Choose Your Own Adventure

You may remember this post from nearly two years ago and have been wondering what happened with those plans. Well...this ain't the Vietnam War Era any more. Now, if you change your mind after enlisting, they don't hogtie you and throw you on the back of a flat bed truck that's headed for the frontlines.

Yes, Tobias decided against becoming a 92M in the army afterall, but recently he signed up for a different kind of service. This morning before 6:00, I cooked him up a hot breakfast while he finished throwing some vital belongings into a couple of duffel bags, and then we hopped in the car while the sun was still rising so he could start his newest chapter. Because of my desire to keep this blog not-too-personally-specific I won't name organizations or locations, but I will say that he has elected to dedicate the next couple of years to service of the outdoorsy-hardworking sort.

It's going to be some serious physical labor which he isn't afraid of. It will open multiple doors of opportunity for him later in life as well as bulk up his resume beautifully. In his own words, "I look forward to this huge step in my life. It will give a foundation, increase my independence...and teach me loads." I'm thankful he sees the many benefits in this opportunity and values them for what they are.

So, even though he will be spending much of his time running a CHAINSAW in the coming months, we are genuinely glad that he is moving in this direction and that he's willing to dedicate himself to honorable and beneficial, though exhausting, work.

Last week he got to meet the crew he'll be living and working with. Thankfully he really liked them. One of them told him, "We don't have friends up on the mountain. We have brothers." That was music to this mother's ears. 

None of the pictures I took this morning turned out that great because I didn't want to ask him in front of his peers to 'smile for Mommy', but what's a post without a photo? So here you go:

Now if he gets through it with all of his limbs intact, I'll really rejoice. Do chainsaw-proof coveralls exist?

We love you, Sonny. Learn all you can and enjoy yourself.

And So It Ends...

I'm happy to report that my crusade has come to a happy conclusion.

You may remember the exhilaration of  our first capping after my Christmas wish
was fulfilled.

After the flush of that excitement wore off, I felt a little sorry for the third and final hubcap. Each time I situated grocery bags around it in the trunk I wanted to pat it gently and say, "Your time will come, Little One."

Well, it's time was approximately 9:05 this morning.

As I was pulling up in front of my friend's house, I noticed a silver Corolla across the street. I made a quick assessment and immediately heard the cap in my trunk calling out to its three, perfectly matching siblings.




Danica and Karen--Thanks for offering moral support as I tried to pound that thing on (and for not ridiculing me when I gave up and simply placed it on the hood) and for photographing this momentous occasion. ;)

Public Service Announcement

I nearly got hit by a car recently.

I don’t mean that a sedan almost crumpled my car's back left door.

I mean a huge SUV almost plowed into me--my vulnerable, slightly-squishy, 5' 4", endoskeletal self. 

Some lady was steaming along at maybe-I-can-make-a-Starbucks-run-and-still-make-it-to-work-on-time speed, slowed slightly as she approached a stop sign, whipped her head around (looking for other cars, I presume) and gunned it. Meanwhile, I was jogging up to the crosswalk next to said stop sign at my I-hate-this-but-I-love-chocolate-cake-so-I'd-better-keep-stumbling-on speed. I was just inches from her hurtling-through-space passenger door.

Yeah, it was pretty close. If I was talented and quick enough, I could have done a blow fish on her window.

 

(Not me in the photo, in case you were wondering. I don't possess such pneumatic skills, nor am I a dude.)

She never did see me.

So what saved my pre-carcass from getting smashed into a bodiless spirit? 

One thing and one thing only...

...my awareness.

My fellow joggers know what I’m talking about. 

You see, there are people driving cars all over our cities who are NOT looking out for us. Can I hear an amen from the running crew?

It's not that they're trying to kill, maim and smash us. It's just that their minds are on other things. You know, things like how they haven't had a bowl of chili yet this season, or how they'd really like to replace their doorbell. These things are not of much consequence but they're enough to distract drivers from paying proper attention at the wheel.

So, as a jogger I've learned to watch out for myself. I slow down at intersections or even stop and wait even though the ol' Garmin is ticking away.

Let me ask you: Whose fault would it be if that lady had slammed into me throwing me thirty feet or if she had rolled over me with one of those $250 tires?

Hers, of course.

However, who would be the worse off for it?

Duh...me.

That's why I'm aware: not because I don't want to be at fault but because I don't want to be injured or, you know, dead.

All of this is true, however the real reason I'm bothering to type about it is to give myself a proper intro for a different topic...

You see, I recently read an article which implied that telling people to avoid certain situations where they might be sexually abused is the equivalent to blaming them if they are victimized.

For example: To tell a provocatively dressed young woman not to walk down a dark alley is the same as telling her that she deserves any abuse she might suffer while doing so.

I ask you: Whose fault would it be if she was raped?

The rapist's, clearly.

But, who would be worse off for it?

Obviously, her.

Please don't misunderstand me. Any person who is preyed upon should feel no guilt and I certainly don't want to make any excuse for predators, nor give them any leeway to ply their evil. They should be prosecuted and punished for any crime they commit and hindered extensively from committing more. Unfortunately though, that is all after the cruel reality of whatever happened.

So I think a better question than "Who is at fault?" is "How can this be prevented in the first place?"

The fact is that encouraging people to be aware and to avoid dangerous situations will keep some abuse and crimes from occurring.  Unlike distracted drivers, sexual predators are aiming to harm others. Why wouldn't we warn people to be on the look-out and avoid them?

I understand that there's a slope here that we don't want our society to slide down. Some cultures declare people who are sexually attractive as dangers and force them to cover themselves from head-to-toe or require them to only go out into society with a "proper" escort. These social norms grew out of a very twisted and hyped-up version of "We don't want people to be victimized". Still, swinging so grossly in the other direction and calling it "not making the victim feel blamed" is seriously flawed, as well.

All of that to say: Be aware. Avoid danger.

  

Today, I Bake...

We lost a dear friend to cancer this week.

Tomorrow we'll go to his memorial service.

His daughter in law messaged me yesterday and asked if I'd bake a few dozen cookies for after the service. You see, Brian loved goodies, so we're going to celebrate his life and then enjoy some milk and cookies. I don't know whose idea that was, but it's perfect. I'm sure that Brian would love to see us all standing around munching on home-baked bits of goodness.

So today, I bake...and remember him.

Brian was a wonderful man, extremely generous and thoughtful. He would give you the shirt off of his back or the burger off of his plate. Whatever someone needed, Brian would do what he could to get it for them.

He was gifted in fixing things and building things. I can't remember how many times we called Brian to ask for advice regarding our home-owner-horror stories nor how many times he came over to set things right.

He loved his tools (and he had a lot of them!) but he was always happy to loan them out. In fact, I was constantly reminded of what it means to value people over things (even prized possessions) by witnessing Brian's actions.

I never heard him say anything unkind about anyone. Not once.

Brian was always thinking about others and their comfort and happiness. One time I was at his house for a women's ministry meeting of some sort. I had brought Delaney with me. (She was about 8 years old at the time.) She was getting quite bored as the women assembled there were having our meeting. Well, Brian must have sensed her boredom, too, because he grabbed a couple of popsicles and invited her into the adjoining room to chat. I could overhear them talking. He asked her what kinds of pictures she'd been drawing lately and what her favorite animal was, all sorts of kids' stuff. That might not have been the easiest thing for him because he wasn't someone who talked much. Yet it was important to him for visitors to be happy and comfortable in his home, no matter what their age and regardless of their inability to admire his new 54-piece socket wrench set.

Yeah, Brian didn't talk a lot, yet his actions spoke lavishly of loving others and walking humbly with God.

So today, with misty eyes, I am mixing some sugar, flour and real butter in a bowl, getting ready to dollop spoonfuls of it onto a baking sheet...and remembering the good things that comprised a precious man named Brian.

We love you, Brian.

We DID It!!!

Remember how I wasn't sure I'd have the nerve to give away the hubcaps? Well, I'm happy to report that we have a successful delivery under our belts.

A couple of nights ago, we were dropping Delaney off somewhere and in the process we drove past a Corolla parked on the street. The one hubcap I saw on it was a perfect match for the three in my own Corolla's trunk.

Unfortunately, I was driving my husband's car so we had to go home to get them. (We did this after dropping our daughter off. We're not so obsessed with hubcap-generosity that everything stopped when we saw our opportunity. That would be rather pathetic. )

Going home actually gave me the chance to write the following little note:

When we returned to retrieve Delaney, we were happy to see that the car was still there, so I taped our note onto the driver-side window as Jeff popped the cap into place. Checking the passenger side, I was delighted to see that there was a missing cap over there as well!

Bonus!!!

Jeff snapped the second one into place, I slightly altered the wording of the note to account for the twofer and we drove off into the night, wondering how the owner would react when they saw it all.

Now, the hunt continues...

I Try Not to Brag, But...

...I now have the coolest stairwell in America!

Maybe even the coolest stairwell in the whole world, and here's why...

Our dear and talented friend, McKenna, drew portraits of each of us and Jeff put them up for me yesterday.

Here, get a closer look:

I look a bit smug in mine. Perhaps I'm contemplating how fantastic my stairwell is going to look:

*sigh of contentment*

Please excuse me; I'm going to go stare at it again.

All I Wanted for Christmas was My Fourth Hubcap

Okay, so maybe that's not all I wanted for Christmas, but it is what I most wanted. (Materially, anyway.)

A while back, one of my hubcaps was suddenly missing. It had seemed loose on more than one occasion and apparently our "fixing" of it had ceased to work. (I've heard that Corolla hubcaps are basically the Lee Press-On Nails of the automotive world.)

Not thinking much of it, we went to the Toyota dealer to purchase a replacement. Imagine my shocked horror when Jeff emerged from the Parts Room with a flimsy plastic disk and handed me a receipt for $97.

What?

I tried not to grumble as he popped it into place. Oh, who am I kidding? I grumbled loudly and long-windedly.

The next week--and no, I do not exaggerate when I say that--I came out of the house to see that my car  was missing a second hubcap.  

Grrr...

This time I resolved to not fork over nearly one hundred dollars for a crummy product. However, that left my car looking neglected and lop-sided. On some days I felt glad that I wasn't allowing materialism and pride to dictate how I spent money. Other days I felt embarrassed at my lack of a basic automotive part, and just kind of lame in general.

Looking around, I saw that lots of cars similar to mine are lacking one or more caps. In fact, I began to wonder if someone who was missing a hubcap saw my full set and helped themselves to that second MIA one. Maybe lots of caps are in circulation around my city due to people trying to complete their own set--an underhanded  game of  "musical hubcaps". 

I told Jeff that for Christmas I'd like him to go to a pick-a-part place and get me a cap, but only if it was significantly cheaper than the ones sold at the dealers. Surely something plucked from the carcass of a wrecked Corolla couldn't cost that much, right?

He informed me that that wasn't much of a Christmas gift.

"I'm going to be embarrassed if someone asks me what I gave you and I tell them a hubcap."

I assured him that he would actually be giving me much more than just a flimsy wheel cover. He'd be restoring my dignity--and at a fraction of the cost!

Valiantly, he went forth and attempted to complete the mission I requested of him...and came back empty handed. He did, however, learn about a website called (unsurprisingly) hubcaps.com that could hold the key to fulfilling my holiday wishes.

And did it ever! We got four caps from them for the price of one from Toyota. They aren't official Toyota caps, but they all match and fit my wheels, so what do I care?

So now I have a plan, but I don't know if I'll follow through with it or not. You see, as well as being a cheapskate, I'm also a bit of a discomposed chicken. I always have been. (When I was a kid, all of my attempts at prank phone calls ended poorly. I either panicked and hung up when my victim answered the phone or I giggled uncontrollably, rendering the prank unintelligible.)

So my plan is this: When, as I'm driving around town, I see that another Corolla-driver is missing a hubcap that matches my first set, I will pull one of my old ones out of my trunk (Jeff washed them for me and stored them there) and offer it to them for free. Until very recently that would have put a huge smile on my face, so why not do it for someone else?

However, countless things could go wrong: They might misunderstand and think that I'm offering stolen goods. Male recipients might think it's my desperate way of flirting with them. I might get some of those "You're weird so don't talk to me" looks that I got all the time back in school when I was just trying to be nice.

Maybe I'll go through with it.

Or perhaps the cheapo plastic disks will die in my trunk, cracking under the weight of poorly placed grocery bags. We'll see...

A Much Appreciated Specimen

Meet Maximillian:



Pretty glorious with those bedazzling fins, living in that bubbled globe of a room with a view, huh?

Well, he used to be...

You see, the above is a picture of Maximillian in his former state of youth and vigor. These days, he lies at the bottom of his bowl, allowing the cold slimy pebbles beneath him to cradle him in his decrepit state. And that is where he stays, pretty much all of the time.

In fact, after answering so many well-meaning visitors' questions regarding her fish's welfare, Delaney felt compelled to post a sign next to his abode:

 

 See him there? He's that little black tire-shred-like-strip you see above.

We thought about contacting a pet psychic in hopes of getting to the heart of his issues, but then we remembered, he's just a fish AND those people are full of crap.

Anyway, Delaney decided she wanted a pet with a little more pizazz, or at least one whose movements can be detected by the naked human eye, so she went on line and did a little research.

(We do have a wonderful pet dog, by the way...




 ...and his movements are all over the place, especially the back yard if you know what kind of 'movements' to which I refer.)

Delaney, never one for typical appreciations, settled on an unusual little fellow to keep on her bathroom counter. The website from which she ordered it warned customers, "We are not responsible for the condition in which your pet arrives at your home." In other words, if your new pet is DOA, then tough luck.

She decided to take the risk and about a week later, a box arrived in the mail. It was a box with no air holes which kind of concerned us.

We couldn't help but feel slightly anxious about getting the non-aerated box open quickly even though he'd been sealed up in it for at least two days. Twenty more seconds clearly weren't going to save him.

Upon opening that box, we found another box. It was like opening one of those ridiculous multi-boxed Christmas gifts except we knew there was a living creature inside. That box opened to reveal a big wad of newspaper.

"Is he just wandering free in there?" I asked, expecting him to drop to the floor and scurry to the nearest corner.

Delaney's careful exploration of the papery folds finally revealed a little "salsa cup" (you know, those lidded plastic condiment cups) in which her new little buddy waited, ready for his liberation.

I almost expected to hear him emit a cry of victory as the lid was popped off, but no, he stayed silently in the same spot, looking about as unenthusiastic as Maximillian always does.

But then...he moved!

Delaney happily got him settled in his new living quarters, right next to the hand soap and the mirror, presenting him the welcoming gifts of bits of carrot and apple.



Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you...

...Tazpin, the luckiest of all Blue Iron-Clad Beetles*!

He's been with us for about a week now and Delaney is quite delighted with him.

You have to admit, he is a pretty cool, armor-clad cutie.

*Oops...two hours after initial publication I just realized he's actually a Blue Death Feigning Beetle, which is a slightly cooler name. Sorry for the unprofessional journalism. ;)

Take Me Somewhere Where I Can Breathe

If you know me very well, you know that my favorite place on earth is the state of Washington. My family tried to move there, but it just didn't happen. I'm not complaining. I'm very thankful for our family, friends, church and house right here where we do live...and the state of Washington is still in existence; it just takes some effort, time and money in order to get there.


Well that is precisely what I had the pleasure of doing this last weekend. Shari (aka See Mom Run) and I hopped on a plane and were hospitably received by the wonderful Jay, Mimi, Diana and Rylee.
 

After disembarking, Di immediately drove us to one of the many, many beauty spots to soak up some nature where pretty much everything is gorgeous.

Even stumps.



Isn't it magnificent?

Here I am in front of said glorious stump:



Don't I look happy? I almost didn't include this pic, because apparently when I'm happy my eyeballs disappear behind my ultra-fleshy lids. It's not the best look for me. However, I think joy should trump beauty, so...ta da!

On Saturday, Diana took us on an adventure. It was called: Hiking 8 Miles in the Rain When it's 44 Degrees on the Mountain.

It was fabulous.

See this?

In some places, this is called a brook, but in Washington it's called a hiking trail. At some points, this hiking trail was up to our ankles. Honestly.

Check out these mushrooms:



Shari said she was tempted to jump up and down on them to see if any gold coins would pop out.

These are some of the glorious views we had as we trod along:

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, places like this do exist. I regarded that as a miracle when I discovered it firsthand.

When we returned to the car, we were soaked (some of my clothes could NOT have been wetter) and quite cold, especially our hands. Diana struggled to press the button on the remote to unlock the trunk whilst I was in the outhouse attempting again and again and again to undo the buttons on my shorts.

Yes, we were cold and dripping, but we were oh-so-happy. See?

Here we are awhile later when our thumbs were working again:

 

(I had to get a shot in where we look reasonably presentable.)

Thank you, ladies, for being two of the best friends I could ever hope for. I love you both more than text can express.


Thank you, Jesus, for good, good gifts.

From the Formerly Prognosticating Laundress

I used to think God’s will

Was an interminable laundry day

With all of us scrubbing

At dripping and twisted white linens

Until our knuckles bled

As we squinted at the towering blue sky

And the sun’s ferocious beams

Swallowed most of our vision,

As we wondered how to throw

Those cloths up over the stratospheric drying line.

Used to.

Now I’m not sure what it is

But my hands bleed for reasons other than frantic scouring,

My neck no longer aching with the strain of divination,

And I trust that whatever it is

Will be eye-level when He wills it there

As the cloths ripple in a light breeze or rip in a gale

And music paints each of my days.

Super Short But Possibly Still "Too Much Information"

It's been eight days since I was opened up and had chunks of me removed.

I wanted to write a long account detailing various aspects of my surgery and recovery in hopes of helping others who may someday face the same fate, but frankly, I feel like crap so just a few lines of text feels like an accomplishment. Here's to hoping they make sense!

Oh, look! I managed to include a photo:

No, the above picture isn't me; it's Gillian Anderson in "Great Expectations", but hers is a fair representation of me right about now.

I'm convinced that the neighborhood children are going to start rumors about the creepy, hunched-up, disheveled lady who can be seen on dark, dreary nights stumbling up or down the staircase, the mere glance of whom can turn you into stone...

I hope no one has any expectations of me right about now, 'cause it ain't happenin'. Sorry, but pain, healing and a medication haze are making sure of that.

Anyway, the surgery itself  took over twice as long as the surgeon expected since the masses were FIVE times what he expected and he ended up removing THREE POUNDS of tumors and tissues from my poor little overwrought abdomen. THREE POUNDS!!!

Yeah, that was hard for me to believe, especially since I'd had an ultrasound done just a few weeks ago. I mean, fibroids can't grow by 500% in a little over a month, can they???

He explained it to me (and I'm sure it made sense to him), but what I think he said is that there were a bunch of previously undetected fibroids woven into the actual walls of my uterus which turned a run of the mill abdominal hysterectomy into something on par with the evacuation of a small nation like Luxembourg.

He gave me a photo per my request. It's rather shocking. I'm confident that for the rest of my life, purchasing three pounds of anything from the butcher will have a whole new meaning to me.

Okay, before I once again retire to the couch where I will watch an episode of Mythbusters (which I may or may not have already watched at some point in the past week. Who knows...) I must give a whole-hearted (though physically pathetic) shout-out to all the dear people who clearly love me.Thank you so much to everyone who has helped me and my family out. I'm so thankful for each and every one of you.

Now, time to rest...some more...