Though She Be But Little . . .

Image courtesy of balmtomysoul.com

"Top Ten Tips for bringing out the best in a strong-willed child"

"The tools you need to successfully manage your child’s behavior"

"Time-proven methods for dealing with misbehavior"

These are just a sampling of the promises made by books for parents raising a strong-willed child.  Twenty-some years ago, we read them all - and laughed.  These people did not have a clue what "strong-willed" meant.  We were raising a daughter that took "power struggles" to a level these authors couldn't conceive.  

I don't mean to give you a picture of a demon-child with glowing eyes and her head spinning around backwards.  She was (and still is) a beautiful girl who was loving, compassionate and just plain adorable.  But when she made up her mind to do (or not do) something, her will became an impenetrable wall, and I spent hours, days, weeks pounding my head against that wall.  

In spite of our frustration, we understood that her strength and determination were part of how God created her; and since He does not do things randomly, He had a reason beyond what we could see.  About age 17, she began to mature into her iron will, and emerged from college as a woman who can focus that resolve.  Along the way, I learned to avoid the self-inflicted headaches and marvel at the things she can accomplish.

Amanda now works for a treatment foster care agency.  Her clients are the children who have been so severely abused and neglected that they require therapy and more specialized care than standard foster care can provide.  There are no words for the level of depravity and torture these little ones have endured.  Advocating for these children is a stressful and painful job, and I fear for the physical and mental effects it has on Amanda, but I also stand in awe.  

Amanda called a few weeks ago to tell us that she had been offered a promotion.   Her boss praised her as "a natural" at this job - for not being afraid to stand up and have a voice.  And there it was - the reason God created our strong-willed child. The "impenetrable wall" that wore me out now stands between innocent children and the people who have irrevocably harmed them.  It stands against a system that is so overloaded that what is best for the children often gets drown out by what is expedient.

Would I prefer that she had a different career?  Yes and no.  Of course I would prefer that my beautiful, petite girl have days filled with sunshine and butterflies - that she never even know that this evil exists.  But I wouldn't deny the strong, determined woman the chance to use the compassion and fire that God placed in her.

"Though she be but little, she is fierce" 

- William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Sisters, Sisters . . .

Sisters come in all shapes, sizes, personalities and relationships.  There are The Three Weird Sisters in Shakespeare's Macbeth:

Double, double toil and trouble -- fire burn and cauldron bubble . . .

There are the three Weird Sisters from the book by Eleanor Brown:

See, we love each other.  We just don't happen to like each other very much.

There are close sisters, like Jo, Meg, Beth and Amy in Little Women, and some who don't quite see eye to eye, like Cinderella and her Wicked Step Sisters.

There are even twin sisters who are separated at birth then meet, quite coincidentally, at summer camp ten years later, despite the fact that they live on separate continents.  At least that's what happens in The Parent Trap.

My favorite sisters in film are the Haynes Sisters from White Christmas, played by Vera Ellen and Rosemary Clooney:  

My sister, Teri, and I have a lot in common with all of these famous sisters - well, except for the magic spells and the separated at birth thing.  And the ability to sing and dance.  Well, really, nothing except the bond of sisterhood.

This past weekend was our 2nd Sisters Weekend.  Sisters weekends are  loosely organized 48-hour periods in which we share craft ideas, gifts, laughs, and some deeper moments.  Each sister provides a craft project (including supplies), an activity (such as jigsaw puzzle, coloring books, or a walk) and, if they choose, a Bible lesson or topic of discussion.  Throughout the day we take turns selecting the next item on the itinerary.  

Prior to Sister Weekend, Teri suggested we participate in Just One Word for 2016.  The idea is to select one word - just one - to be my focus for the new year.  It's harder than it sounds!  Teri shared a worksheet that uses thought provoking questions to guide you in narrowing the scope until you find just one word.  I'll share more on my chosen word in December or January.

We made these Scripture Rings - eleven verses framed with scrapbook paper and glued to shipping tags.  The verses all pertain to our "one word" and are meant as an easy visual aid to keep them fresh in our minds. 

While we were being introspective, we made an "Owl About Me" art project.  The basic outline was intended for grade-school children, and I think an 8-year-old would find it easier than I did to list "Things I'm good at" or "A dream of mine". 

We tried out the latest craze - adult coloring books; made bookmarks; and had a lesson on another new trend - Bible journaling. In between there was a lot of laughter,  chit-chat on topics we haven't had time to keep up with, and evenings of relaxation by the fire pit or in the hot tub - or both.  

If you are fortunate to have a sister, book your own Sister Weekend - even if it all you can spare are a couple hours. 

 A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. ~Marion C. Garretty

I'm Just Done!

I am plum tuckered out!  Dog tired! I've got one wheel down and an axle dragging!

Dave's step-father has been in the last stages of cancer for awhile now. Within the last month, he had progressed to the stage that he needed someone with him 24/7.  His sister and daughter covered the majority of the time, but I got called to fill in for a weekend. Nurse is high on the list of things I will never be.  Thank heaven for hospice nurses and aides that handle that area.  Preparing meals, doling out medications on schedule, and washing bedding are things I can do well, so I was happy to take my turn.  

During my visit, he experienced a time of increased pain that the medication wasn't handling so, to comfort him while we waited on the nurse, we read scripture, prayed and discussed his faith and his assurance of where he was going.  This is not a side of my father-in-law that I've seen a lot and I feel blessed that we had that time.

That bout with pain was the beginning of a downturn and a few days later, hospice suggested that time was short.  Our daughter who lives in New Mexico wanted to come for a visit and we had her on a plane within a few hours.  I spent the next week driving --- to the airport (90 minutes), to my father-in-law's home (4 hours), home, airport, home, father-in-law's, home, airport . . . He passed away on Wednesday the 2nd and the funeral was a couple days ago.  

Yesterday I returned Amanda to the airport.  On the way, she received a text that her flight was delayed 2.5 hours!  It used to be a joke that Amanda's planes were always delayed, but it's not that funny any more.  Albuquerque and Kansas City are both small airports and many of the flights in and out are "commuter" flights - small planes run by subsidiaries of United, US Airways and American Air.  Evidently they are all incapable of running on schedule, staffing reliable crews, and maintaining a fleet of planes.  Yesterday was the last straw.  I called United and asked for my money back - which they agreed to.  In fact, they even agreed to refund the "change fee" they had charged me because THEIR ineptitude meant Amanda would miss her connecting flight in Denver and had to be rescheduled.  And they saw nothing ironic or wrong with that!  From now on, this family flies Southwest exclusively.

Today I woke up with a mongo head cold and sore throat.  I am supposed to get back into my car for a trip to Omaha (90 miles) and a doctor appointment for a completely unrelated issue.  I debated rescheduling to avoid the drive and spreading my germs, but I finally decided to just get it done.  Armed with Day-Quill, Kleenex and hand sanitizer, I'm headed out shortly.  

I'm three days late getting started on the Re-Readathon hosted by Bex @ An Armchair by the Sea.  But when I get home, I plan to collapse on the couch with a comfort book and a cup of tea.  I'm starting with "Out to Canaan" by Jan Karon - the first of my favorites I'll be re-reading.

Flight Plans

Kansas City to Dallas, Dallas to Albuquerque - that's a pretty simple itinerary, right?  Our oldest grandson, Trey, was here for a visit and I was returning him home.   The Kansas City Airport is so small that checking baggage, clearing security and navigating to your gate takes only a few minutes - so of course we were there ridiculously early.  We wandered the few shops to kill time, then stopped at a sandwich shop.  Trey insisted he wasn't hungry, and since we would arrive in Albuquerque late afternoon and planned to eat soon after, I wasn't concerned.  I put a banana in my bag along with a sandwich and chips and we headed for our gate.

Why are there never enough chairs to hold all the people waiting to board a plane?  Maybe there are, but so many people were using the chairs for hold their bags and laptops, that dozens of people were standing . . . and standing . . . and standing.  The plane coming in was delayed.  So we waited. Not one young person stood to offer an older person a seat.  Not one person offered to remove their items from a seat.  Eventually, Trey and I sat on the floor to eat our lunch.  The boy who wasn't hungry took one bite of my Cuban sandwich and declared it delicious - then proceeded to eat most of it.  We finally boarded the plane about 30 minutes late.

Next stop, Dallas.  I was a little concerned about navigating DFW.  I've flown in and out of there, but never had to change planes on a time schedule.  Especially while keeping track of a 10-year-old.  However, the signs made it easy; the tram made it quick.  We stepped off the tram and followed more signs toward our gate.  And followed . . . and followed . . . down into a windowless, institutional hallway that went on and on.  When we finally reached our gate, we were met with the same seating situation.  No surprise - "Your flight has been delayed because the crew has not arrived yet.  As soon as they get here and complete their safety check, we will begin boarding."  After an hour of standing, we began looking for a place to lean or sit on the floor.  But by then passengers for the NEXT flight were beginning to arrive.  Empty space was becoming hard to find.

In this sub-terrainian wing of DFW, there were no shops, no restaurants or snack bars, no restrooms, and very little air-conditioning.  There were four vending machines, two of which didn't work at all, and two that would dispense SOME of their bounty, but only when exact change was deposited.

The crew arrived and swept past us all without so much as a smile - past the magic doors to the skyway.  We watched jealously.  Barely 5 minutes later, one of the stewardesses - excuse me, "flight attendants" - came sweeping back through the doors, stomping her high-heels, dragging her carry-on like a disobedient puppy. and crying into her cell phone.  Well,this can't be good.  Sure enough:  "Ladies and gentlemen, we are short one member of our crew.  As soon as a replacement can be found, we will begin boarding."  I made the argument that I, for one, could figure out my own seat belt and live without that two-ounce glass of Sprite. The lady at the gate desk wasn't swayed. 

After another hour, the replacement stewardess arrived.  I thought we should applaud her, but only one 80-year-old man joined me.  This group was no fun at all.  We got on the plane about two-and-a-half hours late, but at least we were on our way.  The plane was small - only two seats on each side of the aisle.  "Trey, would you like the window seat?"  "Sure, Grandma!"  

Notice anything missing?

I kid you not!  Obviously the seats were placed closer together than the intended layout for this plane, so the windows did not line up with the seats.  Deep breaths.  Maybe we ARE flying on the Claustrophobia Express, but at least we will soon be flying.  Oh, you optimistic fool!  We sat on that stifling hot, windowless, tube of death in 91 degree heat, with no air-conditioning (they promised it would work when we were air-borne) for FORTY-FIVE MINUTES!  One woman tried to get up to use the restroom and was sternly directed back to her seat because we were about to take off.  Define "about to"!

We arrived at ABQ a full three hours late and without so much as a word of acknowledgement, let alone apology, from the crew or employees.  But - we did arrive safe and relatively sound, so I put it behind me and enjoyed my short visit.  Besides, my return flight was booked on a different airline,and returned through Denver.

My flight from Albuquerque to Denver was on-time and pleasant.  I am familiar enough with DIA that finding my next gate was easy, and seating, food and restrooms were abundant.  There was a slight delay because, once again, the arriving airplane was held up somewhere along the line, but I was comfy and in good spirits, so no problem.  When it came time to board, we filed through the line, scanned our boarding passes and went through the magic door . . . not to a skyway, but to a stairway, leading down to a hallway - a long, institutional, windowless hallway. Deja vu!  This can not be good!

At the end of the hallway, we again formed a single-file line to have our boarding passes checked - like we had mysteriously gained would-be stow-aways in this tunnel.  Beyond the lady checking passes was a door.  Beyond the door was . . . sunlight.  The outdoors.  Where was the skyway?  This was beginning to remind me of a Twilight Zone episode.  I dutifully followed the line into the glaring sunlight and shaded my eyes to look for the plane.  A short walk across the tarmac was a small white plane with faded blue lettering and . . . wait for it . . . propellers!  Oh, HELL no!

Perhaps not the actual plane.

I seriously stepped out of line and debated returning to the terminal to book another flight.  I mean, how expensive could it be?  Surely some airline flew real planes between Denver and KC!  I had a book, I could wait!

Reality, and exhaustion, won out and I climbed the half-dozen steps to the flying casket.  My seat was directly in line with one of the propellers.  Oh good, I would be the first to know when it stopped rotating!  That was the loudest, shakiest flight I've ever been on.  Add to that some turbulence that kept even the stewardesses in their seats, and it was a thoroughly terrifying, stomach-rolling hour.   But, I did make it home - tired and nauseous - but wiser.  Never again will I automatically book the cheapest flight without checking what type of plane they fly.   Never again will I fly American/U.S. Airways.  Never again!  At least until one of the kids needs me.

Family Treasures

Granddad Albert, Dad Dave,
 Dave, Amanda, Treyvin
(Amy's son)

Last weekend, we drove to Wichita Falls, Texas to celebrate the 95th birthday of Dave's granddad, Albert.  Albert still lives alone (though he does have help with meals and cleaning), bowls frequently, attends church regularly and loves to be surrounded by his children and grandchildren.  How often do you get five generations in one picture?
Albert worked his entire career for the MKT Railroad, as a telegrapher and Train Master.  MKT stands for Missouri-Kansas-Texas, but the railroad was familiarly known as the K-T, or "The Katy".  Just a few years ago, one of the local schools asked Albert to visit a classroom and demonstrate the telegraph for the students using the telegraph key he still owns.  He repeated his demonstration for us this weekend.  He can recall the dots and dashes of Morse code and send a message faster than I can text it.


He also has a Train Order Hoop stashed in his garage and gave us it's history.   During the pre-radio communication days, the Train Master would write out orders for the passing trains - routes, times, sidings, etc. - tie them securely to a circle of string, attach the string to a Y-shaped stick and hold it up toward the train.  The engineer stuck his arm through the hoop and pulled the string loose.  Albert saw this as a huge technological improvement over the previous method, in which the orders were attached to a solid metal or wood hoop.  The engineer took the entire stick, removed his orders and tossed the stick back out the window.  By the time he did that, the train had moved at least a quarter mile down the track, and Albert had to walk to retrieve it.

Albert is also a World War II veteran of the Marine Corp.  Even though the Katy railroad is now defunct, and WWII is ancient history to today's school children, Granddad's memories are still vivid, so we encourage him to tell the stories of his life.  These stories are family treasures so I thought I would record a few of my favorites:

In 1938, Albert was working for the MKT Railroad as an apprentice telegrapher.  While he was learning, he wasn't being paid, so he picked up various odd jobs.  One job was helping to move a young lady's possessions to a new room two floors up.  As he carried a load of clothes from the closet, he noticed a pretty red dress sized for a petite woman.  He remembers thinking, "Boy, I would like to meet whatever fits in that dress."  A few months later, in April of 1939, he attended a BYPU (Baptist Young People's Union) meeting and a girl wearing that pretty red dress stood to speak.  They were married 3 months later and it lasted 70 years.

During their brief courtship, Albert and Anita took a train trip from Frederick, OK, to Wichita Falls, Texas, so that Albert's parents could get to know her.  Albert's father worked on the train, and stopped by their seats to chat with them occasionally.  During one stop he noticed his son casually place his hand on the young lady's knee as they spoke.  The shocked father called Albert aside and said "I hope you intend to marry that girl!"  Oh, if only the world were still shocked by such  a simple gesture . . . 

Have you ever wondered what to do in case of a tornado?  Forget all the rules about basements, away from windows, etc.  Albert was once caught unaware, with no time to make it to the house, so he laid face-down in the black-eyed-pea patch where he was working, and survived unscathed.  The challenge is to find black-eyed-pea patch when you need one.  

In August of 1945, Albert and his fellow Marines were aboard a ship in a bay off Okinawa. Over a hundred ships were crowded into the harbor, packed so tight they blocked each other from moving.  And they sat . . . and sat . . . and waited for word on their purpose there, but none came.  On August 6, the U.S. dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, Japan.  And still they sat.  Albert received word that his second son had been born on that same day.  And they sat.  On August 9, a second bomb was dropped on Nagasaki. And they sat.  On August 15, 1946, Japan surrendered and the waiting Marines finally got their orders - to return home.  They were then allowed to know the reason for their long, boring (according to Albert) stay at Okinawa:  If the bombs had failed to bring about Japan's surrender, the men aboard those ships were to march on, and capture Tokyo.  I haven't been able to find mention of this "back-up plan" in the history books, but I trust Granddad's memory. 

Beach Baby Takes A Ferry

Thursday night was the highlight of the trip - and I say this with confidence even though it was only the second day of six day trip.  My uncle and his family have lived in Jacksonville for more than sixty years and I have never been to visit them.  The rest of my dad's family remained in Kansas so it has always been easier for the Florida branch to come north and see everyone at once.  It was fun to turn the tables and visit their home turf.  

My uncle, his son and son's wife picked us up at our hotel, drove us south along the coast, and we took a ferry across the St. John River, where we had a seafood feast at Singleton's Seafood Shack.  Look it up - it has been featured on The Food Network's Diner's, Drive-ins and Dives.  And a dive it is . . .  

Singleton's Seafood Shack

But it's hard to get fresher than having the fishing boats dock at the back door.

And the view's not bad.

Dave, Tami, Uncle Willis, Cousin Darrell and his wife, Bertha

I guess we should have snapped one less picture.  The ferry behind us in this shot is preparing to make the final crossing for the evening.  We arrived two minutes too late.  Our return to our motel required driving farther south to a bridge, going inland, then back north to our hotel.  Just between us, the longer drive gave us more time for conversation with family we rarely get to see, so I didn't mind.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles . . .

The plan was for our daughter, Amanda, to travel from her new home in New Mexico to Manhattan, Kansas to surprise her brother to celebrate his 24th birthday. She would board Amtrak at noon on Wednesday and arrive in Topeka at 5:00 a.m. on Thursday.  One of her best friends would meet the train and they would get some quality time before I came to pick her up on Friday.  Saturday was the big birthday surprise and she would depart from Kansas City on Sunday to fly back to Albuquerque.  That seems like a pretty straight forward plan . . . Oh, how wrong we were!

We start on the train.  The Amtrak Southwest Chief left Albuquerque at noon.  At about midnight, Amanda texted that she had just passed through Syracuse, Kansas, where we used to live - right on schedule.   At 1:01 a.m. she called - in tears of frustration.  A Burlington-Northern train had derailed near Hutchinson, KS, blocking the track and keeping Amtrak from reaching it's next few stops - including Topeka.  The train would have to detour south, into Oklahoma, and back north to Kansas City.  An additional eight hours on the train and ending up in the wrong city were not making for a happy woman. Fast forward an hour or two and multiple calls to Amtrak Customer Service (who, btw, were angels!)  - and a new plan was formed. 

While I was chatting with Amtrak concerning our options, Amanda made her own plan.  A 17-year-old girl had also boarded the train at Albuquerque, on her way to Salina, KS to visit a friend she met at camp.  The friend and her mother were driving to pick her up.  Since the train could not get to their intended meeting place, they were driving on to Hutchinson.  As you can imagine, the poor girl was terrified of waiting alone.  She asked Amanda to stay with her while she waited for her ride and they would give Amanda a ride as far as Salina -- about 100 miles from Topeka.  Deal!  Amanda's wonderful BFF left Topeka at 3:30 a.m. and was waiting in Salina when she arrived - and the plan was back on track.

Until Sunday . . .
Her flight left Kansas City at 11:45 - so we subtracted driving time, plus the usual hour pre-flight check-in and determined we needed to leave at 9:00 a.m.  Wrong.  We needed to leave by 8:30 or possibly 8:00.  We realized the math error about halfway to the airport and Dave did his best impersonation of a NASCAR driver, but we arrived 25 minutes before departure and they refused to let her on the plane.  I understood their point that the luggage had already been loaded, so I offered to keep her bag (she'll be home again in 2 weeks) if they would just put her on the plane.  No dice.  Even though we could see the plane still sitting at the gate, a rule is a rule no matter how stupid, so we booked her on a flight out the next morning and took her home.  She and Dave left at 3:00 a.m. to make sure she made this flight - which she did with an hour to spare.  And once again the plan is  moving smoothly.  

Until Houston . . .

She landed in Houston with a short layover to change planes - - - but the new plane had no pilot.  They couldn't find him?  Or maybe he arrived for HIS connecting flight 5 minutes too late.  Whatever the reason, the waited 40 minutes for him to be located.  Then there was a "mechanical issue" with the plane.  Considering the timing, we had to wonder of "mechanical issue" is code for giving the pilot time to sober up.  Whatever the case, she took off an hour and a half late.  


Alls well that ends well, right?  We got to have a wonderful weekend with the kids, and have a story to tell and re-tell.   Mitched enjoyed his birthday - - Amanda arrived home in time for her job interview - - - and the saga of planes, trains and automobiles was over. 

Until Wednesday, when Amanda blew a tire on her car.  

Who's on First? And Why Do They Have My Cell Phone?

I feel like I'm stuck inside Abbott and Costello's Whose on First? routine.  Our daughter's iPhone fell out of the golf cart and landed on concrete.  No more screen - not just cracked glass - the screen no longer functions.  Insurance had a new one overnighted and Amanda left on vacation.  I agreed to return the broken phone for her.  All I have to do is mail it in the provided envelope, right?

In order to secure your private information, you must perform a factory reset on any iPhone device you send back.

That seems reasonable.  What do I do?

Reset your device by selecting "Settings" - "General" . . .

Hmmm.  With no screen, that's not going to work.  What is option 2?

Connect your device to any computer running the iTunes program.

My office computer has iTunes (who knows why).  An all-office email located an iPhone cord that I could borrow.  This should only take a few minutes.

iTunes does not recognize this device.  Please sync device with this computer.  

The phone is synced with Amanda's laptop, which is 120 miles away, so I guess I'll have to start over on this computer.  Since we're wiping out the phone anyway, it won't hurt a thing.

To sync the device to this computer, please sign into your iTunes account.

That would be AMANDA'S account - Amanda, who is on vacation.  A couple texts to Amanda provided the associated email account and five potential passwords (who remembers these things?) Number 3 did the trick - Finally, I'm in!  

iTunes can not connect with this iPhone because the phone is locked.  Please enter the lock pass code.

Pay attention, Apple!  I don't have a screen and I can't enter the code without a screen! Now what?

While connected to iTunes, press and hold wake/sleep button and home button until screen goes black . . . iTunes will recognize that you have a phone in recovery mode and allow you to restore the phone.

Let's review:  iTunes won't access phone (even in recovery mode) until it is synced to the computer, can't sync without unlocking the phone, can't unlock because I have no screen!!

Time to call in the experts.  I'm contacting Apple support.  

Choose a product and we'll connect you with an expert.

[Select "iPhone"]

What's happening with your iPhone?  Choose a topic and we'll find you the best support option. 

[Select "Using iPhone with iTunes"]

Please select a more specific topic from this list . . .

[Select "Restore or Update"]

How would you like to get help?

I don't have time for e-mail  [Select "Chat"]

We need your serial number for this solution.  To find your serial number, tap Settings - General . . .

Haven't we been here before?  I DON'T HAVE A SCREEN!  

See more ways to find your serial number.

[Click}

Get the information from your computer.  Connect your device and open iTunes....

YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!   

At this point, I'm taking matters into my own hands.  I can delete all personal information in six easy steps.

1. Place phone in provided mailer.
2. Carefully align mailer with tires of SUV.
3. Back over phone
4. Pull forward over phone.  
5. Wipe off tire tracks.
6. Drop in mailbox.

Take that, Apple!  

Now, who's on first?

Like Sands Through the Hour Glass . . .

At 10:27 Saturday morning, Amanda Christine Erwin received her Bachelor of Science in Social Work from Kansas State University.

Forty minutes later and 120 miles west, Mitchell Scott Erwin received his Bachelor of Science in Nursing from Fort Hays State University.  

I'm not sure I'll ever get over my disappointment at not being able to see both of them receive their diploma, but the college-powers-that-be are not to be argued with. So, we concocted a plan that was a nightmare of logistics, timing and me traveling 875 miles - but it went off without a hitch.  Both graduates got a parent at their graduation, as well as time to celebrate with the visiting family.  That's as close to fair as we could get.  In spite of the driving, the clock watching, and sitting through two hours of total strangers before we finally got to our graduate, it was an incredible day.  I truly could not be prouder of them.

And so, we close the door on another chapter of life.  It's the natural progression of life. First we were newlyweds - new name, new home, new dreams.  Then we were parents of two babies, 18 months apart- diapers, bottles, no sleep.  Then came the school years -  homework, spelling bees, little league.  Of course grade-schoolers grow into teens - cars, proms, dating, no sleep.  And suddenly they were in college - tuition, apartments, late-night meltdowns, career choices. 

What now?  The house has been an "empty nest" for four years, but somehow it feels as though the whole tree is empty now.  There are many changes coming, and change never comes easy for me, but we turn the page and begin a new chapter.

The Desires of your Heart

Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart. - Psalm 37:4

When I read that verse a few days ago, it stuck in my head.  I kept tossing the words around in my head.  I've read those words many times, but never stopped to ask myself, "What ARE the desires of my heart."

Without getting into a theological discussion of what it means to "delight in the Lord", or the context of the Psalm, my answer would be that my heart desires a time machine. I don't care if it's a Delorean with flux capacitor, Dr. Who's TARDIS or just a swirling hole in the space-time continuum - I desire to go back in time.

Back to when my best friend had not succumbed to cancer; back to before my parents became categorized as "aging"; back to when there was a world of possibility before us; and, most of all, back to when two toddlers depended on me.  Back to Lincoln Logs on the living room floor, sticky kisses on my cheek, and the fifth viewing of Winnie-the-Pooh and the Blustery Day in a row.

You may have guessed, but I'm feeling a bit nostalgic these days.  In one month, Mitch and Amanda will both graduate from college.  In three months, Mitch will get married.  Their lives are filled with questions about where to live and where to work - that great big world of possibilities.  And it's amazing to watch them!  I can't begin to say how proud I am of the people they have become.

But I miss the people they used to be.  Not the moody, rebellious teenagers - don't think I'll ever miss them - but the adorable little creatures that climbed on my lap to read a book or napped on my shoulder.  

But, you know - if you had asked that young mom what her heart desired, she probably would have answered, "Time for reading or sewing, a bit of privacy, and to never have to tie shoes again."  Hmm...that sounds an awful lot like my life now.  Maybe some hearts are never satisfied.

The Death of Norman Rockwell . . .

 . . . Not the death of the actual artist - he died in 1978 of emphysema - but the death of my Rockwell-esque Christmas dreams.  Mr. Rockwell's paintings depict heartwarming moments of every day life - life in a simpler world, where every one gets along and every story has a happy ending.  His Christmas paintings are especially touching.  Happy families gather for the holidays . . .

...smiling faces, warm embraces . . .

. . . humerous moments and treasured traditions.

Our children are coming "home" for Christmas this year.  Well, actually, a few days after Christmas.  They arrive on Sunday the 29th - the New Mexico clan's train reaches Topeka at 5:30 a.m.  The college kids (and significant others) will be waiting to load them up and all make the 90 minute trip to Green Acres.  Dave's father, sister, niece and aunt arrive a little later to spend the day.  The kids will be here until New Year's Eve or New Year's Day - depending on job schedule. 

Every time we plan a get-together like this, my Norman Rockwell fantasies kick into high gear and I have visions of the ten of us gathered around the table, eating delicious, calorie-free, home-cooked meals.  Or gathered by the tree, reading the Christmas story, singing carols, and exchanging artfully wrapped gifts.  All children are well-behaved, all conversation is pleasant, and all dogs snooze quietly in the corner.  On New Year's Day we brunch while watching the Rose Parade and marveling at the beauty and intricacy of the floats.

In reality, we don't even have a table that would seat ten.  Nor do we have a dishwasher, so we will be eating from paper plates on the kitchen table, TV trays or coffee table - wherever we can find an open spot.  Our grandsons are amazing young men but, on occasion, they are a bit loud, rowdy and - gasp! - disobedient.  The dogs - our two, plus one visitor - wrestle in the living room, growl over food bowls, and knock things over with wildly wagging tails.  Some of us can't carry a tune in a bucket.  My gifts are hastily wrapped with those cheap stick-on bows. And no one gives a hoot about the Rose Parade except me.

And that is when Norman Rockwell dies - again.

But we will laugh and chat and do jigsaw puzzles. We'll watch A Christmas Story, read books, play board games and have target practice in the pasture. Occasionally we'll disagree and speak harshly and hide in the bathroom for a minute of alone time. We'll eat bbq wings, drink sparkling grape juice, and blow noisemakers with the grandsons as we welcome in 2014.  We'll be a family - not the idealistic families in the paintings, but a real family with highs and lows, disagreements and celebrations.  With apologies to Norman Rockwell.

A Week in the Life of a Disorganized Mom . . .

My "Needlework Tuesday" entry (yes, I know it's Thursday - see title) is that I chain-pieced 200 pairs of 2" squares.  And they remain in that heap on the sewing table.  Hopefully over the weekend they will turn into 100 4-patches.

So what did I do with all that free time when I wasn't at work?  I canned 17 jars of Grandma Wheat's Chili Sauce.  Now all I need is a campfire and a hotdog on a stick. 

On Sunday evening, these three smiling faces appeared at my house.  That's our daughter, Amanda, future daughter-in-law Mackenzie, and our son, Mitch.  They decided they needed a low-cost vacation before classes start for their college senior years (*gulp*) so what better place to relax and be pampered than Mom and Dad's?

Monday night, we ran to Kansas City to watch the Royals play the Marlins.  None of us are particularly Royals fans, but the experience of attending a major league game is always fun.   The tickets are cheap ($7 each) but they make up for it with concessions.  $120 worth of hotdogs, popcorn, pop and beer later, we headed home.  The hour-and-a-half ride home was filled with multiple rounds of The Alphabet Game (an old family roadtrip favorite), a lot of laughs and at least 72 verses of I'm Henry the Eighth.

The few moments that remained of my week were filled with Zentangles and books.  An update on my Summer Reading List is in the works . . . as soon as I find another free minute.

Back to School - Version 18.0

Hard to believe I'm sending my children off to school for the 18th, and final, time.  August used to mean a family trip to Walmart - one parent, one child, one supply list.  And the annual argument over who got to shop with Dad and who got stuck with Mom.  Dad was a pushover who would spring for the $1.29 NASCAR or Hello Kitty notebook.  Mom thought the 4-for-$1 solid color notebooks were just fine - "You can decorate it yourself."  Although no one ever died from not having a Polly Pocket pencil box, I would love to go back and pinch a few pennies somewhere else, then relax and enjoy those family times.

By the time they reached jr. high, the argument was about Nike vs. Payless, or Cover Girl vs. the natural look.  I'm not sure I would revisit those days, even if I could.  

Then came college, and back to school changed to leaving home.  After four years, I guess I've adapted to the empty nest, though it's wonderful to have them return.  Back to school is now something I experience from a distance, for the most part.  But senior year brought one final back to school experience - Amanda moved into her first solo apartment.  No roommates, no disputes over who's turn it is to clean the bathroom, no disagreements on decorating colors.  

When Mitch moved into his own place last year, he rounded up his own furniture, and persuaded his fraternity brothers to be his moving crew.  All I did was shop for a few kitchen essentials.  Amanda enlisted the family for a little more back-to-school bonding.

Since Manhattan was basically one giant game of Upset the Apple Cart on July 31, U-Haul trailers were sold out, so by the time we rented one at home and towed it down, Mitch and buddy, Kyle, had all the furniture and boxes waiting on the curb.  Loading took less than 30 minutes, but since we couldn't take possession of the new place (dubbed the "Barbie Dream House") until noon the next day, we were left with 24 hours to kill.  

For those of you who are close to Manhattan, KS - we highly recommend Wabash Bar and Grill, a new restaurant in Aggieville with a beautiful rooftop patio.  We also highly recommend our over-night accommodations with friends, but I doubt they want their guestroom advertised.  

After breakfast from Varsity Donuts, including Bacon Maple Long Johns (seriously!), we were off to unload and the brilliance in Amanda's choice of moving crews became evident.  Daddys, brothers and guy friends not only carry your stuff, they repair your broken stuff

hang your heavy stuff

and build shelves to hold your stuff.

My job was to organize the kitchen.  Easier said than done!  Adorable kitchen with marble counter tops, new appliances, extra deep sink . . . and NO drawers!  Who designs a kitchen with no drawers?  

The challenges of organizing a small apartment necessitated a back-to-school shopping trip to Hobby Lobby.  A hefty wad of cash later, the apartment is beautifully decorated - including one custom slip-covered chair.

Oh, the things a mom with a sewing machine and staple gun can accomplish!  (Don't look close, I had no clue what I as doing.)

So, another "last" - our last back-to-school experience.  Did someone say grad school?

Things I Like: Poems by Zerrik Harrington

Things I like:  Poems by Zerrik Harrington is a new release published by Vista Grande Elementary School.  

These charming poems cover a range of topics from video games to family pets to my personal favorite:

                Kansas State 

Kansas State has many people - 

Many football players -

I love Kansas State - 

My grandma and Grandpa lived there - 

I love them - 

I love Kansas State.

The original artwork that illustrates this volume of poetry shows great talent, creativity and bold use of Magic Markers, as can be seen in this impressionistic rendering of the flag of the state of Kansas:

The author, a handsome young man with a smile that melts his grandma's heart, lives in Albuquerque with his mother, brother and two dogs.  He hopes to visit Kansas State (and his grandparents) later this summer.  He is currently taking a break from writing to work on his soccer career.  

Blessings . . .

I attended a family reunion last weekend and my great-niece Elaine and another girl her age (10) came up with an adorable idea.  They created works of art featuring family and inspirational sayings, then sold them to the reunion attendees.  The money, they claimed, would go to help tornado victims in Oklahoma.  This drew some laughs and a few scoffs, because we all knew they had no idea how to actually get this money to anyone affected by the tornadoes.   But I was first in line to buy one anyway because I applauded their idea.  Then the lightbulb came on - our daughter, Amanda, is traveling to OKC with a group from her church, to assist in cleanup.  The $30 these two young ladies raised has been passed on to Amanda with instructions to deliver it to a child who lost their home.  She's not exactly sure how she'll accomplish this, but somewhere in Moore, OK she will find a child and present them with a wad of dollar bills from two little girls in Kansas with giving hearts.

The family reunion was actually a stop on my way to Hays because our son, Mitch, was having knee surgery.  This was the twelfth time that I have set in a hospital room waiting for either Dave or one of the kids to come out of surgery.  And I have to say, this may have been the smoothest, easiest procedure in the history of surgery.  It took about an hour to clean up  some torn cartilage and he was on his feet - with the aid of crutches - a couple hours later . . . 

 . . . although still a little woozy.  He was home and fast asleep in his own bed eight hours after entering the hospital.

Thanking God for generous girls and skilled surgeons!

Just Carryin' On an Old Family Tradition

Families are like fudge . . .

Mostly sweet with a few nuts.

At least that's what it said on the invitation to our recent family reunion - but I'm sure "nuts" doesn't refer to me.

With the exception of time in the military and business school, my father has lived his entire life in the same small Kansas town.  Three of his four siblings remained within twenty miles.  For years, the entire clan got together one Sunday each month to celebrate that month's birthdays.  It was a big group, at least from the perspective of a small child, and lots of food, noise and laughs.  The location rotated so I'm sure it came to our place every few months, but my clearest memories are of being at my Aunts' houses.  At Aunt Bernice's house we climbed the hay bales in the barn and swung from a rope. Aunt Pauline's was home to our only girl cousin, so that was a treat. At Aunt June's there was a nook in the upstairs hallway with a few toys and books.  One book had blank spaces and you drew a word from slips of paper stored in an old kitchen match box to fill each blank and create a funny story (retro Mad Libs). Hours of entertainment for a young bookworm!  

Grandpa Ab and grandkids circa 1962
Twelve boys, my sister, Teri (front row) and me (in Grandpa's arms).
There would be two more granddaughters added in the next few years.

Between birthday celebrations and holidays, it was common to spend a Saturday evening with one branch of the family or another.  These people were a huge part of my world as a child.  Of course, as we got older, the gatherings became fewer and farther between.  Eventually we only got together for Thanksgiving and Christmas, then even those traditions faded.  When one of the aunts passed away a few years ago, the cousins gathered for her funeral and I realized how much I missed that connection, so the idea of a reunion was planted.  It remained in the wondering and mulling stage until last summer when the cousins once again gathered for a funeral - this time for one of our own generation.  That was the impetus to finally set the plan in motion and, in April, we gathered forty-four family members to share a good, old-fashioned Sunday dinner.

Just as at those long-ago dinners, there was no shortage of
 good conversation and delicious food.

My father (back row, left), his brother, brother-in-law and two surviving sisters.  

 I thoroughly enjoyed the day, as short as it was.  "Thank you" to my sister, Teri, who did most of the work.  The consensus was that this should become an annual gathering, and the uncle who traveled from Florida just for this event insisted that we set a date.  I would try to explain how touched I am by the turnout and the immediate re-kindling with this group, but it makes me a bit verklempt.

The Abram Clan

Those two ladies standing behind Dad are my sisters, Teri (in aqua shirt) and Debbie (in peach).  I'm the one in olive green (5th from right in that same row).