of the Animal Planet and their rising star from down under.

While my kids cried at the news of Steve Irwin's untimely and sad death, I used the opportunity to talk to my kids about following their passions. This man died doing what he absolutely loved to do. He died happy and fulfilled in many ways because he followed his passions while he was alive. I told my kids that I wanted them to always remember the love Steve Irwin had for his work and his family. I told them how I hoped and that I would be praying that they would find something in their lives that they would love just as much. I explained to them no one ever knows how much time they have on this earth, so it is important that we use the time well.

Kind of goes with my Sunday Scribbling post from yesterday. We're here to live a life. It's taken me a while to grasp this, but I don't want my kids to waste one day.

For those of you who pray, please remember my baby girl as she starts her first day of Middle School tomorrow. (Aaaccckk!) She's a bit nervous, but I know she's going to do great. J's taking it all in stride and is excited to see his teacher from last year as he's looping to the next grade with her. Me? I'll be the one heaving a big sigh of relief at about 8:30 am tomorrow when they all are on their way.

Sunday Scribbling - Fortune

Two fortune cookie slips hang on my fridge. Tucked in between the photos of the kids and their laminated Bible verses from Sunday School.

They hang there, trying to be promises, maybe pulling off a bit of motivation, but more recently, they stare accusingly from the freezer door as reminders that there are places in my life that feel empty and lacking.

“Unveil your ideas and be ready to act on them.”

“You will be successful in your career.”

Tonight, Brad and I went to see “Little Miss Sunshine”. There are very few movies that we both really love, but this was one of them. Within the first five minutes, I could feel the sting of un-cried tears behind my eyes. These were people like me. These people were fighting the most frightening of real life monsters – disappointment. They had no super powers, no burly stud muffin that would save them, no clever, intelligent, super-spy hero to save the day. They only had each other and a warped vision of success loaded with the world's expectations.

The older brother has a wonderful sequence of lines in the film. It comes after a heartwrenching realization that one of his goals might be unreachable. It went something like this, pardon my paraphrase, “Life is one beauty pageant after another. F*ck this. F*ck them. I don’t want to be judged by their standards. I say, do what you love and f*ck the rest. If I want to fly, I'll find a way to fly.” And by the end of the film, this family embraces this profound truth and it gives them something they hardly realized they were seeking. They slayed the beast. Disappointment was replaced by the sweetest of victories. They were united in their love, in their imperfections and boldly showed their messy selves. And the world did not end. And the next day was a new day. The problems would still be there, but they were ok. The beast of disappointment was banished from the kingdom of the yellow VW bus and never was there a more lovely chariot to carry off those heroes into the sunset.

I left the theater with red puffy eyes, a twinge of a jealous heart (that someone else wrote this gorgeous screenplay, and I didn’t) and a new resolve to be brave enough to dance to the way I want to in a room full of plastic, sequined beauty queens.

Translation: I’m not looking to win the Miss Sunshine contest of writing, blogging, mothering, wifing, daughtering, or anything else. I want to dance to the music I choose. I want to live the life I want. I want to serve my God the way WE decide – not the way I think would be acceptable, agreeable and logical to everyone else.

I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to scream. I want to dance. I want to live full and love deep. And most of all, I want to write. I am a good writer. It’s enough. I don’t need to publish. I don’t need to get paid for it. I don’t need to be the best ever but I DO need to STOP listening to the voices that tell me that I can’t be happy unless that happens.

Screw the fortune cookies. (Except the actual cookie part – I still like that part). The fortunes are coming of the fridge and going in the garbage tonight. I don’t need a slip of paper to tell me what I can or can’t do or pretend to know what’s ahead for me.

I need a little girl with goofy glasses a top hat and a dream. I need to remember, beauty queens eat ice cream. I need to practice my act and be ready to dance. I need to know and accept the journey is often the biggest part of the prize. I’m not going after a fortune, I’m going to live a life.

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here.

(And go see “Little Miss Sunshine”!)

Checkin' in

Who knew walking on the treadmill was so hip?

Check it out.

Yes, I'm still here. It's been a crazy week and I've felt a bit out of sorts. Not much to write share that felt positive, so I just kept it off the blog page - no use spreading the sour grapes!

I'm going to TRY VERY VERY HARD to write my Sunday Scribbling tonight. Or tomorrow . . . Or maybe Tuesday when the kids are back at school.

Oh Summer - *sniff*, why do ya have to leave me now??

The price of joy

Lunch at a burger joint with a monkey named Elvis: $22
Two nights at a hotel room at the coast : $257
Seafood dinner eaten with a view of the bay: $34
Dinner at the Tiki Hut with the nicest hosts you could imagine including a Macaw named Gypsy: $30
Trip to the Newport Aquarium: $24 (with free entry coupons for the kids)
Fixin's for Smores at our beach campfire: $5

A wonderful weekend with the family, creating memories to last a lifetime (or at least through the crazy days of fall): Priceless.

OK, so I borrowed Mastercard's formula, but the fun was all ours. We had a wonderful "last hurrah" of summer weekend at the Oregon Coast. The kids were great (who am I kidding, they always are great!) and the weather was cool and crisp but warm enough to play. We had a wonderful time and feel so blessed to have had this special weekend together. It was a busy summer for us and fall is always crazy with Brad heading back to school, both kids in soccer and my work gearing up for one of its busiest times. (In fact, I really should be working now, but I couldn't wait to share the fun pictures with you all. I promise, I'll post and then it's straight to work for the rest of the day!) The memories and experiences of the weekend will hopefully get us through the busy months to come.

I'm so blessed to have a husband who makes so many sacrifices for his family (painting houses all summer so we have the money to do fun things like this) and kids who are so good and appreciate spending time with their parents. With N. heading off to middle school next week, I know the days of wanting to "hang out" with her parents will quickly become fewer and I'm trying to make sure I make the most of this time while I still can.

Hope you are all enjoying the last days of summer. Leave me a note in the comments if you have any special traditions to close out the season!

"It is required you do awake Your faith." - W. Shakespeare

A few weeks ago I had the treat of seeing one of the plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. It really was the highlight of the summer in many ways. I went with my dear friend Rene, who has always been one of my favorite people to talk theater with. She attended Hofstra University and did theater work in New York and in London before coming home to the northwest. She and her girls were here for 4 weeks and we had so much fun with them! They left Sunday and I miss them already! She is one of my "easy" friends. Easy to be around, easy to laugh with, easy to be real with.

The hard part was choosing what play to see. We chose "The Winter's Tale" because it's rarely staged by Shakespeare companies. I'm not sure why, except that of all his plays, it has the least amount of political intrigue or bawdy humor or classical romance. It really is a spiritual play and deals with such a interesting premise: do we really listen to the counsel of our friends? How can one trust the truth and can we be forgiven for turning our back on it?

In Sicilia King Leontes and Queen Hermione, deeply in love, await the birth of their second child. King Polixenes of Bohemia, Leontes' best friend since boyhood, has come for a lengthy visit. Then, in an instant, Leontes becomes convinced that his wife and his friend are lovers and that Polixenes fathered Hermione's child. No one can convince him otherwise, though they try valiantly. He is adamant in his belief and has a "hit" put out on his friend and banishes his wife to prison.

I wont ruin the play for those who haven't read or seen it yet, but there is somewhat of a happy ending. But years of pain and loss come to Leontes and those around him because of this tragic breakdown in communication. Through it all, there is one character that craftily, yet boldly, tells him the truth, that his wife was faithful and he is wrong in his accusations.

I loved watching her character (Paulina) as she walked that fine line that could bring Leontes back to reality or wind up costing her own life and freedom. It was like holding your breath watching her dance around a live minefield as she crafted arguments in defense of Queen Hermione. Though it took 16 years for Leontes to repent and admit that she was right, she was a faithful friend to him through the years, never judging him but providing him with the truth in measurements that wouldn't tip his fragile mental scales. Until the day when he was ready to admit to the fullness of his error. Then she pulled no punches and let him walk through the pain of his actions and realize the tragic consequences. But because it's Shakespeare, nothing is left as you would expect it and reunions and marriages go hand in hand with acts of confessions and repentance. It really is a wonderful story and I'd urge anyone to see it if given the chance.

The story of Leontes has lodged itself in my mind like a pebble in my shoe. I seem to be thinking about it often and seeing the threads of this concept in the world around me. Who are our friends and do we really listen to them? And, are we the kind of friends who will tell the truth, regardless of the negative circumstances that might come?

Michelle at Full Soul asked her readers the other day about whether she should confront friends in dangerous relationships. I've been treading water at work, not wanting to rock the boat and speak up about issues that should probably be addressed. When Rene was here we both shared stories about people who had hurt us that we had never confronted. When I disagree or have issues with someone, including my family, I'm always running my feelings and responses through a very tight filter that edits out anything that might seem abrasive, divisive, offensive, hurtful or rebellious. Unfortunately, after that, there might not be much left of how I'm truly feeling.


I have begun to wonder, why is it that in many circumstances today, speaking the truth or hearing the truth can be so - questionable? When did the truth become something that was so hard to hold onto, like a slippery baby in the bathtub who would rather be free of the safety of her mother's hands, but for her own sake, needs to be protected, contained, and restrained? Why do the seeds of doubt in my own ability to know what is real, what is right, what is true, seem to grow noxious weeds that choke my ability to speak up? I doubt I'm the only one who struggles with this. How would our world situation be different right now if people in power listened to those around them who were brave enough to tell the whole truth?

Ahh, the listening part. Do I really listen to the ones who speak the truth? Or do I listen to the tapes in my head that claim, "That can't be, you don't deserve such happiness, you can't be successful, you don't have the drive, the ambition to make it so." Am I stumbling through my life like Leontes believing falsehoods when the truth is right in front of me? Will I end up wasting 16 years (or more) in this delusion? Who will I hurt in the process besides myself?

I love the questions that old Will leaves us with in the play and hope to find my way closer to the answers. I really want to be someone who boldly speaks the truth, seeks the truth, lives in truth and confronts with the truth. I left the play that day thinking, "Wow - if I was an actress, I'd love to play Paulina."

Wow - in my life, I'd really like to be more like Paulina. Telling the truth and saving kingdoms, one person at a time.

The Welcome Mat

Summer is a tough time to blog. The desire is there but the sunshine and the outside activities seem to pull like a magnet. The smell of cut grass, blooming flowers and the musty smell of cool water against the warm pavement are hypnotic. The glowing lights of the monitor have no chance against the evening sun setting in the sky and the sounds of the kids playing "Sardines" in the street.

But the draw to blog is there also. In between trips to the pool, watering plants, having garage sales, cleaning said garage after the sale and all the other fun activities, I have been keeping up on my favorites and adding some new ones. At the beginning and ends of my day I often find myself stealing a few minutes to check on my favorites and make sure I'm not missing out on your pearls of wisdom or gems of humor.

In honor of some of my friends who have recently started blogs (Cheryl & Paula) and some recently discovered new favorites, I'm dusting off the welcome mat. If you have a chance, stop by their blogs and encourage them with a "welcome to blogging" comment. I know that meant so much to me in my early blogging days. You can look at my Blogrolling links to the left to see some of my friends and my favorites. If you haven't visted them yet, check out Michelle at Full Soul Ahead and Jenny at Roughly Speaking. Their efforts to move forward in their blooming writing careers have motivated and inspired me.

And if you're not participating in Sunday Scribblings yet, well, why not? It's a fun and encouraging way to practice your writing skills with a creative and often eye-opening prompt. I'd encourage you to check out the very talented writers that particpate each week. It's been a great way to connect with bloggers from all parts of the world and read some very amazing stories.

My bloggie-friend Amber continues to amaze me with her raw and honest writing about the struggles of her life and how she has overcome them. She has an absolutely heart-wrenching post up today that is worth the read for anyone who feels lost and is struggling to understand the trials they are in. I am so grateful for her insight and how she uses the lessons learned from her own pain to encourage others through theirs.

Pimping my Honey: Not to brag or anything, but go to my friend Dean's blog to read about a really cool project my hubby was involved in this summer. (Read the two entries about the roof.)

Lastly, I've been grazing through a stack of books this summer working on my creativity in respect to writing. This morning I read this in Julia Cameron's, The Artist's Way and it made me think of all my blogging friends.

"Artists love other artists. Shadow artists are gravitating to their rightful tribe but cannot yet claim their birthright. Very often audacity, not talent, makes one person an artist and another a shadow artist - hiding in the shadows, afraid to step out and expose the dream to the light, fearful that it will disintegrate to the touch."

I think one of the reasons I love blogging so much is because I'm in that shaddow spot and working up the courage to step into the light. I think I've got maybe a foot out so far, but slowly and surely, I'm drawing enough wisdom, encouragement and power from those who are living their dreams that someday I'll emerge with words and stories and characters to share with anyone who will read them. So thanks to all of you, and you're welcome at my door, physical or virtual, anytime!

Sunday Scribbling - What else could I still be?

I have been a Sunday Scribbling Slacker. A lazy, drunk with the sunshine, summertime slothful, avoiding anything that takes too much brain power, kind of a slacker.

I skipped last week. The "What could I have been . . ." post just would have been too daunting. Too convicting. Perhaps, if I'm honest, it seemed like it would be too disappointing.

This week's post seems a bit more hopeful but I still catch myself with a bit of the "why bothers". But in the spirit of wishing upon a star, following dreams and making them come true just like my favorite Disney films, here is what could be in the life of Kim . . .

I could be a concert violinist, except that I sold my violin for money towards a down payment on our home. But maybe, I could find a disgruntled little kid that didn't want theirs anymore and I could practice until I was good enough to play again with an orchestra. I could travel the world with a renowned maestro and play in the greatest concert halls in the world.

I could be a writer for a successful television show with characters that make you weep through their trials and sufferings and laugh at their clever lines. I could sit with the stars at the Golden Globes and hear my name called as one of the writers of the best Drama of the year.

I could be an artist. The kind that move you with their images of color form and feeling. I could wake each day with the knowledge that I could share an experience with my creator and CREATE something that day. I could feel the pleasure, the awe, the agony, the joy of bringing something beautiful into the world.

I could be a singer, the kind who sounds like they were dropped from heaven and carry every bit of divinity in the blend of notes that comes from their throats. They would play my songs on the radio and my favorite singers would be calling begging to do a duet with me.

I could be a spy. One that speaks eight languages and carries passports from different countries and know secret codes and saves lives on a daily basis. I would make sure the bad guys are put away and the crooked ones were exposed for their lies. I would uncover the plots and plans of those who seek to hurt the innocent and I would always do it in the snappiest looking outfits.

I could write a novel. A really good one. One that is taught in college courses by the smartest of graduate students who know what really good literature is. I could be added to the great "list" that everyone talks about of all the great books one should read. I could be invited to Oprah and she could sing my praises to her beloved Gail and the rest of the world and beg me to write another book that she could slap her big "O" sticker upon. I could walk into Powell's and see my book with a staff recommendations tag underneath it.

I could be a mom that raises kids who know how to live, how to be kind and how to help others. I could love them unconditionally and support them in any thing they choose to do, even if it's working at Taco Bell. I could be the kind of wife who faithfully supports her husband and laughs at his silly jokes, hugs him when he is handed disappointment and always remembers him as the stunning guy in the tux who took her breath away those years ago.

I could be a grandmother someday. One who spoils her grandkids and tells stories of how their parents used to misbehave. I could be the one who listens, really listens to their stories, treasures their crayon masterpieces and actually wears their Fruit Loop necklaces.

I could be a lifelong friend. Always willing to help, to encourage, to nurture and to challenge those who grace me with their time and their love. I could remember birthdays, anniversaries and even the losses of life and always be ready with a loaf of banana bread, a card or a glass of good chardonnay depending on the occasion.

I could be all of that, or none of that. Time will tell. And who knows what tomorrow will bring? Perhaps the FBI will be knocking on my door tomorrow. Better check my closet for snappy outfits . . .

For more stories of what could be, go here.

The good news, the bad news and any old news

Okay - time for some fun.

Today's headlines were a veritable buffet line of snark and fun mixed with a bit of hope. Who can resist these headlines?

"Twin Pandas Each Give Birth to Twins in China" - So exciting! A boost to the conservation efforts of these beautiful creatures. Do you think they're registered at Babies R Us?

Not to be outdone by the Pandas . . .
"Colorado-born Lynx has Twin Kittens" Awwww - ain't that sweet! Love is in the air . . . and speaking of kittens . . .

"Pictures of Tomkitten to Come This Fall" - seems only appropriate that one of the most bizarre Hollywood couples would treat their kid like a pilot program for a network channel. "Let's wait for sweeps week and then release her photo! Yeah - that's the ticket!" Groan.

"Robin Williams in Rehab" - OK not to get too snarky here, but what the heck took the media so long to figure this one out? There have been reports of sightings of him here in Oregon for weeks. I have to believe this only became a real story AFTER the Mel Gibson escapade. Drunk celebrities are news this week, next week they'll just be just . . . well, drunk celebrities.

"Another Reality TV Marriage Flames Out" Oh my gosh, really? (snark) Travis Barker of Blink-182 and beauty queen Shanna Moakler announced they are divorcing. Let's see, Nick & Jess, Dave & Carmen, Travis & Shanna - MTV as a matchmaker? 0 for 3.

"McCartneys Hire Charles & Diana Lawyers" Oh the British Press have to be drooling like dogs at the butcher shop window. "It's all getting Muccy" says The Sun. (A play on McCartney's last name.) This will be fodder for the rags for months if it drags on the way they're predicting. OK - who are Paul McCartney's friends and advisors? They should all be tarred and feathered in Traffalager Square for letting this guy get married without a pre-nup. Duh!


"Extra Finger Leads Salem Police to Arrest" This one's courtesy of the local news here in Oregon (KGW - Newschanel 8). Yup - we got some smart criminal types out here.

When police asked suspect Kenneth McPherson for his name, he gave officers his brother'’s name and date of birth instead, said Lt. Steve Bellshaw with the Salem Police Department.

However, police quickly uncovered McPherson'’s lie -- a check of the brother's criminal history revealed he only had nine fingers.

“Officers quickly verified the person they had in custody was in possession of all 10 of his fingers,” Bellshaw said. “When confronted by the ‘extra’ finger, McPherson gave up his true identity and the fact he had four warrants for his arrest, all previous drug-related charges.”

McPherson was charged with giving false information to a police officer.

"World Trade Center Movie Opens" - I have nothing snarky to say about this one. In fact, I'm a bit frustrated with critics who say it's too soon to be doing movies about this catastrophic event. Excuse me, but I'm personally grateful that there are those that will keep this event in front of us so we don't forget. It is far to easy to slip into denial and complacancy and forget our vulnerabilities. I don't want to live our lives in fear, but we must keep some sort of awareness that there are those few, but crazy individuals that would like to see us destroyed simply because we are Americans. I'm very interested in collecting those hooligans and locking them away. My idea of the perfect torture would be to have them watch a continuous cycle of "Teletubbies", Reruns of the best of Tammy Faye Bakker and the best of Sesame Street (this last one so they could see what good world citizens really look like!) The rest of their countrymen and women, I'd like to wish them well and say, "Peace - live your lives - worship as you desire - practice your culture as you desire and please grant us the same."

And the best headline today (in my humble opinion) . . .

"Israel on Hold" If they can't hang up, we'll take a hold. Please Lord, stop this suffering for all involved. Those of you who pray, or practice, or think positive thoughts, please lift up those thoughts and prayers that walls of pride will fall and reason will prevail and a cease fire will be reached quickly.

The Messenger

From the August 14th Issue of Newsweek Magazine, a great story about Billy Graham and his life and ministry. To read more go here.

"A unifying theme of Graham's new thinking is humility. He is sure and certain of his faith in Jesus as the way to salvation. When asked whether he believes heaven will be closed to good Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus or secular people, though, Graham says: 'Those are decisions only the Lord will make. It would be foolish for me to speculate on who will be there and who won't ... I don't want to speculate about all that. I believe the love of God is absolute. He said he gave his son for the whole world, and I think he loves everybody regardless of what label they have.' Such an ecumenical spirit may upset some Christian hard-liners, but in Graham's view, only God knows who is going to be saved: 'As an evangelist for more than six decades, Mr. Graham has faithfully proclaimed the Bible's Gospel message that Jesus is the only way to Heaven,' says Graham spokesman A. Larry Ross. 'However, salvation is the work of Almighty God, and only he knows what is in each human heart.'"

How different the world might be if all leaders would be so humble. A great man with a great message.

Peace in the Neighborhood

It's been a strange and sad day today. I knew it would be hard. A friend and I planned a garage sale because this was the only open Saturday from here until Christmas it seems. I drove 6 hours yesterday from Ashland after getting only a few hours of sleep the night before. My friend and I had been talking into the wee hours of the morning and it made for an exhausting few hours last night as I tried to move table, sort through boxes and price my "treasures" for the sale today. A few hours of sleep in my own bed helped and I was up at 6:15 am today hoping for a successful sale.

My friend arrived with a cup of Starbucks for me and we quickly set to work setting out our wares. Usually I absolutely love doing garage sales. I love chatting with people and teasingly convincing some of the shy ones to dig deeper into the boxes and look more closely at the tables to find the treasures they are looking for. But today was hard. It was hot and after having an episode of heat exhaustion last week after the fair (one that consisted of the worst headache of my life and a queasy stomach that threatened to revolt if I even walked by the door of a bathroom), I really wasn't wanting a repeat of that experience. I forgot to put sunscreen on so I'm sitting here with a burning face and shoulders. I made out okay but still have boxes to get rid of in my garage (it was too hot to take them to Goodwill this afternoon so I'm taking them tomorrow).

But what has me bummed is more than the weather or the dismal sales. Today a piece of my Eden was encroached upon. My vision of my perfect neighborhood had a big greasy loogie hocked upon it. As one of the garage sale patrons walked up the driveway I greeted her and asked if I could help her find anything. She said, "Do you know your neighbors very well?" Thinking, what an interesting question, I prepared to launch into my very well practiced speech about how I loved my neighborhood and how great all the families are and how I love it on my street, she spoke before I could start. "Your neighbors are fighting down the street and I'm wondering if you should call someone."

My neighbors? My neighbors don't fight. I thought she must be mistaken. It must be a road rage kind of thing with some of the people who had just left the garage sale. I grabbed my cell phone and started walking the few houses down the block. My heart sunk as I saw my neighbor in her driveway, sobbing, standing shaking in front of the driver's side door of her husband's truck. He was screaming at her and her mother as my other neighbor was in the driveway on the phone with 911. I walked over as the man strode back in the house and was able to comfort the distraught woman. The man stormed back outside yelling at me and the other neighbor to leave and mind our business with many colorful adjectives thrown in to express just how angry he was. He then tried again to manhandle his wife, twisting her arm to get her away from the truck. She's a big gal and to her credit, stood her ground. You see, he had already been in two fender-benders that morning, had a few beers after that and was clearly just not himself. This is one of the most gentle and kindest guy. I NEVER would have believed you if you would have told me he was capable of doing and saying what I saw and heard today.

Three patrol cars later, they finally decided that it might be more of a medical issue than a true abuse issue. He had started some new medication and he was sent to the hospital to be checked out. Unfortunately, the discharged him within two hours and because they are not legally married, the did not tell my friend anything about his condition. When she went to go pick him up at the hospital, he refused to come with her and started on another verbal attack. He was still clearly altered, not knowing what day it was and acting so strangely. I took one of her sons for the evening and brought him with my kids to church and fed him dinner. When I brought him home, "J" was at home sleeping it off. My neighbor says she thinks he'll probably wake tomorrow and not remember what happened.

Not remember that he acted like an abuser in front of his kids and neighbors? I don't think so. If he needs his memory jogged, I think I'll remind him. I'm
not wanting to punish the guy, if it really was a medical issue, than I'm all ready to forgive (NOT forget, mind you) and let him work at earning back the trust I once gave him. But if it's not, buddy - you just might want to find another neighborhood because if you don't want neighbors that step in when you're acting like an ass, then you need to move. Because I'm not going anywhere.

That was just ONE of the cruddy things that happened today. My other neighbor, the good Samaritan that was on the phone, found out today that his brother has days to live. It wasn't his favorite day either. Tonight, we had a guest speaker at church from a theological seminary in Lebanon. He is stuck in the US and can't get home. He gave an amazing picture of the true depth of the conflict of the Middle East and had an interesting perspective on what might bring about a resolution. He basically advocates that by the US using the term "terrorist" we create an image of a sub-human group of people. There are those that commit specific acts of terror, but they include ANY military organization that target civilians with harm. By labeling some terrorists, we absolve ourselves of the need to pursue active dialogue and pursue real and true resolutions. He likened it to the story/myth of the man who was fighting a fierce battle, feeling attacks on all sides, but then woke to find he was fighting a windmill. When will we as a country wake to see the windmill? What will we do, as Christians, as the church, as a follower of Christ, do to make sure we are part of a solution based on justice, mercy and love? I left with a heavy heart, but I think, no, I know, that God is not always interested in our comfort.

He's done his job. I'm plenty uncomfortable tonight.

I will pray that I'll come to a new level of understanding of who God is and what he wants for me in all these situations. And that I have the courage to act - even if it's only to walk on my street with the hope for peace here and in every neighborhood from here to Lebanon.

Note to self: watch out for those high horses . . . and a birthday wish

Thanks everyone for your great comments on my last post. I know that parenting issues and especially conversations about discipline can become "hot" issues very quickly. Please know that I in no way intended to hurt or offend anyone by my comments. I sincerely apologize if you felt that way. I really appreciated the positive tone of all of your comments, even those of you who didn't agree with my position. Thank you for being so gracious and know that I respect all of your positions on parenting.

Michelle, thanks for your comments about raising a special needs child. I am such a fan of your blog and am so overwhelmed by your devotion to Riley and making sure she gets every opportunity to enjoy and be successful in her life. I love how you call Riley your teacher and I feel the same about my children. I learn so much about myself through them and the most revealing lessons seem to come when they are in rebellion mode. How will I react? How will I respond? How will I use this moment to teach them what they need to know one year from now, five years from now, ten years from now? I get the impression from reading your blog that we're probably closer in parenting philosophy than it might seem from reading my last post. I know that you must adapt for Riley's needs but I sense that you actively work at teaching her strategies to deal with the behavior issues that she struggles with. Thank you for the very gentle, but firm reminder that I don't always know what's going on behind the fits and tantrums that other kids may throw. I needed to hear that. We all need to hear that. Those high horses can look pretty good and we might want to climb on their backs when our kids are acting like little angels while others are acting like little turds, but the thing about high horses is they may look good, but they're still full of, well you know . . .

I do know that every kid is different. Every family is different. And I agree, each parent must find their own way. I guess where my "2 cents" post came from is having some friends at church, in the neighborhood and at my kids' schools where the parents moan and groan about behavior problems but make no changes to what they are doing to try to solve them. I think when offered the chance to share, I just wanted to offer something that has worked for me. Kind of like sharing a good recipe, you just want others to enjoy the sweet stuff you have found.

Again, thanks to you all for the great comments. I appreciate the challenges and the encouragements!

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Fun at the fair!

I wrote in one of my previous posts that I entered some photos in the county fair. Well, we didn't win anything, but here are some pictures of our entries.



























Happy Birthday Little Princess!

Today, my baby girl turns 12! Agghh! Where have the years gone? She came into the world a big bundle of sunshine and she continues to light my days! Happy Birthday sweetie!