Family Trapped at Home in Snowstorm, Eats Books to Survive!

Okay, so we weren't actually snowed in. Life would have been easier if we had been stuck, though. This was the most snow we've had in a few years, and it was WAY above our normal accumulation. There was snow, and some ice, and then a lot more snow, and it didn't go away in two days.

It was beautiful. Really beautiful. Except if you had to drive or walk anywhere. (Two of these photos were taken at the library, the other from the safety of my living room.) Then, it could be downright scary. The last couple of days, the snow was turning into slush. Twelve inches of mucky slush. Try to drive your compact car through that!

The worst time I had was when my car's anti-skid feature was activated. I had shoveled down to bare dirt, and all I had to do was move my tires about six inches to grab it. No. No. No. The moment the wheels began to slip, power was shut off and they wouldn't turn. Remember back in the old days when you could spin your wheels and dig down to solid ground? Sure, it made a huge mess, but it worked.

Yes, there is a button next to my gearshift that would have disabled the anti-skid device. No, I didn't think about it in time to use it. I just kept playing around, driving sideways on the packed snow, digging around the tires some more, until I finally got the car moving.

I felt like such a girl. But I'll do better next time. Just enjoy the pictures and forget these words, okay? Thanks.

One of My Favorite Things

When the ground looks like this, the birds come a-running to my feeders.

All right, not running. Flocking? Whatever, they love a free lunch.

I'd love to show you a "live" shot of feeding in progress, but my puny little camera phone can't do that. Besides, I don't think I could get any of the birds to sign a photo consent form. Anyway... I have two feeders. This one's in the back yard between the fir tree and the birch, and the other feeder hangs from a post on our front deck. It's great fun to see who comes to dine, from flickers to Steller's jays to juncos to black-capped chickadees. And starlings. And sometimes crows. Oh, and (I think) red-bellied sapsuckers, too.

Our neighborhood wetland used to be very large and varied, and salmon came to spawn. Then more development encroached, the wetland area decreased in size and scope, and I haven't seen a salmon in at least five years. The water levels had to be pretty high, though, and our little creek was often too little. There are owls and red-tailed hawks, and several coyotes, as well as many species of feathered things. Although I don't get to see everyone who lives at the wetland, it's wonderful to look out my windows and check out the birds. Rufus even knows what "birds" are and where to look for them. Blackie has never cared, even when the flickers peck so hard at the suet cake that it reverberates through the floor.

Watching the birds is something that calms me, takes me back to nature, and reminds me of that part of life that is less urgent but more important. Someone* once said,

"For this reason I say to you, do not be anxious for your life, as to what you shall eat, or what you shall drink; nor for your body, as to what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body than clothing? Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single cubit to his life's span?"

I need to be reminded. And, of course, that *Someone was Jesus.

In Honor of my Great, Great...

I came across this wonderful book at the library...

How many blog posts can I begin with that line? Lots and lots, and it's a very healthy occupational hazard! So anyway, I was checking-in the other day and this cookbook caught my eye. It's called Secrets of Cooking: Armenian/Lebanese/Persian by Linda Chirinian. The cover photo looks like something I'd be happy to dig right into, and I NEED to find some new recipes so that I'll be more motivated to cook. Tonight's meal... well, more about that in a moment.

There's family history that explains this unusual culinary choice. My great, great grandparents were missionaries in Persia in the mid-nineteenth century. My great grandmother was born there. One of her brothers returned to carry on the work after their father passed away. The little research I've done tells me it was an amazing thing to travel all that way, learn the language, and only return home after seventeen years. William and his family lived in the northwest corner of Persia, at a rather high elevation, in a city not far from a large salt lake. Perhaps the food they ate was something like the sweet chicken and carrots I fixed tonight.

Now, about tonight's dinner. I altered the recipe to suit my pantry and my family's tastes. When it was almost ready, I took a picture of the chicken, carrots, and raisins (forget the prunes in the original, please) and sent it to each of my sons so they would know to hurry home to eat. Riiiiight.

The decently appetizing photo above is copied from the cookbook. That's what the author's dish looked like when carefully photographed by her husband. My concoction didn't look quite the same... and my camera phone didn't do me any favors. One of my sons, who should remain nameless, wondered at first if I was showing him that our garbage disposal had backed up. But bless Peter's heart, he came home anyway!

It would be fun to write a book someday about what great, great William's life might have been like. I'll have to try some more of the delicious recipes in Mrs. Chirinian's book. Oh, and there was one more unexpected connection. The publisher (Lionhart, Inc.) is based in New Canaan, Connecticut. My great, greats were from Connecticut, as well. Is that cool, or is that cool?

Oh, and everyone eventually came home, and they all ate the chicken. Willingly.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words...

...but it's no good if there's no one to read them. Several months ago, I reviewed a book about the presidents who have used Air Force One. It was a very interesting look at the presidents in a setting where they might relax a little. The photographic illustration I used in my post has gone on to live a huge life of its own, thanks to this fall's election.

My blog has had MANY hits on that photo of an airborn Air Force One jet. Unfortunately, my SiteMeter stats tell me that none of those hits have become Wise Dogs readers. Therefore, I have decided to change the photo illustration to what it should have been in the first place, the book jacket of Kenneth Walsh's wonderful book. This illustration is small and indistinct, which is why I hadn't used it in the first place. Oh, well. I'd rather have my blog's stats reflect the dogs' loyal readership.

Thank you, both of you, for continuing to come back and check the dogs' blog. They would thank you themselves, but Blackie's resting and Rufus is sleeping. It's been a long day.

Even Texters Get Wrong Numbers

Last Saturday as I was furiously trying to finish NaNoWriMo, I received a text message on my cell phone. Thinking it was from one of my sons, I opened it right away.

Aye do yu know the white girls lindsey number
(signed) The King

Huh. Somebody fishing for responses? Prank text? I ignored it and continued writing. An hour later, another text.

We have to go back to the libary and ditch myles. i dont want him with us
(signed) The King

Apparently this kid -- I mean, The King -- thinks he's texting someone else. I should correct him, but I think it's nice that he goes to the "libary" now and then. So many kids (my sons, specifically) never darken the door. I replied, trying to sound as cool as possible...

Dude, you're texting a wrong number. Good luck ditching Myles, I guess.

I mean, is it right to encourage this King kid to abandon someone? And will Myles be following them to the library only to be left high and dry, or are they escaping Myles by entering the library? Does Myles know the wealth of opportunity that awaits him inside his local public library? Forget this King dude, Myles! Go dig up something interesting on this rainy Saturday afternoon!

Who is this then
(signed) The King

Now I begin to wonder, is King texting a friend who's right next to him? (You've seen it. Kids text instead of whispering, right?) But if his compatriot is right there, how come King isn't grasping the fact that the buddy is not receiving these messages? I initially gave King high marks for using decent grammar and adequately complete sentences, and these indices inferred above-average intelligence. Was I overly optimistic? I'd better set him straight, anyway. I need to get back into my NaNo novel. Unfortunately, I'm still trying to exhibit my coolness...

Nobody you know. I'm a mom. It's unlikely we move in the same circles.

What do yu mean
(signed) The King

Yep, I went right over his head. If anything, maybe I sounded too cool at first, calling him "Dude" and everything. Poor King doesn't get it, and he's in the midst of a mad dash to the library anyway. I've distracted him and now he's flustered. Time to be direct.

Wrong number.

Sorry
(signed) The King

Well, King gets good marks here for concluding our conversation with an apology. He's not such a bad guy after all. Lots of people can't spell "library" without stopping to think about it, and it is a lot faster to type the two-letter "yu" than to spell out the whole word. Although, if he were using T9, wouldn't "you" come out correctly? That means he might have been spelling everything letter by letter, as I do, and that brings his score even higher.

Good News -- I WON!!!

I did it! I finished! I won!

Shall I recap?

I entered the online National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) contest. I wrote more than 50,000 words of a new work of fiction during the month of November. I made it, having started writing on November 1 and reaching 50K before midnight on November 30.

I did it! I finished! I won!

I went into this with a few thoughts and objectives. First, I knew the "competition" aspect would be a plus as far as motivation goes. Second, I told myself it didn't matter if I wrote 50,000 words of utter dreck, as long as I wrote 50,000 words. Third, it would be a boost to my writing career (snort!) to get a first draft of a second novel.

Here's what I learned. First, 1667 words of fiction a day is do-able. Second, missing a day here or there doesn't kill my opportunity to win. Third, even dreck is hard to formulate!

I'd like to thank everyone who smiled indulgently when I brought up NaNo in every conversation. My husband and sons readily gave up their computer time so I could write. (They also gave up on having their laundry folded, having food in the cupboards, and getting haircuts. They're wonderful guys.) Although not a single library patron asked why I wore a button with an image of a duck and some numbers on it, my coworkers were kind enough to show interest and inquire about my word counts. My online writing friends were encouraging and even shared virtual chocolate to keep me going through many hours of laborious thinking and typing.

Most of all, I'd like to thank the One who gave me the gift of a quirky sense of humor and creativity that led me to believe I could make up stories and write them for others' enjoyment. What an amazing ride this is, Lord!

Ungh... now, it's back to editing, and there are two manuscripts needing my attention instead of just one. What was I thinking?

Hey, is that chocolate in that trophy up there? Yum -- bring it on!

I'm Late! Gotta Run! No Time to Write!

I'm too busy writing to spend time writing. The NaNo novel is coming along pretty well, although I've fallen behind. This blog has been neglected, as what time and energy I have must go into the new novel. On the bright side, there are only 12 days left. Gasp! What am I doing here, writing about real life, when I should be watching my character practice her shoplifting technique?! But no, she doesn't actually practice it. She can't help it. She doesn't mean to take things, you know. But my goodness how our hearts race when she does nab something.

One of the developing themes of the novel has to do with the distractions that color our perceptions. Each of us sees life through our own particular lenses, and we filter experiences through a unique grid. Hmmm... maybe that's why it can be difficult to match details of an event seen by several witnesses. They might have seen the same thing, but their interpretations and assumptions led them astray.

Maybe it's significant, then, when hundreds or thousands of people agree on the details. The first filter for truth ought to be something that has stood the test of time and cultures. Something that is proven both from within (no contradictions) and without (by other historical sources). It must be clear and understandable, even if it takes some study to grasp the finer points. It may have originally applied to a particular place and time, but must contain concepts that are universal and timeless.

But know this first of all, that no prophecy of scripture is a matter of one's own interpretation, for no prophecy was ever made by an act of human will, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God.

Hijacked Joy -- Temporarily

Bummer, bummer, bummer. I found out I've been scammed. A couple of years ago, I signed up for a free credit report service. Since you can get one free credit report per year from the three major credit bureaus, this seemed like an extension of that free service.

It's not.

Today, I was looking over our bank account. You know, when things are tight, you scrutinize every little expenditure, right? Well, this one particular charge caught my eye, and on a whim I Googled it.

It turns out, that *free* report that has shown up in my email every month is a subscription service. I've been paying for it, every month, for a long time. Although I had noticed the charges (sometimes), I had assumed my husband had made those purchases. There's a whole string of complaints about this company, and at least one website dedicated to telling you how to make an assertive appeal for a refund.

I wasn't able to go on the offensive right away, and maybe that was kind of a good thing. Instead of jumping in without looking, I'll get my ducks in a row, have the helpful website up and running, and make my phone calls with facts at the ready.

For today, my blood pressure can stay within reasonable limits. I'm thankful. Still very angry about those charges, but thankful that I can have some control over how I respond and what I do.

Another Note About Today

I wrote this morning about my novel's character hating being recognized as vulnerable, limited, and dependent. Then, I added that these are qualities that no one desires, so this is a universal condition. I'll stand by that, but the brevity of my comments may have seemed to minimize the personal circumstances of some people, and I regret that.

While I don't want to be seen as having limitations, I know I have plenty of personal shortcomings. Like most folks, I try to cover them up so they aren't glaringly obvious all the time.

The difference between an "average" person and a person with physical disability (in this discussion, visual impairment) is that their potential for cover-up is distinctly limited. Orientation and mobility issues, for example, are part of daily life. Every day, all day. Further, these differences between blinkies and sighties are there for all to see. Therein lies the emotional, psychological, spiritual challenge of disability.

In seeking common ground, I don't want to minimize the challenges of facing practical obstacles on a daily, hourly, basis. Sure, I never know when I'm going to (figuratively) stumble and reveal something less than complete independence and strength. But my issues are not the same as those whose limitations are external and therefore more obvious to others, and cannot be hidden but may be overcome.

Thanks for listening. I hope I haven't overstepped my bounds.

A Note About Today

Today is a big day in Auburn. The biggest Veterans' Day parade this side of the Mississippi happens, along with a plethora of supportive activities (mostly involving food.) I won't be watching the parade, but a friend and I are going to sit in on part of the field show competition of marching bands. Somehow, it seemed better today to place ourselves in a covered stadium rather than on a rainy street corner. My dinky little camera phone isn't good for much, but I'll see how creative I can be with it so I can post something later.

The NaNo novel is moving along nicely. As of last night, I was close to the word count goal. I hope to put in some heavy writing time this weekend and again on Tuesday. It's not the exercise in creative futility I had feared, but almost looks like a cohesive plot is developing. There is NO EDITING, and that means I'm leaving large chunks of one-sided narration in the manuscript. Those portions will have to be surgically removed later and replaced with something more dynamic and active. The blind character is developing well. It's fun to write her, because she's got at-ti-tude and isn't afraid to be forthright. She's a great gal, though, and it'll be fun to watch the layers of her toughness get peeled away so people can see her heart. Another fun character (because who doesn't like to live vicariously?) has a bad little secret, a habit that no one knows about. It's a habit that could rise up and bite her -- hard -- if it were exposed. I'm a little worried for her, as I don't know how much exposure she's going to have to endure.

A friend reviewed one of the blind character's scenes for me. His comment was that she hates being vulnerable, limited, and dependent, and these are the "qualities" none of us want to be revealed for the world to see. I would say this condition, this desire to cover ourselves, is universal. Too bad it's also beyond our ability to control one hundred per cent of the time.

50,000 Words of Dreck

I'm 10% done already! After one weekend, I've logged 5766 words on my new novel, "Imperfect Knowledge." So far, I've managed to give one of my lead characters a horribly funny alliterative name (it was a mistake -- I named her son first, and then realized what she would be forced to bear), and spent half a page narrating a poor excuse of a hackey sack passing game.

Woo-hoo, over five thousand words, and a day early at that! Time to party! No, actually, time for this rummy puppy to go to bed. Thanks for cheering with me, though!



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NaNoWriMo, anyone?

It's here! I'm here! The new book has begun! Insanity reigns!

Perhaps I should review, since my last post on this topic was written a month ago.

This is the tenth year of a wacky little competition called National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. The object is to write 50,000 words of new fiction during the month of November. Must be new, must be written during these 30 days. The writing can continue beyond this month, but the goal is to put down at least 50,000 words during this time period. It's insane.

I would include a link so you could check out the NaNo website, but things are barely crawling along over there as more than 100,000 writers try to access their NaNo mail and update their word counts. I'll add the link later. It's insane.

Today, after watching my nephew's crazy-good football game, I sat down for two writing sessions and whipped out more than 3500 words. Yeah for me! It's insane, but I'm gonna do it.

I've got a special little warning device that I have tested today. When I'm writing, I plan to wear a lovely orange nylon scarf. This is supposed to serve as a reminder to myself that I'm in a NaNo session, and a warning to others that I should be approached with caution because I'm in a NaNo writing session. Psychological studies have, I'm sure, verified the impact of an article of clothing used as a signal for the performance of special duties. Why do you think scuba divers wear face masks? To remind them to breathe from their air tanks, of course. Construction workers wear tool belts to help them remember to aim for the nails, not their fingers. Horses wear saddles in order to stay on all fours, for the safety of their riders. And this writer will don a scarf from her grandmother, so that the whole world will know not to break her train of thought in the midst of this ever so important endeavor. It is a scarf of power. And loudness. I'll try to post a photo tomorrow.

I Love "The Sound"

After my NaNoWriMo plotting workshop today, I detoured to the beach to eat my lunch and soak up the view. It was a glorious day. Blue sky, golden and russet trees, and Puget Sound was dark bluish-green with whitecaps. While I was there, a cargo ship crossed way, way out in the channel, moving from Tacoma to Seattle and eventually to the Pacific. The wind and the distance gave the ship a cloak of utter silence; this, too, was beautiful. At the tide line, I found a tiny clam shell, perfect and clean.

The tide was way in, leaving a narrow strip of sand. When the tide's in, it doesn't only make the beach smaller. The water level is noticeably higher, so that it was almost at eye level from where I sat. The difference in perspective from high tide to low is subtle but powerful. It really does make a difference if you're looking down on the water or straight across it. Somehow, high tide invites me to share the water experience. At low tide, looking down at a broad expanse of beach and water, the Sound is emotionally distant. High tide comes to play, to lap at the bulkhead, and taunts you to take out a canoe and paddle over to the overhanging trees against the shore.

In Case of Eruption -- RUN!

It started raining -- a very steady drizzle -- an hour before this weekend's football game. Bummer. That meant I had to keep the book dry, and could not wander the sidelines but had to sit in the stands. The good news? The stadium announcer (more about him another time) and his spotter were mostly accurate in announcing yardages and lines of scrimmage, so I had a good back-up if I couldn't judge the placement. The other good thing was that I got to sit with the coaches' wives, and didn't have to hear parents' criticisms.

Further good news was that I got material for a blog post.


I spoke with a staff member of an elementary school. A good part of her afternoon was spent conducting a lahar drill. In the event of a volcanic eruption of Mount Rainier, there's a good chance that tons and tons of mud and water and ash and mud will come streaming down the valleys around the mountain. Her school is in a valley, so at least twice a year they need to practice taking all the kids to higher ground. Quickly. Every one of them. If there's a lahar alert, the estimate is 30 minutes before that school building is history. Wow.

This situation is rather unusual, and perhaps where you live the students don't have these drills. A few weeks ago, a Red Cross trainer mentioned that Washington State has the potential for more types of disasters than any other state. Alrighty then. I'm quite pleased to live on a hill, where we don't have to run from lahars but only run from the people running from them.

As I was searching for photos of evacuation-route road signs, I found one that is hinged. That would seem to indicate that there's an "off season" for eruptions, when they can fold up the warning sign and let folks live their lives. Huh. If we ever have to move off this hill, I would consider living in that neighborhood.

What Comes Up Must Go Down

I've been putting off this post for quite a while. Although there is some artistic merit, the subject is difficult to address. My friends, however, insist that I cover this, and they won't stop reading my blog until it's in print, with a photo. Yes, I know I said way back in July that I would do this. Okay, here it is.

This could be a companion post to another recent entry, but if I associate them with one another I run the danger of establishing a theme. Please, dear reader, don't ask me to do that. Friends don't let friends...

Okay, I actually have two photos of this, er, subject. The first one, above, isn't too terrible. Before you see the second, however, I must warn you about its graphic content. (Pun not intended.) This is the antithesis of the earlier post on Honey Buckets, as this toilet not only flushes, but requires detailed instructions on proper procedure. This is a toilet in a public building, but it is not located in a public-access area. Complicated matters such as this are best suited for fully-trained staff members, not for occasional users.

A final note before I go. The City of Seattle recently sold some ultra-fantastic public toilets. They had to be rid of them because of the complication factor, I believe. These stainless-steel wonders not only flushed, but hosed themselves down after each use. You won't find any of those facilities in a public library, but you might check your neighbor's meadow pasture. Ebay is a wonderful place. I leave you with this:

83% of All Accidents

One of my responsibilities as Safety Designate for my library is to create and distribute a quiz regarding emergency procedures. The idea is that an interactive exercise will encourage them to consider their roles in responding to potentially dangerous situations. One of the questions I formulated had to do with proper use of a fire extinguisher on a spontaneously combusting children's book. Even though we aren't Boy Scouts, we should always be prepared, right?

One of my esteemed colleagues informed me that this scenario reminded her of an event from an actual movie (it happens to be her favorite movie of all time.) In the movie, the drummer of a rock band suddenly and without warning was consumed by spontaneous combustion!

As if that isn't bad enough, I realized that two of my sons play drums at our church... behind a Plexiglas screen. (The photo above is the actual drum set they play, with the shield in place.) If either of them were to burst into flame, could anyone reach them in time to put out the fire?

Here's where safety principles learned on the job can be applied at home or church, for immediate and practical benefit. I am going to go out this very afternoon and purchase belt-mounted fire extinguishers for both of my boys to wear every time they play. The extinguishers must be within easy reach at all times, and the only way to do this is to attach them to their physical persons.

Wow. Just think of all the nights of sleep I should have lost over this before I knew there was any possibility of bodily harm. Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be percussionists -- unless they've got CO2 belt holsters.

Great Potential!

Cribbage is a wonderful game. I grew up playing with my Dad, my brothers, my uncles, cousins, and any innocent bystanders who could spare an hour. Often, I got to experience the joy of winning. One of my brothers -- I suppose he's a realist -- would rather teach me something than let me win. I had an almost-great hand. If the right card was turned up, I would've had a fantastic hand. As I considered what to discard to his crib, I couldn't see past that awesome potential if only a five or a seven were turned up. Since I had a couple of options, I thought the odds might be in my favor.

Nope. It was a three. What can you do with a three? Well, with that hand, at least, a three was nothing. I pegged only four points, and then Tom noticed what I'd had.

"You can't play to the potential. Just go with what you've got."

I argued that the points I could have had would have put me around the bend, poised to win.

"You have to play what you've got, not plan around what might happen."

A similar conversation has occurred repeatedly over the years with my husband, discussing our favorite high school football teams. At the beginning of every season, we hear all about how much potential this year's team has, and what a great record they may achieve. Then, they lose a couple of close games, and he notes the dropped passes that could have led to first downs and even touchdowns, and the running backs who were too busy playing another sport to show up in the weight room. If the receivers could catch, if the backs could push through, we might have won a few more games.

Now, I don't mean for this to sound like all he was doing was criticizing. There's more to these conversations, but I highlight this to bring out that lesson my brother taught me. You've got what you've got, and that's all. There's nothing the coaches can do to make the players perform at the very peak of their abilities, every play, every game. Sure, that runner would have been stronger if he'd had time to lift weights all spring and summer, but he's here now and this is what he can do. The receivers have every right to be nervous, but I'm hoping that they'll learn to focus on the ball and not the hit that's coming. We can't count on going to the playoffs, just enjoy the season and the record the guys earn. Period.

Just as I was disappointed in the outcome of that one cribbage hand, so I have to learn to deal with the outcome of a football game and the standings at the end of the season. Take what you get, make the most of every moment, and go on with the rest of life.

The writer of the book of Hebrews addressed a hoped-for potential like this:

Let your character be free from the love of money, being content with what you have; for He Himself has said, "I will never desert you, nor will I ever forsake you."

All Things New

All things? Well, not really. But what do you think about the new look? Extreme Makeover -- Blog Edition! Silliness, but it was time for a new look. I like the clean appearance of this template, and it seems easier to read.

Another new thing coming up soon is NaNoWriMo. I'd heard of National Novel Writing Month from folks at the Christian Writers forum. The basic idea is, you commit yourself to attempting to write 50,000 words of a new work of fiction during the month of November. Can't start early, can't use an ongoing work in progress, but you don't have to "finish" this novel beyond the 50,000 words. It's a jumpstart, with a little competition thrown in to entice you to keep going.

In case you haven't heard, I started working on a novel [several] years ago. I'm slowly editing it now, and considering my options for the ending. I had set the manuscript aside quite some time ago, so it's been a very long time since I wrote any fresh new fiction. (Really, the stuff I write here on the blog IS ALL TRUE. Mostly. Especially the part about my son refusing to listen to Bela Fleck.) Anyway, I think NaNo will give me an opportunity for a good long workout of those unused fiction-creating muscles. Oh -- and the county library system and my library in particular will just happen to be hosting some special activities to support NaNo! How convenient!

When NaNo begins, my first priority will have to be fiction. If you don't hear from me for a while, do not be alarmed. I was thinking of having Blackie take over the blog, but her arthritis prohibits her from sitting at the computer. Rufus would be the next candidate, but he doesn't do anything unless there's a tennis ball to chase. He did recognize a Target bag today (that's where we buy his preciouses), but he's still pre-literate. But, in order to prepare for NaNo, I should be ramping up my writing... and what better place to write than on the dogs' blog?!

Thanks for reading.

Visitor Facilities

I've had to think long and hard about this post. Originally, it was going to be a rant about extremely sub-par stadium facilities. The largest school classification in the state ought to have indoor plumbing on the visitors' side of the football field, don'tcha think?

But then I reconsidered. This school district is next door to the one in which I grew up, and it's less suburban and more semi-rural. Read, lower property values. It's also bordered by not one but TWO military bases, which means there's a lot of transition of population. I don't know what their voting records are, but my guess would be that this district doesn't have a lot of money. Would I want to make indoor plumbing for the off-side of the football field a high priority? Nah. And at least there were three Honey Buckets for us to use.

On our way home from the game, we were fortunate enough to squeak into the drive-through at Krispy Kreme less than one minute before closing. Thanks to this good timing, the whole family had happy tastebuds for two days. Yeah!

UPDATE: Son Throws Out Cosmic Hippo With Bath Water

Darn. One of the reasons I was so excited about the Flecktones' music was because of the fantastic bass playing. I've got a son who plays guitar, and I thought this CD would be something we could both enjoy.

Wrong.

My guitar-playing son listens to the same jazz station I do, and he had already heard Flight of the Cosmic Hippo and was not impressed. Totally not. There was no way he was going to listen to any more of their music, thank you very much.

But then... He heard this AMAZING bassist but missed the identifying commentary after the song, and was bummed. I showed him how to find the station's playlist online (yes -- me!!! I did that for him!!!) and you'll never guess what we discovered. Try. Can you guess? Yep, the bass player was none other than Victor Wooten, bassist for the Flecktones! Score one for the square mom!

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Suburban Mom Impacted by Flying Hippopotamus!

All I was doing was driving home from work one night. Sure, it was kind of late, and it was dark, but not THAT late. The hippo just came at me from out of nowhere, flying across the airwaves of my favorite jazz station. One line of that ultra-smooth, super low bass, and I was a complete goner. I saw that hippo floating across the night sky...

The tune was Flight of the Cosmic Hippo, by Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. The title track's name was goofy enough for me to remember when I got home, and the second-busiest library system in the nation had a copy available for me.

Along with needing to listen to more of this stuff for myself, I thought this might be something my guitar playing son would enjoy. Oh, wrong. He has heard one piece by the Flecktones, and wasn't impressed. Too bad! But I still can't get enough of them, so Pete's going to have to put up with me listening to it as often as I can... when he's not around to complain.

Amazing music. If you're not already turned off, here's my description. It's a little of Randy Newman's tonality, some incredibly low rumbly bass, percussion lines a la Mutemath, and pure fun. And banjo! Of all things, banjo and harmonica! Best of all, listening to it made me laugh. It was that much fun!

I'll be checking out more CDs once I get my fill of the Cosmic Hippo. A word to the wise, though. Copying music from library CDs is still a violation of the law. Don't go there. Thanks.

"I Need a Four Who KNOWS Something!"

The action in this weekend's game didn't bring me near the players so that I could overhear any incriminating comments, but I did catch this one from the head coach.

It was kind of a sorry excuse for a game. The other team, according to my sports-history-buff husband, might never have had a winning season. Ouch. Lots of reasons for this year not getting off to a good start, and all I can say is that I'm glad it's not us. It's one thing to have a horrible, awful, three- or four- or seven-year losing streak. But what about never attaining better than a .500 record, ever? Plodding along, trying to build a program, teaching fundamentals and evaluating your players' strengths and trying to come up with an overall plan that maximizes every potential, so that maybe this year you might come out ahead of your main rival.

During the second half, late in the second half, the other guys were moving the ball up the field against our subs. Our coach has never been one to run up the score, and he wasn't going to put in any first-string kids, but OH MY GOODNESS he got a little upset when a particular player didn't perform his duties adequately. Thus, the imperative statement quoted above. Sorry, I don't know what a "four" is, but that's beside the point.

It's hard to be a sub. It's hard to be ready, knowing that you're only going into the game if there's a significant injury or a substantial lead. It's hard to be out there under the lights and remember everything you've been taught in practice. Everything. And it's hard to play for a team with a mediocre record. No matter how good your best effort is, there are probably several players on the other team who are bigger, faster, stronger than you are, and they'll eat you for lunch.

What do you do, then? Keep practicing, learn your position (even you "fours"), and make sure you've got all your gear on for every game. You never know. You just never know. It could be just a short series of plays, or it could be the game on which the whole season depends.

Servants, in all things obey those who are your masters on earth, not with external service, as those who merely please men, but with sincerity of heart, fearing the Lord. Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men; knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance. It is the Lord Christ whom you serve.

Announcing...

My friend Linda has posted an interview -- mine! -- on her website. If you haven't already heard about my work in progress (aka, what I'm editing when I'm not here blogging) this gives a little introduction. Her website is gorgeous, and she's got interesting stuff posted besides this little piece, so jump on over and check it out! Here is Linda's website.

And, as always, thanks for checking in on the Wise Dogs. Woof!



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Ready to Fumble! (NOT)

Am I in an alternate universe, where there are now two suns? Or is this Two Moons over Miami? No -- even better than that, it's football season! And how's this for an unidentifying photograph?

Best sideline quote tonight: "I don't know what just happened, but [Coach] sure is angry. What happened?"

What happened was that we intercepted the ball, but our player was ruled out of bounds so there was no interception. This was in the fourth quarter, coming down to the end of the game. We lost.

After the teams exchanged greetings and the other guys sang their school song and did a happy dance, our players dispersed and the coaches and wives started chatting. "How are you? Did you have a good week? It's nice to see you again!" I was tallying up the numbers in the scorebook, and at first it struck me as odd that the adults seemed so happy. We LOST, darn it! But the game is the kids' game. The coaches did everything they could do tonight, and our boys didn't come up with a win. They will have films to watch and practices to run before next Friday, but for now we have lives to live. We might as well enjoy the company of friends, right?

I wonder what new tricks the inflatable mascot will invent for next week.

Difficult Instructions

origami
Originally uploaded by jtomas

The first time you made an origami figure, did it bother you a little that you had to fold the decorated side of the paper inside? But that's the side you want to display -- how come it's now hidden?

That's like the message I read recently in the book of Jeremiah. The Lord said to tell the people that the only way they'd have their land and their freedom was to give up their land and their freedom. To the Babylonians, no less! Anyone who tried to hang on to what he thought he owned, would lose it big time. But those who gave up, who submitted to captivity or slavery or occupation, the Lord would later vindicate.

I would probably have been one of the folks stomping their feet and saying, "No way! No way! No way!" But God is sovereign, He is all-knowing, and He does have a plan. It's going to turn out right in the end, for those who follow His directions every step of the way.

Did You Ever Wish For a Twin?

It sounds like a tabloid story: "Young schizophrenic woman gives birth to identical twins, gives them up for adoption. Two families are blessed with beautiful baby girls, unaware that they are twins, and are unwittingly enrolled in a secret child-development study. As a thirty-something adult, one of the girls is shocked to discover that she has a twin. They finally meet, search for their birth mother, and uncover the secret study that separated them."

Sounds amazing, but it's true. This story really happened, here in the United States, in the late 1960's, and Paula and Elyse were not the only ones. Along with telling their story, the authors include reunion experiences of a few other separated multiples. Warmth develops as two individuals learn to love as sisters in perfectly matched skins.

This book was, for me, a compelling read. It was fascinating to observe the joys and irritations of watching your mirror image, the months-long process of emotional adjustment, the wonder of finding out there is another person who is your exact DNA match. Of course, I couldn't help but check out the photo section first, and I was intrigued to see that the girls as youngsters looked more than a little like me. Button nose, curly reddish-brown hair, narrow lips. But the real kicker was finding out when they were born. Except for a few years, we could have been triplets!

***UPDATE*** The book will be released in paperback October 14, just a few days after our birthday! And these ladies are the most communicative authors I've met. Prompt replies to two emails -- very kind, very appreciative. Nice gals, intriguing story.

YouTube book trailer:

The book's website: http://www.identicalstrangersbook.com/index.html

Time's Up -- Done Listening?

Way back when my husband was the pastor of a teeny-tiny church in a teeny-tiny town, grocery stores introduced the first lightweight plastic bags. Several of the ladies in the teeny-tiny congregation used the bags to carry their Bibles to church. At noon, whether the sermon was done or not, out came the bags [scrunch, scrunch] and in went the Bibles [scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, scrunch]. He quickly learned to heed the hints of the scrunchy bags and give the closing prayer.

Some of those scrunchy-bag ladies were very sweet, but the noise meant they were done with listening. Time for dinner, time to chat, time to be done with church, no offense intended.

I wished I'd had a scrunchy bag last week. Sitting in classes all day, listening and processing things I wished I didn't have to listen to or process. It got old. It made me exhausted. I was ready to be done listening before the closing prayer (if there had been one) was said.

All things considered, however, it was good that I sat there, good that I endured, good that I didn't use the scrunchy-bag technique. I learned things I needed to learn, I applied things I needed to apply, and I pondered things that needed pondering. It was good that all of us sat quietly, took it all in, and thought about what to do with the new information.

My library has introduced a new kind of bag for patrons. It's a new material, made of plants or vegetable oils or something, and it's soft and very quiet. No more scrunchiness! Bless their hearts, what would those ladies do now? They'd pull out their bags, shuffle their Bibles and bulletins into them, and the preacher would never hear a bit of it! Maybe they'd get to listen to that final tag at the end of the sermon, the one that wraps up the whole message, the one that you're supposed to take home and ponder.

Besides that, if the bag is biodegradable and non-toxic, you could probably take a bite and chew on it so you don't die of hunger before you get home to dinner.

Sugar, Waffle, or Cake -- Hold the Bowl

It's self-discovery day at the Wise Dogs Blog! That is, for the human behind the blog.

I buy ice cream once in a while when the good stuff is on sale. Unlike the days of my deprived childhood, there are lots of great flavors available. My favorites are coffee and anything with caramel. But then the ice cream sits in the freezer until one of the guys eats it. I hardly ever eat ice cream, even if it's a flavor I've chosen. What's up with that? More in a moment.

There are a few television shows I can watch repeatedly, much to my family's dismay. I'm almost over my Red Green fixation, but Deadliest Catch is still going strong. The Learning Channel (great name for a network, eh?) has two series I especially enjoy because of how they reveal routine conflict within a family. Both Jon & Kate Plus Eight and Little People Big World happen to feature families who are Christian, but these parents have issues! Many episodes contain conversations of conflict, or narrated segments where the adults say what they really think about their spouse's traits. I'm fascinated by the vastly dissimilar personalities of these couples, and am always impressed by their acts of affection and devotion to one another. Despite their differences, they love each other. They say things out loud that I would never dream of saying, but the conflicts are rather momentary.

Occasionally, TLC has aired shows about exceptionally large families. They were interesting, but I don't recall seeing any conflict beyond getting the new house built before the clan had to vacate the old one. Important, urgent, but not curiosity-raising.

Here's where the ice cream comes into the picture. I finally realized that I am not interested in eating ice cream all by itself, in a bowl. But give me a sugar cone and I could go for a serving after every meal! It's all about the crunch and the softness -- the conflicting textures. Love isn't about unquestioning agreement, it's about commitment and different-ness. It's nice to see examples of love carried out in ways I can relate to, in situations that might be experienced in my home. Okay, not in my home, but one that I can imagine is a little like mine. Without the girls. Just the boys, ranged in age a bit. And handsome.

That calls for another ice cream cone. Pecan praline, on a sugar cone, because it's got caramel... and nuts. Because real life is crunchy and nutty.

About the Book, American Band

Blackie took me aside last night, very gently, and pointed out that yesterday's post contained next to nothing about the actual book that I had chosen to highlight. Dogs are alert to consistency and the keeping of promises, and she was sorry but had to reveal my error. Today, therefore, I will write a brief post about American Band.

Several years ago, my brother-in-law told me about a new book called Friday Night Lights. My small local library didn't have it yet, but they secured a copy for me through inter-library loan. What a great story! High school football in Texas, twenty thousand fans on a Friday night, personal drama, winning and losing -- it was all there. I loved that book. (Side note: I tried to listen to the book on CD a couple of years ago, in preparation for another football season, the foul language really put me off. I guess I can block it out when I'm reading, but not when I'm listening.)

American Band is the marching-band version of Friday Night Lights, but without the language and perhaps with even more depth of personal drama. There's even a Christian element in the plot, as students strive to discern how to blend servanthood and leadership and live out their spiritual priorities. It's a clean book, an intense story, and it makes me look forward to the two games we'll play this year against schools with marching bands extraordinaire. (The coaching staff should hope for dry weather on those nights if they want complete stats!)

Tis the Season -- Almost!

I found another wonderful book at the library. It's non-fiction, and it's what I would call "densely written." Not only is it rather lengthy, but I can't just fly through it at top speed. I don't want to miss ANYTHING, so no skimming. In fact, I haven't even finished reading it, but I couldn't wait to tell someone about it. The topic is so exciting that it has kept me awake several nights, unable to put the book down and turn off the light. It's that much fun!

The problem is, you may find this subject to be a total and complete snooze. For all I know, you'll be snoring in about eight seconds.
The topic? Marching bands.

When I was a kid, my parents took me to the Daffodil Parade every year. Sometimes we'd watch it in Tacoma, but usually avoid the biggest crowd and go to Puyallup. The floats were pretty, the clowns funny, the bagpipers interesting, but the best, BEST entries were the marching bands, and especially the drum sections. I loved feeling the bass drum reverberating in my own chest, wanting to dance to the cadences. Guess what my instrument of choice was, for eight years of school? Yep, percussion all the way! And guess which drum I chose to carry when it was my turn to march in parades? Yep, that big ol' bass drum.

Moving ahead a few years, my husband gradually taught me to enjoy watching football. Then he taught me how to keep a score book, starting with the eight-man team in our little farming community. Man, that was fun! We moved to a larger town, and the coach was pleased to have a reliable adult statistician. Then, we made another move to a metropolitan area where we didn't have any high school contacts. It was a few years before I was able to do stats again, and WOW what a step up! I've been privileged to be on the sideline of a 4A varsity (our state's biggest classification) program for twelve years, loving the up-close view of everything.

You may be wondering what football stats have to do with marching bands. As I said, I stand on the sideline to do the book -- it keeps my head in the game, both figuratively and literally. But if it's raining, I have to sit in the press box with the coaches or find a place in the stands so the book stays dry. During my first or second season with the 4A team, we played a game in the next town over. It rained cats, dogs, and pitchforks that night, so I found a seat above the 50 yard line and hunkered down. The area to my right was roped off for the band, and I figured it would be kind of fun to hear them, and no one else would sit close enough to all that noise to distract me from my job.

Little did I know...

This band happens to be one of the premiere marching bands in the region. When they walked into the stadium, I had never seen such a focused group of teens. Single file, flat-footed silent steps, eyes straight ahead, no goofing around. When they played, it was just about perfect and the music was much more complex than anything I had ever played. They had drum majors who put on quite an amazing show of their own. The director didn't have to do anything except watch. The score book for that game had several gaps where I missed entire plays as I stared at this incredible band. Although I can't recall their halftime show, what I do remember is that they had band dads in matching jackets who moved equipment for them. After the game, parents moved in behind the departing band members to remove the ropes and padded seat covers, and the dads loaded up all the big equipment onto big rolling carts. The kids did their silent walk, eyes straight ahead, and the dads pulled the carts across the street to the school.

Where did these people come from? Parents of teens don't make commitments like that, giving up their time and energy to haul drums and amps and xylophones for their kids every Friday night!

This town hosts one of the biggest Veterans' Day parades in the nation, and combines it with a marching band competition that incorporates parade marching and a field show. I've gone to the field show a few times, and once happened to walk past a parking lot full of school buses and a couple of charters. And... a couple of semi-trailers with the names of high school bands painted on the sides. The inside of the trailer was full of customized storage space for the band. Wow.

At one of the field competitions I watched, the crowd was so quiet that a trumpet soloist could be heard without amplification. Of course, we did have to strain a bit to hear the nuances of his piece over the sound of the raindrops on the roof. People were that attentive!

I could go on and on, and maybe I'll write more about this later, but if you've made it this far, here's the info about the book:

American Band, written by Kristen Laine. Here's a link to an NPR interview, too. Click on "listen now."

What's Your Comfort Food?

When I was young, I loved my mom's raw fries. Grated potatoes, lots of Crisco shortening, and a good amount of salt. Crispy and wonderful. Another favorite was pork chop breaded in crushed Wheaties, served with rice. Or good homemade bread, fresh from the oven. Real soup, not out of a can.

Lately I've been needing comfort food. Potatoes and pork chops and soup, all over again. Stress has a way of working around inside your gut, and you have to have food that'll fill the empty places.

I've got spiritual comfort food, too, and am I ever thankful for that. One of my favorite Scripture passages to lean back on is this one:

[Jesus said] "Come unto Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden,
and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart; and you shall find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My load is light.

Whatever causes your gut to rumble, there's a comfort that settles it back down again.

Blackie's Perfect; Rufie's Trouble

Blackie is old. She cries at the bottom of the stairs, needing to come up from the basement to go outside, wishing we'd install an elevator for her. But back in her prime, she was a frisky gal. She never did like to play fetch, but she let the boys dress her a couple of times, and she always wanted to be where the action was. When she would escape, she'd go across the street to roll in horse manure. Ah, simple pleasures.

Rufus is young. He loves -- lives -- to chase tennis balls. He routinely fits two in his mouth, and can bat a third ball around with his paws. Christmas for Rufus is a brand-new bag of balls, given all at once. Ohmygoodness, such excitement! But there is one thing that can distract Rufus from a game of fetch. The neighbors have cats, you see. And cats run when you chase them. Did I mention that Rufus is quick? He caught one of the cats last month. He got hold of it, and the injury was serious enough that the neighbors had to put their cat down. This week, he chased another one. We're working on getting a fence put up, and soon.

I keep reminding Blackie how perfect and wonderful she is. She has always been kind and gentle and good, even when she could run like the wind. After all, the dead rabbit in our yard was never tested for her DNA. And who knows how far the wind carried those chicken feathers before we found them in the flowerbed.

Wow, we sound like terrible people. We are working on completing the fence. And we need to protect our pets from the coyotes who share the neighborhood wetlands.

Lassie's Not For The Dogs

I watched a movie last night.

I'm so far behind the times when it comes to pop culture, and movies in particular, that it's almost funny. Sometimes, my sons will tell me the plot of a movie they've seen in the theater. Good enough. I don't like being taken for a ride, emotionally, and that's precisely what movies do. They pull you into another reality. No, thanks, I'll just stay home.

For the record, I used to watch movies, and I even paid money to do so. But these days I have other things I'd rather do -- like watch Deadliest Catch or something on TLC or good ol' Red Green. Oh, and I see a LOT of movies. In their cases. At work.

But last night, I happened to be channel surfing as this one movie began, and the narrative hooked me. The voiceovers were the first sentences of college entrance essays. Huh, that's interesting. Reminds me of one of the blogs I like to read. By the time I found out the movie's title, I had decided to keep watching.

Now, back to the library. As I said, I handle many movies every day. I see all the covers. There's this one with a photo of a certain comic actor and a huge sandwich on the front. That movie would NEVER interest me. It's obviously about a goofy guy who eats weird food and for whom English is a learned language. Silly.

But this movie that hooked me last night had a few very poignant scenes. And some of the main characters were, uh, not wound up very tightly, to borrow a phrase. They were downright odd, disconnected, inarticulate, emotional, and dysfunctional. I grew to like them -- well, most of them. There was a coming-of-age theme that attracted me. The scenery and cinematography were interesting. I had to find out how this movie ended, and I enjoyed being taken for a ride. Imagine that!

If you have any more involvement in pop culture than me, you already know that the "ELL sandwich movie" and the college essay movie are one and the same. Guess I was wrong when I judged that movie by its cover. Huh.

Mourning

I've got a whole slew of cousins. We had a family reunion last summer for Dad's side of the family. But since it was held in the home town of Mom's side, we got to see some of them, too. This spring, one of the aunts passed away, and many of the Dad's side cousins met again. I left those events feeling very warm and nostalgic.

I've got boy cousins. Boys? Some of them are retired, for gosh sakes! But I remember thinking that I felt like all of them were nearly my brothers. Except with these brother-cousins, there were no memories of fights, taunting, or any disagreements. Every time we were together when I was a kid was a good time.

I guess I'd call the gals my sister-cousins, but I never had a sister so can't fully relate to that relationship. But all the girls are pretty cool, and that brings me to today's post.

Janet's girls are a bit younger than me, and we all had great times at the family beach place. It was almost like having younger sisters, except Janet was always good about making me feel as important as an adult -- so I got to play both sides of the net! Janet and her girls, and my mom and I, were spending spring vacation together at the beach when I was 12. That was the week that my mom got sick. Really sick. We didn't know what was wrong, but Janet kept everything going as if my mom's illness was just a minor inconvenience.

Turns out, my mom had had a major stroke. That was the last week of my normal life. What followed was weeks of Mom being in bed, her good friend the nurse taking care of us, Dad taking over the cooking and laundry, and Mom not being quite Mom. Years. Adjustments on top of adjustments. Adolescence. Not being a grown-up, not being a kid.

Janet, her girls, her husband, all welcomed me in their home for a week in the summers. Sightseeing, relaxing, fun, school shopping, wildflowers, projects, music, playing. Janet was the one who told me how important it was that I go away to college. Janet wasn't my mother, wasn't my sister, but was one whom I would have called a wonderful friend.

Rest with Jesus, Janet. I will always, always be thankful for what you put into my life.

My New Best Friend?

The dogs don't go shopping, so I had to go to pick out new pants for youngest, definitely growing, son. While choosing a checkout lane (this was Target, after all!) I said hello to a lady I know from the library. We made nice chit-chat, and I mentioned that the clothes were for my son's graduation.

"Oh... from grammar school?"

Okay, I love this lady, now and almost forever. She stands in stark contrast to the three (count 'em, THREE) patrons who have asked me if I'm expecting! They will never receive anything but standard treatment from me. She, on the other hand, could ask for the moon, and I'd do my best to provide it (for the normal 28 day check-out period, of course.)

Dogs Don't Do Laundry

A few years ago, I came home from doing errands and heard water running in the utility room. That was odd, because I knew Blackie had been alone, and she had never started a load of wash before. Oh, no... Turns out, the upstairs toilet had popped a hose, and water was streaming down the outside of the drainpipe and into the basement.

As attentive as the dogs are, they limit their helpfulness to cleaning up food bits. They really would never think of doing the laundry, vacuuming the stairs, or defrosting the freezer. These are things they would not ever conceive of doing.

There may be a couple of things that would never cross God's mind. Awful things. Things that His people actually tried out, but that He would never condone. I shudder to read this, or to post it for you to read, but here it is:

And they have built the high places of Topheth, which is in the valley of the son of Hinnom, to burn their sons and their daughters in the fire, which I did not command, and it did not come into My mind.

Just as there are ideas that God would never conceive, there are also thoughts which we are unable to originate.

But we speak God's wisdom in a mystery, the hidden wisdom, which God predestined before the ages to our glory; but just as it is written,
"Things which eye has not seen and ear has not heard,
And which have not entered the heart of man,
All that God has prepared for those who love Him."
For to us God revealed them through the Spirit; for the Spirit searches all things, even the depths of God.

All things considered, I'm glad the dogs don't try to wash my clothes. And I'm thankful that there are things our God does not consider. But most amazing of all is the fact that, even though we cannot perceive the wisdom of God, He tells us all about it anyway!

Presidents as People

DISCLAIMER: The original illustration accompanying this post was a photo of Air Force One in flight. I replaced that photo with an image of the book jacket, but Bing still directs folks here to see the plane. Sorry... but you could stay and read...

Another good book jumped into my hands a while back. Air Force One, by Kenneth Walsh, gives recollections and impressions of every president who has relied on air travel during his term of office. (Should that read "every sitting president?") The book gives fascinating glimpses behind the formal facades of protocol and politics.

Among those men whose presidencies I personally recall, a few insights were significant to me. Gerald Ford, Everyman, wanted each of the stewards to serve him in turn so that he could get to know each of them better. Ronald Reagan maintained high standards of personal appearance, donning casual workout clothes in flight so that his suits wouldn't wrinkle. Bill Clinton was a night owl and loved to have an audience.

A few years ago, my family and I toured a retired presidential aircraft at the Boeing Museum of Flight. One of the anecdotes told by a docent stuck with me. Lyndon Johnson enjoyed every bit of control he could garner, and used a height-adjustable desk to his advantage. (Imagine sitting at the children's table while the President of the United States towers over you in his elevated chair!) He also liked to set the cabin's thermostat so that others might not get too comfortable. (The crew eventually disconnected the wiring so he only thought he was controlling it.)

Air Force One is a venue both private and public. The impressive plane has often been used as a stunning backdrop for photographs. When airborn, security measures were more relaxed than anywhere else the president could visit. Conversations flowed, meals were served, movies watched, and some social conventions could be dropped. This book is a wonderful introduction to the men who have held the most amazing position of power in the world.

Rufus Will Never Be a Nurse

It's too bad that Blackie is so old and immobile. Her performances as the family nanna are legend. Rufus, on the other paw, hides from the sound of illness. The best medicine he offers is a constant and thorough licking, which is not usually appreciated by the patient. That said, Rufus has done well as a nighttime companion, encouraging sleep and modeling it quite effectively.

I have always been afraid of the words "brain injury". The last seven months have brought one head injury and two concussions into our family experience. The first injury, a framing hammer falling on my son's head, did not result in a concussion but did require stitches in a foreign clinic. The second one, a concussion, was scary but that son healed quickly without complications. This third injury, to the third son, was much worse. Full emergency response, hours in a hospital emergency room, several days in the hospital, and now home. Thankfully, we have not seen significant personality changes or memory loss beyond what seems to be normal for a teenaged boy.

Okay, so now that we've covered each of the boys with a bonk on the head, we're ready to be done with this chapter. I realized during an outing yesterday that my sudden and absolute need to return to my son's side was either (a) mother's intuition or (b) an anxiety attack. It doesn't matter which it was, the effect was that I was compelled to cease all conversation, get in my car, and drive straight home. I didn't even bother to call first to check, I just had to be there.

Yes, I have been praying for my sons, before each event as well as after. God is ever present. Things happen. But God is good and He has ultimate control. He will not necessarily suspend the natural laws of the universe just so His children will not have to experience pain, but He is near. How can one make a logical argument for the sovereignty of God in the midst of emotional upheaval? For me, right now, that doesn't matter. I can't explain it, but I trust Him to carry us through the accidents of dropped hammers, slick floors, and uncontrollable skateboards. And more.

Even if Rufus can't wear a nurse's cap, God is there.

What's Tomorrow?

I've been working a lot of extra hours lately, and the dogs haven't been very happy about it. They like having me at home, sitting quietly with them or doing exciting things that involve going up and down the stairs. (Laundry has never seemed that interesting to me, but I guess there's always a chance we might come across a piece of raw meat or some stale cookies that need to be eaten.) Anyway, it must be boring to be stuck at home all day without Someone With Opposable Thumbs here for entertainment.

A couple of times, I have tried to tell the dogs that I would be home with them "tomorrow" and we'd play and nap and whatever then. But they don't have a concept of what tomorrow is, so my promise goes right over their furry heads. I meant well, but was unable to provide any consolation to my canine friends as I walked out the door to go to work again.

There's a story about some other folks who didn't fully grasp the concept of "tomorrow." These guys had a friend who said he had to go away, but would be back soon. When he went away, they couldn't go with him. He knew they would miss him terribly, but he had to leave -- really leave. It was going to look permanent, but he promised to return.

When he left, and they saw him go, they were absolutely convince that he was gone for good. Gone. Dead gone.

Another Link

Double meaning intended. One of the topics I often read about is blindness. Last fall, I saw a book by Stephen Kuusisto, a professor at the University of Iowa. The title grabbed my attention -- Eavesdropping: A Memoir of Blindness and Listening. He is a poet, and to me, poetry is like GrapeNuts. I can only partake of it in small batches, and it takes a long time to chew. But, the batches I read were very interesting, and I mulled over each of them for days before reading the next one.

Mr. Kuusisto also writes a blog, and he recently posted a link to an op-ed piece he wrote for the New York Times regarding the new governor of New York. This reads so well, so easily, that I wanted to share it with others. In my humble opinion, it's an excellent but succinct introduction to the world of blindness. Please give it a read and tell me what impresses you.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/14/opinion/14kuusisto.html?_r=2&ref=todayspaper&oref=slogin&oref=slogin

These Are Trained Professionals

Much of our time for the first several days in the "new" building was spent putting things on the shelves, looking at the boxes that remained, adjusting the items on the shelves, and then trying to fit the rest of the materials on the shelves. This meant a lot of shifting, accomplished by teams of two to six people, handful by handful, over and over. It's hard to stay focused when confronted by thousands of books, thousands of books, needing to be moved to another place on the shelves, thousands of books, handful by handful. Thousands of books, and more in boxes, needing to be placed on the shelves. It boggles the mind.

It reminded me of a video I saw many years ago. This should have been our professional training video, viewed before we set foot in the door of our new building. It's too bad we couldn't have watched it beforehand, but we came pretty close to the high standards of conduct and efficiency it portrays. Watch and learn...

Modern Marvels -- Library Edition

Much time and energy are now being consumed by the process of moving back into a remodeled and expanded library building. There just isn't enough "juice" left to hold onto more than one coherent thought, so how about we just give up and explore the new building? Since my camera phone is stinking slow and has pitiful-little memory, this is the only image I could capture. Just kidding. The decor of the remodel is very contemporary -- we auctioned off the dusty old nooks and crannies on Ebay -- and this is one of the outstanding features of the new look. There are six of these fabric art pieces suspended from the beams of our ceiling, hovering over librarians and patrons alike.

Another feature is the Great Hall, a wonderfully large open area in the center of the building. Here's a view looking north. You can also see a couple of the motherships in this photo. Impressive, eh? And in the background, the same beautiful windows we've always had, although the fire marshall required the removal of several of our prize fir trees.

It's exhausting and invigorating to move. There is a lot of work still to do, as we've only been in the building three days now. I'm not counting, but I think we are due to open to the public in less than a week... One of the exciting features in our revamped back room is a computerized check-in and sorting system. Several of the libaries already have these, but ours is the first to have windows for the public to be able to (kind of) watch what's happening when they slip their materials into the bookdrop. I haven't tried to take any photos of it yet, because the back room is full of boxes and carts and things we don't know what to do with yet. But there's a terrific video of the Really Huge Automated Materials Handling Process at our system-wide shipping facility. This video is quite interesting, so here it is:

Reading the Owner's Manual

A while back, I remarked about how I don't remember actors' names, I know nothing about their "personal" lives, and I can't keep track of anyone's film credits. A well-meaning companion said, "But you study your Bible and know much more about it than most people." Wow. That was intended to be a compliment or an encouragement, so why did it leave me feeling flat?

It's good to read the Bible, to know what it says. If you're interested in old, really old, literature, there's cultural and historical information for you. If you're into debate, you can easily find someone to wrangle over questions of authorship, dates, or content. But this all sounds incredibly dry. It reminds me of kids being quizzed about the names and reigns of Old Testament kings. I don't mean any disrespect, but who cares? Reading the Bible just to read the Bible seems about as attractive as thumbing through the old owner's manuals in the photo. History, culture, and maybe some practical instructions... Dry, dry, dry.

Having said that, I must admit that I'm in the process of reading through the Bible. The whole thing, cover to cover. I think I started about four years ago, and I'm somewhere in the middle now. A long time ago, I embarked on my first read-it-in-a-year plan. I've tried to do it a few times, but never came close to reaching that goal. One of the problems for me is that I can't just read it. If I find something that gives me pause, I have to work it over and write about it. I'm sure I wouldn't remember what I skim over in a daily reading assignment, but I can always look back over my journal entries and feel the WOW again. And this has given me lots to hang on to, to chew on later, so it's worth plodding along.

In some recent plodding, I came across a familiar little passage that seems to fit here:

Thus says the Lord, "Let not a wise man boast of his wisdom, and let not the mighty man boast of his might, let not a rich man boast of his riches; but let him who boasts boast of this, that he understands and knows Me, that I am the lord who exercises lovingkindness, justice, and righteousness on earth; for I delight in these things," declares the Lord.

Okay, so it doesn't matter to Him if I don't know who Brangelina is, or what she wore to the awards show (they had one recently, right?), or if I'm two seasons behind on a certain sitcom. I'm hoping it also doesn't matter to Him if I read His book with a seven-year plan. My purpose in reading the Bible is to know God better. Sometimes I laugh, many times I cry, and then I just shake my head. He's so different than anyone else I know. I like knowing Him, experiencing Him, and reading about His doings.

I think I'll keep those old owner's manuals. They'll give my sons something to laugh at, ten years from now.