Memory Stones, Indeed!

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?

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?

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

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

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!

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

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

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."

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?

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

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

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..."

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

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...

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

Japan Team

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.

Who Says You Can't Shoot a Moving Target?

Son #2 leaves for Japan tomorrow, so I forced the boys to gather in the back yard for a thirty-second photo shoot. Somebody (me) had the bright idea to include the dogs, but Blackie refused to go to the way-back part of the yard and then we used up Rufus's patience. So, here we go with stiffly-posed boys and one dog at a time. Such is life.


And, just to show relative heights, one standing-up-without-a-dog photo.

Quiet Places

I've had occasion to drive in the valley quite regularly this spring. My favorite road is the former north-south "highway" along the valley's western edge. Part of the route is snugged right up against the hill, with marshland on the other side. Few houses, lots of trees and fields and grasses, and quiet.

Stop me if you've heard this one... Before I was born, my grandparents bought a farmhouse, acreage, and several beach lots on a small bay in Puget Sound. My aunt and uncles on both sides of the family ended up owning a beach lot and some woods, and most of them built cabins or homes there. My family spent every summer weekend at The Beach.

My childhood (before the age of 12 and a half) was not stressful, but I loved that drive from Tacoma to The Beach. It started with traffic and lots of people, but gradually I-5 calmed down and there were the Nisqually Flats to enjoy. Once we turned onto Highway 101, it was mostly trees and fields and estuaries and quiet. A short stretch of downtown smalltown, and then onto the highway along the bay. If my eyes could leave the road without inducing carsickness, I'd steal a few quick glances across the water to our place.

When we reached the foot of the bay, we'd turn up the hill and across country to the other side. There were lots of interesting homes along the way, with the typical range of country un-kemptness and occasional neatness. Old cars, refrigerators, a beaver dam swamp, a miniature railroad layout, a boulder painted "Dad's Kidney Stone". Another estuary, and then our little road. Home.

Years later, after the last of the property had been sold, my Aunt Margret commented on how much that place had meant to all of us. She added, "I hope each of you has a piece of The Beach inside you." Even though we didn't own it any more, she knew we needed the peace we'd felt there.

Well, Aunt Margret, you're right. I need the feeling of openness and quiet I get from visiting scenes like the one above. I am so thankful that I can drive just a few minutes and get to meadows and wetlands like this. Even if all I do is pass by, it fills my heart-space again. And whenever I hear a Swainson's thrush calling in the trees, it takes me back to that A-frame cabin at The Beach.



Happy birthday, Dad.

Seedlings to Sculptures -- Organically

What's the difference between a sapling and a shapely maple? Size, yes. Strength, of course. Beauty. Complexity. I've spent considerable time studying huge old trees with tangled branches, but almost no time appreciating the straight growth of a newbie.

One of my writer friends said this in a recent post:

I'm learning that God's miracles aren't magic tricks, and that He works much more organically than I'd prefer. Instantaneous success doesn't seem to interest Him that much - not when He can accomplish so much more by a long obedience in the same direction. -- Pastor Michael Scott

There have been a lot of circumstances in my life that haven't gone according to my preferences. There are some big ones today that aren't moving in the direction I would choose. But I'm committed to walk in obedience and faith, as much as I can, and I'll wait for the payoff to come later.

Paul said--
And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

The beauty of a big, complicated maple tree is its balance. The branches go this way and that, but the general outline is pleasingly round. From a distance, it's a massive bulk. Up close, the interplay of criss-crossed branches is fascinating. It's worth waiting a few years -- a couple of decades -- for the tree to develop.

I think life is like that. Although I admire the energy and action of youth, it's amazing to hear the wisdom that comes from a long life well-lived. Experience, strength, and hope are the fruit of maturity, and I hope I'm growing in that general direction. Despite the tangledness of my branches.

...And Night Falls

One of the best things about getting immersed in a story is, well, getting immersed in a story. The weekend I read Tommie Lyn’s new book, the weather here was sunny and maybe 70 degrees. Mid-way through my reading, however, my house felt like it was 99 with 100% humidity, the result of a Gulf Coast hurricane knocking out the electricity. (Seattle isn't usually affected by Florida storms, but...) I wanted to close the book and dig out my emergency supplies, but couldn't tear myself away from the story.

…And Night Falls is a story of secrets and murder, set in the Florida panhandle in late summer. If you’re susceptible to the thrill of suspense, don’t read this when you’re all alone. The characters have depth, the plot has twists, and a cross-country hide-and-seek game will raise your heart rate.

It amazes me that Tommie Lyn has been writing seriously for less than four years. This novel is well constructed in every way, and she’s just warming up! Look for more armrest-gripping books from her soon, but be careful. She’s got a gift for suspense!

…And Night Falls is but one piece of Tommie Lyn's fine work. For a link to purchase the book and to read her other material, click here. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Memorial Day Photos

Okay, here goes... Let's see how this turns out:

Yeah! It works! I probably haven't used the best methods to get here, but it's a start.

All right, so on Memorial Day I found myself with some time to spare. Wanting to try out the new camera phone, I headed for a little old cemetery in a nearby town. There are huge trees surrounding this cemetery, giving it just a little buffer from the traffic. There's also a beautiful fence around it, but I'm sure the fence isn't nearly as old as either the trees or the headstones.

When I pulled into the gravel parking lot, there were two ladies putting flowers on the headstones. One of them was dwarfed by her aluminum walker. The other, younger, might have been her daughter. They made their way slowly to each of the graves, marking them with single flowers and respectful moments.

I didn't want to intrude, so I began by walking around the perimeter of the yard, taking photos of the trees. Within a couple of minutes, however, my attention was on the mossy granite stones. When I moved around to the front of a row, I was surprised to see the inscriptions.

A Japanese cemetery! There were a few whites buried there, too, but most of the headstones were either Japanese calligraphy or American spellings of Japanese names. The iris left by the ladies was that much more stately and perfect, then.

I love old things. Maybe they give me a sense of security, of endurance. Maybe the classic styling and craftsmanship are what captivate me. In any case, it's the aged stuff that gives comfort to my heart. Architecture, furniture, and the oldest of all, God's creation, are feasts to my eyes and soul.

Coming Soon -- Better Photos!

We've got good news and bad news. Shall we dispense with the bad news first? Actually, the bad news is mostly over now. We didn't have an Internet connection for about a week, so there was no blogging. The good news is that, thanks to a son who upgraded his phone and some creative trading between family members, I now have a GOOD camera phone! It's not the best camera out there, but it's so much better than the free phone I'd had for two years. The photos are fantastic, and I can't wait to share them here... as soon as I learn how to get them off the phone.

The other big thing I've had to learn this week is how to use the new-fangled predictive text tool. I was used to spelling out every word, letter by letter, not using the T9 or whatever it was that was available on my old phone. But this new device has a better system -- and a QWERTY keyboard, too. Argh! The first few days of texting were painful, but I'm getting the hang of it now. I've got to remember to proofread my texts before sending, though. There are a few words that use the exact same keystrokes ("are" and "see", for example) and a message could be meaningless if not corrected. You know, my sons hang on my every word, whether spoken or texted. Yep.

I'll work on the photo thing this weekend, and hopefully will be able to put up some good stuff for you, my loyal reader.

Alternate title for this post: Teaching the Old Dog.

Dr. G Was Right

It's not stress. It's not simply fatigue. And the typeface in my little Bible didn't suddenly change.

I bought my first pair of readers yesterday.

After weeks of mucking around, squinting, and finding better light, I finally had to admit that it would be better to use a little magnification. So much for trying to make my sons say that I seem like I'm 29. (That only worked for a couple of weeks, anyway. Darn boys are too smart for my own good.)

A number of years ago, I lost my sense of smell. Although it had been noticeably fading and changing, it was terrible when I finally lost it entirely. A sinus infection was the fatal blow. I remember standing in the shower, lathering my hair, sobbing because I couldn't smell the shampoo. I opened spice jars in the kitchen, practically snorting cinnamon and cloves, to no avail. I pleaded with God to let me smell again. I mourned all that I would miss out on in life.

Because I know you're already forming these questions, here's more information. There is a family history of anosmia, and I have been seen by an otolaryngologist. There are no tumors or marbles up there blocking the olfactory receptors.

In the bigger scheme of things, it matters not at all that I cannot smell or that I need a little help to read fine print. Once you adjust to a loss, life goes on and there's a new normal. But that period of adjustment can be difficult, and sometimes I still have to remind people that I'm not experiencing things the same way. I've had a number of years of living without smell, and it's okay. So, once I learn to keep a pair of glasses nearby, I'll put them on before I open a book.


Rufus is totally clueless about aging, but Blackie understands. She and I agree not to disparage our gray hairs. "RIGHT, BLACKDOG? WE'RE OKAY WITH THAT, AREN'T WE?" (She's not hearing so well these days.) And my optometrist (Dr. G) knew what he was talking about when he suggested that I'd be making this change soon.

Where Are We?

Sorry for the long, long silence. We're here, all of us, and doing okay. There have been some illnesses (minor) and crises (major, but resolving) that got in the way of personal blogging.

When you're living on the edge, it doesn't take much to knock you off balance. Way back when I was a kid, I had one of those inflatable punching toys with a weight at the bottom. You could punch it, knock it sideways, and it would right itself again. Some days are like that -- almost a constant battle to regain equilibrium. The good news is that there IS equilibrium. I'm thankful.

Spring is springing, birds are singing, the frogs are croaking up a storm at night. Time marches on and the seasons change. It's all good, and I'll be back writing soon. Thanks very much for checking in!

Toilet Karma? Only the Wisedogs Don't Mind

Regardless of the timestamps you've seen on some of my posts, I am NOT a morning person and should not be expected to accomplish anything meaningful before ten o'clock. By the same token, I am NOT generally amused by bathroom humor, even though I have written two posts about toilets here and here (this one's in another library near mine, by the way.)

But maybe it's true that what goes around, comes around. We're getting fancy new toilets at the library this week. It's kind of cool to see the trucks come rolling up to our back door with seven boxes of shiny white commodes. The down side? They have to take the old toilets out before they can put the new ones in. That means no bathrooms for a while -- possibly for as long as two days.

Hence my sign above. Not wanting to use trade names (especially not the wrong trade name, if the product in our parking lot turned out to be a Port-a-Potty instead of a Honey Bucket), I went generic. Temporary facilities. Outside. Figure it out. Besides, if you stopped at the book drop before you came in, you saw those four plastic building-ettes right beside you.

There are a few advantages that come with my inability to smell. Using temporary facilities without fear of extreme disgust? Nope, the advantages don't stretch that far. The plumbers replaced the staff toilet first, and as soon as we got the go-ahead several of us rushed the restroom. Within an hour or so, however, they had to turn off the water for our building. No more flushing, no more toilets.

There are a few advantages to working part-time and leaving in the middle of the afternoon.

My Brother Watches Ax Men

Please try to keep this under wraps. He probably doesn't need this news to be leaked to his professional colleagues. I mean, have you heard the language on that show? It's full of bleeps, up one side and down the other! I heard a great quote last night, however, that I may turn into my signature catchphrase:

"Okey-dokey, let's get started!"

It was beautiful -- a whole sentence without a single bleep. Even better, it was delivered in a sing-song, dopey voice. The speaker intended this to be a silly comment. All the more reason to make it my catchphrase.

Our dad often used his chainsaw. We had 20 acres of forest, a large semi-wooded beachfront lot, and neighbors with the same AND who were members of the family. It was a wood-cutter's paradise.

When I watch Ax Men, I can almost smell the fresh-cut wood and the chainsaw exhaust and the raw earth. I try not to think about my father's disdain for OSHA regulations -- he always figured he was safe enough.

There was one time when Dad's disregard for safety precautions came back to bite him. He went to the property alone, intending to cut firewood for the day. Somehow, in taking down a tree or freeing a snag, he got pinned beneath a big log. No one knew exactly where he was, no one was watching out for him, and we weren't expecting him to return home for several hours.

Dad would've enjoyed Ax Men. He would've loved romping through the forest with a big, sharp saw. He might've been a little more careful than usual. He would have been thankful all over again to have made it home that one afternoon.

Postscript -- The Invisible Hotel

Did I mention how much I enjoyed Omaha's architecture? The big, beautiful, memory-filled old houses? The brick buildings everywhere? The age of the city? Once I got settled back at home, I wanted to pull up Google maps and check out the street views that I would recognize. Think again.

First of all, the Google maps' street view photos were taken in spring or summer, when there were GREEN LEAVES on all the trees. That was an improvement as far as being easier on the eyes, but not so good for being able to see any homes that aren't right on the street.

The second problem is the invisible hotel. Here's the satellite view of the hotel, by address:

View Larger Map

That's it, right where the arrow is pointing. See it? Yes, the vacant lot behind the old Model T factory. If you can't quite make out the hotel from above, go to street view. Find the intersection of North 16th and Izard, stand next to the street sign looking east. Do you see that big yellow building-under-construction? That's it!

Funny, when I stayed there, I never once heard the pounding of hammers or the whining of saws. Oh, the wonders of modern construction.

Blogging from Omaha

I finally understand what people feel when they visit Seattle and exclaim, "It's so green here!" While I'm at it, here's what else I've learned in Omaha this weekend...

The older the city, the better I like the architecture. Brick isn't used much in the Seattle area (something to do with earthquake events) so it's always interesting to see streets and streets of solid brick homes. Big, beautiful, unique homes. Craftsman, Prairie, Queen Anne, Revival... inspiring.

Nebraska beef is a gastronomic event.

Pipe organs and French horns add elegance to a wedding service.

Salt and other ice-melting compounds really do take a toll (!) on pavement.

I have indeed seen other early 1980's Dodge Rampages.

Brown, taupe, gray, and tan. Yards, streets, sidewalks, bricks, bare-limbed trees -- the brain can only process so much dormancy.

Traditional, simple, Protestant American weddings can take three days to celebrate properly. Three days of welcoming out-of-town guests (thank you!), three days of eating and drinking coffee and checking on final preparations and rehearsing and dressing and eating again and watching the opening of the presents. Again, the brain can only withstand so much, but what a wonderful occasion.

Although the overall wedding celebration occupies several days, the reception itself goes very quickly if there are many clergy in attendance:
Saturday wedding + Sunday morning obligations = no lingering.

I'm having a wonderful time here, and I'm confident the dogs are glad to stay home.

Behind the Curtain

Although this story has been told in other places, it seems like it's time for a transparent update right here on the dogs' blog. Thanks for indulging me as I tell the story again... although, if you choose to slip away quietly, I won't notice.

Several years ago (like, maybe nine years?), I began writing a novel. Although I hadn't planned it, I'd already been toying around with part of what became the story line. One of the main characters happened to be visually impaired, and another character was recovering from an abusive relationship.

As work progressed on that first draft, I heard a preacher on the radio who had a ministry to people who are blind or visually impaired. It so happened that this pastor is also blind, and I immediately thought that would be the kind of professional I could approach to consult with about my fictional character. If anything were to come of my writing, and if the Lord were to bring someone like this across my path, then I'd better take the opportunity to check my work. If.

Several months later, preparing to travel to the Midwest for a convention, the Lord brought that pastor to mind again. My convention was to be in St. Louis, and the headquarters of that ministry was in St. Louis. Imagine that! A few emails brought me into contact with the Lutheran Blind Mission and Pastor Dave Andrus, and a couple more emails set up a meeting while I was in town. There were a number of small miracles, God-ordained details, that brought this about.

The more I heard about the peer-to-peer outreach and support modeled by the outreach centers of Blind Mission, the more impressed I was. Another ministry I'd been involved with used a similar model. One of the benefits I had seen again and again was that brand new leaders were trained in a "safe" environment where it was okay to make mistakes, okay to try new things, okay to find out what didn't work.

As near as I can recall without looking it up, that first contact was in the fall of 2001. Since then, it has been my privilege to learn more about Lutheran Blind Mission as I have participated in an outreach center and participated in three conferences. Those conferences were week-long immersions in blind culture. Amazing experiences. Affirming acceptance.

This weekend, I enjoyed being able to witness Pastor Dave presenting the vision of Blind Mission's outreach to people in my local area. It was good. I'm excited to see what God is preparing to do here.

And in the mean time, I'll keep writing.

Railroads Revisited

About a year ago, I reviewed Gary Krist's book about an epic snowstorm in Washington's Cascade Mountains in 1910. There was an incredible amount of snowfall that trapped two trains, and then another storm blew in that caused a horrific avalanche. The trains were wiped off the hillside and nearly a hundred people lost their lives.

One important figure in the book was the great railroad magnate James J. Hill, whose quest for a passable route through the high Cascades led to the construction of the longest tunnel in the nation.

My family enjoys watching The History Channel, and last night I stumbled onto an episode of Extreme Trains that mentioned that very tunnel and that awful disaster. This episode was all about the Empire Builder train from Chicago to Seattle, and the climax of the show was this infamous section of the Cascades that claimed so many lives all those years ago. The episode is not available for online viewing, but perhaps will be rebroadcast a few more times. It was a great way to spend an hour while keeping company with napping dogs.

We Do Things Diff'rent Out West

Seen in Tacoma...
No cell coverage? Use a pay phone.
No change? Just face away from the wall.
Long distance? You'd better holler.
Get a fresh cup if you want a better connection.

Veneer or Solid Wood?

I caught part of an author interview on the radio yesterday. This very articulate woman said that one thing she'd learned in her "20 years on the street" was that how people perceived you affected how they treated you.

Well, yes, certainly. I felt badly about the mistreatment I imagined her experiencing, despite her excellent communication skills. A person's appearance is considered by others, and conclusions are drawn regarding such qualities as honesty, reliability, strength, maturity, approachability, education, and potential value. If a person looks poor or insecure or untrustworthy, strangers will keep their distance.

The radio interview brought me up short after a few moments when the host referred to the author's long career on Wall Street. Oh. That Street.

Okay, so Carla Harris is a businesswoman with more than a briefcase full of professional experience, and she has probably never been homeless. But still, her point about perceptions is excellent.

Ms. Harris went on to caution that whatever quality you'd like to be known for, you'd better be practicing that quality all. the. time. No breaks. For example, if you want people to think of you as having integrity, you must always maintain highest-level integrity. One slip will have greater prominence in their memories than the ten times you acted rightly.

When you get scratched like a piece of furniture, does the veneer come off or is there solid wood that can be sanded and refinished? The photo illustration is a detail of a sideboard that has been in my family for a hundred years. There is some veneer, but its heart is real wood. Solid. Enduring.

How important is it to establish and maintain a good reputation? It takes effort and consistency. More effort, more consistency. Is it worth it?


He who walks in integrity walks securely,
But he who perverts his ways will be found out.

.

Happy Birthday, Gramma (shhh!)

Today would be my Gramma's 120th birthday, but it's a good thing she didn't hear me say that. Being the center of attention for any reason -- especially advanced age -- was never her thing.

Gramma enjoyed talking politics, although I seem to recall that only her view was right. She knew about plants and trees and could identify all sorts of native species by their common names. She loved her family, but was never mushy about it. Gramma was an independent woman, driving her car well into her 80's. It would be nice to place her photograph at the top of this post, but she didn't like cameras and they didn't like her. Although she smiled regularly in real life, that image was rarely caught on film.

Gramma grew up in Nebraska. Her father was a railroad station agent, and her mother's health necessitated at least one move to a gentler climate. Around the age of 13, Gramma lost her mother. A few years later, six tornadoes in a single day made Gramma decide to head West. She arrived in California just in time for an earthquake. She married a distant relative (but that's another story) and eventually moved to Washington State.

Gramma sometimes spent a weekend or holiday at our house, attending church and visiting. One time, driving me to an orthodontic appointment, she was yelled at by a man who felt she was driving too slowly. "He called me Grandma. Is that that nice man from your church? He always calls me that." It's not a bad thing to be slightly hard of hearing.

My parents had heard of an ointment to soothe tired feet. It was a white cream infused with menthol, and reeked to high heaven. Gramma must have been poking around in the bathroom before bed, and decided that was just the thing to put on her nose. How she closed her eyes with that stuff on her face (the fumes should have blown her eyelashes off!) was beyond our understanding, but she reported the next morning that she had slept well.

My Gramma taught me how to sew and embroider. She appreciated music and kept a piano in her home, and gave me a piano so I could take lessons. When I spent weekends with her, we'd go out to eat at Woolworth's lunch counter or El Toro at the mall. Breakfast was Corn Flakes, apple juice, and powdered milk. I suppose I could have learned from her how to make prune duff, but believe me, I never asked. I did ask about plant identification, and learned a little. Maybe the best thing I learned from Gramma was wonder. Wonder at nature, and wonder at human nature. People are, after all, complex and amusing creatures.

Happy Birthday, Gramma.

What's in a Name?

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet." (Romeo and Juliet, II, ii, 1-2)

There's a nice little book about prayer that I came across recently. The authors present a fresh view of what prayer is about, and it's quite a good book. I couldn't help but notice, however, that one author's name is misspelled. On every single page of the book. Okay, either it's wrong throughout the text or it's wrong on the cover, on the title page, and endpage bio.

People whose names are slightly unusual are often extra sensitive to names and how they're spelled, and we're used to disappointment when our own names are misspelled. I have a friend who is blind and uses screenreading software to listen to his emails. When we first became acquainted, I noticed that his usual spelling of other words is often phonetic (and therefore technically incorrect) but he always spelled my name right. When I asked how he knew, he said that names are important, so he makes it a practice to have new names spelled out until he memorizes them.

One of my readings this week brought another aspect of the importance of a name:

We give thanks to Thee, O God, we give thanks,
For Thy name is near;
Men declare Thy wondrous works.

Thy name is near. What is significant about God's name? His name stands for His character, His attributes, and His identity. Not only that, but He has adopted us so that we may take shelter under His name. Sure, God is near -- but everything for which He stands is also near. His reputation as Sovereign and Savior is at stake, all the time, on our behalf. These tremendous benefits never depend on correct spellings, or even on exact precision when we pray. His name is ever near.

Games Without Shame

Time to fess up. I like to play computer games. What, that's not enough of a confession for you? All right, here's more. I like to win.

I recently came upon a site that has wonderful, addicting, educational games. By spending a few minutes there, you can improve your vocabulary, grammar, geography, or foreign language skills. There's no beginning nor end to the games, you just jump in and play for as long as you want, then pop back out of the site. It's one of those things you can do while you're stuck on "hold" and can't leave your desk.

Not only are the games easy and compelling, but the site is very attractive. The background is a verdant field of rice. The whole picture is relaxing and gentling to the mind.

But, wait! There's more!

The games are intentionally addicting, purposed to get your attention and hold it so that you might also notice the quiet little ad banners below. There had to be a commercial catch, right?

But, wait! There's more!

For every correct answer, one grain of rice is donated to the United Nations World Food Programme. Food for the hungry. All for the click of a mouse! That's the nicest kind of advertising I've ever seen. When you play these games, you can make a difference.

A word of instruction: Click on the square FreeRice logo at right, not the large vertical banner in this post. You can find the list of game subjects by clicking on "subjects" at the top of the FreeRice page. The English vocabulary game pops up as the default, but there's a nice variety available if you peruse the possibilities.



P.S. to Frau Fitz, Mrs. St. Clair, Mr. Finseth, Mr. Anderson, and Mr. Sturdivant:
Thank you for preparing me with the basic knowledge I would need to compete in these subjects today. I'm amazed at how much I recall after, um, a lotta years.

The Beautiful Palouse Region

About 20 years ago, my husband and I lived in the Palouse area of Washington state. I have many wonderful memories of this season of our lives, and the scenery of the countryside evokes strong emotions in me to this day. I wrote this piece on one of those homesick days, to share my memories with a friend. Do an image search after you read this, and see how close your mental image is to some of the real thing.


I miss the rolling hills of the Palouse country. I enjoyed the pace and the common ground (pun intended) of a community with one main occupation to support. I liked the change of seasons -- not just the weather, but the activities and demands. The seasons flowed gently from one to the next, and it was good.

I never tired of driving through and looking at the Palouse hills. The roads wound gently between the hills, meandering in the general direction you wanted to go. The Palouse region of Washington is the only place on earth, I think, where wheat is grown on rolling hills. It requires special rigging on the tractors to be able to ride the hills and keep the implements down in the soil. The farmers drive the tractors around the hills, not straight over them, so the view from the air is almost a topographic-map design.

The furrows looked like plain brown corduroy, until the wheat started to grow. Winter wheat would sprout early and the fields would just barely begin to turn a little bit greenish. Then the wheat would get a little taller and you'd definitely see the green. When the grass was a few inches tall, the wind would make waves across the fields, up and down the hills. Then the stalks would get stronger and didn't wave, but grew taller and fuller.

Towards the end of summer, the wheat dried out and began to die. It was always good to see the change in color, because then we could start hoping for a good harvest.

The not-so-pretty time was right after harvest when the fields were all stubble and dirt clumped together. No more neat rows of corduroy, but chopped up rows interrupted by clods and upside-down stubble. Some fields would lie fallow over the winter, and they looked scruffy like that until they were plowed in the spring. But the fields that were planted with winter wheat were groomed and made into smooth brown corduroy again in the fall.

Snow added more interest to the patterns. A light snow would melt off the tops of the rows, while each little furrow-valley stayed white. Striped corduroy. When there was more snow, it covered everything with a winter white blanket, insulating the sprouts of winter wheat and protecting them. Eventually the snow would melt wherever the sun hit it all day, making random crescents of brown along the hills and curves.

The sidehills had strips where a hill crested too steeply to be able to plow it. The farmer would leave a little grass along the top of a hill, just below the acme, and it had a sort of eyebrow shape. Sometimes people would plant sunflowers in these, just for fun, but nothing invasive that would try to intrude in the wheat crop.

The Palouse is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. It was my privilege to live there for a while.

The Selfishness of Prayer?

I prayed for someone today. I prayed because I was worried about her. I prayed because there was nothing else I could do.

I prayed because I knew it would make me feel better.

Wow, how selfish is that? But it's the truth. Sure, I was praying for her ultimate well-being, but I was led to pray because I was worried about her immediate well-being and I wanted relief for me.

Is there anything Scriptural about that? Any defense? Maybe. What if God alerted me to her need... and what if it was His will that I pray for her? The little bit of knowledge (and the extras my imagination couldn't keep from adding) caused me to feel a strong emotional pull toward this person. There were no words I could share, no comfort I could extend, nothing I could do to help her. The anxiety I felt on her behalf kept increasing, but there was no outlet for it except prayer.

I know it's His desire that we pray for one another. My worry compelled me to do the only thing I could do, so I found another believer and we interceded together. It would have felt good to know the rest of the story, to know how our friend was doing. We didn't have access to any more information, so we presented her needs to the One who has all access, all the time. He knows. He cares. And it's okay that we feel a little better as we continue to pray and wait.

With all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints...


UPDATE: Continuing in prayer. While Saturday's prayer break helped me to feel better, the need is still great. Still no details, but God knows.