The Acoustic Life

Once upon a time I was just about as plugged in as you can get. Twitter. Facebook. LinkedIn. Skype. Emails. Text messages. You name it, I was sending and receiving it on an hourly basis. Part of that is because the technology was newish (at least, newish to me), and it was all so exciting. I couldn't help but forward, retweet, share, and comment on all the fascinating, informative, and inspiring things I was discovering out in the vastness of cyberspace. And that doesn't even include all the hilarious cat, wiener dog, and panda pictures with funny captions. There are enough of those, alone, to have consumed several months of my online time.

Besides just enjoying the novelty of the endless smorgasbord that is social media, I was also busy online for 23.765 hours per day (give or take) because I kind of had to be. Someone in our extended family was facing a major health crisis, and it was vital that we be able to stay in contact, moment by moment, with everyone involved. I was working two almost-full-time, part-time jobs from home, (while being a full-time stay-at-home mom) and needed to be "present" at a minute's notice in all of those capacities and places, even when I couldn't physically be present. Science may not have figured out how to allow a person to be two places at once, but technology sure has! (Kinda...)

I can't even tell you how many times a day I thanked God for the online resources that got me through those challenging years. Back then, those programs and social media sites were my life lines. My time savers. My life savers. But I'm not living back then anymore. The pace of my life, thankfully, has slowed considerably. I've gone from needing to be command central or Union Station, to just being a remote outpost in some dusty, backwoods hamlet.  I couldn't be more pleased!

Learning how to function in my new role, however, took time, especially in regard to all of those fancy, high-tech communication tools I'd come to love (read: become addicted to). When we first moved here, I kept engaging in my online life as often and as fully as I was accustomed to doing before. But, it wasn't the same. There was no joy in it. It felt empty, and even irritating. Could it be true!? I suddenly was inconvenienced by the very conveniences I had previously loved so much.

Well, shoot! How does one go about figuring out how often one "needs" to check social media, when one truly doesn't need to check it at all, anymore? (Probably a more profound question than meets the eye...) At first I just cut back on my reposting and forwards. That, inevitably, lead to less messaging, commenting, and replies. At this point (much to the chagrin of many technophiles I know) I'm barely even checking email or Facebook at all. That's right - this former addict has practically unplugged. Turns out, the acoustic life is a pretty good one.

Acoustic life. I like that. I've liked it since the first moment it entered my brain (probably because I wasn't using those synapses and cells trying to think of a witty comeback to a post about being middle aged).  It's a good way to define what it's like to be less attached to the electronics of this age. And, it is a metaphor that makes sense to me.

In acoustic music, there is nothing artificial to boost the volume or reach of the sounds being created. If you want to be heard by a bigger audience, you have to work a little harder. But, it's worth it. When you're unplugged, your message has so much more fidelity to your audience, and the relationship you create with them is infinitely more authentic and intimate. Being unplugged also gives you freedom to express yourself anywhere, anytime; not just within the confines of outlets, hotspots, or cell towers. But, best of all, is the resonance available to those living the acoustic life. Think about it. Rather than 'noise' being squeezed, amplified, and regurgitated electronically, acoustic sound requires room and time to resonate. Personally, I think we could use a little more of those in modern life: more room, more time, more resonance. Don't you?

But, what do I know? I haven't even read any Tweets about the new Pope, seen any of the newest memes about Justin Bieber, or re-posted a single TGIF funny on Facebook in months. I'm awfully grateful that social media and modern technological opportunities (like blogspot, for example), exist. But, I'm even more grateful that I don't have to rely on them all of the time anymore, and that I've been able to discover the many quiet joys of the acoustic life.

Smart Woman / Stupid Moments

I am a smart gal. I've even got test scores from high school to prove it. I certainly am no Einstein, and there will be probably not be anything named after me when I am dead, but I like to think I can hold my own in the realm of ideas. Even after having had three children (which does, let's be honest, tend to diminish capacity just a tiny bit, at least in the eyes of your teenagers), I still get at least 60% of the questions right when I watch re-runs of Jeopardy on TV, and can generally fill in ten to fifteen words in the Sunday crossword puzzle before I get bored, distracted, or need to clean up a spill. I guess you could say that I've got it goin' on in the brain department.

This is why I am all the more amused and confused when I get bemused. (See - only a smart person could string those words together, right?) My problem is that I am kind of book smart, and not always real-world smart. My friend laughs at me for being so capable of deconstructing the obscure literature of unknown writers, but unable to order a sandwich at the drive-thru without practically breaking into tears. I am the woman ahead of you at the grocery store, holding up the line, because I have forgotten to push the 'do you want cash back' button on the credit card machine. (Seriously - I just want to pay for my groceries, not have a relationship. Why does it ask so many questions!?)

Vending machines cause me a bit of anxiety. The main reason I never started drinking coffee was my profound fear of ordering at Starbucks. Seriously... people who can do that without quaking in fear (or because of the caffeine overload) deserve Noble prizes.  In short, I am a smart woman who has trouble with the simple things, which has led to many, many stupid moments. Typically, I try to keep these to myself (you know - to preserve the whole 'smart woman' reputation I'm trying to cultivate). However, my last trip to Oklahoma brought several of these to the surface, and I thought that it would be cathartic to confess my stupidity, rather than holding it in any longer. (That, and since I experienced them with several people around, I can no longer be assured that they will be kept secret without having to pay off or kill some folks.) Perhaps admitting to my problem it will help me overcome it. At the very least, I hope it will provide a bit of comfort if you've had similar moments, or a bit of mirth if you have not.

So, I present to you, my top five 'Duh' moments (that I can remember and am willing to admit to)...

1.) As we drove into Oklahoma, I started seeing lots of signs for Indian smoke shops. I was very excited, since I really like smoked meat. My imagination started to run away with me, as I envisioned wizened native Americans offering smoked buffalo, venison, perhaps even something exotic like rattlesnake or turtle. It was at the point that I was actually trying to figure out how much room we would have in the cargo area of the van that I realized that Indian smoke shops sell smokes. You know - cigarettes. Cuz they can. Without as many taxes attached. Cuz it's Oklahoma. Duh.

2.) Last year we went to the International Cattle Dog trials. You know - where people train fuzzy, black-and-white collies to go and fetch the cows. (Why has no one thought to train dogs to do the same for children in parking lots and grocery stores? Hmm....) Anyway, there were only about 100 people there total, including the trainers and audience. After the sixth white cane that I saw, I started to wonder what it was about this sport that drew so many blind people. I mean, surely it couldn't that interesting to just listen to the whistles and moos, could it? What kind of a spectator sport would this be for someone who couldn't see? Yep - that's right. I actually thought that for a few minutes, before it dawned on me that the cattle dog owners use the white canes to point out instructions and directions to the dogs. Does make you wonder, though - how much more challenging would it be if you had to blindfold the owners. Or the dogs... Just sayin'. Duh.

3.) (You might need to be from the south to understand this one.) On our way down to Oklahoma, I mentioned that I didn't know the names of the Duke boys from the popular TV show from the 80's called The Dukes of Hazard. (This, for you Yankees, is akin to not knowing how to wipe your own nose or spell your own name. In the south, the latter two are optional, but knowing about the Dukes is not.) I said something about hearing the names Crockett and Tubbs on a movie, and thinking, "Oh - that must be the names of the Dukes boys." (Even as I type this, I am filled with shame.) See - that was my mistake. I thought I had been dumb for not knowing something, and smart once I finally figured it out. Although (and, you've probably already noticed this by now, especially if you've ever lived south of the Mason-Dixon line) Crockett and Tubbs are not the Dukes brothers. They, apparently, are from the equally-popular 1980's television show called Miami Vice. For the record, the Dukes boys are named Bo and Luke. If you ever get confused about that yourself (which I doubt you would), you can simply call anyone - literally, anyone - in a southern area code and ask. They'll be able to tell you. Even a five-year old, though I cannot be trusted when it comes to these things. Duh.

4.) We had just finished with a lovely meal, and I was clearing the table. Noting that there was a lot of liquid wax in the candle, I wondered what I should do with it. (Note - the right answer is JUST LEAVE IT! Trust me on this one.) I decided - because I am brilliant - that I should dump it down the drain. Now, lest you think that I am a total idiot, I want to point out that I was smart enough to know that wax does cool. So, to counteract the cooling effect, I ran hot water down the drain with the wax. (Yes, I was trying to mitigate my own stupid, but sometimes effort does not replace intelligence.) As I'm sure you can imagine, the wax hardened in the trap, and clogged the sink. You'd think - as many times as I had put my finger into liquid wax (and felt the burn), and watched that wax harden on my finger - that I would be able to foresee the hazards of my dumb decision. But, I did not. That's what we call a stupid moment. Duh.

5.) And, finally - the piece de resistance. (See - I AM smart. I know some fancy French words!) I wish I could say that the last stupid moment ended there, but it did not. (I guess you could call this a whole stupid evening.)

After clogging the sink, I called to my dear, saintly husband (who rescues me in such situations), and told him what had happened. After looking at me and shaking his head ruefully, he put a pan under the sink and began loosening the plumbing. Once he got the trap off, the water from the sink drained into the pan, and quickly filled it up. He hollered for me to hand him a big bowl, which I did, and asked me to dump the pan. I grabbed it and (oh yes I did - you can see it coming) promptly dumped it back down the drain. (He told me to empty it. That's where you empty stuff, right!?)  Duh.

Have I mentioned that my husband is a saint? Sputtering (both from the water that had cascaded down on him from above and the utter stupidity that his very smart wife had just exhibited) he thanked me and said he would handle plumbing situations by himself in the future. That is probably the smartest decision he has ever made. But, then again - he doesn't suffer from stupid moments like I do, so his decisions are almost always smart.

Note: He did get his revenge (which resulted in another 'Duh' moment for me.) Several months later I was watching TV at my parents' house. They have Dish Network. This, also, confuses me. I wanted to see what shows were going to be on a particular channel much later that afternoon, so I kept hitting the right arrow button. The screen would blink momentarily before revealing the next two hours of programming. I had done this three or four times when my dear, sweet husband (have I mentioned that he's not always a saint?) casually said, "You know it costs your parents a quarter every time you do that, don't you?" I froze - desperately trying to calculate how much cost I had incurred - a task made all the more difficult because I'm not so hot at math or remembering details like how many times I had hit a button. He finally couldn't contain himself, and grinned. Duh!

Don't worry - I'll get back at him, though. I'm pretty sure there's a drip in the bathroom sink, and I'll just offer to help him fix it. Stay tuned for more stupid moments to come...

Cheaterblog - 99 Things

 Once in a while you've just got to take the easy route. A blog I follow had the following list, and invited others to post it and share the fun. Don't know who first came up with it, or how they decided what things to put on or leave off the list. There are a few things I would add, for sure!

Anyway - the things that are in bold are the ones I've done. My grand total was 47 - respectable, but not quite half. Someday I'd love to visit all the exotic locales listed!

I'd sure love to hear about your adventures. Feel free to email or comment if you want me to expand on any of these.  If you copy and re-post, send me your blog address so I can see 99 things about you too!

1. Started your own blog (obviously)

2. Slept under the stars (just last week!)

3. Played in a band

4. Gone to Hawaii

5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain (Took a 30 min. walk on a part of a mountain, but I'm counting it.)
9. Held a praying mantis (just last week also!)
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a thunder and lightning storm (no better place to watch then from my upstairs living room because of the eight-foot-tall windows)
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables (and canned them too!)
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train

21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill (not since I was in college - FYI)
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb (and bottle fed it)
26. Gone skinny dipping (no comment...)

27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice

29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise.

33. Seen Niagara Falls in person.
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors (another cheater one, since my living relatives still live in the area)
35. Seen an Amish community. (I live the Amish dream, baby!)
36. Taught yourself a new language

37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke.
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight (not NEARLY as often as I'd like, though!!)
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater

55. Been in a movie

56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business (not really, but I was an independent contractor and had to pay my own Soc. Sec. taxes. Does that count?)

58. Taken a martial arts class 

59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies

62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy (my doggie blanket. It's ragged and stained, but it's mine.)

70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten caviar (ew. My husband's family eats it with cream cheese and Ruffles potato chips. Not terrible that way.)
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle -

79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book (kinda. I was published in a book... Does that count?)
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car (only to have it hit a deer and be puked in by all 3 children within 2 months of owning it.)
83. Walked in Jerusalem 

84. Had your picture in the newspaper (internationally, even)
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating (one of my particular favorites)
88. had chickenpox
89. Saved someone's life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous

92. Joined a book club
93. Got a tattoo
94. Had a baby (three times. 100% natural. I'm particularly proud of this one)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

Movement

I've missed you!!! Have you missed me? I don't know how it happened that this blog dropped off the face of the universe for four months. (17 weeks, give or take. Seriously, what was I thinking?) Worse yet, anyone unlucky enough to have actually chanced a visit or two in that duration was greeted with my last post, which was about my daughter getting sick.

So, there you have it. In my irresponsibility I have gone and left my Musings covered in puke for the past one hundred and twenty-three days. (That, by the way, is why we can't have nice things around here.) I understand if you're upset. But, before you boycott the blog entirely and nickname your neighbor's messy, lazy dog "Andrea", the least you can do is listen to my excuse. Here goes:

I, like many people my age, have been struggling to find myself. Or, reinvent myself. Or, get in touch with myself. Or, whatever new-fangled thing people call it these days. I don't think it's a mid-life crisis per se, but our family has definitely been in the process of trying to figure out who we are, who we're supposed to be, and how to cover the distance between. One thing my husband and I have discovered - we're not kids anymore, no matter how much we may feel like it inside. I have waxed eloquent [whined] in the past about what a shock it is to discover that you have become (much to your consternation and bewilderment) a full-fledged grown up. On the best of days, it can feel like swimming in jello from the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning until you fall into bed in an exhausted heap at night. More often, though - when the going gets really tough - adulthood is downright immobilizing.

Let's face it - isn't movement one of the things we're most concerned with, after all? Am I making progress? Am I getting anywhere? Did I take the gifts and talents I was given and use them to inch closer to my goals today? Did I move my little bundle of self and the unique treasure I contain a little bit further down the road?   Really, they're all terribly important questions, but also terribly hard to  answer. My problem, all too often, is allowing myself to believe that associating  with the 'right' movement will move me in the right direction. Sound like double talk? Allow me to give you a couple of examples.

I've always wanted to be a part of The Urban Homestead Movement. According to an article from the 'Edible East Bay' e-zine, it's a movement that's come of age. How exciting! Sounds perfect for someone like me, who is also coming of age, so to speak. What draws me to this movement is their advocacy for local sustainability, wise use of the land, back-to-basics lifestyle choices, reinvention of traditional community values, and a dress code the typically includes bib overalls and floppy hats. These are people who are speaking my language - let's keep things simple! I did a bit of research and was almost convinced to sell everything I own except my canning jars and garden tools, and move to an old abandoned warehouse in downtown Chicago, when I smelled a rat.

You see, Urban Homesteading is becoming more and more popular. So popular, in fact, that people are now arguing (threatening lawsuits, if you can imagine) over who started the thing in the first place. And, since the two main contenders in this 'which came first' battle have slightly different approaches and ideals, their followers passionately and emphatically choose camps just as readily as they do. There are "Blumian" Urban Homesteaders, and "Dervaes" Urban Homesteaders, among many others. Seriously? How would I choose? What if I found myself (just like in a scene from Westside Story) facing down a gang of known Blumies, ready to steal my garden gloves and spill my seeds, just for being a Dervee? I mean, just think of the possible ramifications of wandering into the aquaculture building of a rival homesteader on accident on your way to a farmer's market. Do I really want to throw my lot in with people who think they can trademark and capitalize on back-to-basics and bib overalls? Hmmm....

Ok, so the Urban Homestead Movement is out, at least in its entirety. I can still follow the Organic Movement, the Slow Food Movement, the Homeschool Movement, the Unschool Movement, the Attachment Parenting Movement, or a million others that have tangents that interest me. Better yet, I can go to Wikipedia and get a list of over 100 other recognized social movements. Surely one of them will be the perfect fit - right?

Can you see why I haven't had time to blog? It seems that the act of seeking of the right and perfect movement to follow will ultimately leave you spinning your wheels. Now, I'm not saying there aren't good things to be found in each of these pursuits. And, I'm certainly not mocking the dedicated, sincere individuals who keep such important goals, traditions, and lifestyles alive. In fact, it is within these many movements that we can most often find the encouragement, support, fellowship, and inspiration to move our own lives further down the road each day. Plus, I will be eternally in debt to the Urban Homestead Movement (whoever may have started it) for making floppy hats fashionable again. Thank you.

Ultimately - and, here's the important part - the problem with joining any movement is that my path is not your path. And, I'm becoming more and more convinced that there ain't no way that we're all meant to herd together and roam around in packs our whole lives. We may have the opportunity to walk together for a while, or have a similar route or destination, but just as each of us has a unique and special treasure within, we also have a unique and special road to follow.

That, my friends, is really what our family has spent the past four months pondering. Thanks for your patience during that time. I don't know that I have answers to give or any real light to shed on the subject. All I can tell you is this - I appreciate the role each of you has played in our journey this far, and we'll keep you posted step-by-step as we learn more. I sure hope you'll do the same for us.

Family

We all grow up with the weight of history on us.  Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.  ~Shirley Abbott 

This week I went to the funeral of my first-cousin-once-removed. I didn't really know him well, and yet he was as familiar to me as my childhood blankie and the sound of my mother singing a lullaby -a constant in life that is both distant and ever-present at the same time. I guess you can say that family is like that. At least, it has been for me.

I grieve for today's generation, which doesn't know the comfortable embrace of extended relatives and relationships. My parents recently moved back to the small town where they grew up, fell in love, got married, and started a family. Though they had left the town before I was born, we visited at least half a dozen times per year throughout my childhood, often for a week or two each summer. Both of my grandmothers still live there, as do my parents' classmates, aunts, childhood friends, cousins, et cetera, ad infinitum, amen. I cannot tell you the name of the street that the school is on, where people go to hang out, or which neighborhood is the most affluent, but this place is in my blood - figuratively and literally. I know and am known in a way that is profound and eternal. In the Ollie Ollie Oxen Free of modern life, most people don't have a home base to go to in order to be safe. I'm glad I do.

So, there I was - surrounded by my family. In the laughter and noses and smiles of those around me I saw my grandfather, who has been dead for ten years. I heard the voice of my deceased great-uncle, whose legendary kindness and gentility were proven to be solid and true and factual by their very presence in his own children. I stood in the center of the room and the center of the generations and witnessed the past and the present and the future all sharing coleslaw and memories and genetics together. My children. My parents. My grandparents. The whispering voices of those long-departed relatives whose faces smiled up at me from the photo albums, whose life stories were being vigorously reported, sorted, and distorted. We were all there. I wanted to stand on the table, wave my hands in the air, and yell, "Hey! Everyone! Don't you get it? This is important. What we're doing here - what we are - it matters! It is everything!"

But, of course, I didn't. Partly, I didn't do so because every family needs a black sheep, and I am not anxious to move to the front of the line for that job. However, I also didn't do so because, while it's true that family is important and it matters and it's everything, it's also not true at all. Those same cousins and aunts and nephews have already gone back to their jobs and their lives, and nothing has changed. The fact that I am my grandfather's granddaughter doesn't mean a thing now that I have driven back to the home and job and town where no one knew him or all the wonder that his life encompassed. Even those who live together in that little community will cease, once again, to be family in any practical sense of the word, instead resuming their civic, societal, financial, and emotional relationships with one another.

So, there you have it. Family is at once everything and nothing, all rolled into one. I suppose that our genetic heritage and all of the other elements that make up who we are in a more philosophical / spiritual / emotional sense have similar roles. You cannot see your DNA, and probably don't often stop to think about it, but it defines you nonetheless. You are most aware of how much of it you share with others when you are in the presence of those with whom you share it most, and it makes you proud. I am forever my grandfather's granddaughter, and know that it is something special to be able to say that, even if no one else around me does. So, here's to family - including all the love handles, rogues, receding hairlines, dearly departed, and coleslaw that we share. Lowell - you will be missed, but your heritage, humor, love, gentility, et cetera, ad infinitum carry on, nonetheless. Amen.

An Open Letter to My Parents

Dear Mom and Dad:

This apology letter is long overdue, but I didn't realize it until now. You see, having been a parent for almost eleven years, I think I've finally come to realize that there are some things I need to say to you.

1. I'm sorry I hung on you. As a kid I used to wonder how much difference it could possibly make when I 'rested my hand' on your purse or in your pocket while we were shopping. Apparently the hand of a six year old really can weigh upwards of 100 pounds. Who knew? Must have something to do with increased gravity at malls and grocery stores. I get it now. Sorry. 
2. Please forgive me for kicking the back of your seat while on long car trips. Ditto for putting my feet under your seat. Ditto for anything else in any way associated with your seat. I used to think you had magic powers because you could tell when I was pushing my toes into the springs in the bottom of your seat. Now I know that it doesn't take magical powers to detect such a major annoyance, just to keep from slapping the person causing it. I get it now. Sorry.
3. I offer my deepest apologies for having let well-intentioned, but undermining, guest speakers at school make me doubt your parenting skills. I don't know why I thought that a dental technician student or a burned out ex-Cop would care more about my oral hygiene and overall health than you would, but I guess sometimes I did. Thanks for being sure that we always had access to quality toothpaste and never had access to meth while we were growing up. Above all, thanks for not being the kind of parents that cause the schools to have to bring in those guest speakers. I get it now. Sorry. 
4. Wow - what was I thinking when I wore some of those outfits? Though I swore I would never, ever say this at the time - you were right. They looked ridiculous. Yes, they looked like everyone else's clothes, but that makes it even more sad. So, I'd like to offer my apologies to not only you, but also to all of my friends' parents as well. I'm sorry for the attitude we gave and the shameless begging we engaged in just so that we could look like total idiots. I get it now. Sorry.
5. If I could, I would go back in time and un-say the words, "When are we having dinner" about ten thousand times. I don't know why I couldn't keep straight in my head that dinner time always came sometime between when the after school cartoons ended and it was time to go to bed, but apparently I couldn't. Despite the fact that you never failed to feed me once, I tested you every single night of my young life with that annoying and pointless question - often multiple times in one evening. Wow. I get it now. So sorry.
6. Words cannot express how badly I feel about having dropped clothes into the hamper that were not really dirty just because I didn't want to take the time to fold them and put them away. Sometimes I feel guilty when I hear that we are on the verge of a world-wide water shortage, since I know it's my fault in large part because of all the extra laundry I created. Worse yet - the problem I started is only going to get bigger because of my three children. Just fair warning. I get it now. Sorry world. I advise you to enjoy the cool, refreshing taste of drinking water while you still can.
7. Sorry for breaking stuff. I know that you know that I didn't mean to do it. But, I also now understand how heartbreaking it is to come in and see a beloved family heirloom scattered in a hundred pieces all over the floor. Or, have to pay to repair or replace an appliance due to gross misconduct on the part of the young user. (That goes double for the time I ruined the VCR by over zealous application of Pledge while dusting.) I get it now. Sorry.
8. I'm sorry for being surly. Seriously. I don't know what else to say except that sometimes it is your patient example - and ONLY your patient example - that is keeping me from sending my own pre-teen to go live in the yard. I get it now. Sorry.
9. I should never, ever have begged for toys. I had more toys than I needed - certainly more than I deserved, especially in light of the fact that I usually left them out where they would get broken, lost, or stepped on late at night by a weary parent just stumbling to bed to get a few hours of sleep before the chaos erupted again. I am so sorry for begging for new toys, for crying over broken toys, and especially for not picking up my toys. I sooooo get it now. Sorry.
10. Finally, let me apologize right here and now for all the tiny things I did to strip away the dignity you worked so hard to build when you were an adolescent and young adult. For loudly blaming that farting sound my little bare legs made on the wooden pew at church on you, Dad. For falsely claiming that Uncle Mark was pulling in the driveway as you hurtled across the living room, clad only in a towel and a deeply worried expression, Mom. For interrupting every kiss and romantic overture with a hearty, "Ewwwww..." For all of the compromising photographs I took, the embarrassing things I inadvertently said in public, and for requiring you to be at my beck and call for bottom wiping for all those years. I get it now. Sorry, and thank you.

Above all, Mom and Dad - thank you for allowing me to live to adulthood.

I only hope that these apologies (and the future apology letters I know I will end up writing - especially once my children reach the teenage years) will somehow make your golden years a bit easier. I'm sorry I haven't said sorry earlier, or more often.

I want you to know that you have my full support if you choose to fall asleep at family events, nap in the middle of the day, and insist that you be home and in bed by 8:30 every evening. After all, there is not enough time to make up for all the sleep I caused you to lose, even if you do live to 120. (Which, of course, you won't, since all that sleep deprivation took a toll on your health.) Sorry.

Rest assured, I can promise you this - I will gladly let you embarrass me in front of my friends, wear whatever clothing you think looks best (even once your eyesight goes and you're pulling items randomly from the closet), turn the TV up as loud as you want, take up tedious hobbies, wear ridiculous glasses and forget to put in your teeth, and even spend all of my inheritance on ceramic knick-knacks and commemorative plates with obscure politicians on them.


The only thing I ask is that you please, please, please don't ever tell my children how much like them I was at their age...

The Apathy Party

I am a very politically active person. (Wish I could say the same about my physical activity level...) I like to consider myself as informed as the average Jane on matters of national politics, and much more so in regard to issues in the state of Iowa. I vote. I contact my elected officials (sometimes much to their chagrin). I read the news, keep up on current events, and like to indulge in the occasional online poll. This brings me to my musing for the day - since when did Apathy become a political party?

I just finished clicking 'yes' on a rather controversial question. After taking an online poll like this, readers are generally rewarded with the chance to see the current results. On this issue, the 'yeses' accounted for 94% of answers. 'No's' were 5%, and another 1% answered 'No Opinion.' Really? No opinion whatsoever?

I mean, it isn't like this was a complicated question with answer options that were nuanced and only subtly different. It also wasn't as though participants were awakened out of a deep sleep, blinded by a bright flashlight right in the eyes, and forced to come up with an opinion as a matter of life or death. This was a voluntary poll. You had to 1.) see the poll 2.) think about the poll 3.) decide whether or not you wanted to participate in the poll 4.) click on the link to the poll 5.) click on your desired answer, and 6.) hit the submit button. Who does all of those things only to register their opinion as 'No opinion'? Apparently a full 1% of pollsters - that's who.

I would like to say that this was an anomaly, but it's not. It seems that lots and lots of  people these days are under-informed, under-active, and (here's the crux of the issue) proud of it. I helped with a political campaign for the first time this year by making cold calls to un-registered constituents. At first I balked at the idea. I mean, how much difference can it possibly make for me (a stranger with no credentials) to call people I don't know and tell them they should vote for somebody just because I said so? Apparently, quite a lot. It turns out, cold calls from genuine-sounding volunteers makes a big difference in helping undecided voters know who to choose at the ballot - as much or even more so than pre-recorded calls from political figures. Who are these people who don't know who they want, or why, or even what party they most closely align themselves with?

After having people promise to vote for my candidate just because I sounded nice (they actually said this to me) and even asking me to tell them who else they should vote for (and making me wait while they got a pen and paper to write my suggestions down) I am firmly convinced that the two party system is no longer our political reality. No more are there just Republicans and Democrats - or even Green Party, Libertarian, or Tea Party members. I'm guessing that an alarmingly-large portion of voters could rightly say they belong to the Apathy Party.

The good news, of course, is that even if they do frustrate pollsters by insisting on having no opinion, at least these folks won't spend hours and hours volunteering for a candidate you don't like or take your parking spot at rallies. Even better, all it takes is a pleasant voice and a few suggestions to get them to swing their vote to your favor. All in all, even though I'd never join it, I guess the Apathy Party isn't all bad. And, one thing's for sure - at least they're not                     s. 

[In the interest of remaining politically neutral and not offending anyone, the last word has been redacted. Maybe I'm more suited for the Apathy Party than I thought...]

70 Days

Wow - it's been 70 days since my last post. Seriously - 70 days!? How did that happen? That's how long ancient Egyptians used to mourn for their fallen Pharoahs. Seventy days is the length of time it takes to grow a bell pepper, to hatch a bearded dragon, or create a fully developed sperm. (Thank you, Google, for those fascinating facts.) Seventy days is almost 20% of a year, 10 full weeks, spans over 3 months, and equates to 6% of my total life thus far. What on earth could have been so important for the past six million seconds that I haven't been able to find a spare hour to write? Honestly, I don't really know.

It's awfully easy to 'waste' time, isn't it? My guess is that the lack of posts these last many weeks is due, in large part, to winter. I think I have expressed in the past that I have a distaste for the cold and snow, to put it mildly. Like so many others who live in the frozen tundra, I lack motivation to do more than... well... eat, rest from eating, rest up for eating, eat again, and sleep during the winter months. I am, essentially, a bear. Now that things are starting to warm up,  I am able to take cheer from the slow, agonizing, horrible demise of the snow drifts. It's amazing how a little motivation can go a long, long way.

Another element that consumes me during the early part of the year is the Iowa Legislative Session, which lasts from January through April. I have been pretty apolitical on this blog up to now, but that is certainly not for lack of vigorously-held beliefs or first-hand knowledge about the system. In fact, I'm a lobbyist for a small-but-important subset of home schoolers in the state. Trust me - after going to the Capitol at least once a week for three months, I pick up more than enough blood-boiling potential fodder for the blog. But, let's be honest- politics isn't exactly pretty stuff. I always say that there are two things you never want to watch being made if you have to partake of them - hot dogs and laws. I'm perfectly happy writing detailed descriptions of digging in the dirt, scooping poop, and butchering animals. But, I don't believe in being indecent, so I've stuck to the more genteel things in life, and left my political fervor unwritten. Who knows - I might just get a wild hair and change that policy, but for now I'll stick with ranting in the car on the way home from Des Moines and save you all from the unpleasantness.

Perhaps the biggest reason I've been unable to write for you - my adoring blog fans - is that I've been writing for all the rest of my adoring fans. (Or, more accurately, fans-to-be. I'm expecting my following to increase by at least a factor of 1.0000043 in the weeks to come.)  I may not have Dr. in front of my name, or any fancy initials behind it, but I can at least now say that I'm a published author. That's right - the 3rd article, on page 7, of the newly-released Chicken Soup for the Soul : New Moms is by none other than yours truly. Of course, it was first published right here on Musings, so I really do love you most of all, even if I do tend to neglect you when life gets cold and/or busy. It's nothing personal, you understand. I've just been mobbed by the media, held for hours signing autographs, and been forced to pose for countless photographs with adoring fans. Fame can be such a pain.

In all seriousness, though - I am very grateful to have been chosen to be published in the book, and even more so by all the kind words and encouragement from friends and family. (The event was even published - complete with photo op - in my two local papers.) I am also so thankful to have been able to take the last many weeks 'off' in order to rest, relax, and double up. Now, watch out world - it's time to jump. I'm praying for restorative sunshine, fascinating new personal challenges, and the chance to exercise my 'writing muscles' more often than ever before.

And, just for fun - here are some links that are relevant to this blog post: 

Kalona News Article:
http://www.kalonanews.com/articles/2011/02/19/topstory_slideshow/doc4d5c0bd11c8f4542256060.txt

Amazon Link to See Chicken Soup for the Soul : New Moms:
http://www.amazon.com/Chicken-Soup-Soul-Inspirational-Stories/dp/193509663X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1298143006&sr=8-1

To Find How Many Days, Etc. Between Two Dates:
http://www.timeanddate.com/date/timeduration.html

Iowa

I am not a native-born Iowan. For those of you who are, likewise, not from the state, you probably do not understand what this means. To be a true Iowan, at the very least, your grandparents and parents must have grown up here, and you are most likely related to at least half the people in the county. During my elementary years, I used to marvel at how everybody in my class knew who you could pick on, and who you couldn't. Family duty required you to stick up for your first cousins, see, but once you got to the seconds and 'once-removeds' the lines got fuzzy. I was the only one who wasn't related to anybody, so I was fair game for everyone.

Fortunately, I married in to an old-time Iowa family from this neck of the woods (yes - that is the proper way to describe my general geographic area), so I have learned the joys of what it means to be any relation to... As in, "are you any relation to the Farriers who live in Brighton?" Yes. Yes I am, and it feels good. I can now catch the question before the words are even fired, while they are still being loaded and the eyebrow quizzically cocked.

As much as I do love this state, and all of the down-home, wonderful, traditional elements that it embodies, there is one thing I will always despise about the land between two rivers - the winters. Our average January temperature is a balmy 17 degrees Fahrenheit, usually coupled with a thirty-mile-per-hour wind and blinding snow. And here's the thing - that's exactly what the weather was like in December, and what it will continue to be like in February. Winter is not a season here. It is an endurance trial. The best we can hope for is good company, plenty of hot cocoa, and something to smile about. The first two are your responsibility, but I hope this list, compiled from various anonymous emails I've received throughout the years, will at least help you out with the last:

You Know You're An Iowan If:

• You design your kids' Halloween costumes to fit over a snowsuit
• You have more miles on your snow blower than your car
• Driving in winter is actually better than any other time of year, because at least the potholes are filled with snow
• You've ever gotten a snowshovel stuck on your roof
• You describe 0 degrees as 'a bit chilly'
• You've ever called in 'snowed in' to work
• You've ever gone to work when you should have called in 'snowed in'
• You consider drilling a hole through 18 inches of ice and sitting on a bucket in a blizzard a sport
• You're either as white as a sow's belly (winter) or you have a farmer's tan (summer)
• You've worn shorts and a parka at the same time
• You just stick your head out the window until the ice clears so you don't have to bother with your scraper each morning
• You've ever used your heater and your A/C in one day
• Your labor day picnic has ever been moved inside because of frost
• You own a separate vehicle just for winter
• You've driven a four-wheeler or snowmobile to work or school
• You don't stop golfing for the season until the snow is deep enough you can't find your ball
• Your New Year's resolution to exercise more means shoveling the neighbor's walk as well as your own
• Despite how hard the winters all, you still love this state and are proud to call it home

Quotable Quotes

Sometimes I like to flatter myself into thinking that each and every blog post I write is 100% though-provoking, life-changing, earth-shattering brilliance. (Well... maybe more like 90%. Everyone has an off day.) Fortunately, however, I have several live-in humility inducers (ages are 10, 6, and almost 4) who remind me on a daily basis that I may not be quite as witty and intelligent as I sometimes fancy myself to be. After all, having to be told for the umpteenth time which person likes mayo, who owns the Cinderella panties, and how to turn on the video game machine tends to highlight my cognitive failings as quickly as any graduate school entrance exam ever could. To their credit, my children do boost my ego when it comes to my snuggling, cooking, and owie-kissing skills. You know - the really important stuff.

At any rate,  I do really enjoy sharing my world with y'all, but once in a while it's nice to invite in a 'guest writer,' so to speak. I mean, why struggle to make up something pithy and witty when I can just borrow what someone else has said (with due credit included, of course)? So, here is my quotable quote for you today.

This one always strikes right at the core of who I am. It makes the light inside of me burn brighter. Glow hotter. Get bigger. When I read it, the nebulous, tattered robe of excuses and fear falls away and I am tempted to go! do! be! with a new vigor and urgency. I hope it does the same for you. For, like Ms. Williamson said - you were designed to be something wonderful. Now go out and live it!

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
                                                                                    -- Marianne Williamson

Who Am I? Why Am I Here?

Every once in a while my children say things that catch me off guard. Most of the time they're funny. But, often they also carry a deeper, philosophical significance that makes me see the world in a different light.

Not that long ago, my middle daughter was sitting down to a meal and moodily poking around at what she found on her plate. (Of all of our three girls, she's the most likely to be a tiny bit picky about food.) It was clearly apparent that she wasn't happy...

In all of the hustle and bustle of getting lunch on the table, gathering everyone from the farthest reaches of the house, and tidying up the kitchen, I ended up (as usual) hollering out every name that I could summon to the tip of my tongue, and assigning them in a more-or-less random fashion to whichever child (or cat) was closest. I think I even called my youngest daughter by her grandmother's name at one point.

After everyone was seated and our food had been blessed, I encouraged my little reluctant diner to give the new food a chance.

Me: Try it, sweetheart. You'll like it!
Her: How do you know?
Me: I'm your mom. I know you. I know you'll think it's good.
Her: You don't know me. Sometimes you don't even know my name...

Well, she certainly had me there, didn't she? Of course, I'm not suggesting that my momentary amnesia when it comes to names was an indication that I don't know my own children. However, maybe sometimes we do make unfair assumptions about people. Perhaps we get to the place of being so sure that we already know someone, that we stop trying. Maybe it isn't that that we don't know each other, but that we become overconfident that we do know someone that causes children to feel misunderstood, married couples to drift apart, and colleagues to frustrate one another.

But, as bad as it can be to stop trying to get to know someone, have you ever considered what happens when that someone is you? I've come to the place where I'm starting to ask - have I boxed myself in? Am I missing out on opportunities to learn new things? Have new experiences? Be a better person? Have I limited myself because of what I assume to be true about me?

My daughter's statement was a funny but potent reminder to me that it's not fair to stop listening, stop learning, stop getting to know the people around us. But, as much as we owe the courtesy of continuing to learn to other people, we also owe it to ourselves. So, if you'll excuse me - I'm going to go try something new. You never know - I just might find that I like it!

Milestones

Today is sort of a big day. You see, I just marked the one year anniversary since I started this blog. Today I am making my fiftieth post, and it is also the six-month anniversary of my mother-in-law's passing. Important milestones, one and all, and each significant in their own ways. The fact that I have been able to sustain doing this blog for a whole year is big, because I usually am a strong starter, but not so strong when it comes to keeping things up. Maintaining, for me, is a dirty word. And, making fifty posts in one year means that I averaged almost one a week. (Not that I actually achieved my goal of posting once a week consistently, but at least I have hope that it might be possible in the coming year - at least in quantity, if not in timing.) And, I often hear people speak about how hard the first year without someone else  is- all the 'firsts' you experience. It's hard to believe, but we're at least halfway done with those difficult firsts without my beloved mother-in-law. My, how time flies.

Of course, it's easy to notice big milestones and use them to take stock of where you've been and where you are. But, if we're really honest with ourselves, there are plenty of other important roadsigns all around us besides just the milestones. Today was the first time I'd ever ridden in a combine. A few nights ago was the second time I'd ever slept out under the stars. Tonight will be the third time I've ever cooked a venison roast. A few moments ago I reminded my youngest daughter to say, "please" for the fifth time today. And on, and on, and on it goes.

Those things may not be anything worth getting out the video camera for. Hallmark doesn't make a card for them, and I've never yet seen anyone bake a cake to mark those occasions. But, I think it's fair to say that the things I am doing for the sixth or thirtieth or hundredth time are equally as indicative of the importance of my life's journey (indeed - perhaps more so) than the big 'firsts' that are so much more celebrated, but perhaps not really as significant. The fact that my three-year-old points out the moon to me each and every night is no less endearing now than it was the first time. Isn't the comfort of a nightly bedtime story better than the excitement of the first? A thousand humble meals eaten with loved ones much more rich than one tremendous feast eaten alone? The hurried hugs and stolen kisses from my life-long sweetheart so much more passionate and filled with love now than our dizzying first kiss could ever have been?

I remember the first time I became aware of the fact that a birthday celebration is actually marking the end of an era more than the beginning of one. On your first birthday, you turn one year old, but you've already lived a whole year. The vanity of women who want to hold on to their claim of being 29 becomes doubly ridiculous when you consider that a 29th birthday really marks the beginning of a person's descent into their third decade, and not the last year in a person's delightful and tumultuous second decade of life. Likewise, other special events - be they first communions, graduations, wedding ceremonies - they are a momentary marker of an event that signifies the end of something more often than the beginning. These big milestones we celebrate, in truth, are a way of looking back at what has been - the miles we've already covered - and hoping that things will go well for us on the road ahead. Perhaps mile markers aren't really all that helpful after all.

The earthly destinations I am ultimately headed for are still a mystery to me. I don't know how long my journey will be or where it will take me. Therefore, knowing that I've passed a certain number of miles - or events, or activities, or special days - really isn't nearly as important as knowing that I'm still on the right road, or how fast I should be going, or when there is likely to be a curve ahead. For those things, I must learn to focus on the other roadsigns on the path.  The tenth spontaneous snuggle from my six-year-old this week? Yep, I'm still on the right road. A liltingly-spoken request from my three-year-old (coupled with two dark brown eyes looking up at me with utter trust and love) for one more story? Yes, I really do need to slow down and enjoy the ride. Philosophical questions that I still struggle with myself being asked of me by my beautiful, blossoming ten-year-old? Watch out - the road is about to get curvy.  But, it's ok. I may not be able to see what's ahead, but I'm going to remember to focus on more than just the milestones we've passed and see the truly important signs of a life well lived instead.

Autumn!

Of all the equinoxes, the autumnal really is my favorite, by far. (Ok - I know. There are only two equinoxes, but it sounded so good in my head that I just had to give that opening the chance to live, in black and white, for at least one brilliant, blazing moment.) It's true, though. Fall is my favorite time of year. Granted, there are some parts of fall that I could do without; namely raking, football, and the impending doom of winter. The last one is especially heinous, but I've chosen to overlook it and maintain Autumn as the season I look forward to most of all anyway.

What is it about this glorious time of year that is so refreshing? I love the crisp air and the cool evenings. After a summer of humidity so thick you can chop it with a cleaver, it's nice to be able to sit outside and declare casually, "You know - it's a bit chilly out tonight. I think I might need a sweater." The best part, of course, is that you never actually get up and go and get said sweater, opting instead to be chilly just for the novelty of it. The thrum of the cicadas is replaced by the hum of the combines, their lights burning away, late into the night, in ever smaller circles on distant, hilltop fields. The heady scent of chlorophyll and pollen is replaced by the more demure aromas of dusty apples and (unfortunately) heavy-laden ragweed plants. The sunsets are softer. The pace of life slower, and there is an expectation of the end in the air. Ahhh - the end! That, really, is what I love most of all about Fall.

You see - I am a starter. If ever you should find me grinning with a group of friends in a jail cell, you will know that whatever plan got us there was probably hatched by me. I am always leaping before I look. Getting my cart before the horse. Counting my chickens before they hatch, and whatever other idiom applies to people who don't have the sense to stop and think a moment before tearing off down the road toward some new adventure. I guess the way I see it is that Autumn is God's annual loud-speaker announcement to me that it is alright to stop. Cease. Desist. Rest - even in the middle of a project. The gentle droop of my tomato plants and the dry rustle in the corn fields is not a signal to God to work harder, to do more, to try one last thing to bring forth fruitfulness in the earth. When fall comes, all things find closure - from the tired tomatoes, to the worn corn plants, to the budding weeds just staring to grow in the path. In His goodness, God truly did ordain a time to plant, and a time to reap.

So, fall is when I take a step back from the hundreds of little projects that I have set before myself, and take time to reflect. What things in my life have proven fruitful and deserve, now, to have their rest? What seeds and new things have I been busily collecting, sorting, storing, preparing, that now I should plant and walk away from for a season? What budding pet undertaking is it time to acknowledge as a weed in my path and let it go, promising and exciting though it may be? What things should I let die away in order to put my energy into the vital roots that must go deep if I am to survive the winter ahead?

It was chilly this evening as I walked out to shut my hens in for the night and check on the baby chicks, huddled under their heat lamp. On the way past my garden I noted that the annuals seemed to be the saddest of all the plants left. Their vigor and energy and ability to always set on a new fruit or stem seems to have left them, and they seem left startled to have come to the end of themselves and their own abilities and desires. God, I pray that I might not just be a busy annual. The biennials, likewise, are despondent. There is a hint of desperation in the last growing season of these two-year wonders. Wise enough to conserve for one winter, they fail to plan for any more, and end up all used up by their own initiative and pursuit of desired outcomes. Lord, let me be more than a short-lived burn out in your garden. It is only the perennials who maintain a hint of dignity and a promise of future usefulness this time of year. To be sure, they are tired like all the others, but rather than dreading the killing frost, they welcome it as a signal to stop their labors and take their rest. In that rest will come renewal, and with it is the assurance of  season upon season upon season of new starts and fresh tasks ahead. Lord, grant that I may learn the Autumn lessons you labor to teach me, so I can be rooted and find my rest in you and be perennially fruitful for your glory.

Playing Grown Up

Well, here I am attempting a second time to write a post with more of myself included. I am no longer pontificating... have stepped down off the soap box. Is it more human and approachable this way? Perhaps I'll consider this a group therapy session. After all, you must be reading this blog for a reason. If it's to search to answers, I can only tell you, in all honesty, that I do not have them. But, perhaps we can discover some together. I'll go first.

Hi. My name is Andrea, and I feel under-equipped to deal with life. I suppose there are so very many more things I could admit to - over eating, over sleeping, over doing. But, I think I've come a long way by being able to really distill what's going on down to such a pithy and provocative statement. You see, I've always been the one able to handle it all. Keep all the balls in the air. Keep all the plates spinning. Now I've come to realize that those things are what the analogy implies : games - just part of an act. It looks good (and feels good) on stage, but when the makeup comes off and the costumes are put away at the end of the night, there are still children to raise, souls to save, bills to pay. Life is not the circus act.

My best friend and I (both of us turned 30 this year) were wondering together on the phone the other day why no one warned us of what it means to be a grown up. Why did no one tell us how serious and earnest this thing called life can be? Why did no one think to warn us that we would endure indescribable difficulties even as we enjoyed unparalleled joys? Why didn't anyone let us know that this is what it would be like? I've been trying to abdicate my adult responsibilities for years, but they keep coming back. All this time I've had the sneaking suspicion that this thing called life is perhaps a bit more serious and taxing than I wanted to let on.

For my friend, it all started with her first vacuum. You see - it wasn't her mother's vacuum. It wasn't borrowed. It wasn't temporary. It was hers. Forever. You don't buy a vacuum unless you need it. You don't need a vacuum unless you have a home. You don't have your own home unless you're a grown up. See the connection? To this day I think that vacuum causes her pause on good days, panic on bad ones. It's a sign that she - all of us, really - is inextricably engaged in the forward march of life, and that can be a sobering thought.

I, on the other hand, didn't have the sense to pause and consider the implications of my first vacuum. I was very young and idealistic when I plunged headlong into life. It wasn't until sometime after a college degree, two home purchases, a brand new car, three children, and a dying loved one later that I started to have the sneaking sort of panic that my friend's small appliances stirred up in her. Now I find myself very much entrenched in this thing called life, and feel ill equipped to handle it. Who am I to hold the hand of the dying? What do I know about helping those left behind in their grief? What words can I offer to bolster my brave husband, who faces the world with the weight of his family on his shoulders each day? Where will I go for the wisdom to bring forth these children that I feel so fiercely proud of and responsible for? How did I end up here?

Some days I think I'll wake to discover that it's all been a game of house. We (the good children, intently engaged in our play) will be called back to reality by our parents. We will put aside our drama and aprons and vacuums and go have a snack under the watchful eye of a capable and caring adult. Our vain striving over who is in charge, which person says what, where things will go, what we will do... it will all be forgotten. After all - if we are honest with ourselves in the deepest and darkest places in our hearts, we somehow sensed all along that it is foolishness to pretend we are really adults, don't we? Ahhh.... but what can be done about it? Therein lies the trouble.

And so, I will continue to be a little girl her mother's high heels. I will pray for wisdom in bringing forth and carefully preserving the treasures in my husband. I will shore him up on the days when I can see that he is a little boy in his father's tie and suit jacket. At least there is much comfort to be found in knowing that I am not playing this game alone. I will trust the promise God gave me that when I open my mouth, it is in wisdom, and the teaching of kindness will be on my tongue. When that promise is stretched thin and looks like it will run out, I will go to Him for a fresh slice of truth and a cold glass of grace. (Perhaps there is a kind parent who watches over this game of house after all...) I will guide and guard, praise and raise, teach and treasure my children each and every day. And, I will never, ever tell them what it's like to be a grownup - how earnest and serious life can be, and what indescribable difficulties and unparalleled joys you discover along the way -  because they deserve to discover it on their own.

Catching My Breath

So, I guess I haven't written in a while. Sorry 'bout that. I started this blog for  myself - a place to drop all the random little thoughts and tangents that rattle around in my brain all of the time. (It's very busy up there.) It surprised me that since the first entry it has emerged as a platform for cohesive messages and thoughts (at least most of the time)... a collection of essays more than a log of my daily comings and goings. Funny how that happens.

Now that my blog has started out thus, is it too late to change? Would my adoring fans (all 26 - and God bless each and every one of you) revolt? Stop reading? Complain to headquarters? Have me booted off the internet? Guess I'm going to have to take the leap of faith and hope I can make a giant U turn and redefine what this thing is all about, at least for a while. Apparently when I started this blog I needed a soapbox. Now I need a journal. Or a diary. Or a confessional. Maybe I don't know what I need, but that's never stopped me before. I guess what I think I need is just to be able to share everyday life in its simplicity, without having to have a point. After all, often life doesn't have a profound point, at least not one that can be immediately figured out. Sometimes the scattered events must be noted - jotted down and preserved for posterity - so that they can be examined later with more perspective. So - here goes.

It's been a long, hard 13 weeks. My beloved mother in law went into the hospital with end stage ovarian cancer in the end of February. She was there for 5 weeks, and in Hospice for another 2. That was 6 weeks ago, and it is still hard to think about it. It was a long haul, full of so many profound and difficult moments.  She taught me so much about myself during these past many years (we celebrated the 14th anniversary of our meeting a few days after she was admitted). She taught me about my husband. My children. My home. My God. It was not always easy, but it was good. She never lied to me, and we always loved each other.

Watching her slip away from us for the past 3 years since her diagnosis was awful. Watching her transition from this side of the veil to the other during her last 7 weeks was likewise awful, but also... well... life changing. Living without her for the past 6 weeks has been lonely. I am angry at God for what I thought He would do and didn't (I know - it's not logical or fair, but still feels pretty real nonetheless), but I am also so eternally grateful for the little graces and big lessons he granted during that time. He and I are still a bit on the outs, so to speak, but I can never again doubt that He is there, and He is listening, and His promises of life on the other side are real. She got to see it. Got to tell me about it. Got to pass on reassurances about beloved friends long gone. I was so caught up in caring for her, helping the rest of our family, participating in this enormous thing that was happening, that I am at a loss now that it's over.

I've never been a terribly 'slow and steady wins the race' type person. I move from one emergency to the next, expending every bit of energy I have with each and every one. If there's nothing particularly 'exciting' going on, I'll go and seek out someone who needs saving, a situation than needs to be fixed, a fire that needs to be put out. I breathe in (take a few days, sleep a lot, bum around in sweat pants, veg out), and then I breathe out (run! rescue! move! do! fix!).

I'm afraid, however, that I've broken myself this time. This event syncopated my life to the point of breaking my natural rhythm. In a very real way, I guess you could say that I haven't been able to catch my breath. I am quite literally 'exhausted' - consumed entirely, emptied, drawn off, a vacuum, void of previous content and value. I'm not even equipped to deal with the drama of dishes and laundry these days. Am I ever going to be able to go back to slaying dragons? Is there enough rest to be found to fix this worn out body and spirit? Will I ever draw that healing, deep breath again? I'm hoping that, just like the bigger picture - the "point" of life - that is often only found in the magical, mathematical formula of everyday life + some perspective, my healing will come one smile, one nap, one afternoon, one hug at a time. Guess I'll have to keep you posted.

Electron Annie!

Time and all my best laid plans
Cease to exist with shovel in hand...

 I garden the same way I clean house - randomly, and with reckless abandon. I often find myself out for a leisurely stroll around the yard or to pick up a bit of litter after church, and end up hours later with grass stains on the hem of my Sunday skirt and good, clean dirt under my fingernails. Oh, and a smile on my face. The same is true for cleaning (though it's less poetic to write about). I don't know how many times I've started in just to tidy up a little pile of papers and ended up mopping floors in good clothes. I'm not much of a planner, you see. Plus, life is so much more interesting that way, isn't it?

Do you remember looking at drawings of atoms in your high school chemistry book? They were so neat and ordered - the plump, happy protons with their cozy little neutron spouses, surrounded by a passel of electron babies whizzing around them in an orderly (albeit breakneck) manner. The diagram always implied that electrons followed a set pattern - much like the planets around the sun - always predictably in line and never bumping into one another or flying off into another 'nuclear' family's territory. In fact, scientists actually believe that electrons aren't quite the chubby little atomic cherubs we thought them to be. There is a theory called the Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle that describes electrons more in terms of being a wave than a particle. Bill Bryson (one of my favorite authors) summed it up thus in his excellent book A Short History of Nearly Everything:

What this means in practice is that you can never predict where an electron will be at any given moment. You can only list its probability of being there.... until it is observed, an electron must be regarded as being "at once everywhere and nowhere."

Well, there you have it. I must be an electron. At least, that's surely what my family must think of me. My children certainly believe me to be either everywhere or nowhere at once, apparently. Sometimes they can't hear me when I'm standing right next to them, and other times they marvel that I have seen or heard their devious little schemes. I guess you can say that this is one example of how well home schooling works. These three kids already have an innate and deep understanding of the complexities of  Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and they're only 10, 6, and 3. For example, while they're not sure that it's totally possible for me to be in two places at once (or to disappear completely), they understand it, at least, as a theoretical possibility. They've also done some practical research on the topic, and have mapped out the most probable locations in which to find me. Apparently, according to them, I'm most likely to be in the bathroom or on the phone. Go figure. But, I digress...

I woke up today planning on cleaning, doing laundry, and catching up on bookwork. I'm not willing to concede that I'm still not going to do those things at some point today. Actually, I'm kind of already doing them, since I've got laundry in the machines, the dishwasher is open and half full, and my table is sprinkled with financial documents just waiting to be entered into the computer. There is still some probability that you might find me at one of those locations at some point today, albeit a low one. If I were a betting gal, though,  I'd say that it is much more likely that you'll find me outside today. After all, I've already felt the lure of the sunshine and gotten a bit of dirt under my nails while putting in some orphan plants given to me by a friend. (Of course, along the way I also started digging out an old tree stump, began weeding a flower bed, transferred a few strawberry plants, and got the yen to mow.) Whatever I end up doing, you can bet it will be seemingly random, but that's only to those uninitiated in the finer points of physics. After all, even those electric robot vacuums clean all the spots on the carpet eventually in their endless 'Roomba Rumba' dance through life.

I'm sure there are elements of the atom that scientists will continue to unfold as the years go by. God's handiwork is not well or easily understood by mere human minds, much as some scientists like to think otherwise. However, until they come up with a better theory, I'm in agreement with ol' Heisenberg. After all, just because no one can actually predict with any certainty where an electron (or I)  will be or what it (or I) will be doing in any given moment, I am content to know that God makes His own perfect order and purpose in what appears to be a confounding, seemingly haphazard series of events. At least, that's the story I tell my husband and children, and I'm sticking to it!

(I'm throwing in a bonus picture with this blog entry. Just in case I didn't really express myself well in words, or if you're more of a picture type person, below is an excellent illustration of exactly what I was talking about.)

Dumb

Apparently people are dumb. At least, that's what I'm beginning to infer from the evidence around me. Speaking as a member of this elite group (currently a smidgen over 6.8 billion strong worldwide) I am reluctant to believe it, though apparently it must be so based on the warnings, advisories, threats, and even pleas found on products in our daily lives which urge us to exercise caution when interacting with the world around us. Case in point : toilet paper.

I was a captive audience in a public restroom yesterday, so to speak, and I noticed writing in the most unusual place. No, it was not etched into the wall, it did not list a phone number, and it wasn't even in regard to how to meet new people or have a good time. It was about toilet paper. Specifically, how to tear it off. Now, it's insulting enough to have the makers of a toilet paper dispenser presume that I cannot see the second roll of TP inside the unit ("this until contains 2 rolls"), and a bit more troubling that someone would be left to handle personal hygiene on their own if they couldn't figure out how to slide the door to get to that second roll ("slide door to access second roll"). But, the real stumper for me was the three words of wisdom written in raised letters at the bottom of the unit - "tear paper here." Really?

Let's say for just a moment that you've never seen a toilet paper dispenser before. Perhaps you've been living in a shanty somewhere and only had access to plain ol' TP with no holder. Or, for the sake of argument, let's even pretend that you've never seen toilet paper before in your life. There you are, suddenly transported to this dazzling public restroom with only your rugged, backwoods experience to guide you through the potty process. Will you be thinking, "Wow... thank goodness for these clear and insightful instructions? I might have really messed this up without the careful guidance and assistance that the toilet paper dispenser company so thoughtfully provided?" Probably not. Probably, you'd yank on the TP like everyone else - it's pretty intuitive, isn't it?  In the process, the paper would tear (it is only thin paper, after all... it's not like they're providing duct tape for the task at hand) and you'd finish your business and move on.

At least, that's what I would expect would happen. Apparently, however, I have overestimated the intelligence of the human race. These types of warnings are everywhere. My Sharpie marker tells me to re-cap when not in use - in case I hadn't yet figured out to keep it from drying out as it marked all over my couch and/or the inside of my purse. A little box of raisins tells me, in essence, that even though they've made my eating experience as sanitized as possible, bits of seed or stem might occasionally make their way into the product. Go figure. My computer charger tells me I should not stick electrical plugs where they do not belong - especially outside. This is sage advice, and might just help me avoid disaster next time I considered jump starting my car by plugging the charger into my cigarette lighter.  Heck - even my lotion advises that it's not for use in eyes. Pity, because a glop of lotion right in the eyeball sounds so appealing, too.

The worst part is, these are all just everyday items within easy reach of my chair. Heaven knows what kinds of warnings you find in more exciting areas, like the laundry room, kitchen, or even... the garage! The latter, I might add, is full of items with graphic drawings of stick people in various stages of injury. I guess these are for folks who don't take time to read instructions, but might take a quick glance at the packaging. Apparently artists who don't have sufficient skills to make it big drawing macabre comic books eventually give up and settle into a steady career in the 'product safety warning' industry. At least there's job security there!

I know, I know... these warnings are necessary to help make daily life go a little more smoothly and to protect companies from ridiculous lawsuits. I'd heard the rumors for years about outrageous legal action, but decided to check it out for myself. Here are a few examples from the past few years:

A woman sued the Mars candy company for $250,000 in "permanent personal injury", claiming that she knew the candies were chewy, but they were "so chewy they should come with a warning." You have to wonder what kinds of injuries she incurred from chewing a Starburst.

Then, of course, there was the case of the woman who sued a furniture store for tripping over a toddler in front of their store. She was awarded $80,000, despite the fact that the toddler her child. Who knew - you can actually get paid for being a negligent parent. All that extra time I'll have once I start ignoring my children can be spent hanging out by the mail box, waiting for my first check. 

The granddaddy of them all (or perhaps, more accurately, the grandmother of them all) was the case of 79 year old Stella Liebeck who sued McDonalds in 1992 and was awarded a whopping $640,000 for having burned herself on hot coffee. Next time you see the "caution - contents might be hot" warning on a lid, you can thank Stella.Of course, you can also thank her that products are significantly more expensive now than they used to be since companies have to cover their 'bottom lines" from every potential crazy person with access to a lawyer...

Ok - maybe people are deserving of patronizing labels and intelligence-insulting instructions if we are so stupid that we would sue over our own ineptitude. I'm beginning to think that there needs to some sort of entrance exam into this club called humanity. Better yet, in keeping with the pace of modern society, perhaps we could start putting a label on each new baby -  something like, "warning - this unit might grow into a litigious adult. Parent with extreme caution."