God and Bedlington Terriers

This is one of my favorite grace note stories of the past two weeks.

My dad was an artist. A great one. His artwork is easily identified according to which decade of the 60's to the early 2000's he did it in. For many, many years he worked as a fashion illustrator, drawing the ads for stores like Lord and Taylor and Woodword and Lothrop (Woodies). In fact, as a kid, since his studio was in the apartment, I would model for him if he needed additional shots of what the merchandise looked like.

At any rate, when I was about ten he had an ad to to for Lord and Taylor in which he was to include Bedlington Terriers. Now these are pretty unusual dogs; they look almost like sheep in their faces especially. I had never seen one before, but became intrigued by them, and soon I was also drawing Bedlington Terriers. In fact, recently when I was going through our storage room (readers who have been with me a while saw those photos...yikes! soon to be what my garage looks like once again...)I found a drawing I had done at the same time, complete with Bedlington Terrier.

At any rate, my dad always wanted to make sure he portrayed things accurately and had researched the Bedlington Terrier, and had done such a good job that someone from the Westminster Dog Show contacted him lauding him on his wonderful rendition of Bedlingtons, which not only seemed to portray their appearance but also their temperament. Just a few weeks later my dad and I were guests at the Westminster Dog Show courtesy of the club to hang out with these dogs ourselves. It was great. I remember really being taken by the pooches and begging, as most ten year olds do anyway, to please, please have a dog. No go. But I did love the dogs, and they held a very special place in my heart, and a special bond that had formed between me and my dad. I haven't seen one since. As I said, they aren't exactly your garden variety mutt.

The day after my dad died, I had a number of details to attend to and places to go, so I walked. I walked cross town, past my elementary school, and down to walk by the building where my dad had fallen. I wanted, yet didn't want to see the stairs.

I arrived at the building, a brownstone on East 74th street, and God in His mercy and omniscience knew I wasn't ready to see those stairs quite yet. The doors were locked and the shades drawn, and I left after pausing briefly to sit on the outside steps.

I crossed the street and continued to walk when I noticed a man walking his dog. The distinctive look of the Bedlington Terrier made me catch my breath, and I asked the guy, even though he was talking on his cell phone, just to be sure. He nodded that indeed it was a Bedlington and I proceeded on my way, but not without bursting into tears.

I paused, wiping my eyes, and turned around to look at the man and the dog one more time, but they were nowhere in sight. But they had been there just at the moment I needed them. A grace note sent from above.

May your day be filled with grace as well.

Crossing the Sea

I have adopted a new approach to this season. Actually, I suppose I have been living it; a slow, purposeful advance through the waters of illness, death, deceit and disappointment, but also grace, miracles and new and sustaining friendships.

I know I have commented that I feel like I am in the thick of things. My mom's memory compounded now by such a huge loss and so many regrets she has bottled up; Matt's realization of past poor choices and affirming a different direction; my dad's death; decisions to be made; and now several other compounding demands.

Yet through it all, I really haven't been on the offense, but rather walking slowly and softly through gentle waves that lap at my ankles, rather than tsunamis threatening to overcome me and carry me away.

That is why I appreciated so much today not one, but two friends remarking it was as if I was crossing the red sea and God was parting the waters for me. Well, I sure like that image a whole lot better than darting about avoiding flaming arrows!

And it is true. I have a strong, peaceful resolve to stand up for what is true and right. To love. To be patient (as much as I hate that word) to trust and also to forgive. But not step away from what is true and correct.

I had actually forgotten that Exodus 14:14 is a key verse for me. How could I do it? I love this verse!

"The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still."

Still don't get it? Then maybe The Message translation hits home a bit better, it does for me!

"God will fight the battle for you. And you? You keep your mouths shut!"

So I am learning: Walk slowly, walk softly, say little, listen much, and pray. Be still. And leave the battle up to God.

Grace Notes

I have to write. It is healing. It is soothing, but for the moment there aren't any words coming. Lots of thoughts, but no words.

But God's arms around me, and His angels caring for me. You know, angels are often other people who just say the perfect thing at the perfect time, or provide just that lift of encouragement needed just at that time, that time that is for such a time as this.

My dad was an angel to many.

So there are two grace stories...and believe me there are plenty more where these come from...

When I got home the first time, last week, there were copies of quotes on the kitchen island for me. Beautiful quotes.

Allow me to share them with you:

"God give us the grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed; Courage to change the things that should be changed; and the wisdom to distinguish the one from t he other."
-Rienhold Niebuhr

"Wherever you are is the entry point."
-Kabir

"We never how know high we are till we are called to rise."
-Emily Dickinson

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."
-Marcel Proust

"Bless not only the road but the bumps on the road. They are all part of the higher journey."
-Julia Cameron

"Dreams are...illustrations from the book your soul is writing about you."
-Marsha Norman

Wow! But the really amazing part is when I asked Howie about them, he had no idea where they had come from.

And now my words from my dear sweet all purpose go to girl, Connie, who is a beautiful writer, and has been having much success in that area lately. Kudos Connie!

This is her blog post from the week my dad died. And I will add the significance at the end.

"This is the month of sweetheart roses and valentines, but it’s also the month of red.

There are red dresses to symbolize American Heart Health (Go Red for Women!); there are the red heart stamps that I just found this morning stuck in an envelope (I knew I would find them!) before USPS increased postage again in May, and just this morning, I peeked outside to find a red cardinal on my neighbor’s flower ornament.

I checked twice to make sure it was real.Yep, it was real!I dashed upstairs, got my camera, and gingerly opened the sliding door to the back porch. I prayed that it would stay still long enough for me to take just ONE picture. I held my breath, pointed, and clicked.

So what’s the big deal about a cardinal in the snow?I have been chasing cardinals for as long as I can remember and it’s as if they knew it was on my passionate to-do list.“Can’t catch me!” I could hear them squawk back.But today the cardinal cooperated. And what a better day: fluffy snow and a red tree as a backdrop. Now I can scratch that one off my passionate to-do list.It sure does the heart good to know that I don’t have to slip, slide, and chase down red birds in the snow.I love the color red—don’t you?"

But Connie told me the rest of the story, as Paul Harvey would say. There is special significance to Connie for light snowfall and red cardinals in the month of February.

I called her shortly after my dad had died. She told me she already knew and had been praying for me. She told me how she has lost loved ones in February, and it has always been heralded by a fresh snow and the bright contrast of the bright red cardinal. When she awoke on Wednesday morning a light snow was falling. And in the stillness of the early hour, a red cardinal perched on the tree outside her window. A day after she wrote this post.

I thank God for touches of grace.

Peace on your journey.

Meeting Roman

My dad taught art at FIT (Fashion Institute of Technology). He taught there since 1985. That's a long time.

He spoke to me about his students a lot. One in particular. His name is Roman. But there were others, and I had the privilege to meet three others, Lisa, Jonathan, and Orlando while my dad was in the hospital. As a matter of fact, Jonathan called tonight; I must return his call tomorrow...

But I could tell Roman was special. My dad spoke of his talent, and the fact that he had grown to love him like a son. The son he never had, the brother I never had. But I told my dad he was better than a son because he is an artist, and artists share a special bond.

I wish we had met under other circumstances...but if I am totally honest, perhaps it wouldn't have been for quite some time, really, if ever, as we continued to lead busy lives.

Roman was one of the first people I called, and he stayed long hours, holding my dad's hand; his left hand; his drawing hand. Talking to him, sharing stories, particularly about recent escapades they had this past summer in Rome together.

My parents were in Rome and as it happened, Roman was on a month long trip with one of my dad's office mates, Sal Catalano who was leading a course in Florence. Roman took a couple of days away and hopped a train and joined my mom and dad in Rome, where he said he had a hard time keeping up with my dad. The twenty something kid lagging behind the guy about to turn 80. Full of life as he always was. He told me a particularly funny story about a visit with a Tailor in which my dad sketched him and presented him with it; a sketch of a tailor whose craft was no longer quite as appreciated as it once was. I know there were times my dad felt the same way about his work. I discovered the photos from that trip in the apartment, and Roman emailed me some as well.

While we were in the hospital, I asked Roman if he had any of my dad's original work. He said he didn't. I replied that would need to change. That is what my dad would want.

It is late and I have another long day tomorrow. My church family is bringing us meals, and the support continues to pour in.

The grace notes to follow will include stories of Bedlington Terriers, Live, Love, Poems, gifts of books, and an opportunity I had to share with one of the neurosurgery residents who has a thing or two to learn about compassion.

Walk slowly, walk softly, speak little, listen much and pray always. And be an ambassador of love and peace. Love always wins. Always.

TwoThoughts for the Day till Later...

Another day...

Two thoughts. One came from a lovely, helpful lady I spoke with on the phone yesterday who is now aware of my soap opera life. In trying to negotiate a difficult and trying situation, I was cracking jokes, because, well, humor is therapy.

Her reply? Thought number one: "It is better to crack a smile than to crack up."
How true.

Then I decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies this morning. I must say, when I am on (don't get distracted and let the cookies burn, for example) I have mastered the chocolate chip cookie. I will explain why later, but told my mom who just couldn't understand why on earth I was baking cookies on top of it all, I simply replied,

"there is a method to my madness." To which she replied "there is a madness to her method." Both true!

Peace on your journey.

What Happened...

It is hard to believe that my dad's fall happened almost two weeks ago.

I have invented a new word for the daze I am in...hog. I am in a hog. It is a cross between haze and fog. I am on a sort of auto pilot and have lost two weeks...get words all scrambled up, frequently stare out into space, have crying jags, and am just plain annoyed at some of the developments. Yet try to refocus on the present and love the people I am with.

But through this time there have been so many gifts. And I think of one of my very favorite Scriptures: "This is what God asks of you, only this...To act justly, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God" (Micah 6:8). I usually think of this verse in connection with the poor or marginalized, but find myself contemplating it as it relates to the events of the past two weeks.

There is a huge justice issue at hand...and I have peace that truth will prevail. I have had the opportunity to love tenderly; my dad, my mom, my sons, and many of my dad's friends. And even those I don't know...and most of all God. I continue to love God.

And to walk humbly. I wish I could answer my mother when she asks "why?" But I can't. And I don't want to minimize her pain. But yet I see God's fingerprints everywhere.

OK. So first I will tell the story of what happened, as best I can tell, having had almost two weeks to piece it together. Then will come all the stories...

Thursday, February 12th my dad fell. I didn't get a phone call right away. The person helping with my dad's work was the person who finally reached me.

Apparently my dad had been at an art gallery on East 74th street off of Madison Avenue to discuss the possibility of a show at the Lotus Club, the club where we had such a wonderful evening just a couple of weeks ago...how grateful I am that I went. And the weather conspired against me, but that is a story for another day.

The gallery is in a beautiful old brownstone; a stately old building with steps up to a double glass front door. Apparently when my dad went to leave he glanced back over his shoulder to talk (that's where I get it from...) and lost his balance and fell. He wasn't able to right himself and took the brunt of the fall against his head. I saw the gallery assistant yesterday when I finally went to the building to look at the stairs...she can't shake the image of my dad tumbling. I can only imagine how awful that is. When Matt was about twelve, he almost got hit by a car in Mexico and that image stayed with me for a long time...

My dad didn't lose consciousness immediately; in fact when he arrived in the ER he was still lucid. There was a physician next door who knew what to do immediately while they called 911. My dad was taken to NY Presbytyrian Hospital (Cornell Medical School affiliate) where he identified himself and provided emergency contact information. Apparently they did reach my mom but she went to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital instead. Very confusing. Columbia at 168th street, Cornell Presbyterian at 68th street. She didn't call me right away, and ultimately they reached the alternate emergency contact who eventually contacted me.

Apparently my dad lost consciousness in the ER, was intubated, taken to CT scan and then to the OR for a large subdural hematoma. They accomplished all of this inside of an hour, which is almost unprecedented. He had an incredibly compassionate and gifted neurosurgeon, and there is not one iota of speculation as to the level of care that was provided. It couldn't have gone better for such a terrible situation.

I needed to get my POA out of the safe deposit box and didn't drive to NYC until the next day. I suggested my mom wait until I arrived to go to see him. Surgical Intensive Care Units are very formidable places. My dad was on a ventilator, although he was breathing above it.

Information was sketchy the first night, although I was optimistic. But that didn't last long. He was in a coma, which I had erroneously thought was drug induced, but was not. He had only very basic brain stem reflexes and was in a deep coma.

The next five days were a blur of tears, denial, anger, disbelief and visitors in and out to share their love. People responded very differently, but the basic story was the same over and over again. My dad loved life, and the stories were wonderful. An encouraging word, a challenging statement, a memory shared.

There were many people who visited, but they made up his inner circle. Family; Werner, a friend of 55 years; the Charmian of the illustration department at FIT where my dad had taught for 25 years; other faculty; and students, special students who he had encouraged and supported, sharing enthusiasm for their love of art and intention to create. Dr. Orloff, his opthmologist and confidante, and his very special student Roman with whom he had gallivanted around in Rome with just this past summer. I got to know my dad better through these special people.

And Tuesday we were finally prepared to say goodbye. We knew we would honor his wishes to remove him from the respirator, but that also is a time consuming and complicated matter, complete with notaries, patient advocates and seals of approval. You just don't unplug the machine. But the timing was as it was meant to be with me, my mom, Chris and Roman at his side holding his hand, rubbing his feet, kissing his cheek and acknowledging his fatigue of life. The only difficulty in this process was a phone call about an hour before my dad died in which the person calling shared their opinion about who they thought should be at my dad's side, despite not being family. I told her it was as it should be. The people who were with him were who were supposed to be there and perfect. Period. It was not a phone call I needed to have.

The hospital staff were wonderful, except for one of the neurosurgery residents, but that is also another story. And I gave him some kind advice to become a better physician. They let us break every rule...we had ten people in the room at one point, and I won't say what else...

I know my dad received wonderful care.

The days were long. We didn't eat much. The thought of food made me sick. (I lost ten pounds...)And the nights were long too, aided only by Ambien.

I am strong; and being carried. My mom is a mess. She repeats frequently that she wants to die. I have begged her not to say that, that I need her. I am having an opportunity to love her tenderly. My parents were married for almost 55 years, and despite their differences loved each other very much.

And now the aftermath begins: an apartment to clean out...don't know how long we will keep it. There is the accumulation of life since 1961 in that apartment...and my mom to support. I keep her by my side. And the whole will/probate/death certificate/funeral home/service thing...

One day and one step at a time.

Stories and recollections to follow.

Peace. Go tell the people that you love that you love them. Don't lose that opportunity.

Back to the City

I am exhausted. But I am sleeping without Ambien. Ambien and rock solid faith were all that got me through last week...and hey, I lost ten pounds. Ugh. Be careful what you wish for.

As the next days unfold, there are many stories...so many of grace and God's fingerprints on our lives. But kicks also. I think I'll stick with the amazing stories of grace for now.

I have been thrust into a drama that I really don't want a leading role in. I can't really talk about it for the moment, but it is evil. Just plain evil, and is going to require much time and energy which will be a distraction to the other important people and commitments in my life.

I am learning all about dependence from the events that are unfolding. I am learning what it is to truly live one step at a time and not try to figure out the next five steps. Now, this is very, make that VERY hard for me, BUT...it is a place of release and peace to know I don't need to figure it out. Suffice it to say right now that I NEVER expected to be in the position I am currently in.

I miss my dad, and actually have lots of him in me. My mom is a mess. My husband is incredibly supportive and my girls miss me when I am not there to pick them up after school.

Today I had to go back to NYC to take care of some details. I need to go back Thursday with my mom who needs to sign some documents. Ugh.

Erin came with me. What a blessing. The company is wonderful, and what a trooper. We had a long walk up fifth avenue, stopping at the Lotus Club where my dad and I went to the wonderful dinner the end of January and then to the gallery where he fell.

In my next post I will write about what happened. And then tell the stories of grace.

Peace.

Footprints in the Sand and A Wise Old Owl

I am very sad...but Jesus is carrying me at the moment.

I am sure most of you are familiar with the "Footprints" story. It has made its way on to numerous plaques, chachki's (I am certain that spelling is wrong; a little gift store gizmo item...) and postcards. If you are not familiar with it, it is basically a story of two sets of footprints in the sand. One for a man who dreamed this story, and one for the Lord. The story unfolds, but at the end there is only one set of footprints. When the man questioned why, the Lord answered, "During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

My dad gave me this postcard on January 28th when I went to the fabulous dinner with him.

I am being carried.


There are several other touches of grace (of course, with every drop of grace comes a kick in the you know what, but then that means the kicker is behind me as it should be. You know, get behind me Satan...)

Another touch of grace I received was from a childhood friend, the same friend who joined me in CA when I went to visit my other childhood friend with cancer. She *happened* to be in NYC this weekend...and we met, totally unplanned, a spontaneous spirit driven event...way too long a story to write here, but amazing. Amazing grace.

At any rate, she reminded me of a childhood saying that our teacher had often presented us with:

"A wise old owl sat in an oak; the more he heard, the less he spoke. The more he spoke, the less he heard. Why can't we be like this wise old bird."

May I be granted much wisdom in the days ahead.

If there is someone you need to let them know you love them, please go do it now. They are the last words I spoke with my dad.

Peace.

An Update

I covet your prayers. For peace, strength, love, more love and wisdom.

My father is in a coma. He is not responsive and although on a respirator, is breathing above it. That, and stable vital signs seem to be the only good medical news.

We (myself, Matt and my mother) agreed yesterday that love trumps all. So please love others. Please put love first in your life. Please consider how to communicate that love to others you love so they feel and receive it.

We are being led down a path that many walk but is horrible. In all I do I choose to honor what my dad would have wanted.

From now on I will respond to others as only one who has been through this can.

Thanks.

Please Pray for My Dad

Some of you I know, some of you I feel I know, and some of you I don't know. But I am here now to ask that you please pray for my dad. (The rest of us will need it too, as you will see).

My dad fell down a flight of stairs late this afternoon and sustained a closed head injury with a brain bleed. He has been through surgery and while his vitals are stable, is in a medically induced coma with no sense of prognosis at this time. He is in the Surgical ICU of Cornell Presbyterian Medical Center in NYC. My mom is confused and ended up going to the wrong hospital. I can't leave till I get the health care durable power of attorney out of my safe deposit box.

Matt is home from a peaceful and healing trip to see Carolyn and will come with me for which I am very thankful. Chris and Erin (my son and his girlfriend) are here and will take care of our girls. Howie is strong, but Jesus stronger, and I pray that He can heal and sustain us all.

Thanks.

Would You Believe I Hit a House?

I just got my car back from the shop last Friday from being fixed from being rear ended.

And what do I do?

I hit a house. Yes, you read that right. I hit a house. Only me

As a matter of fact, the same thing happened to my neighbor's son. Same intersection, same house, same scenario. Howie hasn't noticed yet...maybe he won't...

Let me explain. At the bottom of our hill there is a nasty intersection. The house at the bottom on the right hand sign creates a pretty bad blind spot to traffic coming from that direction, so finally PENDOT decided to put in a four way stop. Which works just fine as long as people don't run the stop sign, which is what happened. The car coming from the west to east was half way through the intersection before her brakes worked. Well, by that time she was in my turning way, so in keeping the turn tight so as not to clip her I clipped the house instead. No damage to the house, it was the cement reinforcement to the corner. I suspect this has happened many, many other times.

Then this morning I did get up to go to spinning class. And there was cat puke on my right shoe. Gross.

And then, before I could take a shower the electricity went off and there was no water. And I was working on my talk for Saturday night at a church sweetheart banquet. So I am back in my closer remote office, Dunkin Donuts.

And guess what my topic is? How being frazzled is an Intimacy buster. I think I may have one or two stories! How about you?

58,495

That's the number of words I am at! Can you believe it? I am so excited!

Connie, I won't need to chop chop.

Katy and Jody, I won't need you to wordsmith after all...unless you really want to!

And I have to thank Shelly, for having the solution that totally eluded me that got most of this accomplished.

Sometimes it takes an outside set of eyes to pick up the obvious. There were two sections at the end of each chapter, one called WHAT'S A MOTHER TO DO and one LIGHTENING THE MOTHER LOAD that were redundant. Well, nipping and eliminating 66 of those made a hug difference.

There are still a couple of stories that are much longer than others, and I will "find" my 495 words there, and maybe even then some...

I am off to lunch with a friend to talk about community drug programs, then a run, then chauffeur extraordinaire to my girls.

Later! Just had to share the great news on the editing! (Some of you were praying, I know you were...)

Control Freak Mother Struck Again...

Jodie posted the following prayer as a comment to my simple prayer post. It is so utterly perfect related to the last couple of days that I had to use it as a springboard for my confessions and thought. Control freak mother struck again...

Lord, please give us YOUR eyes and YOUR heart for the people you send into our lives, that our words and our actions and our expressions would be the very things You would do and say; and that when they look into our eyes, they may see YOU.

The last two days were full. And long. They included time in worship and great discussion at church (we are reading John Foster's book on Spiritual Disciplines, which is churning up an idea for my next book...a Bible Study on Service) and a couple of gatherings to discuss outreach initiatives. I also did some chart review, had lunch with a friend, a great counseling session (more tidbits to share) an apologetic phone call to Matt (more on that in a minute) and a recruiting dinner out with Howie.

Now I am in my jammies working on eliminating words from my MS. If anyone wants to take a story or two, you are welcome to join me in this project. Each story needs to lose 90 words. I am on a schedule, there are 66 of them. Ugh. Have you ever wanted to see your name in print? Now's your chance...not to mention lovely very pink, no doubt, thank you gifts that will come your way. Oh, and chocolate, lots if you like.

Anyway, there is also a great YouTube video that talks about seeing Jesus in others. Jason Upton see and tell.

Imagine people seeing Jesus when they look in your eyes. What a great prayer. But this is so much harder to do when our ugly human emotions get in the way and blur or worse yet, distort our vision.

A couple of examples come to mind.

Matt has been home since Thursday, and his schedule isn't exactly in sync with ours. It makes me crazy, and I usually come up with my own conclusions as to what that means (sometimes accurate, sometimes not). We haven't really spoken too much, he missed a PT appointment, had some beers at his brother's and didn't make a counseling appointment yet, and stayed in Ithaca a few days longer than I thought he would. I had immediately jumped to several unfavorable and erroneous conclusions. Jesus would have seen the positive. But no, not me control freak mother. And then I shared my impressions with a couple of other people. Boy did I blow it. No Jesus there.

But I did apologize and convey my erroneous assumptions with the people I had told otherwise. He stayed in Ithaca to work a couple of days so he could pay Carolyn back some of the money he owed her. He sold something I was glad to see go to raise more money to give her. He finished his report for school, meaning fulfillment of graduation requirements are right around the corner. When am I going to learn?

And then I saw Jesus in someone else. At the nursing home I visited yesterday I took the time to talk, well, really listen, to an elderly gentleman who was there visiting his wife. She has advanced Alzheimer's and didn't seem to know who he was or even that he was there. Yet he held and stroked her hand, spoke to her, and unburdened his soul a bit to me. The love he showed her was remarkable. I want to hold on to that image.

How can others see Jesus in us? Humility, service, choosing our words carefully, challenging when necessary, but always operating from a position of love.

Go and love someone today.

A Simple Prayer

Lord, Give me strength. Strength to continue when I feel like quitting. Strength to keep my mouth shut when deep inside I know I should. Strength to soften my frustration with others when it seems to just ooze out, and mostly the strength to seek your guidance in how to represent you. I grieve when my actions do not reflect the humility and genuine caring that you have modeled for us. May we seek your face in all we do.
Amen

Drama at the Concession Stand

Today we had our last home swim meet. Now, for those of you not familiar with competitive swimming, it is a long season in which interminable meets happen every Saturday to eat up an afternoon. One must volunteer at these meets and your kid may swim a total of two minutes spread out over several hours.

Our rec center just purchased new rocking chairs, I think they must have been from Cracker Barrel, and I was just settling in pretending that I was in South Carolina. It was certainly hot and humid enough to make that part of the fantasy a reality. I hadn't rocked more than a couple of times when one of the other parents who has been a frequent volunteer at the concession stand came back (his wife was in one of the other rocking chairs) and commented that he quit, he wasn't even supposed to be in the concession stand, and well, she (the self appointed leader of the concession stand) was just plain rude.

I wasn't there to witness what had happened in round one, but it went something like this:
Our warm ups start at noon, the meet at one. At 12:15 when the leader still wasn't there, the volunteers who had signed up to serve started to set up tables, plug in crock pots and generally get things out. When she did arrive, instead of being thankful that folks had started to set up without her, she became critical that they didn't know what they were doing, there was a certain way to do things (Does it really matter which table the pizza is on?) and had they ever done this before? Instead of being appreciated, the volunteers felt attacked, and a bru ha ha ensued. And the leader left. But then she came back.

By that time, I had gotten up out of my rocker because I figured they might need some help (not sure I should have done that, you know, I wasn't signed up...) and she came back and round two started. It was ugly. And she left, stating that she would not be back until the boys meet started.

It was a real shame. Instead of team work and a group of swimming parents serving together, a ruckus broke out, with pointed blame and high drama being directed at the coach as well. I just didn't get it. I would have been grateful that the set up had happened, sorry I was late, and relieved that I could count on fellow adults to pitch in and help. I do hope it doesn't become a long drawn out argumentative topic for days to come.

By the way, the fruit salad was delicious!

My Travelling Office: Panera

I have to say, I accomplished quite a bit, but still not enough. Here is the view from my office. Not as nice as the one I had in Honduras, but the proximity to coffee and bathrooms is wonderful.

I brought my mom along; she wanted to go to Walmart, which is right across the way, and she just left for her third trip. She managed not to purchase a single thing during the over four hours we were here, but did enjoy two sample blueberry scones. (Free).

I'm a bit worried about her. She didn't seem to get it that she could have started with a cup of coffee four hours ago and still be enjoying it, and kept lamenting that she was hungry. "Do they have anything to eat here?" I suggested she take a look at the menu.

But she didn't want to spend any $$ and didn't accept my offer to purchase lunch.

The main reason she wanted to go to Walmart was to return light bulbs (about $6 and change) "so she would have a little more cash." Oy Vey. My dad way overspent on the Visa bill last month and she totally emptied her bank account out to pay his bill. Don't get me started.

So while she was at it, I had her return a couple of things for me, one I had a receipt for, one I didn't. Well, first off she walked right past the checker person and didn't get a return sticker. Then she got to the customer service counter and couldn't remember if I had given her receipts or not, and if I had couldn't find them. So back she came. We found the receipt and back she went.

Then she finally just went back one more time because she was hungry (remember, we are at Panera) so she went to buy some soup. Canned, when she could have had Panera. Go figure.

I really got a lot accomplished, including realizing I had done the math wrong on my MS and that I actually have under 5,000 words to cut. I think 4, 218 or something like that. So lookie there! I already chopped over 30% and didn't edit a thing, all because I can't add. No wonder I have bounced checks on more than one occasion.

Matt got home last night. We haven't connected yet, please pray for healthy relationships.

And now I am going out for my run.

Peace.

Sister Someone...

Yesterday my friend Theresa came over to help me clean. I finally got the way downstairs put back to normal. It is usually a workout space; bike, treadmill and stepper with a TV that Howie keeps up with all the latest and older movies on netflix on while he is working out.

I would still rather get up at the crack of dawn and participate in group motivation. (Which I did again this morning at spinning class.) Twice in one week; that officially means it is not a fluke. Yes,I am tired, but I also have such a sense of accomplishment when ten rolls round.

Anyway, we were cleaning and sorting the rest of the boxes that had landed downstairs when the phone rang. Nicole answered it and has beautiful manners when she actually picks up the phone.

"Hello,who is it please?" She queries in her best polite pixie voice.

I just wish she were as good at relaying who she thinks it is to me as she hands me the phone.

"Who is it?" I ask. "I'm not sure. Sister something or other. I don't know. Sister something. You don't have any sisters, though, mom."

I have to admit to being mortified. It was Sister Carol Marie calling about the room we have booked for our church evening of intimacy program. I apologized, she laughed and then I added that we weren't Catholic, for whatever I thought that might be worth. She thought nothing of it,noting that she had been a Kindergarten teacher for years and heard lots of great comments. Not just "Sister someone or other."

But Sister and I had a good chuckle, I offered to stop off in purgatory for awhile, and all was once again well. I'm glad the woman of God I was on the phone with had a sense of humor...

A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words...

Good night. Sleep tight.

The Rest of My Day...

You already heard about my morning, but I just figured I had to add some additional details, because only I could have these things happen as a routine part of my day!

I spent the morning trying to organize myself and start to think about speaking at a Sweetheart Banquet on Valentine's Day. I had notes on the floor, "VD Talk" is what I labeled it as. Well, Howie thought I was speaking about something else...no, not on Valentine's Day of all days.

Connie, God Bless her, and I know He does, let me in on how she gets pictures from the web to her blog. Thanks to her, we got Michael Phelps!

Then I took my mom to her doctor's appointment. Her doctor wants to start her on Aricept, which I think is a wise choice. My poor mom keeps asking, "What is it for?" Yes, memory, that's right! I hope she remembers to take it...

Then I went for a run. It was great. Twenty degrees, congested and out for a run. It was the best! Except (and here comes the TMI part) every time I blew my nose, the plumbing in other parts of my body (namely my tear ducts and bladder...) didn't work properly. No wonder I have mountains of laundry!

I got back home just in time to make one last stop for one last girl scout cookie order. I went to my neighbor's house who loves stray dogs and psycho dog has joined her family. A disturbed stray, the dog still need a muzzle...the dog BIT me! No kidding! Psycho dog bit my ankle right through my sock and broke the skin. My poor neighbor was mortified. I, however, am up to date on my tetanus shot and am not worried. As a matter of fact, I immediately knew it would make for yet another, great, unbelievable, but so my life story.

I went back home in time to make my 2:30 phone appointment with my agent. We were supposed to chat last week, but something came up and the conversation needed to be postponed. I even had a dream about this conversation last night. Well, instead of the conversation, I had an email with the news I was expecting, which was that it was probably best that our relationship be terminated. I know that I am more of a Sojourners girl and he is more of a Focus guy, so it wasn't the best made match, and that's OK. He wrote a very gracious email, and we will talk soon. In the meantime I have to cut 7,000 words from a manuscript due March 1st. Oy Vey.I think as long as I exercises every day I will be just fine.

But today I came pretty close to falling off the edge.

Peace.

What About Michael Phelps?

So what about Michael Phelps? Caught with a bong which presumably meant there was pot in it, which presumably meant he smoked and yes, it is illegal.

But everyone does it, right? That's the predominant line of thought, isn't it?

I clicked through one of the links on AOL to read about "pending charges" to be filed and the outrage that generated on behalf of the individual writing the article.
OK. So that officially brings us to "slipper slope"land, right?

I am admittedly a much more "shade of gray" person than I am black and white. But pot use is illegal, is the drug of amotivation and has landed plenty of people in a legal mess. I know, my son was one of those people. So it has become much more of a black and white issue for me personally.

But just because Michael Phelps is doing what "every other" twenty something his age is doing (which is not the case) does that make it OK?

Here is why I don't think so:

• He is supposed to be a role model, and role models don't engage in illegal behavior (yes, I know all kinds of pro athletes do all kinds of damaging and illegal things; I don't think those are right either).
• He has the bucks to pay for legal help to dig him out of this debacle. Not everyone does. Why is OK that the rich guys get off?
• Pot and the discipline that it take to be a great swimmer just don't go together. Let's stick to swimming and hard work.
• Saying it is a no big deal (in the scheme of things) issue, hey at least he didn't drink and drive drunk and kill someone...is just following the wrong line of reasoning. Those things are wrong too and there need to be consequences.
• He should face the same consequences any other dude would. Marijuana smoking got our son court ordered out of our home. Is that no big deal?

What do you think?

The Litmus Test of Morning

Back to more relevant topics (the chin hair post got lots of rolling eyes and under breath comments of "TMI" from Tianna, and acknowledgement from Nicole that chin hairs, and especially the hairs in the skin ridge right under your nose can be a real distraction). Connie, I can never remember, does the punctuation in this case come inside the ( ) or outside? And I call myself a writer...

Anyway, as I said, back to more relevant topics.

Is it well with your soul? It is well with my soul despite continued waves of attitude, interruptions, selfish actions of others and multiple other responsibilities: to God, myself, my husband, my kids, my mother...and whatever else needs to get done. I know you know; you live this life also.

But mornings can give us a great litmus test for how we are doing in the "soul wellness" department.

Tianna provided the test this morning. Remember, she is twelve going on nineteen...(or maybe fifteen would be more apt because by nineteen there may actually be a light bulb of reason flickering inside their head from time to time).

First, we are (instrumental word here "we") are parenting much more as a team, which is as it should be and is also a relief. So anyway, we are having a much smoother bed time routine, preserving couple time, and getting to bed at a more reasonable hour.

The first hint of how this morning would go was when Tianna tossed me a sweatshirt and simply stated, "This needs to be washed, it has a spot on the front."

OK, no problem. When I do my next load of interminable laundry, which was not at 9:23 last night, I will do so.

You know what's coming. So this morning she gets up and says, "Mom, did you wash my sweatshirt, where is my sweatshirt?"

The answer didn't go over well, garnered a bit of attitude, to which my response was that attitude would only add to her woes, and there was an easy solution. I could teach her how to do her own laundry and she could have total control. No one to thank or blame but herself. I also said I would be happy to provide same day laundry as long as it arrived in the laundry room in a hamper by 6 pm. Later than that, no guarantees.

"Well, I'm not going to school then." No problem. "Suit yourself, but you'll ruin your perfect attendance for the year."

That got her moving, but not quite on time. If she misses the bus, I can get her to the next stop just down the hill, but it is a pain, and definitely throws things off the mornings I am on a tighter schedule.

Adding to the disruption of the morning was the fact that the softball coach hadn't gotten back to me yet about whether or not there is practice this afternoon. This "simple" fact, that will probably not be conveyed until the last minute is significant: We are operating on one car (Honda in the shop being fixed from my fender bender), Nicole has girl scouts (just 8 boxes to go to meet her goal) and if there isn't softball then Tianna will swim instead.

So Tianna was texting her friend to find out, I emailed the mom to back it up and that took up a few valuable moments of time. Tianna said "Yes, there is softball. Fact. Period." The email from the mom said, "well, the coach said yes last week, but I haven't heard and it has yet to be determined" (by forces such as liability insurance procurement also being handled in a passive aggressive fashion since softball is less important than baseball, and the guys wanted the gym...) Politics at its best.

But it was well with my soul. Not a voice was raised, (well, maybe Tianna's) and we will have great dinner time conversation.

Oh, and this instead of the too typical frenzied mornings that made for a great skit this past Sunday at our church to promote the Women's Retreat. Katy and Connie, friends and loyal commenters here, are both coming. It is going to be GREAT!

How was your morning? Katy, did Simone make it to school today? May it be well with your souls also.

Peace.

Then the bagel. Had to have one, didn't eat it. The cat will enjoy licking the cream cheese off the top and no doubt my mom who can't waste a thing will eat the rest.

And we missed the bus. And somehow that was my fault.

Not by the Hair on my Chinny Chin Chin

True confession time. I have a bunch of totally annoying chin hairs on my chin. I pick at them, but of course they never come out. That would require tweezers. But Howie is King of Lasers and has one that does hair removal, so today I had a date with my personal dermatologist to remove my chin hairs.

Where was my camera when I needed it? Usually I carry it in my purse for moments such as this. But I left my purse in the car. It would have made a fabulous Kodak moment.

He placed these reddish really cool shades on -- oh how handsome(!), handed me a pair of goggles, and then locked the door. Locked the door?!?!

So I asked the question tearing through my mind, "Am I here for anything more than chin hair removal? Uh...you locked the door, is this an intimate rendez vous?" I couldn't imagine that chin hair removal could be, well, inviting. Oh, and it wasn't.

I guess there is a huge problem if someone walks into the room while the laser is zapping so there is a "No Admittance" sign on the door, as well as locking the door for extra precaution.

I forgot to ask what would happen if someone came in while the laser was burning off chin hairs.

Oh, and it doesn't work on the blond ones, you can't pluck before you have it done, and boy can you smell the singe when the dark ones go up in smoke.

Divas can't have chin hairs, you know...

Don't Let Your Time Manage You

I was reminded again the other day of the age old adage, "Will time manage you, or will you manage your time?"

And I realized that to more of an extent that I would like, my time has been managing me, despite simplifying (yes, really I am) and focusing on the people and commitments that take top billing.

And it leads to a victim mentality pity party. "Poor me." It really boils down to choices and discipline.

I am sick of my weight. Still.

I hate it when I don't exercise and get grumpy when Howie gets in his workouts.

I go through writing withdrawal when I don't blog.

And I get crabby with myself when I respond to others with ungrace, mostly because my grace tank is running low.

So today I decided to do something about it. I set my alarm for 5:10 and got up, and once again added new meaning to "rolling out of bed" to go exercise. There was spinning class at 5:45 with a great group of people. And guess what? There was even a friend of mine who I haven't seen too regularly (because she has been disciplined enough to get up early for years now) who is better at issuing running commentary than I am! It was fun, I socialized, and my exercise is done. I have already had 8 oz. of water, which I also haven't been good about, and I bet I will be much better about heading to bed at a reasonable hour and getting my schedule in sync with Howie's which will be good for our marriage.

By the time I got home, Tianna was on the bus, I grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat down here to visit with you guys! All before Nicole is even awake! Talk about feeling productive!

May you have a disciplined, productive and successful day in which you don't allow your time to manage you.

Girl Scouts...

OK, so of course my kid is the ONLY one not wearing her vest. She started the day with it on, but as soon as she realized that the troop numbers had been sewn on in the wrong numeric order, off it came. I don't think anyone else would have noticed...but she did!

My mother is my seamstress. She likes to keep busy and so I try to find simple tasks for her to do. But even though I wrote the numbers down, she got the order mixed up. The patches are supposed to be iron on, but they don't stay put.

Saturday morning we went up to the Newswatch 16 Newsroom for a tour with Noreen Clark the early morning meteorologist. My two observations about her are that she must enjoy listening to herself talk, and that she forgot she was talking to nine and ten year olds. Oh, and one more thing. She did pause to take a breath long enough to ask a couple of times if anyone had any questions, but then didn't continue the pause to allow for the questions. I think most of us were afraid to ask questions in case her answer took twenty two minutes.

We didn't get to go out to the "back yard" where they do their weather from because it was too icy and that bummed me out. And then it is that wonderful time of year, Girl Scout Cookie time! My favorites are the thin mints, but the samoas are pretty darn good too...you know they (Edy's) even makes Samoa ice cream! Which I have to keep out of the house...

Anyway, Nicole is on a mission to sell 300 boxes of cookies. That means her mother has added assistant cookie seller to her list of job descriptions. Well, yes, she is asking herself. But she isn't supposed to go anywhere unaccompanied or door to door. Well, that eliminates lots of opportunities. So I do carry one of the order forms with me. In fact, if any of you would like cookies, I will even send them to you!

Other than catching up here at home (blogging, blogging for the parenting blog I also write for, soliciting another endorsement or two for the Bible Study, working on missions and outreach stuff, you name it...) I did go out to finish up one more chart this morning. So off I went, did the chart, went to the bank, plunked down the deposit for my body work (remember when I got rear ended? $2700 of damage) and then made one more stop where I could possible rack up another couple of boxes of cookies. And guess what? Realized I had my slacks on inside out and had been wearing them that way so far all morning. Oy Vey.

How Submission Builds Relationships

I have to admit I have not been a fan of the word "Submission." It has always rung of those in lower social positions being brow-beaten or oppressed and relegated to lesser status. Equality definitely didn't enter into the conversation.

A particularly vivid example of submission lived out in the faith arena was modeled by my husband's faith (he grew up Christadelphian) where women play a second class role to men all the way around. They can't pray in the presence of male baptized members of the faith, they are to defer at all times to the man's perspective and they certainly can't teach. All are cited as Biblical, and as such for many years that contributed to my Biblical understanding of submission.

I am relieved to say the church I worship at doesn't follow this model and women hold leadership positions, teach and although not in our conference, in others are ordained as pastors. Submission is a give and take relationship between individuals, one where the other's interests are put first, where servitude is the ideal norm, and submission to God is what matters.

We have been reading Richard Foster's "Celebration of Discipline" in Sunday School. This book has given me a new paradigm and perspective about submission to absorb. It is one that has allowed me to relinquish lingering preconceived notions about submission that equate it with subservience. Submission is not finding one's self at the bottom of a social pecking order, placed there by others, rather it is a state of mind satisfied to be in a position at the end because a conscious, liberated choice to put others first has been made.

It is a gift of freedom, not a state of oppression and for this I am grateful.



Foster talks about submission as basically giving up our perceived right and desire to always have our own way and last word. Our attitude becomes one of sincere deference to what is correct and what puts the other person first.