Aaah, the classics

Some of our dearest friends have a very dear daughter who has grown up to be a lovely young lady and is now a librarian. I follow L's blog and had to chuckle at her New Year's resolution to read this year. This from the girl who read over 100 books last year.

I like to read, too. But I have absolutely no self-control or sense of time when it comes to a good book. Meal prep goes by the wayside, sleep cannot be found, and nothing stands in the way between me and the final page. That being said, I've had to cut back on the books until I can muster a little more self-discipline.

Over the holidays, Heather and I got our hands on a series of books from our church library (there are 7 in all) and both read them all. They're by Dee Henderson and chronicle the O'Malley "family", a group of seven unrelated siblings who grow up together in an orphanage, claim each other, each change their last name to O'Malley, become professionals, and are there for each other to the end. The books are fairly well written, but become predictable after the first few. While we enjoyed reading them, there was a drive to finish whatever book you happen to be on as soon as you picked it up. As I look back on the O'Malley clan, I have to think hard to remember who fell for whom, who solved what crime, and how it all came together. It's kind of a blur.

In the meantime, Heather ran into a copy of Jane Eyre at Barnes and Noble and decided to reread it. She enjoyed it so much the first time (the first reread, that is), that she turned around and read it again. I am rather embarrassed to admit that my literary resume is rather lacking in the fact that I have not read Jane Eyre. When Heather finished it (again), she brought it upstairs and said, "you're going to love it."

I have decided there is definitely a difference between a classic and a pop culture novel. Since starting Jane Eyre I find myself not yearning for the end (which is a good thing, since the book is over 500 pages long) but thoroughly enjoying every page, wanting to stay in the moment just a little longer before moving on. Bronte's 19th century use of the language coupled with her uncanny ability to paint a picture in your mind make for a winsome combination.

I'm savoring it. Jane arrived at Thornfield and has just met her new charge Adela.

Heather says that Bronte didn't do much writing other than Jane Eyre. Definitely our loss.

Oops!...I did it again

No – not ala Britney Spears…but in my own way, I’ve done it again, even when I determined not to. Christmas is one week from today and somehow, I’ve gotten caught up in the insanity of the season yet another time. Every year I tell myself that THIS year I’ll really celebrate Advent the way God intended: as a season of preparation for the coming of the King. And once again, I’ve sort of missed the point.

We had decided at the end of the season last year that it would be our final December to have a Christmas tree (we’ve had our artificial tree for about 10 years and it’s on its last limb). Instead, Pete would build a crèche with a cross behind, on which we would place a crown. We would light an Advent candle and read from the lectionary every day, focusing on repentance and being ready. Not having grown up in these traditions, they feel fresh and new to me, not old and worn out.

But alas, cancer got in the way, and our resident carpenter was busy going for radiation everyday instead of being creative in the garage. So, I decided I couldn’t have NOTHING in the living room and I put up the limp-along-tree one more year, minus a few limbs here and there that have fallen off. (It still looks lovely.)

I still hoped to read and pray and ponder the mystery of the incarnation and be really ready. I have not done a very good job at all. I got the Christmas cards out early (minus the few that I realize I should have sent and didn’t), and thought I had the shopping done before T-minus-eleven (but nuts – I’m not done YET). Dinners and rehearsals and other craziness have filled the evenings and the days find me making more lists and trying to remember what I’ve forgotten.

This is not the way I wanted to reach the week before Christmas. Last year that blessed extra week in November somehow made all the difference (there were five Thursdays in the month – how often does THAT happen?!?). By the first Sunday of Advent I had all the cards out and the shopping done and it all felt so easy. Last year I left for work at 8:15, as opposed to the 7:00 departure time this year, which allowed some time for reflection at a time when I was actually awake.

This year everything feels different.

But all is not lost – because this year, I have something I haven’t had for years…a two week Christmas break. And if we get lucky, it might even be longer because there is a big snow warning out and tomorrow is looking pretty ominous. The kids are talking about wearing their pajamas backwards tonight and they’re all hoping against hope that tomorrow will be a snow day. Today just has that “air” of a last-day-before-break even though it’s only Thursday. If we wind up coming tomorrow after all, there will be a whole bunch of disappointed people (students and adults alike).

But even if we do, I am still looking forward to the holiday and some good long hours of reading and writing and getting ready. It’s way too easy to get caught up in the hysteria and miss the point altogether. I’m ready for some quiet and some thoughtfulness and some soul nurturing.

Some emergencies are bigger than others

When our kids were growing up and afternoon cartoons were still somewhat safe, they watched with some regularity a show called “Animaniacs”. As I recall, there was some character that would, from time to time, have a “potty emergency”, running wildly in search of a bathroom. We laugh, but not having a bathroom when one needs one is really not a laughing matter. Worse yet is having a bathroom but not being able to use it.

Which is where our story begins…

One of the many skills acquired in motherhood (along with multi-tasking and making a volcano with vinegar and baking soda) is bladder control, because with toddlers, who has time to go? Some days here at work I suddenly find myself in a certain amount of discomfort because I realize that too many hours have passed and all at once I am in the midst of a “potty emergency”. Fortunately for me, there is a bathroom right around the corner, and when this particular urge came upon me earlier this week, I was grateful to not have far to go. I knew one thing for sure – a trip to the bathroom was absolutely mandatory before leaving for home.

Knowing that relief was soon to be had I was starting to feel better already. And then it happened…my zipper FROZE – there was no moving it up or down, and on top of that, it was a side zipper, with no way to even really see what the problem was. Panic began to set in as the stubborn zipper ignored every effort on my part to get it to budge. I was screaming at it to move and it sassily retorted its intention to stay right where it was. We were at an impasse. I was desperate and that stupid zipper could have cared less.

Now if I lived across the street, I could have laughed at that zipper and run for home. But a thirty-minute drive ensued and I really wasn’t sure what to do. Thinking the dilemma through completely in five seconds, the answer came upon me. I had to make a run for it. Five minutes of zipper war had yielded no results. And with pretty weak wrists (tendonitis), there was no forcing the issue.

So I jumped in the car and began the endless drive home. Thirty minutes might as well be thirty hours when catastrophic bladder failure is imminent. My first move was to call Pete to make sure he was at home when I got there. It was time to call out the big guns because there was no getting out of these pants without him.

Next, I called Heather to give me something else to think about on the way home besides THAT IRRESISTABLE URGE TO GO. She kept reminding me that getting pulled over would only make the interminable trip even longer. I probably would have driven faster were it not for the slow moving vehicle I, OF COURSE, was trapped behind.

Pete promised to leave the garage open and meet me at the door. Sprinting in, peeling layers of winter outerwear, crying out in pain, I was more than ready for the strong hands of my mighty protector to save me from the evil zipper. He pulled, he pushed, and he announced that by golly, it really was stuck.

“How badly do you want to save these pants?” he calmly asked.

“JUST DO IT NOW!!!!” I calmly replied.

I was thankful for his tendonitis-free wrists as he ripped the zipper from the fabric and relief was mine at last.

Do you know that stupid zipper is STILL zipped?

I’ve made a decision. I’m done with zippers forever. From now on, it’s elastic waistbands, baby.

Sydney, this one's for you

Our little Georgia peach, Sydney, is missing the Wisconsin snow. I posted this picture of her last winter in her GEORGIA snow, as we were having a not so white Christmas here in Wisconsin.

This year, we had a white THANKSGIVING, Sydney, and it looks like it may very well last all winter long. How about a picnic at Grandma's house?


Or maybe we should play in the backyard?


Baby, it's cold outside! And not one, but two more systems are scheduled to pass our way, each bringing only an inch or two more. But what's THIS news from the local weather desk:

...we’re keeping a close eye on Low pressure which looks to be developing during the day Monday around the Oklahoma panhandle. This is the type of storm which has the potential to produce a heavier, wet snow as it travels just to our Southeast. The exact track of this storm is critical in determining where the heaviest snow will fall, and we’re still too far away to pinpoint anything, other than to raise the flag and let people know to watch the latest forecast.

Oklahoma? Snow from Oklahoma?

Hey, Sydney, maybe Oklahoma will send YOU some snow in Georgia. too!

Love you!

It's back...

It hardly seems possible that three seasons have passed since winter was here last, but alas, it must be true. I have proof. There is snow falling today.


And the Christmas tree is up.



It seems just last week we were enjoying this...



Oh yeah, it WAS just last week. We visited the local botanical domes. We like going there in the winter. It helps us to forget that it IS winter. Wouldn't you rather be enjoying this?


Than this?


Yeah, me, too.

Thanks, Dad

After reading my post on The Pioneer Woman and after receiving a request from me for some family history, my dad did not disappoint. He sat right down, penned the following, and sent it to me. As a novice genealogy buff, this kind of stuff is like hitting the jackpot. Dates and names of unknown faces might fill in the tree, but this is the heart of it all. Hearing where your family came from and how they lived is an absolute treasure. And for the sake of my kids (it's their family history, too), and because this is the easiest way to disseminate information to them, I'm pasting my dad's memories as the latest piece of the family history pie. Read and enjoy!

I just read your blog concerning the pioneer woman and your desire for more information about my life "way-back-when", so here goes. I'll start with your great grandfather. He left grandmother with three babies, Frank, Mary and Grace in a small Kansas town and made his way to the Kansas-Cherokee Strip line on the 16th of September, 1893. When the cannon was fired, mounted on a fast running horse he had acquired for the event, he raced to an area a few miles south of the line to an area where he staked his claim. He then rode to Alva where he signed the appropriate papers or ownership, then rode back to Kansas, picked up the family in a wagon, with chickens in crates and a milk cow tied behind and proceeded to their new home. Mother and I have visited the homestead and it is nothing but flat, flat country for as far as the eye can see. Since this was the middle of September, winter was soon to come. Granddad put together a "soddy" in which the family lived until a proper home could be constructed. The homestead was located one mile south and two miles east of a town known today as Burlington. Before Burlington, the nearest town was a place called Driftwood, a few miles north of Cherokee. Those Pioneer Women were a tough group of ladies. I can't imagine taking your mother out in the boonies like that and telling her, "Well Dorothy, how do you like your new home?" Dad grew up like all the young men of the day, on the farm. Later, Granddad sold the homestead and moved the family to Cherokee. He was influential in building the town and was a hands-on builder of the First Methodist Church, which still stands today. We took you by the old "big house" when we were in Cherokee for your grandfathers funeral. Remember it? Mom and Dad married when both were eighteen. Dad had been farming while in school and sold a team of mules to buy Mother's engagement ring. It was know as Mom's Team of Mules Ring! The folks continued to farm for several years so, yes, your grandmother was at least an Oklahoma farmer's wife, if not a pioneer woman. Aunt Dot was born a couple of years later and eight years later, in Cherokee's hospital, I was born. As you know, I grew up on cattle ranches. Although Dad did many things to make a living, selling cars, managing a movie theater, farming, managing ranches, etc., he always had cattle. I remember the mornings at the age of eight or nine, sitting on my cow pony waiting for the sun to come up so we could see to start gathering cattle. A child by today's standards, I was expected to do a day's work like a grown man. I learned the greatest lesson a young could be taught, you have to work for everything you get in this life. Success comes from hard work, don't quit, when you get to the end of the rope, tie a knot and hang on. In 1943, Dad bought a 5,000 acre ranch about 20 miles east of Tulsa, the nearest town was Inola. We had 300 mother cows, 15 herd bulls and ran a successful cow/calf operation for several years. I went to school in the fair city of Inola, even played on the high school basketball team, although I spent my time on the bench, I gave everybody fits during practice! To the east of our ranch was one of the Brainerd Ranches. This was a huge operation owned by a conglomerate back east, but the foreman was an old man known as Ben Johnson. His son was Ben Johnson, the movie star who made many movies with John Wayne. Ben, Sr., was one of my heroes (mentioned in my book, The Rancher from Slapout. I knew young Ben, but he spent most of his time at rodeos and he was about five years older, so I was just a dumb kid in his eyes. When Howard Hughes made his movie, Billy the Kid, he sent horse buyers all over Oklahoma looking for stock. They bought several from the Brainerd ranch with the proviso Ben, Jr. accompany them to California. Ben, Jr. made the trip, fell in love with movies and never came home! Another large ranch operation was the Drummond Ranch. I knew the "Marlboro Man's" grandfather and great grandfather. They were typical ranchers of the day. They word was their bond. Another interesting side bar to this story. The doctor I used for my cataract surgery was the Marlboro Man's brother, Jonathan. He has a great practice here in Stillwater. His office is decorated with large photo murals of the old Drummond Ranch.He told me there were too many boys in the family for all of them to make a living on the ranch, so he went to medical school. But we shared many memories about the good old days. Yeah, the pioneer women we quite a bunch and so much a part of my own heritage. I'm proud of them and proud of sharing a bit of this with you. You are very much a part of this heritage, always be proud of who you are! Love you, Dad

Party time!

Today is momentous at our house because as of 8:00 this morning, Pete completed the last of 35 radiation treatments. Bring on the balloons, confetti, streamers, sirens, fireworks, and crazy running around in circles. He even gets a certificate! I told him it had better be framed and hanging on the wall by the time I get home from work. He took this week off to lay low and give his body a chance to recuperate, and it was the best decision ever. And now that he's done, he can slap that magic cream on his leg with abandon (while it makes those burns feel better, it magnifies the radiation if any is left on the skin - not good). Go to town, honey!

Cancer reminds us everyday that it is a silent enemy, lurking in the dark places, threatening to strike out at any moment. We count every single cancer-free day a victory and will celebrate it with joy. Others we know (particularly B & J at church - J has relapsed and is not doing well) have fought the good fight but are not winning the cancer war, and our hearts and prayers are with them.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We have so very much to be thankful for. Today, more than anything, I'm just thankful for today. We've made it this far and come to appreciate each and every day as the gift it truly is.