Glitch

May 3, 2008 | Changes

glitch.jpg Itty bitty glitch on the site. Ok, it’s a bigger glitch than that. But we’re going to pretend otherwise. Apparently, all your lovely comments are going directly to my spam filter. Some of your comments are gone forever, since it I just noticed the glitch.

Anyhow, until I get this figured out, it may take a few hours before your comment will post since I have to trudge through hundreds of spam to find you. I feel dirty already. Your other option is to not post. But that would make me sad.

Conclusion: I can always shower; please comment.

Morning Glory

May 3, 2008 | Boy Wonder, From the Kitchen

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Yesterday, I got it into my head to bake Morning Glory Muffins. You remember these? They were all the rage in the 90’s. It seems like they’ve fallen out of fashion—or maybe it’s just where I live, but I don’t see them in bakeries quite as often as back in the day.

So two trips to the grocery store (there are a LOT of ingredients to forget!), several near misses during the mixing process (there are a LOT of ingredients to remember!), and one half empty can of crushed pineapple splattered across the floor and behind the refrigerator later (Sticky!) we ate some Morning Glory. Remarkably, it was still morning.

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Speaking of eating. This child, this child won’t stop. He’s always hungry and I can’t keep up with his food demands. Where is he putting it all? Evidently, in inches UP! I just ordered jeans for the third time this year. Three sizes in 10 months, he’s now wearing a 14 slim and is showing no sign of slowing down.

It’s not just his jeans, though. I also got the shock of my life when trying to buy shoes for him to wear to the wedding (OMG!! two weeks, MARIE, are you freaking out??). Scrounging around in the kid’s department, we were striking out when it occurred to me if his jean size has exponentially grown, perhaps his feet were following suit.

Can we say heart-attack? This child wears a men’s 7. And that means, he has the same sized feet as me. He’s 11 and has already out-paced me. He’s running hard to catch up with his father. I don’t think he’s going to need the assist from age and gravity.

It’s a battle of wills, really. I keep willing him to slow down. But suggesting this to him gets no traction. He just looks at me with that twinkle in his eye—the same twinkle, for the record, that won me over when his father proposed—that screams, “Make me, lady!”

Give me back that muffin, kid!

I probably don’t have to tell you that I’m so not ready for this. It’s a glory to behold. Or it would be, if I could step back to watch it.

May Day

May 1, 2008 | This Life

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At 10th and Marine

Last year and the year before that, May Day was filled with lilacs. Typically I’d be spending the day cutting arm-loads of lilacs to deliver to friends and neighbors. But this year, this year my lilacs are about 10 days from opening. It’s been a long winter, much longer than the 6 extra weeks promised by a certain groundhog. So, we wait for lilacs.

Only now is Spring waking from a deep sleep. She’s still stretching and yawning and blinking back the heaviness of winter. Spring is a sleepy-head. Spring could use an alarm clock. She has over-slept and doesn’t much seem to care. So, slowly, ever so slowly—she tentatively puts a toe out of bed. We can only hope she braves the icy floors beneath her and makes it into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

Previously On. . .

Apr 29, 2008 | This Life

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In some ways, I feel like I was gone from this blog long before my writer’s strike last week. I’m feeling a bit checked-out and I blame the weather. IZ has been calling this delightful weather pattern we’re in, “Spinter”. I’m not buying that though, so I’ve been tasking him to prove our weather is worth 2 letters from the word “spring.” I think what we’ve been facing is more like, “S’Winter”. Snow, slush, hail, freezing rain— Yes, I’m going to quibble over that “p” and if you lived here, you would too.

Which brings me to this post: a review of sorts. With bullet points and everything!

Previously on Evidently:

~~My little family went to Seattle and had an amazing time. I do have words about compassion, words I’d like very much to write. I’m in marinade mode, presently. So, it might be some time. But until then, you can read the lovely words Boy Wonder wrote about learning to talk with people of other faiths.

~~Also, 15 days in April is coming to an end today! Wow, time flies, eh? As of tonight, between donations and Thrifty Goodness revenues we’ve raised $80.00 for the Women’s Resource Center. More funds may trickle in and I’ve yet to hear from those who participated, but this feels like a very good first time out!

It’s easy in any service or charitable organization to notice the deficits. I hear it all the time at church, “Wow, look at how few people showed up today!” But, you know, that’s the wrong point of view, I think. In order to live lives of abundance, we have to foster eyes that see abundance. We can choose to focus on who showed up and be thankful for those people. And with that, I want to tell you this small story.

I woke up Sunday morning to an email from an etsy customer. She’d purchased several items and was owed a shipping refund. The subject of her email stated as much; I steeled myself for the request. Thrifty Goodness has a no gouge policy, but people tend to not read the fine print. And I’ll admit, I was groggy, in desperate need of coffee, and in no mood to deal with petty behavior.

Imagine my surprise when this woman wasn’t asking for her refund, but offering to donate it to Women’s Resource Center. It’s a small amount, but a HUGE gesture. I was so touched! And then, really ashamed at my own pettiness. I’d expected to meet something other than what I encountered—and then grace stepped in and I found myself humbled by this small act of generosity. Oh, for eyes that expect to see beauty in the world. Oh, for a heart that hopes with generosity of spirit. We can, we choose.

So, YES! It’s a matter of seeing with our hearts and being thankful for what we have. For those who show up. For those who read. For those who leave comments. For those who support. For those who are present. Of course, we miss those who aren’t here, we wonder about those who don’t read or comment or support—BUT, and this is the critical but, but we choose to focus on the abundance.

I’m certainly thankful for those of you who stepped up and supported this cause. So, Margaret, Katie, Connie (my mom!), and all those etsy shoppers, THANK YOU! You’ve made a very real difference in the lives of some of our most fragile citizens. The world is a better place because of you. And I am a better person for having known you.

~~That just leaves the weather. It always comes back to the weather, doesn’t it? I’m with Calvin, let’s move on to Summer.

Thou Shalt Not

Apr 26, 2008 | Sunday Sermon, This Life

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Boy Wonder: So, my friend. . . he likes to pretend he’s living in a television show.

Me: Really? What kind of show?

Boy Wonder: Well, it usually changes every time I play with him, but he likes to start out by saying, “Previously on. . .”

I can’t tell you how I laughed over that. It’s brilliant, really. I can so identify with this kid—blogging my life often feels like I’m writing for a reality TV show. Or maybe a medical drama or slap-stick comedy, depending on the week. Sometimes this blog even looks a bit like a public access version of Martha Stewart Living, bad lighting and poorly scripted craft projects included.

Of course, occasionally television writers go on strike. And in case you hadn’t noticed, it’s been a week of a self-induced writer’s strike on this blog. It’s not that I can’t write. Or even that I won’t. It’s that I’m finding myself hording words. Saving them really. For what, I’m not exactly sure. IZ keeps whispering a nasty four-letter word in my ear. I keep batting him away with little flicks of the wrist, because I’ve never had any aspirations for publication (book became a dirty word in grad school).

Actually, that’s not exactly true. There was once a time in my life where I had every aspiration to publish—but that was because the word publish was directly linked to the word perish and as such, a necessity of life. I don’t doubt that my ego would have been immensely gratified, but it’s not like I’ve ever had a burning desire to see my name in print. While we might associate publication with glamour—uh, yeah, Oprah’s book club isn’t in the habit of pushing narrative theological tomes. Ever.

So, no. I don’t have dreams my blog will “make it big.” I could care less. And no, I harbor no delusions that anything I write here is publishable beyond the click-publish move I make to post this to my blog. It’s just that lately, what I have been writing doesn’t seem to fit here. Write what you know and know your audience. This blog isn’t the place for what’s been eating away my fingernails and haunting my sleep.

The thing is, though, I have no ambition for publication. It’s a ridiculous amount of work and I’m inherently lazy. I mean, for starters, I’d have to stop abusing commas and parenthetical statements—clean up my act and my copy to submit to an audience that might want to read my work. I don’t see that happening. Which leaves this blog abandoned while I write for no reason other than to horde.

For the record, hording is BAD. In fact, the God of the Hebrew Scriptures forbids it in Exodus 20. We know it as the 10th commandment. Thou shall not covet, something, something, something. . . Our understanding of that word, covet, is a bit off. We’re too literal as are most of the translations of the Hebrew. However,  some scholars are more liberal in their interpretation and believe that this is a direct commandment to not horde. It’s called latifundialization; we’re implored to not scoop up everything in sight in order to keep it for ourselves.

Now, this twenty-dollar-don’t-use-while-playing-scrabble word doesn’t really apply to my lack of posting. It is addressing the nasty business of wealthy land-owners consolidating land to the detriment of smaller subsistence farmers—putting the lives of many at risk for the enjoyment of the few. So, yeah, the 10th commandment has NOTHING to do with my self-imposed writer’s strike. Except, I can’t shake the sensation that I’m hording. Inside my head is this wicked 10th century (BCE) landlord shouting in his most miserly voice, “Mine, mine, mine—no words for you! You can STARVE! Down with the petty masses, it’s all MINE!” Of course, he speaks Hebrew, so that’s just a loose interpretation.

Hording thoughts and hording ideas and hording words. This is where the analogy stops. But it is enough to put me in a pickle. I’m writing words and hording them while leaving this page blank. It would be one thing if I were making an attempt to put those words out there in a different venue, but I’m not. It’s not that I can’t write or won’t write. It’s that I’m hording what I am writing. For no other reason than I can.

Thou shalt not. So maybe, I’ll call an end to this writer’s strike and start blogging again.

Say a Prayer for Sophie

Apr 19, 2008 | It's a Dog's Life, This Life

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This dog. This dog is breaking my heart.

We picked Sophie up from the kennel on Thursday and it was puppyville for a day. She went a little nuts coming home—which was fun. I seriously think she didn’t stop licking and nose-butting and pouncing on everyone for at least 20 minutes. Poor IZ nearly had his arm pulled out of the socket trying to get everything out of the car while Sophie clearly wanted nothing but to come inside!

We’ve jokingly called her our “door stop dog” for so long, because she really is a low energy pup. These long winters take a toll on her. She’s solar powered, like the rest of this family, but with an edge; she gets to hibernate! And hibernate she does, typically on the edge of the couch. If she moves, it’s to find a sunspot on the carpet. Having her frisk around like a puppy was such a change in her energy, we were a bit taken aback to find her sick 12 short hours later.

Thursday quickly melded into Friday and it all went down hill from there. I’ll spare you the bodily fluid descriptions, but last night found me in tears. I lost a dog to Parvo when I was Boy Wonder’s age and that experience has never left me. And I guess I go to that place when Sophie is this sick. She’s such a sweet dog, I can’t help but mourn with her when she’s ill. She looks at you with such pain in her eyes and I melt. She’s a tender soul, she’s embarrassed and shamed to be sick. So, there you are, cleaning up messes and she’s too sick to find a place to hide, but she’s looking at you with a million apologies. And all you want to do is scoop her up and hold her, except she winces in pain when you touch her. It makes you want to weep!

While we were certain she didn’t have Parvo due to her age and inoculations; her symptoms just couldn’t be ignored, which precipitated an early run to the vet this morning for fluids and medication. She’s home for now while we wait and see. We’ve been cautioned that she may need to come in for IV fluids tomorrow if the meds can’t stop the vomiting. Clearly, we’d like to avoid that.

So, this is where I find myself this morning. I’d had every intention of sharing with you my thoughts on compassion while the experiences from last week were still fresh. As you can imagine, after last week, I have quite a bit to say about that! But it will hold for Monday. Right now, this dog, this dog is breaking my heart.

UPDATE: Thank you, all, for your comments. IZ and I so appreciate them. It’s Sunday afternoon and while Sophie is still wonky on the medication, she’s showing signs of rapid recovery. I think she’ll be back to herself in a few days.