Fresca, the Wonder Dog, Strikes Again

It's been one of those days. I knew it was headed south when I came downstairs this morning for breakfast and noticed the roll of paper towels sitting on the dining room table along with the floor cleaner spray. That usually means I'm going to be "treated" to an explanation of something that my dear hubby had to clean up when HE came down for breakfast before me.

I didn't have long to wait. It seems our dog, Fresca...a miniature American Eskimo, had a little accident in the night plus she had thrown up. This is very unlike her. She just doesn't have accidents in the house.

As I sat there mulling this over, I noticed that Fresca was acting very strange. She was acting even more neurotic than she usually does. First she'd jump up into one chair, turn around in circles and plop down. Then, two seconds later, she'd stand up and jump down and go to the other chair and repeat the same process.....turning, turning, turning and then plopping down. Two seconds later she'd jump down and turn her circles on the floor. She just couldn't seem to get settled and this turning had me baffled. If I didn't know that she had been spayed 7 years earlier, I would have thought she was trying to nest.

I watched her throughout the morning as she twisted her blanket in my craft room into a heap going through her circling and rooting motions and then did the same thing to the bedspread and blankets in the guest room. This was getting downright wierd. So I called her vet and made an appointment to bring her over in the afternoon.

Let me just say that I HATE taking Fresca to the vet because she always makes a big scene while we are there. We merely have to walk in the door and she starts with the attitude. Today was no exception. You know, looking at her you would think that Fresca is this happy, little ball of fluff. Well, that little fluff ball turns into a tiger when she arrives at the vet's office. We careened into the waiting room and I barely had enough time to slap the urine sample (and that's a whole 'nother story which I won't go into) on the receptionist's counter before she tried to take on a Rhodesian Ridgeback. He didn't look too impressed so she peered around for other victims.


Before we were called into the examining room, she had terrorized two tiny Yorkies, one of which had to be taken outside into the fresh air by his owner because I think the little thing fainted. Fresca berated a nervous Shih Tzu so loudly that the poor thing had an accident on his owner's lap. "Don't worry," the owner graciously assured me as she pulled out a kleenex. "I needed a stool sample anyway."


The door opened and a big, black lab started in. One look at Fresca's yapping face and the poor thing tried to escape back out the door so fast that it almost knocked its owner over. During all this, I was trying all of the Dog Whisperer's tricks I could think of, to no avail. I think it would have taken an elephant tranquilizer to get "calm and submissive" at this point.


We finally got in to see the vet, who got so fed up with Fresca's attitude that she hoisted her up, carried her to the back and muzzled her to finish the exam. That was fine with me. I was just glad for a little peace and quiet. After all that drama and $80 later, they couldn't find anything wrong with her. Her vocal chords were certainly fine because she had to give the waiting room another piece of her mind while I paid the bill.


One dog owner gallantly said, "Beautiful animal. American Eskie?"


"Yup," I shouted over the din.


"They've got a lot of energy," he continued.


"You can say that again," I responded and then we beat a hasty retreat out the door. Well, in Fresca's case it was more like a "charge." As we headed for the car, we passed the Yorkie and his owner who was cradling him like a baby.


"It's safe now. You can take him inside," I assured him. "This bad girl's going home."

One Donut Shy of a Relapse

True confession time! Here I was....merrily going along without so much as ONE donut from Sept. 9 to today, the 17th. That's eight days, my friends. More days than I've probably ever gone in recent history without the familiar solace of my glazed amis. Oh man, but did I blow it. I guess I could blame it on the phone call from my son who casually mentioned that it was only 3 days before he and his wife would be flying out of the country for what will probably be at least 3 years abroad. That's usually enough to send me reaching for empty calories. But it was probably more of a combination of the fact that I feel like I'm coming down with a cold, I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, and it was already 2 hours past my lunch time and I was hungry. So I elbowed a lady away from the donut case and plopped five, yes.....FIVE donuts into my shopping bag, paid and headed out the door. And I ate every single one. To compound the sin, I ate them while reading the latest issue of "Christianity Today." Is that a double sin? I guess in my twisted way of thinking, if I had eaten a full half-dozen, this would count as a relapse of the worst kind. But, since I was actually one donut shy of a half-dozen, I'm considering this only a temporary blip on the dietary radar and getting back into the saddle (Whoa, Nelly!)


I'm apparently not alone in singing the diet blues. On Monday, I went to my weekly diet group's meeting. Weigh-in wasn't great (I'd gained, but not too badly). However, when it came time for confession, it was soon apparent that there were quite a few of us who had gained. When the final tally was given, it was something like a total weight loss of 7 pounds and a total weight gain of 22+ pounds. Ouch!


Our instructor is really trying to get us motivated, bless his heart. He read us a list of warning signs that you have a problem with food. One of them was "You've eaten in the dark." 

"Eaten in the dark?", someone said. "Why would someone ever eat in the dark?"

Someone else piped up, trying to be helpful. "Well, how about when you eat popcorn in a movie theatre? It's dark in there."

"I've eaten in restaurants that were so dark you might as well have been eating in the dark. You couldn't see the food," added another member.

"Well, I've eaten in the dark," confessed my friend. "I've eaten in bed at night. And sometimes I sit in front of the TV at night and don't turn on the lights and I eat while I watch a show."

"I've got you all beat," I announced. "Have you ever eaten in a toilet stall?"

They all swung around to look at me. "Why would anyone want to eat in a toilet stall?", said the girl sitting across from me.

I shrugged. "I used to go down the hall and stand in a toilet stall to eat Reeses Peanut Butter Cups at work when I didn't want anyone to know I was cheating on my diet. The only problem was that inevitably I'd get stopped by someone on the way back who would want to chat and I had peanut butter breath."

They all hooted. "That takes the cake," someone shouted.

"Naw, I never took one of those into the bathroom."

Our leader was shaking his head. He could tell it was going to be one of those nights.
On a positive note, I got two wonderful skeins of yarn in the mail today from one of my favorite online vendors, http://www.theloopyewe.com/
The Loopy Ewe. Both skeins are from Creatively Dyed Yarns and the colors are just gorgeous. The one on the left is the "Bubblegum" colorway. It's a sockweight yarn in her yarn line called "Luxury" which is 80% Merino, 10% Cashmere, and 10% Nylon. The other skein is a vibrant red that just glows. It is in the colorway "Salsa and the yarn line is the same as I just described. I've decided that these colors are just too beautiful to hide in my shoes. I think I'm going to have to get more of the yarn and make some shawls out of it. What do you think? The woman behind this great yarn, Dianne, comes up with the colors from memories of her birthplace Trinidad and Tobago. I can't wait to get more of her yarn.


OK, that's all for today. I'm back on the "Do-NOT eat donuts" wagon. Guess I'll go find some cardboard to chew on.

Paradise Has a Price

I've been glued to the TV the last few days watching the progression of Hurricane Ivan....er, Igor.....Isaac? Oh, one of those "I" names. I can't seem to get this one straight. My husband pipes up, "It's named after an American president." "Ah, yes," I retort. "Ike." (Menopausal minds! Who knows where they go when they're out to lunch?)

As I was saying, I've been watching the news of Hurricane Ike with both fascination and dread. With fascination because something that big is simply awesome to behold, as long as you're beholding it in a nice, dry and remote location from the action. With dread because this time, it's gotten personal.

You see, my son Jason and his wife, Laura have been visiting her parents who happen to live just south of Houston, not far from a lovely little tourist attraction located on a bay inlet called Kemah. In fact, when we flew down to the Houston area for Jason's wedding, we enjoyed several great meals in Kemah, walking off the calories later on the boardwalk where we admired the boats tied up along the piers.


On Thursday, Jason called us to say they'd just finished boarding up the windows of the house and now his in-laws, Laura, and the dog were packing up and getting ready to leave because they had just received an order to evacuate by noon. Wow! Dad B. had decided to head towards Oklahoma where his youngest daughter attends college.


Our family network was up and running by Friday. My brother, John was emailing me and phoning me as we both watched "Ike" take aim on Galveston and the barrier island there. My brother-in-law, John graciously said he could put them all up at his place outside San Antonio if they needed an alternate place to stay. Hubby was flipping back and forth between the Weather Channel and CNN for up-to-the-minute news, and I was doing what I do best.....shopping since I'm not allowing myself to eat DONUTS, which is my usual escape valve when I'm stressed.


In January, after the wedding, my brother and sister-in-law and George and I had stayed for a week near the town of Surfside Beach, which is below Galveston on a narrow barrier island. The little resort we stayed at was right on the beach. We amused ourselves by driving into the little town for cheap cappaccinos and then we'd go to the little park and walk along the water and watch the surfers. Other days we drove back into Galveston and on our way back, we'd stop at a restaurant right along the highway with the seawall on the other side of the highway. This restaurant had big helpings, great desserts, and cheap prices. Perfect! Now John and I find ourselves wondering if it is still there. It didn't look that sturdy when we were there in January. And there was nothing but pavement between it and the seawall. For that matter, what's left of the resort? Or Kitty's Purple Cow, the diner we enjoyed in Surfside Beach?


One of the amazing things to us Midwesterners was the variety of houses on stilts that we encountered. We saw your typical modest beach houses on stilts, made out of wood. Basically they looked like typical cottages built on a wooden platform that was supported on skinny little wooden legs. These were usually right out on the beach, surrounded by scrub grass but with a spectacular view. Then you had your very fancy summer homes built on concrete pillars . These homes were also built on the beach but the grounds were landscaped a little better with actual grass and a few palm trees. They, too had a great view and were usually in some type of gated community. We'd drive past slowly and imagine what it must be like living in one of those homes, taking your coffee out on the deck and watching the sun rise over the ocean horizon.


In view of Hurricane Ike, there is one house we saw that we suspect would fare pretty well. This was a beach house built out of a buoy. It certainly looked bizarre but boy, you sure hope a buoy would float if a storm surge swept over it.


Since "Ike" has hit, we've seen pictures of debris scattered over highways we traveled on the way to Laura's parents' home. We've seen footage of Kemah flooded. We've heard that most folks are without power and can't expect to have it restored for weeks. We've listened to reporters tell of destruction in Surfside Beach, especially of those homes that were on wooden stilts. We've talked to Jason and they don't know yet what is the state of Dad and Mom B.'s home.


It occurs to me that most places that could be considered a "paradise" always seem to come with a cost. Oh, you might not consider Houston to be a paradise but believe me, if you'd come to Houston from a frozen PA in January and found folks walking around in shorts, it would have seemed like paradise to you. People move to Florida for the wonderful winters in a tropical setting. Cost = Hurricane vulnerability. Southern Texas and Arizona offer freedom from winter. Cost = scorpions and scorching summers. Coastal Texas throws in hurricanes. We lived in South Carolina, a lovely state with mild winters. Cost = summer humidity, bugs galore, and the occasional hurricane. California is a mecca for many. Cost = earthquakes, high ratio of , er, strange people, and "Ah-nold." 


Then there's my own personal favorite paradise, Minnesota. Hey, go ahead and laugh but in my family, we grew up knowing that another name for Minnesota was "God's Country." If that isn't paradise, I don't know what is. Yet anyone who grows up on the prairie knows that there is a cost that can occur. Goodness, children on the prairie develop their "weather eyes" at the same time they are cutting their "eye teeth." Blizzards can come up out of nowhere. You could be found frozen to death just a yard or two from your own back door back in the old days when snow would come in so thick that you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. Tornadoes materialize out of huge thunderclouds that roll across the horizon in the summer. One of my great-aunts was killed when the barn roof blew off and crushed her as she was running for the farmhouse in such a storm. Yes, we keep a close eye on the weather in Minnesota. But on a nice day, there's no place finer.


But back to Hurricane Ike and all those who have been in harm's way. Our heart goes out to them and our prayers are with them. I don't know yet if David and Joyce's home has been damaged. I hope it has survived just fine. Regardless, I know it will be challenging for all those in that area who will be without power for the next few weeks. Houston isn't chilly this time of year. I complain when our lights go out for a few hours in a storm but weeks? Yet, we're a resilient people. And just as that famous old author, Milton wrote "Paradise Lost", we can remind ourselves that he also wrote "Paradise Regained."

Get Thee Behind Me!

I blame it on my mother! (Don't we all?) My father, Lord love him, had the right idea as he tried to distract my toddler tears by pointing out to me that they were salty and that I should try tasting them. My mother, the ever-practical one, simply walked by and handed me a cookie. I hate to admit it but the cookie won out over the salt. It wasn't even a contest. To this day, I've been constantly lured off the straight and narrow healthy path by sweets. I can resist salty snacks no problemo but wave a donut in front of me and you'd best be quick or you'll find yourself missing a few fingers as well as the donut.

My Sunday School class is currently studying the topic of angels and as part of that subject, we've delved into the Fall of Man. I've thought about that first temptation when that old fallen angel, Satan himself, in the guise of a serpent, was able to get Eve to take a bite of that forbidden fruit. Tradition has it that it was an apple. I just find it hard to wrap my mind around someone willing to cross the Lord of the universe for an apple. Frankly, apples rank right up on my list of temptations alongside sauerkraut. But a glazed, white cream-filled donut -- ah, that might have given me a little pause. I would hope I would have had the strength of mind to say "Thanks, but NO THANKS," and have beat feet back to Adam. Yet, in our discussions in class, we have concluded that the devil is a master at finding our weakest spots and then tailoring temptations to just those areas. I'm afraid one sniff of that donut and one look at it's glazed surface and I would have battled SERIOUS weakness.

But it gets worse. You know how the Bible says that the sins of the father will be visited upon the children onto even future generations? Well, I don't know about the sins of the "father", but the weaknesses of the "mother" have led to the passing on of certain, shall we say, "UNUSUAL" skills to my children. My son reminded me the other day when he and his wife were visiting us of how I had taught him to be able to pick out the donuts with the most cream filling.

"I did?" I asked, trying to look innocent because his wife was right there in the same room. She's a doctor AND she eats very healthy foods. At the same time, I was giving him "the eye" which, as most children know by the time they've grown up means, "Hey Buster, you're treading on thin ice here. Move on to another topic." Of course, like most grown children who have the chance to poke a little good-natured fun at their parents, my son chose to ignore the signal.


"Yea, sure. Don't you remember how you showed me to pick up different ones and see how heavy they were? If they were REALLY heavy, that meant they had the most cream inside," he explained. "That little tip has never failed me, Mom."

I looked sheepishly over at Laura. "Um, I always insisted that they use those little waxed papers, though," I assured her. Sheesh! What a skill to pass on to my kids, I thought.

And so we come back to the garden and Eve. If she hadn't eaten that apple, things would be a lot more pleasant here on Earth. If I hadn't eaten all those donuts over the years, I'd be a lot healthier today. But one bite leads to another and before you know it, you've got THIS, my friends.
So I'm issuing myself a little challenge. From now on, when I see a "donut", I'm going to think to myself, "DO NOT" as in, "DO NOT eat the DONUT!". I'll keep you all posted on my progress as I see how long I can go resisting this temptation. I'm going to be doing a LOT of praying. Any prayers you'd like to send my way would be gratefully appreciated.

The Incredible Growing Scarf

Yippee! I came in under the wire on this Knit-a-Long (KAL) with several weeks to spare. I have to admit that I was a little worried considering that I was also knitting up a storm on socks for the Summer of Socks '08. But "I dood it!", as my Mom likes to say.

This was a KAL headed up by the Loopy Ewe gang over at Ravelry. If you haven't discovered Ravelry yet and you like to knit or crochet, my friend...you need to head on over and read all about it. Membership is free. You just have to sign up and wait several days until you get an email invitation to join and then the fun begins. This is a marvelous worldwide community of fiber people and the website is chock full of patterns, groups of every interest imaginable, pictures of people's projects, a library feature where you can add your knitting books, etc. Really, it is just hard to describe. You have to experience it. Imagine a big convention of like-minded folk and now extend that convention to year-round, 24 hours a day, at your fingertips whenever you want to be there. Go to http://www.ravelry.com/ and when you get on, look up "Booklassie" and say "hi." You'll find me up there most days and if I'm temporarily away, you can leave me a message.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes....talking about the KAL that the Loopy Ewe group was doing. Loopy Ewe (and I promise I'll stop tantalizing you soon) is a fantastic vendor of sock yarns and accessories and spinning wheels, etc. Sheri has a wonderful selection of handpainted yarns from some great companies and some wonderful new Indie artists. Her service is top-notch. You can find the Loopy Ewe store here http://www.theloopyewe.com/ and don't say I didn't warn you.....you might become a "Loopy Groopy."

Now, back to what I was saying. We all picked a Dream in Color Baby laceweight yarn and then each picked our own projects to knit. Concurrently, there was a Red KAL going on and so I decided to pick some DiC Baby in the colorway "Lipstick Lava" and knit it up into a Rivulet scarf. I started it and decided that I wanted a little heftier weight yarn so after doubling the yarn, I was a happy knitter. Here is how it looked as I was starting out.


If you look closely, you'll see that I actually used some "lifelines" in this scarf. For those of you not too familiar with knitting, a lifeline is a piece of string or yarn threaded through something you are knitting (usually a shawl or scarf) periodically so that if you really mess up and have to rip out a bunch of rows, you can always rip down to the nearest lifeline and know that all your stitches will be intact at the point of the lifeline. And you also try to ensure that all your stitches are correct at the point that you insert a lifeline. In almost 50 years of knitting, this is the first time I've used lifelines and I can tell you that now it won't be the last. I decided that they are a good idea.

I worked and worked on that scarf and it didn't seem to be getting long very fast but the time was ticking so eventually I decided that I was going to finish her off and just artfully cross it at my throat and secure it with a nice pin. That was the plan. Imagine my surprise when, after giving it a good soak, I went to block it out and discovered that my little scarf had grown to a full 68 inches long. Wow, that yarn just relaxed and BLOOMED in my sink. I felt like Jack and the beanstalk except that I didn't have to climb anything to find a treasure. My treasure was lying on the guestroom floor.

After giving it a day or two to dry thoroughly, I unpinned it and wrapped it around my neck. It was soft and warm and long enough to wrap around my throat and sling over my shoulders, just the way I like it.

 
Once again, I'm amazed at the way lace knitting looks pre-blocking and post-blocking. And now, I plan to go pull out that stole I've been working on off and on over the summer. I've used umpteen skeins of yarn trying to get that thing long enough to wrap around a person but I was figuring that I still had another 2 or 3 skeins to add to it before blocking it. Now I'm not so sure. If that stole is anything like this scarf, I just might have a potentially LONG stole in my knitting bag. In fact, it might already be big enough to wrap around 2 or 3 people all at once. Maybe I'll call it the "Overachiever Stole."

May the Circle Be Unbroken

If you remember almost two years ago, I posted a blubbering picture of me saying "goodbye" to my youngest who was heading off for California and seminary. I've never been very good at goodbyes especially when it involves my children. I frankly hate to see them go. But my, how time flies.

There's hardly been time to blink an eye and yet here I am saying farewell yet again. Things have changed a little though, since that last snapshot. You might notice another person in the shot this time. Yes, my baby now is a husband and I have a wonderful daughter-in-law. But that only makes it doubly hard to say goodbye, especially when you don't know when the next time will come when you'll see them again. They're heading off to rejoin the mission team in Canada and then eventually off to their next mission field.

So there I was fighting back the crocodile tears. "Crocodiles." Hmmm, made me think of Peter Pan and Captain Hook which made me think of my dad and how he faithfully wrote me letters on his supper break on the graveyard shift at the factory in the evenings, pretending that they were from "Peter Pan" when I was going through my "Wendy" phase. I wondered how Dad felt when he had to say goodbye to me on my many trips off to Europe when I was in the military, which made me think of my nephew, Kevin who just finished a training session with the Army in San Antonio where he worked at one of the big hospitals there.

A person can pick up a lot of things in a hospital, like germs and infections, and things that could be as scary as the Asian bird flu, which just goes to show that you shouldn't be handling birds in Asia if you don't know where they've been or at least until they come up with a vaccine against that flu. I made a mental note to remind Jason and Laura about that. But I was already thinking about flues and the time my brother and I had toured a mansion in Newport, walking into the drawing room just in time to see a chimney sweep crawl out of the fireplace covered in soot.

Soot! If I could only sing like Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins and have a friend like Dick Van Dyke to dance around the tops of roofs with. And what about that scene where she takes the children to visit old Bert Lahr and they end up laughing so hard that they all float up to the ceiling? I have friends like that, who make me laugh so hard that tears roll down my face and we all clutch our stomachs because they hurt so much from laughing. But I've yet to float up to the ceiling. I can float on water, though. I'm about as buoyant as they come. Guess it's all those fat deposits all over. They must help you float.

You know, a root beer float would taste good right about now. I can remember the A & W Root Beer stand where I grew up and how good those frosted mugs full of root beer and vanilla ice cream tasted on a hot summer's day. We'd have to roll our car window partway up so they could hook the little tray on the window when they brought our floats. I don't know if they have many drive-in's like that anymore where they hook trays on windows.

Speaking of hooks, it's been awhile since I've done any crocheting but I am getting pretty close to finishing another pair of socks. What I really should do is get going on that shawl that's been languishing in my workbag.

Going? Did someone just mention "get going?" Oh no, it's time for Jason and Laura to head out. But I don't want them to leave. There are too many scary things out there. Have I warned them about all the things that they need to watch out for? "Now, you just be careful, young man," I admonish my son. "You take care of that wife of yours and don't take unnecessary risks or I'll....I'll.......

Isle of Skye....now that's a place I'd love to return to visit. It's been far too long since I've been to Scotland. Yessir, I think it's time to go. And it was. And they did. And now you see how my mind works and why most mornings I'll look up from the breakfast table and be amazed that it is almost 10:30 a.m. and I'm still in my pajamas. I'll have no idea where the time has gone but I DO know that I've done a heap of thinking since I came down for breakfast.

Manipulating Realities

I'll admit it. I'm an incurable escapist.....someone who just can't pass up a good alternate reality. I love to manipulate my environment, putting the unexpected in familiar settings. When I stumble across something that helps me do this, it's a GOOD day. And so, from the land that brought us Stravinsky, Rudolf Nureyev, and Dr. Zhivago, I give you a nifty little piece of escapist programming called Photofunia http://www.photofunia.com/ which should give you quite a few hours of fun.

It really is quite addicting. For example, I took a little picture of my dear hubby and me from our daughter's recent wedding and did a little playing with it. First I decided to put us on the front page of a newspaper. What fun! Wouldn't you love to see us over your first cup of coffee in the morning instead of war images, politicians, or high prices at the gas pumps?

Then I decided to put us up on the side of a building. I figured maybe America wasn't quite ready for us early in the morning so instead we'd greet commuters on their way in to work; remind the younger generation why they're working. Someone's gotta support us Baby Boomers in our golden years.

Well, I got to thinking that perhaps we shouldn't spring that little fact on the younger folk yet. We don't want to encourage a generation of underachievers, at least until their portfolios are well-padded. So I decided that I'd pop us onto the telly instead where we
could be featured on some show about couples that still have that "zing" after 29 years of marriage. It would embarrass our kids but their pets might pick up some pointers.

Pets! Ah, now that got my creative juices going. Why limit the fun to just my hubby and I? Why not expand my horizons a little? So I dug up a picture of my son-in-law and stuck him in the computer. Since I know that he is particularly fond of cats (excuse me a moment while I extricate my tongue from my cheek) I just HAD to put a cat on top of the computer. Too bad they didn't offer a white cat as an option which would have been purr-fect since our daughter and son-in-law share their home with Bailey, a big white cat.

And finally, knowing that my daughter wouldn't want to feel left out, I decided to add a poster
of Laura and I on a street kiosk display under the bright city lights of a town that shall remain nameless. I like to think that we're promoting a cozy tea room next to a quaint bookstore.

Just think, you all can have as much fun as I'm having with this gem of a website. And the beauty of it is that it is a free website. Plus you can not only save your pictures as regular pics but you can also save them as avatars, for those of you who chat on online communities.
Be forewarned though! This is highly addictive.

For Niko and Anika

As I've written in previous postings, my son and daughter-in-law recently went through the pain of miscarriage, not once but twice. This past week, they returned to the spot where they first became engaged and held a private ceremony for the two little ones they've lost.

They were sure that the first baby was going to be a boy (Niko) and had picked out a name for the second baby (Anika), who they were just as sure was going to be a girl. Both of them wrote letters to the babies, which they buried under this little stone. I was privileged to be able to read what they wrote. It was heartbreaking but it was also such a testimony to their love, their faith, and their belief in God's goodness.

It's an impotent feeling when tragedies happen and you're far away. I couldn't physically be there for my son and daughter-in-law as all this was happening, to hold them tight and let them know that things will get better. As the grandmother, I never got the chance to shower these babies with knitted hats and mittens, handsewn baby clothes, and colorful quilts. I never got the chance to read them so many wonderful stories.

But the one thing I can do is give them the gift of the written word. And so, Niko and Anika, Laura and Jason, this is for you.

Storyline
“Why did you do that?” I cry out.
You introduced them,
Made me care about them
And then suddenly they were gone
Before you had even fully developed their characters.”
“Read further,” He says.
“I don’t want to,” I answer.
“It hurts. I want a new story…a happily ever after one.”
He shakes his head.
“Fairy tales are for children. I deal in reality.”
“Then change the reality. Certainly you can do that.
Why do you insist on filling pages with so much suffering?”
“You’re not the first to ask me this,” he sighs.
It was not my original intent.”
“It needs a hero,” I suggest, “one to give them all hope.”
“Oh, he’s in there,” he assures me. “Keep reading.”
“Look,” I bargain, “can you just tell me how it ends?”
“I could, but I won’t”, He states.
“Shortcuts aren’t always the answer.”
“Then what is?” I whisper, “when it hurts?”
He smiles at me.
“Trust the author,” He says.
“Trust the author.”

I Am NOT Competitive!

I headed over the other day to the Colonial Yarn Shop for a class in knitting a shopping tote bag. I saw the sample hanging up in the store and thought it would be a great thing to use in my quest to live a greener life. I already have "green" grocery bags that I keep in the back of my car so I can grab a few whenever I head into the local supermarket to do a little shopping. But I'm not as good about grabbing them when I go into other stores plus I feel a little strange wandering around clothing stores, craft stores, or bookstores with a "Whole Foods" bag.

So I figured that this great bag pattern, available from Oat Couture on the Web and in knitting stores around the country, would be the perfect solution. It's called the "Stow-away Shopping Bag" and is designed so that the bottom of the bag forms its own little pouch for the bag to be folded up into. How neat is that? And isn't it a great idea for Christmas stocking stuffers to help encourage your family and friends to do their bit for the environment? It also only takes one skein of yarn so it is economical to make as well.

I picked up my pattern and my yarn (Knit One Crochet Too's Ty-Dy) prior to class because we had a homework assignment to finish before the first class. We were supposed to have the bottom knitted so that we could just pick up the side stitches as soon as class started and we'd all be on the same page, so to speak. And that's the way it was supposed to work but one of us didn't get the message for whatever reason so when we all showed up with our bag bottoms in hand, one class member hadn't yet cast on.

Now, I like to think that I'm NOT competitive. But all too often I get the bit between my teeth and I'm off to the races. Our lagging classmate happened to be sitting next to me. She needed to cast on and start knitting to make up for lost time. It was simple garter stitch knitting --- pretty mindless stuff that goes quickly. The rest of us had to pick up stitches through two layers of knitting in a square shape. It wasn't terribly difficult; just needed a little concentration while you counted and made sure you were getting your needle through both layers.

I began slowly and methodically, taking my time. To my right I could hear a frantic clacking of needles. My blood pressure started to rise and I picked up the pace as I picked up more stitches. The clacking continued and I could catch the blur of my classmate's hand as she threw the yarn over the tip of the needle to make each stitch.

"She's behind," I assured myself. "Way behind. She'd be going slow, too if she was at this point in the pattern but she's doing garter stitch, for goodness' sake. Why are you getting yourself in a tizzy?"

"Doesn't matter," I muttered between clenched teeth and picked up the pace as I flew around the corner of the bottom piece. It was the principle of the thing, which makes absolutely no sense at all, I know, unless you throw in the fact that I'm a Type-A firstborn child of a perfectionist. There's a place for knitters like me, usually in things like Sheep-to-Shawl contests.


I'm happy to report that the class ended before I went into hyperdrive and I'm back home now and back to my sedate pace of knitting with this project.....mainly because I'm also knitting on five other projects, all in various stages of completion.

IF I had told my husband how I'd felt that night (which I didn't), I know just what he would have said. "It's a good thing you weren't playing cards, or things might have gotten ugly."

When You Don't See His Plan

I have a small dry erase board on my refrigerator where I jot down people and situations I'm praying for. That board has been up on my fridge for years, ever since the kids were teenagers. They brought it home for me one summer from Centrifuge, a Christian youth camp and it didn't take me long to figure out where to put it. Since the refrigerator is the hub of my kitchen and I go past it or go into it many times during the day, I knew I'd be looking at that board often. And as I'd glance at the board, I'd try to pray for those who were listed on it.

Today, with one swipe of a tissue I wiped away the name of my grandchild. "Anika", one little life gone before she had even had a chance to be born. Another dear grandchild who will never run into my arms here on earth. And it just seems so surreal, much as these last weeks have been, ever since we got the news that our daughter-in-law was pregnant again.

Our initial joy was soon tempered with concern when the first sonagram results indicated a yolk sac that was much too big. In my optimistic ignorance, I thought it might just indicate twins. But no, this was an indication that there was a high probability that there was an abnormality with the fetus that would likely result in a miscarriage. And so the waiting began. Hope mixed with concern wrestled with fear every time the phone rang or a sonagram was scheduled or an email popped into my in-box from the kids. What was the news?

As the days went by and Laura remained pregnant I dared to hope that maybe the sonagram had been read wrong. Surely God wouldn't put them through this a second time. So many of us were praying for them and for the baby. Yet the answer that came with my son's call was not the one I had hoped for. The baby had died in the womb. Now it was a matter of waiting for the miscarriage to begin.

My dog comes and rests her muzzle on my lap and looks up at me with that worried look she gets when she senses I'm upset. I pat her head gently and say, "It's OK. It's going to be OK." I believe that and yet the tears drip down my cheeks. I cry for Jason and Laura and the pain they are going through. I cry for David and Joyce and George and I as we grieve this grandchild that we'll never have the chance to spoil. And I cry for Anika. When we celebrate a birth, we not only celebrate the beginning of a life but also the potential in that little one and the opportunities ahead. When we mourn the unborn, we also mourn the loss of all that could have been.

I still will cling to my belief that God's plan is perfect. I don't understand it much of the time but I only see such a small part of it. There is a song that has meant a lot to me over the years and it speaks with such wisdom in situations like this. It was written by Babbie Mason and Eddie Carswell. It's called "Trust His Heart" and the chorus sums up so well what I am feeling and what I know to be true:

"God is too wise to be mistaken

God is too good to be unkind

So when you don't understand

When you don't see His plan

When you can't trace His hand

TRUST HIS HEART."

Male Logic - Lost in the Amazon Jungle

If you've been awake at all in the last year and can read, you've probably spent a bit of time stewing about the state of things in your corner of the universe, your country, and in the world at large. My husband and I have been no exception. Since I'm the more vocal of the two of us, I've probably spent more time expressing my concerns. So he got my attention when my husband came to bed the other night and said, "I think I've got the answer to your concerns over what will happen if our country runs out of oil."

"Oh, really?" I said. "What's the answer.....buy a horse and buggy and join the Amish?"

"No, I just heard on the news that Brazil is now totally independent of any country when it comes to producing their own fuel sources," he stated.

"So what are they doing?" I asked, intrigued despite the late hour.

"They're producing ethanol...."

"From corn?" I interrupted. "Come on....our own country is trying that and look what it is doing to the supply of food to the world's poor and to the cost of food even in our country."

"No, they're using sugar cane to produce it and after they've produced the fuel, they still can produce the sugar," he continued, smiling at me triumphantly.

"Well, that's great for Brazil but I see a few flaws in transferral of that plan to the United States. First of all, there aren't as many places here in the States where you could grow sugar cane. Second, many of the places that you COULD grow it here are in the midst of an ongoing drought. And third, look at the number of major cities in Brazil compared to the number of major cities in the United States. Compare their population to our population. What is a major part of Brazil composed of? Jungle, for Pete's sakes. They aren't going to need anywhere near the amount of fuel alternatives that we would need for our population." I sat back against the pillows and considered him. "I think we need to explore other alternatives like mass rail transit, electronic engines, solar fuel cells, things like that."

"I know their system wouldn't work here," he said. "That's not the point."

"Then what IS the point," I asked. "What's the solution to my concerns?"

"We can always move to Brazil if the U.S. gets low on fuel," he said, and I swear he was NOT grinning.

"What! Are you serious? Just you and me and the 'Boys from Brazil' out there in the Amazon? I don't know. I think we'd have to get pretty low on fuel before I'd consider that. Tell you what, let me sleep on it, OK?" I said as I gave him another long look before turning off the light.

Male logic! It's a scary thing.

If Only It Were That Easy!

Whoever coined the phrase "It's a dog's life", must not have been a dieter. Because between you and me, my dog has it made in the shade when it comes to dieting. Not that she's overweight. Heavens, no! She just has such a thick coat of fur that it always looks like she is about 10 pounds heavier than she actually is.

Now that's Fresca on the left, the white dog who looks like a Chia pet. She's sitting next to her little buddy, Schatze who you've met in some earlier posts. Seriously, the dog has a LOT of hair. And I find that hair everywhere....on the furniture, rolling around on the floors, in my mouth when she jumps up on my lap, and always in my knitting.

The vet makes the same comment every year when I take her in for her yearly shots and checkup. He always says, "Wow, I thought she might be overweight but she's not. There's actually just a little dog under all this hair."

So in the summer months, I usually break down and have her fur shaved down close to her skin to give her some relief from the heat. This causes my son no end of embarassment because he says she looks ridiculous. I think she looks cute. What Fresca thinks is up for interpretation. The point is, after an hour at the groomer's, she comes prancing out looking like she's shed ten pounds.

If only it were that easy for us fluffy human girls. Even if someone shaved my head, I'd still look big. And I wouldn't come prancing out of the beauty shop either.
Yup, sometimes a dog's life looks pretty good. You get pampered, powdered, 10 pounds shaved off you in an hour, AND they hand you a treat to eat as you go out the door. What a life!

No Use Crying Over Spilt Juice

What a difference a year makes! It was one year ago on Mother's Day, that my mom had a mini-stroke in the middle of our church service. I chronicled in my blog the arrival of the EMS crew and the trip to the hospital, the additional mini-strokes she had over the course of several months, and the move from her assisted living facility to rehabilitation center and finally to a nursing home. Since then, it's been a tough transition but we've all made the best of it and Mom has been doing pretty good. The mini-strokes have decreased in frequency and she is getting very good care.

I was a little nervous about taking Mom to church and Sunday School on this Mother's Day but she seemed to be well and I decided that we'd give it a shot. I had told her that I'd pick her up early on Mother's Day and I told the nursing staff that she'd need an early breakfast. The weather that morning was chilly but sunny and things seemed to be on track.

I arrived at the nursing home about 15 minutes earlier than planned, just in case Mom needed some extra help with shoes or grooming. I found her fully dressed, sitting in her wheelchair, and sound asleep drooped over her breakfast tray. She hadn't touched it, from the looks of it. And it was a very good-looking breakfast. There was cereal, scrambled eggs with melted cheese over it, pudding in a bowl, fresh fruit, tea, and a wonderful looking glazed donut. Mom was totally oblivious to it all. Her roommate, on the other hand, was sitting up in her chair, eating away and watching Mom with interest. I guess she was waiting to see how long it would take before Mom's nose touched the cereal in the bowl.

"Ma, wake up," I urged. "It's time to leave for church and you haven't eaten your breakfast yet."

She stirred and murmured, "Can't go."

"Why not," I asked in some consternation. "Are you sick? Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Too sleepy," she replied.

"But it's Mother's Day. Don't you want to go to church and Sunday School? And we're going to have BBQ ribs for lunch....your favorite."

Mom straightened up and opened her eyes. "Will I see Joe?" she asked. (Joe is her beloved Sunday School teacher.)

"Sure, " I assured her. "Here, why don't you eat this donut while I go sign you out at the nurses' station." I handed her the donut and headed out the door.

By the time I got back, she had finished up the donut and was looking for some place to wipe the glaze off her hands. I made a quick detour into the bathroom and wet down some paper towels to take back to her and soon she was spiffed up and ready.

"Here, Mom.....why don't you take a few sips of this orange juice while I get your coat," I suggested. Big mistake! I had just turned around to head to her closet when I heard her say, "oh, oh!" I swung around and there she was, holding an almost empty glass with orange juice down her front, in her lap, and dripping off her wheelchair and onto the floor.

"Oh, Ma...for Pete's sakes," I sputtered as I hopped over the spreading puddle and dashed into the bathroom to grab more paper towels. Back I came and down I went on my hands and knees, trying to sop up the juice before it spread any further. Having accomplished that, I headed back to get wet paper towels to clean the floor so it wouldn't be sticky. Then I turned my attention to Mom's wet clothes. Holy Toledo! She wasn't going to church in those.

"Here, Mom, you're going to have to stand up so I can get these pants off of you. They're soaked. Just hang onto my arm and we'll get you up," I urged.

She slowly struggled to her feet and as her backside cleared the chair, a shrieking alarm started to go off.

"Shit!" I shouted, forgetting myself, and pushed her back down into the chair. "They've got you alarmed. Hang on, I've got to go find a nurse so we can get that alarm turned off. Otherwise, I'm not going to be able to get you up to change your clothes."

The ringing in my ears was starting to subside and I noticed it was being replaced by the sounds of giggling. Mom's roommate was shaking with laughter. "She's a mother. Be nice," I thought to myself as I headed out the door.

I found the nurse and we soon had the alarm disconnected and the alarm pad removed from Mom's wheelchair. I assured the nurse that I could take it from there and she looked a little dubious, seeing as how Mom and her roommate were now BOTH laughing like loons but she backed out and told me to come get her if I needed her.

I pulled out a new outfit for Mom and struggled to get it on her after I'd ascertained that her diaper was still dry (thank you, Lord!). It's hard to get clothes on someone who's a dead weight AND laughing, but I did it.

Mom's roommate, in the meantime, assured me, "Oh, I know this isn't funny but I can't help it. It's just so funny. I can't stop laughing. You should have seen your face," upon which she burst into another fit of laughter. Mom followed in her wake. I carefully moved the bedstand with breakfast tray against the wall, just in case. There was still a full cup of tea on it.

"Come on, Mom...let's get your coat on. We're already late for church. The service started 15 minutes ago and we have a half hour drive to get there. At this rate, we might make it for the invitation."

"Ready when you are," Mom shouted merrily. Her roommate dissolved into giggles yet again. "Oh, no," the roommate gasped. "I've laughed so hard that I think I have to pee."

"Well, you'd better ring the buzzer than for the nurse," I advised her.

"No problem," she said merrily. "I've already wet my pants but I'm sitting on a pad."

I looked at Mom, she looked at me, and we both looked at her roommate. We all started to laugh.

 "Well, I'm glad there's not a problem," I said, "because my quota is I only change one mother's pants a day."

She went off into another round of giggles as I leaned over her to push the buzzer.

 "Happy Mother's Day, Rhoda!" I whispered. "You have a great day now."

I pushed Mom out the door and down the hall.

 "Happy Mother's Day," Mom sang out to everyone we passed. "I'm going to church with my daughter."

Yes, it WAS going to be a happy Mother's Day. After all, what's a little juice between a mother and a daughter?

I Blame It On My Ancestors!

There are people who can kick back and just relax, there are people who are such workaholics that they can't relax for even one minute, and then there are people like me. I can relax...no problem...but I have to be doing something WHILE I relax. I blame it on my ancestors. I have German, Swiss, and Dutch ancestors. There isn't a "siesta" taker in the bunch. None of them, to my knowledge, exhibited that delightfully languid quality found amongst people in the more Mediterranean climes. I am descended from people who scrub their front steps by hand every day, for Pete's sake. Is it any wonder that I have inherited this trait?

My maternal Grandmother used to say "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." She didn't want to give him an inch of her territory and was always doing something whether it was baking rolls for half of the neighborhood, knitting sweaters for servicemen during the wars, or mending clothes. My dad was a factory worker. When he wasn't on the assembly line, he was writing me letters. From the time I left for college until the day he died, he wrote me a letter a day. He also helped out folks from church who were too frail or sick to mow their grass or fix things around their house and he never took a penny for his labor. I didn't even know about all the things he did for people until his funeral when, one by one, people stood up and told about all he had done for them.

My mom taught for 35 years and once you were her student, you were her student for life. She retained a keen interest in her "kids" and delighted whenever one of them would show up on our doorstep with their own kids in tow to check in with their beloved teacher. Mom was an overachiever and she always had some project going on. Usually it would get more elaborate as time went on, Mom would get more stressed, and soon we would all be drawn into this project, whether we wanted to participate or not.

When I was in the Army and stationed in Germany, I remember visiting with my boyfriend one evening at his apartment. I was talking with him, watching TV and knitting. His landlord stopped in and took one look at me and said, "Now THIS one you should marry. She's a good German girl. She works with her hands while she sits."

I've never stopped working with my hands while I sit. I am always doing something...usually knitting or crocheting. So I thought I'd show you what my "Command Central" looks like where I eke out my relaxation hours in the evenings.

I have one-third of a sofa and my third happens to be a recliner, as well. The middle section of the sofa has a back that folds down to make a table area and that is where I have several essential items for my knitting. You'll notice a tall, black object near the corner. That's my Ott light so that I can see my stitches. I have a box of Kleenex for obvious reasons but also to use to wipe my fingers after eating my nightly Dove mini-bar of ice cream. Can't get ice cream on my yarn. There is a red row counter and also a green row counter...each one showing different stopping points depending on which project I'm working on. I have a blue pull-out measuring tape so I can keep tabs on my progress. There is a coaster for my glass, some odd little balls of yarn, some note pads underneath some crocheted crosses. I write down notes to myself that I want to remember when I next pick up my work. The crosses are waiting for me to weave in the yarn ends. Underneath the table is my black knitting case that holds other knitting tools like stitch markers, needle sizers, stitch holders, scissors, yarn needles, crochet hooks, etc. On my seat is an old quilt since it is pretty cool in our basement and I like to throw it over my legs when I'm downstairs knitting. The notebook holds whatever patterns I'm currently working on. The green thing hanging over the arm is a shawl that I'm working on. Beside the sofa is a bag that holds the yarn for the shawl, several other patterns, and whatever else I want to stash to get out of my way. Under the green table next to the bag are several other knitting bags filled with projects in various stages of completion.

And that's my "Command Central" where I do some of my most rewarding work AND relaxing under the benevolent influence of my ancestors.

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.