Phase II, reading, rambling, reminiscing, and a robbery

Today was the final inspection on my mama's little addition. As of 4:00 this afternoon we were able to start moving her stuff in, and tonight she's sleeping in there.

I don't know how it's going to be once we move more of the furniture from her house in. I wonder if she will stay in that part of the house -- if she'll consider it her own space. I hope so. I know that might make me seem like an ungracious hostess, but I sorta want to be able to preserve some sense of separation. At least while I can. Maybe for the kids' sake as much as mine?

Her bathroom is so nice. Much nicer than any of the others in my house. I'm a little bit jealous, if you want to know the truth. We still need curtains and there's some touch-up painting that needs to be done, but I feel like we've started a new chapter in this story.

Which makes me think of books. Here's what's on the floor by my bedside bookcase right now:

• Things Unseen by Mark Buchanan --I'm on page 133 and I'm loving it. From the back: "This book is about heaven and yet not. It is about our longing for heaven, our instinct for it. It is about eternity in our hearts. .." I'm having a hard time getting through it, though, because vying for that bedtime reading spot is also
• Mothering Mother by Carol O'Dell -- a daughter's humorous and heartbreaking memoir. I'm on page 39. I got distracted by
• The 36-Hour Day by Nancy L. Mace -- a family guide to caring for people with Alzheimers. I made it to page 27 last night before falling asleep. In the stack that I haven't started yet, but have every intention to, is also
• For Men Only by Shaunti and Jeff Feldhahn. I know I'm not, technically, a man, but I thought the first one (For Women Only) was pretty on target, and I'm curious if what they're telling the men about us women is as accurate. I may not get around to it any time soon though, because I probably really really need to read
• Learning to Speak Alzheimer's by Dr. Robert Butler -- a groundbreaking approach for everyone dealing with the disease

I feel so certain that these books contain helpful information for me, in one way or another. Information I should have -- that would benefit me hugely. It's frustrating that I can't get them all read RIGHT NOW. If I'd go to bed at a more reasonable hour, I might have a better chance of doing more than a half hour of reading before sleep overtakes me. I've tried reading with my eyes shut, and I'm pretty good at it, but I've found the retention rate drops off sharply.

Bedtime's also the time that I journal, and I'm backlogged with that, because I am currently trying to keep three -- one for Lily and Tessa, one for James, and my own. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Much the way I started keeping a separate photo album for each of my kids when they were tiny. It worked out swell, until I had more than two kids.

It's hard to keep up with recording my life when it's been all I can do just to live it properly. And not always succeed even at that.

I'm a little bit sorry that Brooke left. I think she'll be fine, though. I will buy her album when it's released. I've always been a fan of that genre -- that Carol King/Carly Simon-y vibe.

I've also been a lifelong fan of Neil Diamond. His was the first concert I ever attended, back when we were living in Laramie and he came to the fieldhouse at the University of Wyoming. I was in 8th grade at the time, and I remember it like it was yesterday.

Hang on -- it's a trip in the Way Back Machine.

My bff and soul sister Carree Cunningham and I had huge crushes on him. When I spent the night at her house we would put on "Tap Root Manuscript" and listen to it over and over as we went to sleep. It's really an unusual album -- one side is all African music ("Soolaimon" and "I Am the Lion") and the other side has "Cracklin Rosie" and "He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother." But we loved it. It was one of the greatest joys of my life when I discovered it on iTunes years later. All those good times just came crashing back. And I was in musical, sentimental, bliss.

Anyway, we went to the concert and waited around afterwards hoping against hope to get an autograph. We waited and waited and waited until the place was empty, but he never came out. My parents were frantic, because we hadn't come out of the fieldhouse and they were sure we'd met with foul play, and they should have never let us go alone at such a tender age.

What I did get instead of an autograph was the cup of water he had taken a drink from while he was on stage. I carried it carefully home and poured the water in an empty peanut butter jar. When Carree would come to my house we would take out the jar, think how his mouth had touched the water that was in there, and swoon.

After a while some fuzzy green mold began to grow on the inside of the jar and I had to throw it away, but I've continued to treasure the memory of it in my heart.

So yeah. Neil Diamond week? Two thumbs up for me.

But two thumbs down to the little punks who broke into the locker room. If anyone happens to see a pair of size 12 white Nikes on eBay in the next week or so, please let me know. Garrison had his stolen out of his gym locker at the high school today. He is so upset, because they were new; he bought them (with his own money) in Nashville over spring break. Apparently nothing is sacred.

Which is why-- yearning for heaven? Yes, ma'am I am.

weekend update. ish.

I know I should have done this yesterday when it would have been more timely and current, in a news-reporting way. But I didn't.

Before I try to recap one of the fullest weekends in recent memory, I have some things I have to just put out there:

1. I am addicted to McDonald's sweet tea in a serious way.

2. Jim burned a bag of popcorn in our microwave yesterday. I mean it caught on fire, burned -- not just got a little brown. So my whole house has smelled just horrible, in spite of the eleventeen candles I have lit. And the inside of my microwave is now an icky brownish color. This morning when he microwaved his oatmeal, it refreshed the burned popcorn smell. UGH.

3. We were given some tickets to a Michael Buble' concert last weekend and I've been neglecting to tell you about the warm-up act. Michael Buble' was pretty swell, too, but this group, Naturally 7, just amazed and astounded us. They have a video on youtube that you have to check out. When you hear them you will not believe that they make every single sound vocally, or at least without any instruments whatsoever. Every percussion sound, every bass sound, every guitar sound. It's unbelievable. But I saw them in person and it's a true fact. I would enjoy their music anyway, but listening to them and knowing they're doing it all by themselves is just pretty impressive.

So there you go.

Instead of trying to recreate the events of the weekend, and since I've heard a picture is worth a thousand words, here are some highlights:


Grandbabies!


Jim took the grandgirls for a spin in the bike trailer.




Friday night was the sleepover. Three eleven year-old girls. I'm sure your imagination can fill in the rest.

James was glad his daddy was around to keep him grounded. That's a lot of girl energy.

Susannah wanted to go climbing on her birthday, which was Saturday. She was bitten by the climbing bug in Nashville when she and Garrison went with my sister. So we rounded up some brothers and an uncle to do the belaying (listen to me throwing around climbing terms like that). She is fearless. There's no way I'd be up there like that -- I don't care how many ropes were tied around me.




Saturday night was the prom. Danny and Sam looked like a million bucks. That's just slightly less than the cost of her dress and his tux, by the way.






Sunday was a bridal shower. I didn't take any pictures there, because I sacrificially volunteered to take a fussy Tessa out to walk around "so she wouldn't disturb the other guests." Or so I told them. My real motivation was to get some one-on-one snuggle time with her.


Before Corie left, I wanted to get this shot. I'd seen a similar one attached to a poem called, "Grandma's Hands".



Happy Birthday to my sister, Lynn!

where do I send the thank you note?

In case you ever wondered where to send a letter to God, I have narrowed it down to Peoria, Illinois. Not sure of the street address, but I'm working on that and I'll get back to you.

Of course it could be that He was just passing through Peoria a few days ago. How else can I explain the random, out-of-the-blue "thinking of you" card I got today that wasn't signed, and included cash and a Bath & Body Works gift card? There was no return address, but the post mark was definitely Peoria. It has His fingerprints all over it, wouldn't you say?

It touches my heart to realize how He works through His children, and some day I want to be a person who hears His promptings and responds obediently and generously like that. What a blessing it must be to be that kind of a blessing. I don't know how to mail it, but I do want to say thanks, God.

In other spirit-lifting news, I found out today that my darling daughter and her two darling daughters are coming to visit for the weekend. It's my youngest daughter's 11th birthday (yes there will be squealing girls for a sleepover), and my son's senior prom, and there's a wedding shower thrown in just to keep things from being too relaxing.

Sadie dog
and I took a long walk today and ended up at my friend Annie's house. I haven't seen her since before spring break. It felt good to walk. It felt good to talk. I'm sure my lack of girlfriend time in general has contributed to my blues as much as my lack of physical activity.

So things are not quite as gloomy as they were a couple days ago, even though my circumstances haven't changed, and even though I still don't have my iPod back. The place Jim sent it to said they couldn't fix it, so now Jim is going to give it a try.

My mom has moved in now, unofficially, and the deterioration of her mind is quite depressing on a number of levels--including the loss of her and the inevitability that it's just going to keep getting worse. I've heard it said that a person with Alzheimers is much like a 2-year old, but it's harder in many ways, because 2-year olds are primarily cute and charming, and you expect to have to help them with basic concepts. My mom has 74 years' worth of being fiercely independent, resourceful, and feisty. And she doesn't take too kindly to any assertion that she can't make solid decisions. I think once I stop expecting her to be my same mom, I'll be better. When I see a wad of folded up paper towels in her purse, I won't try to take them out. I have much to learn.

Currently she's staying in the spare bedroom, but the addition we're putting on for her should be complete soon. Of course I've been telling myself that for weeks now. I am not even kidding when I tell you that the layer of dirt on my floors is grotesque. It simply doesn't make sense to sweep because the tracking-in of stuff? It's epic in proportion. There have been workmen in and out of my house since January. Almost every day.


The ledge in back of the faucet there used to be my kitchen windows.

This is taken from the same spot where my dining room windows used to be. There are french doors there now. It's looking good, but it's been a huge upheaval in the, shall we say, ambience of our home.

I know what my problem is but I don't know how to escape it -- my worst enemy is me. I'm such a disappointment to myself. I haven't worked on my grandson's birth sampler, I haven't done anything on Danny's scrapbook. All of my crafty supplies are piled up on the table because we moved the shelves from this room to the room my mom's using until the addition is done, and I couldn't set up any kind of craft project in the dining room because there's construction going on in there. I haven't been a good friend. I'm blubbery on the outside and shriveled in my soul.

But by golly, my laundry is caught up! That is the one area of my life that is consistently right on track. I've been loving this clothesline weather. One of my simplest, most soul-nourishing pleasures (besides a bunch of fresh dill) is hanging my laundry on the line. If you ever come to my house and see piles of dirty laundry, you'll know it's time to put me to sleep. (I promise a picture of my clothesline soon.)

So there's hope in the pit. There are everlasting arms that won't let me sink too far. There is much to be grateful for. More than enough, in fact.

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned, struck down, but not destroyed."

Amen.

the grandbaby cure has met its match

I have done a pretty shabby job of sharing this little dude with the blogosphere. It's not due to any lack of Mimi pride or delight in his dearness and cuteness.

I think I've been doing a pretty shabby job on several fronts, actually. I could list them all for you, but that would only serve as a reminder to myself. And to be honest, I am not needing any further reasons to be bummed.

I don't know about the rest of you, but when I'm in the dumps, I don't like being around myself. And I feel even less like inflicting my gloom on everyone else.

Doesn't it seem like life goes through phases? I've been here before. I recognize the scenery. I pretty much hate it.

And I also know that in viewing life from the dumps, once I've got these gloom-tinted glasses firmly in place, it's darned near impossible to see anything as being "...noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent or praiseworthy." (Phil 4:8) Each setback, each area of failure on my part, each disappointment, is magnified and in turn justifies the depression I feel. I sink a little lower into the mire, and it's a little harder to get out.

I wish I could find some glowing spiritual application to make....some pointed discourse on how my hope is planted firmly on the Solid Rock. I know these things intellectually, but my heart is not there right now. And I'm disappointed in myself about that, too. bluhhh...

So whatever landscape imagery works for you -- desert, valley, pit -- that's where I am right now. Not asking for sympathy or solutions -- just not sure how bloggy I'll be. It's hard to write about struggles, and not much fun to read about them, either.

Really, consider it a favor.

because I'm all about customer satisfaction

Here are some options for blog posts wherein I would discuss:

1. why I believe "good morning" is an oxymoron
2. my serious struggles to become a devoted David Cook fan ( the aloneness I feel which comes from NOT liking his "Always Be My Baby" performance)
3. why Brooke should really just Stop. Talking. Back.
   
4. dressing to survive the first track meet of the year, or
5. how not to be deceived when the sun is shining but the temperature is only 56
6. the joys of being able to open the windows for the first time of the season today (yay!)
7. how I stay green the old fashioned way -- a primer on using the clothesline
8. Rules of Our House -- starting with "toilets have lids for a reason"
9. remembering birthdays of long-ago friends, and other useless skills I possess (see Corie's "futile abilities")
10. what I learned at the life expectancy calculator, or how it feels to be 18,361 days old
11. If you want me to be a good nurse, here's how to be a good patient (alternate title -- "If you won't take my advice, you lose your prerogative to complain.")
    

Voting lines are now open. But remember these are 866 numbers, not 1-800 numbers, so please dial carefully.

We'll miss you, Missy Cat

We found this kitty in the woods about 13 years ago. She's been a good cat, for the most part. I had a feeling her 9th life was coming to a close yesterday, and today she passed gently from this world to wherever it is that kitties go.

I'll leave that to the theologians and animal lovers to figure out. There's some stark disagreement even among members of this family. I'm pretty sure that for Susannah, at least, Missy is romping in warm, green, mouse-bountiful meadows. I'm certainly not going to do anything to discourage that comforting image.

I have a feeling Susannah will grieve the hardest of us all, as she was her bed-mate for years.

home again, such as it is

You know that phrase, "not a happy camper"? Now I fully understand it. If next year's spring break trip calls for spending any nights in the stinky pop-up, Lee, Betsy and Jo are all invited to go in my place.

My house is still in varying stages of destruction and construction. The latest casualty was my dining room windows. I have in their place a big giant hole that goes all the way to the floor, which is covered in a substantial layer of dust.

My computer has a virus -- you may want to sanitize your hands after visiting here.

Jim's back went out last Sunday and is showing no signs of returning.

We had snow flurries today. It's 38 degrees.

~~ sigh ~~

see ya later alligator

I don't know how much blogging I'll be doing in the next few days. Very few state parks that I know of have wireless, and I don't have a laptop, anyway.

All I know is that I will be in front of a TV set one way or another on Thursday night for The Office. I may be covered in s'more goo, but Jim and Pam can count on me to welcome them back with open, campsmoke-scented arms.

good grief

We went to the visitation this evening for Joey. I felt an undeniable pull to be there, to share grief and memories with people who are precious to me. In a way that only God could design, it felt good to hug tight and sob together. It felt good to cry because it was a reminder of how much we loved each other. I haven't seen these people for several years, but that didn't diminish the heart connection.

And it convinced me that we must never let this much time go by again.

Please read Corie's excellent post, and thank you for your prayers.

my heart hurts

I'm reeling tonight from the news that a young man we know just passed away from bacterial meningitis. He was 19. His mom had been my good best friend. She fought a brave battle with lymphoma and passed away 10 years ago. She was pregnant with him when I was pregnant with Dan. We had lost contact with the family because they moved away, and I hadn't seen him in a long time. I can't even imagine how hard this is for his dad and siblings.

It seems so trite to say please pray for Joey's family, but I know there's nothing else, and nothing better, that I can do.

spring broke

You are cordially invited to join Miss Ruthie at the pity party she is hostessing for herself.

Do they call it "pity" because you feel like you're in the pits? Just wondering.

I feel the way the sad face on my iPod screen looked, moments after it clicked ominously today and then stopped working. Apparently it heard us talking about an extended trip in the car and didn't think it was up to the task of keeping me entertained. And by being "entertained" I mean plugging in those ear buds and drifting away to my own little slice of harmonic heaven while the kids bicker and Jim listens to talk radio.

My iPod and I have a beautiful relationship. It keeps me company in the kitchen and in the bathroom. I take it to the dentist to supplement the novacaine. How am I going to survive a camping trip without it?

Around here spring break is a big hairy deal. Where we live there's a lot of wealth. Well, not specifically where we live, not in our house, per se. But in our general area.

Case in point -- yesterday Jim was invited to go to lunch with a friend of ours. So they hopped in his private plane and flew to pert near St. Louis. Oh yes ma'am. We are so jet set.

So when spring break rolls around, most families we know start talking about going to places like Cancun, St. Tropez, Virgin Islands.... My own son was invited to join his girlfriend's family on their trip to Grand Cayman. Yes, her mother AND father will be closely supervising and chaperoning AT ALL TIMES. No, there will be no alcohol consumed. It's really okay. I trust all parties involved.

Stop making that frowny, raised-eyebrow face.

Florida seems like a sub-par destination in comparison. But for our family, even Florida is out of reach. We don't do family vacations. I don't know how this happened. Somewhere in the unwritten code of our family description is a clause that reads, "no family trips will ever be taken just for fun unless they involve camping or visiting relatives."

It might have something to do with money. Just guessing. We work for God and He is SO faithful to meet our every need. We are blessed with many comforts, and we have no lack of provision. So clearly a family vacation that might include motels or airplanes is not a "need."

I have done an awful lot of camping, and we've made some good memories. It's just that in my experience, a camping trip doesn't really count as a vacation because I have to do the same things I do every day, just with less convenience and a less comfortable bed.

When our oldest son got married a year ago we all drove to California and back, with the pop-up. It ended up being somewhere around 6000 miles by the time we got home, and let me tell you I was plum tired of showering in my Crocs.

I'm really not grumpy or depressed. I don't even like lying on my back in the sand letting the sun soak into my grey tired chilly bones while I dip my tanned pink tootsies into sparkling teal salt water. I don't need a break from my routine. It's not at all stressful having a big hole where my kitchen window used to be.



One memorable spring break vacation was the time Jim took the kids and went up north while I stayed home, all by my glorious alone self, and cleaned the kids' rooms. Wheeee! You just can't get that kind of fun at a Caribbean resort, let me tell you.

This year, though, we will get to bring Lily with us on our camping trip. Her momma and daddy have declared her old enough to travel with Mimi and Pop (and Aunt Susie and Uncle G and Sadie dog) so that will sweeten the pot substantially. Pop even bought one of those little pull-behind bike carrier thingies for her, for when we all ride our bikes around the campground.

Life in the fast lane doesn't get any better than that.

jumping on the american idol blogwagon

I know not everyone watches American Idol. So I'm sorry to have to report about it tonight. But I have some things I need to discuss, and what are blogs for, if not for that?

I do love Dolly Parton, so I was predisposed to like all the songs tonight. And I have to say that this week overall was probably my favorite. I honestly could have voted for all of them. Yes, even Ramiele. But I didn't. (Did you know she was little?) I thought everyone did exceptionally well. I thought most of them were wow-worthy.

But here's what I want to talk about in no particular order-- didn't you think it was interesting that Ryan gave David Cook that opportunity to credit all the arrangers of the arrangements he's used? Way to put out potential fires. Nicely done.

And finally! David Cook's hair didn't look quite as freemy. It still has a ways to go, but at least he's on the right track.

I liked Kristy's performance --- I thought this was going to be a good week for her, and I think it was-- but I didn't like a) that she was sitting down for so long b) her dress -- it didn't seem to go with the song for me and c) it didn't go with bare feet, in my opinion.

I had seen a you tube video of Jason Castro leading worship, so I've been feeling this kinship with him, wondering if he's a brother in Christ. I saw his cross peeking out from under his shirt tonight, and I was thinking yeah..... I know that wearing a cross doesn't in itself mean anything, but I was encouraged, anyway. Then he sang that Traveling Through song and I was so proud of him! Yes! I did hear the name of Jesus! I hope it's not a strike against him. It seems historically that as soon as contestants open up about their faith their days on Idol are numbered. (Mandisa....Chris Sligh...)

Same with David A. -- Yay, Jesus!


Is anyone else distracted by the gold glittery eye shadow on Syesha and Kristy? I understand that they want to look special for the camera, but it seems a bit overdone. Also -- did Brooke's eyes look strangely made up to you? I won't hold it against her. She's still a favorite personality, but she wasn't my favorite singer tonight. I will buy her album, though, in a snap.

I LOVED Syesha's big "glory note." But how could the same voice that held that note for endless awesome minutes have to stop and take a breath right in the middle of the word "always" earlier in the song?

What have I been saying about Carly's wardrobe? The thing about Simon is that he says what we are all thinking. Even though I cringe when he says it just because it's so BLUNT, I secretly find myself agreeing with him most of the time. Tonight, however, he seemed unnecessarily harsh and he wasn't blown away by the people I thought were more than just "good, not great". Somehow is blogging about the contestants less of an attack?

The kids and I have been fast forwarding through all the blah blah ever since we got the DVR, and just tonight it hit us that we could be fast forwarding through Paula's drivel, as well. So that's what we did. Like hitting yourself on the head with a hammer, then stopping. That's how good it felt. Wasn't that a bizarre ring she had on? It was an improvement of those disastrous glove things from last week, but still... When can we vote her off?

I've been reading the buzz at Entertainment Weekly online that the "mosh pit" hand wavers may be eliminated soon. I had hoped that they would be gone tonight, but no such luck.

I do like Michael Johns, but I also worry frequently while he's singing that he's not going to be able to hit the note I know is coming. And frequently he doesn't. He was okay tonight, though.

I was disappointed when Chikezie left. I was disappointed when Davidson lost to Kansas. Let us hope that tomorrow night will see justice prevail once again in TV land.