No, I haven't forgotten about my blog and abandoned it forever...
It's been the Week of My Life. Anna is here after such a long time of not seeing her, so we've been spending most of our time gabbling like magpies about the many intricacies of our lives. All the little/big things that have happened since Feb 05. We've walked for hours, stayed up till 3 in the morning, and even gone shopping together. It's rather odd to spend time with someone who is so like me in some ways and seems to know me so well in others when we've hardly been together. We are definitely from the same family! All the things we struggle with are the same!
And though we've talked for hours, we still have so much to say. I wake up in the morning with butterflies in my tummy, happy that we still have another day to be together. There will be two more, and then they will leave on Friday. But for now, I'm just soaking up the love! :)
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
In Which Rodgy Buys a Root Beer Float and I am Humbled
It all started with $1.91 and a root beer float. So simple. So easy. So quick to just zip down to the gas station to buy it. At least, that's what I thought when I agreed to be Rodgy's chaffeur on his all-important mission to procure the coveted dream-float. How wrong I was.
It was an average April day in East Texas, much like this one. (Well, it was this one.) Green, warm, sticky, decent in the shade. The gas station (the name of which has slipped my memory) was a touch on the sleezy side, old, a little bedraggled and oily with uneven pavement in the parking lot. Located across from the golf course, about a two minute from the house.
Surviving yesterday without the Ultimate Bottled Root Bear Float had almost proved too much for Rodgy, and it was no surprise when the first words out of his mouth when I arrived at their house were,
"Can Cassie take me to buy the float, Mom?" I was happy to take him, so we hopped into The Van and chugged off down the road. I was thinking over the day, pleased at having opened a checking account that morning, even if the lady at the desk had asked "Now, how old are you?" It's the second time this week someone's thought I was fifteen instead of nineteen. But no biggy, I thought; I'm doing pretty good. I can write checks, I can drive...
Beside me in the passenger's seat, Rodge was fiddling with his coins, his mind on nothing but the float to come.
We reached the gas station, hopped out, and breezed into the store. Rodgy quickly located and bought his float, and I spent my last dollar bill and some change on an eyebrow-raising shot of Something Caffeinated to help get Connor through the school day.
On the way back to the van, Rodgy popped the top off his root beer float can and once we got in, he let me have a sip. Mmm! Nice and chilly, and kind of creamy. Well, he was satisfied. Everything was peachy until...
The key wouldn't turn. I put the key in the ignition and turned, but it wouldn't move. I pulled it out and stuck it in the other way and it wouldn't turn then, either. I wiggled it. It would click towards me, but when I tried to start it, it wouldn't budge. Should I push the brake? Should I push the gas? Should I push the key harder?
Inside the car it was hot and damp, and I could feel sweat creeping onto my neck and forehead and around my nose where it felt red. Rodgy sat looking on, holding his float. He took the key and tried. I opened my door, but there was that exasperating alarm-clock-like buzzing it makes when the key is in. Neither of us could stand that, so I closed the door again.
"Open yours," I told Rodge. So he opened it, admitting a life-saving breath of cool air. It didn't help the key, though. I sat staring at it, praying silently, commenting matter o' factly to Rodge about the process. Surely there was just one certain thing to do, and God could just tell me, and then it would be fixed. Right?
"Ok, God, what's the problem here?" I asked inwardly. The answer came back inside, like an echo bouncing off a wall.
"Your pride."
My heart sank a smidgin. Suddenly I was sitting in the same van in the Vashey's driveway again with six warm, dirty kids, tense, sweating in the driver's seat, trying in vain to turn the key. Mrs. Vashey and Rodgy arguing over jumper cables. Mrs. Jackson saying "Honey, you want to get out and let me try that?" They were all so nice, but...
Well, I knew the key wasn't going to turn until I did what I had to do. I had to ask for help. So I looked at Rodgy.
"Let's go in and see if we can call your Mom." I said. He was already digging change out of his pocket.
"I have a couple of nickels," he volunteered, "I think we could use the pay phone."
"Let's try inside first," I countered. I couldn't see ten cents going very far with a pay phone, even if it did look close to antique.
"I'm so embarressed," I told Rodge. "It makes me feel dumb, especially since people think I'm still only fifteen. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know how you feel." he replied understandingly.
I went to the counter and asked if I could "please use the phone because our car won't start and he lives just down the road but I need to call his mom..." The lady looked at me a little blankly and told me she couldn't understand what I'd just said.
"Could I use your phone?" I asked, more clearly. "Our car won't start."
It was a cord phone, but she managed to put it in a place where the cord would reach over the counter.
"Hello," Deb said on the other end, cheery as usual. I explained. There was a lot of Hmming. It wasn't that we were so far from home, but just that there wasn't another vehicle to come get us with.
"It sounds like the key's stuck," she said. "Try wiggling it a lot. Wiggle it hard."
Ok. I could wiggle it hard. I put the phone back, hoping I wouldn't need it again. We went back to the van hopefully. Silent prayer. Insert key. No go. Jiggle. Wiggle. Wiggledy iggldey dwiggle. Nothing. I wiggled and pushed and turned and wiggled some more, and then so did Rodgy, in between glances at his A&W float, which he held lovingly in one hand.
We went through all the things we knew to try, and added a few sacred rites in for good measure...Rodge even licked the key and wiped it on the seat before sticking it in, but to no avail. In spite of the open passenger side door, sweat swarmed on me like some kind of parasite, and I could feel it trickling in little rivulets under my black t-shirt. Too bad my cell phone is with Mom, I thought. Or rather, with Dad, because Mom has the other one...and then...maybe Mom is still in town, just coming home, and could pick us up!
Instinctively feeling that it was time to give up for now, I decided to let Rodgy have a go at the pay phone. As I figured, the nickels weren't enough, but I had a few quarters. I dropped them in, and I told him the numbers while he dialed the cell phone. We waited. Nothing. And then, ka-chink! Two quarters fell into the change slot. So we tried dialing before inserting the coins, instead.
That didn't work either. I stood there listening to the fuzzy sound mingled with highway background noise, staring across Smelly Road and the driving range and wondering how far the walk home really was. Rodge dug the coins out of the machine and we tried again, closely following the instructions, which were in tiny blue print. There was the fuzzy noise, the familiar ka-chink, but no coins. Poking in with his finger, Rodge reported that one of the quarters had lodged where he couldn't reach it, blocking the other one. The machine had eaten our money.
So, it was back to the nice lady with the old maroon phone. She brought it out again, looking slightly amused, or so it seemed to me. I dialed. Busy.
Rodge and I wandered around the store a bit while grungy fellows with scary beards went back and forth. Rodge left his float in a bin of ice and Bud Light to stay cool, and we browsed through the ice cream, cat food, and toothpicks. he bought us a package of Nutty Bars to share and I downed mine appreciatively in three bites or so (nervous eating). We were starting to have fun though. Rodge thought we could probably survive happily there in the gas station, and I suggested we move next door into the little shack with the sign that said "Barber Shop."
Finally I called Deb again. My next resort was going to be Dad's cell, though I knew that he was at Chris's shop with our truck and probably wouldn't be able to come any time soon anyway. Deb answered again, but neither of us had an answer for the problem.
"Well, we can just hang out here a while," I said. It wasn't that great of a catastrophe, really.
"No," Deb said, "I'll just bring the boys down there and see what I can do." This is one brave lady. She was going to WALK here to meet us with her baby in a sling, herding a passel of little boys, including Tucker and my little brother Ethan, The Ultimate World Slow-Pokes. It wasn't very far to the gas station, driving, but I had the feeling that it was a lot farther than we would think, walking. I could envision her still trodding along come supper time, little boys in tow. Ethan would be in that sling, too.
"That's a long way to walk," I protested.
"It can't be that far," she replied. I've never seen or heard of a Mom of Six with so much youthful optimism. Maybe this is why she's headed for Ukraine, and why I love being around her so much.
"Oh yes it can," I said (or at least thought).
"I'll be there in half an hour or so."
I said bye and put down the phone. So there was nothing for it. She was coming, and I figured we had better get comfortable, because it might be midnight before they got here. But I thought first, I'd give the van just one more try. Third time's the charm, right?
"Rodge, let's go try the van one more time." I said. He was standing beside his "beer," stroking it comfortingly where it sat in the ice bath with the real beers.
"I think I'll just stay in here and keep my float company," he replied.
"No, come with me," I said, "I need your support!"
So he obliged. I fingered the keys, approaching the van with a sort of resignation, while still entertaining a small hope. I hopped in, turned the key, and, Zhoom! It started right up, as if there had never been anything between us. Like nothing had ever happened.
"Yes!" I cried. We could go home! I looked at Rodge. "I guess I'll go call your mom...or, no...we'll just go meet them!"
"Now I can put my float in the freezer and colden it up again," he exulted. He'd been saving it the whole time.
In two mintues, we were in the driveway. I clocked the distance-- just over one mile. So, not as crazy a walk as I expected. But I was relieved anyway.
Deb met us in the driveway, Noah secured in a sling that wrapped around her shoulders. Ultimate Flexible Woman of the Century. My heroine.
"We were all ready for a nice walk," she said, grinning at us. Up on that hill, the breeze felt sweet and the stickiness kind of melted away. Rodge was bearing his Precious Float away to Arctic Regions to be rechilled for Ideal Consumption Later On.
It was an average April day in East Texas, much like this one. (Well, it was this one.) Green, warm, sticky, decent in the shade. The gas station (the name of which has slipped my memory) was a touch on the sleezy side, old, a little bedraggled and oily with uneven pavement in the parking lot. Located across from the golf course, about a two minute from the house.
Surviving yesterday without the Ultimate Bottled Root Bear Float had almost proved too much for Rodgy, and it was no surprise when the first words out of his mouth when I arrived at their house were,
"Can Cassie take me to buy the float, Mom?" I was happy to take him, so we hopped into The Van and chugged off down the road. I was thinking over the day, pleased at having opened a checking account that morning, even if the lady at the desk had asked "Now, how old are you?" It's the second time this week someone's thought I was fifteen instead of nineteen. But no biggy, I thought; I'm doing pretty good. I can write checks, I can drive...
Beside me in the passenger's seat, Rodge was fiddling with his coins, his mind on nothing but the float to come.
We reached the gas station, hopped out, and breezed into the store. Rodgy quickly located and bought his float, and I spent my last dollar bill and some change on an eyebrow-raising shot of Something Caffeinated to help get Connor through the school day.
On the way back to the van, Rodgy popped the top off his root beer float can and once we got in, he let me have a sip. Mmm! Nice and chilly, and kind of creamy. Well, he was satisfied. Everything was peachy until...
The key wouldn't turn. I put the key in the ignition and turned, but it wouldn't move. I pulled it out and stuck it in the other way and it wouldn't turn then, either. I wiggled it. It would click towards me, but when I tried to start it, it wouldn't budge. Should I push the brake? Should I push the gas? Should I push the key harder?
Inside the car it was hot and damp, and I could feel sweat creeping onto my neck and forehead and around my nose where it felt red. Rodgy sat looking on, holding his float. He took the key and tried. I opened my door, but there was that exasperating alarm-clock-like buzzing it makes when the key is in. Neither of us could stand that, so I closed the door again.
"Open yours," I told Rodge. So he opened it, admitting a life-saving breath of cool air. It didn't help the key, though. I sat staring at it, praying silently, commenting matter o' factly to Rodge about the process. Surely there was just one certain thing to do, and God could just tell me, and then it would be fixed. Right?
"Ok, God, what's the problem here?" I asked inwardly. The answer came back inside, like an echo bouncing off a wall.
"Your pride."
My heart sank a smidgin. Suddenly I was sitting in the same van in the Vashey's driveway again with six warm, dirty kids, tense, sweating in the driver's seat, trying in vain to turn the key. Mrs. Vashey and Rodgy arguing over jumper cables. Mrs. Jackson saying "Honey, you want to get out and let me try that?" They were all so nice, but...
Well, I knew the key wasn't going to turn until I did what I had to do. I had to ask for help. So I looked at Rodgy.
"Let's go in and see if we can call your Mom." I said. He was already digging change out of his pocket.
"I have a couple of nickels," he volunteered, "I think we could use the pay phone."
"Let's try inside first," I countered. I couldn't see ten cents going very far with a pay phone, even if it did look close to antique.
"I'm so embarressed," I told Rodge. "It makes me feel dumb, especially since people think I'm still only fifteen. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know how you feel." he replied understandingly.
I went to the counter and asked if I could "please use the phone because our car won't start and he lives just down the road but I need to call his mom..." The lady looked at me a little blankly and told me she couldn't understand what I'd just said.
"Could I use your phone?" I asked, more clearly. "Our car won't start."
It was a cord phone, but she managed to put it in a place where the cord would reach over the counter.
"Hello," Deb said on the other end, cheery as usual. I explained. There was a lot of Hmming. It wasn't that we were so far from home, but just that there wasn't another vehicle to come get us with.
"It sounds like the key's stuck," she said. "Try wiggling it a lot. Wiggle it hard."
Ok. I could wiggle it hard. I put the phone back, hoping I wouldn't need it again. We went back to the van hopefully. Silent prayer. Insert key. No go. Jiggle. Wiggle. Wiggledy iggldey dwiggle. Nothing. I wiggled and pushed and turned and wiggled some more, and then so did Rodgy, in between glances at his A&W float, which he held lovingly in one hand.
We went through all the things we knew to try, and added a few sacred rites in for good measure...Rodge even licked the key and wiped it on the seat before sticking it in, but to no avail. In spite of the open passenger side door, sweat swarmed on me like some kind of parasite, and I could feel it trickling in little rivulets under my black t-shirt. Too bad my cell phone is with Mom, I thought. Or rather, with Dad, because Mom has the other one...and then...maybe Mom is still in town, just coming home, and could pick us up!
Instinctively feeling that it was time to give up for now, I decided to let Rodgy have a go at the pay phone. As I figured, the nickels weren't enough, but I had a few quarters. I dropped them in, and I told him the numbers while he dialed the cell phone. We waited. Nothing. And then, ka-chink! Two quarters fell into the change slot. So we tried dialing before inserting the coins, instead.
That didn't work either. I stood there listening to the fuzzy sound mingled with highway background noise, staring across Smelly Road and the driving range and wondering how far the walk home really was. Rodge dug the coins out of the machine and we tried again, closely following the instructions, which were in tiny blue print. There was the fuzzy noise, the familiar ka-chink, but no coins. Poking in with his finger, Rodge reported that one of the quarters had lodged where he couldn't reach it, blocking the other one. The machine had eaten our money.
So, it was back to the nice lady with the old maroon phone. She brought it out again, looking slightly amused, or so it seemed to me. I dialed. Busy.
Rodge and I wandered around the store a bit while grungy fellows with scary beards went back and forth. Rodge left his float in a bin of ice and Bud Light to stay cool, and we browsed through the ice cream, cat food, and toothpicks. he bought us a package of Nutty Bars to share and I downed mine appreciatively in three bites or so (nervous eating). We were starting to have fun though. Rodge thought we could probably survive happily there in the gas station, and I suggested we move next door into the little shack with the sign that said "Barber Shop."
Finally I called Deb again. My next resort was going to be Dad's cell, though I knew that he was at Chris's shop with our truck and probably wouldn't be able to come any time soon anyway. Deb answered again, but neither of us had an answer for the problem.
"Well, we can just hang out here a while," I said. It wasn't that great of a catastrophe, really.
"No," Deb said, "I'll just bring the boys down there and see what I can do." This is one brave lady. She was going to WALK here to meet us with her baby in a sling, herding a passel of little boys, including Tucker and my little brother Ethan, The Ultimate World Slow-Pokes. It wasn't very far to the gas station, driving, but I had the feeling that it was a lot farther than we would think, walking. I could envision her still trodding along come supper time, little boys in tow. Ethan would be in that sling, too.
"That's a long way to walk," I protested.
"It can't be that far," she replied. I've never seen or heard of a Mom of Six with so much youthful optimism. Maybe this is why she's headed for Ukraine, and why I love being around her so much.
"Oh yes it can," I said (or at least thought).
"I'll be there in half an hour or so."
I said bye and put down the phone. So there was nothing for it. She was coming, and I figured we had better get comfortable, because it might be midnight before they got here. But I thought first, I'd give the van just one more try. Third time's the charm, right?
"Rodge, let's go try the van one more time." I said. He was standing beside his "beer," stroking it comfortingly where it sat in the ice bath with the real beers.
"I think I'll just stay in here and keep my float company," he replied.
"No, come with me," I said, "I need your support!"
So he obliged. I fingered the keys, approaching the van with a sort of resignation, while still entertaining a small hope. I hopped in, turned the key, and, Zhoom! It started right up, as if there had never been anything between us. Like nothing had ever happened.
"Yes!" I cried. We could go home! I looked at Rodge. "I guess I'll go call your mom...or, no...we'll just go meet them!"
"Now I can put my float in the freezer and colden it up again," he exulted. He'd been saving it the whole time.
In two mintues, we were in the driveway. I clocked the distance-- just over one mile. So, not as crazy a walk as I expected. But I was relieved anyway.
Deb met us in the driveway, Noah secured in a sling that wrapped around her shoulders. Ultimate Flexible Woman of the Century. My heroine.
"We were all ready for a nice walk," she said, grinning at us. Up on that hill, the breeze felt sweet and the stickiness kind of melted away. Rodge was bearing his Precious Float away to Arctic Regions to be rechilled for Ideal Consumption Later On.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
I am Going to Read to Myself...
Mmmm. Tummy hurts. Just the first thought that comes to mind...I feel queasy, but I must not be sick, because I was hungry for lunch, which I just ate, and usually people don't feel like eating when they're going to throw up. Not this person, anyway.
Nothing in particular to write...in fact, I think I'm going to lay in bed and read the sequel to Sarah, Plain and Tall for a little while. I know Sarah, Plain and Tall is not exactly challenging literature, but it's peaceful, restful, and well crafted. And it has something to say about life that tugs at me right now. I read the first book to Bron yesterday and there was a line that the neighbor, Maggie, says to Sarah, who is new on the prairie and misses Maine.
"No matter where you are, you'll always miss something."
Layla, our kitty (no, Mattie's- though I'm liking her more and more every day), is getting warmed up to us. Her name is actually spelled Leyla, not Layla, which I actually like better. She will sit in our laps a little sometimes, and is particularly partial to Dad's. She's still shy, and gets spooked easily. This morning Mom picked her up and held her, and when Ethan walked into the room, she (Leyla) hissed at him like a little snake. Rrreeeer!
On Friday my cousin Anna will be here! Yay! I haven't seen her in three years, since they ended their last furlough and went "home" to Niger. They're visiting again and will be in for about six days, I think. They were going to come today or tomorrow, but it's been moved out. I can't wait to catch up with one of my dearest friends in the world and see what her life is really like now. Instant messaging just doesn't cut it. It will be a happy time with the whole family. Uncle Kevin, Aunt Colleen, Anna, Stephen, Daniel, and Matthew...Jon and Jo are in Washington still finishing up the college semester.
I truly am going to go off and read now, if I can keep from getting guilty and trying to occupy myself...
Nothing in particular to write...in fact, I think I'm going to lay in bed and read the sequel to Sarah, Plain and Tall for a little while. I know Sarah, Plain and Tall is not exactly challenging literature, but it's peaceful, restful, and well crafted. And it has something to say about life that tugs at me right now. I read the first book to Bron yesterday and there was a line that the neighbor, Maggie, says to Sarah, who is new on the prairie and misses Maine.
"No matter where you are, you'll always miss something."
Layla, our kitty (no, Mattie's- though I'm liking her more and more every day), is getting warmed up to us. Her name is actually spelled Leyla, not Layla, which I actually like better. She will sit in our laps a little sometimes, and is particularly partial to Dad's. She's still shy, and gets spooked easily. This morning Mom picked her up and held her, and when Ethan walked into the room, she (Leyla) hissed at him like a little snake. Rrreeeer!
On Friday my cousin Anna will be here! Yay! I haven't seen her in three years, since they ended their last furlough and went "home" to Niger. They're visiting again and will be in for about six days, I think. They were going to come today or tomorrow, but it's been moved out. I can't wait to catch up with one of my dearest friends in the world and see what her life is really like now. Instant messaging just doesn't cut it. It will be a happy time with the whole family. Uncle Kevin, Aunt Colleen, Anna, Stephen, Daniel, and Matthew...Jon and Jo are in Washington still finishing up the college semester.
I truly am going to go off and read now, if I can keep from getting guilty and trying to occupy myself...
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Saving of Many Lives...
Beware: May contain copy cat material from Lauren's blog.
On Saturday night, we had the Father/Daughter Banquet at church. Though I've been to the other three we've had in previous years, this one was the best so far for me! I get more comfortable with it each year, and it was a special time with Dad. It was Mattie's first year to go, and my first year to be officially too old to go. However, I got to attend because they let Lauren and I "speak" or, to use a more none threatening word, "talk," except that we always talk everywhere we go, so that wouldn't explain it very well :) Gracie read some verses and introduced us as no one else could have...we really didn't need to say anything after she was done!
Anyhow...as I told everyone that night, ever since I went to the first banquet, it's been my dream to speak at it someday, but I figured that would be when I was married or at least engaged, so that I would have one of those exciting gushy stories to tell...that's what everybody wants to hear anyway, right? So I was asking God, "What am I going to say, Lord?" I can't go tell the girls about this amazing guy in my life whom God gave me after waiting faithfully and purely...I'm not there yet. And then God said, "You get to talk about Me!"
Yeah! It sounded funny at first, but it made complete sense. He is, after all, the "guy" in my life...just MORE than that! And that's what gives me such a great story to share! So I got to share about how God has truly come to fill that longing for romance in me that I didn't think it possible for Him to take care of. It really works! I was really pumped to get to share that...I hardly ever get to "share my faith"...and that is such an applicable way for teenage girls because it deals with a real need we have to be loved. Often the message is just that we should shove the loneliness down or ignore the longings we have and WAIT...be pure, whatever, until Prince Charming appears. But God has gone a step further and met those needs for me instead of leaving me to wait it out by myself! He has truly been gentle and loving and strong like a person for me.
So, I shared this, stumbling around with my bundle of notes a little but mercifully not collapsing on stage :) When I sat down, a girl I had seen before but only just met before dinner came and sat beside me, her face glowing and her eyes sparkling with tears. She looked at me and whispered "I want to have a relationship like you have!" So we got to talk, and I felt my own face start glowing...the Bible says we are the light of the world and the fragrance of Christ, but so often I don't feel very shiny, and I don't think I smell too good either! You can go on living your life day in and day out, not ever seeing that it makes a difference in other people's lives, or that God is really apparent in you. Especially if you tend to mumble in public and stare at the floor a good deal :) But Saturday night, I got to offer hope to a girl who needed to know that Jesus is a safe "person" for her, as well as God. She was "saved" already, but didn't know she could actually have that sheltering, loving relationship she has been so desperate for. Now, in spite of all the disappointment and hurt of past relationships, she knows that there is Someone will never leave her or forsake her.
We went in a back room to talk for a few minutes, but all I could really say was, "I'm so excited for you!" and assure her that it was really possible.
What is so exciting about this to me is that I'm seeing God fulfill a promise that He gave me from scripture a few monthes ago, and has been reminding me of lately. In fact, Lauren mentioned the scripture on her blog a post or two ago http://seetheking.blogspot.com/
and that reminded me once again.
It comes from Genesis 45:5 (though she quoted a similar verse, Gen. 50:20). It's where Joseph has been betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, then imprisoned in Pharoah's prison for a while, and finally, through a serious of harrowing events, gets promoted to second-to-the-top in Egypt and through God's anointing and wisdom, makes preparations in the kingdom that will save the lives of people ALL OVER THE THEN-INHABITED WORLD during a terrible famine. So when he is reunited with his brothers and they are filled with remorse and regret and repentance, Joseph confidently tells them,
"Do not be grieved or angry with yourselves, that you sold me here, for God sent me here for the saving of many lives."
I believe that is His personal promise to me, and that He is using the painful things in my life to save the lives of many people. I have no idea what that means practically, but at the banquet I felt like He was saying, "This is the beginning." Of course Joseph didn't understand why he was thrown in a well, why he was sold into slavery, why he was betrayed by a witchy woman who falsely accused him, or why he had to spend two (or was it more?) years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. But in the end he could look at his brothers and say, "I'm glad this happened to me. God has used it to save many lives." If I know that God is going to use my life to save other's lives, I can embrace whatever comes, and rejoice in what has already been. Nothing is wasted with God.
On Saturday night, we had the Father/Daughter Banquet at church. Though I've been to the other three we've had in previous years, this one was the best so far for me! I get more comfortable with it each year, and it was a special time with Dad. It was Mattie's first year to go, and my first year to be officially too old to go. However, I got to attend because they let Lauren and I "speak" or, to use a more none threatening word, "talk," except that we always talk everywhere we go, so that wouldn't explain it very well :) Gracie read some verses and introduced us as no one else could have...we really didn't need to say anything after she was done!
Anyhow...as I told everyone that night, ever since I went to the first banquet, it's been my dream to speak at it someday, but I figured that would be when I was married or at least engaged, so that I would have one of those exciting gushy stories to tell...that's what everybody wants to hear anyway, right? So I was asking God, "What am I going to say, Lord?" I can't go tell the girls about this amazing guy in my life whom God gave me after waiting faithfully and purely...I'm not there yet. And then God said, "You get to talk about Me!"
Yeah! It sounded funny at first, but it made complete sense. He is, after all, the "guy" in my life...just MORE than that! And that's what gives me such a great story to share! So I got to share about how God has truly come to fill that longing for romance in me that I didn't think it possible for Him to take care of. It really works! I was really pumped to get to share that...I hardly ever get to "share my faith"...and that is such an applicable way for teenage girls because it deals with a real need we have to be loved. Often the message is just that we should shove the loneliness down or ignore the longings we have and WAIT...be pure, whatever, until Prince Charming appears. But God has gone a step further and met those needs for me instead of leaving me to wait it out by myself! He has truly been gentle and loving and strong like a person for me.
So, I shared this, stumbling around with my bundle of notes a little but mercifully not collapsing on stage :) When I sat down, a girl I had seen before but only just met before dinner came and sat beside me, her face glowing and her eyes sparkling with tears. She looked at me and whispered "I want to have a relationship like you have!" So we got to talk, and I felt my own face start glowing...the Bible says we are the light of the world and the fragrance of Christ, but so often I don't feel very shiny, and I don't think I smell too good either! You can go on living your life day in and day out, not ever seeing that it makes a difference in other people's lives, or that God is really apparent in you. Especially if you tend to mumble in public and stare at the floor a good deal :) But Saturday night, I got to offer hope to a girl who needed to know that Jesus is a safe "person" for her, as well as God. She was "saved" already, but didn't know she could actually have that sheltering, loving relationship she has been so desperate for. Now, in spite of all the disappointment and hurt of past relationships, she knows that there is Someone will never leave her or forsake her.
We went in a back room to talk for a few minutes, but all I could really say was, "I'm so excited for you!" and assure her that it was really possible.
What is so exciting about this to me is that I'm seeing God fulfill a promise that He gave me from scripture a few monthes ago, and has been reminding me of lately. In fact, Lauren mentioned the scripture on her blog a post or two ago http://seetheking.blogspot.com/
and that reminded me once again.
It comes from Genesis 45:5 (though she quoted a similar verse, Gen. 50:20). It's where Joseph has been betrayed and sold into slavery by his brothers, then imprisoned in Pharoah's prison for a while, and finally, through a serious of harrowing events, gets promoted to second-to-the-top in Egypt and through God's anointing and wisdom, makes preparations in the kingdom that will save the lives of people ALL OVER THE THEN-INHABITED WORLD during a terrible famine. So when he is reunited with his brothers and they are filled with remorse and regret and repentance, Joseph confidently tells them,
"Do not be grieved or angry with yourselves, that you sold me here, for God sent me here for the saving of many lives."
I believe that is His personal promise to me, and that He is using the painful things in my life to save the lives of many people. I have no idea what that means practically, but at the banquet I felt like He was saying, "This is the beginning." Of course Joseph didn't understand why he was thrown in a well, why he was sold into slavery, why he was betrayed by a witchy woman who falsely accused him, or why he had to spend two (or was it more?) years in prison for a crime he didn't commit. But in the end he could look at his brothers and say, "I'm glad this happened to me. God has used it to save many lives." If I know that God is going to use my life to save other's lives, I can embrace whatever comes, and rejoice in what has already been. Nothing is wasted with God.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Layla
We have a new baby. She is tiny and black with indistict splotches, has four velvet feet, and creeps like stealthy night itself. After several days of deliberation, Mattie decided to call her Layla. (I'm not sure if that's how she's spelling it.)
Mattie's been wanting a cat for a while now, and after a few sad incidents we decided to get a kitten instead of a grown up cat. Since she's hanging around (lurking is a better word)in our room, I am much happier with the kitten plan. We can get used to something a little smaller a little better. At least I can. Her helplessness appeals to me.
The poor little dear is, as they say in the old folk song, "a young thing, and she cannot leave her mother." Only she has left her mother, or rather been forced, at the tender age of 7 weeks. Consequently, she spent her first few days entertaining the dust bunnies under our bed. Now she comes out and stares with her big amber-brown eyes. She seems to want to play, but one glance from us is enough to send her scampering back to her refuge. The world is such a big, mean place after all. I kind of can relate.
Mattie's been wanting a cat for a while now, and after a few sad incidents we decided to get a kitten instead of a grown up cat. Since she's hanging around (lurking is a better word)in our room, I am much happier with the kitten plan. We can get used to something a little smaller a little better. At least I can. Her helplessness appeals to me.
The poor little dear is, as they say in the old folk song, "a young thing, and she cannot leave her mother." Only she has left her mother, or rather been forced, at the tender age of 7 weeks. Consequently, she spent her first few days entertaining the dust bunnies under our bed. Now she comes out and stares with her big amber-brown eyes. She seems to want to play, but one glance from us is enough to send her scampering back to her refuge. The world is such a big, mean place after all. I kind of can relate.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
How To?
By the way, does anyone know how to put a link in a post so that when you click on it, you can go to the site? It's not working for me.
New Poem Blog!
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Eat it and See What Happens
One side of phone conversation overheard in the kitchen this afternoon:
"You're yelling at me."
pause.
"No."
pause.
"I think it should be fine."
pause.
"Just go ahead and eat it and see what happens."
This was my Mom, on the phone with a frantic Connor, who was afraid his supper had spoiled in the car while he was in class. (He stayed in town for youth group.) It didn't involve any dairy, so Mom assured him it was ok. After all, this is the guy who once heated a raw pork chop for a few seconds in the microwave and started eating it, thinking it was leftover from a meal already cooked. Best to look at life as an adventure, I suppose.
"You're yelling at me."
pause.
"No."
pause.
"I think it should be fine."
pause.
"Just go ahead and eat it and see what happens."
This was my Mom, on the phone with a frantic Connor, who was afraid his supper had spoiled in the car while he was in class. (He stayed in town for youth group.) It didn't involve any dairy, so Mom assured him it was ok. After all, this is the guy who once heated a raw pork chop for a few seconds in the microwave and started eating it, thinking it was leftover from a meal already cooked. Best to look at life as an adventure, I suppose.
Monday, April 14, 2008
My Own Machine! and other stuff
I have a sewing machine!!! Of my very own! It's such a beautiful little thing. Mrs. Burklin fixed up an "extra" and gave it to me, so when I go to Ukraine, I can keep on sewing. :) I'm so thrilled. She also gave me a book with sewing basics and projects like curtains, pillows, and even bath mats. I'm so pleased. I'm starting to feel the sewing coming on; the question is, what? I need to find a curtainless window and some cheap sheets.
The weekend has been a full and happy one...After sewing with the Johnson girls on Friday the three oldest Johnson kids (Rebekah, Matthew, and Sarah) came home with us and we had a fun visit, during which Rebekah taught me to make dainty crocheted earrings. They are really pretty, but I have to admit, her style is a lot more dainty! Mine ended up significantly different sizes! Her stitches are neat and beautiful.
On Saturday night there was more socializing when I went over to the Bourciers for a bit for a girls' party...we played a game called "Signs." The point of this game, as Lauren explained it, is to "embarress one person for the greatest amount of time possible." Fun :)
On Sunday we (is it hanged or hung?) out with Flic and Cameron at our house a little while before going to play putt-putt and slurp shakes together (a colaborated Christmas present from them to their "adopted family.") It was a blast, and I shocked myself by winning at putt-putt, by one point...(I wasn't in the group with Dad, though.) Not that it mattered too much who won, because the point of playing wasn't really to win but to have fun, but winning is so rare for me that I had to point it out...I think I've found my sport :) Besides walking, that is. I like walking. We sat trying to drink our shakes out of the wind, through truly enormous straws, which, though odd, were very clever since the shakes are so thick.
Yes, and then today, Connor and I went to lunch with our four older cousins (Stephen, James, Elizabeth, and Catherine) and Liz and I nearly "went bankrupt," (in her words) splitting the fajita plate we thought would only be $7. It was 20. But they were graciously sharing money that Grammie had donated to the cause, so it was ok. It was so nice to visit with my cousins. Our lives are all changing a lot, and I guess we don't have a huge amount of time left together.
Then I got to go to Mrs. Burklin's for tea and we had the nicest visit. And she gave me the sewing machine. She's such giving person. Her time, resources, everything.
Anyhow, Grammie needs a chauffer to the hair salon tomorrow (her arm is broken and she can't drive) and she insists on shopping as well...
I suddenly feel like my perspective is becoming more like the one I've heard people of some other cultures have, that a day you got to have a meaningful conversation with another person was a good day. I'm thankful for this time to just be with people some.
Must go to bed...today I was so dozy that I sat completely stationary at several greenlights pondering the economy...song lyrics...those s h i n y b r i g h t o b j e c t s g o i i i i n g p a a a s t...Luckily, a friendly honk revived me.
The weekend has been a full and happy one...After sewing with the Johnson girls on Friday the three oldest Johnson kids (Rebekah, Matthew, and Sarah) came home with us and we had a fun visit, during which Rebekah taught me to make dainty crocheted earrings. They are really pretty, but I have to admit, her style is a lot more dainty! Mine ended up significantly different sizes! Her stitches are neat and beautiful.
On Saturday night there was more socializing when I went over to the Bourciers for a bit for a girls' party...we played a game called "Signs." The point of this game, as Lauren explained it, is to "embarress one person for the greatest amount of time possible." Fun :)
On Sunday we (is it hanged or hung?) out with Flic and Cameron at our house a little while before going to play putt-putt and slurp shakes together (a colaborated Christmas present from them to their "adopted family.") It was a blast, and I shocked myself by winning at putt-putt, by one point...(I wasn't in the group with Dad, though.) Not that it mattered too much who won, because the point of playing wasn't really to win but to have fun, but winning is so rare for me that I had to point it out...I think I've found my sport :) Besides walking, that is. I like walking. We sat trying to drink our shakes out of the wind, through truly enormous straws, which, though odd, were very clever since the shakes are so thick.
Yes, and then today, Connor and I went to lunch with our four older cousins (Stephen, James, Elizabeth, and Catherine) and Liz and I nearly "went bankrupt," (in her words) splitting the fajita plate we thought would only be $7. It was 20. But they were graciously sharing money that Grammie had donated to the cause, so it was ok. It was so nice to visit with my cousins. Our lives are all changing a lot, and I guess we don't have a huge amount of time left together.
Then I got to go to Mrs. Burklin's for tea and we had the nicest visit. And she gave me the sewing machine. She's such giving person. Her time, resources, everything.
Anyhow, Grammie needs a chauffer to the hair salon tomorrow (her arm is broken and she can't drive) and she insists on shopping as well...
I suddenly feel like my perspective is becoming more like the one I've heard people of some other cultures have, that a day you got to have a meaningful conversation with another person was a good day. I'm thankful for this time to just be with people some.
Must go to bed...today I was so dozy that I sat completely stationary at several greenlights pondering the economy...song lyrics...those s h i n y b r i g h t o b j e c t s g o i i i i n g p a a a s t...Luckily, a friendly honk revived me.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
All the Time in the World
I had all the time in the world
A minute ago
And all the time in the world
Was one minute
That sneaked very quickly by
When I wasn't looking.
A minute ago
And all the time in the world
Was one minute
That sneaked very quickly by
When I wasn't looking.
Friday, April 11, 2008
No Encouraging the Prisoners, Please
Today is Friday, i.e., Housecleaning Day. Lest you think that sounds too “on top of things,” I’ll just say that if we didn’t do it on Friday, it probably wouldn’t get done. We each have appointed chores such as cleaning bathrooms, washing certain windows, dusting, vacuuming floors, and emptying trash cans.
The “system” seems to work well. My jobs are dusting and vacuuming the wood floors. Ethan, who tends to get out of most of the work around here mostly by being cute and younger than the rest of us, has one important job: Moving the shoes from one side of the utility room to the other so that I can vacuum up the grit. When I'm done, he moves them back. The rest of the morning he spends repeatedly relocating his army guy set ups (why does he always have to play army men on Friday in the middle of the floor?) If it's not on the rug, it's on the wood floors, and if it's not on the wood floors, it's on the rug...well, where else is there? Ok, my point was...
This is a very important job (Ethan's shoe moving) because if it doesn't get done, I can't vacuum, or worse yet, I have to interrupt my delicate vacuuming rhythm and do it myself. Usually I have to coax and beg several times before he'll do it. So this morning, not wanting to be tied up waiting on him to do his chore, I asked him early on while I was still dusting Mom's room, to please move the shoes. A short time later, while I was busy knocking glass trinkets off of Mom's dresser and sweeping up the pieces, Mom came in and said,
"Ethan moved the shoes out and now he's moving them back again, and it doesn't look like you've vacuumed yet."
"I haven't," I said.
Apparently he'd already been told to move the shoes and had done it like an obedient little darling, and when I told him to move them, he just moved them back. So, he'd just have to move them again. Yes, we're running a little concentration camp here. Just move the piles. Move them back. Move the piles again. No particular reason. Anything to demoralize the prisoners.
The "prisoner" had a pretty decent attitude, even after he had moved the shoes the fourth and last time, and had begun setting his army men up on the rug, right where I needed to vacuum next...
The “system” seems to work well. My jobs are dusting and vacuuming the wood floors. Ethan, who tends to get out of most of the work around here mostly by being cute and younger than the rest of us, has one important job: Moving the shoes from one side of the utility room to the other so that I can vacuum up the grit. When I'm done, he moves them back. The rest of the morning he spends repeatedly relocating his army guy set ups (why does he always have to play army men on Friday in the middle of the floor?) If it's not on the rug, it's on the wood floors, and if it's not on the wood floors, it's on the rug...well, where else is there? Ok, my point was...
This is a very important job (Ethan's shoe moving) because if it doesn't get done, I can't vacuum, or worse yet, I have to interrupt my delicate vacuuming rhythm and do it myself. Usually I have to coax and beg several times before he'll do it. So this morning, not wanting to be tied up waiting on him to do his chore, I asked him early on while I was still dusting Mom's room, to please move the shoes. A short time later, while I was busy knocking glass trinkets off of Mom's dresser and sweeping up the pieces, Mom came in and said,
"Ethan moved the shoes out and now he's moving them back again, and it doesn't look like you've vacuumed yet."
"I haven't," I said.
Apparently he'd already been told to move the shoes and had done it like an obedient little darling, and when I told him to move them, he just moved them back. So, he'd just have to move them again. Yes, we're running a little concentration camp here. Just move the piles. Move them back. Move the piles again. No particular reason. Anything to demoralize the prisoners.
The "prisoner" had a pretty decent attitude, even after he had moved the shoes the fourth and last time, and had begun setting his army men up on the rug, right where I needed to vacuum next...
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Call Me Piglet
I love Winnie the Pooh because it illustrates, with mere adorable stuffed animals, what human nature is really like. Vivid personalities come out in a beloved bear "all stuffed with fluff," an anxious piglet, a melancholy donkey...
This is so the typical pessimist, if I may once again fall into my ever present fault of stereotyping...
(A conversation between Pooh and Eeyore, upon discovering Eeyore's tail to be missing)
""What has happened to it?" said Eeyore.
"It isn't there!"
"Are you sure?"
"Well, either a tail is there or it isn't there!" You can't make a mistake about it. And yours isn't there."
"Then what is?"
"Nothing."
"Let's have a look," said Eeyore..."
(Looks)
"...At last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I believe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," said Pooh.
"That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains Everything. No Wonder."
"You must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh.
"Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore.
"How Like Them," he added, after a long silence."
"How Like Them." Yes. It's just like Them to do such a thing!
So, following Bailey's idea about taking the "Which Jane Austen Character are You?" quizz, I looked up a "Which Winnie the Pooh Character are You?" quizz, and took it. Actually, I took about four different ones and came out with four differing results. I was Roo, Owl, and Pooh Bear by turns. On the last one I was Piglet (don't laugh!), but as that one was longest and seemed more accurate, and seeing as my very dear friends Lauren and Gracie have determined that I'm piglet-like...I think it's probably right. However, I take comfort in the fact that my second rating was Christoper Robin...Christopher Robin is my hero!
I hope that this link will work so that you can take the quizz too, if the fit takes you...
http://www.selectsmart.com/plus/select.php?url=pooh
Sorry. I don't know how to get the link workable, but I guess you can copy the url...
This is so the typical pessimist, if I may once again fall into my ever present fault of stereotyping...
(A conversation between Pooh and Eeyore, upon discovering Eeyore's tail to be missing)
""What has happened to it?" said Eeyore.
"It isn't there!"
"Are you sure?"
"Well, either a tail is there or it isn't there!" You can't make a mistake about it. And yours isn't there."
"Then what is?"
"Nothing."
"Let's have a look," said Eeyore..."
(Looks)
"...At last he said, with a long, sad sigh, "I believe you're right."
"Of course I'm right," said Pooh.
"That Accounts for a Good Deal," said Eeyore gloomily. "It Explains Everything. No Wonder."
"You must have left it somewhere," said Winnie-the-Pooh.
"Somebody must have taken it," said Eeyore.
"How Like Them," he added, after a long silence."
"How Like Them." Yes. It's just like Them to do such a thing!
So, following Bailey's idea about taking the "Which Jane Austen Character are You?" quizz, I looked up a "Which Winnie the Pooh Character are You?" quizz, and took it. Actually, I took about four different ones and came out with four differing results. I was Roo, Owl, and Pooh Bear by turns. On the last one I was Piglet (don't laugh!), but as that one was longest and seemed more accurate, and seeing as my very dear friends Lauren and Gracie have determined that I'm piglet-like...I think it's probably right. However, I take comfort in the fact that my second rating was Christoper Robin...Christopher Robin is my hero!
I hope that this link will work so that you can take the quizz too, if the fit takes you...
http://www.selectsmart.com/plus/select.php?url=pooh
Sorry. I don't know how to get the link workable, but I guess you can copy the url...
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
A Decent Sort of Day
It's nearly my bedtime...but I was trying to think over the day. I slept in after not getting to bed at a very reasonable time last night. Then woke and did morning sort of things. As in, showered, drank a shake left in the fridge for me, and had conversations with family members that are a bit foggy now. Even though I'd never call myself a morning person, my favorite times in everyday family life are in the mornings around eight. No matter how we try to schedule things in the morning, breakfast time ends up being sort of a laid back time clustered in the kitchen and dining room area, scrambling eggs, groggily brewing coffee, saying Bible verses and making plans for the day. It's a little more laid back for me since I don't have school.
This morning was a morning to make a list, because I needed to make some phone calls and emails. But those were easily taken care of. Mattie was sitting at the table drawing in her art journal, and it tempted me, so I pulled out a sketchbook and tried to sketch too. Mattie drew a great, modern looking picture of a fruit bowl. I tried to copy a picture of Mattie and Dad on a camping trip, but when Dad saw the results, he said, "Looks like you found Bigfoot." That kind of is what it looked like. Amazing how a little innocent shading can look so like...hair.
I guess Ethan got jealous, because then he wanted me to play. As in, don Mattie's medieval cloak and follow him around outside while he strutted hither and yon sporting a knight tunic, cloak, and patched plastic sword. I wasn't allowed to have a sword. After all, he was protecting me, right? We went to the "hay pile" and I told him a story. That's something new...we read a lot together, but I never tell him stories. It was a very bad attempt; I'm not much of an adlibber, but apparently he enjoyed it, because afterward he looked timidly at me and said, "Can you tell me just one more really long one?" And that's the same thing he said the next two times. Only, by the end of the fourth story (I had resorted to Saint George and Sir Roland by that time) we had moved to a different location after the discovery of tiny disgusting insects swarming out of the hay pile and biting us. Ironically, we moved to his other favorite spot, "Sand Beach", where the mosquitos ate us instead.
Finally I insisted I was out of stories and patience, and we needed to go home. Off with the cumbersome cloak. On with Pooh Bear. We proceeded to read half of a Pook Bear story book. He kept begging for one more chapter and, seeing as I love reading Pooh Bear even more than he likes hearing it, made an easy target for wheedling. We read and read. I'm so proud of how he sits so still and listens. When he was a little baby, I could hardly hold him without him crying for Mom or Dad. I was sure he'd never have anything to do with me. And now...I never could have hoped for so much fun. All the cuddles and books I could ask for from a little brother.
After we'd gotten half way through the book we were hungry, and it was finally time for me to move on. So we had some grilled cheese sandwiches, and then I went on some errands. I got lost in Barrons on accident for quite a long time, browsing in the books, reading random bits of poetry. Then I used the last of a Christmas gift certificate on some pretty cards. Meaningful cards are so delightful.
At the Crowes there was more reading time...Hans Brinker with Bron, Mike Mulligan with Brent and Tuck. I almost went hoarse.
Anyhow...that has mostly been the day, though there was the attempt when I got home to make biscuits and gravy for supper, but Mom had to take over because I had a rather numbing headache and couldn't concentrate. Supper helped that. Oh, and I caught a skink on the kitchen rug which had recently been bereaved of its tail. I don't have any objection to lizards, but that one gave me a start...those little black and blue ones look too much like snakes. But at least I don't have to worry about him roaming around the house. Ack, the critters! I guess its just spring time.
This morning was a morning to make a list, because I needed to make some phone calls and emails. But those were easily taken care of. Mattie was sitting at the table drawing in her art journal, and it tempted me, so I pulled out a sketchbook and tried to sketch too. Mattie drew a great, modern looking picture of a fruit bowl. I tried to copy a picture of Mattie and Dad on a camping trip, but when Dad saw the results, he said, "Looks like you found Bigfoot." That kind of is what it looked like. Amazing how a little innocent shading can look so like...hair.
I guess Ethan got jealous, because then he wanted me to play. As in, don Mattie's medieval cloak and follow him around outside while he strutted hither and yon sporting a knight tunic, cloak, and patched plastic sword. I wasn't allowed to have a sword. After all, he was protecting me, right? We went to the "hay pile" and I told him a story. That's something new...we read a lot together, but I never tell him stories. It was a very bad attempt; I'm not much of an adlibber, but apparently he enjoyed it, because afterward he looked timidly at me and said, "Can you tell me just one more really long one?" And that's the same thing he said the next two times. Only, by the end of the fourth story (I had resorted to Saint George and Sir Roland by that time) we had moved to a different location after the discovery of tiny disgusting insects swarming out of the hay pile and biting us. Ironically, we moved to his other favorite spot, "Sand Beach", where the mosquitos ate us instead.
Finally I insisted I was out of stories and patience, and we needed to go home. Off with the cumbersome cloak. On with Pooh Bear. We proceeded to read half of a Pook Bear story book. He kept begging for one more chapter and, seeing as I love reading Pooh Bear even more than he likes hearing it, made an easy target for wheedling. We read and read. I'm so proud of how he sits so still and listens. When he was a little baby, I could hardly hold him without him crying for Mom or Dad. I was sure he'd never have anything to do with me. And now...I never could have hoped for so much fun. All the cuddles and books I could ask for from a little brother.
After we'd gotten half way through the book we were hungry, and it was finally time for me to move on. So we had some grilled cheese sandwiches, and then I went on some errands. I got lost in Barrons on accident for quite a long time, browsing in the books, reading random bits of poetry. Then I used the last of a Christmas gift certificate on some pretty cards. Meaningful cards are so delightful.
At the Crowes there was more reading time...Hans Brinker with Bron, Mike Mulligan with Brent and Tuck. I almost went hoarse.
Anyhow...that has mostly been the day, though there was the attempt when I got home to make biscuits and gravy for supper, but Mom had to take over because I had a rather numbing headache and couldn't concentrate. Supper helped that. Oh, and I caught a skink on the kitchen rug which had recently been bereaved of its tail. I don't have any objection to lizards, but that one gave me a start...those little black and blue ones look too much like snakes. But at least I don't have to worry about him roaming around the house. Ack, the critters! I guess its just spring time.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Day of Joyfully Irrelevant House Washing
What a gorgeous day. I smell of bleach and the great outdoors, probably because that's where I've been all day...the great outdoors, sloshing bleach water with Dad and Mom while we washed the house. "Washed the house?" you might ask, a bit incredulously. We do it every year after pollen season has passed (and I dearly hope it has). We aren't fanatics...our house is a log house, and aside from wanting to get rid of the alien green tint from all that piney fairy dust, we have to seal the logs with some sort of sealer each year. (Or maybe every few years; I can't remember.)
Hence the house washing. Mom commented how nice it was that I'm at home and can help with things like that (as opposed to being away at college or still in highschool buried under a pile of textbooks like my poor brother). The comment would have unsettled last year's me...spoken as I splattered through muddy bleach water in my carefree bare feet, wearing old baggy jeans and a bleach spattered t shirt, toting a sopping rag laden with cobwebs and little bugs. Slogging around doing random housechores wasn't what I would have considered meaningful, purposeful, or at all relevant. But today, I scrubbed away as irrelevantly as all get out, thoroughly enjoying the dazzling weather and even the chance to help out. It's been nearly a year since I graduated highschool, and I can hardly believe so much time has passed. I'm not in Ukraine; I'm not at college; I'm not even engaged in seemingly more "real life" activities such as a full time job.
But hmm. What if it were 100 years ago, or just 50, or even 35, maybe? I don't think there would be this sick pressure to go out and do something with my life. Maybe it would actually be normal for a girl to live at home with her family for another year after graduating...or more...and she wouldn't feel uncertainties and apologies rising in a nauseous lump every time she talks to another well-meaning aquaintance. Of course the well-meaning aquaintances are nothing but that...well-meaning...and most of them never mean to communicate the threats that loom in their innocent questions about one's future plans.
But now the apologies are sort of melting out of me and I find that I'm...happy. Happy being here, and able to laugh at the future, as Proverbs says an admirable woman does. I laugh with joy. I laugh at Ethan bundled in winter clothes in April to guard himself from wasps, I laugh with my sister and cousins over reading The Girl of the Limberlost and eating cookies under the oak tree out front. I laugh at the beautiful friendships I have and the perfect conversations that get dropped in my lap, I laugh at the prospect of new friendships in Ukraine, and at the prospect of fellowship forever and ever and ever in heaven with those I love and will love in the future...
Whatever I'm supposed to do or be or think or say is all wrapped up in Him. So I'm just following a bit recklessly and foolishly, and truly beginning to be ok with it. Nothing is wasted. Nothing. Not an hour staring at a blade of grass. Not a day washing a house. Not months of learning how to be a truer sister and daughter. Not a year of falling deeper in love with the God of the universe.
"I urge you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.
And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, that you may know what the will of God is, that which is good, and acceptable, and perfect."
Romans 12 something
Hence the house washing. Mom commented how nice it was that I'm at home and can help with things like that (as opposed to being away at college or still in highschool buried under a pile of textbooks like my poor brother). The comment would have unsettled last year's me...spoken as I splattered through muddy bleach water in my carefree bare feet, wearing old baggy jeans and a bleach spattered t shirt, toting a sopping rag laden with cobwebs and little bugs. Slogging around doing random housechores wasn't what I would have considered meaningful, purposeful, or at all relevant. But today, I scrubbed away as irrelevantly as all get out, thoroughly enjoying the dazzling weather and even the chance to help out. It's been nearly a year since I graduated highschool, and I can hardly believe so much time has passed. I'm not in Ukraine; I'm not at college; I'm not even engaged in seemingly more "real life" activities such as a full time job.
But hmm. What if it were 100 years ago, or just 50, or even 35, maybe? I don't think there would be this sick pressure to go out and do something with my life. Maybe it would actually be normal for a girl to live at home with her family for another year after graduating...or more...and she wouldn't feel uncertainties and apologies rising in a nauseous lump every time she talks to another well-meaning aquaintance. Of course the well-meaning aquaintances are nothing but that...well-meaning...and most of them never mean to communicate the threats that loom in their innocent questions about one's future plans.
But now the apologies are sort of melting out of me and I find that I'm...happy. Happy being here, and able to laugh at the future, as Proverbs says an admirable woman does. I laugh with joy. I laugh at Ethan bundled in winter clothes in April to guard himself from wasps, I laugh with my sister and cousins over reading The Girl of the Limberlost and eating cookies under the oak tree out front. I laugh at the beautiful friendships I have and the perfect conversations that get dropped in my lap, I laugh at the prospect of new friendships in Ukraine, and at the prospect of fellowship forever and ever and ever in heaven with those I love and will love in the future...
Whatever I'm supposed to do or be or think or say is all wrapped up in Him. So I'm just following a bit recklessly and foolishly, and truly beginning to be ok with it. Nothing is wasted. Nothing. Not an hour staring at a blade of grass. Not a day washing a house. Not months of learning how to be a truer sister and daughter. Not a year of falling deeper in love with the God of the universe.
"I urge you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship.
And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, that you may know what the will of God is, that which is good, and acceptable, and perfect."
Romans 12 something
Friday, April 4, 2008
Squirrels, Kids, and the rest of the Trip
It's so springy out! At least a dozen suicidal squirrels danced with death this morning beneath the front end of the van. In one neighborhood there were three squirrels in a row by the side of the road, waiting for a moving vehicle to dash out in front of. I hate the thought of hitting one, but if one of us is going to have an accident on the road, it ain't gonna be me! I just grip the steering wheel and drive straight ahead, half praying for them, willing them to get off the stinkin' road!
Yes. Ahem. It was a bit harrowing.
I was going to write more about the trip, but I find the vivid, blogable things are melting into the more concrete present, which includes the Crowe kiddos and Ethan bouncing around upstairs. They're over at our house today because Deb is packing like crazy to get ready for THE CRATE OF DOOM, due Monday. The kids all seem so happy and excited about moving to Ukraine. I'm excited right along with them, and wish my turn was coming sooner!
Ethan LOVES to play with Brent, Tucker, and Clark, and he's going to miss them immensely when they're gone. While they were on the porch eating their peanut butter & banana sandwiches, Brent poked his head inside and said, "You know how we're washing our hands? We stick them under the roof and the rain comes down on them and we just rub our hands together. Only it's sea water."
As to the trip...on Sunday we stopped at a place called Hamilton Pool Preserve, where there was a beautiful blue pool and "grotto" carved out of the rock. Lush moss and ferns clung to the rocks, and it was a lovely place.
Mainly I was noticing the group of foreign looking folks who walked down there after us...I was guessing they were from Iraq or, as Dad suggested, Israel. They were speaking a really cool language, and the young women (there were several couples, one with a baby) had headscarves and longer shirts on. They all looked like they were having so much fun, and I was dying to know where they were from, but I couldn't get the courage to ask. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't seem offensive.
As the minutes ticked by the urgency to talk to them grew and grew...but so did my fear. So I kept praying inwardly, "God, please let me talk to them...please make me talk to them...I can't do it on my own." I just needed to say hi and know where they were from. I was remembering something a speaker at World Mandate had said about how Muslim people especially feel unwelcome here and have a lot of people giving them wierd looks wherever they go, and how it can mean so much just to speak a friendly word of acceptance. I didn't know if they were Muslim or not, but it didn't matter. That's all I wanted to do...speak to them.
Please, God, please... Our family was swimming/wading around in the water, and most of the "mystery people" had walked around to the other side of the pool. Only one young woman was left, leaning on the fence behind us trying to nurse her baby. He was fussing and she was talking soothingly to him. We didn't want to bother her, and kept on with the wading and splashing around. Then it was time to go. I begged to stay a few more minutes and see if she would finish and I could get a chance to say something. Dad agreed to, but finally we really needed to head on.
As we went to pick up our towels and things, she got up and began moving toward her stroller. "This is your chance," Dad said. My heart sank. I just couldn't. I felt my courage ebb away as she turned her back to us. She was about to leave and that would be the end of it. I was never going to find out where she was from, or find out what that flowy language she was speaking was, or even get to give her a smile. No! I had to do it, I had to do something. I grabbed my shoes and headed for the water's edge, planning to wash my feet off, but hoping that by some miracle I could bring myself to speak to her en route. Amazingly, it happened! Propelled by some force I didn't quite understand but have since chalked up to God answering my prayer with an extra boost of Something, I went after her and plunged in.
"Excuse me, but I noticed you were speaking a different language, and..." At first she looked startled, but then she turned to me with a beautiful smile. "I'm from Iran," she told me in good English, though with a thick accent, and then, "We were speaking Persian." We only talked for a brief moment, with me grinning like an idiot the whole time. I tried to express how happy I was to get to talk to her. Mom asked how old her baby was; he was so tiny! She said he was 38 days. She seemed ready to go, so I said goodbye. Before I turned away, though, I asked her name. "Zahra," she said...so gracefully that my tongue just stumbled over it when I tried to repeat it. Persian is a regular ballet of the tongue. "I'm Cassie," I told her, "and I'm so glad to meet you!" "Glad to meet you too," she called cheerfully over her shoulder...and we parted ways.
I rinsed my feet in the pool, dried them, slipped my shoes on, and re-joined my family without hardly realizing what I was doing. I was so happy, so satisfied that God really answered me, and I had gotten to speak with her. Triumph swelled in me, along with a keen sense of "missing." It seems like it would be impossible to miss people you've only met for five minutes, but I find that it happens to me pretty often.
After that it was on to Austin, where we stopped and got a free tour of the capitol. I could always write lots more, but I really have to go...
Yes. Ahem. It was a bit harrowing.
I was going to write more about the trip, but I find the vivid, blogable things are melting into the more concrete present, which includes the Crowe kiddos and Ethan bouncing around upstairs. They're over at our house today because Deb is packing like crazy to get ready for THE CRATE OF DOOM, due Monday. The kids all seem so happy and excited about moving to Ukraine. I'm excited right along with them, and wish my turn was coming sooner!
Ethan LOVES to play with Brent, Tucker, and Clark, and he's going to miss them immensely when they're gone. While they were on the porch eating their peanut butter & banana sandwiches, Brent poked his head inside and said, "You know how we're washing our hands? We stick them under the roof and the rain comes down on them and we just rub our hands together. Only it's sea water."
As to the trip...on Sunday we stopped at a place called Hamilton Pool Preserve, where there was a beautiful blue pool and "grotto" carved out of the rock. Lush moss and ferns clung to the rocks, and it was a lovely place.
Mainly I was noticing the group of foreign looking folks who walked down there after us...I was guessing they were from Iraq or, as Dad suggested, Israel. They were speaking a really cool language, and the young women (there were several couples, one with a baby) had headscarves and longer shirts on. They all looked like they were having so much fun, and I was dying to know where they were from, but I couldn't get the courage to ask. I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't seem offensive.
As the minutes ticked by the urgency to talk to them grew and grew...but so did my fear. So I kept praying inwardly, "God, please let me talk to them...please make me talk to them...I can't do it on my own." I just needed to say hi and know where they were from. I was remembering something a speaker at World Mandate had said about how Muslim people especially feel unwelcome here and have a lot of people giving them wierd looks wherever they go, and how it can mean so much just to speak a friendly word of acceptance. I didn't know if they were Muslim or not, but it didn't matter. That's all I wanted to do...speak to them.
Please, God, please... Our family was swimming/wading around in the water, and most of the "mystery people" had walked around to the other side of the pool. Only one young woman was left, leaning on the fence behind us trying to nurse her baby. He was fussing and she was talking soothingly to him. We didn't want to bother her, and kept on with the wading and splashing around. Then it was time to go. I begged to stay a few more minutes and see if she would finish and I could get a chance to say something. Dad agreed to, but finally we really needed to head on.
As we went to pick up our towels and things, she got up and began moving toward her stroller. "This is your chance," Dad said. My heart sank. I just couldn't. I felt my courage ebb away as she turned her back to us. She was about to leave and that would be the end of it. I was never going to find out where she was from, or find out what that flowy language she was speaking was, or even get to give her a smile. No! I had to do it, I had to do something. I grabbed my shoes and headed for the water's edge, planning to wash my feet off, but hoping that by some miracle I could bring myself to speak to her en route. Amazingly, it happened! Propelled by some force I didn't quite understand but have since chalked up to God answering my prayer with an extra boost of Something, I went after her and plunged in.
"Excuse me, but I noticed you were speaking a different language, and..." At first she looked startled, but then she turned to me with a beautiful smile. "I'm from Iran," she told me in good English, though with a thick accent, and then, "We were speaking Persian." We only talked for a brief moment, with me grinning like an idiot the whole time. I tried to express how happy I was to get to talk to her. Mom asked how old her baby was; he was so tiny! She said he was 38 days. She seemed ready to go, so I said goodbye. Before I turned away, though, I asked her name. "Zahra," she said...so gracefully that my tongue just stumbled over it when I tried to repeat it. Persian is a regular ballet of the tongue. "I'm Cassie," I told her, "and I'm so glad to meet you!" "Glad to meet you too," she called cheerfully over her shoulder...and we parted ways.
I rinsed my feet in the pool, dried them, slipped my shoes on, and re-joined my family without hardly realizing what I was doing. I was so happy, so satisfied that God really answered me, and I had gotten to speak with her. Triumph swelled in me, along with a keen sense of "missing." It seems like it would be impossible to miss people you've only met for five minutes, but I find that it happens to me pretty often.
After that it was on to Austin, where we stopped and got a free tour of the capitol. I could always write lots more, but I really have to go...
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
A (Sort of) Cross Cultural Experience
(The previous post tells about the first part of our Texas roadtrip)
On from the reunion...
The next stop was my favorite. We drove to our hotel in Seguin to dump our stuff and freshen up, and then headed on to San Antonio. We were about out of the hilliness now, but the heart of San Antonio was fascinating in a different way. I probably wouldn't like living in a city, but I definitely love the excitement of being in one for a little while. I kept having the sensation of being in Hong Kong or India again, tagging along with a Vinnie and the team, and had to shake myself and say "Cassie, you goofhead, this is San Antonio...Texas!"
The bottom line is, I love to travel. I love to see new sights, smell new smells, breath the air of a different clime. The cleanness and the dirt of a city hand in hand intrigues me. Shining glass windows, fancy sports cars, and well manicured flower beds mingle with sidewalk grime, dumpsters, and ready-chewed gum. The same goes for the people. Shimmery affluence and striking poshness weave in and out among sagging clothes, stains, cigarettes. I feel out of place with both, but I love observing the strangness, though I certainly don't envy any of it.
We did stop at the Alamo (it is amazingly tiny and it's tucked into the grander buildings so that you'd hardly know it was there if they didn't make such a big deal over it.) I was too busy watching people to pay proper attention to the Alamo, though I have to admit, it's amazing to think of 150 (or was it 250?) rough and rag tag guys defending that little building against thousands of Santa Anna's fellows...even for thirteen days. Took a lot of guts.
Once at the San Antonio riverwalk, it didn't feel like a big city any more, but rather a quaint, enchanting other-world. We entered a culture strange to me, where everyone followed sidewalks along the tamed, contained San Antonio river under massive oaks and cypress trees, around plam trees and tastful flower beds, over arched limestone bridges, in and out of shops and restaurants to the serenade of mariachi bands and other music. Being from Longview, sidewalks in themselves are add a whole new dimension to life :)
As it grew dark, the river lived. We took a boat tour for half an hour through the liquid street, admiring in rapid succession the lamplit hotels, the historic statues and landmarks, and the lantern-hung verandas where groups and couples alike shared warmly illumined tables. Light! It was all over the place...but not in excess. Maybe it was having less of the glaring streetlights and more of the soft lamp post light that made the scene appealing...Glowing under the awnings, glinting on the water, playing on the shop signs. And people holding hands like crazy! It was a very romantic place, we agreed. And a very fun family spot too. I began to feel like I was in a musical, and unfortunately for everyone else, had the absurd urge to burst into impromptu song, adlibbing to foolish tunes. I think humming should be a virtue.
Aside from noticing the romantic nature of the place, I also noticed A LOT of people of different nationalities...I'm sure they were Americans, but I mean...they looked different from ME. And that excited me. There were a lot of Indian people especially, many of the women in saris or punjabis. The intoxicating colors alone made my mind whirl.
After the tour, it was already about bedtime because we'd arrived late, but we ate at a Mexican restaurant where a mariachi band was playing and then Dad and Mattie went up in a tower nearby while Mom, Connor and I took refuge in Starbucks with a giftcard. Connor and Mom took turns hauling Ethan, who had turned pumpkin long before midnight and was now a sleeping deadweight. A little hot chocolate revived him, however. We watched people sweep by outside the plate glass windows while Ethan sat basking in a resplendent purple velour chair. Then Dad and Kate came back and the wind began to pick up, and it began raining about the time we commenced th interminable search for our lost vehicle. Is it just me, or do all parking garages look the same???
More to come about our last day...
On from the reunion...
The next stop was my favorite. We drove to our hotel in Seguin to dump our stuff and freshen up, and then headed on to San Antonio. We were about out of the hilliness now, but the heart of San Antonio was fascinating in a different way. I probably wouldn't like living in a city, but I definitely love the excitement of being in one for a little while. I kept having the sensation of being in Hong Kong or India again, tagging along with a Vinnie and the team, and had to shake myself and say "Cassie, you goofhead, this is San Antonio...Texas!"
The bottom line is, I love to travel. I love to see new sights, smell new smells, breath the air of a different clime. The cleanness and the dirt of a city hand in hand intrigues me. Shining glass windows, fancy sports cars, and well manicured flower beds mingle with sidewalk grime, dumpsters, and ready-chewed gum. The same goes for the people. Shimmery affluence and striking poshness weave in and out among sagging clothes, stains, cigarettes. I feel out of place with both, but I love observing the strangness, though I certainly don't envy any of it.
We did stop at the Alamo (it is amazingly tiny and it's tucked into the grander buildings so that you'd hardly know it was there if they didn't make such a big deal over it.) I was too busy watching people to pay proper attention to the Alamo, though I have to admit, it's amazing to think of 150 (or was it 250?) rough and rag tag guys defending that little building against thousands of Santa Anna's fellows...even for thirteen days. Took a lot of guts.
Once at the San Antonio riverwalk, it didn't feel like a big city any more, but rather a quaint, enchanting other-world. We entered a culture strange to me, where everyone followed sidewalks along the tamed, contained San Antonio river under massive oaks and cypress trees, around plam trees and tastful flower beds, over arched limestone bridges, in and out of shops and restaurants to the serenade of mariachi bands and other music. Being from Longview, sidewalks in themselves are add a whole new dimension to life :)
As it grew dark, the river lived. We took a boat tour for half an hour through the liquid street, admiring in rapid succession the lamplit hotels, the historic statues and landmarks, and the lantern-hung verandas where groups and couples alike shared warmly illumined tables. Light! It was all over the place...but not in excess. Maybe it was having less of the glaring streetlights and more of the soft lamp post light that made the scene appealing...Glowing under the awnings, glinting on the water, playing on the shop signs. And people holding hands like crazy! It was a very romantic place, we agreed. And a very fun family spot too. I began to feel like I was in a musical, and unfortunately for everyone else, had the absurd urge to burst into impromptu song, adlibbing to foolish tunes. I think humming should be a virtue.
Aside from noticing the romantic nature of the place, I also noticed A LOT of people of different nationalities...I'm sure they were Americans, but I mean...they looked different from ME. And that excited me. There were a lot of Indian people especially, many of the women in saris or punjabis. The intoxicating colors alone made my mind whirl.
After the tour, it was already about bedtime because we'd arrived late, but we ate at a Mexican restaurant where a mariachi band was playing and then Dad and Mattie went up in a tower nearby while Mom, Connor and I took refuge in Starbucks with a giftcard. Connor and Mom took turns hauling Ethan, who had turned pumpkin long before midnight and was now a sleeping deadweight. A little hot chocolate revived him, however. We watched people sweep by outside the plate glass windows while Ethan sat basking in a resplendent purple velour chair. Then Dad and Kate came back and the wind began to pick up, and it began raining about the time we commenced th interminable search for our lost vehicle. Is it just me, or do all parking garages look the same???
More to come about our last day...
Of Roadtrips and Reunions
Yes, I do love roadtrips. In fact, the best part of any trip, for me, is probably the time spent in the car, strapped to a seat, unable to go anywhere or do anything but sit back and stare at the fresh, new, ever-changing sights going by, listening to music or reading now and then, or chatting, playing the abc game, or reading with family members. Not that being trapped in a minivan with my parents and three siblings is always a basket of cherries, mind you, but generally it's pretty special. Car time. MMMM. I like it so much that after a drive of only a few hours I really would rather not get out.
We left on Thursday, about lunch time, and headed for Glen Rose to stay the night at a cozy little guest house we've been to before. It's a special place, and I always look forward to going there. We tried to play a riotous game of family soccer, which was pretty comical due to the fact that we were playing in a tiny space in a grove of trees, and none of us have really played soccer before besides Dad and maybe Connor. Even though I was wearing tennis shoes, the slippery oak leaves strewn all over the yard betrayed me several times and I, being the athletic chic I am, flew sprawling on the ground like a circus clown. Great fun.
We didn't find the blanket of bluebonnets we were hoping for, but we did enjoy a stroll down to the Brazos, which borders a smidgin of the property. The little glade was shaded by oak trees fledged with new leaves, and cedars clustered everywhere, along with a sprinkling of flowers.
That night we visited with our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Southward, over bowls of ice cream on the porch. At long last, I was reunited with the favored corduroy pillow, a dumpy old green affair with an aura of comfort and soporificness. In the morning there was coffee in the be-hearted mugs, and we cleaned up and headed on the Frederickburg.
Dad was driving, so he had plenty to say about the unforcasted gloomy weather, but the drive was splendid without the sunshine too. The hills in the area are humble, not grand or majestic; simple, rugged, swathed in old grass that gives them a dry look. Cedar shrubs dotting the landscape everywhere add to the dryness. It may not be the lushness of good 'ole East Texas, but in the low, secretive groves of willow and oak trees, flowers an new leaves spring out. So the countryside is an intriguing mix of death and rebirth, old and new. I never tired of watching it go by.
Fredericksburg was full of hoity-toity, too-close-to-the-big-city-to-be-cheap-enough-to-sell-anything-affordable shops (which were fun to window shop in anyway) and enticing German restaurants. It was Brats and Snitzel for us...and various potato dishes, too.
We bunked up in a hotel in San Marcus Friday night and tried to give ourselves a driving tour of Texas State campus in the morning, but as it turns out, you pretty much need a degree in navigation...or at least a map...to get around the place. The campus sprawls all over a series of little hills among a tangle of vegetation, including a lot of air plants and some spanish moss hanging from trees. Well, college towns are fascinating, anyway, especially when the campus population significantly increases the town's population, as it does in San Marcus. I don't know the numbers for sure.
As it was Saturday, we set off for the anticipated family reunion in Smithville, closer to Austin (I think I said Houston in a different post, but I was wrong.) By this time I was eager to visit with some other people (nothing against my immediate family of course, but hotel rooms can be...umm...confining). I was not prepared, however, for an afternoon milling about with 100+ complete strangers who were supposedly related to me and wanted to know my plans for the next ten years of life. Some of them remembered me as baby, but most of them had no clue who I was, and I didn't know them from Adam.
I don't have much to report on the family reunion. It was the driving motive of our trip, but I found that it mainly served to illustrate the Proverb that says "Better is a friend nearby than a brother far away." (Isn't that it?) It was fun to meet the cousins and aunt and uncle Mom grew up with, though, and "Get in touch with my Dutch" a little. I found out that I have a relative (and an ancestor from farther back) named "Douwe"...a thrillingly odd and wonderful name, isn't it? And I got to try Dutch cheese straight from Freisland. So it was good to find out a little about my roots, but I think if I were really going to have a "family" reunion, you'd be surprised at the people invited...and the nationalities my skin doesn't betray!
I'm going to continue in a second post so that this one doesn't get too gangly and unreadable...
We left on Thursday, about lunch time, and headed for Glen Rose to stay the night at a cozy little guest house we've been to before. It's a special place, and I always look forward to going there. We tried to play a riotous game of family soccer, which was pretty comical due to the fact that we were playing in a tiny space in a grove of trees, and none of us have really played soccer before besides Dad and maybe Connor. Even though I was wearing tennis shoes, the slippery oak leaves strewn all over the yard betrayed me several times and I, being the athletic chic I am, flew sprawling on the ground like a circus clown. Great fun.
We didn't find the blanket of bluebonnets we were hoping for, but we did enjoy a stroll down to the Brazos, which borders a smidgin of the property. The little glade was shaded by oak trees fledged with new leaves, and cedars clustered everywhere, along with a sprinkling of flowers.
That night we visited with our hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Southward, over bowls of ice cream on the porch. At long last, I was reunited with the favored corduroy pillow, a dumpy old green affair with an aura of comfort and soporificness. In the morning there was coffee in the be-hearted mugs, and we cleaned up and headed on the Frederickburg.
Dad was driving, so he had plenty to say about the unforcasted gloomy weather, but the drive was splendid without the sunshine too. The hills in the area are humble, not grand or majestic; simple, rugged, swathed in old grass that gives them a dry look. Cedar shrubs dotting the landscape everywhere add to the dryness. It may not be the lushness of good 'ole East Texas, but in the low, secretive groves of willow and oak trees, flowers an new leaves spring out. So the countryside is an intriguing mix of death and rebirth, old and new. I never tired of watching it go by.
Fredericksburg was full of hoity-toity, too-close-to-the-big-city-to-be-cheap-enough-to-sell-anything-affordable shops (which were fun to window shop in anyway) and enticing German restaurants. It was Brats and Snitzel for us...and various potato dishes, too.
We bunked up in a hotel in San Marcus Friday night and tried to give ourselves a driving tour of Texas State campus in the morning, but as it turns out, you pretty much need a degree in navigation...or at least a map...to get around the place. The campus sprawls all over a series of little hills among a tangle of vegetation, including a lot of air plants and some spanish moss hanging from trees. Well, college towns are fascinating, anyway, especially when the campus population significantly increases the town's population, as it does in San Marcus. I don't know the numbers for sure.
As it was Saturday, we set off for the anticipated family reunion in Smithville, closer to Austin (I think I said Houston in a different post, but I was wrong.) By this time I was eager to visit with some other people (nothing against my immediate family of course, but hotel rooms can be...umm...confining). I was not prepared, however, for an afternoon milling about with 100+ complete strangers who were supposedly related to me and wanted to know my plans for the next ten years of life. Some of them remembered me as baby, but most of them had no clue who I was, and I didn't know them from Adam.
I don't have much to report on the family reunion. It was the driving motive of our trip, but I found that it mainly served to illustrate the Proverb that says "Better is a friend nearby than a brother far away." (Isn't that it?) It was fun to meet the cousins and aunt and uncle Mom grew up with, though, and "Get in touch with my Dutch" a little. I found out that I have a relative (and an ancestor from farther back) named "Douwe"...a thrillingly odd and wonderful name, isn't it? And I got to try Dutch cheese straight from Freisland. So it was good to find out a little about my roots, but I think if I were really going to have a "family" reunion, you'd be surprised at the people invited...and the nationalities my skin doesn't betray!
I'm going to continue in a second post so that this one doesn't get too gangly and unreadable...
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