"C" is NOT for Cat -- Authors Whose Last Names Begin with C

I let my dog pick out books. Polo can’t actually read them, so I limit his search options to things we can download and listen to together. We're working our way slowly through the alphabet of authors, one letter at a time. Sometimes we listen to mysteries or realistic fiction, sometimes history or psychology or biography. We listen when we're relaxing, while we're cooking, when we're sewing or doing housework. Okay, actually, Polo doesn't cook or sew or do housework, but he's a pro at relaxing and listening to books with me. And then we do this little report to share our thoughts, one author-letter at a time. 

Monsters

I love football, although my one-word summary of this story is "profane" -- both in the sense of the language quoted in interviews and as a description of the game itself. Football is just now (maybe) beginning to get a little cleaner, a little less punishing in terms of players' lifetime health. This book replays the long history of football, from company and town teams to the NFL as we know it today. George Halas, longtime owner of the Chicago Bears, was the first coach to use an "eye in the sky" by having an assistant way up in the stands who could observe formations and send notes down to the field. In the 1980s, animosity between head coach Mike Ditka and defensive coordinator Buddy Ryan was legendary, yet together they led the team to win the 1986 Super Bowl. It was fun to hear about many players that I watched back then. They were hard-working athletes, if not the best role models. (Also available as a book.)

Polo's response: I like it when my humans watch football, because it keeps them at home with me. But it's bad when the Seahawks score, because there are very loud fireworks.

The Crow Trap

Detective Chief Inspector Vera Stanhope is a British version of Columbo, all messy and scattered and sly as a fox. It wasn't until we were halfway through this book that I realized that the BBC's Vera television series originated here. This particular novel involves three women taking an environmental inventory of a large plot of land slated for industrial development. Before they even arrive, there is a suicide. Then, as they're busily counting plants and mammals and birds, and maybe having a secret affair with a man from town, there's a murder -- and then another murder. Complex characters, tangled lives, scenic countryside, and a gripping story!  (Also available as an eBook, audiobook CD, or book.)

Polo gives this one two paws up. He dreams of running over hill and dale, looking for birds and otters.

The Orchardist

Wenatchee's apple country provides a beautiful, inspiring setting for this piece of historical fiction and the reader does a masterful job of taking you right into the orchard, the barn, the simple farmhouse. Life there has sharp edges, rocky ground, difficult relationships. From the mother who vanished, to young mothers-to-be who appear from out of nowhere, Talmadge is the lone constant with the fruit and the garden and the house. A hard story and beautiful at the same time, like the time and land in which it's set. (Other formats include eBook, audiobook CD, book, or pre-loaded audiobook.)

Polo's pause: Good men -- both the reader and the main character. This was a story I could really sink my teeth into.

The Invisible Gorilla

So, you think you're pretty smart? Especially observant? With an above-average memory? Then don't read this book. The authors devised a social experiment in the form of a video, instructing viewers to count the number of times a basketball was passed from one person to another. There was just enough distracting action in the scene that counting those passes took effort. But in the middle of the basketball activity, an actor in a gorilla suit walked in, pounded its chest, and walked off. Most people did not notice the gorilla. At all. Even though they were working hard to give full attention to the video, they missed seeing something big and unexpected -- because it was totally unexpected. This is just one example of a typical illusion of our abilities, and the whole book gives very interesting insight on basic human nature. (You may choose to read the book or eBook.)

Polo, being a dog, admits no "blind spots" of inattention or perception. [Note from Katharine: I won't mention the times I've seen rabbits along the trail, and he was busy looking up at squirrels in the tree. Please don't tell him I told you.]

"G" Authors -- Going to Work, Going Home, Going Criminal?

Author's note: A couple of years ago, my library system added blog posts to our website. Many of the posts were short collections of book reviews, often following a theme. I tried writing a few of these, but never felt like I could keep up with the thought-provoking themes of my librarian colleagues. It was a good challenge, a growth opportunity, and I was honored to have been selected to write for our site. After a few successes, and several wadded-up-and-thrown-in-the-trashcan failures, I realized that what I needed was my old writing partner to get me going again. Enter Polo! 

All of the books reviewed here are available as downloadable audiobooks.


Making Jack Falcone

Joaquin Garcia

A real-life story of the mob, crime, punishment, and maybe justice. Joaquin Garcia is a hulk of an FBI agent who was able to infiltrate one of the biggest crime families on the East Coast. There are scenes of violence, crude language, and every bit of illegal behavior you’d expect to find in a book on this subject. What was most surprising to us, though, was how Mr. Garcia (six feet four inches tall, weighing in at three hundred pounds or more) kept from being recognized over the course of several years and a handful of aliases.

Polo’s thoughts: “Apparently the Mafia doesn’t run Lab tests. One sniff would have sent them running from this ‘Jack Falcone’ guy. Woof!”

Sous Chef

Michael Gibney

Subtitle: 24 Hours on the Line

We picked up this one because one of our favorite people works in a dining establishment of multiple star rating (that is, a classy restaurant). Our person has told stories of stress and intensity, of being slammed with customers and of coworkers who don’t take their turns polishing silver or buffing the glassware. We wanted to see inside a kitchen, and this book gave us that view. Let the listener beware – very salty content.

Polo’s insight: “No wonder my man is exhausted on his days off! The noise and action is too much. I enjoy my kibbles in our own quiet house, thank you very much.”

Mrs. Pollifax Pursued

Dorothy Gilman

(narrated by Barbara Rosenblat)

We enjoy listening to Barbara Rosenblat, and Katharine read all of the Mrs. Pollifax books many years ago. The best thing about Mrs. Pollifax? She’s full of surprises! She dabbles in martial arts, travels extensively to obscure locations, keeps secrets, makes friends, and stirs up trouble while uncovering world-class villains. While she is utterly lovable, she is a force to be reckoned with – but the bad guys never suspect!

Polo’s perception: “Mrs. Pollifax seems like a cat – but a good one, sneaking up on bad guys. She’s all good!”

Camino Island

John Grisham

Although we usually skip bestselling authors (because their books are already in demand, it’s not like they need more publicity, and we like to suggest things that might not be on your radar), we had to choose another “old favorite” and go with Grisham. The story did not disappoint. Great setting, interesting characters, and a plot that is part mystery, part normal life.

Polo’s pondering: “There’s a dog here, but the dog doesn’t get to participate much except to walk on the beach. I like beach. Good story.”

The Stranger Game

Peter Gadol

Pick a stranger, follow them, but don’t let them see you, and see how far you can get away from your own humdrum life routines. The “game” goes from innocent to edgy to… murder??? For the duration of this audiobook, every time I (Katharine) was out alone somewhere, I was tempted to play the game myself. Who doesn’t want to watch, to imagine a story about a person, to throw yourself into an innocent but secret mission?

Polo’s regrets: “I watch people all the time, in front of my house. I’d follow them, too – but I would also bark to let them know I’m here. I’m always ready to play!”

Triggers

Marshall Goldsmith

Eye-opening reminder that I am not in absolute control of my reactions, habits, and go-to behaviors. That sounds harsh, but this author really is gentle. We all have personal triggers – tone of voice, physical tics, even childhood memories – that arouse anger or sadness, fear or compassion. The book is full of helpful advice and real-life examples of both good and not-so-good behavior. Goldsmith takes things to an extreme for himself – he suggests paying someone to be your accountability partner, calling them at the end of every day to rate yourself in a number of areas of concern. I guess that would be like a dieter doing a weigh-in, with an observer holding a clipboard and writing down every scale reading. You don’t have to follow every suggestion in this book, but you’ll probably find insight, encouragement, and challenge here. I did.

Polo’s response: “Squirrel? Trigger! Crow? Trigger! I must bark my loudest at every bad invader! Why would I want to change? Oh – you said dog biscuit? Play with toy? Well…”

The End of the Suburbs

Leigh Gallagher

Polo and I live in the suburbs. Very happily, we thought. But this study of “new urbanism” and other trends of residential life introduced us to different ideas (and ideals) of sustainability, walkability, and community. Descriptions of large, planned communities are appealing, in some ways, and made us reconsider the style of population density to which we are accustomed. Among our extended family, there are people who live right in the city and people who live more than five miles away from a small town, covering a range of lifestyle choices and opportunities. Very eye-opening to ponder the variety of situations that we in North America call home.

Polo’s observation: “I like my yard. I like my neighbor’s yard. I don’t like cars or buses or busy streets. I don’t even like neighbors walking on my part of the street. Woof!”

Being Educated by "Educated"

I don't usually read bestsellers. At least, not while they are still on the bestseller list. The main reason is that I don't feel any need to jump on the bandwagon. The other big reason is that I don't think to put myself on the waitlist for soon-to-be-published hot titles, and once I notice the new book, the hold list is way long. So I don't bother.

But I have friends who recommend books. In fact, they're professionals when it comes to suggesting the next great read. How can I help but get excited? So I put myself on the list for Tara Westover's memoir, Educated. Homeschooled girl from strict religious family makes it big in academia, despite not having any formal instruction in history, science, or math. How did she break free to enter university? How did she manage to earn multiple degrees? How did she overcome her extremely isolated childhood?

When I listened, engrossed, I found the audiobook was more of a horror story. Over and over, I perched on the edge of my seat. "Run! Run from the house before the crazed ax murderer catches up with you! Get away from the giant metal-eating behemoth machine before it crushes you! Tell someone about your brother slamming your head into the wall!"

This is a story of abuse. So much abuse, for so many years. The breaking free was not so much about education, although that certainly was her ticket to a completely different world. As is so common for people who experience domestic violence, it seems impossible to sever the ties that bind them to their abusers. That is the horror of this story. And that is the reader's opportunity for education.

To Write, or Let it Rot?

The more I read good stuff, the more I want to write again. I cannot express how much it means to me when someone asks what happened to the novel I was working on several years ago. It touches me that they would remember and ask, and it grieves me deeply that those manuscripts (plural) have become dry and dusty relics. I think I will write again. My characters are still there, alive after all these years, and maybe there are more stories to be written besides those two. Time will tell.

But I will not dwell on failure -- my own failure to launch. Maybe it wasn't the right time, maybe I wasn't adequately seasoned just then. It sure was fun, though. Time to see what comes next.

I have recently discovered that I have "severe" obstructive sleep apnea. So severe that I wonder how I have managed to put one foot in front of the other each day. Now that I have my very own CPAP machine and am already seeing successful treatment, I wonder what superpowers I will unleash with a few good weeks of sleep. Maybe this writing this could come back into being? And maybe, finally, an increase in physical stamina? I could stand to lose a few pounds, too, so maybe that. Focus is always good. We'll see.

One of my favorite features of blogging is being able to add photo illustrations. However, it's easy to work on my photos OR write the text. If I'm going to write tonight, I need to stick to writing. I'll add photos soon, but not tonight. Words will have to be enough. Words can be amazing, too, on a good writing day. Ha -- the best thing about my photos is that I get to crop them to show the very best of the composition! I've heard that writing is like that. Cropping out the extra, distracting, material in order to highlight the heart.

I've let the compost pile rot long enough. I'd like to write. We'll see what happens.

"I hereby declare, on oath..."

It was a very long time ago, and no one now living was even a gleam in our forefathers' eyes. But some of my ancestors were on that boatload of people -- immigrants, refugees, sturdy dreamers -- who sailed on the Mayflower.

With all the talk about new people coming to America these days, I can't help but consider my family as immigrants. I'm sorry that my people maybe didn't treat their American hosts very well. That's hard to swallow. I'm grateful that we were able to stay, despite all that.

This week at work (yes, as part of my job!) I was privileged to attend a Naturalization Oath Ceremony. There were a couple of short welcoming speeches. There were 19 people from eight different homelands -- Bahrain, China, India, Korea, Lithuania, Romania, Russia, and Tanzania -- who stood to take the Oath of Citizenship. They pledged to renounce all prior national allegiances, and to take up arms or do whatever was legally required of them to defend their new country. I cried a little. When they sat down again, they were citizens of the United States of America. We joined another immigrant in singing our national anthem. I couldn't help but cry. One of the new citizens led us all in the Pledge of Allegiance. I cried some more. The ceremony was totally official and, for me, completely emotional. (I did not shed any tears during the cheesy inspirational videos. I will not be manipulated, after all!)

When my people landed here, there was no oath, no pledge, no anthem, no flag. Nor was there a city in which to find housing or a job. No established resettlement assistance. No national leader to whom they might appeal for refuge. They had to make things up as they went along, from scratch, and they must have made more than a few errors. But they made it, many of them, and even welcomed more refugees and pilgrims who came later.

There are so many, many stories of pain and loss and peril suffered by those who are new arrivals to the United States. And so many more people who are not yet here. Some of those stories are hard to hear, hard to even imagine.

I think it's my job to carry out acts of welcome and care. But I've been really busy, all my life, just living my life. What needs to change, how must I grow, to expand my personal horizons? That's scary. Already, though, I am supporting English language learning and Citizenship classes through my work at the library. My church reaches out to assist refugees in a variety of ways, and I have done small things to join these efforts. I can do some more.

For the Lord your God is the God of gods and the Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God who does not show partiality, nor take a bribe. He executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and shows His love for the alien by giving him food and clothing. So show your love for the alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt."

Highlights from the ceremony --

[The Beginning of] the Beginning of the Story

The whole "baby in the manger" thing has me thinking. What in the world are we supposed to do with an infant whose birth was heralded by angels, visited by sheep herders, lauded by wise travelers? It makes for a great story, except there's no closure at the end of our Christmas holiday. That Baby, no matter how special and holy, can't do anything. It's great that He came, but...

My dad used to travel for business, and he'd sometimes bring special gifts home. When he went to Alaska, he returned with photos and explanations of a large retaining wall for which his company had supplied the interlocking pieces. Oh, and jade necklaces for my mom and me. One of his early trips to the east side of the state, he witnessed tumbleweeds blowing across the highway. I was thrilled to take a real tumbleweed to school for show-and-tell! (Side note: I had to wrap it in newspaper so my classmates wouldn't guess what it was. Ha!) Looking back, I enjoyed the stories as much as the presents.

my completed moccasins were something like this

And then, on a jaunt to Arizona, he picked up a moccasin kit so I could stitch up my own slippers. No story, but something representative of the place. I loved the idea of having my own moccasins. But the kit, by itself, was only a beginning. It was what came after, the process of putting them together, that would make them useful. Only after that would I be able to wear them.

The baby in the manger is kind of like the moccasin kit. In order to really get something out of it -- Jesus, that is -- you have to involve yourself in a process. There's the first part of His story, understanding that His birth and His very existence is amazing. As an adult, He did things and told stories and taught lessons that should have our attention. But then... then there was the whole "end of story" part when He was killed -- but He could have gotten out of it. What? Yes, Jesus could have opted out, but He let them put Him to death as a religious criminal. And then, after He was proven to be dead, He was resurrected and reunited with His followers before returning to the right hand of God the Father. The point of all of this was to pay the penalties for all of our misdeeds, so that we could also be with Him forever.

So, celebrating the miraculous birth of the Baby is like opening that moccasin kit. It's exciting just to see this beginning, but there's much more to come if you carry it out to the end. Read and follow the instructions, as it were, to receive the real joy and fulfillment.

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

Eagles in the Tree, Snails on the Fence

I went walking... by the river, where the eagles live. Mama eagle was posing for the paparazzi, but they all had four-foot-long megalenses that made me feel like I'd rather keep walking and see what I could see on my own.

Who knew that snails climb fences? Maybe to keep away from the nesting geese? There was a tiny narwhal-bird in the top of a nearby tree. And I love that Indian plum is one of the very first spring bloomers.

Some thoughts on my shyness. When I feel self-conscious, I lose most of my social graces. Sure, I can put on an act of warm effusiveness, but that takes effort and brain-energy. Those are the times when I lose people's names, or forget that I just greeted this patron five minutes ago. Ugh.

On the other hand, shyness lets me explore on my own, looking for the ordinary extraordinary details that are often overlooked. Like a snail on the fence, or the hummingbird in the tree just a ways down from the giant eagle.

Therefore, being introverted is a blessing and a curse. But mostly, a blessing. And I'm grateful. Mostly. Because I do enjoy noticing the little things. Thanks, God.

Details, Details -- Who's Minding the Net?

I don't know much about football. However, for more than 25 years I've walked the sidelines of three high school varsity teams, doing their scorebooks. From that vantage point, I couldn't tell you if the guards were pulling or what kind of defensive coverage is being used. But I see things, and I hear things.

One of the long-time volunteers with my current team is responsible for all the equipment. Coach D oversees, in a most obsessive manner, everything from game balls to helmet straps to the coaches' audio gear. He's loud, intense, and sometimes obnoxious about it. But he's been there almost as long as me, so I guess he's glad to be there.

My hometown pro team [GO, HAWKS!] played an okay game this week, but I didn't get to view the absolutely spectacular end of this game until several days later. I watched the NFL.com play-by-play synopsis online while I was at work on Sunday and felt a little of the drama of that amazing comeback and win. [WE'RE GOING TO THE SUPERBOWL!!!] Even though I knew the outcome, I was amazed to see those final minutes unfold. Wow! Just, WOW!

As I watched the incredible plays by the Seahawks, and the mounting failures by the Packers, I noticed one striking detail. During Green Bay's final offensive drive at the end of the fourth quarter, the camera cut to their kicker, Mason Crosby, doing a few practice kicks on the sideline. The Packers were aiming for a touchdown, and they were moving the ball down the field pretty effectively, but Crosby knew he had to be ready just in case.

One thing about his preparations bothered me, though. The net into which he was kicking was half off of its frame. Twice in the highlight video, he tried to reattach it, to no avail.

Here's the net, hanging lopsidedly while he kicks into it...

And trying to tuck it back where it belongs again...

Crosby made his field goal, tying the game near the end of regulation. Great save! But... why was no one there to fix the practice net for him? Why wasn't there a Coach D running over to grumble and straighten things out? How can it be that no one -- apparently -- was standing by the kicker, the guy who could save the team from losing the NFC Championship? Where's the support?

The following passage says it well:

For even as the body is one and yet has many members, and all the members of the body, thought they are many, are one body, so also is Christ. For the body is not one member, but many.

If the physical body is the team, you know that all members of the team are important. Every player, every coach, every equipment manager plays a role that may prove vital to the outcome of the game. In spiritual terms, the body is the Church, the local or universal network of people who follow Christ. Each person has a role, a talent, a style, that contributes something unique to the whole. Some are visible, some are vocal, others are supportive background folks who see a need and quietly fill it. And some are obsessive, loud, and intense, but they still provide necessary aid. They're the ones who might notice a problem with the net, and step in to set it right.

Green Bay could use their own Coach D, but they're going to have to look elsewhere. Our Coach D is just fine right here, wearing our green and gold. [Go Chargers!]

Breaking News: Adaptation May Be Key to Survival and Sanity!

I met someone yesterday who had very high, very specific expectations. He wanted personal assistance with details related to an application on the library system's website. NOW. And he was not at all pleased that I could not deliver what he saw as his distinct need, in the manner that perfectly suited his expectation.

We all build ideas of desired outcomes. Sometimes this is completely necessary (isn't this chicken supposed to be fully cooked?) and other times it's best to adapt and adjust based on a new reality (the brownies collapsed, but they taste still taste great!)

What does it take to recognize that a change is required? How much reality must be experienced in order to be willing to shift one's vision? There are many, many stories in the Bible that illustrate this point. Times when things appeared to be headed in one direction, but then God communicated an entirely different plan leading to an unanticipated outcome.

Being a people-pleaser at heart, I am pretty quick to change direction based on what I perceive to be the needs of others. That's nice, except when I really was on the right track and let myself get derailed by popular opinion. Some of the people whom I most admire are strong, firm in their convictions, rarely swayed by mood or whim. That's good, too. There are times to change, and situations in which it's best to stand firm. Reminds me of that text adapted by Pete Seeger...

     There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven -- 
     A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones;
     A time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing.
     A time to search, and a time to give up as lost;
     A time to keep, and a time to throw away.
     A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; 
     A time to be silent, and a time to speak.

So, some planned outcomes must be pursued to full completion, and some must be altered. My job is to listen to the One who advises, encourages, directs, and occasionally gives me a shove in the right direction.

Oh, and about that person with whom I had the unfortunate interaction... Well, I'm sorry I couldn't meet his perceived need in the manner to which he'd like to become accustomed. Maybe another time?

Is This Hyperbole, or am I Exaggerating?

No personal photos this time. I was too busy driving -- and gawking. I attended a meeting on Mercer Island this week, and had to arrive early so I could find the place. This being only my second time ever on The Island, I had a good look around.

I've heard that "island life" is a little different, no matter what island it is. There's the whole transportation thing, having to rely on ferries or bridges to get to the mainland. Seems like that would make you consider the necessity of each trip and consolidate off-island errands whenever possible. Then, when you're on the island, make the most of its quieter, slower pace.

Methinks Mercer Island has the "slower pace" thing nailed down. (Here's where the hyperbole comes.) The highest speed limit I found was a mere 35 mph. Residential streets were narrow and they  *ALL*  had speed bumps! Everywhere, speed bumps! The winding road that circles the southern two-thirds of the island had to be shared with bicycles, but they were going nearly the speed limit so it wasn't really advantageous to pass them even if you could find a wide enough place to do so.

Some of the homes were very upscale, set into the woods for a natural effect or surrounded by meticulously groomed gardens. One house was perched on the edge of a gully, road on one side and steep drop-off on the other. No grass to mow there!

All of this made me think about how the location and situation of your home has much to do with your lifestyle. If you live in the city, you've got people and traffic and busy-ness all around, all the time. Out in the country on acreage, there's a necessary degree of self-sufficiency. The suburbs? Well, I guess I have some of the hustle and bustle but not the easy public transportation of the city, and a little space but more access to consumer conveniences than the country. Middle ground.

Another lifestyle consideration is participation in community. The closer you are to people (geographically), the more you are a part of their lives as you see one another frequently. Country life benefits from neighborly interdependence, but maybe there's more intentionality required.

I enjoy reading a blog by a Canadian gal living "in community" in Amsterdam. She and her husband live in an apartment, but she is very much a part of a close-knit group of Christians who are committed to sharing their lives together. Interdependence is a balance, and Brenda occasionally shares in some detail what it means to be part of a wholly intentional community.

Thanks for reading my ponderings this morning.

Unfinished Story

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

Another Post by Polo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Solid Foundation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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