I have an article due tomorrow for which I have notes jotted down but nothing typed yet. (Don't tell Mr. Johnson at the Guard.) But the main hurdle is always What To Write About, so I'm on the right road at least, if still 4 hours from my destination.
I want to write something on the theme of Being A Good Mom.
This came about because this past week I went to one of Matt's church-league games because I was starting to feel like I am a very bad mom for not going to his games. The truth is I was turned off of basketball forever in high school P.E., where I played with girls who were so good they had taken our tiny school to the state tournament, coached by the _____(adjective meaning that she was nice if you were an athlete and she ignored you otherwise)_____ Miss Jensen. There were many many times where I ran myself ragged out on the court and never touched the ball the entire time. Maybe this is how normal basketball is played but I found it very discouraging.
Our family rule has been that you can pursue organized sports once you can drive, which I'm sure the kids will bring up in therapy someday, since their friends play from the time they can stand up straight. But oh well. Is a stressed-out running-ragged mom a good mom? Didn't think so. But I still agonize on an ongoing basis about this decision.
Matt plays church league, and has never made a big deal out of whether or not we watch him. So I seldom do, but this was weighing on my conscience, mostly because my SIL Bonnie, mom of the famous Justin Smucker, Harrisburg Eagles Star, goes to all her kids' games and has for years.
So the other night I girded my loins and put lots of children in the car and went to Matt's game. I realized I knew enough to yell something like YES!! when a guy I knew made a basket. Meanwhile Bonnie sat behind me yelling all kinds of things like "DEfense!!" "Wait til it's open!!" "Let 'im foul you!" and, again, "DEfense!"
I was impressed. What would it be like to understand the game enough to know what to yell? I mean, it was all I could do to sort-of follow things, and when they suddenly started shooting for the other basket it took me a bit to figure out what was going on. I guess they switch baskets halfway through the game.
I kept getting distracted by the physical realities of the game. A bunch of sweaty guys running around is just a really physical exhibition, especially if they give you these stunning views of their hairy armpits. I mean, that's just a bit much for me.
Wait, I was going to talk about being a good mom. So yeah, I really felt like I was a bad mom, and Bonnie was a good one, they way she gets into this and I don't.
So I'm wondering, what does it take, seriously, in the grand scheme of things, in a nutshell, to be a good mom?
I was very gratified by Ben's statement after the game:
Quote of the Day:
"Mom, I just want you to know that when I play basketball you won't have to feel like you're a bad mom if you don't come to my games."
and he added:
"Now it does matter to me if you come to my choir concerts or not."
(Well, that's no problem. I wouldn't miss his concerts for anything.)
And this evening after church, our young friend Konrad told me, completely randomly,
"I just want to tell you that you're a good mom."
Wow, bless him. And he had no idea that I was going to write on that very subject.
And my SIL Lois had this to say:
"You're a classic American mom, filled with guilt that you haven't done enough for your children."
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Claim to Fame and 8 Facts
This story is about the tallest man in the world. He lives in the Ukraine and. . . (roll on the drum). . . Paul's nephews and niece once used his outhouse!
Ok, here's the backstory--Paul's brother John and his family live in Poland. They took a vacation to the Ukraine a few years ago and visited some of the poor families to whom CAM distributes food and seeds and things. This man and his mother were among them. While they were there, John and Laura's childen needed a bathroom and were graciously allowed to use the outhouse. Tada! History was made.
At the time, this man lived in obscurity and didn't seem to want any attention for his feat of reaching 8-5, and didn't even want his picture taken.
Something must have changed since then because he is obviously getting a lot more attention now and reaping some benefits, such as that oversized bike, and maybe some size-17 shoes too, no doubt, since he damaged his feet by walking to work in stocking feet in winter because he couldn't afford custom-made shoes. He really has had a hard life.
(Edit: Laura posted about this as well. Read it first-hand here. I mentioned size-17 shoes, but she says the shoes are 17 inches long and a size 27!)
Meanwhile, MamaOlive tagged me to list 8 things about myself that you may not know.
1. As you can see above, I am all into famous connections and get a strange thrill out of them, such as the fact that my sister used to go to the same doctor in L.A. that Bob Hope went to, and once she sat in the waiting room with Bob and his wife, who were very down-to-earth people, and the wife wore Minnesota-housewife tennis shoes.
Paul's Aunt Allene once hosted an exchange student from Cambodia whose dad had worked with Pol Pot.
And I had lunch with a guy who once shook hands with Osama bin Laden.
I am also into MennoConnections. That new girl that commented on Emily's xanga...I think she's the one that's the best friend of Amy's roommate's sister and her grandparents were up in Canada with us in 1989. (theoretical example)
2. I hate dirty light-switch plates. A lot of other dirt can completely pass me by, but not that. Like the time we moved into a filthy little trailer in Weagamow Lake, Ontario, and instead of washing windows or floors or bathrooms, I went around first thing and washed the light switch plates with an old toothbrush and laundry detergent, since we had just moved and that was all the soap I could find.
3. I am into romance, and matchmaking, and who-likes-who, and speculating, and giggling like a 6th grader about juicy gossip of this sort, and proposals, and engagements, and weddings, and talking with my daughter on the phone about who "Susie" likes, and who likes her, even going so far as both of us getting on Susie's xanga at the same time and scrolling through the pictures, because I am sure it's "Jared" and Amy is sure it's "Sam." As I said, I get very 6th grade about all this.
4. Along with that, and maybe a bit paradoxically, I have an amazing intuition about which marriages will work out and which won't, based on my gut feelings at the wedding. In fact, my record is pretty close to 100%, which really makes me feel sick inside when I go to a wedding and "know" what's coming.
Note: Do not ask me what I felt at your wedding. Please.
5. I love avocadoes. Not just in guacamole, but sliced in sandwiches, chopped into burritos, and plain with crackers.
6. I am very easily intimidated, persuaded, and embarrassed. It's embarrassing.
7. I am nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other.
8. I am cursed with an ability to understand all sides of an issue. Other people see things in black and white, right and wrong, heresy and truth, and they can't understand how or why anyone could possibly believe in abortion or Islam or Calvinism or the Democratic party or amillenialism. I have strong beliefs that I would live and die for, but I also understand why and how someone could believe otherwise, even if I don't agree with them, which has a way of landing me in trouble. (Paul has this malady even worse than I do.)
Ok, I am supposed to tag 8 people but I don't feel like naming names. If you read a chapter in one of my books today, you're tagged. How's that?
Quote of the Day:
"For some reason I feel like going up and sitting on the roof. . ."
--Jenny, with a very wicked grin, when she was supposed to be cleaning the kitchen with me and I had to keep lassoing her back from distractions. She was referring to one's reaction to a nagging woman, in Proverbs.
Ok, here's the backstory--Paul's brother John and his family live in Poland. They took a vacation to the Ukraine a few years ago and visited some of the poor families to whom CAM distributes food and seeds and things. This man and his mother were among them. While they were there, John and Laura's childen needed a bathroom and were graciously allowed to use the outhouse. Tada! History was made.
At the time, this man lived in obscurity and didn't seem to want any attention for his feat of reaching 8-5, and didn't even want his picture taken.
Something must have changed since then because he is obviously getting a lot more attention now and reaping some benefits, such as that oversized bike, and maybe some size-17 shoes too, no doubt, since he damaged his feet by walking to work in stocking feet in winter because he couldn't afford custom-made shoes. He really has had a hard life.
(Edit: Laura posted about this as well. Read it first-hand here. I mentioned size-17 shoes, but she says the shoes are 17 inches long and a size 27!)
Meanwhile, MamaOlive tagged me to list 8 things about myself that you may not know.
1. As you can see above, I am all into famous connections and get a strange thrill out of them, such as the fact that my sister used to go to the same doctor in L.A. that Bob Hope went to, and once she sat in the waiting room with Bob and his wife, who were very down-to-earth people, and the wife wore Minnesota-housewife tennis shoes.
Paul's Aunt Allene once hosted an exchange student from Cambodia whose dad had worked with Pol Pot.
And I had lunch with a guy who once shook hands with Osama bin Laden.
I am also into MennoConnections. That new girl that commented on Emily's xanga...I think she's the one that's the best friend of Amy's roommate's sister and her grandparents were up in Canada with us in 1989. (theoretical example)
2. I hate dirty light-switch plates. A lot of other dirt can completely pass me by, but not that. Like the time we moved into a filthy little trailer in Weagamow Lake, Ontario, and instead of washing windows or floors or bathrooms, I went around first thing and washed the light switch plates with an old toothbrush and laundry detergent, since we had just moved and that was all the soap I could find.
3. I am into romance, and matchmaking, and who-likes-who, and speculating, and giggling like a 6th grader about juicy gossip of this sort, and proposals, and engagements, and weddings, and talking with my daughter on the phone about who "Susie" likes, and who likes her, even going so far as both of us getting on Susie's xanga at the same time and scrolling through the pictures, because I am sure it's "Jared" and Amy is sure it's "Sam." As I said, I get very 6th grade about all this.
4. Along with that, and maybe a bit paradoxically, I have an amazing intuition about which marriages will work out and which won't, based on my gut feelings at the wedding. In fact, my record is pretty close to 100%, which really makes me feel sick inside when I go to a wedding and "know" what's coming.
Note: Do not ask me what I felt at your wedding. Please.
5. I love avocadoes. Not just in guacamole, but sliced in sandwiches, chopped into burritos, and plain with crackers.
6. I am very easily intimidated, persuaded, and embarrassed. It's embarrassing.
7. I am nearsighted in one eye and farsighted in the other.
8. I am cursed with an ability to understand all sides of an issue. Other people see things in black and white, right and wrong, heresy and truth, and they can't understand how or why anyone could possibly believe in abortion or Islam or Calvinism or the Democratic party or amillenialism. I have strong beliefs that I would live and die for, but I also understand why and how someone could believe otherwise, even if I don't agree with them, which has a way of landing me in trouble. (Paul has this malady even worse than I do.)
Ok, I am supposed to tag 8 people but I don't feel like naming names. If you read a chapter in one of my books today, you're tagged. How's that?
Quote of the Day:
"For some reason I feel like going up and sitting on the roof. . ."
--Jenny, with a very wicked grin, when she was supposed to be cleaning the kitchen with me and I had to keep lassoing her back from distractions. She was referring to one's reaction to a nagging woman, in Proverbs.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
A Strange Request
It looks like, God willing, we will be going to Kenya in two weeks. Our family, plus two high school seniors, minus Matt who can't take off from college, and sadly, minus Emily who might be able to make it stamina-wise but who, I'm afraid, would be in very bad shape if she came down with malaria or typhoid or any of a dozen diseases readily available in Kenya. And the last time we went she had a horrible reaction to the shots, so that's not an option either.
None of us want her to mope around alone at home while we're gone, so we feel like she needs to go somewhere. Amy is going with us, so that's not an option. We checked with my sister in Pennsylvania, but it won't work for her. We still have a few options to check into, but meanwhile Emily suggested I post about it.
Post about it?
Yeah, somebody might have a good idea we haven't thought of.
Ok, is there an obvious friend or relative I don't have on my list? Remind me, please.
Or, perhaps you are thinking to yourself, "Oh! She could come here! We have a nice safe place, and a spare bedroom, and a nice youth group to hang out with, and a kitchen table to do homework at, and lots of Mennonite connections with Paul and Dorcas, and an airport within reasonable reach!"
We would actually consider that too.
Leave a comment with your brilliant idea or email me at letterfromhburg@juno.com
Thanks!
Quote of the Day:
"I'd like to go someplace interesting."
--Emily
None of us want her to mope around alone at home while we're gone, so we feel like she needs to go somewhere. Amy is going with us, so that's not an option. We checked with my sister in Pennsylvania, but it won't work for her. We still have a few options to check into, but meanwhile Emily suggested I post about it.
Post about it?
Yeah, somebody might have a good idea we haven't thought of.
Ok, is there an obvious friend or relative I don't have on my list? Remind me, please.
Or, perhaps you are thinking to yourself, "Oh! She could come here! We have a nice safe place, and a spare bedroom, and a nice youth group to hang out with, and a kitchen table to do homework at, and lots of Mennonite connections with Paul and Dorcas, and an airport within reasonable reach!"
We would actually consider that too.
Leave a comment with your brilliant idea or email me at letterfromhburg@juno.com
Thanks!
Quote of the Day:
"I'd like to go someplace interesting."
--Emily
Arise My Soul
On Good Friday night, as is traditional in our congregation, we had a communion service. On Sunday evening we had a service centered around Easter hymns sung by the congregation, interspersed with singing by the older kids from school and also the local Gospel Echoes group that sings with the prison ministry.
Both services were lovely.
At one point we sang, "Arise, My Soul, Arise" and I was instantly transported back in that strange way that music can take you back, the full experience, sights, emotions, smells, everything.
I was back at the little Beachy-Amish church where I grew up, on a chilly spring communion Sunday, sitting on the front row with all the not-yet-youth girls, dressed in traditional communion black, hungry (since we were always encouraged to fast on communion morning), with oniony casserole smells wafting up from the basement through the registers. And I was very guilty and miserable, singing Arise My Soul, Arise, while my soul was actually very low and nearly dead.
I wonder sometimes how I could grow up going to church 3 times a week and so thoroughly miss the gist of the Gospel.
I also wonder if everyone around me was in the same boat or if my conclusions were the convoluted result of an overly sensitive child, with no one to discuss things with, exposed to sermons that were, well, I am trying to think of a kind adjective here because these men meant well, but they were mostly untaught farmers struggling to preach.
So I sat there at communion twice a year and knew I was not measuring up, not to the church's standards of black nylons and tied covering-strings, and not to God's standards of holiness either. I had asked Jesus to forgive me, oh, maybe a hundred thousand times, give or take a few, but it only worked for a very short time and then I had an angry thought about my sister and it was back to square one and I was lost again and we would sing, "Sin can never enter there. . .so if at the judgment bar, sinful spots your soul shall mar, you can never enter there" and I knew there wasn't much hope for me unless I happened to have the good fortune to die right after God had forgiven me for one sin and before I stumbled into the next one.
I don't know when, exactly, I discovered Grace. I just know that somewhere along the way the light slowly dawned that the whole point of the Gospel was that I could never be good enough to get or stay saved, and that was why Jesus died for me and rose from the dead. I was loved. I was forgiven. I was kept. I was allowed to make mistakes. Which meant, paradoxically, that I lived in a lot more victory over sin, than back in the fall-and-flinch-with-fear days, and a lot more joy too, believe me.
So last night I sang, "Arise my soul arise, shake off thy guilty fears, a bleeding sacrifice, in my behalf appears. Before the throne my surety stands...my name is written on his hands," and I wondered how I could sing that song back then and not "get it." Well, by God's mercy I get it now and I wish I could go back and take that frightened hungry child in the black dress in the front row out of that oppressive oniony atmosphere and have a long long talk in the sunshine.
Quote of the Day:
" 'Lift and pull' indeed! More like yank, twist, pull, bite. . ."
--Ben, trying to open a ranch dressing bottle.
Both services were lovely.
At one point we sang, "Arise, My Soul, Arise" and I was instantly transported back in that strange way that music can take you back, the full experience, sights, emotions, smells, everything.
I was back at the little Beachy-Amish church where I grew up, on a chilly spring communion Sunday, sitting on the front row with all the not-yet-youth girls, dressed in traditional communion black, hungry (since we were always encouraged to fast on communion morning), with oniony casserole smells wafting up from the basement through the registers. And I was very guilty and miserable, singing Arise My Soul, Arise, while my soul was actually very low and nearly dead.
I wonder sometimes how I could grow up going to church 3 times a week and so thoroughly miss the gist of the Gospel.
I also wonder if everyone around me was in the same boat or if my conclusions were the convoluted result of an overly sensitive child, with no one to discuss things with, exposed to sermons that were, well, I am trying to think of a kind adjective here because these men meant well, but they were mostly untaught farmers struggling to preach.
So I sat there at communion twice a year and knew I was not measuring up, not to the church's standards of black nylons and tied covering-strings, and not to God's standards of holiness either. I had asked Jesus to forgive me, oh, maybe a hundred thousand times, give or take a few, but it only worked for a very short time and then I had an angry thought about my sister and it was back to square one and I was lost again and we would sing, "Sin can never enter there. . .so if at the judgment bar, sinful spots your soul shall mar, you can never enter there" and I knew there wasn't much hope for me unless I happened to have the good fortune to die right after God had forgiven me for one sin and before I stumbled into the next one.
I don't know when, exactly, I discovered Grace. I just know that somewhere along the way the light slowly dawned that the whole point of the Gospel was that I could never be good enough to get or stay saved, and that was why Jesus died for me and rose from the dead. I was loved. I was forgiven. I was kept. I was allowed to make mistakes. Which meant, paradoxically, that I lived in a lot more victory over sin, than back in the fall-and-flinch-with-fear days, and a lot more joy too, believe me.
So last night I sang, "Arise my soul arise, shake off thy guilty fears, a bleeding sacrifice, in my behalf appears. Before the throne my surety stands...my name is written on his hands," and I wondered how I could sing that song back then and not "get it." Well, by God's mercy I get it now and I wish I could go back and take that frightened hungry child in the black dress in the front row out of that oppressive oniony atmosphere and have a long long talk in the sunshine.
Quote of the Day:
" 'Lift and pull' indeed! More like yank, twist, pull, bite. . ."
--Ben, trying to open a ranch dressing bottle.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Craigslist And Stuff
As mentioned before, I like Craigslist both for shopping and for entertainment. Today I was looking up garage sales this weekend and saw this:
DIVORCING DEADBEAT HUSBAND SALE
Whoa. This description followed:
DIVORCING MY UNEMPLOYED,DRUNK,POT HEAD,LYING,CHEATING,NO CHILD SUPPORT PAYING, TEMPERMENTAL,DESTRUCTIVE,TOXIC WASTE OF A HUSBAND MOVING SALE
Apparently in their divorce settlement she got all the household stuff and he got all the commas, because the long list of for-sale items included:
Metal Futon Frame Home Theatre Stereo System
Pampered Chef Young Men’s M-XL & Jeans
China Setting for 12 BOOKS
Flute Picture Frames
Keyboard Framed Pictures
Lincoln Logs Yard Art
Tonka Trucks Lawn mower
Ok, I suppose I shouldn't find humor in another person's tragedy but you have to admit this is not your average garage sale ad.
Then while I was on Craigslist I had to check out the ever-intriguing Free ads. Some are blunt:
alpaca manure mixed with wood chips:
We have LOTS of wet mucky poop mixed with wood chips that would be great for your garden beds. You scoop it and take it away for free!
Then there are the ones that make you go Huh??
FREE ACTUAL BOAT USED AS A PLAYHOUSE YOU HAUL
We have a 24 foot Fiberform cabin cruiser (no engine) in the backyard that has been used as a kids playhouse.
And then there's the one for legally-blind people who don't like their eye color:
Free Soft Contact Lenses
-5.50, Freshlook Dimensions, sea green, 15 ea
-4.75, Freshlook Dimensions, sea green, 15 ea
Beautiful color!
I like Craigslist.
DIVORCING DEADBEAT HUSBAND SALE
Whoa. This description followed:
DIVORCING MY UNEMPLOYED,DRUNK,POT HEAD,LYING,CHEATING,NO CHILD SUPPORT PAYING, TEMPERMENTAL,DESTRUCTIVE,TOXIC WASTE OF A HUSBAND MOVING SALE
Apparently in their divorce settlement she got all the household stuff and he got all the commas, because the long list of for-sale items included:
Metal Futon Frame Home Theatre Stereo System
Pampered Chef Young Men’s M-XL & Jeans
China Setting for 12 BOOKS
Flute Picture Frames
Keyboard Framed Pictures
Lincoln Logs Yard Art
Tonka Trucks Lawn mower
Ok, I suppose I shouldn't find humor in another person's tragedy but you have to admit this is not your average garage sale ad.
Then while I was on Craigslist I had to check out the ever-intriguing Free ads. Some are blunt:
alpaca manure mixed with wood chips:
We have LOTS of wet mucky poop mixed with wood chips that would be great for your garden beds. You scoop it and take it away for free!
Then there are the ones that make you go Huh??
FREE ACTUAL BOAT USED AS A PLAYHOUSE YOU HAUL
We have a 24 foot Fiberform cabin cruiser (no engine) in the backyard that has been used as a kids playhouse.
And then there's the one for legally-blind people who don't like their eye color:
Free Soft Contact Lenses
-5.50, Freshlook Dimensions, sea green, 15 ea
-4.75, Freshlook Dimensions, sea green, 15 ea
Beautiful color!
I like Craigslist.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Remembering
My nephew Leonard, who took his own life in July of 2006, would have been 25 years old today. Strange how life has gone on for me, but then along comes an anniversary of some kind and WHAM, the memories hit and the bandages get yanked off the grief-wounds.
I gave my grace-in-the-hard-times talk today for the third time, this time to the longsuffering seniors' Friendship Club at First Baptist, and of course told them what day it is but actually managed to not completely melt down in tears.
I told them that when there's a suicide you think it's the end of the story, that there's no epilogue for this. But when God inserts grace, the story goes on. Lenny's parents have always been wonderful people, but since his death they have developed a depth of compassion and faith and sensitivity to others that is astonishing. They sense that God will use them to comfort others. He has, already.
After my talk, a woman came up to me and said she lost her husband to suicide 11 years ago, and what I said was true. Both of us cried, which goes to show that what Elizabeth Elliot says is true, that grace and pain co-exist in equal measure; one does not obliterate the other. And what Sheila Walsh once said is also true--life is hard, and God is good, and both statements are true at the same time, and one fact does not negate the other.
I gave my grace-in-the-hard-times talk today for the third time, this time to the longsuffering seniors' Friendship Club at First Baptist, and of course told them what day it is but actually managed to not completely melt down in tears.
I told them that when there's a suicide you think it's the end of the story, that there's no epilogue for this. But when God inserts grace, the story goes on. Lenny's parents have always been wonderful people, but since his death they have developed a depth of compassion and faith and sensitivity to others that is astonishing. They sense that God will use them to comfort others. He has, already.
After my talk, a woman came up to me and said she lost her husband to suicide 11 years ago, and what I said was true. Both of us cried, which goes to show that what Elizabeth Elliot says is true, that grace and pain co-exist in equal measure; one does not obliterate the other. And what Sheila Walsh once said is also true--life is hard, and God is good, and both statements are true at the same time, and one fact does not negate the other.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Guest Post
Today something cool happened and Jenny posted about it on Peptipus, the xanga blog that she and Emily have together, only you probably can't read it because she has Friends Lock for safety's sake. But I thought it was cool enough that I will cut and paste it here:
Horses and Wagons
Today Mom came home from dropping off Lisa when my mom told me that a wagon and a team of horses were coming.I waited for a while, but they didn,t come.So Mom took me to see it.Here is some pictures of the horses .
Horses and Wagons
Today Mom came home from dropping off Lisa when my mom told me that a wagon and a team of horses were coming.I waited for a while, but they didn,t come.So Mom took me to see it.Here is some pictures of the horses .
Now here's the surprise. The lady driving the wagon asked me if I wanted to have a ride! Of course I accepted the offer. She said I could drive so Mom could get a picture of me driving. Here it is.
(Note from Mom: Jenny was truly driving, but in this picture the horses didn't want to stop so Mrs. Rediger grabbed the reins.)
Monday, March 17, 2008
Milestones
In Hugo, Minnesota, Clarence and Mayme have been married for 83 years. I think that's way beyond cool. Their last argument, they say, was in 1946.
Meanwhile, thanks to all the wonderful people who took the time to click on the Shoe, my hit counter is about to roll over to 200,000. I am kind of giddy about this, which probably says a lot about the excitement factor in my life right now. I appreciate all of you.
Quote of the Day:
Me: Emily, don't look snarly.
Emily: Oh. I was trying to look snooty.
Meanwhile, thanks to all the wonderful people who took the time to click on the Shoe, my hit counter is about to roll over to 200,000. I am kind of giddy about this, which probably says a lot about the excitement factor in my life right now. I appreciate all of you.
Quote of the Day:
Me: Emily, don't look snarly.
Emily: Oh. I was trying to look snooty.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Odd Things
Today was a day for odd and quirky things.
I needed to go out to Marcola in the beautiful Mohawk Valley, just over the ridge to the east, to pick up all the hamburger that resulted from the cow that our cattleman friend Charles delivered there for us. I had trouble finding the place so I stopped at the little general store, which was like stepping back 50 years, with its old wooden floor and all. And then the proprietor proceeded to tell me that he comes from Mennonite stock, and a great-great-grandpa was the first Mennonite deacon in America, and his grandpa on his mother's side carried in his buggy the lumber for the first Fairview Church, and there was a connection to Milford, Nebraska, in all this.
That kind of thing doesn't happen too often.
Then I found the meat place which looked more like an old secondhand store, and out front was a dumpster piled high with glistening white bones edged with touches of pink. If you think about it, this is not something you see every day.
The door was like someone's back screen door and I was relieved to see the inside, which was all professional with stainless steel counters and hairnetted workers.
The nice lady told me to back up to that white building. I did, and she wheeled out a stack of seven large racks, each one full of bags of frozen hamburger set on end. "Here you go," she said, "and that there is full of boxes." 'That there' was an ancient green trailer thing, just past the old boxes lying in the mud, whose back doors opened up to reveal, surprise surprise, lots of boxes.
Did you ever pack about 400 bags of frozen hamburger into your car? Thankfully the cold wet rain had let up (Yes, at times in Oregon we have warm, dry rain) and I packed and carried and lifted for a long time, and then this nice gentleman came along and helped me.
I had scouted out a few garage sales on my route and at one of them I found a nice black jacket for Paul since he is always ruining his at the warehouse. After I came home, however, I was very chagrined to find that the words GEYSER PEAK WINERY were embroidered on the front. Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?? And Paul is not like our friend Konrad who would wear it but leave the garage sale tag on to show that he doesn't actually support a winery.
So I took a seam ripper and picked out the very tightly stitched word WINERY until I nearly went cross-eyed, figuring if we all keep this little secret, then Paul will think he's wearing a jacket from a ski resort or something.
My point here is that I have a knack for buying that sort of "bargain."
Between the thread picking, Ben and I worked and worked to stuff hundreds of pounds of hamburger into the freezer. Unfortunately the bags do not stack well and it is an interesting experience to have half a shelf-ful suddenly avalanche out at your feet.
And then my quirky daughter was looking at horses in the encyclopedia and with a very sad countenance told me that there's this one horse that she always feels sorry for because it has this light area on its back and her friends Janane and Deana always say it looks diseased, but she knows it's just how an Appaloosa is supposed to look. I wondered how many women in the world have 8-year-old daughters who feel compassion for a horse in a picture in a 1978-vintage encyclopedia.
My quirky day was rounded off by Steven. Every morning Hansie the dog watches through the patio door, and then when Steven heads out of the kitchen toward the back door, Hansie knows it's time for breakfast and he ambles off the porch and around to the carport. But now it's gotten to where every time Steven heads west through the kitchen, Hansie thinks it's breakfast time and heads for the carport. So tonight Steven asked in worried tones:
Quote of the Day:
"Do you think I'm deceiving Hansie when I walk through the kitchen and he thinks I'm going to feed him but I'm not?"
I needed to go out to Marcola in the beautiful Mohawk Valley, just over the ridge to the east, to pick up all the hamburger that resulted from the cow that our cattleman friend Charles delivered there for us. I had trouble finding the place so I stopped at the little general store, which was like stepping back 50 years, with its old wooden floor and all. And then the proprietor proceeded to tell me that he comes from Mennonite stock, and a great-great-grandpa was the first Mennonite deacon in America, and his grandpa on his mother's side carried in his buggy the lumber for the first Fairview Church, and there was a connection to Milford, Nebraska, in all this.
That kind of thing doesn't happen too often.
Then I found the meat place which looked more like an old secondhand store, and out front was a dumpster piled high with glistening white bones edged with touches of pink. If you think about it, this is not something you see every day.
The door was like someone's back screen door and I was relieved to see the inside, which was all professional with stainless steel counters and hairnetted workers.
The nice lady told me to back up to that white building. I did, and she wheeled out a stack of seven large racks, each one full of bags of frozen hamburger set on end. "Here you go," she said, "and that there is full of boxes." 'That there' was an ancient green trailer thing, just past the old boxes lying in the mud, whose back doors opened up to reveal, surprise surprise, lots of boxes.
Did you ever pack about 400 bags of frozen hamburger into your car? Thankfully the cold wet rain had let up (Yes, at times in Oregon we have warm, dry rain) and I packed and carried and lifted for a long time, and then this nice gentleman came along and helped me.
I had scouted out a few garage sales on my route and at one of them I found a nice black jacket for Paul since he is always ruining his at the warehouse. After I came home, however, I was very chagrined to find that the words GEYSER PEAK WINERY were embroidered on the front. Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?? And Paul is not like our friend Konrad who would wear it but leave the garage sale tag on to show that he doesn't actually support a winery.
So I took a seam ripper and picked out the very tightly stitched word WINERY until I nearly went cross-eyed, figuring if we all keep this little secret, then Paul will think he's wearing a jacket from a ski resort or something.
My point here is that I have a knack for buying that sort of "bargain."
Between the thread picking, Ben and I worked and worked to stuff hundreds of pounds of hamburger into the freezer. Unfortunately the bags do not stack well and it is an interesting experience to have half a shelf-ful suddenly avalanche out at your feet.
And then my quirky daughter was looking at horses in the encyclopedia and with a very sad countenance told me that there's this one horse that she always feels sorry for because it has this light area on its back and her friends Janane and Deana always say it looks diseased, but she knows it's just how an Appaloosa is supposed to look. I wondered how many women in the world have 8-year-old daughters who feel compassion for a horse in a picture in a 1978-vintage encyclopedia.
My quirky day was rounded off by Steven. Every morning Hansie the dog watches through the patio door, and then when Steven heads out of the kitchen toward the back door, Hansie knows it's time for breakfast and he ambles off the porch and around to the carport. But now it's gotten to where every time Steven heads west through the kitchen, Hansie thinks it's breakfast time and heads for the carport. So tonight Steven asked in worried tones:
Quote of the Day:
"Do you think I'm deceiving Hansie when I walk through the kitchen and he thinks I'm going to feed him but I'm not?"
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