The scratching was incessant in the evening. During the day there was only an occassional shuffle. Whatever was between the floors was nocturnal. That began to narrow things down. Mice? A raccoon? A skunk?
A skunk was frightening to think about. That could mean de-stinking the whole house if it let loose when cornered. A raccoon is destructive as are mice.
Bob opted for mice and set a couple of traps with his favorite bait--peanut butter. In the middle of watching our favorite shows we had TiVoed while gone, we heard a horrible clunking sound that seemed to run the length of the dining room. Something was in a trap and it was desparately trying to get out. And that something was BIG and angry. Rule out mice.
"Call someone," I began to chant. We have an animal warden and there are other pest control people. "Call someone."
Bob just kept shaking his head. "What could it be? What could it be?"
"Whatever it is, it's big and mad. Call someone."
He went to work the next day and, sure enough, the consensus at work was that he should call someone. He contacted the animal warden for our city and set up an appointment. At four, we would get an expert's opinion on what was in attic.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Monday, April 10, 2006
Did You Hear That?
What is it about husbands? When you say you hear a noise they just look at you as though you had just said the voices in your head were back. There couldn't possibly be a noise in the engine of the car. A tow and a repair bill always proves that statement wrong. What about the noise in the attic?
For weeks I said I thought I heard something walking in the eaves above our front porch and the response I got was, "I don't hear anything." Well, of course not! I was talking to the man who couldn't hear the stereo cries of his twin babies when I laid them down one on each side of him while he slept. And in thirty-some years, that hearing has faded even more.
He humored me and looked in the attic. There were no footprints in the fluffy layer of insulation so it was obvious I was just hearing the wind. We went on vacation.
Two weeks later we returned and while relaxing in front of the TV one night heard a terrible racket that sounded like a nestful of starlings. Were they back and in the attic? Oh yes, that was another noise--in the chimney--a couple of years ago that I imagined.
There was no denying it this time. He actually admited hearing the rumpus. To add to the mystery, we happened to look out the front door and find that part of the flashing over the porch had been bent as though something had fallen through it. The nosies began again.
What in the world was up there? Was it feathered or furry? Big or small? And how in the world had it manuevered between the first and second floor to lodge right above the dining room table?
For weeks I said I thought I heard something walking in the eaves above our front porch and the response I got was, "I don't hear anything." Well, of course not! I was talking to the man who couldn't hear the stereo cries of his twin babies when I laid them down one on each side of him while he slept. And in thirty-some years, that hearing has faded even more.
He humored me and looked in the attic. There were no footprints in the fluffy layer of insulation so it was obvious I was just hearing the wind. We went on vacation.
Two weeks later we returned and while relaxing in front of the TV one night heard a terrible racket that sounded like a nestful of starlings. Were they back and in the attic? Oh yes, that was another noise--in the chimney--a couple of years ago that I imagined.
There was no denying it this time. He actually admited hearing the rumpus. To add to the mystery, we happened to look out the front door and find that part of the flashing over the porch had been bent as though something had fallen through it. The nosies began again.
What in the world was up there? Was it feathered or furry? Big or small? And how in the world had it manuevered between the first and second floor to lodge right above the dining room table?
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Millenium Cruise Tragedy
We have just returned from our South American/Panama Canal cruise aboard the Celebrity Millenium. I meant to post while we were gone, but I left my password at home and for some reason my computer would not remember it for me. Can computers have senior moments?
At our first port, Arica, Chile, a group of passengers arranged a tour with a local company to go into the national park in the mountains just outside the city. Tragically, on a narrow winding road, their van swerved to miss on oncoming truck and went off the road, tumbling down an embankment for about 300 feet and killing 12 of the 16 passengers.
We had no idea what was wrong as we waited for the ship's crew to cast off the lines that evening so we could make our way to Callao, Peru. As passengers began to gather to watch the ship's departure, rumors began to circulate that there had been an accident. There are always rumors abounding when there is a change in schedule and we didn't take them seriously until we began to see more official cars arrive and cruise staff (we later learned a doctor and nurse) leave the ship with suitcases.
About two hours past our scheduled departure time, the ship's captain informed us that there had been a tragic accident and 11 people had died (one more passed away in the hospital). The details began to filter through. One man recounted having seen the van at the bottom of the embankment when their tour bus had returned down the same road.
It began to sink in.
There but for the grace of God...
While we had not been on the same tour--ours was an excursion to a coastal walk, arranged through the cruise company--it could still have been the scenario for us. We might have done the same thing had we not chosen the coastal walk instead. We love to explore parks and nature rather than the cities.
The ship was quiet that night. The nightly entertainment was canceled. No one would have attended the show. Many were lined up at the computer centers aboard ship. All with the same idea. The news media would be broadcasting with no names mentioned and there would be hundreds of families wondering if their loved ones were okay. Thankfully, I had wireless on my laptop and didn't have to wait long to let our children and family know we were all right. The messages, I hear, arrived just before or after they received the news.
We stayed the night docked at Arica until arrangements were in place with families and friends of those who died and the officials cleared the ship to leave after their investigation into the accident. The Millenium crew and the Celebrity Cruise company were outstanding in their handling of the situation as far as we could tell. While due respect was given to those who lost their lives--a room was arranged for any who desired to pray or meditate and counselors were available--the cruise was not given a melancholy atmosphere. Passengers went on to enjoy their vacation time but stopped for a memorial service the following week to remember those whose lives had come to such an abrupt end.
I'm sure that this week as we all return home, we will hug our families a little tighter and feel a little more thankful.
At our first port, Arica, Chile, a group of passengers arranged a tour with a local company to go into the national park in the mountains just outside the city. Tragically, on a narrow winding road, their van swerved to miss on oncoming truck and went off the road, tumbling down an embankment for about 300 feet and killing 12 of the 16 passengers.
We had no idea what was wrong as we waited for the ship's crew to cast off the lines that evening so we could make our way to Callao, Peru. As passengers began to gather to watch the ship's departure, rumors began to circulate that there had been an accident. There are always rumors abounding when there is a change in schedule and we didn't take them seriously until we began to see more official cars arrive and cruise staff (we later learned a doctor and nurse) leave the ship with suitcases.
About two hours past our scheduled departure time, the ship's captain informed us that there had been a tragic accident and 11 people had died (one more passed away in the hospital). The details began to filter through. One man recounted having seen the van at the bottom of the embankment when their tour bus had returned down the same road.
It began to sink in.
There but for the grace of God...
While we had not been on the same tour--ours was an excursion to a coastal walk, arranged through the cruise company--it could still have been the scenario for us. We might have done the same thing had we not chosen the coastal walk instead. We love to explore parks and nature rather than the cities.
The ship was quiet that night. The nightly entertainment was canceled. No one would have attended the show. Many were lined up at the computer centers aboard ship. All with the same idea. The news media would be broadcasting with no names mentioned and there would be hundreds of families wondering if their loved ones were okay. Thankfully, I had wireless on my laptop and didn't have to wait long to let our children and family know we were all right. The messages, I hear, arrived just before or after they received the news.
We stayed the night docked at Arica until arrangements were in place with families and friends of those who died and the officials cleared the ship to leave after their investigation into the accident. The Millenium crew and the Celebrity Cruise company were outstanding in their handling of the situation as far as we could tell. While due respect was given to those who lost their lives--a room was arranged for any who desired to pray or meditate and counselors were available--the cruise was not given a melancholy atmosphere. Passengers went on to enjoy their vacation time but stopped for a memorial service the following week to remember those whose lives had come to such an abrupt end.
I'm sure that this week as we all return home, we will hug our families a little tighter and feel a little more thankful.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Tornado Wimp
Okay, when it comes to tornadoes, I'm a wimp. The minute the little boxes go up on the radar screen, I go into my tornado preparation mode--leaving the TV on to watch the storms approach and pacing with an ear for that train they say you hear and a small flashlight in my pocket in case the lights go out.
I've never been in a tornado. Had one pass close to another house we lived in. All the while it was tearing up a garage a mile down the road from us, the sun was shining in our yard--is it any wonder I get nervous?
I have had plenty of "tornado dreams." They are right up there with the dream of being in a convertible and driving up a hill that gets increasingly steeper and then the car starts to free fall. Thankfully I wake up then--sometimes screaming. In the tornado dreams, I see them coming in the distance, ripping up houses and buildings. I know they're getting closer and sometimes I can even feel the wind pick up...of course that could be my husband snoring in my face. I wake up before they hit but the anticipation sets my heart racing.
This morning amid news reports of the storm system approaching us (after leaving houses in ruin in Missouri) I looked outside to see--sunshine? Taking advantage of the warm weather and the sun and knowing it wouldn't last--this is Cleveland, good weather never lasts--I went for a morning walk. To the north, the dark gray skies told the story of the storms out over the lake. To the south, the sun shone through a small gathering of clouds. As I walked back east however, I had the sense of being followed. I looked over my shoulder and there they were, the thick black clouds of the front that was approaching. I picked up my pace and by the time I arrived back in the house, the sunshine was gone, replaced by dark twilight and the ominous rumble of thunder.
I'm a wimp. The TV is on broadcasting the storm's progress. I have my trusty flashlight, and my eye wanders to the window to check the skies outside. It will probably just be a lot of noise and rain but my heart will race as fast as it does in a good action-thriller-suspense movie or book. I'm such a wimp.
I've never been in a tornado. Had one pass close to another house we lived in. All the while it was tearing up a garage a mile down the road from us, the sun was shining in our yard--is it any wonder I get nervous?
I have had plenty of "tornado dreams." They are right up there with the dream of being in a convertible and driving up a hill that gets increasingly steeper and then the car starts to free fall. Thankfully I wake up then--sometimes screaming. In the tornado dreams, I see them coming in the distance, ripping up houses and buildings. I know they're getting closer and sometimes I can even feel the wind pick up...of course that could be my husband snoring in my face. I wake up before they hit but the anticipation sets my heart racing.
This morning amid news reports of the storm system approaching us (after leaving houses in ruin in Missouri) I looked outside to see--sunshine? Taking advantage of the warm weather and the sun and knowing it wouldn't last--this is Cleveland, good weather never lasts--I went for a morning walk. To the north, the dark gray skies told the story of the storms out over the lake. To the south, the sun shone through a small gathering of clouds. As I walked back east however, I had the sense of being followed. I looked over my shoulder and there they were, the thick black clouds of the front that was approaching. I picked up my pace and by the time I arrived back in the house, the sunshine was gone, replaced by dark twilight and the ominous rumble of thunder.
I'm a wimp. The TV is on broadcasting the storm's progress. I have my trusty flashlight, and my eye wanders to the window to check the skies outside. It will probably just be a lot of noise and rain but my heart will race as fast as it does in a good action-thriller-suspense movie or book. I'm such a wimp.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Snapshots of Life
Random thoughts of what has passed and what is to come:
- Watched our Antarctica trip on video...how magnificent it truly was.
- Looking forward to our next trip--South America and the Canal.
- Anticipating VIP night with Tyler at his preschool.
- Remembering Kotomi yelling at Grandpa in Japanese.
- Encouraging Tracy in her new venture--http://trig-out.blogspot.com/
- Wondering what kind of adventures Danielle will find in life--something in those eyes...
- Amazed that Caleb is sitting up already. Is he six months old already?
- Blessed and encouraged with feedback from speaking at the women's retreat.
- Excited at the prospect of more opportunities to speak to groups.
- Waiting...waiting...waiting on news about my novel.
- Eager to begin the next book.
- Praising God for all the opportunities in my life to serve Him.
- Thanking Him for all the good snapshots of life.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Take Two Laughs And...
In the 10th century B.C. the writer of Proverbs said, “A cheerful heart is good medicine.” In 2005, a researcher at the University of Maryland Medical Center said basically the same thing. Dr. Michael Miller, director of preventive cardiology released the results of a study showing that laughter may be an important factor in reducing the risk of cardiovascular disease leading to heart attacks.
“At the very least,” he said, “laughter offsets the impact of mental stress which is harmful to the [lining of the blood vessels].” Stress causes constriction of the blood vessels.
Dr. Miller is not the first to study the impact of laughter on our health. Dr. William Fry of Stanford’s Medical School has also looked into the impact of laughter’s effects on pulse rates, oxygen levels, and blood pressure. He found that 100 to 200 deep “hee hahs” can benefit your body as much as ten minutes of rowing.
Norman Cousins is one of the pioneers in humor therapy. He suffers from a very painful crippling form of arthritis. He found that watching 30 minutes of funny videos provided him with 2 hours of pain free restful sleep. He documented all his research in a book titled Anatomy of an Illness.
Another advocate of humor therapy is Dr. Hunter “Patch” Adams who gained notority by dressing in a clown outfit—red rubber nose and all, to make his hospital rounds. A movie about him came out in 1999 starring Robin Williams. Dr. Adams says, “Joy is more important than any other drug.”
What does all this mean? Have a good laugh. You might find yourself reducing stress and enjoying better health. And don’t be surprised the next time you see your doctor and he tells you, “Take two laughs and call me in the morning."
[http://www.umm.edu/news/releases/laughter.html, http://www.jesthealth.com/art13jnj.html,
http://www.patchadams.org/home.htm ]
“At the very least,” he said, “laughter offsets the impact of mental stress which is harmful to the [lining of the blood vessels].” Stress causes constriction of the blood vessels.
Dr. Miller is not the first to study the impact of laughter on our health. Dr. William Fry of Stanford’s Medical School has also looked into the impact of laughter’s effects on pulse rates, oxygen levels, and blood pressure. He found that 100 to 200 deep “hee hahs” can benefit your body as much as ten minutes of rowing.
Norman Cousins is one of the pioneers in humor therapy. He suffers from a very painful crippling form of arthritis. He found that watching 30 minutes of funny videos provided him with 2 hours of pain free restful sleep. He documented all his research in a book titled Anatomy of an Illness.
Another advocate of humor therapy is Dr. Hunter “Patch” Adams who gained notority by dressing in a clown outfit—red rubber nose and all, to make his hospital rounds. A movie about him came out in 1999 starring Robin Williams. Dr. Adams says, “Joy is more important than any other drug.”
What does all this mean? Have a good laugh. You might find yourself reducing stress and enjoying better health. And don’t be surprised the next time you see your doctor and he tells you, “Take two laughs and call me in the morning."
[http://www.umm.edu/news/releases/laughter.html, http://www.jesthealth.com/art13jnj.html,
http://www.patchadams.org/home.htm ]
Monday, March 06, 2006
Joyful Retreat
This weekend I spoke at a women's retreat. The theme was joy. A more "joyful" group you'd never find anywhere. They were fun and certainly enjoyed each other's fellowship. An Unbirthday Party took away the sting of adding another year onto our ages. Our gift bags included a small rubber duckie--something the organizers never realized could be filled with water and squirted.
The best gift of all though was the gift of encouragement and love that was shared among those who attended. Those are the things that help us to realize we're not alone when the going gets rough in life--when we hit the rocky roads or the potholes of life. God puts those loving caring people in our path to remind us of the joy he gives to those who love him. His joy goes beyond the "happily ever after" in life to the forever joyful.
(Information on my speaker's topics can be found at http://www.karenrobbins.com/Speaker%20Information.htm).
The best gift of all though was the gift of encouragement and love that was shared among those who attended. Those are the things that help us to realize we're not alone when the going gets rough in life--when we hit the rocky roads or the potholes of life. God puts those loving caring people in our path to remind us of the joy he gives to those who love him. His joy goes beyond the "happily ever after" in life to the forever joyful.
(Information on my speaker's topics can be found at http://www.karenrobbins.com/Speaker%20Information.htm).
Friday, March 03, 2006
Smoking Bans
There is a wave of smoking bans overtaking the country again. Communities, cities, counties, and states have passed bans for smoking indoors in public places or are considering legislation to effectively move smokers to the outdoors or their own homes. I haven't done the research but I'm wondering--is this how Prohibition got started?
While personally I'd be happy to see all smoking done away with for health reasons (my father had emphysema), I'd hate to see the country go through another round of underground commercialism. Instead of speakeasys there'd be "smoke-easys" springing up in backdoor alleyway joints. Can you imagine raids on attic tobacco growers? If you purchased too much tissue paper for wrapping gifts would you be suspected of rolling your own cigarettes?
There's no easy solution to the insanity of smoking. We all need our "drugs." Mine is chocolate. I can appreciate the addictive qualities of tobacco and chocolate but my chocolate addiction doesn't harm the person in the same room with me when I eat it.
Which leads to another whole imagined scenario--lawsuits. If we banned all smoking in all public places and it was only done at home, with our lawsuit mentality I could imagine children suing parents over being raised in a home with smokers. It's not too farfetched to imagine a slew of lawsuits in apartment buildings. There's already been one on record where a woman claimed her neighbor's smoking was causing her ill health.
How do we get the kids to stop thinking it's cool or awesome, or whatever the teen volcabulary dubs it now? That's where the promise is. If we can stop the younger generations from getting hooked, then we may see smoking disappear from public as well as private view. Of course, what's the chances the smoking habit would be replaced by something worse? Like I said, we all need our "drugs."
While personally I'd be happy to see all smoking done away with for health reasons (my father had emphysema), I'd hate to see the country go through another round of underground commercialism. Instead of speakeasys there'd be "smoke-easys" springing up in backdoor alleyway joints. Can you imagine raids on attic tobacco growers? If you purchased too much tissue paper for wrapping gifts would you be suspected of rolling your own cigarettes?
There's no easy solution to the insanity of smoking. We all need our "drugs." Mine is chocolate. I can appreciate the addictive qualities of tobacco and chocolate but my chocolate addiction doesn't harm the person in the same room with me when I eat it.
Which leads to another whole imagined scenario--lawsuits. If we banned all smoking in all public places and it was only done at home, with our lawsuit mentality I could imagine children suing parents over being raised in a home with smokers. It's not too farfetched to imagine a slew of lawsuits in apartment buildings. There's already been one on record where a woman claimed her neighbor's smoking was causing her ill health.
How do we get the kids to stop thinking it's cool or awesome, or whatever the teen volcabulary dubs it now? That's where the promise is. If we can stop the younger generations from getting hooked, then we may see smoking disappear from public as well as private view. Of course, what's the chances the smoking habit would be replaced by something worse? Like I said, we all need our "drugs."
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Revisiting My Da Vinci Post
What I wrote about the Brown book, The Da Vinci Code, Monday has been preying on my mind since. Here I am saying that his book is fiction and therefore should be discounted when I am a Christian fiction writer. I wonder, do people discount Christian fiction because it's fiction?
I guess the answer is in my philosophy of life--life is made up of choices. I choose to believe the Bible. I choose to believe Jesus is the son of God, the Savior and Lord. I choose to believe that he never had an affair with Mary Magdalene that produced children. That would have been contrary to all he taught, to his purpose here on earth and in eternity.
In my writing, my protagonists reflect those beliefs. They struggle with growth in their faith and the influences the world has on them--like rumors of those accusations found in the Brown book. There will always be opportunities to discount the Biblical records of Jesus' ministry then and now (you see I choose to believe in the resurrection and a living savior). Those who choose not to believe will always find reasons to justify their non-belief.
Did Brown set out to win support for the suppositions in his book? I don't know. Like I said before it was a great puzzle to figure out--suspenseful. I'm sorry that people who look at the Last Supper now will look to it for the clues it is purported to have rather than the great work of art that it is.
The controversy is good in some ways. It forces people to reexamine their faith. It forces people to make choices. Will you believe in the Bible and the Savior it portrays or will you follow the premises that demean him?
I guess the answer is in my philosophy of life--life is made up of choices. I choose to believe the Bible. I choose to believe Jesus is the son of God, the Savior and Lord. I choose to believe that he never had an affair with Mary Magdalene that produced children. That would have been contrary to all he taught, to his purpose here on earth and in eternity.
In my writing, my protagonists reflect those beliefs. They struggle with growth in their faith and the influences the world has on them--like rumors of those accusations found in the Brown book. There will always be opportunities to discount the Biblical records of Jesus' ministry then and now (you see I choose to believe in the resurrection and a living savior). Those who choose not to believe will always find reasons to justify their non-belief.
Did Brown set out to win support for the suppositions in his book? I don't know. Like I said before it was a great puzzle to figure out--suspenseful. I'm sorry that people who look at the Last Supper now will look to it for the clues it is purported to have rather than the great work of art that it is.
The controversy is good in some ways. It forces people to reexamine their faith. It forces people to make choices. Will you believe in the Bible and the Savior it portrays or will you follow the premises that demean him?
Monday, February 27, 2006
Da Vinci -- Da Rumble
Do you hear it? It's beginning again. The rumble over The Da Vinci Code can be heard in the distance, getting louder as it approaches. The release of the movie in May is already causing a buzz as the movie trailers are beginning to pique curiosity all over again.
I read the book. Ho-hum. It was a decent adventure/mystery story--a good puzzler, if you like solving puzzles. A great novel? No way. It was slow and sluggish in places and the characters were not so deep that you really cared that much about them. If the publisher is smart, he'll take the profits from all the hoopla surrounding the book and publish something that is truly worth reading and caring about.
So what about this hoopla? Where did it all come from? Whoever started it--publiscists, media, evangelicals--it certainly paid off in dollars for author and publishing house, and now the movie makers. By the way, in case you've really been out of all the loops, the commotion has been over the premise that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had children together. The protests raged when the book came out over the propagation of the premise as though the author had presented a theological dissertation. Dan Brown wrote the book as FICTION.
I can't help but wonder if the book would have quietly gone into the night had the Christian world not taken up arms against it. Of course it sold millions of copies--to those who who wanted to find out what all the rumble was about. Now Tom Hanks and Ron Howard will add to it. Will I go see it? Probably. My husband hasn't read the book--too long, so he'll want to see it. After all, he's curious to know why everyone is in such a dither over the whole thing, as are so many others--guaranteeing it to be a box office hit.
I read the book. Ho-hum. It was a decent adventure/mystery story--a good puzzler, if you like solving puzzles. A great novel? No way. It was slow and sluggish in places and the characters were not so deep that you really cared that much about them. If the publisher is smart, he'll take the profits from all the hoopla surrounding the book and publish something that is truly worth reading and caring about.
So what about this hoopla? Where did it all come from? Whoever started it--publiscists, media, evangelicals--it certainly paid off in dollars for author and publishing house, and now the movie makers. By the way, in case you've really been out of all the loops, the commotion has been over the premise that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had children together. The protests raged when the book came out over the propagation of the premise as though the author had presented a theological dissertation. Dan Brown wrote the book as FICTION.
I can't help but wonder if the book would have quietly gone into the night had the Christian world not taken up arms against it. Of course it sold millions of copies--to those who who wanted to find out what all the rumble was about. Now Tom Hanks and Ron Howard will add to it. Will I go see it? Probably. My husband hasn't read the book--too long, so he'll want to see it. After all, he's curious to know why everyone is in such a dither over the whole thing, as are so many others--guaranteeing it to be a box office hit.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Parenting Tips
When I was raising five kids, I could have used a parenting tip everyday--probably two. A writing friend of mine whose expertise is in early childhood behavior and parenting is offering a Daily Discipline Tip each Wednesday. Her wise counsel can be obtained at http://www.brendanixon.com/ . Click on the sidebar that says Daily Discipline Tip to sign up.
My tip for the day: A piece of chocolate can calm the nerves, lift the spirit, soothe the beast, and refresh a weary soul. The trick is to let it s-l-o-w-l-y melt in your mouth. By the time its gone your troubles seem a lot smaller.
This tip comes to you free of charge from a confessing chocoholic.
My tip for the day: A piece of chocolate can calm the nerves, lift the spirit, soothe the beast, and refresh a weary soul. The trick is to let it s-l-o-w-l-y melt in your mouth. By the time its gone your troubles seem a lot smaller.
This tip comes to you free of charge from a confessing chocoholic.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Ah, Chocolate
The love affair with chocolate in America extends far beyond eating it. A trip to Hershey PA, the town that was built on chocolate, will engulf you in all sorts of chocolate themed activities—Hershey’s Chocolate World where you can learn about chocolate making—theme park rides centered around chocolate bars—and of course the ultimate: the Chocolate Spa where you can immerse yourself in a cocoa bath or be covered in a chocolate body wrap. All guaranteed to be calorie free treatments.
Personally, I’d rather eat my chocolate.
You do have to be careful in your chocolate forays however. I did have a near death experience about a year ago. We were on the Queen Mary 2 and eating at the specialty restaurant on board ship. The desert was called Fallen Chocolate Cake. It arrived warm from the oven in the shape and size of a large muffin. The aroma wafted up and began to set my taste buds for the treat ahead. There was a scoop of vanilla ice cream beginning to melt next to it on the plate.
I took my fork and gently cut a small wedge from the cake. As I pulled it away, dark lush creamy chocolate flowed like molten lava from inside the cake and pooled around the ice cream. Ah…
The waiter had described the dessert as “death by chocolate.” I ate every last bit of it anyway.
Well, if I’m going to die—let it be by chocolate.
Personally, I’d rather eat my chocolate.
You do have to be careful in your chocolate forays however. I did have a near death experience about a year ago. We were on the Queen Mary 2 and eating at the specialty restaurant on board ship. The desert was called Fallen Chocolate Cake. It arrived warm from the oven in the shape and size of a large muffin. The aroma wafted up and began to set my taste buds for the treat ahead. There was a scoop of vanilla ice cream beginning to melt next to it on the plate.
I took my fork and gently cut a small wedge from the cake. As I pulled it away, dark lush creamy chocolate flowed like molten lava from inside the cake and pooled around the ice cream. Ah…
The waiter had described the dessert as “death by chocolate.” I ate every last bit of it anyway.
Well, if I’m going to die—let it be by chocolate.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Web of Lies
Arachnophobics beware! Brandilyn Collins's new book will send you screaming back to your therapists. I just finished reading Web of Lies and must admit that I now make sure my shoes are on before I tramp around in the basement. Her characters, Annie Kingston, a forensic artist, and Chelsea Adams, a Christian whose visions have helped to solve crimes, come together in this book. Their combined efforts finally nab one of the creepiest villains you'll ever find--emphasis on creepy.
I met Brandilyn at Mount Hermon Writers' Conference last year--sat in on a couple of workshops. To look at this lovely lady with a beautiful sense of humor and spirit, you would never guess that somewhere in that mind lurks the creative fodder to chill you to the bone. Her forays into the minds of her villains are remarkable in creating the suspense that holds you in your seat turning page after page.
The Hidden Faces Series (Annie Kingston) and the Chelsea Adams Series are recommended reads--especially Dead of Night, my favorite. These books are best read during the day unless you enjoy that spine tingling little feeling that comes when you read a thriller shivering under your covers with just a reading light on.
One more thing--when you read Web of Lies, do it with your shoes on.
I met Brandilyn at Mount Hermon Writers' Conference last year--sat in on a couple of workshops. To look at this lovely lady with a beautiful sense of humor and spirit, you would never guess that somewhere in that mind lurks the creative fodder to chill you to the bone. Her forays into the minds of her villains are remarkable in creating the suspense that holds you in your seat turning page after page.
The Hidden Faces Series (Annie Kingston) and the Chelsea Adams Series are recommended reads--especially Dead of Night, my favorite. These books are best read during the day unless you enjoy that spine tingling little feeling that comes when you read a thriller shivering under your covers with just a reading light on.
One more thing--when you read Web of Lies, do it with your shoes on.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Be A Barnabas
Barnabas, the man who was nicknamed "Son of Encouragement" in the Bible, seems to keep cropping up in my life. A few years back when I needed some real encouragement myself, I decided that you get what you give and tried to "be a Barnabas." It worked. My attitude about people changed when I had to look for the good in them and encourage it.
Encouragement is not just praise. It is also comfort and consolation. It's what helps someone through those despairing times in life.
Barnabas cropped up again when I joined a writers' forum online. I became a part of a group of encouragers. We cheerfully refer to ourselves as the Barnabas Babes. When someone is down due to rejection, illness, stress, you name it, we jump in with words of encouragement and prayer support. On the other hand, we also applaud accomplishments and try to keep the green eyed monster of envy from ruining our honest good-wishes for each other.
Praise is good but encouragement is better. Praise needs you to be successful to be received but encouragement is given rather you succeed or not. Praise is a part of encouragement but if it is the only part, then there is no room for growth. Encouragement urges us ahead despite our circumstances.
In a few weeks I will be giving a talk on encouragement to a group at a womens' retreat. Its title? Be A Barnabas, of course!
Encouragement is not just praise. It is also comfort and consolation. It's what helps someone through those despairing times in life.
Barnabas cropped up again when I joined a writers' forum online. I became a part of a group of encouragers. We cheerfully refer to ourselves as the Barnabas Babes. When someone is down due to rejection, illness, stress, you name it, we jump in with words of encouragement and prayer support. On the other hand, we also applaud accomplishments and try to keep the green eyed monster of envy from ruining our honest good-wishes for each other.
Praise is good but encouragement is better. Praise needs you to be successful to be received but encouragement is given rather you succeed or not. Praise is a part of encouragement but if it is the only part, then there is no room for growth. Encouragement urges us ahead despite our circumstances.
In a few weeks I will be giving a talk on encouragement to a group at a womens' retreat. Its title? Be A Barnabas, of course!
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Life Jacket Drill
We have been on enough cruises to know the drill. At around 4 or 5 p.m., after everyone should be aboard and ready to sail, the announcement is made that the alarm will sound and everyone--and they do mean everyone--needs to get their lifejacket from their room and proceed to their muster station indicated on the back of the stateroom door.
Some ships insist you wear the bulky orange vest that makes you feel pregnant all over again all the way to the muster station. I think that's to keep people from tripping on the straps if they aren't wound around the life jacket. Everyone assembles while those in charge take attendance. A demonstration of the proper way to wear the vest follows along with sometimes humorous descriptions of all the nifty attachments--a light for reading and whistle to irritate the marine life. Everyone is usually good natured about the whole thing. Although there was one cruise where the photographers (who are often irritating enough) decided it would be cute to take picures of everyone up to their chins in orange covered cork.
The Antarctic cruise actually had two life jacket drills. The second was for the inflatable life jackets that we would wear while on the zodiacs. The information went something like this:
You will proceed to the gangway with your parkas zipped and hoods up, holding any loose items in your right hand while the crew puts the life jacket over your head and secures the straps for you. If for any unfortunate reason you should find yourself overboard, your life jacket will inflate automatically. If the automatic inflation for some reason fails, there are two red knobs you pull to inflate the jacket. If for any reason that should fail to inflate your jacket and you have not sunk and are still conscious, you can manually inflate with the tubes at the top of the jacket. Of course by that time, hypothermia has probably set in and your life jack will only serve as a means of recovery rather than rescue--which explained the big loopy strap on the back of it.
Monday, February 13, 2006
The Iceberg Souvenir
Well, a little update on the delivery of the "iceberg" from Antarctica.
It was a great hit!
Tyler couldn't have been more pleased. He and Danielle ran and got their plastic seal, penguin, and polar bear (although polar bears are from the northern hemisphere--but then the iceberg was from my driveway...). They played with the iceberg in the plastic container for a bit and then decided we could float it in the bathtub.
Lori ran some cold water and we set it in the tub. Next time I'll have to give my iceberg more of a solid ice base. The packed snow absorbed water too fast. Tyler kept insisting he was going to get in the tub with it. We finally convinced him it was too cold.
The play continued in the bathroom for a while until Tyler noticed the iceberg getting smaller.
"We haffa put it in the freezer. It's gonna melt!" He fretted.
We rescued the melting berg and plopped it back in the container. Lori saved its life by putting it in the freezer and we went on enjoying the rest of our visit with all the grandkids.
When we got back home late Saturday night, I checked my e-mail before going to bed. A note from Lori said, "Tyler had to kiss his iceberg goodnight."
If he becomes too attached, I might have to make another trip to Antarctica and get another one. Hope he doesn't want it in the middle of summer.
It was a great hit!
Tyler couldn't have been more pleased. He and Danielle ran and got their plastic seal, penguin, and polar bear (although polar bears are from the northern hemisphere--but then the iceberg was from my driveway...). They played with the iceberg in the plastic container for a bit and then decided we could float it in the bathtub.
Lori ran some cold water and we set it in the tub. Next time I'll have to give my iceberg more of a solid ice base. The packed snow absorbed water too fast. Tyler kept insisting he was going to get in the tub with it. We finally convinced him it was too cold.
The play continued in the bathroom for a while until Tyler noticed the iceberg getting smaller.
"We haffa put it in the freezer. It's gonna melt!" He fretted.
We rescued the melting berg and plopped it back in the container. Lori saved its life by putting it in the freezer and we went on enjoying the rest of our visit with all the grandkids.
When we got back home late Saturday night, I checked my e-mail before going to bed. A note from Lori said, "Tyler had to kiss his iceberg goodnight."
If he becomes too attached, I might have to make another trip to Antarctica and get another one. Hope he doesn't want it in the middle of summer.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Iceberg, Ho!
I'm a little late in posting today. I've been out making an iceberg.....
Yes, you read that right. I'm making an iceberg. We've had about 6 inches of snow over the last few days--perfect for iceberg making. Let me explain.
Just before we left for our trip to Antarctica we called our grandkids to say we'd send a penguin postcard. Tyler (our 4-year old grandson) burst into tears over the phone. For some reason he'd gotten it into his head that we were taking him with us so he could see the glaciers and icebergs. He has developed a fascination with them and has seen our Alaskan pictures with the glaciers and small bergs in the water. I felt terrible.
When it came time to buy souvenirs, I decided I wanted to get something really nice. I was surprised to find little to choose from for grandkids. Somebody missed the boat--er, ship--by not ordering more things for grandparents to buy. There was little to choose from.
I ended up with a couple of fleece vests, the word Antarctica written across the back and "free" mittens snapped inside the pouch on the back of the vest. Clothes. I could imagine the disappointed look on Tyler's face. The girls might enjoy the clothes but he's far beyond that.
In one of my more creative moments--I do have one or two--I decided to make him an iceberg. I've packed some snow in a large plastic container and we plan to put it in a cooler with lots of ice packed around it to keep it from melting too fast when we take it to him. I will explain to him that the glaciers are made of snow that is packed down and when it slides to the ocean, it breaks off and floats in the water. We'll put it in the bathtub--with Mom's approval, and maybe float a couple of boats around it.
I know he's probably smart enough to figure out it's not really from Antarctica but what's an imagination for if you can't use it?
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Penguins and Penguins, Oh my!
Penguins and penguins and penguins. And then more penguins. Our trip to Antarctica was filled with them. It’s summer in the southern hemisphere and the penguins have migrated to their breeding spots. If you have seen March of the Penguins, you sort of have the picture. We were not as far south as the Emperor penguins so the conditions were not severe.
Thousands of penguins (we saw mostly Gentoo and Chinstrap and then Magellan in Argentina) cover the small islands and outcroppings of the Antarctic Peninsula where the ice has melted. During the winter, Antarctica is twice its normal size because of the ice that forms around it in the sea and the penguins live out in the open sea. When the ice breaks up and begins to melt, the birds return to their rookeries, find mates, and do what comes naturally to perpetuate the species.
At one of the lectures aboard our ship, the expedition team leader had given a talk about what we would be seeing. His specialty was something other than birds and penguins and he poked fun at the other team member who was to talk about the different kinds of penguins on the continent. The leader showed a slide with a shot of two penguins, one facing the camera, the other with its back to us. “There are really only two kinds of penguins,” he quipped. “Black ones and white ones.”
At each rookery landing, it was hard to stop taking pictures. There were too many good shots and we wanted to make sure we got them all. Thank goodness for digital—we took over 700 pictures plus video.
This week Bob put most of the pictures on a CD so we could begin to share them with others. He didn’t take a lot of time to edit so the slide show is almost an hour long—only for the stout of heart and those, like family, who have to watch. Somewhere in the midst of all his work, he sat back and said, “You know, that expedition leader was right about penguins.” He flipped through a few pictures. “There really are only two kinds.”
Friday, February 03, 2006
Colorful Antarctica
Our first day in Antarctic waters was gray and misty with spurts of drizzle that tried to dampen our spirits. No way. This was an adventure and we were awed by our first glimpses of large icebergs and a rookery of penguins.
The next day, however, brought bright sunshine and clear skies--clear blue, blue skies. This is where it gets difficult because I am going to try to tell you in words what I saw not only with my eyes, but my heart and soul as well.
Bright whiteness, pure white snow, whiter than anything I have ever seen graced the mountains and glaciers that ran down to the water's edge. It was made more shockingly white by being set against a backdrop of crystal blue skies. Here and there coal gray rocky cliffs poked through the ice and snow and were met by the surf of the ocean gently licking at their base.
How I wished that for just a few minutes the buzz and hum of the ship could be silenced, for I know that the quiet would have felt holy.
As I stood on deck and drank in the pristine beauty of my surroundings, the words, "whiter than snow" came to mind. This was the whitest snow I had ever seen and yet the Bible says Jesus washes our sins whiter than snow. What a wondrous miracle.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Not My Cup of Tea
As we explored the shopping area of Buenos Aires, we noticed some unusual items in many of the store windows. I’m not an expert on drug paraphernalia but these items looked suspicious. They were round cups made of wood (actually a gourd) and a variety of other materials and each had a silver/metal straw in them that ended in a little silver strainer-type contraption on the end that was inserted into the cup. Did you smoke something in it, I wondered?
Window after shop window, we passed the same thing with unique designs, materials, and decorations. This was getting to be too much, I decided. At an outdoor craft market there was a table full of these cups with their unusual straws and a fellow whose English was pretty good so I gathered the courage to ask.
“It is mate--our national drink!” He was amazed that I didn’t know that. From a chair behind him, he picked up his own cup and showed me. “It is our tea. See?”
I peered into the cup at a concoction of liquid mixed with some sort of leaves. There was more leaf material than liquid it seemed. Then the light bulb went on in my head. Of course, they put their tea leaves in the hot water in their cup and the drink is strained through the straw. How clever. It reminded me of the Japanese teapot my daughter-in-law had given me where the strainer was in the spout.
I lifted the cup close enough to my nose to take a whiff. It was not the aroma I expected. While the gentleman insisted it wasn’t tobacco, I was sure it had to be at least a first cousin to the plant. It reminded me of my grandfather’s old cigars when they would get wet in an ashtray he kept outside.
The opportunity arose to purchase some tea and one of the cups but I passed. I can’t imagine it tasting any better than it smelled and tobacco juice isn’t my cup of tea.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
A Different View
[Apologies to those of you who read regularly. We were without internet for two weeks traveling through Argentina and the Antarctic. Yes, you will be hearing about it. Here's the first...]
Rain dripped off the end of my nose as I watched my footing on the catwalk at Iguazu Falls in Argentina. We were treading carefully on the Superior Walk, the higher level of trails for viewing the falls. Even through the mist and the rain, the falls were a spectacular wonder of nature (will post pictures and review on my website soon)—tons of water spilling down more than 200 different waterfalls. While they aren’t as tall as Niagra, they stretch over a wider area.
Just like Niagra, however, the Iguazu Falls are viewed from two sides—the Argentinean and the Brazilian. Of course there ensues a debate over which side is better. Some argue that the Falls are best viewed from Argentina, others say Brazil. As our guide put it, “It’s a different view.” We heard that phrase a lot.
“Take the lower circuit. It’s not necessarily better. It’s just a different view.”
“Be sure to go out to San Martin Island. It’s a different view.”
“For a different view, go down to the river.”
Every time we rounded a corner and saw the Falls from a new angle, we laughed and said, “It’s a different view.”
And our guide was right. Everyone had their own opinion about which was the best view.
But isn’t that how the world is? Everyone getting “a different view?”
Rain dripped off the end of my nose as I watched my footing on the catwalk at Iguazu Falls in Argentina. We were treading carefully on the Superior Walk, the higher level of trails for viewing the falls. Even through the mist and the rain, the falls were a spectacular wonder of nature (will post pictures and review on my website soon)—tons of water spilling down more than 200 different waterfalls. While they aren’t as tall as Niagra, they stretch over a wider area.
Just like Niagra, however, the Iguazu Falls are viewed from two sides—the Argentinean and the Brazilian. Of course there ensues a debate over which side is better. Some argue that the Falls are best viewed from Argentina, others say Brazil. As our guide put it, “It’s a different view.” We heard that phrase a lot.
“Take the lower circuit. It’s not necessarily better. It’s just a different view.”
“Be sure to go out to San Martin Island. It’s a different view.”
“For a different view, go down to the river.”
Every time we rounded a corner and saw the Falls from a new angle, we laughed and said, “It’s a different view.”
And our guide was right. Everyone had their own opinion about which was the best view.
But isn’t that how the world is? Everyone getting “a different view?”
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Where do babies come from?
In FAO Schwartz there is a baby nursery similar to what you might find in the maternity ward of a hospital. A half wall is topped off with Plexiglass to allow you to view two rows of bassinettes each containing a brand new life-like baby doll. The sales clerk is dressed like a nurse and will pick up the baby of your choice and bring it out for you to hold. Then if you so choose, you may purchase the darling bundle for a cool $80.
This unique marketing idea could create all sorts of complicated issues with the age old question, "Where do babies come from?"
"Mommy goes to the hospital and they help her get the baby," Mommy explains.
Little Janie sees the babies behind the window just like at FAO Schwartz and turns to Daddy. "How much do these babies cost?" Daddy just shudders.
Now little Janie wanted a baby sister but Mommy shows her a little baby brother. Janie knows that when you buy something at the store, if you have a receipt you can return it.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Where's the receipt for Baby John?"
"Receipt? Why do you want a receipt?"
"I'm gonna take him back and get a sister."
Of course that's more of an exchange. She probably wouldn't need a receipt.
Shhh! Don't tell her.
This unique marketing idea could create all sorts of complicated issues with the age old question, "Where do babies come from?"
"Mommy goes to the hospital and they help her get the baby," Mommy explains.
Little Janie sees the babies behind the window just like at FAO Schwartz and turns to Daddy. "How much do these babies cost?" Daddy just shudders.
Now little Janie wanted a baby sister but Mommy shows her a little baby brother. Janie knows that when you buy something at the store, if you have a receipt you can return it.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Where's the receipt for Baby John?"
"Receipt? Why do you want a receipt?"
"I'm gonna take him back and get a sister."
Of course that's more of an exchange. She probably wouldn't need a receipt.
Shhh! Don't tell her.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Hearts Anonymous
Hello, my name is Karen and I have a problem. It came with my computer. It's Hearts and I can't stop playing it. I do limit my playing time and use it as reward for goals met in my writing. My true problem arises with Pauline, Ben, and Michele--the other players (computer generated). I think they look into my hand sometimes. How else could they know I hold the queen of spades alone and then play a spade for me to suffer the consequences of having to play it and be penalized?
I find myself talking to Pauline. She seems to love to take all the tricks and leave the rest of us with 26 penalty points. "That wasn't nice, Pauline...You already played the ace of hearts--didn't you?"
Of course Michele always wants to send me the queen of spades when she has it along with the king and ace. That would be fine if I had all the high cards in the hearts suit. Then I could be like Pauline and take all the tricks. Michele's very sensitive though and I hate to yell at her.
Ben just sits there and chuckles at us girls but we get even with him every so often. We gang up on him and let him take the queen of spades along with all but one of the hearts. "Gotcha, Ben. It's not so funny when it happens to you, is it?" Of course if we do it too often his penalty points add up and the game ends sooner.
Do you see my problem? Instead of talking to myself, now I'm talking to computer generated card playing friends. I think I'm safer going back to talking to myself. It's a little more conventional.
I find myself talking to Pauline. She seems to love to take all the tricks and leave the rest of us with 26 penalty points. "That wasn't nice, Pauline...You already played the ace of hearts--didn't you?"
Of course Michele always wants to send me the queen of spades when she has it along with the king and ace. That would be fine if I had all the high cards in the hearts suit. Then I could be like Pauline and take all the tricks. Michele's very sensitive though and I hate to yell at her.
Ben just sits there and chuckles at us girls but we get even with him every so often. We gang up on him and let him take the queen of spades along with all but one of the hearts. "Gotcha, Ben. It's not so funny when it happens to you, is it?" Of course if we do it too often his penalty points add up and the game ends sooner.
Do you see my problem? Instead of talking to myself, now I'm talking to computer generated card playing friends. I think I'm safer going back to talking to myself. It's a little more conventional.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Love, Janis
Janis Joplin and James Dean. I will never understand the need to esteem them. James Dean was just getting his career started when he died tragically--0nly three movies, albeit in one year and with two academy award nominations--but he has become a Hollywood icon. Maybe that's because he didn't have time to make a continuing success of his life...or a mess of his life as so many actors have done.
Last night we went to the musical, Love, Janis. We left at intermission. I didn't appreciate the psychedelic music when I was in college at the time and my tastes haven't changed. Besides, it's TOO LOUD! I could have sat through the music (my fingers were in my ears to reduce volume--Bob hates when I do that). And I would have sat through the music if the story was intriguing or compelling but it was the story of a girl gone wild in pursuit of...well, I'm not sure. I thought it was great music but as the story unfolded I couldn't tell if it was the music or the high she got from the recognition and the crowds and the drugs.
It was watching the actress down some pills with a bottle of alcohol and drape herself across a chair as if in a drug induced stupor that sealed the decision to leave. I knew what was going to happen. There wasn't going to be any redemption--just more drug influenced music and ramblings about how great she was at defying the conventional way of life. It was sad to think of what might have been if she'd have used her talent without the drugs but I couldn't garner enough sympathy to sit out the second half of the show. I knew the ending. She overdoses on heroin.
Now what is there I'm missing here? This was someone great? This was someone who changed the world for the better? This was a dope addict who played loud music and, as her mother noted, screamed when she sang. She wasted the talent she had. What's to admire? It's just a sad story.
Last night we went to the musical, Love, Janis. We left at intermission. I didn't appreciate the psychedelic music when I was in college at the time and my tastes haven't changed. Besides, it's TOO LOUD! I could have sat through the music (my fingers were in my ears to reduce volume--Bob hates when I do that). And I would have sat through the music if the story was intriguing or compelling but it was the story of a girl gone wild in pursuit of...well, I'm not sure. I thought it was great music but as the story unfolded I couldn't tell if it was the music or the high she got from the recognition and the crowds and the drugs.
It was watching the actress down some pills with a bottle of alcohol and drape herself across a chair as if in a drug induced stupor that sealed the decision to leave. I knew what was going to happen. There wasn't going to be any redemption--just more drug influenced music and ramblings about how great she was at defying the conventional way of life. It was sad to think of what might have been if she'd have used her talent without the drugs but I couldn't garner enough sympathy to sit out the second half of the show. I knew the ending. She overdoses on heroin.
Now what is there I'm missing here? This was someone great? This was someone who changed the world for the better? This was a dope addict who played loud music and, as her mother noted, screamed when she sang. She wasted the talent she had. What's to admire? It's just a sad story.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Roller Coaster Rides
I'm embarking on a roller coaster ride. That's what happens when you submit your work to editors/publishing houses. My agent sent out ten proposals for my book, In A Pickle. Thus begins the clackety-clacking as my coaster car begins its trek out of the loading area.
I don't do real roller coaster rides at amusement parks any more. I can't stand the feeling of free falling and, in today's new modern contraptions, I don't want to be zipped upside down while twirling through a corkscrew and free falling at the same time. Whew! Just the thought of it makes this morning's coffee churn.
For me, the fun will be in the survival, not the ride. So, here I am facing the roller coaster of submitting my writing for publication, teeth clenched against the inevitable ups and downs. I'm not even going to think about those corkscrew turns. I'm already out of the loading area and through my first couple of free falls. I'm going to have to cut back on the coffee and hope the ride isn't too long. Survival will come with a contract clutched in one hand while the other one unbuckles the seat belt.
I don't do real roller coaster rides at amusement parks any more. I can't stand the feeling of free falling and, in today's new modern contraptions, I don't want to be zipped upside down while twirling through a corkscrew and free falling at the same time. Whew! Just the thought of it makes this morning's coffee churn.
For me, the fun will be in the survival, not the ride. So, here I am facing the roller coaster of submitting my writing for publication, teeth clenched against the inevitable ups and downs. I'm not even going to think about those corkscrew turns. I'm already out of the loading area and through my first couple of free falls. I'm going to have to cut back on the coffee and hope the ride isn't too long. Survival will come with a contract clutched in one hand while the other one unbuckles the seat belt.
Monday, January 02, 2006
King Kong
We went to King Kong yesterday. To be blunt, it was an exercise in bladder control. By the time the commercials and trailer run, you can add almost 15 minutes on to an already long movie. We sat down at 3:45 and didn't get out until almost 7:30.
Was it a good movie? It's a remake. The original was a good movie. This one made fun of the first and the second. It was comical but way overdone. At one point I wondered how much footage of Jurassic Park they had inserted. It seemed to go on and on.
The computer generated Kong was interesting to watch. They did a great job giving the ape human qualities--right down to the sign language exchanged with his little Barbie doll as they watch the sunset and sunrise.
I guess I'm a bit cynical but, you know, if a writer did that much narrative storytelling, she'd be told to cut it out and move the story along. At least when you're reading a book, you can take a potty break and pick up where you left off.
Was it a good movie? It's a remake. The original was a good movie. This one made fun of the first and the second. It was comical but way overdone. At one point I wondered how much footage of Jurassic Park they had inserted. It seemed to go on and on.
The computer generated Kong was interesting to watch. They did a great job giving the ape human qualities--right down to the sign language exchanged with his little Barbie doll as they watch the sunset and sunrise.
I guess I'm a bit cynical but, you know, if a writer did that much narrative storytelling, she'd be told to cut it out and move the story along. At least when you're reading a book, you can take a potty break and pick up where you left off.
Monday, December 19, 2005
The KID in Christmas
Over the weekend, I gave two very different presentations about the KID in Christmas. They were sparked by an ad I saw for the Elf, a Christmas movie in DVD now. The ad said, "For the kid in all of us."
The first presentation was for Toastmasters and I spoke about letting the kid come out at Christmas to make the holiday more fun--Kicking Christmas off with the enthusiasm of a child, Indulging in childish things (candy canes and snowmen), De-Scrooging Christmas.
The second was at my church. I used the letters K-I-D to talk about Jesus being born a King, Incarnate God, and Delight of His Father. I added an exclamation point--rejoice!
It was actually a shameless way of showing off my four grandchildren. You see I made large letters and an exclamation point and put their pictures on the letters that spelled out KID! I used them to make each of my points in the talks.
While everyone chuckled over what I'd done I did make my overall point: Christmas is a time to celebrate and who celebrates better than a kid at Christmas?
So I wish you a Merry Christmas and remind you to let the kid in you come out to celebrate the KID!
The first presentation was for Toastmasters and I spoke about letting the kid come out at Christmas to make the holiday more fun--Kicking Christmas off with the enthusiasm of a child, Indulging in childish things (candy canes and snowmen), De-Scrooging Christmas.
The second was at my church. I used the letters K-I-D to talk about Jesus being born a King, Incarnate God, and Delight of His Father. I added an exclamation point--rejoice!
It was actually a shameless way of showing off my four grandchildren. You see I made large letters and an exclamation point and put their pictures on the letters that spelled out KID! I used them to make each of my points in the talks.
While everyone chuckled over what I'd done I did make my overall point: Christmas is a time to celebrate and who celebrates better than a kid at Christmas?
So I wish you a Merry Christmas and remind you to let the kid in you come out to celebrate the KID!
Friday, December 16, 2005
Ground Zero 3
We took the subway to the station we thought was near Ground Zero and found ourselves about a block away. Walking toward the area was like walking through a pass in the mountains and suddenly having a huge valley open up before you. The noisy hustle and bustle of the city was shut out by the awesome quietness I felt as I looked at the gaping empty space in the middle of a city full of skyscrapers.
We walked to the fence and peered through. Below us there were bulldozers and construction vehicles looking no bigger than my grandson's toy trucks compared to the vastness of the empty foundation they were working on. There were still spots where you could see where the iron rods had supported walled structures. It didn't look like new construction. It was obvious that the rods and walls that were exposed below ground level had been attached to something--something that was no longer there.
Across the street, was the church where so many rescuers found refuge for short spells of time as they fought to find survivors in the ruble. Remnants of the memorials left on the fence, pictures and tributes were scattered about the church in displays that showed part of the story of those days following 9/11.
Out in the old graveyard in front of the church, there is a stump from a 100 year old tree that was the only thing destroyed in the yard when a beam from one of the buildings fell across it. It is amazing that nothing on the church was harmed. I couldn't help but think that maybe God felt that among all the suffering there needed to be a place to find comfort. Even today, the church continues to offer comfort to the relatives, the rescuers, the survivors who are still sorting out the tragedy that changed so many lives.
I wonder what NYC will ultimately do to the 16 acres of emptiness in the middle of lower Manhattan. Will they rebuild and cover the scars left behind of that terrible event? Or will they place something there to remind us that even though the scars may be ugly, there is healing.
We walked to the fence and peered through. Below us there were bulldozers and construction vehicles looking no bigger than my grandson's toy trucks compared to the vastness of the empty foundation they were working on. There were still spots where you could see where the iron rods had supported walled structures. It didn't look like new construction. It was obvious that the rods and walls that were exposed below ground level had been attached to something--something that was no longer there.
Across the street, was the church where so many rescuers found refuge for short spells of time as they fought to find survivors in the ruble. Remnants of the memorials left on the fence, pictures and tributes were scattered about the church in displays that showed part of the story of those days following 9/11.
Out in the old graveyard in front of the church, there is a stump from a 100 year old tree that was the only thing destroyed in the yard when a beam from one of the buildings fell across it. It is amazing that nothing on the church was harmed. I couldn't help but think that maybe God felt that among all the suffering there needed to be a place to find comfort. Even today, the church continues to offer comfort to the relatives, the rescuers, the survivors who are still sorting out the tragedy that changed so many lives.
I wonder what NYC will ultimately do to the 16 acres of emptiness in the middle of lower Manhattan. Will they rebuild and cover the scars left behind of that terrible event? Or will they place something there to remind us that even though the scars may be ugly, there is healing.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Ground Zero 2
All of my kids were home except for Andy who looked as though he might be stranded in Washington state. He had some trouble getting home when they grounded all the airplanes, but eventually made it safely back to his wife.
I remember the eerie silence of the skies. Noise that we had assimilated in our everyday life and didn't notice, was suddenly gone. Life was unsettled. What did the future hold? Were we still in danger? I imagined the feelings our generation was going through were similar to those of our grandparents' generation when Pearl Harbor was hit. This seemed closer to home though. This was the continental US.
Like most of the nation, I was glued to the television trying to absorb the enormity of the tragedy--praying for rescuers and those needing rescue. I watched as the remains of what had been some of the tallest buildings in the world were carefully moved and searched. But what was on my TV screen, I knew could only glimpse the full extent of the destruction. The human tragedy was almost too much to bear. The faces of those who waited word of their loved ones haunted me.
Eventually, I pulled away as I am sure millions of others did as well. The event had been life changing--world changing, but it was time to move on. Now, four years later, I was offered the opportunity to visit NYC. There was no way I would go and not visit Ground Zero--not spend a few moments thanking God for those he spared and praying for those families whose lives now had a hole in them--a hole as big as the one left in the middle of NYC.
I remember the eerie silence of the skies. Noise that we had assimilated in our everyday life and didn't notice, was suddenly gone. Life was unsettled. What did the future hold? Were we still in danger? I imagined the feelings our generation was going through were similar to those of our grandparents' generation when Pearl Harbor was hit. This seemed closer to home though. This was the continental US.
Like most of the nation, I was glued to the television trying to absorb the enormity of the tragedy--praying for rescuers and those needing rescue. I watched as the remains of what had been some of the tallest buildings in the world were carefully moved and searched. But what was on my TV screen, I knew could only glimpse the full extent of the destruction. The human tragedy was almost too much to bear. The faces of those who waited word of their loved ones haunted me.
Eventually, I pulled away as I am sure millions of others did as well. The event had been life changing--world changing, but it was time to move on. Now, four years later, I was offered the opportunity to visit NYC. There was no way I would go and not visit Ground Zero--not spend a few moments thanking God for those he spared and praying for those families whose lives now had a hole in them--a hole as big as the one left in the middle of NYC.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Ground Zero
I remember where I was when it happened, do you? I was sitting at my sewing machine and listening to Good Morning America (I wasn't a Today fan yet) and the phone rang. It was the secretary from our church asking about some activity I was involved with. As she talked, I watched the bulletin interrupt the programming and Diane Sawyer and Charles Gibson's anxious faces as they began to relay the news--a jet had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers.
"Oh, my gosh!" I exclaimed and repeated what I'd just heard to the secretary. We finished our conversation and after I hung up, I continued to watch as the news unfolded and the second jet hit the second tower. Then it became frightening. This was no accident.
I had planned to take our son, Don, shopping for furniture for his first venture into the world of independent living. This was a big deal for a young man with Don's mental handicaps. I didn't want to disappoint him. We started out and found that every store we went to was practically deserted. Employees were gathered around TVs whenever they were available or just huddled together under a speaker that was piping in the news as the morning progressed. I wanted desperately to know what was happening but I didn't want to frighten Don either.
Don and I quickly found what he needed and then headed for a pizza shop for lunch. I sat where I could see their TV and let Don ramble on in his excitement, nodding my head as if I were listening, but keeping an eye on the events unfolding on the TV screen. A shot of the first tower collapsing was shown. I gasped. It made Don turn and look. Fortunately, he didn't understand the full impact. It was just another disaster or maybe a building being imploded.
This was unreal. Suddenly, life was uncertain. I wondered if I was going to be able to let him go out on his own. For that matter, the mother in me wanted to gather all my "chicks" together and make sure they were safe.
When we went home, I began making phone calls. Where were the rest of my boys? Were they safe?
"Oh, my gosh!" I exclaimed and repeated what I'd just heard to the secretary. We finished our conversation and after I hung up, I continued to watch as the news unfolded and the second jet hit the second tower. Then it became frightening. This was no accident.
I had planned to take our son, Don, shopping for furniture for his first venture into the world of independent living. This was a big deal for a young man with Don's mental handicaps. I didn't want to disappoint him. We started out and found that every store we went to was practically deserted. Employees were gathered around TVs whenever they were available or just huddled together under a speaker that was piping in the news as the morning progressed. I wanted desperately to know what was happening but I didn't want to frighten Don either.
Don and I quickly found what he needed and then headed for a pizza shop for lunch. I sat where I could see their TV and let Don ramble on in his excitement, nodding my head as if I were listening, but keeping an eye on the events unfolding on the TV screen. A shot of the first tower collapsing was shown. I gasped. It made Don turn and look. Fortunately, he didn't understand the full impact. It was just another disaster or maybe a building being imploded.
This was unreal. Suddenly, life was uncertain. I wondered if I was going to be able to let him go out on his own. For that matter, the mother in me wanted to gather all my "chicks" together and make sure they were safe.
When we went home, I began making phone calls. Where were the rest of my boys? Were they safe?
Friday, December 09, 2005
Five Seconds of Fame 2
Well, we managed to inch our way to a space behind three women dressed in "I (heart) NY" pajamas and Santa hats. Sure enough Al Roker came out and paused for a moment to look at their attire. Just as he did, the crowd squeezed in around us and any chance of our being on camera faded with three signs thrust in front of our faces.
I was about ready to give up and go get something to warm the icicles forming around my nose and eyebrows. The focus had shifted to the other end of the Plaza where the Eurythmics were performing. As soon as they were done with "Sweet Things are Made of This," the crowd began to thin. I looked at Bob. "Should we tough it out and see if they come over here again or just leave?"
"It's your call," he said bouncing up and down and clapping his hands together to get them warm. We decided to stay until the top of the hour--9 o'clock.
We watched Ann Curry come out to do a promo from a platform near us. She was much prettier in person than on TV and was warm and friendly to the crowd around her even though she was visibly shaking from the cold.
They were preparing to seque to the next song by the Eurythmics when a cameraman stopped in front of me and looked down at the sign that I was beginning to drag now. "Nice sign," he said nodding his head up and down as much as he could with a big camera on his shoulder. He climbed up to the same platform where Ann had been a few minutes before. The Eurythmics began to sing. He pointed the camera at me. I held the sign high and saw the red light come on. It seemed like it was on for an eternity and I watched as the lense zoomed in. Was he taking a close up?
Bob was behind me watching the monitor and suddenly called out, "That's our sign! Hey, you're on!" Just about the time he turned around, the red light went off and our five seconds of fame were over.
Fame is so fleeting...
I was about ready to give up and go get something to warm the icicles forming around my nose and eyebrows. The focus had shifted to the other end of the Plaza where the Eurythmics were performing. As soon as they were done with "Sweet Things are Made of This," the crowd began to thin. I looked at Bob. "Should we tough it out and see if they come over here again or just leave?"
"It's your call," he said bouncing up and down and clapping his hands together to get them warm. We decided to stay until the top of the hour--9 o'clock.
We watched Ann Curry come out to do a promo from a platform near us. She was much prettier in person than on TV and was warm and friendly to the crowd around her even though she was visibly shaking from the cold.
They were preparing to seque to the next song by the Eurythmics when a cameraman stopped in front of me and looked down at the sign that I was beginning to drag now. "Nice sign," he said nodding his head up and down as much as he could with a big camera on his shoulder. He climbed up to the same platform where Ann had been a few minutes before. The Eurythmics began to sing. He pointed the camera at me. I held the sign high and saw the red light come on. It seemed like it was on for an eternity and I watched as the lense zoomed in. Was he taking a close up?
Bob was behind me watching the monitor and suddenly called out, "That's our sign! Hey, you're on!" Just about the time he turned around, the red light went off and our five seconds of fame were over.
Fame is so fleeting...
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Five Seconds of Fame
Bear with me...I'm still rehashing the wonderful time we had in NYC this past Thanksgiving. It included an early morning--very early and very cold--trip to Rockefeller Center Plaza for the Today Show.
We had searched the nearby drugstores for poster board and markers almost to no avail. Everyone was making signs to hold up for the big parade. We finally found some foam board and a smattering of fine point markers--not the best for filling in lettering on a sign.
Next came the question of what to put on the sign. I was torn between "Hey Robbins Family! Save some Turkey!" and a "Checkin' Our List" sign. I had seen turkey signs before, so we opted for the List sign. I drew blocks like bullet points for our list and wrote, "The Today Show, Parade, Turkey Dinner, Top of the Rock, Christmas Shopping." Each block except the shopping one was checked. We filled in the Today Show with diagonal bands of color loosely resembling the colors that NBC uses in its trademark. The rest was done in black and dark purple when the black pens began to run out of ink. It took us most of Thanksgiving afternoon, but it was a good time to rest and relax and stay warm after being out in the cold for so long at the parade.
Sign in hand--both hands--fighting the icy wind, we trekked down to Rockefeller Plaza. It was 6 a.m. The show didn't start until 7, but we were already late. The plaza was almost full to capacity with people. Security checked our sign to be sure it wasn't advertising or offensive or, I'm suspecting, political, and we oozed into the middle of the crowd that was facing the far end waiting for the live concert by the Eurythmics.
Once in a while the camera suspended on a boom above the crowd would swing over the top of us and people would go wild cheering and waving signs. Bob noted that the camera wasn't even on yet. I knew I wanted to be in the back of the crowd closer to where the Today personalities would come out to do the weather. There was a lot better chance of being seen there and I certainly didn't want to disappoint my grandkids who were watching or TiVoing.
Carefully, and slowly we inched our way closer to the barriers as people got too cold and gave up--leaving for hot chocolate or coffee. It was getting closer to 8:30, their scheduled appearance time in the Plaza. Would we be close enough by then?
We had searched the nearby drugstores for poster board and markers almost to no avail. Everyone was making signs to hold up for the big parade. We finally found some foam board and a smattering of fine point markers--not the best for filling in lettering on a sign.
Next came the question of what to put on the sign. I was torn between "Hey Robbins Family! Save some Turkey!" and a "Checkin' Our List" sign. I had seen turkey signs before, so we opted for the List sign. I drew blocks like bullet points for our list and wrote, "The Today Show, Parade, Turkey Dinner, Top of the Rock, Christmas Shopping." Each block except the shopping one was checked. We filled in the Today Show with diagonal bands of color loosely resembling the colors that NBC uses in its trademark. The rest was done in black and dark purple when the black pens began to run out of ink. It took us most of Thanksgiving afternoon, but it was a good time to rest and relax and stay warm after being out in the cold for so long at the parade.
Sign in hand--both hands--fighting the icy wind, we trekked down to Rockefeller Plaza. It was 6 a.m. The show didn't start until 7, but we were already late. The plaza was almost full to capacity with people. Security checked our sign to be sure it wasn't advertising or offensive or, I'm suspecting, political, and we oozed into the middle of the crowd that was facing the far end waiting for the live concert by the Eurythmics.
Once in a while the camera suspended on a boom above the crowd would swing over the top of us and people would go wild cheering and waving signs. Bob noted that the camera wasn't even on yet. I knew I wanted to be in the back of the crowd closer to where the Today personalities would come out to do the weather. There was a lot better chance of being seen there and I certainly didn't want to disappoint my grandkids who were watching or TiVoing.
Carefully, and slowly we inched our way closer to the barriers as people got too cold and gave up--leaving for hot chocolate or coffee. It was getting closer to 8:30, their scheduled appearance time in the Plaza. Would we be close enough by then?
Monday, December 05, 2005
Toys Toys Toys
Christmas shopping is getting to be less fun for me. My own kids and their wives are far enough removed from my everyday life that I don't see the little things they need like I used to when they lived at home. (No, I'm not asking that they move back in.) Often they provide lists but that reduces the element of surprise even though it saves on returns after Christmas.
The grandchildren, however, offer a spot of delight in the holiday excursion to the mall and toy store. I envy the grandparents who get to shop at FAO Schwarz in NYC. When we visited there, we found a wonderland of awe and excitement. The first floor was filled with every kind and size of stuffed animal imaginable. The second floor had designer toys. As we neared the top of the escalator, we discovered the giant keyboard that Tom Hanks danced on in the movie Big. There were some accomplished young musicians dancing out tunes as onlookers watched in amazement.
Moving to the dolls department, we happened upon the nursery section. Behind a plexiglass window were hospital bassinets with lifesized baby dolls wrapped in blankets waiting for "mommies" to claim them as their own. The sales clerk for the area was dressed as a nurse and would retrieve a baby now and then for a perspective mother to hold.
In the action toys area, there was a bank of computers where kids of all ages could design a custom Hot Wheels car--color, body, detailing. We passed by wishing we had Tyler with us and found ourselves staring up at a giant dinosaur whose head swayed back and forth as it opened its mouth to roar. Beyond the prehistoric creature lay a wonderland of Legos--kits, pieces and parts of all sizes and colors, and huge buildings and creatures made of thousands of Legos.
We rounded another corner to discover a lifesized Barbie dollhouse that contained every Barbie and accessory made to delight the Barbie fans. I was truly feeling like a babe in toyland.
There were numerous stations along the way where toys were being demonstrated. I didn't realize how significant the demos were until the demonstrator of one toy asked if the buyer wished him to sign it. He was the inventor of the toy!
While Toys R Us was huge and carried every toy imaginable, FAO Schwarz was unique and truly made me feel like a kid again. I was wishing I'd brought an extra suitcase--but then one wouldn't have been enough to hold all I wanted. Just like a kid I wanted more than I needed.
The grandchildren, however, offer a spot of delight in the holiday excursion to the mall and toy store. I envy the grandparents who get to shop at FAO Schwarz in NYC. When we visited there, we found a wonderland of awe and excitement. The first floor was filled with every kind and size of stuffed animal imaginable. The second floor had designer toys. As we neared the top of the escalator, we discovered the giant keyboard that Tom Hanks danced on in the movie Big. There were some accomplished young musicians dancing out tunes as onlookers watched in amazement.
Moving to the dolls department, we happened upon the nursery section. Behind a plexiglass window were hospital bassinets with lifesized baby dolls wrapped in blankets waiting for "mommies" to claim them as their own. The sales clerk for the area was dressed as a nurse and would retrieve a baby now and then for a perspective mother to hold.
In the action toys area, there was a bank of computers where kids of all ages could design a custom Hot Wheels car--color, body, detailing. We passed by wishing we had Tyler with us and found ourselves staring up at a giant dinosaur whose head swayed back and forth as it opened its mouth to roar. Beyond the prehistoric creature lay a wonderland of Legos--kits, pieces and parts of all sizes and colors, and huge buildings and creatures made of thousands of Legos.
We rounded another corner to discover a lifesized Barbie dollhouse that contained every Barbie and accessory made to delight the Barbie fans. I was truly feeling like a babe in toyland.
There were numerous stations along the way where toys were being demonstrated. I didn't realize how significant the demos were until the demonstrator of one toy asked if the buyer wished him to sign it. He was the inventor of the toy!
While Toys R Us was huge and carried every toy imaginable, FAO Schwarz was unique and truly made me feel like a kid again. I was wishing I'd brought an extra suitcase--but then one wouldn't have been enough to hold all I wanted. Just like a kid I wanted more than I needed.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Macy's Parade Balloons
Scarf drawn around my head and neck, clutching my coat closed, I shuffled through the crowd of people heading for 81st street. It was a windy cold Wednesday night before the Macy's Parade. As Bob and I rounded the corner, we were greeted by the 10 foot wide smile of a big brown dog hoovering just slightly off the pavement. Scooby Doo looked plump with helium and ready to bound down Broadway in the morning. With the predicted winds, he would be a tough character to hang on to.
Other balloons in the parade were at various stages of inflation. Some were just being unrolled from bags that looked no bigger than those which would contain a good sized tent for camping. They lay pancake flat on the street until all the guide lines and appendages were unfurled and the hose from the industrial sized tank of helium on a truck nearby was attached. With a hiss, the flat fabric begins to take shape. Arms, legs, ears, lips, all fill with the lighter than air gas and it begins to float hampered only by the netting thrown across it to secure it for the night.
The next day we were awed as the balloons paraded by us tethered by two jeeps and 25-40 people who held guide lines to move the characters down the street. It was windy. They struggled at intersections where open spaces created cross winds. But, except for one mishap, they all made it safely to the Macy's department store on 34th Street--a miracle indeed.
Often, as the balloons passed by or stopped for a short time in front of us, the wind would cause the huge characters to sway--sometimes right over the top of our heads. Their size was overwhelming and the danger they presented should they get out of control was always a consideration.
I thought about how we inflate our worries so often like those big balloons. They become overwhelming and dangerous if we let them. They loom over us, darkening our world. Macy's used to release the balloons when the parade was over (they were smaller then) and let them float away to be taken care of by wind and air pressure that would eventually explode the inner cavities. It is a good analogy--let go of those inflated worries and let God take care of them.
Other balloons in the parade were at various stages of inflation. Some were just being unrolled from bags that looked no bigger than those which would contain a good sized tent for camping. They lay pancake flat on the street until all the guide lines and appendages were unfurled and the hose from the industrial sized tank of helium on a truck nearby was attached. With a hiss, the flat fabric begins to take shape. Arms, legs, ears, lips, all fill with the lighter than air gas and it begins to float hampered only by the netting thrown across it to secure it for the night.
The next day we were awed as the balloons paraded by us tethered by two jeeps and 25-40 people who held guide lines to move the characters down the street. It was windy. They struggled at intersections where open spaces created cross winds. But, except for one mishap, they all made it safely to the Macy's department store on 34th Street--a miracle indeed.
Often, as the balloons passed by or stopped for a short time in front of us, the wind would cause the huge characters to sway--sometimes right over the top of our heads. Their size was overwhelming and the danger they presented should they get out of control was always a consideration.
I thought about how we inflate our worries so often like those big balloons. They become overwhelming and dangerous if we let them. They loom over us, darkening our world. Macy's used to release the balloons when the parade was over (they were smaller then) and let them float away to be taken care of by wind and air pressure that would eventually explode the inner cavities. It is a good analogy--let go of those inflated worries and let God take care of them.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Holiday Greetings
Life has been moving in the fast lane lately. Unfortunately that led me to neglect posting my musings and stories for the past week. But life has also been good. FYI we went to NYC for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (more to follow) and my BIG news--I now have an agent for the novel I have written, In a Pickle. I am one step closer to seeing the first of a series featuring Annie Pickels, pickle entrepreneur and world traveler. Yes, it is humorous. Yes, it has a dash of romance. And yes, I AM EXCITED!
The contract came just before we left for New York and needless to say, Bob wondered if he would have to tie a string to me to keep me from floating down Broadway with Scooby Do and Chicken Little. It was a little strange being away for Thanksgiving. Except for the year I was sick, I think it is the first Robbins Thanksgiving we've missed in 37 years. Not to worry though, we did have a great turkey dinner.
Bob made reservations with the restaurant in our hotel for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a huge salad buffet and a modest dessert buffet (but tasty!) and inbetween the two was a plateful of turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry relish and sweet potatoes. Mmm-mmm.
When we were first seated, our waiter came over to take our drink order. He introduced himself and I answered with "Happy Thanksgiving!" He straightened and stepped back. I wondered if I'd made a faux pas. I hate empty space so I filled it with, "I'm so glad you're here today so we could have dinner."
He started in to say, "What can I get you..." and then he shook his head. "You know, you are the first person today who's said 'Happy Thanksgiving' to me...and before you asked me to get you anything!" I felt tears rush to my eyes. I'm not a weeper so that surprised me. Here was this gentleman working his tail off all day (his shift ended shortly after we came) to make customer's happy with their holiday dinner and no one had taken the time to wish him good will.
Perhaps we shouldn't be worried with how we are greeted in the stores this season but more about how we greet others. There may be someone God has put in your path who needs to hear, "Merry Christmas!"
The contract came just before we left for New York and needless to say, Bob wondered if he would have to tie a string to me to keep me from floating down Broadway with Scooby Do and Chicken Little. It was a little strange being away for Thanksgiving. Except for the year I was sick, I think it is the first Robbins Thanksgiving we've missed in 37 years. Not to worry though, we did have a great turkey dinner.
Bob made reservations with the restaurant in our hotel for our Thanksgiving dinner. There was a huge salad buffet and a modest dessert buffet (but tasty!) and inbetween the two was a plateful of turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry relish and sweet potatoes. Mmm-mmm.
When we were first seated, our waiter came over to take our drink order. He introduced himself and I answered with "Happy Thanksgiving!" He straightened and stepped back. I wondered if I'd made a faux pas. I hate empty space so I filled it with, "I'm so glad you're here today so we could have dinner."
He started in to say, "What can I get you..." and then he shook his head. "You know, you are the first person today who's said 'Happy Thanksgiving' to me...and before you asked me to get you anything!" I felt tears rush to my eyes. I'm not a weeper so that surprised me. Here was this gentleman working his tail off all day (his shift ended shortly after we came) to make customer's happy with their holiday dinner and no one had taken the time to wish him good will.
Perhaps we shouldn't be worried with how we are greeted in the stores this season but more about how we greet others. There may be someone God has put in your path who needs to hear, "Merry Christmas!"
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Mending Broken Hearts
I just returned from a grueling three day seminar on speaking. The motto was "never let them rest." The leaders (CLASServices) lived up to the motto. It always amazes me to see the collection of people God gathers together at these types of seminars and conferences.
As Christian writers and speakers, we want to reach out to those who are hurting and need encouragement. Why? Because at some point in our lives we've been touched by some of the hurt or the ugliness of life. We remember the broken heart. The stories I heard in just three short days could fill volumes of works...and may, if the tellers also become writers.
While a speaker or writer cannot be the mender of the broken heart, she can be a vehicle for God to do his handiwork. What a privilege to be used in such a way.
"For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." Matthew 12:34b
As Christian writers and speakers, we want to reach out to those who are hurting and need encouragement. Why? Because at some point in our lives we've been touched by some of the hurt or the ugliness of life. We remember the broken heart. The stories I heard in just three short days could fill volumes of works...and may, if the tellers also become writers.
While a speaker or writer cannot be the mender of the broken heart, she can be a vehicle for God to do his handiwork. What a privilege to be used in such a way.
"For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks." Matthew 12:34b
Friday, November 11, 2005
Had Me at Hello
This has been a year of natural disasters starting with a horrendous tsunami, followed by earthquakes, hurricanes, and floods. People have lost great numbers of loved ones, homes, jobs, all the things that were important in their lives.
We live under the threat of terrorists who bomb discriminately or indiscriminately at will. An expert commented the other day that no country is safe. A suicide bombing is not a matter of "if" but "when."
Crime, poverty, unemployment, disease, homelessness, death,--the list goes on, affecting our lives no matter where we live.
Wouldn't you think that we would have more important things to worry about than whether a Wal-Mart greeter says "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" to us as we enter the store? How about "Hello?" It worked for Tom Cruise and Renee Zellwinger.
We live under the threat of terrorists who bomb discriminately or indiscriminately at will. An expert commented the other day that no country is safe. A suicide bombing is not a matter of "if" but "when."
Crime, poverty, unemployment, disease, homelessness, death,--the list goes on, affecting our lives no matter where we live.
Wouldn't you think that we would have more important things to worry about than whether a Wal-Mart greeter says "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas" to us as we enter the store? How about "Hello?" It worked for Tom Cruise and Renee Zellwinger.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Typing 101
Do you remember Typing 101? After all those years of learning the alphabet--singing the song--suddenly you were faced with a keyboard that seemed to make no logical sense. Credit goes to inventor Christopher Lathan Sholes for what appears to be the haphazard organization of the keys. Originally the keys were arranged alphabetically but as his skill and speed in typing increased, he found the keys colliding and sticking together. Thus he had to reorder the keys to make the process of typing easier and more efficient and keep the mechanics of the typewriter in better working order.
Our lives are often like the keyboards upon which we type. Seemingly haphazard and out of order. Often nothing makes sense. We question, "Why?" But, just as we place our hands upon the letters on the keyboard and make words, paragraphs and even great works of literature, so God's hands upon our lives can bring order, grace and great works of love. The keyboard will always seem disordered but the master's hand upon it will determine its production.
Our lives are often like the keyboards upon which we type. Seemingly haphazard and out of order. Often nothing makes sense. We question, "Why?" But, just as we place our hands upon the letters on the keyboard and make words, paragraphs and even great works of literature, so God's hands upon our lives can bring order, grace and great works of love. The keyboard will always seem disordered but the master's hand upon it will determine its production.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Pink, Blue, or Yellow?
Okay, now here's a conversation starter: What's your favorite sugar? Pink, blue, yellow, or white?
Have you noticed how colorful the litttle container of sugar packets that sits on the restaurant table has become? There used to be only two choices--granulated sugar and Sweet N Low that came in pink packets. Along came Equal in blue and now we have Splenda adorned in yellow. Add to that, for the naturalists among us, the packets of brown containing raw sugar--especially good in cappuccino.
It's no wonder life is so complicated when our choices only continue to multiply and we are forced into constant decision-making throughout our day. Calories or no calories? Processed verses raw? Sucralose, asparatame, saccharin, or sucrose? Alright, my head is spinning already.
Have a sweet day!
Have you noticed how colorful the litttle container of sugar packets that sits on the restaurant table has become? There used to be only two choices--granulated sugar and Sweet N Low that came in pink packets. Along came Equal in blue and now we have Splenda adorned in yellow. Add to that, for the naturalists among us, the packets of brown containing raw sugar--especially good in cappuccino.
It's no wonder life is so complicated when our choices only continue to multiply and we are forced into constant decision-making throughout our day. Calories or no calories? Processed verses raw? Sucralose, asparatame, saccharin, or sucrose? Alright, my head is spinning already.
Have a sweet day!
Friday, November 04, 2005
Tacking
There is nothing more frustrating when you sail a boat than seeing your destination but you can't get there in a straight line. Rarely does the wind cooperate and blow from just the right direction for you to make a bee-line to your destination.
In order to get where you're going, you have to tack. That means you zig-zag back and forth toward your destination. The captain at the helm (usually Bob) yells "Come about!" The crew (usually me) then lets go of the line on the jib sail (the one in front) and the boat is turned to catch the wind from the other side. The line is pulled from the other side and fastened off on the cleat when the sail is in the right position. In the few seconds it takes the sail to cross over the bow of the boat, momentum is lost. But as soon as the wind fills the sail again, the boat pushes forward and get closer to its goal.
Now if you had a power boat, you'd just buzz right to the marina in a straight line. But that's noisy and not nearly as challenging.
This week my writing adventures have seemed a bit like using a sailboat to get where I want to be. I was moving right along and then the wind changed--I got another rejection. Since I am the captain of this ship, I yelled "Come about!" and set the sail to the other side (I sent my proposal out again). There were a few moments where the sail lufted in the breeze--I lost a little momentum but I am still heading for my publishing goal, albeit on a different tack.
In order to get where you're going, you have to tack. That means you zig-zag back and forth toward your destination. The captain at the helm (usually Bob) yells "Come about!" The crew (usually me) then lets go of the line on the jib sail (the one in front) and the boat is turned to catch the wind from the other side. The line is pulled from the other side and fastened off on the cleat when the sail is in the right position. In the few seconds it takes the sail to cross over the bow of the boat, momentum is lost. But as soon as the wind fills the sail again, the boat pushes forward and get closer to its goal.
Now if you had a power boat, you'd just buzz right to the marina in a straight line. But that's noisy and not nearly as challenging.
This week my writing adventures have seemed a bit like using a sailboat to get where I want to be. I was moving right along and then the wind changed--I got another rejection. Since I am the captain of this ship, I yelled "Come about!" and set the sail to the other side (I sent my proposal out again). There were a few moments where the sail lufted in the breeze--I lost a little momentum but I am still heading for my publishing goal, albeit on a different tack.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Inanimate Personalities
As we pulled out of Hamilton, Bermuda, the cruise ship's horn sounded mournfully long and loud--a heartbreaking wail to the ears of those who loved her. This was the last time this ship would see Bermuda.
When we set sail in Philadelphia, we were aboard the Horizon, the very first cruise ship we had ever sailed on back in 1993. It was a young ship then--only about 2 years old. It was magical. I remember the first afternoon so clearly. We checked into our stateroom and were directed immediately to the lunch buffet being served on deck 11. I don't remember what I ate but I do remember sitting outside at a table, looking out over the beautiful harbor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and thinking, "It's just like the Love Boat on TV." (It was a popular show back then.)
We sailed on two more cruises aboard Horizon after that--one more to the Caribbean and another to Bermuda. While on the Millenium (another Celebrity ship) we heard that the Horizon was being sold/transfered to a subsidiary of Royal Caribbean. It was a wild and crazy thing to do, but we booked the last cruise of the Horizon for nostalgic reasons.
Arriving at Bermuda, we couldn't pull into the port of St. George's because of the weather. Hurricane Wilma was pushing wind and unstable weather conditions ahead of her. The channel to reach St. George's is very narrow allowing for little error. More than 8 knots of wind makes it precarious for a cruise ship. We docked at Hamilton instead.
We anticipated traveling by ferry and/or bus to St. George's and other interesting spots on the island. What we didn't anticipate was what was about to happen to the Horizon...
When we set sail in Philadelphia, we were aboard the Horizon, the very first cruise ship we had ever sailed on back in 1993. It was a young ship then--only about 2 years old. It was magical. I remember the first afternoon so clearly. We checked into our stateroom and were directed immediately to the lunch buffet being served on deck 11. I don't remember what I ate but I do remember sitting outside at a table, looking out over the beautiful harbor of San Juan, Puerto Rico, and thinking, "It's just like the Love Boat on TV." (It was a popular show back then.)
We sailed on two more cruises aboard Horizon after that--one more to the Caribbean and another to Bermuda. While on the Millenium (another Celebrity ship) we heard that the Horizon was being sold/transfered to a subsidiary of Royal Caribbean. It was a wild and crazy thing to do, but we booked the last cruise of the Horizon for nostalgic reasons.
Arriving at Bermuda, we couldn't pull into the port of St. George's because of the weather. Hurricane Wilma was pushing wind and unstable weather conditions ahead of her. The channel to reach St. George's is very narrow allowing for little error. More than 8 knots of wind makes it precarious for a cruise ship. We docked at Hamilton instead.
We anticipated traveling by ferry and/or bus to St. George's and other interesting spots on the island. What we didn't anticipate was what was about to happen to the Horizon...
Monday, October 31, 2005
Hot! Hot! Hot!
We were in Bermuda last week and visited a glassblowing demonstration in St. George's. It was the first time we'd ever seen someone make a plate.
A glob of molten glass was placed on the end of the long metal blow rod, heated in a raging furnace until it was red hot and then rolled in little granules of colored glass. The process was repeated a few times and then the hot glass was rolled in very fine white granules.
It was heated in the furnace again and then with a few gentle breaths, it became a round ball at the end of the rod. Thrust into the fire again, it glowed an ugly red-hot when the assistant handed the rod to the artist. She took tongs and gently shaped the ball, making it smooth, removing irregularities. The assistant took another rod, added a dollop of molten glass to the end and stuck it to the ball of glass held by the artist. The artist clipped the ball off of her rod and the assistant returned to the blazing fire again to reheat the glass.
Little by little, the artist enlarged the opening of the ball--each time requiring her assistant to reheat the glass. Eventually, as the glass cooled and the ball became a flat plate with fluted edges, a brilliant display of color was revealed. It came from all the little colored pieces that were first rolled into the glass. The bright colors swirled out from the center of the plate and became even richer in tone and hue as they caught the rays of the sun.
I couldn't help but think of how God refines us through our "fires"--our trials and sufferings. In the hands of the Artist, we become beautiful creations, richer still when caught in the rays of the Son's love.
A glob of molten glass was placed on the end of the long metal blow rod, heated in a raging furnace until it was red hot and then rolled in little granules of colored glass. The process was repeated a few times and then the hot glass was rolled in very fine white granules.
It was heated in the furnace again and then with a few gentle breaths, it became a round ball at the end of the rod. Thrust into the fire again, it glowed an ugly red-hot when the assistant handed the rod to the artist. She took tongs and gently shaped the ball, making it smooth, removing irregularities. The assistant took another rod, added a dollop of molten glass to the end and stuck it to the ball of glass held by the artist. The artist clipped the ball off of her rod and the assistant returned to the blazing fire again to reheat the glass.
Little by little, the artist enlarged the opening of the ball--each time requiring her assistant to reheat the glass. Eventually, as the glass cooled and the ball became a flat plate with fluted edges, a brilliant display of color was revealed. It came from all the little colored pieces that were first rolled into the glass. The bright colors swirled out from the center of the plate and became even richer in tone and hue as they caught the rays of the sun.
I couldn't help but think of how God refines us through our "fires"--our trials and sufferings. In the hands of the Artist, we become beautiful creations, richer still when caught in the rays of the Son's love.
Friday, October 21, 2005
Needle Phobia
I am a wimp--no way to pad that to make me look better. I'm facing my flu shot today and already feel that nibbling in my stomach. It's not as bad as it used to be though. I think having kids helped some.
BK (before kids), I passed out when I saw a needle approaching. If it didn't happen prior to the prick, it happened after. My mother, who seemed intrepid, sent me down to the lab one day one my own. I was around 17 and checking into the hospital to have my appendix removed. The lab did the blood test and then scratched my ear (it had something to do with seeing the blood clot). I must have caught sight of the needle then because as I left the room and walked to the elevator, I could feel the world gray around me.
I pushed the button and the elevator doors closed. The next thing I remember was falling forward into the arms of a nurse.
Along came kids. I assigned the task of "puppy" shots to Dad. He went most of the time. At first the pediatrician thought it was because we had twins and Dad was helping. Then he caught on that it was my needle phobia. He worked with me. When Dad couldn't make it, Dr. Rohweder made sure I stayed in the chair a while before he let me leave.
It's been 34 years since those puppy shots. I've had my fill of blood tests, shots, and IVs. I can usually make it through without fainting but the flight or fight adrenalin rush still courses through my veins and turns my stomach inside out.
Wish me luck today. I'd almost...almost rather have the flu.
(P.S. I'm taking next week off from my blog...Please don't think it's from my needle phobia. Smiles!)
BK (before kids), I passed out when I saw a needle approaching. If it didn't happen prior to the prick, it happened after. My mother, who seemed intrepid, sent me down to the lab one day one my own. I was around 17 and checking into the hospital to have my appendix removed. The lab did the blood test and then scratched my ear (it had something to do with seeing the blood clot). I must have caught sight of the needle then because as I left the room and walked to the elevator, I could feel the world gray around me.
I pushed the button and the elevator doors closed. The next thing I remember was falling forward into the arms of a nurse.
Along came kids. I assigned the task of "puppy" shots to Dad. He went most of the time. At first the pediatrician thought it was because we had twins and Dad was helping. Then he caught on that it was my needle phobia. He worked with me. When Dad couldn't make it, Dr. Rohweder made sure I stayed in the chair a while before he let me leave.
It's been 34 years since those puppy shots. I've had my fill of blood tests, shots, and IVs. I can usually make it through without fainting but the flight or fight adrenalin rush still courses through my veins and turns my stomach inside out.
Wish me luck today. I'd almost...almost rather have the flu.
(P.S. I'm taking next week off from my blog...Please don't think it's from my needle phobia. Smiles!)
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Good Morning
Are you a morning person? I could be...if the morning started a little later. It's hard to shuffle past my husband at 6 a.m. as he stands at the sink, lathering a face flushed from a half hour workout on the treadmill. He chirps a "Good morning!" and I try to answer. It isn't pretty. I wake up with a throat that is voiceless until I have my coffee. I croak at him and move on to the kitchen.
Somewhere along the line--after having children who woke me at all hours of the night--I learned to do things without being fully awake. This isn't bad when everything goes well. But a few miscalculations can have you drinking hot water instead of coffee or wiping raw egg off the floor.
My voice returns in time to bid hubby good-bye. I go to my computer, coffee cup in hand, and turn it on. Now there are some mornings where it springs to life and is ready to go before I finish my morning draft of caffeine. Other mornings it keeps thinking, "Do I want to boot up or don't I?" I can sympathize with that.
At a writers conference this spring, someone quoted Mary Lou Redding of Upper Room (a devotional magazine) as saying, "Good morning is a statement of faith."
Good morning has to do with expectation. I've never wanted to set those expectations too high. I'd rather wait for the review. But by then it's afternoon and...well...everyone is saying "Good afternoon!"
How do they know? I know, I know...have faith.
Somewhere along the line--after having children who woke me at all hours of the night--I learned to do things without being fully awake. This isn't bad when everything goes well. But a few miscalculations can have you drinking hot water instead of coffee or wiping raw egg off the floor.
My voice returns in time to bid hubby good-bye. I go to my computer, coffee cup in hand, and turn it on. Now there are some mornings where it springs to life and is ready to go before I finish my morning draft of caffeine. Other mornings it keeps thinking, "Do I want to boot up or don't I?" I can sympathize with that.
At a writers conference this spring, someone quoted Mary Lou Redding of Upper Room (a devotional magazine) as saying, "Good morning is a statement of faith."
Good morning has to do with expectation. I've never wanted to set those expectations too high. I'd rather wait for the review. But by then it's afternoon and...well...everyone is saying "Good afternoon!"
How do they know? I know, I know...have faith.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Chaos Theory
The Chaos theory was a big part of Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park--so big in fact, that I skipped through a lot of the detailed description he wrote. Now I think I could sum it up in a simple sentence: Chaos is three preschoolers going in three different directions amid a store full of delicate collectables with a grandfather chasing after them.
We had lunch with Tyler, Danielle, and Kotomi yesterday--and their moms too. Grandpa decided to take them off for a walk when they got antsy at the table. He made a wrong turn and ended up in a gift store. With squeals of delight, the three took off to explore. While I wasn't with him, I can imagine (from experience) what went on. Display carousels were spun, doilies were waved in the air, and bundles of stuffed animals were cuddled and tossed back on the shelves...or floor.
When I saw the place he had taken them, I could only shake my head in amazement.
"You had the kids here and you didn't have to pay for anything?"
That man leads a charmed life.
We had lunch with Tyler, Danielle, and Kotomi yesterday--and their moms too. Grandpa decided to take them off for a walk when they got antsy at the table. He made a wrong turn and ended up in a gift store. With squeals of delight, the three took off to explore. While I wasn't with him, I can imagine (from experience) what went on. Display carousels were spun, doilies were waved in the air, and bundles of stuffed animals were cuddled and tossed back on the shelves...or floor.
When I saw the place he had taken them, I could only shake my head in amazement.
"You had the kids here and you didn't have to pay for anything?"
That man leads a charmed life.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Encouragement
Yesterday I went to a writers conference in our area. It was a small conference but featured some dynamic speakers I had missed hearing at earlier conferences this year. When I entered the breakfast room, one of the speakers, author Cec Murphy, recognized my name and rushed over to me to give me a big hug and thank me for all the wonderful e-mails I had sent him.
Cec is the author of Committed But Flawed, a wonderful book on modeling our lives after characters in the Bible that weren't perfect but were committed to God. I used it for 26 weeks of study in the adult Sunday school class I teach. I had e-mailed him a couple of times to tell him how much the class enjoyed it and some of the responses to the book, and I'd invited him to come and meet the class if time permitted while he was in the Cleveland area.
I didn't think much about what I'd done. Cec is a prolific writer (about 100 books to his name) and I just figured he got that kind of feedback all the time. Maybe he does...maybe he doesn't. His response yesterday though reinforced my belief that no matter how big or small, how popular or unknown, how successful or not, everyone needs words of encouragement. His response to mine has encouraged me to continue to look for ways to make people feel appreciated.
Is there someone you could encourage today?
Cec is the author of Committed But Flawed, a wonderful book on modeling our lives after characters in the Bible that weren't perfect but were committed to God. I used it for 26 weeks of study in the adult Sunday school class I teach. I had e-mailed him a couple of times to tell him how much the class enjoyed it and some of the responses to the book, and I'd invited him to come and meet the class if time permitted while he was in the Cleveland area.
I didn't think much about what I'd done. Cec is a prolific writer (about 100 books to his name) and I just figured he got that kind of feedback all the time. Maybe he does...maybe he doesn't. His response yesterday though reinforced my belief that no matter how big or small, how popular or unknown, how successful or not, everyone needs words of encouragement. His response to mine has encouraged me to continue to look for ways to make people feel appreciated.
Is there someone you could encourage today?
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Midget Massacre
Last week, Kotomi, our almost two-year-old granddaughter, came to visit. One of her favorite things to do is draw. She spent hours drawing on a magnetic erase board and on paper with pencil. The most fun, however, for her and Grandpa was the sidewalk chalk on the driveway.
The two of them started out drawing flowers and trains and writing "Kotomi" and then Grandpa got a bright idea. He laid Kotomi on the driveway, arms stretched out, and drew the outline of her little body. When she stood up, he drew in the eyes and a big smile. She was thrilled--so much so that she laid down again and yelled, "Granpa, Granpa!"
About six body outlines later, Kotomi made Grandpa lie down and and she drew around him.
After the dust settled and Kotomi was on her way home, we surveyed the driveway, remembering the good time with her. We had to laugh at the image before us, though. It looked like a criminal investigation team had been in and drawn body outlines for a midget massacre that took out one giant as well.
The two of them started out drawing flowers and trains and writing "Kotomi" and then Grandpa got a bright idea. He laid Kotomi on the driveway, arms stretched out, and drew the outline of her little body. When she stood up, he drew in the eyes and a big smile. She was thrilled--so much so that she laid down again and yelled, "Granpa, Granpa!"
About six body outlines later, Kotomi made Grandpa lie down and and she drew around him.
After the dust settled and Kotomi was on her way home, we surveyed the driveway, remembering the good time with her. We had to laugh at the image before us, though. It looked like a criminal investigation team had been in and drawn body outlines for a midget massacre that took out one giant as well.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Toastmaster
A few weeks ago, I joined the Toastmasters club in our area. I wanted to sharpen my speaking skills especially when it comes to having to think on my feet. You know, when someone you are trying to impress with your latest book proposal asks you a question, totally off subject, and expects an answer.
The Toastmasters have what they call "Table Topics." Someone prepares a list of questions/topics and we take turns standing up to give a one to two minute talk on whatever subject comes your way. I was having great fun listening to questions that had the theme of a newlywed game show. Since there's nothing more fun than talking about your spouse's habits, I volunteered to take the next one. To my surprise, the list of game show questions was exhausted and I was given a serious subject to speak on. I faltered, grasping for ideas of what to say to a group I really didn't know well yet. I learned that a minute can be an awfully long time and I have a long way to go yet to smoothly field uncomfortable subjects among unfamiliar people.
I guess the old saying's true...be careful what you ask for...I'm learning.
Still, it's too bad the subject changed. I had such a good story about linty black fuzzies on the rug from hubby's dark socks.
The Toastmasters have what they call "Table Topics." Someone prepares a list of questions/topics and we take turns standing up to give a one to two minute talk on whatever subject comes your way. I was having great fun listening to questions that had the theme of a newlywed game show. Since there's nothing more fun than talking about your spouse's habits, I volunteered to take the next one. To my surprise, the list of game show questions was exhausted and I was given a serious subject to speak on. I faltered, grasping for ideas of what to say to a group I really didn't know well yet. I learned that a minute can be an awfully long time and I have a long way to go yet to smoothly field uncomfortable subjects among unfamiliar people.
I guess the old saying's true...be careful what you ask for...I'm learning.
Still, it's too bad the subject changed. I had such a good story about linty black fuzzies on the rug from hubby's dark socks.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
The Fly Lady
Did you just say "What?" I did to when I saw that listed as a topic at our Ladies' Day activities at church. The description of the workshop said the Fly Lady was going to get me organized. O...K..., I thought, if she can do that, she must be a super-hero...ine.
What I found was a super creative mind that has organized household tasks, cut corners, given encouragement, and forgiven the untidy. The FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself. The house didn't get the way it is in a day, you won't get it organized and cleaned in a day.
You start with the sink--developing a habit of getting it clean each night before you go to bed. If you wake up with a clean sink (one area of your house that shows promise) then you can feel a sense of accomplishment and it encourages you to push on.
Her website, www.FlyLady.net , is full of ideas for whipping the house into shape and keeping up with it. She divides the house into zones, and if you sign up on her site, she will e-mail you reminders and challenges for cleaning each zone. There is also a reference to another site that helps with meal planning--one of the chores I hate. I just may sign up for that one.
It was a fun seminar. The gal that presented it (not the actual Fly Lady) was sold on the idea. She said even her young children know what a five minute cleanup is and how to set a timer.
Well, time to go shine the sink...I forgot to do it last night.
What I found was a super creative mind that has organized household tasks, cut corners, given encouragement, and forgiven the untidy. The FLY stands for Finally Loving Yourself. The house didn't get the way it is in a day, you won't get it organized and cleaned in a day.
You start with the sink--developing a habit of getting it clean each night before you go to bed. If you wake up with a clean sink (one area of your house that shows promise) then you can feel a sense of accomplishment and it encourages you to push on.
Her website, www.FlyLady.net , is full of ideas for whipping the house into shape and keeping up with it. She divides the house into zones, and if you sign up on her site, she will e-mail you reminders and challenges for cleaning each zone. There is also a reference to another site that helps with meal planning--one of the chores I hate. I just may sign up for that one.
It was a fun seminar. The gal that presented it (not the actual Fly Lady) was sold on the idea. She said even her young children know what a five minute cleanup is and how to set a timer.
Well, time to go shine the sink...I forgot to do it last night.
Monday, October 03, 2005
The Moxie Grandmother
Many thanks to those of you who have congratulated me on becoming a grandmother again. While the distance makes the longing to hold a new baby in my arms excruciatingly painful, the wonders of cyberspace and the internet help to ease the anxiety.
Within hours of Caleb's birth, we had pictures of him as he was being cleaned and dressed for his appearance in the nursery. My son took a break and went home to e-mail pictures for the hungry grandparents in Ohio and Arkansas to see. During the weeks that have followed, he has continued to update us with all the little nuances a newborn has to offer right down to that smile we all know is just gas tickling the tummy.
One of the best pictures comes from my daughter-in-law who knew that one of my greatest desires was to see my son holding his son. It's a picture I'll treasure.
I think back to when my son and his twin were born. They were the first grandchildren on both sides. We lived in Maryland at the time and our families were in Ohio. My mother had planned to come out to stay with me, but came down with pneumonia the week before they were born. My mother-in-law came in her place. Knowing my mother, I cannot imagine the angst she must have experienced. It was probably close to a week before she could get the first pictures. We had to take them, have them developed, and then send them by mail--snail mail.
I had printed "Do not bend--Precious pictures of first grandchildren" on the envelope. She told me later that the mailman had blown his horn when he delivered them so she'd know they had arrived. I'd bet she was hanging around the box everyday--waiting, pneumonia or not.
I'm glad I'm able to understand enough of this modern technology to get by. I sure would have hated to wait as long as my mother did. In a few days, I get to hold that little guy--the one who's smiling at me from my computer screen.
It's great being a moxie grandmother--or maybe I should make that foxie...
Within hours of Caleb's birth, we had pictures of him as he was being cleaned and dressed for his appearance in the nursery. My son took a break and went home to e-mail pictures for the hungry grandparents in Ohio and Arkansas to see. During the weeks that have followed, he has continued to update us with all the little nuances a newborn has to offer right down to that smile we all know is just gas tickling the tummy.
One of the best pictures comes from my daughter-in-law who knew that one of my greatest desires was to see my son holding his son. It's a picture I'll treasure.
I think back to when my son and his twin were born. They were the first grandchildren on both sides. We lived in Maryland at the time and our families were in Ohio. My mother had planned to come out to stay with me, but came down with pneumonia the week before they were born. My mother-in-law came in her place. Knowing my mother, I cannot imagine the angst she must have experienced. It was probably close to a week before she could get the first pictures. We had to take them, have them developed, and then send them by mail--snail mail.
I had printed "Do not bend--Precious pictures of first grandchildren" on the envelope. She told me later that the mailman had blown his horn when he delivered them so she'd know they had arrived. I'd bet she was hanging around the box everyday--waiting, pneumonia or not.
I'm glad I'm able to understand enough of this modern technology to get by. I sure would have hated to wait as long as my mother did. In a few days, I get to hold that little guy--the one who's smiling at me from my computer screen.
It's great being a moxie grandmother--or maybe I should make that foxie...
Friday, September 30, 2005
Not Me!
Yesterday my grandson got me into trouble. He's been going around saying, "Holy Sheets." At first, Mom and Dad were concerned that it was something else but once they established that the word was sheets, they asked him where he learned that word.
"Grandma Robbins."
I can see him sitting there saying it nonchalantly while playing with Thomas the Train, unconcerned that he may be putting a strain on family relationships.
I remember the days when my kids were developing their language skills. It was always a challenge to deprogram them upon their return from my parent's home. My mom and dad had some words in their volcabulary that did not carry over into mine. They were usually very good about not using them in front their grandchildren, but once in a while something would slip out. I'm sure my boys would have thought nothing of it, but Grandma and Grandpa made a big deal out of telling them not to repeat it. Right.
As kids do, they experimented with a few words. Thankfully we curtailed the usage of questionable volcabulary. Hopefully as adults, those lessons learned are keeping their language acceptable even when they are not speaking in my presence.
As for shouldering the blame for this newly learned phrase from my grandson, all I can say is, "Not me!"
"Grandma Robbins."
I can see him sitting there saying it nonchalantly while playing with Thomas the Train, unconcerned that he may be putting a strain on family relationships.
I remember the days when my kids were developing their language skills. It was always a challenge to deprogram them upon their return from my parent's home. My mom and dad had some words in their volcabulary that did not carry over into mine. They were usually very good about not using them in front their grandchildren, but once in a while something would slip out. I'm sure my boys would have thought nothing of it, but Grandma and Grandpa made a big deal out of telling them not to repeat it. Right.
As kids do, they experimented with a few words. Thankfully we curtailed the usage of questionable volcabulary. Hopefully as adults, those lessons learned are keeping their language acceptable even when they are not speaking in my presence.
As for shouldering the blame for this newly learned phrase from my grandson, all I can say is, "Not me!"
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Baby Launched!
Right in the middle of my continuing saga, Take Me Away!, our fourth grandchild arrived. We dubbed him "the little taco."
He wasn't due until September 30, but at Leah's checkup, the midwife suspected the baby was breach. Sure enough, the ultrasound showed the baby folded like a taco, feet touching the nose. Rather than risk injury or an emergency c-section, they went ahead and scheduled a c-section for Friday, the 16th.
It's not going to be easy being a long-distance grandmother. I began pacing in my Ohio home as all the drama was unfolding in the Florida hospital. Almost two hours after the surgery was scheduled I got the call from my son.
"Mom! It's a boy! And I didn't pass out!"
My son was finally a father.
Now with four grandchildren, I should have plenty of stories for my new column. Beginning October 1, I am writing a column for www.inspiredparenting.net .
The topic: Grandparenting, of course!
He wasn't due until September 30, but at Leah's checkup, the midwife suspected the baby was breach. Sure enough, the ultrasound showed the baby folded like a taco, feet touching the nose. Rather than risk injury or an emergency c-section, they went ahead and scheduled a c-section for Friday, the 16th.
It's not going to be easy being a long-distance grandmother. I began pacing in my Ohio home as all the drama was unfolding in the Florida hospital. Almost two hours after the surgery was scheduled I got the call from my son.
"Mom! It's a boy! And I didn't pass out!"
My son was finally a father.
Now with four grandchildren, I should have plenty of stories for my new column. Beginning October 1, I am writing a column for www.inspiredparenting.net .
The topic: Grandparenting, of course!
Monday, September 26, 2005
Take Me Away! (7)
(This story is fiction--very loosely based on reality.)
“James?” I was so relaxed and sleepy, I could barely speak. “What was it you took from the mansion? You said you would tell me.”
“This, my love,” he said opening the picnic basket to display an elegant lunch complete with a little bouquet of flowers. He waved his hand across it. “All for you.”
I felt so special, but I was so tired. How could I even begin to eat all those lovely little sandwiches and cookies.
James began to play with a fuzzy weed he plucked from the grass. He traced it around my face. I closed my eyes. As the weed touched my nose, I felt a sneeze wanting to surface.
My wet hand grabbed my mouth.
Wet hand?
I opened my eyes.
“Meow.” Oscar swished his tail across my face one more time bringing me back from my fantasy world. I sighed deeply as the last vestige of James faded with my return to reality.
But, after all, without reality where would my fantasies take me?
“James?” I was so relaxed and sleepy, I could barely speak. “What was it you took from the mansion? You said you would tell me.”
“This, my love,” he said opening the picnic basket to display an elegant lunch complete with a little bouquet of flowers. He waved his hand across it. “All for you.”
I felt so special, but I was so tired. How could I even begin to eat all those lovely little sandwiches and cookies.
James began to play with a fuzzy weed he plucked from the grass. He traced it around my face. I closed my eyes. As the weed touched my nose, I felt a sneeze wanting to surface.
My wet hand grabbed my mouth.
Wet hand?
I opened my eyes.
“Meow.” Oscar swished his tail across my face one more time bringing me back from my fantasy world. I sighed deeply as the last vestige of James faded with my return to reality.
But, after all, without reality where would my fantasies take me?
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Take Me Away! (6)
I glanced again at the foyer wondering if I had been left behind. Suddenly James appeared. He nodded. I excused myself from the Duke and his affable companions and made my way to the door. James wrapped the fur about my shoulders and we left quickly.
He popped me into the Astin Martin and deftly rounded the car to jump into the driver’s seat.
“I’ve got it. Now it’s time to get out of here.” The tires spun as he sped down the driveway.
“What have you got?” I asked.
“Later, my love,” he said smiling. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. He was pleased with himself and somehow, I knew, with me.
When we had finally put a few miles between us and the mansion, James drove off the road onto a deserted lane. He stopped next to a beautiful grove of pine trees. He spread a blanket under the trees and retrieved a picnic basket from the car. Stretching comfortably across the blanket, he propped himself up on one arm and stared into my eyes.
The scene was so restful. The scent of pine was heavy. I lay back on the blanket. The feeling of a mission accomplished and a job well done was satisfying—but what mission had we accomplished?
He popped me into the Astin Martin and deftly rounded the car to jump into the driver’s seat.
“I’ve got it. Now it’s time to get out of here.” The tires spun as he sped down the driveway.
“What have you got?” I asked.
“Later, my love,” he said smiling. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. He was pleased with himself and somehow, I knew, with me.
When we had finally put a few miles between us and the mansion, James drove off the road onto a deserted lane. He stopped next to a beautiful grove of pine trees. He spread a blanket under the trees and retrieved a picnic basket from the car. Stretching comfortably across the blanket, he propped himself up on one arm and stared into my eyes.
The scene was so restful. The scent of pine was heavy. I lay back on the blanket. The feeling of a mission accomplished and a job well done was satisfying—but what mission had we accomplished?
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Take Me Away! (5)
(This story is fiction--VERY loosely based on reality.)
Inside the stately white mansion, the walls sparkled with prisms of light. Beautiful mahogany steps curved upward to the balcony hugging the huge chandelier that resembled a shower of crystal raindrops. To our left was a large room, crowded and noisy with people. As we entered a woman’s voice called, “James, there you are.”
A tall woman in a black silk dress, diamond brooch and sparkling earrings, approached us. She had the beauty of one who has aged gracefully and has always known how to make the best of what nature dealt to her.
“Where have you been keeping this lovely lady?” she chastised James. “We have all been waiting to meet her.”
As she led us to the closest group of people, James leaned over and said, “Oh yes, by the way, today you are a writer with a bestseller about to hit the market. Can you pull it off?”
“Of course,” I said wondering where all my panache was coming from. I smiled and braced myself for the first introduction.
Sometime during the party, James disappeared. I was enjoying the attention so much, I had not noticed his absence. But now, I scanned the room for him as I listened to the Duke tell about his ancestral background which he felt would be a wonderful topic for my next book.
Had James left me? How would I get home?
Inside the stately white mansion, the walls sparkled with prisms of light. Beautiful mahogany steps curved upward to the balcony hugging the huge chandelier that resembled a shower of crystal raindrops. To our left was a large room, crowded and noisy with people. As we entered a woman’s voice called, “James, there you are.”
A tall woman in a black silk dress, diamond brooch and sparkling earrings, approached us. She had the beauty of one who has aged gracefully and has always known how to make the best of what nature dealt to her.
“Where have you been keeping this lovely lady?” she chastised James. “We have all been waiting to meet her.”
As she led us to the closest group of people, James leaned over and said, “Oh yes, by the way, today you are a writer with a bestseller about to hit the market. Can you pull it off?”
“Of course,” I said wondering where all my panache was coming from. I smiled and braced myself for the first introduction.
Sometime during the party, James disappeared. I was enjoying the attention so much, I had not noticed his absence. But now, I scanned the room for him as I listened to the Duke tell about his ancestral background which he felt would be a wonderful topic for my next book.
Had James left me? How would I get home?
Monday, September 19, 2005
Take Me Away! (4)
(This story is fiction--loosely based on reality)
“Casey,” he said softly, leaning over my tub full of bubbles. My pulse quickened. “Are you sleeping? You look wonderful in there but you must get out now. We have much to do.”
I opened both eyes. The deep masculine voice with the British accent sounded familiar.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Bond,” he said smiling broadly, “James Bond.”
“What are you doing here?” I sank a little lower into the tub.
“We can talk about that later. First, don’t you think you ought to get some clothes on?” He grinned and handed me my robe.
Coming out of the bath into the bedroom, I was completely bewildered but deeply pleased. He was here—finally. All of my wondering and dreaming was coming true. I dressed quickly in the white crepe dress laid out for me. I looked in the mirror pleased with what I saw as the dress accentuated all the curves I thought I had lost to childbearing.
Hurrying downstairs, I met James in the foyer. He held a white fox jacket for me as I slipped into it. I could smell the wonderful scent of his cologne as I nestled against him with a sigh.
“Now, now,” he teased. “We must be on our way.” I whisked through the door he held open, grateful that we had not left through the rain forest in the kitchen.
His black Astin Martin glided smoothly over the country roads as the suburbs disappeared behind us. We turned down a lovely tree lined lane that led to a large white mansion framed by huge white pines. A man dressed in a crisp white jacket opened the car door and helped me out. James took my arm and together we entered a great hall.
I was awestruck, but where were we?
“Casey,” he said softly, leaning over my tub full of bubbles. My pulse quickened. “Are you sleeping? You look wonderful in there but you must get out now. We have much to do.”
I opened both eyes. The deep masculine voice with the British accent sounded familiar.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Bond,” he said smiling broadly, “James Bond.”
“What are you doing here?” I sank a little lower into the tub.
“We can talk about that later. First, don’t you think you ought to get some clothes on?” He grinned and handed me my robe.
Coming out of the bath into the bedroom, I was completely bewildered but deeply pleased. He was here—finally. All of my wondering and dreaming was coming true. I dressed quickly in the white crepe dress laid out for me. I looked in the mirror pleased with what I saw as the dress accentuated all the curves I thought I had lost to childbearing.
Hurrying downstairs, I met James in the foyer. He held a white fox jacket for me as I slipped into it. I could smell the wonderful scent of his cologne as I nestled against him with a sigh.
“Now, now,” he teased. “We must be on our way.” I whisked through the door he held open, grateful that we had not left through the rain forest in the kitchen.
His black Astin Martin glided smoothly over the country roads as the suburbs disappeared behind us. We turned down a lovely tree lined lane that led to a large white mansion framed by huge white pines. A man dressed in a crisp white jacket opened the car door and helped me out. James took my arm and together we entered a great hall.
I was awestruck, but where were we?
Friday, September 16, 2005
Take Me Away! (3)
(This story is fiction--loosely based on reality.)
I reached across the bed and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” I said warily,
“Hi! This is Cathy,” a cheerful voice said. Great. Cheerful chatty Cathy who never lets anything get her down. Her cheerfulness was rubbing salt in all my morning wounds. “I called to tell you that Mothers’ Club is canceled this morning. Our speaker is ill and the officers decided to postpone the meeting until next week.”
“Thanks,” I said glumly and hung up. I sat looking at one stockinged foot and one bare foot. Should I finish or should I just put the sneakers and jeans back on?
A brilliant idea crackled over my brainwaves. Aha! That’s it! What I needed more than anything else was a bubble bath! A long soak in a foamy, silky bubble bath.
Unplugging the phone, I went into my bathroom and began to fill the tub with steamy hot water and mounds of bubbles. As I slipped into the delicious water, I cried, “Calgon, take me away!”
Relaxed, with my head resting comfortably on my bath pillow, I began to sense I was not alone. I opened one eye slightly. My heart began to pound. There standing next to the tub was a strange but wonderful looking man.
He was meticulously dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw added to his mysterious charisma.
I closed my eye again. What do I do now?
I reached across the bed and grabbed the phone.
“Hello,” I said warily,
“Hi! This is Cathy,” a cheerful voice said. Great. Cheerful chatty Cathy who never lets anything get her down. Her cheerfulness was rubbing salt in all my morning wounds. “I called to tell you that Mothers’ Club is canceled this morning. Our speaker is ill and the officers decided to postpone the meeting until next week.”
“Thanks,” I said glumly and hung up. I sat looking at one stockinged foot and one bare foot. Should I finish or should I just put the sneakers and jeans back on?
A brilliant idea crackled over my brainwaves. Aha! That’s it! What I needed more than anything else was a bubble bath! A long soak in a foamy, silky bubble bath.
Unplugging the phone, I went into my bathroom and began to fill the tub with steamy hot water and mounds of bubbles. As I slipped into the delicious water, I cried, “Calgon, take me away!”
Relaxed, with my head resting comfortably on my bath pillow, I began to sense I was not alone. I opened one eye slightly. My heart began to pound. There standing next to the tub was a strange but wonderful looking man.
He was meticulously dressed in a dark blue three-piece suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw added to his mysterious charisma.
I closed my eye again. What do I do now?
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Take Me Away! (2)
(This story is fiction--loosely based on reality.)
“Mom, you just took the luggage rack off the top of the van,” one of the boys said groggily.
“Can’t worry about that now,” I said making a mental note that I should count to 20 before putting foot to pedal.
One eye on the rear view mirror and the other scanning the usual radar outposts, I sped along. What, I wondered, would life be like without kids? There used to be a life before kids but my memory was foggy. I was sure there would be life after kids, but it seemed too far off to imagine. I felt trapped in time.
I congratulated myself as I finished the trip to school and back with no major catastrophes. So far my sanity seemed intact. Now I needed to check on Sandy and Timmy.
As I laid my keys on the counter, I noticed it was raining in the kitchen. Sandy will need her umbrella, I thought. But—that’s strange—it isn’t raining outside.
“Oh no!” I screamed and ran upstairs to the bathroom. The door was closed. Towels were rolled up and pushed against the threshold. On the door was a note that read, OUT OF ODOR.
“Timmy used the toilet and it happened,” Sandy said.
“Thank you,” I said weakly, knowing she had done the best she could. I turned to the linen closet and grabbed the rest of the towels to toss on the river that had run down into the floor register, across the heating ducts, and into the kitchen cupboards below.
With hasty hugs, I shoved the last two kids out the door for school and wheeled around to go upstairs and assess the flood damage. The towels had done their job. Good. I only had a few minutes to get dressed for the mother’s club meeting. At least maybe I can get some sympathy there, I thought.
The phone rang.
One leg stuck in my panty hose, I hobbled to the ringing phone and sat on the bed. Please don’t let it be the school calling, I prayed.
“Mom, you just took the luggage rack off the top of the van,” one of the boys said groggily.
“Can’t worry about that now,” I said making a mental note that I should count to 20 before putting foot to pedal.
One eye on the rear view mirror and the other scanning the usual radar outposts, I sped along. What, I wondered, would life be like without kids? There used to be a life before kids but my memory was foggy. I was sure there would be life after kids, but it seemed too far off to imagine. I felt trapped in time.
I congratulated myself as I finished the trip to school and back with no major catastrophes. So far my sanity seemed intact. Now I needed to check on Sandy and Timmy.
As I laid my keys on the counter, I noticed it was raining in the kitchen. Sandy will need her umbrella, I thought. But—that’s strange—it isn’t raining outside.
“Oh no!” I screamed and ran upstairs to the bathroom. The door was closed. Towels were rolled up and pushed against the threshold. On the door was a note that read, OUT OF ODOR.
“Timmy used the toilet and it happened,” Sandy said.
“Thank you,” I said weakly, knowing she had done the best she could. I turned to the linen closet and grabbed the rest of the towels to toss on the river that had run down into the floor register, across the heating ducts, and into the kitchen cupboards below.
With hasty hugs, I shoved the last two kids out the door for school and wheeled around to go upstairs and assess the flood damage. The towels had done their job. Good. I only had a few minutes to get dressed for the mother’s club meeting. At least maybe I can get some sympathy there, I thought.
The phone rang.
One leg stuck in my panty hose, I hobbled to the ringing phone and sat on the bed. Please don’t let it be the school calling, I prayed.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Take Me Away!
(This story is fiction--loosely based on reality.)
It was one of those mornings. You know—the kind where Murphy’s Law rules all. My three teenaged boys assured me they were awake, but fifteen minutes later when the caffeine from my second cup of coffee finally jerked me into awareness, I realized I did not hear the clumping sound of overgrown feet making their way to the kitchen.
Racing upstairs, I pulled the covers off each of them and did the old knuckle-twist-in-the-belly-button routine to make sure they were up. As the angle of their bodies became more perpendicular to the floor, I started for my own room to dress. Obviously, I would have to play the role of bus driver this morning.
Acting more like a cattle driver than a bus driver, I herded the boys to the table for a quick bowl of cereal and a little super glue for the eyelids. Undaunted, I marched into my younger children’s rooms and rousted them. Sandy and Timmy hit the floor running with the enthusiasm only the very young can muster early in the morning. At least there was some hope left for getting everyone to school on time.
“Now look, Sandy,” I said setting their cereal bowls in front of them. “You are going to have to keep after Timmy so he won’t dawdle this morning. I have to drive the other boys to school and I won’t be back until it’s almost time for your bus to come. Can you do that?”
A gleam came to Sandy’s eye. Of course she could do it. Having permission to boss Timmy around was a dream come true.
I counted three bodies slouched in the back seat, then hit the button to open the garage door. I gunned the engine. As the van shot out of the garage, I hear a strange crack and the sound of metal hitting cement.
What was that?!
It was one of those mornings. You know—the kind where Murphy’s Law rules all. My three teenaged boys assured me they were awake, but fifteen minutes later when the caffeine from my second cup of coffee finally jerked me into awareness, I realized I did not hear the clumping sound of overgrown feet making their way to the kitchen.
Racing upstairs, I pulled the covers off each of them and did the old knuckle-twist-in-the-belly-button routine to make sure they were up. As the angle of their bodies became more perpendicular to the floor, I started for my own room to dress. Obviously, I would have to play the role of bus driver this morning.
Acting more like a cattle driver than a bus driver, I herded the boys to the table for a quick bowl of cereal and a little super glue for the eyelids. Undaunted, I marched into my younger children’s rooms and rousted them. Sandy and Timmy hit the floor running with the enthusiasm only the very young can muster early in the morning. At least there was some hope left for getting everyone to school on time.
“Now look, Sandy,” I said setting their cereal bowls in front of them. “You are going to have to keep after Timmy so he won’t dawdle this morning. I have to drive the other boys to school and I won’t be back until it’s almost time for your bus to come. Can you do that?”
A gleam came to Sandy’s eye. Of course she could do it. Having permission to boss Timmy around was a dream come true.
I counted three bodies slouched in the back seat, then hit the button to open the garage door. I gunned the engine. As the van shot out of the garage, I hear a strange crack and the sound of metal hitting cement.
What was that?!
Friday, September 09, 2005
Bond, James Bond
I've been doing a little cleaning out of old files. The contents have held some fun surprises. They are stories and essays I wrote so long ago that I don't remember penning the words. Some of them have potential. With a little updating and the right market, they might see publication. Others are either too personal or too crazy to consider submitting.
I'd like to share one of the crazy ones with you over the next few days. It's fun but a little outdated. You have to understand...well, hopefully you will...that I have always had a big crush on Sean Connery. I am not a swooner or groupie but I don't know what I'd do if I actually met him face to face sometime.
Connery is the only James Bond as far as I'm concerned. None of the others had the style or charisma or charm that set him apart. It still does in his other roles as well...and, yes, even with less hair.
So, with that in mind and remembering that I had five kids running around the house at the time I wrote this....well, you'll see...
I'd like to share one of the crazy ones with you over the next few days. It's fun but a little outdated. You have to understand...well, hopefully you will...that I have always had a big crush on Sean Connery. I am not a swooner or groupie but I don't know what I'd do if I actually met him face to face sometime.
Connery is the only James Bond as far as I'm concerned. None of the others had the style or charisma or charm that set him apart. It still does in his other roles as well...and, yes, even with less hair.
So, with that in mind and remembering that I had five kids running around the house at the time I wrote this....well, you'll see...
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Daughters-in-law
I love my daughters-in-law. I have three. Two of them are the mothers of my three grandchildren. (The other is a mother-to-be.)
This morning I received a picture of my grandson holding his first work of art from preschool, a huge proud grin on his face. So much of him reminds me of my son at that age, but something in that grin touched the place in my heart that loves my daughter-in-law.
I finished my e-mail messages and hopped over to my Japanese daughter-in-law's blog. She posts pictures almost every day so that the family in Japan can see what our granddaughter is doing. She writes in Japanese and the Alta Vista Babel translation is sometimes hilarious. (Instead of wetting her pants--she's potty training--is says she leaks.) Today there is a picture of her being silly. It's the silly face I see her mommy giving her when they are playing and laughing together. I love finding my son in some of my granddaughters actions and appearance, but my heart fills with love when I see my daughter-in-law there as well.
And now I await the arrival of the fourth grandchild. I can be confident that s/he will have qualities of both parents and because of the special place in my heart for this daughter-in-law as well, I know I will love all those qualities.
This morning I received a picture of my grandson holding his first work of art from preschool, a huge proud grin on his face. So much of him reminds me of my son at that age, but something in that grin touched the place in my heart that loves my daughter-in-law.
I finished my e-mail messages and hopped over to my Japanese daughter-in-law's blog. She posts pictures almost every day so that the family in Japan can see what our granddaughter is doing. She writes in Japanese and the Alta Vista Babel translation is sometimes hilarious. (Instead of wetting her pants--she's potty training--is says she leaks.) Today there is a picture of her being silly. It's the silly face I see her mommy giving her when they are playing and laughing together. I love finding my son in some of my granddaughters actions and appearance, but my heart fills with love when I see my daughter-in-law there as well.
And now I await the arrival of the fourth grandchild. I can be confident that s/he will have qualities of both parents and because of the special place in my heart for this daughter-in-law as well, I know I will love all those qualities.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Countdown to Baby Launch
We are waiting for another grandchild to arrive, the first for this couple. The arrival date is set September 30, but as most of us know, babies make their own decisions usually. This one will be a trip of some distance for us so we will probably not be able to be there when the baby is launched into this world.
It feels strange to have to keep saying "the baby," but our son and his wife have decided to wait until he or she arrives to know if they are having a boy or girl. Nowadays, it seems that everything in the stores is pink or blue or trimmed for a boy or a girl because almost everyone knows what they are having before it arrives. The suspense is killing me.
The other little item to mix into the suspense and drama of this expected event is that they live in Miami and this is the middle of the hurricane season.
"Not to worry, Mom," they tell me, "our prenatal course included information on emergency home delivery."
Katrina has already kissed Miami before destroying the Gulf Coast. Lee wandered out into the ocean and disappeared and now Maria is winking at them. I just hope that the baby's name won't end up being the same as one of this season's hurricanes because s/he is born during one.
You see, I had no idea there would be any kind of connection when I named Rob's brother Andrew. Andrew hit Miami a few years ago, not too far from where Rob and Leah live today. Thankfully, Rob was in Australia at the time when the storm named for his brother hit. But then Rob always managed to dodge Andy's punches when they were kids too.
It feels strange to have to keep saying "the baby," but our son and his wife have decided to wait until he or she arrives to know if they are having a boy or girl. Nowadays, it seems that everything in the stores is pink or blue or trimmed for a boy or a girl because almost everyone knows what they are having before it arrives. The suspense is killing me.
The other little item to mix into the suspense and drama of this expected event is that they live in Miami and this is the middle of the hurricane season.
"Not to worry, Mom," they tell me, "our prenatal course included information on emergency home delivery."
Katrina has already kissed Miami before destroying the Gulf Coast. Lee wandered out into the ocean and disappeared and now Maria is winking at them. I just hope that the baby's name won't end up being the same as one of this season's hurricanes because s/he is born during one.
You see, I had no idea there would be any kind of connection when I named Rob's brother Andrew. Andrew hit Miami a few years ago, not too far from where Rob and Leah live today. Thankfully, Rob was in Australia at the time when the storm named for his brother hit. But then Rob always managed to dodge Andy's punches when they were kids too.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Adoption--Bonding 17
[Gwen: I hope today's post offers the hope you seek. It is so hard to leave our children in God's hands. There are several places in the Bible where we are told not to be slaves to fear. It doesn't say we won't worry now and then--just don't be a slave to it. God bless.]
I mentioned inheriting a worry gene from my mother. Actually, I think she taught me how to worry. She also taught me that worry can bring on a lot of health problems. Life is too short to raise stress and anxiety levels over things that are not within your control.
There are times when my mother's voice comes quietly over my shoulder reminding me of some of the things she found important to teach me. I can't put on makeup without hearing her say, "Don't have a heavy hand. You look so much prettier with less."
One day, before Cheryl completely abandoned us, she and her husband came to the house to do laundry. Cheryl had a basketful of towels to fold. Her husband wanted to get done faster so he pitched in and grabbed a towel. He folded it in half and in half again and yet again and set it in the basket. Cheryl grabbed it, shook it out and said, "That's not the way you fold a towel."
"So, show me how," he retorted.
She promptly folded it in thirds lengthwise and then in half twice.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked. Cheryl nodded in my direction.
It was a little thing, but what a sense of pride it brought me. She may have gotten her pretty physical features from her biological mother, but she learned to fold a towel from me.
That simple scene has played out in my mind often. I cling to it as evidence. If she learned to fold a towel from me, then there are other things she learned as well. I'm certain that my voice comes over her shoulder now and then. Perhaps some day she'll choose to follow it. Or more importantly to follow God's voice that calls out to her heart. If she would only choose to become a part of His family, to bond with Him, I would truly rejoice.
[This is the last post on Adoption Bonding. I hope you all have found it helpful. Thanks for encouraging me to share my story.]
I mentioned inheriting a worry gene from my mother. Actually, I think she taught me how to worry. She also taught me that worry can bring on a lot of health problems. Life is too short to raise stress and anxiety levels over things that are not within your control.
There are times when my mother's voice comes quietly over my shoulder reminding me of some of the things she found important to teach me. I can't put on makeup without hearing her say, "Don't have a heavy hand. You look so much prettier with less."
One day, before Cheryl completely abandoned us, she and her husband came to the house to do laundry. Cheryl had a basketful of towels to fold. Her husband wanted to get done faster so he pitched in and grabbed a towel. He folded it in half and in half again and yet again and set it in the basket. Cheryl grabbed it, shook it out and said, "That's not the way you fold a towel."
"So, show me how," he retorted.
She promptly folded it in thirds lengthwise and then in half twice.
"Where did you learn to do that?" he asked. Cheryl nodded in my direction.
It was a little thing, but what a sense of pride it brought me. She may have gotten her pretty physical features from her biological mother, but she learned to fold a towel from me.
That simple scene has played out in my mind often. I cling to it as evidence. If she learned to fold a towel from me, then there are other things she learned as well. I'm certain that my voice comes over her shoulder now and then. Perhaps some day she'll choose to follow it. Or more importantly to follow God's voice that calls out to her heart. If she would only choose to become a part of His family, to bond with Him, I would truly rejoice.
[This is the last post on Adoption Bonding. I hope you all have found it helpful. Thanks for encouraging me to share my story.]
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