Sugar, Waffle, or Cake -- Hold the Bowl

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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Book, American Band

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

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

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

Tis the Season -- Almost!

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

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

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

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

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

Little did I know...

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's Your Comfort Food?

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

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

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

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

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

Blackie's Perfect; Rufie's Trouble

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

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

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

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

Lassie's Not For The Dogs

I watched a movie last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mourning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My New Best Friend?

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

"Oh... from grammar school?"

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

Dogs Don't Do Laundry

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Presidents as People

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

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

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

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

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