Life is Beautiful

After reading the Sunday paper, the fam headed to the pumpkin patch a couple days ago. CH really wanted to act like he was too grown up for the whole thing but at least he went along without copping an attitude. I think he even had fun in spite of his efforts. TT was in his element. He rode Peanut Butter the pony twice. He told us he picked PB because PB was the fastest one. PB was hooked up to one of those multi-pony circle things...

We walked through the corn maze. The farmer told us he sent his kids through every so often to find any lost people because there were 14 dead ends in the maze. Kind of like life. The maze was a wonderful study in family systems theory - TT assumed he was in charge throughout the maze and ran ahead to discover what was around the bend, CH amiably followed along without asserting his own desires to lead sometimes and he rested comfortably in living in personal indecision, the ever-logical C kept track of each twist and turn and probably knew where we were at exactly each step while also keeping track of which kid got to choose the next direction in the next fork in the road. And me, well it's always a bit strange (let alone impossible) to be objective about one's own role so I'll just tell you what I did. I brought up the rear, took pictures, savored the moments in my heart, and walked sometimes with one kid, sometimes with the other, and sometimes hand-in-hand with C. It amazes me how a corn maze can remind you about the important things in life if you let it.

After the corn maze, we headed to the animals - it always amazes me to watch TT interact with animals. This boy has a future with animals - my cool, serene cousin once suggested horse massage. She does it and thinks TT would be amazing in the field. TT could have spent all day feeding the chickens, rabbits, goats, sheep, geese and ducks. He seemed to have an affinity for the ones who were most stressed out by the whole petting zoo concept. I loved watching this amazing gift shine brightly as he comforted animals and helped other kids notice animal subtleties.

We played in the "Iowa sandbox" - a huge 15 x 20 box full of corn. What a trip. Kids were burying themselves in the corn, scooping it up, throwing it...the whole sandbox deal.

We also laughed. C tried to steal CH's cotton candy and it became a fun game that got us all laughing. C and I watched the kids frolick and play. TT snapped this shot. I love it. I can't remember the last time I laughed heartily with C. What a gift.

Worthiness

Worthiness. I've been giving a lot of thought to this topic. How does one navigate the spectrum of feeling unworthy, feeling worthy, and feeling entitled? The extremes at both ends have their downfalls and I tend to fall to the unworthy more than I'd like. What’s my struggle with it all about? I become puzzled when I consider this topic that has been swirling around in my heart, head, and soul for some time. After all, I think I’m a pretty confident and capable woman. I just earned a Master’s Degree, teachers tell me time and again how lucky my kids are to have me as their mom and advocate, I am able to speak my thoughts pretty comfortably in nearly any situation, and I’m comfortable in nearly any social setting after years in seminary and ministry.

But time and again, my spiritual directors and therapists (yes, more than one person has noticed this issue…) have pointed out that I seem to have this nagging sense of being unworthy. I seem to struggle with the spectrum that includes unworthiness, worthiness, and arrogance. God knows if there’s one thing I strive not to be and that I cannot stand in others, it’s arrogance. So where does one begin and another end?

Over the last few years, I’ve become more and more able to voice my needs and to act upon them without guilt. I used to do so with great insistence, attitude, and a false sense of entitlement. Yet regardless of my attitude, why did/do I feel the need to convince others that I’m worthy?

A few years ago, I began a yearly ritual that fills me with joy and restores my soul each time. I take 5-7 days away for some adventure, usually one that involves attending a Jimmy Buffett concert. In May of 2004, I surprised Journey Girl for her birthday. In 2005, after a bad internship experience, I headed to South Carolina in February and reconnected with Southern Wisdom. In 2006, I spend 3 weeks in Germany (yes, it was for a class, but it was also just for me) and then just this month, I spent a week in Santa Barbara with Journey Girl (did I mention I spent a week in the California sunshine? wink ). I really feel no guilt about this yearly ritual – it makes such a difference and, well, dammit, it is so deserved. Everyone survives without me, which is a necessary reminder for us all.

In the airport at LAX this time around, there was a 4 person table open and just lil’ ole me needing a seat. I waited and waited before finally taking the table. I was hungry but I thought that maybe a smaller table would open up. That way, I wouldn't be taking up too much room. I finally just sat at the 4 person table and decided to allow myself the indulgence without guilt. Another woman came by awhile later and seemed to have the same dilemma. I invited her to join me at my table, which she did eagerly. Why did she and I resist claiming what we needed, too big table or not? The guys around didn’t seem to have any problem doing so. What’s that about?

This worthiness schtick came up again when Journey Girl and I went to meet Soul Friend at the Biltmore in Montecito. She began to park on the street. Before she completed the effort, she said, “Dammit, I’m driving to the door.” As I began to get out to go to the lobby to wait for SF, I said, “I don’t feel worthy going in this place.” “You’re worthy, stop that,” JG responded.

I waited in the ornate lobby and tried the ‘fake it til you make it’ approach, which seemed to have everyone fooled. The bellhop came up and offered me a water and a newspaper. I said no thanks. Why didn’t I take him up on his offer? Well….I didn’t want to be a bother or to impose. But then as I sat on a chair that cost more than all of my furniture combined, an insight came over me. The people going to and fro in this busy, fancy lobby were just that: people. Some had bad taste in clothes, some were full of themselves (or acting that way because they were so empty inside), some acted like hanging out in the Biltmore was just part of every day life…because for them, it was. And SF understood this strange experience and willingly showed us around the whole fancy schmancy place.

I treat my body like a tent

Excerpt from Fruitcakes - Jimmy Buffett

Here come the big ones--
Relationships--We all got 'em, we all want 'em.
What do we do with 'em?
Here we go I'll tell ya
She said you've got to do your fair share
Now cough up half the rent
I treat my body like a temple
You treat yours like a tent.

These are among my favorite lines in Buffett's Fruitcakes (although the lines about religion crack me up every time). I must admit I'm more in tent-mode than temple-mode and I have been for quite some time. I used to joke that I still eat like I'm in college. The not-so-funny part is that my body reacts differently to collegiate fare now that I'm nearing 40.

Since C and I were married, we've been incredibly skilled at saying, "You know, we need to create a meal plan." Follow through has been as thorough as our pre-purchase research of big ticket items. That is to say, it's been nil. Planning is not our strong suit.

Tonight C suggested that I create a meal plan because I'm home and have time. Yeah, right....when would I blog if I was busy doing that?! (Insert wink). He even said he'd willingly cook the food on my plan. So, I signed up with South Beach Diet online. My friend Small Town Girl told me today that her brother lost a ton of weight on it. SBD makes it easy - for only $5 a week they give you all kinds of web resources, a menu plan, a shopping list, access to nutritionists, etc, etc. I thought "what the hell, I'll give it a go." And, yep, to me it's worth $5 a week to have someone else plan our meals. I'm that kitchen-averse.

The first two weeks will be the toughest: no wine, no bread, no fruit. But I'm gonna do this. Hold me to it. I'm tired of carrying around my 7 year old, 40 pound, post-baby weight.

Now I gotta go drink, eat chocolate, and finish the left over fruit. The plan starts tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Too bad I'm not Catholic...

I think I may have earned my way to Heaven today...if my theology aligned to such a concept.

TT woke up late. Instead of rushing him to get ready in time for carpool, we had a mellow morning and I drove him to school. This move was a much better start for everyone's day and frame of mind. When we arrived at school, we noticed (well, ok, I noticed) he didn't have his library book and his coat (yeah, we have to use those bulky things here in God's country). So I ran home, got them both and popped them in his locker at school.

While at the school, I ran into CH's TAG teacher and told her how thrilled C and I are with her teaching style and her class because it challenges CH. I told her how much CH loved her class and her assignments and she said, "I had no idea. You've made my day!"

After the school shuttles, I went to HyVee and picked up fruit for a fruit plate for the learning extravaganza in CH's class later today. When I signed up to help in his class, I wasn't thinking the work involved making fruit plates for 75, but hey...anything for my boy. I even prepped and created the fruit plates myself...after all, it didn't involve any cooking. I draw the line at cooking. We all have to have our standards. [4:15pm: C just came home and told me that I seriously need a job...not so much because I made the fruit plates but because I posted a picture of them on my blog. Sending avocados via UPS, photographing fruit plates...it's all getting a bit strange.]

Then I headed to Borders because TT has become a groupie of Uncle Jim. He discovered his website the other day and signed up for the fan club (with CH's help...how cute is that?!). TT told me he couldn't possibly live another day without the CD so I headed to Borders because Borders.com had it listed. There weren't any in stock so the manager ordered it for me. As she was ordering it, I was telling her about Jim and the CD and somehow I managed to convince her to order a bunch for the store. I guess there's yet another job option for me if this pastor gig doesn't work out...oh wait, I already did the marketing schtick! Marketing high end investments was fun while it lasted but I think I'll stick to marketing God.

Oh, and I let the cats in, fed the killer frog, and checked on the fish...that should all count for something in points toward Heaven, right? Oh yeah, and all this humility...that'll get me in.

It's My Job

Last night, C showed me how to put any music I like as a ringtone onto my cool new Razr. Way fun! Bet you can't guess whose music I used?!

The ringtone debuted this morning as it woke me from my mid-morning nap (yeah, maybe I was in Cali just a bit too long...). The caller was the call committee chair from Jordan Lutheran Church in Jerusalem (ok, that's a code name but that's all you get).

Looks like the interview will be sometime within the first 10 days of November. I'd better dust off my Buffett-laden theological mind.

Sail on, sailor, sail on

Rather than threatening readers with the killer newt, looks like I should do so with the bad ass killer frog. The unnamed fire belly newt who was sometimes named after TT depending upon TT's mood died overnight. He must have been a Muslim because my husband performed an immediate funeral with TT ( I didn't know C was an imam! Man, he and his spiritual quests.).

I Really Do Have to Laugh

Applebees is always good for a funny post. Tonight after the magician visited our table, TT said, "Next time I'm going to ask him to make my brother nicer."

Then on the way home, TT wouldn't stop talking. I asked him to try to stop talking and he responded, "No problem, Mommy." Then he began to sing. This occurred after he had inhaled the helium from his Applebee's balloon and exclaimed, "Listen, now I sound like I'm from England!"

If we couldn't laugh, we'd all go insane

In Santa Barbara, a bad business deal involves losing hundreds of thousands of dollars.
In Dubuque, it's realizing Shopko had the same product that you just bought at Target.

In Santa Barbara, great live music involves heading to the Bowl in shorts and a tank top wondering if David Crosby will randomly appear on stage again tonight.
In Dubuque, it's seeing the bank's tellers singing Christmas Carols in the lobby.

In Santa Barbara, grabbing some java is just a given part of any excursion.
In Dubuque, going to coffee is the excursion.

In Santa Barbara, the gate agent tells you that if she loved her cats any more than she does, it would be illegal.
In Dubuque, the gate agent says, "Oh my, great weather today ya know," when it's 28 degrees and sunny.

In Santa Barbara, your real estate agent shows up for your open house in their Mercedes and wears surfer shorts and a faded red t-shirt.
In Dubuque, your agent goes to Younkers the day before your open house to pick up one of their sensible $29 suits and shows up in a Chevy Lumina or an American minivan.

In Santa Barbara, the taxi driver tells you he's moving 1/2 hour away into a nice one bedroom, 700 square foot bungalow with parking because he can get it for only $1600/month.
In Dubuque, do they have taxis in Dubuque?

In Santa Barbara, people live on the mesa or in the valley
In Dubuque, people live off the county road or "up the way"


In Santa Barbara, you can find respite at Mission Santa Barbara.





In Dubuque, you can go to the Dickeyville Grotto.


In Santa Barbara, you watch out for pedestrians and hurried drivers.
In Dubuque, you watch out for deer, racoons and the occasional groundhog.

In Santa Barbara, men buy Beamers or Mercedes as they enter their midlife crisis.
In Dubuque, men buy Ford F150s without the king cab (after all, it's time for a 2 seater, Ma).

In Santa Barbara, the Homeland Security agent cracks up laughing in response when you say, "Oh yeah...just a little firmer and down to the right" as she pats you down for the random extra security check.
In Dubuque, the Homeland Security agent would likely say nothing at all but would think "ohhh my" and find the comment interesting as they avoided eye contact.
[Bonus: In Portland, there's no talking to Homeland Security! You'd be detained for crossing the line!]











In Santa Barbara, baggage claim is outside.
In Dubuque, baggage claim is inside on this teeny tiny conveyor that looks like a PriceCostco display for big boy airport baggage claims.

In Santa Barbara, diversity reigns - many languages are spoken & heard, skin colors range, men walk down the street arm and arm and nobody thinks twice about it.
In Dubuque, diversity means someone who dresses like me.

Wonder why you ever go home

Yesterday morning's weather: 70, minimal coastal breeze, sunny, clear
Last night's airport weather: 31, 10 mph winds, dark, light snow
This morning's weather: 29, minimal winds, sunny, light clouds

The Gospel from the Coast

Here are some selected shots from SB days. Heck, as long as I've got a bonus day, I might as well upload the rest of the pics and share them with y'all.



The first two shots on the left are from Super Rica - awesome Mexican food where the gal grabs into the dough and your tortillas are thrown on the grill when you order your meal.

This afternoon, I napped while Journey Girl took the kids to the pumpkin patch. Then, Little Mister and I headed to Shoreline Beach for a long walk along the waves. We collected shells and beach trinkets and then we created the rock/shell/lobster tail diaorama on the right. After that, I shot the other scenes on the right.

Under the Super Rica pics on the left is a picture of the SB airport baggage "terminal." Isn't it a hoot? It's got one long metal shelf where the bags are set. And,
yes, the baggage claim is OUTSIDE!

Umm...yeah. The bottom right pic is of an anemone [uh-nem-uh-nee]. You stick your finger in them and they close around it. Pretty cool. Sometimes they even squirt at you. Shana didn't know what it was or what you did with it, so I thought I should explain. For someone who's lived abroad, she can sure be a naive Midwest girl some days. Gotta love her.

Strictly complicated

As of 11ish, the only way Northwest Airlines could get me into Madison before 11:38pm involved waiting to fly home until Tuesday afternoon from John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana/Irvine. Woo hoo, a part of me said. An adventure! A journey! A chance to connect more with friends. What could be better, right?

The other part of me (the one with a conscience) said, "This is so not good." I've got a tired husband with two mommy-missing kids, a budget that is strained prior to any possible awaiting adventures, an important meeting at the school on Monday (that I just cancelled) and Vision therapy on Tuesday that may need to be shifted.

I called home. C, understandably so, was frustrated. He's such a gem that he wasn't mad with me - he was just clearly exasperated by the situation at hand. He even supported my decision to not take one of the midnight runs. Yet, his understanding and exhaustion coupled with a good dose of Lutheran Mommy guilt (two zingers combined together for logarithmic results) only made me feel like more of a heel. There appeared to be no easy way to navigate the shifting waters that had gone from mysterious, quaint, meandering streams to mighty rapids full of problems...

I hmmmd and hawwed and ate an avocado fresh from Travelin Man's dad's orchard. I made some calls. I hmmmdd some more. Called the airline and ended up talking to one of the most Midwest Nice (in all the best ways) Minnesotans you'd ever encounter. She even gave me some shopping tips in case I ever make it to the Mall of America. Besides all those surpises, she was able to book me on tomorrow's 8:40am Santa Barbara flight and get me to Madision Monday night at 8:40 pm. How and why this option arose (it was never available at the counter at the airport and in my two other calls to NWA), one can only venture a guess. Anyway, I've now got a bonus day and a way home.

No Planes on Sunday

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve just been informed there are serious ground delays at LAX due to weather. I have no further details at this time, but I’m going to begin backup booking passenger tickets as we await further news…”

After compiling my mental checklist (Who can cover carpool for me tomorrow? Call in to work, arrange a babysitter for tomorrow after school just in case…), these are welcome words for me. Well, welcome-ish anyway. You know you don’t get much time away to yourself when you’ll happily go through airport security again just so you can sit outside on a bench on a fogged-in, crisp-for-Southern-California morning even if it might only be for 1/2 hour. Now is the unexpected opportunity to grasp and savor every last drop of this liminal time.

The ticket agent just gave us an update: LAX just closed 3 regional runways and there will be no further update for at least an hour. All around me, people display various states of frustration, dismay, and anxiety. The sweet older woman next to me, planning to fly from coast to coast today with her wheelchair-bound husband, has tears in her eyes. The whole trip was a bit too much for them to undertake in the first place, she tells me. Their flights out here presented their own challenges and re-routes. This is really more than she thinks she can bear. We enter into a holy ground conversation as we sit in uncomfortable airport waiting room chairs. She says to me, “I know I’ll make it…” I gently put my hand on her arm, look her in the eye and say, “You know, there’s no doubt about that, you will make it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t stink.” She laughs through her tears and breathes in a big sigh. She fills my outbound prayers.

We talk about how this affects my husband and she says with feminine I-survived-the-Depression resolve, “It will be good for him to know what you do as a mom.” I tell her what a gift C is, how much I treasure and value him as a husband and father. I become wistful as I tell her was a lucky, blessed woman I am. She responds with a voice of wisdom and experience, simply saying deep and profound truisms: "Treasure every moment of it." Her words linger in my heart and mind. Tears remain welled in my eyes as I write now.

What’s peculiar about these re-routes and delays is that they really don’t impact me personally all that much. I float along in the unpredictable current with contentment and have no problem resting in this particular mystery. What’s unfair is that the unexpected waters present all kinds of shifts for so many others who have no voice or control over the shifts imposing themselves into life: the husband who has been a single dad for 5 days already, the kids wanting to see their mommy (even if the 10 year old won’t admit it), a hostess who headed back to the airport and shuffle her schedule, the neighbors saving me once again with their willingness to shuttle kids to and from school…the list goes on and on. For this list, my heart is saddened. For my own, I roll along waiting to see what scenery awaits me around the latest bend of the river’s path..

Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On

It's 6:57 a.m. although my body clock thinks it's nearly 9:00. This chapter is quickly drawing to a close and I find myself both buoyed by the recent dwelling in serenity and sagging as I depart the sunshine and warmth to re-enter daily life's chaos and chilling winds. Don't get me wrong - daily life, despite its sometimes shivering gusts, also has its sunny clear skies and moments of peace. It just becomes so easy to get lost in the lists and the obligations and the stresses that I neglect to dwell in life's own unique daily beauty.

So many more experiences from this time away remain to be shared and pondered. But now, I need to hop in the instantly warm waters of the shower, don my layers of insulation, and step off the terrace and back onto the ever-shifting farmlands of daily life. At least today's view makes it a bit easier to leave.

Don't try to explain it, just bow your head

What a precious end to a beautiful day...sitting on the terrace sipping wine, watching the sunset and sitting by the firepit with fantastic, treasured friends Journey Girl and Travelin Man. You know, there's something to be said about the phrase "There's no friend like an old friend."

It's been a day of knowing and being known, of exquisite acceptance of exactly who you are and treasuring all that means. Watching the flames of the fire as they spark, ebb and flow - somehow it's a lot like life: There's the ups and downs, the moments when we glimpe the Feast, and the times when all feels quelled. It's so much easier to be contemplative about life's realities when the stresses are miles away...

After the campfire, Journey Girl and I just talked and talked, relived the day, pondered the joys and the insights and gut feelings of today's experiences. Man, it's gonna be hard to leave all this.

You got to leave your mind open to discover

What a day, what a trip, what a journey. Life is good. So good. Amazing what some time away does for the soul.

I decided to give this calling home schtick one last try this morning as I walked along the upper terrace looking at the reflection of the sunrise. Aaahhhh. It ends up I'll continue calling home - the latest report was more positive than the first two. I told C that if I'd gotten another bummer of a phone report I was seriously considering not checking in again. He said he didn't blame me. What a great guy. Just love him.

This morning, Journey Girl (my hostess and great bud) and I headed out around 9 a.m. to have breakfast with my buddy, Soul Friend, who happened to be in town. We went to Jeanine's - great lil' spot in Montecito. Pretty upscale part of town but a pretty laid back kinda haunt. Good stuff. Ends up Montecito is the place where Oprah, Kenny Loggins, and Rob Lowe have houses. Low income housing kinda deal, you know. Montecito is probably where they do their slummin. Yeah, right.

Breakfast was a great deal - I think we spent about 2 hours at Jeanine's. Some of Soul Friend's buddies came along and we ended up breakfasting and hanging with them too. Then his little brother, Funky Youngest Child, showed up and we had a great time talking with him. It was really fun to watch the sibling interaction thing...cracked me up.

After breakfast/brunch, SF and I went for a walk. I treasure the times when SF and I can steal away some time for conversation. He's one of those friends who just gets me and it's a mutual deal - no pretenses, no explaining, just real and honest talk that is so true that it doesn't even feel as vulnerable as it really is. Our conversation offered a bit of honest pushing toward discovery, a listening that hears both what is said and unsaid, a sharing of struggles and joys, and a few wise insights about it all. As we were talking and walking, I pondered the stories in The Book of Acts where the teacher is the student and the student is the teacher. All lines are blurred, words are spoken and heard, synergy reigns, and collaborative insights emerge. What more can we ask for in life than a friend who simply gets who we are and takes us with our foibles and faults, shortcomings and strengths? Someone once described these types of friendships as Soul Friends - an interesting term meaning someone through whom the Holy Spirit whispers, prods, sustains, and upholds.

Laughing with friends old and new, walking along the Montecito burro, leaving your mind open to discover and ponder - yep, that's good stuff.

That's what livin' is for me

Here's the scoop:
1. Blog posts will have Buffett song line titles until I'm done dwelling in my post-concert high.
2. There'll be lots of pics of sunny So Cal as I dwell in this 70+ degree clear blue sky paradise.
3. Writing quality will vary depending upon my mood, the amount of time I can access the net, and how often Little Mister interrupts me to show me the amazing Petz5 he's playing on my laptop right now. Little Mister is 7 and is going to be a lobbyist when he grows up - he's already an accomplished negotiater with great charm...lots of charm.

Speaking of Lil Mr., he wanted me to post pictures of his cats, Lucy and Charlie. Aren't they awesome? I went with his mom to the kitty cat haven a couple years ago to pick the cats out. Someday I'll write about the cat sanctuary place - it's pretty incredible.










On the left is a pic of the place I'm staying. Not bad, eh? This picture was taken from the top of the third terrace. And down and to the right is a picture of the third terrace - otherwise known as my mid-afternoon napping spot - complete with an ocean view to the left.














And here's a view from yesterday's walk:

What a show!

I've got a post on my laptop that's all ready to go...but I'm on another computer right now. That post will have to wait.

Just got back from the concert. What an amazing show! David Crosby showed up and played some tunes (including Southern Cross) and local musician Jack Johnson (a la Curious George soundtrack) sounded great and chimed in on Pirate Looks at 40 and other favorites. Robert Greenidge and Peter Mayer both had amazing solos (steel drums and guitar respectively) to bring the band into Desperation Samba, one of the classics. My only disappointment was that Amy Lee wasn't there - she's my hero because she's a woman who plays the saxophone. I played the saxophone in 6th grade...but I never sounded as great as Amy Lee. Guess that's where my rock star career came to an end.

Great venue! It only holds about 4800 people so there are no bad seats. Really loved the SB Bowl - great sound, great food, great size. West Coast crowds are kind of a trip though - they all tend to sit down too much and seem to have an "entertain me" mindset. I'll take a Midwest crowd any day.

It was an amazing day: about 79, sunny and clear. I walked along the beach, up to the harbor and then along State Street (SB's main drag). Spent the afternoon asleep in a hammock on the lower terrace (more about terraces in the post from my laptop later) - yeah, life is rough here in Santa Barbara.

If the phone doesn't ring, it's me

(Sorry for the lack of photos - can't get my card reader working...Grrr)

It’s 9:30 a.m. and roughly 70 degrees with no breeze. Life is good. I’m out here on the second terrace – yes, the home where I’m staying has terraces. Wow. The second terrace is a place of red, green and blue adirondack chairs, shy and fragile monarch butterflies, and Lucy the cat. I can hear a number of birds at any one time. These birds are the smart ones – the ones who live year around in this temperate coastal land. They sing and fly and swoop and glide, gracing the palm tree laden landscape.

Just a hint of autumn colors dot the deciduous trees below in the view that extends all the way to my beloved Pacific Ocean. I’m home. True, it may not be where I grew up, but something about simply being on the West Coast fills my bones with peace and contentment. A steady joy encounters my sagging soul and, if only for a few days, all is well. Here, I can relax, dream, and breathe deeply.

In my two calls home already, I’ve discovered all is not well. Hints of underlying resentment from my husband who couldn’t make the trip dot his words or lack thereof. News of TT refusing to do his homework and of panicked colleagues who couldn’t reach me while I was in flight come to me like crashing waves attempting to be a respite-drenching tsunami. I’m tempted to stop checking in.

Last night at LAX, two security guards gleefully chuckled as I spoke with my frustrated husband who had one ear on his cell phone with me and one ear on another call with someone who was desperately trying to reach me to tell me something that really was not desperate in the least. One of the guards accompanied me down to a shuttle bus for the regional terminal and was grinning ear to ear. He shook his head and said jokingly, “If I were you, I’d turn that phone off and stop calling home.” Thank you, God, for the wisdom from the airport security guard.

As I sit on the terrace taking in the familiar breathtaking views, the stresses of the already cold and winter-like Midwest, of awaited calls, of defiant children, and of frustrated husbands seem so very far away. It’s another world. Today’s oasis offers calm glimpses into the roots deep inside me – reminding me of my need for mighty waters, nature, and warm sunshine. It beckons me to write, ponder, and conclude without interruption. Bliss.

Into Serious Countdown Mode...

List made...check
Babysitter Wednesday...check
Babysitter Thursday and Friday...check
Babysitter on standby for Sat a.m. in case C wants to work out...check
Vision therapy homework miracle worker...check (Yay - it's K Kindhearted!)
Camera, phone & Palm Pilot charged...check
Last Sunday's Desperate Housewives downloaded from iTunes...check
Oil change...in process
Office Depot - 1 GB card for turning Palm into an iPod...on my way to do it now
Mail sister's birthday gift (a pillow that says Diva on it and 2 Wizard of Oz magnets)...on my way to do it now
Pack...oops.

Ta ta. One day to Cali, Two days to Buffett. Woo Hoo!

Was Will Farrell in my car again?

This morning's song is brought to you by little Erica, kindergartner:

I'm walllllkkkkinnnngg
Onnnnn a booaaattt
and it's nowwwwwing (as in: snowing, which it was not doing this a.m.)

And I've become one of those moms: I drive carpool wearing my PJs. How comfy!

One phone call can change it all

This morning, I woke up in a rather gray mood. Not crabby, not sad, just gray. Like the woman in the James Taylor song ("She said move me, move me. I'm locked up inside...She said make me angry or just make me cry, but no more gray mornings..."). There was nothing particularly wrong nor nothing particularly right either. Just a gray, blase day. So I pretty much wasted the morning away on the computer - that tends to be my default gray day activity. Then at 11:30, I took TT to his reading tutor and his vision therapy appointment in LaCrosse, 2.5 hours away. Our weekly 250 mile round trip trek.

I was stunned at TT's reading improvement and thrilled to see him do so well. Yay! Nine sessions into this 45 session endeavor and we're seeing more and more promising results each week.

Just at the end of the session with the reading tutor (as the tutor was telling me he'd rather work with TT unmedicated because he doesn't think he really has ADD...and he's basing this all on today's appointment where TT was really tired from a late bedtime last night and not taking last week's successful and medicated experience into account....don't get me started), my phone rang. Bad timing. I turned it off mid-ring then forgot about it.

Awhile later, as TT was gleefully and proudly making armpit farting noises and entertaining the bevy of kids awaiting their vision therapy appointments (he told me later: "You know, Mommy, it's so great, God gave me the gift of making people laugh." I love that kid!), I checked my voice mail and what do you know?! It was the assistant to the bishop saying he'd like to send my paperwork to a congregation and he anticipates they'll want to interview me next week or the week after. Then he told me about other options down the road in case this one doesn't pan out - I like that he always does this because it prevents me from feeling like the only opportunity for ministry is the one immediately before me.

Looks like I best be dropping off my dry cleaning before I leave for Cali.

The night only got better: on my way home, I received a call from Pastor Hospitable just because he was thinking about me and all the fun he used to have with C and I when he lived here. That made my night. Then, I checked my email and received notes from two faraway friends who I miss so much. I'm so thankful for friends - God has surrounded me with great ones.


Countdown to Buffett: 3 days!!!!!!!
Countdown to Cali: 2 days!!!!!!