Canning Circus

I may never can again.

Things did not go well when I attempted to put up some incredible chili last week.   So yesterday I made chili and froze it.   The goal for today was to can either salsa or plain tomatoes.  Taking the lazy way out I decided to can the tomatoes plain.  However, it failed to be "the lazy way."

1.  Accident with the pressure canner which was supposed to be doubling as a water bath.  Boiling water.  Exploded.  On me.  (Lots of cold showers and many applications of fresh aloe mean that I ended up with only a few blistered areas.  The treatments resulted in most places settling down to bad first-degree burns.)

2.  Broken handle on the canner lid when it hit the floor.

3.  Lots of water all over the floor.  When the shower was colder than I could stand, I'd get out and would make attempts to mop up the kitchen's puddles.

4.  Then Maggie accidentally dumped the mop bucket.  All the water from the canning accident --plus the water that had been in the bucket from mopping earlier-- was back on the floor.  I'm glad I could laugh at that instead of cry.

5.  One of the canning jars broke.  The canner was full of tomatoes floating around in the canning water. 

6.  Water boiled out of the canner onto the stove, extinguishing the flame on the burner, while the natural gas kept pumping out into the kitchen.  Hooray for open windows!!!

So what all else went wrong?  I can't remember at the moment.  But this list seems mighty short compared to how the day actually went!

I now have
a) very clean kitchen counters,
b) a floor that's been mopped three times since Monday, and
c) some nice tomatoes in the freezer.

Moral of the Story #1 -- Quit canning.
Except for jelly.
Moral of the Story #2 -- When I forget this lesson, make sure I never can anything in quart-sized jars again ... unless I buy a regular water-bath canner.  Pints will be the limit for water-bathing in the pressure canner.

I'm going to have to wear real shoes to work later this week.  Flip-flops are really a lot easier on my burned foot.

Remind me again why this is supposed to be worth it?

Fresh-Tomato Chili

Saute together in a humongous pot:
1.5 pounds hamburger
2 onions, finely chopped
1 large sweet green pepper, finely chopped
1 large hot pepper, minced (or a medium-sized very hot pepper)

Meanwhile, use the food processor to chop up a whole gob of tomatoes (about a gallon of diced tomatoes with their juice).

When the hamburger is browned and the veggies soft, add
1 Tbsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
1 tsp garlic powder
3 Tbsp dried parsley
1.5 Tbsp chili powder
1.5 Tbsp cumin
1/4 tsp basil

Stir well.  Add tomatoes.  Mix. 
Drain water from 4 pints of of canned kidney beans.
Add beans to soup.  Heat.  Adjust seasonings.



Mmmmmm.   This is the chili which I tried to can, and I shouldn't have.  Batch #2 is bypassing the pressure-canner and going straight into freezer bags.   Mmmmmm.

Offering to Help

As my mom's health began taking a turn for the worse last year, she mentioned one of her regrets.  She says she wished she'd done more things to help her parents as they got older.  At the time, Mom heeded the advice of the social workers and the nurses and the therapists, who all say not to do things to help an elderly or disabled person, if that person is capable of doing the job for himself. 

This makes sense.  Right?  If we cater to a toddler, that child will expect to be waited on.  That child will not grasp for independence.  We will thwart the child's motivation to "Do It Myself!" when we overhelp.  So would it not be the same for a person who's had a stroke or other health impairment?  Are not those multitudes of little, daily tasks sort of like "therapy" practice?

And yet, how much frustration do we allow to crowd in on a person's life?

When we're raising our kids, there's a question we continually bump into:  "Is he ready for this?"  Is Joey wetting his pants because he's not developmentally capable of using the potty, or is he just being stubborn about peeing in his diaper?  Is Susie refusing to stay in her bed at night because she truly needs company and comfort, or is she just being manipulative of her parents?  When your homeschooled 9-yr-old cannot read and cannot memorize his times-tables, is it because he's a lazy so-and-so (and will not do the work), or because he's a late-bloomer (and cannot do the work)? 

But that question doesn't go away when the kids grow up!

We end up with sore muscles.  Do we keep up that exercise regimen we just started?  Or do we give the sore body a rest to recuperate?

Do we give help to the neighbor who's struggling to return the grocery cart to the cart-corral?  Or do we let the man do it himself, as it is his day's exercise? 

Do we help a teenager straighten out the jumbled words coming from a brain that struggles with auditory processing?  Or do we leave her on her own to figure out why we don't understand her question?

I am capable of coming into the kitchen while carrying a bushel of tomatoes.   But I am glad when someone opens the door for me.  Just because I could do it, doesn't mean they should let me.  Or make me.  It's polite to offer help.  It's kind.  It's a courtesy that we should offer to one another.

Those of us who teach children have watched as our students reach the saturation point in their learning.  A fourth-grader wants to read a book for fun that's easy enough for second-graders. Isn't that okay?  Or do we make him read up to his ability level all the time?  A teacher lectures, but must give the students an occasional break to get out of their seats, walk around, chat for a couple of minutes, etc.  When our brains are taxed by new concepts, or hard skills or ideas, we may need a short break.  We need time for the new information and new skills to gel, to settle, to become part of us and our thinking.  That goes for post-stroke therapy, or learning to walk again after an accident.




It keeps coming back to "I can't" versus "I won't."  When someone can't, we respond very differently from when they won't. 

But how do you know which it is?

The Pressure Canner

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I've had my fill of tomatoes.  Wow!  Even two weeks ago, I didn't suspect that it would be possible to get tired of tomatoes.  Ever.  But sadly, the tomato sandwich no longer calls to me, enticing me, whispering that I should have a second, or a third, or a fourth.


Now the work of continuing to put them up.

Earlier this week I made a huge batch of chili.  BEST chili I've made in years.  I put seven quarts into the pressure canner.  Phooey.  Every single one of them leaked.  The seal on three lids stayed, but I am suspicious of those jars anyway.  Tonight I hauled out one of the jars that didn't seal; after 90 minutes in the canner, the flavor had changed.  It's still perfectly acceptable, but it's not blow-your-socks-off yummy any more. 

When I canned the salsa, I forgot to add the lemon juice.  (These days, the low-acid tomatoes require added acid to ensure safety when water-bath canning.)  So I don't know whether to put those salsa jars in the refrigerator, or whether they will be safe enough in the basement pantry for a couple of months.

I know that it's supposed to be better to can your food than freeze it.  I know canned food is safe even when the freezer fails.  I know it's easier to heat the canned food quickly.  But if I spend hours of work canning, only to botch it up and have the taste go downhill, is it okay if I just cross my fingers and hope the freezer keeps doing its job to preserve my goodies?

Me

It so happens that, due to the holiday and scheduling flukes, I ended up being off work for nearly the whole week.  My jobless week included church, a trip to visit my mom, lots of tomatoes and canning and cooking, Bible class, laundry, and some schoolwork with Maggie.  And about 20 hours before I was due to clock-in at work again, I realized:

I feel like myself again.  

I have this sense that "me" is back.

I wish I could do something about that.
Thank God I could be a stay-at-home mom and housewife as long as I did.

This Is a Good House

We have been flirting with the idea of looking for a house in town so that Maggie will be close to the library, church, the stores, the rec center, and possible employment opportunities.  When we moved here, we knew we wanted to be close enough to town to walk or bike.  But it is an hour walk -- for me or Gary -- more for Maggie.  Could we ever find another house that's comparable?

Difficult aspects of this house:
Big yard to mow.
Big deck, so it's hard to keep up.
Three miles from downtown.
No dining room; breakfast nook is tiny.

Nice aspects of this house:

Brick.  Warm.  Little wood to paint.
Newish roof.
Dry!  No mildew.
No water in our basement even when others have flooding.
Not an apartment/condo where you share walls, basement, and entryways.
Established garden space, with room for more,
and asparagus, cherries, berries, etc, are already solid.
Mortgage is decent; what's comparable in town seems pricier.
Radon mitigation system in place from former owners.
Kitties allowed outside; in town they must be leashed.
Large garage; plenty of parking space in driveway too.
Most of the windows have been replaced.
Light and bright and airy.
Fantastic neighborhood.  Safe.
Well water is healthier and tastier than city water.
No water or septic bills.
Lower property taxes than in town.
And finally, we're already here, settled.  (I hate moving.)

I can see why people downsize to smaller homes when the yardwork and housecare becomes burdensome as they age.  On the other hand, it could possibly be cheaper to pay someone else to do that rather than live in town with the extra costs there.  The big question is whether Maggie can develop enough strength and endurance to transport herself into town when necessary.  Thing is, there are two businesses here in town that work with the Dept of Vocational Rehabilitation; our current home is, at most, half-mile further from many of the homes in the center of town, and right now we're closer than many to these two business.  So while it may be convenient now to be closer to downtown, it might actually move us away from potential jobs for Mags.

Where's that crystal ball when you need it?

Mysterious Chemical

It's time for that biannual job -- weather sealant for the deck.  Step 1: clean the deck.  Don't use the power washer. Don't wear myself out with too much elbow grease.  Instead, this time I would use the chemical wood cleaner. 

I realized, when we had cleaned about 1/4 of the deck, that we were halfway through the jug of this blue cleaner-stuff.  Do a little math:   "Gary, while I keep applying this, would you run to the hardware store and buy another gallon?"  He did.  When the first jug was empty, we opened the second.

It was brown. 
And it smelled turpentiny.
And it looked oilier.

But the label was exactly the same.  I pondered whether they had changed to a new formula??  I began to use it.

But something was wrong.  Gary came over from his part of the job (where he was using the hose) to have a look.  He too thought something was wrong.   So we quit for the evening.

A couple of hours later, my hands were burning from the chemical (even though I had been wearing rubber gloves).

Nothing on the website about recalls.

The next day I called the manufacturer.  They had not heard any complaints.  They told me which jug contained the correct cleaner.  (The blue one was real.  The brown one is the Mystery Chemical.)  I took the bottle back to the store to swap it out.  I explained to the store's owner and the manager what had happened.  The guys couldn't believe it.  We checked all the jugs on the shelves; there was another weirdo one. 

Right now, my guess is that the brown liquid was one of the active ingredients in the wood cleaner, unmixed.  I hope that someday I'll find out what it was. 



Moral of the story:  I really ought to trust my gut-level instincts more.  Why do I keep rationalizing possible reasons/excuses for things?  Why do I always assume that I'm being stupid, that I'm not understanding, that the other guy is right?  It seems like I too often end up regretting it.

The Mini-MoPed Girl

Dear Neighbor,

I understand.  And I agree that most people are over-protective of children.  I understand that your 7-yr-old daughter is having a grand time zipping around the neighborhood in her new toy.  I understand that it's good for her to play outside instead of being zoned out in front of a television or video game.  I understand that a little freedom is important to her development.

But I have news for you.  A helmet is not enough protection for a child who is operating a motorized vehicle.  On public streets.  At 15-20 miles per hour. 

I assume your child does not have a license to operate.  After all, she's half the minimum driving age.  And her inability to notice oncoming traffic or to stop-&-look at intersections tells me that she'd fail a driving test if she were old enough to apply for a license.

I'm sure you are blissfully ignorant of how many close calls your daughter has had.  I doubt she realizes the close calls either.  Luckily the cars that she has come close to smashing into have seen her first, stopped, and sat still, waiting, while your daughter narrowly missed damaging their vehicles. And she goes on her merry way, unrattled.

I hope we can figure out who you are and where you live before the day the ambulance arrives.  I'd rather talk to you sooner instead of later.

Susan

Hiring the Good Employees

I am not the manager.  I am not the supervisor.  But I've seen quite a few tellers come and go during the months I've spent at my job.  Some went on to promotions.  Some quit.  Some lost their job.  And I've noticed a pattern.

There is an indefinable, unpinpointable characteristic that distinguishes the good employees from the bad.  And it's got something to do with compassion for others. 

Employees can put on a show about being polite, but for some of them the politeness comes with relatively little effort because of the concern they have for helping the other guy.

Employees can be hard workers because they know the boss will smile upon them for it, but if their hard work is done only to earn the boss's favor, it's hard to keep up the effort when he's not looking.   Others work hard because it's part of their desire to help their customers and their co-workers. 

Employees can complain behind the backs of the nasty customers, but then their crabby rebuttals [spoken surreptitiously to co-workers] affect their attitude so that it oozes out around the edges to all the customers.  Others understand that a rude customer may be "rude" simply because she didn't hear the cheery greeting to give a pleasant response, or because something tragic is going on his life.

Most people who are looking for jobs these days must apply online.  Sometimes hundreds of people apply for a handful of jobs.  There is no way for an employer to get that "feel" for what the prospective employee is like, to assess those indefinable "vibes."  And there is no way for the guy who's job-hunting to be able to "sell" himself on the basis of that most-important quality.  That's hard for the guy who needs a job.  But it's also a difficulty for the person who's doing the hiring.  I'm beginning more and more to think that, if I'm ever in a position of making hiring-decisions, my gut-level intuition should have a lot more clout than my reason and logic.

Update

Tomatoes are doing nicely.  Best year for peppers I've ever had.  We ate some awesome stuffed-pepper skillet the other day.

Maggie and I went to the science museum today.  They have a bed of nails to lie on (to demonstrate dispersion of pressure).  We tried it.  Prickly.  But not painful.

Bethany and Evan moved back to Madison.  You get a big ol' crew of workers on moving day, and yowza, the work goes fast!

Monday was a potluck tailgate party at the Brewers/Cubs game.  A whole bunch of people from church attended; it was one of the events for the 50th-anniversary celebration.  Fun night.  The best part was the home-run ball hit right to our section, the first major-league homer for that player.  Maggie has decided that she is a Cubs fan. 

This week and next I'm not scheduled for any extra hours at work.  I'm just working my own hours without any substituting.  I hope all the new tellers work out so that this stability-of-schedule lasts for a while.  This week I'm learning to balance the ATM.  Next week I will be trained on being a morning-opener.  New stuff -- hooray!

Maggie and I cleaned the garage.  Now I can use it for lunch tables for a baptism dinner someday soon.   :-)

Andrew started classes today.  Well, class.  He is taking only one this semester.  He still has his part-time pizza job.  Saturday is his first day of CNA-type home-visitation job.  

School (and thus chapel) starts next week.  Today was my last day to sleep past 6:30.  I should learn to go to bed in the evenings.

Roman Soldier?

Our town hosted "Heritage Days," a montage of historical re-enactments, all the way from ancient Greece & Rome, up to WWII.  Fun times!  And it gets better every year.

Wisconsin Senate Race

Jeff Fitzgerald.

For all you undecideds, take a look at our Assembly Speaker. He stood firm with Gov Walker.

Granted, any of the four candidates will make a good Senator.  And I will vote for whoever is running against Tammy; she's all for bigger government, higher taxes, and more govt regulations.

But choosing between the four on Tuesday?  Tommy isn't as conservative as I'd like.  Mark has pulled some shenanigans in recent elections, so that he's not my top choice.  Hovde sounds good in many ways, but he's unproven; without a voting record (and being what I consider an out-of-stater) I have no way to know whether he's feeding me a line he thinks will gain my vote, or if he's genuine.

Jeff Fitzgerald has endured the nastiness thrown at him, and still has governed well.   I encourage you to vote for him on Tuesday.

Romney-Ryan Rally

I haven't been in a traffic jam this bad in years.  Even when on my rare forays into Chicagoland, I haven't seen this kind of traffic for a long long time.  But people were polite and safe and (for the most part) patient drivers, so that helps.

There were, of course, protesters.  I counted 23.  I may have missed 1 or 2.  I wondered how the network news would report the number of protesters.

Of all the folks who spoke (Congressmen, national leaders, state leaders, etc.), Scott Walker and Paul Ryan received the most enthusiastic reception.  The crowd is reported to have been 8000 to 10,000+ (and since we needed tickets to enter, they actually have a count of attendees, and not just a guess).  

What to Call the In-Laws

When you're a kid, you don't know what adults call their in-laws.  After all, parents usually refer to their in-laws as "Grandma" and "Grandpa" around the munchkins. 

So when you get all grown-up and acquire yourself some in-laws, you have to figure out what to call them.  It feels funny to start calling someone "Dad" who used to be "Mr Lastname."  But hey, what may feel funny at first is something you get used to eventually.  The problem comes when there are objections.

Maybe the bride's mom doesn't want her daughter calling another woman "Mom."  Maybe she thinks, "That's my spot!"  Maybe the groom feels like it would be betraying his father to call somebody else "Dad."  Maybe you don't feel comfortable enough around the spouse's family to use such close & endearing names.  Maybe [gasp] there's some dislike. 

When Gary and I got married, we didn't know what to do, and nobody told us.  When I asked about calling my mother-in-law "Mom," I was told no, but that I could call her "Mother."  (Unfortunately, to me, "Mother" is a term of exasperation, rather like when a parent uses a child's full name; kids usually know that they're in trouble when they're summoned with the middle name and last name in addition to the first name.  That's how "Mother" feels coming out of my mouth.  Because "Mother" sounded disrespectful to me, I didn't want to use it for my mother-in-law.  Maybe I should have anyway.) 

When two of my girls got married, we didn't know what to tell them.  We did tell them that we thought "Mom" and "Dad" would be good, but that it was up to them because we recognized that it might make the husbands uncomfortable or make the guys' parents uncomfortable. 

In hindsight, I think we botched it. 

There is a change of relationship, a change of family, new connections being created, at a wedding.  The bride has to get used to introducing herself with a new name.  She has to get used to a new signature.  The couple has to get used to living together instead of separately in their parents' homes.  Calling the in-laws "Mom" and "Dad" is just one of those changes. 

So I'm saying it for all you yet-unmarried youngsters who are my kids' friends.  There's a theological reality here.  When you refer to your spouse's parents with words/nicknames for parents, you are teaching yourself something about who these people are and what your relationship is.  If they object to being called "Mom" and "Dad," maybe they need to learn something about this new family-relationship.  Neither should your parents object to your in-laws being called "Mom" and "Dad."  You've probably got decades together, through kids and grandkids, through illnesses and moves and job changes and fights and reconciliations and school plays and Little League games and deaths and sorrows and joys.  Y'know, "for better or for worse, ..." and all that. 

And through it all, it would be good to know that this person who raised your husband (or wife)  IS "Mom" or "Dad."  Not just to your spouse, but to you too.  And using the words helps you to believe it.

So say it.  Squirm if you must.  If you can't help it and turn red in the face, so be it.  But say "Mom" and "Dad" anyway.  In 40 years, you'll be glad you did.

Wisconsin Homeschoolers

Although the DPI now has available the online census form on which we report the enrollment of our homeschools, now is not the time to file. 

If your child has already been enrolled in a conventional school for the 2012-13 school year (even though he would not yet have attended), you may not begin homeschooling until the government receives a copy of your PI-1206.  If your child has been enrolled for the upcoming school-year, file your 1206 this week or next.

But for everybody else (those of us who unenrolled the kid last spring, or those of us who were homeschooling last spring and even before) we do NOT file the PI-1206 until after the third Friday in September. 

I know some of you want to get things checked off your to-do list.  I know some of you don't want to wait, for fear you may forget.  Put it on your calendar for September 26 or 28 or October 3.  Like all the other schools in the state, we count our enrollment on the third Friday of September.  Wait until that day, please.

Arnica Gel

Because I bruise easily, I know that every single bump into a corner of a counter-top, a piece of furniture, or a car door, will result in a bruise. A tube of arnica gel is sitting in my bedroom to alleviate carpal tunnel pain.  As I had done with my inadvertent aloe experiments, a week ago I experimented with the arnica.  Arnica on only one of the bruised spots.  The newer bruise (which was just as deep, with the same amount of pain as the older bruise) healed much faster, much more comfortably. 

How does it DO that?!

That arnica is awesome stuff!  And no, I don't get paid by the Arnica Foundation to wax eloquent about this amazing herb.   :-)

Alia's Axe

So while we're babysitting today, the 3-yr-old comes from the garage, onto the deck, with a hatchet. Andrew's eyebrows pop up, and he queries, "So ... what are you doing with the axe, Alia?"

"I want to chop down a tree."

Naturally! Silly us. Why else would a kid want an axe?

I explain, "You may not chop down a tree. I want my trees!"

"But.... But ..... I want to chop down a tree. Why do you have an axe if you don't chop down trees??"

"For chopping the branches that fall down after a windstorm."

She trots back to the garage and puts the hatchet away.

So as we're in the kitchen, putting away the food and beginning to wash the lunch dishes, I'm thinking that we really need to keep a close eye on this kid. Then Andrew gasps from the deck. Alia had picked up the cat (the younger one, the mild-mannered one, the suck-it-up-and-take-whatever-comes one) and tossed her in the kiddie pool. Surprisingly enough, the cat wasn't as pleased with the pool as was the kid in the bathing suit.

Then we went to the playground. The nice, safe playground. LOL.

Peach Pie

So when the peach pie or the apple pie contains the fruit-skin,
when the mashed potatoes have skins in them,
does that mean
a) the cook is nobly concerned about good nutrition and not wasting the food,
or
b) the cook is too lazy to peel the fruit?

I vote for choice A.  Yes.  I do.  You believe that, don't you?

Making Mistakes

I think it might be worse to watch somebody else make a mistake at work than to botch it myself.

Almost half of our tellers are new in June or July.  Two were on their own for the first time this week.  The person I was working with today is such a sweetie.  It was really busy.  And, as luck would have it, she ended up with her drawer being off.  She hadn't made a big error, but it was enough to trouble her.  I wanted so much to hug her and assure her.  I wanted to make it all better for her.  I remember those mistakes happening all-too-frequently when I was new.  I wished that things had gone differently during the morning; I wondered if there was something I could have done to be more helpful to her.  I feel awful that she was off, and it wasn't even my mistake.

When I was new, they kept telling me, "Everybody makes mistakes."  That didn't make it any better at the time.  But now that I've been there for a while, and I can see what the new girl is going through,  it's true: everybody does make mistakes when they're learning!

When I was new, they kept assuring me that I would learn from my mistakes.  I didn't like that.  I knew it was true.  But I hated it.  In fact, I still remember my second-grade teacher giving us a homework assignment to come up with a list of homonyms.  I of course, in overdrive, came up with a list of not 10 or 20, but nearly 100.  My list included "our" and "are" as homonyms.  It was wrong!  [gasp]  [By the way, Teacher didn't listen to how folks in that section of Illinois pronounced "are" and "our."]  I still remember being WRONG about that.  Of course, Mr Choir Director appreciates that because I make sure to sing "our" with the correct pronunciation.  And sometimes I edit his writing, correcting the same mistake (because he was raised amongst people with the same accent).  All because of my mortification that my second-grade teacher caught me being WRONG.

During my senior year when I was taking a programming class, my computer program didn't run as it was supposed to.  I couldn't figure out what was wrong.   I went to the prof.  He asked me what I'd done to debug the program.  "What?  What do you mean, 'debug the program'?"  He asked me what I'd done before, when my programs hadn't run properly.  I was stunned.  They'd never not-run before.  I was nearing the end of my computer-science major, and I had never debugged a program.  I'd always gotten it right from the get-go.  That's not actually a good way to learn to solve problems, eh?

I am still stunned by the parable of the lost sheep.  For decades I had wondered about how there is "more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 just persons who need no repentance."   God is not like me.  I would much rather have my kids obey me than to screw up and break things and be sassy and then ask for forgiveness.  I don't understand this verse: how can God delight in repentance more than He delights in so much obedience that there's no need for repentance?!  I mean, He certainly wants us to obey and do what is right!  But this verse -- there is more joy in heaven.... 

I don't like mistakes.
I like to be right.
I like to do things the right way so that there's no need to fix it.
I want so desperately to comfort those who are grieving
over their inability to do the job perfectly.
I know we learn from our mistakes.

I still don't like mistakes.

Maybe I'll get it straightened out in my mind before I die.

Proper-Fitting Bras

Heads-up to guys: This is a girls' topic.

About a decade ago, the doctor sent me for tests.  She was quite sure I didn't have cancer, but needed to eliminate that as a possibility before looking into more reasonable explanations for the pain I was experiencing.   The mammogram technician told me that she sees many women who are having problems with their undergarments.  She suggested trying an alternative-type undergarment, and that has been my only option for years.  It doesn't make a person look attractive, but it seemed the best choice given the circumstances.

Recently, a friend pointed out Breakout Bras and their advice on sizing and finding a proper fit.  Hey!  This is fantastic!  Nobody ever told me this before!

Y'know how They always told you to measure your rib cage and then add 4-5" to find your band size?  No!  That's wrong.  That's how I ended up with poor fit, pain, and straps that kept slipping off my shoulders.  Breakout Bras says to measure your rib cage, and then start shopping for the size that reflects that measurement.  And it works.  Awesome!

The Kids Pulled It Off!

We got stuck with a dentist appointment for Maggie on a day that I had to work.  But that was okay: Andrew could drive her.  Then Andrew had to go in to make arrangements for his new job (CNA work for at-home assistance for the elderly or disabled).  But Katie was willing to borrow our car and drive Maggie to the dentist (even when we forgot to switch car seats into the van, and she had to come chase them down).  I dropped off Andrew at his appointment.  Katie waited for Maggie, and then all the girls hit the beach while waiting for Andrew's appointment to conclude.  It took longer than it should have.  Many thanks to Katie for her help!!  Who needs Hermione's time-turner when Katie helps us out this way?!

Garden

Enough aloe, and the sunburn will soak in, turn to tan, and won't peel!





I thought I would have three days in a row off this week.  Since late May, I had been hoping to go visit Mom this week.  But somehow I ended up scheduled to work Wednesday afternoon.  As Murphy's Law would dictate, business was slow, and I stood around bored for most of the afternoon.  What a bummer!

But Maggie has been motivated to overcome the weeds.  The garden got SO out-of-control during June's vacation and symposium, and then with July's heat and our reluctance to go do garden work and give ourselves heat stroke.   :-)  So for the past week, we have been working together to make a dent in the jungle. 

The patch by the grapes and blueberries has been thoroughly weeded, mulch laid down, and a few small strips planted.  Cilantro, beets, lettuce -- because it will be cooling down pretty soon  -- right?

The strawberry patch and the asparagus patch have been thoroughly weeded.  Part of it is mulched.  We need to move a few straggler berry plants back into the proper rows, and then finish mulching.

The tomato patch (where live the cucumber, zucchini, basil, and peppers) is weeded and has mulch in all the places I want it.  We still need to till under the cilantro patch and plant something that will grow before snow & frost.

The blackberries are partly weeded.  And the raspberries need lots of attention: pruning and weeding and mulch.  

The patches that have been weeded are drying out so fast!  I know the weeds hog the nutrients and moisture, supposedly harming my plants.  But the weeds also provide ground cover so that the ground stays moist there.  I'm not entirely convinced at this point that we haven't done harm in this drought to have yanked the weeds.



Not enough blackberries to make a pie or a batch of jam.  But there are enough to graze for some treats.  The raspberries were even thinner than that.  The grapes, however, are looking nice.  The tomatoes are beginning to come in and taste oh-so-wonderful!  There are only a few pumpkins, but that will be okay.  I loved the romaine we grew in spring; I hope the heat now won't be too much for a fall crop.

The heat and lack of rain seems to have forestalled the pest damage from Japanese beetles.  It also seems to have significantly delayed the fungus problems everybody around here faces.  So I think most of the tomato crop may ripen before the plants succumb this year.  Woo hoo!

Poll

Gary and I aren't in the habit of hanging around the house in our underwear.  Our kids have learned in the last couple of years that several of their friends' dads do.  (Come to think of it, we don't know about friends' moms.)

An argument arose yesterday.  Is the decency-standard different for girls and guys? I think in public it is.  But what about in the privacy of home?  I suspect that girls are less likely to wander the house in their underwear, but I may be wrong.  If the girl thinks all the guys are gone or asleep, and then is seen in her undies [gasp!] whose problem is it?  Should the female take greater care in modesty?  Or should the male realize that, if he can wander the house in his boxers, he shouldn't hold others to a higher standard?

What do you say?

Avoiding a Traffic Ticket

You know that "Move Over" law?   If an emergency vehicle or tow truck is stopped on the side of the road, we are supposed to move over or slow down.  Well, "move over" doesn't just mean to move over; it means to change lanes completely.

I talked to someone who got a whoppin' fine and three points on her license today because she needed to be in the right lane to exit the highway, so she moved over to the middle of the road to give wide berth to the police car and the tow truck which were sitting on the shoulder.    But she did not change lanes so that her car was completely in the left lane.  That was the reason for the ticket.  When she explained to the policeman that she was exiting and had to be in the right lane, he told her that she should have stayed on the highway and proceeded to the next exit ramp. 

I also did not know until today that slowing down is not an option if you can change lanes.  But if you can't change lanes, how much must we slow down?  That's not clear either.

So there ya go.  Just sharing the warning.

Local Politics

Oh, the level of vitriol against a man who's just trying to look at some out-of-the-box options!  Not to enact them.  Just to ask if we should consider them.

I have been thankful for the leadership of our town chairman, Matt.  He doesn't want to play political games.  He's as fiscally conservative as I am.  He's got loads of common sense.  He's not a fool, to be taken advantage of.  He's good!  

The problem is that our township and the village within its borders have been fussing with each other for decades.  Town properties can be (and have been) annexed by other villages, depleting our tax base.  Our town doesn't have the authority to make plans for itself; we have to get approval from the neighboring villages and from the county.  We can protect ourselves and be more self-governing if we have village status.  Recently our township attempted to become incorporated into a village, but the village-within-our-borders thwarted the attempt (in violation of the current Border Agreement between the two entities). 

So now the question is: Shall we look into the possibility of a merger between the town and the village?  It would be a way to achieve village status.  It might be better than being "eaten up" slowly by neighboring villages because we'd go into the merger as equal partners.  But there would be some serious downsides too.  In a few weeks, we'll have an advisory referundum on whether we should even begin to look into this.  This is not a vote on whether to consolidate with the village.  It's merely a vote to determine whether we should explore the possibility.

Last night was the third town meeting on the subject.  It was the first non-Wednesday, and thus the first Gary and I were able to attend. Some of the folks from church made good points against looking into consoliation.  The county exec (who was speaking in favor of consolidation) made the strongest case to me to vote against consolidation.  (Bigger = better!  Progress!  Numbers!)   But the main things that I saw at last night's meeting:

a)  Grudges are powerful.  And long-lasting.  And they blind people.  There's a place for being cautious and wary when someone in the past has done dirt to you.  There's certainly a place for "trust but verify"!  But to say that we can never even talk about ending a feud?  Sad.

b)  I'm shocked at the anger against a man who's wanting to look at options for protecting the township he's in charge of.  I shouldn't be.  Gary said the same thing has happened to him.  When he would float ideas at his previous congregation for ways to reach out to the community, or point out repairs that needed to be made to the building, or suggest changes to the confirmation program, so often people refused to even consider it.  "We can't even discuss the pros and cons of what we have now and what I'm suggesting?"  Nope. 

I still don't know how I'll vote on the referendum.  Short of seeing into the future, there's no way to know what's the best course of action.  Both sides have really good arguments on how to save money, reduce government, ensure freedoms.  But we don't know what decisions will be made by neighboring villages, who will be sitting on town boards, and what kind of decisions will be made if/when we appeal the decision on last year's incorporation effort.

Is He Telling the Truth?

When one of my co-workers asked a few weeks ago, "So, did anybody try to get in while I was gone?" and "Did you see the bad guys anywhere in the neighborhood?" it sounded to me like he was joking.  But he persisted.  I was confused.  He then informed me that there had been a robbery at a bank in the area.  I didn't believe him.  I thought it was a stupid joke.  He insisted it was real.  I was skeptical.

So a little later, I asked the supervisor.  She confirmed that there had been a robbery at a nearby bank.  She was a bit confused that I didn't believe what I'd been told, and that I wanted to check on the story.  That's when I realized something kind of unsettling -- I no longer assume I'll be told the truth.  I've heard too many lies. 

That's sad.




By the way, for those in the metro area, the serial robber was caught.

Gimme Nouns!

Imagine a paragraph with 37 pronouns, 0 nouns, and 14 nondescript verbs (such as "have," "got," "was," and "did").  For some reason, I seldom understand tales told in that fashion.  I guess I'm just flawed that way. 

Wrath of God

Even though we are sinners, parents know the conflicting feelings when kids do things to hurt themselves.  Maybe the child wandered off and got lost at Target.  Maybe the preschooler ran into the busy street.  Maybe the toddler reached out to put her hand on the red-hot burner on the electric stove.   Maybe the teenager fell in with the wrong crowd and is hanging out where crimes are committed.  The parents love the child.  The parents want to protect the child.  Mixed in with all this love and protection is some anger.  It's not sinful anger (although it's certainly possible for sinful anger to be mixed in too).  There is justified, righteous anger that the one you love --more than you love yourself-- is hurting himself.

Being angry does NOT mean the parents don't love.  Quite the opposite.  If the parents didn't love so profoundly, there wouldn't be anger. 

I spent decades confused by what it is to "fear, love, and trust" in God.  But when I experienced what it is to fear, love, and trust a person, I began to understand how those are not conflicting verbs.  Now I'm beginning to see, in the same way, that the experience of motherhood helps me have an inkling of how wrath and love co-exist.

Psalm 85 tells us that
the Lord has forgiven the iniquity of His people. 
He has covered all their sin. 
He has taken away all His wrath. 
He has turned from the fierceness of His anger.   

If He has "taken away all His wrath," that means there was wrath.  The forgiveness of sin took away His wrath toward us.  But it was there, and something caused it to cease. 

I suppose it's not reasonable to think that a loving God could be wrathful.  But there are lots of things the Bible says that our puny, reasonable minds cannot comprehend: the trinity and the incarnation for starters.  We don't jettison the clear words of Scripture just because our finite reason cannot understand.

Kitchen Herbs

Tomatoes are beginning to trickle in from the garden.  I want basil to go with it!  But my basil plants are a whopping 1-2" high right now.  We looked at the local grocer.  Of the two stores in town, one didn't carry fresh basil, and the other had a tiny, skinny box of organic basil for $3.  Three bucks for about 10 basil leaves?  [gasp, hyperventilate, preparing to rant...]

We asked one of the employees, "Is there any non-organic basil?  The organic is a bit pricey."  No, they didn't carry any other brands, but they carried live kitchen herbs, including basil.  Wow!  I bought a pot of basil and a pot of rosemary.  Even if the basil didn't grow, even if all I harvested was what was on the plant that very day, it was still twice as much fresh basil for a smaller price than that expensive little boxful.

The basil is doing great.  The rosemary has dried up and looks pitiful.  But if I can make this work, it may mean basil and fresh cilantro through the winter.  It's a 3x3x3" container (with holes in the bottom) with several basil plants growing in it, and it sits on a dish.  The instructions say to keep snipping off the tops of plants to harvest leaves, and to keep water in the saucer/bowl so that the soil soaks up the moisture.

Huh.  I always was pulling leaves off the sides of my herbs.  I guess I should've been chopping their tops off.  Well, this is good to know, whether for inside or outside herbs.

Basil on my sandwich tomorrow!  

The Apostles and Prophets

The glorious company of the apostles praise Thee.
The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise Thee.
The noble army of martyrs praise Thee.
The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge Thee.

te Deum

... built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, 

Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone.  

Ephesians 2:20

Why are the apostles listed first?  In time, the prophets came first.  

Sometimes, facing problems allows for a sharpening of language.  Sometimes, dealing with controversy allows us to come to clearer understandings than we had before.  

Pastor pointed out recently that the apostles are listed before the prophets because they had been brought to clearer understandings.  The prophets were important; they taught the truth; they were God's messengers.  But the apostles were even greater. Because of the passage of time, they could see things the prophets hadn't.  They knew what the prophets had handed down, but then also knew more.  Ancientness is not necessarily the place where we find purest truth.   

Sometimes, we really do stand on the shoulders of those who have gone before.

Plan for Exercise?

Over the past week, I finally succumbed to the idea that we could (should?) join a gym.  Maggie needs exercise.  We're not managing to make it happen.  What if we joined the gym that's about a mile from the house?  No more "it's too hot to go for an exercise-walk" or "it's too cold" during winter or "it's too rainy" (which we haven't had ANY problem with this summer).

Curves requires a year-long contract.  Snap doesn't.  Snap is less than half the distance as Curves.  So we dropped by today to sign up.  But registration had to be online.  And I couldn't register Maggie for the one-month-trial because she wasn't old enough.  When I asked the local gym, they suggested getting a free trial for me and then bringing Maggie as my guest.  But that means we'd have to be there only during the hours they are staffed which (given my work hours) gives us only two afternoons a week.  Not exactly a realistic trial.  But maybe better than nothing?

Maggie begged to not join.  (She really likes following the rules to a T.  And this would've involved several exceptions to the rules.)  We finally decided we'd take another crack at exercising at home.  Walks will have to be in the morning before the temperature of the air becomes higher than body temperature.  Same for biking.  We checked out some Netflix instant-play exercises videos.  For the most part, they move too fast for us to figure out.  Move your arms how while you're doing what with that sliding dance step?! But time may help with that. 

We have to start small.  With achievable goals.  But it's such a long haul to see improvement ....

Things You Don't Want to Remember

More than 30 years have passed.  I still remember. 

The other day some friends pointed me to an article on watching horror movies and other scenes which impress themselves on our minds.  And I remembered.

"We" were me, my new husband, my father-in-law, and the guy who'd been Gary's roommate the previous year.  We'd been in Washington for a week for my brother-in-law's wedding.  We'd had some late nights visiting and celebrating.  It was a long drive home.  We needed to stop.  We'd been watching billboards, hunting a hotel.  We'd been exiting the highway, scanning for signs of hotels.  Nothing.  At exit after exit, we were finding nothing.  Our eyes were getting heavy.  We really needed to stop for the night.

Finally an ad for a hotel.  Phew!  We took the next exit, followed the signs, pulled into the hotel's parking lot ... and began to wonder.  This didn't look like the kind of hotel I wanted to stay in.  Small.  Not well kept-up.  Hourly rates.  Yeah -- hourly rates.  But we were SO tired.  We checked in.*

We showered, climbed into bed, turned on the television.  And our eyes about popped out of our skulls.  We turned it off.  But 30-some years later, I still remember what was on that screen.  Just that one small experience makes me realize how important it is to guard our eyes and our imaginations from pictures that cannot be erased. 

I still remember being a child terrified of "The Wizard of Oz."  I still remember some of those Godzilla movies.  I cannot understand the popularity of the zombie movies today.  I've never watched "Friday the 13th" or "The Exorcist" or any of those other horror films.  My mom told me we should watch "Saving Private Ryan" (which is history, not billed as Horror) but I just couldn't. 

I have friends who don't want to watch "The Passion of the Christ."  Even though I can't understand (because the awful things in that movie are our life and our salvation and our joy, and because the theology embedded in that movie is gorgeously rich) I do understand because it's vivid, and it's emotional, and it's something that cannot be erased from your mind when once you've seen it.

But when the reason to see a movie is merely for entertainment (?) or because everyone else is seeing it, why do we willingly expose ourselves to such nastiness?  For fun?  Something's wrong.



* The kicker came the next morning.  When we checked out and hopped back on the interstate, the very next exit had several big-name hotels.  If we'd only held out for 15 more minutes.... 

Comfort Foods

Oh, they tell us not to give a kid a cookie to cheer him up.  They say it's bad to find comfort in food.  Depressed?  Don't you dare have a bowl of ice cream.  In a cranky mood?  Don't find your solace in making your favorite supper.  M&M's when life seems overwhelming?  Shame on you.

BAH.  Humbug.

Personally, I like taking comfort from comfort foods.

But then you get older.  Pizza may make your mouth happy and lift your spirits.  But your stomach says, "Excuse me?  Pizza?  It's 9:30 in the evening, you fool!"  Snickers make you feel better for 10-20 minutes, but then you pay for it later.

So where do you find comfort when you know that you really really really ought to exercise self-control, and not have that rum&coke, not have that 8 oz bag of candy bars, or not have that third slice of pizza?  (Did I say "third"?   Uh... I meant "second."  Well, no.  I meant "first."  Shoot.  You're never going to believe me, are you?)

The chocolate cookies on the counter are calling my name.

"Hey, Pastor!'

Alia has been leery around Pastor.  He has a beard; she doesn't like beards.  She knows enough of her catechism to recite and get several stars on the chart.  But she won't do it.  Today (again!) Katie thought she might.  But no.  Alia didn't want to talk to Pastor.  He tried engaging her, playing around a bit, but no, she would alternately giggle and cry. 

And then, when the stroller was packed up and Katie was headed out the door, she started with, "Hey, Pastor!"  He was trying to do several things at the moment, as well as trying to talk to the organist about one thing and the secretary about another.  But Alia persisted in a quiet little voice, "Hey, Pastor!  Hey!  Pastor!!"  I flagged him down and pointed to the child. 

She began prattling on to him about going to the library, that they were having a picnic-storyhour today, and they had blankets that Nanna gave them.  He asked about what they were eating, and she talked to him about that.  Pretty soon, the conversation ended, and Alia left with a smile.

She didn't recite today.  But she had a conversation with Pastor.  This is a happy thing!

Who Is Like Me?

Driving today, I hit up different radio stations.  Every one of them was discussing the political maneuvering du jour.  Apparently one side wants to convince me that a certain candidate is a gazillionaire, so he's not like me.  He has Swiss bank accounts, so he's not like me.  He travels the world, so he's not like me.  He hasn't had to worry about being laid off, not having an income, so he's not like me.  And so forth.  And so on.  And so on.  And so on ....

Now, whether I like or dislike this rich dude, whether I agree with him or with his detractors, that's irrelevant for the moment.  What I noticed is one underlying presumption in this argument:

What's "like me" is assumed to be "what I have."  

Silly me -- I thought that "what's like me" had a whole lot more to do with my values, my thoughts, my opinions, and my perspective on societal issues and political issues and religious issues. 



So, what makes somebody "like me"? 
Having the same stuff? 
Or having the same ideas?



That in itself speaks volumes about the perspectives of those who are trying to woo me.

Disliking Hymns?

Again and again, parents & Sunday School teachers & pastors find that they can influence likes.  Generally, we like what we know.  Teach the kids "I Just Wanna Be a Sheep [baa baa baa baa]" and be enthusiastic over that campsong, and the kids will like it.  Teach them "Triune God, Be Thou Our Stay" and be enthusiastic over the hymn, and the kids will like that.

And don't you deny it.  That's the whole psychology behind pop musicians trying to finagle the DJ's into giving their songs a lot of play-time.  What people know is what we end up liking.  

Normally, people aren't as fond of a hymn the first time they hear it as they are the tenth time.  As we learn the tune and have a chance to meditate more and more on the text, normally the hymn grows on us.

So, then, if I find myself disliking a hymn the more we sing it, might that mean there's something wrong with that hymn?

Christ and the Ten Commandments

Okay, we know that the Ten Commandments show us how we have sinned so that we know we need a Savior. 

We probably also know that the Ten Commandments show us what love looks like.  It shows us what Jesus did, how He lived, and what a holy life looks like. 

But there's also something else the Ten Commandments show us about Jesus.  Not just the good He did.  But also the injustice He suffered. 


"You shall not kill."  We killed Him.

"You shall not commit adultery."  We so often go a-whoring after other gods.  We didn't want our Bridegroom.

"You shall not bear false witness."  People told plenty of lies about Jesus during His earthly ministry.  And during His trial.  And during His crucifixion.  And people are still telling lies about Him today. 

And so on and so forth with the other commandments.   They do indeed show us the good He did.  And they show us the bad we have done to each other.   But the commandments also show us, in the cross, the bad that the Son of God endured from us, for us.

WATER

I love plumbing.  I love it when I can wash my hands by turning a faucet handle, and the water just comes pouring out the spigot.  I love being able to flush when we use the toilet.  I love being able to do one load of laundry, instead of cramming all the laundry in during the evening while we're taking showers.  I love being able to wet a washcloth to wipe crumbs off the kitchen counter. 

And we don't have water all over the basement from leaks.  We still have an intermittent problem with the hot-water tank, occasionally getting small puddles on the basement floor. But the well's pressure tank is intact and operative -- and not spewing water.  And the well's pump is repaired.  After nine days of struggling with water problems, I am again appreciative of the joys of indoor plumbing that works!  Ahhhhh.....

The Whole Truth

Remember the story of the woman with the flow of blood?  When she touched the hem of Jesus' garment, she was healed.  When Jesus asked, "Who touched me?" she came forward with fear and trembling and "told him the whole truth."

I always thought that meant she owned up to having been the one who touched Him, the one to whom His power went out.  Or maybe "the whole truth" even included her history, and what kind of medical problem she had, and how long she'd been suffering with it. 

But that's not really the whole truth, is it?

The whole truth is all that and more:  That she's a sinner.  That she was unclean.  That she made Him unclean by touching Him.  That she trusted in Him to be merciful.  That she knew He could heal and that He was a compassionate lord who desires to heal.  That He came for her.  That's the whole truth.

The Customer from Hell

It was me.  I know the salesmen were talking about how horrible I was, how unreasonable, consoling the poor dude who got stuck with me.  I'm sure the salesman's wife got an earful tonight when the guy got home from work.

Philip has been car shopping.  Late Saturday he found one that looked like a decent prospect.  He asked me to check it out with him on Monday after work.  But with my work schedule, it seemed better if I checked it out Monday morning when I went that direction for groceries anyway.  If it looked good, I could take it to our mechanic to check over.  Then we could discuss it Monday evening and, if all things panned out, he could go ahead and buy it. 

The trouble started when I asked to take it to my mechanic.  Now, understand that this is one of the biggest car dealers in the metro area.  The salesmen assured me that their cars are all perfectly safe, sound, solid, reliable. They wouldn't sell anything less. 

Yeah, right.  He's a SALESman.

I talked to our mechanic to see if he was available this afternoon.  I asked him about the guy's claim.  He actually busted out laughing.  Truly.  He did.  Which confirmed my resolve.  After finishing my errands, I went back to the car dealer and said I would like to take it to my mechanic.  The salesman assured me that it was unnecessary but that they had nothing to hide, so we'd go ahead and arrange it.  He said all I had to do was put down a $100 deposit and sign the sales contract.

Excuse me?  Sign the sales contract?  I didn't say I wanted to buy it.  I said I wanted to have the mechanic check it over, so as to gain information that would help us decide whether Philip wanted to buy it. 

Well, he couldn't just let me take a car.

Understandable.  But he wanted me to sign a sales contract?  With a price agreed upon?  And everything filled out and signed?  I told him I'd have to read it.  Thoroughly.  And that I wasn't okay with it.  Wasn't there any other way?  Nope, there wasn't.

So I'm reading the contract.  Slowly.  Carefully.  He's getting frustrated.  I'm getting frustrated.  I asked if they could drive the car to my mechanic, because I understood they might not trust me to take the car off the lot.  Nope, they couldn't do that either.  I had to sign the sales contract.  When I got to the bottom of the minute-print contract, irritated, near tears, frustrated, I saw the line that said everything in fine(r) print on the back of the contract was being agreed to too.  WHAT?  I said aloud, "You mean I have to read the whole back of this thing too?!"  And I heaved a huge sigh. 

The salesman told me repeatedly, "You're overthinking this.  You're looking at this too deeply.  Just sign the paper, and you can take the car to your mechanic."  And I kept responding, "This is a legal document that obligates me to pay you X-thousand dollars.  This is not a minor deal."  The salesman assured me that it was no such thing, that they wouldn't hold me to it if I didn't want the car, yada yada yada.

Hey, what is a contract then? 

In exasperation he finally threw up his hands and said, "Well, fine, if you don't want the car, just leave."  Boy.  Salesmen don't do that.  I responded, still near tears, "That's just what my husband told me when I phoned him about this situation." 

He talked to the manager, came back to the desk, and told me to just take the car.  Just take it.  Just go.  Here are the keys.  Just tell me where you're taking it and what time to expect you back.  And remember, since there's no contract signed, I could bring the car back, having decided we want it, and find that he's already sold it to somebody else.  He intimated that was a risk I really did not want to take.

Really?  Hey, I was way more comfortable with that risk than with the risk of signing a contract that this SALESman claimed wouldn't be binding. 

Unreasonable of me to not want to sign the contract to buy?  Gary didn't think so.  Gary asked some co-workers, and they all seemed to think it was unreasonable of the dealership to want a signed contract before having the car checked out by a trusted mechanic.  But that is not what the salesmen thought. 

So I was the nasty one.  The one who wanted to read the contract before signing.  (How unreasonable of me!)  The one who didn't want to be arm-twisted into making a commitment that they insisted was no commitment.  How rude of me.

Y'know, I'm not likely to meander through their lot the next time we start looking for a car.






Nearing the end of the day, it appears that Philip is buying that car.  Our mechanic pointed out that the car is in pretty good shape overall but would need rear brakes.   So presumably the dealership will be checking out the brakes tomorrow.  If the brakes were missed in the safety inspection, the business will fix them.  If not, and if the car is legally able to be sold, they will give him a voucher for brake repair to be used later, at their cost, with no profit to them.  But we have to wait another day to see if this is how things actually pan out.

The Wonders of a Washcloth

Someone who shall remain unnamed was complaining to me a few months ago about the bath towel getting stinky.  I kept wondering how a towel could be taking on body odor when you just washed yourself, and you're clean, and the towel is only for drying.   A puzzle to me!

I was raised to use a soapy washcloth in the shower or bath.  Some people use just a bar of soap to lather up.  Hey, I remember seeing those Zest commercials back in the day!  I always wondered where the washcloth was!  In these recent toasty summer days (in which people may be adding a quickie-shower or two to the regular daily shower) I made a discovery.  When you rub yourself with the bar of soap, lathering up, you don't get as clean as when you use a washcloth.  Stinky sweaty body doesn't come as clean.  And the towel takes some of that stink from the body.  Ick.

Hopefully this means we have discovered how to keep the towels fresh for more than a couple of days.

Don't Put on Two Tunics

Jesus sends out the apostles to preach (Mark 6).  He tells them not to take money.  Just a staff and the sandals on their feet.  "Don't put on two tunics."  Just the one. 

There is only one robe of righteousness.  Paul tells us to "put on" Christ (Galatians 3).  Yeah, yeah, I know -- Jesus really was telling them not to take a change of clothes but only to take what they had on their backs.  But still ... don't you suppose it might have a dual meaning?

The Opposite Problem

When Herod wanted to know where to find this interloper, this baby that the Magi were wanting to worship, he asked the dudes who knew the Scriptures.  Pastor pointed out in class today that, even though he didn't believe, Herod knew that the Bible would tell him the correct answer to what he wanted to know.

That happens again and again.  Balak didn't believe in the Lord, but he paid off one of the Lord's prophets to curse the Lord's people.  The people of Jericho didn't believe in the Lord, but they knew what the Lord had been doing on behalf of His people.   There are many other examples of unbelievers who knew the Bible to be a reliable source of historic information.

But look at what is rampant in the Church today.  Today we have Christians (who presumably do believe in the Lord) who don't believe the Scriptures to be reliable information.  "Did God really say...?"  They don't believe that Jesus did miracles.  They don't believe that Jonah was swallowed by the large fish.  They don't believe in a six-day creation.  They don't believe the children of Israel crossed the Red Sea in the miraculous way described in Exodus. 

Isn't it weird that even unbelievers used to know the veracity of the Scriptures, and today even the believers do not believe them?  The devil is surely pattin' himself on the back over this one.

Chuza

In the movie Passion of the Christ, I really like how we see Christians in Pilate's court and in Herod's court.  They're there, observing with grief, but still serving their employer in their stations of life. Seeing as how the apostles had disappeared, some other disciples reported what happened during Jesus' trials before Herod and Pilate. 

Luke 8 tells us that Mary Magdalene, Susannah, and Johanna (the wife of Chuza who was Herod's steward) hung around Jesus and the guys and provided monetarily for the group. 

One of our recent Bible stories for daily prayer was the story of John's beheading.  But Peter wasn't there at the party.  And since Mark was from Judah and not Galilee, he wouldn't have been there either.  Somebody who was there had to report that story.  And that probably would have been Chuza. 


This goes under the category of "We are not Enthusiasts.  The Holy Spirit works through means."

The Nice Thing about My Job

My real work --the work at home-- is never-ending.  It's nigh onto impossible to catch up on the cooking, the cleaning, the homeschooling, the laundry, the repairs, the errands, the gardening.  Sometimes I'm caught up, as it were, in one of those areas.  But never all of them.  Never even most of them.  Oh, let's get real, I can't even remember being pretty much up-to-current in more than two of those things at once.  That gets wearying.

The easy thing about going away to a job is that it's clear-cut.  You go punch the time clock.  You do your work.  Sometimes there you get everything done.  [gasp!]  And then you might be able to twiddle your thumbs or surreptitiously flip through a magazine until the next customer arrives and you snap back to efficiency again. And at the end of the day, when you're done, you're actually done.

So after a week of going to my paid-job every day, now that I'm home again, I'm overwhelmed.  Where to start?! It's especially hard to make decisions and to get motivated when you're being overwhelmed by some other things in life.  And come the end of the day, even if I zip and zap and work like a maniac, the undone items on the to-do lists will still stretch before me. 

So have any of you found solutions to this?  How do you live with the perpetual knowledge that you're not doing what needs to be done?  Or is the only real solution to reduce the amount of jobs you're trying to do?  (Such as ditching the garden or quitting the job or hiring a maid?)

More Water, Please

I can't seem to get caught up on dishes this past week.  Nor on laundry.  Nor watering the garden.  Definitely can't keep up with watering the garden and the trees! 

Symposium last week with lots of wonderful company.  Working lots of extra hours this week.  Monday is my only day off next week.  (The paycheck will be nice.  But when will I catch up on laundry, kitchen, and garden work?) 

Somebody suggested putting a fan near the entrance to the attic, to draw some of the stifling heat out.  I tried that today.  Boy, it was blowing hot air!  But it sounds like it should help in taking the "warm blanket" off the top of the house.  (Besides, it's probably also better for the stuff that's stored up there!)

We did not mow in June.  Well, Andrew did hit up part of the backyard once where the grass was getting water from the sprinkler's overreach from the garden.  As Katie says, it smells like August, it looks like Augusts, it feels like August.

The wasps are building nests like crazy.  Our wasps don't seem to be mean.  I don't recall ever being stung here.  But there are a lot of nests -- way more than I've seen before.  Then we come along like dragons, stomp on their cities, kill their babies, spray poison on the adults, wreck their homes, and cause general mayhem in Waspland.  So the poor homeless wasps keep trying to hang around and rebuild. 

The news clip from Channel 58's coverage of the presentation at symposium is now available online.  That's got nothing to do with heat and water and summerness.   But I'm throwing it in this blogpost anyhow, because, well, it happened during summer.  (Do ya buy that?!)

We are running the air conditioner.  I know, most of you think that's a no-brainer.  But WE are running the AC. We, the people who usually go for a few years between turning it on.  We, who run it for only a few days during the hottest of summers.  I think we're on Day #5 already, and it's still June.

Well, off to change yet another load of laundry. 

Red Ear Lobes

I wore earrings for about 15 years after my ears were pierced.  Then I began to have occasional infections.  Besides, at that point it was hard to manage jewelry.  You moms known how it is.  For one thing, babies would pull on the earrings.  For another thing, when you can't even go to the bathroom by yourself, taking the time to put on jewelry just doesn't happen so easily. 

So, eventually, I got back to wearing earrings.  Or trying to.  But they weren't comfortable.  Every few years I decide that I want to wear those pretty, dangly, dress-up things again.  So today I wore them at work.  For three whole hours.  Then I couldn't take the pain any more.  When I took the earrings out, my ear lobes were red and swollen. 

Why?  [pout]

I guess I should remember this the next time I get the goofy idea to wear earrings.  Maybe I should do something really outlandish and get rid of my earrings so I won't be tempted. 

Bummers.

I Believe in the Holy Christian Church

Once upon a time, I was particularly ticked at some shenanigans within our beloved synod.  At the same time, a dear friend of mine kept talking about the so-called "visible" and "invisible" church, and how we should be able to see the true church in one particular organization.  My pastor pointed out to me the line in the creed: "I believe in the holy Christian church."  He explained that the Church's holiness is an article of faith; we cannot see her holiness.  He said,

Allow me to call our synod beloved, as a confession of faith in the forgiveness of sins. Just as I call you holy by virtue of Christ's righteousness, not your own.  If you deny the one, you end up denying the other.  If you accept the one, it might make it easier for you to accept the other.

If you deny the one, you end up denying the other.  

Yes.

So, How Do You Feel About Kids?

Our annual catechetical symposium was last week.  Our congregation hosts, but people come from all over the country (and we even had some from Europe and Africa this year).  There are two large rooms at the conference center.  Next door to us on Thursday was Planned Parenthood.  Interestingly, because the Roman Catholic bishop was unavailable at the time of our district convention, we had arranged to make a presentation to him at symposium.  So next door to Planned Parenthood, the Lutherans were thanking the Catholics and promising to stand with them in the fight for religious freedom and protecting the yet-to-be-born babies.

But that's incidental to what I wanted to mention.

Katie tells me that she never goes out with my granddaughters without somebody somewhere commenting on the kids.  "They're so beautiful."  "What cute little girls."  "Aren't they sweet?"  "They're so well-behaved."  "Such pretty daughters."  Katie was afraid she'd sound arrogant saying it, but it is simply a fact that that's what she hears at the grocery store and the park and stuff like that.  Every time.

Until Thursday.

The girls were playing in the foyer so that they didn't have to be perfectly still and quiet, but Katie could listen through the doorway while she kept an eye on the girls.  The folks from Planned Parenthood came through the door, passed through the foyer and noticed the girls, and said not a word.  Not one person.  Every one of them kept her mouth shut.  Some averted their eyes from the children.  Katie said that's never happened to her before.

That silence speaks volumes.

Prayer: Asking God to Be What He Is

With the way we see prayer, it seems kinda goofy for us to pray that God be what He already is.  We usually think of prayer as giving God information, asking for help, requesting stuff.  But look at what David prays in Psalm 31:

Be my rock of refuge, a fortress of defense to save me.  For You are my rock and my fortress.

Do you suppose maybe there really is something to that thing about prayer being when we speak back to God the truths that He has already given us?

Driving and Brain Speed

Maggie doesn't drive.   When she was approaching the age when kids are allowed to take drivers' ed, I couldn't put my finger on the reason why we weren't going to allow her to get behind the wheel.  After the psychological evaluation she had recently, now I know why. 

If your brain processes things slowly, it's hard to take in all the things you see when driving, consider not only what's happening but also what is likely to happen in the next several seconds, then make decisions about what to do with your couple-of-tons of metal, and then do it.  And that would be even harder when there's extra traffic or when you're driving in an unfamiliar area, trying to watch for stop signs while navigating unknown roads to your destination.

After our IEP meeting, I've been wondering if there's something that can be done to help Maggie increase her processing speed.  The IEP which the school offered doesn't really have anything designed to achieve higher processing speed.  The remedial reading, writing, and math they're offering look to me as if they're trying to help her catch up to closer to "where she should be" according to the school's timetable.  When I look online for information about increasing neurological processing speed, I am skeptical.  Someone provides a service that purports to help increase a student's processing speed.  Will it work?  Or are they hawking a service that will line their pockets?  How can we know? 

Too often, I've seen "tests" which purport to measure a certain aspect of a person's ability.  The test is supposed to represent/reveal how a person performs in one area of thinking.  Then the person is trained and drilled and drilled and trained.  The person improves his score on the test.  But (!!!) does that mean the person has actually improved in thinking ability or reasoning ability or brain speed?  Or does it just demonstrate that the person has trained his brain to do a particular task quicker?  I found an online exercise for "increasing your brain's processing speed."  But I'm suspicious as to whether practicing this exercise will actually increase the speed of neurological connections in any area except the one which has been rehearsed and drilled.

So what's the solution?  Do we just keep plugging away with the kind of activities and books we've been using?  Do we assume that trying these therapies might actually change Maggie's brain speed instead of merely speeding her up on the exercises?  Will increased speed in one task generalize to increased speed in hearing & decision-making & academics & overall problem-solving?  Or will this kind of therapy just take time away from activities that might be more interesting and beneficial in the long-run?

Dad on Moving Day

Last night, Bethany phoned.  She and Evan were moving.  The day was getting away from them faster than they had expected.  Could we help with unpacking the U-Haul?   Of course we could!  We love them, and we've been altogether too little help and support to them in the 10 months they've been living in Wisconsin.  (Besides, it meant a glimpse of their apartment and neighborhood.  For some reason, it's terribly important to me to have a picture in my mind of the home where my loved ones are living.)

When Katie and Nathan moved to and/or from Indiana, we had help from Rheins and Caseys and a few other friends.  When Katie and Nathan moved to Texas, Nathan's dad carried a lot of furniture.  Bep and Evan had help from parents when they first moved to Wisconsin.  When we moved here, our father-confessor took charge of packing the truck while we carried stuff out of the house to the driveway.  As the mom or dad, you don't want to do too much bossing around when the grown-up kids are moving.  And yet ... you want to provide assistance (and the experience you've gained through your previous moves) to the couple who's moving.  And on moving day, the more assistance, the better!

My dad carried a lot of book boxes in his day.  A lot of mattresses and couches and freezers.  A lot clothes boxes.  A whole bunch of boxes filled with toys.  He tied things down.  He packed things in tight.  He made sure items were safe during transport.  He didn't do it just for us and my siblings, but for other people too.  It seems to be just one of those loving things dads (and substitute dads) do.

Happy Paper Clips

I see more paper clips in one day at work than I used to see in a whole year of being a stay-at-home mommy.   On those rare occasions we ventured into an Office Max in years past, I didn't understand why anyone would want to pay extra money for fancy-schmancy paper clips.  They're just paper clips.  They clip paper.  Big whoop.

But now ...  I've changed my mind.  Those zebra-striped and tiger-striped and candy-cane-striped paper clips bring a smile to my face!  I don't know why they're so cheery, but when I come across one, it sure does brighten my day!

Mark

As we've been reading Mark recently, we keep coming across crowds.  There were crowds of people coming out to hear John preach.  Crowds of people listening to Jesus.  Crowds wanting to be healed.  Crowds spilling out of the houses were He was.  So many crowds that He couldn't go into a city but had to preach outside where there was more room.  Crowds crowding around Him so that He couldn't get away to eat supper. 



My car needed a new battery last weekend.  That means I need to re-set the pre-sets on my car radio.  So this week I've been scanning radio stations, trying to hunt up which ones should be tagged by my radio buttons.  This morning I was checking out a station which turned out to be a Christian radio station with a Bible trivia quiz.  So I stay tuned for a couple of minutes.  The show concluded with a kids' Bible song about how important the Bible is, how we love the Bible, how the Bible is our delight ... because it shows us how God wants us to live. 

That's it?  That's what they think the Bible is full of?  Rules?  Behavior guidelines?  Things to do to make God like you?  And that's why they love it?

Those crowds (in Mark's gospel) weren't crowding around Jesus so that they could hear rules.  They got plenty of that from the scribes and Pharisees.  This Man did not teach like the scribes and Pharisees.  He preached something different, something they hadn't heard before, something for which their hearts yearned.  And the crowds poured out of the cities to hear more.

Under the Tuscan Sun

What a waste of a Friday evening!

A romantic comedy.  Set in Italy.  I wanted to see it years ago when it came out.  I kept wanting to see it.  We finally got around to watching it.

We shouldn't have.

The plot involved divorce and gays and fornicating teens.  There was more sex, foul language, and nudity than I expected in a PG-13 movie.  The "message" in the film came from the character who was a hedonistic actress.

And this was billed as an inspiring, uplifting, feel-good movie?

Slugs in the Garden

After I planted lettuce in April, one of the big rains must have washed some of the seeds to the other end of the raised bed.  Eventually, lettuce was popping up in places I hadn't sown seed.  I left it to grow. 

The lettuce I did plant needed thinning.  Week after week I didn't get to it.  We came home from vacation to ready-to-pick heads of Romaine.  The ones at the far end of the garden --where there was plenty of room to spread out-- grew beautifully.  Where I planted, however, was crowded.  The heads were thinner and several were spindly.  But what surprised me most was the slug damage. 

Where there was room to spread out, where air and light circulated around the veggies, I had no chew-marks from the slugs.  The most crowded part of my lettuce-row was the holiest. 

Same thing in the strawberry patch.  I overthinned last fall.  But hey, no slugs this year!

Some Teenagers ...

... give me the creeps.

Gary and I were out biking today, trying to build up a little endurance so that we might be capable of biking to town should we so desire.  We passed three girls. When Gary passed them, I saw them giggling and pointing and smirking behind his back.  When I passed them a few moments later, they did the same thing to me.

So what's their problem?  Shame on us old people for daring to ride bicycles?  Were our bikes not cool enough?  Our clothes not cool enough?  Or (more likely) anybody who's not part of their clique is probably smirk-worthy. 

Call more over-protective.  But that's one of the reasons I'm not wanting Maggie to go to school next year.

Like It or Not, We Have a Two-Party System

During the summer of 1992 (and it seems like it was just the other day, not twenty years ago) the bumper stickers began to appear: "Don't blame me.  I voted for Bush."

About a year later, as people became more and more disenchanted with the President, another bumper sticker appeared: "Don't blame me.  I didn't vote for Clinton."

Those Perot-folks were the people I did blame. 

Bill Clinton      43%
George Bush   37%
Ross Perot      19%

Most of those Perot votes were anti-Bush votes than they were pro-Perot votes, and most of those voters were even more anti-Clinton than they were anti-Bush.  If our country had had preferential voting in 1992, Bush would have been re-elected.

We have a two-party system in this county.  I don't approve of that.  Technically, with what's on the books, we don't have a two-party system, and there is room for third-party candidates.  But that's not the reality.  The reality is that we have a choice of two in the upcoming election.  Either Romney or Obama will be the next president.

Economically, we can choose between the socialist Republicans or the even-more-socialist Democrats.  As many of my friends believe, it's two sides of the same coin.  Personally, I think sliding down the slippery slope at a slower rate is better than careening down it.  There are those who will disagree.

But there's something far more important than economics (and I think the economic state of this nation is pretty darn important).  The HHS mandate would never have happened under Mitt Romney.  Are you aware of what's going on in Sweden to stamp out the gospel and religious freedom?  Life issues are at stake in the November election.  Freedom of religion is at stake in the upcoming election.  No, I don't think Mitt Romney is the best person for the job.  But seeing as how we have a choice between only two men, he is the better man for the job. 

Those who voted for Perot were the ones who really elected Clinton.

Are we going to make the same mistake this November?

Promotion

Along came the perfect job for Gary.  He's tried for other promotions and not gotten them.  But the person who was promoted in those instances really was the better guy for the job. 

But this job.  This was tailor-made for Gary.  Several co-workers who saw the job posted told him, "That's got your name written all over it."  The position was supposed to be filled immediately.  Gary applied.  Two months dragged by.  Finally someone else applied.  And we learned the day before we left on vacation that this other person was chosen for the promotion.

It makes you wonder what God has planned, up there around the bend, where we can't see yet.

What IS This Crazy-Talk?

Mark 3 -- They accuse Jesus of having a demon in Him.  What He's saying is so outlandish. 

Acts 2 -- On Pentecost, they accuse the apostles of being drunk in the middle of the morning.  Who ever heard such crazy-talk like what they were preaching?

Forgiveness.
For sinners.
Who certainly don't deserve it.

Not your standard religious message.

If I Had a Car

Gary's at district convention.  Kids are at a pool party.  If I had a car, I'd be getting a second dose of what I had Friday afternoon: I'd be at the beach doing NOTHING.

During a week of family reunion, I enjoyed talking with cousins and Mom, playing with kiddoes, trivia night, and my first exposure to Bunko.  It wasn't until the last day, though, that I did NOTHING.  A couple of hours with nothing to cook, nothing to do, just sitting in the sun or floating in the pool.  A few hours of listening to birdies tweet, with the sun beating down on me, floating floating floating ... I haven't felt so mellow in a long long time.  It's refreshing! 

And I'm definitely up for ditching my responsibilities and having another go at NOTHINGness.  But my car did not behave so well on the trip home from the reunion.  Thankfully, we made it home (albeit with only two stops) without roadside assistance and without anyone wetting her pants.  Well, actually, we didn't make it all the way home.  We made it to my mechanic's shop.  We'll find out the car's diagnosis tomorrow morning.

In theory, if I tackle enough housework, yardwork, and laundry today, maybe we could manage some beach time when I have my car back.  (So have I fooled you into thinking I'll actually be that productive?  I can't quite convince myself of it either.)