Friday, December 4, 2015

The Wisdom of Aunt Elller and Bro. Lawrence

"I have no pain or difficulty about my state, because I have no will but that of God..." Brother Lawrence

"You've got to get used to having all kinds of things happen to you.  You've got to look at all the good on one side and all the bad on the other side and say 'Well, all right then' to the both of them."--Aunt Eller, Oklahoma :)

I think that, for me, this is the height of faith:  When there is nothing I do not trust God completely with, and when everything, good or bad, is the same because I understand that everything will be worked out for my good and that the Lord has His hand on me every moment.

When I am just as close to the Lord in bad things as in good, when being broke is the same as being rich, when being sick is the same as being healthy, because a) Heaven awaits and b)the Lord is with me always and is glorified and, in turn, will sustain me, this is faith.

When I can praise the Lord in all things at all times and KNOW His goodness and have trust in Him even at the worst of times....that to me is faith I aspire to.


Monday, November 30, 2015

Who are You?

You ever want to just have a place to declare "This is who I am."?

Oh we kinda get that opportunity on fb with memes that say stuff like "If you can't handle me at my worst than you don't deserve me at my best" and junk like that.  But that is not what I am talking about.  Those are more "in your face, this is my excuse to act rudely, take it or leave it" stuff.  That is not you.  You are more than a meme.  You are more than rudeness.  You are more.  And less.  And more.

No, I mean YOU.  The you who actually kinda likes the color pink.  The you that actually kinda hates bacon.  The you that is moved to tears by a sunset.  The you that actually is ok with those extra 10 lbs.  The you that wants to be more gentle, more peaceful, more brave.  The you that was you before society and hurts and expectations made you put on fakeness and faces and bravados.

The artist you.  The banker you.  The SAHM you.  The SAHD you.  The more holy, less wordly you. The you that is SO you that you don't care what others think or are or do or say.  Because you are you.

The Godly you.  The forgiving you.  The filled with Jesus you.  The holiest you.  The "I'm tired of not showing my faith so that I don't get looks at work" you.  The you that catches glimpse of you in characters in movies and in neighbors and friends, and you feel your heart lurch and for one second, you think "Yes!  That is me!".   The you that you do not allow yourself to hope you are, but the memory of which hides, deep inside, of who the most perfect you is.

The you that loves to sing and can't carry a tune in a bucket.  The you that has no illusions of making money on blogs but just wants to post pics and write things.  The you that runs because it is fun but has to fight the inner voices that suck your joy and say "You must go further/faster.".  The you who wishes you could talk deeply with someone who will listen.  The you that wants to not be anxious or depressed.

The you that keeps posting those memes because they are at least some statement to yourself that you matter, even if the meme is the most shallow, worst part of you.  But at least you made a claim:  you tried to hear your own voice, but you don't listen, so one part of you focuses on brashness--not for the rest of us to hear but so that you can break through your own walls.

The you that gets weary of the mean girls scene or the keeping up with the joneses or the shallowness of society.  The you that is tired of showing too much skin and hiding too much brain.  The you that is tired of having to hide your love of poetry so the other guys don't tease you.

The you that you were made to be before you changed.  Before you gave up.  Before you got tired.  Before you thought you were too old or had become too afraid of the opinions of others.  Before gentleness turned into victimhood and strength turned into aggression and competence turned into pride.



Who are YOU?  Who did God make you to be?  Be that here.  Be that now.  Pray for the Lord to show you who He made you and what parts of the fake you are standing in your way.


Wednesday, November 25, 2015

BABY FRUITS!

Remember that TWS brought me five citrus trees?  Well two of them are fruiting, praise the Good Lord!

The orange had blooms on it when we got it, so that was not surprising.

The grapefuit didn't though, and now it has started to produce blooms and even some baby grapefruit!  Surprisingly, the blossoms of the grapefruit smell even better than orange blossom.  Grapefruit smells more purely jasmine or gardenia.  The scent was strong enough in the bathroom where I keep it that the perfumed cloud actually wafted out of the door and delighted your nose when you strode past.

Now to keep them happy so the fruit develops.



Tuesday, November 24, 2015

So Far, So Good

Day 3 of my "Not Be A Crummy Housekeeper" plan and I have figured something out about myself--I work in crisis mode but not as much in calm mode.

Some of that is not surprising, I used to do emergency management stuff.  However, my house is clean, it only took me a few minutes this morning (because today's room was the living room and it was already tidy, just needed dusting).

Soooooo......now what do I do?

The thing is that I think I find things to do when I am under pressure to do something else.  Need to mop the floor?  Hey!  Let's write a book instead!  Clean laundry piled upon the couch?  Hey!  Let's play video games!  Kitchen in need of work?  Hey!  Let's cross stitch pretty hankies for everyone we know whilst we binge watch Pride and Prejudice!

Now that I am not trying to avoid anything, I have no idea what to do.  It is the classic "I only want it when I can't have it" nonsense that is the root and bane of human psychology.  I think the adrenaline plus dread of a chore hanging over our heads adds to the rush that distraction gives us.  Now I don't need to be distracted so there is no energy that I am diverting from a stressful task to pour into a fun one.

Gah.  Is this what organized feels like? ;) ;)

Today I tidied and swept, dusted the living room, wrote over 1900 words discussing the Syrian Refugee Situation, watered the plants, drove to Tennessee with TWS, came back and stopped at the feed and seed for scratch and flock raiser, drove to pick up a present, went to the pet store (they did not have the food we needed), drove to the vet to get the food and register MicroMew for his shot series, etc, went to the grocers to get our Thanksgiving meal supplies (OH!  and new cleaning supplies!....wait, did I just get excited over cleaning supplies?!?  Who am I and what have I done with me?), came home, put groceries away (including 4 tubs of ice cream, three boxes of ice cream bars, two boxes of chloraseptic, and one bottle of Robo--there is a cold in the house), then ate lunch.

I actually just volunteered to help The Boy clean his room.








Monday, November 23, 2015

Confessions of a Crummy Housewife

I am not a good housekeeper.  Let's just get that out into the open.  I am a ROTTEN housekeeper actually.  Oh there is not gross stuff, but there is not order or tidiness either.

Now, I am good at many things.  I can help you paint a house.  Help you write a book.  Can help diagnose your illness, help you train your kids and cats.  I can help you improve your relationship with your sweetie.

I can plant a garden.  Cook over a fire.  Help cure your panic attacks.  Discuss literature, the Lord, and theoretical physics.

I can bake bread.  Skin a moose.  Write a poem.  Deliver a baby.

I can even tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue.

But I have never kept a clean house for more than as long as it takes to have company come and go.  Actually there were two times I would clean:  if company was coming or if I was upset.  The kids could see if I was upset so in those "50 year flood" type of time when I cleaned the house spontaneously, they would ask "Who's coming over?".

There is just so many other things that seemed more important.  I spend my time in my head.  My environment just needed to be sterile, not tidy (you might could eat off the floor if you could find it).  I did not care where my shoes were (until I couldn't find them) or if my bed was made.  As long as nothing was on fire or a health hazard, I didn't need order.

I am a grown adult.  It is about time I learned how to keep a house.

I started small--making sure my bed was made every day.  I don't even remember why...one day I got tired of our room being messy and put away a ton of clothes, shut drawers, wiped surfaces.  Made. The. Bed.

And thus it began.....

And every day for the past month I have made my bed before leaving my room in the morning EXCEPT on laundry days when I was going to strip the sheets.  Then I made the bed when they were done.

TWS, with a gleam in his eye, asked if, perhaps, this would carry over into other rooms.  Oh that poor man.  That poor, type A, logistician-by-trade, completely organized man.  I imagine that it was hard to live with his own personal tornado, but he understood that it was not a deliberate thing.  For example, when I get out of the shower and start putting on clothing, my towel actually ceases to exist.  I do not see it.  I do not remember it.  I do not think about it.  It phases out of my existence until it is time for the next shower.  Not on purpose, it just happens.  So I have literally 3 seconds before dressing to remember to hang my towel.  It got to be a habit, so now I do it unconsciously.

WHICH leads me to both my new Word of the Year for 2016 and my game plan:  Diligence.

We, thankfully, just had wonderful company come by, which meant, of course, panic clean.  The rooms were straightened, the floors scrubbed, etc.

Now I just have to keep it that way....which is what I have said before for oh, about 30 years BUT now I have both guilt and a plan :D  TWS never complained about a messy house but he did, after 21 years of marriage, hint that it would be nice.  He is too fabulous for me to deny him, so wishing became guilt which became a desire for diligence for the gifts the Lord gave me which led to prayer which led to plan. (love how that works!)

Because everything is not exactly 100% organized when i am starting, I still have a little backlog to do.  But those will be done on the days of the plan.  I divided the house into specific chores and assigned them a day.  Now, I have done this before, but this time, a)I am starting out after a panic clean and b)I started getting practice by the daily bed making thing.  I have worked out a HABIT, which is what i was missing.  The "bed making" is the starting line for my cleaning for the day.  After that, since I am already "cleaning", it was no big thing to add another chore, for example, sweeping.

Today's chores were:  bathrooms, water plants, tidy, and sweep.  In the span of 2 1/2 hours, I have:  scrubbed both bathrooms (toilets, sinks, shower, walls, floor, counters), washed the dishes (dd's chore but she went to bed feeling poorly last night), baked brownies (for her finals week), swept the house, made the bed, did a light tidy through the house (instead of a deep clean which will happen on the assigned days, for example, today was the day for a deep clean of the bathrooms), took out some trash, read, posted on fb. 

Except for watering plants (which I have not done yet as I need to figure out when citrus need to be watered), I am done with my chores for the day.  I have even painted my nails!


My house is tidy enough for drop by company.  Maybe not "stay for a week company" but definitely drop by company, which frees me up to be hospitable.  Not only that, but the rest of my day is clear!!!  WOOHOOO!!!

I could work on the list for tomorrow, but I am choosing not to.  Today was good enough for today.  This needs to be a habit, which means I will need time for those days when I have appointments or tasks, so I need to get into the "little every day" not "binge clean" which is my usual :)


If anyone reads this and has a trouble area (cleaning, exercising, etc) let me know.  I could use an accountability buddy.  I really want this to be a "thing". :)



My little helper who actually is not as much of a help as he thinks he is ;)

Saturday, November 14, 2015

The Man Knows How To Get To Me

The Wonder Sweetie called me yesterday from Tractor Supply.  Their trees were on sale for about $7 and their bushes and grape vines were about $4.

Then he asked how many I wanted.

For a man who is so brilliant, he asks the SILLIEST things sometimes.  I worry.  Perhaps he hit his head?

"All of them," I replied.

Well, we didn't get all of them, but we did get several including grapes, blueberries, plum, apple, and peach, including a couple of cultivars I had not heard of before.

Earlier this week we were at our favorite feed store.  I was sitting in the truck while the manager was talking with TWS in front of two plants.  I heard "$5" and jumped out of the truck as fast as I could.  There were two tropicals (a mandevilla and a hibiscus) in huge pots that needed to be sold asap.   Now I have 9 tropicals in the house and 4 more in the barn for the winter. :D

He will always have a bed to sleep in here as long as he keeps bringing me trees. ;)  Very thankful for that man.

This year's grapes.  Can't wait to see what the new grapevines will produce!  They are replacing the two figs at the entrance to the walking garden (well, wildflower and grass area with a mowed path in it).  There is too narrow a temperature line here for figs.


Friday, November 13, 2015

Today's To-Do's

So far behind the power curve.

We do our grocery runs in few, but massive trips.  We bring a large cooler with ice and drive into Big Town.  I had slacked off in this, instead choosing to hit the local Publix (which I love) but the cost difference at Sams and other places is just too big to ignore, even taking into account gas for the truck.  However, this week we went back to our old ways but each evening I was too tired or needed to run somewhere, so I did not get everything put away.

There have also been three medical appointments in Big Town, plus extra things here and there so my house has completely fallen apart.  Can't even find the floor in the kitchen ;).

I also have  been needing to drastically reorganize the laundry room/pantry, the bread baking station, and the plant room which now has 6 or 7 large tropical plants/trees in residence.

I also  noticed that I am feeling a great deal better on antibiotics that I have been taking.  For two weeks I had felt much more run down and miserable than I should have been.  I was wondering if I was getting lazy, but a couple of days on the meds have brought back my old level of energy (though I am sleeping much later in the morning than normal).  I tried the "natural" way to cure an UTI, cranberry supplements, etc.  Twice now I have tried to do the natural bit with no results.  I am not saying that holistic medicine is useless, but I am saying it is not a panacea for everything that ails.  Sometimes the Lord has provided incredible medical breakthroughs, such as antibiotics, for things that oils and a pretty good immune system could not touch.

So, this is me, gearing up for a morning of seriously focused re-organizing :)

The God Who Loves Part Two

Reading "He Loves Me" and the author brings up a very interesting point.  Until we understand and accept the love God has for us, we will not break free from the power of "self".

This makes sense to me.  As long as I am not trusting God or understanding how much He loves me, I will build up walls of self defense against Him (and everything else).  Self defense becomes self indulgence.  All Self.

When I trust His love (yep, even in bad times) and trust that He will provide for me perfectly everything I need, then I can live boldly.  There is no need for walls or defenses because nothing can threaten me.

If you knew you were going to be perfectly safe and that each bit of yourself that you gave away (love, money, forgiveness, kindness, whatever) would be replaced instantly with even more, you would race to see how much you could give away.  You would be without fear.

Our walls are our prisons.  Instead of protecting us, they suffocate, denying us air and light and love.  If we want peace and hope and joy and love, we have to go to the Source of it, immersing ourselves fully in trust to Him.

These are fabulous words, but they actually WORK.  Try it!  The more you focus only on drawing closer to the Lord, understanding His love and AFFECTION for you, the more you will see that it is an easy thing to switch from painful self-focus to instant rest and peace.  At first it might be difficult if you see God as someone just waiting to punish you (a false but popular notion--one of the walls of defensiveness most of us were encouraged to build in attempt to keep us from sinning), but just push through that, ask for forgiveness, repent of whatever, accept His mercy, then focus on His love.  You can then see for yourself. <3



Tuesday, November 10, 2015

The God Who Loves

It is amazing to me that God wants to be loved.  By you and me.

Other religions have "gods" who demand respect or fear.  All require obedience.

But God, Jesus, actually wants to be loved.  By us.  Humans who can give Him nothing at all, have no offering, no strength He needs. 

He wants to hang out with us.  To be with us.  To laugh and cry with us.  To dine and rest with us.  To work side by side with us.

He is the working man's God, not content to sit on some massive space throne and scorn and judge from afar, but rather came down to toil beside us to show us how to work by working, serve others as He served us, and love as He loves.

He is the One who gave of Himself FIRST.  The One who did not demand our death for our sins, but chose Himself to die for them.  He is the Soldier who throws Himself on the grenade of hell to save us.  Like, actual hell.  To ACTUALLY save us.

How can we refuse such kindness and mercy and love?



Friday, November 6, 2015

A Funny Thing Happened To Me On The Way To....

This is a post in response to a fb request for funny stories.  This actually happened to me several years ago.  Enjoy :)



I was going to my first formal occasion in many years.  Wonder Sweetie, my dashing and handsome husband, was to attend a formal military function, and I was going to be on his arm to drink in every minute of it. 

I love military functions.  I love the pomp and the ceremony and the tradition.  I love the mess dress with its white shirt, and wide cummerbund.  I love to see racks of ribbons on a tight-at-the-waist, straight-at-the-shoulder mess dress jacket.  I love to see the wives in long, beautiful gowns, with sparkling eyes and ruby red lips.  I love flags and honor guards and tables with TWO table cloths on them.  I love the excitement of the hunt in finding my name printed in clear script on place cards.  I love it all.

The invitation read “mess dress”, which meant, for the spouses, that we are to be in formal attire.  Some choose to eschew protocol and wear day clothes or work clothes, but not me.  I love to dress up, and I believe it shows honor to respect these occasions with dressing the very best I can.

And besides, it was no problem. I had a dress already.  Years ago I had found a dress on sale at Sears and it had been kept in eager anticipation in the back of my closet for just such an occasion.   So a few days before the ceremony, I tried it on…

I will spare you the gruesome details, but I will give you one word that sums up how I looked in that dress:  unfortunate.

I did not WANT to look “unfortunate”, I wanted to look RAVISHING.  So I set out immediately to buy the most perfect dress that Fairbanks, Alaska had to offer…..and found it!  The Dress.

That dress was a testament…a testament of an earnest woman who had gradually awaken over the past year from the sweet dream of youth to the cold light of day that reveals wrinkle, brown patch, or sag.  Gone were the days where a careless ponytail was “cute” instead of “frumpy”, where no makeup meant “natural beauty” instead of “tired and worn”.  Frilly underwear had been replaced by “foundational undergarments” that were literally engineered, with struts and guywires and spandex to hide 20 years of insults and indiscretions to what was once a girlish figure.

This dress was the counter of all of that.  Its color was intoxicating and deep and mysterious, like a sapphire worn by a beautiful international spy.  It clung adoringly to my waist which, by the way, is my only body part to defy gravity.  While it used to be around my belly button, it is now nearly hidden under my armpit.  Hmm…Odd location notwithstanding, I still have a bit of a waist and I like to show it off occasionally.

The dress then flowed away right above the hip in a solemn promise to keep the evidence of my passion for fried foods away from the prying eyes of the public.  The skirt was A-line without being too “prom-y”, and hit at the perfect spot on my foot for a night of worry-free walking.

Now, the dress did not stop there!  No, dear reader, this dress was so much more!  If I liked the dress for what it did for my waist and hips, I loved it for what it did for my shoulders. 

See, I am a strong woman.  “That is good!”, you might say.  No, you do not understand.  I have broad, muscular shoulders.  The shoulders of a Green Bay Packers lineman.  The only thing that balances out my shoulders is the fact that I also wear a size 11 shoe, so thankfully I am still in proportion. 

But the unfortunate reality of being a woman who still has a shot of a promising NFL career, is that it is very difficult to find a dress that does not scream “SPRING TRAINING HERE I COME!”.  I once, in my foolish youth, wore a dark strapless dress with black opera length gloves.  The result was that in my pictures, all that was clearly visible was my stark white shoulders.  It looked rather like someone had tried to stuff fully risen bread dough in a black tube sock.

But this dress…ah this dress….

The straps were made of a delicate chiffon and crossed over my shoulders perfectly, cutting their bulk into visually manageable pieces.  Not only that, but somehow this dress managed not to draw attention to yet another unfortunate trouble area, the spot on my shoulder blade, right behind the arm.  You ladies know which part it is.  It is that part on your back that squishes above the bra strap and bulges with brazen indiscretion when thin cotton shirts are worn.  It is that devil area that no one warned you about, nor has anyone developed a cure for.  On me it looks like someone whacked open a can of Hungry Jack biscuits and glued one on each side of my back.  Dreadful.  But this dress denied that part its evil power.

This dress was nearly perfect. It hid the bad and flattered the good. How could such beauty, generosity, and garment-loyalty be had for a mere $134 dollars?  It was a miracle.  I was going to wear that dress and I was going to be smashing.  I could not wait….

But then….

The first rumbling of distant thunder that would become a disaster typhoon happened the night before The Big Event.  Wonder Sweetie casually mentioned that there was no hot water, and that I would have to call the repairman in the morning to fix the heater.  I sighed and resigned myself to a wipey bath that evening.

The next day was THE day—the day of the Big Event.  I called our VERY kind repairman who mentioned that he was full that day, but that he would get over as soon as possible, though it would be after 2pm.  No problem, thought I, that gives me MANY hours to prepare myself, as we were to leave the house at 5:30.  Wonder Sweetie and I kept a telephone vigil for the repairman.  He would call every couple of hours… “Is he there yet?” he would ask.  “Nope, not yet, but that is ok” I would reply gamely.  I could afford to be game at that point…I had The Perfect Dress.

(One time he asked “Can’t you just go without washing your hair?”.  Honestly, if he had asked me to go in my flannel pajamas, I could not have been more aghast at the thought.  After 48 hours of no shampoo, I was not even going out in my YARD, never mind a formal with The Perfect Dress.  I mean, didn’t I owe it to that wonderful dress to do my part?  The Dress’s obligations stopped at the neck…it was up to me to do the rest and I was not going to let it down.)

A blithe 2 pm slipped to concerned 3 pm which melted into a VERY stressy 4 pm.  At a little after 4 pm the repairman showed, riding in to my rescue in his shining white truck.  I mentioned casually that I had a formal to go to and needed the hot water. 

At this point, please indulge a bit of digression…..All day I was lamenting my lack of hot water to wash my hair to every living being who would listen.  In the lower 48 states, that would have met with gasps and offers of sympathy….perhaps even telethons in my honor to raise money for plumbing supplies and beautiful hats to cover my unclean locks. 

However, I live in Alaska.  Not only did not even one person offer to put together a telethon for me, but I received no sympathy at all.  Period.  In fact, instead I was given reproving looks and tales of how they had to heat their own river water to pour into a tin washtub in their kitchen when they were three.  I was reminded of the fact that I did, indeed, own a functional stove and well and could MAKE my own hot water.  If I was looking for sympathy, I was barking up the wrong spigot.

Now, dear reader, I know that I can heat my own water.  I know how to wash my  hair with nothing but two bottles of Evian, and have actually done so.  That was not the point.  I did not want to prepare for the Big Event with the Perfect Dress by simultaneously trying to untangle my hair from the drain plug of the bathtub, while blinking shampoo out of my burning eyes and trying to rinse two feet of hair with eight ounces of water.  No, that would not do at all.  I was rolling the dice on a hot water gamble—I was going to wash my hair with my head held high (not bent over the edge of the tub) or not go at all!

The repair man looked things over. A few turns of the wrench and my hot water was returned…. kinda.  After many hours of sitting idle, my tank was filled with lukewarm water.  He suggested I wait for another 20 minutes for the water to heat up.  That left me less than an hour to fully prepare for the Big Event.  Seeing my desperation, he relented “Well, go ahead and give it a try, the pipe is hot.  Worse thing that will happen is that the water will be cold.”.  That was all I needed to hear!  I raced up the stairs and into the shower.

Success!  Squeaky clean hair!  Well, squeaky clean WET hair, to be more precise, which generally takes all night to air dry.  Wonder Sweetie, the darling that he is, offered to run to the store to get me a blow dryer.  However, a desperate search revealed an ancient, but still functional dryer, and away I blew.

Now, there is one problem with blow drying my hair.  My hair is baby fine, straight as a board, and I have a ton of it.  Blow drying serves only to make my hair wholly unmanageable, like trying to comb an impertinent cloud.  The odds of me being able to actually STYLE my hair after blowdrying are like winning the lottery.  However, I had no choice.  I finished drying and commenced to styling my hair.

You know, you would think that someone who had had long hair for as many years as I have would know something about styling it.  Nope.  Styling hair is as foreign to me as changing the oil in an army tank.  However, I am nothing if not ridiculously optimistic about things in which I am completely inept.  So I dove into my hair (literally), and tried a style.  And another.  And another.  Each was slightly more hideous than the last.  Wonder Sweetie would pop his head in the bathroom door to offer a bit of silent moral support. 

Ok, to be bluntly honest he was probably trying to gently remind me that we were running exceedingly late, but if I had, for one minute, thought he was trying to put on the pressure, I would have smacked him with the hairbrush the next time he popped his head in the door.  So we both just wordlessly agreed that he was in a supportive role, not a timekeeper.

Then it happened.  He popped his head in just as I finished another style disaster and he uttered words that nearly ended his life at the tender young age of 38.  He took one look at my hair and said “It’s not bad”.

Please allow me to convey the tone in which he said those three innocent words.  He did not use the bright and smiling “Hey!  That’s not bad!”, as in “Not too shabby!  Come here you vixen you, and bring your sexy hair with ya!”.

No no no…..This was offered in that tone that one only offers when it really IS that bad.  When someone is trying to stall for time in order to think of something, ANYTHING that is not horrible about what they are seeing. 

It is the tone that one uses when consoling a friend who tried a do-it-yourself hair color treatment for the first time ever and managed to lighten just one spot on the crown of the head so it looked like there was always a light pointing at her scalp.  Or that one uses to comfort someone who has just forgotten her lines during a monologue and was standing on stage, red faced and dressed in nothing but a pink curtain and fairy wings.  (yeah those both happened to me)

Yes, it was THAT tone.  And let me tell ya, it did NOT go over well.  Down the hair went.  It was now T-plus-20-minutes, the sitter is here, Wonder Sweetie is waiting and we are LATE.

“Forget it.  FORGET IT!  Just go without me!” I pout at Wonder Sweetie who, at this point, is realizing that he unwittingly started WWIII.  He, of course, refuses to go without me and I try one more time…..

SUCCESS!!!  WHOOHOO!!  My hair FINALLY looks good enough to be seen with the Perfect Dress!  Feeling sheepish for blowing up when my hair was only one more hairbrush from submitting to my will, I apologise to Wonder Sweetie and start throwing on makeup like a mad woman.  Now THIS I can do…I am a fair woman with a paintbrush, and the worst of the day seems over.

You know when, in hindsight, you see that what seemed to be a wholly inconsequential event actually was the pivot point for the rest of your life?  Well that event happened to be my choice of deodorant at that moment.  My own deodorant had a distressing habit of going on clear, but turning white.  Well of course it would not do to mar the Perfect Dress with cheap deodorant, so I grabbed Wonder Sweetie’s Old Spice.

I love Old Spice.  It smells like a man should:  crisp, clean, strong without relying on false machismo, and pleasant without smelling ridiculously feminine.

And it stays CLEAR.  It would not insult the Perfect Dress.  I might smell like a man, but I would look like a woman.

I put on the Perfect Dress, and am so happy that I do not even bat an eye when I realize that the shoes I had originally planned to wear did not match.  I dove into the closet and found a pair of black pumps.  Not beautiful, but functional and comfortable and, as I told my friend Cognac Woman, my feet will be under the table for most of the night anyway.  The patoot did mention that my shoes WOULD be seen on the way in and out, but I blew that off—I walk fast and the Perfect Dress was an A-line…it would mask poor shoe choice.

Finally I am ready to go….and only 35 minutes past schedule.  I give the baby sitter a few last comments and grab my purse, ready to go.  Then I hear Wonder Sweetie say “Oh no, Steph your hair is falling down!”. 

Oh the agony!  So near and yet so far!

I run to the bathroom and find that, again, Wonder Sweetie has understated the extent of the emergency.  My hair did not merely “fall down”…a good 7 inches of it literally EXPLODED out of the top of my hairdo!  Honestly, dear reader, I have never seen the like.  I had a tight French twist on the bottom half of my head and a skimpy 7 inch ponytail waving impertinently out the top.  For a brief minute I thought that, perhaps, I could just keep the ponytail there, but both Wonder Sweetie and I agreed that that would not work.  But since my hair had submitted once, perhaps it could again.  I raised my hands to redo my hair and see that….

MY ARMPITS WERE BLUE! 

BLUE.  As in…..well….BLUE!

Picture a summer sky, the Danube, Frank Sinatra’s eyes….yeah THAT blue

I scream to Wonder Sweetie “MY PITS ARE BLUE!” and we both stand a minute in horror and disbelief.  Apparently the Old Spice plus “we are LATE” perspiration interacted with the dye of The Perfect Dress to stain my underarms a distressing shade of “headache blue”.  I looked like someone had taken a baseball bat to my armpits. 

Which crisis to handle first?  Exploding hair or diseased looking underarms?

Now, let me take one moment here, dear reader, for as you know, I am an optimist.  There is a thought that rambles occasionally through my head, even now, several days after the Blue Pit Incident.  It is something that, truly, I never thought anyone would say.  It is this:

“Thank the Lord my hair exploded, or I never would have known my pits were blue”.

That phrase is destined to become my favorite tension breaker.  I mean, just think about it…mull it a little….even say it out loud….there is no way to be mad, stress, depressed or angry if you say that out loud  “Thank the Lord her hair exploded or she never would never have know that her pits were blue.”.

Yes of course it is ridiculous to say out loud…think of how ridiculous it was to LIVE it!

One might expect this to be the pinnacle (or depth) of the night….but the night was not over.  Never underestimate the ability for everything that could go possibly wrong to do so….

With a quick hair repair and freshly scrubbed underarms, we raced to the function.  We got there during the social half hour, which meant that our tardiness largely went unnoticed.   The Perfect Dress and I have made up and it promised not to stain any more of me odd colors, and I promise not to put on anything else male.  I look ravishing….well, not frumpy anyway, and feel like a princess as I take Wonder Sweetie’s handsome arm and we go find our table.

Our table is in the farthest corner from the door (another seemingly trivial fact that will come into play later).  We make small talk with a few people who are from Wonder Sweetie’s squadron as we wait to be seated.  I look around at everyone and imagine that everyone is looking admiringly at me.  They dim the lights and we find our place cards and start to take our seats when…

PING! A bobby pin launches out of my hair and lands on the table two place settings down.  It is at this point that I wonder exactly how much pressure my hair is under to explode at one point, then to shoot projectiles at another.  I worry briefly that I might be bald at the end of the night as I snatch the bobby pin off of the table and show Wonder Sweetie.  He gives me a look that can only be described as “Are you SERIOUS?”.  He offers that it might have come from a woman behind me, but I am doubtful.

In any case, I am GIDDY with excitement at this point.  I am a homeschool mom in Alaska.  I very rarely get out much.  At all.  Period.  In fact, there are times when I can go weeks without getting out of the house.  And I happen to be quite the extrovert.  So this night was extra special for me.  I quizzed Wonder Sweetie about who might be there that I know (I am dreadful at remembering either names OR faces.  Most people are usually good with one or the other....not me.).

The night was beautiful.  The general was brilliant, the food was wonderful, and I discovered that black coffee with sugar is the height of all things good that one can expect in a warm beverage.  My hair never shot any more projectiles (that I know of anyway, but no one came in with bandaged eyes the following week, so I feel pretty safe).   My dress and I made peace.  My hair and I made peace.  My pits stayed pit-colored….the night was positively full of blessings and wonders. 

Daily Done 5Nov15

-Ran two trailer loads of moving trash to the transfer site.  We had never gotten rid of all the boxes and papers from when we moved in.

-Helped The Boy with his novel.

-Folded laundry.

-Tidied.

-Worked on Christmas planner :)

-Spent a huge amount of time messing with my blog background, only to go back to the background I already had :D


Is Home Where We Take Our Stand?

Creating a home (house, garden, etc) as sanctuary for our husbands and children and friends and neighbors and strangers in a dark and jaded world.....

Do we value the task of creating a safe, warm place as much as we should?  I often don't.  It is hard to pulled both to the garden and to the front lines, especially in today's world.

Is that why we love Andy Griffith and Little House on the Prairie and watching Pride and Prejudice, because we instinctively are drawn to the idea of home?  Why we long to get away to beautiful places of good food and soft music and warm greetings?

This isn't about working or not working.  This is more about mindset, about how we spend our time, about getting in touch with a part of us that years of outside pressures might have made us forget that we have, and made us forget what an amazing work creating a safe, warm place really is.

Could it be that this is our stand?  That this is our fight against evil and darkness--to create literal islands of light and joy and peace in each city or country block, to be ambassadors of that light and love when we travel to school and store and doctor's office and restaurant?

Are we talking this duty seriously?  Do we understand the necessity of it?  Are we willing to provide this for others?

The world is corrupted with the spirits of evil and greed and selfishness.  Could it be that our homes are our fortress against such, that we must be diligent to keep the walls of it strong and the insides of it peaceful and light?


Thursday, November 5, 2015

A Quiet Morning

Sitting with The Wonder Sweetie on the screened porch.  The smoke from his pipe sweetens the warm, sharper scent of wood burning somewhere nearby--a potpourri of masculinity and autumn and fire.  The grainlines of cracks and callouses in his rough, hardworking hands flow and blend into those in the bowl of his pipe and I am meszmerized by the dance of the mist and the blessing of marriage.

He reads a book on leather craft.  I am surrounded by papers of dreams and plans for this holiday season.  Determined to be a better mom, a better planner, so that my babies--now grown and tall--might have a whole season of twinkling, lighted excitement.

It is a splendid, blessed way to spend a free morning <3








Daily Done 4Nov15

It was very much a low ebb day for me. :)   Felt rather off, slightly ill.  I think it is from the weather fronts that are coming through as we all are slightly headachy and off balance.  Plus, it has been very overcast for several days but not dark and stormy (which is fabulous) nor bright and sunny (which is fabulous).  It is the kind of bland overcast that is a blessing as it is trapping warm air at the ground, but does not energize the motivation :)

So I did not do a great deal.  But I also decided not to stress about it. :)  Some days are just like that.  I did not do a ton of work, but I tried to do steady work.  Later in the evening I almost begged out of going to supper with TWS because I felt weary, but I decided cheese sticks sounded too good to pass up and went :)  So glad I did!

There is such an interesting balance that we must strike between doing when we don't want to and resting when we should.

-Misc Household (make bed, etc.  I actually am trying to get better at doing this every day.  Usually I am so excited about my day that I run out of the room without making the bed, but I am trying to be more diligent :) )

-Sweep floor

-Tidy

-Read part of The Boy's first novel to help him with the NaNoWriMo he is doing this month.

-Write--today it was a long fb post regarding the necessary balance of love and logic in a child who is feeling very emotional about something that is not true.  It was a very interesting discussion with another woman who seems to put the event of emotions as more important than the resolving of them, and our discussion went round and round with her believing I was not validating emotion and me believing that it was more important to heal the pain of a wound that did not exist than to validate errant feelings.  If I, in error, thought my dog died, I feel it is much kinder to say "No, wait, your dog is alive!  He is in the other room!" than for someone, knowing full well that my dog is alive, to say "You are feeling very sad which makes sense if you think you dog has died.  I validate your feelings of sadness.  Let me hold you while you cry."

Oh we must be gentle with hearts!  But we must not allow them to dwell in unnecessary pain as that is not kind AT ALL.  Validate the truth and help the heart work toward the understanding of it!

The thing is emotions and "gut feelings" are not reliable.  Seriously they are not.  Gut feelings are like driving abilities:  everyone, myself included, thinks they are an excellent driver :)

But emotions and gut feelings are too complex and too easily swayed to be 100% trustworthy.  Hormone levels, illness, tiredness, time of day, blood sugar levels, all of these and so many more impact emotions and our "guts".  We can only see our perspective, our moment in time from our vantage.  We cannot see what other people are thinking or feeling.

I am not saying we should never rely on emotions.  Emotions are incredibly valuable for loving and tenderness and gentleness and humbleness and kindness and sympathy and empathy.  I am saying that we have to be wise enough to understand our emotions are not 100% valid all the time and to listen to those who love us and to be diligent to look at the logic and reason of a situation, as well as the emotion of it.

-Work on Christmas Book--ok I basically just printed out two calendars and looked for events to put in the book :)  I have a FABULOUS surprise waiting for the children in January :D

-Entertained our neighbors who came to look at bracelets that TWS makes as they want them for Christmas presents.  Then we took them out to feed the ducks.

-Went to supper with TWS to Applebees, then to the Nestles cookie shop for dessert whilst the kids were at youth group.