I was really sleepy when I wrote this in pen earlier. I'm pretty worthless when I'm overtired and this time it's all my fault. There's no trio of toddlers; Mike is in New York; and I'm coming back to hormonal bliss. ;)
Miranda and I left early this morning to be in Mooresville, "Race City USA", a bunch of Lake Norman tooty bsnooties. It's at the south end of the county and we're at the North (yes, cap of "N" is noted). We were at one of the, if not the only, Orthodontic Medicaid offices in NC. Miranda had gotten "medically needed" braces there and has had them off a while, but we had to have new retainers and I thought it'd be the best place to start. The guy runnin' the show, aka the dentist, is supposed to have been a missionary. I was impressed by the John Wesley quote above his desk. He's headin' up a new state of the art facility. I knew from before he didn't like to be questioned, but, hey, I had some to ask. He took on his familiar "high helper to all" air and since we were negotiating money, I didn't tell him exactly how I felt about his demeanor. I had thrown on my jeans, hoody, cowboy boots, and had my hair twisted up. I guarantee you when I go in there looking more sophisticated next week, he'll approach me differently. I hate that. I'm sure he gets his fill of ignorant, obnoxious people who don't deserve the tax payers' help, BUT, as I reminded him, there are ones for whom the system is designed who climb back up from destruction to be become productive again. Too, he must be forgetting that he is rich from charging the gov't the highest rates around. He best be on his good behaviour next week, so I don't have anything to light into him about, his having "respect" for persons, holding some in higher esteem, while a banner of Christ is hanging in his office.
I had a return to make at Target, which BTW does have better grocery bags and that's why their prices are higher, I guess. I had picked up the wrong Tide. Whatever you do, don't put regular detergent in an HE machine. The same thing happens as when you put liquid detergent in a dish washer. It drives me crazy that the packaging is identical except for a 1 inch HE symbol. Shampoo, drinks, I'm always grabbing the wrong ones.
"Rosemary" was our customer service lady. She was a riot, a 67 year old Italian from New York who couldn't get over the "hold up" in the Statesville Wal-Mart. Statesville is right in between us and Mooresville. It's a melting pot, sitting at the intersection of I-77 and I-40; truckers' paradise being that close to the open road in all directions. I hadn't heard the details of the incident 'til right then, so she went into story mode and told us with great animation that an 83 year old GREETER at the store went out to his car, put on a disguise, went back in with a gun, put it to a cashier's head, and even shot off a round as he left. Yeah, it happened; look it up. Rosemary was beside herself as she performed different scenarios. We just stood and laughed. I love friendly people.
We had a few minutes to burn before Miranda had to be at work; so I decided since we hadn't eaten, we'd have a little girl talk time, albeit at the Pizza Hut in Target. I like to have one or two of the children at a time to do something spontaneous and/or special. It could be called a "date"; just seems odd to me. I wrote down "kid" and "date" and came up with "kidate", short i sound. Miranda's a teen so it stands to reason that we were on a "tedate", short e sound. If you've got something better, hit me up.
This week a "friend" posted a blog that said Facebook is just a place for parents to showcase their kids, posting only the greatest achievements and best pictures. I don't mind letting the truth loose, as long as I'm not "trampling" (figuratively speaking) on them to get a laugh or sympathy. It really is my desire that everybody understand the things that do go well here are not by some magic formula nor fairytale beginning.
Miranda (16) lost her retainers, so that necessitated the drive to Mooresville. In the last months, she has: gotten a concussion from riding/falling without a helmet, wrecked our brand new car (twice technically; yes, Youth Group, I know about the reattachment of my mirror, thanks anyway), broken a window in the house, and fallen hard at work after she left her skidproof shoes here. I remember finding them and complaining that she had left them, but I stopped and wondered later what might've happened if I'd prayed for her safety instead of fussing.
McKala (14) isn't accident prone but has her own things to address. Wait, wait,....wait, I just had a flashback of Miranda falling straight into the droppings of chickens, someone had up and given us 4 or 5 years ago. She had on cargo pants with untied strings and ran out so fast that the door caught them. She fell right smack in all of it and was stuck in the door! She won't ever live that down. I'm such a pathetic mother sometimes that I just stand and laugh 'til I cry and am of no use whatsoever, just like the time Megan fell off the board she was balancing on to repair something in the pig pen. She fell back in slow motion. I laughed so hard it hurt, while she tried not to put her hands in it to get up.
Michael (13) has to have a fire lit under his butt all the time. He "forgets" practically everything. Academically, I hope this is his year to understand the importance of it to his future; we'll leave it at that. (Since he says he doesn't read my blog, I think I'm safe to say that I took a few minutes to watch TV in the middle of them all not long ago and I felt his head on my shoulder. His 5'10 self has outgrown that stuff, so I'm gonna hold onto that feeling as long as I can. Sometimes, the rush is worth the wait.)
Melody (10) is emotional, simply put. She'll be playing out with the little guys or cuttin' up with the big ones, and all of sudden, have a loud outburst at some offense and startle the living daylights out of me. She "lost her mind" last week and said something to her sister she will surely regret if I ever hear it again.
Macklynn (6) is persistent beyond my patience. He pokes my belly, the one place I can't stand to be bothered, until I answer or pop him for interrupting. You'd think he'dve learned by now. And Madalynn (3) has a shrill scream when she's pleading a case of injustice and a habit of sneaking to use every "big"person thing she can get her little hands on.
Oh, oh, and Megan (20)...before she moved out, ignored most any small rule we had, sticking by the big ones but always denying us those ones she deemed insignificant. "I" (39) daily fight: perfectionism yielding to procrastination, pride, pleasure, and others I'll not bury myself in tonight. I haven't gained or lost 1 pound since I set my goals 3 weeks ago. (If I'd understood that Mike would be home for 2 weeks, I'd have postponed because I've never lost weight when he's here, for several reasons.) Today, my Personal Pan Pizza, the chocolate caramel mocha milkshake Miranda created for me at work and gifted me with, NOR the enchiladas which McKala started and I finished with handrolled tortillas are Mike's fault! So, Michelle, "Rest well tonight. Tomorrow wait for hunger, take small portions, workout....hunger, portions, work....hunger, portions, play....quit just saying the right things and DO THEM!"
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Living "Country"
Yesterday, we got the delivery of our first spring calf to bottle feed (from the dairy) on a 4 wheeler that had to go quite a ways to get it done. We know a fella who doesn't even have a driver's license and that's how he gets around. He said he wanted to help the kids out, save them some money, and he wasn't playing. I was struck by his sincerity as I heard him coming back up the drive yesterday. When I realized he had a calf wrapped in his lap, I threw my hand up and screamed, "Wait, you gotta let me get the camera!" ('cause nobody's going to believe this and.... it was just plain cute).
That's not something that'll happen in the city, subdivision, or most suburbs. Yes, there are pets there but more for pleasure than purpose. Even cats are often expected to rid the home and property of pests out here and dogs are honored for their protection. I do like the canines that "look" mean. My Pitbull is evidence, although it's funny that the old Lab is many times more likely to bite. With his hair standing on his neck and head low, he's kept plenty of people in their cars and for the most part, I like it that way. Not all "country" dwellers have a pig, but we got one by default. The kids named it "Rochelle", after the one in "Everybody Hates Chris". They compare their Daddy and me to her and Julius in fits of giggles. Anyway, who needs a disposal when you've got a pig? And if the feared rationing ever played out, Rochelle would conveniently cease to have a name. Fresh eggs, now, they speak for themselves.
Not everybody out here chooses to do the barnyard thing, but if they're fortunate to live on land or to know someone who does, they can cut down or hang up whatever the heck they want to without breaking somebody's ordinance. The freedom to just roam, shoot or hunt, start a bonfire, drive or ride around like mad, or scream if you need to... is all American. To take a swim in a pond or a creek without having to plan an outing is convenience at its best. Not having to defend or explain "rights" or Patriotism to neighbors is a relief. Now, before you think I plan to stay isolated, think again and read more about us. There is a chance of predisposition to closed mindedness for people who never leave the area, but, let me tell you, some of those folks you don't want to be out and about too far!
Then there's the "country" look - earthy, windblown, able-bodied, sun kissed. Seems to me that's what everybody's paying for these days. Dressing down - a pair of worn boots and a Carhartt shirt isn't something that can be faked, though. The "overalls" look is, to me, a utilitarian thing, not much of a tease. Mike went out and bought, himself and all the kids he could size, ones when we were blessed to move back to the outskirts. That's about the time I came on Facebook and was a little concerned that we looked like we had flown the coop.
There are probably assumptions that "country" people are "dirty". I could say I think the same of naturalists. It's as individual as anything anywhere. We may go out planting and get our hands in the dirt, go barefoot and play in the rain, get sweaty and jump in the pond spontaneously, work on the big rig to help out Daddy; but it all stops at the door. We don't wear shoes in the house and we have order over all the things that follow us in from our work and play outside.
"Country" living has its detractions: bad cell signals, flies, the drive to get "anywhere" and the gas & time it takes to get there. What some would call the same are tokens of affection here - an already empty box of band-aids is my prompt that Spring has sprung. Hardiness in children is a needful thing. Don't they say that you have to fall down to stand up? Self sufficiency is sought after. I can't speak for others (and our children won't always volunteer as I wish) but ours can do virtually anything they put their minds to. I love to turn everything off, send them away, and discover later what they've accomplished.
I'd like to claim the "country" as the anomaly for much of this, BUT we spent a year recently in a subdivision with a .18 acre yard and can profess that "country" is simply "attitude". Thankfully, there was a soccer park nearby with a small stream running through it. We dug out the water shoes and got right down in there, catching some of the same "wild" things that we find here. We took the yard from zero to "fab" and still had white carpet in the end. Once as all stood in awe, our son decided to rescue a large harmless snake from the 2 by 4 a neighbor was furiously wielding at it. And, as for work, it makes sense that the physical part is associated with "country", but I'll admit that our 11 year old son did more strenuous work there mowing every other lawn on the block. 2 of our older daughters washed cars, cleaned houses, and babysat - raking in the dough for themselves. (I can't leave this subject without mention that we met some of our closest friends there and could just yell out a greeting to them.) Some benefits of proximity are huge to city goers.
I used to think that "country" tradition carried with it a better upbringing for children and if times were the same, I suppose I still would. We've lived in this welcoming plethora of down to earth people for almost 2 years now. I don't care to live anywhere else. It's that good. BUT, I've noticed something I dare call an implosion. It doesn't pertain to everyone, but it's big enough to make me uncomfortable at times. I'm afraid there's a lot taken for granted, that the way of life is being passed along, that being a "good ole boy" has the same connotations as it used to. Before I go ahead, I'll take responsibility for the leniency in my own home. It might have started with a husband who accepted things more readily than I; and to keep peace, I learned to pick my battles. But somewhere along the line, I embraced some things and let other things go, basically, lowering the standard. The music - listen, I like the bass in "club"/ghetto music as much as the next person, but when I sat in this chair last week as our 10 year old played the lyrics of a song I "thought" was halfway decent, I nearly fell out of it. I was already mulling over the thoughts of a friend who is concerned that the rearing of their last 3 children varies much from that of the first 3. It was an, "It's time to clean house!" moment! It's true; I would've never considered this "okay listening" in years prior. The language - a word is tossed around as comedy here and before I know it, the very same word is flung out in rage. The dress - it "follows suit", although I like to think that modesty is still honored in this house. The balance of grace and law is ongoing and hard to perfect.
My point is that a crudeness is prevailing in society, all society, even way out here in the "country". As any intelligent person could ascertain: TV, radio, and internet are ready and available to pick apart the minds and souls of our children. Being in the "country" doesn't mean that everyone is out taking advantage of it. I remember hearing in the mountains, before our move, teenagers complaining of boredom. "What? People travel from all over to 'be' in the majesty of this place, to canoe, to hike, even to shop." It makes my point for me. Even in "country" schools where teachers are neighbors and prayers are spoken loudly after practice on the football field, mandates have tied teachers' hands from discipline for the degenerate behaviours brought from the homes of their students. Regardless of the place on the map, groves of homes are disintegrating. In the names of individuality and tolerance or simple lack of oversight, children are allowed to toy with most anything they fancy. When they cross the line, they're hardly penalized. And we've got the same problems out here in the boondocks, but the solution is the same, the Christ who loves us all... the same.
That's not something that'll happen in the city, subdivision, or most suburbs. Yes, there are pets there but more for pleasure than purpose. Even cats are often expected to rid the home and property of pests out here and dogs are honored for their protection. I do like the canines that "look" mean. My Pitbull is evidence, although it's funny that the old Lab is many times more likely to bite. With his hair standing on his neck and head low, he's kept plenty of people in their cars and for the most part, I like it that way. Not all "country" dwellers have a pig, but we got one by default. The kids named it "Rochelle", after the one in "Everybody Hates Chris". They compare their Daddy and me to her and Julius in fits of giggles. Anyway, who needs a disposal when you've got a pig? And if the feared rationing ever played out, Rochelle would conveniently cease to have a name. Fresh eggs, now, they speak for themselves.
Not everybody out here chooses to do the barnyard thing, but if they're fortunate to live on land or to know someone who does, they can cut down or hang up whatever the heck they want to without breaking somebody's ordinance. The freedom to just roam, shoot or hunt, start a bonfire, drive or ride around like mad, or scream if you need to... is all American. To take a swim in a pond or a creek without having to plan an outing is convenience at its best. Not having to defend or explain "rights" or Patriotism to neighbors is a relief. Now, before you think I plan to stay isolated, think again and read more about us. There is a chance of predisposition to closed mindedness for people who never leave the area, but, let me tell you, some of those folks you don't want to be out and about too far!
Then there's the "country" look - earthy, windblown, able-bodied, sun kissed. Seems to me that's what everybody's paying for these days. Dressing down - a pair of worn boots and a Carhartt shirt isn't something that can be faked, though. The "overalls" look is, to me, a utilitarian thing, not much of a tease. Mike went out and bought, himself and all the kids he could size, ones when we were blessed to move back to the outskirts. That's about the time I came on Facebook and was a little concerned that we looked like we had flown the coop.
There are probably assumptions that "country" people are "dirty". I could say I think the same of naturalists. It's as individual as anything anywhere. We may go out planting and get our hands in the dirt, go barefoot and play in the rain, get sweaty and jump in the pond spontaneously, work on the big rig to help out Daddy; but it all stops at the door. We don't wear shoes in the house and we have order over all the things that follow us in from our work and play outside.
"Country" living has its detractions: bad cell signals, flies, the drive to get "anywhere" and the gas & time it takes to get there. What some would call the same are tokens of affection here - an already empty box of band-aids is my prompt that Spring has sprung. Hardiness in children is a needful thing. Don't they say that you have to fall down to stand up? Self sufficiency is sought after. I can't speak for others (and our children won't always volunteer as I wish) but ours can do virtually anything they put their minds to. I love to turn everything off, send them away, and discover later what they've accomplished.
I'd like to claim the "country" as the anomaly for much of this, BUT we spent a year recently in a subdivision with a .18 acre yard and can profess that "country" is simply "attitude". Thankfully, there was a soccer park nearby with a small stream running through it. We dug out the water shoes and got right down in there, catching some of the same "wild" things that we find here. We took the yard from zero to "fab" and still had white carpet in the end. Once as all stood in awe, our son decided to rescue a large harmless snake from the 2 by 4 a neighbor was furiously wielding at it. And, as for work, it makes sense that the physical part is associated with "country", but I'll admit that our 11 year old son did more strenuous work there mowing every other lawn on the block. 2 of our older daughters washed cars, cleaned houses, and babysat - raking in the dough for themselves. (I can't leave this subject without mention that we met some of our closest friends there and could just yell out a greeting to them.) Some benefits of proximity are huge to city goers.
I used to think that "country" tradition carried with it a better upbringing for children and if times were the same, I suppose I still would. We've lived in this welcoming plethora of down to earth people for almost 2 years now. I don't care to live anywhere else. It's that good. BUT, I've noticed something I dare call an implosion. It doesn't pertain to everyone, but it's big enough to make me uncomfortable at times. I'm afraid there's a lot taken for granted, that the way of life is being passed along, that being a "good ole boy" has the same connotations as it used to. Before I go ahead, I'll take responsibility for the leniency in my own home. It might have started with a husband who accepted things more readily than I; and to keep peace, I learned to pick my battles. But somewhere along the line, I embraced some things and let other things go, basically, lowering the standard. The music - listen, I like the bass in "club"/ghetto music as much as the next person, but when I sat in this chair last week as our 10 year old played the lyrics of a song I "thought" was halfway decent, I nearly fell out of it. I was already mulling over the thoughts of a friend who is concerned that the rearing of their last 3 children varies much from that of the first 3. It was an, "It's time to clean house!" moment! It's true; I would've never considered this "okay listening" in years prior. The language - a word is tossed around as comedy here and before I know it, the very same word is flung out in rage. The dress - it "follows suit", although I like to think that modesty is still honored in this house. The balance of grace and law is ongoing and hard to perfect.
My point is that a crudeness is prevailing in society, all society, even way out here in the "country". As any intelligent person could ascertain: TV, radio, and internet are ready and available to pick apart the minds and souls of our children. Being in the "country" doesn't mean that everyone is out taking advantage of it. I remember hearing in the mountains, before our move, teenagers complaining of boredom. "What? People travel from all over to 'be' in the majesty of this place, to canoe, to hike, even to shop." It makes my point for me. Even in "country" schools where teachers are neighbors and prayers are spoken loudly after practice on the football field, mandates have tied teachers' hands from discipline for the degenerate behaviours brought from the homes of their students. Regardless of the place on the map, groves of homes are disintegrating. In the names of individuality and tolerance or simple lack of oversight, children are allowed to toy with most anything they fancy. When they cross the line, they're hardly penalized. And we've got the same problems out here in the boondocks, but the solution is the same, the Christ who loves us all... the same.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Won't Be the Same
Mike didn't make it back from Maine for Mark's funeral, so we went in his stead which is what the family of a travelling man learns to do with no fuss. We don't have "funeral" clothes; thankfully rarely having need for them, but we got ourselves together. I didn't know what to expect, not fully sure of where his loyalties lay. Afterall, the years before he settled in with his Dad to repair and tow trucks, he was a driver running hard and fast, taking on the same badge as Mike.
Arriving, I was surprised at the size and architecture of such a simple man's church but wasn't surprised so many were there that we had to park in the grass. Turns out running behind finally worked out for me because we were directed to the balcony, getting a bird's eye view of the most sobering scene I've been blessed to witness in so long.
The first speaker said that he had prayed for Mark's healing and .....God had done that.....freed him from the cancer. He reminded us that absence in the body is presence with the Lord. The next preacher had known Mark since he was a young man and reassured that regardless of his edgy disposition, he had drawn near to his Saviour in the last months and then quoted to the family that they haven't lost something if they know where to find it. The last man said about suffering: "But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:10. Mark had said to him that in his sickness, he must still be here for a purpose, even for just one person. I, for ONE, was touched by what played out.
I had already admired from our high post the sight of the sun moving through the large perched windows across the cascades of bright spring color flowers behind the handsomely suited Fireman guardsmen. At the end of the service, in the coffin covered with the brilliant colors of our flag, the light was cast on his face just before we rose to sing "Shout to the Lord" in what I will never be convinced was anything less than divine. Only our last three rows could see out the glass to the mountain tops as we sang, "the mountains bow down," and in my elation, I glanced down again and cried when I saw his daughters each with a hand slightly lifted in praise for the One who took their Daddy away to be His own.
As we were leaving, I got a chance to reach into the processional car of his wife, hold her hand, and say, "The sun..." and she replaced her weeping with a smile and said, "Yes, it's like it was reflecting from him."
I got him right in my "Realization" story; a picture of his great, big laughing smile was on the front of the bulletin (for lack of the better word). I don't think, for me, this funeral will have ever comparison. I went away unafraid of death for the first time but knowing I'd better get to living harder because none of us are guaranteed more than his 51 years.
Arriving, I was surprised at the size and architecture of such a simple man's church but wasn't surprised so many were there that we had to park in the grass. Turns out running behind finally worked out for me because we were directed to the balcony, getting a bird's eye view of the most sobering scene I've been blessed to witness in so long.
The first speaker said that he had prayed for Mark's healing and .....God had done that.....freed him from the cancer. He reminded us that absence in the body is presence with the Lord. The next preacher had known Mark since he was a young man and reassured that regardless of his edgy disposition, he had drawn near to his Saviour in the last months and then quoted to the family that they haven't lost something if they know where to find it. The last man said about suffering: "But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:10. Mark had said to him that in his sickness, he must still be here for a purpose, even for just one person. I, for ONE, was touched by what played out.
I had already admired from our high post the sight of the sun moving through the large perched windows across the cascades of bright spring color flowers behind the handsomely suited Fireman guardsmen. At the end of the service, in the coffin covered with the brilliant colors of our flag, the light was cast on his face just before we rose to sing "Shout to the Lord" in what I will never be convinced was anything less than divine. Only our last three rows could see out the glass to the mountain tops as we sang, "the mountains bow down," and in my elation, I glanced down again and cried when I saw his daughters each with a hand slightly lifted in praise for the One who took their Daddy away to be His own.
As we were leaving, I got a chance to reach into the processional car of his wife, hold her hand, and say, "The sun..." and she replaced her weeping with a smile and said, "Yes, it's like it was reflecting from him."
I got him right in my "Realization" story; a picture of his great, big laughing smile was on the front of the bulletin (for lack of the better word). I don't think, for me, this funeral will have ever comparison. I went away unafraid of death for the first time but knowing I'd better get to living harder because none of us are guaranteed more than his 51 years.
Friday, March 11, 2011
I'll Run the Risk
If I can ward off the sounds at the door of the young cat (that's supposed to be inhabiting the barn), I'll hopefully get quicker at this. Most anything I say tonight has to seem insignificant compared to the peril of the ones on the other side of the world. Actually, I've sat here a few minutes not sure how to move on from that. I can't fathom it.
I've laid out a lot of fairly shocking things and am withholding even more. It could be hard to believe that I really do have high hopes for where my life is headed. For those of you who might think I've poured out too much, my rebuttal is that when we get to where we're going, no one will know how far we've come if I haven't told the truth. Having lived in 9 cities/towns, I don't have the benefit of lifelong neighbors. People only know pieces of me. Without them put together, there is no real perspective. So, I'll run the risk to make the connections to those I value greatly. I've had an influx of letters/messages that I still haven't found sufficient words to explain.
I don't know exactly what this is. After Miranda first set it up for me, as a gift really, I thought it'd be good to document so many of the things I failed to over the years and, too, to unburden my Facebook friends from the many status updates. Although, editing down to 420 characters was good practice for me. I don't know; maybe, it's becoming the journey of a nearly 40 year old with children of all ages, bucking the system and the "bulge", finding God in places I've never seen before, and starting over in a 23 year relationship.......finding humor in all of it, hitting the high spots, gathering a small army of friends that I didn't know I was missing, and finding out that being me isn't too bad.
I started to write or post the other day about "honor". It's just so rare now. Knowing 5 daughters will likely want to be married, I try not to be negative. I've noticed that even "Christian" boys are often dismissive of their counterparts, a little arrogant in their quest to be men. McKala met a boy recently who fit the bill of a good guy, but when he thought that they wouldn't see each other much, he bailed. She had taken the role with consideration (as girls do, I know), but to him, she was another pretty face. I'd be lying not to say it was a "whew" moment for me at first because 14 is young. I ached for her though and thought what it'll be like out in the world, to find a man who would love her as Christ does the church. I've been caught saying that it can be so unrealistic to tell a girl to wait and wait to get married & still obey the call to purity. I've wondered if they might marry a little young for today's standards and I thought for a while that I'd be okay with it, if the guy is right. Insert problem - "right guy". Where are they and who of they aren't already caught up in porn, debt, and self service, even within the church community? What kind of men are we raising? Why aren't we on guard of their hearts and minds? "Boys will be boys" does have its limits. So many of us are caught up in our own issues and don't notice the stench creeping in. I know the evil one would love the same of me.
It's a known to our girls what God's order is and that I expect them to keep it. To put such a high calling on a young woman demands a young man of tremendous character. I've always asked the girls to consider being able to do whatever they're gifted at/trained for from home, especially once wee ones are present. What I'm trying to say is that I've envisioned a smooth transition, maybe too ideal in the way of being "taken care of " by somebody out there. I've found in my girls boldness, daring that I didn't possess at their ages. I now say - wait and be found in His work. I'm hoping that not knowing what they're missing intimately will just be one more thing that makes them pillars of strength. Lord, I hope I'm right. Besides, it's gonna take a man with some kind of confidence to spend his life with a woman who's been flying since she was 16, blonde, bodacious and works on cars for a living; or one who is almost 5'11, takes command of most animals and ..... heads in a room; or one whose smile, set off by her perfect brow and cheek bones, lights up a room but knows where she stands in her spiritual and physical strength, so you best not get in between her and the ones she protects; or one whose stomach is a tough as nails (nurse of the family) and can play by ear, as well as hysterically impersonate anybody, letting lose her charm with her perfect symmetry; or littlest but not least, one who is already well spoken, quick thinking, and possesses beauty that makes one want to sit and watch her mind work out what her next quandary will be.
Nope, we haven't raised passivists. It'll take some of this individuality to not only contribute to a relationship, but also to survive in this "new" world, whether it's close to the "end" or not. When they were collectively little, I didn't see this coming, but now I'm glad to know that I have God's "warrior princesses" in my ring. They have and will falter, but what makes them different is that facing a giant is just one more charm on their bracelets and .... will be jewels in their crowns.
I've laid out a lot of fairly shocking things and am withholding even more. It could be hard to believe that I really do have high hopes for where my life is headed. For those of you who might think I've poured out too much, my rebuttal is that when we get to where we're going, no one will know how far we've come if I haven't told the truth. Having lived in 9 cities/towns, I don't have the benefit of lifelong neighbors. People only know pieces of me. Without them put together, there is no real perspective. So, I'll run the risk to make the connections to those I value greatly. I've had an influx of letters/messages that I still haven't found sufficient words to explain.
I don't know exactly what this is. After Miranda first set it up for me, as a gift really, I thought it'd be good to document so many of the things I failed to over the years and, too, to unburden my Facebook friends from the many status updates. Although, editing down to 420 characters was good practice for me. I don't know; maybe, it's becoming the journey of a nearly 40 year old with children of all ages, bucking the system and the "bulge", finding God in places I've never seen before, and starting over in a 23 year relationship.......finding humor in all of it, hitting the high spots, gathering a small army of friends that I didn't know I was missing, and finding out that being me isn't too bad.
I started to write or post the other day about "honor". It's just so rare now. Knowing 5 daughters will likely want to be married, I try not to be negative. I've noticed that even "Christian" boys are often dismissive of their counterparts, a little arrogant in their quest to be men. McKala met a boy recently who fit the bill of a good guy, but when he thought that they wouldn't see each other much, he bailed. She had taken the role with consideration (as girls do, I know), but to him, she was another pretty face. I'd be lying not to say it was a "whew" moment for me at first because 14 is young. I ached for her though and thought what it'll be like out in the world, to find a man who would love her as Christ does the church. I've been caught saying that it can be so unrealistic to tell a girl to wait and wait to get married & still obey the call to purity. I've wondered if they might marry a little young for today's standards and I thought for a while that I'd be okay with it, if the guy is right. Insert problem - "right guy". Where are they and who of they aren't already caught up in porn, debt, and self service, even within the church community? What kind of men are we raising? Why aren't we on guard of their hearts and minds? "Boys will be boys" does have its limits. So many of us are caught up in our own issues and don't notice the stench creeping in. I know the evil one would love the same of me.
It's a known to our girls what God's order is and that I expect them to keep it. To put such a high calling on a young woman demands a young man of tremendous character. I've always asked the girls to consider being able to do whatever they're gifted at/trained for from home, especially once wee ones are present. What I'm trying to say is that I've envisioned a smooth transition, maybe too ideal in the way of being "taken care of " by somebody out there. I've found in my girls boldness, daring that I didn't possess at their ages. I now say - wait and be found in His work. I'm hoping that not knowing what they're missing intimately will just be one more thing that makes them pillars of strength. Lord, I hope I'm right. Besides, it's gonna take a man with some kind of confidence to spend his life with a woman who's been flying since she was 16, blonde, bodacious and works on cars for a living; or one who is almost 5'11, takes command of most animals and ..... heads in a room; or one whose smile, set off by her perfect brow and cheek bones, lights up a room but knows where she stands in her spiritual and physical strength, so you best not get in between her and the ones she protects; or one whose stomach is a tough as nails (nurse of the family) and can play by ear, as well as hysterically impersonate anybody, letting lose her charm with her perfect symmetry; or littlest but not least, one who is already well spoken, quick thinking, and possesses beauty that makes one want to sit and watch her mind work out what her next quandary will be.
Nope, we haven't raised passivists. It'll take some of this individuality to not only contribute to a relationship, but also to survive in this "new" world, whether it's close to the "end" or not. When they were collectively little, I didn't see this coming, but now I'm glad to know that I have God's "warrior princesses" in my ring. They have and will falter, but what makes them different is that facing a giant is just one more charm on their bracelets and .... will be jewels in their crowns.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Blocking the Aisles
I got to go to the little, local grocery store alone, not sleepy, not rushed and gave thought to what we've been eating. I blocked the narrow aisles momentarily making notes to get back on track. It's all a culmination, I suppose, of seeing the jasmine, roses, and clematis already reaching for the lattice. The mint is returning, making me think of all the other herbs to get soon, along with tomatoes and peppers. Miranda has already started some vegetables and flowers in the house. We really like to intermingle them, that whole "beauty and duty" thing. I could kick myself for not applying these basics before. It really is that easy and grandiosity is not necessary at all. Miranda and Mike made staggered gardens right by the house where some landscaping was needed anyway because of washing. And, then, there's the benefit of the dogs sleeping nearby keeping the deer away.
What I have to remember is that being healthy is more than just being thin. This "overhaul" I'm making returned to me some notions I've had written here and there, which I found when I was flipping through to find an old friend's (uhoh, "dear" friend, Amy's) recipe. Freshly ground, not that big a deal once you've got a grinder, whole grain is a given here. Most of the kids don't even like the way white bread sticks to the roof of their mouths. Don't get me wrong; it has its place for french toast, garlic bread, and, for me, an occasional bologna sandwich. Sprouts (easy to grow in a jar), flaxseed, greens (cooked all kinds of tasty ways), nuts, berries, plenty of protein (hormones and all usually, unfortunately), and skipping the hydrogenated oils (in most PB and all margarine) are just some of the things we've incorporated into otherwise "regular" meals over time. I'm still trying to like olive oil, "cold pressed" matters; I prefer it as tanning oil or moisturizer for my hands and feet, even under eyes. And in terms of "storing" food, it has a great shelf life. I'm not an alarmist, but storage just can't be a bad idea. Though, buying in bulk tends to backfire on us. The "good" stuff goes first and "convenient" next, leaving what no one really wants. Our last trip to Sam's and $1,200 later was a bust. I like to catch our preferred brands on a good sale and just buy a few when I can. While I'm on that subject, I should mention that while we were on food stamps after Mike's bypass, we got $1,400 a month. Several of us gained weight, thus my theory that the gov't likes us "fat and happy", so as not have the gumption to rise up agianst it.
With Mike's chronic creation of calcium oxalate kidney stones, he's not supposed to have wheat, most nuts and berries, spinach, okra, and the list goes on. Please, excuse me, but he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. I feel bad for all the times I put these things before him wishing him health and unwittingly contributing to his torture. In my early 20's, I was overthetop about organic this and that until Mike hauled produce and saw the 2 kinds shipping from the same fields. It's a bit of joke with drivers. And then there was the fact that easily spending nearly $200 a week 20 years ago for the 3 of us was not financially sound.
So.... at the store there was woman exasperated with the price of a half gallon of milk. The eight of us can put away 9 gallons a week "easy", so more water is being drunk in place of it. I was looking for the water and missed it entirely when I saw that the ice cream was on sale. I passed up the artificially flavored "Cookies 'n Cream Extreme" for the au naturale "Heavenly Hash". I really try to buy American but the Florida's Natural OJ was much more than some of the others and then I got to thinking, "Who's to say that they aren't importing illegal workers with families who are likely burdening OUR social services programs?" It's just something to consider. If you saw what we saw while we were recipients of Medicaid, you'd understand my strong concern.
I grab a Sunny D now and then, so I was checking out the label and saw what I've been avoiding: that 2% is juice, falling 3rd after water and corn syrup. As we all know, corn syrup in and of itself isn't that different from other sugars (except honey which has medicinal properties). The big problem is that it's HIGHLY likely to have been genetically modified - a GMO. At least 80% of corn products are now. For those of you who think technology is best, ask the farmers what kind of super weeds are cropping up. Today, I just said, "The heck with it all," and got a couple more Ginger Ales (that ARE sweetened with corn syrup but, hey, they were on sale for a $1) that I originally got to "stretch" the OJ that I didn't get!
Saving money on groceries to pay for gas is the great American challenge right now. I say instead of buying the cheap junk, it could be a call to self reliance, growing something, homemaking something, all the way down to the baby/big people food blended and frozen up in ice cube trays. Fresh anything is best, frozen is second, until the power goes out, and then it's all about the can/jar and what's seasonally available. Stored/prepared meat (that we here are suckers for) so often is full of nitrites. I've heard reports that a child's body can only "kick out" one serving of it a week. I always end up with greens, even if it's slaw, accompanying them - may be God's way of offsetting the damage.
I'm back to talking about greens, but how can I not talk about the super high levels of antioxidants/enzymes in them and the herbs that are just too easy to throw in the ground and get results? With cancer freshly on my mind, it seems wrong to give the children anything but the best and not all the kids eat every healthy thing and that's okay 'til they can get a taste for it. Wait a minute, no, we're not the folks that make whole wheat cookies, just not cookies all the time. I don't buy Diet Drinks. I'm willing to tangle with calories before I am Aspartame.
It's really all about moderation, which I admittedly do not have a a firm grasp on, but some homemade pizza like McKala made tonight, a little coffee to bump up the volume in the mornings, a little wine to thin the blood at night is temperance and pleasurable reward for the hard work of our hands and minds. In the end, God sees our efforts and hears our prayers that our food will be fitting to the health of our bodies and the growth of our children .... without Him, we're just dying daily anyway.
What I have to remember is that being healthy is more than just being thin. This "overhaul" I'm making returned to me some notions I've had written here and there, which I found when I was flipping through to find an old friend's (uhoh, "dear" friend, Amy's) recipe. Freshly ground, not that big a deal once you've got a grinder, whole grain is a given here. Most of the kids don't even like the way white bread sticks to the roof of their mouths. Don't get me wrong; it has its place for french toast, garlic bread, and, for me, an occasional bologna sandwich. Sprouts (easy to grow in a jar), flaxseed, greens (cooked all kinds of tasty ways), nuts, berries, plenty of protein (hormones and all usually, unfortunately), and skipping the hydrogenated oils (in most PB and all margarine) are just some of the things we've incorporated into otherwise "regular" meals over time. I'm still trying to like olive oil, "cold pressed" matters; I prefer it as tanning oil or moisturizer for my hands and feet, even under eyes. And in terms of "storing" food, it has a great shelf life. I'm not an alarmist, but storage just can't be a bad idea. Though, buying in bulk tends to backfire on us. The "good" stuff goes first and "convenient" next, leaving what no one really wants. Our last trip to Sam's and $1,200 later was a bust. I like to catch our preferred brands on a good sale and just buy a few when I can. While I'm on that subject, I should mention that while we were on food stamps after Mike's bypass, we got $1,400 a month. Several of us gained weight, thus my theory that the gov't likes us "fat and happy", so as not have the gumption to rise up agianst it.
With Mike's chronic creation of calcium oxalate kidney stones, he's not supposed to have wheat, most nuts and berries, spinach, okra, and the list goes on. Please, excuse me, but he's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. I feel bad for all the times I put these things before him wishing him health and unwittingly contributing to his torture. In my early 20's, I was overthetop about organic this and that until Mike hauled produce and saw the 2 kinds shipping from the same fields. It's a bit of joke with drivers. And then there was the fact that easily spending nearly $200 a week 20 years ago for the 3 of us was not financially sound.
So.... at the store there was woman exasperated with the price of a half gallon of milk. The eight of us can put away 9 gallons a week "easy", so more water is being drunk in place of it. I was looking for the water and missed it entirely when I saw that the ice cream was on sale. I passed up the artificially flavored "Cookies 'n Cream Extreme" for the au naturale "Heavenly Hash". I really try to buy American but the Florida's Natural OJ was much more than some of the others and then I got to thinking, "Who's to say that they aren't importing illegal workers with families who are likely burdening OUR social services programs?" It's just something to consider. If you saw what we saw while we were recipients of Medicaid, you'd understand my strong concern.
I grab a Sunny D now and then, so I was checking out the label and saw what I've been avoiding: that 2% is juice, falling 3rd after water and corn syrup. As we all know, corn syrup in and of itself isn't that different from other sugars (except honey which has medicinal properties). The big problem is that it's HIGHLY likely to have been genetically modified - a GMO. At least 80% of corn products are now. For those of you who think technology is best, ask the farmers what kind of super weeds are cropping up. Today, I just said, "The heck with it all," and got a couple more Ginger Ales (that ARE sweetened with corn syrup but, hey, they were on sale for a $1) that I originally got to "stretch" the OJ that I didn't get!
Saving money on groceries to pay for gas is the great American challenge right now. I say instead of buying the cheap junk, it could be a call to self reliance, growing something, homemaking something, all the way down to the baby/big people food blended and frozen up in ice cube trays. Fresh anything is best, frozen is second, until the power goes out, and then it's all about the can/jar and what's seasonally available. Stored/prepared meat (that we here are suckers for) so often is full of nitrites. I've heard reports that a child's body can only "kick out" one serving of it a week. I always end up with greens, even if it's slaw, accompanying them - may be God's way of offsetting the damage.
I'm back to talking about greens, but how can I not talk about the super high levels of antioxidants/enzymes in them and the herbs that are just too easy to throw in the ground and get results? With cancer freshly on my mind, it seems wrong to give the children anything but the best and not all the kids eat every healthy thing and that's okay 'til they can get a taste for it. Wait a minute, no, we're not the folks that make whole wheat cookies, just not cookies all the time. I don't buy Diet Drinks. I'm willing to tangle with calories before I am Aspartame.
It's really all about moderation, which I admittedly do not have a a firm grasp on, but some homemade pizza like McKala made tonight, a little coffee to bump up the volume in the mornings, a little wine to thin the blood at night is temperance and pleasurable reward for the hard work of our hands and minds. In the end, God sees our efforts and hears our prayers that our food will be fitting to the health of our bodies and the growth of our children .... without Him, we're just dying daily anyway.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
It Didn't Dawn on Me
What do you do when your mother-in-law lets you know she's been reading your blog (the kind of blog I write)? You keep on writing and making sure you fess up when you're supposed to.
She's a good one, as honest as they get. We had words once when we were both brought into an argumument that we didn't start. She chooses her words so carefully now and I hope she knows that I notice. I also hope I've reciprocated in respect of it.
She was inclusive of me, a girl who had a wild streak she probably saw straight through to. She helped just as much as she could in our wedding, offering her gown and reminding me that I needed to get on the pill, when I blurted out that I already was - one of those, "Wow, did I just say that?" moments. She conceded to my request of a pretty upscale rehearsal dinner and cooked & cooked for the reception. That was before the time of these spoiled, extravagant after parties.
She and Pop made the down payment on our first house and didn't put up much of a fuss about repayment when I didn't finish/begin Pharmacy school in favor of staying home. She made curtains and matching pillows, bought me clothes and then maternity ones. She was overjoyed at the news of a grandchild when my my mother needed time for it to settle in. They tandem babysat Megan with my parents for me to work part-time on the weekends while I was still in school. They paid for Christian couseling, which wasn't a quick "fix" for our marriage.... but WAS where I found my salvation. Months later when I laid the burden of my trespasses (having done the unthinkable in an unthinkable place) into Mike's lap, he went to them bewildered and she told him that my change was real and encouraged him to return to me. If not for her that night, there might be no Miranda... McKala... Michael... Melody... Macklynn... or Madalynn.
She was the first to get on board with "homeschooling", when my Dad was convinced I had joined a cult or something. She's shared stories of Mike's childhood, his disposition and struggles. She's talked woman to woman, even today, about marriage - empathetic, but telling me to make the hard "choices".
The money, oh my goodness, the many times they've rescued us from trouble... and when Mike in 2004 had a head on collision in his new GTO he hadn't even told them about, they paid our enormous bills while he was in a wheelchair for 5 months. We still owe them for that; they've been more than merciful about it with all that's happened since.
In her retirement, she's made all the children well thought out, gorgeous quilts (and to his credit, over the years Pop's made all manner of toys, doll houses, a chair and cradle). She saw to it that Mike and I got to go on that cruise (as she said, for the sake of our marriage) and enlisted in staying here with the kids, ready for a breather at the end. Nonetheless, she made ornaments, got them to practice early, and kept everybody in one piece. During visits she can be found in the middle of the children playing games and cooking with them. She laughs a lot and you can see it in her beautiful, compassionate eyes. She's way more than a mother-in-law; she's Memaw.
She's a good one, as honest as they get. We had words once when we were both brought into an argumument that we didn't start. She chooses her words so carefully now and I hope she knows that I notice. I also hope I've reciprocated in respect of it.
She was inclusive of me, a girl who had a wild streak she probably saw straight through to. She helped just as much as she could in our wedding, offering her gown and reminding me that I needed to get on the pill, when I blurted out that I already was - one of those, "Wow, did I just say that?" moments. She conceded to my request of a pretty upscale rehearsal dinner and cooked & cooked for the reception. That was before the time of these spoiled, extravagant after parties.
She and Pop made the down payment on our first house and didn't put up much of a fuss about repayment when I didn't finish/begin Pharmacy school in favor of staying home. She made curtains and matching pillows, bought me clothes and then maternity ones. She was overjoyed at the news of a grandchild when my my mother needed time for it to settle in. They tandem babysat Megan with my parents for me to work part-time on the weekends while I was still in school. They paid for Christian couseling, which wasn't a quick "fix" for our marriage.... but WAS where I found my salvation. Months later when I laid the burden of my trespasses (having done the unthinkable in an unthinkable place) into Mike's lap, he went to them bewildered and she told him that my change was real and encouraged him to return to me. If not for her that night, there might be no Miranda... McKala... Michael... Melody... Macklynn... or Madalynn.
She was the first to get on board with "homeschooling", when my Dad was convinced I had joined a cult or something. She's shared stories of Mike's childhood, his disposition and struggles. She's talked woman to woman, even today, about marriage - empathetic, but telling me to make the hard "choices".
The money, oh my goodness, the many times they've rescued us from trouble... and when Mike in 2004 had a head on collision in his new GTO he hadn't even told them about, they paid our enormous bills while he was in a wheelchair for 5 months. We still owe them for that; they've been more than merciful about it with all that's happened since.
In her retirement, she's made all the children well thought out, gorgeous quilts (and to his credit, over the years Pop's made all manner of toys, doll houses, a chair and cradle). She saw to it that Mike and I got to go on that cruise (as she said, for the sake of our marriage) and enlisted in staying here with the kids, ready for a breather at the end. Nonetheless, she made ornaments, got them to practice early, and kept everybody in one piece. During visits she can be found in the middle of the children playing games and cooking with them. She laughs a lot and you can see it in her beautiful, compassionate eyes. She's way more than a mother-in-law; she's Memaw.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Realization
Nothing will hush unsettling talk like riding to the deathbed of a friend. We got the call this afternoon. Mike's good friend from "the mountains" was diagnosed with cancer of the gallbladder many months ago. He was "cured" and was his cheerful, hard working self when Mike showed up 3 months ago for a surprise visit. I don't need to tell you that it returned. We don't know all the details. Mike has been working desperately hard to stay afloat and was helping, easing the 2 little ones into our way of life. He regrets not understanding how fast Mark had gone downhill. So, we rode. He didn't care for what was playing, so it ended up on Christian radio, which is a rarity with "menfolk" in the car. Better songs couldn't"ve" played.
The nurses even looked distraught when we got to his house, hospice nurses I guess. One named Linda looked like she was about to cry. My thoughts went straight to my good, good friend, Mary-Hope, who does this very kind of work and her heart is just as in it. We sat in the company of other old acquaintances while waiting for a turn to visit the bedroom. So very many of our neighbors still don't know why we "up and left" almost 3 years ago. It's a story I will soon tell here, but tonight I gave them the chilling details of Mike's ordeal, survival, and our inevitable move. One was a nurse and they ALWAYS have the same look when I tell them what happened. Funny thing tonight is that she was married to one of the twins sitting there and never let on to whether it was the one she was sitting rather close to or the one standing. I would never have had any humor in our conversation if I'd understood what I was about to see.
When we were summoned back, stepping into the room was like visiting what I've seen in concentration camp photos. He was of slight build to begin with, but there was nothing left of him, his joking smile erased. A "Do Not Resuscitate" notice was on their dresser. I spanned the room looking at their family pictures, the black and white picture of him as a boy, his friendly and petite daughters. His wife quickly came to Mike and took him bedside to say, "Look who's here! Trouble!" His eyes had just lifted a few moments before and he knew just who Mike was. He and his father, Jack, own a towing and repair shop in Boone. He has hauled virtually every vehicle we've ever had out of some perilous place, our Jeep wedged between trees on mountainous property and our 3 hour old flipped convertible Mustang out of a creek. He worked on Mike's big truck, allowing him to learn and help, and even park his truck there when he came home.
There was the 3 year old grandson, Sawyer, born a couple of weeks before Madalynn. As a matter of fact, he has our wooden play fort and swing set that Mike was too unwell to disassemble and reassemble. I tried to talk with him about it since his mother wanted him distracted when death became imminent while we were there. This I could help with. Before, his sweet mother was taking him in for brief visits to see his "Pop Mark" with her 9 week old in the other room. Being in her shoes - birth and death within this short span of time - is unenviable at best.
What came to mind, in waiting a few more minutes to speak with his wife before we left, was the grief on her face, letting go of this "young" husband, 50 years old. My conscience rushed me back to the day of Mike's emergency aortic bypass at Baptist. Later, my story will divulge why a kidney stone had anything at all to do with it, but this evening all that matters is that I convey how treacherously close I was to being a widow myself. He had been medicated for half a year with morphine because of a lodged stone which we found out later was 8 mm in size. It was a time when we had another lapse of insurance and he was trying to "wait it out", having had over 40 stones prior. The problem with living with medicated people is you don't know when the true need is there and when an addiction is arising. He has very high tolerances to begin with, so more and more was required. The lines became blurred; I was very pregnant with Madalynn; and our marriage was once again a wreck. When everything finally came to fruition, Madalynn was 5 weeks old and the father of my seven children was being cut open from chest to groin in surgery akin to the danger of brain surgery, the aorta lying parallel with the spinal column.
This will appall some, but I'll run the risk to tell the truth. I entertained the thought that this could be destined end to the turmoil for the children and me. I quickly realized that my "delirium" must've been caused by being worn out and living in that alien reality, feeling like I was watching my own life play out without me, without any firm thing to grasp. The only child that was in the hospital for the surgery was tiny Madalynn. She slept all 9 hours of the surgery against my chest, as if God had put His hand on her. I walked out onto the outdoor part of the floor, near the helicopter pad he was flown in on, and I cried out to Jesus. I imagined the agony of the children at his funeral. Finality, which I have been spared the experience of so often, was not something I could embrace and in a vow I too often "forget", I told my Saving Grace that if the children could keep their father, I would endure the rest. Cold you think? You haven't walked in my shoes. To see the pain in that woman's face tonight showed me what taste I was kept from. To see their daughters' graciousness, holding back outbursts in thanks for every small thing, and maturity, early in their 20's, pulled at me viciously. I've read that we don't know what we're truly setting out for in this world when we wish to be alone, no matter how bad the circumstances may seem presently.
Where does all this put me? - a husband in tears holding my hand on the way home, confiding in me that without his friend's help and patience for payment, we would've hardly made it several times. Once inside, it put me in a hug from him where I still fit perfectly under his arm and, somehow no matter what, still feel safe there.
The nurses even looked distraught when we got to his house, hospice nurses I guess. One named Linda looked like she was about to cry. My thoughts went straight to my good, good friend, Mary-Hope, who does this very kind of work and her heart is just as in it. We sat in the company of other old acquaintances while waiting for a turn to visit the bedroom. So very many of our neighbors still don't know why we "up and left" almost 3 years ago. It's a story I will soon tell here, but tonight I gave them the chilling details of Mike's ordeal, survival, and our inevitable move. One was a nurse and they ALWAYS have the same look when I tell them what happened. Funny thing tonight is that she was married to one of the twins sitting there and never let on to whether it was the one she was sitting rather close to or the one standing. I would never have had any humor in our conversation if I'd understood what I was about to see.
When we were summoned back, stepping into the room was like visiting what I've seen in concentration camp photos. He was of slight build to begin with, but there was nothing left of him, his joking smile erased. A "Do Not Resuscitate" notice was on their dresser. I spanned the room looking at their family pictures, the black and white picture of him as a boy, his friendly and petite daughters. His wife quickly came to Mike and took him bedside to say, "Look who's here! Trouble!" His eyes had just lifted a few moments before and he knew just who Mike was. He and his father, Jack, own a towing and repair shop in Boone. He has hauled virtually every vehicle we've ever had out of some perilous place, our Jeep wedged between trees on mountainous property and our 3 hour old flipped convertible Mustang out of a creek. He worked on Mike's big truck, allowing him to learn and help, and even park his truck there when he came home.
There was the 3 year old grandson, Sawyer, born a couple of weeks before Madalynn. As a matter of fact, he has our wooden play fort and swing set that Mike was too unwell to disassemble and reassemble. I tried to talk with him about it since his mother wanted him distracted when death became imminent while we were there. This I could help with. Before, his sweet mother was taking him in for brief visits to see his "Pop Mark" with her 9 week old in the other room. Being in her shoes - birth and death within this short span of time - is unenviable at best.
What came to mind, in waiting a few more minutes to speak with his wife before we left, was the grief on her face, letting go of this "young" husband, 50 years old. My conscience rushed me back to the day of Mike's emergency aortic bypass at Baptist. Later, my story will divulge why a kidney stone had anything at all to do with it, but this evening all that matters is that I convey how treacherously close I was to being a widow myself. He had been medicated for half a year with morphine because of a lodged stone which we found out later was 8 mm in size. It was a time when we had another lapse of insurance and he was trying to "wait it out", having had over 40 stones prior. The problem with living with medicated people is you don't know when the true need is there and when an addiction is arising. He has very high tolerances to begin with, so more and more was required. The lines became blurred; I was very pregnant with Madalynn; and our marriage was once again a wreck. When everything finally came to fruition, Madalynn was 5 weeks old and the father of my seven children was being cut open from chest to groin in surgery akin to the danger of brain surgery, the aorta lying parallel with the spinal column.
This will appall some, but I'll run the risk to tell the truth. I entertained the thought that this could be destined end to the turmoil for the children and me. I quickly realized that my "delirium" must've been caused by being worn out and living in that alien reality, feeling like I was watching my own life play out without me, without any firm thing to grasp. The only child that was in the hospital for the surgery was tiny Madalynn. She slept all 9 hours of the surgery against my chest, as if God had put His hand on her. I walked out onto the outdoor part of the floor, near the helicopter pad he was flown in on, and I cried out to Jesus. I imagined the agony of the children at his funeral. Finality, which I have been spared the experience of so often, was not something I could embrace and in a vow I too often "forget", I told my Saving Grace that if the children could keep their father, I would endure the rest. Cold you think? You haven't walked in my shoes. To see the pain in that woman's face tonight showed me what taste I was kept from. To see their daughters' graciousness, holding back outbursts in thanks for every small thing, and maturity, early in their 20's, pulled at me viciously. I've read that we don't know what we're truly setting out for in this world when we wish to be alone, no matter how bad the circumstances may seem presently.
Where does all this put me? - a husband in tears holding my hand on the way home, confiding in me that without his friend's help and patience for payment, we would've hardly made it several times. Once inside, it put me in a hug from him where I still fit perfectly under his arm and, somehow no matter what, still feel safe there.
Contradictory
Writing helps me, but a hindrance it has the potential to be. I'm in this place again. I thought I was moving forward. How do you do that, carry on normally, when relationship questions are posed continually? Have I waited too long to "come around"? It has been a year since I attempted to "step out of the ring" as I truly was convinced was his desire. He had the most beautiful change. Although I was hardened so firmly that I wasn't moved emotionally by it, my mind told me it was a miracle and that respect for such, as well as his hard work, was in order. To be brutally honest, I'd have to admit that I come under attack with flashbacks and "what ifs" when I'm not on guard; particularly tired, hormonal, or sick.
I thought 2011 would be a year of squaring things up, getting it together, overcoming. Having Manuel and Sebastian here was a dually agreed upon undertaking. In some maybe "twisted" way, the needs of children have always brought us together. The boys are gone now and "we" unknowingly "wained" through it. I'm afraid our own children are used as pawns now. Last night was almost more than I could withstand.
I really never mind admitting my wrongs. I really never care to "win" a fight. I DO care to be understood and that's something that is difficult to accomplish right now. The meanings of my words are misconstrued regularly. This is where the proving grounds are - whether prayer lives are alive and well - both of ours.
Maybe I didn't know what I was getting into when I got married, nor did he, but I do know his ups are adventurous, keeping the fun around, and his downs leave me with no words to explain. (No, he's never laid a hand on me. Emotional warfare is arguably as bad.) Now, he says that he feels "nothing" just as I did last year; he's tired of being "alone"... when I was given his grace, only a few months ago, that I had as long to recover as the time he ruled in mind games. I'm not much of a fan of games to begin with, much less those that toy with or sarcastically impose underlying messages. Shoot it to me straight. Today, he did. He's lonely and believes I'm "staying" to enjoy this place and my life with the children. I have to ask myself, "Is it true? Am I back to being afraid of the unknown?"
I've read enough books, and even verses in the Bible, to know that what is to the mental state of a woman is to the physical state of a man. I've tried to explain that I've never been "right thinking" in intimacy, long before I met him. At an early age, I learned the advantages (not wise enough yet to see the disadvantages) of being desired. When I went into our marriage, I'm sorry to say that sex was probably just a "thing" to me. Then we stupidly fell for the "spice things up" ploy and you can guess where that landed us and sent us on a bent road for years. You'd never guess how many women, whether it was their idea or not, become addicted, perhaps pretending to be what they think they'll never add up to. Satan is horribly clever. He was also in the temptation I yielded to early on. How easy it must have been for me to "get saved" a few months later, make an admission, and go on my merry way; leaving him with a burden that he thought he could forgive but has carried all this time.
So, this whole getting "physically fit" again has a tremendous role, I believe. In my delay to get to a place where I'm confident again, it has only been to him a push away. Too, it's hard to be easily intimate before a friendship has renewed or even ever found. He's probably tiring of resistance as much as I am of dutifulness. This is where we are... two people who would do the right things but searching for answers based on things we've never been, blinded by each other - from something that is quite possibly the beginning of our spiritual bond after almost 23 years of simply living in tolerance of each other. I don't know that forgiveness is so much the issue as the awkwardness of breaking old habits is. Simple common courtesy makes him feel like a stranger. False affection makes me feel cheap. As his victory continues and our children grow older, Satan is loving ever second of every day we lose to strife and the licking of our wounds. Maybe this is my new battle; didn't care to have one so soon; but then again, in it I tend to flourish.
Am I bad to reveal details that innately involve another? If you've been with us long, you saw what was laid out on Facebook last spring and summer. Selfish I may be to set the truth out again, but selfless I gravitate toward when I see my part in what previously appeared one-sided to me. Anyone with experience in this realm is very welcome to communicate your personal story to me. I think I may have become too wordly in my new found freedom, suddenly in this same season last year, given "permission" to say my piece, express my preferences without repercussions. Maybe I gained too much independence, forgetting that I am still a wife. The biggest paradox of my life has happened: all the things I needed in my husband for all those years found no place in my heart when he tried to become them.
I thought 2011 would be a year of squaring things up, getting it together, overcoming. Having Manuel and Sebastian here was a dually agreed upon undertaking. In some maybe "twisted" way, the needs of children have always brought us together. The boys are gone now and "we" unknowingly "wained" through it. I'm afraid our own children are used as pawns now. Last night was almost more than I could withstand.
I really never mind admitting my wrongs. I really never care to "win" a fight. I DO care to be understood and that's something that is difficult to accomplish right now. The meanings of my words are misconstrued regularly. This is where the proving grounds are - whether prayer lives are alive and well - both of ours.
Maybe I didn't know what I was getting into when I got married, nor did he, but I do know his ups are adventurous, keeping the fun around, and his downs leave me with no words to explain. (No, he's never laid a hand on me. Emotional warfare is arguably as bad.) Now, he says that he feels "nothing" just as I did last year; he's tired of being "alone"... when I was given his grace, only a few months ago, that I had as long to recover as the time he ruled in mind games. I'm not much of a fan of games to begin with, much less those that toy with or sarcastically impose underlying messages. Shoot it to me straight. Today, he did. He's lonely and believes I'm "staying" to enjoy this place and my life with the children. I have to ask myself, "Is it true? Am I back to being afraid of the unknown?"
I've read enough books, and even verses in the Bible, to know that what is to the mental state of a woman is to the physical state of a man. I've tried to explain that I've never been "right thinking" in intimacy, long before I met him. At an early age, I learned the advantages (not wise enough yet to see the disadvantages) of being desired. When I went into our marriage, I'm sorry to say that sex was probably just a "thing" to me. Then we stupidly fell for the "spice things up" ploy and you can guess where that landed us and sent us on a bent road for years. You'd never guess how many women, whether it was their idea or not, become addicted, perhaps pretending to be what they think they'll never add up to. Satan is horribly clever. He was also in the temptation I yielded to early on. How easy it must have been for me to "get saved" a few months later, make an admission, and go on my merry way; leaving him with a burden that he thought he could forgive but has carried all this time.
So, this whole getting "physically fit" again has a tremendous role, I believe. In my delay to get to a place where I'm confident again, it has only been to him a push away. Too, it's hard to be easily intimate before a friendship has renewed or even ever found. He's probably tiring of resistance as much as I am of dutifulness. This is where we are... two people who would do the right things but searching for answers based on things we've never been, blinded by each other - from something that is quite possibly the beginning of our spiritual bond after almost 23 years of simply living in tolerance of each other. I don't know that forgiveness is so much the issue as the awkwardness of breaking old habits is. Simple common courtesy makes him feel like a stranger. False affection makes me feel cheap. As his victory continues and our children grow older, Satan is loving ever second of every day we lose to strife and the licking of our wounds. Maybe this is my new battle; didn't care to have one so soon; but then again, in it I tend to flourish.
Am I bad to reveal details that innately involve another? If you've been with us long, you saw what was laid out on Facebook last spring and summer. Selfish I may be to set the truth out again, but selfless I gravitate toward when I see my part in what previously appeared one-sided to me. Anyone with experience in this realm is very welcome to communicate your personal story to me. I think I may have become too wordly in my new found freedom, suddenly in this same season last year, given "permission" to say my piece, express my preferences without repercussions. Maybe I gained too much independence, forgetting that I am still a wife. The biggest paradox of my life has happened: all the things I needed in my husband for all those years found no place in my heart when he tried to become them.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Rethink
I spotted the perfect window chair several years ago in Pennsylvania. It was huge, beautifully floral, the seat extending the length of one's legs. Today I'm content in this loveseat that was MawMaw's by the window overlooking the pond. Granted one window is broken, but things tend to happen like that when haphazard Miranda's around. It's pretty neat to see what I'm content with now. Losing most everything in one fell swoop (3 years ago) will do that. Looking out into the rain, all I see is how green everything is going to be. I've already found, not just the beginnings of buttercups, but also of tulips, lilies, and peonies. Having a guy who hauls flowers has its benefits. Again, these are attentions for years I considered to be in vain because they weren't mandatory. Now, they've fallen in my lap in pieces or broken, and it's our pleasure to "nurse them back" to become part of our home, which isn't truly "ours" - another one of those things that I'm more than content with but never imagined I'd be so comfortable in.
This really is the first time things have slowed down in many months - holidays, parties, appointments, illnesses, games, revisitations, house guests - and I almost feel myself resisting the overdrive mentality. Satan prefers that because when we're spread thin, small damages begin happening, under the radar. Our "New Year" starts now, I suppose. Our marriage is at ground zero again. The kids and I have a variety of things to cover. I've made no real progress in changing my body (only noticeable change is that the nursing wonders are gone, which did minimize my big arms and waistline that run in the family to start with) and a menu, what's that? We've become dependent on food that's convenient, especially when we were in the midst of stuffy noses, fevers, vomiting, or a tight week. Savings, what's that? I will say I like it when the frig gets empty, using up all the tads of this and that, cleaning it spotless. I think I've become something of a master of squeeking by and actually enjoy the challenge.
March could be less than fascinating with Harper happenings. It'll be our time to dig deep and be ready for the next battle, because you and I know it's inevitable. We're looking forward to a few things like having a thank you pizza party, finding forgotten treasures in the attic, building a slide into the pond, raising more calves, and maybe staying with Mike some in hotels. We used to travel up and down the east coast to stay a week or so wherever he was working. We got a little spoiled but gained some acquired tastes and the ability to prepare the house & pack up in 6 hours.
So, I got to read a part of the Bible I never have today. I haven't ever made it all the way through Psalms. 128:3 says, "Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house." It doesn't say,"IF she has the perfect man." I've GOT to remember that. Right now, I'm eyeballing the great, big box of things I'm to leave at the end of the drive for the boys tomorrow. Madalynn reached in it and grabbed their Vaseline and said, "This is for thems cheeks." I paused and said, "Yes....it is."
This really is the first time things have slowed down in many months - holidays, parties, appointments, illnesses, games, revisitations, house guests - and I almost feel myself resisting the overdrive mentality. Satan prefers that because when we're spread thin, small damages begin happening, under the radar. Our "New Year" starts now, I suppose. Our marriage is at ground zero again. The kids and I have a variety of things to cover. I've made no real progress in changing my body (only noticeable change is that the nursing wonders are gone, which did minimize my big arms and waistline that run in the family to start with) and a menu, what's that? We've become dependent on food that's convenient, especially when we were in the midst of stuffy noses, fevers, vomiting, or a tight week. Savings, what's that? I will say I like it when the frig gets empty, using up all the tads of this and that, cleaning it spotless. I think I've become something of a master of squeeking by and actually enjoy the challenge.
March could be less than fascinating with Harper happenings. It'll be our time to dig deep and be ready for the next battle, because you and I know it's inevitable. We're looking forward to a few things like having a thank you pizza party, finding forgotten treasures in the attic, building a slide into the pond, raising more calves, and maybe staying with Mike some in hotels. We used to travel up and down the east coast to stay a week or so wherever he was working. We got a little spoiled but gained some acquired tastes and the ability to prepare the house & pack up in 6 hours.
So, I got to read a part of the Bible I never have today. I haven't ever made it all the way through Psalms. 128:3 says, "Thy wife shall be as a fruitful vine by the sides of thine house." It doesn't say,"IF she has the perfect man." I've GOT to remember that. Right now, I'm eyeballing the great, big box of things I'm to leave at the end of the drive for the boys tomorrow. Madalynn reached in it and grabbed their Vaseline and said, "This is for thems cheeks." I paused and said, "Yes....it is."
Friday, March 4, 2011
Pushing Back
It's been one of those "ill with the world" kinda days. Course, that can happen when you spend a couple of hours on the phone with bill collectors, you're accused of "blackmail", people who encourage you to write suddenly decide it's taking too much time, your 3 year old eats most of a bag of Ricola, your 16 year old is constantly dealing with the "F bomb" at a restaurant where Psalm 118:24 is on every cup, you take a good look in the mirror naked and are dismayed, and you find your mister laid over in the yard.
I have to admit that the collectors were pretty nice, even funny, very lenient with all the hardships of the "resuming" economy. Yeah, yesterday I was accused of blackmail by the sister of a certain someone who must be owed money by that certain someone. Funny how people steer clear 'til they think some money is coming their way. Also funny how people push the ones they think are pushovers until it's our time to push...and God might just have our "back" in it. I'm a little tired of people mistaking patience with gullibleness; playing innocent while I'm waiting (and hoping against the worst) for "true colors to fly"...and when the wind gets hard, they will always fly. Matthew 5:44 tells me that I must pray for the ones who despitefully use and persecute me. I will do that and hope that somehow our time wasn't null and void. The boys are too young to remember us later, but I hope something is sown that can't ever be dug up.
Mike's new dosage of medicine has thrown him off kilter. That, the fuel prices, the family being "used and accused" on top of losing a relationship with those sweet little boys forever, and my not knowing where I stand with him & having no ease in responding physically is just making "us" a mess. As far as "writing", I think he might be referring more to FB, although I've gotten superfast (after deleting 1/2 my "friends") and a new "flyby" style (computer on the counter, so no one can "sit"). As short as my blog is, I take too much time editing, I guess. For years, I felt guilty for doing anything unless it was dutiful, a business letter or a journal entry about the children. I write now for pleasure, but it would be lovely if at some point, the two converge.
The Ricola was really just funny; kept expecting her to break out in a yodel. The thing that concerns me more is not the swiping that went on in the closet but our 10 year old sitting in there on the phone with her "boyfriend" she got at the basketball tournaments in the middle of all the "uproar" around here. It's very innocent and they don't "get together". I just don't like the idea of young people spending their youth trying to please or impress someone while they should be focusing on personal and spiritual growth of their own. I try very hard not to be a bullheaded, legalistic parent, so I'm playing this one by ear.
Then there's Miranda, possibly jumping from the frying pan into the fire. It's incomprehensible that a company that prides itself on running a "clean" business allows most anything. Well, they hadn't met Miranda. She's kinda tight already with the GM. She was told by 1 manager that if she hadn't been homeschooled she'dve been prepared for such an environment. She promptly replied that words do get tossed around at home sometimes but the constant "F this or that" from a place that has, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it," as their motto, REALLY??? I told her, "The Heck with being the 'Secret Shopper'; YOU should be the 'Secret Worker'!"
Yes, it is good news that my week slowed down enough that I could look in the mirror naked. If anything can inspire a person, that can. I know too that it's part of my dismissal of our physical relationship since the upheaval. I just don't feel physical. The couple of white hairs I yanked off my head this week don't bother nearly as much as the condition I've let myself fall into, busy life or not. I don't weigh much more; I just look like I do. Will I meet my goal for Monday, no? Is that discouraging, yes? Will it stop me, no? For now, I need the kind of evening that doesn't require make-up, money, or conversation. To just "be" will work for me. Oh, and "mister" lying out in the yard really was just that...a "mister", one of the few things here that is truly mine and I truly enjoy. Our young kids got a little overzealous about the warmer weather and drug out everything and anything to do with water. Someone, and she knows who, took my mister and then left it out in the yard. On a summer day in the sun, nothing is more refreshing than cool mist on hot skin. I'll think on that and wish everyone the best of weekends.
I have to admit that the collectors were pretty nice, even funny, very lenient with all the hardships of the "resuming" economy. Yeah, yesterday I was accused of blackmail by the sister of a certain someone who must be owed money by that certain someone. Funny how people steer clear 'til they think some money is coming their way. Also funny how people push the ones they think are pushovers until it's our time to push...and God might just have our "back" in it. I'm a little tired of people mistaking patience with gullibleness; playing innocent while I'm waiting (and hoping against the worst) for "true colors to fly"...and when the wind gets hard, they will always fly. Matthew 5:44 tells me that I must pray for the ones who despitefully use and persecute me. I will do that and hope that somehow our time wasn't null and void. The boys are too young to remember us later, but I hope something is sown that can't ever be dug up.
Mike's new dosage of medicine has thrown him off kilter. That, the fuel prices, the family being "used and accused" on top of losing a relationship with those sweet little boys forever, and my not knowing where I stand with him & having no ease in responding physically is just making "us" a mess. As far as "writing", I think he might be referring more to FB, although I've gotten superfast (after deleting 1/2 my "friends") and a new "flyby" style (computer on the counter, so no one can "sit"). As short as my blog is, I take too much time editing, I guess. For years, I felt guilty for doing anything unless it was dutiful, a business letter or a journal entry about the children. I write now for pleasure, but it would be lovely if at some point, the two converge.
The Ricola was really just funny; kept expecting her to break out in a yodel. The thing that concerns me more is not the swiping that went on in the closet but our 10 year old sitting in there on the phone with her "boyfriend" she got at the basketball tournaments in the middle of all the "uproar" around here. It's very innocent and they don't "get together". I just don't like the idea of young people spending their youth trying to please or impress someone while they should be focusing on personal and spiritual growth of their own. I try very hard not to be a bullheaded, legalistic parent, so I'm playing this one by ear.
Then there's Miranda, possibly jumping from the frying pan into the fire. It's incomprehensible that a company that prides itself on running a "clean" business allows most anything. Well, they hadn't met Miranda. She's kinda tight already with the GM. She was told by 1 manager that if she hadn't been homeschooled she'dve been prepared for such an environment. She promptly replied that words do get tossed around at home sometimes but the constant "F this or that" from a place that has, "This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it," as their motto, REALLY??? I told her, "The Heck with being the 'Secret Shopper'; YOU should be the 'Secret Worker'!"
Yes, it is good news that my week slowed down enough that I could look in the mirror naked. If anything can inspire a person, that can. I know too that it's part of my dismissal of our physical relationship since the upheaval. I just don't feel physical. The couple of white hairs I yanked off my head this week don't bother nearly as much as the condition I've let myself fall into, busy life or not. I don't weigh much more; I just look like I do. Will I meet my goal for Monday, no? Is that discouraging, yes? Will it stop me, no? For now, I need the kind of evening that doesn't require make-up, money, or conversation. To just "be" will work for me. Oh, and "mister" lying out in the yard really was just that...a "mister", one of the few things here that is truly mine and I truly enjoy. Our young kids got a little overzealous about the warmer weather and drug out everything and anything to do with water. Someone, and she knows who, took my mister and then left it out in the yard. On a summer day in the sun, nothing is more refreshing than cool mist on hot skin. I'll think on that and wish everyone the best of weekends.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
The Phone is Ringing
See, in having all the little ones, I missed most of the big ones' games and in so doing, missed some new friendships forming. McKala (freshly 14) has this "guy" calling every few minutes, but come to find out, he's been standing on his bed just to keep a cell signal... too funny, but not as funny as when he called yesterday and said, "S'up?" I said holding back a giggle, "This is Michelle." "Yes, ma'am." I'll take being mistaken for a 14 year old anytime, though.
Maybe I do have some young girl left in me - McKala has been "ripping" songs for my mp3. God knows I need something to get me on the move. I'll say that 2 long nights of sleep (with the exception of the false smoke detector alarm), an organized house, and well children does a lot for the state of my health. I ate well today, but didn't have the 3 hunger pangs. Miranda made me a heavenly cup of hot chocolate for tonight. I told her that as long as she keeps her "cross out of her cleavage" and my car out of the ditch, she'll continue to be my devine. Something that I regard as much as a good cup of homemade hot chocolate is a well built sandwich with Blue Plate Mayonnaise and my dear Mom brought us 2 huge jars of it from Georgia. I won't deny myself certain things, just amounts of certain things. Of course, if the government had it's way, we'd all be living on "its" dollar - fat, happy, and stupid; not even considering revolution (which we actually have some experience with)....which leads me to trucking; interesting that there are subsidies for farms and everything else under the sun. Fuel goes to $4.00 p/gallon for truckers, which doesn't automatically ensure an adequate surcharge. The more independent drivers go under, the more drivers union companies will get and we all know what that means - big money support for the liberal minded.
Oh, good news today, Diamond, our horse, is now in an Equine Sanctuary. The neighbor, who would've been the one to transport him back to where he came from, came by today for a visit in the carport (which I know isn't something new construction offers much, so I'm sorry for those of you who don't have the carport "experience"). He couldn't get over Macklynn's Big Wheel, with Razor back wheels, "drifting" like mad round and around Mike's truck. They figured out that every 53 laps was 1 mile and he was working on 2. He's also the one with the Percheron and glad to be able to work it after his truck was struck by a train, cab ripped off the frame, caught fire, and was rescued by the workers where he was delivering. Think it's his fault for getting hit? It's just a matter of time 'til each of us has a lapse in judgement. When I think I've had all I can handle, I hear stories like this and become thankful for every misfortune and what it brings to the table.
And another "oh", I forgot my public service announcement for the day. Poor Melody (10) has cooked so many things lately that haven't "panned" out. She's been looking forward to having lasagna and I suggested as a matter of convenience that she use the "no boil" pasta. Don't.
Maybe I do have some young girl left in me - McKala has been "ripping" songs for my mp3. God knows I need something to get me on the move. I'll say that 2 long nights of sleep (with the exception of the false smoke detector alarm), an organized house, and well children does a lot for the state of my health. I ate well today, but didn't have the 3 hunger pangs. Miranda made me a heavenly cup of hot chocolate for tonight. I told her that as long as she keeps her "cross out of her cleavage" and my car out of the ditch, she'll continue to be my devine. Something that I regard as much as a good cup of homemade hot chocolate is a well built sandwich with Blue Plate Mayonnaise and my dear Mom brought us 2 huge jars of it from Georgia. I won't deny myself certain things, just amounts of certain things. Of course, if the government had it's way, we'd all be living on "its" dollar - fat, happy, and stupid; not even considering revolution (which we actually have some experience with)....which leads me to trucking; interesting that there are subsidies for farms and everything else under the sun. Fuel goes to $4.00 p/gallon for truckers, which doesn't automatically ensure an adequate surcharge. The more independent drivers go under, the more drivers union companies will get and we all know what that means - big money support for the liberal minded.
Oh, good news today, Diamond, our horse, is now in an Equine Sanctuary. The neighbor, who would've been the one to transport him back to where he came from, came by today for a visit in the carport (which I know isn't something new construction offers much, so I'm sorry for those of you who don't have the carport "experience"). He couldn't get over Macklynn's Big Wheel, with Razor back wheels, "drifting" like mad round and around Mike's truck. They figured out that every 53 laps was 1 mile and he was working on 2. He's also the one with the Percheron and glad to be able to work it after his truck was struck by a train, cab ripped off the frame, caught fire, and was rescued by the workers where he was delivering. Think it's his fault for getting hit? It's just a matter of time 'til each of us has a lapse in judgement. When I think I've had all I can handle, I hear stories like this and become thankful for every misfortune and what it brings to the table.
And another "oh", I forgot my public service announcement for the day. Poor Melody (10) has cooked so many things lately that haven't "panned" out. She's been looking forward to having lasagna and I suggested as a matter of convenience that she use the "no boil" pasta. Don't.
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