Another Reason to Hate "Frozen"

I know it's counter culture, but I hate the Disney movie, "Frozen."

These lyrics hit close to home.

"Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?"

Elsa?
Do you wanna build a snowman?
Come on, let's go and play!
I never see you anymore, come out the door
It's like you've gone away
We used to be best buddies, and now we're not
I wish you would tell me why
Do you wanna build a snowman?
It doesn't have to be a snowman
(Go away, Anna!)
Okay, bye

Time Warp

I'm finally feeling in sync with daylight savings time. 

I found myself unable to function after 7 p.m. last week, and awake at 4 a.m.

This morning I arrived 15 minutes late for class, even though I was on campus an hour early! I "time warped" while correcting exams in the library. How embarrassing! When I finally find an uninterrupted hour, time seems to fly by.

Next week we celebrate Veteran's Day and the children have an afternoon off of school thanks to teacher conferences. 

Have you ever experienced a time warp? Are you more productive under a routine or with lots of free time?

Feeling at (the nursing) Home

Our boys are quite comfortable visiting the nursing home.

When I was pregnant with the youngest I was visiting regularly, even when the smells were overwhelming to my expectant nose.

Over the years we spent many Christmases there with the great (great) grandmother and my grandmother.

Our oldest ministers at the nursing home every other Sunday, singing and playing the piano. I'm grateful that our church considers this to be a high priority.

Generally, the children don't feel nervous, even inside the memory ward where they see the residents carrying dolls like babies and they hear screams from behind closed doors. Last night, however, J (almost 8) had to be pulled, kicking and screaming, out of the minivan. He didn't want to go inside the nursing home.

Perhaps it was because he was dressed in his Batman costume. We were on our way to the community costume parade/Beggar's Night. I tried to convince him that the residents would be thrilled to see a Super Hero. Finally, he conceded.

Indeed. The Memory Ward was filled with laughter and smiles when he entered the dining hall. One dear old woman pulled a homemade cookie out of the bag on her walker and handed it to him. The desk attendant found a Reeses's and a Butterfinger inside her desk drawer and dropped it into his trick-or-treating pumpkin.

I took a photo of J sticking his little tongue out at our friend (the reason for our visits there). I treasure the scene.

The twinkle in her eyes had surfaced and she asked the same question she asks every time we see her (if she is feeling well), "How old do you think I am?" (I always find this difficult to answer. She is 92. What is a polite answer, "I think you don't look a day over 70?!")

Recently, I've left my responsibility to visit the nursing home "on a back burner" behind all of the other pressing demands on my time. Now it's time to step it up.

The Sweet Life of J.C. Lane

By all counts this has been a tough week. A death in the family, the death of two friends, the shooting in Canada, Isis, Ebola...

On a lighter note, though nonetheless frustrating, we are, all six of us, heavy into "run, drop, crash"mode. All six of our schedules are such that we run like crazy during the day to work, volunteer obligations, and sports practices, then drop all of our "stuff" off on the floor in order to sit down for a few precious moments. Quickly, we "crash" against the wall of fatigue.

I'm just too tired to deal with the sorting and unpacking and filing.

Thankfully, the band that uses the recording studio here every weekend truly doesn't seem to mind. They are low maintenance - water bottles and frozen pizza.

In spite of the difficult situations swirling around us (and the bothers of technology, leaky pipes, and ripped jeans), I keep finding myself thinking, "I'm living EXACTLY the life I wanted...right now."

I get to sub in the boys' elementary school. On Tuesday, W ran into me in the cafeteria. He literally RAN INTO me with a tackle hug. It was the best hug ever.

I get to spend time with my college student son, during our now twice weekly car rides to/from Buffalo. We are exploring the city together, discovering cool eating spots and music stores. And donuts...some amazing donuts.

I just finished an intensive 8-week IT course on Multimedia in Education. Now, I'm determined to use the same amount of effort to learn to knit. I actually washed wool last weekend! OK, so it's still "drying" on the floor of two rooms and I have NO idea how to card it. But still. I've had sheep for 13 years while never before even washing a fleece so I'm pretty darn proud.

Mr. WestBerryDad and I get to "hang out." It's true, we're out in the rain at football games and out in the barn giving shots, but we are home at the same time more often now.

I'm so glad that I made the move out of the windowless office prison cell.

It's a sweet life.

Writer's Cramps and Blocks

I'm living EXACTLY the life I hoped for when I made the decision to leave my job at The Amusement Park. I am able to go to the boys' football games, I don't have to rush around every morning, I am learning and seeing many new things.

I'm slowly, but surely, making my way though the piles of boxes in the attic and the shop that have been there since we moved three years ago. I especially love to see the progress I've made when, on garbage days, the decomposed, mouse-infested items GO.

Sometimes, I even find time to exercise :)

Today I have a PILE of writing to complete.

Two essays for a graduate program application. One will describe the policy implications of Obamacare (well, a few of them). Did you know that the Health Care Act is over 900 pages in length? And there is a lot of fine print.

A paper on Baroque Opera for Music Appreciation class.

The "story" of my oldest son's summer vacation and first few weeks of college - my promise to help him through his PILE of overdue thank you notes.

The final project for my "Multimedia in Education Class," an IBook on the djembe.

Still, these chores are much more enjoyable than my the work I did before.

"Let's Do This."

I'd Rather Be....

I've been waiting weeks to find a substitute teaching assignment. This morning, the search ended with a "job available" notification on the subfinder website. Details: "Boys Gym 7:30 a.m. -3:30 p.m."

Not only was it already 6:30 a.m. when the job was posted (and I still had 2 boys to put on the bus, one to run to school, and a shower to take), but this week is Homecoming Celebration in our schools. Costumes, silliness, pep rallies, decorated hallways.

I shuddered and quickly closed my web browser.

You see, it's another beautiful, sunny September day and I'd rather be...

...putting winter clothes into drawers and storing away summer clothes.
...walking outside with the sheep dog.
...catching up on sheep registration records.
...filing.

The list goes on.

I'm grateful for every second of these precious days of beautiful weather and time to work around the house.

Fridays with Canisius

This is the end of Week 4 of a 16-week semester. I'm teaching now at a private, residential college where the students are polite, bright, and well-educated. The campus is clean and I have access to BIG, powerful computing equipment. There's even free coffee (and sometimes donuts) in the faculty lounge.

I love this job.

On Fridays I treat myself to lunch in one of the campus dining halls. The menu item I chose today was a grilled chicken sandwich with pesto, roasted red pepper, sauteed mushrooms and spinach, and fresh tomato. Even the seeds on the sesame roll were delicious! The side was a "minestrone" pasta salad with sweet pepper, red onions, and kidney beans. Also delicious.

My oldest son and I commute together on Fridays. He studies computational physics at another university in the same city. I drop him off first and then use the smart phone navigation to go across the city via multi-lane highways. The other drivers strike me as distracted. The speed and swerve in an urgent rush to make it to an appointment or to work.

I enjoy listening to music and chatting with my now "adult" son to and from his campus. We talk about people, the news, and literature. We don't really talk about Physics.

Generally we make a stop on the way home for a treat like strudel from a local farm market or cheesies from the deli. Last week we stopped to shear a sheep for a local farmer who needed a hand.

I know that we are living through a short season. The 16-week semester is 25% complete.

I will not continue to teach in the city in the "Spring" when the weather makes an already treacherous drive even more dangerous.

I do not enjoy city driving.

The Rock Star's Mama

Allow me to tell you what it's like to be the mother of a drummer in a rock band.

Two nights ago the members of the group went, all together, to see K.I.S.S. and Def Leppard perform. Following the show, they went to Denny's for unlimited pancakes, as they do after their own shows.

My boy rolled in around 2 a.m. and then got up for work at 6 a.m. (He has asked me to make sure he got out the door and off to his job in the morning).

Last night the band had their own gig. Of course, the boy didn't tell me where or when it was (since I have a habit of showing up to take pictures? I'm sure it's not so cool to have your mom and elementary- school-aged brothers in the crowd).

Following the show, the band showed up at our house. I was on the couch, tucked under a pillow and a blanket. They asked if they could "make some noise" out in the shed.

I said, "sure," and went to bed.

A few minutes later the smaller boys reported that the band had moved the couch out of the basement (????).

And this morning, my large screen TV was missing from the living room.

The couch, several chairs, and the TV were in the shop, along with batteries, change, and an "Austin Powers" movie box set.

The canning jars, blender, shelves, etc, that were between the sofa's original location and the basement entryway were smashed all over the cement floor.

Rock Stars were here.

Bad For Business

I gave my two weeks notice at my full time job. I had some "temporary" options lined up to fill the gaps in our income, one of which has completely fallen through thanks to the new healthcare law.

For a few moments I wondered if I had made the right decision or if I should turn back and cut my losses (by backing out of the second part time position I'd taken).

The bottom line is that the company culture where I work DOES not fit my personal values and I can do better. People aren't treated well and this theme reverberates throughout my days.

Today I learned of a situation where an "older" male employee continually brushed up against female employees (minors), followed them to their cars, and invited them to his home.

Our "safe to say" telephone line (an "anonymous" tip line that employees can use to report abuse or crime) is a fraud, with phone transcripts/summaries forwarded by email to a department head.

We squabble over "lending" employees to other departments to help for a few hours, because of tight labor budgets.

These things are, I believe, bad for people and bad for business.

I hope, if nothing else, to have learned something more about "cause and effect" and decision-making driven by fear.

So I'm taking a huge leap of faith. What would you do if you weren't afraid?

Mommy FBI

I realized long ago that I wasn't meant for a career in law enforcement. Just a few of the ways that I don't feel "threaded" for this type of work - I am not entirely comfortable around weapons, I don't enjoy running & physical conditioning, and I'm a great big "scardy cat."

Still, I find myself working in this type of environment.

Just the other day I found an ax in my backyard. We hadn't been doing any sort of yard work (given days and days of heavy rain) so I couldn't imagine why it would be sitting in the grass.

I picked it up and put it quickly in a "safe spot" as I rushed off to work.

Later I learned that one of the boys had used my Amazon Prime account to order throwing knives. I found them on the counter, underneath an electric frying pan they'd been using to scramble eggs (on top of a pile of mail).

I pulled one out of the holster and remarked to myself that they were very sharp and very frightening.

I asked the 16-year-old what he was using as a target.

"The old trees in back." (We don't have any "old trees" in back).

I reminded him that we wanted our property to become a Bed & Breakfast some day, rather than a haunted house.

A few days later I noticed a gash in the hand of my seven-year-old. We were at a rock concert and he, sporting a new Mohawk hairdo, was waving his fists and dancing while balancing dangerously on a stadium chair.

"What happened to your hand?" I asked (yelled, over the music).

"The ax," he yelled back.

I now conclude that the ax was being used like the throwing knives against the not-so-old trees in the backyard.

I'm slowly putting together the details of the crime scene.

Lord, please keep us safe from ourselves.

Seasons in the Sun

1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
9 What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth?
10 I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the workthat God maketh from the beginning to the end.
12 I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life.
13 And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God.

Our Pastor spoke on this section of Ecclesiastes in Sunday School this week. He emphasized that that so often, people are far too RIGID. Their rigidity makes change and movement from season to season more difficult than, perhaps, it needs to be.

God wants us to enjoy every season and to find a way to do good work at whatever stage of life we are in.

I wish that the visits with our “cottage cousins” could even be called seasons, instead of just the few short hours we spend together each year. I so enjoy their company…sunsets, beers around the bonfire, singing songs from "Joseph and The Technicolor Dream Coat."

I'm thinking of them today as they scatter back across the country to the south and to Hawaii.

Crunch Time

I dread the month of August like some people dread the Christmas rush or a visit to the dentist.

It's the beginning of football season and although there are only THREE players in the house this year, there is already a mountain of stinky, sweaty football clothes, random pads and chin guards among the vehicles and furniture, and the banging shut of food cupboards in the middle of the night.

Bad things happen in August.

One year in August I was involved in a full-speed head-on collision (actually, it was late July but the pain and trauma peeked the following month).

Tempers seem shorter in August.

Temperatures are hotter and water is in shorter supply.

The summer semester ends and the Fall semester begins, bringing professional development days and hours of course design work.

It's crunch time again and August 2014 has already seen it's share of stressful situations. For example, my youngest was involved in a typical boy head-to-teeth collision. The other boy lost two teeth while my son caught 100% of the shame and blame. "The bloody wheel gets the oil," I suppose.

A good friend, my mentor at the college, injured her back and can't teach. The college has asked that I take her upper-level courses because I am the only person 1) qualified to do so and 2) that she trusts.

While I wait for a definitive invitation to the subbing position, the teacher's union has to agree to the arrangement and the college has decide on the compensation package.

They chat while I churn over the logistics of two more preps, course design, etc.

Not to mention leaving my full time job.

I'm trying to see these as opportunities under August's perpetual dark cloud.

Sympathy Pains

When my children were (very) small I would find that I would have symptoms similar to their ailments. For example, I would experience a dull ache in my ear whenever they had ear infections. And, most certainly, my heart would ache when I saw them suffer emotionally.

These days I feel a variety of sympathy pains.

One boy was badly burned by the sun. The skin all over his back and shoulders is blistered and bubbled. It oozes and a layer or two comes off each time he removes his clothing. This same boy is "burning the candle at both ends," working full time while shearing sheep, giving lessons, and practicing for this weekend's performances. He is up before the crack of down, and home well after I go to bed at night. I'm exhausted to see him exhausted.

Another boy has had a very discouraging experience at his first job. His employer keeps him walking back and forth in the same position for hours on end. His feet are swollen and covered with blisters and open wounds.

My two Jamaican "daughters" sent money home with Western Union, only to be scammed by the store receiving the money on the Jamaican side. One sends money home to her father, who is caring for her child over the summer while she works at a minimum wage job selling french fries to Americans.

Last night I had a terrible migraine. The pain kept me from sleeping, and I tossed and turned for hours to the sound of the sheep dog barking at deer. The next morning I learned that my dear cousin had fallen into a coma, the result of an undetected brain tumor.

Phil 2:1-4 (Phi) Now if you have known anything of Christ's encouragement and of his reassuring love; if you have known something of the fellowship of his Spirit, and of compassion and deep sympathy, do make my joy complete--live together in harmony, live together in love, as though you had only one mind and spirit between you. Never act from motives of rivalry or personal vanity, but in humility think more of each other than you do of yourselves. None of you should think only of his own affairs, but consider other people's interests also.

On Procrastination - Making Memories NOW

We've made some great summer memories this year and we're only in the second week of July!

I treasure driving around with my 16-year-old son "looking for trouble." We found it in an Indian smoke shop that sells home-made cinnamon rolls the size of a pie plate.

Last weekend the oldest boy and I impulsively wrestled a ginormous blackberry patch behind our old house. We were determined to dig up and transplant some of the healthiest canes in order to get them growing at our new farm. We broke the spade as we dug. So we stopped and ate berries, and ate more berries. And took silly cell-phone pictures of berries.

One night after work I took the children to see a lamb we had donated to a petting zoo. Since we were already near the lake we decided to go to the shore and jump in. Clothes on. The cold lake water felt delicious.

This summer I'm making the most of the fact that I work at an amusement park. We're seeing the shows, splashing in the water park, and visiting the surrounding attractions.

We've made friends with some of the International Students. Even though life is already busy, "fitting in time" for these folks blesses us greatly. I've learned about "Akkee and Fish," the national dish of Jamaica. I also learned that one of the students has a one-year-old son at home. She had to leave him at home with her dad because this was the only work she could find. She works in Food Service at minimum wage.

I'm trying harder to lean in, instead of waiting for a better time to do "such and such." I'm sorting one box per day from our mountain of boxes from the move. And I'm not saving items "for a later date" as has been my custom.

I'm learning to organize and push myself as I've seen my best friend Y (from Japan) do.

She lives every day as if there could be an earthquake tomorrow. Now is the time to "get it done."

Picture Summer - July Photo A Day Challenge

“Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

Lessons Learned post-Graduation

Graduating High School Senior has accepted his diploma. He sang in the senior choir, made his speech, visited with well-wishers, and then crashed (slept) on the couch still in his dress clothes.

We hosted a party the next day for between 125 and 175 people. It was difficult to tell exactly how many guests had visited.

Through it all, I didn't know if I was coming or going. I didn't know exactly who was coming or going. Quite literally.

My grandmother, up there in years, drove herself the 6-hour distance from her home to our town. It was rumored that she was on her way.

During the days I thought she was driving I worried.

And I listened for the phone and I watched the driveway, hoping for a link to the coming and going.

Finally someone's Facebook post showed a picture of her in another town an hour away.

"I guess she made it," I said to myself. I was very much guessing.

Out of the loop. Out of sorts.

We learned many lessons through this experience.

1. Do not throw a party the day after graduation. Give yourself some time to prepare, once the June concerts, senior dinners, and class nights have come to an end.

2. Use heave-duty mosquito control.

3. Put large fans in the barn if it's a hot day. Nobody wants to dance inside a red, metal oven.

4. Borrow coolers and refrigerators. Lots of them. Have enough cold, bottled water on hand to provide for a small village, let alone a group the size of a backyard get-together.

5. Start saving now for the next boy's grad party. T minus two years.

Lessons from High School

I taught a review class today. One student came (which is one more over the number I had predicted would attend).

I have only one more day's worth of responsibilities before me as a high school teacher. Next Monday I will arrive at 7 a.m., give the Regional exam for three hours, help grade it, and then turn in my grades and my classroom key.

Here is the beginning of a list I've been working on.

"The Top Ten Lessons I've Learned from my Year as a High School Spanish Teacher."

1. High School students don't care what you've published, where you've worked before, or where you went to college. They will still call you names, bite you, scratch you, and beg for no homework.

2. The end of the school year is more bitter than sweet. A senior at our school took his own life the night before the last day of school.

3. Students judge one another not just by appearances but by the quality of their vacations and summer job.

4. Most (not all of) today's students are so engrossed in social media and cell phones and each other that they barely look to adults for advice or instruction.

5. So much of the responsibility of learning has been shifted to the teacher that students and parents expect them to do the learning as well as provide instruction.

Disgruntled Employee

The slang term " going postal" was originally coined after a series of real life shootings in the postal service. It has come to be associated with becoming extremely and uncontrollably angry, often to the point of violence, and usually in a workplace.

This morning I became extremely angry over a filthy workplace.

I'm tired of being the only person in the office to shovel snow, move boxes, clean up when the shredder pukes, and wash windows.

Our office vacuum cleaner was thrown away months ago. The vacuum for the building I supervise has been broken for weeks. The cleaning staff has been directed not to work in support or administrative areas of the company but rather to focus on customer-facing areas.

After a day off I I came back to work and focused on the dirt. Poop and pee on the floor and walls of the bathroom. Black mold along the baseboards. Dried up (and fresh) food across the floor of the break room. Staples, wads of paper, and stones all over the floor of the common area.

I became determined to find a working vacuum.

I went to HR (the director there brought in her own personal vacuum).

The department that oversees house-keeping gave me a vacuum that didn't suck dirt. Instead, it spilled black clouds of dust into the air. I promptly returned it and widened my search to other buildings.

I was especially annoyed when, in the middle of my cleaning spree (using my own Clorox wipes on the walls and toilets), the Office Manager asked if I had ordered water.

I mumbled under my breath..."when I'm done washing your toilet and kitchen floors, I'll fetch your water."

I feel like Cinderella. My clothes are stained, my hands are filthy, and my contacts are full of dust.

I wish I could explain why I feel this situation is wrong, instead of turning into an emotional, angry employee.

It's not like me to say, "that's not my job." Perhaps, however, we could rotate the responsibility or post signs in the break room reminding people to empty the garbage before it rots and overflows.

Caught Off Guard

As a kid I was always caught off guard by the end of the school year. "How can that be?" you might ask. The weather warms up and we should know that summer vacation is nearing. The focus inside the classroom turns to testing and test preparation.

The kid "me" would still wake up one day, every June, completely surprised that, all of a sudden, there was no school bus to catch or lunch to pack. It might have been because I really,k really loved school.

It's amazing that this year I could be caught off guard. We watch the calendar closely so as not to miss J's senior events. We're preparing the house and grounds for a graduation ceremony.

The little ones are giddy.

Still, I just looked up at my teaching calendar and found, much to my surprise, that I only have two days of work left.

And I'm sad. Because I really, really love my students.

Senior Pieces

Our oldest, J (18) will conduct his senior piece tonight at the school's last orchestra performance of the year. He chose a work in which the conductor controls the tempo throughout as opposed to simply keeping time and cuing sections. It can be a wild ride for the instrumentalist who has to watch both the conductor and the music very, very carefully. It's a difficult song.

Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad and I are hanging on during this "wild" graduation season. There's Baccaloreate (spelling),Class Night, various award events, and final performances. Meanwhile, we are trying to ready the house and food for the graduation party happening at the end of June.

If life is like a concerto, this might be the part where the tempo is frantic.

The Spread

Our little boys are already sick and tired of having to sit through "long, boring, formal events" for their brother who is graduating.

We've dragged them to a convocation dinner for honor graduates, a ceremony at the local community college for h.s. students who excelled in accelerated coursework, and, tonight, a talent show.

This is awards-ceremony/concert season. There will be an orchestra concert during which our high school senior will conduct his "senior piece." There will be drama awards, a chorus concert, Baccalaureate, class night, and graduation.

During one very serious ceremony, the little ones caught the giggles. They couldn't contain their laughter over funny-sounding surnames like Miss Gross or Mr. Quackenbush.

The parents sitting behind us had a hard time containing their giggles as they watched our boys snort and sniffle.

The WestBerry Dad and I looked stern. I pinched ears and shoulder nerves, trying to get them to "straighten up."

But I almost lost it myself...watching them twist down in their chairs and turn red as they honestly tried to keep from laughing. I almost started to laugh too.

I was blessed by the keynote speech by my former Dean, Bob, at this event. The boys were listening.

Do well. Stay balanced. Be creative.

Spread joy.

It's Never Too Late

I enjoy listening to Joyce Meyer podcasts. She has a new book out entitled, "It's Never Too Late," and several recent messages have been dedicated to this theme.

It's never too late to eat a more healthy diet. It's never too late to have a fantastic marriage.

We're never too far gone, too old, too dirty, too guilty or too whatever that God can't work a miracle in us.

The Bible is full of examples of individuals who made changes in their lives when it didn't seem possible or probable.

Recently our 16-year-old learned that the summer job he had lined up fell through. Now it seems "too late" to find something else.

Still, he doesn't have a résumé prepared and I have a Sunday and a holiday over which to register him for a college course (the school's offices are closed, of course).

It's not too late to do something wonderful with/for this child. What window/door will open up for him next?

"Let It Go"

First let me tell you that I am tormented by the music from Disney's "Frozen." My children constantly sing the songs and play them on the piano (don't get me wrong..the songs are beautifully written).

My students beg and beg to watch the movie in Spanish class. It has become a running joke. Overheard in the hallway after class...

"Did she let you watch Frozen today?"

"No, she made us watch some Poncho Villa movie."

I simply don't appreciate the sentiment behind the song, "Let It Go." Good girl goes wild. Uses her power to surround herself with the lifestyle of her choosing. Destroys the village and hurts people in the process (a fact little emphasized in the movie).

Still, this phrase has become representative of my approach to life. I'm working hard to let go of clutter, including the HOUSE, the contents of the BARN, and my GARDEN SHEDS at the property we haven't sold yet (even with the truck broken down). I want to downsize my flock of sheep and sort out clothes that no longer fit the children. I'm letting go of toys, movies, and nicknacks.

I'm working to let go of worry. I want to be able to shake off the ever-present feeling that I could be doing more for my students. I want to completely give God my worries about the boys and my husband and their safety and progress.

There's one feeling that I seem to hold onto more than any other. It surrounds my oldest's high school graduation, his grad party, and the award events that take place over the next month.

He has worked so very, very hard over the last several years to graduate at the top of his class. He has suffered injuries and the loss of his closest childhood friend. Most recently our school lost a beloved band teacher. J had played 17 shows side-by-side with Mr. B in the pit orchestra. They had marched and played jazz together.

But J has played game after game, performance after performance, without our extended family present.

They don't live far away. I send out invitation after invitation with silence the only response.

Several newspapers have recognized J's accomplishments with front page splashes and inclusion in special editions and lists. He has received kudos from The American Legion, the school, and even President Obama.

It's all much appreciated...but I still wish our families would come around.

I wish they would come to his graduation or his final piano recital. The empty chairs at the table across from us at this week's Convocation Dinner had me staring at the other grandparents in the room.

I wish they would call him and say, "good job" or "I'm proud of you."

So today I'll keep singing the song I hate, to give myself some added "cheering on." Let it go. Let this go too.

Enough, already.

I sometimes wonder how my grandmother survived the long days and nights in the nursing home. She felt lonely without my grandpa, who had predeceased her. She reported that she was often bored or left feeling helpless, as she was confined to the wheelchair and later the bed.

I myself haven't yet learned to lean wholly on Christ, not only for short periods of crisis but for long periods of hardship or isolation. It's something that's still developing in me - how to turn to him when there is no family, no friend available, no entertaining music or television program to distract me.

Yesterday was "one of those days." High school students acting out. College students screaming at me, threatening to call the dean. My little boys "adopted" some pet snakes and put them in the garage. The littlest boy built a fort in the music room, using every dining room chair and laundry basket (leaving the dirty clothes from those baskets covering every inch of the laundry room). Spill eggs on the kitchen floor, left there for the dog we don't have anymore.

I didn't have the energy to clean any of it up or make dinner. I shut down and went to bed at 7 p.m.

(It dawned on me this morning that I might need some more iron in my diet. A thick piece of tenderloin might do the trick. Or liver and onions. :E)



Lyrics "You're Not Alone"
by Meredith Andrews

I searched for love when the night came and it closed in
I was alone, but You found me where I was hiding
And now I'll never ever be the same
It was the sweetest voice that called my name, saying

You're not alone for I am here
Let me wipe away your every fear
My love, I've never left your side
I have seen you through the darkest night
And I'm the One who's loved you all your life
All your life

You cry yourself to sleep
â€~Cause the hurt is real and the pain cuts deep
All hope seems lost with heartache your closest friend
And everyone else long gone
You've had to face the music on your own
But there is a sweeter song that calls you home, saying

You're not alone for I am here
Let me wipe away your every tear
My love, I've never left your side
I have seen you through the darkest night
And I'm the One who's loved you all your life
All your life

Faithful and true forever
My love will carry you

You're not alone for I, I am here
Let me wipe away your every fear
My love, I've never left your side
I have seen you through the darkest night
Your darkest night
And I'm the One who's loved you all your life
All your life

It's Almost Over

My personality type is infamous for starting strong. We like new beginnings, the creative process, and the exploration of different environments. On the flip side, we tend to fizzle out at the end of projects.

So it wasn't terribly surprising when my oldest son said to me, "we're almost through this, Mom." He was cheering me on. He was also commenting on the date - the first week of May of his senior year of high school. For him, this would be a week full of AP exams, rehearsals, and meetings.

Still, I wasn't sure exactly which "this" he was referring to. I'm in the middle of many "near the finish line" situations.

My husband is due to return from another business trip. Just like the last time he was away, this was a looooong stretch of weeks full of trials. Two dead lambs, a misstep that killed the family dog, and on his side, an accident that banged up his face and caused him to lose some teeth.

I just made the last piano lesson payment and the last installment on a boy's class trip to Albany. I was certainly glad to be through with those ongoing obligations.

The Spring 2014 semester is nearly over. My grades are due in two days.

The school year is almost over for the little ones too. It has been a challenging year marked by bullying and academic struggles. They have hated homework, the hot lunch program, and the bus rides. I have been frustrated by ripped uniform pants, a lack of communication with teachers, and what I perceive as little help/slow progress with their reading.

A plumber came this morning to evaluate the water and drainage situation for our downstairs bathroom. At the same time he looked at what it would take to install our dishwasher. How I would love for our hand dish-washing days to be over!

And yes, J (18) is about to graduate. He is about to conduct his senior pieces in both chorus and orchestra. We received a notice that the local community college is recognizing his work in their ACE program. We're making big plans for his graduation party.

This beautiful, wonderful chapter of his childhood is indeed, almost over.

The Sounds of Spring

It is taking me some time to adjust to the "cranked up" sounds of Spring. Windows down, car radio blaring. Birds chirping. Peepers peeping. Marching bands. Bag pipes. Night-time thunderstorms. End-of-the-semester oral presentations.

The rides at the amusement park where I work are running again. I'm surrounded by the the gears and chains of the roller-coasters, the screams and laughter of guests, and phone calls from many of the additional 3,000 seasonal employees. "I don't know where to report." "There's a problems with my paycheck." "How much gas is in the golf cart?"

When I walk through a parking lot I'm almost overwhelmed by the dialogs that my hyper-sensitive hearing picks up...parents yelling at their children. Siblings arguing.

Dogs barking. Lambs with their heads stuck in the fence crying.

Yesterday afternoon I was putting some cuttings into the ground when I heard the two grown men trying to sing like Ann and Nancy Wilson of the band "Heart." My little boys were home with me and we live quite a distance from our neighbors so I was, at first, "shaken." Then I saw my teenagers at the end of the driveway. They were getting the mail from inside the car, singing along to the Glee Season 1 Soundtrack. (Moan)

I'm trying to find a "happy" place for my ears, like, perhaps, a music channel that isn't annoying. Suggestions?

The Old Homesteads

I believe in the guerrilla-warfare style planting of lilac bushes.

I'm also prone to snooping around old, abandoned properties to pull up shoots from long-abandoned lilac bushes.

I scored several this week and I know them to be a delicious, old-fashioned variety that smells heavenly.

Now, where should I plant them?

Incidentals

Many years ago, when my sister and I "shared" our family cottage, she advised me that "small holes sink a large ship." She was recommending a "tighter" management of the building and property. At the time, I had small children and she wasn't married yet.

Small holes are "sinking" me at work. Supervisors aren't paying attention to pay rates or negative block time when approving payroll so that later, when employees get their paychecks and realize they've been shorted, I have to soothe their pain. Both of my boss' daughters received short checks last Friday.

While my husband is working far away, the "incidentals" that pop up are also draining me....a $25 fee for a football combine, $300 for a class trip to Albany, the teenagers' gas money, $50 for two M.I.A. Netflix movies, a new knee brace for the track star, keeping milk stocked in the fridge...

Despite my constant begging that the boys shorten their showers, turn off the water after chores, and turn off lights, I don't see much cooperation. Our water bill, electric bills, insurance bills, and animals bills are mammoth.

I wish that I knew the "magic trick" to get the boys to notice these details: their ball caps on the counter, candy wrappers by the computer, shoes in the middle of the entryway, collectible cards in the fruit bowl.

If small holes sink a big ship I am so SUNK.

If I kept my focus on the dirty socks under the couch, the tools left out in the rain, or the stress of trying to meet every demand from school, the jobs, and the household, I'd probably feel pretty sad.

Another way to look at it has to do with the long view and the law of thermodynamics. Time will see to it that the house will eventually fall down. The children will eventually grow up and move away. I may well die while still owing Verizon for a cell phone that a boy dropped into orange juice (it certainly feels as if I will never finish paying that off).

For now I can only do "my best" and keep moving forward. I still try to teach the boys to be tidy and take care of their things. I will still try to catch all of the mistakes in a payroll for 2,000+ employees and I will still try to manage my classes well.

Keep moving forward...until the ship sinks :)

As for my sister, who now has small children of her own, I do wonder how the "small holes" thing is going for her.

A Teacher's Sense of Humor

I'm trying not to lose my sense of humor.

I really don't feel like teaching anymore...putting on dress clothes, smiling, preparing lessons, standing up in front of the group, projecting my voice, pretending to be enthusiastic about a subject I've taught for twenty years, looking out at a sea of disinterested, sleepy faces...

It's that time of year, I suppose. And I'm tired. It's 8:00 p.m. on a three-job day and I have another hour or so of class time to go. One student, who always stays late to chat, will probably stay late again tonight.

I'm hungry. I misplaced my debit card and then the little bit of cash I had blew away in today's wind storm, so I couldn't stop for dinner.

This morning, in my high school class, I gave the students an assignment that was supposed to take 40 minutes. They were asked to use the chapter vocabulary to create a movie proposal (the chapter is full of movie-making words like "director," "script," "scenery," etc.). Only one or two of them followed the instructions. The rest spent their time writing silly "Hang-over" style scripts or love stories.

Ugh. I didn't even want to grade those horrible papers. I rubber-stamped "I'd like to see more of the chapter vocabulary" on all of them and left the building.

Finally, tonight, while running down a floor to my college office from my classroom on the top level, I passed a classroom where Math professor had just yelled out, "Idiots!" to his class."Who in the world comes up with X,Y,Z as an answer to this problem?!"

I was a bit shocked, but still, I laughed and laughed, because I too have those emotions bottled up.

This semester, and the school year, can't end soon enough.

Above Average Nonsense

Each week, Garrison Keillor shares with listeners the latest news and views from the little town where "all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average." (Prairie Home Companion: NPR)

My children are strong and healthy and for that I am very grateful. They are, by some measures, exceptionally strong. The oldest, for example, has broken numerous school weight-lifting records. This past weekend, in Philadelphia, he and his classmates visited the famous steps where "Rocky" trained. He thought is would be fun to HOP up and down those same steps (leaving several students behind him, exhausted, as they tried to do the same).

The second-oldest throws shot put and discus competitively. Broad-shouldered, sporting a military haircut, he can be an imposing figure. He told me, before this band trip trip to Philadelphia, that when teachers need someone strong and responsible to serve as a helper, they call out for one of my boys. By that, I'm flattered and proud.

Yet, that same boy didn't have the sense not to take a knife with him on the trip. Now we are facing a hearing with the school district about this code of conduct infraction.

Raising exceptionally strong, boyish boys (a crop of them!) is exhausting.

The youngest two haven't yet learned to control their impulses. They are energetic and physical - spinning ceaselessly on the furniture when we go visiting, climbing the shelves in retail establishments when we go shopping, and climbing trees to the point that the trees bend over while I try to "sit" at home. They play with fire, knives, and saws.

They are fascinated by cammo, guns, and warfare. This weekend I bought a new kiddie pool (as an act of generosity). Before it was even filled with water, the youngest had broken it with a sharpened metal broom handle. He looked sad when I scolded him, both of us knowing that he was just "playing" when he struck the pool with the weapon his older brother had provided.

Strong, energetic children make BIG messes.

They rip through clothes, over-pour their drinks, and leave a wide path of destruction behind them.

It's a full time job to keep them safe...or perhaps more accurately stated, to keep our home and neighborhood safe from them.

The Next Chapter

Spring is that time of rapid new growth (can we still call this Spring...it snowed here today).

I came back from D.C. and a few hours later my husband left for a long work trip. I took a deep breath Monday morning and tried to prepare myself for "the next chapter." A month of single mom-hood.

The amusement park where I work is about to open. We are all frenzied, trying to hire and train new employees, stock shelves, and mail out tickets in time for opening day. The computers seem "buggy" and I'm constantly running into errors in reports and payroll. I want a quiet day just to catch up (that's unlikely).

In some cases I'm eager to finish up a project or begin a new semester. At the college where I teach we have three weeks of classes left and I look forward to an end to my Tuesday night obligation. I'm also looking forward to the end of the school year and teaching 11th grade.

A Load Off My Mind

Our oldest is VERY close to making a final decision about college. We've been at this college search for a year now, and the final deadline looms close - May 1st. I offered to pay the deposit for him on his final choice. Instead, he asked for ONE more week to research before we put any money down.

As his dad said, we'll be glad to head in just ONE direction with our "planning for college" to-do list.

Yesterday I got mail off to Japan. That was a load off of my mind. It always strikes me as a "big" chore to empty the PO box and then fill out the many forms needed to get items through customs.

I talked to my college about their request that I go teach in the prison system. I learned that they would prefer to keep me off in my online classes and find someone new to teach at the correctional facility. Phew!

God sent me a new assistant at my full-time job who is funny, pleasant, easy-to-train, and very smart. She is exactly what I needed to lighten the mood in the office.

Last night He sent me a visit from my former TA, who is currently studying stand-up comedy. He stayed for the night class, and worked his magic in the room to bring laughs and smiles back into what had been an atmosphere of doom and regret. Students can feel very downtrodden at this point in the semester.

I love the feeling of getting rid of clutter, shortening the to-do list, and hitting the "easy button." I'm VERY grateful for the people God sends my way to lighten my load.

A Little Patience

Running payroll isn't easy or quick today. Computer errors and interruptions abound and I'm up against a deadline (people generally expect to get paid on Fridays!)

I'm tired to the point that I wish for a caffeine drip instead of having to make coffee, pour it, and add milk.

Saturday morning I woke up to find that a boy child had been spray-painting a guitar in the laundry/computer room...newspapers, painter's tape, paint...everywhere. Black paint.

This loooooong winter certainly tested my/our patience. This past weekend we saw another six inches of heavy snow. Driving was treacherous as the temperature had plummeted through the afternoon, causing rain to turn to sleet, and then sleet to snow. It will be April 1st tomorrow, for goodness sake! I'm sick of mismatched mittens, missing hats, big boots, heavy coats, frosty windshields, and all of the irritations that go with frigid weather.

I usually have pea and lettuce seeds in the ground by now.

There are STILL abandoned lambs living in the house. They cause a mess whenever I let them out to eat or exercise.

I'm STILL waking up at 5 a.m. to feed them, while arriving to work 30 to 45 minutes late. I would like to be a responsible employee with a full paycheck again.

I want to cook pasta but my stove top is broken.

It's Science Fair time. Keeping a nine-year-old boy on track with such a large project stretched my already fragile nerves. Why doesn't he yet know that W-A-R-M isn't spelled W-O-R-M?! Where in the world did he get the idea that our sheep breed is almost extinct because people are eating more fruits and vegetables?!

How is it that God remains patient with all of humankind? We turn our backs to him, make huge messes of our lives, and destroy his beautiful creation.

I've cried out to him multiple times over the last few days. "Please God, give me patience."

The Power of Slow

Time has been a constant theme on my mind lately. I'm "in trouble" at the college where I teach for ending class early on a day when I was very tired and very sick. A student complained to the staff that she wasn't getting her money's worth.

Most professional educators seem to be of the "more is more" mindset - more testing, more standards, more technology, more homework, more workbooks, more seat work....I constantly feel as if I should be giving my students more assignments.

It takes me an hour to bottle feed five adorable abandoned lambs. I do this daily at 5 a.m., mid-afternoon (if possible), and 9 p.m. During the morning feedings I listen to gentle praise music, and I enjoy watching the babies hop, skip and jump around the kitchen. They playfully head butt one another and nibble at my clothes.

Somewhere in the 9:00 p.m. hour the older boys come home from school. They are usually very hungry and very tired. It's show week, and their rehearsals last all afternoon. Even once they arrive home they have homework and chores to complete. I can see that they are growing more and more tired every day.

The oldest turned 18 last weekend. It was difficult to find a time to celebrate his birthday WITH him. Yet, I'm very grateful for our church friends who treated him to breakfast, spent time painting a guitar with him, and took him to a water slide park. He is making memories.

During parent-teacher conferences for the younger boys it was suggested that TIME spent on homework and TIME spent together might help the younger boys rise to the "levels of fourth/second graders." They aren't tidy enough for their age. They are disorganized.

At first I felt a strong sense of mother-guilt. If I only had more time to spend with the children. If only the electric bill, car insurance, mortgage payments, etc. weren't so expensive that I could work less. If only they had grandparents or aunts and uncles who could spend time with them while I work. (If only I lived in Europe and had more than one lousy week of vacation per year.)

Instead, I'm resolved to give them time...to develop. Childhood is so short. Why fill it with MORE paperwork for the sake of learning to focus on details?

Let them be little. We have been spending time raising abandoned lambs, hosting students from Vietnam and Mexico, and helping a dear friend from Japan. These are also important life lessons.

Time together is so precious. I hope to keep that idea front and center as I choose my activities and make priorities.

A friend and beloved member of our community was moved to a Hospice room just this morning, where he will spend the last minutes of his life with his wife and child. I can imagine that there will be music and prayer. I'm grateful for Wayne's time here on earth. Please Lord, ease his pain.

Boys' Rebellion

The message given in church yesterday was especially moving. I saw the people sitting to my left in tears. I, however, was doing all I could to pay attention to the pastor's words, with one boy kicking me from underneath the pew and the other hanging on my side.

Since Mr. WestBerryWorkingDad has been away for work, the boys have rebelled. Or, perhaps, I'm tired and their antics bother me more than they might otherwise.

A teenager can't get himself off of the couch despite my begging and stern words. Two new lambs, born on a very cold day, weren't discovered for hours and hours because he didn't feel up to morning chores. Maybe he doesn't feel well; maybe he can't push through coming home at 2:30 a.m. after a Denny's feeding frenzy with The Band.

The Band played a St. Patrick's Day heavy metal festival in a nearby city. I sacrificed the use of the minivan and contributed cash for parking, meals and emergencies. And I kept an ear to the phone, because I believed the boys were there without adults to help.

The next morning (on The Band's Facebook page) I learned that other parents and a favorite teacher attended the show. It would have been nice to know (read: would have been nice to sleep).

It would have been nice to know that the baritone lesson was canceled. The boy who forgot to tell me is a young adult, but a child in the sense that he finishes the milk and doesn't let me know, and he springs the news of an overnight away trip on me the day of.

I found the two youngest boys hanging, mid waist, out of a second-story window yesterday, airsoft guns in hand. Reminder: "it's 9 degrees outside AND you could fall."

Back talk.
Whining.
School shoes ruined in the mud.
Aggression.

The sixteen year old grabbed the 7 year old's head this morning to "knock some sense into him." A poked eye. Crying. The 7-year old then begged me, out of fear, to let him go to school, after begging to stay home because he didn't feel well (I had even witnessed his dry heaves.)

For 18 precious hours I was able to visit with my best friend, who lives across the world. 16 of those hours were spent reminding the boys, "Please pick up your chess set. Please stop chain-burping. No potty-talk at the table. Please stop interrupting. Please wear a coat. Please help me with the dishes."

Oh....dishes. Bad subject.

At least Y and I made a ten year plan to meet in an exotic location for some rest and relaxation. Maybe Bali. Something to look forward to.

Paper Products

The songs we sing as we go about our business in our home say a lot about our state of affairs. For instance, the older boys were singing songs from the Disney movie "Frozen" last Monday when we found two newborn lambs covered in icicles out in the pasture.

A different set of abandoned twin lambs were christened "Mary" and "Joe." While I feed Mary RUN DMC's song "Mary Mary" keeps going through my mind (and bursting out of my mouth) (I looked up the video. It's very corny, typical of the 80's).

Little Joe has difficulty walking. His nervous system was underdeveloped at birth. So he takes a few steps, falls down, and then he can't get up on his own. I sing (screech, a la Steven Tyler) Aerosmith's "Walk This Way."

This morning the oldest boy was singing the hymn "God Will Take Care of You." I know he is exhausted from keeping up with performance schedules, bottle feedings, advanced placement homework, and scholarship applications.

Or, perhaps, he is trying to comfort me as we face another HUGE winter storm with more ewes to lamb, a broken stove top, and dwindling feed supplies.

I'm not feeling shaken, however. Instead, I've been admiring how the family of Ben Sauer is coping with the struggle against brain cancer that they are facing with their four-year-old twin. I'm thrilled to see Buffalo and Niagara Falls go "blue for Ben."

I'm grateful that my 9-year-old stayed home alone yesterday and he was safe. Of course, he let the lambs out to romp all day...across my newly cleaned floors.

But I have paper towels.

I have a terrible cold. But it's Spring Break (which means I don't have to teach at the college tonight) and I have kleenex.

There should be a song that celebrates paper products.

I Don't Care

I don't think I've ever told a child "I don't really care" before..until this week.

My third boy is a talker. A Chatty Kathy. A nine-year-old Talker from Talkersville. We think he has a great future in script writing or some other imaginitive, word-filled field.

I can usually tune him out and still mutter a few niceties like "Oh, that's very interesting" or "I see" in order to show and teach attentive listening and respect.

But this week I couldn't help myself. Drowning in exhaustion after milking sheep and nursing orphan lambs in the bitter cold, the words slipped out. "I don't care."

See, I'm up at 5 a.m., heading out to the barn, and then working diligently to get the four boys off to school and myself to work - lunches packed,hair dried, animals fed, forms signed, etc. etc.

Into this already chaotic environment he chimes in "I can't believe you changed the name of my sheep! That's so rude to change the name of someone's sheep." And "I'm out of magazine rounds for my airsoft gun. When I grow up I want to be an Airsoft Commander....something...something...blah...blah...weapons...something. Look, I was punctured by an airsoft bullet. Really I stabbed myself with a pencil but it looks like an airsoft bullet wound."

I don't care. I can't get distracted by The Airsoft Commander because I've arrived two hours late for work every day this week already.

I don't even care, right now, when we eat dinner or what we eat.

It's a miracle if I remember to pack my breakfast, since there isn't time to eat during the madness of the morning. On Tuesday I bought myself TWO cinnamon rolls at the local bakery (day old, 50% off) and I ate them both in one sitting.

And I don't care. It was Fat Tuesday anyway.

The oldest boy drove to the city yesterday to sign a performing contract. I half forgot, but his pocket dialed me along the way so that I generally knew what was going on. God knows the number of our days so no matter how much I worry (or care), he isn't necessarly safer on the road. A big truck hauling glass crashed on the expressway, sending shattered glass EVERYWHERE. Thankfully, he was a mile behind that accident.

The youngest came home with the worst weekly school report in family history. And I still don't really care.
I should, I know.

He is lying about his homework and being silly in class. It was suggested, this morning, that I take him to see a specialist about his energy level.

Instead, I'm putting all of my worrying and my cares on the table for now. Once this legendary cold spell breaks and he can go outside, his classroom behavior might just improve.

After a few nights of solid rest, my mood might improve too.

Miss Sue's Call

Every semester I have "the culture talk" with my students. We define culture, discuss features of American culture, and debate whether cultural changes are positive or negative. "What drives cultural change," I always ask?

Last night, I was surprised to see that the topic inspired many comments about cell phones and social media. Usually, my students consider these a "part of life" and they rarely pause to examine effects, consequences, trade-offs, etc.

Not this class.

I chimed in that just yesterday, I'd learned about the birth of a baby in my family, days after the event, via Facebook. I still find it "strange" to receive birth and death announcements via social media because I am, I guess, old fashioned. I prefer phone calls or, at least, an email when there is a major event.

In reality, I'm left to read about the passing of dear friends in the newspaper, sometimes too late to attend the memorial service or to pay respects. Sometimes I don't catch the story at all.

In reality, I don't see people just "popping in" or "borrowing a cup of sugar" much anymore. How can we be there to help at just the right time if we no longer take the time to visit?

I've often joked that people hesitate to invite us over to dinner because they are intimidated by the quantity of food that my four boys ingest. Or perhaps they are worried about broken chairs or muddy floors from four big football player-farmer boys sitting around the table.

This is why I'm especially grateful for Miss Sue's call.

Miss Sue is a neighbor and fellow church member. I'd tapped her husband on the shoulder a few weeks ago to describe my current situation and ask that he keep an eye on our house and the family. He owns a business that sends trucks out throughout the day and he owns the heavy equipment that we might need during a snowstorm. He agreed without hesitation.

At 9:00 a.m. Monday morning Miss Sue left a beautiful voicemail message for me. "Hi J. Just calling to see how you are doing. Do you need anything? Can we help? Ok. Just checking in."

It really meant a lot to me and I called her back this morning to tell her just that.

I work in an environment where people scratch and bite one another instead of team building. There's rarely a "good morning" or a "how is your day going?" exchanged. When I teach, I am in the one in a leadership/caregiver role.

So at the end of a "three job day" (throw in some orphaned lambs, severe cold weather, and a few energetic school-aged children), those were just the words I needed to HEAR.

Miss Sue's voice speaking my name... "just checking in."

Three Full Circles

Over the course of the last week, I've seen three situations/circumstances where life has come around "full circle."

1. Last year a young woman in crisis offered to give us her baby girl to raise (this is a story in and of iself). Saturday night we got to meet this mom and to hear that baby is doing well in her great aunt's home. The mom is getting healthier day by day. It was a strange, humbling, emotional experience for me to be able to hug her and to receive her thanks.

2. On Wednesday I worked as a sub in our local high school. I ran into a woman who had been my Biology teacher when she first started in our district. fresh out of college. Now, she teaches our two older boys. She went on and on about how she enjoyed having them as her students.

Now, back when I was her student it wasn't such a pretty picture...and I'm fairly certain she doesn't remember me (as the 15-year-old me, if you know what I mean). I haaaaated high school and she was a very gifted, but uncomfortable new teacher back then.

Imagine that! She would become one of my family's favorite teachers!

3. I've told this story a few times, but it fits the theme so I will share it again.
Many years ago I heard our pastor tell a story about parents who had lost an adult child while he was working out of state. They couldn't afford to bring his body home, nor could they afford a memorial service. So Pastor E. went to his car, grabbed his guitar, and held an impromptu memorial service right there in their trailer.

I vowed then that my own children would learn to play an instrument if, for no other reason, but to comfort others in this way.

On Saturday J played his snare drum (and both J and N sang in the choir) for the memorial service of a fellow farmer who lost his life after battling an infection in the area of a knee replacement. Midway through the performance, his widow was moved to stand up and salute the choir and J, on the drum. It was a very beautiful moment.

Speaking of performances, last night I went to see a play, where I saw my uncle and our large animal vet perform in drag for the duration of the show. I'm still trying to get my mind around that one! J, who is 7, announced, "that was weird." I rather agree.



If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven
From "My Mother's Hymn Book"
Johnny Cash


Soon we'll come to the end of life's journey
And perhaps we'll never meet anymore
'Til we gather in Heaven's bright city
Far away on that beautiful shore

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore

All they say we shall by the river
Where no spurn clouds ever darken the sky
And they say we'll be happy in Heaven
In that wonderful sweet by and by

If we never meet again this side of Heaven
As we struggle through this world and its strife
There's another meeting place somewhere in Heaven
By the side of the river of life

Where the roses bloom forever
And where separation comes no more
If we never meet again this side of Heaven
I will meet you on that beautiful shore

"What Would My Dad Do?"

It has been a difficult time for our Pastor E. Two dear, long-time members of our church family passed away this week and several others are very, very sick. They are scattered, as patients, in hospitals from one end of the city to our west to the other end of the city to our east. Additionally, we had scheduled a "fun" event to chase away the winter doldrums this past Saturday - a slideshow of our Pastor's father's pictures taken during "The Bird Man's" many travels to and around Norway. Even if E. didn't hold a full time job away from the church, this might be a lot to "get the mind around."

(Side note about The Bird Man - he led the movement to bring back the dwindling Blue Bird population in our state, by building and installing hundreds upon hundreds of Blue Bird boxes).

Perhaps it was the process of going through his father's slides, or the fact that his father was a founding member of the church along with the missionary who passed away that made him ask this question, "what would my dad do?"

(Our building was once and abandoned, decaying church structure, filled with wild animals, cast away pews and furniture, and bee hives. It was "left for dead" until a small group of dedicated people prayed over it, bought it, and then God sent money, volunteers, and equipment to bring it back to life.)

The lesson in Sunday School was taken from his father's Bible. We looked at Philippians 4:6-7, the only two verses underlined by "The Bird Man of the Swamp" in his personal Bible. In the margin he'd written, "my two favorite verses."

From The New American Standard Bible (NASB)

6 Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. 7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all [a]comprehension, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

In other words..."let God know what worries you and where you'd like to go and then, let God do the driving."

(I enjoy Laura Storey's song that speaks to this same idea, "I Can Just Be Me.")

It also occurred to me that I had never, at least that I could remember, asked myself "what would my dad do?" (I'd asked myself plenty of times, however,"what would my grandpa do?")

Until last night. When faced with a rock-solid, frozen, gallon and 1/2 bucket of Schwann's ice cream. I found myself laughing when I remembered that clearly, my Dad would have "thawed" it in the microwave.

Funeral March

Many years ago I heard our pastor tell a story. He had gone to sit with a couple who had lost a son while the young man was living in another state. The parents couldn't afford to bring his body home, nor could they afford to have a funeral service.

Pastor went out to his car, took out his guitar, and held an impromptu memorial service right there in the family's trailer.

At the moment I heard this story I vowed that my children would play music, if, for no other reason, but to comfort others.

Now the two oldest boys sing at funerals. I learned last night that a friend of ours who just passed requested that the choir sing "The Battle Hymn of The Republic" at his service. J, now 18, always plays the snare drum and adds a big, passionate ending to that song.

His performance reminds me of the song, "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." Please allow me to explain.

Last summer, at the American Legion Boys State, a drummer from the U.S. Army Band played for the participants and challenged them to drum duals. J sat by, quietly, until everyone present had been beaten. Then a kid who knew him, suggested he give it a go.

J is BEAST on the drum (think of The Muppet's "Animal.")He sweats, his tongue sometimes slips out, and his hands move in perfect rythem. The U.S. Army Band drummer admitted defeat.

I cried in public when he played The Battle Hymn for our annual fouth of July service. How will I keep it together during Terry's funeral?!

A woman very dear to me, from my childhood, was buried on Wednesday. This Sunday, we will celebrate the going-home of a long-time missionary to our church, Miss Winters. Last weekend we hosted two little boys while their parents spent hours, bedside, at the hospital where their grandfather was clinging to life. This has been such a long, difficult winter - so hard on the frail and elderly.

I found this today...

Be agreeable. Be sympathetic. Be loving. Be humble.

That goes for all of you.
No exceptions. No retaliation.
No sharp-tongued sarcasm.

Instead, bless.
That's your job. To bless.

from 1 Peter 3:9


Follow-up 3/3/14
the choir sang "Battle Hymn of The Republic" and J played the snare drum for the memorial service. Midway through the song, Terry's widow stood up and saluted them. It was beautiful. I cried and cried.