Concrete Jungle Foray

I am a small-town girl. No, wait! I'm not even a small-town girl. I'm a Midwestern prairie girl. Cities make me nervous. Heck, even trees make me nervous. They make me feel closed in. I like to have rolling grasslands around me with a view that lets you watch approaching storms long before they arrive at your place. Where you can chart the progress of your neighbor's plowing by the location of the dust he's kicking up two fields over from your farm and you can see a visitor coming long before they pull into your driveway, giving you plenty of time to put the coffeepot on and heat up that pie.

I guess that's why it's been 31 years since I've been to New York City as a tourist, despite the fact that we've been living just one state over from the Big Apple. Sure, I've gone through the area to get to the airport back in the late '80's and I've touched down and changed planes several times at JFK Airport but seriously, it's been 31 years since I've gotten out and walked around parts of the city. So I was a tad nervous about venturing there this past weekend but a group of us had signed up to go on a bus tour from Lancaster, PA to the Brooklyn Tabernacle to hear Jim Cymbala preach.

I almost didn't get to go because at 10 p.m. the night before we were to leave, my husband looked at me and said, "Did you make any arrangements for the dog?" Yikes! I guess we've developed such an Empty Nester mentality that I had plum forgot that we had any living creature still dependent on us. We made some frantic phone calls and finally reached our Music Minister and friend, Phil who is easy-going and unflappable enough that we figured he would be least likely to run for the hills when faced with 17 pounds of fluffy white fury. Our usual dogsitting friends were off camping for the weekend so thankfully, he agreed to stop by the house and let Fresca out on his way to church in the morning and in the evening. Thanks, Phil!

We had to leave the house at 5:15 a.m. in order to meet the bus on time. I was NOT awake which is why there are no pictures. I forgot to take my camera. I did, however, remember to take my knitting so I managed to make considerable progress on the second sock that is destined for a Christmas gift.

As we approached the city, we could see the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building in the distance. My, they looked tiny. It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it? The Brooklyn Tabernacle was awesome. It reminded me of the old movie theatre I used to go to back home with its Neo-classic, gilt decoration along the walls, the balcony, and the stage. And the people! My, the place was filled. It was just great to look out over the congregation and see such a diverse group, all worshiping together. The style of worship was more charismatic than that of my home church and I enjoyed it. It's nice to feel free to raise your hands in worship or praise the Lord aloud.

After the service, our bus took us to Pier 17 where we were free to chose a restaurant for a late lunch and then wander around until it was time to head for home. We ate at a quasi-Irish pub. I wish I had a picture to show you of the french fries that came with my fish. They were perfect! I asked for them extra-crispy and they came with just the right amount of crunch. Had to ask twice for the side of mayo to dip them in but once that came, I was in carb heaven.

It was after lunch that NYC really started to get to me. There were people everywhere. You couldn't just walk down the sidewalk without having to step around booths with vendors trying to sell you this or that. Buses galore, both tour and city buses, kept barreling past spewing noise and exhaust in their wake. Honking seemed to be the preferred method of communication between cars. I grasped my husband's hand and said, "Get me to the nearest open field, NOW!"

There are people who are cut out to live in big cities and there are people who are cut out to live in more rural areas. There might even be some advantages to big city life. Give me another 31 years and I might think of some.

Making Scents of It All

In my typical OCD way of doing things, I have discovered the joys of collecting and trying out new scents. It's almost as much fun as collecting beautiful yarns from new Indie dyers. Almost, but not quite. Believe it or not, there are Indie perfumers out there as well.....folks who have forged their own path of sniffiedom. Not merely content to join the ranks of Bath and Body devotees or willing to lay down the big bucks for watered down smells from big name fragrance companies, these folks have put their noses on the line (so to speak) and come out with their own fragrances, usually in the form of body oils and sometimes, soaps.

Going up on their websites and reading the descriptions of their different perfumes is infinitely entertaining. YOU try to figure out what the smell of a "newly-opened grave" smells like. I'm not sure if I want to know, quite frankly. "Freshly-baked apple pie" is more my style or "sun-warmed peaches on a summer's day." Those are pretty tame. But some of these talented and imaginative folks have come up with scents that mimic types of wood, leather, tobacco, smoke, breezes, laundry (both fresh and dirty), every flower imaginable, spices galore, and the list goes on.

It's a hoot to read the descriptions of these scents. It's even more fun to read the names that the scent designers label their scents. Here are some of the names of the scents I have purchased lately: Brain Bleach, Gingerbread Crackhouse, Eye of the Moon, Over the Rhine, Stingy Jack, etc. Those are some of the tamer ones. Some are funny, some are purely descriptive, like "Pumpkin Pie", and some are downright wierd. But they are all names for scents that you have to smell to believe. And here's the challenging part ---- a scent will smell different on individual people because we all have different body chemistry. And there is one smell when you first apply it wet, another as it dries on you, and then a lingering smell after the initial dry-down. There is also a "throw", which means (I think) how far folks can smell you coming when you have it on. If you're wearing something that smells like a smoking, newly-opened grave, you might not want to "throw" too far.

Since you aren't sure how a particular smell will smell on you, it's wise to buy different scents in a sample size, which most of the vendors are happy to sell you. These little vials have a surprising amount of perfume oil. It doesn't take much of it for you to figure out if the scent is going to work for you or not. Since there are so many to choose from, you need to come up with a storage system. Thanks to other bloggers and scents forums, I discovered that a handy holder is a plain old cartridge case that you can pick up at any outdoor sports shop. They are perfect for the sample sizes you order.

Once you start acquiring a fair amount of samples and actual bottles of perfume oil, then you need a way to keep track of what you have, what scents you like, and why. I made up a simple little chart where I can plug in perfumes sorted by vendor/designer. I list the scents that each perfume consists of, how much I have of it, and whether or not I liked it. Over time, I hope to see a pattern emerge that will help me identify the types of scents that I know won't do well on me. I already know that I don't do well with certain scents like roses, gardenias, and some exotic spices. They tend to give me a headache or a stuffy nose. But put me near certain foodie smells like apple pie, caramel, butterscotch, coffee and I'm in heaven!

Once you get hooked on discovering new scents, you will find that there are all sorts of products and collections to hold your interest. There are chapsticks, solid stick perfumes, whipped body butters, sugar scrubs, body washes, and soaps. There are limited edition collections that come out throughout the year. There are seasonal collections that appear like the wonderful autumn scents that are out right now. I can decide if I want to smell like a cappuccino, a buttercream frosted caramel cake, or a spiced apple cider. I could have smelled like a floozy but I didn't like how that one smelled so I traded it off to someone else. If you want to discuss scents with others who are equally obsessed, there are forums at most of the "sniffie" vendors I've listed on this blog.

So, my friends, if you're brave enough to try something a little out of the ordinary, click on any of the Sniffie links I've put on the blog over on the right and order some samples. Dare to march to the drumbeat of a different perfumer! Gotta go now and eat supper. Mystery book club meeting tonight. I'm off to wash my hands with some Krakatoa soap and then it's time to chow down.

Mom Reaches A Big Milestone!

Yesterday my mom turned 95 years old. Now that's something to be proud of. She had a little dress rehearsal on the previous Saturday when our daughter and son-in-law were able to come up from the Washington, D.C. area for the weekend. We took BBQ ribs over to the care facility, presents, and a cake and had a little party for Mom.

The day got off to an interesting start when I sent daughter, Laura off to Mom's room to fetch her down to the private lounge while I decorated for her party. When Laura wheeled Mom in, I asked if Laura had the chance to meet Mom's new roommate. She looked at me askance and said, "Well, she was yelling, "Help, I'm dying" over and over. I asked her several times if I could help her or get a nurse for her but each time she'd just look me over and then go back to yelling. I did alert a nurse before we came down here but I couldn't see that she was having any real problems."

"Oh, my," I thought.

We had a great meal. Mom had been craving BBQ ribs since Mother's Day so she dug right in. Her friend, Beverly and husband Denis were able to join us and we all had fun eating and chatting before it was time to open the presents, Mom's favorite part.
She was appreciative of the new clothes but her eyes REALLY lit up when she opened the candy. Beverly always knows how to put a sparkle in Mom's eyes...truffles or peanut butter bears. This time, she brought both for Mom. Faster than we could say, "Would you like one, Mom?" she had a peanut butter bear out of the box and into her mouth.
Luckily she still had room for the cake as did we, after the chocolate was passed around the room. Let's hope the facility dietician doesn't see all this stash in her room. On the other hand, at 95 years old, I figure she has earned the right to eat all the chocolate she wants, especially since they tell me she usually has no interest in eating.

That brings us up to Mom's actual birthday yesterday. I went on over to have lunch with Mom. She was all decorated up with balloons on her wheelchair and a special glow about her. Mom loves a good party as long as it's a dry one. No alcohol for this former deaconness, thank you very much! Cooks, wait staff, and nurses came up to Mom and gave her big hugs and best wishes in the dining room. The Chaplain stopped by to congratulate her.

"How old are you now?" he teased. "Are you 69?"

"No," replied Mom, firmly. "I'm 95."

One of the other residents at the next table kept waving at Mom and she would wave back. Then it escalated to "Whee!" from the other table. "Whoopee!" shouted Mom in return. After about two minutes of that, I had to give Mom a little nudge and "shush" because the lights were being dimmed for the prayer before lunch.

It was a great lunch accompanied by a volunteer who was playing many old songs on the piano as we dined. Mom would occasionally break out into song, singing along with the piano.....even harmonizing. I told her that not many people can say that they have had a concert for their birthday party. Near the end of lunch, Beverly stopped by to say "hi" and also our church's Director of Music, Phil Cockrell.

As I prepared to leave after lunch, I reflected on the words of wisdom she had shared with all of us on Saturday when asked what she had learned in her 95 years. "Look up, laugh, love, and lift," she had said. It's been a motto that has served her well. And I thought about another piece of advice that she has given me over the years. "If you think about others, you won't have time to sit around and feel blue," she'd say.

Well, Mom. Here's to you! May we continue to enjoy the favor of your presence for years to come. You've taught us the value of friendship, the benefit of hard work, the thrill of scholarship, the treasure of family, and the joy of our Faith by the life you have lived. Happy Birthday!

And So They Live On

I had the chance to visit Mom today at the nursing home. It's been over a week since I was able to go there because I've been fighting a cold and didn't want to take the chance of giving it to her. Between my last visit and now, the staff had informed me that her roommate had passed away and that she had a new roommate. So I was anxious to meet her new roommate and also to see how Mom was handling the loss of her friend.

I found Mom in the lounge having her nails manicured. We spent a pleasant few minutes catching up on family news while I waited for the manicure to be done. When it was over, I took her on down to her room to get a sweater for her since she said she was cold.

Her new roommate was sitting in a wheelchair and had some sort of headphone/radio on. It must have had the speaker turned on because I could hear it from Mom's side of the room. I wanted to introduce myself but she seemed to be dozing. As I rummaged through Mom's closet, her roommate started carrying on a conversation but when I turned to see if she was speaking to me, it still looked like she was asleep.

"Why don't I take you to the library, Mom?" I suggested. "We can read some more of your book together."

"Sounds good," said Mom. "As long as I can spend time with you, I'm happy."

So off we went and soon we were settled in the cozy little library. I read her some emails that her friend, Ruthie had sent and we had a good laugh over them. Then I grabbed the book we were reading and turned to the spot where we had last left off. But first I thought I'd better say something about Mom's roommate.

"I was sorry to hear about Rhoda, Mom," I said, tentatively.

"Who?" asked Mom.

"Rhoda, your roommate," I continued.

"Why, what's wrong with her," she asked.

I was a little confused. Her nurse had told me that Mom had been told and that they were monitoring her to see how she was taking the news.


 "Um, well, Rhoda passed away, Mom," I told her. "I was sorry to hear that."

"She DID?", replied Mom, increduously.

"Didn't you notice that you have a new roommate," I asked.

"Good grief, no!" Mom looked me over. "I thought it was Rhoda."

"Well, no-o-o! It's a new roommate. So I guess you'll have to introduce yourself," I said brightly all the while kicking myself that I had said anything. If I had just kept my mouth shut, she might have gone on for another year still thinking that Rhoda was in the next bed.

Then again, by the time Mom got back to her room after lunch, she probably had forgotten all about the new roommate. And so it's true that a person's memory lives on in the minds of others. And that's a good thing, I think.

Who's Calling Who Geriatric?

My poor baby pup had to make a trip to the emergency veterinary clinic this past weekend. Thursday, if you will recall, she terrorized her regular vet's office but they couldn't find what was wrong with her. On Friday, she still wasn't keeping anything down but the vet suggested just keeping an eye on her over the weekend to see if things calmed down. By Saturday, she hadn't been able to keep food in her stomach since Thursday, was lethargic, and would frequently bite at her side.

One of my friends suggested various possible diagnoses but they just didn't seem to fit. I'd checked her ears....no mites. Checked her body for evidence of fleas....none, zip, nada! Had never seen any evidence of worms in her stools....thank you very much. She just seemed to be in pain and was upchucking in the most inconvenient places. It was time for some drastic action.

We made an appointment with the local emergency vet clinic and headed over there that evening. I covered the back seat in case she got sick again but thank goodness, she didn't. I did keep smelling something and was wondering if she'd had an accident (horrors!). Turns out the poor baby had a bad case of canine gas as part of this malaise. It shouldn't have surprised me. I mean, she IS a member of our family.

The vet quickly got her into an examining room and after some poking and prodding decided to keep her overnight and hook her up to an IV. She was dehydrated for starters. They also wanted to run some tests to check for possible Addison's disease, pancreatitis, blockage, and liver and kidney problems. Thankfully, around 1 a.m., the vet called us to report that her tests had come back ruling out Addison's and the xrays showed no sign of blockage or masses. Liver and kidneys were fine as was the bloodwork. It looked like she had gastro-intestinal flu.

They released her Sunday around suppertime. She came out much more energetically then she had entered. They had to shave her legs to get the IV hooked up. She would NOT let them keep it in one leg so they had to shave the other and she did let them keep it in the other leg. So now she has a semi-poodle clip. It's really amazing to me that a dog that is so fluffy with all that hair has such tiny little legs under all that fur.

What was more amazing (perhaps "shocking" is the better word) was the bill. Man, perhaps we should have looked into pet medical insurance. I wonder if Obama is going to include pets in his universal health care plan? What was even MORE distressing, though, was when I looked at her discharge papers and noticed that they had labeled her at the top of every sheet as a "geriatric canine." WHAT? She's only 8 years old. She has more pep and spunk than many 8 month old dogs I see. My husband pointed to the papers and I hissed, "Don't you DARE read that out loud." Bad enough that she felt like horse hockey. No need to make her feel any worse.

The good news is that today she is much better. She's getting a diet of boiled chicken and rice and she is keeping it all down. Her energy level is rising and she is grinning again. I had to take her back to her regular vet this afternoon for a follow-up and she seems to be on the road to recovery. She was back to terrorizing the waiting room occupants again. Thank goodness she has no clue that the animal professionals consider her to be "geriatric." As for me, I'm a firm believer in the old adage that "you're as young as you feel." Come on, pup! Let's go watch Cloris Leachman kick up her heels on "Dancing with the Stars."

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."