A Boy- centric Christmas

If it were a Christmas season "ruled" by boys, the featured foods would be full size candy bars, frozen zingers, and spicy potatoe chips. If the spice is too much for the mouth, the boys would simply spit out the offending snack food onto the carpeted floor. To drink: hot chocolate ans Mt. Dew.

There would be guns, knives, video games, Legos, action figures, and bey blades.

Loud drums, silly songs, and ongoing shouting/sparring followed by giggles and belly laughs.

Stairways and hallways would be the ideal settings for racetracks and Avengers dangling from tape or string.

Christmas break means NO bed time, no dishes, no chores, and no homework.

A cloud of stinky sock smell hangs over the house.

The bloody ear, lip and foot cause only momentary notice.

Because boys rule Christmas.

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Deb & Julia

I found (and borrowed) the latest "Smitten Kitchen" cookbook at the library today! In the spirit of "Julie and Julia" I thought I might write about my family's responses to the recipes.

Triton!

My son will play the role of King Triton in this weekend's local production of "The Little Mermaid Jr." He was asked to return to the stage under the direction of a former teacher, who needed a taller, more mature student to act in the role of the mermaid king. N has a deep, commanding voice. Apparently, some of the smaller children, playing in the roles of Ariel's younger sisters and small fish, stood up quite straight when they first heard him bark out orders. Yesterday was preview day, when the group performed for a revolving audience of classes from various grades in the school district. When his character appeared before the elementary school children several boys yelled, "It's Triton!!!!!" with so much zeal that the crew had to wait to cue the next round of spotlights. I hope that N remembers this chapter of his life and the admiration of his audience for a long time. I hope that he can lean on it during the "lower" times of life. He is planning to enlist in the Marines and I imagine there will be long hours on duty, marching, or on guard, when he might think back to his "merman days." As for me, I've resisted the urge to watch previews or sneak into dress rehearsals. I'm waiting for the curtain to be pulled back tonight so that I can yell (to myself of course), "It's Triton!" In memory of Kenneth Mars, the original voice actor for Disney's "The Little Mermaid."

The Calendar

It's a joy and a luxury to be able to travel, go to lunch with friends (and relatives:), and poke around interesting shops. Taking time off in December is FANTASTIC! I love having time to get ready for Christmas. This year, more than ever, I am enjoying the process of decorating and writing out cards. It's a December calendar filled with possibility...

Home for the Holiday

It has been several years since I haven't worked on Black Friday. It has been many, many years since I traveled for the Thanksgiving Holiday. I can't, in my memory, place a time when we've ever traveled more than an hour to get to a the hosting relative's home. There were the two years when a baby was born at Thanksgiving. This meant that, for those two years alone, I was exempt from bringing a dish to pass. This year's Thanksgiving celebration, then, was quite different from our "usual Thanksgiving routine." We went farther (Pittsburgh) and stayed longer (4 days, 3 nights). It took a HUGE effort to coordinate the trip. I hired a neighbor to feed the farm animals and care for the old dog who stayed home. We found a kennel in PA so that the puppy could travel with us. Six suitcases packed along with the "food for an army." A Thanksgiving holiday of this lenghth and magnitude.... ...not just one big meal but several amazing, leisurely family gatherings around the dinner table. ...time to "go deep" with relatives. I learned that my grandmother was still subscribed to SHAPE magazine at the age of 82. Impressive. We poked through her discarded jewelry and she showed me her thread. I came home with a new box of buttons. ...time for tragedies, like a contact lense that broke itself in two (inside my eyelid). The ride home was painful. The six year old was exceptionally wiggly. I nearly died from a panic attack when we found ourselves in a stowstorm on a crowded highway (with the permit-carrying 16 year old at the wheel). We decided to stretch our legs at a bargain outlet with the puppy tied inside the car (windows down inside). In a matter of minutes he chewed through the brand new hand-made thick nylong lead my uncle made. And he chewed through five out of the six of the seatbelts in the van. The repair will cost hundreds. So much for a bargain! We did it...we took a long holiday road trip, we spent precisous time with relatives, and we created memories and stories that we will tell again and again.

No More Little Ones

When he wakes up tomorrow, he will be six years old.

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The Science Behind Annoyance

I am my own worst enemy. I decided to let the dog out without a leash and he ran away. I bent down to pick something up with a jar of bleu cheese dressing in my hand. It spilled all over the floor. I'm easily annoyed. Annoyed with relatives who go around and around a holiday menu as if it were a space mission. "Can I have a volunteer to pick up the moon rock?" "Only if you really want to pick up the moon rock." "Maybe the other astronaut would rather pick up the moon rock." "Email me back about that moon rock." Oh for goodness sake! The boys burp. And sing (constantly). And they need to show me every confounded Pokemon card and high jump off of the couch. They think I need to watch them feed the fish, hit play on the video game and make a sandwich out of crackers and cheese. It's annoying. I thought this was a matter of my patience running thin or perhaps a heightened stress level. We are entering the holiday season, after all. Then I stumbled upon an amusing article about the science of annoyance. It turns out that "Americans are annoying to the world because we are individualists who think we can and should control our world." Read more: http://www.businessinsider.com/annoying-the-science-of-what-bugs-us-2011-5?op=1#ixzz2CmdX1J5c There's a (small) country where annoyance is categorized and ultimately, frowned upon... In that distant culture, people use nuanced vocabulary to describe away the annoyance we let rip in words and action For the Ifaluks "One person's anger (song) entails another's fear (metagu); someone's experiencing grief and frustration creates compassion/love/sadness (fago) in others." Their words express their feelings and have a rich vocabulary to express a variety of states of annoyance. tipmochmoch - annoyance that comes with feeling ill lingeringer - annoyance that builds from a series of minor but unwanted events nguch - annoyance with relatives who do the Ifaluk equivalent of failing to show up for a holiday dinner tang - the frustration that occurs "in the face of personal misfortunes and slights which one is helpless to redress" (Lutz) song - justifiable anger (the authors translate this as "You've done something that pisses me off. I know it, and you know it. But because expressing that annoyance would be inappropriate, I'll let it go, and so will you." In the end, there is a societal mandate to not get pissy with others. To do so is to risk ostracization. God Bless the USA.

Speed

The nearest mall is located about an hour away by car. That's only one of the reasons we don't go there very often. I needed to go the Apple Store at the mall to have the folks at The Genius Bar look at my son's Ipod. As "online savvy" as I think I am, I didn't read up about making an appointment via the internet first. The store was very busy when I got there (I'm grateful to the associate who helped me appointment notwithstanding). Walking through the mall, standing in the Apple Store, and driving in the congested business district all made me feel like an alien on a distant planet. I didn't recognize anything or anyone. Since my last visit there (two or three years ago?), my favorite bookstore had been demolished, the avenue was widened to eight lanes, most of the stores had turned over, fashions had changed, prices had risen, etc. Change. The house we lived in just last year has a new tenant. We peeked inside this weekend to see that the bathroom had been repainted. The entire second floor had been remodeled. My favorite (enormous) ancient tree, which grew by the house's back steps, was damaged by Hurricane Sandy. A friend, a tree climber,finished taking it down this weekend. We examined the giant stump, and the rings that tell the tale of growth. There were rings wider than his thumb, showing that the tree had grown very rapidly over the last thirty years. My children are growing quickly also. This morning I heard an interview with Formula 1 Driver Mario Andretti. He spoke about how blurry things look outside the window when he drives 190+ mph. He keeps his eyes fixed on the track and his senses in tune with the vehicle. Perhaps this is what I need to do to better manage the pace of change all around me. I can't possibly take it all in. Eyes on the track. Speeding ahead.

I traveled to Buffalo this morning to take the Unified Court's Interpreting Exam. I listened to the Jesse & Joy CD on the way, and I imagined "Aquí Voy" to be the day's theme song. AQUI VOY, ALGO INSEGURA PERO VOY HACIENDO MALABARES PA´ PAGAR LA RENTA DE HOY QUE VENGA MAS YO AGUANTO ESO Y MAS PERDIDA, AFINADA AUNQUE DESUBICADA YO LLEGO HASTA EL FINAL It's a song about confidence, "I'll reach the end, even if I'm lost, tired, hungry, and disoriented." I got lost. By the end of the day I was completely exhausted, disoriented and hungry. I was not well prepared for the exam, and I'm disappointed in myself. I did enjoy meeting the regional director of court interpreters. She described the severe shortage of bilingual staff, and her experience as the interpreter for the defendant known around her as "The Walmart Murderer." She told me that she cried all the way back to Buffalo, after telling the victim's family, in English, in first person, the horrible things he confessed to. If I don't pass I can take the exam again after a year. It's out of my hands now.

On Teaching High School

I've amused myself lately with the creation of a list of reasons why working as a college professor is soooo much better than teaching high school.

I've been serving as a long term sub for a local high school teacher for seven weeks now. Tomorrow is my last day and as fun as this experience was, I am so ready to go.

Why teaching college is better...
1. If I don't want to start working before 8 a.m.(or noon), I don't have to.

2. No messes. No paper balls, broken pencils, bloody elbows to clean up.

3. Teenage girls in tears. In 20 years of teaching college nobody has ever cried in my class. Theyve been scared and nervous, sure. Here in the high school home room, however, I see girls cry every day. And I have no idea what to do with them!

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What Makes Us Smile

I've seen the "amused smile, " when someone appreciates a witty statement or a joke.

There's the kind of smile I see when people watch puppies or babies or children. It's a warm, fuzzy thing.

There's no expression that compares to the "I feel loved smile."

It's not like "thank you for the award or praise." This smile, rather, is quite rare.

I recognized it today on the face of a woman who was driving and talking on her cell phone. I wondered who she might be talking to.

I felt it when my Grandma said, I love you" as I was leaving the nursing home on Saturday morning.

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The End

The end of the season and my last day of work at The Amusement Park feels something like the end of a long, entertaining film.

I'm tired and ready to move on, yet I so enjoyed the scenery, the characters, and the story line that I'm also feeling a little bit sad that there's no more.

I dare say a sequel would never be as good. How could anyone fill the roles of The International Students, my sweet teenage coworker friends, and the fantastic cooks and managers?

It was a warm, sunny summer, a drought by most standards. The park was busy and guests were happy.

People were generous with tips. My own family enjoyed the fringe benefits of discounts and leftover bacon.

I have next weekend free. And the weekend after that. I'm weirded out, " like  a person who is walking out of a dark theater into the sun.

Time to adjust. Time for "the end."

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Elegance

Today is our 21st wedding anniversary. We are celebrating with friends at a football game, hardly an elegant affairs.

I've been thinking about elegance lately. My friend Yuko commented that a mutual friend found a very elegant man to marry. Elegant (from Maryland), unlike the men around here (he knows how to dance).

I once confessed to her that dinner at my house was like eating with a pack of werewolves from The Twilight series. Picture Jacob and his brothers, sparring and howling.

Yesterday I visited a local village and its elegant library. It was housed in a former university building. I relaxed for a minute, maybe two, by its enormous mahogany fireplace.

I used to be more comfortable with elegance. When my grandparents were alive we frequented country clubs and art museums. Elegance is now a rarity and I find that I tend to equate it with wealth as opposed to refinement.

But it is also poetry, classical music and art...and manners.

Should I be exposing the boys to the more elegant side of life more often? How can I infuse more elegance into our home?

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That One Thing

I promised myself that I would STAY PUT today. I am staying home, not only because my car is broken down and in the shop, but because I want to practice better self discipline.

I want to finish the laundry and dishes instead of leaving the job half done.

I'm pulling the sweaters and boots out of storage. I hope to do some filing.

But there's no milk for my morning coffee. One teen drank it all while I ran the other to morning gym.

I require two cups of coffee every morning. And now I'm terribly tempted to run to town, go to campus, return bottles, etc.

So instead I'm drinking some very expensive Japanese tea that my good friend brought from Tokyo.

It has a strange flavor, reminiscent if seaweed.

I'm hoping it delivers the caffeine punch she claimed, to keep me going through my fifth laundry load and third dish strainer in this, the 10 o'clock hour.

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Balance

I often think about balance...eating a balanced diet, resting some between work days, and giving compliments as much as or more than I give instructions.

The summer months were off balance with regard to being on my feet. I now have a terrible time sitting still unless I'm asleep.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is the lifestyle at the nursing home. Elderly folks, mostly women, sit for days on end. They stare at the same faces, listening to the same stories and tired old jokes.

This week my good friend Yuko, who lives in Tokyo, visited. Unlike her last few visits when I was overscheduled and overtired, we found time to eat out, scrapbook, and stroll. I learned about her best childhood friend and we talked about health care proxies.

It was a good balance.

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Ordinary Heroes

If you haven't read read the story of What She Did Last Week...you should. It will brighten your day.

Stories

This summer I became good friends with a young Mexican woman named Ruby. She came through a student work program and she landed in my restaurant, cooking and washing dishes in our hot kitchen all summer long.

She gave up a year of university to come, as the program ended long after the start of the Mexican "Fall semester."

She really came to find her father, who, for the last thirteen years has worked two jobs in San Francisco, a jewelry store by day and a restaurant by night. He sent money back to the family in Mexico but he himself could not travel. As an undocumented worker he would lose his source of income and even, perhaps his life, if he were to try to re-enter the U.S.

I wondered what she would find when she got to San Francisco? What if he had a second family there?

She always spoke of him with nothing but fondness. Over the thirteen years he had faithfully called home.

Ruby posted pictures this morning of Alcatraz, cable cars, Pier 39 and sea lions. And pictures of her dad.

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We Don't Do Funerals

On Sunday we attended a baptism service at a church with a very different "spirit" than our own. Even the children mentioned that they felt drained of joy afterward. I left yearning for a good funeral. See, we "don't do funerals" in our neck of the woods. Instead, we celebrate life and home-goings with singing, clapping, and happy tears. Last night we celebrated the life of our old friend Wes. He was 92 when he passed away peacefully at the local VA Hospital. He was a father, grandfather, retired mill worker, a serviceman and and poet (see photo). It was a beautiful, spirit-filled service. Miss Rosie sand beautifully as did the choir. The piano and the congregation's voices filled the sanctuary and the seats bounced. I left with the feeling that I'd "been to the well." A beautiful song by Brad Paisley, on this the anniversary of 9/11

17.5 Hours

I feel completely out of sync these days with the march of time. The regular season at the amusement park is over, the international students have gone back to school, and my four boys each entered a new grade level.

Summer sped by. We are already in week three of the Fall semester and my Japanese friend Yuko will visit next weekend ( wasn't she just here?!)

I started a new job on Tuesday at a claims processing firm. I suspected that it would be a.challenge to learn to sit all day in an office again but I didn't anticipate how much I would hate the physical environment and the attitudes of my coworkers. It took just 17.5 hours on the job for me to know, with absolute certainty, that the job was not a good fit.

I explained to the supervisor as I was leaving."I don't wish to waste your time, or mine."

Now it is time to job hunt again and catch up on some of the mommy chores that have gone half done for awhile.

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Affirmation

Sometimes I feel as though I'm wandering, searching for the place God wants me to be. During weeks like these when I don't see my husband at all because of our work schedules, I question my choices.

And then sometimes God shows me that my efforts are making a difference.

That affirmation is so very sweet.

Like the pride I felt when I went to pick up my paycheck and the Head of H.R. came out of her office to say, "we could really use more employees like you. Thank you."

This morning one of the football players that I take to and pick up from practice commented that his Mom didn't have money for food. I know why God made me available to drive these boys every day. There was a.need.

I imagine that God might appreciate a little affirmation himself so I want to add this..."
Thank you Lord, for the good work you are.doing in  and through me."

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Baby On Board

Something that really gets to me lately is "adult content" and "adult speech" in the presence of children. I'm reminded of the "Baby On Board" stickers on cars that remind other drivers to be "extra careful" when passing or following. And those special window decals that would alert firefighters to pay special attention to a child's bedroom in the event of a house fire. The sentiment is the same..."please use kid gloves." There are innocents in the vicinity, those that may not be able to remove themselves from an ugly situation. Take our experience with "Joe the Barber" as an example. We went to a new barber this week because our dear friend and long time barber, Greg, was in a terrible car accident. It's unlikely that he will ever work again. Joe delivered a descent haircut, but my seven-year-old was subjected to a television station in his shop that carried a morning talk show (topic: gays) and nonstop Viagra commercials. I regret that I didn't intervene. Yesterday at the restaurant I noticed a table full of young men cursing, while parents with two young children sat at the next table, slumped down and uncomfortable. Why didn't I offer to move them? I'm often immobilized in these situations. Recently, we visited a relative to show off the old fashioned costumes we wear to church. Upon seeing the little ones, he asked, "And what's your other son wearing, a thong?" I half smiled when I should have jumped...Really??!! Why don't adults self censor in the presence of children anymore?

Leave Your Troubles Behind

The other day I heard someone rant about the lake (again). "I hate going all the way up there for only a few hours." "It takes at least half an hour to get there." "I'd rather stay at my own house." I don't feel that way at all. Many of my most precious memories are of days (sometimes hours or minutes) spent by the lake. My Grandma M often said, "it's the place we go to forget our troubles." I took one of my Turkish daughters and my Mexican sister there last week. We had a lovely afternoon chatting with fishermen, watching boats, and sitting on the rocks. The children swam. Seagulls squawked overhead. I wonder if they forgot their troubles...this week's bombing in Turkey...The three years that have passed since R has seen her father while he works in California. The person who ranted must have never left his troubles at the lake.

A Butt in a Chair

Yesterday I interviewed for a new full time job. The position doesn't pay well nor does it provide tuition assistance, as I had hoped.

I interviewed at the Department of Labor. A headhunter was assisting the company's H.R. representative in order to process candidates quickly, at a pace of more than twenty per day.

On meeting my interviewer, I saw that I'd already worked with the headhunter when he was an undergraduate. He was very helpful to me and he candidly answered my questions. I got the inside scoop. "The company is growing so fast that they basically need butts to fill chairs."

I landed the job but it's hard to be excited over being a butt for a chair.

Yet, God provided a job close to home, right across the street from the school. After three years in retail, I won't have to work weekends.

I'm worried about sitting for eight hours every day, when maybe I should be looking forward to the rest.

I can do this.

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Marfan Syndrome

I was profoundly impressed by twin twelve year old boys that I met in the restaurant today.  They were polite and sociable. I asked if they played sports, as this is a.topic.rather familiar to tween boys.

Their mother shared that they were recently pulled from all sports activities, once it was discovered that they, and their brother, suffer.from Marfan Syndrome, a genetic disorder that affects connective tissue throughout the body. It's often the cause behind the tragic stories we hear where a student athlete mysteriously collapses and dies on the field.

In most cases, it goes undiagnosed. In their case, an autopsy following their grandmother's death revealed the disease. Genetic testing confirmed its presence for these boys.

They were going on "The Superman, " our tallest, fastest roller coaster, one last time. Their mom had conceded, even though any thrill ride poses a.risk. This would be.their last season of rides, as the disease progresses with age.

Once again I'm deeply grateful that our boys are healthy. I try to imagine what it is like- living wit the possibility of a collapse like the twins' mom.

But I can't think for long. It's past midnight and I get up at 6 a.m. to take the boys to football practice. They have basr line concussion screening tomorrow

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This Low Tech Summer

We've enjoyed a deliciously low tech summer. I've paid so little attention to computers and devices that when I finally picked.up the IPad this morning, it asked me for 52 updates. 52.

When I tried to update all, it complained that there wasn't sufficient space. So I deleted emails and videos until I realized that it was set to remove them from the gmail server. I deleted several that were important to a job interview this coming Thursday.

The college upgraded its course management software this morning. Now my summer incompletes can no longer see their classes and I have to learn to navigate the new and learn how to get back into the old. I printed the instructions, thinking to read more when my stress level goes down.

Getting back into technology, after a summer off, hurts!

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My Turkish Daughters

I work with two university students from Turkey. I was quite surprised one day when one said to me, "I told my mom that YOU are my American mother."

Aren't we close enough in age to be sister?! I simply hadn't  yet imagined myself in the role of mother to a college student.

Today we talked about the people who are fleeing Syria and rushing into Turkey.

Ichlai says there is no reason to worry because her country is strong and, she says, "my country is a gentleman."

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Uncharted Waters

The ex husband of my dear friend drowned accidentally while fishing. The search and rescue operation, recovery, and memorial service would have been sad events, given his sudden, tragic passing.

Things were, perhaps, made more stressful and complicated given the "nontraditional" roles in today's modern family: estranged relatives, the separated but still married second wife, half siblings, etc.

For the most part, I gather, everyone did their best to be supportive and respectful.
Given that blended families, separated spouses and families members who refuse to speak to one another seem all the more commonplace, I've wondered if a who new set of norms and roles will eventually surface.

For now, we're moving through uncharted territory.

I'm praying for these folks a lot these days. May they find peace and strength.

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Music Festival

A four day Christian music festival rolls into town every August. We look forward to hearing great live music, checking out the vendor exhibits, and squeezing in a ride or two. The event is held at the amusement park.

For weeks, my coworkers have been warning me about Kingdom Bound attendees. They have a reputation for being cheap and difficult.

Today I saw this first hand. Day 1 of the festival I worked in the restaurant.

Only one family paused to pray over their food. One customer tipped me 21 cents. Most left only a dollar or two, on checks averaging 50 or 60 dollar.

Separate checks. Impatience. Spoiled children.

From the outside looking in, Christians as a group aren't particularly attractive.

Tomorrow is my day off. The teens and I will attend the festival and I'll do my best to model generousity and patience to the staff at the park.

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My Fire Hydrant

My cousin Steve gave me a fire hydrant and I love it. I don't know exactly where I'm going to put it; I'm not generally a fan of lawn ornaments. It's very, very heavy, at least for my girly muscles. This morning I rolled it out of the back of the van and shimmied it, inch by inch, out of the middle of the driveway toward the rock garden. Steve works for a water utility in a southern state. He came by the hydrant legally; his company replaced all of the hydrants in a community that was built prior to 1968 when asbestos may or may not have been used in the linings of the water pipes. The hydrant reads "Mueller 5/14." Newer hydrants, Steve explained, allow just as much water to flow through them as the older varieties but with a smaller form factor. So my hydrant is "bulky" compared to the modern types. It's a relic. I love what the hydrant symbolizes: water in the time of need, saving lives, public access (and dogs:). It will remind me of the this time in our lives, when we are so painfully aware of the frailty of life itself. Another cousin recently lost his life in an accidental drowning. His children, his friends, and his first wife are haunted by the tragic way he died and they are deeply affected by the this sudden loss.

The New Guard

Sometimes there's a change in the weather or the air temperature that happens so suddenly that we are caught by surprise. It's like a hot, humid breeze that is replaced by a refreshing, colder wind.

I've noticed a change at The Fair. There's a new generation of participants who've "blown in."

Last night's sheep show was judged by a former judge's daughter.

An entire family of dairy cow exhibitors has aged out. We saw them volunteering in the ice cream stand, still participating as a group.

I've enjoyed getting to know the new Family Science educator. She is patient and encouraging.

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Committed

I swore that I would "commit" to camping at The Fair, by sleeping in the tent nightly, taking meals at the campsite, and allowing the boys to clean up at the Fair showers.

One boy hasn't come home since opening day. He provides me with a list of things he needs from home and I run back and forth.

Today I'm preparing a Julienne salad for twelve. I went to the store for fresh ingredients and I'm chopping and slicing here at home with my favorite knives on a clean counter top.

I'll run the meal over to the campsite at noon.

For die hard campers I suppose this would be considered cheating.

Last night the air mattress had completly deflated by 1 a.m. I missed my bedroom side table (unsure where to safely place my keys and glasses, I kept the on my person).

Maybe it's the knowledge that I have to go back to work on Sunday that's spoiling my relationship with camping. I don't find camping relaxing at all and I hate to go back to work exhausted.

The boys, however, seem to be having a lovely time.

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Hog Clothes

I try to journal or at least reflect at the close of special days. Yesterday was Day 1 of The County Fair. The day closed with an overtired, crying 5 year old, a massive thunder storm and  five of us sleeping in a tent filled with dirty after-the-hog-show clothes.

It was a very hot, very dry day. I'm grateful that the easy ups didn't topple, grateful for bottled water, grateful that the boys did their best in the swine show.

I want to remember the way our oldest introduced himself to the hog judge, "Hi, I'm really a sheep guy."

We hosted two guests, two children who had never been to The Fair. I want to remember the way W treated his friend to ice cream, games, and trinkets. Of course, he spent all of his budgeted Fair money in one burst of generosity.

This morning my car battery was dead and the electricity to the campsites went off in the middle of breakfast.

Ahhhh. Fair Memories.

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Stranger Than Fiction

My Grandma C always encouraged me to write. In a deep corner of my heart I've tucked away the dream to write a book.

I've decided my work should be historical fiction, because life itself dreams up the greatest romances and tragedies. Fiction in case I don't have my facts exactly straight.

Events this week only proved that I cannot, in my wildest imagination, dream up horrors equal to the national and international news. I cannot foresee the coldness of hearts even among my loved ones, the accidents that grabs a dad from a fishing boat as his son starts college, or the bizarre words of complete strangers like my customers.

While we were with neighbors at the community's weekly outdoor movie night, eating popcorn and banana splits, a gunman opened fire inside a movie theater in Colorado. A "Joker" copy cat?

It can't ever again be said, "that only happens in the movies...or in books...or on TV"

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Homemade Is Where the Heart Is

New York State has officially put the cabash on community bake sales and sidewalk lemonade stands. A new law demands that all food consumed by the public must be made in a licensed, regulated, inspected kitchen.

Now, every summer our church serves homemade pie at Old Fashioned Day. 1 penny buys a slice of pecan, apple crumb, elderberry or whichever flavor your heart desires.

The new regulations could have dealt a blow to this tradition, but not in East Shelby! We ordered a new convection oven that bakes 25 pies at a time and bakers of all ages have assembled for a pie baking marathon in the church's licensed, inspected kitchen. Butter, fruit and sugar were purchased in bulk and the men brought in coolers and freezers to store the pies on site until Sunday.

I heard they were putting out about 80 pies per hour.

We shake our fists at the idea of serving store bought pies or disappointing the thousands who visit our village. Homemade is Where the Heart is!

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Leaving A Legacy

I care a lot about "leaving the world a better place" and about leaving a legacy beyond the limits of my lifetime. So often these days I have found myself groaning over the direction our country is heading and over popular culture. The breakdown of marriage and the traditional family saddens me beyond words. More often than not my attitude toward change is negative. Today, however, I had a wonderful, happy experience as the boys and I walked into our village's new library. I don't want to take all the credit, but the new library WAS my idea. I spent several years in the 90's on the Board of Trustees trying to convince other board members, and the larger community, that parking, lighting and space were all inadequate at the old building. What followed were several more years of arguing over money, what to do with the old library facilities, and where to put the new one. I eventually backed out when I realized I had very little influence. Thankfully, some folks with pull (and push) stepped in and led the community forward. Today I walked into The Hoag Library, a beeeuuuutiful, sun-filled, modern library. Wow.

The Crinoline

My new 3 hoop crinoline arrived in the mail today from California.

I didn't even know the word "crinoline" before this week.

After realizing that I had an extra paycheck from the college, I decided to jump in and buy myself an old fashioned dress to wear to our church's open house. It's a civil war era style and the crinoline is worn underneath to give the skirt fullness and form.

Of course, this year's summer open house has a 1920's theme, but I'm terribly excited about owning any dress to wear this year and into the future. Now I feel I can say that "I AM a citizen of West Jackson!"

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4th of July

My husband would probably say that I'm stuck in a paradigm. I have this idea of how I like to celebrate the 4th of July, how I've always celebrated the 4th of July, and I'm having some trouble doing things differently.

We've had a wonderful day...a 4th of July parade with loud, red fire trucks. A fantastic meal with Caesar salad, BBQ chicken, and baked beans. Even a dip in the lake.

I miss my parents and the cousins. I miss the aunts and uncles. Mostly I miss my Grandpa Chuck.

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Perpetual Motion

I've come to an early conclusion about the theme for our annual Christmas letter: moving on and moving up.

Certainly we, as a family, exist in a state of perpetual motion. The boys crave physical activity and our modern life requires multiple daily trips to the store, the library, the workplace, church, the weight room, meetings etc.

We recently put our heads together about the ideal way to spend the 4th of July holiday. Mr. WestberryDad and I came to the same conclusion. We'd like to have a BBQ at home, in our own backyard.

I'm eager to linger in one place, to press pause.

Happy Independence Day, dear readers.

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Anniversaries

I'm noticing lately my tendency toward nostalgia. I notice it when I hesitate to throw away my children's artwork or awards. I notice the time I spend reflecting on "life as it was" before, and the way I'm eager to return to places, like the lake, where I've enjoyed a special moment. This week, for example, I've been "stuck" inside a pattern of worry as I remember the events of last year. It was a horrible week filled with injuries, arguments, and the tragic death of a child. Why do my emotions go there? How can I be a better example, at home, of keeping my focus where it ought to be? "Heaven Help Me" by Matt Mahar Everybody's quoting the Bible Like it could be truth or lies And I'm standing on the corner With the saints and the sinners Tryin' to quote Your love With my life Heaven help me now Heaven help me now I lift You up and I lay me down Heaven help me now

The Stadium Gig

Our oldest auditioned on Friday to play guitar at the "Rock The Lakes" concert. It was his first "stadium gig."

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How to Find a Happy Place

We visited (Great)Grandma Millie yesterday evening. Dinnertime at the nursing home was over and the employees were washing tables and setting found items on a counter. We found her sitting alone in her room, wondering what to do. I suggested that we go outside into the courtyard and she swiftly agreed. I noticed a real difference in Grandma. Maybe it was the sunshine after days of rain? She seemed genuinely happy(so often she seems genuinely bored as she is confined to a wheelchair). She spoke at length about things she enjoyed, not in the spirit of reminiscence but rather as if those things were still real and intact. The old 5 & 10 on Main Street. My Grandpa working in his garden. A beading project she'd just finished. She offered to take the boys for me and to go do something special. But, she said, she could only handle one at a time (I was delighted that she would offer). This, while back in the courtyard one of my boys was tipping over the bird bath and the other was sword fighting with the air from the top of a picnic bench. We sat in the garden for awhile, noticing birds perched along the tip of the roof and those that were chirping from the inner branches of a huge pine tree. I broke off some pine needles and crushed them for her to smell. I wonder where my "happy place" would be if the day comes that I'm unable to leave my residence. Which will be the store I think of that was filled with wonders and treasures? Today, any place with Grandma Millie is a happy place. I love to visit her and I'm so grateful that she is and has been a part of my life. Side note: She ooooooohed and aaaaaahed with J (5 years old)over this new "official" Cub Scout status. Warms my heart. Here is a look/listen to another very happy moment...J's chorus concert. He's on drums for this number. We are so blessed to belong to a public district that isn't afraid to "have a little church up in here!" Can I get a witness?!

Birth Order and Mitchell Patterson

Our oldest son is a typical "type A" personality, the firstborn who demonstrates leadership and drive. He has been gifted with many talents: he is athletic, musical, and very good at math/engineering. During this season of awards ceremonies, he was recognized as "Most Outstanding Chorus Member" and "Most Valuable Section Player." He even scored a 96 on a level six (collegiate/professional) state drum solo (he is in tenth grade). I am, of course, the proud parent. But it delights me to no end that his good friend, Mitchell Patterson, scored a 100 on his state solo. A perfect score there is quite rare. This same friend aced his SATs...with, you might have guessed, a perfect store. I think it's healthy that there is someone nearby who can "one up" my son. While my guy doesn't tend toward haughtiness, I want him to always keep trying, to keep improving. I like him to see that there is always something more to learn. The other night we were talking about Mitchell's home. I'd requested that J ask his friend what he'd done to prepare for the SATs (I was curious...what does one eat/do/study to get a perfect score?!). Apparently, everyone in the Patterson family has a computer in his/her room and very often, family members are tied to their respective supercomputers. Practice makes perfect? Side note written one week later: My son just scored a 100 on the English Regents. Now I'm the parent of a 100% What do I do?! Thank you: 100 (Icon) Things I Love from MarviMarti

Feeling Left Out

This morning I read in the newspaper that there will be a presentation/book discussion at a church up the road given by my mom and my aunt. I hadn't been aware.

I suppose I had only minimal involvement in the book itself. I did save the manuscript from the fire, if you will, and passed it on to my aunt who spent months at editing and word processing.

It was a blessing to know the book's author, my step great grandmother. For years I visited her and took her out to the circus or restaurants, despite the claims that she was dirty, crazy, and "not really part of the family."

The book was published after her death, and for some time I was included in marketing efforts and sales. I wrote a few pages that are included in the back, explaining my relationship to Mrs. Carr.

So I started feeling a little sad this morning, to be "left out" ( perhaps better said, "without notice"). Then I asked myself how often I fail to include God, my creator and companion, to the events in my life.

I can but try to be a better communicator, someone who invites others. I want to remind myself to take the long view, working hard to not forget the many hands that have helped me along the way.

Side note: last night's performance of Broadway Baby" by Women's Select Choir had me thinking of Pat.

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Cherry Trees and Flan

Yesterday we had the privilege of hosting five International students from Mexico. We walked along the canal, drove by some Cobblestones and braved the cold lake breeze at the pier.

They were excited to see their first real cherry tree. Their enthusiasm was adorable.

Here at home we had planned a menu that featured local ingredients like maple syrup and kale. Mr. WestberryDad grilled chicken, NY state style. I made a maple flan from our farm eggs.

It was their first home cooked meal in more than two weeks, as they have been living in a hotel and working twelve hour days at the amusement park. I enjoyed watching the food on the table disappear.

I was honored when one boy said, "thank you so much for the flan. It reminded me of home."

W had some extra help with his Spanish homework. N fed the animals with extra "farm hands." The girls squealed and giggled as the sheep took grain from their hands.

It was a delicious day.

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Shenanigans

There are times when I sense the grumpy old German in me rising up.

I don't, generally, enjoy silliness and boy shenanigans anyway. If I were to be totally honest I'd admit that even the sound of the dogs romping around makes me crazy ( they've been playing on top of this big box on the porch since it was delivered).

I was raised to believe that "when it's time to work, you work." "Play time is after the work gets done."

Last night we were working in the football garden, named so because it is nearly the size of a football field, and the little boys were playing at high speed. The truck radio was cranked up, windows down, and J was dancing on the seat, bed, and roof of the vehicle...MY Ford F150. W was using his garden sign as a bat, swinging at clumps of dirt.

And I was terrifically annoyed.

The older boys have dished out plenty of silliness these days, laying on the hammock reading "The Bro Code" and playing guitars or video games instead of doing chores and paperwork.

In my mind I've called them "numskulls," a word I heard as a child when my Grandfather was frustrated with me. http://www.dailywritingtips.com/numskulls-noodles-and-nincompoops/

How can I learn to be more patient with boy/puppy shenanigans?

I'm very, very grateful that "The Dad" is taking three of the four to a Boy Scout campout tonight...in the rain...while I work.  There's likely to be concentrated boy silliness there. Thank you WestberryDad!!!

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Jumping Fences

This is a picture of the fence I climb over as I walk through the park to work. Really, I'm supposed to:)

I really love working at the amusement park even if it's tough on the back and feet.

On Monday we took advantage of my employee benefits and purchased our season passes at a discount. Then we went into the park where we each chose a special treat that we shared across five of us...cotton candy, dippin dots, fried chicken, fried mushrooms and candy mouth spray.

Ok. I'll confess, I didn't touch the candy spray. I'm thinking that the appeal of "cherry flavored snake spray" is exclusive to little boys.

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A Plant Will Choose It's Own Home

This little rhodedendron (spelling) came from The Pillars, the childhood home of my grandfather. My mother threw herself under a moving bulldozer to save it.

I planted it in two different spits at the old farm, but it barely stayed alive and it never bloomed.

It seems to have found its home here at the new farm. We see new growth and, for the first time in 7 years, a blossom.

My Aunt Lynn said, "plants choose their homes." Does this little rhodey know that this farm is a "sister farm" to The Pillars, having shared work crews over the years?

It's blooms are a visible symbol of how we are all healthy and happy here.

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The Bulldozer Effect

4 boys get ready for school here every morning.

We've attempted to help them to be self sufficient. We provide the groceries, pencils, uniforms, etc. They are expected to rise and shine, feed and wash themselves, and pack up.

The result of this amount of activity is, "The Bulldozer Effect," where there is major destruction to the kitchen by the time they leave. Sometimes, entire segments of the room are pushed to the side or turned over. I even hear "men working" as they boss, cajole and raz one another toward the door.

When The Bulldozer Effect is used for good amazing things happen. Yesterday we all worked together under the direction of Miss Heidi, our neighbor, to put in a new rock garden under the porch.

We dug, hauled, chopped, and buried. The result is a beeeeuuuuutiful bed, full of ferns, hostas, and choral bells. Heidi brought over some red sedum, a Barberry Bush, and Monk's Hood.

Thank You Lord, for their strength and energy, today and always.

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canal Time and Gelato

The two little boys had their annual physicals at the pediatrician's office yesterday. Since we travel more than an hour to get there, and because we don't go to the city very often, we made a day of it.

We took a packet boat ride on the canal, ate lunch at The Coal Tower and enjoyed artisan gelato...two flavors to a bowl and oodles of samples. It was a delicious day!

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Interview 1

I interviewed this morning at a county agency funded by state dollars. The agency provides leadership...that means direction, oversight, and relationship building. High level stuff.

I'd consider the interview an epic failure.

I had a really hard time relating to the Executive Director. Her questions were very specific, so I focused too much on hands-on "stuff."

I asked the "do you promote abortion?" question to which she replied that the agency networks with providers who perform legal medical procedures.

I've spent so many years being told that I'm over qualified that I didn't promote myself nearly enough. I failed to ask about the salary and benefits.

She did keep me for a good hour. Time to write the thank you note.

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Irons in the Fire

I left my full time job without a prospect ten days ago. The store manager gave me what I like to call "the integrity walk" and I knew it was the beginning of the end. He drew a line on the floor and said, "this is the line of integrity. On one side is performance, on the other side is integrity. I need you to move further toward the performance side." In other words, he demanded that I compromise my values. I prayed about the situation. I heard God answer, "May 1," so I submitted my resignation. Since then, I've been "prospecting," putting my application in under a wide variety of job categories: Office Management, Customer Service, Education. Yesterday I was hired at the local amusement park as a seasonal employee. I'd love to write more on this experience...I happened to be interviewed by the GM's daughter who is a lovely young woman. We became fast friends. The new management company stresses Christian values and I was recognized on day 1! I was so happy I cried! Today I received a call from the Perinatal Network for a neighboring county. This would be a full time professional position with a mission I'm 100% behind. I'm planning to interview, and see where God leads me.