It's Been A While

Wow. Long time no write. When I stopped writing the column, I got out of the habit of posting to the blog. Not having an editor and a deadline makes me lazy, I guess. I'm still writing. Quite a bit, actually, but not in venues meant for public consumption.

I miss that, so I'm going to try to do better. I work pretty well when I have a deadline breathing fire on me, so we will see how this works when it is self-directed.


Procrastination is one of my less than attractive qualities, so by admitting it publicy perhaps I will stay motivated.
Fingers crossed :-)

Of Endings and Beginnings

The weekly columns are ending, but my writing hasn't stopped, it has just switched directions.

I've been appointed to the position of Public Information Officer for the Bootheel Squadron of the Civil Air Patrol. It's like being a reporter, in reverse. I take the pictures and write the stories, but now I only do it for one agency instead of an entire community. Instead of being the person getting press releases, I am the person sending out the press releases.

I'm also, eventually, going to write a book. Along with my sister, my Dad, and Michael and Tiffany, we are collaborating in an effort to keep journals about Michael and Tiffany's time in Africa as missionaries. When they return, we are going to combine our journals into what I believe will be a chronicle of the miracle working power of God in not only Michael and Tiffany's life, but in the lives of the many people they will come in contact with during their two years.

We as a family are supporting them and holding them up in prayer during their journey, and I firmly believe when we begin to compare our journals that answered prayers will leap out at us time and time again. It is a long term project and a labor of love, but I am very excited about it.

Perhaps there is a newspaper in my future here in Clay County. I love writing too much to give it up completely. Then again, the Courier spoiled me to the point that I may not be able to work for anyone else.

For now, though, the Civil Air Patrol is keeping me plenty busy enough. For later...time will tell.

The Last Word

Well, here it is. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Wondering and worrying and weighing the options. But in the end, the best choice is this one. This is my final column.

It hurts to write those words, because, well, I love writing these words. My readers are precious to me, as are the relationships I have formed over the years with the good people that read the Blytheville Courier.

When I first started working at the Courier as a reporter, I was new to the community, new to the job, new to everything. It was an election year. Talk about trial by fire. I think I drove fellow reporter Pat Ivey crazy those first few weeks with everything I didn’t know. I probably made her job, and everyone else’s, more difficult.

But, oh, how I loved the job. The newsroom was a chaotic, crazy place. You either thrived in it, or ran screaming from the building. The family that made up the Courier staff was dysfunctional. We yelled, threw things, and occasionally stormed out of the building. We loved each other intensely.

Does it make sense? No. Did it work to put out an award winning product we were proud of day after day? Yes. Most days, I would have done my job for free, just for the joy of being able to do it. I loved it that much. Not that I wanted David knowing that. Some days, you couldn’t have given me a million dollars to stay even one more hour. Such is the joy and pain of the newsroom.

When I got sick and couldn’t work full time anymore, writing this column was a lifeline for me. I could still stay connected to the job, the people, and the community I loved, but at my own pace.

The Courier was more than understanding. If I was able to write, I could turn in a column. If I wasn’t, they would use something else that week. No pressure, no guilt. It was a perfect situation.

Then I went and messed it up. When we moved to Clay County in May, I wondered how it would affect the column. I didn’t think it would have that much of an impact on it.
My husband still works in Blytheville. My parents still pastor a church there. We still come to visit, to shop, to see friends. Even though no longer lived there, we would still have a connection.

That sounded sensible. It hasn’t worked out that way, though. I didn’t count on my feelings changing. For more than a decade, I lived and worked in Mississippi County. People freely came to me with their ideas, questions, complaints, and compliments.

When I moved, I lost that connection. When I was no longer in the stores, in the beauty shop, at the school, at church, I lost my ability to get differing opinions on issues. I no longer felt qualified to comment on the things that were going on in the community.

I have opinions, quite a few of them. But since I know longer live there, I no longer feel qualified to express them. I don’t have the filter of other people’s ideas and opinions to balance mine with.

I didn’t expect that change. I don’t think it is fair to the community to live here and write about there. I could write about my life now, but that was never the intention of the column and I don’t think that is what the majority of our readers want.

In a way, this decision breaks my heart. You have lifted me up when I was down, you have encouraged me and prayed for me and made me laugh. You have sent cards and letters and gifts. You have been a part of my life for so long, and I will miss that.

Walking into the Courier News changed my life. It allowed me to have opportunities and experiences I would not have been able to otherwise. I met singers, writers, celebrities, politicians, heroes, and ordinary people doing extraordinary things. I found a community full of people filled with grace, humor, and the capacity to give beyond measure.

You enriched my life by allowing me to tell your story to the rest of the world. It was an honor, as has been being able to write this column. I’m going to miss it, and the people it reaches.

God Bless You.

Taking A Break

This year has flown by. It’s almost time for the holidays again. It doesn’t seem like that long since I was packing the decorations away, and now it is time to get them out again.

The holidays mean lights, and this year our excellent Lights of the Delta have agreed to accept donations of toys or canned food in lieu of payment to go through the display for Boxes of Love opening night.

How amazing is that? You can go see the outstanding light display, and help a terrific program at the same time. Thanks, LOTD. Ignite appreciates it more than you can imagine. In fact, it embodies what Ignite stands for. The community reaching out to help the community.

The holidays also means being busy, and for me, this year, that means I need to take a break from writing my column. We have a lot going on in our family, and I feel the need to concentrate on just them for a while.

I’m going back to the Mayo Clinic the week of Thanksgiving, so that will have me not feeling my best for a few weeks. Logan will be out of school, so at least he can come with us. If we have to be in Minnesota for Thanksgiving, at least we can be together.

My nephew and his wife are leaving for Tanzania, Africa during the holidays. We’ve known they were going, but now that it is here, saying good-bye is taking a toll on us. We have changed our schedules so that we can spend as much time with Tiffany and Michael as possible before they leave; and so we can be with my sister.

We know God has called them into this ministry, and we know that He will give us the strength to handle whatever we must. They will be gone at least two years; and we aren’t unaware of the dangers that missionaries face in foreign countries. So we say goodbye with both a joyful heart and a heavy one.

There are other things we have going on, responsibilities and activities and trips that will keep us busy and occupied; things that make me feel like I can’t give my full attention to writing like I should.

I love writing, and I love the support of my readers. It brings my joy you can not imagine. So I’m not gone forever, just for a little while, until the holidays are over and things settle down for my family.

I hope each one of you have a blessed and happy holiday season. I’ll see you in January.

Shattered

Have you noticed that my column's haven't been on here in a while? That's partly because of me, and me, and me.

First, my laziness. I meant to get to it, and procrastinated. Then I was gonna do it, and Karma got in the way. In the form of my puppy, Jake. My puppy isn't of the cute and cuddly variety. He is of the ginormous variety, somewhere around 80 pounds.

I write my columns on a laptop on Thursday, and they are published on Sunday. On Monday, or sometime after they are published, I post them on the blog.

Jake, the giant stupid puppy, was chasing my little Pomeranian Chance, the smartest dog in the world. Giant doggy ran by me as I was standing up and putting my laptop down on the table. The laptop landed screen first on our hardwood floor.

The laptop is shattered, along with my columns that were living in there, waiting to get posted. When I get a new laptop, I will do better for now on.

Hopefully. Maybe. And while we are hoping, maybe Jake will grow a brain, too.

Of Opposites and Attractions

We deal with opposites a lot around my house. I’m the only female, so we have a lot of girl versus boy things. I do a quite a few things I never thought I would simply because the boys want to. Then again, Logan has to do quite a few things he would prefer not to because I, the Mom, have decreed it shall be so.

Making beds and washing dishes and sweeping floors falls into the category of things Logan would like to not do. Baiting my own hook is one of those things I would prefer not to do.

Both of my guys, my husband and my son, tower over me. Because I am just barely over five feet tall, they are the ones that reach up to the highest cabinets or the top of the closets or get things down from the top shelf at the grocery store. Logan’s shoe size is almost double what mine is.

When I drive, I scoot my seat all the way up. When they drive, they scoot the seat almost all the way back. We are opposites. Big versus little, short versus tall. Male versus female.

We have the most fun watching the opposites that make up the rest of our family; our two dogs. Chance is a ten pound fur ball, a small energy laden Pomeranian. Jake is a 75 pound German Shepherd, a great big hard headed dork.

Chance thinks he is biggest. He barks first at any perceived threat, runs to the door first, and backs down last. He steals Jake’s toys, Jake’s food, Jake’s bones. He then runs under the bed with his treasures, where giant Jake can’t get. He gets up on his back legs so he can be taller when he is fighting with Jake, using his itty bitty paws to swat at Jake’s giant face. Jake doesn’t even notice that Chance is fighting with him.

Jake thinks he weighs ten pounds. He watches Chance jump up in our laps, and he tries to. It doesn’t work quite as well for Jake. He watches Chance run under the bed or behind the couch, and wants to. Instead, he smacks into the furniture and then looks confused.

When Jake runs, dishes rattle. When Jake jumps, pictures fall. When Jake decides to fight back, one giant paw swipe at Chance can knock Chance completely over. That’s okay, though, because Chance can run under Jake and hide. Jake can’t find Chance then.

I think Chance is one of the smartest dogs in the universe, and though we were told German Shepherd’s were smart, so far I’m very skeptical. Jake is still a puppy, so that may be it. Or perhaps we just had the luck to get a dog with concrete for brains. Gary is convinced he will be a good dog, someday. I’m wondering, as I have been for six months, if someday will ever come.
Until it does, at least we are having fun.

We play, laugh, cut up, tickle, giggle, be silly, and just generally don’t take things too seriously around here. With four males (two human, two canines) I am overwhelmingly outnumbered. But that’s okay. I’ve learned from Chance that small can be mighty.

Spreading His Wings

I understand why parents of teenagers get gray hair so fast. Logan, who just turned 14, has started to drive. That would be enough, right? That should be enough stress for anyone.

Not, apparently, for us. Now the child wants to learn to fly. He isn’t kidding. And, in true Logan fashion, he researched the issue and presented us with all the facts and figures when he asked.

Is it even legal? Probable? Possible? Logical? Sigh. Yes. It is. I’m still making peace with the fact that 14 year-olds are on the road. Now I find out they are in the sky, too. That ought to be enough to scare all of us.

It should scare me, too, but it doesn’t. We have discovered a truly excellent program. It’s going to teach Logan to fly. And it’s going to teach him a whole lot more. He’s going to learn about honor. Respect. Discipline. Ethics. Integrity. Service. Leadership. Character.

Logan has joined the Civil Air Patrol. If you aren’t familiar with this program, you should be. I had heard of them, but forgot they existed until Logan asked to join. Now, I am on a mission to tell as many people as possible.

It’s not only for kids, adults can join too. Logan is in the Cadet program, which is for kids starting at age 12. He is going to learn about flying and aviation history; but he is also going to learn how to help others. In fact, the Civil Air Patrol handles 90 percent of inland search and rescue missions. They have been there during 9/11; Hurricane Katrina, wildfires, tornadoes, hurricanes, floods, and other manmade and natural disasters.

We’ve only been involved in the program for a few months, but the changes I’ve seen in my young man are astounding. On Sept. 11, the cadets wore their uniforms to school. As a civilian division of the Air Force, the uniforms are military in style.

I wondered about my son, still a bit shy in his new school. He would be the only one there dressed differently that day. Not many people in our community have even heard of the Civil Air Patrol, and Logan was walking into junior high school wearing a uniform with his last name on one side, Civil Air Patrol on the other side, a flag on his arm and boots on his feet.

We talked about it on the way to school. The fact that he would stand out, and people would want to know why he was dressed the way he was. I told him he was going to have to give them an explanation; something better than the one word responses that he tends toward at school.

His reply? “I know, Mom. I’ve been thinking about it all week.” Then he told me what he was going to say; that it was about honor, and patriotism, and standing up and standing out. To show respect to those who died, honor to those who are serving, as a reminder to those that are here at home.

He got out of my vehicle, almost six feet tall in his boots. He squared his shoulders and adjusted his jacket before he walked in. The last thing he said before he walked in was, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this.”

Yes, I really think he does. The reason he has it is because the Civil Air Patrol is teaching him. If you would like more information or would like to find out if there is a local squadron in your area, go to www.gocivilairpatrol.com.

I Will Praise You In The Storm

I love this song by Casting Crowns. It talks about praising God, even through the storms of life, even when there aren't easy answers or quick solutions. I heard a song this morning, the day we remember the heroes and victims of 9/11/01. It talked about how though some people wonder where God was that day, God was everywhere. On the planes, in the seats with each victim. With the flight crew. In the towers, holding the hands of those who were dying and those who were trying to escape. With the firefighters who rushed in as others were rushing out. With the families of those we lost, holding them up as they learned the horrible news. God doesn't cause the horror. But He is there, in the midst of the storm.

I was sure by now God
You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry
You raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth

God is with us, through each and every storm of our life. He doesn't move, He doesn't change, He doesn't abandon us. We simply have to listen, and lift up our hands and our hearts. He will hear us, and if we praise Him even in the storms, we will always find Him.

Winning The Battle

I’m having a problem with the definition of winning and losing. My definition seems to be different than everyone else’s. That shouldn’t surprise me. I’m almost always different from the rest of the world.

In this case, I’m talking about being sick. Several prominent people have died recently, and in news reports about their death, it is said they “lost the battle” with whatever illness they had.

I disagree. They may have died, but they didn’t die a loser. Any person that has any prolonged or chronic illness for any length of time doesn’t lose the battle. They win, over and over and over again.

To understand my thinking, you have to understand not being well. For a person who is sick, everyday is a struggle, and there are battles to be won every day.

Getting out of bed is a victory. Getting dressed and moving and eating and bathing is a victory. If you can run an errand or get chores done or do something that is a reasonably normal thing to do that day, you have won the battle.

Fighting pain is a fierce and nasty battle. Not giving in to abusing pain relieving drugs is a battle. Not giving up and just staying in bed is a battle. Getting out and going on and keeping on and keeping up is a battle.

Every single time, every single day that someone who is ill manages to make it, they have won. If they have a terminal illness, every day that they beat the odds, they win again. If they are still breathing, they have won against the monster one more hour.

We all will eventually die. Some of us will die from an illness, and in our obituaries it might read “after a long battle.” That part would be right. It is a battle. But it isn’t one we lost.

We may die, but we fought for each day, and in the fighting we won victories both large and small. When I die, it won’t be because I lost a battle with an illness. The illness may ultimately be responsible for my death, but me nor anyone else who battles is a loser. We won because we fought. Death comes to everyone, but it doesn't defeat.

We refuse to be labeled a loser when we know what a victory every day was. We were sick, yes. We were dying, perhaps. But we were also living, and laughing, and loving. We were finding joy and peace and comfort and happiness. Perhaps we were even giving comfort and peace and joy and happiness to others.

Life has an end that must come. For some, the end is easy and for some it is not. But the battle was fought, and it was not lost.

City Vs. Country

I’ve always had a split personality of sorts when it comes to the things and places I enjoy. I grew up in a city, but loved going camping with my family.

I like cities, the bigger the better. I love the things most people hate. The hustle and bustle, the rush, even the mass of people. I like big buildings, and being on the highest floor of the tallest building. If you want pizza at 3 a.m.; you can have it. If you want to go out or go shopping for shoes at midnight, you can do it.

I like being a part of the whole, never having to wonder what to do because you live in a place where there are hundreds of things to do at any time of the day or night and thousands of people to do it with.

When I met my husband and mutual friends suggested we go out, he wasn’t much interested. I was a city girl, and he didn’t like city girls. That was okay, though. He was a country boy, and I didn’t much like country boys.

Things change. Part of that change is because the country boy that didn’t like me much married me. His love of the outdoors and of solitude and peace and quiet rubbed off on me. He dislikes cities for the reasons I like them. He hates crowds and traffic and the constant rush around him.

Part of that change was becoming a mom, and realizing the value of raising a child in a small town. My family isn’t the only one that loves and cares about my son in a small town. His teachers, his church family, and our friends do too. He isn’t just another face in the crowd in a small town.

There’s a little place close to where we live. The locals just call it the One Stop. From the road, it looks like a non-descript little gas station in the middle of nowhere. When we first moved here, I wasn’t sure it was even in business.

We discovered it is the heartbeat of the little community it serves. They have coffee starting at 5 a.m. They also have sandwich meat cut off the “stick;” basics like milk, bread and eggs; and everything from news to gossip to plumbing supplies to coloring books.
Our neighbors invited us to the Friday night fish fry at the One Stop. The gas station serves fish? Oh, yes, they do. And ribs. And shrimp. Every Friday night, the most happening place on our side of Clay County is at the One Stop.

The folks there know the locals and the strangers. They know who is sick, who is malingering, who is going downhill in a hurry and who is on the road to recovery. They know who is flirting, who is chasing, and who is being caught. It’s an education to go eat fish on Friday night. And, surprisingly, it’s a pleasure.

There is no hustle and bustle. It can take two hours to finish off a cup of coffee. The only traffic jams are cars trying to get around the tractors on the highway outside. The tallest buildings are the silos. If you want pizza at 3 a.m. you better have one in your freezer.

As a city girl, I loved going to new restaurants and trying different things. Driving 45 minutes to get across town and standing in line for an hour to get seated was no big deal. There was always a huge variety on the menu. It took forever to get waited on and then to get the ticket to pay. It was just part of being in the city.

Now, I drive eight minutes on Friday night to go to the same place. There are three things on the menu. Even with one waitress, you still get your food and your ticket quicker than it takes to get a glass of water in the city. You may have to stand in line to pay if the one waitress is serving instead of up at the cash register.

I liked the new and different and always on the go of the city. That was then. This is now, and I am discovering, much to my ongoing amazement, that I also like the steady and slow and always the same of the country. My “city” never rubbed off on my country boy husband. But his “country” sure has rubbed off on me.
　

Update On Customer Yes, Service No

Kudos to Connie at the Public Service Commission. We had been promised the phone cable would be buried on a certain date. I had decided if I didn't see activity by noon, I would call the PSC.

Connie beat me to it. She called me at 10 a.m. Were they there? No ma'am. She said she would take care of it. Phone company trucks started rolling in at 2 p.m. Our neighbor talked to the workers, who said they had gotten orders to do the job, and not leave until it was done. They stayed until 6:30 p.m.

Connie called me again Monday morning, following up. Did the workers come, and did I have service? Yes. And where should I send her flowers? She laughed, and said she was happy to help. I was happy to have her help too. Otherwise, I would still be in CenturyTel hell, paying my bill but not getting service.

So thanks, Ms. Connie at the Public Service Commission. I'm not sure what your exact job title is, but you got this customer the service she was looking for. You were kind, concerned, dedicated, and willing to go the extra mile. We truly appreciate your help.

Customer, Yes. Service, No.

I’ve always felt sorry for people who had to deal with customers all day long. I’m a people person, but I also know that dealing with some folks can be trying.

People can be mean and rude and short tempered and, well, just not very bright. Any one who watches any version of any reality show, from Cops on down the line to the whiny girls trying to get a man to the whiny college kids trying to live together in the same house to whatever the networks have come up with now know what I mean.

I try to be a good customer. I pay my bills on time, I’m polite when I need to call with a question or a problem, and I remember that the person answering the phone is not the cause of my problem. They are just the person having to answer the phone.

Trying to be a good customer has gotten real difficult lately. Me and my phone company are in a battle. I’ve called in reinforcements, but I shouldn’t have had to.

When we moved, we didn’t have a phone line to our house. Okay. We dealt with that by calling the company on May 18th. Their solution to the problem was to string a line from a phone box almost a mile away up to our house.

Three months later, the line still hasn’t been buried. It is laying across the road, across the neighbors’ driveways, over bushes and shrubs and fences. Every time a neighbor pulls into their drive or mows their yard or someone drives over the line just right, we lose our phone service.

We call an average of twice a week to report an outage. Each time, they fill out a repair ticket, and each time we explain the problem and they promise to get something done. Each time, not much happens.

It’s frustrating for us personally, but on a bigger scale too. I got my first bill four days after I moved in. The company has no problem sending me a bill, but has a real problem giving me service I am paying for.

If we as customers do our part they should do their part. Not just me, but every customer everywhere. They certainly want their money and will fuss and call and threaten if we don’t pay. Why don’t we have some sort of power if they don’t uphold their end of the bargain?

Thinking along those lines, I started doing some research, which led me to the Arkansas Public Service Commission. They oversee utilities in the state. I had a nice little chat with Connie on a Friday, and she promised to look into my problem. It would take three to five days, she said. Three hours later she called back and said the phone company had promised to have the line buried by the next Friday.

Wow. Now there’s customer service. At 10 a.m. on that Friday, Connie called me back. Was the line buried? Umm, no. Connie said she would take care of it. I didn't know what she was doing, but I felt better with her on my side.

I don’t feel better about my phone company. Three months should be plenty of time to take care of something in a timely manner, particularly since my payment for my bill is making it to them in a timely manner.

I’m their customer, and a new one at that. But their service? It certainly leaves something to be desired.

Under The Earth

My son Logan loves to explore. He particularly likes being outdoors. He is happiest when he is hunting or camping or fishing or climbing a mountain or doing the thing I hate most--exploring a cave.

Logan and I had been home from visiting family on my mother’s side in Indiana less than a day when my husband’s parents called him. They were camping up at the White River at Bull Shoals and wanted us to come up.

I stopped unpacking our bags and began repacking them. Logan, Gary, and his dad had a lot of fun trout fishing and did pretty well. It’s a subjective thing up there. Sometimes the fish bite as quickly as you can drop the bait in the river, and sometimes they won’t bite no matter what you do. This trip up, they seemed to be hungry and the guys enjoyed themselves.

We were all set to come home Sunday, then I saw an ad for Blanchard Springs Caverns. Logan has been to several caves, including the one at Bull Shoals. He has never been to one the size of Blanchard Springs, though, and we thought he would enjoy it.

They wanted to go on the "Wild Tour," so we bought the required boots Sunday for the Monday morning trip. Then Gary and Logan got to the Cave and discovered something not on the informational brochure we had gotten. The Wild Tour takes five hours. And it costs $75 a piece.
I’m claustrophobic in the extreme, which is why only Gary and Logan were going in the first place. It would be $150 for them to go into the cave, on a tour that would require hard hats, ropes, crawling on their hands and knees, and slithering on their belly. I was thinking folks needed to be paid to go on that, not have to pay.

Gary and Logan went on the Discovery Trail, which took about two hours and still required lots of walking and climbing; 686 steps in all. The last part of the tour is called "heart attack hill" because it is a straight vertical climb up stairs.

They had a great time. Oddly enough, the guys want to go back and try the Wild Tour. They are thinking of making a return trip for Logan’s birthday next month.

If they do, I will go with them…to the front door of the visitor center. I can’t breathe if I get any closer, so I will drop them off and then go read a good book or something, safely above ground.
When they get back, they will talk about all the tight spaces and confined areas they were in, and tell me how great it was. And I will smile, and be so thankful for open spaces and fresh air.
　
　

A Little Peace and Quiet. Or Not

It was finally sort of quiet around my house last week. For the first time, I was alone for much of the time at our new home. Gary was working, which isn’t unusual. Logan was away at camp, which is.

Monday, after Gary left for work, I considered my options. Everyone gone for the day, just me and the dogs at the end of dead end road in the middle of nowhere. I put on a minimum of makeup, and the most comfortable t-shirt and shorts I own, which means they are also the rattiest. I ran my fingers through my hair to settle it into some semblance of order and considered myself dressed.

A few hours later, the mini-dog and giant dog set up a din. There was a man in my yard. The telephone man had come to see about burying my phone cable. Again. They’ve been promising to fix it, immediately, for six weeks. He assured me he would take care of that day. We are still waiting.

A little while after that, another doggy alarm led me to the door. Who needs to wait for the doorbell with these two around? The mailman had a package. An hour later. Growl and Growlier ran to the window. This time not one, but two guys were in my yard.

Lovely. The day I look the scariest, there is a virtual parade of people at my house. The electric cooperative folks wanted permission to spray for weeds and cut tree limbs out around the power lines. Absolutely. Cut and spray and chop anything you want to. We’ve got twenty acres that were badly damaged in the ice storm. It all needs to be cut and sprayed and chopped. Please. Go right ahead.

The next morning, I had learned my lesson. I got up, got dressed in decent clothes, and fixed my hair and my face. Not one soul came up that day. Maybe I scared them all off Monday.

Wednesday Gary was home, and we got ready for a cookout we were planning. We bought a new grill a few weeks ago. It has gas on one side, charcoal in the middle, and a smoker on the end. We’ve had it about two weeks, but just now got brave enough to invite anyone over. Our old grill died more than a year ago, and we are just now getting around to replacing it.

The first week was sort of hit and miss. If we got something done one day, it was burned the next. Gary and I both had a few disasters, but we have gotten better now.

Thursday we did a test run by cooking some of the same things we were planning on making for everyone Friday. Since we have had some missteps, we didn’t want our family to starve, so we secretly experimented Thursday so we wouldn’t poison anyone Friday.

My son finally got home from camp, my sister was here, and my mom and dad were visiting too. My husband was off work, so it was a great day. In my family, being together and getting to eat always adds up to a good time.

Happily, we didn’t kill anyone with our cooking, burn anything down or serve anything raw. We might just be getting the hang of this. Then again, I’m probably not going to have anyone over that doesn’t love me for a while, either. Just in case.

Daddy Made Me Do It

When I was growing up, there were a few things that were absolute in our house. We didn’t question if we could or couldn’t do certain things. There was no question. We knew. We knew, because Dad had said. And, as he likes to quote from a verse in the bible, "Thereunto is the end of the matter."

Housework would be done. Our rooms would be picked up. We wouldn’t live in clutter or filth. It might be our room, but it was in their house. Mom, the "queen" of the house as he liked to call her, would be helped, would be honored, and would be respected. We knew, because Daddy made us do it.

We wouldn’t fight. We wouldn’t raise our voices, and we certainly wouldn’t raise our hands or fists to each other in anger. It wouldn’t be tolerated. We knew, because Daddy made us do it.

Our friends would come inside the house and meet our parents. Mom and Dad would know where we were going, with whom, who would be there, what time we were getting there, what time we were leaving and when we would be home. If we changed our plans, we would inform them. We had to. Daddy made us do it.

When I started dating, I was attracted to a man that was strong, loving, compassionate, humorous, intelligent, kind, gentle, and hardworking. How could I accept anything less? Daddy made me do it.

When I became I mother, I realized we were parenting with set boundaries and strong guidelines. My child is required to respect me. He helps out around the house. His room is reasonable at all times.

We know his friends, we know where he is going, and we know when he will be home. If that changes, he lets us know. He is required to do these things. His Daddy makes him do it.

The best gift a child can have is a loving father that enforces standards of behavior in the home. Standards that include respecting Mom, and every other family member, keeping a clean home, willingly being forthcoming with information, and living in harmony.

It doesn’t happen automatically or even easily. I wouldn’t be the daughter, sister, wife, or mother I am today if I would have grown up in any other home environment. There were times I hated the rules. But now, looking back, I can say I am so glad Daddy made me do it.

So It's A Little Confusing....

If you read my columns or my blog, you will see a unifying theme. It's chaos. Which is why several of these posts suddenly appeared on the same date. No, they didn't all just happen. They just all happened to get posted.

Sorry about that. I've been a bad blogger. I would put them in chronological order, if I could figure out how to do that little thing. I can't. I will try to do better, which should make my editor happy, although he has kindly not said a word.

It should also make my mother-in-law happy, who has said a word, although kindly. This is for you, Grandma. Happy reading.

Changes

It seems like I am tired all the time these days. We have so much stuff going on, and my brain is having a hard time keeping up. I literally have a notebook with me at all times so I can keep up with myself.

Yes, I know every other person in the world has a handy dandy PDA. I’m a low tech kind of girl. Paper and pen works just fine for me.

Part of the tiredness stems from not sleeping. I had underestimated how much work a new puppy would be. We are doing well with our new four month old German Shepherd, but he hasn’t quite mastered sleeping through the night yet. He wakes up at least once to go outside. Considering the alternative, I would rather wake up.

He wakes up for good about 4:30 a.m. He is good, just playing until the rest of the house wakes up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t play quietly. And in our small apartment, it doesn’t take much playing by a forty pound puppy to wake the rest of us up.

We are making other changes too. Logan is almost out of school, and is as excited as a four month old puppy with a new toy. Another school year down thrills him. This has been his best year ever, and we have been so happy with his school this year. His teachers were absolutely amazing, teaching with a joy that I had forgotten existed.

Our biggest change, though, is the one we have been working on the longest. We have found our house in the country that we have been looking for.

When we sold our home in November, we began actively looking for a new home to buy while we rented a place temporarily. After 16 years of this city girl staying with what was most comfortable, my country boy husband and wants-to-be-a country boy son were ready to find their dream spot.

We have looked and considered and even made an offer that was rejected. At the time, the rejection hurt. But now, we are so thankful that seller didn’t like our offer.
Our new home has everything we have wanted since Gary and I first got married. A little land, a lot of privacy, out a little but not too far out.

We can’t wait to begin the process of moving, this time into our dream home. We’ve wanted it more than a decade, and now we are getting it.

Between buying a home, which always has so many details to keep up with; getting the puppy, and preparing for the changes to come, I’m tired. But I am also excited. Changes are not always a good or happy thing, but for us, these changes are something we have been working toward for a long time. We are ready to make finally make them.

The biggest change will be watching this city girl try to turn into a country gal. It may be interesting, and will probably be funny. I’ve got a ways to go….but I’m going to enjoy it every step of the way.

Moving And Mayo

I’ve been talking a lot about chaos lately. I guess that is what has been on my mind the most. We have finally gotten sort of settled in our new home.

Most of the boxes are unpacked; although Logan’s room could still use a little direction. Mainly because he considers it to be an adventure to live out of a box. He sees no reason to unpack, and I see no reason to put an almost 14 year old boy’s room together for him.

We are at a bit of a stand off, although because I detest clutter I see the stand off not lasting long. Those boxes will get gone. Whether they get thrown out packed or unpacked will be up to Logan. But they will be moved out of my home so it will be organized.

Getting the house set up, getting things on the walls, and making it feel like "ours" took a break this week so I could go back to the Mayo Clinic. I had badly wanted every thing completely done before we left for Mayo, but that didn’t happen.

I had to stop unpacking boxes so I could start packing luggage. Going to Mayo is a production at any time, but going when you are moving is an experience. I very much appreciate all the help we had moving in.

However, that help means I am not quite sure where everything is. Finding things I only use occasionally, like the special bag I only take to Mayo, has been interesting.

My mom, my sister, my niece, my nephew, my nephew’s wife, my mother in law, my father in law, and my sister in law all helped us move and unpack. My idea of a logical place for something quickly turned to "just put it anywhere," when they asked where something should go. I thought we would figure it out later.

Later hasn’t come yet. Some things have gotten where they need to be, some things may never be found again. Getting me and Logan to Minnesota, the big dog to the kennel, and the husband and the little dog settled in to stay home by themselves has been a testament to our sense of humor.

Coming home from Mayo always put me in a fog of exhaustion. Perhaps this time, when the fog clears, I will remember where things are, where they need to be, or just make a whole new place for them. After all, this is a time of new beginnings. I guess we can start by making new places for our stuff.

Losing Our Mind

My Mom has my sister convinced I am going through a mid-life crisis. That would be pretty hard to accomplish for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I am no where near mid-life. For another thing, my sister is four years older than me. She hasn’t had her crisis yet, so I can’t possibly be having mine.

They need some valid reason for the major life changes Gary and I are making. Since Gary is perfect and has never made any wrong choices, bad decisions, or out of the ordinary plans in any shape, size or form, this is all my fault. Again. It is our little secret that we could blame every single bit of this on him. But we aren’t going to. It amuses both of us that he is perfect and I am not.

On one hand, I love that they agree I have a perfect husband. On the other hand, I’m getting tired of losing my mind. Although to my sister’s benefit, after she has soothed my Mom, she calls me giggling. Mom has told her of whatever my latest sin is. Teresa makes all the appropriate "can you believe she did that" noises to Mom like a good older, wiser sister should.

Then she calls me. And laughs. She’s been laughing a lot lately. She wondered what we were thinking when we got a new puppy. At this stage, I’m sort of wondering too. Fifty pound headstrong puppies are...well, they are a pain in the neck, and a few other places.

We were thinking we would finally have room on 20 acres for Logan to have the kind of dog he has always dreamed of. We were thinking by getting him now, he would be adjusted to us before the chaos of the move. That was a joke. Chaos is reigning supreme around here, and his name is Jake.

She began to get more concerned when we bought a house out of my usual comfort zone. My city roots means my fantasy place had always been a penthouse, at the top of the tallest building in the largest city. No grass. Just glass, floor to ceiling. A house so far out that Google gets confused when you put in the address isn’t something I longed for as a girl.

But now, I’ve really gone and done it. They had almost gotten used to the dog. They were getting on board with the house. After this past week, they are absolutely sure I’ve lost my mind. My much loved baby car has turned into a big four wheel drive vehicle.

My baby car couldn’t make it to where the new house is without serious damage. I traded in the car that my sister loved so much she immediately went out and bought one just like it, only in red. Teresa is speechless.

She didn’t start this phone call giggling. She started it by saying "You did not." Which made me giggle, knowing Mom had already been talking to her. Sigh. Yep, Sis, I did. What’s worse, I enjoyed it. And worse than that, I’m loving every single minute of driving my big (to me) bad four wheel drive.

If this is a mid (not) life crisis, I hope I get to have more of them. With the exception of the hard headed puppy, we are having the time of our life. I highly recommend them.
Which is what I have been telling my sister. She needs to catch up. She is older, and she is getting behind in a hurry. Her husband already believes I am a bad influence on her. It’s true. I’m sort of proud of that.

Since there is no redeeming me, I think she ought to join in the fun. She needs to go find her a new house. She’s been wanting to move for a few years now anyway. It’s time for a new puppy, although I would recommend one a bit less stubborn than ours. And if she gets a hankering for a souped up ride....hey, it’s her mid-life crisis. What can you do? She has obviously lost her mind.

Chaos and Confusion, For the Sake of Jake

Chaos and confusion is reigning supreme at my home this week, even more than usual. Every minute of every hour of the day and night. We are exhausted and sleep deprived.

We have a new baby in our house, of the fur variety. This particular fur baby is already around forty pounds at three months. We got a german shepherd puppy last week. Jacob Patton Furnish is now a part of our lives.

Which leads to the chaos. Jake is big. Jake is teething. Jake is hungry, all the time. Jake is about 95% housebroken. Jake has lots and lots and lots of energy. Jake can run through our entire house with a forbidden object in about three seconds. We can’t keep up, and Jake can eat/swallow/shred said object before we can retrieve it. He particularly likes shoes, clothing, and rugs.

But what Jake likes best is Chance. Unfortunately, our 10 pound Pomeranian does not share Jake’s affection. Which leads to the confusion. Chance is extremely unhappy with his new little brother, who outweighs him and outsizes him. Jake’s paw is about the size of Chance’s face.

Jake wants to play. So he chases Chance. He nudges Chance. He grabs a toy or a chewie that Chance thinks is his, and runs with it. They each have their own toys, but Chance, having been an only dog for four years thinks everything belongs to him.

For a few days, Chance just hid. Then he just watched for a few more. Then the real fun started. Chance decided he was here first, and this was his house. My little doggie may be only 10 pounds, but he thinks he is 100 pounds. He decided to exercise that imaginary bulk and fight back.

Now, when Jake decides Chance might want to be chased, Chance barks, growls and stands his ground. When Jake steals a toy, Chance steals it back. One day, Chance tried to get a toy, and Jake put his gigantic paw over it. Chance simply walked around, bit Jake’s tail and waited. Jake moved, Chance got his toy.

Chance is little, so he can run behind furniture or jump up on furniture. He finds his spot, and makes a stand. He gets where he is going, and then lets Jake have it.

By this morning, Jake was putting his head down between his paws and backing off. Which is a good thing. Jake will get somewhere between 100 and 125 pounds when he is grown. At 10 pounds, Chance is grown. He needs to get his bluff in on Jake while he can. Jake can hurt Chance without meaning too, so he needs to think Chance can hurt him.

It is sort of funny to watch the little yappy dog boss the big puppy around, and we are making sure neither one of them gets hurt. We don’t want Chance to hurt Jake any more than we want Jake to hurt Chance.

I will be glad when they work everything out, Jake learns who is boss (that would be Chance), runs down on the Puppy Energy, and things just settl back down to our version of normal again. It is never normal around here, but it is interesting. Here lately, it's a little exhausting, too.