It's Saturday. That's becoming my favorite day of the week, I think, which is funny, because it's not like I have a M-F 9-5 job or anything. But we've started doing church on Saturday nights, and it's the first day Ro is home for the weekend, and this weekend is kind of extra cool.
OK not really, but kind of. Christianne is at her first-ever youth group retreat in the mountains somewhere. I hope she does not get lost. She has a propensity for getting lost on outings like these. She has no cell phone up there and I can't help wondering about her - how she's doing and all... but I'm excited for her and hope that it refreshes her heart and rejuvenates her spirit and sets her even more on fire for the Lord.
Joshua and I went on a date last night. We bought him new shoes, perused Game Stop, and had dinner at Five Guys, which really lived up to all the hype. Those were some stinkin' good burgers. Then we went to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which I think I enjoyed more than Josh. He's been a fan of the book series for a few years now.
So Christianne will be home tomorrow, but... no school next week! And... :: drumroll please :: my Ro is off work as well! We are still poor, so we won't be doing very much, but just spending time together doing family things will be great.
The only thing that isn't quite working out according to plan is the weather. The kids actually had a snow day off from school last Wednesday, and although it cleared up and has mostly melted away, we're expecting more snow today and tomorrow. Not sure how conducive frozen, frosty ground will be for the planned backyard campout, but I guess we can play that by ear.
This morning I got to go shopping at Hobby Lobby and wasn't limited by a $5 budget for the first time in ages. What fun! Today I'm going to scrap, chill, scrap, do WalMart shopping, scrap, and go to church. I'm sooo way behind on all my scrapbooks and scrapbooking goals. Drives me nuts. But I'm nearly finished with the album I've been working on for about a year and a half now! Whoot! Whoot!
I suppose that's all the good news you can handle in one sitting, so I'll leave you to be. Besides, I have a glue runner calling my name.
xoxo
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Will You Pray?
Queen B writes a fabulous blog... often she brings me to laugh out loud, and sometimes it makes my eyes well up with tears. I've been reading her blog for so long now that I really have come to like her, you know, as a person. I believe I've asked you to pray for her before in the adoption process she is going through (which still needs tremendous prayers), but now her family needs more prayer, intense prayer, as they are in the midst of a medical emergency. You can head over to her blog for the details. Thanks for praying.
Spring is Here... Sort of.
My allergies think it's spring. Lawns are greening up, trees beginning to bud. We got up to 66 yesterday and it sure felt like spring. But today, the forecast is snow.
Who doesn't love spring? Even when I prefer cooler temps to the heat of summer (not that I've dealt much with that since moving to Colorado), everyone loves spring. Easter, flowers, beautiful weather, sunshine, and (if you're blessed) tax refunds. (Sorry to those of you who owe. I know that sucks.)
Chris took the picture above, when temps shot back up to the 60s after our 6" of snow last Friday. Yesterday was up to 66 or so again and "snow likely" is the forecast for this afternoon. Legs are shaved, shorts are out, but the jackets are not put away quite yet.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Manzanita Days in Pictures
Funny timing, actually. The other day, the sister of a good friend of mine from the old days, posted some old news clippings on Facebook. Thought I'd share, since they go along with my Manzanita musings.
Sage
We are the Spartans, the mighty mighty Spartans...
In sixth grade my homeroom teacher was Mr. Koska. He died quite a few years ago, actually, but the funny thing about Mr. Koska is that his daughter knew my someday husband in school. Pretty well. If you know what I mean. ;)
In sixth grade, I remember encountering my first marijuana - someone had left in my pocket in a jacket she had borrowed. I remember sucking at kick ball and going to Mr. T's room to watch movies and seeing boys and girls kissing under the tables in the back. Sixth grade! My daughter's finishing eighth right now so that memory gives me the shivers!
In seventh and eighth grades I learned how to type - and how I loved that, as well as my typing teacher, Mrs. Wright. I typed so much and so fast that I ended up typing up the school newspaper and Mrs. Wright's lessons and whatever else we could find to type. Those were the days, children, when we used ancient, non-electric typewriters.
I also learned about concrete poems and AIDS and that teachers who used to be married to each other were now hooked up with other teachers. That Halloween in eighth grade was marked by news of people tampering with Halloween candy, and I believe that was the same year people began tampering with Tylenol as well. I was a Sage Spartan Super Kid at least once. Mr. Millen, our principal, had a kazillion (I know; I counted) frog figurines in his office. I had to dress out for PE for the first time in seventh grade, with Mrs. Kristovich keeping us all in line. I rode the bus to school eventually, but before that our neighbor used to drive me there in her motorhome.
I tried out for basketball and only made alternate, but I could do a lay-up!
First dances, lockers, learning to sew, learning to use woodcutting tools, getting my ears pierced, learning (first by misunderstanding) what being "on the rag" meant ~ my limited memories of junior high.
What do you remember?
In sixth grade my homeroom teacher was Mr. Koska. He died quite a few years ago, actually, but the funny thing about Mr. Koska is that his daughter knew my someday husband in school. Pretty well. If you know what I mean. ;)
In sixth grade, I remember encountering my first marijuana - someone had left in my pocket in a jacket she had borrowed. I remember sucking at kick ball and going to Mr. T's room to watch movies and seeing boys and girls kissing under the tables in the back. Sixth grade! My daughter's finishing eighth right now so that memory gives me the shivers!
In seventh and eighth grades I learned how to type - and how I loved that, as well as my typing teacher, Mrs. Wright. I typed so much and so fast that I ended up typing up the school newspaper and Mrs. Wright's lessons and whatever else we could find to type. Those were the days, children, when we used ancient, non-electric typewriters.
I also learned about concrete poems and AIDS and that teachers who used to be married to each other were now hooked up with other teachers. That Halloween in eighth grade was marked by news of people tampering with Halloween candy, and I believe that was the same year people began tampering with Tylenol as well. I was a Sage Spartan Super Kid at least once. Mr. Millen, our principal, had a kazillion (I know; I counted) frog figurines in his office. I had to dress out for PE for the first time in seventh grade, with Mrs. Kristovich keeping us all in line. I rode the bus to school eventually, but before that our neighbor used to drive me there in her motorhome.
I tried out for basketball and only made alternate, but I could do a lay-up!
First dances, lockers, learning to sew, learning to use woodcutting tools, getting my ears pierced, learning (first by misunderstanding) what being "on the rag" meant ~ my limited memories of junior high.
What do you remember?
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Manzanita Days
I honestly don't have the greatest memory. Sometimes Pop will tell me a story of when I played ball and I have no recollection of it at all. In some ways, it's a gift, I think, from God, because it helps me to apply that "love keeps no record of wrongs" part of 1 Corinthians. But last night I laid in bed and started thinking, started remembering, and I thought I'd sit down and try to journal everything I remember about school. You may think it'll be a lot, but really, it won't.
I'll start with Manzanita, where I went from kindergarten through fifth grade. I was zoned for Tumbleweed, but I got to go to Manzanita because it was across the street from Grandma and Pop's house, and they were my "caregivers." I really loved that school, and I have sooo many memories of the campus itself. I loved the way that there was an upper quad and a lower quad with evergreen trees in the middle of the lower quad. I remember being on stage to play Betsy Ross one time, Halloween carnivals in the cafeteria where I loved to dig in the sand to find hidden fake fingernails and do the cake walk (I've never won a cake!), learning to ride my bike in the parking lot, roller skating and playing on the stairs out front that led to the stage.
Gosh, I can picture sitting on the benches between the cafeteria and the office, knowing most of the staff since Gram worked there. Gram got me a job working in the cafeteria from maybe 3rd grade on up... (Did Deb do that, too?) I loved getting out of class early to work, putting milk or fruit on trays or sometimes even selling the milk out in the cafeteria. Gram was the cashier and I loved being her granddaughter ~ everyone loved Mrs. Grant.
I had a Ms. Pierce in kindergarten, but I don't remember much about that grade except for the time Terrie Stone peed her pants. Why that has stayed with me all these years I'll never know. In first grade my teacher was Mrs. Mahoney, and she seemed like the oldest woman I'd ever known. She just passed away in the past couple of years I think. It seems like that class was a K-1 combo...? I remember how much I hated to do Sullivan Books - anyone remember those?
In second grade I had a favorite teacher, Mrs. Coffin. We had rats in the classroom named Lucy and Ethel, cool chairs to hang back and read in or listen with big puffy headphones to audio books. We had mailboxes and exchanged letters with other students, and Mrs. C was a Peanuts fan. She had a giant Snoopy poster. When we were good, we got to add beans to his dish, and when the dish was full, we got to open a window on his house to do something fun. She made each of us a paperweight at the end of the year with a picture of Snoopy on it that I have even now sitting here in my windowsill. I believe second grade was the first year I wrote a book - a hard, fabric-covered book having to do with wanting a pet, I think.
In second grade my friend Michelle Anderson had a strong influence on me. I thought it was cool that she didn't have to recite the Pledge of Allegiance like the rest of us so I decided to become a Jehovah's Witness. Well, Gram working at the school and all... news got around fast, and I was back to being a Christian by that afternoon.
At some point, maybe second or third grade, it seems like I went to summer school. Why? I have no idea, and I can only vaguely recollect keeping my milk money in a little Avon perfume container that smelled like strong grandmotherly flowers, and working with starch and tissue to make a pinata...?
Miss Lewis in third grade was another favorite teacher. She was so cool! Pretty, young, excited about kids. She taught me cursive and introduced me to novels and had me memorize "Thirty Days Hath September..." and "The Owl and the Pussycat," both which I still recite today. ;) We wrote poetry, and this haiku has hung in the kitchen at Gram and Pop's house since then until he moved last fall:
Yes, I know it doesn't fit the real haiku pattern. I either thought it did at the time or gave up trying. It's better than the limerick I wrote. All I can remember is the beginning:
In third grade there was a boy... Mark. And he chased me and tried to kiss me and I ran into a pole and got a black eye. There was also Scott and Brad, who liked to steal our Barbies at lunch and do boy-things to them. I had a Farrah Fawcett Barbie, because the Six Million Dollar Man and Bionic Woman were wickedly popular. Deb had Oscar Goldman.
In fourth grade I had my strictest teacher, but I loved her - Mrs. Reagan. She would say, "Do as I say, not as I do," and I find myself saying that to my kids from time to time. We studied the history of California and I did a report on a mission (we didn't have to build one back then like the kids do now) that my parents took me to. I learned about Mad Libs in fourth grade.
I had two other "injuries" at Manzanita. One time while working at my desk, a light bulb exploded over me and shards of glass rained down. Another time I was working at a chalkboard when the map fell down and hit me in the eye. Fascinating, huh?
In fifth grade I had my first male teacher, Mr. McIver. He was there the first day of school and then disappeared for along time, I believe dealing with health issues. That first day of school I remember him asking, "So when is the last time you used some mathematics?" and he called on me. I said, "Um, last year?" And he said, "Really?" Other kids chimed in that they use math in the grocery store, in music, in art, etc. And you thought I was bright. Funny the things that stick with you.
I remember being tested for MGM, and not making it. I remember loving to read, especially Ruth Chew novels, Harriet the Spy, James and the Giant Peach, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I remember playing tetherball on the playground and two sisters named Bridie and Ivy. I liked handball and Butt's Up. I thought it was cool to walk with my wrist limp and my top teeth sticking over my bottom lip. We used to fashion "braces" out of paperclips and I got in trouble once for nearly choking on one when we played Red Rover. I hated to play Heads Up Seven Up and Doggy, Doggy, Where's Your Bone? I thought the stuffed bald eagle in the office was majestic, and I went to school at Manzanita before they became the Mice (thankfully!). I made miniature furniture out of paper and thought that was really cool. I learned that if you spread white glue out and let it dry, you could make it stick again by licking it. I walked across the street after school every day to where Gram was waiting for me, school lunch leftovers prepared for a snack, and ready to sit and get my back scratched while she watched General Hospital.
And now 2/3 of my kids are finished (or will be in two months) with elementary school. I know they've made some lasting memories as well, probably much more fascinating than mine. :)
I'll start with Manzanita, where I went from kindergarten through fifth grade. I was zoned for Tumbleweed, but I got to go to Manzanita because it was across the street from Grandma and Pop's house, and they were my "caregivers." I really loved that school, and I have sooo many memories of the campus itself. I loved the way that there was an upper quad and a lower quad with evergreen trees in the middle of the lower quad. I remember being on stage to play Betsy Ross one time, Halloween carnivals in the cafeteria where I loved to dig in the sand to find hidden fake fingernails and do the cake walk (I've never won a cake!), learning to ride my bike in the parking lot, roller skating and playing on the stairs out front that led to the stage.
Gosh, I can picture sitting on the benches between the cafeteria and the office, knowing most of the staff since Gram worked there. Gram got me a job working in the cafeteria from maybe 3rd grade on up... (Did Deb do that, too?) I loved getting out of class early to work, putting milk or fruit on trays or sometimes even selling the milk out in the cafeteria. Gram was the cashier and I loved being her granddaughter ~ everyone loved Mrs. Grant.
I had a Ms. Pierce in kindergarten, but I don't remember much about that grade except for the time Terrie Stone peed her pants. Why that has stayed with me all these years I'll never know. In first grade my teacher was Mrs. Mahoney, and she seemed like the oldest woman I'd ever known. She just passed away in the past couple of years I think. It seems like that class was a K-1 combo...? I remember how much I hated to do Sullivan Books - anyone remember those?
In second grade I had a favorite teacher, Mrs. Coffin. We had rats in the classroom named Lucy and Ethel, cool chairs to hang back and read in or listen with big puffy headphones to audio books. We had mailboxes and exchanged letters with other students, and Mrs. C was a Peanuts fan. She had a giant Snoopy poster. When we were good, we got to add beans to his dish, and when the dish was full, we got to open a window on his house to do something fun. She made each of us a paperweight at the end of the year with a picture of Snoopy on it that I have even now sitting here in my windowsill. I believe second grade was the first year I wrote a book - a hard, fabric-covered book having to do with wanting a pet, I think.
In second grade my friend Michelle Anderson had a strong influence on me. I thought it was cool that she didn't have to recite the Pledge of Allegiance like the rest of us so I decided to become a Jehovah's Witness. Well, Gram working at the school and all... news got around fast, and I was back to being a Christian by that afternoon.
At some point, maybe second or third grade, it seems like I went to summer school. Why? I have no idea, and I can only vaguely recollect keeping my milk money in a little Avon perfume container that smelled like strong grandmotherly flowers, and working with starch and tissue to make a pinata...?
Miss Lewis in third grade was another favorite teacher. She was so cool! Pretty, young, excited about kids. She taught me cursive and introduced me to novels and had me memorize "Thirty Days Hath September..." and "The Owl and the Pussycat," both which I still recite today. ;) We wrote poetry, and this haiku has hung in the kitchen at Gram and Pop's house since then until he moved last fall:
Horses, spirited
Wild and free they run
Tamed and ridden
Yes, I know it doesn't fit the real haiku pattern. I either thought it did at the time or gave up trying. It's better than the limerick I wrote. All I can remember is the beginning:
There once was a lady named Mabel
She had a baby in a stable
In third grade there was a boy... Mark. And he chased me and tried to kiss me and I ran into a pole and got a black eye. There was also Scott and Brad, who liked to steal our Barbies at lunch and do boy-things to them. I had a Farrah Fawcett Barbie, because the Six Million Dollar Man and Bionic Woman were wickedly popular. Deb had Oscar Goldman.
In fourth grade I had my strictest teacher, but I loved her - Mrs. Reagan. She would say, "Do as I say, not as I do," and I find myself saying that to my kids from time to time. We studied the history of California and I did a report on a mission (we didn't have to build one back then like the kids do now) that my parents took me to. I learned about Mad Libs in fourth grade.
I had two other "injuries" at Manzanita. One time while working at my desk, a light bulb exploded over me and shards of glass rained down. Another time I was working at a chalkboard when the map fell down and hit me in the eye. Fascinating, huh?
In fifth grade I had my first male teacher, Mr. McIver. He was there the first day of school and then disappeared for along time, I believe dealing with health issues. That first day of school I remember him asking, "So when is the last time you used some mathematics?" and he called on me. I said, "Um, last year?" And he said, "Really?" Other kids chimed in that they use math in the grocery store, in music, in art, etc. And you thought I was bright. Funny the things that stick with you.
I remember being tested for MGM, and not making it. I remember loving to read, especially Ruth Chew novels, Harriet the Spy, James and the Giant Peach, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I remember playing tetherball on the playground and two sisters named Bridie and Ivy. I liked handball and Butt's Up. I thought it was cool to walk with my wrist limp and my top teeth sticking over my bottom lip. We used to fashion "braces" out of paperclips and I got in trouble once for nearly choking on one when we played Red Rover. I hated to play Heads Up Seven Up and Doggy, Doggy, Where's Your Bone? I thought the stuffed bald eagle in the office was majestic, and I went to school at Manzanita before they became the Mice (thankfully!). I made miniature furniture out of paper and thought that was really cool. I learned that if you spread white glue out and let it dry, you could make it stick again by licking it. I walked across the street after school every day to where Gram was waiting for me, school lunch leftovers prepared for a snack, and ready to sit and get my back scratched while she watched General Hospital.
And now 2/3 of my kids are finished (or will be in two months) with elementary school. I know they've made some lasting memories as well, probably much more fascinating than mine. :)
Friday, March 12, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Flakes
This may not be very nice of me to write, but it's my blog and I'm going to do it anyway. How about this? I'll try to say it as nicely as I can.
And don't worry ~ as far as I know it isn't directed at any of you who regularly read my blog. I think you're all safe. Aren't you glad?
I'm sitting here with the list of the 59 people who contributed to Pop's 90th Birthday scrapbook album. 59 people took a few minutes out of one afternoon to write Pop a letter, and many enclosed a picture. I know it was actually difficult for some of these people; a lot of the older people have trouble writing and getting pictures is sometimes a chore. But they did it.
We heard from many people in Pop's previous church family, close family, distant relatives, friends, former neighbors, and even former relatives. Some were short, thoughtful, 2- or 3-line blessings, and others were pages long. There wasn't a single one that I didn't love reading, including, and sharing with Pop.
But on the other side, I have to say, I'm trying to deal with the disappointment of those who didn't respond. Some are folks who send me crap e-mail every single day, tons of it, and yet they didn't take the time to write a brief note. Others told Pop that they love him when he moved to Colorado but apparently out of sight is out of mind (even with reminders). I know first-hand several who have benefited tremendously by the time and love Pop has invested in them, but apparently have better things to do than encourage and bless an old man.
I know, I should probably be just thankful for the many letters we got - and I am! I know I need to let go of the frustration toward the almost equal number of people who I feel just kind of blew this off. I bet I sound pretty prideful, huh? But it isn't about me - really. It was about Pop.
There's this one man who Pop thinks of so much. To be fair, I missed him in the original notes that went out, but I sent him a note immediately after Pop's birthday shindig, hoping he'd still respond and that I could add it to the album. That was three weeks ago. Every day when I go through the mail, Pop asks, "Nothing from Joe?" and it makes me so sad.
I don't know what blogging about this will accomplish, except maybe to get it off my chest. I guess I just wanted to thank you again for participating in Pop's book... and remind us all that these things mean a lot to other people, so that if we're ever asked again to do something like this, we'll make a point to participate. But of course I'm preaching to the choir, aren't I?
Well, thanks for listening anyway.
And don't worry ~ as far as I know it isn't directed at any of you who regularly read my blog. I think you're all safe. Aren't you glad?
I'm sitting here with the list of the 59 people who contributed to Pop's 90th Birthday scrapbook album. 59 people took a few minutes out of one afternoon to write Pop a letter, and many enclosed a picture. I know it was actually difficult for some of these people; a lot of the older people have trouble writing and getting pictures is sometimes a chore. But they did it.
We heard from many people in Pop's previous church family, close family, distant relatives, friends, former neighbors, and even former relatives. Some were short, thoughtful, 2- or 3-line blessings, and others were pages long. There wasn't a single one that I didn't love reading, including, and sharing with Pop.
But on the other side, I have to say, I'm trying to deal with the disappointment of those who didn't respond. Some are folks who send me crap e-mail every single day, tons of it, and yet they didn't take the time to write a brief note. Others told Pop that they love him when he moved to Colorado but apparently out of sight is out of mind (even with reminders). I know first-hand several who have benefited tremendously by the time and love Pop has invested in them, but apparently have better things to do than encourage and bless an old man.
I know, I should probably be just thankful for the many letters we got - and I am! I know I need to let go of the frustration toward the almost equal number of people who I feel just kind of blew this off. I bet I sound pretty prideful, huh? But it isn't about me - really. It was about Pop.
There's this one man who Pop thinks of so much. To be fair, I missed him in the original notes that went out, but I sent him a note immediately after Pop's birthday shindig, hoping he'd still respond and that I could add it to the album. That was three weeks ago. Every day when I go through the mail, Pop asks, "Nothing from Joe?" and it makes me so sad.
I don't know what blogging about this will accomplish, except maybe to get it off my chest. I guess I just wanted to thank you again for participating in Pop's book... and remind us all that these things mean a lot to other people, so that if we're ever asked again to do something like this, we'll make a point to participate. But of course I'm preaching to the choir, aren't I?
Well, thanks for listening anyway.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
The American Dream: What is It?
by Josh Wiggins
To me, America is a clear sign of freedom. Most Americans live their entire lives in selfishness, not even thinking about thinking about how privileged they are. It is truly amazing how many people just go about saying, "Oooh! I live in America. Big Whup!" But it is, in fact, a Big Whup.
Americans can choose any job when they're grown up, while people in Russia are given a job by country law. Believe it or not. It is all based on grades or scores, and if you're one of those kids that aren't very smart to begin with, but your IQ just suddenly bursts, you still have no choice.
It is depressing to think that over half of our population does not care about our soldiers, much less what happens to them. It is not just me who agrees that it is sad that movie stars, who are just for our entertainment, are paid far more than our soldiers, who risk their lives and sole existence just for our safety.
Picture this: you wake up and get out of bed just to see thousands of men pointing guns at you. All of a sudden, a thousand strangers come and vanquish the enemy. Now, would you rather have your life, or a ticket to see your favorite celebrity performing? So don't you agree that America is a clear sign of freedom?
Josh won second place in the Elks Lodge American Essay Contest for 2009-2010.
To me, America is a clear sign of freedom. Most Americans live their entire lives in selfishness, not even thinking about thinking about how privileged they are. It is truly amazing how many people just go about saying, "Oooh! I live in America. Big Whup!" But it is, in fact, a Big Whup.
Americans can choose any job when they're grown up, while people in Russia are given a job by country law. Believe it or not. It is all based on grades or scores, and if you're one of those kids that aren't very smart to begin with, but your IQ just suddenly bursts, you still have no choice.
It is depressing to think that over half of our population does not care about our soldiers, much less what happens to them. It is not just me who agrees that it is sad that movie stars, who are just for our entertainment, are paid far more than our soldiers, who risk their lives and sole existence just for our safety.
Picture this: you wake up and get out of bed just to see thousands of men pointing guns at you. All of a sudden, a thousand strangers come and vanquish the enemy. Now, would you rather have your life, or a ticket to see your favorite celebrity performing? So don't you agree that America is a clear sign of freedom?
Josh won second place in the Elks Lodge American Essay Contest for 2009-2010.
Monday, March 08, 2010
Do You Remember...
... the first time you felt old?
Or maybe not old, per se, but on "the other side," so to speak?
I was thinking about this after my dad's recent post on the Tooth Fairy, which could have been subtitled The Loss of Innocence... ;) And I was thinking about it when I went to Burger King yesterday and the young cashier remembered me, knew my name, and was very patient with me when I couldn't seem to give him the proper amount of money for our order.
Was it the day I met Joshua's third grade teacher, nearly two years ago, and understood that Mr. Garcia certainly could not have been shaving for very long?
Was it the day in K-mart with Grace that someone asked me how old my granddaughter was?
Could it have been just recently, when I turned the big Four-Oh, or a decade ago, when I left my twenties behind?
Maybe it was when I was a youth leader - thinking I was young enough and hip enough to relate to these kids, although one wise-aleck (Matt) had no problem reminding me that it was possible for me to be his mother.
Perhaps it was several years ago when I noticed my knees creak when I go up or down stairs.
Or when I failed to recognize the songs my eldest was listening to on her MP3 player.
Maybe it goes back to the time when I couldn't throw the softball when Deb recruited me for her slow-pitch team.
Or when I spotted my first gray hair, to tell Robert about it and have him say, "Oh, that's not your first one!"
Was it just recently when I discovered old friends on Facebook who had grandchildren, while I still have a toddler at home?
Or discovering that 80's music is fair game for "classic rock"?
Do you remember when you first felt like part of the older population rather than the younger?
Or maybe not old, per se, but on "the other side," so to speak?
I was thinking about this after my dad's recent post on the Tooth Fairy, which could have been subtitled The Loss of Innocence... ;) And I was thinking about it when I went to Burger King yesterday and the young cashier remembered me, knew my name, and was very patient with me when I couldn't seem to give him the proper amount of money for our order.
Was it the day I met Joshua's third grade teacher, nearly two years ago, and understood that Mr. Garcia certainly could not have been shaving for very long?
Was it the day in K-mart with Grace that someone asked me how old my granddaughter was?
Could it have been just recently, when I turned the big Four-Oh, or a decade ago, when I left my twenties behind?
Maybe it was when I was a youth leader - thinking I was young enough and hip enough to relate to these kids, although one wise-aleck (Matt) had no problem reminding me that it was possible for me to be his mother.
Perhaps it was several years ago when I noticed my knees creak when I go up or down stairs.
Or when I failed to recognize the songs my eldest was listening to on her MP3 player.
Maybe it goes back to the time when I couldn't throw the softball when Deb recruited me for her slow-pitch team.
Or when I spotted my first gray hair, to tell Robert about it and have him say, "Oh, that's not your first one!"
Was it just recently when I discovered old friends on Facebook who had grandchildren, while I still have a toddler at home?
Or discovering that 80's music is fair game for "classic rock"?
Do you remember when you first felt like part of the older population rather than the younger?
Saturday, March 06, 2010
If I Had 10 Million Dollars...
(Why not dream big?)
I would:
I would:
- pay off all my debt, and my family's debt
- make sure college educations were secured for my kids and maybe theirs
- let Robert quit his job
- travel to many places, but probably just once
- give at least half of it away - church, charity, people in need
- buy a house here for my parents to split time in - or two if they really have to have their own digs or would like a permanent home here
- let Dave Ramsey advise me on how to spend, save, and invest most of the money after that
- open a big ol' scrapbooking sanctuary
Mind you, independent scrapbook stores don't often stay in business, so I need a lot of money to get behind this. It would be open from 9 am to 11pm six days a week, and maybe noon to 8 on Sundays. It would have lots of stock, and in the back would be what some scrappers call a "crop garden." It would have a neon sign out in front that said SCRAP, and at midnight, the S would move to the end of the word, the crop tables would turn into craps tables, and we would shoot dice - just for fun. Maybe they could cash in their "chips" at the end of the night for product...!
Adjacent to the store would be a used bookstore - again, not a money maker... but oh, do I love just the smell of books! My bookstore would have lots of comfortable chairs, and I wouldn't care if you came and read and never bought - because I would have plenty of money to not have to worry about keeping my stores open.
In the back of the bookstore would be a Human Bean franchise. I don't care enough about coffee to make this an independent store like the scrap and book stores, but I do love the smell of good coffee and know my guests would love to cuddle up with a great book and a cup of joe on a rainy or snowy Colorado afternoon.
I would still drive my Honda but I would get rid of all my holey t-shirts and stained sweats and ratty underwear. I would still shop at WalMart. I would still buy used books and the kids, at 16, would still probably get used - but better - cars. I would let Robert get whatever car he'd like. My kids would probably stay in public schools.
I would spend my days while the kids are in school in the stores, scrapping and reading and serving customers. I would be freed up financially to be able to serve others - do more community work and such.
I might think about purchasing land and cabins up in the mountains and opening and running a youth camp (or scrapbooking retreats!) - in the spring and summer, at least. One where again, there was no pressure to meet financial obligations, so there would be no financial pressure on those who would be blessed to come here.
I might adopt a child or two. Or foster them. Or get involved with a pro-life organization and ministry, learning to counsel those specifically who are urged by their doctors to terminate "disabled," "inferior," and "special needs" babies in utero.
I would like to take the time to write again... a Bible study or a novel or both.
...
What would you do?
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Colorado
My mom sent this to me, and I thought it was really funny how, after only 2 1/2 years, we can relate to most of the items on this list. Yesterday it was 49 - our warmest day in quite awhile - today I'm getting out my shorts. Enjoy ~
Colorado
A winter statistic:
Ninety-eight percent of Americans scream before going into a ditch on a slippery road. The other two percent are from Colorado, and they say, "Hold my soda and watch this."
You're from Colorado if:
You'll eat ice cream in the winter.
When the weather report says it's going to be 65 degrees, you shave your legs and wear a skirt.
It snows five inches and you don't expect school to be canceled.
You'll wear flip flops every day of the year, regardless of temperature.
You have no accent at all, but can hear other people's. And then you make fun of them.
"Humid" is over 25%.
Your sense of direction is: Toward the mountains and away from the mountains.
You say, "The Interstate," and everybody knows which one.
You think that May is a totally normal month for a blizzard or ice storm.
You buy your flowers to set out on Mother's Day, but try and hold off planting them until just before Father's Day.
You grew up planning your Halloween costumes around your coat.
You know what the Continental Divide is.
You went to Casa Bonita as a kid, and again as an adult.
You've gone off-roading in a vehicle that was never intended for such activities.
You always know the elevation of where you are.
You wake up to a beautiful 80-degree day and wonder if it's going to snow tomorrow.
You don't care that some company renamed it; the Broncos still play at Mile High.
Everybody wears jeans to church.
You actually know that South Park is a real place, not just a show on TV.
You know what a "trust fund hippy" is, and you know its natural habitat is Boulder.
You know you're talking to a fellow Coloradoan when they call it Elitches, not Six Flags.
A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you.
Your two favorite teams are the Broncos and whoever is beating the Raiders.
When people out East tell you they have mountains in their state too, you just laugh.
You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels "sticky," and you notice the sky is no longer blue.
Colorado
A winter statistic:
Ninety-eight percent of Americans scream before going into a ditch on a slippery road. The other two percent are from Colorado, and they say, "Hold my soda and watch this."
You're from Colorado if:
You'll eat ice cream in the winter.
When the weather report says it's going to be 65 degrees, you shave your legs and wear a skirt.
It snows five inches and you don't expect school to be canceled.
You'll wear flip flops every day of the year, regardless of temperature.
You have no accent at all, but can hear other people's. And then you make fun of them.
"Humid" is over 25%.
Your sense of direction is: Toward the mountains and away from the mountains.
You say, "The Interstate," and everybody knows which one.
You think that May is a totally normal month for a blizzard or ice storm.
You buy your flowers to set out on Mother's Day, but try and hold off planting them until just before Father's Day.
You grew up planning your Halloween costumes around your coat.
You know what the Continental Divide is.
You went to Casa Bonita as a kid, and again as an adult.
You've gone off-roading in a vehicle that was never intended for such activities.
You always know the elevation of where you are.
You wake up to a beautiful 80-degree day and wonder if it's going to snow tomorrow.
You don't care that some company renamed it; the Broncos still play at Mile High.
Everybody wears jeans to church.
You actually know that South Park is a real place, not just a show on TV.
You know what a "trust fund hippy" is, and you know its natural habitat is Boulder.
You know you're talking to a fellow Coloradoan when they call it Elitches, not Six Flags.
A bear on your front porch doesn't bother you.
Your two favorite teams are the Broncos and whoever is beating the Raiders.
When people out East tell you they have mountains in their state too, you just laugh.
You go anywhere else on the planet and the air feels "sticky," and you notice the sky is no longer blue.
Monday, March 01, 2010
Walk in Newness of Life
Christianne was one of four teenagers baptized at church this weekend. My video recording skills apparently are non-existent, but thankfully we got some pictures taken by one of the youth leaders. Hopefully we'll snag a video from someone else soon as well.
Giving her testimony:
Prayer by one of our pastors:
Baptized by her daddy. What a privilege!
In our church, as the one baptizing brings the person up out of the water, he says, "Walk in newness of life!" and the church body says, "Until the end ~ forevermore!"
Giving her testimony:
Prayer by one of our pastors:
Baptized by her daddy. What a privilege!
In our church, as the one baptizing brings the person up out of the water, he says, "Walk in newness of life!" and the church body says, "Until the end ~ forevermore!" Beautiful.
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