it's so easy being green

When it's this kind of weather, when the temperature is in the low 80s and there isn't a cloud in the sky and a sweet breeze is blowing, I get all like, "Man, I have GOT to hang something on the line."

I've even been known to get clean clothes out of drawers and wash them, just so I can hang them up to dry.

Not really.

But there is something just so deeply soul-satisfying about hanging Downy-scented laundry in the sun, seeing it swaying gently in the breeze. And I love the way the things smell when I bring them in.

I would prefer drying clothes this way even if it wasn't the most energy-efficient, ecologically-responsible method. So knowing that I'm doing my part makes it all the better.

And really, could Al Gore hope for more than that? (Do you think he has a clothesline in his back yard?)

at last

Summer is here.

Not technically, I realize, which by the way has never seemed right to me. Who can wait until June 21 for summer to be "official"? The clearest definition of the beginning of summer for me is that glorious first day of summer vacation.

Dan has graduated and is actually gainfully employed already, making money for all the driving he will be doing between college and home next fall. Not to see me so much, more for his sweetie.

It's hard to believe Susannah will be at the middle school next year. Yikes.

I've been only partially successful in getting my mom to abandon her turtlenecks under sweatshirts now that the weather is hovering just below 90 degrees, and we have no air conditioning. She says she doesn't like the way her arms look. I guess vanity is more tenacious than logic. But today she has on a short-sleeved shirt, so that's good.

Garrison now has his learner's permit. Jim and I have insisted that our kids know how to drive a stick shift before they can get their license. I learned to drive in a VW Fastback, and it's been a source of smug pridefulness that I know how to operate a clutch. It's a lost art, you know.

We've been borrowing my mom's 5-speed, manual transmission Honda Civic, primarily because it gets upwards of 45 mpg. And it makes her happy that it's being used, since she obviously isn't driving anymore. So Garrison and I have spent some happy times lately stalling out at stop signs, on hills, with cars lining up in back of us. But I think he's beginning to get the hang of it.

Jim's been traveling a lot.

I gave the dog a summer hair cut.

Danny's graduation open house is Monday and my dining room has been overtaken by photos, school papers, posterboard, stickers, and football clippings. I've been trying to put together some posters and such, and I think I'm almost done. Still slightly overwhelmed at all that needs to be done to get ready for the open house, but I have lots of helpers.

My yard's a mess, but I'm a little afraid to get out there and start pulling weeds because poison ivy is supposedly at its peak this year, and I am not confident I would recognize it. All I remember from my childhood is "leaves of three, let it be."

I wish there was a market for dandelions. I could be hauling in some serious dough, because my dandelions are simply spectacular.

And I'm out of words.

hello

Apparently I'm due for a new post.

I can promise you without equivocation, though, that if each time you came here looking for mindless drivel you went instead to Stuff Christians Like, your lives would be enriched.

Thank you for your prayers, though, and your not-so-subtle prompting (in the case of my darling oldest daughter). I think having my hubby actually leave his first ever comment since I wrote my first post in January 2005 was the shocking event that finally motivated me. I'm not even going to attempt to bring you up to date. If my life has not been interesting enough even to myself, I am quite certain no one would be entertained in the least in the retelling of it.

It hasn't just been a blog writing drought. I haven't read anything, either, even from my favorites. So if Pioneer Woman is pregnant or if BooMama has dyed her hair blue, I wouldn't know. It's been a pretty comprehensive computer avoidance on the whole. Weird. And unexplainable, so I won't try.

Danny is done with school. He graduates this Thursday. He's so happy. Susannah was asking me what my favorite day of the year is and I really have to say that for me each year, it's the last day of school. It is just so freeing -- so exhilarating. The thought of a whole summer ahead to sleep in and laze around eating popsicles with no schedule and no demands. Christmas is fun, but Christmas is work, and expectations and shopping. The other kids still have two more weeks, which seems unbearable at this point. I don't think kids should have to be in school in June.

My mom has found her purpose in life -- sweeping our driveway. She's a sweeping zealot. This time of year we have all kinds of stuff falling from our abundant tree population, but by golly it doesn't have a chance to accumulate with my mom and her mighty broom. She keeps a running "whew, whew, whew, whew.." going while she's sweeping. And of course we praise her up and down and thank her profusely. Then she beams.

Her Fox News watching has subsided a little. I think her desire to be with the rest of the family is outweighing her drive to keep up with the most fair and balanced reporting ever. Last night she sat on the couch in our living room and laughed and laughed to Zoey 101. All by herself.

She used to enjoy American Idol. It made Susannah so mad when she would say every time about Simon,"Awww...He shouldn't say that. That's mean." And each and every time Susannah would say, "He's just being honest, Grandma. That's his job. Sometimes he says nice things." And then Susannah would roll her eyes at me and make an exasperated, infuriated face. It was funny to me that Susannah's response was just as predictable as Grandma's comments.

So let me ask you this -- if you had a 73-year-old mother with Alzheimers, who had a tentative grasp on the real world at best, and it was the season finale of the 4th season of Lost, the most complicated, puzzling show ever viewed, and she had never seen even one episode before -- would you think it was A Grand Plan to let her watch with you? Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But she insisted, and was on the verge of getting all feisty and "you're certainly not MY boss"-ish. So we had no choice. We warned her that it would be confusing and troubling, and that we wouldn't be able to explain it.

"Whose baby is that?" "Why is he doing THAT?" " Are those the good guys?" "Well that's weird." "What is she talking about?" "Why would they want to go back to the island?" "How did she get electricity? I thought she was on a raft." "Is he a bad guy?"

And once or twice when I let out with an anguished "NOOOOOO!!!" (at events transpiring onscreen) she said, "Well, I don't think it's really happening. I think it's just fiction."

Whew.

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.

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.

deer me

OK, we might not be seeing daffodils blooming. There are no tulip sprouts, and the idea of capris and flip flops seems ludicrous.

But there's something sweet about looking out in my back yard this evening, just as the snow was beginning, and seeing this



Then I noticed he had brought some buddies. There were five in all. What I wouldn't give for a telephoto lens...


Well, hello there! (If you look just to the right of the big tree, you'll see our sap collector.)



All righty, then, See Ya! Stay warm!


A little later I picked Susannah up from a friend's house and on the way home we saw a turkey right in the middle of the road. How fun is that?

I had to call Lily and tell her, because the last time I was at her house I taught her, much to her mama's chagrin, that little silly thing, "There was a stinky skunk in the middle of the road. I one it." "I two it." "I three it." "I four it." ... back and forth until one of you says "I eight it" and then you crack up. "You ATE the SKUNK??" It's hilarious entertainment, really, especially if your buddy is an enormously precocious and spunky three-year-old.

(I also taught her the one where you say a color or a type of metal and the other person has to say they're that kind of key -- "gold" "I'm a gold key" "silver" "I'm a silver key" "brass" "I'm a brass key"...
Then you sneak in "tur" ... "I'm a tur key." Ha Ha Heee hee hooo..... "You're a turkey!")

It's so much fun being a Mimi. And living where I do, with all the nature and yes, even the snow.

Our white house is turning into a Log Cabin

We've been parking our cars outside lately, primarily because there are so many work vehicles that we can't get out of the garage. The other day I noticed a spotty splat on my car that looked like water, but it didn't go away. It seemed to be sticky. Jim is brave. He'll eat stuff that looks like worms. So I wasn't surprised that he stuck his finger in the drip and licked it. "Mmmm," he said, "maple syrup."

We've lived here for sixteen years. There are LOTS of trees in our yard, and yeah, I guess I have known that there are probably maple trees out there, but I never put two and two together and considered that these maple trees had actual maple sap in them. I'm sharp like that. And it would seem that these trees are just oozing and running sap like crazy right now.


So we thought we'd just go ahead and tap a couple to see what would happen. We've filled up my whole big black soup pot, plus a Tupperware pitcher, and now we're filling this lovely sun tea container, which I'm fairly certain is just like the ones Mrs. Butterworth uses.


Thanks to a google search of "making maple syrup" we're in business. Or so it seems.

Actually we don't have a clue, nor do we have any of the right equipment. We're just winging it, boys and girls, and hoping for the best.

It takes something like 10 gallons of sap to boil down to one quart of syrup. So we're figuring we'll end up with enough for maybe three pancakes, when all's said and done.

recipe for a perfect lunch

Toast two pieces of whole wheat bread
Spread EACH piece with peanut butter (thanks to my son-in-law for this tip) while the toast is still warm
Drizzle honey on each piece
Stick together
Cut in half (must be diagonally)
Place on plate with a handful of Lays potato chips from a freshly opened bag
Serve with a tall glass of light chocolate Silk
Eat in front of computer screen.

Bon apetit!

feels like a Tuesday

I can't get over how quiet the house is without Suse. You would think that just having the smallest girl absent wouldn't make such a big difference, but believe me, it does. I didn't realize how I'd miss the background buzz of Zach, Cody, Hannah Montana, Drake, Josh, and SpongeBob. And how peaceful it could be without the perpetual sibling static that permeates my days.

We had seven deer walk across our front yard just a bit ago! We've come to expect an occasional deer visitor, but this was a whole herd. I love where we live. Especially because we've had quite a bit of satisfactory snowfall this winter. All around me I hear people saying they're ready for spring, but not me. If it were up to me, we'd continue to have total snowiness right up until April 1, when it could begin to melt. But not a moment before.

Jim was at a college Bible study tonight, and Dan was at his girlfriend's house, so that left just Garrison, me, and American Idol. Thank heavens for VCRs (yes, we are still living in the dark ages of no TiVo) because when DB and his wife called and asked for someone to come hold the baby so they could catch some much-needed snoozing, I was out the door.



Do you see the way my shoulders are curled forward and around him? I believe this is what's known as Baby-Holding Shoulder Roll Posture Syndrome, and I've got it. It comes from years of wrapping your whole body around a small tiny person while holding them up under your chin. It's as natural to me as the involuntary swaying-rocking motion that starts up as soon as I get a child in my arms. As far as I can tell, there's no cure.

While I bounced and rocked and cuddled, Garrison worked on his assignment for English Lit -- write a journal entry for Princess Nausicaa about her first meeting with Odysseus. Poor buddy -- what self-respecting 14 year old kid enjoys studying Greek mythology in the first place? I'm thinking the last thing he's going to want to do is put himself in the place of a teenage princess, and creatively write about her feelings as she might record them in her journal.

Enjoy these baby days while you can, little James.

My take on Idol, after I'd watched the recording (I really prefer watching it that way, if you want to know the truth. I can scan right through the commercials and all the blah blah blah), was that they should just cancel the rest of the season right here and now and award the title to David Archuleta. I'd be tempted to gobble him up, he's just so sweet and precious. But that would be a crying shame, if I couldn't listen to him SING. My word.

My next favorite is Michael Johns, but I kinda wish he'd go for it on the high notes. Maybe he's all just raw appeal without the vocal range.

Speaking of TV, I'll leave you with this, then I'm done. I'm so bummed about Friday Night Lights. I don't know how they can think about canceling it when there are so many unresolved story lines. It's downright cruel and unusual to make us care about these people and then just phhhht, that's it??

I bet the executives were English Lit teachers in their former lives.

no days like snow days

I stayed up way too late last night reading*, and as I was finally, reluctantly, going to sleep I could hear the snow and wind outside just buffeting our house. It sounded ferocious, and I couldn't help but hope that our kitty was snuggled up in her blankets in the garage.

(This is the same amazing cat who survived all last winter when we thought she was lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry Clementine. She's gotta be 13?? years old?? but she's still hanging in there. )

There are no sweeter words on a brutally cold winter morning than, "school's cancelled today." I took full advantage of the opportunity to sleep in. Ahhhh...

I love lounging luxuriously with my kids when it's a snow day. Just lolling around in blankets, and having a pancake brunch. And the bonus is -- I don't have to leave the house to go pick anyone up. I did have that built-in alarm go off right around 3:15, but I was just as relieved to shut that one off as I had been this morning.

It's nice for Dan, too, who is missing school this week due to a particularly evil flu virus he brought home from the winter youth retreat. His temp on Monday was 104.7! I can't remember a higher temperature ever, with any of my kids. There was that one Christmas we bought him the riding-on police motorcycle when he was so sick, but I don't think it was higher than 104. We're hoping the rest of us will be spared. Pass the echinacea and orange juice!

*"World Without End" is the sequel to "Pillars of the Earth" and it's every bit as riveting...and long. But every time I read/say/think the words "world without end" I hear in my head "Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be. World without end, Amen. Amen."

works for me

Well, the day might have begun by freaking me out, but it has ended in a most satisfactory manner.

Here is my recipe for calming new-addition-related stress:

• go to the newly opened (10 minutes from my house) Panera Bread to have lunch with Annie
  

• take my kids to the mall to buy jeans for them...find a pair of long-wished-for trouser jeans for myself-- marked down 75% at JCPenney (bask in the certainty of just how much Stacy and Clinton would approve)

• settle in to read my favorite blogs while munching on Wheat Thins Toasted Chips (buy one bag, get one free at Meijer), sliced swiss cheese, a glass of red wine, and several pieces of Dove dark chocolate from my secret stash in the computer desk drawer

• take a load of freshly washed, deliciously scented baby clothes out of the dryer...fold them while reveling in their intoxicating softness, and imagining the time in the not too distant future when a small tiny person will be wearing them! Smile and sigh contentedly.
  

• Decide to turn in early--not to sleep, but to read "World Without End"-- knowing that hubby has the bed pre-warmed

Go ahead, Mr. Backhoe Man. Hit me with your best shot. I've got an arsenal not to be trifled with.