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.

Limerick Challenge

For all you aspiring limericists out there... are you ready to take the limerick challenge? I'll give you the first line and you complete the poem.

It doesn't have to be professional, but it does have to be clean to make it on the blog.

Here's your first line:

A spunky young woman named Jill

Licking the Spoon

It was one of those moments when I was the kid and she was the grown up, though she's my daughter. I don't know if it's that I've drilled into her that you don't lick the spoon (raw eggs and all that) or if she just doesn't share my love for unbaked baked goods.

This morning, she made the cookies and I licked the spoon. Chocolate Oat no-bake cookies (David Cookies, as they were known at our house growing up) don't have any ingredients to be afraid of... not if you don't count the cup of butter and the 4 cups of sugar.

So I stood over the sink and licked the spoon.

It tasted just like childhood.

Old Testament Humor

Reading the Bible is always an adventure. Sometimes a passage touches me in a way it never has before. And sometimes it's just plain funny.

Have you read the story about Balaam lately? -- Not the part about the talking donkey, the stuff that comes before that. Balak asked Balaam to come and curse the people of Israel, but Balaam said he could only say what God told him.

"No problem," Balak said. (My paraphrase) Balaam, after all, had a great reputation for passing out curses and blessings. He set Balaam up on a mountain over the Israelite camp, made all the proper sacrifices, and let his prophet do his thing.

His thing, though, was to say what God told him to. And God told him to BLESS Israel, not to curse them. Bummer for Balak.

"Whoa, Whoa, Whoa!" Balak needed a curse. Instead of finding a different curser, he tried to tweak things enough to confuse God. He set Balaam up on a different hill, one with a little bit worse view of the Israelite camp. That should do it.

No such luck. Another blessing came out of Balaam's mouth.

No problem. Just move him again, this time so he can't really see anything more than a little corner of their camp. Now, since the Israelites couldn't see him, he should be able to lay down that curse.

Ready, go.

Hello. What kind of god did this Balak expect? Obviously he thought God could be tricked, easily, like if he hid behind a handkerchief, God wouldn't know he was there.

Peek-a-boo.

You now what, though? God knew where Balaam was all the time. He knew where Balak was, too, and where his people were (not only their tents, but their hearts). You can't beat God at a game of hide and seek. He's always "it" and he knows where everyone is hiding.

Tomorrow or Saturday...

As of Thursday evening, the counter on my blog is at 29,965. Who will be #30,000? Will it be you?

Let me know if it is!

You Can't Get There from Here

When they say "you can't get there from here," they're talking about downtown Portland. As we got into the car, I said it out loud...as a joke. That was before I drove the scenic tour of Portland, forced ever further from my destination by signs that read,

NO TURNS
BUS ONLY
ONE WAY
NO TURN ON RED
LEFT ONLY
NO LEFT TURN
ROAD WORK AHEAD
LEFT LANE CLOSED

You get the idea. The poor people I was driving around must have thought I just dropped in from another planet. Obviously, I didn't know any of the local customs. I can understand having one way streets in a city. I can even understand dedicating 2 of the 3 lanes to bus and MAX lines. I don't understand why, when there are only 2 2-way streets, you can't turn off of one and you can't turn onto the other.

It was a wonder, but we actually made it to OMSI, Powells (I forgot my gift card. Guess I'll have to go again), and McMennamins, and back to the train station before their train was leaving.

Quite the 2 hours. Thanks for the adventure!

You Win

We were playing a game with the youngest the other day to distract her from her "tired legs" on a hike. You know the game, the one where someone says the name of an animal and the next person has to think of an animal that starts with the last letter of the previous word.

Here's how the game went...

mom: elephant
dad: tiger
kid: rabbit
mom: turtle

...You get the idea. Add in about a hundred animals to fill a half hour or so, including pretty much any animal you could think of. Ideas were running thin...

kid: finch
mom: hippopotamus
dad: skunk
kid: um... Kentucky Fried Chicken!

Game over.

Collateral Damage

A phone call from Dad at 11:30 last night sent me slogging out to the garden to cover all the baby plants in case a frost hit. Despite the hubby's insistance that it wouldn't come down to our level, I took the "better safe than sorry" approach and covered tomatoes, eggplant, herbs and peppers with every bucket I could quickly lay hands on. To his credit, the hubby who didn't believe in the project, came out and handed buckets across the fence to me in the dark.

Weather forecast was wrong, hubby was right. No frost.

However, the late night project brought some collateral damage - slugs!!! They cozied up out of the cold under the lips of all those buckets and died peacefully in their sleep.

Hooray for the false alarm! Hooray for collateral damage!

On Blogging

Didn't Churchill say something like this about blogging?

Never have so many had so much to say about so little to so few.

That's how I'm feeling about this blog right now, like it needs more direction, more streamlining, more purpose. What would you like to see?

Encore!

Once in a while, as I'm plugging through life trying to get the necessaries done, I get to check off something on my "bucket list." For me, that list of things I want to do before I die includes a lot of big ticket items--travel to foreign lands, learning other languages, getting a doctorate, making a difference in the lives of the people I meet.

Once in a while, an experience comes along that's so simple, so pure, I never would have thought to put it on my list. But as soon as it happens, I know it was supposed to be there, to experience that moment and to feel just a little more alive.

4 minutes. Me, my violin student and a room full of strangers.

And Itzhak Perlman playing the Theme from Schindler's List. No microphones or amplifiers, just the pure, sweet notes of the master violist telling the story of his people through his art.

4 minutes well-spent.

Encore.

Snooze Button

It's time to plant the garden. There's nothing in the weather forecast that agrees with me, just an internal alarm clock that tells me I need to plant NOW!

My first clue should have been the garden center. My daughter, the nursery cat and I were about the only ones hanging out in the vegetable section. And the cat wasn't buying. A bored worker wandered by every few minutes, glanced at the group of plants I'd chosen and stated, "Nice selection!" with great enthusiasm.

12 tomatoes
3 green chilis
1 eggplant
1 dill
1 rosemary
and a set of walla walla sweet onion starts

All sitting in the garden waiting for the downpour to end so I can put them in the ground.

Methinks I need to get my internal clock tuned up.

Something From Nothing

After a major fiasco of a garage sale when we moved back to the states several years ago, I refused to ever hold a garage sale again. We had puzzle pieces and straight pins all over the lawn, people dickering over the 25-cent price tag on a lead crystal vase, and women pulling on items of clothing they wanted like they would in a Black Friday sale on a B movie.

No more garage sales.

The problem is, what do I do with all the stuff I'm taking out of my house. Most of it goes to the church garage sale where it will be converted into cash to purchase supplies to build houses in Mexico. I'll even go work at this sale--that doesn't bother me. It's having MY stuff aired in front of the world that I can't stand.

I took 3 boxes of books out today, crossed a couple of bridges and found the Powells warehouse. Picture a warehouse full of bookshelves, books on every shelf, with a busy little army of Northwesterners pushing cartloads of books up and down the aisles to be shelved. One of 6 warehouses that feeds the Powells physical and online stores, it was a bibliophile's delight.

Only the books in the warehouse are not for sale... at least not at that location. If you want to handle to books, you have to visit one of their stores.

I walked into the warehouse with 3 boxes of books and walked out with 1 box and a Powells card loaded with $98.

Mission accomplished. Anyone want to go to Powells?

Purging

I've finally come to grips with the fact that we are in this house to stay. So, instead of dreaming of how to increase our floor space, I'm decreasing our belongings...

Starting with books.

15 apple boxes full of books have made their way off the shelves so far... 5 for storage, 4 for the church garage sale, 3 for used book stores, and 3 boxes of homeschool books to sell to younger families.

I know I'll miss some of these books. I'll hunt for them and won't be able to find them. But then, I've been doing that already. It seems when there's a book I really need to lay my hands on, it's gone into permanent hiding. At least now I can blame my purge instead of my memory loss.

Henri Matisse is Dead

This probably doesn't come as a surprise to you since the French artist passed away in 1954. But for those of you who haven't met him, Henri Matisse (Henry, for short) was also the name of my youngest daughter's beta fish.

He lived a long and happy life... for a fish.

I'm not sure if it's a sign that we're raising the girl right or a sign that she is heartless, but the mourning period lasting about 22 seconds. Then the shovel came out and she picked the perfect spot to bury him, right beside the 2 frogs she had for about a day last summer. She didn't even flinch when she shoveled the dirt over that ever-open eyeball.

I don't think I could have done it. I'm sure someone else in the family always officiated over my hamsters' funerals while I sobbed into my handkerchief. I remember moping through a whole day of school (3rd grade) when Fluffy died. (And using his untimely death as an excuse for not participating in class activities.)

It's been almost an hour now.

She's campaigning for another pet.

Pavlov and Turkey in the Straw

The ice cream truck just went by, singing Turkey in the Straw at the top of its electronic lungs. Kids from miles around hear the song and, instantly, their mouths start to water. Nothing could taste better on a barely warm spring day than a Sponge Bob Push-up, drastically overpriced at $2 a pop.

"It's the ice cream man," they shout, scrambling for their own money or begging their mothers for some. They flock to the street, waiting to satisfy the craving they didn't even know they had.

I keep a constant supply of fudge bars and twin pops in the freezer for just such an occasion. For the same price as indulging a momentary craving for a minute, I can fill the same craving in all my kids for a week or more.

I don't respond to Pavlov's call. Not when it sings "Turkey in the Straw" (which I find immensely annoying). I must admit, though, that the theme song for the NPR news quiz makes me want to take a walk. And I suspect they put the milk at Safeway right by the donut case for a reason.

How 'bout you? Do you have any pre-conditioned responses?

Where in the World?

A handful of you will know where I've been and perhaps the same number will know why.

Butterfly Kisses

This butterfly must have recognized this as a child who loves flying creatures. Owls, bats, juncos- even starlings- all flying things deserve to be fed, admired, and studied. She caught a glimpse of a crow carrying nesting materials this afternoon and ran inside to write it down. The great blue heron, the chickadee and the bald eagle have earned their spots in her life list book. Everything but flies and bees are to admired and encouraged.

She deserves a butterfly kiss.

photo credit: Aunt Dana

Go with God

It doesn't take as long as you'd imagine to get used to being in a new place. After a few minutes, you stop flinching when cars pass you on the "wrong" side of the street. Funny signs seem normal and the way things are done are the way things are done. New flavors become the norm and the body adjusts to temperature and time zone.

We've been back in the States a couple of weeks now and the memories of our voyage are already fading. I think God must design us this way, to adapt to where we are and let the places we've come from recede in our memories if not in our hearts. How else could we survive? Otherwise, we'd be pining away for the places we are not.

My heartfelt thanks to all those who helped make our trip possible. Your participation in God's timing was a great reminder to me of how things beyond my control are never beyond His control. Many thanks also to the Koonces, Crowsons, Hammonds and Crockers, the Martins and Cashes, Kibi and his family, Charles and all the others who opened their homes and lives to us.

Wherever you go, go with God.

Strangers in a Strange Land

Can you imagine being displaced from your home, being driven from the land and the country and the family you love to a new country? Angelique doesn't have to imagine it--she's living it. Far from the people she loves, in a country where no one speaks her language, she can't even find the ingredients to cook the foods she loves and has to settle for the blander fare of Uganda.

She and I made an instant connection the first time I visited her home, both of us thrilled to find we shared a language and were able to speak and pray together in French. Both of us strangers in a strange land who found a connection in our foreign-ness. At church the next day, when the whole congregation split into groups to pray together, she was left sitting in middle of the room, alone. Edwin nudged me to go pray with her, so I did again.

The topic of prayer was "what has God done in your life to show you his goodness?" A tough question for her, I thought, since I already knew part of her story, about her health problems that kept her in the hospital for months and about how her daughter that came to care for her died on Christmas Day.

She didn't hesitate, though, to share the goodness of God. "He's healed me," she said. "Before, I was so sick, needing care and medicine all the time. Now, it is like I am healed. I can take care of my family again."

We spent a day with her and, as we left, she hugged me and begged me not to come back and see her, perhaps to move to the Congo and work with her, planting seeds for God's kingdom and--above all--to not forget her.

Don't worry, Angelique, I won't forget.

He Did Not Meet My Expectations

On the news this week, they announced a program in which Congo residents can trade in a contraband weapon for $50. The problem?--They can turn around and buy another one on the black market for $25. So foreign aid agencies can fund the war with a 2 for 1 special.

With stories like this one, or stories about how ebola and AIDS were born in the jungles on the Congo (formerly Zaire) and spread along its trade routes, you can see why I harbored some pre-conceived ideas about what people from that vast country might be like. Not that I knew I held these prejudices (I honestly don't think much about the Congo in my daily life) until I met someone from there who blew away any idea of what that country and its people must be like.

Meet Kibi.

He lives with his wife and family in western Uganda. He's a refugee, a history professor, and one of the best Bible teachers I've ever met. His wisdom comes from study--sure--but more so from his collection of difficult life experiences. Not that he brought it up or dwelt on it, but Kibi and his family have been displaced from their home. They had to leave their house, their possessions, their jobs, their family.

They gave up everything they had for a chance at safety.

Three times.

He's had to fight for legal status in Uganda so he could get a job and, now that he has one, the school does not pay him what they owe. He keeps working, hoping they will eventually straighten out their finances and give him his back pay. But he's philosophical about it. At least he's got an employment record for the future if the money never pans out.

You'd think that kind of life would make you bitter, or drive you to despair. With Kibi, though, I got the sense that it made him stronger in his faith, that it gives him a constant reminder or where home really is. I watched his affection and patience toward his 4-year old grandson who he will raise as his own since the boy's mother died. Her last wish to her father was that he would teach the child to know Jesus just as he had taught her. I don't think I've ever seen another man in Africa treat a child so tenderly.

God doesn't look at the outside of a man, but at his heart. If God ever hosted a beauty contest, I have a feeling this humble man from the Congo would be a contender.

From the Land of Good Stuff

A box of Oreos. A jar of parmesan cheese. A bag of Craisins.

Simple pleasures, but when they come as gifts of love from back home, they can lift your spirits.

One of the funnest parts of our trips was presenting each of the families we visited with a suitcase full of goodies from home--205 pounds in all.

Members from our church pitched in everything from Kool-aid packets to homemade pillowcases, golf balls to bath gels, Tillamook cheese and a whole lot of goodies from Trader Joe's.

Goldfish crackers for the kiddos. Dark chocolate for the mommies. And a special favorite for everyone: York Peppermint Patties.

Thanks to our church family for helping us take the taste of home to loved ones far away.

Getting There

We arrived 15 minutes before our 4:45 a.m. bus departure, but where was the green bus that was supposed to take us to Mbarara? Nowhere in sight. The only bus outside in the parking lot was already pulling away.

It turns out that just because you purchase a ticket on one bus line at a specified time doesn't mean much at all. We hopped on the bus that was pulling away. The more stops we made as we circled through Kigali and out into the countryside, the more I realized that everyone but us understood how the bus "schedule" works in Rwanda.

Instead of a direct line north, we were stuck on the milk run, the bus that stopped at every "station" and bench along the roadside. We didn't even cross the border into Uganda at the correct crossing. Instead, we ended up at a small outpost at the end of the pavement. We dashed from Rwanda to Uganda in a downpour so fierce it took days for my sweatshirt to dry. The books I carried at the bottom of my basket will never be the same.

As we sped along the slippery mud roads that clung to the side of mountains, I reminded myself, "The bus driver does this all the time and he's not dead yet." No one else seemed to mind--no one but Edwin, who flinched every time he looked down the aisle out the front window at oncoming cars, bikes, and pedestrians. I looked out the side window at banana plantations, fruit stands, and an extraordinary number of cell phone businesses in what certainly felt like the middle of nowhere.

When we finally reached pavement, I had to laugh at the first sign I saw. Hand-painted on the front of a building... "Thank the Holy Spirit Merciful God Design Company." Amen to that. The store owner must have named his business after taking the bus.

In Mbarara, we looked for a connecting bus to Fort Portal. No luck. It had already gone. We ended up in a matatu instead, East Africa's taxi alternative.

The joke goes like this:

How many people can you fit in a matatu?

Answer: One more.

And they did. 9 on my row including this boy who sat on my lap against his better judgment. Up to 26 in all in the narrow Toyota van. The more people you can cram inside, the more the driver and his conductor make.

Despite being wet and squished, it was a good day. First up over the mountains where tea plantations stretch in ribbons of brilliant green over one hill and then the next. Then down into a valley so flat and lush I imagined dinosaurs roaming its basin. We didn't see dinosaurs there, but did catch glimpses of elephants, buffalo, impala, storks, and a baboon who barely lost a game of chicken with our taxi. Start and stop, start and stop, over a thousand or more speed bumps and into Fort Portal just in time for dinner.

Radio Silence

We taxied up to Fort Portal, Uganda, on Friday - a definite African experience, but we arrived none the worse for wear. Internet here is slow and the house we're at doesn't have wireless, so I don't plan to blog again until we return the the States.

Watch for a new post on Saturday. Meanwhile, pray for the work in Fort Portal.