As time progresses and we lose more of the previous generation, our sweet memories become more dear.
I wonder what a 72-year old Elvis would look like and sound like?
And, I couldn't let the day pass without wishing my favorite nephew-in-law a blessed birthday! I admire Fil's character more and more as I grow to know him more through the years.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
January 8, 2009
December 6, 2008
I am my Beloved's and my Beloved is Mine
Today we celebrate 22 years of marriage. We have experienced much joy, some sorrow, and times of doubt and uncertainty. By the grace of God, we have survived and thrived and can call each other friend and lover. Happy Anniversary BC(squared).
In honor of my hubby, I'm doing this Hubby Meme.
1. He's sitting in front of the TV, what is on the screen? Sports -- no doubt about it!
2. You are out to eat, what kind of dressing does he get on is salad? Ranch.
3. What's one food he doesn't like? Just one? Seafood or fish of any sort.
4. You go out to a bar. What does he order? A microbrew beer.
5. Where did he go to high school? Doherty.
6. What size shoes does he wear? 8.5
7. If he was to collect anything, what would it be? Classic Mustang cars.
8. What is his favorite type of sandwich? Anything with tons of meat.
9. What would this person eat every day if he could? Steak.
10. What is his favorite cereal? Corn pops or Cheerios.
11. What would he never wear? Pajamas
12. What is his favorite sports team? Depends on the sport. Pro-football: Denver Broncos; college football: CU Buffs and Air Force Academy Falcons; Pro-basketball: Denver Nuggets; college basketball: Air Force Academy Falcons ; Pro-hockey: Denver Avalanche; college hockey: Air Force Academy Falcons; Sprint Racing: Carl Edwards (in days past it was Bill Elliott).
13. Who did he vote for? McCain
14. Who is his best friend? Me
15. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn't do? Play the radio loudly in the car.
16. How many states has he lived in? Three ~ Nebraska, Colorado and Arizona
17. What is his heritage? Scandanavian, Swedish, Czech
18. You bake him a cake for his birthday, what kind of cake? Black forest
19. Did he play sports in high school? Football and baseball
20. What could he spend hours doing? Watching TV, any kind of maintenance on the house or cars or yard (even if it should only take a little while)
June 17, 2008
My Dad, Part I, Hunting
Growing up I thought my dad could do anything. He was a manly man, with many manly friends. They played poker and pinnocle and something called cribbage. They ate hearty manly food whenever they did this and drank a few brewskis. They played softball, and watched most sports on the TV, but especially football, baseball and basketball.
These men also gathered at our house before going on the annual hunting expedition for a deer or antelope. This expedition was planned well in advance with herd reports and weather reports and lists of food and drink and other things (like TP -- they learned to put that on the list when it was forgotten one year). Now the list for food was well planned by my dad, because he was the head cook. And he was a great cook. These men ate well on the hunting trail.
Then, off they'd go, with rifles, food, lots of orange clothing, drinks and cards (for playing poker, etc. in the Colorado Rockies).
A week or two later, they'd return, dirty and smelly and in a variety of moods. For reasons I will never comprehend, I would rush up to my dad, even though I knew what was going to take place next. Hugging your own smelly, dirty dad is one thing. Being rubbed on your babysoft face with his stubble that felt like a prickly pear cactus was endurable because I loved him. But then, all the guys got in on the action and by the time it was done, my face was red, raw and hurtin' from being rubbed by all those guys' stubble. My nose was assaulted and my clothing smelled like theirs -- really bad body odor mixed with campfire and possibly the blood and guts of a killed animal, which were now hanging in our carport or garage by their hind legs. For a prissy, girly girl this was almost unbearable. But I loved my dad, so it was ok.
You could always tell who had gotten an animal because of their mood... those who regaled us with stories of the hunt and eventual kill. Those who hadn't gotten a deer or antelope told stories as well, but they weren't as jubilantly shared.
And then, the "process" would begin. The process whereby an animal is prepared to go to the butchers. The animals had already been gutted in the mountains before bringing the animals to our place. For this I am eternally grateful. After hanging the animals by their hind feet from the rafters, the skinning would begin. The sound of this will forever ring in my ears. It's not a natural sound. But you could at least look at the animals with their skin on. Skinned they were ugly and smelly and exposed. The sounds of breaking bones, ball and joints being seperated, ribs being cracked open... those are things you just can't dismiss easily.
To think that from that came meat our families would eat... yuck! Of course, I never was one for enjoying a very gamey meat (and I've certainly tried many in my growing up years like snake, bear, quail, duck, antelope, deer, moose among others). But, I wonder if I couldn't seperate the meat before me from the sites and sounds that so impressed my mind with its yuckiness. No matter how good a cook my dad was, some things just do not lose their gamey flavor. You can hide it, you can provide more powerful tastes to compete, but it's still there.
My dad enjoyed hunting very much. He always told me that it was because he enjoyed being out in the mountains and being part of the nature that God created for us to enjoy. I believed him, because we went camping every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day as a family for many years. Dad was different up there in the mountains. You could see how much he enjoyed it.
Now he's in an assisted living facility as life slowly drains from him and he no longer can enjoy the mountains in person. It's difficult to watch a virile man become so helpless. It's difficult, too, that he confuses me with my mom, whose been dead for 7 and a half years.
Still, I love him and try to remember the better times.
These men also gathered at our house before going on the annual hunting expedition for a deer or antelope. This expedition was planned well in advance with herd reports and weather reports and lists of food and drink and other things (like TP -- they learned to put that on the list when it was forgotten one year). Now the list for food was well planned by my dad, because he was the head cook. And he was a great cook. These men ate well on the hunting trail.
Then, off they'd go, with rifles, food, lots of orange clothing, drinks and cards (for playing poker, etc. in the Colorado Rockies).
A week or two later, they'd return, dirty and smelly and in a variety of moods. For reasons I will never comprehend, I would rush up to my dad, even though I knew what was going to take place next. Hugging your own smelly, dirty dad is one thing. Being rubbed on your babysoft face with his stubble that felt like a prickly pear cactus was endurable because I loved him. But then, all the guys got in on the action and by the time it was done, my face was red, raw and hurtin' from being rubbed by all those guys' stubble. My nose was assaulted and my clothing smelled like theirs -- really bad body odor mixed with campfire and possibly the blood and guts of a killed animal, which were now hanging in our carport or garage by their hind legs. For a prissy, girly girl this was almost unbearable. But I loved my dad, so it was ok.
You could always tell who had gotten an animal because of their mood... those who regaled us with stories of the hunt and eventual kill. Those who hadn't gotten a deer or antelope told stories as well, but they weren't as jubilantly shared.
And then, the "process" would begin. The process whereby an animal is prepared to go to the butchers. The animals had already been gutted in the mountains before bringing the animals to our place. For this I am eternally grateful. After hanging the animals by their hind feet from the rafters, the skinning would begin. The sound of this will forever ring in my ears. It's not a natural sound. But you could at least look at the animals with their skin on. Skinned they were ugly and smelly and exposed. The sounds of breaking bones, ball and joints being seperated, ribs being cracked open... those are things you just can't dismiss easily.
To think that from that came meat our families would eat... yuck! Of course, I never was one for enjoying a very gamey meat (and I've certainly tried many in my growing up years like snake, bear, quail, duck, antelope, deer, moose among others). But, I wonder if I couldn't seperate the meat before me from the sites and sounds that so impressed my mind with its yuckiness. No matter how good a cook my dad was, some things just do not lose their gamey flavor. You can hide it, you can provide more powerful tastes to compete, but it's still there.
My dad enjoyed hunting very much. He always told me that it was because he enjoyed being out in the mountains and being part of the nature that God created for us to enjoy. I believed him, because we went camping every weekend between Memorial Day and Labor Day as a family for many years. Dad was different up there in the mountains. You could see how much he enjoyed it.
Now he's in an assisted living facility as life slowly drains from him and he no longer can enjoy the mountains in person. It's difficult to watch a virile man become so helpless. It's difficult, too, that he confuses me with my mom, whose been dead for 7 and a half years.
Still, I love him and try to remember the better times.
My Dad, Part II, Sports
My dad played semi-pro baseball when he and my mom were first married. For a time, he did it exclusively after my two older sisters were born. He played for a farm team of the (then) Philidelphia Athletics. He was a pitcher. He could certainly wing those balls around with accuracy and "heat" as they say.
Dad wanted each of his kids to play a sport. I wanted to do gymnastics, but that was prissy and he didn't think it was sporty enough. So he made me join a softball team between 7th and 8th grades. My idea of sports was watching it when I had to, and perhaps trying to cheer on those I knew who did play sports. So, I displayed my pitiful skills for the coach and was chosen for the right outfield. Practice was just something I endured to be on the team.
Our first game was on a field near the junior high school I attended. Dad was there, pacing as he watched. Mom was calmly in the stands, as was my younger brother. My first time at bat, my coach said we'd psych them out if I took a pitch or two right-handed and then switched to left-handed (which I was, but I was just as lousy either way!) It worked, for the first pitch sent to me left-handed was slow and I hit it! Dropping the bat, I overran first base and was rewarded with a ball to the back of my helmet. It knocked me to the ground mostly from the surprise of it. Suddenly, I had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this sport was going to be more dangerous than I thought. But after a few deep breaths, I was up and then took my base. But I wasn't surrendering my helmet. I wore it all around the bases that inning. The next few batters had us advance a base each and eventually I crossed home plate. (For the one thing I could do well was RUN.)
I survived eight innings because no one hit a ball my way. YEA! This might be ok, I thought. Until a ball came my way. Back, back, back I ran with my eyes forward and my mitt open, up and ready to receive the ball... until I fell into a cement ditch and broke my fall with my right hand, breaking many of the blood vessels in my knuckles. The hand began to swell immediately and my fingers were two, then three times their normal size. I couldn't bend my fingers any longer. Of course, there wasn't the kind of ice packs in those days that we are fortunate to have now. So my hand went into the cold Gatorade. Now it was sticky and sore.
It took weeks for my hand to return to normal. I felt like I had my mitt on (although I wore it on my left hand) because movement was so limited for such a long time. I still cannot make as tight a fist with my right hand as I can with my left hand ever since then.
So, after that disaster, it was my idea to give up. Clearly I wasn't talented enough to play this game. My father had other ideas. After recuperating until my hand wasn't swollen and could hold a ball, I spent a week in practice (all of which I complained at and wanted to go home early). When we played on Saturday, we had a light practice on Friday afternoon. This was such a week.
As usual, we outfielders had to catch a certain number of balls batted to us before we could go home. The first ball I caught, I had to jump up for and somehow my legs weren't in the right position and I fell on my hiney -- in the process breaking my tale bone. I cried and carried on, and wanted to go home early. But my coach was having none of that. He just told me I had to catch two more balls before I went home. I have no idea how I did that for the pain was so bad!
When I wasn't better the next morning, my Dad brought me to the hospital where an x-ray confirmed that I had indeed broken my tale bone. Of course, there is no cast for that. One must simply behave like Tim Conway's old man and move exceedingly slow. Changing from a sitting to a standing position was very painful and vice-versa too!
That was the end of my career in softball and sports pretty much. Except, I did much better in swimming as a high school student -- until I got mononucleosis. But that's a story for another day.
Now, my dad cannot watch an entire football game, or baseball game, or hockey game, or basketball game without falling asleep in his chair several times, waking occasionally and then falling back asleep. His stamina is very short, especially because of his congestive heart failure. His world is closing in upon himself and its difficult to see a parent slip away in small increments this way.
I would encourage you to pray for people you know who are on either side of this issue. As I visit my dad I see lots of other folks in similar circumstances and I know they have similar stories of one or more of their parents who were energetic, strong and engaged in life and now are awaiting death.
And even though this sports remembrance was one of showing my lack of talent, I still do like to remember the times spent with my dad doing something HE loved -- throwing the ball around and being outside in the wonderful Colorado sunshine!
Dad wanted each of his kids to play a sport. I wanted to do gymnastics, but that was prissy and he didn't think it was sporty enough. So he made me join a softball team between 7th and 8th grades. My idea of sports was watching it when I had to, and perhaps trying to cheer on those I knew who did play sports. So, I displayed my pitiful skills for the coach and was chosen for the right outfield. Practice was just something I endured to be on the team.
Our first game was on a field near the junior high school I attended. Dad was there, pacing as he watched. Mom was calmly in the stands, as was my younger brother. My first time at bat, my coach said we'd psych them out if I took a pitch or two right-handed and then switched to left-handed (which I was, but I was just as lousy either way!) It worked, for the first pitch sent to me left-handed was slow and I hit it! Dropping the bat, I overran first base and was rewarded with a ball to the back of my helmet. It knocked me to the ground mostly from the surprise of it. Suddenly, I had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this sport was going to be more dangerous than I thought. But after a few deep breaths, I was up and then took my base. But I wasn't surrendering my helmet. I wore it all around the bases that inning. The next few batters had us advance a base each and eventually I crossed home plate. (For the one thing I could do well was RUN.)
I survived eight innings because no one hit a ball my way. YEA! This might be ok, I thought. Until a ball came my way. Back, back, back I ran with my eyes forward and my mitt open, up and ready to receive the ball... until I fell into a cement ditch and broke my fall with my right hand, breaking many of the blood vessels in my knuckles. The hand began to swell immediately and my fingers were two, then three times their normal size. I couldn't bend my fingers any longer. Of course, there wasn't the kind of ice packs in those days that we are fortunate to have now. So my hand went into the cold Gatorade. Now it was sticky and sore.
It took weeks for my hand to return to normal. I felt like I had my mitt on (although I wore it on my left hand) because movement was so limited for such a long time. I still cannot make as tight a fist with my right hand as I can with my left hand ever since then.
So, after that disaster, it was my idea to give up. Clearly I wasn't talented enough to play this game. My father had other ideas. After recuperating until my hand wasn't swollen and could hold a ball, I spent a week in practice (all of which I complained at and wanted to go home early). When we played on Saturday, we had a light practice on Friday afternoon. This was such a week.
As usual, we outfielders had to catch a certain number of balls batted to us before we could go home. The first ball I caught, I had to jump up for and somehow my legs weren't in the right position and I fell on my hiney -- in the process breaking my tale bone. I cried and carried on, and wanted to go home early. But my coach was having none of that. He just told me I had to catch two more balls before I went home. I have no idea how I did that for the pain was so bad!
When I wasn't better the next morning, my Dad brought me to the hospital where an x-ray confirmed that I had indeed broken my tale bone. Of course, there is no cast for that. One must simply behave like Tim Conway's old man and move exceedingly slow. Changing from a sitting to a standing position was very painful and vice-versa too!
That was the end of my career in softball and sports pretty much. Except, I did much better in swimming as a high school student -- until I got mononucleosis. But that's a story for another day.
Now, my dad cannot watch an entire football game, or baseball game, or hockey game, or basketball game without falling asleep in his chair several times, waking occasionally and then falling back asleep. His stamina is very short, especially because of his congestive heart failure. His world is closing in upon himself and its difficult to see a parent slip away in small increments this way.
I would encourage you to pray for people you know who are on either side of this issue. As I visit my dad I see lots of other folks in similar circumstances and I know they have similar stories of one or more of their parents who were energetic, strong and engaged in life and now are awaiting death.
And even though this sports remembrance was one of showing my lack of talent, I still do like to remember the times spent with my dad doing something HE loved -- throwing the ball around and being outside in the wonderful Colorado sunshine!
April 18, 2008
Capitol, Museum, A Baby is Born
Trying to mellow out after that confluence of the four part-time jobs I hold... seems I was doing better (at blogging) during the busy-ness of it and have been rather shell shocked since. Recuperation at my age is taking longer than expected.Last Friday was a beautiful day! Three of us had to request the day off from our various jobs so that we could gather with about 2000 other homeschool families at the Colorado Capitol for CHEC's Homeschool Day at the Capitol. This annual event is meant to bring into focus of the legislators and other elected Colorado government officials the tremendous grassroots network of parents whose collective efforts through the years have preserved homeschool freedoms despite viscious attacks and parental freedoms. Treon Goossen, co-author of the Colorado Homeschool Law which went into effect on July 1, 1988, continues her legislative liaison position which has been and continues to be a blessing to us all! It is always good to see my dear friend there. The Day at the Capitol is the largest gathering of its type every year at the Colorado capitol.
Also, our co-laboror, Mike Cheney, was honored with the Ruth Beechick award. Mike's outstanding leadership in the CHEC organization has blessed countless thousands of homeschool families. His gentle yet unwaivering faith is quite an impressive example to those of us who know him.
Since we had the day off, and had braved the bracing snowstorm that greeted us between Monument and Castle Rock, we headed over to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science.
Their displays are impressive and not quite as littered with evolutionary theory as they might be. Still some de-programming is in order to refute their unproven assumptions, most especially in the gift shop which is rife with green earth propoganda.
My girls took lots of pictures which you can access here and here (for musuem visit) and here (for baby pictures).
We took this picture of our girls outside the museum.
And then, as if the day were not already filled with loving memories to be cherished, we had the distinguished honor of greeting my great nephew on the day he was born! Holding him close to our hearts, touching his precious newborn skin, kissing and smelling him was truly the highlight of the day!
Congratulations to my niece and her husband on the birth of another healthy son! They are just the most terrific parents and I'm so glad to call 'em all family!
April 7, 2008
JOY and Despair
Our youngest is so excited about Spring being here -- with the various opportunities to play outside, to collect bugs, to do chalk on the sidewalk, to ride her bike, to have a picnic! This kid *L*O*V*E*S* to play outside! So here's her take on that, from a picture taken last week:
Our oldest daughter has recently gone through a situation that is very hurtful. It crushes my mommy's heart to watch my children be in so much pain. It is such a feeling of helplessness.
Whenever our oldest daughter is hurting, the picture below comes to mind because it so clearly expresses her pain on her face. The picture was taken when she was almost 7 and getting her ears pierced. She's already had one ear done and her other ear is being prepared to be pierced.
March 19, 2008
Birthdays! Birthdays!
It is curious to me how birthdays in my family seem to conglomorate among a few months of the year. March is one of them.
Our sweet little R turned 8 last week! She got her hair cut the day before, enjoyed her very own banzai burger at Red Robin and was showered with Barbies and Barbie clothes/accessories!
What joyous love this precious child brings to us all. She is certainly a light of loveliness and frivolity.
March 11, 2008
Happy Birthday, Hubby!
It's this guy's birthday and he's been working his behind off trying to finish all the many and myriad arrangements for the Boy Scouts Friends of Scouting breakfast tomorrow morning. He'll be much more relaxed tomorrow after about 3 pm.
Meanwhile, happy birthday!
March 8, 2008
More John Wayne, McLintock!
My favorite John Wayne movie is McLintock, which is also my Dad's. I guess I was influenced by him in this regard, and that's ok with me!
The beginning of the mud fight is hilarious and where the often mimicked "Pilgrim" comes from.
Many members of my family can quote from this scene and often do. It brings us great pleasure. The Indian is particularly funny when he says, "Nice party!" at the beginning of the mud fight. And then when he says, "Where the whiskey?" And at the end when he says, "Great party! But no whiskey. We go home." We also like the line that John Wayne's character says, "Oh get out of my way," as he picks up someone and throws them into the mud pit!
The theme of the "taming of the shrew" is most hilariously portrayed here in this movie!
What is your favorite John Wayne movie?
The beginning of the mud fight is hilarious and where the often mimicked "Pilgrim" comes from.
Many members of my family can quote from this scene and often do. It brings us great pleasure. The Indian is particularly funny when he says, "Nice party!" at the beginning of the mud fight. And then when he says, "Where the whiskey?" And at the end when he says, "Great party! But no whiskey. We go home." We also like the line that John Wayne's character says, "Oh get out of my way," as he picks up someone and throws them into the mud pit!
The theme of the "taming of the shrew" is most hilariously portrayed here in this movie!
What is your favorite John Wayne movie?
February 2, 2008
Wesley, enjoying the feast now
My nieces' dad went to be with the Lord last night at 11:35 pm. His heroic battle against the cancer that wracked his body with pain is over.
Wesley married my sister, Pam, in 1971 right before my 10th birthday. Pam, 9+ years older than me, had been a run-away and for several months we didn't know where she was. When she resurfaced, she had a boyfriend, Wesley. My parents liked him immediately and so did I. He was affiable and had a great laugh and laughed often. It was such irony that Wesley was enlisted in the Army. You see, my dad was in the Air Force and we lived on base at the Air Force Academy. Pam was opposed to the war in Vietnam and protested loudly at our dinner table and in peaceful assemblies.
Wesley had what we used to call a priviledged upbringing in New York. That's not to say it was absent of strife. He dropped out of college to join the Army on purpose. It was his way to escape the expectations and lifestyle that was waiting for him post-collegiate. He ended up serving two terms in Vietnam. This was not something he talked about with others. And while you knew those experiences shaped him, it didn't crush him.* His resilence was impressive.
Wesley learned to be an electrician and steadily moved up in that profession while having two daughters with my sister, Terra and Elise. Then he and Pam divorced in 1983. Pam's life devolved into serious drug use and spiraled out of control for a long time. It's better for her now.
I've always respected Wesley immensely that three very personal situations highlight, but they're somewhat sensitive so I won't go into them here; but let me say that his compassion and love for his daughters was and is very moving. In each of those very difficult situations, he put his daughters well-being first.
Wesley was a man who lived as he believed and there was no guessing how he felt about a situation. His honesty was a very prevelent part of his life. Not that he was wont to tell you his opinion on any given matter. He kept his opinions to himself unless prodded to share them.
Wesley was much beloved by his brother, David, and his three sisters, as well as his lovely wife, Iris, and his two daughters, Terra and Lisa, and their families.
One of my favorite things about Wesley was just how much he enjoyed life. You could especially recognize this about him whenever he was enjoying the "outdoors" whether it was in San Antonio hill country, or the Rocky Mountains, and at a family or holiday meal. Whenever we had a family or holiday meal, you could always count on Wesley to appreciate all the work that went into preparing special food for the occasion. I'll always remember his grateful and thankful expression, "Feast!" (How sad that cancer robbed him of enjoying food these last several weeks of his life.)
So, feast on my brother. You will be missed. You are loved.
Thanks to everyone for their prayers and well-wishes. Please continue to pray for Iris and Terra and Elise.
*I pray that those reading this will not think a condemnation of those who struggle after serving in a war, especially Vietnam. It breaks my heart for those who have given so much for our country only to be rejected and looked down upon as they come to terms with their experiences and try to battle their demons from war.
Wesley married my sister, Pam, in 1971 right before my 10th birthday. Pam, 9+ years older than me, had been a run-away and for several months we didn't know where she was. When she resurfaced, she had a boyfriend, Wesley. My parents liked him immediately and so did I. He was affiable and had a great laugh and laughed often. It was such irony that Wesley was enlisted in the Army. You see, my dad was in the Air Force and we lived on base at the Air Force Academy. Pam was opposed to the war in Vietnam and protested loudly at our dinner table and in peaceful assemblies.
Wesley had what we used to call a priviledged upbringing in New York. That's not to say it was absent of strife. He dropped out of college to join the Army on purpose. It was his way to escape the expectations and lifestyle that was waiting for him post-collegiate. He ended up serving two terms in Vietnam. This was not something he talked about with others. And while you knew those experiences shaped him, it didn't crush him.* His resilence was impressive.
Wesley learned to be an electrician and steadily moved up in that profession while having two daughters with my sister, Terra and Elise. Then he and Pam divorced in 1983. Pam's life devolved into serious drug use and spiraled out of control for a long time. It's better for her now.
I've always respected Wesley immensely that three very personal situations highlight, but they're somewhat sensitive so I won't go into them here; but let me say that his compassion and love for his daughters was and is very moving. In each of those very difficult situations, he put his daughters well-being first.
Wesley was a man who lived as he believed and there was no guessing how he felt about a situation. His honesty was a very prevelent part of his life. Not that he was wont to tell you his opinion on any given matter. He kept his opinions to himself unless prodded to share them.
Wesley was much beloved by his brother, David, and his three sisters, as well as his lovely wife, Iris, and his two daughters, Terra and Lisa, and their families.
One of my favorite things about Wesley was just how much he enjoyed life. You could especially recognize this about him whenever he was enjoying the "outdoors" whether it was in San Antonio hill country, or the Rocky Mountains, and at a family or holiday meal. Whenever we had a family or holiday meal, you could always count on Wesley to appreciate all the work that went into preparing special food for the occasion. I'll always remember his grateful and thankful expression, "Feast!" (How sad that cancer robbed him of enjoying food these last several weeks of his life.)
So, feast on my brother. You will be missed. You are loved.
Thanks to everyone for their prayers and well-wishes. Please continue to pray for Iris and Terra and Elise.
*I pray that those reading this will not think a condemnation of those who struggle after serving in a war, especially Vietnam. It breaks my heart for those who have given so much for our country only to be rejected and looked down upon as they come to terms with their experiences and try to battle their demons from war.
January 31, 2008
Real Life lately feeling like levels of Dante's Hell
Real life has been demanding lately.
My good friend Kelly is going thru a type of hell every parent wishes to avoid in that her oldest daughter has run away from home.
My oldest sister ran away from home several times before she did it for good, a few months before she graduated from high school. Several years later she got her GED and took a few college courses, but by then her life's pattern was established. She battles drug and alcohol addictions. She is sober for now and is an "ordained" minister after two weeks of intensive training in a "Jesus-only church." At least we know where she is and that she's alive. That's a special kind of hell when a loved one disappears and you know not where they are or even if they are alive.
My dad has been ill with pnemonia twice in the last two months after moving into an assisted living facility. He's been hospitalized twice, this time to remove a blood clot in his femoral artery and insert a stint. His heart isn't working up to snuff despite having a pacemaker. His intake of oxygen is now constant and at 4 liters per day, which means congestive heart failure. Dad's surgery is scheduled for Friday on the femoral artery.
My nieces are at their father's side because it seems the end is emminent for him. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in December that had metastacized to his pancreas, liver and intestines. One of those nieces is 30-weeks pregnant with her third son. Their dad is a Vietnam vet who served two tours there. He's been a good dad to those girls. And he's always been my favorite brother-in-law. We're praying for a peaceful death. My heart is breaking for my nieces as they uphold each other through this difficult time and watch their father slip away before he's even 60 years old. Man knows not his time.
Prayers for any and all of these situations would be appreciated. May the Lord's will be done.
My good friend Kelly is going thru a type of hell every parent wishes to avoid in that her oldest daughter has run away from home.
My oldest sister ran away from home several times before she did it for good, a few months before she graduated from high school. Several years later she got her GED and took a few college courses, but by then her life's pattern was established. She battles drug and alcohol addictions. She is sober for now and is an "ordained" minister after two weeks of intensive training in a "Jesus-only church." At least we know where she is and that she's alive. That's a special kind of hell when a loved one disappears and you know not where they are or even if they are alive.
My dad has been ill with pnemonia twice in the last two months after moving into an assisted living facility. He's been hospitalized twice, this time to remove a blood clot in his femoral artery and insert a stint. His heart isn't working up to snuff despite having a pacemaker. His intake of oxygen is now constant and at 4 liters per day, which means congestive heart failure. Dad's surgery is scheduled for Friday on the femoral artery.
My nieces are at their father's side because it seems the end is emminent for him. He was diagnosed with lung cancer in December that had metastacized to his pancreas, liver and intestines. One of those nieces is 30-weeks pregnant with her third son. Their dad is a Vietnam vet who served two tours there. He's been a good dad to those girls. And he's always been my favorite brother-in-law. We're praying for a peaceful death. My heart is breaking for my nieces as they uphold each other through this difficult time and watch their father slip away before he's even 60 years old. Man knows not his time.
Prayers for any and all of these situations would be appreciated. May the Lord's will be done.
December 25, 2007
Scene It!
We played Scene It this evening. Here were some things overheard while playing it.
"Sound of Eunuch" someone guessed at the spellbinder clue for Sound of Music. To which another person blurted out, "Yea, but he's got a great voice!"
"Get your squeek on!" We have a talented family member who can sound like a chipmunk with very little effort. The "chipmunk's" giggle is the funniest!
"Well, I think it's romantic!" said the least romantic person here!
"Hannah Banana" for a clue for Daryl Hannah. Someone thinks she looks like a banana -- blonde, lean and uncurvacious.
After a clue leading to Martin Landau, someone remarked, "He's ancient if he's still alive." Another person said, "If he's dead he's stinky and still old." We're so kind!
Another spellbinder clue resulted in this being blurted out, "Chesapeake in Love!" The real answer was "Shakespeare in Love."
But the clincher of the evening that had us all in stitches was the off-handed comment from someone leaving the room who said, "It's ET you idiot! I'd recognize those flowers anywhere!" Remember the flowers that bloomed when ET was feeling well, and drooped over as he became ill?
None of what I blogged about above may be of particular interest to you. But here's my point: Aren't families precious? The way we entertain each other and know each other's jokes, sore spots, gifts and talents, buttons to push, likes and dislikes? Isn't it fun to discover more about each other and to joyfully spend time together?
That's the kind of Christmas I pray each of you had... the kind where you appreciated the family the Lord has blessed you with. For those who have a different sort of family that perhaps can't be a blessing to each other, I pray the Lord will give you people who can be a blessing to you so that you can know the amazing love of family. As fragile, sinful people, there are plenty of opportunities to ask for and extend forgiveness to one another, and to learn and grow together.
Ok, enough of the waxing philosophical!
Now begins the 12 Days of Christmas!
December 11, 2007
Decorating for Christmas
Our youngest has such an imagination. Since we got the Christmas decorations out on Sunday and decorated the house and tree, she's been playing with various ornaments and such. As she does so, she's been humming or singing "Away in a Manger" which the children are going to sing on the last Sunday in Advent at our church service.
While it's not something she's saying that cute and adorable, it's something she's doing, and that's close to "Kids Say the Darndest Things."
Enjoy!
This first picture represents a choir she's set up on our bookcase next to the Christmas tree in the living/dining room.
And this is a Christmas wedding in Bethlehem, so you'll see the major characters of the nativity, coupled with Barbies (from vending machines) and small Disney characters.
November 22, 2007
Overheard while playing Mexican Train
R doesn't often make requests of the whole family, so we try to honor them when she does, especially because she's the baby of the family.
Last night she requested that we play Mexican Train. This fun dominoes game was taught to us by my parents after they had spent time snowbirding in McAllen, Texas in the mid-90's.
These comments, in no particular order, were overheard while playing Mexican Train last night.
"It tastes like potting soil!"
"Did you say pond snot?"
"Yes, I drooled, get over it!"
"Warts, plucking, festering." (Don't even ask!)
"That looks like baby poop!"
"He had good personalities."
"Put it under your coat like rocket man."
"Pluuuuuuuuuleeeeeeeeeeezeeeeeee -- your pie!"
"Deal with it, sista!"
"Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew!"
"She made me draw turkey one."
"Your turn, Hootie."
"There's a spider in S's sunflower seeds!" (Evin grin)
"What are you doing? Licking it!?"
"I feel like an old lady." (Not said by me!)
"You can feel my ears bleeding."
"She's a one-year old acting like a uno-tic."
"I want to lick the bowl out."
"I think your head might get stuck in there."
Last night she requested that we play Mexican Train. This fun dominoes game was taught to us by my parents after they had spent time snowbirding in McAllen, Texas in the mid-90's.
These comments, in no particular order, were overheard while playing Mexican Train last night.
"It tastes like potting soil!"
"Did you say pond snot?"
"Yes, I drooled, get over it!"
"Warts, plucking, festering." (Don't even ask!)
"That looks like baby poop!"
"He had good personalities."
"Put it under your coat like rocket man."
"Pluuuuuuuuuleeeeeeeeeeezeeeeeee -- your pie!"
"Deal with it, sista!"
"Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew!"
"She made me draw turkey one."
"Your turn, Hootie."
"There's a spider in S's sunflower seeds!" (Evin grin)
"What are you doing? Licking it!?"
"I feel like an old lady." (Not said by me!)
"You can feel my ears bleeding."
"She's a one-year old acting like a uno-tic."
"I want to lick the bowl out."
"I think your head might get stuck in there."
Overheard while watching Dancing with the Stars
You know my dancing queens love to watch "Dancing with the Stars." We've faithfully watched for four seasons.
These interesting comments, all from the Dancing Queens, were overheard Monday evening...
"The female singer looks like a Viking mistress."
"He's not so much hairy as he is fuzzy." (They oppose the ever increasing yardage of skin that seems to permeate this kind of dancing.)
"Shouldn't they have viewer warning for that!?"
"Ew! Now I'm going to think of Len being whipped whenever I hear that song!" (The song was "I Can't Get No Satisfaction.")
These interesting comments, all from the Dancing Queens, were overheard Monday evening...
"The female singer looks like a Viking mistress."
"He's not so much hairy as he is fuzzy." (They oppose the ever increasing yardage of skin that seems to permeate this kind of dancing.)
"Shouldn't they have viewer warning for that!?"
"Ew! Now I'm going to think of Len being whipped whenever I hear that song!" (The song was "I Can't Get No Satisfaction.")
November 20, 2007
My Mom
Thanksgiving took on a poignant and different meaning for us seven years ago as my Mom, Grace, went to be with our Lord and Savior, Jesus, on November 20th, 2000. That was the Monday before Thanksgiving that year.
Mom discovered she had cancer on October 27, 2000. The doctors proceeded to talk only of comforting care, not anything about procedures to stop or stunt the growing cancer. Although Grace had been ill all summer, she thought it was her osteoporosis or her bleeding ulcers that she had previously suffered from that were making her so uncomfortable. Advanced medical care to try to determine the cause of her suffering did not detect the cancer until that date. The fast growing cancerous tumor had already taken up most of her right lung and was now pushing on her spine so much that her spine actually looked like a question mark.
As the reality of the diagnosis set in, family members began to appear at our home one at a time that day. What were they looking for? Hope. They came one by one to seek the hope that we have confidence in. The hope that we were not afraid to share.
We grew up not really discussing our faith, although it was expected that you behave as a Christian. My Mom especially believed that people should know you're a Christian by the way you behaved (1 John), not just by what you said. She thought talk was cheap.
When we started to homeschool, a transformation took place in our home. We began to see that we didn’t have to live our lives as our parents did. Not out of disrespect for the way they raised us, but because they raised us in such a way as to have the confidence to do what we knew to be the right thing.
Our decision to homeschool had consequences for our extended families, not just our children. Our studies drove us deeper into His Word. We spent many hours on theological questions as the basis for all of our learning, trying to see things things through our Christian worldview.
We became more vocal about our faith. We taught our children to confidently discuss their faith without being argumentative or authoritative. In good Lutheran fashion we continually asked, "What does this mean?" We taught them to spot heresy by challenging what was said/written by comparing it to Scripture.
This made extended family members feel uncomfortable. Why couldn’t we just be like we were before? Why couldn't we just be quiet about matters of faith? Why did it take up so much of our time?
Mom had come from a long line of educators. Both her parents had been teachers. ALL of her aunts and uncles were teachers as well. I was supposed to carry on that tradition as I went to college and made “special education” my major. But that expectation of my Mom was dashed when I left college after my junior year. Although it delighted me to finally be teaching when it had been such a strong desire of mine earlier, my Mom could not share in that joy. She did not approve of our homeschooling, and she wasn’t going to debate it. She just commented on it often and did not allow me to comment back. And I did not force the issue out of respect for her.
As my family members gathered at our home that fall day they were seeking solice at this time of uncertainty, and another transformation began.
Busy, agonizing hours lay ahead of us. Now suddenly my family was able to freely discuss and share their faith openly. This bound us together at that time and focused us on the important issue of Jesus Christ's propitiative death on our behalf, because in the end, that's what it is all about.
This new way to interact sustained us as my father, Paul, suffered a major heart attack two days after Mom died. It sustained us as we handled all the details and got through the funeral and hospitalization of my Dad and all the other myriad details that follow a death.
There are three reasons I've shared this personal story here. First, because we still hear about familial opposition to a decision to homeschool. Although it's become a more accepted form of education, it still has real opposition as well. I wanted to share with you the hope that your extended families may also experience the transforming power of that decision. Only our Father in Heaven knows when or if. But hold fast, you are doing what is good, right and salutary.
Secondly, because I am so thankful to my parents for laying the foundation of faith in my life. They held fast to the promises they made on my behalf at my baptism and brought me regularly to church so I could learn about the Christian faith, they confessed their belief in the Apostle's Creed and taught it to me, they renounced the devil and all his evil words and ways on my behalf. My parents raised me to be a Christian. Moreover, my husband and I are raising our children to be Christians having made those same vows at their baptisms and watching two of them (the third is not quite old enough) make those same vows at their confirmations. (3 John 1:4) The difference is we're talking and sharing about it along the way.
And lastly, because I wanted to share about my Mom on this day and to say "I love you and I miss you, Mom."
Mom discovered she had cancer on October 27, 2000. The doctors proceeded to talk only of comforting care, not anything about procedures to stop or stunt the growing cancer. Although Grace had been ill all summer, she thought it was her osteoporosis or her bleeding ulcers that she had previously suffered from that were making her so uncomfortable. Advanced medical care to try to determine the cause of her suffering did not detect the cancer until that date. The fast growing cancerous tumor had already taken up most of her right lung and was now pushing on her spine so much that her spine actually looked like a question mark.
As the reality of the diagnosis set in, family members began to appear at our home one at a time that day. What were they looking for? Hope. They came one by one to seek the hope that we have confidence in. The hope that we were not afraid to share.
We grew up not really discussing our faith, although it was expected that you behave as a Christian. My Mom especially believed that people should know you're a Christian by the way you behaved (1 John), not just by what you said. She thought talk was cheap.
When we started to homeschool, a transformation took place in our home. We began to see that we didn’t have to live our lives as our parents did. Not out of disrespect for the way they raised us, but because they raised us in such a way as to have the confidence to do what we knew to be the right thing.
Our decision to homeschool had consequences for our extended families, not just our children. Our studies drove us deeper into His Word. We spent many hours on theological questions as the basis for all of our learning, trying to see things things through our Christian worldview.
We became more vocal about our faith. We taught our children to confidently discuss their faith without being argumentative or authoritative. In good Lutheran fashion we continually asked, "What does this mean?" We taught them to spot heresy by challenging what was said/written by comparing it to Scripture.
This made extended family members feel uncomfortable. Why couldn’t we just be like we were before? Why couldn't we just be quiet about matters of faith? Why did it take up so much of our time?
Mom had come from a long line of educators. Both her parents had been teachers. ALL of her aunts and uncles were teachers as well. I was supposed to carry on that tradition as I went to college and made “special education” my major. But that expectation of my Mom was dashed when I left college after my junior year. Although it delighted me to finally be teaching when it had been such a strong desire of mine earlier, my Mom could not share in that joy. She did not approve of our homeschooling, and she wasn’t going to debate it. She just commented on it often and did not allow me to comment back. And I did not force the issue out of respect for her.
As my family members gathered at our home that fall day they were seeking solice at this time of uncertainty, and another transformation began.
Busy, agonizing hours lay ahead of us. Now suddenly my family was able to freely discuss and share their faith openly. This bound us together at that time and focused us on the important issue of Jesus Christ's propitiative death on our behalf, because in the end, that's what it is all about.
This new way to interact sustained us as my father, Paul, suffered a major heart attack two days after Mom died. It sustained us as we handled all the details and got through the funeral and hospitalization of my Dad and all the other myriad details that follow a death.
There are three reasons I've shared this personal story here. First, because we still hear about familial opposition to a decision to homeschool. Although it's become a more accepted form of education, it still has real opposition as well. I wanted to share with you the hope that your extended families may also experience the transforming power of that decision. Only our Father in Heaven knows when or if. But hold fast, you are doing what is good, right and salutary.
Secondly, because I am so thankful to my parents for laying the foundation of faith in my life. They held fast to the promises they made on my behalf at my baptism and brought me regularly to church so I could learn about the Christian faith, they confessed their belief in the Apostle's Creed and taught it to me, they renounced the devil and all his evil words and ways on my behalf. My parents raised me to be a Christian. Moreover, my husband and I are raising our children to be Christians having made those same vows at their baptisms and watching two of them (the third is not quite old enough) make those same vows at their confirmations. (3 John 1:4) The difference is we're talking and sharing about it along the way.
And lastly, because I wanted to share about my Mom on this day and to say "I love you and I miss you, Mom."
November 17, 2007
Dancing Queens
My older girls L-O-V-E to swing dance! They usually can be found at the AFA Swing Katz! on Thursday evenings.
Here's a few photos from those evenings.
This side aerial was invented by the young man in the picture.
S likes being dipped.
An A-frame aerial.
The window.
A random spin following a move called the cradle.
Here's a few photos from those evenings.
This side aerial was invented by the young man in the picture.
S likes being dipped.
An A-frame aerial.
The window.
A random spin following a move called the cradle.
November 15, 2007
Entourage
S and K were awakened this morning with the lovely news that they had to do hand washing because there was no dishwashing soap. This meant they had to do two full days of dishes because what was loaded in the dishwasher also had to be washed.
I was expecting for this to bring upon weeping and gnashing of teeth. But to my delight, they murmured not and got down to business. I even snuck up behind them grabbed them in a big bear hug and squeezed them together. This usually illicits the wailing, "Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmm" remark. (that looks too much like moo).
Afterwards, I was going up the stairs as K was coming down, and the dogs were clammering around her and gave her a hug on the top stair. The dogs went nuts, jumping all over her. Sheesh. Little rug rats. I remarked, "what's up with them?"
K said, "They're my entourage."
So, here's a look at her entourage...
I was expecting for this to bring upon weeping and gnashing of teeth. But to my delight, they murmured not and got down to business. I even snuck up behind them grabbed them in a big bear hug and squeezed them together. This usually illicits the wailing, "Moooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmm" remark. (that looks too much like moo).
Afterwards, I was going up the stairs as K was coming down, and the dogs were clammering around her and gave her a hug on the top stair. The dogs went nuts, jumping all over her. Sheesh. Little rug rats. I remarked, "what's up with them?"
K said, "They're my entourage."
So, here's a look at her entourage...
November 13, 2007
Hune Tymns
I haven't been sleeping well the last several nights due to sciatica pain. In fact, last night was the first time I'd slept through the night in a while.
So, of course, I'm still draggin' butt today...
This morning during our devotional time, I was so tired and I was sharing with the girls about Ray Palmer who wrote "My Faith Looks Up to Thee." There were a few times when I was not annunciating as I should.
And then I said, "hune tymns" instead of "hymn tunes." This amused them and they giggled and giggled. Girls....
So, of course, I'm still draggin' butt today...
This morning during our devotional time, I was so tired and I was sharing with the girls about Ray Palmer who wrote "My Faith Looks Up to Thee." There were a few times when I was not annunciating as I should.
And then I said, "hune tymns" instead of "hymn tunes." This amused them and they giggled and giggled. Girls....
November 11, 2007
Mesmerized
This is how R has been positioned most of the weekend. Glued to the TV. (notice the "All Through the Ages" book on the chair that I've been using to plan out her studies beginning in January.)She is mesmerized by "The Wizard of Oz" which has been on TV mulitiple times this weekend. She's been quoting lines from the movie, but our favorite to hear her say is the Scarecrow's line, "Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking."
She watches while playing with her "Village People" (little two inch Fisher Price Sweet Streets people, houses and accessories) and her little Disney Princesses and such.
Earlier in the week she had been mixing Polly Pockets with Star Wars characters. May the Force be with you! 
The suitcase that Padme is hanging out in was my mother's "overnight" suitcase that she used in high school, so it predates her marriage to my father. As a child I used it to house my Barbies and the one armed Ken. Ken only had one arm as he had been injured in Vietnam. He was an original Ken that come as a hand-me-down to me from one of my older sisters. I have no idea how he lost his arm, but to this Air Force brat, it seemed perfectly logical that he lost his arm fighting in Vietnam.
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