Manual Update

And the winner is...

Me!

I found a manual for the embroidery machine.

Brian gets honorable mention for the best try, but it was for a different machine.

As soon as the book comes, I'll put it to work.

Thanks for your help.

Drat.

I hate cancer. HATE it. It strikes so indescriminately: old and young, rich and poor, healthy and feeble, evil and righteous. When people question how God can allow suffering, they're talking about cancer, among other things.

I know God can redeem any situation. I know he can build character in bad circumstances, reach the unreached through the suffering of the rescued, put a silver lining in any cloud.

But why are there always clouds?

I know he loves us, cares for us, died for us. In my head, in my heart, I know and believe.

But I still question. Why?

Job had questions. God had answers, but not the ones Job wanted. Whenever someone gets diagnosed, I go to Job. I don't find comfort in the questions, but in the answers which basically say, "Who are you to ask these things? Did you make the world? The sky? The sea? Then put your hand over your mouth and stop talking. Better to not say anything and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

I know, it's not comforting in a traditional sense, but to hear God tell us we can't possibly understand what we're asking much less what his reasons are makes me feel better for some reason.

I covet your prayers for Larry and for Joanne this week. Larry's at the end of his fight. Joanne's at the beginning of her 3rd round. Both are right with God and a whole lot stronger than I am. I want to take the pain away, but they both face it bravely.

Sitting Still

My life has been so filled with activity lately, I've been out of touch with most of the things and people I usually keep up with.

Bombings in Moscow

Oprah's half sister

The State of the Union

I've missed all of them.

I've missed my blogs, too, neglecting them in favor of birthday parties, meetings, and well-child checks. The children are fine. The baby turns 9 tomorrow. I like my work. But my writing and my blogs suffer.

It's true what they say: You can have it all, just not all at the same time.

I Give Up-- For Now

I had a brilliant idea on Sunday--I should monogram t-shirts as party gifts for my daughter's birthday party on Saturday. 6 days would be plenty of time to learn how to use my never-taken-out-of-its-bag embroidery attachment my mother-in-law so generously gave me a few years ago.

It should have been, but the one thing missing from the bag was the instruction manual. It took a friend in Africa to set me on the right track of how to plug it in and set it up. That took 2 days. With it running (finally) it was time to test my technique. The first sample came out perfect. Easy cheesy, right?

Wrong. I ruined the first t-shirt, then did one right. Practiced on the ruined t-shirt to see what I was doing wrong and did 3 monograms in a row that turned out perfect. Went to do the 2nd t-shirt and tore a hole in it.

I give up.

For now. Africa friend was right that I should learn to use the machine when I don't have a project with a deadline adding to the pressure.

When I start again (which will be soon since I think this has the potential to become a super fun hobby if I can overcome the frustrating beginning), I'm starting with a manual in hand and an expert embroiderer on speed dial.

Prize alert! A monogrammed dishtowel to the first person who can locate a reasonably priced copy (electronic or print) of the instruction manual for the Bernina Artista 180 Embroidery attachment. I have the sewing machine manual, but there are separate instructions for the embroidery machine.

Shameless Plug

Mom and I are hosting a Demarle party on Saturday at 2.

Don't know what that is? It's an amazing cookware line featuring the Silpat (Martha Stewart's must-have) and other flexible, non-stick cookware.

Can't come? No worries. Drop me a line and I'll tell you how to look at a catalog.

A New Twist on Shopping

I clip coupons... sorta. I often find that it's cheaper to buy generic brands and to shop at Winco than to use coupons on national brand items. It's a hassle and it doesn't seem to pay off.

Turns out, I've been doing it all wrong. I took a class on how to use coupons to the best advantage. Tonight, I thought I'd try it out.

Here's what I did.

I went to Safeway and spent $6.41 on 3 Hallmark cards. When I paid, the cashier handed me one of those long receipts that prints off with a coupon. This one was worth $5.

I turned around and purchased 5 boxes of fruit snacks (reg price $2.99 on sale for $.99), 2 boxes of cereal (reg price $3.49 on sale for $1.79) and 2 loaves of bread (on sale, of course). I used coupons for the fruit snacks and for the cereal & used the $5 coupon from my previous purchase.

The total came to $5.03, a savings of $29.68. And they gave me another coupon worth $3 off my next purchase. And the fruit snacks have 10 cent labels for education, so I can donate 50 cents to a school.

I may not shop this way all the time, but I've become a believer!

Ain't That the Truth

Pa's gonna be mad when he sees me do that. He don't like no fancy stuff like that. He don't even like word writin'. Kinda scares 'im I guess. Ever' time Pa seen writin', somebody took somepin away from 'im.
-Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

My how times change... or do they. For folks these days who don't have the advantage of a solid education, pieces of paper can still be intimidating. I picture so many friends in Africa who showed up at our door clutching a piece of paper. It might be a pink page with a list of prescriptions, a bill from the tax man, a notice from their landlord. All those pieces of writing brought news that somebody was fixin' to take somepin away from them.

All those papers except one--a book--that motivated folk not only to writing, but to reading. It was so painful to listen to men and women struggle through reading passages aloud, but they struggled and they prevailed. This book, the Bible, spurred people on to do what neither school nor government had done. It gave them a reason to want to be able to decipher the words on the page.

It taught them to read.

Progress?

Last time I was in the mall, Santa Claus sat in his oversized chair, letting children sit on his knee while elves snapped happy pictures. Today I noticed his house is gone, replaced by a temporary tax prep cubicle.

Let the good times roll.

Already Behind

I started filling in my calandar a few minutes ago, trying to get all my work responsibilities in one place.

I just got dinged. The calendar tells me I'm 8 hours behind on 3 tasks.

How did that happen?

It's how I feel, though, about 8 hours behind on everything I set my mind to. Maybe I should put "hug your children" and "be nice to someone" on the calendar so I can get dinged on those, too.

With New Resolve

Well, the new year is upon us. The family is sleeping off the effects of a late night while I sit in the kitchen listening to the clock tick 2011 off second by second.

I usually greet each new year with a list of resolutions, quietly made, quietly broken. The list is pretty much the same every year-eat better, exercise more, get up earlier, keep the house cleaner, have a consistent Bible study time, get a novel written, spend more time with the kids...

I read a blog the other day suggesting that instead of making goal-oriented resolutions, we focus more on the internal motivation. Why do I want to get up earlier? How do I want to feel about myself and the way I live?

A list of resolutions, all in adjectives. It changes the focus from what I have to do to how I ought to be.

Content
Positive
Healthy
Loving
Wise
Effective

What about you?

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.