You'll Be Happy To Know

Especially those of you buried in snow out on the east coast, but also those of us in the wet, windy west, will be happy to know...

The mail today confirmed that winter is almost over.

Nevermind that the groundhog won't peek his head out for weeks. Nevermind that the solstice was mere days ago. Nevermind that the sun hasn't been seen in days.

Land's End is having their Winter's End Sale!

Henry Fields and Guernsey seeds are announcing the advent of spring.

Well, who am I to believe? Obviously, we can't trust the weather or the calendar any more. The advertisers must be right. The fact that they're the same types who put out Christmas items in August might clue us in to a trend, but I'm choosing to believe them this time.

I'm on their team. But tell me, by agreeing that spring is here, can I make it so?

Return to the Scene

My hubby of 23 years took me out of town for the weekend. He wouldn't tell me where we were going. He brought me somewhere I never thought I'd go again, the little motel where we started our honeymoon.

The Camelot Room, to be exact. It just shows how tastes change over the years. The room looks exactly the same--the coat of arms and armor on the wall, King Richard the Lionhearted's banners hanging from the ceiling. Best of all, the Pacific Ocean still washes up underneath the private balcony and the Yaquina Lighthouse is visible from where I sit.

So much has changed in our years together. We've had 9 cars, moved 11 times, had 3 children together. We've earned degrees and learned languages. Last time we were here, we didn't carry computers or cell phones or ereaders or digital cameras. Now we have them all.

Some things haven't changed, though. I'm still madly in love with the man I married and happy to have him to myself for a few hours.

Happy Anniversary!

Broken Record

We fed 18 around the dinner table last night, thanks to a generous donation of several salmon from some Alaska friends. It truly was an all-you-can-eat meal straight out of the Copper River.

When two more friends dropped by, we broke the record for how many people can fit in the house at once - 20 people, 3 dogs, and a bird crowded into living room and kitchen of our 1200 square foot house. When 8 of them left and only 10 remained, it seemed so quiet!

Good times, great blessings, wishing the same for you.

A Modern Retelling of the Christmas Story

Old Dog, Same Old Trick

When we got Missy 5 years ago, she introduced herself to our family by gorging on 2 pounds of chocolate. That's when we met our vet. And cleaned our carpets.

You'd think she'd never want to eat chocolate again after that traumatic introduction to it, but no such luck. It's her mission in life to sniff out and devour whatever chocolate she can find. We've been very careful to keep it out of her reach ever since.

Until yesterday. She got her teeth around a small dark chocolate bar and downed it before I could get it away from her. I spent most of the night awake with her. If you've never seen a hyper geriatric basset hound, it's actually quite entertaining.

Not that we want to see it again. She's feeling better tonight and has been allowed back in the house to sleep.

Rejection Day

The first manuscript I sent to an agent, I waited anxiously by the mailbox waiting for the acceptance letter and the tumbling words of praise for my work.

Not so much any more. First of all, I get all my rejections by email these days. I've had enough of them that I don't take them personally at all.

This morning, I got my 4th rejection on a mystery series set in Alaska that I've written for 4th-6th graders. It's my first time to send something to a "New York" agent--meaning one who works in the general market of book publishing, not in the Christian market. After all the stories about how rough it is out in general market land, I've been pleasantly surprised by the nice, personalized rejection letters I've received. Of the 3 New York agents I've heard from, every one of them read at least a portion of my manuscript and every one of them wished me the best of luck in finding an agent or publisher.

It's not personal, it's business. That's a mantra I should repeat to remind myself not to take things personally. The agents, after all, are looking for work that fits what they want to work with.

On the other hand, when these agents treat me as a person instead of an annoyance, it feels pretty good. Even in business, people should be treated like people.

Under the Bridge

It's cold tonight in Bridge City--not quite freezing, but close. The wind whips its way along the Willamette, stirring scraps of paper, dried autumn leaves, and dust in its path.

A long line forms outside the Portland Rescue Mission, a hundred or more souls looking for a warm place to sleep.

A bus parks under the Burnside Bridge and disgorges its passengers, a mob of eager youth. Tables go up, coffee comes out, clothes are placed on plastic tables, free for the taking.

A mother wanders by with her two grown children and all three dig into the piles pulling out shoes and hats and coats and blankets. They cart away a bag full of stuff--I don't see where it's stashed--and mosey back over for more.

Four or five men warm their hands around paper cups of fresh coffee. They're joined by more.

"Are the clothes free for everyone?" Sharon asks. She approaches the tables tentatively, unsure if she's allowed to touch.

"Help yourself," I say. "And have something to drink, too."

"I just need the clothes."

She does, too. Her thin jacket and jeans won't protect her from a night like this. We rummage through the gloves together and find a fingerless pair with a mitten flap that will keep her fingers warm.

"How can I pray for you?" I ask. It's been so long since I asked a stranger that question.

She doesn't even hesitate. "Strength," she says. "I'm 33 days clean and sober and I need strength."

"You've got it." I reach a hand for her shoulder, but Sharon's not shy about pulling me in for a full hug while I pray for her.

A woman wobbles up on her bike, its red strobe flashing in unison with the strobe on her dog's collar. The black pit bull waits patiently on the curb while his owner finds a sweater and a blanket. I hold the dog until his owner balances her goods on her handlebars, then she and the dog continue down the sidewalk. Some men pray over Matthew and some others, I didn't catch their names.

It's not much we offer--a small meal, warm hands, a little conversation--before we pile back into our vans and buses and head back to the comfortable suburbs. Just a blink of an eye for us, but for Sharon and the others, the cold persists, the struggle continues.

My heart grows jaded sometimes toward human suffering. I witness a drug deal and don't know what to say. My youngest child buckles her seatbelt and tells the truth, "Homeless people are nice."

They are and they aren't. Just like me.

DIY Christmas

Every year, I like to do some kind of homemade gift for all my friends. Last year, I made soy candles. The year before that was a flaxseed neck pillow. The year before that I did my own blend of chai tea.

I enjoy the process of deciding what to make, finding the goodies to get it all done, making and presenting the gifts.

All year I've been planning to make reusable produce bags. I bought the fabric and the thread. I set aside the day to work on them. And then I got a gift from my sister-in-law.

Reusable produce bags. Cheap, well-made, and better than what I was planning to do. Good then. On to plan B.

Only there was no plan B. Hmmm... what to make?

I've found my plan B, I think. Testing it out today.

Question for you: What kind of handmade gifts do you enjoy receiving? What are the best ones you've made?

Thanksgiving Show and Tell

It's Thanksgiving time, a holiday for remembering all the things in our lives to be thankful for, a day for gathering with family or friends, for good food and good times. Tell us about YOUR Thanksgiving.

1. Do you cook all or part of the meal?

2. Do you eat at your house or someone else's?

3. White meat or dark?

4. What is your perfect bite?

5. Anything you won't eat for Thanksgiving?

6. How do you spend the morning?

7. The evening?

8. Favorite leftover?

9. Favorite thing about Thanksgiving?

10. Favorite Thanksgiving memory?

11. What are you thankful for this year?

Way To Go!

Last time I saw Scott, they called him Scooter. He couldn't walk, couldn't crawl, but he was a happy little guy. His parents took him to Easter Seals and prayed many a prayer over him.

He learned to walk. And then to run.

And today he ran in the NAIA Men's Cross Country National Championships. Dad and I cheered him on as he climbed the hill toward the finish line. (Those are Dad's hands. Scott's the one between them.)

8K in 27:36. Your mom and dad are so proud.

It was good to see you again, Scott. Hope to see you again next year.

Tea Time

My first day on my new job, Stan asked if I'd like some tea.

I answered, "You never have to ask if I want tea. The answer is always yes."

It's true. Just like Sabrina who, in her movie, says that Paris is always a good idea, tea is always a good idea. (I'd take Paris, too, but at 20 cents a cup, tea's a bit more accessible.)

One whole cabinet in my kitchen is filled with tea. Earl Gray, Lady Gray, English and Irish breakfast. Rwandan, Kenyan, Ugandan. Indian Chai, Black Chai, Homemade Chai Blend. Darjeeling, Assam, Ceylon. Ginger, fruit, and mint ... there's something for everyone.

I have my tea cups, too, but when I want to drink tea, I always reach for the big mugs. The one with Christmas trees reminds me of Lori who judges how well she likes a mug by how thin it's lip is. The "Shh, I'm reading" one doesn't really work, but I like it. My new Copco To Go mug will get me 10 cents off a drink at Starbucks.

Excuse me now. I need to put the kettle on.

Forever 29

He always said she'd run forever. If she was going to die, it would be from getting hit. 29 years, 400,000 miles, talk about Old Faithful.

Storage Options

When my hard drive crashed recently, the PC guru who unsuccessfully tried to retrieve my data advised that all important data should be stored in at least 3 places. Some storage options are:

-on the computer itself (of course)
-on a thumb drive
-on an external hard drive
-on an online storage backup site (like mozy or qwest digital vault)
-on a file sync service (like dropbox)

A colleague recommended sugarsync, which stores your info online and regularly syncs it with your computer. I signed up for it today and was able to receive a 500 megabite file, 50 times the size of info I'd be able to receive via email.

If you're interested in learning about sugarsync, use this link. If you sign up, it will give both of us extra storage space above the 2 gigabites you can use for free.

If you've got a helpful tip for backing up data, feel free to share.

This Just Made Me Smile

Originally I posted a clip from Wheel of Fortune, but it won't play any more. So if you want to see it, click here.

A Colorful Moment

We ARE the Joneses

We are NEVER the first people to buy a new technology. Case in point: we still have a VCR. And an analog TV. And a radio. And a typewriter.

Yesterday, though, I bought a new technology on the first day it released. I brought the Kinect for XBox home with a big grin on my face.

Finally, a game that I want to play.

For all the years we've had an XBox, there's never been a single game that's interested me. Until now. I was intrigued by the Wii and had pretty much talked myself into getting one before I heard that the Kinect would not require any controllers. It works with a motion sensor, is geared for real exercise, and works with the system we already own.

Perfect.

I only bought the sensor and a fitness program, which will be plenty to keep me busy until Christmas.

We've only had it for 24 hours but we've already had about 15 kids come over and give it a try. I think I'm going to love it. Drop on by and see how this amazing new gizmo works.

A Serene Moment

This indigo art exhibit is on at the Portland Japanese gardens. Amazing textile work by an artist from Kyoto.

A Blustery Moment

November started out wet, warm, and windy. No worries. Just get out and enjoy the weather!

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part Last

One of my earliest memories, when I was about 3, is of snowmobiling with Santa. Looking back, I’m not sure Santa was actually on the snowmobile, but in my mind he was. At least, I was riding on the back of the snowmobile, then was picked up and plopped on his lap. Surely he was there, too. I always pictured Santa abandoning his sleigh to race across the frozen white land on his Arctic Cat.

It was a privilege to grow up Alaskan and I wore the title Sourdough with pride. It was a gift to sit at the feet of the old Tlingit woman who taught beading and moccasin making. It was a thrill to deliver homemade banana bread to Montana Joe in his one-room cabin. He was one of the last homesteaders in Juneau and, even as I child, I knew I was looking into the face of history.

I was always told not to disturb the bricks I found when exploring the ruins of the A.J. Mine or the Treadwell mine. “Those bricks are valuable.” That’s why, when I moved to Arkansas and saw all the brick houses, I thought everyone was rich.

And all the time, it was I who was rich. Rich in a heritage and a boatload of Alaskan memories I will never forget.

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part VII

“We’re going to the glacier!” We would yell to Mom as we sped off on our bikes. Nearly every sunny day was spent at the glacier, climbing rocks, hiking trails, fishing for ice, and (most fun of all) lying to tourists. We got a kick out of the questions we heard.
“What is the humidity here?” as the rain drizzled down.

“What is our elevation?” They had just come in on a cruise ship. Their elevation was pretty close to zero.

“Why is the glacier so dirty?” This was my favorite questions to answer.

“Those teenagers,” we would say. “They are always joyriding out on the glacier. They keep leaving their muddy tire tracks.” Or “That’s actually not the real glacier. The real glacier is out for cleaning, so they’ve just pinned up a huge photo.”

The tourists would nod in wonder.

The real answer, of course, is that the ice picks up boulders as it flows slowly down the valley. Mendenhall Glacier’s face was more than a mile from the parking lot, but because it is so huge, it’s easy to lose perspective. Boulders look like gravel, gravel looks like dust.

But what’s so fun about that?

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part VI

Dad and my brother went fishing… no surprise. Would it be salmon or halibut for dinner? Neither, as it turned out. When the phone rang, it was Dad, calling from his Ham radio.
“Call your Japanese friend. We’re bringing home an octopus.”

Dad had caught and released the leggy creature, but when David caught the same one ten minutes later, it was either release it so it could eat more bait or take it home.
Our new eight-legged experience filled the utility sink, its body and tentacles seeking their own level like a viscous liquid. We all took a turn at pulling the suction cups away from the sink. Pop! Pop! Pop-op-op! By the time Mariya, my Japanese friend arrived, I was having second thoughts about whether I wanted to put that thing in my mouth. Her scream upon seeing the octopus made me even more nervous. Apparently she had never seen a whole, live octopus before. She had always bought chopped up parts in the supermarket.
Our expert was useless as a butcher.

“How do we kill it?”

“We can’t drown it.”

“Maybe we should cut off its head. But wouldn’t it still be alive?”

Luckily, we had a book on how to prepare octopus.

Don’t ask.

“Remove the beak then turn the head inside out,” the book said. Somewhere in that process we think it died. We pulled the stretchy skin off the legs, sliced them up and delivered them to Mariya who was waiting inside at a safe distance from the carnage.
She expertly turned the octopus into a bowl of indigestible rubbery disks.

At least we got a bottle of ink out of the deal.

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part V

Winter in Juneau meant wondrous snow! On the playground, we all worked together to build the biggest snowman we could. Starting with a small snowball, one kid pushed it until it was too heavy for him to handle by himself. Someone else joined and, soon, twenty of us were pushing around a five-foot snowball. There. The bottom was done.

“Hey, I’ve got the middle part started over here!” someone else yelled. We all swarmed over to help, rolling the ball until it was the size of the first one. Only one to go.

The head was easy to make. Now to put it all together.

I don’t know how we thought we were going to lift several hundred pounds of snow above our heads to place the middle section of our snowman on top of the base. Never mind that one part was by the baseball field and the other was clear over by the swing set.

And so our snowman sat, every time we had a big snow, a slowly-melting testimony to our inability to learn from past mistakes.

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part IV

Picking up trash is good. Planting trees helps the future of our forests. But for a memorable service project, how about starting a library? When my Girl Scout troop heard there was no library in Pelican, we were devastated. How can you live without a library? We collected books from friends and neighbors and packed them up in cardboard boxes.

Pelican had no roads, no airport. We would have to deliver the library by hand.

So, a bunch of 11-year old girls and our fearless leader boarded an Alaska State Ferry. We transferred in Sitka to a smaller ferry which took us to Pelican. With only a couple of hours’ turn around time, we would have to work quickly to establish a whole library. We walked, arms full of books and heads held high, down the boardwalk of the fishing village toward the site of the new facility. One of the town members had very kindly offered the use of her closet to host the new book collection.

A cup of tea, a Girl Scout cookie, a wave of thanks and we were off. I hope those books brought as much pleasure to their readers as they did to the delivery girls.

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part III

Summer isn’t summer without homemade ice cream. And you can’t make real homemade ice cream without glacier ice—the freshest, coldest, purest ice on earth. Dad surveyed the ice from the shore of Mendenhall Lake, eyed a piece that was close enough to reach then plunged in with hip waders, ice pick and burlap sack. While he was nabbing the perfect berg for our dessert, we three kids were facing a challenge of our own.

“Who can keep their feet in the water the longest? Ready? Go!”

“One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand… AAAHHHH! Ow! Ow!” The bone cracking cold broke even the bravest of us within a few seconds.

Back home, sucking on a puzzle piece of glacier ice and waiting for dessert, I knew that the ice cream was just an afterthought to the experience.

Snowmobiling with Santa, Part II

Every summer we picked berries on Blueberry Hill. Tiny berries, barely bigger than bee bees, but so full of flavor, it was like eating candy right off the bush. We sang as we picked. Loud choruses of “The Other Day I Met a Bear” and “There’s a Hole in the Bottom of the Sea” were enough to scare off any critters in the neighborhood.

Most of my pickins ended up in my tummy, but Mom somehow filled her bucket. At home, she emptied her pail straight into a sink full of salt water. What fun to run my fingers through the small, sweet marbles. Even the dozens of tiny worms floating to the surface did not keep me from sneaking a few more berries. It’s good protein and, besides, the ones with the worms are the juiciest!

Snowmobiling With Santa, Part I

Shadow tag at ten o’clock on a summer night. The shadows stretch fifty feet. There is no way to escape being stepped on by “IT.” This is childhood in Alaska—fun, wacky, and unforgettable.

I thought it was normal to come home from school and find a king crab wandering around the garage.
“Can we name him, Mom?” we’d ask.
“Yes, but don’t get too attached. He’s dinner.” And show-and-tell as it turned out. There is no cooler show-and-tell than a giant crab claw. Not even a lunch box full of skunk cabbage.

I thought everyone grew up panning for gold and finding little flecks of color, dreaming of striking it rich, just like in the glory days.

I thought all children wore bells around their necks to warn away the bears.

I thought the Easter Egg hunt on the Alaska State Ferry somewhere between Petersburg and Ketchikan was fun, but not particularly unusual.

I also thought everyone had an “end of the road.” With less than thirty miles of road in any direction from our house, we never got used to riding in a car. Every car trip “outside” Dad challenged us to stay awake and enjoy the scenery. By the time 30 minutes had passed, though, Dad was inevitably driving a car full of sleeping wife and kids.

I thought camping meant roughing it. Camping in the lower 48 was such a disappointment after the real life survivor challenge of camping in Alaska. One of my fondest memories is of the camping trip Dad and I took to Portland Island. Pup tent, sierra cup and dried apples were our only amenities. We were dropped on the beach and, when the boat pulled away, I knew we had to depend on our wits to survive. Never mind that the most dangerous wildlife we saw was a deer trail. Never mind that we were only there for two days. It was an only-in-Alaska trip and one of the experiences that shaped my life. Over the next week, I'll share few more.

Protecting My Future

Our family runs on a four month dry erase calendar.

If it's on the calendar, it'll get done.

If it's not on the calendar, it'll never get done.

Every day is scribbled full of all our activities. Tomorrow, for example, reads:

Guitar
Art
Haircut
French
Ortho (dontist)
youth group

Usually, I rotate the months every several weeks. Not this month, though. The writing on the wall runs July 1-October 31. It's time to erase and start again. I'm enjoying the illusion that the next four months stretch out empty before us, though I know it's just an illusion.

If you want me to do something with you or for you, be sure I check my calendar first. I've been known to double and triple book myself.

What's on your calendar today?

It's All Relative

This is why when someone asks if I know so-and-so in Africa, the answer is probably no. The map comes from a fascinating blog on visualizing data called information is beautiful.

Hmmm...

I was just looking back at this blog and was surprised to find that my last 4 posts were about food.

Hmmm...

A Warm Welcome

We weren't even all the way in the door at the new family owned grocery store before one of the workers greeted us. Dad pumped him for information about who built the store, how it was stocked, what made them stand out from the chain stores, while I picked up huge avocados, tiny pears, and arugula from a bulk bin.

The same worker met us on the other side of the store while we were browsing the cheese section. I asked if they had any prepared pizza dough. He didn't know, but he'd find out.

"We don't carry pizza dough yet, but we might later," was his answer. "But I'd like to introduce you to Erik. He's our executive chef."

Erik was more than happy to fix up some pizza dough for me on the spot and bring it out to me while I was shopping.

We met the same worker at the end as we pulled our cart up to check out. Dad did what I should have done in the first place--asked his name.

Larry.

The new store, Chuck's Produce and Street Market, will be a fun place to shop, especially for hard to find items like passion fruit and good Gouda. But what's taking me back there is the warm welcome I received from Larry and the terrific customer service from Erik.

By the way, the pizza was delicious. Y'all should have stopped by.

Happiness is...

... a piece of moldy cheese.

My dad drop by with a huge hunk of gorgonzola cheese the other day. He split it in 3, left some for me and some for a friend who loves cheese.

Kind of random, I thought, but I've got to tell you--I've been enjoying that cheese. It's not the kind of treat I would have bought for myself, so it tastes a little luxurious. Also, I've discovered that both of my older kids like it, too. It's a snack the 3 of us can enjoy together and a reminder that their taste buds are definitely maturing.

My folks do thoughtful things like this all the time. A couple of dog bones showed up at my house the other day, a stack of coupons and comics, a basket full of freshly picked grapes.

It's fun to be thought of by someone who knows what you like. Has anyone done anything thoughtful for you lately? Have you done anything for someone else?

Bananas

The Asian market has plantains on sale, nice juicy ripe ones. I bought 2 the other day and grilled them. One of the kids and I ate them both before anyone else got a taste.

Back to the market to buy a dozen of the giant cooking bananas. That was yesterday.

We ate them all.

6 went on the grill. The rest went in the fryer to go with eggplant sauce and potatoes for dinner. All went in our tummies.

What is it about food? Plantains were a staple for us during our years in Africa. I don't think I've cooked them since, but as soon as I started cooking with these, the kids started telling me stories of memories they have from Africa. The smell, the taste, the texture ... I'm not sure what it was, but those bananas awakened a long dormant piece of our family. It's fun to let the memories flow.

Ask a random question. Get a random answer.

Q: What should I blog about?

A: Cheez-its.

Uh ...

My Big Green Pocketbook

I love the story of the little girl who goes out for a day on the town with her big green pocketbook. At the beginning of the day, the purse is empty. As the day goes by, though, she fills the pocketbook with goodies, mementos and special reminders of the day. When she gets home, she finds her pocketbook is missing. She left it on the bus.

"My whole day was in there!" she moans. Lucky for her, the bus drivers swings back by and drops off her pocketbook with all its goodies still inside.
Happy ending.

I thought that's how my story would end. My computer was my pocketbook. When I got it a year ago, it was empty of content but full of possibilities. I filled it with stories and pictures, slide shows, spread sheets and homework assignments. It was just starting to feel comfortable to me. And then it crashed.

"My whole year was in there!" I moaned, but not too loudly. After all, the girl in the story got her pocketbook back. Yay for her.

I waited patiently for a month. Today, I got my computer back. Only, it's not really mine. None of the stories or pictures or any of the other items I'd carefully placed inside came back with it. My "pocketbook" has been emptied. My hard drive was irreparable, the data irretrievable.

What seemed so full of hope and possibility a year ago now feels empty and stripped.

Even though all is lost, all is not lost. I'm a writer, after all. I've got more words where those came from. But the thought of losing a whole year of my life has me in mourning. Where is the heroic bus driver who will return all my missing thoughts to me?

If you're looking for me, I'll be holed up in my room, trying to recapture Roberta's story before it escapes me. It was brilliant if I remember right. Who's to say the fresh draft won't be even better?

Maybe it wasn't in my pocketbook after all. Maybe it was in my imagination.

Update

In case you're missing me, here's a quick update. The computer doctor called the other day and said my computer is still going through its diagnosis. It's about 60% of the way through the first test. My guess is in another 2 weeks I'll know if it can be saved or not.

On the home front, the phone guy is scheduled to come today and find out why our internet isn't working a lot of the time.

So, if you're waiting for me to write something clever or interesting, hang in there. It may happen again, just not this week.

In the meantime, I'm still making an effort to post every other day on my website. Check out my stories over at pattyslack.com if you're missing me.

A short Hiatus

Between computer problems, internet issues, and just plain busy-ness, I'm going to take a week or two off from writing on this blog. Hopefully I'll be back with all my equipment up and running before you know it.

In the meantime, be sure to drop in at pattyslack.com where I'm posting true stories about God at work in his people on a pretty regular basis.

See you back here soon!

Too Many Oranges

This is our first week of school. It's usually a very busy time of getting books organized, pencils sharpened, and routines established.

Not this year. This year, it seems, is the year of too many oranges, all up in the air at once with no hope that any of them will be caught. I blame it on my crashed computer. My brain is in there. Meanwhile we're sharing a computer that spontaneously restarts several times a day and that only charges if you hold your tongue right.

Day 1 -

The older kids get up and do science and math on their own. Done by 10. Hmmm... maybe they need to do more work each day.

Science, math, handwriting and history for the little one. Check.

Field trip to a life-sized replica of the tabernacle. Interesting setup. Heavy emphasis on prophecy.

Make chocolate chip cookies as per 1st day of school tradition. Double the recipe, but quadruple the number of eggs. Messy, but they taste great.

Day 2 -

The older kids are done by 9:30. I help them do a science experiment to prove something they insist they already know. Send them back to do more work. Done by 10:30. I really need to get their other subjects ready.

Little one does a science experiment. Decides it's taking too long to get to the human body part of the book. Can't we just skip the history of anatomy? History, handwriting, an errand or two that turns into 5. Tears over still having math to do when the neighbor kids have early release day.

Day 3 -

Older kids done by 10. Really? I've GOT to get them more work to do.

Little one gets her own breakfast--a victory! I let her use the calculator to do math, not that it's any help. When did they start teaching algebra to 3rd graders? She draws a pretty good picture of a cell, plays a song on the piano and recorder (history activity).

All 3 jump into Grandma's car at 10 to learn canasta. I get 3 hours of quiet. Ahhh.

Bible project with all 3 in the afternoon, then some other stuff I can't recall. Nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something. Huh.

Little one goes out to practice roller blading. I work a little on 6 different projects I've committed to. Do some grocery shopping. Get a note that we missed the little one's Awana class tonight. I knew I was forgetting something. Write it on the calendar for next week.

At nearly 11, I say to myself, "What time is it?" and 2 kids answer me. Must establish school year bedtime better.

Maybe next week. Next week we'll be organized.

Patience, Patience, Patience

Alas, my computer is at the doctor and the prognosis is not promising. The computer guru is in the process of physically deconstructing and reconstructing my failed hard drive. Praying for a quick and painless solution. Praying I don't lose months and months of work. (I don't really want to talk about the importance of backing up your work right now.)

As if I needed a reminder of the virtue of patience, when I looked out my window a few minutes ago, I saw a hummingbird perched on the feeder.

Unremarkable, you say? Well, yes... except that I hung the feeder 5 months ago and have seen exactly zero birds feeding at it from then until today.

Welcome, little hummingbird. Thank you for brightening my day.

Once and for All?

Apparently Stephen Hawking has written a new book in which he says that the laws of the universe, including gravity, made it possible for the universe to spontaneously create itself without any help from an outside being, a creator.

It comes as no surprise to me that he believes that. What did kind of strike me funny is that NPR posted a poll about it.

I took the poll, expecting it to read:

Do you believe the universe spontaneously created itself?
Yes.
No.

Instead, it said:

Stephen Hawking says God didn't necessarily create the universe. He is
Right.
Wrong.
I just don't know.

First of all, what kind of a loosy goosy question is that? There are loopholes in that big enough to slip a galaxy through. "Didn't necessarily?" Really?

Second--and this is what jarred me--God's existence doesn't depend on what we believe or don't believe about him. You remember what he told Moses?

I AM. I AM has sent you.

Our polls and opinions, our experiments and discoveries, do not alter what is true.

Timeline

It's that time of year, when school supplies overflow into our hallway and good intentions fill my mind.

I just got a timeline put up on the wall since this youngest is starting history this year. She's eager to delve into Egyptian history. She's already been sneak reading chapters of Cleopatra's biography. Egyptian history will start at the beginning of the timeline and over about a third of its distance.

When I look at how much of the timeline my own life takes up, it's less than a couple of inches. My daughter's life so far could be measured in millimeters.

We're so blind to history, we who think of ourselves as the center of time and importance.

"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord stands forever."

I Peter 1:24-25

Quest for the Green Papaya

Sounds like a great adventure, right?

I was more like a comedy of errors. I wanted to make a green papaya salad for a luncheon, but didn't want to make a trip to the next town to the Asian supermarket I knew would carry it.

So... I looked up a local Asian market online and promptly decided (for no reason that makes any sense to me right now) that it would be easier to go on a random papaya hunt than to go to the market that might actually carry such a thing.

3 hours and dozens of red papayas later, I was no closer to finding the object of my quest than when I had first begun.

So... I went home and called the Asian market that I should have called in the first place.

Yes, of course they had green papaya. Hmmm.

And it made a lovely salad for a lovely luncheon.

Lesson of the week: Don't make things more complicated than they actually are.

Relaunch

I've settled on a theme for my website and have been writing over there for the past week. I've still got some glitches (like making the RSS feed function and some of the other inner workings), but it's off to a good enough start that I'd like to invite y'all to stop by.

The address is http://pattyslack.com. The topic is P.S. God's Continuing Story: everyday reminders of the creator at work.

Mostly I'll be telling stories--true stories about people I've met, fictional stories about people who learn the lessons we need to learn, lessons from my own experience and the experience of my friends, stories of faith and hope and inspiration.

Come on by and stay a while. Meanwhile, back to my regularly scheduled blog.

Worst Fiction

Every year, the Bulwer-Lytton contest dredges up the worst (and some of the funniest) opening lines for fiction. Have a good laugh at some of this year's winners, then give it a whirl yourself.

Winner: Adventure

The blazing equatorial sun beat down on Simon’s head and shoulders as he dug feverishly in the hot sand with the ivory shoe-horn his mother had given him before the homecoming game with Taft, when the field was so wet that he’d lost his low-tops seven times in the cold sucking mud.

Adam McDonough
Reedsburgh, Wi

Winner: Children’s Literature

“Please Mr. Fox, don’t take your magic back to the forest, it is needed here in Twigsville!” pleaded little Isabel, but Mr. Fox was unconcerned as he smugly loped back into the woods without answering a word knowing well that his magic was only going to be used to make sure his forest would be annexed into the neighboring community of Leaftown where the property values were much higher.

Pete Watkins
Broken Arrow, OK

Winner: Purple Prose

The dark, drafty old house was lopsided and decrepit, leaning in on itself, the way an aging possum carrying a very heavy, overcooked drumstick in his mouth might list to one side if he were also favoring a torn Achilles tendon, assuming possums have them.

Scott Davis Jones
Valley Village, CA

Winner: Vile Puns

It was a risky production unlike any mounted prior on the Met stage, the orchestra first imitating the perpetually beating heart of a man walled-in while in pursuit of wine , and then a soprano singing the plaintive aria of a barely alive woman stuffed up a chimney as her ancestral home was destroyed; however, it certainly was Opera Poe.

Amy Torchinsky
Greensboro NC

Winner: Western

He walked into the bar and bristled when all eyes fell upon him -- perhaps because his build was so short and so wide, or maybe it was the odor that lingered about him from so many days and nights spent in the wilds, but it may just have been because no one had ever seen a porcupine in a bar before.

Linda Boatright
Omaha, NE

Now it's your turn. See what kind of wretched prose you can write. One sentence only, but please make it as long and awkward as possible.

Rescue is a Long Time Coming

I've missed a lot of news lately, but a couple of stories crept through the airwaves to remind me of what's going on in the world.

Kyron Horman, the 7-year old boy that went missing from Skyline Elementary School in Portland is still missing. It's been 12 weeks. My heart still breaks for the little guy when I remember. But time is going by and the memories fade. Newer, more immediate events push out the older ones. But Kyron, wherever he is, and his family have not forgotten.

800,000 people in Pakistan are still stranded by the floods. 800,000! If we had that many people affected by a disaster in the States, we'd form a human chain to get help to them. Let's lift up a chain of prayer for those people and ask God to open supply lines to them to get them fresh food and safe water.

And then there are the miners in Chile. 33 people are trapped deep beneath the earth's surface ... and will likely be there until Christmas. 33 people in a chamber the size of a living room. All their food and water must be sent to them through a hole 6" in diameter. It takes 4 hours to get the supplies from the surface to where the miners are trapped. So many things could go wrong for them - malnutrition, disease, despair - but they are not forgotten. The best resources in the world are working to speed their rescue.

Aren't you glad God doesn't forget about us? Suffering and hopelessness seem to stretch on and on, but we are not forgotten. The rescue may seem to take a long time, but his hand is there, waiting for us to grab on and be pulled to safety.

Culture Mindset

Beloit College puts out a mindset list every year that gives a snapshot of what this year's incoming freshman class had experienced. You can view the complete list or just enjoy the sampling I've selected.

This one's for Marion and all her classmates.

Most students entering college for the first time this fall—the Class of 2014—were born in 1992.

1. Few in the class know how to write in cursive.

2. Email is just too slow, and they seldom if ever use snail mail.

4. “Caramel macchiato” and “venti half-caf vanilla latte” have always been street corner lingo.

5. Clint Eastwood is better known as a sensitive director than as Dirty Harry.

6. Doctor Kevorkian has never been licensed to practice medicine.

7. They never twisted the coiled handset wire aimlessly around their wrists while chatting on the phone.

8. Unless they found one in their grandparents’ closet, they have never seen a carousel of Kodachrome slides.

9. Bud Selig has always been the Commissioner of Major League Baseball.

10. Russians and Americans have always been living together in space.

Drumroll, Please ...

The winner of the random prize in the "help me with my website" contest is ...

b-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r

Brenda B!

See me Sunday to claim your prize!

Sorry, Johno. You're not getting your basket back. :-)

Thanks for all the help. I'll be working on the new format over the next several days, but first I have to push through the last 2 chapters to finish the rough draft of my WIP (work in progress). Stay tuned.

Last Chance

I've seen a couple of ideas for my new website, but I'm looking for more. You have all day today to give ideas (see 2 posts ago for what I'm looking for) if you want to be entered in a drawing.

I'll draw from all entries I received by midnight tonight.

One Horse Power

The youngun' has been busy all afternoon creating what started out as a carriage for a princess and ended up as a carriage for the horse.

The invention of the car really did make life easier for our equine friends.

I need some help... prize offered!

I recently launched my website (pattyslack.com) because that's what writers do. I imbedded a blog in it so I would have a place to write.

Problem is, what do I write on the blog? This (scribblings) is my blog for family and friends, my place to rattle on about whatever tickles my fancy. My website blog needs to be focused, though. It needs to have a purpose, a theme, a ...

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm already bored and it's MY website.

I'd love your help kicking around some ideas. What should be the central theme of my website's blog?

Here are a couple of things that have crossed my mind, but I'm open to (almost) all suggestions.

1. Write about writing (or editing)... honestly, this has been done. I don't think I can really add much to the discussion. I want to break out of the "writers write about writing" rut and do something different, something I can sink my heart into.

2. Find the central theme of all my books and write about that. (Problem is this: I have a book on a voodoo priestess, one on hoarding, one on a woman feeding the homeless, and a mystery story for young girls. I'm having trouble identifying a central theme.)

3. Finding beauty in the mundane-- stories or snippets about seeing God's hand at work in every day events

4. ???

5. Blogging my way through the Bible (or Oswald Chambers or...)

6. P.S. - God's Continuing Story, inspirational stories of God at work around the world (I love this idea, but I don't know where I'd come up with enough stories to tell)

7. Post chapters of one of my manuscripts as sample reading... not sure which one (or possibly podcasting one of my manuscripts)

8. Something about homeschool, though this has been done a lot too and doesn't have anything to do with what I write.

9. Life lessons (there's already one by that name, but I could come up with a different name, maybe make it a little humorous, a little serious a la Everything I Needed to Know...)

10. Your choice. You know me (maybe). What do you think I'd be good at sharing on an ongoing basis?

I'll randomly choose a winner (of unspecified prize) from among all those who leave a comment either here or on Facebook. Deadline is a week from today, Wednesday, August 18.

Farewell to a Statesman

Senator Ted Stevens, 86, of Alaska, was killed in a plane crash in southwestern Alaska last night.

In a way, I'm speechless. He was the type of man I expected to live forever. He served in the US Senate from 1968 until 2008 when a very public fraud trial forced his loss in the senate election. He was convicted, but the conviction was later vacated because of prosecutorial misconduct, whatever that means.

Senator Stevens was in a plane crash before, in 1978. His first wife Ann died in that crash. Even before that, he expressed the belief that he would some day die in a plane crash.

For those who grew up being represented by this Senator, it is no surprise that he cheated a slow, pedestrian death. He lived his life in big Alaskan fashion, and he died that way, too.

Fruit Cocktail

2 of us picked 24 pounds of peaches in 5 minutes yesterday.

5 of us picked 10 pounds of blueberries in an hour today.

None of us picked green beans this weekend, even though we should have.

Guess which produce people are gobbling up like candy?

It was good... really good

Once in a while I have an experience that's hard to put into words. Even though it was a life-changing time, when a friend asks, "How was your week?" I answer vaguely, "It was good...really good."

I had one of those weeks out at the Oregon Christian Writers' Summer Coaching Conference.

I got to meet with some agents and editors and their advice was good...really good.

I attended some workshops and the teaching was good...really good.

I sat in a good class taught by James Scott Bell on how to better shape my fiction. I listened and participated in worship with talented leaders like Julie Hoy. I served on the committee that worked really hard to make the conference a success. It was our last year at Canby Grove (next year at Aldersgate) and our last year under the direction of Pat Rushford (next year, Lindy Jacobs will lead the team).

And I listened in wonder and thanksgiving as keynoters Bill Myers and Jeff Gerke shared the hard lessons they've learned and are learning in their faith walks--powerful reminders that our dark times are not designed to destroy us, but to make us more fit for what God plans for us. Incredible teaching.

So, while I might say the conference was "good," what I mean is that it was one of those small moments that changed me ever so slightly in the right direction.

Guilt Trip

I recycle. Honest. But this stresses me out.

Obviously the battery can't go directly in the trash (though it's smaller in real life than it appears in this photo). It's hard to believe such a small item could bring about our planet's demise.

Here's my problem: To recycle the corroded battery, I have to place it in a plastic bag... which will also lead to global warming and the death of hundreds of sea turtles. Or is is penguins?

What is more likely to happen is that I will set this battery on top of the dog's kennel where it will sit for a year or more while I debate which is worse--battery acid in the soil or plastic bag in the ocean.

A Village at Work

Mom and Dad provided the RV, the transportation, and the flowers.

The hubby gave the go ahead and signed up to help at VBS.

The kids are old enough to make their own lunches.

The OCW team got everything done on time.

If you're looking for me this week, I'm schmoozing with my writerly friends at the Oregon Christian Writers' Summer Coaching Conference. I've already had a lively insider conversation with two best-selling authors, an agent, a publisher, and a magazine editor. I'm looking forward to a week of encouragement, direction, worship, and renewal.

I love it when a plan comes together.

It's Your Turn!

My kids are growing up so fast. If you have any, you know what I mean. Here's your assignment:

List 5 things you want your kids to know before they grow up. (Or if your kids are grown, 5 things you wanted them to know, whether you were successful or not)

I'll weigh in after you've had a chance to share.

Identity Crisis

I was shopping at Costco this morning and noticed something I hadn't seen before. In the fresh produce section, the round red fruit we used to call plums were packed in boxed marked

FRESH PRUNES.

Fresh prunes? Are prunes so popular that people are wishing they knew how to buy them fresh? It rang a bell, so I wandered over to the dried fruit aisle. Sure enough, you can buy a product there called

DRIED PLUMS.

I thought the idea of calling them dried plums was to give the fruit a younger, sexier image. Did that backfire? Do we now need to reach out to the older crowd to offer them the fresh version of the magic fruit that solves all their digestive problems?

Here's what I think. I think someone went to sleep during the ad campaign meeting, couldn't remember what the consensus was, so he decided to cover his bases.

What you missed...

I had the sweetest phone call yesterday from someone who noticed I hadn't been blogging saying she missed my observations. I haven't had the umph to blog, but if I did, here's what I would have talked about.

1. Amazon's announcement that it sold more ebooks than hardcover books last quarter.

2. The lawsuit between the author and original publishers of The Shack.

3. My nephews.

4. The Vancouver Farmer's Market.

5. Perfect Timing.

So, that's what you missed.

Missing Out

For those of you who know me, you know I hate to think I'm missing anything fun. If you're going somewhere, I want to go along. If you're headed out on a trip, I'm happy for you, but jealous. If you read a good book, pass it on. I want to read it. If you're going skydiving... well, have fun. You can do that on your own.

A quick update for anyone who hasn't completely given up on this blog. At day 17 of whatever my ailment is, only one side of the throat hurts this morning, so that's better. Right?

I'm afraid it could be mono, but I'm reluctant to go back to the doctor, shell out another hundred bucks or more to find out I should be resting and drinking fluids, so I'm staying home, resting and drinking plenty of fluids.

I spent all day yesterday at home - I can't even remember the last time I did that. It about killed me. So, here's my question.

What'd I miss?

What did you do yesterday?

Day 12

If the common cold lasts 7-10 days, I'm officially declaring this one an uncommon cold. In this age of internet diagnoses, so far in the last week, I've decided I have strep, tonsillitis, mononucleosis, scarlet fever, and allergies.

Really what I have is a sore throat, probably a virus, that has taken up residence in the back of my mouth and refuses to move on.

I've tried gargling... salt water, hydrogen peroxide, listerine.

I've tried cough drops... halls and ricola, mostly, with a side of Jolly Ranchers for fun.

I've tried ice chips, ice cubes, icees, ice cream, Italian ice and Popsicles.

I've tried Ibuprofen, tylenol, nyquil and dayquil, mucinex, chloroseptic, and tylenol with codeine.

I've taken vitamin C, multivitamins, orange juice, lemon tea, and hot water.

I've even (and this is a shocker if you know me)... I've even gone to the doctor.

And still, all I feel like doing is lying in bed. I checked out some books from the library, but I'm too tired to enjoy them. I miss my family and my friends, my routine, and most of all my energy.

Got any remedies I haven't tried yet? I'm game for anything.

Say "Ah!"

I've had a sore throat for 9 days now, and each day it seems to get worse.

"Rest," the doctor said. Lots of fluid, lots of rest. But who can rest? My nephews are in town (along with their mom and dad). There are bubbles to blow, cherries to pick, scooters to ride.

A cold is supposed to last 7-10 days. Tomorrow will be 10. I'll feel better then...

Right?

Trekkie Sandwiches

Dinner tonight, open-faced sandwiches with meat, cheese and tomatoes, dubbed Trekkie Sandwiches by one of the kiddos, is accompanying our evening's entertainment, Season 2, Episode 3 of Star Trek: the Next Generation.

The kids are just as wrapped up in the escapades of Jean-Luc Picard, Data, Worf, Reiker, and all the others as we were back in the day. Some of the technologies that seemed so amazing appear outdated to us now, like the hand-held computers that do less than an iphone but weigh 20 times more.

We originally watched Star Trek: TNG back in college. A whole group of friends would gather around the console TV, the kind with tin foil on the rabbit ear. One person was assigned to adjust the antennae every time the picture fuzzed out. It's not so different from now. When the digital revolution hit our house, the constant jostling with the digital converter box receiver began.

It seems it's not only on Star Trek that the technology isn't keeping up with the times.

Dog Days of Summer

Well, we finally joined the nationwide heatwave, just in time for Alaskan relatives to come melt in the 100 degree heat predicted for tomorrow.

Not that you'll hear me complaining.

One of my best strategies to beat the heat (since we have no AC) is to move as little as possible. Our family dog has this down to an art form.

Another strategy is to keep the freezer filled with juice pops, the water bottles filled with cold water, and all the curtains closed.

How are you keeping cool this week?

Deadly Sins Update

I was kidding about having the deadly sins printed on bracelets. So imagine my surprise when I ran across this display the other day.

They had the one for lust, too, but it was in its packaging. The sample must have been stolen.

Shadowing Eli

My youngest has been worth her weight in gold this week (which you know is worth more than ever) as she chases, entertains, and keeps up with her young cousin. Both are sound asleep right now after a long, busy day of 2 trips to the beach and 1 to the glacier. It's been a good day and a good trip.

Nothing to Do

Our first stop when we got to Juneau was the glacier. It had to be. It's the anchor of my childhood memories, the place I spent more days growing up and exploring than anywhere else on the planet. So of course it's the first place I took my youngest and my nephew when given a chance to get out of the house.

My daughter took immediately to tossing rocks at the little icebergs that drifted closest to shore, just like her dad would do.

Some older kids around her followed her lead, but their mom stopped them. "What are you, 3?"

I gave them a smile and said, "It's about the funnest thing to do!"

The kids looked back and me and insisted, "It's about the only thing to do around here."

Are you kidding me? Do you know how many places there are to discover? How many trails to hike? How many bears to avoid? How many tourists to chat with? How many chances to defy death? It's the funnest place on earth!

Deadly Sin Knick Knacks

My youngest trotted out of Sunday school yesterday and showed me what she'd picked out of the prize box that day, a rubber wristband in red, white, and blue with the word PRIDE embossed in it.

"That's nice," I said, but something struck me funny about it. Isn't pride one of the seven deadly sins?

If she reached into the prize box again, would she pull out a different bracelet with a different word emblazoned on it? Can you imagine sending a 2nd grader home with a bracelet that read SLOTH or GREED or ENVY or even LUST?

At what point did we decide pride was not something that leads to destruction? I suspect it was sometime around my fourth grade year, when my teacher Pam (the first teacher who insisted we use her first name) had us sit in a circle on the floor with IALAC signs around our necks. IALAC, for those of you who missed school that day, stood for I AM LOVABLE AND CAPABLE.

PRIDE isn't the only sin that's taken a hit in the watering down department lately. Consider GLUTTONY. The more the better has been a big trend in America for generations. Gluttony seems to be a sin we revel in, even in churches. GREED has been recast as AMBITION, unless it's someone who's taking from us. You don't have to look very far back in Wall Street history to see where greed can lead in its extreme. It doesn't just hurt the people who are greedy, I'd say.

WRATH has been watered down, too, I think. I can't turn on the news without hearing 20 people say they're outraged. They don't look outraged, just annoyed, but the word sounds stronger and it sounds more newsworthy, so they use it. WRATH is the kind of anger that eats you from the inside and leaves you hollowed out of any joy.

The bracelet was a funny little reminder to reevaluate where I'm at in some of these areas, but my young'un is still wearing her bracelet with PRIDE.

False Alarm

Summer's over.

Storm clouds brew.

I'm cold.

Legacies

High school memories center mostly around my triangle of friends, my extra-curricular activities, my family, my, my, my. A few projects, a few orchestra pieces still have a spot in my head, but much of the information I learned in school has long since leaked out and soaked into the floor.

Here are a few things I remember:

I can still recite the first two stanzas of "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" thanks to Mr. Chu, the first two stanzas of "The Raven" thanks to Mr. Greeley, most of Hamlet's To Be or Not To Be soliloquy and the opening lines of MACBETH thanks to my dad.

I can still play pieces of the Brandenburg Concertos and Eine Kleine Nachtmusik by memory, thanks to Susan Horst and Fred Mayer.

I can say I read a lot of American and British literature thanks to Mrs. Harris, though I don't remember many details and I'm sure I skimmed a lot. She also introduced me to A Prairie Home Companion, which has been a constant through the years.

I can draw a decent likeness of pretty much anything (if I'm looking at it) thanks to Mr. Groves.

I can look across the table at my husband of 22+ years thanks to Mr. Dennis (who split me up from my triangle of friends and stuck me with the new boy on a physics project).

And I can tell if an argument is sound or not thanks to Mr Ferrell. At the time, I had no idea what logical fallacies had to do with anything. In hindsight, though, learning how to recognize a slippery slope, a bandwagon, and a begged question has had more to do with real life than almost anything else I learned in school.

Mr. Ferrell passed away last week, but the concepts he taught live on.

25 Words or Less

I'm working on condensing my current work in progress to 25 words or less (The editor in me wants to say "25 words or fewer" but who says that?) so that if anyone ever asks me what I'm writing, I can tell him without putting him to sleep.

This isn't the final draft, but it's what I've got so far:

A young woman returns to her hometown to evict her obsessive mother before a fire consumes her home.

You can do this with any book. We're in the middle of Life of Pi right now. My summary in 22 words would go like this:

A shipwrecked boy is trapped in a struggle for survival with the elements, and with the Bengal tiger who shares his lifeboat.

Think about the books you've read recently, or the books you love.

How would you summarize the plot in 25 words or less?

The Sun Is Out!!!

We had our first honest to goodness warm sunny day of the year today!

I'm so happy about it, I thought the sun should come out on the old blog, too.

Hope you enjoy the new format. Maybe my brain will dry out enough for me to put some interesting thoughts together.

Hope your day is as sunny as mine!

Pork Chop in the Sky

If you live in the Northwest, you know we've been living under a gray blanket for months. Summer has promised to arrive for the weekend. I'll believe it when I see it.

I walked into the hair salon this morning and commented on how beautiful the morning was (occasional patches of blue between scattered showers). The hair dresser gave me a funny look and pointed out the window. Sheets of rain were pounding the pavement, giant drops jumping a foot in the air as they hit the instant lake. She said it looked like the kind of rain you see in movies where they go a little too far on the special effects.

This afternoon I found myself looking into the clouds and finding shapes--

--not in the clouds, but in the light leaking through thinner layers of clouds.

I think I saw a pork chop.

Hush! Can You Hear It?

The kids are in bed.

The hubby is reading.

The lamp is dimmed.

The only sound I hear is the gentle tapping of my fingers on the keyboard.

And even that is about to be silenced...

Loaves and Fishes

I was out of grocery money a week ago, not sure how I was going to stretch the food in the cupboard to last our family of five for another 10 days. It would take some creative menus and more tolerance than usual for the foods the kids aren't crazy about. If only the sun would come out and encourage my garden to grow.

We got a call on Thursday that some friends might be coming through this weekend, either Friday or Saturday. I put on my thinking cap, cleaned the last of the chicken out of the freezer, poured the last of the vinegar and soy sauce into a marinade, and cut some of the chicken pieces smaller to make them stretch. Last minute I remembered the corn on the cob I'd happened to pick up a few days before and hadn't had a chance to cook yet, so those ears went on the grill with the chicken. I crossed my fingers and hoped the food would fill the 10 of us.

Make that 11. These friends had generously picked up a recent high school graduate (think hungry boy!) who is now traveling with them.

The dinner was enough. And it was tasty.

Saturday, what to eat? Baked oatmeal is always a favorite around here and I had some oats in the cupboard, so I mixed those with the last stick of butter and most of the brown sugar and fed the crowd.

For dinner, we pulled out the leftovers (can't believe there were any) and a stack of tortillas, some cheese, a bowl of taco meat from the other night, and everyone ate their fill.

This morning that 25-pound bag of steel cut oats I'd bought for an emergency took a hit as about 4 pounds of it went in the pot to feed the masses. Brown sugar is now completely gone, but no one is hungry. And there are enough cooked oats left to cook into biscuits in the morning.

For lunch, the guests cooked up a big moose roast they'd brought along. I supplemented with green beans from last year's garden, carrots I didn't know we had and two loaves of garlic toast I purchased with a $20 bill that was hiding in my wallet. I was sure I was out of money. huh.

Did I mention that I'd also pulled a turkey out of the freezer--one of those good deals at Thanksgiving last year that was put aside for just such a time as this? It roasted all day today, made sandwiches tonight and will go on the road trip north with our friends tomorrow with enough left for us to have a couple of meals, a pot of soup, and scraps for their dog and ours.

The fridge is bulging with leftovers that will carry us over until pay day. Family and friends have been fed so much that even the teenage boys insist they're stuffed.

Not exactly the feeding of the 5,000, but the feeding of the 11 (6 of whom are teens) has been a bit of a wonder nonetheless.

Reel Exercise

I can't remember if we made a conscious decision to use a push reel mower or if we bought the first one by default since it was cheaper to purchase than a gas mower and easier to transport to Africa. Either way, we've been using a push reel mower for years now with no plans to change.

It's good exercise, you know, pushing a mower through the tender grass. I love the whir of blades slicing against each other as the reel leaves a swath of short grass behind. It's such a soothing sound compared to the roar of our neighbors' modern machines.

This year, though, lawn mowing at our house has reached a new level of aerobic activity. With rain falling every day, the yard grows to the shaggy stage in only a couple of days. The blades can't cut through wet grass. The wheels can't get traction in the mud. The mower (that's me) runs out of steam before the job is done.

Rain, rain, go away.

Please.

Sin Tax

I don't smoke, so the cigarette tax doesn't hurt me.

I don't drink, so no worries on the taxes on beer and wine.

I don't gamble, so if there are any taxes at casinos, I don't know about them.

But a new sin tax goes into effect today that I just might feel.

My state has instituted a tax on candy, defined as any sweet confection that does not contain flour and does not require refrigeration. Licorice, jelly beans, Christmas candies, they're all subject to the new tax. So is chewing gum.

It's kind of like a tax on families with children.

And for those of you who are feeling smug about not being affected, watch out, because using plastic is also a sin, so you'll be paying taxes on bottled water, too.

Maybe it's time to quit cold turkey. I think I'd better pop some m & m's and think about it.

Blog Update

When there are two boys in the house, you can't have the blog named after only one of them. So for those of you who want to follow my nephews in Alaska, they have a new address. You can find it in the blogroll under Wyatt Brothers in Alaska.

Superfluous

I made the hubby get out in the garden with me to install a soaker hose irrigation line so I wouldn't have to keep moving the sprinklers this year.

It has rained every day since.

Welcome News

Lucas John Wyatt

May 24, 2010
5:03 PM
4 lb 11.6 oz
17.5 Inches

What would you grab?

Today is a high drama day on both sides of my family. People I love are being require to make quick decisions and take quick action.

To the north, my brother and his wife are on a leer jet, flying toward the hospital where their baby should be born within the next couple of hours. They got the test results back from her amniocentesis and found out that the baby's lungs are not developed enough, but her own preeclampsia dictates that the baby be born today. From the time she got the news to the time they were in the air was about an hour and a half. They didn't even have time to go home and get anything or to say good-bye to their toddler.

A fire is raging through the Bosque, forty acres so far and about 15% contained. My in-laws' house is just up the hill. They're packing their trailer in case they're forced to evacuate.

If you know my in-laws, you know the question of what to grab is a tough one. He's a book collector and has thousands and thousands of books on his library shelves. She's a weaver, a spinner, a knitter, a quilter... which fibers should she save? Which finished projects are the ones that should be salvaged?

What would you grab?

A pet? A Photo album? A laptop? An heirloom?

It's always been a hypothetical question up to now. But seriously, in a crisis, what are the most important things in your life?

I know what one of mine is... I'd appreciate your prayers for both sides of the family.