Fun Fridays, Rose Lite

As I've mentioned before, I love Fridays. In keeping with the trend of the last few weeks, I'm going to keep today lite.

Here's my latest musical thrill: Mutual Admiration Society. I'm a huge Nickel Creek fan and used to love Toad the Wet Sprocket, so this is a nifty match. Enjoy! You might also like Into the Cauldron by Mike Marshall and Chris Thile (see my "What's in my CD Player" link.) Sugar Hill Records has lots of interesting music, so browse through the bands and give an ear. Another cool band not on Sugar Hill is Ollabelle. CBS Sunday Morning featured Ollabelle, Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose and the Notorious Cherry Bombs a few weeks ago, along with some other CDs. I want, I want, I want.

*dang* I said I wouldn't do it, and then I went and did it anyway. I got lured in to a political discussion on a board. In case you can't tell, I lean right. But I love and appreciate my left-leaning friends and family, including my Kennedy era mother. I hate election years. It polarizes people to the left and right when really, most of us are usually to be found running down the middle of the road. Please ... don't hate me because I vote Republican ...

The best thing about late summer (except an abundance of fresh tomatoes) is that it's festival time! I mean, what's better than demolition derbies, funnel cake, 4-H contests, lemonade and livestock? Unless it's turkey legs, black & tans, comedy and jousting. Or perhaps music and art are more to your taste?

This weekend: The Wyandotte County Fair
Coming soon...
The Missouri State Fair
SantaCaliGon Days
The Kansas City Renaissance Festival
Kansas City Irish Fest
The Kansas State Fair
Plaza Art Fair

Until we meet again ...
Rose

Big Brick Wall, Coming at Me

I talk a lot about weight -- not neccessarily here but in my life.  I'm also guilty of being "all talk and no action" where weight loss is concerned. 

In November of '02 I weighed 189 pounds and joined Weight Watchers for the second time because, basically,  I was just sick of myself.  I lost down to 139 and now have gained back to about 152 or 153.  I'm 8 pounds over goal, all of which I've gained in the last 3 months. 

I'm going to have to admit that I can't do this without meetings.  I guess I'm just that kind of person.  A group-going, accountability-dependent, gold-star hounding, Weight Watchers weigh-in kind of girl. 

Lots of people ask how one becomes motivated to join WW and once you do, how do you stay that way?  It's the $100,000 question of the weight loss world.  The answer is... nothing.  You just started doing it.  You don't like it, you don't want to, you don't think it's big fun. You finally just hate feeling fat more than you love eating.  You start to feel like a speeding car pointed at an immovable wall.  You reach out and put one foot -- then both feet -- on the brake.

Today I feel like the wall is coming right at me.  At noon I'm putting my foot on the brake.

Time for a Change

Yesterday I finally said aloud the thing that has been rubbing me raw for a long time now... my life is too much, too fast.  Every week is packed from end to end and much like the last -- I feel the summer is running away from me.  I actually feel a little nostalgic for the months I spent at home 2 and 3 years ago after my layoffs.  I didn't have any money but I did have lots of time.  I could think.  I was organized.  I was unemployed but I was more myself than I am today.

This morning, T headed out to work early and I lounged in bed for a while, enjoying the first sun spilling through the windows and thinking how nice it would be to call in sick.  I could vacuum and dust, give the baths a quick scrub, vacuum out my car, go grocery shopping and maybe still have time for a movie.  It's not a lot of time I need -- maybe 3 to 5 days to get my life in order.  To get the closets rearranged, my new furniture ordered, to try my cucumber soup recipe, pour some soap, have an uninterrupted afternoon browsing books at Barnes & Noble.  To get my clothing donations out the door, cut the mulberries out of the hedge and shop for another swimsuit before they are all gone out of the stores.  Of course, I couldn't call in sick, so I hauled myself out of bed.  Big sigh.  Renewed aggrevation.

Everyone says it but today I really do feel it: time is my most precious commodity. So the question is, when I spend it, where does it go? Am I wasting it?   Is it being spent in a way that reflects well on me?  On God?  If I open up my time checkbook, does it balance? 

I was browsing Real Simple last night and I realized there are still some ways to make better use of what I do have.  Some things might have to go bye-bye... and some are already gone.  It's time to put my most precious resource to best use.  I'm even going to spend a little on myself so I can stop feeling so resentful that there's never anything left. 

I think everyone around me will be glad I did.

Flowers have a time to reblossom, but human beings are never young again.
-Chinese Proverb

This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Return of an Old Favorite

When I was a tadpole and had just entered college with the intention of studying advertising, I used to love, I mean LOVE the J. Peterman catalogue.  Waaaaaay before Seinfeld, I thought it was cool as the dark green interior of a rain forest in Brazil, where the natives ... uh, you get the idea.  It was a very hot love affair.

Imagine my joy at finding his online catalog.  He does what every copywriter longs to do ... evoke a scene, titillate the senses -- and sell, baby, sell.

The item that sparked my imagination is still there: the Irish Cloak.  I still want it.  I still can't figure out how to justify it.  But it's good knowing it's still out there.

How does your garden grow?

Six hours to weed my garden --  that's what it took on Saturday.  I can't even describe the pain I had after spending all that time hunched over the crabgrass.  At least four times, my husband said, "check the corn".  I told him it wasn't ready quite yet -- but soon.
 
Yesterday, I went to the garden to spread mulch and pick cucumbers for pickling.  Every decent ear of corn had been stripped halfway down and eaten.  With the space I have I can only manage 4 small rows, maybe 10 feet each -- but every stalk in my view had been munched on.
 
I salvaged what I could (maybe that's where "cobettes" come from?) and pulled the rest out.  All that's left are some sad looking green peppers, my very abundant cucumber and cantaloupe.  The tomatoes are coming on nicely, except for the fungus problems.  I'm hoping they will survive since I know that in good years I can keep tomatoes until December (assuming they're picked green and stored carefully).  And I've had two terriible years of tomatoes.
 
Gardening is a good metaphor for Christian life: feed and water, uproot what's harmful, take measures to keep bad stuff from invading and undoing all your hard work. Be willing to spend some time on it.  If you tend your garden carefully you'll have plentiful life and lots of fruit. 
 
And, of course, when your efforts fail, you can always replant.  In place of my half eaten corn, I think I'll try green beans or beets.

About a Cat

I was born an animal lover.  My mother was and still is constantly surrounded by cats and occasionally, dogs. When I was small, folks around our 20 acre "mini-farm" figured out that my mother would take every stray that came along and we had 27 cats, 2 dogs, chickens, 2 horses, 20 head of cattle, a hog, some ducks and a turkey.  Having grown up around animals and not many people sometimes means I relate better to my critters than I do human beings.
 
Since adulthood, I've had cats and later, dogs of my own.  Two years ago, my first kitty died.  I thought it was a fluke to have lost her at a relatively young age 13 but now my 11-year-old cat KC is in rapid decline as well: this time it's kidney failure.  The invisible enemy is stealing her away right in front of my eyes.  Her weight has dropped and her energy is reserved for the truly tempting: the nightly yarn ball stowing or strolling in to investigate can opener noise. 
 
It is in these small routines that I rely.  The hardest part of knowing when it's time to say goodbye to K.C. is that she can't tell me how she feels: I have to guess by her movements, her variance from habit and schedule, her willingness to be touched and where I find her in the house.  Although it kills me to do it, I stroke down her back every day, gauging her weight in the space of a hand.  My eyes follow her across a room and look hard in to her eyes.  I want to ask, "Does it hurt?"  But she only gazes back, silent, eyes wide and bright and bigger now in her heart-shaped little face.
 
This is my long and painful goodbye to a well-loved friend.  She's due for more blood work in a few days but I already know the answer:  her little body is almost done.   So as darkness comes, I let her have her way a bit more -- drinks from the sink, cuddles on my lap, treats often.  When I stroke her glossy black fur it is my whispered prayer that I have given her a happy life.  I know how happy she has made mine.

Story of my life

you are the "you suck, and that's sad"
happy bunny. You're truthful, but can be a bit
brutal.

which happy bunny are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
 
Man, I am so not motivated this afternoon ...  I am relegated to taking goofy quizzes on the 'net and correcting the grammer of those who post them.
 
BUT... I think these bunnies are pretty funny... I first saw them at a shop in Lincoln, NE when I was hanging out with my cool kids, K and A.  Teenagers ... they keep you "hip".

The Depth of my Love

Wash your hands
pull your shirt down
make your bed
wipe your nose.
 
Do your homework
no - do it now
help me wash dishes
clean up your mess.
 
Get off the phone
spit out your gum
pick up your towel
please brush your hair.
 
You think I'm nagging
But what you don't see
is that I'm showing you
the depth of my love.

Florida Dreams

Airplanes droning
heat rising
lemons, mangos
sandy toes
cool concrete
murmered conversations
raspberry milk

Dove soap
rustling papers
berries, cream
salty air
body surfing
sea grapes
holding mama's hand.

Seventeen

Prior to politics, obligations, broken plumbing
back to cold glass bottles of Pepsi
and hanging off the boat over green water
back to cool showers before a date
and dusty gravel roads
just two movies to choose from
lightning bugs in the yard
peaches, bottle rockets
bouquets of coneflowers and chicory
there is where I find you.

Brain be not Still

I ask my husband what he thinks about when he's being quiet and he says "nothing" and means it. How does he do that?

My brain is constantly moving, picking up small stones and turning them over, discarding ideas and pulling down new ones. It never rests until full sleep. I get the most bizarre and intriguing thoughts on the way there.

For instance, I think about death. Not in a morbid, scary way, but in a nice, relief-of-letting-go way. I imagine dying is something like swinging out on a rope swing over a beautiful, bright creek. Even though I'd be afraid to let go, there would be that moment when I would let all my breath out and just release my hands and go sailing off in to space.

I think about the kind of motherhood I missed and the nature of the mother I have become. That I did not have a body grow inside me does makes me wistful sometimes. But that I have the joy of a child who squeezes my hand for no reason, who confesses her secrets, who loves me and trusts me is a joy I never really expected. And then there are other times when I'm shaking with fury that I can't release and I feel I've failed to live up to my own standards. I wonder at my own arrogance at thinking I can be a parent when so many others fail at it every day.

I think about cool green hiking trails, about taking off with a pack and a stick and seeing how far I can go. I look at the flowers, the mushrooms, the trees and the birds flicking in and out of the trees above my head and I wonder about the names of things -- the difference between a Black-eyed and a Brown-eyed Susan and the different kinds of sunflowers or what kinds of things would be safe to eat if I were alone in the wilderness. I get stuck on a thing ... "tickseed coreopsis" and I can't let it go until I've found one.

I think about God and I wonder what He thinks of me, if I am a disappointment or a pleasure to Him. I wonder how He hears all the prayers and words and cries of the masses of people He made and loves so much. I wonder if God weeps for the messes we've made or if He laughs at our joy and wonder. And then I thank him, absent-mindedly, as if I were a small child thanking her mother for a cookie and not a grown woman thanking her God for the whole world and all her blessings.

I think in seasons, in colors, in names and temperatures and smells. I'm amazed at the sudden power of the smell of asphalt to transport me to being 12 and running to the rollercoasters at Worlds of Fun. Or how the smell of Polo takes me back to the moment when I smelled it on somone I loved and later, on the letters he sent me begging me to come back to him. The heat of summer takes me to dust and to the gravel roads I walked as a bored and lonely little girl, headed to my friend's house for blue popsicles and company. How leaves crunching can be the Renaissance Festival or the simple act of raking leaves in my front yard. And the taste of cranberry juice and little chocolate donuts takes me back to an idealistic morning 15 years ago when I munched a quick breakfast before going to the church to become a young bride and a new wife.

My mind can not stay quiet and will not stay here. I do worry about that sometimes. Some people say it's ADD -- my teachers begged my parents to have me evaluated and my mother refused. I even took the online test.

I could have it checked out now but why nuetralize what I see as, ultimately, one of my gifts? I have a lifetime of mental scrapbooks I can flip through all the time and an insatiable hunger for knowledge, words and thoughts. I have learned to still my body but my brain will not be stopped.

Scrub brush revelation

It has been a long week. Michael Main said yesterday "I've discovered why I enjoy vacations so much ... because preparing for them is so stressful". Yes and amen.

Monday, while gathering up wood to dry for our camping trip, I came across what might have been the Guinness Book of World Records' spider's little sister, clutching her egg sack and giving me the evil eye ... eyes. To my great regret, I killed her. See, little spiders don't bother me, but she was so ... big and scary. Still I hated to kill her and all her tiny babies. Spidercide is not good for my spirit.

Tuesday I had to take my cat to the vet because she's been sick. $60 later I headed home with my angry feline to make dinner for the guys. I spend 30 minutes on the phone with K who is on vacation but having a fight with her mother and her aunt. Later, the boys and I go geocaching. We walk over a hill and down to a stream and just then we see a coyote pup coming up out of the woods near the trail. It was the kind of moment that forces you to be very quiet -- and I feel like my crummy day might be salvageable after all. But no... not long after, I start feeling sick. I hike back the 1/2 mile alone, in misery, to wait for the guys at the truck.

On Wednesday, work is an insane asylum and I forget how to cope. I feel myself becoming more shrill and unlikeable with every hour. I weigh in at WW and I'm 2# over. I leave work late to help T with the church picnic where I again prove what a poor cook I am. I go home to find that the sick cat had stopped using the litterbox and started using my throw rugs. The vet says she needs to come in for 2 days of IV fluids and get started on a course of antibiotics -- hopefully this will cure her -- or she might have kidney failure or cancer and will die. Either/or. That will be $226, please. I spend the rest of the night mopping floors, washing rugs, doing laundry and scrubbing the bathroom I've been trying to clean since Sunday.

While scritching away at my tub, it hits me. Things feel so hard because I'm trying to do it all alone. I'm parenting, fixing the cat, managing the dental insurance, mediating the fights, preparing the food, cleaning the messes, organizing the trip and shuffling a huge to-do list at work. I'm doing it all -- but I'm doing it all alone. And GOD! (yes, I'm crying out to You!) I can't. It dawned on me as I was on my knees (how fortuitous) cleaning that tub that I need God every step of the way, or things just get too overwhelming. Right there, I laid those burdens down -- at the foot of the cross and the base of the tub.

The fallacy of my faith is that I always ask for help on the big stuff -- but not the small things.

Just one more meeting, a few more hours of work, a grocery trip and a run to the vet. And then it's the weekend. And the cool, green forests, clear rivers and stunning silence of vacation.