5JFarms

Exercise

2012-03-07T10:51:00.001-08:00

Have I mentioned that I love to exercise? Wednesday mornings I'm at the gym at 5:00 a.m. I love it. I'm not sure I love my alarm going off at 4:30 a.m., but I love working out and I love getting home at 6:30 a.m. just at the kids are getting up.

The gym I go to is a tiny place bursting with complete awesomeness. I was going to take my camera and show you around but it was 4:30 a.m. and I wasn't thinking about my camera. I'm not sure if I was doing much thinking at all. Anyway, at my awesome gym, I participate in group personal training sessions. It's cheaper that way. Usually there are three or four of us at a session.

Tracy is our fearless leader who shows up in the wee hours of the morning to work around our schedules and whip us into shape. She's a tiny thing who I could probably squash if I sat on, but I listen to everything she says, nod and quietly get to it. I don't mess with Tracy - she may make me do more reps when my arms are already crying out.

We worked arms today. We did biceps curls, tricep extensions, bicep curls with a squat, tricep extensions with a hinge, wood chops with a weighted ball and chops with a resistant band. Awesome. Tracy wasn't finished with us yet. Interspersed between the sets of arm workouts, we sat on a bosu ball and did situps - little crunches, full sit-ups and side to side extensions, opposite arm to opposite leg. Wonderful.

Sit-ups on a bosu ball.

Bicep curls. We did a set of both arms together, 20 on the right, 20 on the left, 20 alternating. Three times through. I wish I could say I look like this. Nope. I eat to much bread to look like this but I bet I have more fun.

Tricep extensions. Same routine. Set of 20 reps. together, 20 on the right, 20 on the left, 20 alternating.

Tuesday morning I got up and did a yoga dvd ( http://www.karenvoight.com/store/dvd.asp?sku=YSDVD) before the kids woke up. After they left for school I had to take in some sunshine even if it was for only 20 minutes, so Holly and I readied ourselves and set out for a 25 minute run. I tried to do intervals - run harder than usual for about a minute, then walk as recovery for about a minute. I have no watch or stop clock, just estimating. It was glorious.

Thursday will be a rest day of sorts. My plan is to walk for about a half hour, followed by some yoga poses. Friday will be a run with Holly, and Saturday I head back to my quaint gym and will do a combination spinning and strength class. I'm hoping to get some pictures of that so stay tuned. Sunday will be a glorious day of rest.

Why do I share this with you all? I'm not sure exactly. Have I given you any good ideas? Have I motivated you? Have I bored you? Do you want to join me next week at 5 a.m.? You could meet Tracy. You could do biceps and triceps until your arms weep. You could sing the Hallelujah chorus with me as we drive home.

I feel blessed. Blessed to be able to exercise and to have good health. Blessed to have the opportunity to take care of the body God has in his mercy, allowed me to have. It's a gift so precious that I feel obligated to tend to it with the utmost of care. Loving and enjoying the care of my health is the hallelujah, the icing on the cake, well, maybe that's not the most healthy example. How about the granola in my yogurt or the spinach in my salad? Not the same. Let's stick with icing on the cake.

Hallelujah. All is grace. All is a gift.

Monday

2012-03-05T14:42:00.001-08:00

I shift into gear about 5:15 a.m. on Monday mornings. I try to luxuriate on the weekends. I try to wear my polka dot fuzzy pants as much as possible. I try to take a nap. I like to watch a movie or two.

Monday is not about luxuriating. It's about getting things done.

5:30 a.m. - Got up and gathered dirty laundry, lugged it downstairs and made piles. I'm almost through the piles as I sit here.

6:30 a.m. - Kids got up. Breakfast was plain pancakes for Will, chocolate chip pancakes for the girls.

7:27 a.m. - Time to head out to catch the bus. Papers are signed. Plans for the afternoon made. I pick up Elizabeth after track practice. Kelli has a banquet tonight. Will has baseball assessment. I have to talk about these things in the morning so I feel comfortable moving forward into our day, I guess it's like looking at a map before I set out on a journey.

7:30 a.m. - Kids are on the bus. Breakfast dishes to clean up. I sat by my east window for just a few more precious moments. I needed to pray. I wanted a little more stillness before I faced more of the day.

8:00 a.m. - Changed up laundry.

8:15 a.m. - Ran with Holly.

We got more snow yesterday and the morning was absolutely beautiful. I tried to run and snap pictures but it wasn't working. I had to stop and Holly couldn't figure out what was going on.

We ran for about 45 minutes. When we got back home I did a circuit of some strength training.
Two times through of 15 pushups, 15 squat lifts with ten pound weights, 15 bicep curls with a forward lunge, 25 center sit-ups, 25 side sit ups, 25 hip raises and 15 superman lifts.

I love exercising. I could park it right here and just work out all day. I know I'd get tired but I love how I feel. I love the clothes I get to wear when I work out. I love the music I listen to. I love everything about it. If I could only figure out how to get paid to work out, I'd have it made.

10:40 - I arrived at work. I was late. I exercised to long. Did I mention that I love to work out?

2:30 - Back at home to finish laundry and get ready for supper.

4:10 p.m. - Fished out some spaghetti sauce out of the freezer. It will feed me, Lizzy and Will. Farmer Boy and Kelli will eat at the banquet. I'll pick Lizzy up from practice, take her friend home, come back here feed myself, Liz and Will and then take Will where he needs to be. Hopefully I'll get home around 8:30 and I'll make a mad dash for my fuzzy pajama pants to try and get a little luxuriating in before we do it all over again tomorrow.

4:30 p.m. - Sat down at my computer to share this all with you.

That's today. All is grace. Everything is a gift. Thanks for allowing me to share my day with you.

Mom

2012-03-01T07:19:00.001-08:00

Yesterday my little world was rocked by a fierce and angry wind. Our basketball net was thrust down, tree branches were snapped and this morning I walked around for about a half hour picking them up and laying them to rest in our burn pile. It snowed all day as well, horizontally. It was a nasty day.

Once again though, the sound of the wind triggered something inside me. All morning I was trying to get ready for work, telling myself to hurry up, get going, but the wind tantalized me, and caused me to move slowly.

I started thinking about stories. I love thinking about how God weaves our stories and brings us to today with a mighty and powerful story behind us and a new story ahead of us. My greatest struggle in allowing God to write my story is giving up control and feeling safe with him. If I had it my way I'd be writing the story, which is of course ridiculous, because my imagination can't beat God's. Ever.

My mom blew into my mind yesterday. Any other year, yesterday would have been her birthday. She had to wait a day. Today is her birthday.

My mom is a simple woman. She loves her husband. She loves her children and now her grandchildren. She has always been there for me. I believe God has written a story of courage, quiet strength, love and trust through her life that she has passed on to all of us kids.

Last year while I was on a trip home, my mom shared with me one of her stories, one I hadn't heard before, and when I was given the gift of her words, something shifted inside of me. It hasn't stopped moving and I'm not sure I can put words around it, but a deep gratitude and admiration for my mom has definitely grown with the story she shared with me that day.

I hope she doesn't mind if I share it here.

My dad was killed on a August night in 1971. He left for work one day and never came home. He died on the road, he was a truck driver. My mom was left on the farm they were trying to make successful with us four children. My sisters were nine and seven. I was not quite two and my brother was nine months old. Suddenly, it was mom and her babies.

(My brother Rob should be in this picture. He was hanging out with William and Kate this day and couldn't join us. See http://johnstonfamilyfarm.blogspot.com/2012/01/this-is-my-brother-rob-carrying-really.html)

Shortly after my dad was gone, my grandfather showed up at my mom's door. This was my dad's father. He was a Beechy Amish man. I remember him with dark glasses, a grey scratchy beard that would tickle when he would give us kisses. He was quiet, devout, and would kneel down on the floor after meals to pray.

That day at my mom's front door he was carrying a little black book. Inside it was a list of everything he and my grandmother had ever given my mom and dad. For example, they had listed a washing machine that they had given, and it was stored in mom and dad's basement. When mom and dad took it they were under the impression that grandma and grandpa were done with it. If I remember right, it didn't work anymore. I guess to my grandpa it didn't matter. Beside every listed item was a price. Grandpa expected mom to pay for everything on the list. I can't recall exactly, but I believe a cup of sugar made it's way to the list.

With this revelation my eyes opened wide and I was left speechless. What? Grandpa expected payment for all those things? When I asked her what she did she couldn't remember exactly. She did tell me she wouldn't let herself cry in front of him. There would be no tears for him. After he left, Mom called her mom, my sweet Grandma Irene, and then she cried. I'm not sure of the timeline, but grandpa did get paid.

My heart breaks with that story. It is difficult to reconcile in my mind. My grandpa with a black book. I know he loved the rules. I know his eyes always seemed slightly distant to me. He held my hand. He gave me kisses. He prayed. I can't quite wrap my head around the whole thing.

Mom didn't tell me that story until a year ago. While I was growing up, she took us to grandma and grandpa's house. We spent summer holidays there and we would stay for a week. We'd bike around their neighborhood. Grandpa would let us tag along with him on his errands. He took us to a park and told us to sit beside him for one minute. He wanted us to see how long one minute was. Grandma and grandpa would pick us up on summer days and take us fishing. The tension I felt between my mom and my grandparents I thought was because we weren't Beechy Amish and we looked different than the rest of the family. There was also the presence of my step dad that I believed caused some level of discomfort. He had also showed up at my mom's door after that August day to check on her and ended up marrying her and adopting all of us. He's been by her side for 40 years.

My mom has given me and all of us the best of herself all these years. My story would not be what it is if not for her. Thanks mom. Thanks for always loving. Thanks for always trying to do your best. Thanks for making it past the black book. Thanks for being an example of strength and surrender even when circumstances don't make sense.

Happy Birthday! I love you.

P.S. I hope I treated your story well. Thanks for sharing it with me.

What a Week!

2012-02-24T06:38:00.001-08:00

Sunday evening Farmer Boy had the privilege of taking the girls to a Father/Daughter dance. He was not thrilled with the dance prospects. Elizabeth was adamant. Weeks before the event, she took the advertising postcards that our church, who sponsored the event, had made, and posted them all over the house. There was one in the fridge, one in Farmer Boy's new pickup, and one on each toilet lid. Farmer Boy would lift the lid in the mornings to be reminded of his little girl's desire to go to a dance with her dad. She is relentless. She is sweet. She got her dad to the dance along with her sweet sister Kelli.

From all reports, they had a great time. It was a 50's themed evening but they played modern music. Farmer Boy learned the Cha-Cha slide as well as the Cupid Shuffle. I wonder if he can use these newly acquired skills with his official manure spreading certification?

Sunday turned into Monday and we had a birthday to celebrate. A birthday and a boy who is always quick to smile and whose eyes have a twinkle that melt my heart.

We had balloons, basketball, and birthday cake. We had supper with friends and presents. It was a proper celebration of a very fine young man who brings joy and bounce to us all.

Tuesday arrived and Kelli had to work. She got an official work shirt to go with her official job, and her official pay check which she is officially thrilled over.

Wednesdays are always a little hairy. With my whole hair issue that I have going on right now, perhaps I should say that Wednesdays are fuzzy. Hairy and fuzzy. Fuzzy and wuzzy? Anyway, Wednesdays are youth group for both Kelli and Elizabeth and bible study for me here at my house. Every week I get home on Wednesdays and do a little bit of frantic cleaning as well as frantic supper preparation. We need to be done eating at a certain time so Elizabeth can get out the door and I can have dishes cleaned up before the ladies get here.

Farmer Boy thought he help out with the frantic Wednesday pace by arranging for us to get five new piglets on Wednesday night. I appreciated the extra event in our schedule. It greatly helped with my Wednesday frantic fuzziness.

But look at them. They are so cute. They are so little. There is one brown one who is a show stopper. Have I ever seen a brown piggie? I'm not sure. He is cute.

We had two other pigs in the barn before the five piglets arrived on Wednesday. They will be for Farmer's market. People will be able to stop by our tent and buy eggs, veggies, beef and now pork cuts. They weren't sure about these new pigs. Definitely curious. Pigs are very interesting creatures with personality. Who knew?

Thursday the weatherman told us we were going to get hit with snow. I think we were all a little skeptical because we've heard that before this winter, and not much has come of it. However, when we went to bed last night, the world was transforming. Snow was flying, wind was blowing and from what we could see in the darkness, white was everywhere.

We were convinced that school would be at the least delayed, but of course we were hoping for a full on snow day.

Look what we woke up to.

Snow. Snow everywhere. The world went from brown and muddy to white and clean. School was not cancelled, not even delayed. The storm had passed and the sun came out to proclaim the day beautiful. The kids were disappointed but as we waited for the bus, I think the beauty was seeping in. We seemed to slip on a kind of winter joy. Finally, we have snow. Look how beautiful things can be when they are washed in white. Holly the chocolate silliness, seemed to abandon herself to the winter delight.

That's our week. Tomorrow is basketball and volleyball tournaments. I think Sunday, after church, I might make a cocoon for myself out of fuzzy pajama pants, fuzzy socks, fuzzy hair, and my fuzzy blanket and take a nap. I'm worn out.

Have a fabulous weekend.

Mornings

2012-02-20T18:13:00.000-08:00

Mornings around here are hectic. Well, maybe that is not quite true. I get up about 5:30 a.m. First thing I do is grab a big cup of water and sit down with my journal and my Bible. Quiet and stillness snuggle in beside me and we sit comfortably together writing and reading.

I usually hear the first alarm around 6:30 a.m. They get up within five minutes of each other. There are chores to do, hair to tend to, breakfast to eat, and a bus to catch.

Here are some signs of morning here at 5jfarms.

My living room window faces east. I can sit on my couch, write in my journal, read my Bible and watch the sun make it's glorious appearance first thing in the morning.

Will is usually the first one downstairs. Look at his hair. He doesn't have to do anything to it. He also doesn't care if his clothes look right or for that matter if they match. He simply gets up, slips his clothes on, stumbles downstairs and cuddles on the couch until everyone else is up. I love cuddling with him. He is warmth and morning sweetness.

Farmer Boy usually leaves the kids a note. He leaves about 6:00 a.m. and doesn't have a chance to see them before he heads out for the day. Today was Will's birthday (more on that later), so he got a special note.

Farmer Boy has bacon and eggs for breakfast every morning. When it's all said and done there are always three skillets to wash before I begin my day. I'm not sure how it happens but everyday it's three. Breakfast this morning was french toast with real Canadian maple syrup and of course, bacon.

I love my Keurig coffee maker. I don't love coffee but I love tea. I fill my cup several times every morning. Warm, soothing, delicious tea somehow makes a new day less demanding.

"Kelli, are you ready?" Will is the first one, Kelli is always the last. You know, hair, make-up, fashion dilemas, it's a lot for one girl to do in a morning. She always gets it done, and never is late for school. "Chill, mom, I'm coming." I'm chill. I'm cool. I never lose it when it's 7:20 and her door is still closed even though the bus arrives at 7:25. Never. I'm totally chill.

I walk them to the bus every morning. I love kissing them one more time before they leave for the day. I come back into the house, grab that one more cup of tea and then something catches my eye. The sun through my east window is fully awake. It has finished painting the sky with pinks, purples and reds. Now it peeks through my front door and draws golden pictures on my wall. I always want to watch what it will do next. I want to ooh and ahh over it's imagination and creativity but time doesn't stop even when I beg it to.

The morning marches on and I must tend to the day.

I wonder if David stopped himself in the morning to watch the sun dance across an east facing wall?

"Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul."

-Psalm 143:8

I guess I'll never know for sure but I bet he did.

Random Blessings

2012-02-15T15:17:00.000-08:00

The weather is beautiful again here today. The temperature is about 40 degrees. The sun is shining, the sky is blue. Of course the sun called to me this morning and said, "come my dear one, come and run."

It was glorious. Holly kept looking back at me while we were running as if to say, "Isn't this awesome?"
I had to agree with her. It was awesome.

As I ran, random thoughts popped up into my head. Perhaps if I was a psychologist I would understand how they are related but I'm not, so I don't.

Of course I have to share my randomness with you. What kind of blogger would I be if I kept it all to myself?

Friends are such a blessing. I was thinking I need to have these ladies over for supper again soon. We got together two weeks ago and had a Mexican potluck at my house. We laughed. We ate way to much. We were together, we were free from the ticking of the clock that usually dictates our every move, and we were wonderful.

I was wondering what Farmer Boy was up to and how his day was going. This is his new work pick-up. He is very particular about it, and won't drive it unless it's work related. Those are the rules. He e-mailed me at work today and the subject heading was, "I can't believe I'm getting paid for this." He was out in the field, driving through the country in his pick-up on this beautiful day. If your name was Farmer Boy, what else besides pick-up trucks, wide open fields, and pig manure, would you need?

Although this looks like a wild demon creature, it's just Holly. Sweet Holly who glances at me when we run and seems to smile in pure enjoyment of running. She loves it as much as I do. How is it that one dog can be so loyal, so charming, so cute and so stupid? One minute I can be petting her, the next I'm hollering at her for chasing a runner down the road, or barking at nothing in particular, or trying to come into the mudroom and track in who knows what onto my clean floor. I was cleaning up my mud room floor when this picture was taken and she was determined to come in, leave her little doggie prints behind, and then make it to the family room where she could crash by the fire. I hollered, she ignored. Someone really needs to train her.

She made it in. What a nut!

Sunshine and 40 degrees on a Wednesday in February is a blessing. Friends are a blessing. Farmer Boy's new job is a blessing. Holly, well, sometimes Holly can be a blessing.

I think I should run every day.

Ordered

2012-02-10T15:19:00.000-08:00

This is me. I think this is the most recent picture of myself that I have. It was taken at work right before Christmas.

Looking at this picture you can see that I have unusually curly hair and wrinkles. What you can't see is how I live and who I am. I live a very ordered life. I like structure and things that are predictable. Most of the time those things serve me well, but I do have my days. Let me show you what I mean.

Here's what my week looks like - every week.
Monday - laundry.
Tuesday - Walmart shopping and a bit of cleaning.
Wednesday - grocery shopping and a bit of cleaning.
Thursday - laundry again and a bit of cleaning.
Friday - finish up cleaning.

I exercise every day. I go to bed at 9:00 pm. I have a clean house. I plan weekly menus. I make a grocery list. I clean a little bit every day so on Saturday I can finish up what I didn't get done, do laundry and sit at basketball or volleyball tournaments. Sundays are a day of rest. I like to get caught up on reading and sleep.

This morning I didn't get up as early as usual because the kids did not have school. Farmer Boy got up at his usual time and left for work. The world was dark, my bedroom was stillness and solitude. The wind broke through and interrupted my daily schedule planning. What is it about wind? Sometimes it comes in the darkness of a new day and speaks to me. Mystery, intrigue, romance and abandon, blow through on the wings of those early morning winds and I stop to listen, hoping for something. Something I can't touch or even put words around. Something that will make me new. Today it blew my list apart, tore off the safe borders of my day and left me wondering.

What would happen if I didn't do what my schedule told me to do? What if I didn't clean today? What if instead of exercising I sat on my front porch, bundled up, and watched the world go by? What if instead of control, I tried a little abandon? What would that look like? What exactly would I have done at 11:15 this morning if I was practicing abandon? I don't know. I didn't give it a chance.

I got up and exercised. Then I ripped the sheets off my bed, because it's Friday and that's the day I wash our sheets. I took a shower, went to work, came home and continued to work through my schedule. Productive, predictable, hopefully not pointless.

All day I've also been stealing glances out the window, spying on tree branches, watching them give themselves over to the wind.

What's my point? I don't know. Just thinking I guess.

Hair

2012-02-02T17:02:00.000-08:00

This morning while the kids were emerging from their cozy beds and popping their heads into the kitchen to greet the day, I stood still, paused my breakfast preparation and took in my beautiful girls.

Look at Elizabeth's hair today. I think it's so cute. Her hair is getting curlier as she matures, but she seems to be taking it all in stride. She's gotten some helpful tips from her mother who's been dealing with curls for quite some time and has every known curl product known to man in her bathroom closet. You just never know if this product could be the one - the miracle product.

I loved her 'do' this morning.

Kelli made her appearance.

Her hair is not as curly as Elizabeth's or mine but it is thick. Crazy thick. Beautiful, shiny, wavy, thick hair. Lovely.

Then there's mine.

My hair was still wet at this point so the fuzz that has been plaguing it lately, hadn't arrived. It showed up about an hour after this picture was taken.

Unusually curly. Greying. Fuzzy. Fuzzy? Wait..... is there a song here?
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
If Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,
then Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't really fuzzy
was he?

I'm fuzzy. My last name is not Wuzzy. I have hair. My girls aren't fuzzy. Their last name is also not Wuzzy. They have beautiful hair. How come I'm fuzzy and they are not? Where did my fuzzy hair come from? Is it my hormones? I believe hormones are the root of all evil. Why can't my hair look cute and lovely? I'm their mother. My hair should be like their hair. It's not. It's fuzzy. I'm puzzled.

Add it to my list of things I just don't understand. I should scratch my head in puzzlement but it would just add to the fuzz.

Over and out.

And fuzzy.

My Boys

2012-01-27T15:05:00.000-08:00

I thought I should spend some time updating you on what is going on with the men here on 5jFarms. They are in the minority so this is their time, their place.

Will has been playing basketball since before Christmas. He practices twice a week and has been having tournaments about every other Saturday. He's good. He's the point guard. I love watching him.

I don't know anything about basketball. There are many things I don't know anything about - football, rugby, lacrosse, sewing, calculus, cars, teenage girls, are just a few. I could go on and on but my pride is telling me to stop.

I'm learning that basketball is violent. I grew up watching hockey. My brother Rob played, my dad referred. I understand checking into the boards and the occasional tripping penalty or even slashing penalty. I've watched my brother take off his hockey gloves and start pounding another player. His only excuse for getting involved in a fight on the ice was, "he dropped his gloves, I had to fight him."

Somehow that explanation kind of makes sense to me.

I'm not used to basketball. There is no ice, no skates sharpened to perfection, no sticks, or even a hard rubber puck. Basketball involves a bouncy ball, a little net, running shoes and a wooden floor.

Basketball did this. Someone tripped him from behind and he fit the floor chin first.

Let me clarify. Someone tripped my baby from behind while he was running at top speed toward the basket and took him down. There was no penalty. No one had to sit off in the penalty box so my son's team could shoot an extra basket with a power play. Nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. For his bravery, he was rewarded with a trip to the emergency room followed by five stitches that he thought were pretty darn cool. One more thing to add to my list of things I don't understand - boys thinking stitches are cool.

He is fine now. His stitches are out. He has a tournament tomorrow. I'll be there watching, trying to figure out what the heck is going on and what each blow of the ref's whistle means.

Now for Farmer Boy.

Farmer Boy should be home in about an hour from the second week of his new job. He's liking it. He got certified this week to be an official commercial manure spreader. It's a little more technical than that but all you need to know is that if you ever need help spreading manure, Farmer Boy's your man. Officially. Certifiably.

This picture was taken this summer but if I remember right I think he was telling a story. Perhaps it would be better to say he was spreading manure. Either way, he's certified.

Two weeks down and he is liking the job. Change is good. Learning a lot of new things is difficult but Farmer Boy is a quick learner. He likes his new pick-up (great for hauling you know what) and although I know he's still a little tentative about it all, I know he's going to do great things. He's Farmer Boy. It's what he does.

I think that's about it. While I've been writing this, Will hollered from downstairs wanting to know what's cooking for supper. Farmer Boy also just called and asked me the same question. Here's one thing I actually understand - my boys expect me to cook supper, every night.

But here's one more thing I don't understand - I don't mind cooking for them. I enjoy it.

Have a great weekend.

My Cool Brother

2012-01-21T15:57:00.000-08:00

This is my brother Rob, carrying a really long pole. He's participating in a Highland Game competition where he lives. Those guys watching him look slightly afraid, dumbfounded by my brother's strength and agility. They're thinking, "Man, I wish I could lift a really long pole like that." Clearly, they are not as cool as my brother.

Any ideas where my brother lives? Ocean. Red Sand. Anyone?

It's a place that receives visits from royal couples. I know it's hard to see but the people coming down the steps of that plane are Will and Kate. They came to visit my brother this past summer. Will and Rob are buds. My brother is cool.

Okay, do you know where he lives yet? This is him putting seaweed around the foundation of his house for insulation. Ocean. Red ground. Royal visits. Seaweed as insulation.

Okay, I'll tell you. He lives in Prince Edward Island. For all you who are not sure where that is, see if you can find it on a map. It's tiny. It's north and east of Maine. It's Anne's land. You know ..... Anne, Marilla, Matthew, Diana Cuthbert and of course Gilbert Blythe. I wonder if Matthew put seaweed around their house to protect them from winter? Lucy Montgomery didn't tell us that.
I bet they did and I bet Anne helped.

This is my brother's lovely wife Susan. Come to think of it she could pass as Anne. She's not from Prince Edward Island but she does have red hair. No, forget that. That would mean my brother Rob is Gilbert and that is too weird. Susan sent me all these awesome pictures of my brother and I'm very thankful for them. I haven't seen Rob in several years. Prince Edward Island is difficult to get to. It's a long drive from our land to Anne's land.

If I was part of a royal couple maybe I could fly there, but since I'm married to Farmer Boy I'm just going to have to be content to look at pictures of my brother carrying long poles, shoveling seaweed and carrying very heavy weights.

I'm so very thankful for the pictures. Thanks Susan.

Happy Birthday brother. You truly are cool. I miss you. I love you. I can't wait to see you again.

Random Thoughts

2012-01-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

I just finished cleaning up breakfast. Bacon grease from Farmer Boy's daily dose of bacon and eggs, oatmeal pieces scattered, clementine peels, milk droplets. The sky was pink and orange through my window as I wiped and washed, and I felt like I was in a church. Solemn. Quiet. So thankful. Before I sat down here at my computer, I lit a candle and set it in the middle of my now cleaned off table. It just seemed right.

This year has started off in a blur. New job for Farmer Boy, more work hours for me, volleyball tournaments, basketball tournaments, Kelli's new job and class, dusting, toilets, groceries, exercise, trying to get back to my pre-Thanksgiving sugar restriction. No wonder I've been feeling so tired lately.

I think it's amusing how my brain churns out the strangest things while I'm running from one thing to another. If I was more prepared, I'd carry a tiny notebook with me and jot down some of my thoughts during the day just to give myself a good laugh every night.

Please tell me you can relate to some of these things.

1. Why does my hair cycle through good days and bad days? Why can't it just park itself in good and stay there?

2. When will it be my turn to be the one who knows something? It seems like I know nothing about anything. I used to know stuff. Where did it go? I want it back. I want to be the woman in the know. Right now, as I sit here, I'm the woman who is always saying, "I don't know". I'm tired of that.

3. Are they serious about a higher debt ceiling? Could I please talk to someone and tell them how crazy this all is? I don't get it.

4. What if I'm ordinary for the rest of my life? What if I never accomplish something great? What is great? I don't know.

5. Time really does go by too fast. I just want to sit still, on the couch, with my kids and Farmer Boy. We could eat popcorn. I'd pop it in the kettle because I don't like all the chemicals in microwave popcorn. Is it true that you can put popcorn kernels in a ordinary paper bag and stick it in the microwave? I wonder if that's true. I don't know.

6. Am I eating too many carbs? I like carbs. I love bread and cookies. Oh, and popcorn.

7. Why did she look at me like that? Did I say something stupid? Is there a booger in my nose? Am I a good friend? I truly want to be a good friend.

8. What should I make for supper?

I know there are so many more but I can't remember them right now. My memory and lack of it could take me down another road of thoughts. However, I think that is enough for one day. Therapeutic to be sure. What are some of your random thoughts?

Change

2012-01-13T07:47:00.000-08:00

Change is a good thing. Change is necessary. Change is difficult for someone like me who likes to keep everything neat, tidy and controlled.

I suppose the start of a New Year is a good time for change.

Farmer Boy starts a new job on Monday. He is saying goodbye to the job he has held for 14 years and trying his hand at something new. He'll get a pick-up. He'll get to work with pig manure and farmers. He'll be able to spend time in a field instead of an office. He won't have to go to meetings. He won't have to leave us for a week at a time. He's excited. I'm excited, and a little scared. You know, neat, tidy, change.

When the neat and tidy thing becomes threatened, I tell myself that Farmer Boy is a farmer. He likes being outside. He loves taking care of livestock. He loves crops and fields, harvest and yields. The 14 year old job was such a blessing to us, but the last few years had become difficult. Farmer Boy seemed to be shriveling up somehow. I suppose it was like a cornstalk without sun and rain. I heard him whistle the other day. It sounded like sun and rain, like the shriveling time was over. It shocked me. I hadn't heard the sound of something growing inside of Farmer Boy for a long time.

Okay, maybe I'm convincing myself that change is a good thing.

All right. Next up. Kelli.

If you lean in to your computer real close you might be able to catch a glimpse of this. I'm trying to figure out our new scanner/printer. More change. Technological change. The worst kind.

The picture is of Kelli and Elizabeth. You probably can't see it but Kelli has her eyes closed and has a look of sheer delight on her face. Hugging Elizabeth, trying to hold onto her little sister who was probably getting ready to do something naughty, was apparently giving Kelli pleasure.

This was them on Saturday night. They are looking through the yearbook trying to help Kelli find someone to ask to prom.

My sweet, sweet girls. They have changed a lot.

Kelli got a job this week. She has been looking for something for over a year and this week two job offers came in. Isn't that the way it goes? She is working at a local gym in the child care department. Moms come to work out and leave their kids with Kelli to play with.

Yesterday I took Kelli to her first college class. Her high school offers students a chance to take college classes for free. Kelli is taking an animal science class.

She loves livestock. Hmm....wonder where that comes from?

Anyway, yesterday was her first class. College campus. My baby. Walking to class, without me. I was not really ok with that. I asked some friends if they thought Kelli would mind if I walked to class with her, while holding her hand of course, and then sat beside her during the lecture. They hinted that Kelli might be a little embarrassed by that. I gave up that idea, dropped her off, let her walk to the huge building where her class was, made sure no young men were going to follow her, and then I left her there. Alone. Without me.

Wait. Did I say something earlier about change being good? Maybe I'm changing my mind.

Kelli did fine. She made it back home safe. I tucked her last night, gave her kisses and asked her if she just wanted to stay home with me forever.

She laughed. I was serious.

Neat and tidy? Control? I'm learning to let go. I don't like learning new things.

Change. Inevitable.

I guess it's time to mess things up a little bit. Here we go.

Winter? Sun.

2012-01-05T14:02:00.000-08:00

I took these pictures last week while I was out running with Holly. This is our favorite running place.

It was mid-morning. It was officially winter. The kids were still on Christmas break. Christmas was over, and we were sitting in the quiet that happens between Christmas and New Years. While they slept in, played video games and read, I strapped on my running shoes and took off. I never want to miss an opportunity to feel sunshine on my face when it's officially winter. Usually around here, sun and winter don't get along very well.

I remember being amazed at how warm it was, how there was no snow on the ground, or even in the air on one of the last days of December. I stopped several times during my run just to lift my head to the sun and let it warm my face. I think that may be called sun salutation.

I did not run today. I should have. I could have saluted the sun several times. Today is as beautiful as the above pictures. Today's temperature is hovering around 60 degrees. Yes, it is January in the Midwest. No, we have not had any snow days, or blizzards, or road closures because of snow.

Unbelievable.

I'm not complaining.

I'm going to hope I can perform sun salutations tomorrow.

We'll see.

The Day After Christmas

2011-12-26T18:52:00.000-08:00

I sat in church yesterday without Farmer Boy. He inherited my flu and spent Christmas Eve and yesterday feeling like he had been hit by a truck. His own description included the words "depths of despair". Don't you think men are a little dramatic when they're sick?

We sang Christmas carols at church, and as we sang I bit down hard, not allowing any tears. I thought of my mom and her alto voice, my sisters, and my brother, all in different places. I stood in that church at that moment, and yet I felt like I was standing in a thousand moments that have long passed. All those moments that brought me to my present one. All those moments I treated so carelessly and casually. I sang, my eyes looking up, my precious children beside me, and I tried to treat the moment with the utmost of care, to fully and completely ingest it. No more careless moments, I told myself. It all goes by so fast, change in a blink, precious, fragile, necessary.

Today, I took my camera with me on my most recent quest - I suppose it's a quest against the ordinary. Perhaps no moment is ordinary. Perhaps all moments are precious. That's what I'm going to believe. Each moment is precious. Here are some of my precious moments. Here is a glimpse of our day after Christmas down here on the farm.

Just because a moment is precious, doesn't mean I don't have questions. Why were these shoes outside, frozen into the ground? Why does no one have an answer for me?

She looks likes she knows something but she's not talking.

A bow quiver constructed from a empty tube of wrapping paper. Pretty good idea if you ask me.

A hunt for a missing arrow. We have some new and very stylish hats around here as well.

This remote control helicopter is very cool. I found out yesterday that it doesn't do well with my curls. Will got a little too close and it got tangled in my hair. A precious moment that almost turned ugly.

Look at my boys. Precious. They're playing our new video game on our new T.V. Like the bald spot? I suppose I should be thankful that I have hair for a helicopter to get tangled in. Poor, balding Farmer Boy.

Thank you Lord for all of today, the day after Christmas. May I stop longing for more. Help me to stop wrestling with what is to try and make it into what it isn't.

Amen.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T11:21:00.000-08:00

Christmas Eve. Sun is shining. Temperature is supposed to hit 45 degrees. There is snow on the ground but just barely. The sky is big and blue and the trees are swaying slightly with the wind. I stood by my bedroom window this morning to be still and watch. I was quietly trying to be thankful, trying to be still, trying not to miss the small things, the ordinary things, the things I usually miss. Today I wanted to take them in. Today is Christmas Eve.

Oh how my soul praises the Lord.
How my spirit rejoices in God my Savior!
For he took notice of his lowly servant girl, and
from now on all generations will call me blessed.
For the Mighty One is holy
and he has done great things for me.
He shows mercy from generation to generation
to all who fear him.
His mighty arm has done tremendous things!
He has scattered the proud and haughty ones.
He has brought down princes from their thrones and exalted the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away with empty hands.
He has helped his servant Israel
and remembered to be merciful.
for he made this promise to our ancestors,
to Abraham and his children forever.
Mary
- Luke 1:47-55

So from my window ...

and from my living room...

Merry Christmas!

Taking on the Day

2011-12-21T07:26:00.000-08:00

Right now I'm sitting in my pajamas. I should be ripping around, checking things off my ever-present list, and I will, but not right now. Right now I'm a little unsteady. A nasty bug got a hold of me on Sunday night, wrestled me to the ground, forced my head into the toilet and kept me there all night. I felt a little humiliated. I'm not used to being sick like that. I'm used to being Mom, the one who is always healthy, strong, the one who makes everything better, but not this time.

I've been lying around all week. I haven't felt like doing anything else. I haven't wanted to eat. I have no energy. There is much to do, family that is visiting from out of state, but I'm just not up to it. Sunday, before my wrestling match with the flu bug, some words were said to me by a beloved family member that sent me reeling. I don't know how to react. I don't know how to think or what to say. I'm even having a hard time praying about it. It simply caught me off guard, took me out at the knees.

I suppose on my knees is exactly where I should be. Humiliation can be a good thing.

This is one of my favorite Bible stories. A desperate woman on her knees who still had faith enough to reach out. She had tried everything else, and nothing worked. Reaching, hoping, trusting. "Your faith has healed you", Jesus said, "Go in peace".

Desperate. Reaching. Faith. Healing. Peace.

So as I sit here in my pajamas, about to take on a day I'm not sure I want to take on, here is what I know. Breakfast dishes need done, groceries need bought, vacuuming needs done, shower needs taken, I am loved, a cloak is within my reach, and so is faith, healing and peace.

It's time to get up and reach out.

I'm still a little unsteady, but here I go.

Just a Girl

2011-12-13T14:53:00.000-08:00

It is grey and dreary outside. There is no snow on the ground to add a dash of white to the brown that stretches as far as I can see. It's the kind of day that usually beckons to me, tells me to sit down on the couch, with a book, fuzzy socks, and a huge cup of tea.

Today I didn't do any of that. Despite the weather, I decided to go outside for a run this morning. It is December in the Midwest. The big snow will come any day now, and then I'll be stuck running on a treadmill, pretending I'm a hamster. Today I told myself to cease the day, grab a piece of the outside and go get it done.

Holly and I set out at about 8:00 a.m. I had her leash, my I-Pod, my running shoes and of course my running pants. Running pants are wonderful. They keep my legs warm. They don't flap or rub when I run. They make my butt look like an exclamation point but I was ceasing the day remember? I couldn't worry about my butt punctuation.

In the spirit of running pants I watched Holly very closely. Have you ever noticed how dogs can wag and walk at the same time? It looks so easy and yet I can't get it figured out. Wag and walk. Try it and let me know if you can do it.

Not every run is the same. Some days I feel like I have bricks stuck in my running pants and other days I feel like I can fly. Today was one of my flying days. I sang along to my I-Pod. I danced. I practiced the wag and walk. I felt free. For a brief moment of my day I was just a girl. A girl running with her dog.

I love that.

P.S. The above pictures are clearly not from today. During our trip north for Thanksgiving, our camera was dropped. It's not been the same since. Please bear with me.

Announcements

2011-12-09T15:03:00.000-08:00

Farmer Boy announced last night that he had downloaded his hunting pictures off his phone. Here they are, the official 2011 deer hunt pictures.

Kelli announced on Wednesday morning that her car wouldn't start. It's dead. Totally dead.

I realize that the above picture is completely unrelated to a dead car but did you really want to see a picture of Kelli's car just sitting there? I decided you didn't. I decided that you much rather see a picture of our Christmas tree.

Elizabeth announced that she likes to drink tea with her pinkie up in the air and that tomorrow at a church event, she is going to teach some younger girls how to drink tea the same way.

Will announced that he puked last night during basketball practice. He decided it was because of too many suicides. He has a tournament on Sunday. Should we reconsider the whole basketball thing?

I announced that it's Friday and I'm not going anywhere tonight. Nowhere. Nothing. Purple fuzzy robe. Tea. Ahh....

Have a great weekend.

Gone

2011-12-05T13:36:00.000-08:00

Our first date took place at Newport Beach. We walked along the beach at night, holding our shoes, listening to the waves. The waves danced on the sand but I mostly listened to his stories, trying to make pictures in my mind of everything he was telling me about. We made it back to the dorms and sat outside in the parking lot. I think we both knew we had just spent some time with someone who was completely different than anything we had ever experienced before, and yet we were afraid to move forward. I told Farmer Boy that I was not looking for a boyfriend, I simply didn't want to go there. At this point we were great friends, two farm kids in Southern California, so far from the farms we loved to tell each other about. I liked friends, I could understand that. I had tried boyfriend a time or two, but it only confused me. Friend seemed easier and more important.

He walked me back to the dorms and as he stood by the front door, I looked at him and realized I may have just lied to him. He was so different. I still wasn't clear on the whole boyfriend thing but could we do something like this again? The two of us? He smiled. Nodded. Told me he would call me tomorrow. He did.

We'll be married twenty years this month. Twenty years. It's difficult for me to grasp.

Farmer Boy went hunting this past weekend. It's his annual deer hunt.

These pictures are from last year's hunt. I didn't get any from Farmer Boy this year. Close your eyes and imagine basically the same thing. Orange, brown, piles of guts. I hope I'm not offensive.

Farmer Boy took all the kids with him and I stayed here. The house was mine on Saturday and as I moved around doing this and that, I remembered a former hunting story. I thought I'd share it.

I think this may have happened about 8 years ago or so. It was before any children went along for the hunt. It had been a long day, not many deer seen. It was snowing and the men were tired from trekking through the snow all morning. They broke for lunch and then returned to the hunt. Farmer Boy finally spotted a deer. He shot it. It went down. He raced over to it and couldn't believe his luck. It was big and beautiful and had a nice rack of antlers. He stood over it for a proud minute, taking it all in. The other men were making their way towards him to see his beautiful buck. Farmer Boy had a problem. He had ingested too much water over lunch and now he could hardly stand still. Before the other guys got there he decided to take care of business. He set his gun down close to the buck. He went about his business and as he was standing there, the buck who he thought was dead, got up and ran away!

Farmer Boy couldn't do anything but stand and watch. He was holding the wrong gun! By the time he had his shotgun in his hands, the big beautiful buck was gone. Gone. Gone.

Now it is only the stuff of legend. The men look for it every year. It's gone. Gone.

I'm very glad I decided to tell Farmer Boy what was truly on my mind all those years ago. If I hadn't Farmer Boy might only be the stuff of legend. He may have gotten away. Gone.

The moral of the story is - I'm not sure really. I'll let you come up with it.

Grace

2011-12-01T12:05:00.000-08:00

I was convinced this baby would be a girl. My two baby girls were so sweet and everyone told me I would probably have a third this time around. My mind was so prepared for another baby girl, that when the midwife announced, "It's a boy", my response was "No it isn't." She held Will up high enough for me to see and all I could say was, "Wow! That really is a boy."

Will was born in the middle of winter. The doctor told me to stay in with him for at least six weeks as flu season was at it's peak and Will would be susceptible to the RSV virus.

Three babies. Middle of winter. Milk coming in. Not a lot of sleep. Hormones that were raging. A husband busy at work. I don't have many happy memories of that time. Honestly, I don't have many memories of that time at all. In my state of post partumness, I hoped that love would cover over a multitude of sins. Every time I put Will down or picked him up, I kissed his soft little head. Despite everything that was going on with me during that time, I needed for Will to know that he was loved.

I got a letter in the mail yesterday. Will wrote it at school and his teacher stuck in the mail for me. This is how it read.

Dear Mom,
You are my hero because you always help me if I need it. You also work hard every day so I can have food and clean clothes. I would never be able to work that hard! You are also home every day after school so that I am not alone. You do all that and you a have a real job to do. You always make me feel safe. You are my hero for many reasons.
From,
Will

As I read those words and let them soak in, all I felt was grace. Grace. The love of a young boy who loves me more than I deserve. Grace. Thank you Lord for the gift of grace.

Don't you think that sweet head needs more kisses?

The Land of Hockey

2011-11-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

Not everyone gets to go see the Kitchener Rangers play hockey. Not everyone knows what a zamboni machine is. Not everyone gets a hockey stick and a puck for Christmas from their grandparents and plays street hockey.

I do. Well, sort of. I didn't get a hockey stick and a puck from my grandparents for Christmas, and I'm not exactly sure how to spell zamboni. Can you just bear with me here?

I just got back from the land of hockey and I wanted to share with you some things you should know if you ever return from the land of hockey. I suppose it's not so much what you should know, it's more precisely what you should do if you ever get the chance to return from the land of hockey.

1. Unpack all luggage, not just yours but everyone else's who went with you, and make a huge pile of dirty laundry in the middle of a room, preferably your laundry room. When the pile is about as tall as you are, sort through it and then start washing. Keep washing. Don't stop. Fold. Put away. This will take a long time so prepare yourself for a day of laundry endlessness.

2. Open your fridge and marvel at the emptiness. Endlessness and emptiness. It's really not that bad. No milk. No fruit. Not much of anything. You can do this. Grab a pen, a piece of paper and start writing. It's time. Time for a grocery list. Your mind may still be lingering on what you saw in the laundry room, so it really is best to write things down. You'll thank yourself when you're standing in the grocery store with your mouth hanging open, your thoughts on a laundry mountain and your heart somewhere between the land of hockey and the grocery store.

3. Go to the grocery store. Don't forget to change out of your pajamas and brush your teeth. A hat may be a good option since your hair might not be at it's very best. While at the grocery store you may have trouble focusing. It's been a while since you've had to cook. Wait, no, it can't be. That person you just heard is not your mother. It may have sounded like her, you may wish it was her since she is a good cook and took care of all of your most recent meals, but remember she is in the land of hockey and you are here. When you pass the spice section don't forget to pick up 'Mrs. Dash'. Your sister, whom you truly believe is the best cook in the world, told you she uses it, and so you must use it as well.

4. Return home. Unload groceries. Fold laundry. Put away laundry. Put more dirty laundry into the washing machine to make it clean. Make lunch. Brush your teeth because you forgot before you went to the grocery store. Try to stop thinking about going shopping. There is too much laundry and your husband just announced that he's going to get the Christmas tree and he wants to put it up this afternoon. Christmas tree equals Christmas decorations, equals boxes and mess and chaos. Take a deep breath. Don't panic. Fold more laundry. While folding try to not to think about your friends from the land of hockey because obsessing takes time, wishing they lived closer and reliving the wonderful time you spent with them is not productive and you have laundry to do. Lots of laundry. Ruth had cute boots, Deb had such a cute coat, Susan's scarf would go so well with a lot of things and Jayne was wearing classy dark jeans. Remind yourself that buying those things won't bring them any closer. The land of hockey and your sweet friends are now 800 miles away. Deal with it. Fold.

5. While driving to the mall remind yourself that there may be a lot of people there because while you were in the land of hockey, people here were celebrating Thanksgiving, and what better way to celebrate thankfulness than to go out and buy things? You never know, maybe you'll find those cute boots, that cute coat, the versatile scarf and those classy jeans. You'll be able to wear them, think of your friends and not have to worry about copying them - they're 800 miles away. They are not going to know and for that you are thankful.

6. On returning home from the mall, don't forget to tell God thank you for the brand new coat and boots. Be fully thankful, not half thankful. Try not to think about how much more fun it would have been to shop with your sisters. Remind yourself that they are in the land of hockey and you are in the land of thankful. You are thankful, fully thankful. You can give yourself one minute to wonder if they would like your boots. You're thankful. Fold. Load the washer. Start dinner.

7. After dinner, try to answer questions in a loving way. It doesn't matter that the Christmas decorations were put away a year ago, you should still remember where everything is, how everything goes together and where to put things so they are in the exact same spot as they were last year.

8. Go sit in the bathroom for a minute. Take a deep breath. Try to block out the sounds of things falling and the chaos of Christmas that is going on outside of your temporary private world. Don't think about boxes and newspapers everywhere. Try to forget about where the heck the hooks for the ornaments are. Don't tell yourself to make a list so that on Monday you can get hooks, tinsel, lights that work and some tree ornaments to replace the ones that you just heard your daughter step on. Don't go there. Not now. Breathe. Sit still for a few minutes longer. Then, fold.

9. Put tomorrow's lunch in the crock pot so that in the morning you can grab it out of the fridge and plug it in before you head to church. This will perhaps give you more time to deal with your unruly mop of hair that has become very rebellious since you've been gone. Fold. You're getting there. Only three more loads.

10. Kiss your kids good night. Pull out the vacuum and try to get the newspaper bits, and the tinsel pieces (maybe if you'd pick them up you wouldn't have to run to Wal-Mart on Monday), then finish putting away boxes and tidying up. Look around. Wow. It looks nice. You may wonder what your mom and sisters would say if they could see it. You might think how nice it would be to have your friends from the land of hockey stop by to sit, sip tea, and take in your holiday decorations. You'd have to hide your new boots and coat but that would not be difficult. Put away that last load of laundry. Don't worry about tomorrow and your unruly hair. Don't forget to say thank you for your time in the land of hockey, your home here, for friends in both places, and for your dear, sweet family who'll be waiting for you the next time you make the trip.

11. Go to bed.

Beauty

2011-11-10T06:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I had Bible study at my house. Every Wednesday a group of ladies comes over and we study the book of Esther together. It's a wonderful study written by Beth Moore and if you've never done a Beth Moore study you really should.

Esther brings out themes of beauty. We've talked about what beauty is and how interesting it is that along with Esther, we live in a society where beauty has become a thing that you do, not a thing that you are.

Esther was probably a young girl of maybe 13 or 14 years old when she was summoned to the palace of King Xerxes.

Elizabeth is 13. She has not been summoned to any palaces, but she did feel the call to dress up as David Bowie's character in the movie, "Labyrinth" for Halloween.

I don't know the name of the character. Elizabeth and her band of buddies have for some unknown reason, taken to watching 'The Labyrinth' at most of their sleepovers. They call this character, "The Creeper". Even Holly the silly, crazy, not very smart dog, seems a little unnerved in the presence of "The Creeper".

I call this character , "The LIZ". She is formidable. She is unceasing. She is on the move. She stumbled into the bathroom last night while I was putting towels away and announced that it is was time to take care of her Sasquatch legs because she had PE today. Sasquatch legs? Only the LIZ could come up with such a term.

"Watch me mom."

Elizabeth broke her wrist performing this very move on her cousin's trampoline last August. It hasn't deterred her in her pursuit of the perfect backflip. Broken wrist? Psshh... That was a long time ago. Back flips must be done and must be done well.

I can't help thinking about Elizabeth when I study Esther.

Beauty. Complete, total, unashamed, unaware, beauty.

Catching Up

2011-11-04T16:10:00.000-07:00

I thought it was time to catch you all up on what Farmer Boy has been up to around here. Farmer Boy likes to farm, I don't really care about farming and therefore I forget.

Click on the Good Seed Farms tab on the top of the page and come check out what's been going on.

Have a great weekend.

2011-10-31T18:23:00.000-07:00

Today is an ordinary day. Monday. I suppose the story surrounding us right now is all about routine and responsibility with the main focus being school and work.

Why do I feel like there is more? More what? I have no answer for that that but I see and feel more at night when I call Holly (the dog) in. Other times I catch a glimpse of it when I walk back in the driveway in the mornings, after my precious ones have boarded the bus, taking them away to school. There it is. How can it sparkle in the night sky, hand in hand with the sound of dry leaves rustling in the wind, and dance across the fields, recently shorn of their summer bounty, as the sun rises? I wish I could tell you, but I can't. It's a feeling, a longing. Perhaps it's hope. Hope for renewal. Hope for peace. Hope for perseverance to make it through the storm that may be coming any day now. Perhaps.

Today has been full, scheduled and active. It's not over yet. Tonight is trick or treat and we need to eat early so we can get the kids to where they want to be. I've been busy with the day and it's routine, not a lot of time to think about it, to search for it or to attempt to build words around it.

I did take some time to walk around our little farm with my camera. Maybe you'll see what I see or maybe you'll just scratch your head wondering what I'm talking about. I'll let you decide.

A Girls Weekend

2011-10-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

Reasons why a getaway weekend with your girlfriends is necessary.

1. To have an excuse to take pictures of friends while they have a funky expression on their face.

2. To have a reason to go to small towns in Nebraska with only one movie theatre in town.

3. To spend an afternoon watching the old Footloose movie to get ready to see the new Footloose movie. And to try and imitate the dancers on the poster just because you want to, without worrying about embarrassing your children.

4. To watch the new Footloose movie in a cool theatre where there was space to get up and dance. These ladies had just finished dancing and were catching their breath for the next round.

5. To remember to tell God thank you for sending you friends that are precious, fabulous, dear to your heart, and part of your life past, present and future.

Thank you God.

Thank you Kari and Shelia.

Butts

2011-10-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

This is my butt. My butt in running pants. My running pants and my running jacket are black. I'm not sure how they turned out grey in this picture.

Again, this is me. I had just crossed the finish line. I ran a half marathon yesterday and it was a completely glorious, fabulous and wonderful experience.

These are my crazy, dear friends who ran the race with me. There's me, then Wendy, Bill and his wife Lynn. We called ourselves, 'Bill and the girls'. Lynn and Bill had run this race twice before. This was my second time and Wendy's first time. We did great. It was such a blast.

We brought our own fans. They screamed for us at the finish line. They rang cow bells. We waved at them like crazy people and tried to pick up our pace to show off for our sweet, sweet children. My legs didn't completely cooperate with my plan of showing off. They had really stopped cooperating back at mile 10, but I was determined to keep going and cross that finish line.

I crossed it. I'm hurting today. It was totally and completely worth it.

Back to running pants. Running pants are great. They keep your quadriceps warm so you can run. They don't blow in the wind. They wick sweat away. They really are wonderful things. However, I don't believe I've met one woman who thinks they look good in their running pants. Every woman I've talked to, thinks their butt looks big. When speaking about running pants, the words jiggly, huge, and cottage cheese inevitably come up.

Wendy, Lynn and I were troubled over our pants. Should we, shouldn't we? What to do, what to do. We decided Saturday, after much angst and conversation that women like us, shouldn't give a hoot about what other people think about our butts. We're running. Hello! Who cares if others see huge amounts of jiggling cottage cheese going on back there. We're running. We're crossing that finish line.

Part of the fun yesterday was being in the mix of other people with the same goal as me. They wanted to cross that finish line. People wore funky socks, funky hats, shirts of every color, shoes of every color, some people wore belts with water bottles attached, some people wore shorts and tank tops, others wore running pants.

The starting line is a complete crush of people. It's difficult to run because you are pressed in on every side. I think it was about mile 4 or 5, where I finally felt I was finding my stride. Looking around, I noticed other people who were also going my pace. Things had opened up. I could move a little bit and not worry so much about hitting someone else. People started looking familiar, they were running close to the same pace as I was. Enter, a beautiful young girl Lizzy and her friend.

I followed these two lovely girls for quite a while. I'd guess they were in their early twenties. They were running pants girls. At one point Lizzy friend says, "take a look, how does my butt look?"

I couldn't believe it. These beautiful young girls were worried about their butts. I just had to laugh.

After a while I got up closer to them and I told them their butts looked great.

We continued to go back and forth for a while, I'd pass them, they'd pass me. We talked. They told me their names but the only one I can remember was Lizzy. I told her it was a great name.

Eventually their twenty something legs left my forty something legs in the dust. I looked for them at the finish line but there were too many people.

If you gals are reading this..... Congratulations. You did it. You crossed that line, you wore your running pants and your butts looked good. Good Job!

Here's to jiggly, cottage cheese butts, crossing finish lines in running pants.

Hallelujah.

I've Got Her

2011-10-10T14:32:00.000-07:00

We had a birthday this weekend. She's going to love this picture don't you think? Once again my photography skills shine brightly.

The weekend was busy and filled with activity but to me it was all background noise. I wanted to celebrate a birthday. I wanted to not move, sit still, and remember a day 17 years ago that changed everything. The day I became a mother, Kelli's mother.

Every year on my children's birthdays I reminisce about their birth in my journal. I write about their labors, I write about their deliveries and how each one was unique. I write about snuggling with them on that first day and how wonderful it was. I write about how they amaze me, and how blessed I am to have the privilege of being their mother.

There is one memory of Kelli I'd like to share with you.

Kelli had just been home for a couple of days. I had no idea what I was doing but I knew I wanted to do it right. Everything had to be right. I had be the perfect mother. Her bassinet was right beside our bed, on my side, so I could hear everything. I was so paranoid that someone was going to take her. I kept her beside me all day and even kept the curtains closed because I didn't want anyone sneaking in. I think I was having some kind of post-partum paranoia.

One night after getting up to feed her, I stumbled down the hallway, returning to our bedroom. I tucked her into her bassinet and fell back into bed. I was exhausted but even more overwhelmed. I felt the weight of my new responsibility and I didn't know if I could carry it. What was I doing? How could I possibly care for this precious bundle? I didn't know how to do this. I didn't want to make any mistakes. This was huge. This was more than anything I had ever faced. This was serious.

As I lay there fretting and wide awake, I believe Jesus showed up. I didn't see a bright light. The curtains didn't move. The moon didn't shine any brighter, I simply felt something and as I lay there I began to hear something. "I've got her. I've got her."

Those words were not manufactured in my brain. I had no wisdom, I'm not even sure I had any sanity. All I had at that point was frantic thoughts of all the mistakes I was going to make. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know how to think about it all. So where did these words come from? It had to be Jesus.

I heard the words and understood what I had to do. I had to let her go. He would carry her. I had to put her into his arms. I understood that this responsibility was not mine alone, neither was this baby mine alone. She belonged to God and God had just showed up to help.

I may have fallen asleep after a while, I don't remember. I do remember the next day. I sat down beside her bassinet while Kelli napped, and began writing. I wrote about what had happened the night before. I wrote about how scared I was. I wrote about the journey I now found myself on and how unprepared I felt. I wrote about Jesus and how unworthy I was to be loved the way I still am today. I believe, but I can't be completely certain, I opened up the curtains and allowed some of the beautiful autumn weather to filter in through the windows of my little white house.

Jesus has brought that night back to me several times over the years. It was there the Friday afternoon I received a phone call with news about Kelli. I spent a lot of time on my knees after that phone call. I cried. I ran back to the fear and the certainty that I had no idea what I was doing and that I was not fit to be Kelli's mother. I begged God to let me carry the load he had given Kelli. I worried and fretted. I cried. He whispered, "I've got her. I've got her", and the more time I spent on my knees, the more I began to believe him. He did have her. He does have her. He will have her.

I think I should put those words up all over my house. They should be written on every college mailing that Kelli receives in the mail. Everywhere. They should be everywhere. "I've got her". Maybe then I wouldn't forget so often.

Happy Birthday Miss Kelli. I've been so blessed to be your mom. I feel so unworthy, so humbled. I'm so glad he's got you. You were, you are and you will be his.

Always.

A walk with Bon Jovi

2011-10-04T16:48:00.000-07:00

I went for a walk this afternoon after work. The sun is shining here today and the temperature is supposedly 84 degrees. Lovely.

I put in my I-Pod to walk. I like to walk/dance down our road and give passersby a reason to laugh or smile. Before I knew it Bon Jovi started singing and there I was, living on a prayer.

In my first semester of college in California, my room-mate was from Oklahoma. She was a preacher's daughter. She was wild, exciting and to this shy, quiet, Amish Mennonite girl, she was a bit dangerous. I was far from home,wide-eyed and hugely cautious of everything and everyone around me.

She loved Bon Jovi. I thought listening to music that was not Christian would send me to hell. She voiced her opinion by putting a true to life size poster of Bon Jovi on our bathroom door. His hair was wild, long and unruly, he wore a tie or some kind of bandana thing around his head. He was wearing cut off denim shorts and sitting in a position that was kinda, well, kinda provocative. I thought we were going to burn. I was too chicken or perhaps to Mennonite to say anything.

Eventually the fear wore off. I'm sure that around Thanksgiving I even stopped blushing when I returned to our room from class. I guess I got used to him and his shorts, and before I knew it I was listening and singing along to his music.

It's been over twenty years and I can still see him quite clearly. It must have been the shorts.

It's amazing how music triggers memories.

After my walk I sat on my swing and took in my surroundings.

Let's pretend you're sitting in the swing next to me. Maybe our conversation would go something like this.

Ahh...it is so glorious out today. Look at the trees. It seems like someone flipped a switch last night because today color seems to be exploding everywhere.

What a nice bird feeder. Who made that?

Look. Here he comes. I wonder if he's lonely getting off the bus by himself? Kelli is at a cross country meet and Lizzy is at practice.

I guess he needed to take in some of his day too. Isn't it nice to just sit still once and a while?

By the way, why don't you sing it with me.

Yeah, we're half way there, yeah, living on a prayer, take my hand and we'll make it I swear, yeah, living on a prayer.

Thanks for stopping by and chatting.

Mr. Bon Jovi wherever you are, thanks for the song, the memories and those shorts.

Amen.

Friday

2011-09-30T14:23:00.000-07:00

Will just got home from school. No school tomorrow. He has his trombone. Melodious practicing is on the list of things to do tomorrow.

First order of business when coming home is Chips Ahoy cookies. They beat the feeling of famished off.

Next, computer games. His eyes are perusing the computer, wondering when he can get me to move away so he can take over. Must play computer games. Now.

Not happening. His tired mama is not giving up the computer. I'm sitting. I'm not getting up. It's Friday after all.

Oh! A tooth was lost today during reading. I guess class was a real tooth clencher and he clenched a little too hard.

Kelli has no time for Chips Ahoy or computer games. There is homework to do. It's Friday after all.

Leave it Kelli. It's Friday. Let's go do something fun.

Mom! I need to do this.

It's Friday.

Mom!

Okay, I'll leave you alone.

Lizzy is not home yet. It's Friday after all and there are things to do in Lizzy's world. Right now it's volleyball practice. She'll get home from that, drop her gym bag at the entrance to her room, grab this candy on her bed, throw it into her sleepover suitcase and off she'll go. It's Friday. Friday means sleepovers and in tonight's case, Friday means a birthday party sleepover.

I think I'll pass on that.

I'm going the fuzzy socks, big sweatshirt, popcorn and movie route followed by a night of sleep unhindered by an alarm clock.

It's Friday after all.

Happy Friday.

Butterflies

2011-09-26T14:28:00.000-07:00

Saturday was homecoming. Kelli invited some friends over to get ready here at the house. I was working in the kitchen and listened while I worked. Laughter, squeals, and fashion advice seeped underneath the closed door of Kelli's room into the kitchen like a delightful fragrance I wanted to enjoy forever.

When they were all ready, I made them walk out one at a time so I could take pictures. I told them I was the paparazzi and they were the latest up and coming starlet. They ate it up. I laughed and clicked and told them how beautiful they were.

What do you do when you're all dressed up and the dance doesn't start for a couple of hours? You go out to supper at the local Mexican place. The lovelies piled into a minivan and off they went, laughing and giggling.

My kitchen was in shock. Where were the squeals? Where was the laughter? The fragrance? Gone on the wheels of a slightly beat up minivan.

I sighed and hugged myself, silently thanking God that I still have one more year of this before she leaves.

I thought I'd show you some of the pictures I took, but that I'd wrap them up in the lyrics of a Nicole C. Mullen song that seemed to fit the occasion.

Enjoy.

Fly, Fly Butterfly Fly
Stand upon these two shoulders of mine. Spread those wings of yours and fly.

Not yet a woman and certainly not a child
But I was caught somewhere in the middle
On that one Friday afternoon
And I, I remember mama saying, "It's time for you to go
Go on out and change the world and become all that you have dreamed of"

And as the tears that she was crying
Fell from her face and shoulders she said
"Don't forget who you are child, where you
Come from, where you're goin'
'Cause I'm always gonna be here for you
Fighting in your corner
So with every bow you take
Take one for those that came before you"

Now I'm a woman and I've got a child

And I can't believe the day's gonna come

When she tells me that it's time to soar

And I don't know what I'm gonna do

Not sure what I'm gonna tell her

Maybe don't forget who you are child

Where you come from, where you're going

'Cause I'm always gonna be here for you

Fighting in your corner

So with every bow you take

Take one for those that came before ya

There is something sacred

About the letting go of those we want to hold

So tightly to, but somehow we know

They must move on

On for those who have a dream to make our future better

And on for those who will earn their wings

In spite of wind and weather

You tell 'em love is waiting there

Forever in their corner

So with every bow they take

They'll take one for those that came before them

Fly, Fly Butterfly Fly
Stand upon these two shoulders of mine. Spread those wings of yours and fly.

Focus

2011-09-23T14:25:00.000-07:00

I have a new man in my life. His name is Josh. He came over today to hang out with me for a while.

I kinda have a crush on him.

Who doesn't love a man who wears froggie footies?

And who doesn't like a little chub on the legs? Come on. Need I say more?

Josh is very well mannered. All he wanted to do with me today is sit and rock. So we did. We both took a little nap. When we woke up we were both hungry. He chose milk for lunch - very easy to prepare. I chose leftover spaghetti.

After we got cleaned up from lunch we sat and talked. He told me all kinds of stories, mostly about heaven and Jesus. He has only been around these parts for three month so he knows some things that I've forgotten. I've been around these parts a lot longer than three months - I'm not going to say how much longer. A lot longer.

His stories reminded me of love and grace and about what is really important. While I was watching his lips move, the thought came to me that perhaps I've gotten a little lost in the details lately. Having three kids in three different sports means a lot of running and a lot of details. I've also found and started a new job so I feel slightly overwhelmed, wobbly, and jello-like.

Details. Details. Details. Scattered. Flustered. Out of focus.

Why is it so easy to lose focus? As I sit here and look around, things are fuzzy. I guess sometimes it takes longer than I would like to get things clear again.

Josh helped me get a start on it today.

I hope he comes back around soon.

Fabulous

2011-09-16T12:06:00.000-07:00

Cross Country is a fabulous sport. No matter your skill level you get to compete. You compete for your team but also for your personal best.

Kelli is in cross country and Monday night she was able to participate in a huge meet close to home.

It was well-organized chaos. Cars everywhere. Shuttle buses taking people from the parking field to the golf course. Ticket takers and lines at the johnny-on-the-spots. People everywhere.

Buses from all over the state. Runners decked out in all the colors of the rainbow. As I walked in I could feel the excitement, touch the energy.

I walked and looked for Kelli's team. I finally found them.

Black and red was the key. It took me a while to find Kelli but suddenly there she was.

This picture doesn't completely tell the story. All the energy and excitement I felt when I arrived was gone, like a punch to the gut, when I saw Kelli. She was nervous, extremely so, almost to the point of sick. My heart fell to my feet. I couldn't do anything to help. She was going to have to do this all by herself. I stood there with her for a few minutes taking in her view. Runners from all over the state running by, warming up, showing off. Her teammates were loud, cagey, only adding to the tenseness of the situation. I could hear Kelli ask herself "Can I do this? Am I going to be last? Am I going to get trampled at the starting line?"

Kelli is a determination machine. I knew she'd be fine. I knew she'd get the job done, she always does. I knew she wouldn't be the first one across the finish line but I knew she would cross it. I tried to talk to her but I could tell my words were wasted, so I left her alone to figure this one out on her own. I knew she would.

Farmer Boy left work early and met me at the starting line. We stood behind the tape, held our breath and waited for the gun.

After the starting blast runners were everywhere. A horde of colors coming at us. Where was Kels? She was in there somewhere but we couldn't see her. We joined the parent throng and ran to the next place on the course where we'd be able to cheer our determination machine on to the finish.

"Go Kelli! You got it. Stay strong. You're almost there."

Look at her face, she's spewing out determination. She just passed that girl. Go Kels!

She did it. She crossed that line. She got her best time of this season.

Fabulous. My girl.

Sunday

2011-09-12T11:02:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a glorious day. Sunshine, fluffy clouds and temperatures around 80 degrees. Absolutely glorious. We celebrated the day by going to Will's flag football game. We met and chatted with friends. We sat in the sun. We laughed, we cheered, and I took goofy pictures of people.

There's little man. Ready to go. Ready to play. Ready to run. His team is called the Texans and yesterday it was the Texans versus the Steelers.

At one point in the game Will caught a pass and ran down the field for a touchdown. I had my camera in hand but I was cheering and forgot to take a picture. Will is also very fast. I constantly tell him he is built for speed. He is long and lean and fast. Too fast for me to get the picture of him scoring a touchdown.

The Steelers beat the Texans but the score was close. Will did great. When the game was over and supper was cleaned up Will wanted more football, the NFL variety. We hung out downstairs to watch some of the game. Don't ask me who was playing because honestly I don't know. Don't tell Will but I don't really care either. I wanted to be with Will. He's the only football player I am interested in.

Holly, the crazy chocolate dog, joined us last night for the NFL game. She loves being in the house but I don't love it, so she is not allowed in very often. I suppose I was feeling generous after the good time I had at Will's game. Holly came in and assumed her favorite position.

She loves laying on the carpet at our feet while we watch television. I guess she had had a hard day of chasing squirrels, cats and patrolling the chicken coop, poised and ready to attack if one decided to make a break for freedom.

If you take one more picture of me I'm gonna bark. Get the camera away from my face.

Wait. What? Will has string cheese? I'm up. I'm ready. I want some.

Please Will give me some cheese. Did I tell you you are the greatest football player ever? Please give me some cheese. I like it. I want some.

Will fell for the football player compliment and gave in to the crazy chocolate dog. All was well with the world.

Football, friends, sunshine, sting cheese and time with my little man. Thank you Lord for Sundays.

Ponytails and Volleyball

2011-09-09T15:06:00.000-07:00

I love to watch Elizabeth. She is so full of life and energy. She can be wild and loud, sweet and completely lovely. She is a force to be reckoned with to be sure, but it is all part of her charm.

Last night was her first volleyball game. She was nervous. She was ready. She was wearing a ponytail.

Her ponytail is getting curlier and curlier as she matures. Thankfully I have every known curl product in my bathroom so I think I've got her covered. Her ponytail bounced, her curls quivered and I found myself in a trance. I was totally tuned in to my daughter, the game and her ponytail. My girl, playing so well, doing her thing, her ponytail up, down, side to side.

The most difficult thing for the girls this year is serving. They have to serve overhand. Miss Liz has been practicing since school started and she is getting it figured out. To add to the nervousness of the first game, Liz was introduced to a rule enforced by the official. After the ref blows the whistle to indicate that play can start, you have five seconds to serve. Liz has a whole warm-up routine that she performs before she actually serves. She bounces the ball three times and then sets up to serve. Her first time serving, the whistle blew, the five second clock started, the ball bounced, the ball went over, and then the ref blew the whistle again. Liz lost the serve because she went over the five second time limit.

What! Her ponytail slung over to one side as the ref blew the whistle. She listened to the explanation. Her ponytail jerked up as her head went down in disappointment.

By the end of the game she had it figured out. Her ponytail got quite the work out. So did my head and neck.

What a girl! What a ponytail!

Go Lizzy go. I'll be here watching every minute.

Impressions

2011-09-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

I wanted to say thank you for all the kind words of encouragement I received after my post on Monday. Days like that usually only last 24 hours and then the sun comes out. That is exactly what happened this time around. When will the next time come? Heaven knows but hasn't told me yet. I'll just have to wait and see.

"The Lord wants me exactly where I am - He will provide the answers."

Those words belong to Mother Teresa. The more I read her words the more I want to be like her. She believed, she trusted and she stood firmly on her call, never doubting what she knew God wanted her to do. After reading her book, "Suffering Into Joy" and then reading my Bible the other morning I wrote down a prayer. I thought I'd share it with you.

Change me. Drain away my pride and my need for applause and glory. Fill me with your love. Use my hands, my pen, whatever of mine you desire, to serve right here, right where I am. May I not seek glory, may I simply seek you. May me focus be you, not me. Cure my unbelief. Forgive me for not trusting. Forgive me for fearing, for somehow always believing there has got to be more than this. May I only lift you up with my words, my thoughts, my attitudes. It's time to set myself down. All that I am now, all that I have been, everything that's brought me to this moment, every little thing is you, all you. All You. Forgive me when I use my words to promote myself or attempt to gain admiration and applause from my audience, whoever they may be. Forgive me for trying to steal your glory.

After I got done writing that I picked up my copy of "My Utmost for His Highest" by Oswald Chambers. I think God may have been trying to impress something on me that morning. These are the words that stood up and said hello.

"I am His and He is carrying out his enterprises through me."

What do you think?

There's been better days.

2011-09-05T14:03:00.000-07:00

Today is a holiday. Today is a terrible, rotten, no good, very bad, hormone day. If you are male you can politely leave the room, the rest of this post is for us women.

Every once and a while I have a day like this. A day when it's best for me to stay away from small children. A day when I should not talk to anyone, especially my husband. I'm mean. I'm fierce. I could punch the crap out of anyone just because they look at me the wrong way. I'm not kidding.

I woke up groggy, and after an hour or so of being awake, I knew. I've been eyeing my calendar. I've been having some of my tell-tale symptoms - slight dizziness, headaches, cramping, insatiable hunger, sore, tender, well you know. After I took stock of myself and how I was feeling, I knew today was going to be bad.

Since I got up before anyone else, as soon as I heard other people stirring, I headed back upstairs. I didn't want to make the children cry first thing in the morning. I can tell myself to not go there, to shape up, but history is the best teacher. On days like this I've learned to stay clear of everyone, no matter how good my intentions are, or how I tell myself that I can keep it under wraps. Whatever 'it' is, 'it' seems to not be able to be controlled no matter how hard I try.

I grabbed my shoes, my ball cap, and headed out the door for a run. Usually running is my salvation. I pound the pavement. I run fast and far and all that miserableness and anger from the unknown depths, finds itself on the side of my running route. Not today. Today I'm fumed and fretted and by the time I got back I was ready to rumble.

This is what met me back at the farm.

Why do you think there has to be a large green piece of farm equipment on my grass? My grass! It finally rained all day Saturday. My grass now has ruts. My grass has ruts! Farmer Boy had the unfortunate luck of showing his face at the moment I realized my grass had ruts. "Hey beb", he said so innocently, so unknowing. Two minutes later, he knew. I had let it all out and slammed the garage door to make my point.

He grabbed his children and rescued them from the house. I retreated to my bedroom and slammed another door. It just felt good. It was my right.

Farmer Boy had plans for the kids today and that was good. They could be outside. I could stay inside. The barn went from this,

to this.

The pig that got sick this summer may have infected the barn. We are planning for new pigs to arrive soon, and so everything got taken out and the whole barn was sprayed down with bleach water.

We have ignored the backside of the barn since we moved here. It's a pile of weeds, discarded boards and pieces of concrete. Well, it was.

Now it looks like this thanks to the kids and our friend Farmer Chad and his skid loader.

While I was outside taking these pictures I kept my distance from the kids. They had come into the house occasionally throughout the morning only to hear my bark and feel my bite. They quickly retreated back to the barn and to their work. Today, even chores were more desirable than spending time with the seemingly rabid beast in the house.

After most of the day spent trying to get a hold of myself I'd say I'm still precarious right now. I'm starting to become civil. I think I can retreat into silence for the rest of the day which is far better than barking at my loved ones.

I wish I had an explanation for days like this. In my mind I'm doing everything I know I should. I avoid things like chocolate, caffeine, sugar, fried foods, and salt. I exercise 5-6 days a week. I drink plenty of water. I try to get enough sleep although when my hormones are raging they tend to rob me of sleep. I take the vitamins my doctor told me to take to help with these unruly hormones. I understand and believe that I am loved by God and covered by His Grace, and still there are days like today. I have no idea, no answers.

I can only hope that tomorrow will be better.

For their sakes, I hope tomorrow is better.

2011-09-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up Labour Day (Canadian spelling) was a dreaded holiday. It signaled the end of summer and the return to school. I guess there was the Jerry Lewis telethon but it just wasn't enough.

Now I live in this place. We started school two weeks ago. Last night I attended what I hope was the last of all the parent meetings. I've been caught in a downpour of meetings. There was a cross country meeting, a volleyball meeting, a fifth grade orientation meeting, an eighth grade meeting, a high school open house, a band meeting, and a meeting for accelerated learners. Crazy. Of course I have to go to all these meetings. I'm the mom. I have to ask questions and make sure my children are getting what they need. I've told the kids that I would homeschool them, but no one besides me was very interested in that idea. I couldn't convince Farmer Boy and I don't think it would work without his support. So, I go to meetings.

Labour Day where I live now, is a blessed holiday. It's a break from the meetings. It's a chance for the kids to have a break from homework which has already made it's appearance. It's a signal that all the beginning of the school year stuff is over and now we can get into to it.

School is here. Fall is here. It's Labor or Labour Day.

Here's some other signs of the season.

We don't comb our hair around here. If you have curly hair you know why combs are almost prohibited in this house. The girls and I scream and cover our eyes when we see one. "Keep it away. Away!"

Will has an army cut and doesn't need to comb his. Farmer Boy, well Farmer Boy doesn't really have any hair. Today, however, was picture day. Will wanted to look good so he combed his hair. It's a sign of the season. It will be put away, not to be used until next year's picture day. I wonder where he found it. He dug deep, real deep.

This is my mum plant. My camera isn't the greatest but it's starting to bloom. Any day a yellow explosion will go off and I'll pick them and hold on to as much color as I can.

This is the corn field right by our house. Do you see how the bottom of the plant is turning brown? It's telling us that it's getting tired. It's going to want to be combined soon. It seems early but August brought us very little rain. Combines will soon dot the landscape and our field will be empty, ready for, well you know. I don't even want to say the word yet. You know, that season that follows Fall.

Football. It's time. It's here. I should be excited but I just can't get there. Can someone please explain this game to me? Big guys, run down the field, trampling over the guys from the other team trying to get the ball to the other end of the field to make six points. Why do they stop play so often? First down? Second down? What are we talking about here?

Anyway tonight is the first high school game for our little town and tomorrow night is the first college game. I'm going to both games. Maybe by Sunday, I'll have this silly game figured out. I shouldn't have to say it because it's self evident, but hockey is a far superior game. Just saying.

Well that's all I have. Happy Labor Day or Happy Labour Day. Say hello to your neighbour or neighbor. What colour is your favorite? Or should I say color? There's a moose loose in the house.

Over and out.

Choice

2011-08-31T12:23:00.000-07:00

The first time Farmer Boy ever visited my family in Canada, I decided to take him to one of my brother's hockey games. I thought it would be a piece of Canadian culture he would love and I thought my brother would get to show off his amazing hockey abilities.

We made plans about going to the game at home, in front of mom and dad. Rob gave us directions as we didn't want to leave as early as he did. I noticed a flicker of something in Rob's eyes as we discussed our plans but I didn't think anything of it. Rob often has flickers. He's just that type of guy.

Farmer Boy and I arrived at the ice arena. We made our way to our seats and waited as the teams warmed up, each on their half of the ice. I knew Rob's number but didn't see him out there. Why wasn't he out there? Where was he?

Just as the puzzlement and confusion were setting in, who should sit down beside us but brother Rob. He was in his street clothes. No hockey uniform. No skates. Farmer Boy and I just looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment. Before we could even form the words Rob explained that he had a game misconduct which meant he had to sit this one out. He didn't want mom and dad to know so he had not said anything at home. When we asked what he had done to deserve the game misconduct, his words were simple. "He dropped his gloves, I had to fight!"

Farmer Boy loves those words. He uses them to make the point that sometimes you simply don't have a choice.

Why do I tell you this? Well, because I'm tired. My legs are aching. My right hip feels out of place. My friend asked me to train with her for a half marathon race in October. We ran eight miles or something ridiculous like that this morning. Why? Well, "He dropped his gloves, I had to fight."

I thought I'd take this opportunity to share with you some pictures from the weekend. Farmer Boy's family came up on Sunday and we had a fabulous afternoon. We sat around the table, eating talking, laughing and listening to stories. I took flattering pictures of my loved ones. I'm a awesome photographer. What choice do they have but to love me?

Oh, and Will chose the trombone as the instrument he'll play in the school band. Very cool. I'm sure there will be more on that later.

Reminiscing

2011-08-29T13:28:00.000-07:00

I keep a journal. I like to get up early in the morning before the kids get up. I go downstairs, pour myself a big glass of water and then head back up to my bed. I get settled in, pull out my spiral ring notebook and begin. Somedays my mind is fuzzy and my words few. Other days I am amazed at my writing ability - I want everyone to read it because, in my opinion anyway, it's good stuff.

One of my favorite things to do is grab old journals out of my closet and read through them. It's amazing to see how things have changed, how I've changed, how Farmer Boy and I have matured together. What seemed so traumatic when the kids were little, simply makes me smile now.

Sunday morning I got up before anyone else. I grabbed my journal and headed to the living room. The sun was just coming up, I could hear the crickets singing their steady song, and I could feel the cool morning air swimming through the window. A magical moment to be sure. I flipped to the beginning of my current journal and in an instant I had stepped back in time to exactly one year ago.

Miss Liz broke her wrist exactly one year ago yesterday. The initial accident happened on a Sunday, we couldn't see a doctor until Monday. Farmer Boy left that Monday morning for a week. At the doctor we got the news that Lizzy needed surgery that day. We didn't get home until 11:00 p.m. I was tired, worried about Lizzy, and just a little frazzled with Farmer Boy gone.

The next night we got four inches of rain after a summer of rain and storms that had done this.

The previous week, I had finally gotten cleaned up from the original storm. Our carpet was finally laid, the furniture was back in place, and I had put pictures back up on the wall. Four inches of rain in one night was just too much. The rain came in, again. My newly laid carpet was once again squishy, my family pictures got wet. Farmer Boy was gone. Now I was past frazzled. My journal holds secret words of anger and frustration that might scare my children or my husband. It's good to get it out somewhere.

I'm glad we have not had the same kind of events this year. I remember feeling afraid to stand up straight after that week. I thought something might fall from the heavens and land on my head. It took a while to recoup from the events of last summer. My journal records it all.

I'm currently reading a book about Mother Teresa. It's called "Suffering Into Joy". She was an amazing woman of God.

While I was reminiscing, these words from Mother Teresa danced and sang just for me.

Just keep the joy of Jesus as your strength. Be happy and at peace. Accept whatever he gives - and give whatever he takes with a big smile. You belong to him.

Amen.

Hope

2011-08-26T13:33:00.000-07:00

I got home earlier than I had planned today. After subbing up at the kid's school, I got to eat lunch with Will and then come home. While I drove in our driveway I couldn't help but noticing that things look a little forlorn around here.

Farmer Boy has been gone since the wee hours of Wednesday morning and that always make things lonely, but it's more than that.

We had some friends over last Saturday night for a bonfire. I haven't put the chairs away yet. They seem to be telling a story and I didn't want to interrupt. I imagine the story beginning on a cool Fall night. I see a lot of brown, gold, and maybe even red. There's a sense of something coming up, of a surprise just waiting around the corner. Friends, togetherness, community are strong themes in this untold story. Perhaps I'm just lazy. Maybe I should simply see chairs that need to be put away, but I'm not going to do that, not today.

Holly seems to be picking up on it. It's as if she knows the barn isn't right.

It's empty. Totally, completely empty. No pigs to scratch, no sheep jumping up on their pen to sniff hello, and no frothy mouthed black and white calves. Forlorn.

I have proof that they've been here, that the barn hasn't always been empty. If anyone ever refers to something as a pile of *@#$, now you have a picture to go with those descriptive words. Aren't you glad? See? It's good to read this blog. It's helpful.

I suppose we're waiting. We're waiting for Farmer Boy to come home. Waiting for cool nights with bonfires. Waiting for more baby pigs, cows and sheep, waiting for a barn full of life. We're waiting to get rid of a pile of you know what. Waiting. Expectant. Hopeful.

It may seem a bit forlorn today but as I sit here and think, I believe I missed something when I drove in. I missed hope. Never miss hope. Instead of seeing things empty, I'm going to see things as full of hope.

There. Now I feel so much better. Don't you?

In rest and repentance is your salvation.
In quietness and trust is your strength.
(Isaiah 30:15)

Freedom

2011-08-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

"Freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed."

- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Our chickens are not free. Well, they are somewhat free. We don't have them in cages. They can walk about as they please. Our coop has two rooms to it so they can strut around and go in and out. They lay their eggs wherever they want to. However, they are fenced in. The fence protects them. Keeps them from the soup pots of such wily critters as coyotes, foxes, raccoons and chocolate labs. I've been telling them lately that the fence is their friend. They do not believe me. They have been demanding their freedom.

Our chickens have been flying the coop. Escaping their fence. I think they long to be free. Perhaps they are worried about chicken pot pie, and chicken noodle soup. They have reason to worry. When their days of laying eggs are behind them they are headed for such a fate. I don't deny it, neither am I ashamed of it. They are after all, chickens.

Almost every day a chicken will fly over the fence and one of the kids, or someone who has stopped by will say something like, "Do you know that there is a chicken out? The dog is chewing on it."

Kelli returned from cross country practice one afternoon and said she thought a chicken was in the shed as Holly (our chocolate lab) was over there acting stranger than usual. I sighed. Grabbed my shoes and set off. Ms. Hen, ironically, had found herself in our old run-down shed, tucked into the middle of a roll of chicken wire. She couldn't move. She was wedged in too tightly. Holly was standing guard at the end of the roll of wire. Waiting. "Come. Come to me. I want to eat you." I struggled with Holly to get her convinced to stay in the garage, retrieved the roll of wire, hefted it over to the coop, unrolled it while giving the chicken the ride of it's life, got to the place where I could grab it, and then threw Ms. Hen back behind her dreaded fence. She was safe and sound and in one piece.

Kelli came in the next afternoon and said, "I think Holly is after a chicken. She's over by the wood pile and she won't move." I sighed. Grabbed my shoes, and headed out. I investigated the wood pile but could not figure out what Holly was after. I didn't see a chicken. Suddenly, I heard a squawk. It was in there somewhere. After more sighing, and a few not so kind words to the dog, I found the crazy chicken. It was a brown hen and tucked inside a hollow piece of wood. My eyes had a hard time seeing it. Holly was on it. She couldn't get to the bird but she was willing to wait for it to move. I grabbed it, held it up over my head as it squawked and fought me in my attempt to keep Holly from eating it. Holly barked, jumped, begged me to give her the chicken. I returned the hen to her prison where it was safe. I was not pleased.

Yesterday, a friend stopped by to pick up some eggs. When she came to the door she announced that Holly was chasing a chicken. I sighed. Grabbed my shoes and joined in the chase. Holly and I went after that silly, but protected, if it chose to be bird, until finally I was able to grab it and not so gently, throw it back behind her fence.

I'm growing weary of my role as the oppressor. I'm growing weary of the demands of my feathered oppressed. If they keep this up their destiny of pot pie and noodle soup may come sooner than they think.

We will see what today brings.

The Gift

2011-08-22T13:55:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time in a faraway green land, lived a family with a peculiar disease. Sometimes they would find themselves shrinking and fading away. All they could think about were scary things, and the scary things would make them worry. When they worried their skin would turn grey, their thoughts would grow fuzzy, and the words they used with each other would become clipped, short, and sometimes even mean. They didn't even know what was happening to them.

To get better, they needed special medicine. They didn't take it with a spoon or swallow a pill, they simply opened their door and stepped outside. Being outside changed them. Their grey color turned to a warm pink tinged with a special glow. Fuzzy thinking distorted their faces, and made them scowl but when they were outside the scowls became smiles. Instead of short, clipped, mean words, they listened in amazement as lovely words flew out of their mouths. Sometimes they even broke out into song.

Other people noticed how much they were enjoying their time outside, how beautiful they would become, and they would come and join them, to touch some of the beauty, to listen to the singing, and to throw the football.

The most amazing thing was how oblivious the family was to how they changed. They simply stepped outside not even knowing how grey, mean and scared they had become. The transformation was a gift. An unexpected, wonderful gift from the One who loved them best. They didn't have to do anything. The One who loved them best took care of all the details and made them truly beautiful. I'm told it's what He does best.

The End.

Making a List and Checking It

2011-08-19T12:50:00.000-07:00

If I had made a list for the last two days it would have looked something like this.

Appropriate school clothes washed and ready to go - check.

Bus schedule retrieved and reviewed from school paper pile - check.

Kelli's car fueled and ready, cross country and volleyball practice times known - check.

Dog wound up with first day's excitement and then dog confused over where kids went - check.

Personality appropriate school attitudes in place - check.

First day is down and by all accounts it was a great day. I'm glad we have these two days of school in. It gave us a chance to exercise the jitters and as a pleasant take home gift we are left with a calmer and more subdued weekend.

I'll add that to my list.

Weekend with school jitters out of the way - check.

Hope you have a blessed weekend as well.

Our Last Supper

2011-08-17T18:28:00.000-07:00

Tonight we had our last supper of summer. School starts tomorrow. This morning before the day was beginning to ramp up in volume and activity, I put an arm roast into the crock pot. I made a topping of cracked black pepper, about three cloves of garlic and half a package of onion soup mix and sprinkled it on the meat. Then I added some water and let it cook all day.

I didn't take any pictures. You're going to have to close your eyes and picture a hunk of beef.

Are you done?

I went to the Farmer's Market this afternoon and after perusing my possibilities, settled on some zucchini, yellow squash, and purple and yellow beans. I then stopped at my grocery store to pick up a few things so I could make a Peach Clafouti. I found the recipe at one of my new favorite blog spots - www.mennonitegirlscancook.blogspot.com

Why did I go to this much trouble?

I wanted to sit around my table tonight with my family. I wanted to put good food in front of them. I wanted to feel their hands in mine while we prayed. I wanted to see their faces and listen to their words as they told their dad about our day in the soy bean field (more on that another day). I wanted to watch Will size up the roasted zucchini and say to him his favorite words, "just eat it." I wanted to look at Kelli and Elizabeth who sit beside each other at our table, and be amazed at how beautiful they have become. I wanted to watch Farmer Boy drink in his kids after a dry day at the office. I wanted us to be together, to celebrate a end of a chapter, the end of a fantastic summer.

It really wasn't much trouble at all.

Back

2011-08-15T19:13:00.000-07:00

We're back. Back home. Back in black. Back to school. Back from vacation. Back to routine. Back.
Can I go back?

It's been a bit of a struggle this week to get back into life here on the farm. Details. Meetings at school. Events to write on my calendar. Reminders to myself to check the calendar so I don't forget to be wherever it is I'm supposed to be. Back.

In all honesty the return of routine is a good thing. Right now as I sit here and type the kiddos are downstairs hollering and bellowing to each other. It's their way of telling me they would like their routine back. They want a bedtime, school bells, lunch time, dinner time. Routine. A new school year. New books, new pencils, new teachers, new friends. It's all back.

I'm sure of few things but I do know that life will do what it does, and when we stop to pause, and catch our breath we'll look around and realize we're back. Back out of routine for just a time. Back to this fabulous, restful place we recently had to leave. We'll have new stories to tell, new reasons to sit, to breathe deep, to pause, all given to us by the everyday routine of life

Okay, so maybe it's good to be back.

There are stories to live. It's time to dive in I suppose.

Ready.

Set.

Go!

Saying Goodbye

2011-08-01T07:55:00.000-07:00

It's time to say goodbye to a few things.

Goodbye sweet piggies. We will miss you and your lovely butts. Thanks for winning a purple ribbon, second in class, for sweet Kelli. You were wonderful, personable, unforgettable pigs.

Goodbye county fair. I think Farmer Boy will miss you most of all. He'll miss spraying down the pigs. He'll miss his diet of beef and pork and my hounding him about eating his vegetables. He'll miss his breakfasts at the Methodist church food booth. He'll miss talking to all his farmer friends about things only other farmers understand. He'll miss the smell of manure and it's presence on his clothes and shoes. He'll miss watching Kelli at the pavilion showing off her livestock and winning ribbons. He'll miss you County Fair.

Before we say goodbye to summer we are going to go and soak up the last remaining bits and pieces of it. We're simply not ready to say goodbye. We're going to grab a little more unscheduled time, more lazy afternoons by the water, more summer nights, just a little bit more before we have to say goodbye. I'll be signing off for a while but of course I'll be back. Back in time to say hello to school and hello to Fall.

Goodbye for now.

Sheep At The Fair

2011-07-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

County Fair. It's here. It's hot. It's all Farmer Boy and the kids have been doing since Friday.

Today was the sheep show. I went for a run at 6:30 a.m. and when I left no one else was up. When I got back at 7:30 a.m., the house was completely empty. Sheep show or bust.

Where else but the county fair would you see a cute girl taking a sheep for a walk? Maybe that should be a new book, you know like 'Sheep In A Jeep', 'Sheep Out To Eat', 'Sheep On A Ship'. It doesn't sound as near as catchy but 'Sheep At The Fair' might have a future.

Sheep At The Fair

Sheep loves the girl with the curly blond hair.

He'd follow her anywhere.

She walks him, feeds him and call him Honey.

He'll do his best to win her some money.

Sheep poses, sheep looks great. He has to wonder, "Why the wait?"

Sheep wonders, "Who's that guy?"

Sheep glances, prances and questions why?

Why the wait and who are you?

If you touch me again, I'll poop on your shoe.

Sheep smiles as he leaves the ring.

He hopes that kick will start to sting.

The End.

P.S. Some sheep facts.

A male sheep is called a whether.

Kelli received 4th in showmanship with her ewe.

She received 7th with the ewe for the commercial weight class.

And 4th in the market lamb class with her dedicated and devoted whether.

Not that it matters, but I didn't like the judge either. If I coulda, I woulda, kicked him too. How could you not give a cute girl like Kelli the top prize? I don't get it.

Beauty and the Sheep

2011-07-22T11:58:00.000-07:00

I know we don't live near mountains, or the ocean, or even near a lake, but I find it very beautiful here. There is something so soothing about an uninterrupted, rolling landscape blanketed with corn. It comforts me somehow. It simply feels like home.

We are ready to launch into County Fair. It officially starts tomorrow. It is a whirlwind of pigs, sheep, rabbits, goats, cattle, horses, kids, hamburgers, pie, people wearing ball caps and wrangler jeans, cowboy boots, a food stand that sells goat burgers and lamb burgers, and finally, end of July midwestern heat.

It's a highlight of the year for Farmer Boy and the kids. They love it. I love it for a while and then I love to come home to my empty air conditioned house and wait for them to return every night, sweaty and tired.

Tonight we have to take Kelli's sheep into the fair. They will find their way to a pen in the barn especially designated for sheep. They'll hang out and get to know other sheep. They'll baa. They'll put their feet up on the pen and take a look around their new surroundings. They'll sleep. They'll have a fan on them keeping them cool. They'll get shampooed and all prettied up by Kelli and Farmer Boy before their big show.

Last night they had to have a hair cut. I fixed home-made pizza for supper, watched it get snarfed down and then sat on the porch with my ice cream cone, waved to Farmer Boy and the kids as they drove the pick-up and livestock trailer out the driveway on their way to the sheep beauty parlor.

Every summer our niece Olivia comes and stays with us the week of the fair. She doesn't live on a farm and she actually loves to do chores. She actually loves anything to do with the farm. The kids don't quite understand her. They don't really love their chores but they love when Olivia comes because she'll happily do their chores for them. Before she arrived this week, the kids were given the task of scooping out the chicken coop. They hemmed, hawed, complained until finally a light bulb went off in their minds. It sounded like this, "Hey, let's wait until Thursday 'cause then Livvy will be here and she can do it." So that's exactly what they did.

I don't think she minded. Here she is tending to the sheep, loving the farm life. Aren't the sheep so pretty? They're sheared and ready to go. We'll see how they do at their big show. Kelli tells me they are harder to work with then any other sheep she has had. They're onrey. They baa a lot. They don't stand the way she wants them to stand so that the judges will be impressed. They sniff me and try to chew on my clothes when I go into the barn. They're kinda cute.

I'll keep you posted on their big show. I'm hoping they'll behave so Kelli will win a ribbon.

Have a great weekend.

Summer

2011-07-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

Summer days. Trying to keep cool.

Trying to keep all critters from melting.

Please, spray me. It feels sooooooooo good.

I love this.

Some of us look a little mean. Don't cross us. We're hot. We're grumpy. We really don't want to talk.

We just want to hang out at the pool.

Today there is a bit of a breeze and that makes everything seem a little better. I might be able to carry on a conversation without snarling at you.

Honestly, surprisingly, our moods have not been near as bad as I would have you think. Air conditioning is a wonderful thing. We are definitely experiencing the lazy, hazy days of summer.

I was lamenting in my journal that summer is passing by much too quickly. While I sat wrapped in my early morning quiet, I was remembering summers past when the kids were small and we spent time at the wading pool here in town. I thought about their diapered bottoms in swim suits, holding their hands while they walked through the water, cheering them on while they jumped off the side into knee deep water, watching them sleep it off during their afternoon naps. Of course there were also the long walks in the stroller. Watching out for big trucks, flowers, and all other treasures their tiny hands might pick up and grasp tightly until we got home for night time baths. Summer. Time together. Time past without me realizing what was brushing by me. This morning I would have grabbed on, taken a ride back in time for just one more touch, one more sight of their little bottoms, one more walk with the stroller.

I know that this time is precious, priceless, and yet I fret that I'm not as productive as I should be during the summer. Why? Old habits I guess. Ridiculous. This summer will be gone too quickly and the only treasure I'll have clenched into my time worn hand will be this time. These moments at the pool with my feet dangling in the water, watching and playing with the kids.

Summer.

What to Do

2011-07-18T09:39:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to be productive this morning. I have great plans, and even a list of things that need done. I just can't seem to make myself get it all started.

It's hot. Is that a good enough excuse? The weekend was busy. How's that for an excuse?

The one thing I definitely want to accomplish today is to have a cup of tea on my front porch. The temperature is supposedly going to reach the high 90's with the heat index well past 100 degrees. I think my porch time will have to be after supper when the heat will hopefully slightly fade. Today I seem to want to be still and quiet.

What are your plans for a Monday?

Here's a few pictures from our weekend.

My friend Nicole took this picture. I love it. It looks like summer and hope all rolled into the smiles of three awesome little men. Will had a baseball tournament this weekend. They took second place despite the heat. Well done boys!

Here they are after their final game. They played two games back to back and by this point they were hot and weary.

Farmer's Market was Saturday morning. If you want the whole story you can click on the Good Seed Farms page and catch the whole scoop.

Monday. Time to go do something. Hopefully I'll figure out what I'm going to do.

Have a great day.

Crazy Corn, Crazy Lettuce, Crazy Day

2011-07-15T12:41:00.000-07:00

I woke up in a fog this morning. Elizabeth, Ella, Katie and I went to a movie last night. It finished up at about 2:30 a.m. What? Yep. I normally like to go to bed at 9:30 p.m. but last night, or rather this morning it was 2:30 a.m.

Crazy, absolutely crazy, but fun and spontaneous. I've been trying to be more spontaneous. I figured it's time to learn how to break away from my lists, to do things that aren't planned. I'm finding I'm good with spontaneity as long as I can schedule it in advance. Last night was my kind of spontaneous. We had purchased tickets about a week ago so I had time to prepare myself for the upheaval of my routine. It really works so much better that way.

This morning while I was stumbling around with my mouth hanging slightly open, my hair looking absolutely fabulous and with my running gear on in hopes that the wearing of the clothes would change my outlook of exercising this morning (it didn't work), I went outside to have a look around the farm.

Wow! What has happened? The corn that once was quiet and quaint in it's uniform lines marching off into the horizon has changed, seemingly overnight.

I am five feet, seven and a half inches tall. Those are my hands outstretched over my head.

My grandpa or 'Pop', as we called him, used to say he had trouble sleeping some summer nights. The corn kept him awake, the noise of growing pains apparently echoed in the night. If you can stand the heat, try sleeping with your windows open tonight. I wonder if you could hear this corn from where you lay your head.

My mom and dad have a book on their end table in their family room. It is called, "Mennonite Country", and it is written by A.K. Herrfort, who was an Old Order Amish gentleman from the area of Ontario where I am from. The book was written in 1978. There are drawings included in this book by Peter Etril Snyder who is a famous artist from Waterloo County. The book drew me in and I came home with several excerpts from it scrawled into my journal so I could carry them with me.

This is what Mr. Herrfort had to say about lettuce.

"Lettuce is probably the most widely known vegetable salad plant. If you suffer from insomnia, eat more lettuce, which is one of the most sleep inducing plants known. It is of course on record as being said that it will not induce sleep to a person who has committed a crime. It being said that only the most hardened criminals can sleep after committing crimes. Sow lettuce every two to three weeks during the cool part of the growing season for a fresh supply of both leaf and head lettuce."

He doesn't have anything to say if lettuce induces sleep if growing corn is keeping you awake, but I'm here to attest to the sleep inducing power of lettuce. I haven't heard a peep out of the corn and I've been eating lettuce every meal for about a month. Don't believe me? Please come and pick some of my lettuce. Honestly, I'm growing a little weary of it. It's not picking up on my not so subtle hints. It just keeps growing and growing and growing. Perhaps it's a new variety. Let's call it 'Energizer Lettuce'.

Stay cool this weekend.

Stop by and help yourself to lettuce. Don't you think it's time for a good night's sleep?

A Summer Day

2011-07-13T09:42:00.000-07:00

I'm starting to hear summer slipping away. I'm trying to ignore it but when I sit still and listen it is there. July is rushing by in a blur of noise and activity. I've heard talk from friends about purchasing school supplies. I've covered my ears and made silly noises at the sound of all of it.

I love summer. I love having the kids home. I love the slower pace. I love not having to watch the clock.

We went to the park the other day.

The kids played on the playground equipment. They play this game called 'wood chips'. It is a tag game. You have to close your eyes, or in this case cover them with your sister's hair band, and feel your way around the play equipment while trying to find someone to tag. You can't touch the wood chips. If you are not 'it' and you touch the wood chips, you become 'it'.

The kids had a blast. I wasn't sure if they would still enjoy playground equipment, but they figured it out.

I sat and watched. I listened to them giggle. I looked up and took in the lovely blue sky and the puffy clouds. I didn't do anything and that was nice.

Summer. A day at the park with my kids. The kind of day that grounds me, reminds me of what is important, the kind of day I need to fuel the other days that are filled with motion, mess, stress and sometimes even a load of heartache.

I'll take all the summer I can get.

A Weekend, A Cell Phone and A Confused Mother.

2011-07-11T13:08:00.000-07:00

I'm catching up from the weekend. It's nice to be inside. It's hot and extremely humid today, don't bother to fuss with the curls humid, frizzy sheep head humid, I should straighten the mess on my head humid.

Will is downstairs recuperating from his weekend. He is running a slight fever and has no appetite.

We kicked things off with a bonfire at the farm for Will's baseball team on Friday night. Farmer Boy is standing up with the ball cap. He is such a good coach. He kept stats for each of his players and at the fire he awarded each boy with a ball. He wrote each boy's tribal name on the ball, along with some of their more impressive stats. We all clapped and hollered for a job well done. The kids ran around and ate copious amounts of s'mores, pop, chips and other highly nutritious food. It was a blast.

Saturday, Farmer Boy, Will, and Elizabeth headed north for a baseball tournament that Will participated in. This was with a special tournament team made up of only fourth graders. The tournament was all day Sunday, but they headed up Saturday to take part in some pre-tournament fun.

The tournament was by the Iowa Great Lakes. There is not a lot of water in Iowa but we do have some.

Farmer Boy snapped this one from his I-Phone right before Elizabeth's bottom hit the water.

I stayed here on the farm to wait for Kelli to get back from Kentucky. She got in late Saturday night and was tired and a bit sick. She was glad to be home. She took a long hot shower, climbed into her clean bed and slept. Sunday we took it easy while we waited on news from the tournament. She ate bananas, rice, and drank ginger ale. I read. Will played three games in the hot, murky soup of an Iowa summer.

Bunting.

Batting.

Pitching, although that is not Will.

His team did great. They took third place. I would have loved to see him play but I'll get another chance this weekend.

I guess he took in a little too much fun and heat. With a day to lay low and hang out inside in the air conditioning, I'm thinking he'll be back to normal tomorrow.

*****************

A while ago Farmer Boy suggested in the way that only he can, that I should be more forthcoming with my blog posts. He thought I make everything seem to rosy. Well, I'm going to take his advice so prepare yourselves.

We had a birthday here last week. The party was Tuesday, but the actual birthday was Thursday. Farmer Boy and I decided to wait and give our present on the actual day. Usually we open presents as a family, but with Kelli gone we decided that the birthday girl could open her present when she woke up. She went to bed excited about her present prospects. I think she had an inkling of what she was going to get, and in her mind had dreamed up endless possibilities of texting and talking to friends on her new cell phone.

She was right. We had decided to give her a cell phone. We agonized over what kind of phone to get the birthday girl as we didn't want her older sister to feel like her phone was outdated. After discussing many possibilities we decided on an "old fashioned" flip phone and no texting. Birthday girl's phone was to be for emergencies and for her to let me know when I could pick her up at various games and practices.

When the wrapping paper was shred and she sat looking at her phone, her face told a story of dismay and disappointment.

"This is an old phone. When do I get texing?", were the first words out of her mouth.

She then proceeded to call her dad at work and after he said hello, she responded with, "when will I get texting?" He hung up on her.

I sat at the breakfast table with my mouth hanging open.

Surely this was not my sweet, sweet daughter. As I processed what was happening, my temper began to flare. I felt it coming on, took a few deep breaths, and proceeded to tell her that the phone she was holding in her hand was a gift from me and her father. Although I was shocked that she didn't want to accept it, I guess that was her choice, so I took the phone away from her and packed it up. The gift was free, I explained, but if she didn't want it, her consequence was to turn 13 without a present.

I was seething. I couldn't believe it. What the heck?! Are you kidding me?! She thinks that she's entitled to a phone? What! She's not entitled. She's 13. I could care less if she thinks everyone else has the newest and latest phone with texting. They can text my you know what.

I stomped around for a while. Said some things to her that I probably shouldn't have. I ignored her pleas to give her phone back. I let her know that the bathing suit we had bought her earlier that week was ten dollars and she could pay me any time. I also let her know that I would be waiting for the payment for the contact lenses she wanted me to order.

I stomped back upstairs and plopped on my bed. Now what was I going to do? I took it away but what now?

I'm still stuck there. I haven't given it back yet, and I'm positive I don't want to. She's has been very sweet. She has asked forgiveness. She told me thank you for the phone.

I don't know. I'm sure there is a lesson here on grace. Grace is free, grace unaccepted brings consequences. Forgiveness is also a part of this story. Maybe I'm not quite ready to forgive. Does that sound horrible? I'm honestly not sure how to move forward but I'll keep you posted.

So that's it for today. A weekend, a cell phone and a confused mother.

A Good Story

2011-07-08T14:25:00.000-07:00

I love a good story. I love to be taken away on the wings of words to different places and times. I love to imagine what the characters in each story look like, what they sound like. I put myself in the story and take trips to places all over while sitting on my living room couch or upstairs in my comfy bed. I love a good story.

My dream in life is to write a good story. To write a book that people will hold up to their chest and hug, embracing every aspect of it. The kind of story that others put themselves into, the kind that makes them cry, that urges them towards their true self, their better self. That's my dream.

However, my children, my husband, my season of life, make my dream difficult to squeeze in. I tell myself I have to live the story before I'll be able to write the story. I guess that is why I like to blog - it is a record of our story, our everyday, ordinary story. The main characters are pigs, sheep, chores, Farmer Boy, my kids and our life. Does this mean I'm living my dream? Hmmm.......

Well, I 've gotten a hold of some very good stories lately.

The first one to steal over me takes place in post-Napoleonic France. It weaves a web of deception, betrayal, prison tunnels, friendship, treasure, love, revenge. Ahh..... it's glorious.

The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas. If you haven't read it, well, I think you should.

I can never read only one book at a time. I don't always feel like slipping away to France, what if I sit down to read and France just doesn't sound appealing? What if I'd rather travel back to 1962 to Jackson, Mississippi? I'd be a maid, (not a big stretch actually) and I'd be African American. I'm working for a white woman who's not quite in touch with her humanity. I'm tired of being treated less than human and so I join with some of my friends in telling the truth about working for my less than human white woman. Oh my. What a great story. I'm completely wrapped up in the characters and the times. Love it. Love it. Love it.

How 'bout the photography? I used a tea towel for my background. I know. I'm good.

The book is called The Help by Kathryn Stockett and it is going to be a movie later this summer. I wanted to read it first because they usually don't do as good as job as I do in bringing a book to life. My imagination suits me. Most of the time they don't get it right.

I have one more book that I'm reading. It's a travel book. It's non-fiction. I love it. I always have wanted to travel the world. When I was in college I was going to kick butt for Jesus. I think my plan involved actually kicking people in the butt until they believed what I believe. I've toned down. Today, I would simply love to visit Sevilla Spain, Tuscany Italy, or the shores of Scotland, maybe Portugal. I would love to see what everyday life looks like there. I want to eat their food and let them teach me how to prepare it. I'd love to smell a street in Sevilla and touch the food in the markets. I'd love to look across a field in Tuscany and be a part of it. I'd love to walk down a curvy road in Scotland, bundled in my warmest, but fashionable, grey sweater and feel the ocean on my check. I wouldn't even worry about how curly and frizzy my hair would get. I'd just walk and feel. I wouldn't kick anyone in the butt. I would simply like to make some friends.

So here it is.

A Year in the World by Frances Mayes. I just picked this one up. I've skimmed through it and I'm going to love it. I'm still in Sevilla. She is going to take me to Portugal, Naples, Taormina, Italy, Fez, Burgundy, the British Isles, the Greek Islands, Crete, Scotland, Turkey, Capri, and Mantova. I don't even know where all these places are but I'm so ready to go. I want to eat at every place.

My stories. Everyone needs a good story.

Have a great weekend.

I think I'm going to read.

A Birthday Story

2011-07-06T07:50:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow we have a birthday around here. My sweet, sweet second born will be officially entering the sometimes frightening, often confusing, realm of 'teenagedom'.

Am I ready? Does it matter? Ready or not it is here.

We held a party for her and her six best friends last night. We barbecued hamburgers, they threw water balloons, I took them to see the movie 'Soul Surfer' at the dollar theater. They were totally drawn in and exclaimed with one voice, "that was the best movie I have ever seen".

I don't do well with sleepover parties. I believe that the word 'sleepover' implies that some sleeping will be done. Why don't teenage girls understand this?

Last year we held the party on the same day I had surgery. Stupid. At about 3:00 a.m. I turned into a screaming, fanatical and frightening woman. I told them to sleep. I told them if I heard them again I'd start calling parents to come and get them. I told them I was their worst nightmare. I told them to be quiet.

They were. They had never seen Mrs. Johnston like that before. They had probably never seen any mother like that before. Their eyes got large and their mouths got quiet. I felt like it was a good talk.

Well, it went down as legend. They are still talking about it. One sweet friend of Elizabeth's apologizes every time I give her a ride. Poor thing. I scared her to death.

Last night went much better. I was tense. I tried not to let the real me take over. I kept it together. They slept out in the trailer and I went to bed at 11:00 p.m. and haven't heard a peep from them since. It's 9:15 a.m. and I'm still waiting to fix them pancakes for breakfast. I wonder if they're scared to come in?

Here's some pictures of my sweet, sweet girl in all her teenage glory. She makes my heart sing.

Happy Birthday sweet girl. You are loved beyond measure.

She is going to be thrilled that I'm posting this one.

She can bring the heat. You go Liz!

Cousins at the July 4th wedding.

Last night's party.

Not much

2011-07-04T12:21:00.000-07:00

There's not much doing around here today. It's a holiday. Another birthday, another nation. We're heading down south to a wedding and we will be able to get in on some fireworks but this morning, well, we have not done much.

I baked some bread.

Took in a bit of beauty.

Watched Farmer Boy do things that only Farmer Boy understands.

According to Farmer Boy it's not strange at all to walk a pig around your yard. They need exercise too. Especially if you want them to kick other pig butt at the County Fair.

Then I noticed to my shock and amazement,

that there is a moose, loose, near my hoose (house for those of you celebrating the 4th today).

Happy 4th of July!

Today

2011-07-01T08:03:00.000-07:00

Today is Friday.

Today Kelli left the farm for Kentucky. She is going to spend some time hammering things, building things, getting very hot and tired.

Today is also Canada day.

For those of you who don't know what Canada Day is, shame on you.

It's a birthday of a nation. Not just any nation. The nation that brought you hockey, Bob and Doug Mackenzie, Pierre Trudeau, Bryan Adams, Anne Murray, and so many more.

Did you know that the Canadian Flag is made up of a red maple leaf and the colours of red and white? The maple leaf is the national emblem of Canada. The color red was taken from the Saint George's Cross and the color white from the French royal emblem.

How 'bout this? Canada got its name from an Iroquois word, "Kanata", meaning "village." The people of Canada are called Canadians, not Canucks. Of course I'm kinda disappointed in the Canucks because they got beat by the Bruins, but that is for another time, another place.

Canada became an independent country in 1867, and we celebrate its birthday on July 1 each year in the same way Americans (or is it Yankees?) celebrate the fourth. We do fireworks, picnics, and other general holiday type activities.

Canada has a population of more than 31 million people.

The official languages of Canada are English and French. There are many other languages spoken in Canada because of all the different nationalities.

The Constitution Act was signed into law by Elizabeth II as Queen of Canada on April 17, 1982 on Parliament Hill in Ottawa. Queen Elizabeth's constitutional powers over Canada were not affected by the Act, and she remains Queen and Head of State of Canada. Canada has complete sovereignty as an independent country and the Queen's role as monarch of Canada is separate from her role as the British monarch or the monarch of any of the other Commonwealth realms.

The above paragraph was taken directly from Wikipedia. I myself have been a little fuzzy about the queen's role since 1982. I remember all the hoopla, knew that we became independent of Britain, but was unclear about the queen.

Here's a link to some famous Canadians http://www.probability.ca/jeff/canadians.html. Check it out. You may be surprised by some of the names.

Here are some of my most famous and dear Canadians.

Happy Canada Day!

Sitting and Breathing

2011-06-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

First off, I'd like to share a picture Farmer Boy took with his new I-Phone last night while we were at my favorite running place. He was fishing and I was walking, rapidly. Farmer Boy thinks I look amusing when I walk rapidly. Farmer Boy didn't catch any fish last night.

This morning I got up early. The sun was just beginning it's dance in the eastern sky. The leaves were gently whispering, the birds were crazy with song, a new day.

I looked out my window and took it in. I felt still amidst the dance and the singing. I had my journal on my lap, pen in hand and bible beside me but I didn't do anything but sit. Sit and breath.

My asthma has been acting up this year so I've been deliberate about my breathing. Do this with me - take a deep breath in through your nose, take the air past your lungs and deep into your belly. Watch your belly expand. Hold for a second, now push it out, using your abdominals. Ahh. I think that feels so good. It feels like my cells are getting the oxygen that I've been depriving them of. If you want you can do it again, and again. Maybe you could simply sit and breath, nothing else.

While you're sitting and breathing, you might want to think about these words I love.

I'm still reading "Traveling Mercies" by Anne Lamott, well, actually I'm reading it again. It's like a cool drink. Her irreverence speaks to me. It's like a whisper of freedom, of God's true love, of relationship and community, without all the lists and rules.

In a chapter she wrote about getting older she said, "I want time to learn to enjoy what I've always been afraid of - the sag, the invisibility, the case of understanding that life is not about doing."

One of my favorite books is "Christy" by Catherine Marshall. In the scene where Christy glimpses her mentor's home for the first time (help me out here, I completely forgot mentor's name), Catherine Marshall writes, "in both the woman and her home there was an effortless beauty, never a straining for effect, a harmony that seemed to come from having one's roots down in the place where the roots were meant to be".

Do you think Anne and Catherine came up with those words while they were sitting and breathing?

The Weekend

2011-06-27T08:34:00.000-07:00

Weekends down on the farm are full of chores, much to the chagrin of my children, but also some relaxation. The weather was relentless last week, delivering us a dreary dose of rain, grey skies, wind and cold temperatures. Frustrating and slightly discouraging, as we continue our desperate search for summer.

Friday night we decided, since it hadn't rained at all that day, that we would attempt a bonfire. Farmer Boy wasn't sure if the wood was dry enough to burn, but as we had a huge pile of brush and leaves from all the storms this spring, he decided to give it a try.

It worked.

Farmer Boy was pleased. His fire was burning which only added to his excitement over his brand new I-Phone. He brought it home Friday night. Kelli is playing with it in this picture.

The phone he retired had served him for over seven years which is amazing considering the life span of most of the phones today. He decided his flip phone was an antique. My flip phone serves me quite well but I'm going to stop myself before I begin a tirade on my frustration over the accepted and almost expected obsesession with the latest gadgets, and how people bow down in worship of them at the expense of old fashioned person to person communication. I'll leave it for another day.

Saturday arrived and our hopes of two sunny days in a row were dashed. Clouds, wind and temperatures not hitting 70 degrees. Regardless of the weather, chores needed done.

Farmer Boy and Will tackled one of the things on my list.

Lots of rain creates lots of mud. Trips to the barn to feed hungry pigs, sheep and chickens means that mud stays on boots and gets tracked into my house. Mud sometimes isn't purely mud. Mud can sometimes mix with manure which makes my basement slightly unpleasant. The path that we take to get to the barn is simply a mud slide. Grass doesn't grow there, not enough sun. Mud. Mud. Mud.

I've wanted a path there for several years to liberate my house from mud and manure. Set it free. Freedom is essential.

Saturday was liberation day.

My path. My beautiful, liberating path. It took the boys a couple of hours. They dug, they scraped, they arranged, they carried crushed bricks in the wheelbarrow. They did it.

I'm told freedom is never free.

Remember healthy happy pig bum?

Saturday, amidst the digging, scraping, hauling and shoveling, Farmer Boy noticed that Kelli's 4H, lovely bottomed pig, was not looking so well. He was laying around, not eating, not drinking. He also had welts appearing all over his lovely body.

He looked sad, despondent. Kelli was scared for this pig that she purchased with her own money. Truthfully though, money isn't the issue for her. She loves her pigs. She calls them honey. She scratches their backs. She takes them out into the yard and walks with them. She was afraid.

We watched him all day. Farmer Boy, being very aware of pig diseases called it immediately. It's name was erysipelas. A bacteria that probably was in our stall and pig yard from last summer's pigs.

Finally, after dinner on Saturday, Farmer Boy called one of the many swine vets he knows. Ryan and his family are good friends of ours. Ryan came out, looked at Kelli's pig, said it was erysipelas and gave it a shot of penicillin. He told us that this bacteria comes on quickly and if not treated in time, will kill quickly. Kelli watched him wide eyed, still a little scared for her precious pig. Ryan told her he couldn't guarantee anything but to see what would happen.

Sunday morning dawned cloudy and cold. Farmer Boy woke up and headed to the barn. Mr. Pig was still breathing and was drinking. His welts were still visible and he definitely wasn't his personable self but he was still alive.

After we got back from church we all headed out to the barn. Mr. Pig was drinking. His welts were less noticeable. He was going to make it.

Kelli exhaled and scratched Mr. Pig's back as she sang words of, "You're okay honey, you're okay".

Chores, fire, freedom, relaxation and a miracle. Not bad for a weekend.

Pig Bums

2011-06-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to show you some pictures of our pigs. Remember them? I'm sure you haven't forgotten this glorious pig bum, or should I say big bum?

Anyway, Farmer Boy and his farmer friend Chad, want to eat bacon and sell bacon to others. Not just the kind of bacon you get in the grocery store but happy bacon.

What is happy bacon? Happy bacon comes from happy pigs and that's what I want to show you. Now before you look at the pictures I'm going to show you, close your eyes for a moment and pretend you're a pig. Okay, open up and look.

If you were a pig wouldn't this state of being come close to heavenly. Look closely. If you look close enough you can hear him saying, "Ahh......, I love being a pig."

The pigs started off in our barn and now they spend their days in complete contentment at the home of farmer Chad. I visit them. I rub their tummies. I've discovered that pigs are quite personable. They love mud. They love to be scratched. They simply love being pigs. Happy pigs means happy bacon.

You know, maybe pigs have some lessons for us. I'm not saying we should go wallow in mud and let strangers rub our tummies, although people did do that when I was pregnant. I'm saying that I need to work on being happy with who I am. Complete contentment. Big bum, pig bum or not.

The pigs have it figured out.

By the way, we're taking orders. If you would like some happy bacon, just let me know.

Over and out.

Joy and Jiggles

2011-06-13T18:46:00.000-07:00

Holly and I started our day together. I tied on my running shoes, opened the van door to let Holly hop in, and off we drove to our favorite running spot.

She loves it here. She loves to run, sniff, pee, and of course swim.

If I swam here with Holly and they caught me I'd be in quite a bit of trouble. I have to admit there have been times when I've wanted to try it. You know, just to see what would happen. Who's gonna see me at 6:00 am?

My reason for loving this place isn't because it offers me a chance to break the rules and to jump into some mischief. I love it here because it's quiet and still. It's me and Holly. The sound of her leash, the sound of my feet hitting the pavement, and the sound of my breathing, which thanks to my allergies has been quiet melodious lately. It's a celebration of a new day.

There are days when I join in the celebration and grab joy to carry with me all day like a glorious party favor. Other days I struggle through my run, focus on my aches, my pains, my lack of breath, and then surprisingly carry struggle with me throughout my day.

I can't forget to mention those days when I get passed by a younger runner and I feel like I have to kick it in. Run faster, stride longer, run like she was. Those days leave me with stressed out lungs and cramps in places I didn't even know existed. I carry with me a sense of my age, my limitations, and a desire to be something I'm not. She was so cute in her running shorts. I'm so jiggly in mine. I jiggle when I run. Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle down the running path.

I suppose no matter what kind of day I'm having, whether I make it to my favorite running spot or not, joy is always there. Joy in the jiggles? Joy in the cramps? Joy in the struggle? Really? I have to believe the answer is yes.

Joy. Tomorrow, jiggles or not, I'm going for joy.

Last night

2011-06-08T18:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight Elizabeth is at youth group, Will and Farmer Boy are at the batting cages. Kelli just came in from exercising her 4H pigs and I also just returned home from getting a substantial amount of hair cut off my head. I needed a summer cut.

But last night, last night we took in a summer evening.

Farmer Boy needed to go feed the calves which are out in pasture. They grew up and moved away from home.

They live here now. I guess they're big boys (actually we kinda took care of their 'boyness') and needed more room and more food. They have a lot of grass to get through. Eat boys. Eat, be happy and grow big and juicy.

As I watched Farmer Boy drive, I couldn't help but feel he belongs in this place. He belongs in his pickup. He belongs in the hazy horizon of a June night in Iowa.

As I watch Will grow, I'm beginning to wonder what his future summer nights may be like. Perhaps they will be full of Iowa. Green grass, rolling hills, cattle and fence. Maybe he'll belong in nights like last night.

Last night the girls stayed home.

They found their own way through a summer evening.

Lizzy pitched into the barn door. She stayed at it for quite a while. Softball is a big part of her life right now and will remain so for the month of June.

Kelli chose her own way of taking in some summer. Back and forth, back and forth. She has always liked to swing.

Summer. We're just getting started and I'm ready for some more. More lazy nights. More hazy horizons. More nights like last night.

Walking for Jane

2011-06-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

We walked for Jane tonight. The American Cancer Society was holding a Relay for Life and we assembled a team at work to walk in memory of Jane.

We made shirts that said, "Jane's True Blue Crew." We wore them as we walked around and around the track.

The first lap was for cancer survivors.

Yvonne got to walk that lap. She is a two year breast cancer survivor.

The second lap was for caregivers of cancer patients. Jane's husband, daughter and granddaughters walked that lap. It was so good to see them and have the chance to chat with them.

Those of us from work walked. We talked, we laughed, we asked each other about our plans for the weekend.

This is Laura. She took in some of the sights of the evening.

She asked me to take a picture of this particular gentleman so she could turn it into her screen saver at work. I wasn't supposed to get the girl in the picture. I told Laura he looked better from the front but she said any angle would do. So, there you have it. I thought about running around in front of him and asking him to pause his walking for a second, but I didn't have the guts.

Silliness.

We walked. We walked around and around the track. I heard someone in our group mention something about all the stories that were walking around the track. I can't even imagine. Stories of survival. Stories of what it was like to hear the word 'cancer' and the shock the mere mention of the word brought to that instant. The instant you are told that you have it. Stories of what it feels like to be a survivor and to constantly wonder if the 'c' word is coming back every time you catch a cold or feel an unusual ache. Stories about what it feels like to have something evil growing inside you. I wonder if you feel betrayal somehow. Anger. As if your body has cheated on you and abolished the trust you thought was present after all those years.

We walked and I wondered about the other stories. The stories of those left behind. The wife without her husband. The husband without his wife. The kids without their mom or dad. They were walking too. Did they feel angry? What was it like for them after the funeral? Everyone else went on with life but their life was changed in a way they couldn't even put words behind. Did they see their friends and want to smack them? No, they are not OK. No, it is not fair. No, I'm not really fine. No, you don't understand because you've never lost my loved one. If God knows what we can handle, when is enough, enough? What about four or five months after the funeral? A year? Two years? Will anyone still remember their story? Their loss? Their heartache? Will everyone expect them to be normal again? What the heck does the word normal mean in the first place? Will they still want to spend as much time as they can at the grave site?

We kept walking. Around and around that track. Walking. Walking. Walking and living our story.

For some reason while I was thinking about all this, one of my favorite verses came to mind.

I spread out my hands to you;

my soul thirsts for you like a parched land.

Answer me quickly, O Lord; my spirit faints with longing.

Do not hide your face from me or I will be like those who go down to the pit.

Here's the best part.

Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you.

show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul.

Teach me to do your will, for you are my God;

may your good Spirit lead me on level ground (Psalm 143).

The track tonight was very level. It was made of some kind of spongy material and it was really easy to walk on. As we walked around and around maybe everyone who was carrying a story of survival, of loss, of anger, of frustration and endless questions, maybe we were all walking towards morning and we didn't even realize it.

Maybe that's why we all have to keep on walking.

I think that's why we walked for Jane tonight.

Home

2011-05-30T09:17:00.000-07:00

I made it back home. I went home for a wedding and now I'm home again. Home. I get confused with that word sometimes. Where is home? Is home here or there?

I got up early this morning. I couldn't sleep. Something was tugging at me, nudging me up and onto my front porch. I sat on my front porch and the sun hit my face. Sun! It's been a long time since I've seen or felt it. The wind was conducting a symphony. The leaves were obeying it's every whim, up, down, faster, slower, and while the leaves heeded the wind, the sun shone and danced on their backs, shimmering, swaying.

It's good to be home. I love it here. The corn is just beginning it's mindless march off into the horizon. When I next notice, it will be tall, erect, stately, soldiering it's way across the landscape, but this morning it's small, almost quiet, only in the beginning stages of forming it's rank and file. Green is sneaking up everywhere. When I look north there are deep patches of green in the distance, stands of trees interrupting the roll of the fields. I see poles holding power lines and pick up trucks ambling down the highway with sun dancing on their hoods, a water tower two miles north, also bathed in the glory of the sun, making it possible for me to see it from my front porch.

Home.

It was good to be home even if it was a quick trip. I hung out with mom and we chatted in her living room. I ate home made pizza and rhubarb dessert. I laughed with my sisters and danced the night away at my nephew's wedding. It's a place I can't see from my front porch. A place that shows up in most of my dreams. A place that is so familiar but yet also foreign. A place that will always be home.

Here's some pictures from the weekend.

My nephew Keith got married on Friday. Here he is with his mom and dad.

His new bride, Rhiannon.

My sister Brenda. What was she thinking?

My niece Rose and her family.

My nephew Brian and his girlfriend Shannon.

Keith with his grandparents.

Four generations.

Mom and her girls.

So where's home? I honestly can't answer that question. If home is where your heart is, my heart is in two places. Perhaps for me, that's exactly how it should be.

It's simply home.

Grief

2011-05-18T15:55:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken around May 3. Yvonne had a birthday and Jane came into the office to celebrate with us. We set up tables in the conference room. People brought in fruit and cheese and dessert. We sat and talked. Jane asked me about my kids. She looked me in the eye and with her questions, let me know she cared. Amidst the radiation, the loss of hair, the road that she had no choice but to travel down, she looked me in the eye and cared about me.

Jane died yesterday.

Cancer stole her body away.

No one was ready for her to go. We wanted more of her. More of her beauty, more of her caring concern, more of her laughter, her love, more of her.

Everyone at work is stunned. Donna and Yvonne continue to amaze me. They have tears but they have strength to make thoughtful decisions, grace to ease the atmosphere in the office, and caring offerings of help to Jane's family. They are full of love and empty of themselves. I marvel at them. It's as if they hold my hand when I walk into the office, pat it, hug me and tell me it's going to be okay. They manage to do all this while their hearts ache over their loss of a dear friend.

On my dresser is a card I bought to send to Jane this week. She had had a hard time with her first chemo treatment and I wanted to send her something. I was also going to send her a copy of Anne Lamott's book called, "Traveling Mercies". I thought she'd like it. It's a book that offers some thoughts on faith and the author is slightly irreverent. I thought Jane might like that. I thought if I had cancer, I might be a bit irreverent as well. The card is going to stay on my dresser. I want to look at it, think of Jane and cry.

I want to share with you something that Anne Lamott wrote in her book.

.....grief sucks, it really does. Unfortunately, though, avoiding it robs us of life, of the now, of a sense of living spirit. Mostly I have tried to avoid it by staying very busy, working too hard, trying to achieve as much as possible. You can often avoid the pain by trying to fix other people; shopping helps in a pinch, as does romantic obsession. Martyrdom can't be beat.
But the bad news is that whatever you use to keep the pain at bay robs you of the flecks and nuggets of gold that feeling grief will give you. A fixation can keep you nicely defined and give you the illusion that your life has not fallen apart. But since your life may indeed have fallen apart, the illusion won't hold up forever, and if you are lucky and brave you will be willing to bear disillusion. You begin to cry and writhe and yell and then to keep on crying; and then, finally, grief ends up giving you the two best things, softness and illumination.

From left to right: Donna, Jane, Me and Yvonne

If Jane were sitting beside me right now, I think she'd grab my hand, pat it, look me in the eye and tell me to be brave, to follow Donna and Yvonne's lead. I'd look at her and understand softness and illumination.

Grief does suck but Jane was so worth it.

Nag and Change.

2011-05-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with anything but look at how cute he is. He was so proud of his lego house.

Same boy. I know it's not a great picture. We've been spending a lot of time with baseball. Farmer Boy is coaching. Will is doing well. I watch him and marvel. He seems so big to me. He has taken on a manly swagger when he walks. I call him my little man. Perhaps it's time to drop the 'little'.

Wait, don't blink, they're about to change.

Not great pictures but they were taken on Mother's day. I marvel at them. Changing, growing, becoming. Amazing.

Farmer Boy suggested this week that I should be more realistic with my blog posts. Apparently he thinks I don't discuss my moodiness and nagging enough. Whatever.

Okay, here's the truth. I'm feel overwhelmed by the responsibilities of Spring. Grass to mow, garden to plant, weeds to pull, house to clean, landscaping to be done, baseball, baseball, baseball, chickens, cows, pigs, and sheep. Perhaps I nag sometimes. Perhaps I let my dissatisfaction with our yard be known to Farmer Boy. Perhaps I repeat my words of dissatisfaction. Perhaps I lose it some weeks. Perhaps.

Now here's the truth. Deep down I know that everything I nag about is unimportant. My children will continue to change, grow and become amazing whether my garden is planted this weekend or not. I know it. I forget it sometimes.

Here's more truth. I can nag if I want to. He may not be pleased but he doesn't have to listen.

He'll get over it.

Hate and Hail

2011-05-06T06:04:00.000-07:00

This week has felt like a hailstorm. Things falling from the heavens, bopping me on the head. All week I've been running for cover but this morning I realized I was trying to take shelter in the wrong places. The tree I was hiding under and clinging to, got taken out by a lightning strike.

May God forgive me when I choose anything but him.

You know what's strange? Since I stepped out from under the tree, I feel like the hailstorm is over. The sky is settling. The wind has blown through. I feel peace that I haven't felt all week. Amazing what a little quiet time and prayer can do.

So, the verse of the week has been James 1:19-25. I'm going to quote (from memory so forgive me if I don't get it exactly right), the first two verses. "Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life that God desires."

Slow. Listen. Righteous life. God desires.

Here is some slow listening from my front porch this morning.

Every morning as part of our routine, I have to sign Will's school planner. This morning he pulled out a poem he had written at school. It had to be about a feeling and it had to address all five senses. I thought it was very good. I think he's a gifted writer. I'm not biased.

So here it goes, from the top. Close your eyes, well not really or you won't be able to see, but imagine that he just pulled this out and you're reading it fresh from his binder.

Hate

Hate looks like the inside of a volcano.

It's color is sad like gray or black.

It smells like burning smoke after a war.

It tastes like rotten potatoes.

It sounds like the screams of someone having a baby.

Hate makes me feel as cold as ice.

Will's thoughts seem to come from the hailstorm. I'm glad he sees hate the way he does. There's nothing good there. Nothing happy. Nothing desirable. All I see is a bleak, drab, completely colorless place. In fact it looks like the tree I was hiding under this week. I'm ditching the tree. It didn't work. My head is aching from all the hail hits it took. Today, I'll try slow, listening, righteous and God.

Over and out and treeless.