F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer. ~ Ed Cunningham

Aren't there some people in your life, that if they weren't there you would have big gaping holes in your mind, heart, and soul? I found myself surrounded by these people all weekend. Friday morning breakfast was an eclectic group. Congratulations to my friends' daughters Amy Williams and Beth Flick on making homecoming court. And once again I couldn't bring myself to say no to bringing my telephoto lens and snapping some pictures of them on Friday night. Thankfully the court was announced after the band show at half time or Sue and Nancy would have found themselves the proud owner of my camera equipment for the rest of the game. Cuz when it rains it pours for our poor football team and I'm sure there were just a few loyal parents still in the stands for the finale 63 - 8.

Friday afternoon around 3pm we started our office parking lot party. I met and fell in love with Michelle Fields from Pathfinders. (Assisted living help for the elderly) She is a colorful conversationalist, vibrant, hyper, passionate, and just plain fun to be around. The first thing that made us click was that we had hurriedly grabbed red and white picnic tablecloths, etc. for the party only to decide midstream that the whole affair needed a fall foliage flair. Busy as we were that day, she dropped everything and came back with pumpkins, Indian corn, and gold, green and brown accessories. We would have had to have twice the alcohol to declare the party a success if we would have compromised and gone with the red and white. After chatting for quite some time with Michelle (this was supposed to be a get acquainted social)

I came to the conclusion that no one else that works in my building could be quite as engaging as her so I huddled in the corner and caught up with Marti Bourdon. We have been struggling to have breakfast on a regular basis this year, but because of our long-standing friendship, we can usually reconnect without missing a beat. We both agreed that if one more person says to us...."better start getting used to the 'ole empty nest, because their senior year will be over before ya know it"....we'll have to bitch slap them.

So then it's on to the game, and before we could even dig out our blue and white pompoms and before I could warn Mark to save his $5. and meet us at the Station it was 49-0. Sara Flick, and Melissa joined us in the stands and made the mistake of asking the innocent question, "who are we playing, anyway?" Her dad's pat answer was Notre Dame. This just did not sit well with Kate Wiseman, and being the good sport that she is, went on the defensive for our poor, little sailors. Her strategy is to have a predetermined team that we would put on the schedule every year so we could at least win homecoming. It all sounded good, and she should have just quit while she was ahead, her suggestion...."the multi-state-winning-championship-Ravenna Bulldogs. God bless her!

The Station was good food and fun, as always, and recognizable fans kept arriving with more and more devastating news in the form of football scores. Diana Hosko joined our party and gave us the last and final count. Enough said. Last year's Melissa-friends were waiting for us after the game. It was winding up at around midnight, as usual, and as much as I wanted to stay up and chit chat, catch-up, make fun of the Sailor's Log, and listen to Melissa whine about how it's just not right to still be in high school, I was friended out. Don't be strangers.

October Road

The city
The sidewalks
The buildings
The trains, buses, limos, and cabs
The People
The Souls

~ The best thing that happened to me today was not having Arby's curly fries for like a year and then having some!

~ The worst thing that happened to me today was ordering a medium order of Arby's curly fries and having only 2 (two) of them actually be curly.

~ The Amazing Race is stellar TV

~ I think I'll stay home for a change this weekend.

~ Latest book: The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

~ P.S. Pete loved your stinking website and now he has
ammo to use against me.....namely a certain video
that has me lip-syncing Tom Jones in an ugly 7th grade
dress. Thanks :) Love, Jen

Well, I'm-a going back down, maybe one more time
Deep down home October road
And I might like to see that little friend of mine
That I left behind once upon a time
Let the sun run down right behind the hill
I know how to stand there still till the moon rise up
Right behind the pine, oh lord

Breakfast with girlfriends. I'm busy at work so no Friday off this week. Had a parking lot work party to schmooze with others in our building. Tailgate fundraiser for Little Lambs orphanage in Africa. Homecoming against Grand Haven. We're going down, but it should be a fun time, then to the Station with friends after game. When I flipped the calendar I'm reminded that this is the month I need to buy Singing Christmas Tree tickets. Whoa! The slippery slope has started. Wonder if it's too soon to dig out the village and Christmas CD's? We know the Bush agenda. I feel like Kerry is getting really good at saying he has a plan to do it better than Bush......I thought last night on the nationally televised debate would have been the perfect time to share it with us.

Memory Lane

~ There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you. ~ Maya Angelou

I spent most Friday updating "our" website, and so I guess that means that Saturday will once again be cleaning day. Thanks for all the humorous and constructive feedback. My family, namely Jennifer, wants me to attach a disclaimer to the site. I guess she doesn't appreciate that I call it "our" website, but everything is from "my" viewpoint. Put on your big girl panties and deal with it!

At the risk of sounding completely insane, the rest of Friday was typical at best. Looking back, I do feel that it offered a reprise from the ordinary events that model most of our average weekend nights.
I don't know exactly what triggered it, but Mark and I started down memory lane on childhood toys. After a few GI Joe, Remco's Battlewagon, and a life-size Johnny Reb Cannon discussion, the conversation abruptly took a turn for the worse and before you could say, "Barbie and Ken will never get a divorce" we were in a heated argument over board games.

Thank God for the ca-trillion pieces of useless information on the Internet. After a few eBay close calls, we soon discovered that I was correct in my thinking that Ideal's Crazy Clock game, circa 1964 WAS absolutely a copy of Milton Bradley's Mousetrap game, circa 1963, not vice versa. But losing that battle did not discourage Mark in the least. He was soon nodding in approval when he discovered that Battlewagon was almost a yardstick in length, and the main gun turret rotated 360 degrees and the red "safety-tipped" torpedoes had a range of 5-6 feet. But nothing compared to the joy in his eyes when he found actual pictures of the life size Johnny Reb Cannon. His whole demeanor changed.

Unfortunately, for Mark, because of it's life-size cannons that beat the range of the Battlewagons' torpedoes by a good 30 feet, this toy usually ended up confiscated.

After, what seemed to be an entire evening spent on the vintage toy highway; I have come to some major conclusions:
1) Mark's mom deserves sainthood and somehow I believe she and Jeff (his cohort brother) saw all from their heavenly perspective
2) It's amazing those boys did not put each other's eyes out.
3) A few clicks of the keys on a computer can give a 51 year old such joy and fascination from an otherwise disgruntled childhood
So yeah, top that for a Friday night party of 2.
And once again, in my opinion:
a) Survivor looks like a good time
b) We'll tolerate Miss America even without the talent competition
c) Go in peace, Barbara Walters

Just Say No

~ I'm so far behind; I think I'm in first place. ~ Unknown

Oh, so that's how it's going to go now. I'll have the opportunity to post to this journal about once a month, my memoirs maybe once a quarter, and my website about once a year!!! Everything else is going down the toilet, but I did get a Summer of '04 slide show on the web site and I'm working on my memoirs.

Did you know the word "NO" is a complete sentence? You can just say no. You don't have to add anything except maybe a thank-you behind it once in a while. "Mom, do you have some money I can borrow?" NO

 "Would you like desert, Julee?" No thank you! Just started to use "no" for myself and wouldn't ya know George W. comes to town, and so Melissa and I miss the opportunity of a lifetime to see the President of the United States. We did get to watch the transport plane carrying all the campaign buses; SUV's, etc. take off! Oh well, some of her friends that got to shake his hand aren't old enough to vote until '08.

 Because I forget sometimes to say no, I got to hang out in Chicago for a couple of days last weekend. Redecorated Jen's room, and had tea with Susan Branch at my sister's store, Stuff With Style, in E. Dundee.

Melissa and I are going back to the city on Saturday because I couldn't bring myself to say "no" to her and Jennifer seeing Lauryn Hill at the House of Blues.

Camping at Hoffmaster was relaxing (especially sleeping in my own bed) and a couple of earnest conversations always make time with family worthwhile.

The wash is piled high, the black and white kitchen floor resembles a gray shade of, oh, let me just be blunt...dirty. Prioritizing is last on my list, I could not say no to a hideous-summer-crude-flu-cold that came knocking, and I'm having trouble remembering the last time I fed my soul.

 Do I feel defeated? Do I get discouraged at my lack of accountability? Am I going to let the mundane creep in and set up camp? NO

Baby + 18 = Oxymoron

A birthday is the first leg of a 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip! ~ Unknown

Happy Birthday, Melissa!!

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I want to be
In my daughter's eyes
In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the
World is at peace
This miracle God gave to me gives me
Strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes
And when she wraps her hand
Around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about
It's hanging' on when your heart
Has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter’s eyes
In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone I hope you see how happy
She made me
For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes
Martina McBride

Sept Morn

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~ Albert Camus

Funny, the day feels of summer yet a sweet tinge of fall begins to spice my world, and I am absolutely freaking out that it's September, AGAIN. What's going on?

Reunion. Mark's uncle and aunt had one and we saw cousins with kids old enough to have their own and newborns that held hope for the family name.
Old friends! We went out to eat with Paul and Teresa (Mark's brother) and two other old friends. Why is life so hard and complicated for some? The next night Bill & Christy, another set of old friends...well, they're not old...Christy used to baby sit for us and then her and I had a daycare together one summer, called to say they were in town for a short visit. Amazing how you don't realize your kids are growing until you see their daughter for the first time in 7-8 years.

Football season, and all that encompasses...marching band shows, happy tailgate hour, and more old friends, has swung into high gear. It's been fun having Jen home for an extended vacation. I believe she is enjoying her time off. If you averaged out her 24/7 summer job, and a semester abroad, besides a spring break trip or two, and her nine-day trip back to Paris, she literally has been working full time since she graduated high school.

Today we welcome the Frey family to PJ Hoffmaster State Park. I am expecting gorgeous weather, PLEASE, ok, thank you. So, yeah...hard-core reminiscing, laughter, and reconnecting. I won't even mention that I have TIVO tuned to the Republican National Convention so I don't wreck a perfectly good post.
I am relieved to be done with my full-time stint at work. Looking forward to a friend-filled, Chicago-visiting, Indian-summer, and memory-making kinda autumn. Happy New Year to you all. Stop by.

Roller Coaster

Life is a great big canvas; throw as much paint on it as you can. ~ Danny Kaye

I know some things about roller coasters. I know that at first glance they scare the crap out of me, but I inevitably think it’s a brilliant idea to get on and ride. I know that the 2-3 minute ride will offer relentless twists, turns, ups, and downs. I know the anticipation of climbing the first hill will give me white knuckles no matter how many deep cleansing Lamaze-type breaths I take.

On the way up, depending upon how many times I’ve ridden the snake-like rails I can ALL BUT memorize the patterns and begin to imagine what is around the next corner. Not to say that knowing helps the foreboding and angst when an unexpected fall sneaks up and steals my stomach for a few seconds. I know it will be over soon.

I know there are different types of coasters, some twist and turn like a corkscrew. Others just have the ups and downs and are labeled “out and backs.” I know the latter are my favorite even though all carry their own set of thrills and level of surprises.

I know I don’t want to ride coasters alone. I want a partner; preferably one I don’t have to coax to go on the ride with me. I know I want them to toss their hands in the air with breathless expectation and I will do the same. I want someone who, as we approach the entrance, is just as giddy and eager as me. And after, as we hustle to the exit, I know that by the jaunt in their step and the avid gleam in their eye we are thinking the same thing. “Let’s go again!”

I’ve learned that life is extremely similar to the roller coaster. I’ve learned that even though, at times, it can be scary, I inevitably think it’s a brilliant idea to get on and ride. I’ve learned it will be over soon. I’ve learned it’s a heck of a lot more fun to ride with friends. I’ve learned to anticipate most twists and turns, but not let my expectations shatter the experience. I’ve learned I want to experience as much as I possibly can. I’ve learned that whatever lies around the next corner can be so severe I need to just hang on and pray. I’ve learned to throw up my hands and scream like a little girl, because the one glaring difference between life and coasters calls out to me at every twist and turn.

 I can only go once.

Great Day To Be Alive

It's a goofy thing but I just gotta say

Hey! I'm doin' alright

Think I'll make me some homemade soup

Feelin' pretty good and that's the truth

It's neither drink nor drug induced

Naw, I'm just doin' alright ~ Travis Tritt       

***********

Somehow, deep down, I knew change was in the air back in May when 2/3 of my family, with a mini van full of belongings, headed north for their great adventure.

There is nothing mystic or spiritual about the colorful teepees, the gutted Cargo C-130 plane, the original cabooses on their Michigan rails, or the Conestoga wagons pulled into their protective circle.

 There's no lofty or heavenly fog you pass through that turns you into a better person, just for having driven down Route 10 and entered the 700 or so acres that is called Springhill.

Just like attendance at church every Sunday does not guarantee a place in line at the pearly gates, attending Springhill, as camper, staff, or parent, cannot, in and of itself, change you. But it does. It has. And, hopefully for a long time to come, it will.

Yes, change is in the air. Even though it was the first time in 18 years we didn't have a camper there, the summer called "Roll Out" at Springhill has affected us all. Tomorrow, when the sun sets, Ben will have wrapped up six years of living, laughing, and loving it in Chicago. His new life will hopefully have challenges, medical benefits, and numerous visits from old friends. His full-time camp position will include directing, acting, creating, writing, and, of course, humor. He has given SH a two-year commitment, but somehow I don't feel like Chicago is permanently done in his mind.

Jennifer has always been one to collect friends, and this summer was no exception. Seems she has collected one very special wrangler named Pete. I do believe she has learned a lot about herself and God in the last 4 summers that she has called Springhill home, so it doesn't surprise me that Pete is about the nicest, cutest, god-fearing', Hoosier, firefighter she's ever met. Thanks to the keeper of the stars!

I guess that means Melissa wins the bronze when it comes to change this summer. Although, she IS somewhat excited for school to start, what??? She has decided to pursue her dreams by auditioning for "The Young Americans.”

Life is good. I feel undeserving, but in the words of David Seamands, "Grace is the unconditional love of God in Christ freely given to us, the undeserving, and the imperfect."

Let The Games Begin

I have never really considered myself an athlete. I love sports and at times, while spectating, I trick myself into thinking; if I would train hard enough and pull from my reservoir of self-will... buckets of determination and consistency I could pull off a sport. The specifics, of which, have yet to be determined. After one day of watching the Olympics, I concede.

I can carry my own weight when the heats are held in the Holiday Inn pool lanes and my competition is a few energetic seniors who have just completed 2 hours of water aerobics and are swimming cool down laps. But synchronized diving? C'mon! I am amazed at the commentators in diving, let alone the athletes who start and finish their dive TOGETHER and make some sort of bubble blurb that can't even by written in the same sentence as the word splash. All without nose-plugs.

There is a 45-year-old biker in the women's road race. And the bike has pedals. Once again, I reiterate that biking is the most grueling of all sports. If you are better than your opponent in tennis you can finish them off in a 6-0, 6-1, one-hour-or-so-match. And you even get to sit down after every set and a towel break after each game. Team sports, with a certain lead, afford some breathing room. Weightlifting: pick it up, hold it for a second, and throw it down. With bike racing, you keep pedaling through wind, rain, snow, and even altitude changes. A bug in your eye does not even constitute a time out. For crying out loud, in basket ball, a shoestring untied, or a microscopic sweat bead on the floor, can hold up the whole game. Even though some Olympic shuttlecocks reach speeds of 200-mph... it's still badminton.

I am going out on limb here. I would venture to say that if I stood (on solid ground, mind you) and held my EMPTY arms out to my side I could hold them for the 2 seconds required of the men in the simple apparatus called the gymnastic rings. I can't for the life of me figure out why they call them games.

Summer games, to me, should always include some type of spirited drink and a deck of cards.

I'm gonna go on a walk now.

Sunrise Sunset

"Don't cry when the sun is gone, the tears won't let you see the stars." ~ Violeta Parra

I remember when I was younger and it seemed like my entire life lay before me. It didn’t matter what decisions I made, whether to come or go, because I felt like if I made a wrong turn or took a path that didn’t suit me I could always double back to the fork in the road.

I remember when summer resembled about a 1/2 year. Whoever decided to measure summer in weeks should be jailed in a 3-season cell. I remember lying in the grass along the road less traveled where I grew up and watching the sun go down and the moon come up.

I remember thinking that I wish I could freeze frame the distinct time of evening; after a magnificent sunset, and just before heavy darkness fell. It was only a minute span of time until the faint, flashing glow of the fireflies became miniature turn signals directing the whole village of insects up and down the yard, on random roadways.

I remember sitting on my porch in Michigan in the middle of July and thinking, this might be one of the most glorious summer nights of the summer. And then, with what seemed like the speed of light, the evil-life-summer thief arrived, the cicadas started their song, and with one fell swoop the whole world took on the aura of fall and middle age.

I remember last minute camping vacations that declared, “we will squeeze a few more days of fun and frolic out of you whether you like it or not.” We watched Nixon resign at Raccoon Lake in Northern Indiana on the neighbor’s mini motor home TV. It was that summer that I “learned” to slalom water ski and ate 1/2 of my lettuce, cheese, onion, and hamburger bun before I realized the patty lay unclaimed on the charcoal. Ahhhh, the summer of ‘74.

It was on one of those late summer camping trips we celebrated my Dad’s 50th birthday. Whatever!

I don’t remember what I did in particular on late summer evenings, besides listening to the cicada choir, catching fireflies, and waiting for the county fair to start.

I don’t remember thinking about how life was a vapor at my DAD’S 50th party.

I don’t remember pining for summers to slow down.

The cadence of time was not within my control, I even had the audacity to look forward to the schedules, clothes, and fresh start that fall would bring. I don’t remember when late summer and early fall was not my favorite time of year.

 I don’t remember when I would pass the point of fresh start with my grades and studies and just hang on for dear life until the marking period passed.

 I don’t remember what I did in particular after the school day ended. I don’t remember when a bologna sandwich on white bread with cheese and miracle whip was not a comfort food to me.

I don’t remember when I discovered the fact that hostess Twinkies had a shelf life of 2 years.

I don’t remember exactly what the clothes looked like or what styles were “in”, but I still get excited in the morning when I have a new outfit to wear.

I don’t remember when the day came when the unwritten rule that girls did not wear pants to school was broken.

I don’t remember ever feeling cheated out of a summer like I do today. Grrrrrrrr, the summer of ‘O4.

What I do remember, clearly, is when the simple life had absolutely nothing to do with a reality TV show.

All Aboard

Well, well, well.... I've almost kept the journaling up for a year. Good for me.

Let's see what's been going on? Months are absolutely still flying by like days. Spent another lovely weekend on the family farm. It doesn't get much better than that.

Reconnecting with my brother John always includes interesting conversation and just plain fun.

My sister Ruth, who is 3 and 1/2 years younger than me, brought her 12-year-old son, Austin along with the news that she is expecting her 2nd baby in early March. WOW, did that give whole new meaning to my newfound mood swings?

Melissa and pals took the train to Chicago for an overnight at the sublet apartment. They didn't have much money, but I don't think that reflected the fun level. They have enough footage for a teens on the loose in the city documentary.

We hosted a Springhill party late in July. And somehow when Ben and Jennifer learned we were heading to Indiana, another camp party erupted here. Not much damage done, except to the refrigerator and somehow the pile of scrip coupons is thinner. That's the evil plot of the scrip program....it doesn't feel like real money.

Can there really be an NFL pre-season game on already? Our 27th wedding anniversary almost slipped by without anyone noticing. We did enjoy a steak dinner and The Bourne Supremacy. I'll give it 2 & 1/3 stars and only the third because of Matt Damon.

The brightly colored school packet arrived in the mail today, along with a truckload of back-to-school ads.... and so we begin our foray into the first of the lasts. The last first day, the last tree, the last dance, the last photo ops, the last time friends will all be together....she is super excited to get this year over with and get on with her life, while I, on the other hand, will do everything in my power to slow this ride down a bit.

I hope we can both remember to savor the journey, together.

The Station by Robert J. Hastings

Tucked away in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train, and from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from chimneys, of row upon row of cotton, corn, and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls. But uppermost in our minds is our final destination - for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the station with bells ringing, flags waving and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the station.

“Yes, when we reach the station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re 18...win that promotion...get famous...put the last kid through college...buy that new car...pay off the mortgage...retirement.”

From that day on, we will all live happily ever after.

Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The station is an illusion - it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory: tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday belongs to history; tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday’s a fading sunset: tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.

So gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow.

“Seize the day” is a good motto when coupled with Psalm 118:24: “this is the day which the Lord hath made: we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss the baby, count the stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch the sun set. Life must be lived as we go along.

It Was A Year Ago Today

Think about it.

I’m up at my cottage writing a novel. The setting is quaint and quiet. Every window is surrounded by green. The birds start their songs promptly at 5:30am and continue until around dusk. The photos on my bulletin board are faded and inspirational. Edith Piaf plays on the CD player until I almost grow weary of her. The slanted upper walls are painted a faded shade of yellow and the bead board screams cottage decor. The shelves are lined with devotionals and read-in-one-day novels. A thunderstorm is rolling in from the north. The memories are thick as weeds up here. My little dog sits at my feet, it’s almost as if she knows the nostalgia I find when I travel up here. If I could just get the city of Norton Shores to take out Henry Street and replace it with a tranquil, placid pond, I'd be golden.

I dangled a roast dinner with mashed potatoes, corn casserole, fresh green beans, pretzel Jell-O and ho-ho cake in front of Ben and Jennifer. They didn’t bite. But from the carnage in the kitchen sink it looks like Melissa and her friends enjoyed the ho-ho cake. They must have had an off day in la tournament de badminton.

Bike racing has to be the most grueling sport in existence, next to badminton, of course. And France wears the yellow jersey constantly for countryside gorgeousness.

Speaking of back yards, all the leaves are gone and the sky is gray. It has happened. The woods behind our house is now officially gone. No ceremony, no pomp and circumstance, not even a memorial service except in our mind's eye. It turns my stomach each time I head back there, after what seemed like 100 years of solitude, trees have given way to road and structures (that’s what I will call the typical house construction until further notice.)

That woods was so much more than physical solitude on snowy Michigan mornings or cool breezes on hot, humid, summer days. I have no history with these yet to be determined neighbors. Our history lies in the now defunct woods.

The woods played so many characters in our lives. At the beginning it was the formidable boundary that unbeknownst to the kids, kept them enjoying the simple things like sand box and swing set. It was the line they didn’t cross. Unlike the driveway and front yard, I felt safe letting the children play in the back yard unattended.

But soon the play had to venture beyond for a different kind of thrill and adventure. That’s when the woods became their dollhouses, star wars, battlefields, outer space, and even the circus. Mainly, though, it became their stage. The story of their young lives was written, practiced and played out in the backyard and woods. It was their buffer to the real world.

I would venture to say that nothing bad happened to them back there. No bad guys....except the ones they made up. No broken bones. A few teeth got knocked loose, and of course the sibling rivalry ran rampant. Nonetheless, it was a haven of sorts, a kind of camaraderie that could conquer the world.....dream big dreams and defend anyone or anything that stood in the way of their pursuit of happiness. They could wile away an afternoon faster than you could say Nintendo.

At times I feel as if I missed a couple acts of their play. I wish I could remember more. I'll get used to the treeless look, but as I gaze back there now, it seems a generation passes before my eyes. What I miss now is the childish voices happily dancing, singing, and yes, even crying. I miss the noise, chatter and confusion of children and friends. They have moved on. Every one has a story to tell, and theirs will always have 2 or 3 chapters devoted to the woods. No subdivision can ever take that away from them.

Seems I don’t really miss the trees anymore. I miss the childhoods. Exit stage right.

Break Away

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous ~ Antoinette Brown Blackwell

We finished the Tour de Musketawa on Saturday. We divided it into 12-mile increments by parking and riding out and back four times. Exhilarating. And since I now consider myself conditioned, on Sunday I rode to Hoffmaster and today I did Henry-Seminole-Lake Harbor-Pontaluna circle. I left the peloton in my rear view mirror.

I also rescued a baby turtle from middle of the road. Melissa was thrilled and reminded me that saving animals was a sign that I cared about them. And because they could not tell if it was male or female, her and Meghan painted a fingernail polish "P" (for Pat) on his/her back and released it into the wilds (Meghan's pond). I'm sure they hope to reunite at a future time and place.

And finally true confessions.....after weeks of TV less nights, I succumbed to an advertised Sunday night movie entitled, "Catch A Falling Star." In a predictable nutshell....famous actress and proud owner of cheating boyfriend walks away from movie set...after a night in the woods, she stumbles upon a dying steel mill town where no one recognizes her...doesn't call hyper-active agent for a couple of days...chance encounter with old man whose daughter is inbound on train (after telling old man to have a nice visit with his daughter, watches casket being lowered off of train) this is the defining moment when washed up actress decides to stay in steel mill town. I am not one to gawk at bad accidents so why I was torturing myself at this point is puzzling to me still. Anyhow....actress meets a new GF...who introduces her to new BF....BF & GF both get slightly upset with jane no-talent at least five or six times, I lost count... finally actress finds the true meaning of "I'm-not-the-only-person-in-the-universe"...GF becomes proud owner of her own cheating BF and restaurant... struggling actress buys steel mill ...BF becomes manager and they live happily ever after.

Listen up Ben, Nic, Bill, & Nate, and myself for that matter, it is an absolute travesty that this program was produced and your stuff is not, yet.

How Does Your Garden Grow

Who plants a seed believes in god

My grandma Bauer would roll over in her grave, along with my grandma Frey, my mom's sister, my aunts on my dad’s side......heck, and even my own mom and sisters if they were in one, yet.

What the hell happened with the gardening gene and me? And who can find the time anymore? I’ll tell ya this, though. You do what you want to do! Why do I feel so guilty about gardening. I have 3 creative and talented kids who took a lot of damn time to raise. But then so do all the above mentioned. I have a job, so do most of the above mentioned.

The only reason the generation before my sisters and me didn’t have careers was because it took them the whole livelong day just to do a load of laundry. But they still found time to garden.

Oh, and by the way, when did the term “garden” change from mouthwatering green beans and red ripe tomatoes, to planting a geranium and a few measly herbs?

Today’s generation doesn’t know what a garden is. A garden is sweet, fresh, tiny strawberries hidden under a remnant of frost fighting straw in early June. A garden is dark green lettuce leaves that make a head of iceberg from the store taste like cardboard. A garden is tiny green peas all lined up in the pod just waiting for you to run your thumb at the base and pop them in your mouth with not a boiling pot in sight. A garden is tomatoes that make you want to eat them like an apple. A garden is radishes and green onions so plentiful you could make a salad from them alone. A garden is a mile long green bean row, planted right next to the field beans that would take a teen-ager a week and 1/2 to pick. A garden is all that and so much more..... dirt under your fingernails, soil smells, carrots, new potatoes, and sweet corn in all its alternate white and yellow glory.

So there, I have appeased my guilt somewhat.

Tomorrow I think I’ll go to the farmer’s market and I might even consider a bouquet of gladiolas.

Happy Days Are Here Again

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings as eagles, they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:31

All of us are we...and everyone else is they ~ Rudyard Kipling

Once again, I remind myself that a journal is for recording daily events, happenings, and the way I felt about them. Let’s see....where did June go? That’s how I feel about that.

Happy 26th birthday to Nic. I guess next year will be your golden birthday 27 on the 27th! Woohoo, partay! It did my heart good to talk to you on the phone. Your maturity, knowledge, and inspiring thoughts have given me a good old fashioned dose of hope in your generation. What letter of the alphabet is your generation anyway? God bless you as you continue on your journey.

And Chelsea, happy 19th birthday to you. What the heck? How did that happen? Can it really be 19 years since you arrived on your brother’s birthday and since grandpa had his campout at Pine Rest? It seems like I hardly know you anymore. I wish you would come and stay with us for a couple of days this summer. If nothing else, come camping with Ang and Joel, Sept 2-6. DO IT!

Weather-wise, I think that should be about the dog days of summer. Happy birthday to you too Ben. It wasn’t long enough to just see you for a few short hours on Thursday. I am blown away by how you have thrown yourself heart, soul, and body into your leadership role at camp. I knew, deep down, that this would change your heart. It changes mine just to sit in the “club” atmosphere there and see the excitement for godly things and eternal truths. I wish all could see. I wish I could see more clearly. It is a journey, after all. Carry on!

Also, Happy birthday to:
Ardy ~ faithful, funny, friendly, fascinating, fearless, fair, frugal, fabulous, and a freakin awesome relative!!
Ron ~ sensitive, serious, sweet, sonorous, spunky, spirited, and 'specially gifted!!!!
Don ~ hearty, hardworking, happy, helpful, humorous, humane, and a huge role model!!!
So c'mon it's your birf-day!

As my four-day vacation comes to an end, I feel at peace, for the first time in a long while. I got to spend time with family and friends, always a joy. I’ve been writing and reading, and watching less and less TV. (Except for Wimbledon and Tour de France.) Mark and I did 1/4 of the Musketewa Trail. Saw the fireworks, good times, and even paid $8. to see a movie. What? The Terminal with Tom Hanks could have waited until video.

In this narrow space in time we have called summer, I feel like my life has shifted somewhat. For the longest time I have felt out of balance, off track. And now, thanks to my own pleadings and prayers (and probably those with whom I live) I feel rejuvenated, at peace, and on my way to happy again.

Come Some Rainy Day

I am still recovering from the Wynona concert.

It was an amazing show and a 13 hour wait in our car, (thankfully) garnished us 2nd row seats.

Sadly, our stalking of Jeff Bates did not result in us getting to meet Wynona. His words exactly, "I kinda do my thang, and she does hers." But still, all in all, it WILL be a highlight of my summer.

Without a doubt, the coolest thing about that chilly, wet, Thursday in Muskegon was sharing it with Kate and Meg W. If not for Meg, we wouldn't have video footage or for that matter, even known which bus was hers. Thanks to Kate with her tokens and contraband, I did not feel the wind chill of 44 degrees and we illegally captured a few priceless photos for the archives.

To be honest with you, and I'm sure I speak for Kate when I say, the warmest feeling I got in my heart that day came, not when the sun made an appearance at show time, but while watching our two teenage girls soak up the ambience and atmosphere of a musical artist, such as Ms. Judd. Good times.

Oh, Lord my God
When I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds thy hands have made
I see the stars
I hear the rolling thunder
Thy power throughout
The universe displayed
Then sings my soul
My savior God to thee
How great thou art

Wynonna

It is the day before.

The day before my daughter turns me into radical fan.

The day before she convinces me to go hardcore crazy and help her secure a front row seat at our first ever summer cel concert.

That is the goal.

Secondary, but no less tenacious in her quest, would be to meet the artist and obtain an autograph.

Now this is no love-sick teenager hoping to catch the eye of joe-no-talent-lip-syncing member of a boy band, with the end result being a hand she never washes or some article of clothing she loses to the stage.

No, this my friend, is a cause and goal for one reason and one reason alone. It's her quest for the words Wynona Judd scribbled and readable only to her. She imagines a giant "W" forever embedded on her guitar with a permanent sharpie all because of one thing and one thing alone.

We will rise at dawn, stake our claim to a place in line, and entertain ourselves all day while we traipse towards mordor. Today, the day before, holds hope. Tomorrow will be memorable even if we're 3 or 4 rows back and the sharpie lays idle in the guitar case.

The day after, we will have our photos and memories. We're a mother and daughter on a mission. All for the simple act of listening, singing along with, dancing and enjoying the concert of someone who is the antithesis of today's pop icons.

This concert will have what is lacking in most others, some call it a god-given gift, but extreme, drastic, ultra-fans like us would simply use the word, TALENT.

Somebody please get me a cigarette lighter.

Random Thoughts

"Every action of our lives touches on some chord that vibrates in eternity." ~ Edwin Hubbel Chapin

~ You can talk till you are blue in the face about global warming, it's not happening here
~ Want to know more about love, courage, and surviving Alzheimer's, read Elizabeth Cohen's Memoirs:
The Family on Beartown Road
~ Michael Moore should have been born in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, or better yet Ethiopia
~ With money I spent on Jeep repairs and a new lawn mower I could have bought 1/2 an iBook
~ I thought kids only mixed up their days and nights as newborns
~ The Lake Express is a big ass boat
~ Hypothetically speaking, one could lose weight by just comprehending and adhering to 3 small words on the
label: one serving equals
~ I'm going through Piston's withdrawal
~ My vain hope and prayer is that the words "unseasonably cold" will not be in our vocabulary come July and August
~ My serious and fervent prayer today is that Ang and Joel will not be sad for very long

Summer, Yes, Please

"It's interesting, your highness, that no matter what time of year it is there always seems to be weather...of some kind" ~ Portia Krelman

I've been working about 3 days a week now and so the journal, memoirs, trips to the beach, etc get pushed down the list. On a whim, and because we never hear from them, Melissa and I decided to head up to camp on Friday to see Ben and Jennifer. I didn't comprehend how little time they have for leisure (phone calls) and how hard they have been working. Springhill truly is a mission and they are the missionaries. Even rich, suburban, kids with a nonchalant mindset need to hear of God's love.

They both seemed to have the attitude, though, that they wouldn't trade this season in their life for another. Melissa and I haven't had much of chance to chat and we got that accomplished on the trip up there. She slept most of the way back. I took the back roads home and it was a beautiful, evening, sunset drive. Route B-72 is dotted with old and new barns, red brick churches, white clapboard corner buildings that were once one-room school houses, orchards, black and white Holsteins, and mares with their colts standing close by. I didn't see any pigs but I know we passed some.

The Lord of the Rings soundtrack seemed the only appropriate music for the trip. Although I did slip a little Josh Groan in after she fell asleep. Melissa seems to think that, according to your mood and surroundings, LOTR music should just play automatically in your soul. I tend to agree.

Bill, Happy birthday and God bless you as you celebrate your, what? 27th, 28th? It seems like just a few short years ago we celebrated with pin the tail on the donkey, etc. How about them Pistons?

Feels Good

First of all, because I haven't run out and purchased mosquito netting for every square inch of this house, I'm watching the game underneath a down comforter. I had a throw over me but they ate right through that. Second of all, I think when Ben Wallace jumps he sprouts wings and actually flies for a short time period. It's been a long time and I'm just waiting to go on line and get me a new t-shirt. I had a sleep shirt from their last championship that was retired to the sleep shirt hall of fame in the early 90's. And thirdly, could we get any more rain? Not only do we have a fountain in the front yard from the sump pump, but each cement block half-wall of the houses in the back are actually in the swimming/breeding pool stage right now. So yeah, all the pistons were firing tonight! Congratulations to my Ben, you've been waiting for this one for a long time. Finally! Wear it proudly!