Missing Dad

Wish you were here!

Sprung!

I love this time of year when winter has given up its icy grip and summer has not yet smothered me. Grass and plants grow so fast I think I could see it if I only had the patience to watch. The fig and walnut trees put out new leaves every day. Beans and peas and all the other little seeds, tired of laying in the dark beds, are stretching out their arms toward the sun. By next week, the spinach and lettuce will be ready to be turned into salads of succulent baby greens.

By the end of this week, the kids should be finished with their school work. They can already taste the freedom, though the last few pages of math and science hold them down.

I know how they feel!

Put One Foot In Front of the Other

Ever since I wrote my silly poem the other day, I've had the song "Put One Foot In Front of the Other" in my head. Christmas re-runs in May. Yikes!

LoveMercy noted that my hiking moral seemed to parallel my writing life. No coincidence there. Last month I was at a meeting of the local chapter of ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers). We went around the room and everyone shared their recent accomplishments. One friend finalled in a prestigious contest. 6 or 8 had books under contract. 2 had their new books, recently published, to share with the group. 1 had just received a photo of her new book cover. 1 had signed with an agent.

I unlocked the door for the meeting. That's it.

I went home from that night wondering why in the world I've wasted so much time and energy on a dream that may never come true. I was ready to give up.

But now, with a manuscript out there being evaluated as a finalist, I've found new energy. I'd love to have the whole manuscript ready and polished for the summer OCW conference, so I've given myself a strict goal of how many words I have to write each day in order to have the manuscript ready.

2000 words a day, no excuses, until the end of June.

Wish me luck!

Angel's Rest

Climbing the mountain,
I switched forth and back.
With shoes on for hiking
and water and packs.

Only 5 miles,
but oh what a hike.
Made me wish for a zipline,
a plane or a bike.

Exhausting and sweaty,
I started to doubt
I couldn't continue.
I was all tuckered out.

So I sat by the path,
too fatigued to stand up.
Too ashamed to turn back
from so close to the top.

Would I make it or fail?
Was I strong or too weak?
When I turned the next corner,
I had conquered the peak!

moral: Don't give up. You're almost there.

A Little News

Usually, when I get a call from a stranger, it's someone from the police guild, my alma mater, or another non-profit. This morning, though, I got a different sort of phone call.

"Patty?"

"Yes?"

"I'm calling to tell you your novel has been selected as a finalist in our unpublished novelists' contest."

"Oh, that's great," I said. But inside I was shouting, "Yippee! Whoot! Whoot!"

I have 2 days to take the judges' suggestions and return a polished draft of my work. Winning would be great, but even placing in this contest gives me a foot in the door when talking with agents and editors this summer.

I NEED...

This was a game going around Facebook a couple of months ago, but I didn't want to be too much of a follower. After a couple of months, it's a retro game, right? So that's cool?

How to Play: Google your name and the word NEEDS. (So I google "Patty needs.") Check out the top ten results. Share them here if you want. Or don't.

Here are mine.

1. Patty needs no introduction.

2. Patty needs to understand that there are three objectives she must stick to or else her planning will fail.

3. Patty needs Jenny Craig, weighs "2254 lbs."

4. Patty needs to know that God's judgment is not based on popularity.

5. Patty needs a job that overpays!

6. Patty needs a home.

7. Patty needs to grow up and rethink her friendships, her ethics and her ability.

8. Patty needs a drinking gang.

9. Patty needs help with new glasses.

10. Patty needs to fill out her profile but is not feeling sassy enough to do it.

Living History

I have a theory that if you don't tell your kids something is boring, they won't know it is. It's worked for our history lessons over the years.

Learning about the Civil War? Go to a battle re-enactment.

Lewis and Clark? Stand on the places they stood on their trip West.

Visiting Nana in New Mexico for a month? Be sure to go fossil hunting, try on different outfits at the Indian Cultural Center, and visit as many pueblos as you can.

Can't make a trip? Read excellent books that relate history as a story, not just a series of facts.

We've reached the end of our history curriculum and I'm getting worried about what we'll do next. Now that the kids will be doing high school level work, does it have to be boring? One of them recently wrote a paper about Alexander Hamilton and, I'll tell you, there's not much information about him that's written in an interesting way. By the time I was done helping her with her paper, I remembered very clearly the glazed-eyes boredom that always used to come over me in history class.

In fact, that's ALL I remember from my history classes - how boring they were.

So, the challenge is, how do we take history to the next level without losing its story, the part that makes it live?

Suggestions?

Standing Thirsty at the Source

I can't imagine a thirsty man standing by a spring of glistening water and leaning down every so often to take a tiny little sip. Still thirsty, he stands back up and refuses (or forgets) to drink. 

I've been that man lately, reading a Bible verse here, sampling a story there, but refusing to quench my thirst. The other day a friend and I opened our Bibles to read a single verse and I felt the refreshment. I wanted to open my mouth and drink in huge gulp fulls of cool relief. It's all there, everything I need to eat or drink, and I know it's there. But I stand thirsty at the source. Thank God the outflowing of his truth and grace don't depend on my consistency.

At the Feet of Giants

Sometimes giants come in small packages, like Jeanne, who at 4 foot something is one of the few people I can look down on. Jeanne has lived a long, productive life. She spent her first six years in Africa, back when a trip to Africa meant a weeks-long voyage on an ocean liner. She first came into our lives as a great supporter of our mission. She was the lady who, tirelessly, helped send out newsletters and who wrote thank you notes on our behalf. She was at the hospital when our first children were born and declared herself their grandmother. Just this week, she completed her memoires. She's not selling them, but I'm looking forward to being one of the few recipients of this very special book.

From the Pages of History

How often do you get a chance to sit at the feet of someone who made history? Someone who is actually part of a chapter in your history textbook? We're not hoity toity cultural snobs, but when we heard Desmond Tutu was coming to town, we bought our tickets to see him right away.

Desmond Tutu changed the face of Africa.

Our first visit to Africa was to Johannesburg, South Africa, a place torn by the injustices of Apartheid. We were given the privilege of staying in the homes of three families - one English, one Afrikaans, and one coloured. I couldn't tell you the names of the white families we stayed with, though they were kind and hospitable. But the Africas (yes, that was their name), made us feel like family in their home in a coloured township. I think we were the first whites to ever stay there, or at least it felt that way as people watched us walk down the street. We drove through the streets of Soweto and saw the fields where blacks were "necklaced" with burning tires. We saw the hospital not far away where great advances in organ transplants were taking place... for whites. Meanwhile, our host spent over a week in the sparse ward of an under-equipped hospital waiting for someone to see him about a kidney problem.

So, to sit and listen to Desmond Tutu, a man who worked to end Apartheid, whose work on the Truth and Reconciliation Council in newly integrated South Africa helped that country seek forgiveness above retribution, was indeed a privilege.

And beyond being a privilege, it was a pleasure. Despite all his honorary degrees, his Nobel Peace Prize, his endless list of accomplishments, Archbishop Tutu has a terrific sense of humor and an ability to connect with a crowd. I'll cherry pick a little to keep the pearls of wisdom I agree with and leave the rest, but on the whole the evening was enlightening, interesting and fun! The highlight, for me, was hearing him pray the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi, first in English, then in an African tongue (I'm guessing was Xhosa because of the clicks), before he led us in a chorus of Amens.

The Prayer of St. Francis
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved, as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive.
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
It is in dying to self that we are born to eternal life.

Forgiveness above retribution. Peace over war. Truth. Amnesty. Love for each other. Amen.

Hidden Treasure

I picked up a book from my nightstand this morning, one of those that's been shuffled to the bottom of the stack over and over for the past 3 months. One I wasn't too excited to read.

And you know what? I think it's going to be good. I love finding a hidden treasure buried amongst the books I already know and love. It's like finding money in your pocket when you pull out your winter coat in November.

Shh! I'm reading!

Two Down

I spent the last two weeks caring for a coughing, sneezing, sniffling, headache, fever, can't get any rest child. No sleep at night, coughing until her lungs hurt and her stomach muscles cramped. She's all better, but the other two just got the same bug.

Does this mean two more weeks of sleepless nights? Two more weeks of worrying if everyone is washing hands enough? Two more weeks of isolation?

I hope not. Pray for quick recoveries and plenty of rest for everyone.

Excuse me now. I have to go wipe down some surfaces.

Only So Many Words

You can measure how much writing I'm getting done by how often I post to this blog. I've heard that men and women have only a certain number of words per day to use up. Often, by the time my husband gets home, he's used up all his words so I have to do all the talking for the evening.

In the same way, I must have only so many words to write at a time. This week, I've been plugging away on a story idea and have nothing left for all of you who are checking in on me.

Sorry about that. When I hit writers block, I'll be back with a vengeance!

Maybe You HAVEN'T Been There

Have you stood at that spot in Four Corners and known that you could mark off 4 states from the ones you've visited? Not so fast. Turns out the Four Corners marker that is supposed to be on the border between Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado has been a little off all these years.

Well, actually, 2 1/2 miles off. 2 1/2 MILES? That's not even on the dartboard!

What else did they misplace? I'm worried about this now. What if I'm not where I think I am?

For those of you who used this marker to check off those four states, looks like you have some traveling to do.

Easy Fix

For the past two years, I've been clenching my teeth at night. I wake up every morning with a sore jaw and the feeling that I've been stressed all night without knowing why.

Last week I broke a filling. I went into the dentist for a new filling  but when I got home, something was off. I went back again and had them grind the filling down so I could touch my teeth together on the other side of my mouth.

And guess what?

No more clenching my jaw at night. No more headache or clicking jaw.

Turns out I wasn't stressed at all! I just had a high filling for the last two years.

Don't you wish all solutions were that easy? That one day we'd wake up and realize we could easily end the recession by trimming out fingernails? Or end world hunger by tapping the heels of our shoes together? Or lose weight by making a wish on a falling star?

Oh well, at least I'm not stressed!

Growing Up

One of my daughters had her first babysitting job tonight. The other has her first gig tomorrow. I lay awake last night wondering if I'd given them all the tools they need to handle the situations that will come up. Probably not. How am I possibly going to cram all the experience, wisdom and knowledge into them with the little time I have left? What if they're missing some huge piece of the puzzle? What if I forgot to tell them how to dial 9-1-1 or to wash behind their ears? What if they can't discern who to trust and who to avoid? 

What if? What if? Growing up is hard, but letting someone else grow up may be even harder.

Hey, Bidder, Bidder!

Come on down to the Unknown Artists Auction tomorrow night! The evening features

• cheesecake!
• entertainment by the Kennedy viola duet and a Karaoke team
• a silent auction of 5 pieces
• a bidding auction of 20 pieces
• the chance to take home art by a local artist (my contribution is above and authors of Millstones and Rosemoor also have entries)
• the chance to donate towards building houses for poor families in Mexico
  

Friday, April 17, 6 p.m.
Vancouver Church of Christ
9019 NE 86th St.
Vancouver, WA 98662
$15/couple

Cedar and Seder

As each week flows into the next, it's easy to forget the small milestones that mark the passing of time. Here are a couple from last week.

The first hike of the season... really just an excuse to get out and breathe fresh air. We chose to spend an afternoon with friends at the Cedar Plank Longhouse in Ridgefield, WA. If you squint, you can spot a couple of natives measuring the doorway.

The following Saturday, I dusted off the Seder plate and enjoyed an evening of good food and fun with family and friends. I think we lose so much of the rhythm of life when we ignore feast days. A once a year reminder about salvation, safety, and new life is always a good idea.

Gummi Boils

War of the Tulips

Europe dragged the North American colonies into three different wars in the 1700's - King William's War, Queen Anne's War, and King George's war. French colonies were pitted against British colonies were pitted against Spanish colonies in battles that had nothing at all to do with the colonies and everything to do with differences between the protectorates across the ocean.

Three wars. And all for nothing. For all the fighting, all the loss of life, all the drama, nothing was ever decided by any of the wars that made a lick of difference.

I think I may be embarking on such a war, a futile fight against an enemy who hides in trees, blends in with its surroundings, and refuses to fight in the proper fashion.
The War of the Tulips (aka the War for Squirrelish Domination)

It's early in the year, but the fight is on. A neat row of tulips grows along my fence. I wait each day to see them open in their vermillion brilliance. Today should have been the day for the first ones to burst forth with shouts of spring.

Alas, this morning I found the first of my precious tulips decapitated. Headless, its body drooped to one side. It has lost the will to live. This afternoon, 2 more flowers met their dreaded fate. And this evening, another 5. When will the carnage stop?

Desparate, I pluck 4 flowers prematurely, whispering apologies for my violence. But they are My flowers. They live at My pleasure. Or so I think. Inside, I prop them in a vase and mourn their fallen comrades.

I know this battle won't be the last. Next will come peas and lettuce (which suffer at the hands of the squirrels great garden ally, the slug), tomatoes, carrots and, finally, the heartwrenching stripping of the walnut trees.

I fear the battle endeth e'en before it's well begun.