Keeping Up

One Winter Wonder Day

2012-02-13T19:58:00.003-07:00

It started snowing around six o'clock yesterday, Sunday evening, and by ten last night we had all received the message that school would be dismissed on Monday. Hey, it's Oklahoma. We're not used to driving in the slush, ok? Besides, it was too beautiful to waste our winter cozy morning on trying to back out of the driveway and ending up in the mud.
I awoke before dawn, peeked outdoors and sighed. Such a soft carpet--four inches of pure, cold. And it was still. Quiet. I love still and quiet.

What a great day. I did mounds of stuff--graded papers to the tune of the dryer and the washer, and to the smell of stewing vegetables in the slow cooker. I did exercises on the Wii, caught up on all my "words with friends" crossword games, and even had time to run out to school and spend a few hours getting our Valentine shop set up!

I drove by a house in the country and took a picture of two of my favorite little girls, my church children. They were taking advantage of the wet snow...building a snowman to guard their front door.

You can see by the drifts that the wind was from the north. It amazed me how tall they were on the south side of the east-west road.

Of course, by midday the temperature was in the mid forties and the fields were racing to see which one could change from white to green the fastest. That's rather odd too--white snow on green wheat fields and black cows munching away in the sun.

I enjoyed our brief kiss of winter; it was just right for a Valentine.

Fuzzy Moon and Melting Sun

2012-02-11T18:44:00.002-07:00

This has been my life lately--lots of late nights and early mornings with crazy running about sandwiched in between. We ran five concession stands in a couple of weeks, a German feast on a Saturday in between, A regional academic meet held halfway across the state, and now we'll have a major Valentine gift selling endeavor. It's much, much, much too stressful! And it doesn't make for any stunning pictures or spontaneous attempts to fill trite poetic forms with words. In short, I'm exhausted. Sorry. Hopefully I'll get over it soon. Then you'll get a few more silly limericks...like the world needs more of THOSE!

Missing the Grandchildren...

2012-02-04T19:37:00.001-07:00

So I thought I'd post a few pictures from Christmas week that I never got around to posting. (Hey, I only took the tree down and undecorated the house a week ago!)

Princess in a Box

Once he gets a book, the rest of the world fades away.

...and he is left in another dimension...I think the reindeer, Moses, Frodo and the stuffed orc on the organ all contribute.

I talked them into posing with their mom...Carina, of blog fame, although known to us by her real name.

Zaya and his Dad. He's just a little skeptical.

They both played solos for church.

And sang "Away in a Manger"

And these two are my brother and his wife. She was playing a trick on him concerning his present. I know they aren't grandchildren, but I thought they were cute. So they made the list of cute Christmas Pictures.

The Disadvantage of Wearing Crocs

2012-02-01T06:20:00.005-07:00

The disadvantage of wearing Crocs
While out of doors and taking walks
Is the finding of rocks
Beneath your socks.

And the biggest problem with wearing heels
To proms and parties and dress-up meals
Is how one deals
with the pain she feels.

You have to remember, when wearing sneakers,
That they might be annoying to quiet-seekers
Because some are creakers
and some are squeakers!

Amusing Arrangement...

2012-01-25T11:53:00.002-07:00

We just returned from a trip to the land of lob lolly pines and logging trucks. In an unplanned effort to find a map so we could correct the stubborn will of our decidedly errant Garmin, we stumbled into what we thought was a tourist information center but it turned out to be a mini shrine dedicated to Former President and First Lady Clinton. Obviously, were were in Hope, Arkansas. The museum had been created by remodeling an old depot. It was spotlessly clean, and the staffer who ran it was so excited to actually have visitors on a weekday, that we couldn't explain to her that we only wanted a map...at least not before she had forced us into watching a video, made us take pictures of the place, and given us a tour of the facilities, inviting us to take advantage of the sparkling restrooms.

There were pictures hanging from every available space.

Most were in some way connected to the Clintons, but a few local celebrities got a mention, particularly if they had done something noteworthy...like growning a huge watermelon.
We didn't have the heart to dampen the woman's enthusiasm by telling her we hadn't voted for her hometown heroes. We just milled around and took pictures, praising her for the good job she was doing. Since she was so enthusiastic about the place, even the restrooms, I took the opportunity to see them . I had to chuckle though, because I kept imagining how Hillary would react if she knew that her cut-out was on duty inside the stall, guarding the toilet, and it seemed a bit unnerving to actually use the restroom for its intended use with Bill's face smiling down at me, so I just washed my hands at the tidy little sink, signed the registry book, and accepted a free map of Arkansas.

My Sweet Aunt Jo

2012-01-21T16:17:00.012-07:00

My heart is heavy today.
I lost an aunt this week--a vibrant, encouraging,"ever-on-top-of-the-situation" kind of lady, a pastor's wife and woman of faith, a good representative on earth of the God she had served since childhood.

Uncle Henry and Aunt Jo lived close to my family while we both served as missionaries. Three of my sisters and I were young, and we played soccer with our cousins in the tiled driveways, or croquet in the tiny, fenced-in yard. Aunt Jo had a lovely cactus garden, set in white chips of onyx stone beside their driveway in Puebla, Mexico. We used to tease about nobody being tempted to steal the spiny plants, not painlessly anyway. It was a great idea, though, to feature the flowers that grew in the midst of thorns and spikes.

Later, we all returned to the United States where my family settled in Missouri and they eventually moved to Arkansas, accepting the pastorate of the very church where my husband was growing up. We visited them there one Thanksgiving break. What crisp South Arkansas weather I remember: A hint of fireplace smoke in the air, mingled with lob lolly pine scent; brown, gold, red, crunchy leaves underfoot; football out in the empty lot beside the tidy, little parsonage; the kitchen full of food; laughter around the table!

Years later, when Turtle and I entered the ministry ourselves, we moved close to Henry and Jo where they pastored a church in Kansas. They took us in and helped us as we struggled for a niche. I remember "mentoring moments" in the guise of stories, times we ate at their table and played games on a Sunday afternoon, and always laughter, always a big smile.

Throughout the years, even during difficult crises in her own health and family, Aunt Jo didn't lose the ability to smile and keep her head up like the cacti in her rock garden. She became the e-mail friend, the one requesting prayer for countless other friends, concerned, and companionable.

In this picture, taken at our last family reunion, my dad and mom shared some memories as they worked with Aunt Jo to identify people in old photographs.

Last summer we visited Turtle's family in Arkansas, then traveled with Henry and Jo to see my cousin Mark and his wife and children. Henry rode with Turtle and Jo rode along beside me, directing my way to a wonderful little lakefront restaurant. On that ride I caught up on years of family history and did a lot of chuckling as Aunt Jo filled me in with amusing details.

Her voice was unique; I think I'll be able to remember it always.
And her face, well, that I'll see in the faces of her beautiful granddaughters...until I see her smile again, in another grand reunion,
Goodbye,
my sweet Aunt Jo.

Banh Gai

2012-01-19T17:09:00.001-07:00

Every now and then, Claye manages to talk her father into taking her to the Asian Market in the city. Since he has to make frequent trips to the city to visit parishioners in the hospital, and since he likes the company on such trips, he is more than willing to oblige her. Yesterday they brought back some delicious, plain white rolls and several suspicious-looking packages of strange stuff that looks more like something you plant with each seed of corn than something you would eat.
Tonight, for dessert, they decided to try Banh Gai, a lotus Leaf Cake.

Claye gave Turtle the privilege of tasting it first, since he's the man of the house and in charge of braving danger for his family.

He began to unwrap it carefully, holding his knife ready just in case it was still alive. Right away, we could all see that wasn't the case. The blue-green, almost black seepage was a give-away.

After peeling away multitudinous layers of husks, Turtle discovered a gelatinous mass of gooey stuff, the center of which was white.

He tasted it, being particularly careful not to stain his beard.

He gave it a few seconds,
trying to decide whether he liked it or not.

And he bravely pronounced it:
"not so bad...but not so good" either.

Now he wants me to try it, and says I'm a coward, unwilling to try new things. I just laugh. Nobody will give me a guilt complex that way. . . and as long as I have a choice about it, lotus cake won't be on my diet.

Some People Need to be Taught a Lesson....

2012-01-16T15:19:00.002-07:00

"If a bully keeps taunting you, just haul off and let 'em have it."
"You can't really make friends with that boy until you whip him, show him you can't be messed with."
"Try to reason, but if reasoning doesn't work, just pop him in the nose a few times."

Familiar advice, isn't it? It seems reasonable, and even normal, and it works--some of the time. But what about the times when it doesn't, when a good old fistfight, or even little pop on the nose drops the other child dead. "Unlikely," you might say.
Granted. But it happens.

Last week in our town a couple of junior-high aged boys got into a little scuffle after church on Wednesday night. It was over very quickly. One was dead and the other was saddled with the irrevocable knowledge that he had killed another human being.

The funeral is today, in a couple of minutes, up at the school auditorium where the cars are settling over every available space and grade school children are learning that death is close, and that every human death is somber and inflicts a curious pain.

People are looking for someone to blame:
"The church wasn't supervising carefully enough; the carpet covering the floor wasn't thick enough; the youth pastor should have been teaching those kids right from wrong; the parents should have been there, instead of just sending their children alone; the other kids should have intervened."

Yes. The list goes on and on. There will probably be lawsuits and recriminatory remarks for a long time. But none of them are really just.

Boys fight sometimes. No matter what you teach them in church, at school, at home.
You cannot always supervise...be everywhere...see everything.
It was all "over" in a few seconds.
But it will never be "over" now.

So, what are you going to tell your son?

Above Suspicion

2012-01-07T18:37:00.000-07:00

I've been re-reading all my Helen MacInnes spy thrillers, beginning with the very earliest, published in 1941. This author has a way of weaving ordinary characters into history, helping us see events like World War II the way it was experienced by those who were slammed by it. It was a time of great wrongs and savageries, but it was also a time of courage and honor. Yes, there's danger, and action, and lots of plotting in between. Her political sense is astute, believable, and even prescient. Even though, at the time, MacInnes lived in New York, she had a deep understanding of the situation in Europe. This was partly due to what she had observed and experienced first hand as she and her college professor husband traveled extensively throughout Europe in the years leading up to the war. It was also due to her husband's involvement with the British Intelligence Center in New York. A brilliant scholar himself, he encouraged his wife to write and supported her almost instant successes.

After the war there were other intrigues to chronicle. I've followed MacInnes through The Communist takeover of Eastern Europe, the Cold War, and the stirrings of a New World Order based on finance and funded by sordid drug cartels. It always leaves me wondering if her later research and writing will prove as prophetic as the first.

MacInnes's first novel, Above Suspicion, was set in 1939, It follows the adventures of a college professor and his wife as they are asked to add a little intrigue to what they feel may be their last vacation in Europe before the war breaks out. Their job is simple: follow a path from one embedded contact to another and make sure there is a reliable message chain in order, that the Allied information "at the top" has not been compromised. I started it before I went to sleep last Friday night, and finished it...well before I went to sleep last Friday night...or was it early Saturday morning. I don't know. It was just hard to put down until it was over--all that suspense.

And in addition to that, there's an appreciation of integrity, of character in her heroes. I find myself re-reading sentences like these:

"There's nothing like self-pity for thoroughly dissipating a man, and when a nation indulges in that luxury, it finds itself with a dictator."

"Courage. Courage. It's the only real weapon we've got. A man can win when he still has his courage."

Resolutions Do Work Sometimes or...A New Me

2012-01-01T13:09:00.005-07:00

I resolve, I decide, I commit
When the old year is over, that's it.
Everything will be new
I'll be changed through and through
If I only can live what I've writ!

I took a peek at last years resolutions, just to see if I had managed to follow through. Surprisingly enough, I did better than I expected. Alright, I did set them really low, but it worked.

I wanted to lose ten pounds. I lost forty.
No, it wasn't easy. It was difficult to write down every calorie and avoid sugar, but I had also talked Turtle into doing this diet thing together, and the incentive of having to be accountable to each other helped both of us. On days I felt like giving up, he didn't, and vice versa. I also prayed a lot. You could say I was determined, but needed help.

The good thing is, I feel better! I look better! I don't have to take my high blood pressure medicine anymore. The bad thing is the knowledge that I will have to eat this way for the rest of my life to keep the weight down...or start running marathons. Hmmm. If I only had younger knees...Nah. No marathons for me. I'll just keep dieting, thank you much. At least I no longer crave as much food.
I had to come to this realization: If you weigh 120 pounds, you only have to eat enough to support that weight--roughly 1200 calories a day. If you eat enough to support a 150-pounder, 1500 calories a day, you will soon weigh that much. Alas. The flip side is this: Eat enough for the weight you want to be and you will reach that weight. It might take a year but it is worth it.

Ok. Enough bragging about successes. Now it's confession time. My other resolution was to organize my house--every drawer, every closet, every cranny and nook. I tried. I did organize most of the drawers and closets, but the nooks and crannies were my nemesis.

This year. This year, I'll tackle them all: the attic, the cellar, and the (shudder) cabinet full of old photos, cassette tapes, and floppy discs. Yikes. Do you think I'm overreaching?

Christmas Space in December

2011-12-25T04:07:00.008-07:00

Your world may be full of colors and sounds,
a mingled mass of light...

Your rooms overstuffed with decorations enough
to dazzle, to daze, to intimidate night.

Yet your soul shivers empty alone at the sound of your laughter, intense and contrived,
as you stifle the meaning of this Christmas day.

While a humble room a world away
sits dark and cold, yet strangely full--
A manger, a baby, God's love for His world,
has brought peace to those who remember.

Star Wars Crochet

2011-12-24T15:28:00.002-07:00

My oldest sister has always been a bundle of creativity and competency woven together. When my girls were little she made them a doll swing out of macrame. It hung in their bathroom and supported a doll that she had also made--a baby doll with four changeable, embroidered faces. On the shelf behind that sat a ceramic giraffe and a bunny rabbit with silver ears--crafted and painted by their amazing auntie. Somewhere in the attic, those toys are packed away--treasures from the past.

So it didn't really surprise me when my niece posted pictures today of the Christmas present my sister was currently crocheting to be enjoyed by the next generation--my great nephews: A Star Wars Collection!

Here are the droids: C3PO and R2D2.

And Yoda, the little green guy.

This is Obi-wan with a removable cloak.

Chewbacca the Wookie, Hans Solo, and a random Ewok.

Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. (It's easier to see her hair in the group picture.)

The evil Darth Vader with a storm trooper body guard poses midst the trilogies on the shelf.

Boba Fett is still on the spool, but it won't be long before she gets her crochet hooks into him and completes the set.

I don't know where she got the pattern for these, but I've had several people suggest she quit her day job and produce them full time. She's ready to move on to the next challenge--May I humbly suggest LOTR.

And here he is in all his green, orange and black.

Being Schnetka Sponsor

2011-12-22T06:00:00.003-07:00

There are a few ~~drawbacks~~ advantages to being senior sponsor, one of which is the experience of making and baking schnetka for the hoard of hungry citizens who somehow found out about our unique little Christmas desert and are too ~~lazy~~ unskilled to make it for themselves. The desert consists mainly of sugar, flour, butter, cream and cinnamon. It's like eating white fudge and cream pie, but better. Eat one of these little beauties and you can fill your calorie requirement for the whole day.

Some of our ~~highly addicted~~ more enterprising students have been known to buy an entire dozen of the little pastries, hide them in their lockers, and, through careful rationing, make them last an entire quarter, just eating a bite a day, which is enough to get them past ~~algebra~~ the 10 o'clock morning slump.

Every year our demand gets higher. This year we have made just over 200 dozen. It really takes a crew of six people to churn out more than fifty dozen in a morning, but if the assembly line moves just right, it's possible. Two weeks ago, under near perfect conditions, we managed to make 89 dozen in seven hours, and that was counting clean-up.

That highly successful operation was just enough to make me ~~foolish~~ optimistic about making schnetke for my own Christmas gifts this year. We have a church full of loving parishioners, and I thought, for once, I'd like to do something special for them.

Now it's a well-known fact that all of our church ladies can cook circles around me. Our pot-lucks are so famous we usually keep them secret or we'd end up with people from Minnesota and Mississippi in our fellowship hall. I usually bake a ham, because you really can't go wrong with that, and macaroni and cheese, because the kids will eat that, and I leave the fancy dishes and delectable deserts to those who really are competent chefs.
Even so, ~~more brave than bright,~~ I arose early in the morning, went up to the large church kitchen, made little stations as if I were going to have my normal assistants, and donned an apron.

After the first four batches, I called down to the house for help. Turtle came in, and I promptly sent him to the store for more flour. Claye came up to the kitchen, pinned her hair back and took over the job of rolling out the dough. I have to say I've never seen such beautifully rolled dough. (Compared to her normal medium, dough is easy, although she did complain a little about my wimpy little wooden roller)

Anyway, the day went well. By five o'clock, we had made three hundred schnetka without dropping or burning any. We did have a slight hitch, however. The pans I bought--all eight of them--were too shallow. Most people would have recognized that fact, after having baked 200 dozen, but I'm a study in obliviousness, and only became aware of the fact when both ovens began smoking. The gooey stuff was pouring over the edges of the pans and catching on fire at the bottom...schenetka flambe!

After that I started using cake pans and the gas oven. There were no more ~~disasters~~ problems. The fire department didn't ever catch on, and Turtle helped me scour the racks and gently ease out the charcoaled sugar. Today, I'm going to deliver the treats and go work on cleaning the ovens some more before the church ladies see them.

"So are you going to do this next year?" he asked, with all the cheery ~~tactlessness~~ innocence of a ~~bystander~~ late-coming, assistant. "because if you are, we need to buy the right pans."
"Nope. It always takes me a few years to forget the difficulties and tackle jobs like this again.
Next year, I'll bake cookies or something. After all, I now have 8 cookie sheet pans."

Here's a link to the recipe. I'm hoping if enough people learn to make their own schnetka, the job of senior sponsor will attract more volunteers.

Prepare a Place

2011-12-18T07:30:00.002-07:00

Harry Brioche Prepare a place,
a quiet place.
Shut out all the clamor,
Wait there, alone
He'll come

Moses built a heavy tent in the winds of howling wilderness.
Without was stench and the strident sound of a murmuring multitude;
Within, the smell of incense and the quiet voice of God,
And Joshua with a patient face...listening.

David turned a crumbling cave into his sanctuary.
So while a jealous murderer scoured the landscape with his armies, relentlessly pursuing a one-sided war,
The psalmist cheered his weary soul with hushed and solemn songs in that
Hidden, holy place.

Manasseh, evil monarch taken captive into Babylon,
surrounded by dank walls of shadowed stone
caged up to face his own great wickedness
met God, and the cell became a refuge
more sacred than his once-consuming throne.

The mighty Nebuchadnezzar
Grass-grazing like an ox
While his million subjects turned their faces...
From the lunacy that locked him all alone into a raving world apart
Alone, he met the king of Heaven,
under a silent, dewy, dawn...and then he knew.

It need not be the finest hall
Gilded, jeweled and fragrant.
Just a place...a quiet place
where you invite a quiet chat
with your creator.
If you prepare the room,

He will visit.

Mary prepared an humble, little bed
A place of peace
In the middle of a turbulent night.
And God Himself came quietly to fill it
Slipping into the world
From an open door in Heaven
To meet mankind

Prepare a place,
a quiet place; shut out all the clamor,
And wait there, all alone with an open heart
Just wait...He'll come

December Sunrise-Joy in the Morning

2011-12-01T11:14:00.005-07:00

I took these pictures on the way to work this morning, so, although I left the house early, I walked into our meeting just a teensy, weensy bit late.
I'm guessing the pictures are worth it.

I know this one looks like a lake, but it isn't. . . simply the roof of my car, Dusky

Thanks Thanks Thanks

2011-11-26T07:12:00.075-07:00

If our entire family gets together--that is, my parents, siblings, spouses, and descendants--we currently number thirty. This year we had twenty eight at the Thanksgiving celebration. That's a lot to be thankful for. Here are my parents with all the grandchildren, their spouses, and the five great grandchildren.

Here are two of the youngest generation, marveling over two of Grandpa's amazing pumpkins. His two vines produced at least a dozen of these. I asked him if all the pumpkins were this big and he said, "Well, no, but the bigger ones wouldn't fit into the trunk." My mom said, "Well there's the explanation of your shoulder problem, right there!"

This is the most anticipated table, of course, desserts that are normally forbidden for those of us on diets. Today was a free day. I overindulged until they were gone...and that includes a day of eating leftovers. Fortunately I had a little help, or I would have eaten myself into a sugar coma.

Here's my dad with Mim and Seansy.

Cousins

Are you beginning to see a common theme here?

Well, there were other people here, of course, and other food besides dessert. Really good food, actually-- turkey, ham, dressing, gravy, veggies, potatoes, yams, corn, beans, snacky stuff, well...all the normal foods we enjoy.

Still, this was the most popular table, I'd say.

These are Hazel's delectable cream puffs, and a little corner of the most delicious chocolate cake in the world. I should know. I didn't let a crumb be wasted.

And here are a few random shots I threw in to make people say, "Oh why did you have to put that one in for everyone to see?"

I guess I can do that because I sure didn't take any pictures of myself.

When I look at this picture my heart overflows with gratitude.
These generations that flank my own--they are such a blessing to me.
Words aren't enough. I could cut and paste thanks for a year, and not express it.
Thanks, God. Thanks. Thanks. Thanks.

John the Baptist with Feet of Clay

2011-11-19T20:34:00.000-07:00

For the last few Sundays during children's church, we've been modeling the story after I tell it. Each child gets a different color play-doh, and an assignment. The first Sunday we built Jerusalem surrounded by armies. This Sunday was John the Baptist with followers lined up to be baptized. No, I know there aren't supposed to be towers around the Jordan River. Just call them rock formations. When you have little boys in the picture, there always seem to be weapons popping up.
If you look closely at the bottom one you will see snakes lined up behind the believers. Those are Pharisees--fleeing from the wrath to come.

On a more serious note, three of our church children are getting baptized this Sunday. They've had long talks with parents, grandparents, and the church board of elders, and are excited to be taking this step of faith. I'm excited too. The water is a little clearer than the Jordan, and, as far as I know, there won't be any snakes attending.

Under a Lid

2011-11-15T18:10:00.003-07:00

These are the kinds of clouds that hung over us all morning yesterday They don't have any rain in them, but the moisture they do have might be keeping the rain we got last week from evaporating. So we consider them friendly clouds. See that little line right along the horizon? That's the real sky, trying to shine in under the door, so to speak.

By yesterday evening they had lifted a little, but still hovered over the land. These twisted trees didn't seem to mind. At least it wasn't wind or searing sun or ice. Just a thick, white cushion--quiet...still...peaceful...

It looks so peaceful.

It's hard to believe that Monday evening, one week ago, we had a tornado warning, (one was sighted in our area and several more southeast of us) a torrential downpour, (five and a half inches of rain in a few hours when we've only had six inches in the last twelve months) flooded streets (they actually had to block traffic on our street for a few hours), lightning (and its accompanying thunder), hail (pelting fiercely down to bounce off the drought-stressed lawn), high winds (up to 90 mile an hour gusts in some places), and an earthquake (seriously, in Oklahoma, a 4.7) just as we were going to bed. We didn't know whether to seek the highest or lowest shelter; whether to run out of doors to escape the earthquake threat or stay under a roof to protect ourselves from the lightning. My sister-in-law suggested that, like the prophet Elijah, we should be listening for the still, small voice.

What I'm Sure Would Have Been an Amazing Picture if I had been Standing On a Hill

2011-11-15T17:44:00.001-07:00

This morning I woke up to this scene in my backyard. It looks ominous, but, since I didn't smell any smoke, I knew that it was only the sun's reflection against a voluminous cloud ceiling. If I had been as fast as any one of the superheroes in a b movie, I would have been able to regale you with pictures taken far away from the backside of a shed, with skies free of telephone line tangles. Alas. Being a mere human, I did my best. I ran to the front yard, jumped into my car...and the flaming sky was already gone. Thus I am able to offer only these peephole glimpses of what I was sure would have been a rare-coral November sky.

11/11/11/11/11/111

2011-11-11T11:54:00.002-07:00

At 11:11 this morning, our superintendent announced over the intercom that we would take a moment out of our day to pray for veterans on their special day. Since it was November 11th, in 2011, and we are now entering our 111th year of existence as a school, it seemed a special occasion.

(I knew there must have been some reason for me to have taken pictures of the sun, moon, and cows on the way to school this morning!)

All for a Few Good Pictures

2011-11-09T15:48:00.006-07:00

Over the course of my life I have been asked to take a number of examinations to prove that I'm a sentient being, and I passed them all. In fact, the tests have universally agreed that I'm not overly deficient in intelligence and am capable of making rational decisions.

Unfortunately, you can't always tell that by my actions. Yesterday was a case in point.

Although I had left school later than usual, and I knew that I needed to arrive home in time to run an errand or two before I had to dress up and come back to school to host a table for our annual school-supporters' banquet, I saw the clouds...and the sun...and the sun on the clouds..and the fields luxuriating under the new-fallen rain.

Because we've been in a long, pitiless drought,
I wanted to see water. I plead that I was bewildered by welcome sights: blue streams curving around green terraces, tree feet wading in puddles, heavy clouds soft-shielding the sun.
I turned south and followed the country roads where pictures beckoned from every side.
Sounds rational, doesn't it?

It wasn't really.
I had forgotten one little item.
Dirt roads covered by six inches of rain and left to sit overnight turn into mud.

Need I say that it was a long ride home? Need I explain that gravel roads make unusual furrows under the onslaught of flood run-off? Need I describe the blank stare of unconcerned cattle or the color of the mud that now coats the bottom third of my vehicle? I'll spare you.

The fact is, I made it home, finished my errands, arrived at the banquet on time, and nobody knows about my lapse of sanity...well, except you. You know now. And the cows. They know.

Fall in Missouri

2011-11-05T15:14:00.001-06:00

A Trunk Full of Fun

2011-11-05T08:36:00.002-06:00

Many years ago, when my children were young and sometimes bored on rainy Saturdays, an elderly lady in our church gave them a little suitcase full of old hats, ties, scarves, and jewels. It was an old suitcase, much repaired and spray painted a dull brown, but it served its purpose and more, making an appearance twice a year during junior high and high school dress-up days, and occasionally even being used as a play prop.

This fall, I decided that the time had come to pass it on to the next generation. When I dragged it from the attic, I realized that the 115 degree temperatures and dry conditions we had this summer had taken their toll. It was in need of glue, lots of glue, and paint--preferably gold and sparkly. So I painted. Claye and I searched for the smallest costumes, and we took it to Missouri, stuffed and sturdy.

When we arrived, it was two days before Halloween. Zaya and Mim weren't going trick-or treating, but they had a little party to attend, and had already planned costumes for that. Zaya was going as a black hole. His mom had painted a black sweatshirt with "glow in the dark" planets, the USS Enterprise, a Looney Tunes rocket, the death star, and some Ty fighters all being drawn into the swirling center of Zaya's stomach. He donned black hat, pants, shoes, and gloves and went around saying "Fear Me!". Occasionally he would grab something or someone and say "Schluck" as he pulled them toward the void.

Mim went as the more traditional Princess--Princess Leia, in keeping with the space theme. She suffered from wig-itchiness, though, and wasn't quite as brave as the real Princess would have been...well, maybe not. Star Wars never had itchy wig adversaries. Maybe she would have caved too, especially since her father wouldn't have helped by putting mole-skin on her ears and cheering her tears away.

The next morning we opened the trunk again, and the grandkids played "Newsies".

Zaya ran around yelling, "Pape, Mum, buy a pape?" and Mim played two roles: the office supplier and money collector, and the wealthy client who not only bought a pape, but adopted the poor little paper boy and took him into her home...

where she entertained him by being a royal jester.

Hours of fun in a little suitcase.

Little Women-the Play

2011-11-04T16:32:00.001-06:00

Our senior class is performing Little Women tomorrow night. Somehow it fit the size of the class, and just seemed like the right one to do.

It's good to be reminded of that time, not so terribly long ago, when America was going through different struggles than the ones we face today. Civil war. Poverty. Sickness. No antibiotics. Wood fires. Oil lamps. All so different. But the people are still the same. Some complain. Others accept. Some rage and others sing. There is a peace in knowing the values that remain for all times, in understanding comfort from the same hand of God.

Japanese Dish Soap

2011-10-22T07:49:00.002-06:00

I'll put the moral first this time: Don't try two strange new products at the same time.

Especially if one is supposed to be edible and the other isn't.
I don't know how my new, flowery-scented Gain dish detergent got into the vegetable pan on the counter. I do know that it is nearly invisible, and that it didn't catch my attention at all as I added the bag of new "Japanese" vegetables and turned on the heat.
"What's that smell?" asked Claye, as she came in and began to ice the glasses.
"Japanese vegetables. I think they must have some kind of crop over there that we don't eat here," I replied, "Still, Asian food is supposed to be healthier so I suppose it can't hurt."

She looked at the package. "Hmm. There's nothing Asian about these vegetables. There all American."
I was a little defensive. After all, I was the cook here. "I'm sure they've put some kind of flowery spice in them. Don't Asians use flowers to scent their food?"

She was hesitant, "Well yes."
"Ok. We'll try it."
So we served it along with lunch.

I ate one bite and dumped the rest down the disposal. Too bad if I'm not open to foreign foods.
Claye ate a little more, not because she is of an accepting nature, but she was willing to make an exception for Japanese cuisine, because she likes Japanese art and music.

Turtle ate all of his, because he is the man of the house and has to be the leader in courageous acts, and because he "actually enjoys trying new foods of all cultures".

Still, we kept talking about it, puzzling over the strange tastes of other peoples. Then we read the label on the vegetable package and found nothing unusual--no "other spices", not even "foreign flavorings".

It was then, that my brain finally started working properly and I grabbed up the new bottle of detergent.
Sure enough. Same pungent smell. Flowery. Soapy.
I think even the Japanese would have spit it out!

I Can't Think of Anything but Chicken Fried Steak

2011-10-18T13:13:00.003-06:00

Why?
Well because the cafeteria served it for lunch today--the real deal, not some pre-fried soy substitute. I'm sure they had all the trimmings as well--mashed potatoes, cream gravy and a vegetable and maybe even dessert. Normally I can ignore lunch, hide out in my room and eat a package of tuna or a teaspoon of peanut butter substitute. Normally, it's easy to stay on my diet. Today they chicken fried that steak. Its aroma filled the halls. Its aroma still fills the halls. I'm hungry. Next hour the lesson is about Jonah and that large fish. I hate fish. Why didn't the prophets use a chicken fried steak example? On second thought, why didn't I say: "Oh forget the diet!" and go eat chicken-fried steak?

Pumpkin Festival in a Small Oklahoma Town

2011-10-17T14:55:00.001-06:00

I just put in a very full Saturday at the Pumpkin Festival listening to the incessant chirruping of these maddening little creatures, since their stand was next to ours. As senior sponsor, I supervised a booth dedicated to the sale of schenetka and pumpkin rolls. That is to say, I helped set up, then spent most of my time running errands until time to take the booths down and clean up.

We sold over seventy dozen schenetka and I have no idea how many pumpkin rolls. Everybody seemed to have lots of mad money to spend.

They bought food and souvenirs--even totally useless ones like little bags of red Oklahoma dirt, which was sold by the chamber of commerce for a dollar, rendering a great return. (Because of the drought, dirt is more abundant than ever this year, and tiny snack bags don't cost much.)

Claye was asked to run a demonstrator booth, showing people how to spin pots and letting them try it. This was a good idea for her, as well, because she needs students, and this was a way to advertise. Turtle was there to field questions from parents, while the children enjoyed playing in the clay.

One little girl was particularly interested. She seemed oblivious to the crowds around, relishing the feel of the clay beneath her hands with a kind of intense blissfulness.

All morning, strange people strode fearlessly about the courthouse square. Everybody seemed to be sporting something unique--face paint, ponytails, pet dogs awaiting the dog show, children dressed for the parade, or even unusual tattoos.

Of course there was a parade, hailed by the mighty sirens of two firetrucks and a police car. Important people in the community were given a ride aloft, from whence they could hurl candy to their proud fans. There seemed to have been no entry requirements. The high school band marched proudly, trying to drown out the "righteous riders" a motorcycle "gang" who laughed as they reved rebellious-sounding engines; parents carried children in costumes, people walked their dogs proudly by like floats--full of fluff and bark.
There were old cars, decorated wagons, unicycles and even a tractor or two. Yes, that's Fred driving this beautiful John Deere green one.

There's nothing quite like proud sounding trumpets on a clear, cool morning.

And it's a good thing this horse didn't come by until later, because those trumpeters would not have been able to watch their steps.

Even the town mayor participated, singing for a couple of hours-- country songs, newly-composed ballads, and old hippie songs revived and sung with completely intelligible lyrics.

It was a kid-friendly place. Lots of them rode the barrel train or threw frisbees out on the courthouse lawn.

And there were toys for older folks too...old cars they remembered driving, way back when cars were a new invention. There was a stunt-driver, who drove his four-wheeler up a ramp and did stunts in the air, high above the cheering crowds.

My own students did an especially fine job, selling the schenetka and representing our school with smiles and lots of lively conversation with customers. I didn't have to sit and supervise--a job I loathe--but was able to dash madly too and fro like an uncharacteristically substantial humming bird who flits more than she flutters.

I saw several children of former students. Here's Sunshine and Stormy who have switched characters since I last wrote about them. Sunshine refused to give me a hug, so Stormy gave me two.

As the day wore on, I saw many revelers growing quiet and seeking quiet bubbles amid the crowd.

This little girl waved at me from her elegant perch on the courthouse porch.

The weather was perfect, the atmosphere benign and peaceful, but I'm exhausted and still recovering from the raucously continuous chirruping of those perky little parakeets.

Serendipitous Day

2011-10-12T09:49:00.001-06:00

What a glorious surprise to arrive at school today and discover that I hadn't been assigned to help with the achievement tests as usual. Did someone slip up and overlook me? Is there some larger than normal project I should be doing at this time? I don't know. It's a wonderful feeling to have four hours off and, even better yet, my own classroom to myself. I've taken a walk out to the football complex to retrieve some shirts for the office, graded papers, cleaned my room and washed my desk.
Do you ever get the feeling that life is just too grand? That surely this much blessing must be a precursor to ominous news? Sometimes I feel like that--that surely happiness is undeserved and I'll be paying for it later. But for now? Well, for now, I'm loving it!

Nestled in a Fog Nest

2011-10-11T16:12:00.001-06:00

It's a good thing I left a little early to drive to work today. Otherwise I would never have been able to justify the "stopping to take a picture" thing...or maybe I would have. The world has been lovely since our real rain on Saturday. According to the weather channel we got less than an inch, but it sure felt like more. Cool temperatures, fog, orange mornings! What more could anyone desire?

The town where I teach school lies past this little valley, on a bit of a rise that is lower than the surrounding hills. The fog likes to fill the valley, sometimes even obscuring the grain elevator that peeks over it on most mornings.

Technology Changes So Many Things

2011-10-04T11:52:00.002-06:00

Years ago, when my students wanted to save their chess games because the bell was about to ring, they hastily scribbled a grid on a sheet of notebook paper and saved it in a tray on my desk. When I figured out how to make a grid on my computer (something that took me a few years longer than it should have) I ran off copies for them to use, and we attached them to a file cabinet with a magnet until the next time they had a few free minutes to resume the game. This year, that changed again.

When the bell rang, one of the students just asked me to take a picture and save it on the desktop of my computer labeled with the date and their names.
Life just keeps getting easier...well, for the students anyway.

So I was just thinking what that would have cost me had I taken a picture to save games just ten years ago when I was still driving twelve miles to Motofoto and paying eight dollars a roll to have pictures developed, then around five dollars for a new roll of film? Or how long would it have taken if I had dropped the roll of film into my local department store and had it mailed away? Assuming the students saved their game twice before they finished--a possibility not too unlikely since they usually play during the last five minutes of class--it could have taken them three to four weeks to finish a game if they waited on pictures. And it would have cost a fortune. I love my digital camera.

There is a drawback, however, to all this technology. Whatever will we do if the electricity goes out? We'll have to learn how to hold a pencil.

From Whence These Right-brained Souls?

2011-10-01T17:05:00.001-06:00

Help! I'm now living in a house with two artists!
First Claye slowly turned into a sculptor; now Turtle has suddenly blossomed into a sketcher.
We should call him Grandpa Moses, I think, because when he gets into a hobby, he seriously gets into it, though there be any number of Red Seas before him. Turtle started taking lessons from Claye, who agreed to give him some pointers, although drawing isn't really her forte. Then he bought books on the subject and has now filled the den with every perfect shade and texture of pencil and every size of drawing notebook

Whenever he has to sit and wait--and that's not uncommon for a pastor who makes hospital calls--he draws portraits of the people sitting around him, and while he is sitting at conventions or in airports, he sketches the nearby buildings.

The good thing about it is that he is helping to illustrate my lesson plans for the Wednesday night children's program; The bad thing is...well...I kind of wish I could paint or something or maybe play the piano or the cello or write legibly...yes that would be a good start. I'll work on that.

Anyway, to give you some idea of what this is all like: I came home from work a couple of days ago and found this shopping list on my fridge:

A Few More Pictures from my Classroom

2011-10-01T05:45:00.010-06:00

Another Exciting Homecoming Week

2011-09-30T17:04:00.005-06:00

Something special about our school is the degree of student participation in almost everything---even crazy dress up days before homecoming. This week we had: royalty Day, fake injury day, highlighter day, movie character day, and of course our normal Friday blue and white day.

On Monday, we were inspired to be in the presence of such important monarchs as Queen Elizabeth, Queen Katherine, and...Hannah Montana? What's she doing here?

This little girl is the Queen Bee.

On Tuesday, injury day, it was difficult to get around in the halls for all the wheelchairs and casts and braces. I wore a bit of bandage tape on my face, but other than that, dressed in ordinary clothes. There was enough fake bleeding to make the place look like a triage tent and I felt some of us needed to be whole enough to care for the injured.

Wednesday, highlighter day, we had one hundred percent participation...thanks to neon duct tape. It was a wild, shiny day.

It was also "See you at the Pole" Day so we rather lit up the street as well.

Yesterday, movie characters were running around everywhere.

I was Gladys Aylward from the Inn of the Sixth Happiness, the science teacher was Ben Stein, from the movie Expelled, and there were students from every genre around...well every genre that didn't stretch the dress code too far.

Our winners on Thursday were from Veggie Tales: Bob and Larry. They played their instruments and sang in the halls between every class.

Today is blue and white day. The posters will be judged. Homecoming will happen this evening out at the football field...and I'll be running around trying to fit the last of the t-shirt orders with those who ordered...but didn't get them delivered yet. Wish me a blue and white day!

Is That Scary Enough?

2011-09-23T15:40:00.003-06:00

My daughter told me today that she is having trouble deciding how to make a Halloween costume for Zaya. He is determined to be something scary this year, but doesn't want any of the costumes they sell in stores, preferring to come up with his own ideas.

The first one was an ebola virus. Carina told him that was simply too scary and would stun anyone who answered their door.

So he thought a while longer and came up with another: A shigella bacteria. She told him that would just be too hard to explain without using the word diarrhea and might put people off, so why couldn't he choose something that wasn't disease causing?

He thought about it and said he'd be a black hole in space. She explained that, while the idea was creative without being repulsive, she didn't think she could make a costume out of negative space, so couldn't he think of something scary that was humanoid enough to fit a boy.

He did. Now he wants to be an IRS auditor. I voted for that one. He'll have to do some explaining, I know, but at least the costume will be easy.

A Barking Beast

2011-09-20T18:31:00.001-06:00

Since the weather is mild, I've no longer any excuses to keep me from walking in the evenings, so I decided to take up, once again, my almost abandoned habit of meandering through the streets. Ostensibly, my goal is to lower my weight and blood pressure; however, since those two are doing well, the only goal really left is to fight flab, which, I suspect, is going to be a losing battle, but who said I was a realist?

Anyway, on my swift and steady rounds this evening, I was suddenly challenged by this little beast, who barreled out into the street and blocked my way with blustering barks and guttural growls. Two little girls standing in their yard nearby approached quietly to reassure me. The oldest spoke:

"She won't hurtcha. She's nice."
"I can see that," I lied bravely.
"She's really a sweet doggie."
"She looks sweet," I lied again, "What's her name?"

The little girl smiled as she replied, "Killer."

Phone Conversation with a Seven-year-old.

2011-09-19T18:23:00.002-06:00

My daughter doesn't have internet yet, so she hasn't been posting. Fearing that a vital part of her children's adventures would go unrecorded, I made the sacrifice and decided to write about my grandkids whenever I got the chance.
So, I visited with my grandson on the phone this morning. Here's an excerpt from our conversation:

Zaya: "Grandma, we just watched episode four and five of the Star Wars Series."
Me: "Is that the one where the Empire Strikes Back?"
Zaya: "Yes. It's the older ones."
Me: "Well, if you're going to watch the next one, remember that the first part, where Jabba the Hutt has all those monsters, is gross, but it gets better after that. I'm sure glad I'm not living like that, roaming around the sky exploding planets.
Zaya: Why not? That would be cool?
Me: That depends on whether you are the exploder or the explodee.
Zaya: (laughing) Oh, right. I really just meant the traveling part.
Me: Yeah that's a lot better than all the fighting part. It's not as gross as some parts of Lord of the Rings though."
Zaya: "Well, you know why that is, Grandma. Star Wars is set in the future and they use lasers; there isn't blood, but Lord of the Rings is set in the past and they use swords."
Me: "You're right, still, it's pretty violent, so it will probably be a while before you watch that one. So, how are you liking home-schooling?
Zaya: "Just fine."
Me: "Just what are you studying this year?"
Zaya: "Oh you know, math, spelling, history, science, English, Greek--just the normal second grade stuff."
Me: "Um-huh."

(I didn't want to spoil it by telling him.)

The Rain is Raining All Around...Hallelujah.

2011-09-15T11:24:00.003-06:00

Finally, it's raining.
Maybe the trees will survive. Maybe the grass will thrive--
At least for a few short weeks
Until winter lulls it into a sighing slumber
I've been watching the steady drops as they plonked polkadots onto the brown driveway
Such a wonderful, prayed-for and hoped-for, gray, dreary day!
My students gaze out the window
Almost reverently
At the rain.

There Was a Glorious Sunrise

2011-09-08T11:39:00.048-06:00

As I drove to work today, past this newly-built church, I began to reflect:

For twenty five years this property sat here empty on the far northeast corner of town. For twenty five years it sported a large sign announcing the building of a "future church home". Finally, this year, they built it--a new building--put the finishing touches on it, and set up all the furniture for their opening dedication. That night--a week ago-- the pastor looked around and pronounced it good. He then went home and died quietly in his sleep. Yesterday, I asked a little girl who had come to our Wednesday night children's program if she had attended Sunday School this week at her church. She said: "I can't go to my church because my pastor died."

He was, I'm sure, the only pastor she has ever known, a dedicated man who has spent over twenty five years serving his church, loving his people, being a friend and adviser to all the other pastors in the ministerial alliance, my husband included. He would have been the first to smile at that little girl and correct her: the pastor is not the church; the building is not the church. The church is a group of people who gather to worship God, regardless of the circumstances, and if their shepherd were here to console his grieving flock, he would remind them that as sure as the sun sets over the town, it will rise again in the morning ...and so will he.

Missouri Welcome

2011-09-06T17:51:00.001-06:00

Today I was remembering a conversation my two grandchildren and I had with an elderly gentleman we met while we were walking up and down the block in their new home state--Missouri. I'll try to quote it:

Gentleman: (standing in the driveway of his house, the one in this picture)
Good Afternoon.
We three: Good afternoon.
Zaya: Excuse me, Is this your house?
Gent: Yes, it is.
Zaya: It is a beauuutiful house! My grandma even took a picture of it when we passed by earlier.
Gent: Why thank you. We've lived in it for 42 years.
Mim: We just moved here from Oklahoma.
Gent: Oklahoma? So are you a Sooner or a Cowboy?
Zaya: Well, I can't be a cowboy, because I'm allergic to horses. (smiles) Actually, I'm a science fan.
Gent: A science fan?
Zaya: Yes, but I'm allergic to most animals so I'm going to be a biological chemist.
Mim: He's allergic to anything that has hair, even to my hamster Goki.
Zaya: I had a Tokay Gecko because he was a reptile, but we had to feed him live crickets and that was a real problem.
Gent: I imagine it was.
Zaya: Do you know what you have in Missouri? You have cardinals.
Gent: (All excited) Yes we do! How about them Saint Louis Cardinals!
Zaya: Well the male is all red and the female has a brown head and reddish beak.
Gent: (smiling) Oh! You mean the birds!

Grandma Lilibeth:(explaining) Yes, their new back yard is full of birds, and they're not used to seeing so many out in Western Oklahoma.
Mim: Yes, we see them on our deck and also hummingbirds and a spotted woodpecker.
Zaya: And some bird that we don't recognize that eats the ants off the hummingbird feeder.
Gent: Well welcome to Missouri! I think you'll like it here.

And I think they will. Their back yard is just perfect for a couple of young biological chemists.

Family Reunion

2011-09-04T18:22:00.005-06:00

We took a mini-vacation on Saturday and drove down to Turner Falls for a family reunion. It had been way too many years since we had been together as a family. Ever since grandma, then grandpa died, we have all lived our separate lives in lots of states, staying connected through the grape vine and not always remembering or knowing what each other was going through.

Since Grandma and Grandpa had seven children and twenty four grandchildren, that was a lot of not knowing and not recognizing faces to go with names and not praying for each other during hard times simply because we didn't find out about those times until they were long past.

Facebook changed all that. We, the "not so young but young enough to appreciate social networks" group began to friend each other online. We reminded each other of where we lived and what we did and how many kids we had and what had become of us. Invariably, we began to talk about old times--noisy dinners around little tables, drinking out of tall Tupperware glasses with spill-proof spouts on top, snitching bits of left-over dough cream pies, and playing kick the can out under the cherry tree. We remembered...and we decided we missed each other.

Then came a crisis. One of our cousins was diagnosed with ALS. His sister and his father started calling for a reunion. At times like this family needs family.

We agreed. So my cousin's sister Tonya, and my Uncle Dale began to look for a place that was centrally located, where we could rent a building for a couple of days and nights.

She found one in South Central Oklahoma, and when my uncle went up to investigate it, he was amazed to discover that it was owned by another branch of our family. The owner's great grandfather was our great grandfather's brother. How ironic is that?

So we all arrived, exclaiming at each old face and being introduced to the new ones...some of which looked just like the old ones, but from the past not the present. You get it.

The genealogists among us were in the Land of Delight--right next to Heaven, that is, having a better acquaintance than the rest of us with the long line who have already passed over.

There were old pictures there; some we had never seen, although we were in them. Others were pictures of our parents and aunts and uncles doing things like fishing and climbing trees back when they were humans instead of adults. They wore hats and funny shoes and chuckled as they told us why they were smiling and who it was who was holding their hand.

Cameras flashed, tired children napped, scanners and laptops hummed unceasingly copying old documents and pictures to share with everyone.

First cousins-once-removed discussed migraines and how to tell when they are coming so you can stop them before they slow you down.

Brothers caught up on the latest in the real estate market and the price of a good herd of cattle.

I almost got a video of this group playing football in the house, but they must have seen an authority figure approaching and hidden the ball...or maybe they thought I was an authority figure. Rats. I keep forgetting how old I am.

And compared to these two--my niece and nephew-in-law--I'm quite old, but compared to 98 year old Great Aunt Ida, who's catching up on events in the life of her young nephew, my Uncle Henry, I'm almost as young as I feel.

There were Sooner shirts, Cowboy shirts, and even a rogue Bullrider shirt--worn as an antidote to all that Texas and Oklahoma fan mania.

There was an abundance of good food... and a constant chatter of background voices.

We decided that this is something we should do more often...in a couple of years for sure. No, we don't agree on everything. No we aren't a perfect family. But we still need each other and don't want to forget that.

Sunset in the Smoke

2011-09-02T08:42:00.003-06:00

Stepping outside, I smelled smoke from far away fires as it spiraled upward to join the dusts of our heat dome dragon--the one that has poised over the prairie for a hundred days, scorching us with its torrid breath. Dingy, brown smoke-- Low to the ground, it came sliding over the acres of dead dry grass, rising again, but just enough to make the sun blur at the edges.

Webb City

2011-08-27T06:38:00.000-06:00

For three years of my life I lived in Webb City, Missouri, a little town north of Joplin. We moved there in the fall, just before my eighth-grade year of school, so my father could teach in a small Bible school, and we stayed for a year in an old house that served as the administrative headquarters of the school, the kitchen and dining room, and the girls' dorm.

There were only four girls dorm students that year so they all stayed in the attic. Our family lived on the second floor. My three sisters and I all stayed in the large master bedroom, Dad and Mom had the corner room with the phone. Dad's office was in a third bedroom; there were two guest rooms, and one large bathroom with a claw-footed tub and marbled walls.

We simply loved Missouri, and the house was amazing with elaborate features--stained glass, chandeliers, old pictures with gilt frames, niches for statues, and a laundry chute that led from the second floor. past the kitchen to the basement. (We used to wad the kitchen towels after we finished drying dishes and throw them hard enough to open the hinged chute door on their own.) There was an intercom system from the kitchen to the master bedroom and to the attic.

Since the house was almost a hundred years old, the intercom didn't use electricity, just hollow pipes with a hinged lid that had a tiny hole in it. If you blew into the pipe in the kitchen, it would whistle at the other end. Someone--either the master of the house or a servant in the attic depending on which pipe you had opened--would answer. Magic. In the full basement there was a "print" shop where the school paper was folded, stapled, and assembled for mailing, a laundry room, boiler room taken up by a large boiler which heated the water and pumped it up to radiators scattered throughout the house, pantry, and a ping-pong table room--frequented by the students in their free time after supper or lunch.

After a year in that house, we moved a block away and into our own house, a two-story frame affair that had been a boarding house and had an old stove in every bedroom. For two years we worked on it, tearing out old plaster walls and lath, and replacing them with sheet rock, turning a downstairs porch into a bathroom and a laundry room, texturing, painting, paneling and roofing.
It was grand. For the first time in our lives we had room. With four bedrooms upstairs we each had our own space. Downstairs was room for a living room, den, master bedroom and nursery for our baby brother and sister who were both born in Missouri, which we had come to love. The house was located near this ancient church, and the blocks all around were filled with old homes.

In Missouri you could ride a bike--all over town, without an adult tagging along. You could walk around the block to the library and check out a dozen books in English. I discovered Erle Stanley Gardiner, Agatha Christie, Mary Stewart, and Victoria Holt.
After school you could walk a few blocks home, stopping at the little grocery store along the way and buying two large sweet tarts for a dime. In the fall there were trees in glorious colors I had never witnessed--having spent my younger years in the tropics. In the spring there was something--I never knew what--in the air. I remember standing at the window of my third-story chemistry class breathing the fresh, outside air, and wanting to leave the building and wander the streets all day just to be out in it.

Sadly, our citizenship in that little town came to an abrupt end. The school moved to Houston, Texas, a muggy megapolis full of complicated freeways. They sold our house for four thousand dollars, and the school for twenty. I left the streets full of lovely old homes with shaded yards, and moved into a tiny, rented house on a flat street with empty lots full of fire ants and air that smelled like the hold of a fishing ship.

After thirty years I persuaded Turtle to make a detour on a trip so we could go look at Webb City again. It was depressing. Most of the old homes had fallen into disrepair and that little town had a hopeless, grungy, neglected feel. The house we had remodeled was gone; there were weeds and garbage on the empty lot where it had stood and the boarded windows of an old warehouse loomed in ugliness over it all. Still, I showed him the library, which was still standing, and the high school which wasn't, and we drove away in sad silence.

Then, when I was in Missouri this August, I decided to visit Webb City again, parked on main street and wandered around. Things looked brighter.

The little cafe where I ate breakfast was lively with customers and scurrying waitresses who were talking about opening a branch business. Main street was clean. Everywhere I walked I saw old houses being repaired--scaffolding and paint.

The big brick house on Pennsylvania street was still there, bigger than ever and loaded with air-conditioners in every window. (Even though it wasn't labeled as such, I suspected that it was serving as some kind of boarding house.) It was interesting, that in this economy things would be looking up.

It wasn't until later, when I drove out of town and straight onto Joplin's Range Line road that the explanation hit me: Joplin had been struck by a huge tornado this year; they lost over a hundred lives and hundreds of homes. I'm sure people who had no place to go moved into the little, neglected town five miles away and began to restore the houses. Out of tragedy came order, beauty and the new life that's caused by people willing to sigh, pick up a broom and a hammer, and try again.

Morning on the Prairie

2011-08-23T17:01:00.001-06:00

I got a couple of hours off from classes this morning because the history teacher had taken my students to watch a town hall meeting and see their state representative in action; it gave me a chance to go have the oil changed on my car before it disowned me. Anyway. I really can't go anywhere without taking a picture or two. Here's a sunrise from the drive into town and the windmills from the trip back. The tree--well, I really can't resist a tree that's brave enough to try to grow out here in this drought.

And, lest you think those clouds mean we got a break from the weather, I sadly report that we got no rain...and my car thermometer was at 110 when I left school this afternoon. I know that's hard to believe. Blue clouds mean cool weather. Right?

My fifty dollar tomato

2011-08-22T05:08:00.000-06:00

Back in May, when I was still hopeful, I planted a few tomato plants up against the back of the house in didrect east sunlight. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the shock of seeing tomatoes at the grocery store--big, juicy round red ones--for a dollar and ninety-nine cents. I'm sure I thought, "I could buy a whole plant for that." In fact, I'll buy a half dozen plants and make the investment. So I did.
They wouldn't have lasted a week, however, without constant watering. In fact some of them did wither and die while my back was turned, but most of them survived. Here's the fruit of my constant labor...by the time you count the increase in my water bill, I'm estimating that this two inch tomato cost me fifty dollars. I sure hope it tastes good.

Summer Slump

2011-08-21T15:54:00.002-06:00

True. True. I haven't been writing much lately and I have a few excuses ready:

One, school started and I have new curriculum in my CS IV class. That means I have to stay ahead of the students, watch every video and read every new article very carefully so I can help them understand it. Since this is my philosophy course, and rather complicated, it takes me a while.

Two, my daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren moved to Missouri, so I went to visit them the week before school started. I walked around a lot, enjoying the creeks and the parks. Nobody seems to be allergic to poison ivy but me. It's been two weeks now since I returned. The medicine seems to be wearing off now and I'm not as incredibly sleepy as I was for a while.

Three, friends of ours from Colorado brought us their son. He is staying in the dorm during the week and with us on weekends. We've been catching up on everything that has happened in each others' lives for the past twelve years via e-mail, phone, and facebook.

Four, our Wednesday night staff at the church unanimously decided to abandon our children's program because of what we perceived as a growing commercialism and softening of the program. We are now writing our own curriculum. That means motto, emblem, song, awards, and selection of lessons for the year. It has all fallen into place beautifully, but not without some time input.

Five, with my grandchildren gone I don't get that daily input of cute sayings and doings to report.

Six, with temperatures over one hundred, I don't get lovely pictures on my morning walks...in fact I don't even get morning walks very often.

Oh well, enough excuses. Tomorrow I'm going to write a real blog post...pictures and all...you'll see. Now for a little nap before church tonight...

There Are Two Ways to Look at Things

2011-08-13T11:41:00.002-06:00

Last week the little Ford Ranger began to die. Oh it wasn't really surprising. We've known for sometime that its arthritis was masking some deeper systemic problems and that the motor needed a triple bypass, but a transplant was out of the question? Yes, we knew that sooner or later, we'd have to break down and buy another vehicle. But the pick-up was paid for. That's huge. That means liability insurance only, and even being able to use garage space for projects instead of parking both vehicles under the shelter of the roof. Unfortunately, it also means trips to the City, wondering if the road beneath you is going to shake your fillings out. Anyway. Last week the pickup had to be put into the shop while Turtle was at a convention in Norman. After he paid for new tie-rods and other wheel/frame/drum related issues, the engine began to shut down at inconvenient spots on the interstate. We had held on long enough.

When he got home, Turtle started looking for another vehicle. True, the Ranger still runs, and we can use it for hauling trash to the dump or old boats to the dock, but taking parishioners to the hospital, or other ministers to sectional meetings requires a more reliable transportation mode. In short, he found a car. It's not a new car, but it doesn't have too many miles on it to be reliable, and, more importantly, it won't have really large payments. Our bank looked up our credit record and discovered that my car has only one more payment before it's paid off completely.

My first reaction was,
"Oh great. Just get one car paid off and immediately begin payments on another." Then I thought about it again and adjusted my attitude. It would have been too much to be making two car payments every month, so God saw that the old pick-up lasted, and Turtle was patient enough to wait until my car was completely paid off. That's worth celebrating.

So I'm feeling pretty good.

Nothing Ever Happens in our Little Town...Except For the Occasional Drive-by Shooting

2011-07-30T15:30:00.006-06:00

Yes, those are bullet holes, 38's by the look of them, and they shattered a glass door and a window before embedding themselves in the art gallery wall. When Claye got to work Tuesday morning, her boss--the mayor--and a policeman were surveying the scene of the crime, figuring trajectories and counting bullet holes. All together there were four. One was deflected by a strip of metal outside, two were embedded in this wall and door frame, and one passed through the open doorway in this picture and expended its last energy on the closet frame of the pottery wheel room beyond.

Cameron's boss made up a glamorous story about a long, black limousine, surreptitiously-lowered glass, and mysterious guns blazing at the two of them while they bravely dodged bullets in the gallery, protecting the priceless artwork. (Well, we don't get a lot of excitement around here, so you have to use what you have at hand.)

The truth is probably more prosaic:

Since the shots were fired in the middle of the night, nobody was really trying to kill anyone.

Since they ignored the eight large plate glass windows and shot a smaller, easily-replaceable door, they were not trying to bankrupt the business, nor carry out a political vendetta (not saying that hasn't been done around here recently in nasty city council maneuvers but that's beside the point ).

Since the shots were fired from about the height of a pick-up truck bed, and grouped into a limited area, the shooter was probably targeting a small object.

Therefore, from my extensive experience as a reader of detective fiction, I've concluded that the shots were fired by a slightly-inebriated young man, trying to impress the high school girls by shooting an ominous bat that fluttered in the light of the street lamp across the way. Obviously, he missed.

The Blue Door

2011-07-27T10:12:00.005-06:00

It was almost 23 years ago when we stumbled across a little house in a small village out in Western Oklahoma near the school where I was teaching.

The house had been re-possessed by the bank, abandoned, left with windows open and grass gone wild. Birds had nested in the light fixtures, and the carpet had been soaked with rain water several times. Still, it wasn't so bad. Dirty, but not filthy. Cleanable, paintable, fixable and livable. It was small, and had a tiny bathroom, but the three bedrooms each had a closet of their own, and there was room for a washer and dryer, albeit crammed into the already crowded kitchen. Someone had built a room off the back of the house, but it was only accessible from the back porch...or a bedroom window. It was a scraggly, forlorn little place and most people didn't give it a second glance. But we had three young children, and not a lot of money. The neighborhood was a perfect place for us and we never regretted the decision.

Over the years, we built another room onto the house--one which connected the main building with the odd room out back-- lived in the house for five years, rented it out for several years while we lived in Colorado, moved back into it again about the time our oldest daughter went to college, and finally, sold it when we moved into the parsonage where we are now. However, we sold it to our daughter and her husband, so for ten more years we have been in close contact with the house. Art and Carina completely re-modeled the house--roof, floors, walls, lights, woodwork. They took out an old, water-filled storm shelter, added a fireplace and built another bathroom, created attic access, stripped and stained cabinets. In short, made a beautiful home, just in time to leave it.

Yesterday, I watched as Carina, Zaya and Mim drove off toward Missouri to join Art at his new job and move into a new house. I helped as the movers cleared out the last of their stuff. We carried on, bantering about who was being lazy and who had lost the tape. Turtle came by, and Elijah and Marie. Art's mom came after noon, and helped with those gritty decisions about what to do with stuff left over. I gave a paint of coat to a few doors, covering little hand prints and a few penciled records of how tall children were at what age. My hands never fumbled, but sometimes my heart did.

It's only six hours to Missouri. I'll visit often. That's what I keep telling myself.

When everybody was gone I painted the door a bright, sparkling blue.
Three times I've painted that door blue.
It looks beautiful.

Three word Wednesday: Glance, fumble, banter

Images of the Drought

2011-07-17T13:29:00.000-06:00

At six o'clock in the morning it's 87 degrees already.

This is my lawn.

It's easy to see where grass has been watered and where it hasn't.

We aren't watering the lawns anymore, because of the water shortage, but we are trying to keep the trees alive.
Out here on the windswept prairie, trees struggle to survive--
even in the good years.

When I walked, early yesterday morning, I noticed cracks in all my favorite hiking trails.

Even the weeds are dessicated.

Fences are unguarded and gates left open. The cattle have been sold.

The great southwest is suffering. We are in a state of shock.

How Can You Tell It's Hot?

2011-07-17T13:04:00.001-06:00

When you walk around outside,
your flip flops melt clear through
and coat the bottom of your feet
with a layer of blackish blue.

Drought Hits Lawnview Cemetery

2011-07-14T08:19:00.001-06:00

I took a little walk this morning toward the sunrise, and thus passed by our cemetery east of town. Clouds were all around me, but no rain. It seems to be a recurring theme around here. Anyway, I thought the name of the cemetery was ironic under these circumstances.

...and yet, somehow the sunrise is still beautiful!

Marrying and Giving in Marriage

2011-07-10T06:10:00.005-06:00

Two of my former students got married yesterday in splendor.

Every moment was carefully planned and the decorations could have been marketed at a Creative Memories convention. I could imagine the bride and her mom, pouring over wedding magazines, choosing every item with careful consideration. I guess the word I need to describe it best is "crafted".

Upon entering the church, guests were asked to sign the registry then add their thumbprints in a shade of green ink to make a leaf on the wedding tree canvas. When that was full, the couple added their own prints in dusty rose as two little birds sitting on a limb in the shade of all these witnesses.

It was not just a decoration, but added to the solemnity of the vows somehow. "We, as witnesses to these vows, were attesting with our fingerprints..."

There was a photo booth, where guests were asked to take their own pictures and received a printed souvenir, hand-made pom poms for a rice-throwing substitute, designer cookies and a table for candy kisses, wedding cakes, white raspberry tea, lemonade and a hamburger supper under the lights.

The groom's cake was a stump, whereupon some weary golfer had carved initials proclaiming his love, and the bride's cake traditional white on a stand of purple flowers.

Several of the smaller children visited this table over and over throughout the evening. It was interesting to watch them come creeping like little mice, unnoticed by the loudly-visiting adults, including many extended family members who "hadn't seen each other in years" and "needed to get together more often".

It went off beautifully. The only thing I would have done differently concerned those 250 burning candles on the tables. With 350 guests packed closely around them, the air-conditioners couldn't really keep us cool enough. But who could have guessed, when these plans were made so carefully in January, that it would be 115 degrees outside in July?
I suppose it will add to the memories as a unique part of the day.

Rayden, Kristin, if your marriage is crafted as carefully as this wedding, it will survive long insanely hot summers even like this one.

May God's blessings be upon you both as you serve Him together.

Water Walking

2011-07-06T10:48:00.002-06:00

Since the weather has steadily and uncharacteristically maintained August-type heat through June and July, and since the only time to exercise outside and not feel drained by said heat is at five-thirty before the sun comes up to sizzle in the sky and wither everything usually green to a nasty brown, the powers-that-be have provided an alternative of sorts. They call it water-walking. The pool doesn't officially open until one o'clock, but from nine until noon five days a week the older women of the town come to walk back and forth across the pool and thus exercise in comfort. Some wear hats and sunglasses; some wear shirts and shorts; some drag out matronly-looking bathing suits and an over-sized pair of water-weights. Occasionally, you'll see someone swimming across the pool, but mostly they just walk. Walk and talk. They never cease.Talk and walk. It's our answer to the plaza. Best of all. It's free. Our little town does some things right.

Potential

2011-07-02T18:33:00.002-06:00

I think it's probably a carry over from my youth, when we occasionally worked on rent houses. Cleaning, painting, roofing, shampooing carpet--turning something foul-smelling, grubby and abandoned into a brave, little humble home that was livable. Anyway, whenever I see neglected houses, I repair them in my mind...and if I get the chance to walk through a house, I automatically imagine it clean, painted, and freshly carpeted. Here's one I noticed on my walk this morning:

The roof's in terrible shape, and it needs a front porch, but I found myself wanting to paint it all white and yellow, mow the grass, and put it in shape. There it sits at the edge of a huge lot--half a block of lawn with a massive tree in the center--a tree with low-hanging branches just right for climbing.

There's a lot of these little houses in our town...because small towns are becoming smaller and dying away. It's sad. The prime time properties around the courthouse square sit empty. They don't cost much, but there's a hitch: businesses can't make enough money to survive. There are no customers. Everybody rushes to the city to shop at huge stores, spending lots of money on gas, yet thinking they've found great bargains.

Here's a gorgeous building right on the square, all painted and ready for someone to rent. In my mind I've turned it into all sorts of shops--music shops, clay shops, a place for lessons and consultations, even an apartment.

If you walk behind the large buildings on the square, there's another surprise waiting. Just look at this private courtyard waiting to happen. If you built a couple of high fences, there'd be a lovely little hidden garden, right behind the store. If the old rooms on the second floor were restored and turned into an apartment, someone could live above the business. I've been in some of these buildings. The old wooden staircases lead to wainscoting and half glass doors--a set of rooms and offices right out of the forties. With a little modernizing, you could be in retro style without trying. Sigh.

I'd put in new windows...just as large as they ever were and a lot more energy efficient. Then I'd rake this yard and get rid of all the trash...put in a fountain--just a little one against the wall-- and a cement bench or two. If you walked by the front of my building you wouldn't know it from the rest--the line of bustling shops so uniform in their stolid facades. I'd probably be sitting out in the garden reading a book...or painting something.

Odd little things about a Small Town

2011-07-01T07:11:00.000-06:00

There's that tiny post office, squished between town hall and the Sunshine Cafe. Only it's not really a post office. It's just another dining area for the cafe. So why does it say Post Office? Well, several years ago they filmed a movie in this town and made a lot of changes so that we would fit their decor and specifications. We thought they'd put everything back like they found it...but nope. They finished filming, pulled up all their "road blocked" signs and rushed back to Hollywood. Now our courthouse steps are the wrong color...and occasionally a person passing through town tries to mail a letter at the Sunshine Cafe.

A Wonderful Celebration

2011-06-26T21:24:00.004-06:00

Yesterday we celebrated my parents' sixtieth wedding anniversary. It was a very special event, an event that is becoming increasingly rare within our society, a precious example of commitment and faithfulness, of promises made and kept sacred. We, the six children, were all there, gathered together to affirm something about our parents--their love for each other, their example to us, and the teachings they instilled in each of us. Marriage is for keeps. It's not about whether a person perfectly meets your every need. It's about promises. It's about real love. Love that endures through bliss and pain...through daily drudgery as well as through excitement and joy. Marriage is about families, accepting each other's family and becoming responsible for them as well, about children and the years and years of loving them and sacrificing for them. It's about encouraging each other in gifts and callings, in faith and good works, about learning to read each other so well you speak sometimes without saying a word. It's about an intimate friendship.

Here's three brothers and three sisters-in-law, remembering
events from three weddings over half a century ago.

Aunts and cousins, so many people who now look like their mothers and fathers did only yesterday, I think.

And pictures of grandchildren and great-grandchildren; inevitably, someone's eyes are closed.

My brother and his wife, a love story unique and worth the telling. Someday, I'll try.

Fancy tables with flowers and lights and cake.

Friends from church and from past ministry,

Family pictures, once again.

Mom, Dad, this was a wonderful day!

We, your children, would like to say that, though by some people's standards we may have been considered deprived as we all grew up together, we were never poor. You gave us all you had, showed us right paths, taught us wisdom and truth. You introduced us to the One who lives beyond age, beyond death and who gives eternal life.
We never felt unloved.

A Good Dad

2011-06-19T06:25:00.004-06:00

A good Dad is a Godly man
who teaches his children by his life,
faithful, not just in the pulpit or pew,
but at home where he reads the Bible
and talks about what it means
and how that applies to whatever we're facing.
He prays for his children, hours sometimes,
because he loves them.

A good Dad is a busy man.
He works, provides, and shows his children
the joy of accomplishment,
and the contentment
that comes from the words: "well done"

A good Dad is a loving man; he does without, so he can give,
trains his children to love one another,
teaches them faithfulness
by the way he is faithful to their mother.

Even when they're old, his children want to please him.
His smile reminds them of all those years
of courage in a dangerous, disappointing world,
of a steady heart...a strong hand.

Thanks, Dad.
I love you.

Fiery Furnace

2011-06-17T17:03:00.000-06:00

It's 105 degrees outside--hot, hot, hot. We've never had a June so hot--August maybe, but not June. Added to that is the need for rain. Last week we got two tenths of an inch, but the ground is in terrible shape again, and the grass is toasted. I'm really ready for rain and some cooler weather.

I've been leaving the house before six in the morning just so I can get home before the heat. When I start walking the sky looks like this. That's the moon up there, not the sun.

By the time I get home, it's bright and sunny. Too sunny if you ask me. I could do with less cheer and more clouds and mist and drip, drip, drips of drop, drop, drops. I think it's becoming an obsession with me.

Just leave it on the Doorstep

2011-06-16T14:23:00.006-06:00

"I know I've called twice today, but I really need to know when the kiln is going to be delivered.You see the owner of the shop is on vacation, and we're not open every day. Someone needs to be there to open the door so you can load it right into the building"

"Don't worry. I have the tracking number. Right? It's the one you gave me?"

"Yes, but there won't always be someone at the building. If the delivery people could call us a few minutes before they get to town we will make sure someone is there to meet them and open the door."

"Don't worry. I'll take down all your numbers and they will call you before they get there."

"Ok. Here are four numbers: my house number, Turtle's job, Claye's cell, and my cell number."

"Don't worry. I've got the numbers. They'll call."

That was Tuesday. On Wednesday, Claye got a call from her boss who is in the Caribbean. She came rushing into the living room to tell me the kiln was here. The delivery truck driver had read the number on the door of the shop and called him. So we jumped in the car and drove as quickly as we could to the shop ten blocks away. Too late. They were gone. But they left five hundred pounds of equipment outside on the sidewalk. Man! Doesn't anybody listen?

Nothing Quite Like an Early Morning Hike

2011-06-14T07:15:00.001-06:00

Prayer for a Raging Tempest

2011-06-08T07:49:00.002-06:00

The sun, as it rises this morning,
is tranquilly bobbing in an apricot sea.
No rain in the sky, no rain on the radar,
no promise of rain for the upcoming week
Cracked and parched, limp and wilted,
pale green of despair--are the fields that compel me to offer this prayer:

Lord, alter the winds
that swirl in from the oceans
Send us clouds full of water,
great sheets pouring down
Mists and drips,
drops and torrents,
splatting onto the rooftops
And thunder, that shatters the skies with its sound.

I'm not fond of lightning, but I'd gladly bear it...
Just send us some rain, Lord, I know you can spare it.

Alter; verb: Change or cause to change in character or composition, typically in a comparatively small but significant way.

Fond; adjective: having an affection or liking for; affectionate, loving.

Tranquil; adjective: Free from disturbance; calm.

So, Do you Think I should Lose a Few Pounds?

2011-06-06T07:05:00.000-06:00

On dieting advice, you will find
That your sweet friends will say: Nevermind,
My dear, you're a star
Just the way that you are!
Better find one who's brutally kind.

Sweet, Syrupy, Sweet
Delectable, Sugary,
Sweet, Sweet, Sweet Poison*

*As you might have deduced, I'm still on my diet. Sigh!

Bocce

2011-06-03T08:37:00.001-06:00

So what are all those people doing standing there? They're playing what I call "poor man's golf" or "an activity for all ages to enjoy out on the lawn on a neither cold nor hot afternoon", in short Bocce Ball.

One person throws a small white ball, called a boccino, out on the lawn somewhere. Then everyone else takes turns throwing a colored wooden ball toward the boccino. Whichever ball lands closest to it gets a point for that team.

In addition, any colored balls from that person's teammates, which have landed closer to the boccino than any ball from the opposing team also earn a point. If someone else's ball hits your perfectly placed one and knocks it away into neighboring yards, too bad.

Since each round must be played from the spot where the boccino rested last, each new throw causes the players to migrate.

It's a pleasant game for a warm evening...but I wouldn't rely on it for exercise.

Erratic, Luminous, Omen

2011-06-01T06:40:00.002-06:00

The job of toy advertisers is to make toys look fun. Little children, beholding a picture of other children laughing and dancing wildly as they play with the toy, are drawn to the promise of future thrills. My grandson brought a new toy with him for this summer visit, and since the weather was warm, we had to try it out the first afternoon.

There is is: an inflatable ball connected to a hose.
In theory, the water flows through special channels on the outside of the ball, making it bounce erratically all over the grass, chase screaming children, and bring the joy of cooling sprays. Sitting quietly on the lawn, luminous in the summer heat, it did seem like something that would provide at least thirty minutes of gleeful entertainment.

But there were problems. First, the ball refused to dance all over; it just sat there and spewed water.
Ah! it seems the movements portrayed on the box were initiated by the children. In short, they had thrown it up into the air.

Now it's hard to grab and throw a sprinkler when your arms are "child-short". Zaya got around that problem by kicking the ball, an adaptation that worked--for a minute or two. Then the cord twisted; the water supple stopped; the ball just sat there.

It took five minutes for me to untwist the cord which was a convoluted mess. Finally, the water began to spout again while he kicked and shouted whee! (obviously something one was supposed to do while playing with toy--according to the picture on the outside of the box). Then the hose kinked and the water stopped. Zaya helped with the untwisting, shivering in the wind. This cycle was repeated about five times before he announced that he was tired, cold, and ready to do something else, like read a good Foxtrot comic book.

Meanwhile, Mim had been observing the entire scenario from the dry safety of the porch swing, reluctant to get sprayed in the face. I feared her sad face was an omen of a melt-down to come, so I consoled her with a promise that she could hook up the spray gun and water the flowers.

Zaya came and sat beside us. He had only one comment: "Dumber than advertised!"
At least he was still smiling.

The toy is sitting out on the grass. I'm using it to water the lawn on a rare, windless day in Western Oklahoma.

Mim's Photography

2011-05-31T14:56:00.003-06:00

Mim's been taking pictures all week-end and I promised her we'd upload her pictures and look at them on my computer. Of course there are the usual blurry "I'm learning how to hold still when I shoot" pictures, and lots of "making funny faces" pictures, but among them are some excellent shots as well.

It becomes apparent almost immediately that her perspective is different. Grown-ups really look big when they are shot from a five-year-old's level.

No, Art's head isn't about to crash into the ceiling, but it certainly looks like it.

Her brother, Zaya, willingly poses for the camera. Years from now these pictures may show up in a senior slide show or in a "this was your life" album, but right now it's just fun. I suggested that maybe it would be good to get the distorted, making-faces pictures out of their system so they wouldn't be tempted to post them to facebook when they were in junior high...but Carina said, "We'll see."
Most likely, with technology moving as quickly as it does anymore, there won't be a facebook; that will be an antiquated concept.

They found a long stick of bamboo. I didn't remember a bamboo plant being around there and thought the stick had most likely been thrown by the recent storms, as a large tornado had passed within a few miles of there, but Zaya said it was growing in the southwest corner of the property and he ought to know.

Here's another shot of furniture--twin bunk beds that are really quite low, but somehow look high in this picture.

There were several rabbits hopping around behind the well house. Ashley and Mim were both snapping pictures. This time, Mim was steady with the camera, and the picture turned out fine.

We all went for a walk and found lots of material for photographing. I'm including this one because I like the red color.

Here's Turtle, mowing the lawn.

Zaya took this picture of Mim with the bamboo pole. She's wearing the camera bag, but was willing to relinquish the camera for long enough to record this moment.

When we uploaded all her pictures, Mim helped me decide which ones to delete and which ones to post. She insisted on this one because she thought it looked "three-dimensional". I'm not sure what technique she used to capture it, but I suspect it's called "running out of batteries".

Questions and Answers

2011-05-30T15:13:00.002-06:00

I'm keeping the grandchildren for a few days while their mom and dad go search for a house in the city where they are moving. Our conversations have been quite interesting. I'm trying to catch them as they actually happen, so you can experience them as "off the cuff" as I have.

Zaya: "Grandma, do you know what makes radiation?"
Me: "Nope. Haven't a clue. Do you?"
Zaya: "Well it's caused by...um...well, take Uranium for instance, something triggers and it explodes and makes helium because of separating particles, two protons and two neutrons I think but I'm not sure."
Me: "It always produces helium?"
Zaya:"Well, if it's uranium. Anyway then it explodes and explodes and explodes and finally produces lead.
Me: "So is that why lead is poisonous?"
Zaya: "No, lead is not radioactive. Only all the molecules that exploded along the way are radioactive and their exploding makes radiation like in a nuclear power plant."
Grandma: "Where'd you learn all this?"
Zaya: "Library book."
(pause)
Zaya: "Do you know how rigor mortis sets in?"
Grandma: "Yikes. Was that from a library book as well?"
Zaya: "No. Garfield."

The Flock

2011-05-29T07:20:00.004-06:00

They sit on Sunday morning all in rows,
Just close enough to nod, to touch, to talk.
The old ones graze,
the youngest scamper loudly.
They are the sheep, the lambs.
They are the flock.
It's been a fearsome week for some of them;
They've seen a wolf;
they've heard his howls at night..
And others suffered pain--they still endure it--but they smile and push the agony aside.
The headstrong try the fences, never settled.
The wounded hide from the balms they badly need.
My job is still to tend them, teach them, love them.
His mandate was that simple: Feed my Sheep.

Turtle Rock

2011-05-22T20:08:00.001-06:00

You might have to use a little imagination to see this turtle...but keep looking.
See it?

When You Lose Someone You Love...

2011-05-20T11:06:00.017-06:00

...to all my students who have lost someone precious this year.
I'm sorry.

When you lose someone you love, you may feel a lot of nothing...at first...just a numb shock as your mind sits very still within your body and the words keep echoing over and over in empty halls. Everything outside will clamor around you with its normal, blatant brightness, while inside, in shock, you sit blindly--without lights, without noise, without feeling--reluctant to understand.
This will pass.

When you lose someone you love, you may feel a lot of anger--at yourself, at God, even at them.
"How could they leave me all alone? Why didn't God intervene this once? How was I supposed to know that things would end this way?"

Take a breath. This too will pass. And come again. And again. Be ready to deal with it.

Don't coddle anger. Release it. Give it a way out. Don't embrace it as a friend, for anger--even the kind that's born of grief-- is a bitter acid that makes a soul raw. Cast it off. Reject it. Accept instead the awkward comfort of your solemn friends, their speechless looks of kindness because they don't know what to say, their flowery little cards and tentative pats on the shoulder. They are standing there; let them hold you up. And pull close around you the tacit, silent peace of God like a sweater. You need it more than ever, especially today.

There will be guilt too, days of it.
"Why didn't I say this? Why didn't I do that? What could I have done that I didn't do?"
If you hang onto it, you'll be wrestling with a cactus, and although, at first, the pain of these wounds might seem to overwhelm the greater agony, you mustn't let the stinging splinters stay.
Pull out the spines of guilt and burn them before they fester, lest the morphine of this moment become the poison of a lifetime. Whatever guilt you hold against yourself is yours alone. The one you love released it long ago and it is gone forever...unless you keep it. Let it go.

Yes, waves of grief will frequently blindside you...but do not sorrow like those who have no hope. Say goodbye, knowing that there will be a bright morning once again. In pain, do not stop praying ; in depression, do not despair. One day a sudden stream of joy will come shining out of no where. Life will burst through. You will start to heal. Healing takes time.

There is balm in work so carry on. Pick up a broom; go mow a lawn; wield an axe, or a wildly colored paintbrush. Take comfort in caring for little children who are swift to shed their sorrows and prone to sudden smiles; mingle with them and forget to be woeful for a while. Dance on the lawn in the rain. Make yourself move. Learn to live again. Let go.

One sublime tomorrow we will all realize that this life--for all its grandly blasted notes and furious clashing discords--was only the "warming-up" of an exalted orchestra.
Nobody has yet heard the symphony...but it will be glorious.
I promise.

Sky Scenery

2011-05-19T21:06:00.000-06:00

Since January we've only had seven tenths of an inch of rain.
Everything green is in shock. No lawn mowers. No harvest.

Black cattle graze parched, yellow fields.

This morning the air was still and heavy--humid, gray and promising, but it wasn't until afternoon that rain came, a splashing and pouring, straight-down drench.

I attended a function thirty miles out of town, and as I drove back in around seven o'clock, I pulled over to take some pictures of an unusual sky.

To the East there was a fan-shaped light in the clouds. That seemed odd because the sun was in the West.

Above and to the South large puff-ball cloud shapes hung lazily and shone as if full of light.

Toward the Southwest, a calm sunset quietly took place as if there weren't large hail and tornado spins an hour away from here.

Orville and Wilbur and Mimsy

2011-05-19T11:08:00.004-06:00

I had to add a picture at the end of this one to make it long enough for movie maker to edit. Here's another one that's amusing. I guess I could call it cooperation. They aren't really playing the melody here, but I think they are getting the rhythm.

Take Somebody With You

2011-05-18T07:06:00.003-06:00

It's always easier to do a hike if you take someone with you. That way, if you are balanced on a shaky bit of rock and they have already negotiated that particular route and are on solid ground, they can extend a hand to steady you and prevent a nasty skid into a patch of cactus, which grows wherever there's a bit of damp algae and may boast fragile flowers but isn't really friendly to human limbs.

It's difficult to comprehend the size of the Eagles' aerie from the valley. Those rocks which look like a little mound of pebbles are really huge boulders jutting out into the sky. There's only one way to appreciate it. Climb up there.

I took Turtle along and we helped each other find the trail, which had a habit of disappearing into pockets of scrub and thinning out over vales of rock face.

We didn't get too close to the aerie; Turtle didn't want to incense the eagles and give my blog the exciting ending it really needed for this post. Oh well. I did get a lot of great pictures as they flew overhead.

Look Behind You Every Now and Then

2011-05-17T06:49:00.000-06:00

Since the trail was a winding one, with areas of almost flat meadow, there came a time when I was unsure of the path. You may be too. And you may ask yourself:

"Am I still climbing? Is this trail going up or down?"
The best way to judge this is to look at the path behind you.
Turn around and see where you came from.
Are you higher today than you were yesterday?
Do the things you left in the valley seem smaller?
If so, you are climbing. Keep going.

Seek the Old Paths

2011-05-15T19:43:00.001-06:00

I thought of our graduating seniors as I began my hike to the top of Quartz Mountain...all those days they had sat and listened to my advice, and so many things I didn't find time to discuss with them.
They are beginning a journey, a climb, if you will, and an adventure of the best sort, so every bit of instruction I was telling myself seemed amplified and meaningful for their journey also.

There was a trail head, of course, where every aspiring climber began. The path was well worn at first by the feet of those who only wanted to climb a few feet higher so they could get a better picture of the lake. After a few steep sections, however, it was little more than a line of flattened grass that sometimes faded away entirely. Still, if I looked for it, to the left, the right, or ahead, I found it, and was rewarded with an easier way to scale a rugged ravine or a way around a shower of crumbly rock. Someone who had climbed before me had found the best way up; and lots of climbers since then had concurred.

Life will be like that too. Sometimes you need to look around and see where the old paths run. Think about those people you respect--those who haven't made a wreck of their lives or an avalanche for others. What trail did they take? Can you see it? Did their footprints bend any grass? That trail may save you time and trouble. Seek the old paths.

Jeremiah 6:16
Thus says the LORD: “ Stand in the ways and see, And ask for the old paths, where the good way is, And walk in it; Then you will find rest for your souls.