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!

Disillusioned

The calendar says it's summer, and it has been warm outside - my plants have the sun-damaged leaves to prove it. And yet my body, my cells, my very soul - rejects the notion. I am busier now than I was during the "school" year. It doesn't feel like the lazy days of summers of my youth and I must say, it's starting to feel like an angry sliver under my skin. A sore spot that reminds me daily, "You don't get a three month vacation any more."

I should be relaxing. I should be at the pool with the kids. I should be sipping fruity drinks while sitting on my patio listening to the sounds of the evening.

I should be, but I'm not.

Instead, I'm working more hours, tied to the invisible strings of my computer and having to go to the office nearly every day this week. I'm sending international emails, tracking down world-traveling speakers that are in various places around the globe, trying to get details on their upcoming visits to speak to our organization. I'm sending packages across crystal blue oceans and wishing I could fly with them to exotic far off lands. I'm breathing the reprocessed, dust-tinged recycled air-conditioned air of my office and of my home.

What I long to do is spread out a blanket on the grass and read one of the three books sitting on my nightstand. I long to write in my journal. I long to sit in the sun until my skin is burning and then jump in the cold water of our local swimming pool. I want to stroll the stalls of my local farmer's market on Tuesday nights to the sound of the local musicians and the smells of terriaki chicken sizzling on a grill and fresh waffle cones filled with sweet ice cream along Main Street. I want to stand out in the street in front of our house, chatting with neighbors until after dark while our kids play street games in the twilight.

I want to, but right now, it's just not happening.

I get one chance in the next two weeks to make something like this happen. Brad and I have greedily claimed Sunday as a day of rest this week. (That poor guy has been painting a house all week - if anyone deserves a day of rest, it's him.) We are taking the kids to the beach for the day and the agenda is PLAY. I plan on savoring every minute because the calendar tells me it will be awhile before there's another day like that one.

But there is hope, right? It is, after all, only June 30th. Maybe I need to give summer a chance . . .

Summer Sizzle

Yes, it's been one of those rare days in Oregon. The mercury in the thermometer has crept past 100 AND one of our sports teams has made good. YEAH BEAVERS - College World Series Champions! Oregon teams are notorious for choking at big time events so I'm so pleased to see this great group of athletes come from behind (yesterday - down five runs) to win the best of three series. Well done!

Yesterday was a day filled with cleaning and organizing. The story I wrote a few weeks ago about the Magic Milk Crate had inspired me to try to tackle the desk this weekend. But to do that, I needed to add a bookshelf to the family. Looking to adopt, I scanned the Craigslist adds and thought I had found just what I needed. Good looking, but cheap. Let's just say when you ask someone to rate their merchandise as poor, fair, good or excellent - BE SPECIFIC. The bookcase that was promised to be in "good or better" condition, was actually sporting a number of gouges on the sides. Fortunately, I'm married to the most incredible guy in the world, who willingly loaded said very "FAIR" bookcase in the truck, brought it home, and proceeded to do his magic with soap and water, wood stain and brown magic markers and - voila - in about an hour, that bookcase suddenly WAS in good condition. Once my well loved books and photos and dried arrangement of hydrangeas decorated the shelves, she was an absolute beauty. I could almost see her swaying with pride. This little venere, Dania maple wanabe was part of a family now - a family who would treat her with the respect she deserved as the guardian of one of our most precious treasures.

OK - did I mention that I only got about 4 hours of sleep last night? I think that explains the previous paragraph. The boy has daycamp this week and has to leave the house at 7:15 each morning to make the bus. Ouch - but the little camper was so cute. When I woke him this morning, he was fully dressed under the covers. He said he wanted to be "ready" when I woke him this morning. I assured him that I had planned for time to get dressed in the mornings and I wouldn't let him be late to the bus. Too cute! By the end of the week, I probably won't think it's that cute.

I totally missed Sunday Scribblings. I couldn't decide what to write. I wanted to be so clever and take the top 20 song titles and weave them into a story but I just couldn't get my brain to click in on that idea. Then I thought of telling everyone the mish mash of concerts I've attended in my life. It's like a cosmic joke when you look at the different kinds of artists I've sat, stood, swayed to over the past 24 years. Maybe I'll save that one for another time. My friend Amber's post was wonderful and I'm looking forward to reading more of the entries this week. To find them go here.


Movie Review - Saw "The Lakehouse" and was impressed. Nothing Oscar worthy but definitely a sweet and not too sappy story of these two kids in love with just one little problem - living two years apart. The story manages to suspend your disbelief just enough without it being too "X-file-ish" (don't get me wrong, LOVE the X-files). Some great supporting characters in the movie and well, Sandy and Keanu - they just have something that other onscreen couples don't have. I don't know that I'd really call it chemistry or anything really physically charged. To me, it's more that they seem like a REAL couple more than one that lives in some screenwriter's imagination. I could see him mowing the lawn and her planting her own petunias in the planters in front of their house, firing up the barbeque and throwing steaks on and calling the neighbors over for a beer. Anyway, I'd recommend it - a very safe PG for the younger crowd as well. I promised my daughter she could see it when it comes out on video. Saw trailers for "The Devil Wears Prada", Pirates II and Superman - can't wait to see them all!

Grateful Friday - top 5

Picture is from my Rose Garden Retreat

1. Baseball season for the little guy ended last night with his best performance of the season. A slamming hit to right field off a tough fastball. He played catcher for a few innings and did a fantastic job. He got lots of praise from his coach and the other parents and that was so good for his little ego.

2. Warm, sunny weather is here and we have a pass to the local swimming pool. The newly renovated pool has a giant water slide and a deliciously warm "kiddie pool" that actually goes to a depth of 4.5 ft. Lot's of fun. (The bad news, our air conditioner is on the blink and talking to the local repair shop it's going to cost at least $134 for them to even drive to my house on an emergency repair call. It's supposed to be 98 by Sunday and we don't even own any fans anymore. But hey, there's always the pool, right?)

3. A great afternoon with my sweetie yesterday making strawberry freezer jam. Tiny, plump red berries, smashed and mixed to make the nectar of the gods come winter time. Yum. Lot's of good conversation and just side, by side working time.

4. A date with my Bible-study gals to see the chick flick "The Lake House" on Sunday. Just hoping that I don't cry too loudly during the sad parts!

5. No real commitments until tonight. A day to catch up on work, blogging and laundry!

A Great Wish

I love this story! I want to be pals with this little girl - she sounds like so much fun! I'm going to pray for a miracle that will resolve her medical condition so she can grow up and fully express every creative bone in her little body. Check out her story . . .

Little Girl Becomes Superhero for a Day

Sunday Scribbling - Bed

Camping. Not one of my favorite pastimes. I didn’t grow up camping, it’s more something I inherited through marriage, like an in-law that you have nothing in common with but you smile and make polite conversation with. Brad - he practically grew up in a tent, spending summer after summer in the state parks. So when we got married, I gave it the old college try. We bought our first tent, a little three-person blue dome tent from REI and christened it “Love Shack II”.

One of our first after-marriage, before-kids, camping trips was in the Columbia River George. It was a small campsite, near the river and within a 20 minute driving distance to the quaint town of Hood River. It was a bargaining chip. I’ll camp as long as I can window shop for a few hours on one of the days. It was a smaller campsite and not terribly busy that late spring weekend. One reason might have been the proximity to the railroad. A few hours after turning in for the night, I was wakened by the sound of a train. One that sounded like it would cut a path right through the front door of the tent. The noise woke me right up and I sat up with a start. Brad slept soundly through the commotion and barely stirred.

I laid there trying to get my heart rhythm back to normal and trying to get that drowsy, sleeping in the fresh air feeling back that would put me back to sleep. Still getting used to “sharing” a bed, I shifted a couple of times on the queen sized air mattress, trying to find a good spot. Finally, I had found the sweet spot with just enough air and just enough cushion and I felt myself drifting off to visions of five-star hotel rooms with thermostats, crisp white sheets and bathrooms just a few steps away.

In the stillness, I felt the mattress shift. I looked over at my sleeping husband. He was out like a rock. He hadn’t moved. Hmmm. Laying still, I felt my body getting heavier, the sleep invading my body from my toes to my head – WAIT, there it was AGAIN. I didn’t imagine that. The mattress was MOVING even though Brad and I were perfectly still.

My first thought, earthquake. My second, volcano. We live in one of the areas of the world where seismic activity is not unheard of. With a dad who’s a geologist, I knew all the possibilities. Now I was wide awake, searching the memory archives for what you do in case of an earthquake if there are no door frames or desks to hide under. Seriously – what do you do in case of an earthquake when you’re out in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?

I laid there with pounding heart – again. Trying not to over react, I did end up waking Brad and asking him if he had felt the movement. With a sleepy, newlywed grin he said no, but offered to make the mattress move again if I wanted. Not funny, I said – exhausted and overwhelmed by adrenaline for the second time in one night.

Finally, sometime around daybreak I must have slept for a bit. Groggy-eyed and grumpy the next day, I helped break camp. Underneath our tent we were amazed to find 3 fresh mounds of dirt. Mr. Gopher had been the one making the earth shake under my mattress.

As a girl that really does NOT appreciate the fuzzy and cute factor of ANY rodent, I think I would have preferred the earthquake. The story doesn’t end there. Over the years, my nighttime campsite visitors have included a raccoon, drunk neighbors and a black bear. Needless to say, camping is not one of my favorite activities. I’d much rather spend the day outside somewhere, have a campfire, and then go to sleep, IN MY OWN BED!

To read more Sunday Scribblings, go here.

A Public Service Message on Intent

A public service message about intent. Make sure that if you offer something, you’re ready to deliver.

Yesterday, I was feeling frisky. I had been to work for an hour, rushed to the bead store and managed to make teacher gifts in record time. (Stone pendants on sterling silver chain – for less than $8 each! Made in 20 minutes flat!) Went to the school and picked up the ecstatic rugrats from their last 1/2 day of school and we headed off to meet my sister and her kids for lunch. I was feeling good. Still floating on a high from my mini-retreat earlier in the week, a finished draft of a big project that I’ve been working on, and the amazing news that earlier this week, my post for Blogging 4 Books was in the finals. This one gave me extra air in my jets as this is the first writing contest I’ve ever entered, and even though it’s on the smaller side (30 entries) it did give me a boost to hear I’d made it to the final round. Like I said, I was feelin’ frisky – and I should know that’s when I get into trouble.

At lunch my little niece E. says, “Can I come spend the night at your house?” The normally high-maintenance fussy little blonde-blue-eyed munchkin was being very good at the burger joint while her younger sister A. was crying over the lack of a bandaid for her sore thumb. But you have to understand A. – if ever there was a poster child for an adult that is going to develop OCD, she’s it. And I don’t mean any disrespect to anyone who might suffer from that condition, it’s just that I’ve never seen a more PICKY kid in my life. The waitress kindly brought a bandaid when she learned of A’s distress. But when we opened it up, it was – gasp – blue. You could see the look of disgust on her 4-year old face. I simply cannot wear a blue bandaid, it looks like a boy’s bandaid! She continued to cry throughout the meal. My sister tried to console her. Me – I would have taken her for a timeout to the car. My sister and I have very different parenting techniques. Needless to say, my kids – very low maintenance, her kids – off the charts when it comes to maintenance!

So in a moment of delusion I said to E, “You know honey, if you had packed your overnight things, you could have spent the night tonight. We’ll have to plan it for another night this summer.”

To which, my sister quickly piped in, “You know – I just bought them new outfits at the mall. They could do it tonight.”

I felt the rope tighten. I was thinking about well behaved E. when I made that offer. She was including whiny A. in the deal. Back paddle, back paddle, back paddle . . . .

Well, long story short, I drove away from the burger joint with my kids and my two nieces in the car. It was off to Target to buy nightgowns and toothbrushes (A. couldn’t tolerate the thought of wearing a t-shirt of my son’s for jammies and once E. caught wind that A. was getting new jammies, the jig was up), movies, popcorn, snacks and fresh play-dough for the evening.

Here’s just a smattering of the comments throughout the evening.

“Auntie Kim, can you please take the nuts out of this bread?” No – in fact I can’t E. It’s 8 grain bread, the nuts are baked in.

After I have totally cleaned the kitchen from the dinner prep. “Auntie Kim, I don’t like this sandwich. Can you make me grilled cheese in stead?”

“Auntie Kim – does this popcorn taste like our popcorn at home?” I have no idea, why don’t you TRY IT?!!!

A. shudders as I bring out a non-gendered plum colored sleeping bag for her for the night. With no Barbie or Disney princess on it, she is thrown into a panic. “Is that a boy or girl sleeping bag Auntie Kim?” It’s neither I explain. “But who sleeps in it?” she wants to know, my son or my daughter. I patiently explain that both kids have used it. She finally accepts that it is ok and the only other option is a hunter green sleeping bag that is obviously male gendered in color.

By bedtime, I felt like my brain would explode from the high-pitched noise that had been the constant background that has been my house for the past 8 hours. Bed was a welcome respite until the fun started again this morning. They are wonderful girls and I love them dearly but I think I’ll be smiling when I drop them off at their mom’s later this morning. God is continuing to teach me about intent – the lesson here, don’t offer unless you’re willing to deliver.

SEGWAY HERE – Speaking of smiling, the picture today is of my favorite new rose I discovered at my retreat at the rose garden this week. It’s called “Distant Drums” and the middle section is a lovely fleshy brown and it blends to pink as the petals go out. It was truly spectacular and I can’t wait to begin the search for one to put in my garden. Have a great weekend everyone!

Retreat

Yesterday was a very good day. All school year long I had been telling myself that I would take a day for me. No work, no appointments, no obligations, no errands. Just a day for me to do what I wanted and go where I wanted without having to think about anyone else. Last week I realized time was running short – if I was going to do this, it had to be now.

My job is such that I just need to work 15-20 hours per week and I need to show my face at the office for about ten of those hours so I’m blessed with great flexibility in my schedule. The unfortunate downside to that is that the days can fill up quickly with all sorts of things but yesterday was one of those rare days where there was nothing on the calendar. So over the weekend, I made the commitment to take “my day” on Tuesday.

It was a mental wrestling match from that point forward. There is a project with a deadline looming in front of me and even though I put in about 5 hours on it on Monday, I still wasn’t happy with my progress. Should I really still take the day off when I knew there was work I could be doing? “Yes, yes, yes!” my spirit cried in its weak whisper of a voice. “You need this time – you deserve this time! You’ll be a better wife/mother/employee for this time!” it said with more force. “Take it! Take it now!”

So after getting the kids off to school yesterday morning, I made a quick cup of tea, loaded some books, my journal and the new digital camera into the car and set off. I really wasn’t sure where I was going and what I was supposed to do. I quickly slipped into my old patterns of behavior and thought, “I’ll just stop to do a few errands.” I went into the local craft superstore to buy some supplies for making one of the teachers a gift. Browsing the aisles didn’t bring the pleasure that it usually did so I rounded up what I needed, paid and left. This kind of shopping wasn’t the activity that was going to feed my soul today (although somedays, it works wonders!).

I hopped on the freeway and decided to go to the Portland Rose Garden. We had been on Mother’s day but not many of the flowers were blooming at that time. I love taking pictures of flowers and thought that would be a relaxing way to start the morning.

When I got there, I lost myself in the beauty. You can see in the pictures that the gardens were in full bloom. I walked through rows of roses called, Double Delight, George Burns, Distant Drummers (my new favorite!), Honey Dijon, and more. I LOVE DIGITAL CAMERAS. I love the fact I can tell right then and there if I “got” the shot. My first few attempts at the micro setting on the camera were a bit rough, but by the end, I was really pleased with the shots. I’ll be posting lots of them on my blog entries in the coming weeks.

After taking pictures for about an hour, I found a secluded bench and sat down with my Bible and journal and did some business with God. Sure, we have a great relationship, but like any good one, it takes work. We spent time talking and more importantly, I spent time listening. It was a wonderful time where He spoke to the aches of my heart and to the desires of my soul. He revealed some areas that I need to work on – especially in the areas of intent. This is so key as I continue to dip my big toe into the writing world, even through blogging. Who am I really writing to please? Why do I seem to need the constant validation and affirmation of others in order to express what God has given me? Shouldn’t it be enough that I want to please Him? It hasn’t been lately. I find myself constantly checking my blog for comments, looking for validation from co-workers and even my fellow volunteers in my women’s group for the validation that what I’m writing is any good. Why is it so difficult to trust that once someone has given you that kind of compliment, the gift doesn’t go away, and you can still write well, even if they or others don’t say so? I know it’s the nature of writers to need that constant validation, but I feel like for me, it’s becoming a stumbling block spiritually and even in the act of my writing. I’m not sure I could have articulated this to myself without that time away to think, pray and process - so for that, I’m so excited at the results of my retreat.

This is getting a bit long, so maybe I’ll save the rest of the retreat report for tomorrow. There were more exciting things that happened, the ladies in the red hats, CRAZY man at the lunch joint, and gaping mud pits - but just not enough time to write them this morning. Stay tuned, for more of “The Day of Kim’s Life . . .” Ha! Thanks to you for stopping by and I hope that maybe this inspires you to plan one of these days for yourself. It is a wonderful gift you can give yourself and your family.
Blessings!

A very good day . . .

I took a mini retreat today and will write more about it tomorrow, but for now just one of the MANY pictures that I took today at Portland's Rose Garden. And my baby graduated from 6th grade tonight (corny, I know - but it was a cute little ceremony and she was proud as anything to participate). She's the babe in blue and that's her good buddy signing her autograph book. Can she really be leaving elementary school this week? *sigh*

More on my very good day tomorrow. Going to bed with a smile in my heart . . .

The Magical Milk Crate

Sorry for double dipping and being long winded, but I'm using this story for my Sunday Scribbling prompt - mystery, and for a contest Deb had linked on her blog called Blogging 4 Books. Their prompt was magic so I thought I could write one story for both. Thanks for indulging me!


Kim reached across her desk to retrieve the file folder she needed for her current writing project. As she did, her elbow brushed against the teetering stack of papers on the corner of the desk. She watched in dismay as the papers started a slow motion free fall off the edge of the desk. They were quite elegant in their fall, like synchronized swimmers each diving in turn from the edge of the pool into the crystal blue water. Only they weren’t swimmers, they were months worth of papers, receipts, bills, junk mail and who knows what else and they were falling quicker and quicker to the floor around Kim’s feet.

“Great,” Kim muttered. With a heavy sigh, she bent over in the chair and started to collect the mess of papers. I just can’t work like this anymore, she thought. I’m going to have to bite the bullet and clean this mess.

I need something to help me organize. She wandered through the house looking for a container big enough for the stacks of papers that covered her desk, filing cabinet and book shelf. If I can just clear the surfaces and get everything that needs to be sorted in one place, I’ll be in business. In the back of her mind a voice started a familiar warning, “Be careful. Don’t throw away something important.” She hated that voice. It was the one that kept her from really letting go of things. Like the green dress hanging in her closet that she hadn’t worn for eight years. Like the bag of socks her mom had given her in colors like mustard brown, hot pink and lemon yellow. She knew she’d never wear them, but they were brand new and had the tags on them, and she might have an outfit that she would wear those socks with someday. She wished she could just know, really know for sure, when to let things go, when to throw them away and that she really wouldn’t need them in the future.

She walked out in the garage looking for a big Rubbermaid bin to throw the papers in. They were all filled with things for the garage sale she still hadn’t planned, or filled with the kids’ art projects from school, or filled with old shoes and boots that they might need when the weather turned cold. The only empty container in the garage was a milk crate that her husband Brad had used to bring some stuff home from school last week. That’ll have to do, she thought and she brought the bright blue crate into the house.

I’ll just do a little pre-sorting, she thought. Let’s start with what we know is garbage. She threw a soccer camp registration form in the crate along with an advertisement for a lawn care service. A few more pieces of junk mail went in and Kim added an empty envelope to the crate.

“No” A voice said in Kim’s ear.

She looked up from the pile, surprised. She turned to look behind her. Had Brad or one of the kids come home early? She looked at the dog sleeping on the couch. Nicky was very protective, if anyone had come in the house, she would have barked.

“No, don’t throw that away,” the voice said again.

Kim sat dumfounded and confused. Wow, I must be staying up too late at night.

“Take that envelope out of the crate,” the voice said louder this time.

Kim reached in and looked at the envelope. It was from the local home improvement store. She thought it was junk, but opened it to see what the advertisement was inside. To her amazement, she found a check for $59.00. “Wow – this is the rebate check for the dryer we just bought. I’m so glad I didn’t throw this out.” That was odd, she thought. How did I know not to throw that away?

Next into the crate went one of the pieces of mail from the local candidate running for city council. Kim looked at his picture and read his quick bullet point promises on the glossy card. Hmmm . . . he sounds intelligent and like he’s got some good ideas, maybe I’ll vote for him. She tossed the card into the milk crate.

“Liar and cheat,” the voice said in her ear.

There was no denying it this time. Kim heard the voice loud and clear and she looked incredulously at the milk crate. Oh my gosh – she thought – the crate is doing that!

To test her theory, she placed in three pieces of obvious junk mail. Nothing, no warning, no voice. Then she put in her most recent bank statement.

“Keep that,” she heard.

A smile spread across her face. Wow – this is great! She emptied the junk mail out of the crate and tossed it in the garbage. Let’s see how well this will work. She grabbed the bag of colorful socks from her mom and dumped them into the crate.

“Keep the lemon yellow ones. You’ll need them for a Halloween costume in two years. Get rid of the rest.” Kim smiled as she tucked the lemon yellow socks into her drawer and bagged the rest up for giving to the local charity shop. Next was the green dress. She hesitated for just a moment, she loved that dress, the flowy fabric with tropical flowers in the background. It was a few sizes too small, but she had always hoped she might loose the weight and get back into it. It was just taking up space in the closet though. Gingerly, she laid it in the milk crate.

“Out of style and bad color for you. Get rid of it.” Kim hesitated. The crate added, “You won’t be that size again.” Ouch. Kim angrily grabbed the dress from the crate and held it in her hands staring at it. She let out a sigh and thought, well at least I know now. She put it in the bag with the socks and put her hands on her hips. What next? The growling in her stomach decided for her – lunch.

Opening the fridge Kim grabbed the package of turkey meat. It was two days past the expiration date. With a nasty food poisoning experience as a senior in high school, she was always hesitant to eat anything past the expiration. Was it safe to make a sandwich with? She put the turkey in the crate.

“Good for two more days, then throw it away.” Excellent, she thought! This is going to be great.!

For the rest of the day, Kim went through her house, room by room, putting all sorts of things in the magic milk crate. Finally the mystery of what to keep and what to get rid of was solved! She put all the children’s artwork in the crate piece by piece and with each one, the crate faithfully told her the ones she would want to keep and which ones to throw away. Clothes, paperwork, pantry items – they all went into the crate and it told her what to keep and what to get rid of.

Kim felt light and like she was walking taller by the end of the day. When Brad walked in the door after work, he immediately noticed the desk. “Wow – you’ve been busy today!” he said admiring the clean surfaces. “What got into you? You hate throwing things away.”

“Oh, I guess I was just in the mood today.” Kim said with a smile sitting at the sparkling clean desk. Brad bent down to collect his welcome home kiss.

“What’s this doing in here?” Brad asked as he picked up the magical milk crate. As he picked up the crate, Kim cringed as she saw his left hand with the glint of his wedding band through the holes in the side of the crate. She waited for a breathless minute thinking about the ruthless honesty of the crate and how it had told the truth about all the things she was holding onto that were of no value. Would it have a judgment on her darling Brad that might not be favorable?

To her relief, as Brad turned his back and carried the milk crate to the garage, the voice in her ear said, “Oh this one – this one is definitely worth keeping around.”

No mystery there.

ABC Meme

OK - What exactly is a meme? I've seen them floating around out there but I'm not sure of the real and technical definition. I get the idea that you are answering questions or filling in blanks, but what does "meme" really mean? Let me know if you can help out. Until then, I'm taking the universal tag that Amber put out there to her readers to do this one.

Accent - Oregon? Do we have an accent? Grew up with a mom from England and a dad from Oklahoma so I can slide into a southern twang or sound like a girl from across the pond if I need to. Oh, come on, when do I really NEED to? It's just for fun. Pass the Earl Gray lovey . . .

Booze - No beer or red wine - too bitter for me. (I don't like coffee either and last night at book club we had a discussion about this - some of the gals thought they had heard that if you didn't like beer, you usually weren't a fan of coffee either - hmmmm.) A dry or sweet white wine is preferred, mixed drinks ok but I'm too cheap to pay for them when we're out. I'll usually have them at home or at someone's house if they're mixing.

Chores I hate - Cleaning the bathroom although I love it when it's done.

Dogs/Cats - both. Had an awesome cat named Leonard (huge, gray tabby lover-boy). I cried like a broken-hearted teenager when he died a few years ago. We have a dog, Nicky, who is like a little princess in the body of a butch cattle-dog. She is so sweet with the kids but a very people-needy dog. Sometimes she can drive me nuts following me from room to room.

Essential Electronics - Computer. I could live without everything else pretty much. I like having the security of a cell phone, but I'm not a big fan of using them. When I travel, I always take a flashlight - especially to hotels. I'm always worried if they should loose power and there are no candles or emergency lights, how will I find my way out?

Favorite Pastime - Reading. No question. Second favorite, buying books.

Gold/Silver - both. Depends on the mood and what I'm wearing. When I make jewelry, I tend to make more with silver because it just seems to look better.

Hometown - Born in Omaha, Nebraska. Lived there until my 8th birthday. Literally, we drove into the state of Oregon on my 8th birthday and I spent it in a hotel. My parents felt bad about it but I thought it was great because we got to swim in the hotel pool on my birthday. I've lived in Oregon since then, not much for wandering . . .

Insomnia - Yes, at times. It alternates between great and really horrible. Some nights the peace and quiet and extra energy make for very productive study, writing, reading times. Other times it really sucks and makes life miserable from the lack of good sleep.

Job Title - sore subject. I hate my work one, so I'll tell you what I'd like it to be: "Communications Specialist". There. Now doesn't that sound like a job I'd be good at? I think so too. Now, to just get up the nerve to ask for it . . .

Kids - awesome. Supergirl - almost 12 and Wonderboy, almost 9. Very clever and cute and smart and . . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . enough already.

Lies Told - Tough one. Not very good at it and ALWAYS afraid of being caught. One night when I was 16, I went to an under-aged dance place downtown after my parents had told me I couldn't go. I was so paranoid there would be a news crew there filming for the evening news or there would be some friend of a friend there that would tell their mom I was there and word would get back to my mom, that I couldn't even enjoy the evening. I was miserable all night! I'm no goody-goody when it comes to this, I can think of very elaborate stories and tales to tell, I'm just a big scaredy cat when it comes to telling them.

Most Admired Trait - hmmmm. Maybe consistency? Ha - look at that, "MAYBE consistency". HA - maybe not? I hate being left out of things so I think I try really hard to include people - maybe that would be it. Oh, and I'm not afraid of speaking in public. Not sure how great I am, but it doesn't freak me out.

Number of sexual partners - *blush typing the words* - One and only one. Plenty for me (and don't you forget it honey!).

Phobia - Rats. I read a book in college in a "Literature of the Holocaust" class that gave me nightmares for weeks. Soldiers used rats to torture a young woman and I'll just leave it at that . . .

Quote - Indulge me here, "A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people." Thomas Mann

" . . .when we reduce Christian spirituality to math we defile the Holy. I thought that was very beautiful and comforting because I have never been good at math. Many of our attempts to understand the Christian faith have only cheapened it. I can no more understand the totality of God than the pancake I made for breakfast understands the complexity of me." Don Miller, Blue Like Jazz

"In a contagious world, we learn to keep our distance. If we get too close to those who are suffering, we might get infected by their pain. It may not be convenient or comfortable. But only when you get close enough to catch the hurt will they be close enough to catch your love." John Ortberg, Love Beyond Reason

Religion - Follower of the Bible and teachings of Jesus

Siblings - One sister, 4 years younger than me. Different as night and day - she was homecoming princess, dance team, invited to all the cool parties. I was academic, tennis playing, working through high-school, never had a boyfriend, not that popular and awkward. Love her dearly, but in small doses.

Time to wake up - When I have to. Usually by 6:30 am during the week. A bit later on weekends.

Unusual talent - Can figure out the ends of books and movies at about 95% accuracy. Who will die, who will end up together, what will happen, etc. Only been surprised a few times (including The Sixth Sense and I was a mix of pleased and angry at the same time!).

Vegetable I hate - Cauliflower - gag! I can't even stand the smell of it cooking!

Worst habit - Thinking I'm right and adamantly arguing it, when I'm not. Eating too much sugar.

Xrays - once for pneumonia, one for smashing my thumb in my car door, the rest just dental and ultrasounds. Never have broken a bone.

Yummy Dishes I make - I'm not a very enthusiastic cook, I don't love it. I do it because I have to. My family likes my lasagna, mexican meatloaf and anything I bake. I got a recipe from a friend at college for some killer apricot coconut bars that I make at the holidays.

Zodiac - Leo. Though I don't subscribe much to following the zodiac symbols, I'll admit I match up pretty close to the characteristics of a Leo.

There's me! I tag - anyone who wants to do this! Have a great weekend and if you're looking for something to jog you're writing juices, check out this weekend's prompt for Sunday Scribbling!

My New Mantra

The creative writing well is a bit dry this week but I thought I'd share with you my new favorite quote.

"There is no such thing as a perfect parent, but there's a million ways to be a good one."

- from "Cheaper by the Dozen 2"

Sunday Scribbling - Earliest Memory

Summer Sweetness

July 1970
Sweet juice
dribbles down my chin
you, my summer
teaching me to eat, spit
eat, spit
tiny treasures to offer
the summer fairies
as they rest their
gossamer wings in the heat of the day.
My hero,
my summer,
my god at two,
teaching me the delights of the day.

The Fear Factor

Fear. It's one of those things that we all must deal with in our lives. Today I was watching daytime t.v. while filing and clearing the mighty mess called my desk. Tyra Banks' show today was all about facing your fears. It started with Tyra trying to face her screeching, hyperventalating, hand waving fear of - dolphins. What in the world? I have NEVER heard of anyone being afraid of these delicate, lovely, intelligent sea creatures. What happened to bugs, rats, snakes and the like? Dolphins? OK, in all fairness, she really did seemed freaked out as they filmed her at Sea World trying to get in the dolphin tank and work up the courage to touch the tail of one of these terrifying beasts (groan). Next up to bat was a young woman with a fear of pennies. You know, Honest Abe, copper colored units of currency - pennies! Tyra buried a $6,000 watch in an aquarium of pennies and challenged the young woman to reach in and grab it. You would have thought it was a tank of pirahnas the way that young gal suspiciously eyed the thousands of pennies and only after the soothing talk of Tyra and a psychologist, could this young gal put a few fingers in to gently scrape pennies to the side until she found her treasure.

While it made for some entertaining watching this morning, it got me to thinking about fears. How is it that we can be crippled by something that others can look at and say, "There's really nothing there to be afraid of." Think of the pennies. They can't hurt you, they are inanimate objects, they can't even move unless someone moves them. And yet, this woman's life was affected by this fear because pennies are a part of everyday life! Fear can stop us cold, even if it's the irrational kind.

I remember having a conversation with a friend about a year ago, sharing with her what would be a "dream job". I had always loved writing in school and had done well in all kinds of projects, but had never really found a way to use that skill and passion beyond school. Sadly, most of my jobs had very limited outlets for this skill and that part of me seemed to go into hibernation, deep in my soul. When she asked me what was keeping me from finding a way either through work or ministry to use that gift/skill/passion, the answer was easy. Fear. A totally irrational, unsubstantiated fear that anyone that would look at my work would instantly double over in pain and shout, "MY EYES! MY EYES! THEY BURN! - Take that filth away!" Or worse yet, they would shrug their shoulders and say, "Hmm, that's interesting." And I'd be left with the gnawing feeling wondering, "Did they like it? Did they hate it?" Totally irrational - I know I can write a decent sentence or two. I know I have the skills to tell a story or make an argument on a page. I know I have the grammar know-how to string words and punctuation together and have them make sense. I know all this, and yet, the fear is still there. Not just "there", but seeped into the deepest core of me and crevices of my being. Like an unwanted stain on my favorite blouse, something that I just couldn't get out.

Until about a year ago. I know you all don't share my beliefs, but I hope you'll bear with me as I share what I consider a miracle. God has worked in his tender way to force me to put my hand in the pennies so to speak. I was given the dream assignment of writing a devotional guide for our ministry that sends workers into the poorest parts of the world to provide humanitarian aid and training to those that seek futures free from despair and poverty. I wrote with passion and joy as I saw my gifts being used in a way that honored my God and my brothers and sisters who were serving Him. I was so blessed by positive comments from people I really respected including a co-worker that I knew did not have "b.s." gene in his body and would give it to me straight if it stunk. I still have the post-it-note with his very complimentary comments on it and look at it when I need a boost. I took a class two weeks ago to work on my writing skills and was blessed again by confirmations from the very well known and published professor that I "have a gift" for this and should pursue this on to another level. Wow! God is so good to give us what we need to overcome those fears!

And then there is all of my new bloging friends. Your comments are like manna from heaven on days when my self-esteem is hungry for food. Your stories inspire me, motivate me and challenge me to do things I wouldn't have considered a year ago. And I have learned so much about being honest and real and transparent. Honesty has a way of knocking Fear off his feet and allowing us the chance to kick him off the path and move forward with our lives. You all have taught me that there is hurt and healing and forgiveness and humor and love and blessings and bitterness and joy and so much more out there - and it needs to be shared. And words are such a beautiful vehicle for sharing it. And so, I won't let the fear win. I will keep writing. I will put my hand in the pennies and pull out the treasure. I hope you will, too.