Interruption--a smile makes everyone feel better.

I'm taking a moment away from the serious topics that I've been discussing. One of my friends from Gunnison days just sent me a picture of her grandson Noah.

It's October. Such joys God brings into the world!

Part Three of What Could Turn into an Epic

Questions are a staple of this "Emergent" Christianity, and although, as an educator, I love questions, this extreme view of questioning troubles me.
I quote from Velvet Elvis:

"and that is why questions are so central to faith. A question by its very nature acknowledges that the person asking the question does not have all of the answers...Questions, no matter how shocking or blasphemous or arrogant or ignorant or raw, are rooted in humility."

Is this just hyperbole for shock effect? I hope so. I can think of a lot of questions that are not rooted in humility.
How about: "Didn't God say that you should not eat from any tree in the garden?"...the Serpent, his humbleness,
or "Am I my brother's keeper?" Cain in a moment of brotherly concern,
or "Wherein does your great strength lie?"... Delilah, trying to bolster her low self-esteem, in the presence of one she admired.
or "Am I a dog, that you should come against me with sticks?"...Goliath, in a great show of Philistine humility.

Well, all that aside, assuming Bell is talking about honest--although blasphemous-- God-seeking questions, I still have a problem with where he takes this:

He likens Christianity to a trampoline and compares the springs to doctrines of the Christian faith. They give and stretch, and should be challenged, added or removed. He insists that the doctrine of the trinity, for example, was added years after the New Testament was completed, and wasn't necessary as a belief before it was formally named. He also challenges the doctrine of the virgin birth of Christ, by attacking it, then affirming it, then asking (humbly, of course):

"if the whole faith falls apart when we re-examine and rethink one spring, then it wasn't that strong in the first place, was it?"

The doctrine of Christ's deity, however, is more than just a minor bounce enhancer on the trampoline of Christianity; it is a leg that supports the structure, and by the time one has finished twisting and stretching and chopping at that leg, the trampoline will be lying on the ground. True, you can still invite a lot of people over to play, but the jumping won't be so fun.

Reforming--and the Christian Faith

In his book, Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell proposes that we need to reform the faith. Claiming the precedent set by Martin Luther, he insists that his mission is not only valid, but vital.

Now, I'm not against reformation. I'm not against staying in touch with the needs and language of the population, I would love to see a revival and a return of passion in the church, but Bell isn't talking about that. He says:

By this I do not mean cosmetic, superficial changes like better lights and music, sharper graphics, and new methods with easy to follow steps. "I mean theology: the beliefs about God, Jesus, the Bible, salvation, the future. We must keep reforming the way the Christian faith is defined, lived, and explained.

The heart of Martin Luther's reformation was the Bible. He believed what it said, that man was saved by grace, not by works; that man could reach God through Christ and did not have to go through priests. Reading the scripture made him realize how far the church had strayed from the truth. His reformation was a calling back to basic scriptural principles.

In contrast, the Emergent movement, agnostic in nature--we cannot know God, we cannot understand scripture, we cannot explain--wants to twist and bend, and in some cases remove these cardinal beliefs.

Luther's word was "Faith". Theirs is "Doubt."

In fact, Bell's church sponsored a "doubt night" where people sat around baring their souls with their lack of understanding. I don't feel that it is wrong to ask questions; but I see no value in questions without answers. Yes, Abraham did question God, but it was not his doubt that was commended: it was his faith.

I can just see the children of Israel, sitting around in the desert for a time of sharing and dialogue to air their doubts about the giants in Canaan...oh wait, that's exactly what they did. It cost them too.

Job asked questions also, but it was his trust in God that brought about his victory!

We should not presume to "darken counsel without knowledge".

Emergent Christianity

I've just finished reading Velvet Elvis by Rob Bell, one of the hugely-popular leaders in the emergent church movement. Sure, I've seen a couple of his "Noomas" in chapel, and appreciated the particular needs they addressed, so I thought this book would be interesting and intense.

Well, I was right on that count; Rob states his "cutting edge" views with intensity--as if they are the only possible views for modern Christians. In many places I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Christianity is about knowing Christ. It is relational, and that's a strong point in the book's favor. However, Rob's insistence that Christianity needs to be "re-painted" every few years is a potentially dangerous concept: In passage after passage of this book, I felt that "gospel" was being white-washed, spruced-up, garnished with shades of meaning that aren't really in the Biblical text. Why? So it will fit with the themes of popular culture. I feel there is a great danger in where this leads. In repainting God in our image, we become the creators.

Blogs are short, so I won't try to cover all my discussion in this entry. Instead, I will be addressing one issue a day for the next week or so.

Why criticize, you say; just let the man alone; if he believes in Christ, that is enough. I criticize because I'm seeing half-truths and perilous attitudes being showered upon the younger generation; I'm afraid that in their acceptance of the newest re-painting, they will lose the image of what is basic about the faith:

Christ, who is God, came in the flesh, died for our sins, and rose again to reconcile us with the Father. We can know God. We can understand the scripture. Faith is stronger than Doubt. These are cardinal. They are important.

Pictures from the Fall Concert

I'm hoping these will lift some spirits--Here's a lot of pictures from the fall concert. It is called a Blast from the Past. Most of the students are dressed in fifties style...but I did see a few in sixties and seventies. It's great fun. Notice: the girls like to pose better than the guys. I did manage to sneak in a couple of them.

Overwhelming Statistics.

Having recently been disturbed by the trend to extend the "pro-life" label to all aspects of human life (capital punishment, war, poverty, environmentalism, you-name-it) so that "pro-choice" candidates could claim the moral high ground, I did a little research in the field. One of the most troubling of the articles I read came from a minister, who said we shouldn't "let one issue trump all the others" when we voted, meaning, of course, that we should not let our stand on abortion affect our vote. I feel that the issue itself trumps all the others. :

Americans killed in wars since 1973: 6,830.
At an X for every 100 it would look like this:

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Americans killed by capital punishment from 1973-2004: 983
At an X for every 100 it would look like this:

XXXXXXXXXX

Total Americans killed in all wars from the Revolutionary War on: 1,315, 00.At an X for every 100 it fills six pages of X's.
That's pretty impressive.

Abortions in the U.S. from 1973-2004 : 42,470,000.

At an X for every 100 it fills 188 pages full of X's
How can it NOT trump everything else?

Anyway, I actually printed out all the pages and put them on the wall. It looks like this:

The Green Page is capital punishment, the gray is wars since 1973, the yellow pages represent all Americans ever killed in war, and the white pages are those full of abortions--over 200,000 per page (as each typed X represents 100)

My seniors are making a video of the display for You-Tube. I think it will be called simply X=100.

Just For Fun

Here's a few really short videos from the Pumpkin Festival. For the Children, it was a magical day. What a great age, when little things make them so happy! An interesting conversation taking place while the third video is playing really contrasts the reaction of teen-agers, who would rather die than admit that a small town celebration like this can be entertaining.

Whoops.

As a member of the Lions' Club, my husband is called upon, from time to time, to sell fund-raising tickets for a benevolence project: this time it was for building a skate park for our community children (who will probably still skateboard on the sidewalks and use the elderly for bowling pins, but that's irrelevant). Turtle, however, has a dilemma. It hardly seems appropriate for a minister to ask his congregation to buy raffle tickets.

He had to sell ten. They cost twenty dollars each. So, reluctantly, after a church dinner, he asked for twenty dollar donations for the Lion's club project. The ticket with your name on it, he would just present as an afterthought for those who donated. And then, as is usually the case, he bought the unsold ones himself...gotta support those Lions.

Yesterday, at the the Pumpkin Festival, in front of the entire town and half the population of the county, he won the grand prize for the raffle--a big screen TV--42 inches.

I have no idea where to put it. Right now we don't even have cable. There is a TV in the basement for watching DVD's, and a smaller one in the guest room for the WII. I just don't know...he wants to trade it for a Bass boat or a pontoon boat, but that would entail more money. I suggested we use it in the guest room for the Nintendo game, but he thinks that would be a waste. Our children say they will take it off our hands, but he isn't really open to that suggestion; after all, he has never won anything before. Ah Turtle.

P.S. Turtle reminded me that he did win something before, a tiny little black and white TV. But that was from putting his name in a jar at the hardware store when we lived in Matador, Texas. . . what is it with TV's? A laptop now, that would have been great. sigh.

The Power of Three Little Words!

Well, it turned out to be a good day after all. We had a little trouble getting the tank here, and some not-too-bright, un-named sponsor tried to switch spots and set it up next to the seniors...before the school insurance agent pointed out that if a softball hit one of the plate glass windows behind us, we would lose all our profits...for the next twenty years. So I ordered it back to the original spot, blocking the alley--since a barbecue wagon had taken up our marked spot as well as theirs. Fortunately nobody needed to use that alley anyway. We had no dignitaries to sit for us...not even youth pastors...who stayed away in droves today. Nope. Mainly, we had little brothers of juniors. Only one of my juniors was brave enough to splash in herself. After she left, and the later shift began, the three girls who were manning the booth refused to sit there. One of them had a brother who volunteered...then his little friends volunteered. We actually made more money than I thought we would...of course I thought we wouldn't make any at all and would have to chalk this one up to experience. So how did I avoid being railroaded into sitting on the tank. My three little words:
Sure, after you!

Pumpkin Festival

Today's the Pumpkin Festival--A big thing for this little town. There will be food booths selling pumpkin rolls, pumpkin pies, pumpkin fritters and just pumpkins--maybe.

My Juniors have a dunk tank. This is supposed to be a fund raiser. um huh.
One little problem. It's nippy outside. Nobody has agreed to sit up on the chair and be our dunkee.

I'm wondering if we will even cover our fifty dollar investment to rent the spot. I guessing we will have to pay people to be dunked. There. There. Don't be so pessimistic, Lil.

Who's stupid idea was this anyway...oh wait. I think it was mine...back during those scorching summer days of long ago August.

I'm going up there. Pray for me. I have the distinct feeling that I'm going to get dunked...again and again. Glub Glub Glub.

It's Hard to Keep Up...

...with the pace of technology.

15 years ago I divided my CSIII class into groups and assigned each one a "journey of the Apostle Paul" to research and present to the class. Each team drew a map upon which they traced the route of their journey and drew eight pictures representing the events which happened. They taped their pictures to the wall and "presented" the journey as if they were one of the original missionary team, explaining what had happened at every stop.

10 years ago the project took a leap into computer land. This time the pictures were scanned into a computer and connected with a program called hypercard. Wow. We were amazed. True, we had to crowd around the computer to see it, but it was worth the trouble. Some of the cards even had a little bit of animation!

5 years ago all the cards were set as power point presentations, and pictures to illustrate them were downloaded from the internet. Since this didn't take as long, I added requirements: commercials for three major towns and testimonies for two characters, and a few sentences on each card explaining it. Many of the labels and pictures were animated. One map even had a set of arrows that followed the journey.

Last year the minimum was thirty cards. All the story had to be re-phrased (not copied from the ready made accounts of Paul's journeys already on the internet) Music and sound effects were added and attached. All the maps had animated arrows or footprints. We watched the shows on the big screen in the auditorium.

We are beginning this project next Monday. I'm guessing that when the students start searching the internet they will find the project already completed and free to download...so what do I add? Sigh. Technology. Maybe I should hand out blank sheets of paper, Bibles, and map colors.

There's a Kind Of Hush

Not as much loud posturing and demandings to be heard. Students are more polite and eyes ask questions before voices do. We've come through a tragedy, the hardest part anyway, but two of the students and a teacher are still in the hospital--wheelchairs, pins, screws, crutches, transfusions, more surgeries--and everybody is walking a little more carefully. Substitute teachers are covering the classes, and getting ready for a long stay there. The quietness is a heavy kind. Life goes on without any more jolts...just a few flutters...and a sorrow-drenched slowness. True, there are also some spots of normal, head-shaking smiles at these people around us who mean a little more than they did a week ago...before the tragedy shot our adrenaline up in an anguished fear.

One Day Follows Another

...as if each hour were holding hands with the next. A steady trickle and then a stream of lively sounds reverberate as the weekend pushes its way in. The college two are home, checking their facebook and their e-mail; a new Indonesian dorm student quietly finds her room and shower, as she survives this first exposure to what is going to be her "home-weekend" place for the month, my oldest daughter comes to visit, bringing her own two (or is it too) energetic offspring. Music explodes from the piano and the organ along with the boing boinging of a large blue, plastic ball. To add to all this confusion, each grandchild brings two imaginary friends and proceeds to tell me, and show me, how fast Stikrit can run or how crazily Goki can dance. Grandpa Turtle teases the little ones. Saturday evening comes, with a quiet singing service--praise to lift the weariest, and Sunday at church I live in joy--with such friends all sharing lavishly their stories and their sorrows of the week.

Ah yes. We have wild weekends. The kind of wild I like.

Then, just as soon, they all fly away; the noise is gone...and home is quiet and relaxing...
until Monday drags through the door and I go driving off myself to a world of bells and bright eyes. But that's my next story.


Here are Zaya and Mim--playing with the little cash register. You've been there, haven't you.

A Message in a Meme

"God will always let us see His gracious and triumphant bow when life goes hard. Have we ever noticed how a rainbow arises? The sun suddenly breaks through the clouds with magical brilliance even though the elements are still raging and their wildness has not been allayed"

I've been tagged for a book meme by Babystepper

These were the instructions -

Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 56.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the next two to five sentences in your journal/blog along with these instructions.
Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.
Tag five other people to do the same.

Ok, I did pass up the two closest ones (contrary to the rules). That's because the first was Symphonie Fantastique--the score--every page was music (my son's book), and the second was the phone book.

The third was an obscure little book I grabbed from the bookshelf in the den. I haven't read it. The author is a guy named Helmut Thielicke and the blurb on the cover says that he was writing to his fellow churchmen in Germany during the Second World War. His life and theirs were in danger. Pretty apt words about the rainbow.

Now whom shall I tag? Hmmm. That's the hardest part.

I'm thinking I blog in a cul-de-sac

Update Blogs...Isn't Technology Wonderful!

I was just handed the address of a blog begun by my fellow teacher's family. They are using this means to post all the latest updates from the hospital. It sure beats asking around for information. Anyway, here it is: http://www.schimmerupdate.blogspot.com/

Information Bits

It is amazing to me how so many people can see the same accident and give such different reports. I've heard that:

the boys in the back seat were not wearing their seatbelts and were ejected from the vehicle

the boys in the back seat were wearing seatbelts and they snapped with the impact

the boys in the back seat unbuckled themselves after the accident and got out of the car because they thought it was on fire because of the smoke from the airbags; then they collapsed because they had major fractures.

the suburban rolled (there was grass in the top of the doors)
the suburban did not roll

the trapped driver was conscious
the trapped driver was unconscious

all three are in critical condition
only one is in critical condition

We will probably never know what happened exactly.

Regardless, there is a memorial service for the young man in the other car. There are not a lot of stories about that. A family lost their son and brother. Pray that they will be able to put one foot in front of another and get through the next few days and years.

Our colleague is still in the ICU but they think they have saved both of her legs and feet. She will have more surgeries--for abdominal injuries, fractured vertebra, broken ribs, etc, but we are confident that she will recover and be up here again, baking schnetka and managing her senior class with experienced excellence and great fervor.

We have been making cards and posters at school. Every hour, as we open in prayer, somebody prays for those injured and for the other family too.

The boys are recovering well after surgery for broken femurs and pelvic breaks--lots of pins, screws, and rods. They also have facial fractures--one has a broken jaw and cheekbone, the other has a black eye and broken bones below the eye.

Interestingly enough, he also has a bruise in the shape of a seatbelt across his chest. So I've heard...

School Daze

It's been a really tough day today.
First hour, right after we said the pledge of allegiance and had the scripture and prayer for the day, we received word that our teacher who runs the route from the North, in a Suburban, had been hit head on by a small car that veered suddenly into her lane. They were probably both going about the speed limit, which was sixty-five miles an hour. The other driver was killed, the teacher was pinned in the car, two of the students who ride with her were ejected from the car and were stretched out in the ditch beside the road. We called the students into the chapel and told them what had happened. They divided into small groups and started praying. The teacher's husband--who teaches and coaches at the school--left for the scene; the superintendent and principal left also. We didn't know who the other driver was. Every student was imagining that it was his or her parent or sister. Things were really tense for the rest of the day. We got updates frequently over the intercom. The teacher and both boys were eventually medi-flighted to the trauma center in Oklahoma City. Almost immediately people began to arrive there, including some of our former students who live in the city. They kept texting the students here, and the phone kept ringing.
After school we had concession stands for the last home volleyball game of the season. Everybody was subdued and stood around catching up on the latest. I had four mothers to help and all the juniors, but we kept spilling things and forgetting why we had run downstairs to the kitchen. We were...pretty shaken up.
At this moment I don't know if anybody is out of surgery yet.
I'm sitting by the phone.
In a school like ours, only 88 students, and eleven teachers, we are all pretty close.
I've taught with this teacher for the last ten years; she's my friend; I taught her children; she taught mine.
Life is fragile.
Still, it could have been much worse. Two of the students who normally ride that route did not ride today; one was sick; one forgot her notebook and had to go back home. Lots of parents just came up to school and hugged their kids.
Yes, I called mine too.

One Last Cameo--with long blue lashes

Here's one last picture from last week--blue and white day. This is one of my amazing seniors. Honestly, those blue lashes had to be at least an inch long. I filmed her while everyone was quietly taking a test in the background and she batted the lashes for the camera...and hence...for the world at large.

Update on the Schnetka Saga

Now that my video camera is fixed, I've posted a picture of seven warm schnetka,
moments before their consumption by my hungry little car poolers. And here is the link to the recipe.

Cool Football Evenings Under the Stars

I'm not a huge football fan. Well ok, I'm not a football fan at all. There was a time, however, when my son played football. I attended most of his home games, and spent most of my time in the concession stand, peeking out every now and then to see the score, or sitting up on the hill that overlooks the football field, shivering under my school blanket and cringing every time someone got hit, straining to see the bottom of the pile and hoping that my son's white football number wasn't crushed into the mud. Somehow he survived all five years without an injury, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the game was over.

At least once or twice a year, however, I make the effort to attend a game. Last Friday, at homecoming, my daughter was asked to assist the pep band with playing drums. I stayed over at school and supervised a handful of junior-high boys as they played computer games in the library. At seven o'clock, we all headed out to the field.

The sun was just setting behind the big hill, as we walked through the gate and smelled the burgers grilling. The evening was cool, but not cold; the team we played was mercifully easy, and there were happy shouts of camaraderie everywhere. All the younger children ran about on the sidelines...involved in little games of their own making, mostly footballesque ones. Every now and then, whenever our team scored a touchdown, we were treated to the raucous blaring of a boastful, obnoxious-sounding semi-truck horn. (Thanks to the foresight of one of our equally strident fans)I walked around saying hi to people, and catching up on what their lives were like now. When Turtle arrived, at halftime, the game was really over already. We sat up on the hill by our grandchildren and our son-in-law. Zaya was enjoying the contents of a Pixi stick and Mim was just smiling in great glee.

Ah football.

September Days

I know I haven't posted for a while.
Here come the excuses:

I was being busy like crazy from five thirty in the morning until around six at night.
I started exercising again and walking on the treadmill.
I read a good book by Ted Dekker called Blink
I started a not so good book that looks better than it is because the cover has three "bullet" holes in it, and since I love detective books it screamed that it was intriguing. Anyway, I have to finish it and make an AR test for it now.
September days are almost perfect in this part of the world; I've actually gone walking--twice this week--with Turtle. We took pictures of the clock tower that's been cleaned and is sitting on the courthouse lawn ready for re-installation.
My video camera became corrupt and I spent a couple of weeks getting in touch with the right company to fix it. Finally I had to reformat it and lost pictures of Mim's third birthday.

There are all the excuses. Pick one you like. The truth is probably that I've gotten too lazy to write. I'll try to do better. Here's a video of pigeons flying around the corner of the town square. Maybe that will do for now.

The Further Adventures of ...Lilibeth

I'm sure you're all wondering how the benevolent despot idea panned out...sorry to have kept you in such suspense. The truth of the matter is that I changed my mind at the last minute and decided to be a gypsy. After searching through about a dozen boxes in the attic to find the costume boxes, and after giving up on finding that perfect gypsy hat that I know lies in one of them, I decided, rather hurriedly with my car-poolers only minutes away, to wear my son's Brazilian Jijitsu outfit--white pants and jacket--along with a T-shirt that says "secret government ninja" across the front. I also fixed a little necklace wallet that proclaimed me a member of the secret service. Grabbing a pair of wrap around sun glasses from the garage I ran out the door, four minutes late. Wouldn't you know it! I forgot the nun-chucks and the shiny spiky weapon thing that I don't know the name of but that would have certainly impressed my students and made them just a little more wary of giving me a hard time in class. Oh well. Hi-Yah!

Today was retro day--60's to 80's. I just put on a skirt, embroidered blouse, and red bonnet and said I was from the 80's--(1880's.) Tonight I had to drive to another town to attend a rules meeting for academic team coaches. Well. Of course I changed first. What do you think I am? A geek?

Anyway, here's a video of the eighth grade class all decked out, and one of my junior high girls' class-minus one who was absent. Aren't they adorable?

Temporary Cure for Chronic Old-Fashionivity

It's homecoming week at school--football homecoming no less, so all the students are bouncing off the lockers. There are streamers and hundreds of white Christmas lights dripping from the ceiling in the hall, so with the regular lights off, it's festive and mysterious at the same time. The theme verse is John 14:6--Jesus answered "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." From that, the theme for homecoming took a couple of giant steps, without so much as a "Mother, may I," to cowboys and bikers riding into the sunset. All the class posters have the verse and a sunset. Most of them also have bikers and cowboys and football goal posts. Mine has a cross floating in space--planets all around, Saturn resplendent in gold and copper fabric paint. That's what you get when you keep bouncing ideas around and throwing little fences in the way. Any way, we should get something for creativity, at least.

Normally, I'm the most fuddy-duddy of the teachers. Everything I wear is a throw-back to the last decade...or a hand-me-down from someone who was once in style and probably still is, now that they've got rid of their old stuff. That's fine with me; I've always felt style was over rated.

However, it feels good, at least once a year, to be dressed just right. On Monday we were supposed to be bikers or cowboys. I wore a red bandana, dark shades, and a cowboy shirt--giving a nod to both genres. Today was backwards day. I curled my page boy hairstyle up--into a flip--wore my blouse and sweater backwards, and even wore a beret--backwards of course. The hardest part was wearing my shoes on the wrong feet, but it wasn't even that bad with crocs. I didn't try putting my pants on backwards--kind of afraid the zipper wouldn't stay up, and there is a limit to my dignity.

Tomorrow is career day. I think I'll be a benevolent despot. I have a golden scepter and a turban...just need a robe...hmmm. I'll let you know how it went. Do you think they will obey my every word? Stop! Desist bouncing off the lockers and batting the streamers as if you were a bunch of kittens... or I'll export thee to Siberia!

Sunrise through the Storm

I just want to let you know...all you who slept in this morning...that you missed a gorgeous sunrise. If you live in my part of the world, you awoke to a heavy, wet fog--a storm-cloud gray, smoky veil that hung in great swaths all around. It was warm, wet, and smothering. None-the-less we set out for school, with the u-joints squeaking a little and the wipers adding a whoosh every half mile or so. Our road appeared only shortly before we needed it, and the green pasture lands all around us crumbled to mists at the edges. Suddenly, right in front of our eyes, a door opened in this dark cavern sky wall, and the sun bounced in--big and orange and bulging, like an overripe persimmon, but it shone, and the rays of that soft shining showed us the proud, white castle of a grain elevator with the quiet town clustered meekly at its feet. A place of greatest pre-dawn calm...and all around a world of whirling dark storm. Like I said...You missed it.

I didn't have a camera, so I looked for a sunrise that came close to what we saw...well, I did find this one where the sun is the same and the doorway it looks through is the same. We had no intervening tree, however, just a straight road leading into the little town ahead, and myriads of clustering clouds.

Grandparents' Day at Preschool

As I walked through the door of the gymnasium, before I could fold my dripping, black umbrella, I was sideswiped by a little, red-headed bundle of momentum:

"I'm a railroad car," he announced loudly, "My name is John Henry."

While I was trying to sort that out, I felt another child hugging my legs. It was my grandson, Zaya, happy to see me in his world for once. He pronounced the umbrella cool, made me show him how to open it, and practically danced as he led me to a room full of old people..."Grandparents' day," he shouted, to no one in particular.

It's true. I attended a grandparents' event...as a grandparent. It felt extremely odd, and made me want to shuffle a little and wear round, gold-rimmed glasses. This can't be happening to me. It still feels strange to me that my parents are grandparents; that word only refers to old people...people like my parents' parents. Now there are the real grandparents. I'm still a kid, trying to sort out the world.

And yet...there I sat, being read to...cute little poems and stories about how wonderful I am. It seemed all wrong. I'm the one who usually writes all that stuff for grandparents' day. Now I have to listen to it while I sit primly at a cute table decorated with cut-out handprints, fall viney/leafy stuff, orange and yellow laffy taffys intermingled with new crayons and a few chocolate kisses. I sipped the orange juice...because I had already gulped down three cups of coffee this morning at school-- it sometimes takes that much to give me the upper hand in will power over my sophomores--and if I drank any more, my junior class would have to peel me off the ceiling sixth hour so we could grade their assignment. As I said, before I distracted myself in dependent clauses and punctuation, I sipped the orange juice and listened, and looked at all those old people around me. Three or four of the pre-schoolers had four grandparents there, and almost all of them had two, so there was a large audience. Fortunately, I made it through the speech, but it took a furtive snatching of a candy kiss to sustain me.

Next we went to see the preschool room. Zaya showed me, and his other grandparents where everything was. He showed me how bouncy his shoes were and how he kept a hula hoop up. Later, in the auditorium, he sat on a fuzzy, round mat.

"Look, Grandma," he yelled from his pink bubble, "I've got a girly color."

Then we heard songs and poems and a story. We colored an elephant and listened to Zaya read. He tried to write his name, but got sidetracked by an A that turned out like a balloon. It was too funny, so we amused ourselves with the colors on the crayons. They are written in English, Spanish, and French. He had fun with rojo-violeta and with vert. We were then asked to interview our own grandchild, asking them questions from a written sheet. My grandson knew I was his mom's mom, but he didn't know my real first name. He knew where I lived, but wasn't sure what I did for a living; he said I did cleaning.

Then we all went into another room and feasted on a fantastic lasagna meal. It was an odd interlude in the middle of my usual day, and I enjoyed it immensely, almost as much as a grandparent would have .

Oh well. Guess I better stop writing on and on about it and get some of that cleaning done.

Schnetka--the Recipe

Schnetka Recipe--This is a cinnamon, sugary, creamy, pie crusted, delicious pastry. It's best served warm along with a nice cup of tea or coffee.

4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 cup Crisco
1cup water (as needed to make dough)

1 cup sugar
1Tbls.cinnamon
1/2 cup of brown sugar

1cup sugar
1 cup cream
1tsp vanilla


Mix together flour, 1 cup sugar, 1tsp salt, Crisco, and water and roll out on flat surface to make a 20 by 22 inch rectangle.
Spread with butter, sprinkle with 1 cup of sugar mixed with 2 T cinnamon. Sprinkle 1/3 cup of brown sugar over the top.
Cut into 4 by 41/2 " squares and roll each square.
Spray an 11 by 15 inch pan very heavily with baking spray or grease it well. (or use sprayed parchment)
Place schnetka on pan leaving small space between them. ( A jelly roll pan works great but a cookie sheet allows the gooey stuff to boil over and burst into flames in the bottom of your oven so make sure the pan is deep enough...even if you have to use a cake pan. Trust me on this one.)

Mix together 1 cup of cream, 1 cup of sugar, and 1 tsp of vanilla. Pour this mixture over the top of schnetka. Sprinkle with more sugary stuff. (use the bits that spilled while you were rolling.)

Bake at 365 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes (depending on type of pan. They need to be browned on top and done all the way through.)

Remove the schnetka from the pan immediately, turning them out on a plate or tray. Here's roughly what they look like. Sorry you can't taste them. 

Determination

Let me tell you a story about Turtle's grandmother. One day when she was 87 years old her daughter Gladys walked into the house and found her standing on the kitchen cabinet painting the ceiling.
"Mom," she scolded in concern, "Why are you up there? You know the doctor has told you over and over, no climbing!"
"I didn't climb," answered her mother, " I just took three little steps...stepped onto a stool, stepped onto a chair, and stepped onto the cabinet."
"Well, you are just stepping down. You know you might fall and end up in the hospital."
Gladys helped her down and made her promise that she wouldn't stand on anything off the ground in return for the assurance that she would get someone to come over that week and finish the ceiling. Things got a little slow for grandma that week, however, and when Gladys arrived with the promised help, they found the kitchen ceiling all finished.
"You promised you wouldn't climb," said Agnes.
"Oh I didn't. You needn't worry about me like that."
"So how did the ceiling get painted?"
"I just tied a paint brush onto the end of my broom."
Turtle comes from stubborn stock.


I was reminded of all this yesterday while painting eaves at the cabin. Little by little I'm getting the outside finished...but it makes me feel like I'm 87, well maybe not. Hey. I got three more little wall sections done and it's looking gorgeous, but I had to take some time out to mow so I didn't get it all cut in. Maybe next time.

New Energy Bursts from the Smoldering Ashes

Somewhere...

even in the midst of this crazy year, I've discovered new energy in teaching my Christian Studies IV class. That class always takes preparation, but after ten years of teaching it, I could ease up a little and rest on what I already know; not this year though. More than ever, I'm finding myself preparing hours for that class and excited about teaching it.

Why?

Well I believe I've self-analyzed it down to one thing: This summer, a month before school started, I received a letter from one of the students who was going to be in the class. She said: "I'm so looking forward to being in CS IV next year." On enrollment day, another couple of seniors came up to me and said the same thing: "We can't wait for your Bible Class."

You do see, don't you? How could I do less than my best?

I think that's what every teacher needs. Maybe other people too.
Hmm. I'll have to think about that one.
Hopefully, I'm not too old to learn a lesson.

Sunday Scribblings

Away Games--ah the bliss!

Well, how wonderful is this! I'm already home. It's light outside. I still have enough energy to do laundry.
"What!" you say? "How did it happen? No volleyball games? No concession stands?"
"Not for a whole week," I answer gleefully. It's called 'away games'. Mmmm.

Furthermore, I actually had time during the day today to use my planning time for working on lesson plans and grading. (a good thing since I'm a week behind on both...and it's only the second full week of school).

Turtle called and said he is going to pick up something rotisseried at Homeland. I said I would love that--whatever it is--although I hope it isn't iguana or octopi.

So laundry sounds pretty tame. I'm so stoked I'm even going to vacuum the den. Hooray.

P.S. You've heard the phrase: "Don't knock yourself out." You thought it was kind of preposterous right? You should see the lump on the side of my head. (In a week I've: slipped on a cube of ice on the concession stand floor and twisted my knee falling; slid in a puddle of water in the hall--our school roof leaks--and sailed all the way to the floor with my armload of books; and (the dumbest) whacked myself in the side of the head with the back door of the school suburban. Deft, adroit, graceful--that's me.)

Not Keeping Up

It has been a difficult week. Sorry for not blogging or commenting much. I counted my hours and found that I had put in 71. That's counting driving time to and from school with a van load of students, and working in the concession stand--cleaning, sorting, ordering the groceries, buying groceries we needed from night to night, and running the actual stand for the games, which last from about three-thirty until eight, depending on who wins and how close the games are, so after clean-up and inventory and deciding with the class moms what to serve the next night, I've arrived home after nine three nights this week. It's insane. Who thought up sports anyway? Who invented senior trip?

Well, it's not all terrible. The students have been real troopers. Out of the ten, two play volleyball, and two play football. They come work in the concession stand whenever they aren't in one or the other. They're attitudes are great, and they are a joy to work with. I've also been helped by four of the moms. They take turns bringing groceries and helping in the concession stand. Still. I'm there from open to close.

Monday we have another set of games. I've decided I'm going to open them, then go to my room and do lesson plans and grading until around six, when the varsity plays. That way, I'm there in my room if they need me, but I won't be left with so much of my class work to do over the weekend. Surely, I'll get the hang of this and be more on top of it next week. (She says with a sigh.)

Anyway, on the bright side. My classes look good. Twenty three seniors all very excited to learn philosophy and logic and worldviews; great juniors, in spite of the concession marathon; sophomores: a mix--some wise, some still a bit immature; 15 seventh and eighth grade boys. They already talked me into setting up a chess tournament for them. (The Bracket is on the wall, guys!). We are doing an over view of the Old Testament. I can tell already that it's going to be fun. You would not believe it if I told you how polite some of these little guys are. Sometimes I just want to hug them. Then I have a small, quiet class at the end of the day: eight precious seventh and eighth grade girls. (May they stay that way all year!) (Well, not eight--I'll give the class room to grow--but precious...and quiet...It really helps at the end of the day.)

We also had a funeral this week. That's five for this year...five of our good friends in the church.
I guess as you get older, this happens. On Sunday evening, after church, Turtle and I sat and talked to a couple of our good friends--a board member and his wife--for an hour and a half, just visiting. Somehow you need that when times are tough.

Next week we start our Wednesday night program at church and tonight Elijah and his good friend Jeremiah are beginning a new thing: A contemporary worship service. We will just go sing for an hour, maybe a short devotional. It should be refreshing to the spirit... maybe counteract my crazy week.

Observations of Olympic Jewelry

(Limericks...for Sunday Scribblings), whose prompt was Observations

and for

Mad Kane, the Limerick Junkie, whose prompt was jewelry.

I'm going to take that as Olympic necklaces (for obvious reasons)


Men's Gymnastics

They're doing remarkable things
On the horse, on the bars, on the rings
Their leads are commanding
They stick every landing
They've balanced their Yangs and their Yings






Shelly-Ann Fraser

The 100 is no piece of cake-a
You cannot afford a mistake-a
Just a cool running leap
for a clean medal sweep
It's Jamaica, Jamaica, Jamaica!

Michael Phelps

His perfect, elongated torso
has been featured as never before, so
When his swimming suit slips
Down toward his hips
The length of it seems even more so.

Hey, there were a lot of pictures that better illustrated the point, but I just didn't want to post them on my blog.

However, I'm not trying to detract from his incredible feat--eight gold medals. Way to go, Michael!

What are these thirteen things? I'll Tell You.

An Odd Thursday Thirteen...

And Here are the Answers I promised last Thursday:

Somehow odd-looking items accumulate in this family like dust accumulates in empty cabins...softly they settle on any available flat surface until this unsympathetic mom person finds a place for them. Since Turtle collects weird historical stuff, Elijah adds music oddities, and Claye fills crannies with art tools, we have an interesting hodgepodge. They all have to do with music, art or antiques.

1. Many of you guessed this one correctly. It's a cleaner for a clarinet.













2. You really needed to see how small this one
is. It is a water color container; The brushes
go in the outside and the inside actually holds
water. It really does not leak.













3. Nobody had a clue about this one. It is different kinds of wax used for casting jewelry.
The sheet wax is for little designs, and the strips
are for the rings and such.
Here are some pieces made of wax and three rings
already cast in silver.
Claye made them this summer in jewelry-casting class.












4. This is a Turkish coffee grinder. I'm sorry, but I inadvertently left off the handle so it really wasn't
fair for those of you guessing.













5. Yes. A capo for a guitar. Many of you knew this.













6. This is old music. Very old. Turtle says it is Greek, but the document is from the Middle Ages.
It's hard to see unless you enlarge it, and even
then it doesn't look like music to me, but I have
the word of the experts.













7. This is a brush, but not just any kind. It is a special "fan" brush for painting stuff like clouds.













8. And this is used to scrape around the clay pot while you are shaping it. It keeps the water from
saturating the base.













9. This is used to cut the clay pot off the bat after it has dried a little.













10. And this is a tiny, tiny printing press. It was used for stamping a label for a book, for instance.
It actually belonged to my husband's grandparents,
and I don't know how long it has been in the family.













11. These are antique ink wells. They used to sit on an ornate desk in a hotel lobby.















12. These are strange, until you see them in use:
See. They hold paint and are ever so handy when
attached to a palette.



























13. Ok. This is a one-of-a-kind creation by Claye. She needed a tall jar for storing those long brushes and a place to hang the Chinese brushes that have to hang upside down. Ok. It really wasn't fair either, but you'll have to admit, it's strange.



















One more thing. If you find that you were really good at this one, please go here and tell me what these two things are. I really have no clue this time.

What Was I Thinking?

I'll give you the good news first. I'm now the proud sponsor of the junior class. Well, that doesn't sound so bad, now, does it? How did I get this honor. Well, it was a volunteer thing. Right. I volunteered. Sounds crazy, I know, but you weren't there, sitting around that table, realizing that it's been five years since you sponsored one of the upper classes and it was now your turn, because everyone else could not do it because they were swamped with more responsibilities than you were.

Now the bad news: sponsorship is scary. For two years I will help this class raise money for their senior trip. I will buy groceries for and run concession stands at hours and hours of volleyball and basketball games, (which means I have to attend them, but won't get to watch them.) I will organize suppers and food booths and dunk tanks and I will plan for junior/senior fun day and for graduation. At the end of this time I will be rewarded by getting to go on a week long trip with a dozen seniors and some of their parents. This entire experience will bring me closer to these students and mean a good deal to them. That's all wonderful.

None-the-less, it is a daunting quest for me. I can't cook. I don't know how to order food. Even making the punch for a large event has baffled me. (At my daughter's wedding we ran out of punch and ended up with straight kool-aide...plus, I forgot to serve the gallons and gallons of ice-cream we had stored in the freezer. Surely I could have blended that with the kool-aide or something.) I have three concession stand volleyball games next week. Three! Whatever will I do? I think I'll move a little bed out to my classroom--oh wait, I'm driving a school van route this year and can't stay over. Hmmm. Life just might get exciting. I'm warning you. We will probably sell food previously unheard of in high school sports history. For the trip I'll probably recommend going to a nearby camp in the Ozarks or something. (Truth be told, I hate flying; boating makes me sick; bus trips nauseate me, and a real vacation for me would be for everyone else to leave me home alone and tell the world that I'm with them. Just don't tell the juniors. I'll fake it for two years.)

Two years from now, when I'm back from senior trip, I'll collapse. Until then I'll put one foot in front of another and pray for patience.