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Last week my friend EG sent me a link to an interesting article about the whys and wherefores of mid-life memory lapses. I was going to post it earlier but I forgot.

Yammering

After I wrote the last post I was thinking about how my lofty advice about small actions accumulating into a big pile applies to an area of my life where I continually set goals and fail to meet them: getting in shape. And this is the problem: with writing, I can work on something and put it away for three weeks, and when I come back to it, there it is. Not so with a brisk walk up Powerline Road. I can feel good about it the rest of the day but then the next day I have to do it all over again! And again and again and again. And if I "put it away" for three weeks it's like I never did it in the first place. This is the maddening thing about exercise.

My tri-athlete friend Robin wants to write a book about getting in shape, turning all the normal American magazine headlines about exercise upside down. Namely: it takes a long time, you probably won't be in shape by swimsuit season, you can be in shape without looking skinny, you won't meet every goal all the time, you will fall off the wagon, and you need to push hard and then back off. And so on.

I'm not quite sure how that relates or why I told you. ya vell.

Today Paul was hauling corn to Kropf Feed and I told him I'd like him to drop by the house and pick me up on one of his passes by, and then drop me off down the road so I have to walk back. Well. Did I get it done? No. I canned 19 quarts of grape juice and pressure-washed the carport and answered the phone about 25 times and vacuumed upstairs, but I did not walk.

See, that's the other thing about walking. It seems so pointless if you have no place to walk to. And that's one thing I love about being at Emily's place in Redmond--you can walk to the library or Fred Meyer and get a mile or two on the chart with none of this grimly counting telephone poles stuff.

Yes, well, I am yammering and Paul wants the computer.

Quote of the Day:
Girl A: Have you ever fell in love?
Girl B: Well, I did....
--two of Jenny's little friends, when Girl B thought Stevie in the Saddle Club was stupid for --something involving a boyfriend-- and Girl A wanted her to be reasonable, at Jenny's slumber party the other night, at which I received quite an education on what 4th grade girls are "into"

Book 3

Today I sent off the manuscript of my third book (Downstairs the Queen is Knitting)* after way too many hours of going cross-eyed in front of the computer, copying, pasting, editing, and arranging. As usual I kept muttering Oh mercy, this is boring; I've already said this a dozen times; no one will ever read this; how trite; and all the other things you say to yourself when you have to read your own work over and over in grinding detail.

But now that I sent it off, imperfections and all, I am rather amazed at myself. Three books! I well remember the days when one seemed impossible. How did I ever get here?

Well, I got here not by any big splashing accomplishments but by doing small things over and over and watching them accumulate--words into sentences and then paragraphs, paragraphs into essays, essays into books.

Which I hope is encouraging to anyone out there with goals that seem impossible. It's good for me as well, in some of the areas where I'd really like to accomplish something but feel like I just can't.

Oh--forgot to say--the book should be out in April.

*just kidding

Quote of the Day:
"You'll write so many books, you'll need to dedicate it to one kid at a time."
--Emily. I guess I'm following her advice: DTQIK is dedicated to Matt. Which means I'm committed to cranking out five more.

Mentoring

I am the youth girls' Sunday school teacher, a scary experience in its way, because frankly this is a group that comes with expectations and isn't content to just sit and listen and read methodically and answer rhetorical questions and go home.

I am better at lecturing than discussing, and usually come with more notes than I can get through in half an hour.

But I want to learn how to lead a discussion, provided these young ladies don't mind being my guinea pigs. And last Sunday for the first time we had what I would call a genuine discussion. It started with fasting, and morphed into callings and from there into how much people in the church should "speak into" your life.

And that was what was enlightening for me. I guess I never gave this that much thought, but assumed that, being 40-something and a mom, with high-waisted skirts and a pouf in my hair, there wasn't a whole lot that I could say to the girls that they would welcome.

Wrong wrong wrong. It turns out that young people seriously need and want older ones in the church to be aware of them, to notice their choices and goals and struggles, and to offer wisdom and affirmation and encouragement and even correction.

It seems to be a lot easier, said Phebe, for older people to tell younger ones that their skirts are too short rather than that, for example, they don't seem to have a lot of solid goals.

True true. The former takes a few glances on Sunday morning; the latter takes involvement and conversation and time.

So I have been chewing on this new flavor the last few days, wondering how, with mothering and vacuuming and speaking at the Viking Sal to 25 senior citizens and going to Luella Stutzman's viewing and working on my next book and taking Jenny to piano and sorting laundry and making trips to Redmond, I am supposed to get involved with the youth in a way that matters.

Because I really really don't want any of them to fall through the cracks.

Quote of the Day:
"Uh. . .90-degree angle. . . approximately 21 centimeters for that one. . . 20 for that one. . . . Steven, they're actually pretty close!"
--Ben, when Steven thought the pieces of pie weren't fair

Caution: Bragging Mom

Today Jenny got the bright idea to write a story. Her opening line grabbed me by the collar and pulled me in.

Quote of the Day:
"Long ago, when dragons still roamed the earth, there lived a young dragon named Jennifire who couldn’t seem to do anything right."

Trials and Blessings

So Jenny and I left Redmond, and Emily was alone for just over a day. When she didn't answer her phone yesterday afternoon, I freaked out amid vivid visions of seizures, kidnappers, and worse. Paul told me it was ok that I did so, after all, I am the mom. But we note that he, the dad, stayed calm. Of course it turned out that Emily had taken a nap and the phone was in the living room on "vibrate."

But then later in the evening it was Emily's turn to freak out. She was texting a friend and her phone froze, just like a computer, she said, only you couldn't hit control-alt-delete. Suddenly she realized how isolated she really is and how much she depends on that cell phone to keep in touch, since she doesn't have a home phone or internet access at her apartment. But she came up with a plan--if her phone didn't work by morning she would walk to a convenience store, get some quarters, and call me on a pay phone. But this morning after a restless night her phone worked. And now Paul and Ben are with her for a few days, and Paul will I'm sure show her how to take the battery out of her phone if it freezes again.

And now for a Gratitude Post. One of the touches of grace in hard times is the people, the ones you least expect, who suddenly pop into your life for a moment when you least expect them, and just dump a pitcherful of blessings on your head.

Neither Paul nor I saw any of Emily's neighbors beyond a fleeting glimpse, and we were wishing that one of them could be something of an aunt to Emily when we can't be there. But how in the world do you make something like this come about? Well, the other night Emily, Jenny, and I returned from the dollar store and "happened" to meet a neighbor in the hallway. She was about my age and introduced herself as Kathy. I introduced us and explained Emily's situation and we each went our ways.

The next day Kathy was in the parking lot when I pulled in. She came over to me and said she's been thinking about Emily, having to leave home for her health, and me, having to leave her in Redmond. She's a mom, she said, and she knows how hard it probably is because she has a daughter in Portland but can't live with her because she herself is in Redmond because of lung-health issues. And, she went on, she really wants to be there for Emily in any way she can--if she needs a ride, a cup of sugar, anything--and her apartment is two down from Emily's and here is her phone number.

Well, I get teary-eyed just remembering the conversation, it was such a wonderful gift. I told Kathy she is an answer to our prayers. She was exactly, precisely, what we needed just then.

And just so you know, Emily tried knocking on Kathy's door when her phone froze, but Kathy wasn't home, probably because she works 24-hour shifts as a nurse twice a week.

Then today I got a call from a woman in Wisconsin who just wanted to connect with us because she is allergic to molds and has been reading Emily's Xanga and feels like she finally has found another person like herself in the universe. This lady has issues with hyperventilating and sleep paralysis and wacky hormones, things Emily has dealt with and we always thought it was just more of a long list of health issues and never once connected them with her mold allergy. So that was very interesting and validating. And I told this nice bubbly compassionate woman that it's so nice to know that Emily isn't the weirdest person in the universe after all, but the more I think about it afterwards, it strikes me that I shouldn't have put it quite like that.

Then Emily's friend Bethany called this evening and said, Hey, I'd like you to put me on your calendar to go spend a few days with Emily. Well, most gladly I did just that. This is the first non-family member to go over the mountains, through the deep vale to see her. Bethany has been a steadfast and loyal blessing to Emily for years but especially through this long ordeal.

Quote of the Day:
"Residents shall keep all premises under his/her control clean, sanitary, and free of accumulations of debris, filth, rubbish, garbage, rodents, and vermin."
--from Emily's rental contract

Update on Emily, Life, and Stuff

Paul and Steven moved Emily and her things to Redmond on Friday and stayed there until Sunday. Evidently everything went fine except for the time Steven woke up Emily and probably all the neighbors with his singing. I had understood and repeated the story that he was singing in the shower. No no, I was corrected, he was singing underwater. Evidently he submerged himself in the bathtub and sang the way he sings when he thinks no one can hear him, which is extraordinarily loudly. This is not something I would try but Steven does lots of things I would never try, including putting a slice of chocolate cake in his breakfast sandwich along with the scrambled egg.

On Sunday afternoon, Jenny and I had a lovely ride through the mountains and the sunshine and the autumn foliage to Emily's apartment. We told Paul and Steven hello and goodbye and then they left for home. We plan to stay until Thursday or so and then we do another switcheroo for the weekend and so our lives will go for the next while.

Which isn't all bad. Not at all. In the last 24 hours I organized and sorted my vast button collection, labeled 8 pairs of socks with red or blue thread for Ben and Steven, hemmed four (unused) diapers-turned-dishcloths, helped the girls organize and clean the apartment, shopped for a toaster and bath mat, and cut out and started sewing a split-skirt for Jenny.

I also noticed the suspicious bathtub ring at the very very top edge of the tub, which corroborates the singing-under-water story. Gotta get a good tub scrub spray.

Now I'm at the library after having walked way too far trying to find the post office. "Go up this street; you'll walk right into it," said the nice man at the hardware store. Finally after many blocks I stopped in at a dentist office and asked again. "Right up this street; six or eight blocks." Sigh.

Of course it's too soon to tell how being here will affect Emily, but I think we could all do with a dose of change, clear blue sky, sunshine, independence, and cool libraries and intriguing places all around to motivate us to get out and walk, and I can tell all that is doing her good already, in spirit and body both.

Quote of the Day:
"Cordella"
--what Steven said Emily should name her apartment. So she did.

Stroke of Brilliance

Most days, my mental powers are nothing to write home about. I can't remember my children's names, I call green beans "corn," I forget the most important thing on the grocery list, and I leave my cell phone cord at the motel.

(Except when I called the motel, they said it wasn't there.)

And then some days I have a stroke of genius. Last night I went to Goodwill while the three 15-year-olds were at drivers ed class, and there I nosed through about a hundred cords of every sort until I found one whose plug fit my phone. Then I found a young man who had that Geek Look that Matt has. "If I plug this in and it's the wrong one for my phone, will it explode in my face?" I asked him.
"No," he said, and added, "Actually, if it fits, it'll work."
"Really?'
"Yeah."

I bought the cord, for 99 cents, and found an outlet. I plugged in the cord, plugged in the phone, and with a happy little bweeep the battery-charge icon started ticking away.

I was very happy.

Quote of the Day:
"Keep Eugene Weird"
--local t-shirt

On Renting and Talking

So Paul and I and Emz went to Redmond, checked out the little Mennonite church (first things first), spent the night, and went apartment shopping. This involved finding the perfect place, with three churches within half a block, and then having the rug yanked out from under us at the very very last minute, with the check written and all. Emily is supposed to post about this and if she does it will be interesting, trust me, so take a quick side trip and tell her to write it all down, pretty please.

Then Paul did his best to pull us all together, and we found another apartment, and he checked at the police station to make sure it's a safe area, and we did the paperwork, and yesterday we found out that all our criminal history checks and such came out ok, and Emily is good to go. Probably this Friday.

Meanwhile, on a completely different note: My little nephew Nolan had us all a bit worried because he wasn't talking. A year ago I was at their house and he laughed, hummed, made truck noises, and dramatically stood on the couch arm and leaped onto the beanbag chair to make us laugh, but didn't talk, despite being two years old and having two articulate siblings. One time he passed a mirror, waved at himself, and said, "Bah!" and that was it. I think my sis had him evaluated and all that, and I don't know what the conclusion was.

He turned 3 in July and still wasn't talking. Then yesterday I was talking to Margaret on the phone while she was trying to get Nolan to put on some underwear. "You're a big boy now!" etc etc. And I heard him saying, "I am da big boy!"

I said, What??! When did he start saying sentences? And she said, Right after he turned 3.

I said, "What all does he say?" She said, "What doesn't he say? I was playing trucks with him and I made a ksshhew sound like the air brakes and he said, 'No Mom, that is not how it goes. It goes psshhew with a puh.'" She added, "It was all there, in his head, and now he can finally say it."

I think that's very very cool.

Quote of the Day:
(Cleaning up the kitchen last night. I was exhausted and half sick)
Me: Jenny, please get a container for the corn.
Jenny: That's green beans, not corn!
Me: Dear me, I have no brains left. Just be nice and put me in a nursing home.
Jenny: I wouldn't do that.
Slight pause during which I think: Oooh, I have such a nice compassionate daughter who will take care of me in my old age.
Jenny: That'll be Dad's job.

Today's Column. . .

. . . is about our trip to Iowa. Here you go.