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.
8/28/04
8/23/04
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
***********
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."
8/14/04
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.
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.
8/12/04
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.
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.
8/9/04
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.
7/17/04
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.
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.
7/12/04
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.
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.
7/3/04
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.
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.
7/1/04
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.
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.
6/28/04
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
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
6/23/04
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.
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.
6/19/04
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
~ 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?
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?
6/15/04
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!
6/11/04
Testing, Testing 1, 2
Trying to open another blog for my memoirs, and hoping I didn't mess this one up.
Yeah, Pistons!
I won't update the memoirs like I do my journal but I'm a glass is half full kinda gal so I'm gonna go out on a limb and say at the very least, once a month. Positive feedback only!
God Bless Us.....ALL
History never looks like history when you are living through it. ~ John W. Gardner
I sit in my living room, alone and watch history unfold on my television screen.
I look around at my surroundings and my mind does a quick flashback. Jennifer and Melissa weren't even born when Ronald Reagan took office.
How could it all have changed so drastically in just a few short years? It seems we've lost a moral fiber that used to bind us all together.
I reminisce in my mind about other catastrophic events I have watched through TV eyes.
I remember sitting by myself in this very spot and watching sortie after sortie fly in and out of camera view when the gulf war started.
Late one summer night in 1997, I was flicking through the channels when I learned of Princess Diana's death.
Then again on that bright clear day in September 2001, I watched with horror in my heart as America lost thousands of it's own.
And yet, when someone says, "God Bless America" I want to shout yes and Africa, Brazil, Iran, Iraq, North Korea, and this whole planet that He created.
Why am I so complacent?
What important and valuable things did I do during the Reagan years? What have I done to make a difference in others and my lives since 9/11?
What will I do tomorrow? If we could all learn to live by 2 Chronicles 7:14 and I don't think the ancient writers were just speaking to US citizens when they wrote, "If my people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin, and will heal their land."
Happy Birthday Jake
Yeah, Pistons!
I won't update the memoirs like I do my journal but I'm a glass is half full kinda gal so I'm gonna go out on a limb and say at the very least, once a month. Positive feedback only!
God Bless Us.....ALL
History never looks like history when you are living through it. ~ John W. Gardner
I sit in my living room, alone and watch history unfold on my television screen.
I look around at my surroundings and my mind does a quick flashback. Jennifer and Melissa weren't even born when Ronald Reagan took office.
How could it all have changed so drastically in just a few short years? It seems we've lost a moral fiber that used to bind us all together.
I reminisce in my mind about other catastrophic events I have watched through TV eyes.
I remember sitting by myself in this very spot and watching sortie after sortie fly in and out of camera view when the gulf war started.
Late one summer night in 1997, I was flicking through the channels when I learned of Princess Diana's death.
Then again on that bright clear day in September 2001, I watched with horror in my heart as America lost thousands of it's own.
And yet, when someone says, "God Bless America" I want to shout yes and Africa, Brazil, Iran, Iraq, North Korea, and this whole planet that He created.
Why am I so complacent?
What important and valuable things did I do during the Reagan years? What have I done to make a difference in others and my lives since 9/11?
What will I do tomorrow? If we could all learn to live by 2 Chronicles 7:14 and I don't think the ancient writers were just speaking to US citizens when they wrote, "If my people, who are called by My name, will humble themselves and pray and seek My face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their sin, and will heal their land."
Happy Birthday Jake
6/6/04
Parental Strategies
Melissa now has a decision to make.
1) A computer chip surgically implanted in her brain, which beams parental messages that her heart is still beating and she is not being held against her will.
2) An electrical shock device that reminds her to call home.
3) A tether.
4) A curfew. Plain and simple. My sincere and deepest apologies to all the households we disturbed, she owes you one.
1) A computer chip surgically implanted in her brain, which beams parental messages that her heart is still beating and she is not being held against her will.
2) An electrical shock device that reminds her to call home.
3) A tether.
4) A curfew. Plain and simple. My sincere and deepest apologies to all the households we disturbed, she owes you one.
6/4/04
Sweet Melissa
When did it all start to go south for you?
Well, well, now that she's a senior, I've decided I must go to work on her scrapbooks and video montage.
But before I can justify hibernating upstairs for a whole weekend I unclog the bathroom drain, pay all the bills, and clean the party porch. I'm even thinking of mowing the lawn since Mark has been in such a troubling state lately with work. He has run his 4th or 5th different route in as many days.
Hang on, retirement is just around the corner and you have 7 weeks off this summer!! Last night Melissa and I went for a walk on one of her study breaks. We got glimpses of an awesome sunset between the trees down the new subdivision road. So yeah, the Topo's/Mexican-Street-Party lights are up on the porch and the coolest kid in the world still has a whole year and half to live at home with me.
Heaven, I'm in heaven.
Well, well, now that she's a senior, I've decided I must go to work on her scrapbooks and video montage.
But before I can justify hibernating upstairs for a whole weekend I unclog the bathroom drain, pay all the bills, and clean the party porch. I'm even thinking of mowing the lawn since Mark has been in such a troubling state lately with work. He has run his 4th or 5th different route in as many days.
Hang on, retirement is just around the corner and you have 7 weeks off this summer!! Last night Melissa and I went for a walk on one of her study breaks. We got glimpses of an awesome sunset between the trees down the new subdivision road. So yeah, the Topo's/Mexican-Street-Party lights are up on the porch and the coolest kid in the world still has a whole year and half to live at home with me.
Heaven, I'm in heaven.
6/2/04
They are not long, the days of wine and roses. ~ E. Dawson
~ School of any kind should be over before Memorial Day and not resume until AFTER Labor Day!
~ Housework when done correctly CAN kill you!
Went and loitered at the beach for 2 & 1/2 hours waiting for the 2nd trip of the Lake Express on it's maiden voyage day. Ne'er a sighting.
It's never a waste of time to go to the beach. Shoot though, I wanted to see it. Why do transportation methods intrigue me? Is it the lure of being taken away from the temporal? Or this place I call home? I don't believe so. I hope not, but I could just as easily jump on a fast boat to Milwaukee, as I could not.
Something is calling me. And yet something is holding me back. Anyway, for now, I will let my imagination travel. But I've never been to Milwaukee. I WILL HAVE to travel, by train, to New York for an extended stay to finish my novel. It is necessary research. Just a head's up.
Besides the never-ending tornado warnings, we did have a lovely weekend at the family farm. More hospitality without grumbling.
Ang and Joel were there and they are always a bundle of creativity, humor and inspiring energy to be around. Ang designed a back yard sanctuary including bistro table, flagstone pathways, lattice, arbors, and fast growing juniper trees (to block out neighbors). Of course, I will add white lights and a fire pit for long lazy summer evenings of nothing.
It was a bit strange to be at grandmas without kids in tow. The apartment dwellers, (Jake, Christie, and Tom) are safely tucked away on Winona Ave. Jen has called once from camp and reaffirmed in her mind and mine: when summer comes, she belongs at Springhill. I believe all will have a summer to remember and hopefully Melissa's will include some kind of job.
I must do the mundane now. The bathtub is clogged with something Drano doesn't recognize and that can't be good. Plumbing emergencies can bring you back to reality in a nano second.
And where the heck IS summer anyway?
~ School of any kind should be over before Memorial Day and not resume until AFTER Labor Day!
~ Housework when done correctly CAN kill you!
Went and loitered at the beach for 2 & 1/2 hours waiting for the 2nd trip of the Lake Express on it's maiden voyage day. Ne'er a sighting.
It's never a waste of time to go to the beach. Shoot though, I wanted to see it. Why do transportation methods intrigue me? Is it the lure of being taken away from the temporal? Or this place I call home? I don't believe so. I hope not, but I could just as easily jump on a fast boat to Milwaukee, as I could not.
Something is calling me. And yet something is holding me back. Anyway, for now, I will let my imagination travel. But I've never been to Milwaukee. I WILL HAVE to travel, by train, to New York for an extended stay to finish my novel. It is necessary research. Just a head's up.
Besides the never-ending tornado warnings, we did have a lovely weekend at the family farm. More hospitality without grumbling.
Ang and Joel were there and they are always a bundle of creativity, humor and inspiring energy to be around. Ang designed a back yard sanctuary including bistro table, flagstone pathways, lattice, arbors, and fast growing juniper trees (to block out neighbors). Of course, I will add white lights and a fire pit for long lazy summer evenings of nothing.
It was a bit strange to be at grandmas without kids in tow. The apartment dwellers, (Jake, Christie, and Tom) are safely tucked away on Winona Ave. Jen has called once from camp and reaffirmed in her mind and mine: when summer comes, she belongs at Springhill. I believe all will have a summer to remember and hopefully Melissa's will include some kind of job.
I must do the mundane now. The bathtub is clogged with something Drano doesn't recognize and that can't be good. Plumbing emergencies can bring you back to reality in a nano second.
And where the heck IS summer anyway?
6/1/04
Carousel Of Time
In creating, the only hard thing is to begin: a grass blade is no easier to make than an oak." ~ James Russell Lowell
The human mind (and soul) are complicated, to say the least. I have been trying to talk myself out of this funk for 1/2 year now. At first I blamed it on hormones, now, believe it or not, the latest culprit I have found to serve, as a basis for the blues, is creativity.
The keys on Jen's laptop have been smoking, sometimes before I even get down to the beach, I have to pull over to the side of the road to jot down a few ideas that have literally cannon-balled into my brain. Let's talk memoirs, and I use the term lightly, random memories have been forging their way onto hard disc space and I can't seem to type fast enough.
Still, as always, I find when I "have" to work, I can't do all the things I desire and at the same time accomplish all the things I "must," in a timely and acceptable fashion. I guess Saint Paul said it best in Romans 7:15, "I do not understand the things I do. I do not do what I want to do, and I do the things I don't want to do."
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
The human mind (and soul) are complicated, to say the least. I have been trying to talk myself out of this funk for 1/2 year now. At first I blamed it on hormones, now, believe it or not, the latest culprit I have found to serve, as a basis for the blues, is creativity.
The keys on Jen's laptop have been smoking, sometimes before I even get down to the beach, I have to pull over to the side of the road to jot down a few ideas that have literally cannon-balled into my brain. Let's talk memoirs, and I use the term lightly, random memories have been forging their way onto hard disc space and I can't seem to type fast enough.
Still, as always, I find when I "have" to work, I can't do all the things I desire and at the same time accomplish all the things I "must," in a timely and acceptable fashion. I guess Saint Paul said it best in Romans 7:15, "I do not understand the things I do. I do not do what I want to do, and I do the things I don't want to do."
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
5/27/04
More To Do Than Can Ever Be Done
Sometimes I still want to type or write the year starting with a 19. It solidifies the surreal and pensive thoughts I've had of late about life and living it.
From the day we arrive on the planet, we are moving closer to leaving. Life is short. What a cliché, but yet I want to live like I actually believe that now.
The first thing I'm going to do is give up TV. I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing to gain from a mindless TV show, be it a sitcom or a reality show.
Come over to my house and I'll show you reality. Why oh why would I waste one of my precious hours watching a made up show. I can never get my hour back.
I can see certain people laughing right now with their "Oh-sure-you-have-tried-this-before-attitude". But this is something I HAVE to do. I have been complacently watching TV and tricking myself into thinking this was a form of relaxation.
There are stories to tell and books to write. There are legacies to leave. There are girlfriends to stay in touch with. There are books to read and orchestras to listen to. There are pictures to take and scrapbooks to compile. There are sunsets to catch and sunrises to beat. There are walks to take and vacations to plan. There are bicycles to ride, games to play, and gardens to plant. There are porches to sit on and wines to taste. There are recipes to try and relatives to visit. There are children to pray for and talks to have.
There's no turning back.
Here I go.
From the day we arrive on the planet, we are moving closer to leaving. Life is short. What a cliché, but yet I want to live like I actually believe that now.
The first thing I'm going to do is give up TV. I have come to the conclusion that there is nothing to gain from a mindless TV show, be it a sitcom or a reality show.
Come over to my house and I'll show you reality. Why oh why would I waste one of my precious hours watching a made up show. I can never get my hour back.
I can see certain people laughing right now with their "Oh-sure-you-have-tried-this-before-attitude". But this is something I HAVE to do. I have been complacently watching TV and tricking myself into thinking this was a form of relaxation.
There are stories to tell and books to write. There are legacies to leave. There are girlfriends to stay in touch with. There are books to read and orchestras to listen to. There are pictures to take and scrapbooks to compile. There are sunsets to catch and sunrises to beat. There are walks to take and vacations to plan. There are bicycles to ride, games to play, and gardens to plant. There are porches to sit on and wines to taste. There are recipes to try and relatives to visit. There are children to pray for and talks to have.
There's no turning back.
Here I go.
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