Wise Dogs in the Library ...and Beyond

December on Puget Sound

2011-12-15T20:22:00.000-08:00

Wonderful foggy photo ops today! No Polo, just me and my camera and a hundred birds... and bliss.

Poor Dogga

2011-12-05T21:45:00.001-08:00

Alas, poor Polo. I snapped this photo today on the way to our -- *my* -- favorite walking place. He is so afraid of cars, either inside or out.

Poor guy. Now he won't even face the front where Mom is sitting.

Usually, once we get out on the trail, Polo's tail comes up and he trots happily along. But before the trail, we have to walk out of the parking lot and across a street.

Poor Spud. There was traffic on the road today, but a very nice driver stopped to let us use the crosswalk. Polo wasn't thrilled about going in front of a car, and then I tried to jog across the street so the driver could go on his way.

Poor pup. Mom running in front of a car -- even one that's sitting still -- is NOT a good thing. Polo hunkered down, scared. I further deepened his anxieties by dragging him across the pavement.

Poor fella.

But we did stop in the meadow at the end of our walk, so Polo could sniff some bunny scents. That was good, anyway.

Unfinished Story

2011-11-17T12:51:00.000-08:00

My long-term Bible reading has brought me to the story of Jonah, the guy who ran from God's assignment and was swallowed by a big fish. You've heard this -- Jonah is trapped in the belly of the fish and realizes there is no running from God, so he apologizes and gets spit out to go and complete his mission. But then we get to chapter four, where Jonah sees the people of Ninevah repent and turn to God, and the city is saved.

"Therefore now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for death is better to me than life." And the Lord said, "Do you have good reason to be angry?"

Then God said to Jonah, "Do you have good reason to be angry about the plant?" And [Jonah] said, "I have good reason to be angry, even to death." (Jonah 4:3-4, 9)

Okay, so how is it that God didn't send lightning bolts to zap Jonah dead on the spot? Jonah is totally impudent, whiny, selfish, and snit-faced. The notes in my study Bible title this chapter, "Jonah Learns". All I see is Jonah having a temper tantrum. And this is the end of the story -- we don't get to see what he did next. Did he relent and have a complete change of heart? Even if he did, was he ashamed about this for the rest of his life? Or did God fully restore and heal him? Was it a long process over many years, or did God take him to heaven quickly?

Maybe the best answer we get comes from Jonah's statement here --

And he prayed to the Lord and said, "Please Lord, was this not what I said while I was still in my own country? Therefore, in order to forestall this I fled to Tarshish, for I knew that Thou art a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness, and one who relents concerning calamity." (Jonah 4:2)

Jonah knew God. He was really mixed up, but he knew God.

Someone dear to me is pretty mixed up, but I trust that he knows God, too. He recently set foot in a church for the first time in years, and told me his heart was pounding and his hands sweating.

"What, did you think God would strike you down for being there?"

He nodded.

My next response might not be theologically sound, but it was from the heart. "If I thought God was going to hit you with a lightning bolt for the stuff you've done, I would have disowned one of you by now."

My Son's Wedding! (a photographic essay)

2011-11-14T14:24:00.000-08:00

I took a few bootleg photos during the official pre-wedding photography session. Would you like to see? Of COURSE you would!

Here are all the girls, doing a traditional wearing-heels-in-wet-grass bridal dance:

And here are the groom and his men (and the photographer) showing how it's done:

This is just my family, including the new bride AND the bride-to-be. Yes -- I'm getting two girls in less than a year, after 29 years of all men! Woo hoo!

And here's most all of the bride's and groom's families, including an adorable passel of nieces and nephews!

It was a beautiful day for a wedding -- and here's one full-sized photo to prove it:

They Came From the Earth

2011-10-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

Things you see in the yard on a sunny autumn day...

This post brought to you courtesy of Polo, ball-chaser extraordinaire. Thanks, Spud, for giving me a reason to stand in the yard today!

A Whale of a Nice Day

2011-09-02T14:25:00.000-07:00

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood...

The first football game of the season is only a few hours away. The sun is shining, the sky is blue, it's not too hot, and Polo just had a good run in the back yard. Except for my little virus, all is well. So, you ask, how's business at the library?

Work has been busy. Several years ago, August was such a quiet month that we did major projects -- such as checking in the entire collection of movies and music, replacing worn cases, making sure our records were up to date. Then, September would hit us hard with a sudden surge of library patrons. These days, the summer isn't that quiet, but I'm sure we'll still feel slammed once school gets going.

Although I have no trouble wasting time -- sometimes whole days -- at home, I hate not being busy at work. After all, I'm there to do something, not sit around. It's way more fun to be challenged and active there. When the phones aren't ringing and the patrons aren't needy, I get fidgety.

Come to think of it, Polo gets the same way. He can take long naps, but there comes a point in his day when he needs to do something. If no one is paying attention to him, the easiest thing is for him to pick up a shoe or sock, or look for something near the edge of a counter that he can reach. Then he holds it in his mouth and runs up and down the stairs, up and down, up and down, waiting for us to chase him and take it back.

This week, I've learned that Polo knows a new phrase: "Play ball!" When he hears these words, he is morethanready to pound some sod and chase flying spheres in the back yard.

Polo hates being bored at home. I hate being bored at work. Maybe I'll pack a tennis ball in my lunch bag tomorrow -- it's bound to be a slow day at the library.

Two Weddings and... uh...

2011-08-25T11:15:00.000-07:00

Presto change-o! Within a couple of months, two of my sons became engaged. As in, they're planning to be married! Woo hoo! Do you know what this means? All those stories I've heard about kids growing up -- those were definitely true. But all those stories I've heard about kids leaving the nest to build their own lives? It appears that those stories may be true, also! Amazing! This may be proof -- one of the boys acquired an apartment last week, and he has been living there for three days! It's empty, he's alone, but he's got a bed and utilities and maybe some food in the cupboards, and he's loving it.

Economic circumstances being what they are, this has been a difficult time for my guys to strike out in independence. The desire has been there for a long time, but the boys just couldn't afford to get their own places. A few years ago, I had an interesting conversation with a hairdresser about this. We were making small talk -- do you have kids? how many? how old? When I admitted that all my sons still lived at home, she was totally supportive. In her cultural mindset, it's expected that the kids should stay home until they are really ready to be on their own. A solid career is a must, and a solid relationship is preferred, before there's any talk of leaving the parental home. On top of that, she saw it as a positive thing that my sons were willing to stay at home after high school. That's a marker of a decent family life, she said.

I was kind of taken aback. Not that I didn't agree, but I'd never heard these things spoken with such directness. She made me ponder my own expectations. In my family of origin, finances dictated that my brothers had to live at home through all four years of college. One moved across the country to attend graduate school, but the other stuck around a couple more years while he searched for a decent career. When I came of age, I took my cousin's advice and went away to college. After a year, I got married and never looked back. For me (and perhaps my brothers), it was most comfortable to move away to learn independence; distance gave me strength.

Anyway, back to the present. I'm thrilled, ecstatic, joyful, grateful, and happy that these two wonderful gals will be entering our family! I'm beginning to see myself in a new role, a new season of life. I'm not sure, but I think that becoming a mother-in-law means I'm grown up... as much as I'll ever be.

Oh, and the son who's not preparing to tie the knot? He says he's too smart to leave home for a while. He'll have three bedrooms to himself, and his mother in the basement.

P.S. The flower pictured above is from one of my future daughters-in-law. So nice!

Making Strides

2011-08-16T22:21:00.000-07:00

Earlier this summer, I decided to "gentle" young Polo into accepting car rides as necessary means to a reward. I figured it would take many, many days, but would be worthwhile. Then I got a migraine and gave up on the whole long process.

A few days ago, I decided that I really want to get out walking again, on the trail where dogs are leashed. I love being out among the native plants and getting good exercise. But this means Polo must ride in the car.

It continues to embarrass me that I have to stoop to lift and drag and push a 70 pound furry baby into the back seat of my car. It would be different if he were old and lame, but he's clearly young and sprightly.

We've walked three times in five days, and I'm currently working on teaching him the word "walk" as a fun concept. Once we hit the trail, his ears relax, his nose goes into overdrive, and his tail curls up high with pride. He loves walks!

Too bad he hates car rides.

On one of these walks, for the very first time ever, Polo marked a spot along the trail. That must be a good thing, right? And he's learned where to watch for the feral brown bunnies that play freeze tag in the field. I think we're making progress.

Spotted at the Aquarium

2011-08-11T18:39:00.000-07:00

Not only did I have a great time with my family, but I got to play with my camera. Woot!

Some subjects are not prone to smiling for the camera...

There was much to see OUT of the water...

A tall ship from the Russian Navy visiting the port...

Architectural splashes always catch my eye...

Great Minds... [or, Spending Time with my Brother]

2011-08-04T22:49:00.000-07:00

Summer has finally come to the Pacific Northwest, and so also have arrived my brother and sister-in-law. Time for drives and sharing meals and visiting places. Sometimes we visit interesting places, other times not so much. But it's good to be with family.

Here's a representative illustration of our mutual... um... mutuality. (A big thank you to my very-good-sport sister-in-law for handling the camera for this opportunity!) We thought this made a meaningful photograph. The sign reads:

FOR SAFETY -- SPECTATORS MUST VIEW FROM ROADSIDE OF WOOD FENCE

I'm being safe, sitting there on the roadside of wood fence, on a bench.

If you see us around town, you would also do well to remain on the roadside of wood fence. The free-ranging sense of humor we share isn't very safe. You should've heard us at supper tonight. Really, though, if the restaurant didn't expect people to snort and guffaw at the name of that beverage, they should not have put it on the menu. Talking about free-range moose only made it funnier. Maybe you had to be there, but it was quite an exchange.

Just so you know. Be safe. Stay on the roadside of wood fence.

My Front Deck Friends

2011-07-26T22:14:00.000-07:00

Just playing around with my camera. I talked a few of my young friends into posing for me...

Ahhh... Just the therapy I needed after shopping online for a new garage door. Pretty flowers are nice, happy friends. Oh -- why, you ask, are these my "front deck" friends? Because Polo owns the back yard. Every cubic inch of dirt, it's all his. And he knows it.

Fireworks!

2011-07-13T11:06:00.000-07:00

At least it's still July as I post these pics... Thanks to the Tacoma Rainiers for a great show in a beautiful newly-remodeled stadium!

I've Been Lookin' on the Railroad

2011-06-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

On a whim, I made a stop for a train that's stopped. This is one of the few remaining rotary snow plow engines made famous (to me, at least) in the book White Cascade, by Gary Krist.

It was cool to see this machine up close. Too bad there wasn't even a skiff of snow on the ground -- maybe I'll have to return in a colder season. The sky made an interesting backdrop. Someday, our skies might be blue, but for now they're just interesting.

Let's Get Medical

2011-06-21T18:04:00.000-07:00

All right, I've had enough. The pain in my foot isn't severe, and it's not as serious as my very first flare-up, but I'm tired of ending the day with a sore heel. I'm tired of having to always sit with my legs crossed because it's too uncomfortable to put weight on my tender heel. I'm tired of thinking about plantar fasciitis.

This week, I'm going to my podiatrist to see about getting a cortisone injection. Take THAT, plantar fascia!

I don't mind wearing sensible shoes. It doesn't matter that my orthotics have to fit inside of them. The foot brace I wear to bed every night isn't any bother. But I've had enough of this nagging pain that should be curable.

Now, if I live through the injection, I should feel better soon. After that, the next thing will be to get Polo more accustomed to riding in the car to our walk sites.

*****

THURSDAY UPDATE:

I had the injection about four hours ago. My doctor was amazingly smooth about the procedure -- although I kind of wanted to see the needle and maybe watch it go in, he made sure I couldn't even get a glimpse of anything. It hurt, but my foot hurts some days anyway. I was glad when he said he was done! For now, it's ice alternating with heat, and comedy TV. I've got a good stack of books, but don't have much concentratability right now.

Aren't you glad you asked?

Behind the Curtain...

2011-06-10T16:31:00.000-07:00

Oh, the dangers of channel surfing. Last night, I came across a documentary on PBS... okay, not my usual genre... but it was so much MORE than a documentary.

One of my favorite TV programs is the Red Green Show. It reminds me of things my dad and his older brother might have done, if there had been duct tape in the 1920's. (Happy birthday, Dad. I miss you.) Red Green is this middle-aged dude who loves his wife but cannot be trusted to be safe out of her sight. Since she never appears on the show, he's pretty much always making trouble or blowing up an engine or scheming about a Possum Lodge activity.

But I digress. Red has a dorky, inept nephew named Harold. (Harold Green is on your far left in the above photo.) Of course, Harold isn't quite as dumb as Red thinks, and he often rescues Red from the best [worst] of his plans gone haywire. Patrick McKenna is Harold, and Harold is Patrick McKenna. Period. Or so I thought.

This documentary had me on the edge of my seat for 90 minutes. Why? Because it's hosted by none other than Patrick McKenna, as himself! It's amazing -- like when a clown removes his makeup and speaks in a normal voice! Like when the wizard comes out from behind the Oz curtain! Like when Mrs. Doubtfire turns into Daniel Hillard!

So, if you've ever watched the Red Green Show, or if you know anyone who might have ADD, catch the next showing of ADD And Loving It?! on PBS. It's humorous and informative, and Patrick McKenna has a really cool wife who loves him a lot. Go figure!

Photos from the Beach

2011-05-30T16:17:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I spent a marvelous weekend with 129 of my friends at a women's retreat on the Sound. Here are a few mementos of that experience.

A Guilty Pleasure?

2011-05-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

I seldom stick my neck out to offer critical comments or reviews, but having watched a Deadliest Catch marathon last night I've got something in my craw. Following is a note I sent to a friend to dispute her assessments of some of the recent developments on the show. I write this, knowing that I have no basis from which to judge these men... but because I enjoy the show so much, I'll admit to being a pretty rabid fan. Disclaimer done.

Dear J:

Now that I'm up to date on the Catch, I have to argue with you about the Cornelia Marie captain. I don't think Derrick is a bad guy at all. He was put into a really tough situation, replacing not only an owner/captain but the father of two crewmen. And then there was "little Jake's" abrupt departure and refusal to take a drug test. Denial, denial, denial. There's a saying -- How do you know an addict is lying? His lips are moving. The Cornelia Marie had a terrible season of fishing, but so did a couple of other boats! The CM crew couldn't have known how badly some of the others were doing, but those crab counts at the bottom of the list were abysmal. On the other hand, he came right out and said to Josh and Jake that their dad had done them a disservice by not teaching them more before he died. Ooooo... low blow! Sure, Phil could have taught them more, let them run the boat, but he was busy earning a living, and he was teaching them. No one expected him to pass away so suddenly. The whole owner-but-crewman thing makes everything so complicated. In one way, it seems like it might be better for Josh & Jake to move to other boats to get fully trained, and then return to their boat as co-captains. But financially, that isn't workable. If you own a boat, you need to be there to oversee your investment.

Another point of interest for me was watching Wizard captain Keith "interacting" with his crew. I know, you're not crazy about Keith, but I like him. What got me was, after he had chewed them out and then had a long silent treatment from his brother Monty, Monty comes up and totally makes Keith lose it with laughter. ("Can we go in and get a candy bar?" I'm not sure what the joke was, but Keith was laughing so hard he couldn't finish a sentence.) Although they can fight like the best of them (i.e., Sig and Edgar), Keith and Monty have a really solid, loving relationship. That warms my heart!

So, there you go. Let 'er rip and tell me what you think!

Oh, and have a nice day... :-p

What's Back There?

2011-05-20T12:04:00.000-07:00

I'm always curious about how things work behind the scenes. The first few years doing football stats for a 4A varsity team, I spent every pregame time agog at the field-level view of preparations. The few stage productions I've been involved in were fascinating literal behind-the-scenes experiences. I love singing in the church choir and looking out at the congregation, watching their responses to the service. And, like everyone, I sometimes wonder what "they" think of me or "us". Don't you?

This morning, I picked up The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University, by Kevin Roose. This young journalism student from a famed secular university wonders what like is like at, of all places, Jerry Falwell's Liberty University. What better way to learn about it than to go under cover and enroll as a student? I'm only a few chapters in, but it's a compelling read and I have to find out what happens. For once, I'm not going to skim and skip ahead in the story.

Because Kevin is not an evangelical Christian, will he be able to pull of an imitation of one? Can he keep his language acceptably clean, and will he be able to adopt the right amount of Christian-sounding jargon to fit in with the other students? Do I listen to what other people say, or am I too wrapped up in judging how they say it?

Are the "real" Christian students really, uh, real? Are they genuine folks, or are they cardboard cut-out facades with no depth of character? How long will it take Kevin to spot a fake? How do people view me -- shallow and conniving, or solid to the core?

If someone discovers Kevin's identity as an impostor, what will their reaction be? Will they ostracize him, out him, or will they pity him? How do I judge people, and how does that change how I act toward them?

One of my strengths as a codependent is a drive to be likable. I shrink away from anything that someone could find distasteful in me. Ugh. Let me rephrase that. My greatest weakness is that drive to be likable! It's tricky to balance those things that should be staunch convictions while also needing to be accepting and understanding. Most people do what they do, not to be bad but because they feel a good reason to do it. Some of those actions are bad, a few horrific, but many just happen without a lot of rationalization. I'm out of my depth in theological terms here, but I hold that mankind is predisposed to be selfish, and therefore makes selfish (and sinful) choices. It should go without saying that I'm in that boat with everyone else. It would be silly for me to deny this.

Am I real? I hope so. At least, I'm trying to be.

Thanks for listening.

Another Post by Polo

2011-04-26T20:04:00.001-07:00

Hello. I am Polo, here to rite again. I know much more things now than when I first rite here. I been practicing. Still trying to understand "smellcheck" but Mom says it will make my words better for your reading. Silly 'puter -- I know it can't smell. Anyway.

I have been working on many many things in family and house. I very, very good at getting treats out of Kong Toy. Mom and Dad laff and laff, for five minutes. Then I win and eat good treats.

When Mom makes food in Kitchen, I pay close attention. I wanna learn how to make food. I like food very much. Mom doesn't let me see what she does up high, but I watch everything I can and remember all. One day soon, I make food. If I make enough, might even let Family have some.

I have a crate in Kitchen. I don't have to use it except when it's raining outside. Mom goes to work a lot. I wait. Crate is okay place now. I even go in without Mom leading me. I can sleep there and then Mom comes home and makes food. Yum! Soon, very soon, I do that too. Mom will be suprised. Anyway.

ManBoys aren't scary as I thought at first. But I still must bark at one who looks like Jesus picture. He's quiet and worrysome. I bark, he pets. I bark, he pets. It's okay, but I bark and then he pets. Other ManBoys are nice, except when I take their shoe toys to chew. Yum!

When I first come here, I did not know Stairs. It was hard and slow to climb bumpy leg-tangling hill from Bedroom every morning. Now, I can do Stairs much better, hardly ever trip. And, of course, Stairs help me play with Kong Toy and ball. I drop toys down, Stairs make them go fast, I chase and catch. Fun stairs.

Mom still makes me go in awful Car. Yuck. But walks are good. Here's a picture she took. We're both smiling -- Mom thinks I'm cute; I see Bird behind Mom and want to chase. Anyway. We're happy.

I Love a Parade!!!

2011-04-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, The Parade* was a big deal. I was fortunate enough to be able to play in a school band starting in the fifth grade, and it was tough for me to choose between learning the very melodious french horn or playing the drums so I could make other hearts pound with my cadence. I chose percussion, although I later spent a summer trying to learn the horn. (One upperclassman had said I'd get beaten up if I showed up to play drums in the high school band.)

These assorted photos are a little memento of three hours spent standing on the sidewalk with a good friend. Since I like to keep my blog semi-anonymous, the images are jumbled and blurred and tiny. However, in honor of my trombone-playing brothers and *that* high school, I included a photo of the back of their mascot's head in this collage. The rest of the photos are either percussion-related or some other special interest.

There's a little more to the story. My friend had to listen to my rants about how they've changed the parade route (no more waiting for the train crossing), no shoes could be worse for your feet than discount-chain deck shoes, no uniform could be uglier than my band's, and no drums these days are as heavy and ungainly as those I carried. And it was uphill both ways, in the snow, in 90-degree weather, with lots of reminders that there were mounted units ahead of us. That's how it was, back in the day.

*Actually, there are four parades in this neck of the woods. All on the same day, all celebrating the gloriousness of daffodils and the joys of a capitalist economy.

And now for a P.S.
The photo collage that looked so good on my screen was apparently too good to load, so it had to be replaced with a few individual shots. Those shots were hand-pasted into the text, taking much time and effort because they kept covering bits of said text. Argh! Since I'm doing this postscript, I'd like to add that my favorite band uniforms are shown in the last drum line photo. The school's mascot is a logger, and the band gets to wear tan Carhartts, work shirts, and orange suspenders! Too cool for words!

Polo's New Tricks

2011-04-08T21:36:00.000-07:00

Polo pup has a few things in common with his grand-sister Blackie. He loves people food. He loves to be outside. He's good at taking naps after eating and being outside. How's that for a repertoire? Unfortunately, that's only the beginning.

I've mentioned before that Polo likes to solve problems. When he's restless but has to stay indoors, I put a dog biscuit inside his rubber Kong toy. That used to keep him occupied for quite a while, but now it only lasts about five minutes. One of his best solutions for getting the biscuit out is to drop the Kong down our stairs and let it bounce... bounce... bounce... over and over, until the treat falls out. Now I cram two biscuits inside, thereby increasing the degree of difficulty. That might earn me ten to fifteen minutes of peace.

When he's outside, Polo makes up all kinds of doggy games for himself. One of my favorites is run-back-and-forth-across-the-yard-as-fast-as-you-can. He's a white streak racing hither and yon, clomping across the deck, from one corner of the yard to another. Good thing we have such a big back yard.

Another favorite outdoor activity is digging. (Um, this is his favorite, not mine.) So far, it's a series of small holes randomly arranged around the deck. We call them ankle-breakers. I'm sure Son #3 will have a name for them when he tries to mow back there.

Yesterday, I discovered Polo's newest yard project. It's been windy here this week, and the tarp on our neighbor's broken car must have blown against our fence. You know, the chain-link fence that NOW keeps the dog in our yard? Polo has pulled about six feet of tarp into our yard. Through the fence.

I tried to get Polo to pose with his prize accomplishment, but he was camera shy. If you look closely [and if this photo stays loaded] you can see his running-away paw in the lower left corner.

Yep, this is a dog with time on his, er, paws, and a brain suited for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Too bad for us.

Photo Day on Campus

2011-04-01T09:55:00.000-07:00

I spent the day at a major Division I university and found some of my favorite things...

cool architecture

pretty forsythia

a railroad hero

(I know I *should* rotate him, but it is April Fools Day, so he stays.)

hungry academics

earthquake retrofits

and a familiar face

I'd tell you more, but I'm preparing for another photo shoot this weekend. Gotta launder my batteries and charge my socks.

A Brush With Fame

2011-03-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

Today I shook the hand of a rock star. Good, strong grip. Great eye contact. Friendly confidence as he said, "Hi, I'm --" Wait! I'll get to that in a minute.

Folks are sometimes surprised that we have musical groups booked in the library. Yes, a real concert, right there next to the magazine racks! The building wasn't designed for this kind of acoustic assault (and I mean that in the nicest way) but the performers make it work. The audiences are always appreciative of both the music and the up-close experience. That is, the audience who intended to be in the audience. (grins)

We have quite a range of musical styles represented in these performances, from bluegrass to classical to jazz to world music. Many of the concerts are aimed toward adults or families, but some are especially for young children.

The musician I met today has a background in commercial songwriting and performance. He's probably best known for his role as lead singer/songwriter for a quirky rock band that I had actually heard of before this event. (My lack of knowledge of all things pop culture is legendary.) It turns out that he also, uh, moonlights as a children's entertainer, and he has several CDs to his credit under this umbrella. His real fans know him as Chris Ballew, but he walked up to me this morning, stuck out his hand and said confidently,

"Hi, I'm Caspar Babypants."

And suddenly I have a craving for fresh peaches. Lots of them.

No More Fudging

2011-03-18T15:59:00.000-07:00

Alternate title for this post:
Even Dumbed-Down Smart Phones Know Some Tricks

I got a Nokia E73 for Christmas, thanks to my son's bonus points. I wanted a smart phone because of the calendar and camera, but I refuse to buy a data plan. Hence, a dumbed-down smart phone. The camera is great, I love the qwerty keyboard, and the other features are mostly good. I'm still exploring and tinkering.

Today, I realized that there are GPS capabilities on the phone, even in its limited no-data state. Hmmm... And there's a trip odometer that shows distance, average speed, maximum speed, and elapsed time. Hey -- I could use this for walking!

The good news, after one trip, is that it works. The bad news? I can't record my mileage based on how tired I feel! If I use the GPS feature, I've got to believe the data it gives me. Today, I went a little farther than what I thought was the halfway point for a three mile walk. When I took out the phone, though, it said I wasn't there yet. I kept going until I hit 1.5 miles, then turned around. But when I got back to the car, the odometer was stuck on 2.9 miles rather than the full three miles (or more!) that I know I walked. Oh, well. My average speed was 2.8 miles per hour -- no surprise there. I've had a rotten cold with associated impediments for a month now, so anything is better than being home on the couch coughing. Although we made a couple of stops along the way, Polo and I were on the trail for 53 minutes. Not bad.

The real benefit of this GPS thing is that it feeds my competitive spirit. Now I'll have something to pit myself against! Even though I can't fudge my stats anymore, I'll be able to know for sure when I improve or surpass my last record. Yes, strive I will, because it's fun to compete with myself, and because I'm really tired of being totally out of shape.

**MONDAY UPDATE**

We were able to go out again today, on a different route and with no stopping to chat. Total 3.1 miles, average speed 3.7 mph, 50 minutes. Yay! And again I say, YAY!

The Next Time You Make Fish Head Soup...

2011-03-07T16:36:00.000-08:00

...count the fish heads before and after serving.

The daughter of some friends is spending a term studying in Ghana, Africa, and writing occasional blog posts about her adventures. Anna has a heart for people, a yearning for justice, and a great sense of adventure. One little story in a longer, serious post tickled my funny bone and showed Anna's terrific ingenuity in exercising gracious discretion during a homestay.

Imagine you're visiting a private home in a far-away country. Although you are a vegetarian, your hosts serve a soup made with... fish heads. What would you do?

You can check out Anna's blog here. Then you'll understand why you might want to count your fish heads.

Currently on my Desktop

2011-02-26T13:32:00.000-08:00

This is what's playing on my desktop these days. A while back, I had an opportunity to visit Tacoma's old Union Station. I love buildings, especially stately ones. The old train depot has been remade into a courthouse, and features works by glass artist Dale Chihuly. What a great combination!

This shot, which is nothing original, is taken near the center of the great room, looking straight up at the dome. Chihuly's chandelier is suspended from the ceiling and catches the light (and the eye) magnificently.

Polo's Biggest Issue

2011-02-24T18:53:00.000-08:00

It's about time I wrote another post. Sorry it's been so long again. Sigh. That's life.

Anyway, I've discovered another major Polo problem. This one may trump his separation anxiety, because it's more serious, more insidious, and definitely more permanent. What is this awful flaw? He's smart. Way smart.

Remember that beautiful fence we installed last summer? Polo loves to be outside, loves to run wildly back and forth, loves to find new ways to get out of the yard and explore the neighborhood. Youngest son made some adjustments so Polo can't squeeze under the north side any more. But he's still getting out somewhere.

Polo can't be trusted to stay alone inside the house yet, either. He chews things, steals things, finds things, hides things. He's a pup.

The funniest thing I've seen him do, though, makes up for the bad stuff. He loves to solve problems. Twice now, I've watched him work and work to get a stray kibble out of his water bowl. He'll chase the floater all around the bowl, drinking and licking and changing position. It's hilarious! Even if he's hungry for his dinner, he'll wait to eat until he nabs that pesky bobbing kibble. So cute!

I've occasionally given him another little puzzle to solve. The Kong toy is designed with a hollow center, in order to hide treats inside. But it's too easy to simply drop a dog biscuit into the Kong. If Polo really needs something to apply himself to, I put bits of biscuit into the Kong and then jam his Nylabone into the hole too. Either he has to pull out the Nylabone, or he has to work the Kong so that the little treats will fall out around the bone. This is good for 20 minutes of peace and quiet for me, but adds more IQ points for the pup. Oops...

After My Lunch Appointment...

2011-02-04T16:43:00.000-08:00

I took a side trip to the beach today. I saw a ship coming in on the rising tide.

There were pigeons.

There were waves and foam.

And then in the valley, as I was almost home, I met these guys! A nice day all around.

An Aid to Peaceful Contemplation of Nothing in Particular

2011-02-04T10:29:00.000-08:00

The weeks have been sliding past, up and down, over and over. It's been feeling like a rut, although I'm not really stuck anywhere. Just the same cycle of days, up and down, over and over. Time for a change.

I finally got my (library) copy of Jan Karon's newest book, In the Company of Others. Several years ago, at a sort of cocktail party, someone gushed about me being a "librarian" and asked what great new books I'd been reading. I chuckled uncomfortably. If I'd known her better, I would have laughed out loud. Although my library system gets the hottest, newest books on their public release date, I never plan ahead to get myself on the waiting list. On the day a new book comes out, I am privileged to unpack it and put it on the "hold" shelf for those other smart people to pick up. Sometime after that, I'll get around to putting myself on the list for it. In the mean time, I'm confident that there will be plenty of books for me to read.

Sometimes I don't want to take the time to read. Maybe there aren't enough available brain cells to allow for a journey of imagination. But in all this up and down, over and over, it's time to take the time.

Ms. Karon's writing is quiet, easy, comtemplative. It makes me feel good. It lets me think. It's beautiful. I'm taking time to read a good book, and I'm resting.

Lotsa Water, eh?

2011-01-21T16:45:00.000-08:00

It's been raining here. More than usual, that is. The ground is over-saturated, which is part of the reason there was a septic pumper working at the library this week. Ugh.

But there are good things about rain. One of them is quiet walks. Polo drools like a St. Bernard when he has to ride in the car, but I hope I made it worthwhile today. We had a wonderful time together on the trail. He really wanted to chase the ducks, but I would only allow him to take pictures. It was good to get out and MOVE.

Here's Polo's best photo of the day:

Rescue Dog, Bad Dog?

2011-01-14T18:42:00.000-08:00

Here we are in Week 3 or 4 with Polo the rescue pup. Sigh. At first, I didn't think of him as having been "rescued". He was mild-mannered, sweet, and only had a couple of accidents in the house. I thought this was going to be easy, bringing a six-month-old to responsible adulthood.

Maybe not so much.

Polo is still mild-mannered and sweet. He loves belly rubs, and finds ways to climb onto me and roll over so I'll massage him. He hasn't had any accidents, but consistently potties in the crate. We thought we had a very smart solution to this, and started leaving him outside when we had to go away. He's got plenty of fur to insulate him, and he loves playing outside. Putting him out should be a win-win, right?

Wrong-wrong.

Polo's biggest problem, as I see it, is separation anxiety. He hates being left alone in the crate, so he's learned to avoid me when I'm getting dressed and brushing my teeth. Now, he hates being left alone outside, so he has to find indoor places to pee AND poop in case we run away from home while he's outside doing his business. Ugh.

Poor Polo. He'll enjoy a lot of time with me this weekend, and I'm looking forward to being with him too. We have our first training class on Sunday. In the mean time, I have a couple of positive-training books on hand. I think we'll have some fun lessons in Mommy Permanence now. Polo needs to learn, little by little, that I always come back.

Poco a poco, Polito. Good dog!

Ups and Downs, Ins and Outs

2011-01-02T18:17:00.000-08:00

The Pup is named Polo (because he looks like a cuddly little polar bear) but is also known as Apollo and Spud. He kind of told his side of the story already, so here's mine. We were dogless for about a week, and that was as much as I could stand. I had said that the timing of getting another dog would be a family decision, but I couldn't wait. I let my husband talk me into "just looking" at the local animal shelter. (He didn't have to twist my arm at all. Seven days of not being gleefully greeted at the door is a long, long time.) We went home with a sweet six-month-old golden Lab mix. The naming rights were supposed to be a matter of family vote, too, but I stole the ballot box.

Polo loves to go on walks, although he still hates meeting oncoming traffic. If puppies are "chick magnets", Polo is a general "people magnet". Since we end up doing a stop/sit for many encounters, strangers praise us for great obedience. I can't take a compliment that we don't deserve, so I inform them that he's actually scared stiff and refuses to move. This is usually followed by, "Oh, I see, he's just a pup. Inn't he just the sweetest lil thang?" Yep. So much for aerobic walking. Here we are on the trail together:

There is one nightmare that keeps coming true for the Polo pup. At odd times of the day, tall bearded men suddenly appear in our upstairs hallway. Sometimes, they poke their heads into the master bedroom when they come into the house in the wee hours. They're big, they have man-voices, and they come from out of nowhere. Of course the pup has to bark at them -- they're scary! Unfortunately, this doesn't endear him to them, and not even the Mom and Dad show appreciation for this loud announcement of Polo's surprise. Nightmares, indeed.

So far, Polo has endured two shower-baths. He takes them sitting down, but doesn't particularly enjoy them. Although most dogs don't "mess their nest", dogs who have spent time in kennels don't know better than to potty in their crates. Ick. But with all his beautiful fur, Polo needs regular baths anyway. Here's hoping he'll learn to like them.

We're enrolled in an obedience class that starts later this month. At least, I am, and I think Polo is supposed to come with me. It's good to have a walking partner again. He's still learning the greet-Mom-at-the-door thing, but he'll figure it out.

Did You See That?

2010-12-17T16:08:00.000-08:00

The Unnamed Pup and I took a walk this afternoon. Wish I'd thought to put on gloves. We did another mile or more, but this time he spent a lot of time looking over his shoulder for dangerously marauding joggers.

Halfway down the piece of trail, I saw a great blue heron sitting by the water. That's the first time I've seen one hunting on this trail! He was a good 25 yards away, through the trees, and it was too shady to get a good photo so I'm borrowing this one:

His body was lovely blue-gray, and his head very white. He must have been kind of hunkered down like this one, with his head atop his shoulders. Pretty amazing to be that close to him!

Guest Post (by potential New Correspondent)

2010-12-16T12:59:00.000-08:00

Hi. My name is A***57 and Lady put me in front of compooter and said I must rite. I are golden lab pup, six monts old, fresh from streets and animul shelter. Here my face:

The Man and Lady brot me to home from shelter and said ManBoys would have to approve me to join famly. ManBoys not all crazy about me. Lady says name "Rufus" and makes cry. Lady slept on couch all night with leash on her foot. I go potty out by tree.

Lady made me go in Car today. We went "walk" on trail. She showed me footprint. Think it susqatch monster, but Lady say racoon. See for self:

I never rite before. I never walk with Lady before. I never have to wonder about ManBoy approval before. I very skinny but have buetiful fur. Lady secretly calling me Polo because I look like polo bear. Nap now.

Did I Go Overboard?

2010-12-15T09:45:00.000-08:00

I didn't mean to. I was trying to use my waiting time in a productive manner. Reading, after all, is usually quite acceptable. Even in public. But did I do too much? Please, you decide.

I went to Portland this week to present information about Lutheran Blind Mission. Not only does LBM have the world's largest religious lending library of Braille/large print/recorded books, but they also have an Outreach Center in Portland. I was asked to talk about both of these opportunities, and to invite people to invite people to the monthly meals and conversations at the Outreach Center.

My contact person (PK) was on the phone when I arrived, so I introduced myself to a receptionist and took a seat in the lobby. I spent a few minutes reviewing data in my Wonderful Notebook of Information. (It never hurts to have the facts straight before you open your mouth, right?) The gal was still on the phone, but I had plenty of reading material with me.

Out came my Braille magazine. I got in the habit of carrying Braille stuff in my car when my kids were still in school. While I waited for the final bell to ring, I could practice my Braille skills. The only other time I practice is in bed at night, and after about ten minutes all the dots turn to mush. If I want to retain any skill at all, I have to remember to practice. Those synapses get lazy and forget how to fire if they aren't exercised regularly.

As I concentrated on feeling the dots, I stopped paying attention to what was happening around me. Except... I heard part of one whispered conversation as one receptionist told the other that I was there for PK's vision loss support group. Silence. I could feel eyes on me, but I kept reading.

Before I knew it, PK had come out of her office and disappeared to another part of the building. No one introduced us. I think it was assumed that I was a simply a client who would be attending the group. After all, only blind people read Braille by touch! It's likely that neither of the receptionists knew that PK had arranged for a guest speaker at this meeting. It's not that I felt disrespected, but it did seem like assumptions were made once I ceased to make eye contact and began feeling the Braille.

Assumptions. Ouch. I am guilty of making them. It was frustrating to realize that I became the object of assumptions, although I was able to act to change my identity very quickly. All I had to do was close my magazine and stride over to the desk. But there are lots of folks who cannot work so effectively to shake free.

This was an interesting experience of mistaken identity. But I have one nagging question: Did I somehow go too far, so that I insinuated actual participation in the blind community?

Colors of the Day

2010-11-26T20:50:00.000-08:00

Who said today was all about black? The Rufus and I enjoyed a very colorful walk in the melting snow. I can't edit these photos, but hope you'll appreciate them anyhow.

Rufus assumed every photo stop meant a sniff stop. A couple of times, he thought he was right on top of a critter. I couldn't get him to hold his snout-in-the-snow or pointing poses, but did catch this angle:

Casting Blame... or, why our Thanksgiving pies are square

2010-11-25T18:24:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving! As a descendant of one of the first Thanksgiving celebrants, I wish you great remembrances and thoroughly satisfying eatables. Happy Thanksgiving!

We had just the five -- uh, six -- of us for Thanksgiving dinner today. Rufus actually enjoyed his bites of turkey liver. (He is so NOT motivated by food, but there are a few treats that take his mind off those tennis balls.) The rest of us feasted on turkey, stuffing (not dressing this year!), mashed potatoes, sweet carrots, and pretty good gravy.

And then there's dessert.

Pete and I went shopping earlier this week, and I looked with some interest at the frozen pie section. "They wouldn't taste anything like the real thing, Mom." Okay, okay. I know a compliment when it hits me upside the appetite. I bought pie shells, canned pumpkin, and Granny Smith apples.

I was going to bake both pies last night, but it turned out I was really tired. I realized I could just bake the pumpkin one last night so it could cool, and toss an apple pie into the oven when we took the turkey out today. One cold, one hot. Perfect! I mixed the spices for the pumpkin pie, and then went to get the pie pans out.

Uh, oh.

Remember one of the highlights of our summer? New flooring, new paint, new fence? I also bought a new set of drinking glasses to replace the set that was mostly broken and gone. Between the kitchen work and the new glasses, I decided to do some minor rearrangement of the cupboards. Way up on the top shelf above the mugs and glasses, I had several pie pans that only get used once or twice a year. Why keep those so handy when I could use that spot for something we're regularly accessing? So, the pie pans got moved to a better place. Then, other things got moved to make the painting easier. Shift and re-shift.

Last night, I looked in the old place for my nice pie pans. Oops -- silly me, forgetting that I moved them! Um... moved them... uhhhh...

I looked in all the kitchen cupboards. I looked high and low in the pantry. I looked in the garage, where some of my china is still waiting to be returned to the sideboard in the living room. Um...

I looked in the utility room, where the slow cooker is renting shelf space. I looked again in the pantry, climbing onto the bottom shelf so I could look inside a box up high. I looked once more in the garage, in the kitchen cupboards, even in my closet where the jumbo-size china platter is kept.

No. Pie. Pans. Anywhere.

Ugh.

The spices were mixed. The ingredients were gathered. I could bake the pumpkin pie first thing in the morning, since I wasn't planning to eat dinner until late afternoon. No problem. Go to bed, get a good sleep, and surely I'll remember where I put those pie pans. There's a really nice one from my mother-in-law, and one that we received as a wedding gift. I know they're just right here, close by. I'll remember.

[cue rooster crowing]

Morning dawned. The pie pans must have been placed into the sideboard, then boxed up with the china so we could clear furniture out of the living room. The pie pans, therefore, are in that box in the garage.

Nope.

[insert photo of beautiful square pies, when computer and camera are in synch again]

After our wonderful dinner, I helped Rufus get a tennis ball that had gotten behind a piece of furniture in the basement. Right there, in plain sight, was the box with the pie pans right on top. In plain sight. Where I couldn't miss them. My mother-in-law used to enjoy cleaning her house and finding new, better places to put things. And then, when she needed them, she could not recall where they might be found. I have become my mother-in-law, except for the cleaning part.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Rufus in the Snow

2010-11-22T13:22:00.000-08:00

My computer's still being wonky, but Rufus is fine! And if you look closely, you'll see teeny little snowflakes streaking across his nose. It's snowing!!!

Great Weekend + Wonky Computer = Blogging Frustration

2010-11-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

This past weekend gave me enough new experiences for two or three solid posts!

Unfortunately, my main computer is having major problems. I haven't uploaded my photos yet, and I don't want to post without sharing my pictures. Besides all that, it's been a very busy month. Excuses, excuses. I know. But it'll be worth it when I get these gems written and published here.

In fact, I'm so convinced that the posts will be worth your reading time that I'll give you your money back if not satisfied!

...

...

This offer applies only to individuals whom I have paid to read the Dog's Blog. Money-back offer not available in states whose names contain at least one vowel. Refund may not be given in actual cash. Please address complaints to no one in particular, and stay tuned for blogging fascination in this space once day soon.

New Camera + Sunshine = Awesomeness!!!

2010-11-04T17:11:00.000-07:00

I got a REAL camera for my birthday, and today was a perfect day for a field trip to try it out. Yay!

Homecoming Gowns, Nail-Biter Football, and Pink

2010-10-23T10:48:00.000-07:00

Last night's homecoming game didn't exactly meet my expectations. Don't get me wrong -- the game itself was spectacular. The scoring went back and forth with long touchdown runs, time-eating drives, and a couple of surprises in the kicking game. It would have been so much nicer if we could've won, but it was fun.

In the fifteen years I've kept the scorebook for this school, homecoming has followed strict traditions. Lots of alumni and family show up, a few past members of the dance team participate in the original 1970's routine, and spiffy convertibles drive the homecoming court to the 50-yardline. They used to have fireworks at halftime, until one errant rocket almost toasted the crowd. Unfortunately, I had an extreme front row seat for that event. Sometimes there are streakers (or pseudo-streakers, wearing flesh-toned Spandex.) Homecoming is nice, if not always exciting.

When we got to the field last night, there was a bubbling geyser at the 20 yard line on the home side. Water was erupting from -- an irrigation pipe? There's no real grass within 100 feet of this field! Aha! Suddenly I realized that halftime was going to be something exciting! Maybe the homecoming court would perform a synchronized swimming routine, and the queen would be the one who was propelled out of the water in an aerial spectacular!

No. The grounds crew finally managed to stop the fountain before halftime. Darn. Good thing it wasn't cold enough to freeze.

There were more security officers at this football game than... lemme think... well, there were so many of them that they scared the streakers away. Darn.

On the other hand, the weather was good enough that the girls kept their gowns on through the whole second half. After the game, a few of them came down onto the track to console their boyfriends. Helmets and tulle. What a sight.

But the pink? The pink was very interesting. For the past few years, the football referees use a blue penalty flag for the first game in October. The blue symbolizes Prostate Cancer Awareness. Somehow, some way, it was decided to draw attention this week to breast cancer. The officials at our game were sporting spiffy pink whistles, and had pledged to donate their paychecks to breast cancer research. The only problem was, they hadn't exactly jumped through all the hoops to get this approved. As a result of this act of civil disobedience, they may be required to forfeit not only this paycheck but also could be banned from officiating a couple of playoff games. (You can read about it here.)

In support of Breast Cancer Awareness, and/or in support of the referees, our team was decked out in pink duct tape highlights. There's the pink.

Boy, I sure wish our team could've blocked that last-second field goal and won the game. It was a lot of fun, but it's more fun to win. Oh, well. It was, indeed, a lot of fun.

What I Heard

2010-09-28T08:17:00.000-07:00

I was half awake, but here's what I caught on the morning news from a local radio station:

"Thanks for the memories -- there's lots of ones of 'em!"

On the plus side, this comment was made to a friend, and it was only a poor grammatic construct. On the minus side, it was recorded and broadcast because the speaker is the outgoing president of a major university. He's leaving his post here to become head of a national collegiate athletic association. (I won't name him here because I may have mis-heard his statement. Just covering my bases, so to speak.)

Golly gee whiz, we all say things that come out wrong. My mom used to say that she had foot-in-mouth disease. As a kid, I thought she should be able to guard her tongue better than that. It wasn't that she said anything foul -- in fact, she made a point of never swearing -- but either her timing or her content were sometimes very unfortunate. One time, visiting with folks after church, I heard her ask an older man, "Where's your big old fat wife?" His reply? "Right behind you."

Oh, mymymymymy. Unfortunate timing and content, indeed. Mom was always able to laugh at herself, but this was a biggie. She hadn't intended to say anything derogatory; she was just being silly, and out it came.

I did much the same thing recently. In a lighthearted moment, I said something that ended up sounding very racist. Me?! Racist? I'm too embarrassed to recount the details here, but it was one of those foot-in-mouth moments. I didn't realize the potential for harm in my comment until someone else reacted uncomfortably. Oh. (Unlike my mom, this is where I might have said, "Damn.") Well, the words were out, and I couldn't erase them.

The letter of James brings both a little reminder and a bit of comfort.

Let not many of you become teachers, knowing that as such we shall incur a stricter judgment. For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect person, able to bridle the whole body as well.

Teachers, public speakers, politicians, and people like me who know better. We all make slips of the tongue, and sometimes these errors are aired for many to hear. No one is perfect, but I'd better pay attention to the silly things I might say... before they escape my lips.

Sigh.

Football Time!

2010-09-24T22:58:00.001-07:00

I thought you might enjoy this photo of me on the field at tonight's game. Isn't this a nice facility?

Mustering the Gumption to Catch Up

2010-09-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

Hot dog! Here we are again, ready to tackle a bit of writing. There are several things worthy of some catchup, so let's take them one at a time.

Today, more football!

My new scorebook is working well, although it needs a few minor design changes. After Week 2, I realized that there should be a master column/row for turnovers. (We had seven that night. It was ugly.) I plan to use the book as is this year, but at the end of the season I'll make up next year's model and get it printed while it's fresh in my mind. Coach O likes it, and the Athletic Director said, "You're the one doing the work -- it should be whatever you want!" I appreciated those affirmations.

For the first game of the season, my brother was visiting from the Midwest and got to patrol the sidelines with me. What a treat it was to be able to show my bro what I've been doing for about 20 years! We had fun chatting a little and watching the game. It was his first time ever on a varsity sideline. Pretty cool when you get to give your big brother a new experience! (He's way older than me, so aside from teaching him how to give me a bottle when I was a baby, I haven't had opportunity to expose him to many new skills in life.)

Week 2 of our season was an away game, but still at our district's stadium. It feels a little bit different to be on the other side of the field, but it's hard for me to remember is which locker room the guys are using. Not that I've ever been inside, but I'm used to them heading for the north room instead of the visitor's room on the south. Oh, well. The big deal this game, aside from losing big time and committing seven turnovers, was that the National Anthem singer's microphone didn't work. The kids got quiet enough that we could hear a little of her, all the way across the field, with no amplification. Cool! Eventually the home fans joined her, and by the end of the song the whole stadium was singing. The kids were kind of goofy about it, but it was a nice gesture anyway.

Week 3, this past weekend, was marred by rain. As I've noted before, I hate rainy games because I have to move up under cover to keep the book dry. But it's not all bad. This time, I stood next to Mr. F, who knows all three of my sons and remembered me from junior high conferences. Wow! He's a very nice guy, too. In football news, this other team is being led by its seventh head coach in ten years. Sad, sad. How can they ever feel like a team when everything keeps changing? But enough about them. My experience Friday night was filled with rain. Here's the rain, and then a shot of my view of the game from up at the top of the stands.

The other good thing that happened because of the rain was that I found a couple more friends in the stands. Their daughter is now in the band, and their son is playing football in middle school. They could be around for several years! Cool -- someone else for me to say hi to and (if it rains again) people to sit with during the breaks.

Looking back over this post, it looks more like a report than a blog entry. Why do I care about high school football games? I love hearing the bands, I love the excitement of the games, I like the coaches and their wives, I love watching and listening to the players on the sidelines when no one else can hear them, and I get excited about everyone else's excitement. I'm not there to be noticed, and this is an activity that's definitely not about me. It's just fun, and I'm thankful to be allowed to be there.

Football! Football!! Football!!!

2010-09-03T10:05:00.000-07:00

Bad news this week: Apparently no one in the Greater Puget Sound region has a football scorebook to sell.

Disclaimer: Okay, one store in Redmond had three books available. We drove up there to buy at least two of them, but stopped to look at the pages first. Uh, oh. These books might work well for college or professional ball, but high school football doesn't move fast enough to require one whole page per quarter. Since I do the offensive stats for both teams, that equals eight pages per game. Hey, it already takes me far too long to total everything up when each team is on one page!

Great news this week: Finally, after ten years of wishing, I took the plunge and designed my own scoresheet. Yay! Woo hoo! As with any standardized form, there were things on the old scorebooks that were great and things that I wanted to tweak. The form has to be easy for me to use, and also must be easy for the coaches to interpret later. I have no idea what Coach O will say when he sees my creation, but I'll do my best to butter him up when I drop the completed stats into our milk box tonight. (That's our routine -- I take the book home, tally up the numbers, my husband calls the media, and we leave the book in our milk delivery box so the coach can pick it up early the next morning. Very clandestine!)

Wish me luck with this endeavor. Coach O does not embrace change.

For your review, here's one of the old books and my new creation:

Question of the Day

2010-08-28T12:49:00.000-07:00

I have this friend...

Hypothetically speaking...

Have you ever wondered...

Is it okay to clean your oven with a vacuum?

I mean, not that I'd ever do something like this... Except if it came to be that there was a bunch of crusty stuff sitting there... And a vacuum is a tool of expediency...

Old Floor, Solid Heart

2010-08-17T19:36:00.000-07:00

Here's a 1970s-era photo of our house:
Isn't that ugly and sad? I'm sure that whoever lived here at the time thought that sun room was just groovy, but I'm thankful that a later owner chopped off the greenhouse and replaced the front deck. Someone before us put a lot of effort into a major interior remodel, as well. They moved the stairs to the basement, opening up the space down there to make it nice and modern. Although it looks like the budget ran short, they scraped up enough to install new kitchen cabinets and make new bathroom cabinets too.

Fast forward to here and now. Thanks to an inheritance, we've replaced the flooring in the main living areas. New vinyl in the kitchen looks superb, and we picked out a very nice carpet for the living room and hallway. It's wonderful to have such beautiful floors!

Before we ripped up the old carpet, I wondered whether we might possibly have hardwood in at least part of the living room. After seeing that sun room addition, and knowing that the front door has been moved, I figured that some of the original floor had to have been replaced. But what if we had a nice section of hardwood? Wouldn't that be something?

The day of the rip-up came. I was at work when the process started, and didn't hear anything about the progress. Guess what? WE HAVE HARDWOOD! Guess what else? IT'S COMPLETE! The whole living room and all the way down the hallway is original oak! And there's a gorgeous green slate hearth, too!

This floor is 48 years old, but when we're ready to tackle the mess, we can restore it to its full luster! I love old, I love original, I love natural materials. I love my house!

This made me think about endurance. Oak trees are sturdy. Oak lumber is strong. That floor was made to last. Even though it's been covered and stapled and walked on for many years, it can be made beautiful again because only the surface has changed. That's how I want to be.

Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its perfect result, that you may be complete, lacking in nothing.

Okay, I have never been known to cheer about facing a new difficulty. In fact, I've always been susceptible to depression and I tend to think too much about the negative things in my life. But, the truth is, I know that God has allowed discomfort and sadness and obstacles to affect me for His good and His glory. May I, like that hardwood floor, stand the tests of time so that my heart may shine all the more brilliantly for Him in the end.

Good Thing Neurotic Rufus Wasn't There

2010-08-16T07:58:00.000-07:00

It felt kind of like a command performance. The Big Boss wanted to come on our first day of driving the Really Big Red Van to visit daycares. My driving partner and I were *not* the envy of our coworkers, let me tell you. This Behemoth Red Van (think bookmobile but 2010) is brand new, and the bookmobile procedures are new to us. Oh, and then there's the driving. It's a good thing I'd had some recent experience driving a large van under stress. It's also a very good thing that I've learned a few tools and life skills, so that I could assess which worries were out of my control and let them go. In this case, I had to jettison most of my concerns once I realized how little control I would have over this situation. Whew!

Fortunately, the Big Boss and the Outreach Overseer were very understanding of the anxieties of the situation. My driving partner and I completed the pre-flight checklist and successfully backed the Behemoth Red Van out of its parking place. The Big Boss declined our invitation to ride in the van right away, rather suggesting that we'd be more comfortable if we had a chance to get used to it first. Ahhhh. Nice!

The trip went well. There were a couple of mistakes (the biggest one was mine) but overall it was smooth. After our second stop, the Big Boss rode along with me for a short distance.

Guess what?

It was fun!

(pictured: me, my driving partner, and the Big Boss, all unscathed)

There are Appointments and APPOINTMENTS

2010-08-06T20:37:00.000-07:00

A misunderstood schedule... taking the scenic route... trying to avoid most of the traffic... an appointment with fate?

We were going to pop down to Tacoma to get my husband's overseas immunizations. Yes, in the mid-afternoon, on a Friday. Mega traffic. Ugh. You know how it is -- the traffic clogs up, crawling for a while, then opens up again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And then...

I remember when log trucks were an everyday sight. Back when I was on the school safety patrol in the 1970s, we tried to get the truckers to blow their airhorns on the highway in front of our school.

There aren't many log trucks here in 2010. But there was one today, on the freeway, trying to merge. Merging toward a little car. Still merging. Merging! The car was boxed in, the trucker didn't see her. MERGING!

Fortunately, the damage was minimal. Truck clipped car, side mirror flew off car, traffic made a hole, car pulled to shoulder. Truck kept merging, not stopping. He never saw her.

Turns out, it was two ladies. The driver was totally shaken. The passenger, despite having had the wheel of a loaded log truck just inches from her shoulder, was okay. We stopped, called the State Patrol, and waited until a trooper came. It's what we hope someone would do for us in that situation. Just. Be. There. Oh, and their cell phone battery was dead. Mark and I both had our phones in hand, ready for action.

P.S. Oh, the immunizations? By the time we got to our destination, minutes before closing time, we were told that that pharmacist doesn't work on Fridays. "We need to change our recording." Um, please do. Now that we helped those ladies, Mark's ready for his shots.

Dinner in the Dark, Day Without Sight

2010-07-23T21:09:00.000-07:00

In the last two weeks, I've had two experiences with simulated blindness. First was a Dinner in the Dark, an event hosted by a church that's getting ready to open a Blind Mission outreach center in Portland. The second opportunity came when a home school family visited my library during their "special needs week" and happened to check out a Braille item.

See? There I am, in the background, in the spaghetti-colored blouse. (Rufus would have had a heyday cleaning up the floor!) The purpose of a Dinner in the Dark is to show sighted people how inept we can be without sight. It's effective, lemme tell you. Dishing noodles was no fun, but I finally realized that no one could see me so I might as well use my fingers to help.

Actually, eating wasn't the biggest challenge I felt. Rather, it was the disorientation of conversation. All of a sudden, a man's voice right above my shoulder said, "I'm going to take your plate to put the sauce on for you." Oh! Chatting with my neighbor was okay, but I made sure to point my head in her direction so maybe she'd know I was talking to her and not Mr. Deep Voice.

Thinking back, I guess it felt like I was in a bubble. I knew there were lots of people in the room, but I didn't have a sense of where they were. The sighted helpers' footsteps were silent, allowing them to appear and disappear without warning. (Also, the blindfold was over my ears, muffling the sound just a little.) It was kind of spooky. If I'd had more time, I would have been more careful of what I said and when, not knowing if there were other ears listening.

I've had one other dining in the dark experience. Several years ago, during my second conference with Lutheran Blind Mission, I put on a blindfold to go to dinner. Someone loaned me a white cane, and another person guided me through the food line. Again, eating was okay, but conversation was difficult. I could concentrate on my dinner or I could really listen to what was happening. Navigating with the cane was fine, because I knew the hallway well. When a blind friend offered to guide me back to the conference room, I relaxed and let him lead the way. I even trusted him not to walk me into a doorpost!

Back to the present. The mom and three elementary-age kids said no, they didn't have any Braille besides the library book, and no one to help them with it. Thanks to my friend's quick thinking, we came up with a plan for them to come to the library when I got off work on Thursday. I subscribe to a monthly magazine in Braille, and have lots of old copies sitting around the house. I brought one for each of them to use.

We talked about their one-day taste of blindness, and it was interesting to hear their perspectives on this experiment. These kids are confident, self-assured folks, and they approached each day of their "special needs week" with a can-do attitude. One day was spent being mute, another day in wheelchairs, yet another day on crutches or wheelchair, and then came the eye patches and sunglasses. Oh... a funny aside. One of my coworkers offered the family a tour of the library. It didn't dawn on me until much later that the librarian couldn't see their eye bandages because the sunglasses covered them! I'm sure she was not the only person that day who thought they really were blind!

One of the girls realized that she had never seen the room we were using. "I wish I could take my patches off just for a minute so I could see where we are!" That reminded me of when I lost my sense of smell. I said much the same thing, many times, wishing for just one more chance to get a whiff of my sons' heads or a new recipe or a wild rose. In my case, memory will have to serve.

There wasn't time for a full-blown Braille lesson (as if I could teach one anyway), but I had them search in their magazines for a full cell of six dots. That represents the word "for" and is, obviously, pretty common. A page of Braille is about equal to a third of a page of print, and that gave them a better understanding of why their magazines are so bulky. I read a sentence or two for them, using touch only, and did not wow them with my speed.

We discussed some statistics about the blindness community -- 70% unemployment, 18% Braille literacy rate, 60% unmarried, 95% unchurched. Isolation is very common. Towards the end of our time, one of the kids sank into a very deep state of (ahem) contemplation. His breathing slowed enough that one of his sisters noticed and asked him if he was sleeping. "No," he mumbled, sitting up straighter. "Just thinking a thought that needed thinking," or something like that. Hahahaha! The hidden danger of wearing eye patches!

Good opportunities for learning, for thinking outside of our own boxes, for trying new things.

Quiet Day

2010-07-18T18:03:00.000-07:00

Maybe a little headache is a good thing.

Busy day yesterday. Went into the city for a wedding. Traffic was icky, but the wedding and reception were wonderful. Weather was perfect. Came home to do some prep for tomorrow's painting/flooring project. Took a two mile walk with Rufus. Spent time with a son, including a trip to the hardware store for a tool... and a jacket for him, and a good colander for me, and browsing new light fixtures.

Today, I woke up with a niggling little headache. Coffee helped some, an after-church nap helped some, but it's still there. I had a good chat with my sponsor (that's 12-step talk for a mentor), stopped at the store for a new computer mouse and some much needed glassware. Sigh. Still that little headache. Came home and stretched out on the couch next to an open window with sudoku and bird songs. Nice.

I am an extroverted introvert. I love being with people, and it energizes me to be with a variety of folks. But I also need distinct alone time. Quiet, unencumbered time to ponder and listen and rest. Time to listen to God and maybe talk to Him a bit. Nice. Very nice.

May you have an afternoon of rest and relaxation, or an invigorating time with friends, to restore your energy and bring a song to your heart.

The Kingdom of Rufus!

2010-07-15T14:58:00.000-07:00

King Rufus is lord of all he surveys, as long as it lies within the bounds of our new fence. Finally, finally, we were able to complete the fence around our back yard, and Ruf isn't the only one who's happy enough to roll in the grass!

Two years ago, Rufus had an unfortunate encounter with the neighbor's cat. Since then, he's been nearly banished from chasing his beloved Preciousss-es (aka tennis balls). We couldn't trust him to stay with us, in our yard, if temptation came mincing by on cat paws. It took longer than we hoped, but now there's a good fence to keep Rufie in and other dogs or coyotes out. If a cat hops over, it had better be able to run.

It's a beautiful sunny day, so I've got the kitchen door wide open. For the first time in Rufie's life, he can go outside at will. Amazing! Of course, he's on the floor at my feet right now. But he has gone out a few times, and loves the freedom.

What's a little surprising to me is how this fence gives me a sense of freedom. Now that I know exactly where the line is between our yard and the neighbors, I can boldly go right up to it and stand there. Amazing! Now that there is a tangible boundary, I see that for years I have stayed well away from any appearance of touching their property. It's been a respect thing, but maybe there's a little fear in the mix. I wouldn't want them ever to think that I was presuming to encroach on their lives, so I shrunk back. Our yard is much wider than I had let myself imagine!

Next time you see me, if there are grass stains on my clothes, you'll know I was reveling again in the vast expanse of green that is ours!

Dismal Nitch (sic)

2010-07-12T12:04:00.000-07:00

"About 3 oClock the wind lulled and the river became calm, I had the canoes loaded in great haste and Set Out, from this dismal nitich where we have been confined for 6 days…"
--William Clark

The husband and I had a terrific road trip this past weekend. The main purpose was participation in a "dinner in the dark" for Lutheran Blind Mission. However, since it was our 28th wedding anniversary, we added a few extras to this trip and revisited one of the historic sites from our very memorable honeymoon. (That's a great story in itself, but I'm not telling it now. It would scare Rufus to hear of our perils.)

Just before we crossed the Great and Marvelous Bridge to Astoria, we found this wayside rest area with a name too good to pass by. In 1805 as Lewis and Clark made their way westward along the Columbia, they reached this memorable place on a stormy November day.

Please refrain from cleaning fish in the restroom, and another sign requests that you limit your stay here to less than eight hours.

No problem!

I couldn't get over the name. Dismal Nitch. If you've ever found yourself in a dismal niche, I'm sure you did not choose to stay there long. This is a place to wait out the storm and move ahead as soon as possible.

But then, in the restroom, I found this not-so-dismal piece:

Just for you, Diane! Flowers to soothe the soul in a dismal place.

Practical Tips for Practical Jokes

2010-07-07T17:07:00.000-07:00

I pulled a good one on a thirsty coworker today. She's marshaling four -- FOUR! -- family members to devise a reciprocation. I wonder...

Although I enjoy playing practical jokes very much, I have my own code of conduct in this matter. After all, I want to ensure that the jokes are harmless enough that I can continue to play them 364 days a year. Therefore, here are a few of the guidelines that I use to design and execute a funny prank. Take what you like, leave the rest.

First, do no harm. Ever since that time in junior high PE when another girl pulled my shorts down to my knees, I have had no desire to do anything that would cause serious embarrassment or injury.

Second, who's gonna clean it up? Consider the end result. If you prop a cup on the top of a door, what will you have to pick up off the floor later? Marbles would make an amazing noise, but they'll roll away and perhaps pose a hazard to someone else. Either use a single tennis ball or find small lightweight objects that won't roll away.

Third, leave no marks. Need I say more?

Fourth, subtlety is most efficient. Elaborate set-ups are fine for special occasions, but most of my stuff is done on the fly. Time is of the essence if a person wants to remain in good standing with her supervisors. Initiate a casual conversation about rabid squirrels, right before you know someone is going to turn around and to find a stuffed animal staring them in the face.

Finally, weigh your options. Is this a "good" day to prank this particular person? How will he/she ultimately respond? Does the victim possess adequate maturity to refrain from whacking you over the head with the nearest baseball bat?

After running through all these rules of prankster etiquette, I knew how to *help* my coworker today. She was helping a family get library cards, and had a frog in her throat. We are not in the habit of having unsecured beverage containers in the library, but she didn't blink an eye when I showed up with a paper cup. In the back room, I had found a few little strips of clean paper. (Strips are easier to pick up than tiny confetti!) Coming around the side of her desk, in full view of her patrons, I tripped and spilled the "water" all over her lap. Riotous laughter ensued, witnesses provided safety against immediate retaliation, and a good time was had by almost all... But go back and read my opening paragraph again. If I suddenly sprout green feathers and squawk like a chicken, you'll know that my friend fixed me!

Another Picnic, Another Adventure

2010-07-03T18:40:00.000-07:00

Almost a year ago, I wrote about an interesting experience that happened at a picnic. That was then, this is now. New year, new thrills.

This year, I was thrilled to be allowed to borrow my church's big van to help transport friends up to the park. That was exciting, because at least eight of us (and one wheelchair) would be able to ride together instead of several of them taking separate public transport vans. This would give us time to talk and make each other laugh. In addition to this, I was also asked to help transport city bus riders to and from a bus stop at the bottom of the hill. Great! I've got a whole van full of seats!

Here's a photo of me driving the van. (I took this while alone, so no riders were in any way endangered by this photograph.)

I picked up six friends here in the suburbs, and we drove without incident to the park. Shortly after arriving and disembarking, I went with another lady to see exactly where the coming and going bus stops were located. Fine and dandy.

The neighborhood near this park is old, expensive without being pretentious, and beautiful. As I waited for incoming Metro buses, I enjoyed the streetside gardens.

A large group of picnickers got off the next bus, and I happily drove them up the hill. One more bunch came on the bus after that, and included was a man who didn't know exactly what the ACB does, but he heard there would be fellow blind and visually impaired people here so he came to check it out. As we went up the hill, I talked a little about the ACB and about Lutheran Blind Mission so he'd get a taste of what each group is about.

Once at the picnic to stay, I ate too much (same as last year), watched a game of tug-of-war (didn't participate this time), and escorted a few folks to the antiquated comfort stations. Yep, it's that park. While waiting outside, I enjoyed the flowers and the sunshine:

All in all, it was a lovely day. But what, you may ask, was the adventure? What was the one fly in the ointment, the ants at the picnic, the rain on your parade? The van, my friends, the van. Although my church uses this van to take children and teens and the occasional adult to various activities, I don't think it usually takes only adults anywhere. The step to get up into it is quite high, and the seats are very close together and run just a few inches short of the side door. Getting into and moving inside of this vehicle should not be attempted by the faint of heart. Not only that, but anyone with a mobility issue is going to have a heck of a time of it.

Sigh.

It seemed like such a good idea.

In spite of that, I had a lot of fun, and I hope my friends did, too.

While I Have Your Attention

2010-06-25T22:24:00.000-07:00

One of my cyber friends, Sandra, shared good questions and comments following a recent post. I'd like to add a bit to her thoughts.

Once I got the hang of blogging -- using text and illustration to communicate short bits with an audience -- I realized that I love the opportunities this medium affords. It's nice to be able to write a short note about whatever is on my mind, without having to use an outline or make it fit a certain word count. The photos add a lot, both in terms of what I can express and what the reader can apprehend.

There is a lot of stuff I don't share on this blog. Most of the time, I don't identify specific people. That means I don't have to ask permission to use their photographic images (at least I hope that's true) but I can post a creative visual feature related to the text. I don't write about details of my own journey, but I can use this vehicle to communicate general situations or concerns from my life.

When it comes to journaling, I have realized over the years that I go through seasons of heavy writing and other times of sporadic entries. I'm okay with that. When I have a lot of emotional "processing" to do, I get a pen and starting writing in a journal. Since this blog doesn't have a wide audience of people who are counting on me to brighten their day, I'm okay with not posting any more often than I have a post-worthy idea. So, to put Sandra's heart at ease, I won't be giving up either form of writing any time soon.

Oh, and about my audience... I see who you are. Yes, you over there in India! And you in Sweden, and that other visitor in New York, and the one in Brazil and another in Japan and... It's fun to look at my Sitemeter stats and then pull up Google Maps and guess at your precise location. Maybe you live on that street, in one of those quaint little houses, or way up in that big apartment building. On a good day, I'm getting about ten hits here. Ten! Underwhelming, I know. Most of those are one-time shots, never to return. If I were working to establish a platform as a writer, this would be a huge problem. But I'm not counting on this blog to get me anywhere, so I'm okay with this, too.

So, long posting short, thanks for stopping in and reading. I'd love to get to know you better, especially if this is not your first visit. If you're cruising through, hitting that next blog button, thanks for making it this far down the page without even a photo to ease your pain. It was nice being read! I have been privileged to make a few friends here, and it would be amazing to meet them face to face someday. Fun to think about that!

See you in the blogosphere.

P.S. to the guy who offered to interview me on his blog review site -- Thanks, but I'll pass for now. I was thrilled to be invited, but my ten visitors a day wouldn't bring you enough traffic to make it worth your time. Sorry!

Clearing Our Heads

2010-06-17T18:09:00.000-07:00

Actually, only one of us needed head-clearing, but both of us needed a good walk. We did our four miles (give or take) but took it a little easier than usual. I stopped to take pictures, and the Rufus took those opportunities to get his paws wet, hunt tiny woodland critters, and look for more tiny woodland critters to hunt. He's such a... well, a dog.

The head-clearing was much needed. Eldest son is moving ahead in his journey, trying new things. Middle son is currently on a plane to Tokyo for an 18-day adventure. Youngest son turns 18 next week. It's time for me to fully, finally, relinquish the parenting reins and let these young men be young men. All of them.

It's not that I don't want them to grow up. I look forward to them someday finding their soul mates and starting families. It will help when they're able to leave my house, eh? But when I got married, my parents didn't exactly know what to do with themselves. Dad called me almost daily for the first several months. There was nothing much to discuss, but that's how it was. I won't do that to my kids, but that means I'd better do what I can to grow up myself into this new adulthood. I think I can do that.

While I'm growing, here are today's photos for your enjoyment. Note Rufie's concentration on the meadow view. He was thrilled.

Hey, does anyone know -- is this a Nootka rose? Sorry the photo's so washed out. I'll try to fix it later. There are two varieties of wild rose on my walking trail; the other one is darker pink.

I Need to Write, But...

2010-06-12T22:44:00.000-07:00

The other night at a 12-step meeting, I bemoaned the fact that I haven't used up even a quarter of my personal journal pages this year. In 2009, I filled a whole notebook, and it felt good to know I had written (and processed) that much "stuff". I like to journal; I like the feel of pen on paper, the look of my words on the page. It's a great way for me to mull over the half-formed thoughts blobbed in my brain.

This year has been different. I still have a lot of stuff to process. But I'm talking about things a little more, and Rufus and I have been walking a lot. We try to get out at least three times a week for about an hour of fast walking. It's a great time to be a little closer to nature as we walk on car-free trails. I'm working on remembering the plants my Gramma told me about many years ago, and I hope to learn to identify more bird songs. But mostly, it's relaxation for the minds and exercise for the bodies, and the Ruf and I love our walks.

I guess I'm a frustrated photographer. I love to capture the moment, but a cell phone camera isn't the best tool. Many of my attempts fall short. Once in a while, though, I hit on something beautiful. When I get a really good shot, it often ends up either on my computer desktop or on my cell phone screen. Here's what I've got on my phone right now:

And this is a shot I took tonight, now blown up on my desktop:

Back to writing about writing, as my title suggested. I'd like to leave a legacy in words, a written account of my journey. But these pictures represent the song of my heart. Maybe I'll write more and explain this more fully later.

Just for Diane

2010-06-03T17:46:00.000-07:00

I don't have a fetish for this kind of thing or these places. No matter what my friend thinks, I don't spend my days checking out new and unusual facilities. But...

In our quest to find non-automobile walking routes, Rufus and I took The Dad to a park in Seattle. We walked a 2.5 mile loop along the lakeshore and saw wonderful old vegetation and a panorama of civilization. At the beginning and end of the walk were these facilities for our convenience. I love old, unique architecture, so here they are:

This reminds me of the witch's house in Hansel & Gretel -- which is why Rufus was afraid when I disappeared.

And a detail from the other one:

A Solid Foundation

2010-05-28T21:19:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went to a conference with 170 other folks. (The photo here is my favorite scene from the conference grounds.) I had met just two of them beforehand, but didn't know either of them well at all. Unlike many of the other conferences I've attended, the purpose of this one was not relationship-building, so I met a lot of people but didn't form lasting bonds with them. It was easy to focus on the training, so I learned quite a bit and it was well worth my time.

On the personal side, I learned a few things, too. According to all the tests I've taken in my life, I'm an abstract-random learner, a Golden Retriever personality, and have strong co-dependent characteristics. All of these traits come together to make me generally very patient with other people. In fact, I can be tolerant to a fault, but I digress.

The conference was populated by folks from all walks of life, and from all parts of the state. Some of them probably have a spiritual outlook similar to my own, but many of them come from very different traditions and perspectives. That's okay, and I like to hear about others' life journeys, but last weekend I ended up feeling quite alone. I needed to know that my God was there, and I needed to be reminded of the depth of relationship I have with Him.

It has become my practice to read a Psalm on Saturday night, to help prepare myself for the Sunday morning worship service. The passage last weekend was Psalm 51, and I felt drawn to a topic that I usually shy away from: my sin and God's judgment.

Be gracious to me, O God, according to Thy lovingkindness;
According to the greatness of Thy compassion blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
And cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions,
And my sin is ever before me.
Against Thee, Thee only, I have sinned,
And done what is evil in Thy sight,
So that Thou art justified when Thou dost speak,
And blameless when Thou dost judge.

It was totally comforting to contemplate the absoluteness of God. He is holy and will not abide by sin. He punishes transgressors. And yet... He has extended His loving compassion and mercy to all who ask. The Father sent the Son as Savior of the world, not to condemn but to claim. What struck me last weekend, in that very beautiful setting, in the midst of some who are working out their own opinions of god, was the solidity of my faith. The foundation of my spiritual journey is the God of the Bible, who has set forth His expectations and has punished sinners according to their due. But the hope and joy of my faith is that this same God condescended to make a way for sinners -- especially me -- to be near to Him now and forever.

I am so very thankful that this is not my opinion, but my belief and the rock on which I stand.

Sunny Day at the Locks

2010-05-20T21:02:00.000-07:00

One of the advantages of having my car serviced on the other side of town is that I get to go to the other side of town once in a while. When I was up there a couple of weeks ago, I decided to spend time at the Chittenden Locks in Ballard.

I saw sculpture...

...and water (from the fish ladder viewing room)...

...and an interesting bird...

...and other interesting subjects.

I don't like being a tourist, a visual consumer if you will. But there I was, next to a class of Asian preschoolers on a field trip, gawking at the sailboat as it came up to the level of the lake:

From this angle, you can't even see the boat -- only the mast and some lines. But as the water lifted the boat, there was a young-ish couple on board who were rather amused at being the center of attention. The lady and I exchanged shy smiles, and she waved politely at the children. I didn't want to include her photo on the blog, as I have no idea who she was and I don't like to post images without permission. You'll just have to imagine her little inflatable life vest (more like an elongated collar), the bandanna holding her dreadlocks, and her gentle manner. The boat was registered in Alaska. Imagine that! It's only May -- do you suppose they made the trip down already this spring, or was this a practice sail on Puget Sound to train for the return trip up the inside passage?

While watching the boats come up, I overheard a little chatter about a log boom on its way from Lake Washington out to the Sound. This was a few days after opening day of the boating season. As part of the festivities, a temporary moorage* is anchored out on the lake. Pleasure boats can tie up to it to watch everything from their own front-row seats. When the party's over, the boom has to go. Very interesting. I didn't stay to watch the log boom go through the locks, though. I had another place to visit, and I'll post those photos in a few days.

Cheerio!

*P.S. Blogger wants to correct this word to be "moo rage". Yep, if cattle were forced aboard yachts, there would be moo rage indeed!

Why I Was Tired This Weekend

2010-05-16T19:04:00.000-07:00

Or should the title be, "Where I Went This Weekend"? Or maybe, "What I Ate This Weekend"?

Our bi-annual church women's retreat was terrific. We had wonderful accommodations in Leavenworth, Washington, great speakers from Arizona, and delicious food from Bavaria. Want to see some photos? First, here I am with three of my four roomies:

There were fun activities, good photo opportunities (scenic ones!), but for now I'm skipping to today's lunch at the Tumwater Inn:

German sausage, bratwurst, und sauerkraut. Ausgeseichnet! And then we had to try some dessert:

Do you recognize my friends from the first photo? Yep, all the same gals. Yep, we were very polite and didn't stab each other trying to get to the cake.

There was a lot more to this weekend, but this is enough to post for now. I think it's time to vegetate.

We... are... exhaust... ... ... ed...

2010-05-02T21:12:00.001-07:00

The big deal today was a hike up to an amazing viewpoint on Rattlesnake Ledge with one of my very favorite guys in all the world. Four miles total, but the equivalent of five miles straight up (well... actually, only 1000 feet elevation gain) and two miles down (the actual distance). Wet, sometimes rainy, cool, but the trail was still well-populated with hikers and dogs.

Rufus had a marvelous time, except that Andy keeps him on a much shorter leash than I do. He learned pretty well, though, thanks to Andy's supreme strength and persistence.

I had a fantastic time with my son and the dog, but MAN did I get winded on the uphill climb. Poor Andy had to adopt a snail's pace so I could keep up, but he was ever so patient.

And when we finally reached the top...

Today's Exercises in Musing

2010-04-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

I've taken quite a few photos on my walks with Rufus, but when I get home and start looking at them, I don't have any that are good enough. Not good enough to post on the blog, not good enough to print, not good enough to send out. And yet, several of them are too good to delete. But if they aren't blog-worthy, what should I post here? Drat. A conundrum.

Therefore, without further picking and perfectionizing, here are some shots and thoughts from today's walk.

The air was calm today, and we couldn't pass up the pond reflections.

I love to look at the sky, and I love the texture of faraway trees.

Today was the first time I've seen the new fiddleheads this spring.

I watched two herons in flight. It was date night and they were heading to a dinner spot. So graceful, and such amazing wingspans. I didn't attempt to take pictures of them.

Up ahead, I saw a little critter run across the trail. It held its skinny tail up off the ground, so I think it was a chipmunk. When we came back to that spot, we saw it again, but carrying something large and brown in its mouth. Maybe a mama chipmunk, taking the baby for a swing in the park? Rufus didn't get excited about seeing her, but he sure did pick up on her scent each time. If I hadn't seen the critter, I wouldn't have appreciated his olfactory sensitivity. Later, he trotted nose-down for a good 30 feet, obviously on someone else's scent. Interesting.

Rufie was very pleased that I let him drink some pond scum. Ah, cold and wet, that's the ticket. He also got to go wading a couple of times when I stopped walking to take photos. I wonder how my car is going to smell tomorrow... Oh, well. We spent a fine hour together, and both of us came home refreshed.

A Place With a View

2010-04-26T15:55:00.000-07:00

I was blessed, privileged, and honored to join a few friends for a get-away at the beach last weekend. It was beautiful, uncrowded, and fun -- and those ladies can COOK! Here are a few photos for you to enjoy.

The Hiccup Cure No One Seems to Know

2010-04-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

As noted a while back, this blog continues to get one-shot readers from all over the world. This week, we've had visitors from Egypt, Romania, Spain, Italy, Brazil, Germany, and Finland. This amazes us, and we've wondered what marvelous thing we could post that would be of benefit to our reading public. If we thought they'd be regulars, there wouldn't be pressure to come up with one amazing post. But chances are, there are tens of people who will drop in this week and never find (or seek) this blog again. This could be our big opportunity! What should we write?

It came to me tonight. There is one thing I know, which apparently very few others do, that could change one moment of one person's life. I know how to stop hiccups, and Rufus can attest to this fact.

Yes, that's right. For many years, I have been afflicted with occasional flares of diaphragmatic spasms. I have never had the hiccups for more than an hour or two, thanks to the efficacy of this family cure.

Get a glass of water, but make sure it's only half full. (Even a pessimist should be able to measure this.) Try to make sure no one is watching, as they may develop their own conniption fit when they see what you're going to do next.

From a standing position, place the inside of your upper lip on the far outside rim of the glass. You'll have to lean forward and tip your head out and down. Continue to lean forward, so your head is almost upside down. Let a little water dribble into your mouth, then swallow it carefully. Take a few more sips, breathing slowly and carefully.

Check to see if the hiccups are gone. Stand up and breathe slowly but normally. If you hiccup again, repeat the upside-down drinking technique for a few more sips.

There you have it. To all our international fans: Rufus and I are pleased to present today's post for your education, and we invite you to wander back here any time to see if we've written about our extensive research into migraines, ingrown toenails, and post-natal separation anxiety.

Almost Easter!

2010-03-28T16:52:00.000-07:00

Blind culture is an oral culture. Object lessons can be appreciated by all. With these things in mind, I collaborated with my friend to come up with an especially tactile version of "Resurrection eggs" for next Saturday's Blind Mission luncheon.

I had a great time putting these objects into the plastic eggs, and I'd love to get some audience participation here. Are there one or two items in the photo that are significant to your understanding of the Easter story? Please leave a comment and tell the world! Oh, and because I'm partial to the abstract-random learning style, there are multiple possible explanations for each item. There are [almost] no wrong answers!

In case it's hard to see them, here's a list of the things in this egg:

sponge
twine/rope
round stone
coin
thorn
strip of fabric
nail

Thanks for telling a piece of His story! Oh, and feel free to check out John 19 for a little identification help.

All Is Well

2010-03-19T01:02:00.000-07:00

We were sound asleep tonight. All of us, especially Rufus. The house was completely still. Someone even remembered to turn off the last light.

Then the phone rang.

The phone, in the deep dark of sleep.

I've heard that ring before. It was later, darker, and that time really ominous.

This time, it was a son's friend. No, that son is asleep. In his own bed. Right upstairs.

Isn't he?

Mom had to go check, even after the call had ended. Yes, that boy is most definitely asleep, right there in his own bed.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You. Not this time.

The other time, it was a call of warning. "We're bringing him home. He needs you. He needs a doctor."

Thank You, Lord. Not this time.

It's been two hours. Maybe I'll get back to sleep soon. Thank You, Lord. All is well.

Ups and Downs of Anosmia

2010-03-15T12:10:00.000-07:00

I've been smelling for about a week.

(I'll wait while you think of all the one-liners this statement attracts.)

Several years ago, I noticed that I was detecting phantom odors. Sometimes wood smoke, usually chemicals or vinyl. Nothing was ever really there -- no one else smelled these things. It was all in my head, so to speak.

Then I got a sinus infection. A killer sinus infection. When I finally recovered from it, I couldn't smell anything. Not a bar of soap shoved up my nostrils, not a clove of garlic, not my stinky dog, nothing.

I remember crying in the shower one morning, sobbing over my inability to smell shampoo. I kept trying to smell, and I prayed hard that this sense would be returned to me. Nothing happened. I was crushed. Even though it was only my nose that didn't work, scent is perhaps the most memory-evoking sensory experience. No more fresh Crayolas. No more onions and pot roast in the slow cooker. No more babies' sweet scalps.

Over the weeks and months and then years, I adjusted to not being able to smell. When we got a puppy, I didn't have to be the one to track down the location of his accidents. Driving past the dairy farm, it doesn't matter to me if the windows are open. Unwashed, halitosis-laden library patrons get unbiased treatment from me.

But for the past week or so, at random times, I've smelled a sweet detergent odor. I think it's like the windshield-washer in my car. (Have you ever sprayed your windshield and had the scent come through the vent?) It's pleasant. It's nice to be smelling something once in a while. It brings back some of the longing I used to feel, to be able to smell everything again.

But it's all in my head.

International Roadside Attraction: This Blog!

2010-03-02T21:33:00.000-08:00

There's a stat counter attached to my blog. It's fun to see that people have checked it out, and occasionally I recognize a friend's visit. Lately, though, a lot of folks have passed through as they zip along the information highway of the blogosphere. I've often had ten or twelve visitors a day from all over the world, but usually they don't stay long enough to browse these posts. It looks like they're hitting the "next blog" button at the top of the page -- something I've done, too, just to see what's out there.

In my random visits, I've found a few Blogger blogs that I wanted to keep reading. Here they are, in no particular order:

Cake Wrecks -- fall-off-your chair hilarious, sometimes "adult" humor

Educated and Poor -- insightful, funny, real life, sometimes "adult" content

Settling in Gently -- honest insights on trying to fit in, in paradise

The World According to Gaber -- beautiful watercolor paintings, but only a few posts

Then there are a couple of other blogs I've found one way or another:

Add Humor and Faith... Mix Well -- warm, witty remembrances and photography

Planet of the Blind -- pithy, poetic, meaty musings on life and sometimes disabilities

There are many more blogs on my favorites tab, but these are the ones I most wanted to highlight for you, dear reader. Somehow, I don't feel drawn to read stuff that's very similar to my own. That's true of the books I choose, too. I'd love to have the clarity of thought or funny material that some of these other writers do, but I can only work with what I've got. That's okay.

When I see that folks from Sweden, Brazil, Spain, United Kingdom, Argentina, Indonesia, Russia, and India have wandered through the dog's blog, my imagination strays to those locales. I might pull up Google Maps and zoom in on a random spot on the map in one of those countries. It's all the better if I can find a street view. Just yesterday, I had a lovely drive through a French village. On a recent visit to London, I couldn't get my eyes off those wonderful cars. I've spent a little time in New York City, as well.

That's all quite entertaining for me, but this isn't doing much for my readership statistics. Oh. This blog started out as a class assignment, then morphed into something to share with friends and family. Every person who takes the time to read my ramblings is a valued guest, even if I'm only a minor attraction on the side of the superhighway of the ether. See you on the map!

While We Were Waiting

2010-02-27T09:58:00.000-08:00

At the library this week, someone was charged with the duty of standing outside to encourage the use of a certain piece of equipment. From this vantage point, waiting for the next unsuspecting patron to meander up, she enjoyed the view. Mount Rainier peeks over the freeway on clear days. Jets leave ribbony vapor trails high above. Crows warn one another from their perches high in the firs. And right there in front of the doors, there is functional sculpture that begs a photo.

I like to call this one, "Between the Lines".

And this is "Tree Rings".

It was a nice week at the library.

A New Way to Walk

2010-02-18T23:48:00.000-08:00

Rufus and I tried out a new trail this week. I had Monday off, but my second son had to go to work. He had told me about a riverside trail near his place of business, so I offered him a ride to work and brought Ruf along. Halfway there, even though I hadn't used the word "walk", Ruf had his chin on my shoulder. It was doggah-speak for, "AREN'T WE THERE YET?" (Emphasis his.)

This trail is in a more urban neighborhood, but there are a number of bird-friendly adaptations. Across the river is a nesting platform for hawks or eagles (it appears to be unoccupied, if anyone's interested.) There were three shelters from which to observe the avian public bathing area. (Who knew that crows like to play in the water?)

The one portion of the trail that Ruf did not like was when we passed under eight lanes of interstate freeway. Every time a tire hit a seam in the pavement, it echoed down to us and he would give a little jump. It was hard for his doggah brain to deal with phantom noise like that. Further on, the route is next to a retaining wall that keeps the traffic thirty feet above the walkers.

Overall, I still prefer my regular trail, but this one was very nice. We'll go back and walk the other direction sometime. That way parallels a different freeway, sans retaining wall. Should be interesting.

Amazing! I Like Endorphins -- and They Like Me!

2010-02-15T10:22:00.000-08:00

It's finally happened. A couple of years ago, my eldest (and very buff) son told me that part of the fun of exercising is the endorphins that kick in and make you want to keep going. "Ha!" I snorted. "I've never met an endorphin in my entire life. Maybe I'm immune. Exercise is NOT fun."

Last fall, I loaded some of my favorite CDs onto my cute little MP3 player and decided to take Rufus for a walk around the block. Once around our block, side trip to the wetlands included, is about a half mile. Ten minutes. Three songs. Okay, maybe two laps, just to listen to a little more music. Hmmm... That was kind of nice, actually. After a few days of that, I decided to check out some new construction, a little subdivision that was half built before the market tanked. See that patch of weedy, rocky ground over there, with the cement foundation? The flyer says they can finish that house for you in five months, and maybe you could negotiate to get the price below $300,000. And then I had to walk a little farther to visit the new man-made wetlands next to another new development.

After a good month of walking three or four days a week, I developed foot and ankle problems. Ugh. I went to see the podiatrist, who told me to stretch and ice and stretch and ice and get a new pair of shoes. Eventually I eased back into walking, this time on a paved trail through wetlands and woods and neighborhoods. It's GREAT! Last week, I didn't want to stop, and the Ruf and I made a record-setting 4.5 miles in 70 minutes! We saw new territory, chatted with the owner of a gorgeous black-eared Dalmatian, sniffed countless sniffs, and took a few nice photos. (Unfortunately, I still haven't diagnosed my photo-transfer problem, so nothing to post yet. Grrrrr.)

It's just like Andy told me -- now I'm at the point where the endorphins kick in when I start planning my next excursion, and I can't wait to go! Before I even got out of bed this morning, I realized that if I drive Pete to work, Rufus and I can walk on a different trail today. Yee haw!

Hey, son, wanna get to work early? Do ya? Can we go now? I've got my shoes!

Nightmares, Bad Feelings, and an Impossible Compulsion

2010-02-11T16:07:00.000-08:00

The Internet doesn't like me. For several days I was unable to post comments to any blogs. I can't figure out why my photos from my phone aren't showing up on my computer. But, in spite of these technical difficulties, I've had several visitors stopping by the blog each day. (Yay!) The bad news is, many of them are from places such as Spain or France. One person left a lengthy comment... in Chinese. Oh, well. You win some, you lose some. At least I can comment again.

Do you remember your dreams? I've heard that if you wake up right after a dream, it'll stick in your conscious memory for a while. In my experience, it's the emotions that stick hardest. There have been a few dreams that stayed in my mind for a long time.

When I was in seventh grade, Mrs. Cox taught a unit on short-story writing. I think the weekly assignment was something ridiculously short, like 100 words, but we had to come up with something original every Friday. One time, I wrote what I recalled of a vivid dream. I was at home, going between my bedroom and our back yard, and other people were there to wish me well. I was preparing for a secret mission (spying or smuggling) and wasn't certain I'd make it back in one piece. The emotions in the dream were very strong, and it made for a good story except for one little thing. I couldn't write an ending. The dream ended before I left home, and nothing I could imagine matched the anxious drama of my virtual experience.

Just this week, I had another momentous dream. In real life, there's a person who has caused tremendous grief to a family member. Unfortunately, there isn't anything that can be done to resolve the situation at this time. But this dream... ugh! For some reason, my whole family had to go to that person's home and share a meal with them. I was on edge from the moment we set foot in her house. But then, as I finished my lunch, I saw my hand reach down to a ceramic vase at my side. I used a spoon to gouge a hole in the vase! What a horrible thing to do, and I was unable to stop my destructive action. How could we repair it, or where would we find a replacement?

I woke up in a sweat, scared and tremendously upset. What kind of an awful thing had I done, and why? This is the kind of emotional upheaval that could have kept me awake the rest of the night, but I'm happy to report that I was able to deal with it somewhat logically. In reality, I know that I did nothing to cause this person's bad behavior toward my family member. I cannot cure her, nor can I exert any control over her. Beyond all this, I have not done anything to contribute to the pain. Thank goodness!

A clean conscience makes for a good night's sleep, eventually.

Walking and Looking

2010-02-04T22:08:00.001-08:00

My phone isn't sending the photos I've taken on recent walks, so I'll just have to tell you about them. Sigh. The wonders of modern technology.

For two weeks now, I've been seeing new catkins on the trees. I thought it was too early for that, but there they are. The old ones are brown and shriveled and dead, but the new ones are a very light green and, well, new. Earlier this week, I saw buds starting to pop out on some of the bushes on the trail. Although I tried to get a photo of them, it was too dark in that part of the woods so my camera phone wasn't effective.

Today, the water in the wetlands has receded enough to reveal sprouts of skunk cabbage. I didn't know they start out reddish-brown and only turn bright green when they're up out of the ground. There were three pairs of ducks a-courting as Rufus and I sprinted along. One couple was quite close to the trail, and I was able to snap a quick photo of Mr. Mallard.

The wetlands looked quite different today, and it took me a while to figure out why. The tall grasses and reeds have stayed upright all winter, but now they're clumped on the ground. When the new shoots grow, they'll poke right up through the old dead stuff and the wetlands will look like green meadows. But what made the dead grasses collapse? Ahhh... Now I remember. About three weeks ago, the water level was almost up to the trail. Everything was covered. As the wetland drained, the weakened stalks were left laying on the ground. That's how the grasses get a fresh start, and that's how the scenery looks clean and green and pure.

I love fall and winter. I love quieter days, cooler temperatures, FOOTBALL, and the way that distance softens bare tree branches to look all heathery. I don't mind the rain and the damp and the interesting weather. But as I've been watching the wetlands change, I'm beginning to think I might enjoy this transformation to spring and green and brighter colors. There are good things about spring and summer. Maybe this year I can let myself enjoy those seasons more. I'm definitely loving these quiet walks with my dog friend.

And football starts in seven months.

There's More to Life Than Coffee?

2010-01-28T10:32:00.000-08:00

I made a tongue-in-cheek status update on Facebook this week:

Since I started drinking coffee most mornings, my kids have gotten older and more responsible, I drive a nicer car, and my overall quality of life is good. I love my well-creamed coffee!

My FB friends know me well enough to see my humorous intention. But this got me thinking about what really has brought growth over the last six or seven years (the amount of time I've been a coffee drinker.) Here, in no particular order, are my thoughts.

Experience Oh, man, have I had experiences! The ones I've learned from, the ones that eventually brought some added quality to my life, were the tough ones. I've had plenty of those. It may have been Albert Einstein who said, "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Okay, so I've learned to try different responses to yukky stuff, and it's helped.

Bible reading and pondering A few years ago, my pastor encouraged the congregation to read the whole Bible in a year. "Dude," I thought, "I'm an abstract-random perfectionist. I could never!" Instead, I began reading at Genesis and making an entry in my private journal for every chapter I read. I'm slogging through the prophets now, but I loved the life stories in the historical books. Hmmm... come to think of it, I could relate to the people very well, but now I'm learning more about the nature of God. When I finish this read-through (in a few more years), I plan to start over but read in a different order. Abstract-randomness rocks!

My sons ARE older Different situations, different daily routines, different expectations. I've learned that I should not treat them the same way I did when they were much younger. Duh! One of my personal philosophies comes into play here. I believe that everyone does things for a reason. People don't intend to be dumb -- maybe they're working on a faulty foundation, but they're doing the best they can. Therefore, it's okay to let them make mistakes... and hope they learn from them. Of course, MY sons are wonderful and bright and witty and fascinating and insightful. But if they make mistakes, they're old enough to accept the consequences and begin to work them out.

Counseling, 12-step groups, and good friends These have all contributed tremendously to my continued growth and maturity and sanity. At times, each has met a specific need in my life, and I am eternally grateful for their influence. I can't say enough about the people who have impacted me, and I attribute these blessings to God. He has provided a host of folks who encourage, exhort, pray for, and affirm me when I need it.

God Himself I used to pray -- plead, really -- for God to fix whatever was causing me pain. I cried and cried, but the changes that came were never as complete as I had planned and hoped. Finally, over a long time, I realized I could either abandon all hope or accept what He had allowed into my life. I didn't want to become bitter, and knew I couldn't afford to relinquish what little faith I had, so I chose to hold more tightly to the loving God. He does love me, intimately, incredibly, impossibly. Although He wants what's best for me, that doesn't mean I'll get what's comfortable for me. It'll all work out in the end, and I'm okay for the here and now.

Humor The most important component of sanity, in my opinion. The person who can't laugh at himself has more issues than... well, you know what I mean. Introspection is my middle name, but there's so much about life that is downright laughable. Even though I trust that everyone has a reason for the dumb things they do, I still find it funny sometimes. In fact, the way I know I'm in a safe, healthy place is when I can laugh the hardest at myself. Folks, I do the silliest things! I should write a book. Oh, wait -- I am!

So there you have it. In addition to coffee with sugar and cream, here are the top six building blocks in my personal growth. Blackie would be proud, but Rufus says it's time to GOFORAWALKMOMNOWLETSGORIGHTTHISMINUTE!

Vague Comments on Liturgy and Rings

2010-01-21T15:55:00.000-08:00

Do you ever wonder about... stuff? Inconsequential, unimportant, details of life, things that don't really matter, but are you curious about why this habit or how that mannerism came into being? Sometimes I notice things and ponder them for a while.

Recently, I spent time with a friend who is blind. We were chatting, and somehow I started commenting about men's jewelry. A Lutheran pastor whom we both know happens to wear four rings on his fingers. Four! I said that I can't think of any Baptist pastors who wear anything beyond a wedding band. Come to think of it, the male clergy with whom I've been acquainted seem to fall into two groups. The "liturgical" ones are likely to wear jewelry and show a little more style in haircut and clothing than the "fundamentalist" pastors.

Am I getting myself into hot water yet? I don't mean to insinuate anything negative or positive; I'm just writing about what I think I've noticed. These comments are subjective and are based on my personal observations in a limited geographic region.

The liturgical pastors may take a liberal or a conservative view of Scripture and theology. Either way, they are still more stylish than their fundamentalist counterparts. Around the Pacific Northwest, the fundamentalists are currently leaning toward more casual attire. Blue jeans and open collars are proudly worn at Sunday services, without hiding behind a pulpit. (Pulpits and other churchy furniture are passe, as well.) Liturgical pastors might wear an extra ring or two, as well as a gold chain on the wrist or neck.

Fundamentalists, in my limited experience, do not own man-chains.

So, what do you think? Have you ever noticed pastors wearing or not wearing bling? Oh -- that brings up another point. The men I've been referring to would generally be white Americans. I'm not trying to be exclusionary, just trying to simplify my little study. How come it's okay for some clergymen to wear jewelry and have interesting hair styles, but not okay for others? What else defines these micro-sub-cultures? Any ideas?

Laughing (at myself) All the Way

2010-01-14T17:35:00.000-08:00

Mma Ramotswe was scrupulously honest, but this did not mean she was above self-deception.
And thus are we all!

I read The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith when my husband went to Namibia. Botswana, the homeland of Precious Ramotswe and her friends, borders Namibia and shares some climatic and cultural distinctives. It was wonderful to be immersed in a slower, gentler pace of life and introspection.

When I saw a recorded copy of Tea Time for the Traditionally Built, I decided to give it a listen. I wanted to know if my imagined pronunciations were anything close to the real thing. After all, how do you say Mma?

Tea Time has proven to be another delightful escape into a quieter time. I love the simplicity of thought and action, the lack of frenzied busy-ness, as Mma Ramotswe goes about her days. Although my audio-book selection had been mostly spy/adventure action stories, I'm now looking forward to the lyrical accents of African gentlepeople as I drive my car to work and back.

The quote at the top of this post, regarding Mma Ramotswe's honesty, made me laugh out loud and kept me smiling through a meeting. Yes, Mma, I am victim to the same condition of the heart. Honest? Of course... except perhaps when it comes to my own motives and shortcomings. Oh, well.

Oh, and about Mma. It's pronounced just as it looks, sitting on the double m's for an extra beat. Try it!

Aaaacccckkk! Happy New Year!

2010-01-04T10:32:00.000-08:00

Hello, faithful reader(s). I'm back! Here's the rundown: busy with work, busy with family, nothing significant to write, and intense drama of the realistic kind. No energy to write more than a Facebook status update. My resolution for 2010? Ha! I'm way too abstract-random/perfectionist to make resolutions. But I do want to write.

This week, my friend and mentor is in town to discuss opening outreach centers for Lutheran Blind Mission. I've been able to sit in on two meetings already, with one more tomorrow, and have some good conversation and Q&A in between. One of the things I find interesting is to see how different churches handle their decision-making and action steps. Regardless of their official structure, every church has a personality or culture of its own. I appreciate being able to observe this, and to see how the individuals handle themselves within that culture.

It's good to have something big to ponder that's outside of me. As I mentioned, there's been significant personal drama over the last couple of months, and I'm a little tired of it. But again, it's interesting to watch how we are reacting to these things. I'm nowhere near able to objectively describe my family's culture, but I'm working on understanding me. It's all good, in the long run.

Thank you for your perseverance to check back here. Now that I've broken the ice with the first post of the New Year, I'll be writing again. I hope to get serious work done on novel #2, but that's a big project for which I'll need more energy and concentration. For now, just blogging and journalling are good. Oh -- and this particular post is brought to you courtesy of my middle son, who's letting me borrow his Mac when he's at work!

I hope you had a terrific Christmas and are enjoying a Happy New Year!

Memory Stones, Indeed!

2009-11-24T10:04:00.001-08:00

Erin, you nailed it. The item I purchased in bulk at the dollar store was a bag of semi-polished rocks. They're small, they come in different shapes and colors, they're pretty, and it's unlikely that anyone would already have one in his/her pocket.

The convention was excellent. The highlight for me (aside from doling out rocks and talking with lots of people) is the business meeting on Saturday. The democratic process is alive and well in the American Council of the Blind, and it's cool to experience it. I'm blessed with an abstract-random learning style, so it amazes me that there are folks who know Robert's Rules of Order inside and out. I was relieved to hear that, at the national conventions, ACB hires a parliamentarian consultant to keep things in order.

At the business meeting, the really cool thing is the voting method. Accessible ballots at their finest! Each member is given a few slips of paper and a nail. When a vote is to be taken, the names of candidates are announced in alphabetical order. A vote for the first candidate is noted by punching a single hole through a piece of paper. The second name would require two holes, and so on. All you have to do is use the nail to make visible, tactile holes in your ballot. Sighted guests (not voting members) are designated to collect and count the votes and report to the president. Even though this is a beautifully simple process, there were still a number of invalid ballots. Hanging chads are okay, however!

In the photo above, I displayed my notebook (anti-dozing aid), reading glasses, a few of my rocks, and the voting materials. Mementos of a weekend well spent.

In another post, I'll tell you about the perils of making plans for other people, and how close we were to having a stampede and riot to get off the bus.

A Penny for Your Thoughts?

2009-11-03T20:13:00.000-08:00

Woo hoo! Road trip! I'm going to a convention this weekend, and have set a g**l to talk with every person in attendance. (I'm allergic to g**ls, so can't spell out the word. If you put an o and an a in the middle, you'll get it.) Although I'm a people person, I'm also an introvert and am naturally on the shy side. Because of that, I had to figure out a strong motivation to make sure I meet and greet as many of these 150 people as possible.

So... I went to the Dollar Store yesterday, planning to look around until I found something inexpensive I can give to each person during our conversation. It has to be cheap (there will be about 150 folks) and small and memorable. It took a few minutes, a couple of failures, but I came up with a wonderful plan.

I bought two bags, each containing at least 100 items, each of them a little different than the others. Can you guess what I got? They cost $1 per bag, they're small but not tiny, and no one else will be handing out anything like this. Come on, can you guess what I'm taking? Post your answer in the comments, and I'll let you know how it went (and what the goodies are) when I get home.

Educational Entertainment?

2009-10-25T18:36:00.000-07:00

I threatened to put these links up some time ago, but today I'm going to follow through and do it. Have you ever wished you could speak another language? Have you tried to learn a new tongue? Numerous studies have shown that the learning process moves ahead more quickly when set to music. (That's why you've heard your orthopedist humming, "Thigh bone's connected to the hip bone...") Language-learning also benefits from the use of song. Therefore, I offer you a catchy little tune in a variety of languages so you can decide which one you'd like to work on first. Which is your favorite?

German (the original, I presume)
French
Spanish
Brazilian (also known as Portuguese?)
Hungarian
Swedish
Hebrew
And, for translation purposes, English

Are you overwhelmed by the thought of learning a whole new vocabulary? Syntax got you down? This little gem will help you to sound like you speak another language, without the extra bother of memorizing new words. Here are a few samples:

Jamaican Creole
Canton
Nepali
Tagalog
And for my brother, who loves the food, Basque.

There you go, off on another armchair adventure courtesy of The World Wide Web and yours truly. But please be careful -- blue cheese does not go well with Gummi Bears.

The Speech Accent Archives belong to George Mason University. Quite a fascinating study.

Football and Prayer

2009-10-17T22:58:00.000-07:00

Last night was the homecoming game. At this school, tradition is carried out in utter consistency from year to year. At least, that's what I've observed over 14 seasons. The princesses are driven in a parade of convertibles to the 50-yard line, where they are met by their parents and escorted past a JROTC honor guard and onto the field. After they've all been introduced, last year's queen is driven into view. She gets out of her car and walks out to crown the new homecoming queen. Hugs, hugs, tears, and back to the cars for the return trip to the side of the stadium.

The cars this year were beautiful, gorgeous, poetic 1957 Ford Thunderbirds. I drooled over them. Mint green, creamy yellow, white, black, red, and gunmetal gray. I swooned over them. The serious rain last night made the owners keep the lids on tight, but this was the way the cars were designed to look most of the time, right? I feasted my eyes on them.

No wayward fireworks, no streakers, no bad surprises in last night's festivities. Yay! I can't even recall any injuries on the field. It was a good night.

Except...

Late in the fourth quarter, at a quiet moment, I heard something bad. The crowd around me heard it, too, and there was a collective gasp. It appeared that a child had slipped on the wet steps. Dad scooped him/her up and ran for the exit. Despite the fall, this little one was not crying. Head injury? Loss of consciousness? A minute later, I began to notice people craning their necks toward the area where the ambulance always parks. My concentration for the game was blown. I'll spare you the details, but I was very concerned for that family. Eventually, the ambulance moved. Before the game was over. That meant... well, I can't be sure, but I've been praying for the child ever since. I am ever thankful for the availability of emergency medical assistance. Even though I'm still scared about that situation, I trust that the child received excellent help in whatever way necessary.

Reading... and Thinking

2009-10-06T21:45:00.001-07:00

It certainly would be a good thing if I were to post something meaningful or entertaining here, say, daily. Since I often check in on other blogs, you'd think I'd have the sense to write something for my reader(s) more regularly. But there are days... weeks... that go by without any particular hilarity or insight. I'm still chuckling about something, and I'm certainly pondering and wondering, but it doesn't seem worthy of a blog post.

In the past, I've written reaction pieces after reviewing a small portion of Scripture. Those Old Testament folks -- the ones with the clay feet that sometimes ended up in their mouths -- are interesting characters to analyze. But these days, I'm reading the Old Testament prophets. Ugh.

"You did wrong! You will be punished!"

Over and over again, that's the message. There's some great imagery, some scary stuff, but it's judgment, judgment, judgment. Not exactly the kind of material I'd like to put out there for just anyone to read, you know? Such a terrible downer.

Fortunately, if I ever get all the way through the major and minor prophets, there's good news coming. After all those downers, there'll be a gigantic upper. "Yes, you did wrong. Yes, you most definitely deserve to be punished. But there's an alternate ending to this story." It's a real-life choose-your-own-adventure but with an outcome that's beyond all expectation.

I'll keep putting in my time, reading and absorbing, walking through my days, writing when there's something worth your time reading. There is good news coming. Hang in there.

Rufus and I... Likin' Those Walks!

2009-09-21T12:33:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of weeks, the Rufster and I have been walking three or four times a week, about 45 minutes each outing. We've gotten acquainted with some new micro-neighborhoods near our house, but once in a while have driven a little ways to find new views (and new sniffs.) Here are some photos I've taken along the way. If this were a scratch-n-sniff blog, Rufus would've been happy to share his impressions, too. Woof! (In case you can't make it out, that first photo is of branches with lichen. You know -- liking -- likin')?

Review: The Widow's Season

2009-09-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

If you ask, I'll tell you that I don't read suspense. Nor do I read romance, sci-fi, or stories that don't fit well within my moral boundaries. But if a book really grabs me, those preferences go out the window for the sake of the story.

The Widow's Season by Laura Brodie caught my eye with its beautiful cover and intriguing title. The main character is Sarah, a recently-widowed woman still in the prime of her life. Her hopes and expectations were brought to a crashing halt when her husband came up missing from a solo kayaking trip. Although she wouldn't have said that she defined herself by her marriage, she did. Her inability to bear a child was a burden that weighed heavily on that relationship. Sarah and her husband, though close, were each dealing with the loss of a dream family.

When Sarah begins to see her husband at odd moments -- at the end of an aisle in the supermarket, walking down the hall past her bedroom -- the story takes an eerie turn. Is it a ghost? Is it David, in the flesh, returning after faking his own death? Or is it all Sarah's imagination, a subconscious reckoning with her losses?

There are a couple of places where Sarah's moral choices caused tension for me, but also for her. What if... What if her husband had been so traumatized by his accident that he let the world think he had died? What if his grief over the loss of a dream and the mundaneness of his life caused him to seek a new existence? What if, in her loneliness, Sarah turned to David's brother for substitutionary consolation? Until one has been tempted in such an awful new way, the responses are beyond imagining.

I would encourage you to read this book, not because you'll like it, but because you'll experience it. Ms. Brodie paints intimate pictures of the soul.

International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

2009-09-18T14:01:00.000-07:00

Preparing for tomorrow's festivities, mateys, here's my pirate-ality test result:

You are The Quartermaster

You, me hearty, are a man or woman of action! And what action it is! Gruesome,
awful, delightful action. You mete out punishment to friend and foe alike
– well, mostly to foe, because your burning inner rage isn’t
likely to draw you a whole lot of the former. Still, though you may be
what today is called “high maintenance” and in the past was
called “bat-guano crazy,” the crew likes to have you around
because in a pinch your maniacal combat prowess may be the only thing
that saves them from Jack Ketch. When not in a pinch, the rest of the
crew will goad you into berserker mode because it’s just kind of
fun to watch. So you provide a double service – doling out discipline
AND entertainment.

What's Yer Inner Pirate?
brought to you by The Official Talk Like A Pirate Web Site. Arrrrr!

Day of Caring 2009

2009-09-13T17:10:00.000-07:00

Every year, my employer offers an opportunity for us to get out into the community and do a one-day service project. Also every year, a friend who works for a state agency invites me to join her for a day of outdoor recreation. Finally, finally, because both of these worlds converged, I had to say yes.

The Department of Services for the Blind, specifically the Orientation and Training Center in Seattle, provides a variety of learning experiences for people who are blind and visually impaired. Their curriculum includes outdoor "challenge" activities such as hiking, biking, skiing, boating, rock climbing, and riding the city bus. (Oops -- strike that last item. It belongs in another section of the course.)

I've been around a lot of people who are blind and visually impaired. It has been my great privilege to participate as a student at three week-long conferences of the Lutheran Blind Mission. While each of those weeks involved a small group of 25 folks, I was the only sighted student. Those times were fantastic immersion experiences. Since then, I've attended two conventions of the Washington Council of the Blind, with somewhere over 250 attendees. People have told me I'm an excellent sighted guide, and that I come across as a very trustworthy sighted person. For all these things, I am grateful.

Although I was introduced at the Day of Caring activity as a member of the WCB and someone knowledgeable about the blindness community, I was reticent to appear as an expert. I wanted to watch and learn, and also help. What I was most curious about was how this group of sighted volunteers would be trained as guides, how confident they'd feel about guiding, and how the interactions would progress.

I'm very pleased to say that everything went swimmingly! The volunteers plunged into their assignments, the students from the OTC teamed up with their guides, and the activities began. The guides weren't overly hesitant, and it probably helped that there were clear expectations and a schedule for the day. I heard from the OTC students and staff how much they enjoyed everything and how pleasantly surprised some of them were because they had fun. I didn't get to talk with my library colleagues, but I suspect they would have said much the same thing. And it was fun.

One student freely stated that she had had no intention of getting on any kind of bicycle contraption that day. But, when the time came, she wasn't exactly given a choice, and she climbed aboard. Her guide was very steady and quiet, she said, until she finally gave up and let herself relax a bit. At that point, her partner began to give bits of commentary on what he was seeing. The longer they rode, the more she enjoyed it! In fact, when lunch was delayed, she was the first to ask to take one more ride before eating.

As I continue to craft fiction, my goal is to peel back layers of misconceptions regarding people who are visually impaired. It would be wonderful to write a novel that would promote understanding and discussion between the sighted and blind communities. There's a lot that the sighted folks just don't see, so to speak.

And with that, I'll get back to work editing my novel-in-progress. Thanks for reading.

How to Knit... and watch football... but mostly, knit

2009-09-12T20:20:00.000-07:00

Friday was a beautiful day for football, and the pace of the game allowed me to think about taking a few photos. For all you non-football readers out there, here are some pointers for paying attention without having to actually watch the whole game.

First, in early autumn, there may be some glorious sunsets shortly after kickoff. In our home stadium, the home crowd faces west and I've included a photo last year of the treetops against the night sky. This week's game was in another town, where it's the visitors who face west. There was a lovely sunset last night, and just after I took this shot the team doc came up to comment on the view. See, not everyone is watching every nanosecond of action on the field!

Speaking of the team doc (he's actually a physical therapist with a specialty in sports medicine), he didn't have to be too busy this week. Thank goodness. When an injury happens, the players show respect and the crowd gets quiet. If you look up from your knitting and see players on the sideline doing this, you might say something like, "Is it his knee?" Hopefully that's all it is, and in a few seconds he'll be helped off the field to a shower of applause. This would be a good time to refrain from other conversation, however.

Injuries can be scary, and for this reason it may be difficult for tender-hearted people to watch every crashing tackle. Knitting is a handy and productive distraction. You can also claim that you're too nervous about the outcome and it helps to keep your hands busy. That makes it sound like you're really into the game.

When a team is really close to scoring, way down at the end of the field, the orange down markers are not needed. If you glance up and see the teams playing at one end of the field, check out the "sticks". When these orange padded poles are cast aside on the turf, stop knitting and watch the game for a minute. Something exciting might happen, one way or the other.

That's enough about football for one post. While waiting for the game to start, I learned about a cool device for knitting the cable stitch. It's a short double-ended needle with a kink in the middle, and you use it to hold stitches and then transfer them back into your cable work. Very cool! I think my mom used a straight double-ended needle or something like a blunt safety pin.

First Football Game of the Season!

2009-09-04T22:46:00.001-07:00

That's the press box atop the home side of our local stadium. See the rainbow? Only those of us on the visitor side got to enjoy it. It had been raining a good part of the afternoon, but shortly before game time we saw this and then it stopped raining. Yeah!

I appreciate rainless football games only because I keep the score book. When it rains, the paper gets wet and I can't write on it. Therefore, when the weather's wet, I have to go up in the stands or in the press box. There are some very nice people up there, but I miss the sidelines. Sometimes I get distracted by watching the nice people instead of focusing on the game. Bad, very bad.

Tonight's game was a blowout. It felt weird to be there, since the teachers' strike has delayed the start of school. The home team's band director was conspicuously absent, but the band played on. The coaches were all there, because they're on extra-duty contracts unrelated to the dispute.

It'll be nice to get everyone back in school, but I hope there's a little meaning to that rainbow. I'm hoping for a happy ending so we can have a good beginning.

Still Ticking

2009-09-02T08:34:00.000-07:00

Hi, folks... er, "folk" might be more appropriate. Radio broadcasters are encouraged to speak as though they're talking to just one person out there across the waves. I should write as though to one person -- not only because you are reading this by yourself, but because there aren't too many of you anyway.

I enjoy checking my stats on Site Meter. It's nice to know that someone has stopped in to check out the dog's blog, and it's interesting to see where they're from and what search brought them here. I've had many hits on a post about Air Force One, but the hits were for a photo illustration that I've since replaced. Another page that gets looked at is titled Difficult Instructions, and I wonder what people were seeking when they clicked on that one.

I'm headed for work in a few minutes, but wanted to let you know that I'm still here, still thinking about writing, and still working on random thoughts of great and silly nature. Football starts this week, and I hope to have a story about our first game. Thanks for reading. Rufus appreciates the support, although he'd prefer a walk.

Growing on My Knees

2009-08-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

I arrived early for a meeting one day, and took a 20-minute walk in the neighborhood. These are a couple of sights I considered to be noteworthy.

The apple tree was one of four in a row, probably from an old homesite. Although the wind knocked it over, it was determined to keep growing, to keep bearing fruit. Even on its knees.

It would be easy to make a kind of schmaltzy comparison to prayer, as if I could assume the position of appeal and be guaranteed growth and help. That tree, however, didn't voluntarily fall down to ask God's favor. Instead, it was pushed down to a place of disadvantage, and kept doing what was required of it.

As long as I have breath, I will praise and pray to the God who sustains me.

"I Trust Her."

2009-08-08T17:13:00.000-07:00

The plan today was to go to a picnic, socialize, play a game, eat too much, and go home. All of those things happened, but there were a few additional details.

The picnic is an annual get-together of three local groups of people who are blind and visually impaired. I'm not good at guessing numbers, but I'd say there were close to a hundred folks in attendance. I'm a member of one of the chapters, and was looking forward to getting better acquainted with a few more people today. I had also invited a guest.

Shortly after our arrival, one of my acquaintances asked if I could help her run an errand. She had arranged for some song sheets to be printed in large print and Braille, and they were ready for her to pick up... at the downtown Seattle Public Library. "Well, okay," I said. "But you'll have to tell me how to get there."

This gal -- I'll call her Hostess -- works in Seattle and is very familiar with the bus routes and streets of the city. I rarely go into Seattle except to visit two or three specific places. The traffic (and my tremendous ignorance) makes me nervous, as I assume that everyone else knows exactly where they're going and I'm only in their way. But as I said, Hostess knows her way around, and she promised to tell me where to go. Since Guest didn't know anyone else at the picnic, she came with us.

When we left the picnic area, it made me a wee bit concerned when she said to head south instead of north. But, I knew we had to get over a hill and to the freeway, so I followed Hostess's instructions and soon saw the freeway. Traffic got bad, but we inched our way downtown. Once, we made a wrong turn and had to backtrack, but then were right on target.

"There's a passenger drop-off just up here by the door," Hostess told me. "If you leave your flashers on, you can wait here."

"Sounds good," I replied. "If I have to move, I'll circle the block and come back here to meet you."

Simple, right? She got me where we needed to be, and all that Guest and I had to do was wait.

And wait.

And... wait.

Honestly, I didn't look at my watch once, but I think we waited more than an hour. Seriously. No one came to tow my car or give me a ticket, so I kept my emergency flashers on and waited. This is the interesting part of the story.

Since we had been led to believe that this was a simple errand, Guest and I both assumed that Hostess would be gone about ten minutes. When we'd been there for half an hour, Guest began to wonder aloud what was wrong. Now, I don't know Guest well enough to know if she was serious, but she asked me if I thought Hostess had had a medical emergency. I thought that was kind of far-fetched, but it could happen. Since I hadn't heard any sirens, I assured Guest that our friend was probably fine. Then Guest worried that Hostess had gotten lost or gone out another door or had gotten distracted and forgot we were waiting for her. Guest even suggested that we should go look for her to see what was the matter. She was serious, and that's when I finally got perturbed.

"Guest, none of those things have happened. I trust Hostess, and she would not forget us or get distracted. She knows this city and this library much better than I do, so she's not lost. If we park the car somewhere to go look for her, I don't know where to begin looking. Maybe the person who was giving her the papers is busy, or maybe the papers got moved and they're trying to find them. But I trust Hostess, and she'll be back."

People think I'm patient. Maybe I am, but mostly it's just that I don't take ownership of problems that aren't my own. Sure, we were missing the picnic, but there was a good reason for it. Maybe those song sheets were important, maybe not, but that wasn't my decision. As we waited and waited in the car, I pondered the little building blocks that had led me to trust Hostess and make this trip:

* Hostess is very bright and asks insightful questions. She thinks about the big picture and is able to analyze information quickly.
* Hostess had a hand in planning this picnic. She would not do anything to distract from the social networking purposes of the gathering.
* Hostess is fully capable of getting wherever she needs to go, and has obviously been to this library before. If she needed any assistance, she would ask.

Therefore, since there was nothing I could do to help or speed things up, my job was to wait. Calmly.

Sure enough, when Hostess came out of the building with Librarian in tow, she was full of apologies for the time it had taken. They'd had multiple printer problems (bad codes, ran out of toner, etc.) and they'd been scrambling to try to get the job done despite all those obstacles. Being patient and calm was the best course of action, and that's all I was responsible to do, except for driving the car.

Maybe I should have titled this post, "Minding My Own Business." That's one of the lessons I've been learning, but I hadn't expected it to be reinforced today.

P.S. Do I need to point out that the person who was guiding me happens to be visually impaired and has never driven a car? And I trust her.

How Do You Spell Safety?

2009-08-01T19:58:00.000-07:00

As the Safety Captain* of my library, I take every opportunity to investigate safety, er, opportunities. Why, just last week I was meeting with some other Safety Captains to discuss safety in our branches. As we talked about the importance of knowing that the emergency exit alarms are fully charged (they make a very shrill noise when opened), I began to investigate the little red fire alarm box next to me. Perhaps you've seen older alarms which require the breaking of glass to pull the alarm? This new-fangled alarm box has a nifty Plexiglas cover that you lift in order to access the alarm. Nice. But is the cover latched, or does it open easily? How simple would it be to figure out what to do in an emergency situation? This is what I wondered.

Did you know that the Plexiglas cover over little red fire alarm boxes are armed? When a person lifts that cover, a very shrill noise startles one's fellow Safety Captains, causing them to move immediately AWAY from the person who opened the Plexiglas cover. Yep.

Fast-forward to this afternoon. My brother and sister-in-law are here from the Midwest, and we took a nice little jaunt on a cute little ferry to Vashon Island. Ever vigilant, I...

No, I did not attempt to open any fire alarm covers. But I did take an interest in the instructions for the ferry's fire suppression system. The first step in dealing with a fire? Vacate the area! Get away! Go someplace safe! After that, work on putting out the flames.

It wasn't until I downloaded these photos that I really looked at the headline sign. Maybe spelling isn't terribly important when your first instruction is to get away from the fire. No one will stand there long enough to see that you didn't run the spellcheck before you made your pretty red sign. CO2 RELAESE -- a technical word, I'm sure.

*Not my official title, but the one to which I aspire.

One Less Dog, But So Many Stories

2009-07-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

We finally took Blackie to her final veterinary appointment yesterday. Well, not "we", because I did not go on this trip. That was something I couldn't do. Mark and Jon took her, and she was as cheerful as ever. We will all miss her so very much; she was a wonderful, wonderful dog.

But she had her days...

Her favorite activity used to be to sneak through a barely-open door and go streaking out of the yard to the neighbor's horse pasture. Guess what was in that horse pasture? Blackie's favorite scent -- eu de peeeeeeew! She would roll and roll in fresh horse poo, check out the neighborhood a bit, and come trotting home in all her glory. She hated baths.

One time when the boys were much younger, they left a lovely pizza cooling on the kitchen table while they ran outside to check out a friend's new bike. When they came in ten minutes later, the pizza was gone. The whole thing. Gone. She didn't mind a little indigestion.

When I had mono a few years ago, Blackie loved having me at home, taking a couple of naps a day with her on my bed. She was always patient and gentle, and was old enough to enjoy all the naps we could get. Finally, my schedule matched hers! She hoped I was turning into a dog.

We are going to miss her terribly, but Rufus is here to help take the edge off our grief. In fact, when Andy saw Ruf at the pet store four and a half years ago, it struck me that it might help us to have another dog in the house because Blackie was getting old. Not that Rufus would ever replace her, but he could help our hearts. After all, that's what Blackie did for us many years ago. Our first dog, Pepper, was struck by a car and taken from us too quickly. Although Mark and I thought we should take time to heal, a friend encouraged us to go ahead and get a dog immediately. We knew we were a "dog family" now, so why wait?

Blackie was something over two years old, and had been at the pound for almost a week. The staff recognized her sweet temperament, and tied a bandanna around her neck as well as posting a hand-written note on her cage. They kept hoping someone would adopt her, so they delayed her timetable well beyond the normal stay.

When we first brought her home, she wouldn't eat. I think she went at least two full days without taking a kibble. But she was gentle, she seemed to like us, and she was fully housebroken. We stuck with her, she stuck with us, and we all got to like each other.

On one of Blackie's neighborhood excursions, she met someone who didn't think she was "all that." Although we didn't notice anything at first, after a few days there was an awful smell and a bad abscess on the back of her neck. The vet said she had been bitten, and they had to do extensive work to get rid of the infection. We brought her back home with a tube in her neck and instructions to irrigate the wound twice a day. Blackie disliked the antibiotic pills, but she really hated those irrigation sessions. But, being Blackie, she came into the bathroom with me every morning and evening and let me take care of things. That experience was the seal on our relationship. Although we were already quite fond of each other, those days of careful nursing care allowed our mutual trust to deepen.

In the early days of my novel, Blackie would climb up on the bed with me while I wrote on my laptop. Her quiet spirit encouraged me to sit there for at least an hour and write. After all, it would have been rude to get up when she was settled so comfortably! It was easy to imagine her being a wise muse, and that's how this blog got its name. If she could talk, if I knew what was happening in her dog-versations with Rufus, surely there would be glimmers of insight into the human perspective.

I wrote to some friends yesterday that I can't believe that dogs have eternal souls, so I don't expect to see Blackie in heaven. However, the God who created such diverse, affectionate creatures wouldn't just abandon His wonderful work. Somehow, I think He's got a place in His plan for dogs -- and horses and aardvarks and skunks and all the rest. And someday, I'll get to enjoy these creatures in a new way.

Sorry if I made you cry. It was nice to remember dear Blackie, and Pepper, and Frisca. Good doggas all. And now there's Rufus. Oh, my. Oh, my.

About that Dryer

2009-07-12T20:38:00.000-07:00

I am NOT a trained, licensed, bonded, professional dryer repairwoman. This was made abundantly clear this weekend when I discovered that the part I ordered... waited for... received with relief and joy... is the wrong one.

I didn't take the dryer completely apart last weekend. I investigated just enough to discover a broken nylon bit, which looked a LOT like the part I found online and ordered. But it turns out that the piece I found was once a member of a larger thing -- metal and felt and nylon, all assembled together.

My excuses for not blogging last week included my work schedule, the heat, and having to take my wet clothes to the laundromat.

My excuses for not blogging this week will include my work schedule, overcast skies, and having to take my wet clothes to the laundromat. And I'd like to get back to work on my novel, too.

There is good news in all this. The parts I need should arrive by the end of the week, and the laundromat has beautiful new machines and is only a couple of blocks from my house. Sigh.

"Honey, I found the problem with the dryer..."

2009-07-04T15:20:00.000-07:00

Our clothes dryer started making an uncomfortable noise, so I decided it would be best to investigate sooner rather than later. You see, the last time a dryer made a bad noise, I spent a couple of weeks hoping it would simply go away. It didn't. And that was one ugly repair job. I learned a few lessons that time around.

So I started taking the dryer apart a couple of nights ago, but it took a while to figure out how to get the top open and then clean what I could reach. (Different dryer, and more than ten years have passed.) This morning I took off the door and front panel, and while I was cleaning, I found... [cue sinister music]

Could this have something to do with why my sons don't have girlfriends right now?

Oh -- that's my hand. Sorry.

Home safety experts tell us it's best to clean all the lint out of your dryer much more often than any of us do. There's lotsa lint in there, and lint is highly combustible, and dust bunnies are plotting to take over the world.

What I really found while scooping out nine years of lint was a little nylon strip that used to be a slide. For $26.17 I can replace both slides and have a happy dryer again, except I'll have to wait for the parts to come and then I'll have to take the WHOLE thing apart so I can install the little buggers. Guess what I hope to be doing next weekend? Eh... just in time for our wedding anniversary.

Oh, and pretend these are decorations. I did get the dryer put back together, but I'm not crazy about using it and listening to the drum scraping... scraping... clawing... trying to get out... Oops -- wrong holiday. Happy Fourth!

Japanese Braille

2009-06-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

One of the photos the guys sent from Japan features *authentic* Japanese Braille. I can read American Braille, so I pored over this particular photo to see what I could decipher.

Braille usually consists of combinations of up to six dots per cell, arranged like a vertical six-pack. There are different degrees of difficulty in Braille. Grade One spells out everything letter by letter. People who read this level only have to know the alphabet and punctuation. Grade Two Braille uses a number of short forms for common words or word parts. For example, "and", "the", "ed", "ar", "ing", and "for" each have their own distinct one-cell short forms. There are other signs to indicate "capital", "numeral" and each bit of punctuation.

So, what did I discover about this photo? The short answer is... nothing. The Japanese short forms are, well, Japanese.

But you get bonus points if you can figure out where they boys took the picture. You know, in general terms. Click on the photo to enlarge.

A Picture's Worth...

2009-06-22T11:14:00.001-07:00

...a thousand words? I'm speechless.

Japan Team

2009-06-14T07:51:00.000-07:00

My camera isn't the greatest, nor is the photographer, but here's a photo taken early this morning when the guys met at the church to head for the airport and points West. They look amazingly awake for 6 a.m.! (And, by keeping the photo rather indistinct, I can get away with not paying them any royalties for the use of their likenesses.)

Here's their blog, where they hope to post interesting encounters during the trip.