Where's Honest Abe When We Need Him?

If, like me, you live in Pennsylvania, you can't go anywhere without being bombarded by political ads, billboards, and sound bites. Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of it. Obama, Hilary and their handlers have descended on our state and are now trying desperately to identify with us common folk. So we've got Hilary downing shots in one part of the state and Obama bowling an embarrassing 30+ score. Who bowls a 30? Obviously someone who's never lifted a bowling ball before in his life. He should have settled for the stale popcorn and cheered on the regular bowlers from the sidelines. As far as Hilary and the "spirits", I'm not sure what she was drinking but she apparently took to it like a duck to water, which I'm thinking might not be a good thing.

Then we've got the "he said, she said" tiff going on. For Pete's sake, enough already! If I have to keep on listening to charges of "false memories" or "elitist comments", I just might turn bitter and what will I do then? I don't own a gun so I can't turn to that for comfort. That means I can only turn to my religion. Oh wait! I ALREADY turn to my faith for direction and solace. Gee, I must be from a small town in Pennsylvania. I mean, it can't be because I have managed to weave my spiritual beliefs into the structure of my life, could it?

I had high hopes for the Compassion Forum hosted by Messiah College. In fact, I urged our Sunday School class to watch it last Sunday. Some in our class expressed their cynicism that it would all be just canned rhetoric. I urged them to give it a chance. There were going to be important topics discussed that usually get left out of the normal campaign hot buttons. "Besides", I told them, "Give a person long enough and what is really in their heart will find its way out of their mouth." Not terribly eloquent but something I truly believe. Unfortunately, the forum turned out to be mostly very superficial questions with the candidates' answers sounding like something they'd memorized out of a catechism book. With all their talk of "Grace" and the "Holy Spirit", I sure didn't sense much of the "Spirit-led" in what they said.

And then there's John McCain. He hasn't had to do much of anything lately except sit back and enjoy watching the in-fighting amongst the Democrats. If the two Democratic hopefuls keep this up, they can pretty much hand over the presidency to McCain on a silver platter. And herein lies my dilemma. I've almost always been a Republican. The only time I ever voted Democrat for a president was way back in my college days when I voted for Jimmy Carter in an act of young rebellion. We all know how that turned out. It was like throwing one peanut (no offense to peanut farmers) at a herd of thundering elephants. He got flattened by the Washington power players.

I could vote for Hilary but that would mean having her husband back in the White House and on moral values, I just can't do it. I could vote for Obama. Actually, I considered it at one point. But somehow his legislative actions just don't jive with his eloquent words. I can't seem to get past that. I admire McCain for how he survived as a POW but I don't much care for his voting record. There isn't an independent candidate that I want to vote for so where does that leave me? Quite honestly, it leaves me wishing that good old Abe Lincoln was here running for president again. We need a quiet, humble leader ready to make the right decisions, even when they aren't popular. We need someone who can try to reunite our country and right our economy after the ravages of war and greed. We need someone who isn't going to spend us into oblivion using money our country doesn't have. What we need is a hero and what we DON'T need is another long, drawn-out campaign to show us who that is.

My Name is Dee and I'm a Perfectionist!

I've been feeling a tad unappreciated lately. Here I've sat, practically chained to the computer while working away on my daughter's wedding pictures and all I've heard is "Aren't you done with those pictures yet?" I had hoped that I would feel the joy spreading up from the D.C. area as my dear child thought of me slaving away, taking such great care to edit her pictures so precisely but the only thing I've been feeling is my hips spreading from all this sitting.

I suppose I could have just whizzed through the 600+ photographs and only taken the time to edit out the red eyes from people but that isn't how I operate. You see, I'm a perfectionist. If I'm going to do something, I want to do it right, as in "suck in your breath, would you look at this, hold on to your hat, Martha, you ain't ever seen anything like THIS before, it's better than anyone on the face of the planet could have done it," right.

Now, I could have left this picture just like this and most couples wouldn't have minded at all. But a perfectionist would have looked at this picture and heard that phone in the background ringing every time they looked at it. Who in the world puts a phone on the front of a choir railing? Does the choir director call the sound booth in the middle of the service if the music doesn't start on time for the anthem and say, "Hey, could you cue up the tape already?" No, that phone had to go. So I used my handy little Creative Memories photo editing program and in a matter of a few minutes, the photo now looked like the one on the left.

No phone! Much less distracting, wouldn't you agree? But I haven't been stopping with just phones. Oh no! I've been taking out distracting microphone cords dangling from the ceilings above the wedding party. I've been erasing huge and unsightly speaker boxes from the walls behind the family photo groupings up on the stage. If people in the photos have had eyes glowing as red as embers, looking like they're possessed by who knows what, I've given them back their normal eyes. If they've happened to be wearing contacts, I've even given them back pupils where before they had opaque white circles staring back at the camera.

If everyone looked good in a photo except for one or two whose eyes weren't open, I've been examining the photo to see if there was some element that I could save out of it. For example, in the photo on the right, our groom has his eyes shut. But it is a really nice picture of the bride and her father. So I just cropped out the groom and myself and left in the two on the left. I had to do a little "erasing" of the groom out of the cropped picture but I can do that with the miracle of the cloning tool in my editing bag of tricks.

Gone is the groom (temporarily) and now we have a nice shot of the bride and her dad. But I didn't just whip that up in two seconds. That took a little time.

I'm also doing things like sharpening the focus when the pictures are fuzzy. Sometimes I'm purposely blurring the background when there is nothing in the background of note so that the bride and groom will really stand out, or in today's terms, so that they will "really pop." I'm assessing the colors and adjusting color temperatures as needed or changing shadows, highlights, contrasts to bring out the best in each picture. Sometimes I'm even taking off double chins.

My son-in-law is NOT prone to having double chins. He's in fine shape, works out and has muscles in all the right places, according to my daughter. But anyone, when tilting their head
in a certain way and looking down, will end up with a double chin. Just think back to some of your drivers license photos. I knew that I could remove that extra chin and I decided to do it. Why not? Wouldn't you want to look your best in your wedding photos? Some day when your skinny son is looking at your wedding pictures and you are 30 pounds overweight and he says to you, "Hey, Dad, is that REALLY you?" , don't you want to be able to say, "Yeah! Looked pretty good, didn't I?" You betcha! So now, here's the happy couple after a little help from Mom.

I did contemplate trying to shave off about 4 inches from my hips in some of the pictures but couldn't quite figure out how to shave off a comparable amount from my torso so had to resist the urge and move on to other challenges.

So when my daughter says, "Mom aren't you done with those pictures yet?", she should remember that creative genius can't be rushed. I am a perfectionist and I'm going to take the time to do it right.

Maybe it would help if I put it in terms that she would understand. OK, here goes. NOTE TO MY CHILDREN: Do NOT rush me! I have editing tools and I know how to use them.

This Much I Know

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't know, despite the fact that I have pursued a lifetime of learning. How, for example, can you go from highest joy to fear to grief in just the space of a few sentences? Why does your nose swell when you cry? How can a parent make the pain go away for their children?

I found out two days ago that I was going to be a grandmother..... maybe, but there could be complications. Yesterday I found out that the baby was miscarried. I wish my father was still alive so I could crawl up on his lap again and have him explain to me why my tears taste like salt. I wish my mother was still able to make the pain go away. And most of all, I wish I could have spared my son and daughter-in-law this grief they are going through. Unfortunately, I just don't know how to do that.
But this much I know!

I know that a mother and a father have to grieve no matter how early or how late in a pregnancy a baby is lost.

I know that a baby in the womb is more than just a combination of cells that really mean nothing much until it is born, despite what they tried to tell us in the Sixties during Women's Liberation, and even today. I learned this the hard way. And ever since, I've tried to be as honest as possible with teenagers I've come into contact with and my own children about that fact. When you are pregnant, you are carrying a child....a human life. And the loss of that life will have a tremendous impact on you.

I know that God is in control and that not one life is lost, whether in the womb or having lived on this earth for many years without it being taken into account through His Divine Plan.

I know that those of us who have lost unborn children whether it was via miscarriage, stillbirth, or even abortion.....if we are Christians who have claimed Christ as our Savior and have been washed in His blood, then we will see our children in Heaven. The Bible says in Psalm 22:10 .."from my mother's womb you have been my God." In Psalm 139: 13-16 God is revealed as knowing us even before we were born, of forming us in the womb, and of allotting to each of us the number of days for our lives. The God of the universe, who has taken such care with the formation of a tiny life, has also provided for that child in His perfect plan.

Yes, this much I know. And someday, when I reach Heaven, I will have a joyous meeting with my two children I have not yet had the chance to hold and one beloved grandchild.

Cheap Thrills and Expensive Tastes

Yarn, glorious yarn! Does it get much better than this when it comes to fun things to look forward to? Spring is in the air, my friends, and it's April. That means that May is right around the corner and that means......ta-dah...trumpet voluntare.....crashing of cymbals, please! It's almost time for the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. I can just about feel that yarn now.

I do mean FEEL it, too. I can't keep my hands off it when I'm there. I have to touch every skein I come into contact with, smoosh it in my hands, rub a strand between my fingers, and sometimes (gasp) I even sniff it. Now some of you non-knitting folks might think this behavior is a little peculiar but au contraire, my friends. I'm not the only one stroking the goods. Look around. Most everyone else is, too. Unless, of course, you were conscripted into service as a driver or navigator and dragged to the event like my daughter was three years running.

Two years ago I was happily petting yarn in a booth while my daughter waited out in the aisle. She refused to come into the booth with me and the other fiber fanatics who were crowded around the tempting display. I don't remember if I purchased anything from that vendor that day but I do remember the grin on Laura's face when I finally re-emerged to join her.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

 
"You are,", she responded. "Hey, see that guy over there? He came up to me while I was standing here and said, 'You're not one of THEM, are you?' and he pointed right at all of you in that booth. "

"One of THEM?" I said, astonished. "What did he mean?"

"I told him 'Nah...I'm here with my mother. She's in there squeezing the yarn' and then he said 'I THOUGHT you were one of the normal ones. I drove my wife here. She's in there doing the same thing.'"

This year my daughter has moved further from the fairgrounds where the festival is held. That means I probably won't be able to coerce her into coming with me. I'll probably be arriving with my husband in tow. This was the case last year and it presented its own set of challenges. It wasn't so much that he minded me handling the merchandise. Oh no, he patiently tagged along and told me to take all the time I wanted to look. But that's the operative word...."look." I didn't WANT to just look. I wanted to BUY. And I wanted to buy without someone with an accountant's knack for keeping a running total standing there looking over my shoulder.

I tried sending him on errands like getting drinks for us or trying to find a manual for the weaving loom I'd received as a gift but he kept coming back like a homing pigeon, only quicker. Finally in desperation I said, "Honey, would you mind sitting down over there?" and I waved vaguely in the direction of a lady giving a demonstration of felting. "I won't be long," I assured him. He looked a little dubious but trotted off nevertheless and found a chair.

Quickly I started grabbing the skeins of alpaca I'd been eyeing and then made a lunge for some fingering weight merino, almost knocking a lady over in my haste to make hay while the cat was away. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I gasped. "I'm just trying to get this yarn bought before my husband comes back and sees what I'm paying."

"Honey, I know exactly what you mean," she chuckled. "Mine's over at the spinning demo. Where's yours?"

"Felting," I replied, as we grinned at each other over our armfuls of yarn.

Mush, You Varmints, Mush!

My first mistake was thinking that the window guy was coming at 1 p.m. to measure the dormer windows upstairs. I had a nagging feeling that I might have made a mistake when I put that time on the calendar last week but my hubby had caught me napping at the computer when he called to inform me of the upcoming appointment. I was still a little groggy when he told me what time the guy would be coming over but I really thought he had said 1.

That left me plenty of time to run to the bank this morning and then on to the post office. From there I decided to take a quick detour over to the grocery store to see if they had my favorite detergent. I successfully sidestepped the donut aisle, got sucked in by the cake table in the back and then made a mad dash to the cash register with a peanut butter frosted cake under one arm and the "prophetically titled" Gain detergent under the other arm.

From there it was just a short hop, skip, and a jump back to the house. My mouth was already salivating over that peanut butter frosting as I drove down our street and toward the house. Horrors! There was a strange car in the driveway and it was only 11:30 a.m. The window guy was already here and waiting.

"Sorry," I breathlessly shouted as I pushed the garage door opener on the fly as I darted out of the car. "I thought you were coming at 1."

"No, I was supposed to be here at noon so I'm actually a little early," he replied, following me into the garage.

"Look, you'll have to stay right here for just a minute while I corral the dogs," I ordered and squeezed in the side door before my canine protector could charge outside.

"Fresca," I shouted in my best command voice, "Come here. Stop that barking! Schatze, get over here."

Schatze is Fresca's best friend and we're dogsitting her while her humans are away on vacation. She's pretty harmless but she's loud. Fresca, on the other hand, is loud AND protective so I don't like to take any chances with that furball.

"Fresca, get downstairs RIGHT NOW!" She flew past me and I managed to head her off at the hallway and funnel her down the basement steps. Schatze took one look at the basement, looked at me as if to say, "Yeah, right" and flew into the living room and my husband's favorite chair, ready to stand lookout. "Divide and conquer," I thought and headed down to the basement where I did my best Dog Whisperer impression and finally manhandled Fresca into the back room and got the door shut. I could tell by the din that she wasn't too pleased but both entrances into the back room were shut so Fresca was safely out of play.

I ran back upstairs and headed over to Schatze who decided this was a new game of Tag, leaping off the chair and between my legs before I could say "Stay" and the chase was on. Little dogs are quick. "Schatze," I thundered, "Get over here. " I pointed to the guestroom door and drew myself up to my full "Mistress of My Domain" height. She looked at me with big eyes and then I swear to you, she stomped her foot and tried to dart past me. She was quick but I was quicker and I had her signed, sealed, and delivered to that bedroom before she could say "Ruff."

I dimly became aware that the phone was ringing and I wearily grabbed it on my way back to the garage door. It was my dear husband calling to tell me that the window guy was going to be there early. At least I think he was telling me that because I could barely hear him with the dogs barking. "Thanks," I snarled. "He's been out in the garage for the past 10 minutes while I've been trying to get the dogs corralled." George knows when to cut and run. "OK, bye!" was all he said.

I finally got the poor window guy into the house and up to the top floor to do the measuring. "You can take off that curtain if you need to," I told him. "It's on a pressure....." Rowwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrr! I suddenly heard a commotion that seemed to be a lot closer than the basement. "Holy cow," I blurted, "I think one of the dogs is out."

I flew out of the room, slamming the door shut on the poor guy. As I headed down the stairs, a white streak was heading up in full voice. Fresca had somehow gotten one of the basement doors open and was on her way to do battle.

"Hold it right there!" I screeched. "You are a BAD GIRL, Fresca Porterfield. Get down here this instant." She reversed direction, still barking up a storm, and flashed past me. "To heck with the basement," I thought, and grabbed her ruff and guided her into the guestroom where she joined her cohort in crime.

I was just heading up the stairs to tell the fellow that the dogs were shut up again when he peeked around the corner. "I'm all done measuring," he said. "I'll send the estimate in the mail. I'll just go back out through the garage, if that's ok?" And he beat a hasty retreat. It was probably the fastest service call I'd ever experienced.

"OK, you varmints, you can come out now," I said as I opened the guestroom door. Two furry bodies streaked past me yapping in soprano and uber-soprano. They raced to the front windows and checked to make sure the offender was gone. He was. Then they calmly walked to their beds and sat down like two little angels. Mission accomplished!