Missing Parts

I'm not one of those people who faithfully reads the newspaper. Many years ago, I had a job at MCG that required me to read all local and National newspapers daily. My entire day was spent reading up on current events, looking for news regarding large corporations and millionaires who might be interested in spending their millions on MCG. I got a little burned out on News.

We don't even subscribe. My parents do and send us down the Sunday paper once they're finished. Don clips the coupons and I glance over the sales inserts. Once in a while, he'll find something that he thinks would be of interest to me and cuts it out. My father, also, sends down articles with asterisks for me to peruse. But, typically, I read the Parade (or whatever version our hometown newspaper is currently distributing), especially the inside front cover which Don likes to call the "Gossip Report" and the Sunday comics.

Don is very meticulous about saving those two parts for me each week and putting them at my place at the kitchen table. I, in turn, am pretty meticulous about reading them. Sometimes I have to wrestle the funnies from Deanna, but I almost always get them read (my educational reading material!)

Last night, Don had been separating out the parts of the Sunday paper which my father had sent down via one of the children. He was sitting on the loveseat in the dining room and began clipping coupons once the news was separated. There, in the middle of the coupons and scissors, was the Magazine that I always read.

He ran off to the store and I worked on taping matching gift tags into the underside of Christmas-decorated boxes before storing them until next year. I had them all sorted by size and shape and was about half done when Don returned with groceries for me to unload.

We met in the dining room, about even with the loveseat, when Don gasped.

"What, honey?" I prodded. "What's wrong?"

He pointed, silently, at the front cover of the Magazine. A circular hole met my glance, covering almost the entire cover.

Don quickly flipped the page. So much for my "Gossip Report". Gone. Cut away with the front cover.

"WHO could have DONE this?" I asked, incredulous. The most important part of the paper, destroyed!

I leaned over to look at the front cover and noticed two little words on the bottom of the remaining part. It said, simply, "Jonas Brothers".

I held the words up for Don to see. This morning, the culprit returned the picture of the Jonas' so I could read my part, silly grin on his/her beautiful little face (as if you didn't know!).

"Sorry, Mom!"

Of course Don and I understood. After all, my Gossip Column can't compete with teenage hormones and the Jonas Brothers.

Home and Hearth

We're home and had a wonderful Christmas with Don's folks. It was peaceful and focused on family and our blessings - just what I needed.

Now I'm into the throes of trying to put order back into our home and lives. My niece is going to come and work with me next week to scale down . . . everything, hopefully. In any case, I need to clear a path so she and I can work. So far, so good.

Happy New Year!

A Christmas Story

A friend sent me this story earlier this week. I hope it touches you as much as it did me.

Merry Christmas!!

Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1878. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.
After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon, Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight."

I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what.

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high sideboards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?"

"You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?

Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. "Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt. Could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.
I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will."

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."
I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.


Hope yours is as Blessed!

Had to Share This!

I just looked up the weather forecast for Parkersburg. We'll be leaving early Sunday morning to spend Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa Doughty. Here's what it looked like.

Sunday Night
Low: 20
Mostly cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Lows around 20.

Monday
High: 28
Mostly cloudy with a 30% chance of snow showers. Brisk with highs in the upper 20s.

Monday Night
Low: 20
Mostly cloudy. Lows around 20.

Tuesday
High: 35
Mostly sunny. Highs in the mid 30s.

Tuesday Night
Low: 25
Mostly cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Lows in the mid 20s.

Wednesday
High: 32
Cloudy with a 50% chance of snow showers. Highs in the lower 30s.

!!!!!

How exciting is this! Surely, we'll have some snow while we're there and, by the looks of things, it'll stick. A HIGH OF 28 on Monday!?! I'm gonna pack several pairs of mittens for each child and really warm clothes for snowman and snowball-making.

It's possible we might even have a White Christmas? Is it too much to hope?

Food with a Twist

Last Saturday, while we were decorating our tree as a family, I decided to pull out the party foods. I had made a huge cheeseball, had crackers, Christmas cookies, beef stick, and I baked a luscious spiral ham that Don had picked up for me on sale recently. I basted the ham with the honey and spice packet they include and the ham was absolutely delicious. Daelyn asked a lot of questions about the "spiral ham", trying to figure out why it was called "spiral".

At 6:30 yesterday morning, my father was standing in his kitchen looking through sales newspapers when he heard the back doorknob rattle. He turned to find Daelyn trying to get in and quickly unlocked the door.

"Good morning, Grandpa," Daelyn chimed in that sweet voice. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine, Daelyn," Grandpa responded. "What are you doing up here so early?"

"I'm walking the dog for Daney since he had surgerwee," Daelyn explained. "What are YOU doing?"

"I'm looking through sales newspapers."

"For what?"

"Well, I'm trying to see if anyone has turkeys on sale."

"Turkeys? Let me think." Pause from Daelyn. Then, "Oh, yeah. I saw a commercial. Kroger's has turkeys on sale, Grandpa."

"Krogers? You say Krogers has turkeys on sale?" (When the story was repeated to me by Grandpa, he had a little hint of laughter in his voice at this point.)

"Yeah. Krogers. Oh, no. That's right. I'm sorry, Grandpa. It wasn't turkeys they have on sale. It was twisted hams."

Gifts and Friends (or Surgeons)

Dane had to have additional sinus surgery yesterday. I took him for his 3 week post-op last week and the doctor attempted to look into his nose with a scope. The pain was a little too much for Dane and the doctor wasn't able to see anything except some scar tissue that had adhered his middle turbinates on both sides to the lateral walls of his sinus.

Without being able to move past the turbinate, he couldn't see into Dane's sinus'. Dane has been complaining of a lot of pain and was very congested, so Dr. Harmon was afraid he had gotten blocked up with blood and dead tissue that couldn't slough off and there was some concern that his sinus' weren't able to heal. He decided he HAD to put Dane back under, remove the scar tissue, clean up the surgical area, and take a good look at his progress.

It was only going to be a 10-minute procedure, but it meant going back under anesthesia which is the biggest risk, anyway, and all the pre-op preparation.

Dane's fine. Turns out, there wasn't any problem with the sinus'. They're healing just fine and the doctor didn't see any accumulation of anything. He removed the scar tissue and put some cellulose packing around the turbinate to keep it from re-adhering.

Dane had some bleeding and some pain yesterday but is much better today. The doctor thought he could likely return to school today, but with the bleeding last night and two doses of narcotic pain meds, I decided it was best to give his body at least one full day to heal before he jumped back into the routine. No Scouts last night, no school today. But he's doing much better and is driving me a little crazy. He's a very needy child when he's the only one home, and it was a challenge yesterday to get my daily chores accomplished.

Several weeks ago, during one of the many appointments with Dr. Harmon (either mine or Dane's), I was working on my Christmas list. Dr. Harmon noticed and casually asked if he and Kathy (his nurse, who's wonderful and has been an incredible help to us) were going to get Christmas presents. I didn't respond immediately.

"There it is," he said. "No response. I guess we know what that means, don't we, Kathy?"

"I'll bring Christmas presents to you," I responded, but not until I had thought it through for a few seconds. While I knew he was just joking with me, I have appreciated his care of me and Dane and thought it would be a nice gesture.

So, yesterday, before running out the door to get Dane to the Surgical Center, I grabbed something for Kathy, several gift tags, a gift bag, tissue paper, and Dr. Harmon's present - three gourmet butters from Hickory Farms (apple, peach, and pumpkin). I prepared their packages in the van on the drive (Don was driving - I wasn't wrapping presents while driving). Dr. Harmon LOVES gourmet foods and often talks cooking with me, once even recommending that he and I start a cooking show together.

"Wouldn't that be something?" he said. "The former Human Resources Generalist, now homemaker, and the Medical Doctor doing a cooking show!"

It would be fun to do something like that, I agreed. Anyhow, I thought the butters were the perfect gift for him and they came in a lovely gold foil box.

Upon arrival, Don and I were trying to figure out how to get the presents upstairs to the offices when Kathy appeared in the Surgical Center. I was delighted and gave both gifts to her. She had come downstairs to speak with Dr. Harmon and, when I saw him next, he was carrying the gift bag. Kathy must have passed it off to him.

"Mrs. Doughty, you shouldn't have," he said.

"It's just a little something to let you know I'm thinking about you, Dr. Harmon," I explained truthfully.

"I'm going to put it under my tree at home to open on Christmas," he told me. "It'll be the only present I have to open on Christmas."

"What!?!" I shrieked, unable to quite comprehend what he was saying. "What do you mean, your 'only present'?"

"We don't do presents anymore," he responded.

Don't "do" presents? I've never heard of such a thing! How could anyone not "do" presents on Christmas? I was absolutely appalled.

Turns out, five years ago, he swore off present-giving and donates a sizeable amount of money each year to a Veterinarian to care for indigent pets in honor of his wife and children. He says he's felt a freedom like never before these last five years.

"Christmas really is Christmas for me," he said, "without any other trappings. I'm able to enjoy Christmas for what it was intended to be."

He must've seen the look on my face (I'm quite sure it was impossible to miss) because he began questioning his decision. I told him a little about how I feel about Christmas. Then I told him I still believe in Santa Claus. After a few seconds of registering surprise, he smiled.

"I guess there really IS a Santa," he said. "After all, the Holy Spirit in each of us is really the spirit of Santa, after all."

"Exactly," I explained. "My children believe that Santa was appointed by God to share his love with the children of earth."

We talked a little more about Christmas and the joy I experience through it.

"Maybe I need to rethink my decision," he said, finally.

"No, no, Dr. Harmon," I said. "To each his own. If your decision brings you peace and joy, then that's exactly what you should do."

While Dane was in the Recovery Room, Dr. Harmon came in and was sitting on a stool at a desk making notes in somebody's file. He glanced over at us, then his eyebrows went up. He grabbed for the gift bag and started unwrapping his present.

"Why are you opening it now?" I asked. "I thought you were going to put it under your tree."

"Well, I decided I wanted to open it when you could see me." I reassured him that it was just a small thing. He opened the package and looked the butters over.

"When I was growing up, I used to make apple butter with my mother." He waxed philosophical for a few moments, then got quiet.

I hope he liked the gift. He seemed to. I had sort of thought of it as something of a gag gift. Not that I didn't think he'd like it, but I gave it sort of to give him a hard time since he had asked me if I was going to give him something. In the end, I really wanted him to like it and wished it had been more. And I think it DID mean something to him.

It's funny how God will turn the tables on you. Anyway, Dane's recovering well and I'm getting a few things done in preparation for Christmas - in my spare time.

I'd Prefer a Different Kind of Snuggling, If You Please

I was reading a friend's Facebook Wall last night and it reminded me of a story. She said her son will be keeping his class' lizard over the holidays. Here's my story.

When I was a young teenager, probably about 13 or 14, my parents took me to visit my Aunt (my father's oldest sister and one of my absolute most favorite people in the world, who is now deceased) who was living in Oklahoma City at the time. She had two sons - Larry, who is the same age as my only brother, and Randy, who's a couple years older than me. My siblings and I were always very close to these two cousins but we hadn't seen each other in years.

When we arrived, my Aunt told me that Randy would be giving up his bedroom for me. It was very big with a huge bed. My older cousin, Larry, had graduated from high school and was working strange hours, so he needed to keep his own room. Randy told me he was sleeping on the couch but would be hanging out in his room, if that was okay with me. I was thrilled with the thought of being able to hang out with one of my fav cousins in his room.

Randy worked at an Exotic Pet Store. He had several aquariums, one with fish that are now illegal to sell in the U.S., and a terrarium that was home to a VERY large, very spoiled iguana. While the iguana gave me the eebie-geebies (chills went up and down my spine everytime I got close enough to the terrarium to see him), I didn't want to let on to Randy. I participated in the conversation about how "cool" this horny, ugly creature was, nodding and smiling, doing my best to convince Randy that I, too, was "cool".

During the night, I rolled over in that huge bed and felt something underneath my chest. I threw back the covers and, yes, you guessed it, a VERY large iguana was snuggled close to me. I shrieked, jumped out of bed, and threw back the covers. Randy came on the run, assessed the situation (which included me hanging from the ceiling fan whimpering and biting my nails and the iguana, who had crawled up onto my pillow, standing still and erect), and yelled,

"Be quiet, Patti. You're scaring him!"

"Scaring HIM?!?!?!" I shrieked at him. Suddenly, he no longer was my favorite cousin. "What about me?"

"Did I forget to tell you that I leave the terrarium lid cracked at night 'cause he gets cold and likes to climb out and get in bed with me? He's a great snuggler!"

Randy was promptly moved back into his room with the "great snuggler" and I moved to the much safer living room couch. I'll never forget the fear of feeling those spiny, poky things in my chest and realizing what it was. "He gets cold at night?" He'd be much colder if he snuggled me one more time.

Far Too Young to Know This

Last night was the Church Christmas Program. We had dinner first, then the adults moved into the Sanctuary for a Sing-along while we prepared and costumed the children. We had about an hour of adult carol singing before we got the o.k. to bring in the kids.

Meanwhile, in the Fellowship Hall, we were trying to keep 40 or so kids occupied and uncrumpled. I had 12 angels and shepherds between the ages of 4 and 6. Keeping them from bending wings and losing halos was quite a challenge.

We sent a Scout into the Sanctuary to check on the Sing-along progress. The Scout returned with bad news. Twenty more minutes. Our Children's Ministries Director fell back to her Plan B, which was her Ace in the Hole in case the video she had brought along finished too early.

"Whose name begins with a 'B'?" she asked. A couple of hands went up. "Think of a word that has something to do with Christmas that begins with a 'B'," she said.

The children who had raised their hands began to yell out, "Bells . . . " and other Christmas-related "B" words, which I can't now seem to remember.

From the water fountain at the end of the room, a boy yelled, "What about 'A'?"

"I'll get to 'A' in a minute, Adam," she yelled back. "But for now, whose name begins with a 'C'?"

She managed to get through "D" (for which we couldn't really think of anything) before having to return to "A".

"Alright," she called above the din, "whose name begins with 'A'?"

Alexandra and Adam raised their hands.

"Alexandra, what about you," she asked. Alexandra looked puzzled. "What about those things behind you?" the Children's Ministries Director prompted, pointing at the costumed angels standing directly behind her.

"Oh, yeah," Alexandra responded. "Angels!"

"What about you, Adam?"

Adam looked stumped. So did everyone else in the room. No one could come up with any other Christmas item that began with an "A".

Finally, from one little girl sitting in the middle of one of the tables, came this response:

"What about 'afterbirth'?"

Drink it up anyway!

When we were in England, the children discovered exotic juices. They fell in love with mango, papaya, etc. Upon our return, they really wanted to continue drinking juice but "none 'a that yucky stuff". We finally found a line of refrigerated juices from Welch's. I buy one half gallon per week and try to vary the flavor. This week's installment is Passion Fruit.

Because it costs roughly as much as our monthly mortgage, I use small juice glasses with their breakfast. I poured their glasses this morning, then herded over them to be certain every drop was consumed. When Daelyn still had half a glass left and it was almost time to walk out the door to school, I prompted him to finish up.

"I can't drink anymore," he said. "I'm full."

"Deanna," I asked, "could you please finish up your brother's juice?" She, being older, understands that Passion Fruit is roughly comparable to liquid gold. She politely took Daelyn's juice glass and started to drink, but not before making an awful face.

"What's THAT all about?" I asked, surprised at the look. Could it be she really didn't like Passion Fruit? "What was that face for?"

"Well, there were two eyelashes in Daelyn's juice."

Dane's Sinus'

Dane had his 3-week post-op visit this afternoon. The doctor numbed him, then tried to scope him. His turbinates are adhered to the lateral wall of his nasal passages with scar tissue and he wasn't able to debride and clean up the scabbing and damaged tissue left from surgery. SO . . .

Monday he'll be going back under anesthesia again so they can clean him up without injury or pain to him. The doctor said it should only take about 10 minutes but that this often happens with pediatric patients due to a low pain threshold. He's planning on putting in some cellulose packing and removing the scar tissue so the turbinates can hang free and his sinus' can drain.

He says Dane can go back to school on Tuesday, but he'll need to sleep off the anesthesia on Monday. I think we'll have to play it by ear. Anesthesia takes a toll on the body and no one, not even children, rebound immediately.

Dane's a little shook. He heard some of what the doctor said but didn't understand it and misinterpreted some of it. I explained as simply as I could, but the first episode was very unpleasant and he's not looking forward to the second.

How Do You Measure Success?

After a week of sleepless nights, finally dropping into bed at one a.m., then dreaming fitfully and rising again before six, working all day Friday into the late night (with children in tow) and then back up at it again on Saturday to finish all the preparations for the Silent Auctions, it seemed to go well.

The question, of course, is "Is it worth it?" I'm not sure we can answer that question.

We don't remember for sure what we made off the Auction last year, but we think we have a good idea. If our recollections are correct, we made around $300 less this year. I found that staggering considering the many more hours I've invested and the much larger size of both Auctions, filled with real quality items and gift certificates. Our starting inventory this year was certainly way more than we started with last year.

I was discouraged by that and mentioned it to an older male friend. His response?

"That's remarkable, to be only $300 off last year's total!" When he saw the look on my face, he added,

"Patti, do you know how bad things are out there? Unemployment is at a many-year high. Things are REALLY bad out there. To even come close to last year's take is REMARKABLE. We're in a VERY bad recession." Later, my father told me that hundreds of thousands of people are losing their jobs daily.

So, was the Auction a success? I think we have to look beyond the dollar amount (although it seems others think that's quite a successful number) and see some of the stories.

We had an item for a one-hour consultation with a therapist from an organization called "Egoscue". It's a physical therapy method based in Atlanta that has had overwhelming success for people with all types of injuries facing surgery. The bidding on this item spilled over onto a second page and, within the last five minutes, one woman was hovering near it, watchfully making sure she was the final bidder. Obviously, she WANTED that gift certificate.

There were many items that had heavy bidding. There were also some items with almost no bids. One of them was a beautiful couch and matching sleeper loveseat. The truth is, the fabric was a little less than attractive, but the furniture was solid, unbelieveably comfortable, extremely well-made, and in fabulous shape. With a few whispered words, the couch was purchased for someone else, as a gift, and a huge need got met in a wonderful, only-God could've done way.

Another item had a minimum bid. It got NO bids, at all. After all was done and said Saturday night, Don brought it to my attention. We had been given permission by the owners to lower the minimum bid, but no one had caught it, so the item hadn't sold. However, written across the side of the Bid Sheet was a note from someone saying they really wanted the item and how much they were able to pay for it. The amount they could pay was the amount to which I would have lowered the bid, had I caught it in time. Don called the individual and told her and she explained that she desperately has needed that item and hadn't been able to afford it. She was thrilled to be the successful bidder.

Then there were our many friends who just stayed at our sides. The mothers who took their children home, fed them, then returned to help us, without being assigned to the Work List or even being asked. They just showed up to help. And I can't even begin to tell you how many of these people there were. At the end of the night Saturday, there were 4 men who stayed with me, Don and the children, literally, until we had locked the gym up and were in our cars. They stuck it out to the last possible moment with us.

The blessings were poured out, many times over. If success is to be measured broadly, more than just in terms of money, the Silent Auction was a resounding success. People were very happy with their purchases. We made a lot of money. There was a ton of fellowshiping and laughter going on around the tables. And we felt deeply the love and commitment of our friends and family.

It's difficult to express in words, without tears, how amazing this experience was for me. Don and I are both exhausted and he was stressed out beyond belief, but the balm of love that was freely poured out on those wounds more than made up for anything we experienced.

The Lord made two promises to me at the beginning of this whole thing: If I would but do what He told me, He would bless it. In fact, He had already gone before me and was waiting there to bless me and others. And, secondly, that I should pray, because He wanted to soften hardened hearts and would soften them if we would pray. He was true to both promises and, time and again, I was astounded by people's generosity in the midst of difficult times.

A Success? Yes, but so much more. A step in growth of love of God and love of man. And a little fun along the way, to boot.

Very near the end . . . of the rope, that is.

It's amazing how children so quickly see through us. They know all the chinks in our armor and are experts at exploiting those chinks. It seems that from the time they're babies in arms, they know when Mommy's preoccupied and they can get away with murder.

That about sums up my week. I've been preoccupied, they've gotten away with murder, or at least not doing chores or homework, not cleaning their rooms, not getting to bed on time, not being kind to each other, just playing, playing, playing. One night, inbetween phone calls, I finally went looking for them, well after dark. They were outside, playing in the yards. I'm sure all the other children were already settled in their warm houses. NOT MINE! Running around like hooligans, dressed for summer in 40 degree weather.

But the Silent Auction is only two days away and then we'll be able to return to some normalcy. Granted, a couple of weeks before Christmas-normalcy, which isn't ever really normal in and of itself. But I'll grasp for straws right now.

Got to do some baking today and keep the house afloat. I can hang on for another two days. Especially if I keep telling myself that I can!

A Touch of Humor

Daelyn: "What's green and sings?"

Me: "A cricket!"

Daelyn: "Nope!"

Me, realizing this is a joke, not a riddle: "What, son?"

Daelyn, triumphantly: "Elvis Parsley!"

He says he made it up himself. I'm not sure. Usually HIS jokes aren't very funny.

Dog Days

The children all had dental appointments this morning so, when I returned home at 10:30, the first order of business was to take Donovan out.

As he was standing on three legs, one hind leg flailing in the air, I was reminded of his puppy days. When we first got him, he was only a few weeks old, tiny, and darling. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him, sitting on the seat of a truck, shivering out of fear. We immediately took to each other and he's been MY dog ever since.

He would squat to go potty when he was a puppy. Eventually, at around 6 months, his male hormones kicked in and he decided he needed to cock a leg. The first few attempts were hilarious.

His first try resulted in him falling over sideways. He toppled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Apparently, standing on only 3 legs took some balance, and he didn't quite have it yet.

His second attempt, he sidled up too close to the tree and, when he lifted his leg, banged his knee into the trunk. He stumbled around, nursing the knee. If he had been human, he would have been yelling, "Ouch, ouch, ouch!"

It got so that we all would go out, as a family, to watch his attempts at tinkling like a "big dog". We were very entertained. He was hilarious. He finally figured it all out.

Anyway, who knew that dogs could be so much fun. At least, ours.

Advent is on our Doorstep

No time this week for dilly-dallying, or for the next 3 weeks, actually. Over the weekend, I needed to make out menus for the next month and do the grocery list for the next week so Don could do the shopping, so we sat down with our calendars to plan December.

This week is the lull before the storm, and I'd better make good use of it. The Silent Auction is this Saturday and there's lots to do to prepare, but the evening this week shouldn't be TOO bad. However, starting Friday, with the set-up for the Auction (picking up large items, staging them at the Auction Site, finishing all the last minute paperwork and signage . . . ), the Auctions themselves on Saturday (two; one in the am, one in the pm), then a dress rehearsal on Sunday after church and Sunday School for the Christmas Program. Monday night I believe we can take a deep breath in preparation for "The Plunge": Tuesday night, a party; Wednesday night, the Church Program; Thursday night, the School Program; Friday afternoon, we get our tree; Friday night, the Church Adult Party; Saturday, our Tree Decorating Party . . .

However, there's a light at the end of the tunnel. It seems like everything is falling during the same week this year. Then we're done and can relax and finish our preparations for Christmas and going to West Virginia.

I've also made a decision to Fast from Blogger and Facebook on Thursdays as well as social e-mails. If it's work-related, such as getting announcements in the Church bulletin, etc., I'll use e-mail, but not for anything social-related.

On Wednesday, as we were preparing for Thanksgiving, I decided I needed some music in the kitchen. Deanna's portable CD player that Don's sister gave her several years ago for her birthday was on the bureau in the dining room with two speakers attached. Deanna and I searched and searched for Praise Strings, but couldn't find it. We settled for Manheim Steamroller and Kenny G. and one on her CD player. When the CD was finished, I carefully removed it and put in the next one. After several hours, I realized there wasn't any music playing, but was tired of having to change out the CD's so often.

During dinner on Thursday, I turned the music on again. About mid-way through dinner, Deanna asked,

"What's that, Mama? I don't recognize that music."

I listened carefully. It wasn't either of the CD's I had picked. In fact, it was Amy Grant's Christmas Album.

I looked across the table at Don.

"Did you put another CD on?" I asked. He grinned at me. Suddenly, Deanna shouted,

"Oh, yeah, that's MY CD player from Aunt Sue!" as if I would know what that meant.

Turns out, this CD player has memory and Don had stored a number of discs on it last year at Christmas. It must hold several hours of music.

We had a lovely meal and didn't have to change out CD's once. So, I'm all set to turn up the music, pull out the broom, and begin preparing the house for Christmas. Then there's wrapping to do.

... and many more!

Happy Thanksgiving!

And I hope your day was filled with fellowship, love, peace, and joy, like mine.

What's In a Name?

When I was making the children's lunches Monday night, I thought about breaking out some of the Christmas cookies I've made. I decided to give them each 2 pieces of Scotch Shortbread, one of my specialties.

I dug small containers with tight-fitting lids out of the cabinet and carefully placed two pieces of Shortbread in each. Then I placed them carefully in the lunch boxes.

On the way home from school yesterday, Daelyn was telling me all about his day, who he had played with at recesses and what he had done.

"Oh, and, by the way, Mom, thank you for the German Biscuits."

German Biscuits? What's he talking about? I thought for a few seconds. What DID I put in his lunchbox? Last night seemed a very long time ago. Then I remembered the Shortbread.

"Do you mean Scotch Shortbread, son?" I asked him.

"Yeah. That. Whatever."

Name of country and bread name. I guess they all sound alike. Scotch Shortbread could have just as easily been German Biscuit.

T-Day!

My parents are in California. One of my nieces, the first of my nieces, in fact, got married Saturday. I've had 4 nephews marry but this is the first niece. So, they left last week and are taking advantage of the opportunity to spend Thanksgiving with my sister and her family. They don't get to do that but every 20 years or so, if that.

I prompted a couple of weeks ago about our plans.

"What are we going to do for Thanksgiving? Should we invite friends over?"

After much thought and my attempts 3 or 4 times at discussing, Don finally responded.

"No," he said, "I think we need to just have Thanksgiving at home by ourselves this year."

I was shocked. No friends? No family? Just us?

"You and the kids can watch the Macy's parade and eat bon-bons and relax and there'll be no place we HAVE to get to, we'll eat when you're ready."

As I thought about that, I realized that it would be much like our Christmas in England, which was wonderful. I quickly agreed.

Turns out, one of my sisters and her daughter had no place to go and there's no way she'd be making Thanksgiving just for 2 (her husband is working), so they're coming here, also, which will be very fun for my children but still won't add any pressure, I don't think. Anyway, Dane helped me plan the menu last week - it was scary. If I get it all done, we'll have enough food for an army and way more than we can fit in our fridge. I'll likely have to take some up to my parents to store in their fridge.

I started last night with cranberry sauce. My mother does this chunky orange cranberry sauce. I found a recipe and made it last night. It's wonderful, although Deanna thinks it's a little TOO tart and needs a little more sugar. Then I began working on homemade jellied cranberry sauce.

Based on the response I got from Deanna and Dane this morning on the jellied, I've just given myself a new lifetime job - maker of the cranberry sauce.

It should be a fun Thanksgiving.

Word Puzzles

Don got a puzzle book for Dane to help keep him occupied during his recovery. I tried to get him to work on some of them, but he wasn't interested. I found one that interested me. You had to make words, 11 in total, and there were already several letters listed for each word. You couldn't repeat any letters in the same word or use any letters in the word above or the word below. You got extra points for using ALL the letters in the alphabet in you 11 words.

I piddled with it a little, but couldn't seem to grab Dane's attention. However, Don worked with him on Friday, doing several of the puzzles together, and Dane got interested.

I had gone to run some errands and when I got home, I found Don and Dane at the kitchen table working on puzzles. I flipped to my page and Dane and I began working the word puzzle together. We did the first one, then I started working on dinner and he attacked the second. Deanna and Daelyn wandered in and sat at the table, eager to help.

"I need a word that begins with 'Am' and has five letters," Dane announced to the group gathered.

"Uh, what about ambitious?" I asked. Nope. Too many letters. Ambivalent? No. Amplitude? No. It went on and on. I racked my brain trying to come up with words that began with 'am'.

Finally, when I thought I couldn't think up one more work, Daelyn casually mentioned,

"Would 'amber' work, brother?"

Dane shrieked. "That's IT!" Deanna gasped. I laughed. It just figures.

Daelyn, the youngest one in the room, solved the word puzzle. How does he even KNOW the word 'amber'?

The simple answer? He's Daelyn.

Career Choices

Dane loves his new job! That ID badge says, "Jerusalem Hospital Staff" and under the picture has his name, "Dr. Luke, MD", which I realize is redundant, but we were really pushing the point. I think he looks like he just stepped out of the Operating Room, only a little too happy.


Then there's the next one. Not too happy. It was a tough case. He had to bring along a body guard, who just happens to be a Roman soldier.

Then there's the picture Deanna calls "Daelyn's Wardrobe Malfunction"! I love it!

Last, but not least, is one taken the first day of school. Daelyn wanted to wear his red shirt, which the school considers their "travel" shirt and they wear for special occasions. I suspected he would be the only boy in the class in a red shirt. However, his two closest friends, the ones that he's been buds with practically since birth, also wore their red shirts and all ended up together on the front row. I LOVE their expressions. Not too tickled about being back in school, except Augie, the blonde to the right. He's sporting a slight smile. This picture about sums up my week. Enjoy!

More of the Same

Yet another fight scene in "Lord of the Ring". In this one, Aragon is dragged off a cliff by one of those evil lion-horse creatures ridden by Orcs. Everyone assumes he's dead. Of course, we know better. His horse saves him.

At least, for now, Dane's not snarling at me like those lion-horse things, like he's been for the last two days. He was pretty-well behaved on Monday, the day of surgery. He was hurting and exhausted and alternated between crying and sleeping. But the next day, the truth of his predicament began to settle in.

"Mama, surgery is NOT fun. It hurts," he pronounced on Tuesday.

"Yes, dear. That's why it's only a LAST option. We try everything else first."

As the pain sets in and the boredom overtakes him, he gets snarlier and snarlier. Yesterday he grumped at me, "I'm THIRSTY!" No, "Mama, could you please get me a drink," no "Mama, I really need a refill of your wonderful tea that you're letting me drink." Nope. Just "I'm THIRSTY!" yelled at me. Then, when I didn't move as quickly as he thought I should (I was in the middle of something), he snarled again, "WHEN are you going to get me my drink?"

"Dear, I know you're hurting and this is hard for you, but I am not your slave or your servant. I am your mother and I expect you to treat me with respect."

He does try. He's a good boy. He's just struggling.

So I try and find things for him to do, quiet things that don't require bending his head forward or moving, but things that will keep him occupied. Yesterday, he asked if I could call the mother of one of his friends and make arrangements for one of his friends to come over and visit after school today. I know he's lonesome and wants company from someone other than me, but I'm afraid his friends won't understand the importance of him being still. Besides, what 9-yr. old boy wants to sit around and talk? And Dane can't do much else.

So I banish him from friends and most of all the other things he wants to do. I've pulled out several crafts projects for him and his daddy bought him a puzzle book. He has a laptop on which he can play games and I'm letting him watch unlimited movies. But sitting still for days just isn't in his nature and it's wearing on both of us.

Today is the 3rd day post-surgery. Maybe by tomorrow he'll feel well enough to do a little more. They said he'd be much better in a week's time. That means we're almost half-way there.

And his daddy will be home tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday. New blood and new ideas. YAY!

Bed bugs

For part of our Honeymoon, Don rented a villa in Kauai for several days. Kauai isn't the tourist hub that Maui and Hawaii are. Although there were a few hotels, the better option was the villa.

The master bedroom had a king-size bed. The hotel we had stayed in on Maui (the island we visited before Kauai) had a queen and the hotel where we spent our wedding night had a queen, also. We had never slept in a king together.

We HATED it. We made an agreement right then to never own a king-size bed. We had just experienced sleeping with another human (of the opposite sex, that is. I had shared beds with my sisters for many years growing up) and we both liked it. Then we got swallowed up by this king-size bed. We spent the whole night swimming through the bed, trying to find each other in our sleep while we dreamed of being isolated and alone. NOT a good experience.

The truth is, our vacation condo in Hilton Head has a king-size bed and I tend to enjoy it for the first two nights or so. It's nice, occasionally, to not run into another body all night long. But the novelty wears off after about two nights alone (or at least it feels like I'm alone) and we start night three plumb in the middle of the bed, snuggled up together so we won't lose each other so easily.

While we were on our honeymoon, Don had some friends move his bed into my house, so we returned to a full-size bed. I had a full-size, too, just not as nice as his and the mattress wasn't as firm and he has to have a firm mattress . . . Anyway, we spent the first 6 years or so of our marriage in a full. But, by then, we had 3 children and our bed was getting a little crowded. The children's favorite place to be was right inbetween us in our bed. That had been my favorite place, also, as a child, and Don and I put the babies between us the first night we were home from the hospital with them, so they were used to that position. However, a six-year old is a little bigger than a 3-day old. Add two more children, and full was overfull.

I asked Don if we could buy a queen-size bed, but money was tight and he didn't think we could afford it. My pregnancies had wiped out most of our reserves and a larger bed was frivolous. Then I got a subpoena for the Grand Jury. We agreed I would take my Jury pay and we would invest in a larger bed.

And so it was. For the last 7 years, we've had a queen-size bed. Much more room for the children and Don and I can even roll over in bed at night without forcing the other spouse to the floor. We've loved our full-size bed and, although the room wasn't plentiful, it was enough most of the time.

Add Dane post-surgery and Donovan to the picture. Now we have two grown (and not small) adults, a lanky 9-yr. old, and an overweight, supposed to be 17-lb. dog and the queen-size bed is getting smaller with each night. Dane slept with us again and, for some reason, when the children are in the bed with me, they gravitate towards my side. I had a tiny sliver at the edge, so small in fact that I had to sleep on my side all night, there was no room for laying flat. When the alarm went off at 1:15 so I could give Dane his next dose of pain medicine, I sat on the side of the bed pulling the right amount up in the syringe. When I turned around to dose him, he had totally taken over my spot. Once I got his medicine down and a chaser of decaf sweet tea from his sipper, I had to wake him up to have him move over. I glanced at Don's side of the bed. He could have fit the whole neighborhood on his side. There was enough room for at least two more people. He lay prone, arms and legs sprawled, taking up 3/4 of the bed himself, while Dane, Donovan and I were crammed into 1/4.

I realize the problem isn't Don. This always happens when the children are in bed with us. Even in that king-size bed at the beach. When the babies were little and I'd put them in the middle of the big bed to make it easier to nurse during the night, I'd wake to nurse and discover that this tiny little baby had managed to migrate to wherever I was in the bed. I'd nurse them, then scoot them to the absolute middle to give me some room to move. But I'd awaken later to find them pressed up against me again. Always ME. Never Don.

Nothing's changed. I move a little closer to the edge, Dane squooshes up against me. I sit on the edge, he takes my place completely.

I'm rethinking that whole king-size bed agreement-thing. The day may yet come.

Will our children still want to snuggle in the bed when they're teenagers?

Surgery

Dane had his sinus surgery yesterday. He was very thirsty, since he couldn't have anything to eat or drink after midnight the night before. When I woke at 6 a.m., he was already fully dressed, sitting in the den watching a movie. Don was on the computer.

"What are you doing up?" I asked, incredulous.

Don snickered. "He's been up for at least an hour," he said. I gawked at Dane.

"I couldn't sleep, Mama. I was too nervous," he said softly.

I understood. I was struggling with the same issue. By the time we left for the surgical center at 8 a.m., he was very thirsty. After 20 minutes or so in pre-op, he asked for a drink. The nurse took full advantage of the opportunity and gave him a cupful of "red courage" - happy juice. And, boy, did he get happy. In fact, quite silly. By the time they took him back at 9:45, he laughed, smiled, and waved goodbye to us.

The doctor had allotted 45 minutes for his surgery. The anesthesiologist told us that an hour was more practical. An hour and 15 minutes later, I was starting to get pretty nervous. But he made it through just fine.

Coming out of the anesthesia was tough. He cried a lot and was in a good deal of pain. They gave him several doses of pain meds, then let us take him home. He had a hard time, asking me to let someone else drive so I could hold him in the van. That wasn't possible. I got him home and settled in my bed with a phone and a drink. Then I went to listen to the answering machine.

Among the well-wishes for Dane was a message from my father that my sister had been taken to the Emergency Room. Turns out, taken by ambulance. She had blood in her urine and they think she has kidney stones. I had to leave Dane with Don, go to her husband work, pick up extra keys to their house (she left hers at home when the ambulance took her to the hospital), then go to the hospital and pressure them to release her (the doctor had written her Release Orders three hours previously and they hadn't done anything about it) and drive her home. I didn't get back home until 5:30 and there were several other problems waiting for me, including a hurtin' little boy.

Dane seems to be unable to really rest. And the less he rests, the more his nose bleeds and the worse he hurts. We put him to bed between Don and I last night because he was a little afraid of being in a room down the hall by himself. Although he slept great, Don and I didn't. By the time he recovers, I'm going to need a week's recovery.

Today I was just getting ready to jump into my chores when I got a call from the school.

"First of all, let me just say that Daelyn's okay," the Principal told me. Uh-oh. That's not a good way to start a conversation.

Daelyn had been in a collision on the playground with another boy and had a gash just below his eyebrow. He needed stitches. I made arrangements for my parents to stay with Dane, then took off to pick up Daelyn and take him to the Pediatrician. They were able to glue him back together, so he didn't have to get numbing shots, thank goodness. The doctor and I both felt like he needed to rest quietly the rest of the day, so I brought him home and tried to get him settled. No luck. Between him and Dane, they kept me hopping.

My 30-minute attempt at a nap was interrupted 6 times - 3 times by phone calls and 3 times by Dane. I'm tired and getting grumpy. And Dane is getting demanding with his requests. I had to caution him today to ask me for a drink nicely instead of barking out "I'm thirsty!"

Maybe I'll get a nap tomorrow. Here's hoping.

Apply-ances

My career was as a Human Resources professional. I worked first for a small, family-owned business (actually, they owned 4 businesses - the owner was quite an entrepreneur), then left there and went to work for an International pharmaceutical company at a manufacturing facility. The women who worked in the Plant were always telling me "old wives' tales" or their superstitions.

For instance, they used to always say that death goes in threes. In other words, if someone you love dies, two other people close to you will soon die. It might be the parent of an in-law or a friend, but deaths always run in threes and the other two are personal.

I've noticed over the years that deaths do seem to run in threes. I'm not a superstitious person and I find it very odd, but I'm never surprised anymore when the second death hits and maybe even a little prepared when I hear of the third.

Lest you think I'm wacko, I really don't LOOK for additional deaths when the first one happens. And maybe it's all malarky. But the one I'm really interested in is that appliances break in two's.

I have often been concerned that maybe this is true. Not long after Don and I first married, one of our appliances went out. I can't quite remember which one, but something had to be replaced. The next thing we knew, the dryer wasn't drying our clothes. Don spent a Saturday messing with it, went out a bought a new part for it, got all ready to install the new part when, presto, the dryer started working again. It seems that it only gives us problems on a certain cycle.

For at least 8 years now, we've held off using the part. It still sits in the laundry room (tucked away in a cabinet now) and I've always felt like we cheated fate, and happily so.

If there's anything to this deaths in 3's and appliances in 2's thing, fate is getting me back.

Several weekends ago, Don made dinner for the children for me. He seldom does that anymore, even though he's a great cook. When I got home, he informed me that the oven wasn't closing. Assuming he was using this as an excuse to not cook anymore, I checked it myself. Sure enough. The door was sitting about an inch open. You could push it closed, but it would pop back out again as soon as you removed the pressure.

He told me he'd work on it the following weekend and see if he couldn't get the door to behave. In the meantime, I was doing my cooking with the door slightly ajar - until Thursday night, Pizza Night. I popped the frozen pizza into my 400 degree preheated oven but before the pizza was ready, one of the knobs had melted off the front of the oven. The next day, Don began taking it apart.

Saturday afternoon, he declared, "The oven is dead. We need to take it in the backyard and shoot it. You better get on-line and find yourself a new oven."

On-line didn't quite do it for me. I wanted to see the oven in person before I made a commitment to it. I suggested we go as a family to look at ovens and eat dinner while we were out. He agreed.

We finally settled on one from Sears. It's black (which Deanna and I both wanted and Don thought was silly because it wouldn't go with the rest of our appliances), gas, and has lots of features I really have wanted, included self-cleaning and programmable cooking so it can start the job while you're not even home.

It was delivered the following Monday and it took Don several evenings to get it leveled and hooked up. But I'm very happy with our new oven.

However . . . (you knew that was coming, didn't you?) within a week, we had another appliance mishap. Last Sunday evening (it MAY have been 2 weeks ago), I sent the boys to take their baths. Deanna had run up to my parents' house to interview my mother for a school project. I was in the kitchen, making lunches, loading the dishwasher, and throwing together dinner for the children when Daelyn ran in and said that someone had used up all his hot water.

"You just have to turn the handle further, son," I instructed him.

"Mama, it didn't matter how far I turned the handle - the water was still cold!"

Following a deep discussion about just how far he turned the handle, I decided the check for myself. Sure enough, pretty much ice cold water, and both boys had bathed in it.

I asked Don to check the circuit breakers, but when he was slow to break away from what he was doing, I checked them myself. He called to me while I was looking.

"The water heater isn't on a circuit breaker, Mommy. It's gas."

Sure enough. No circuits thrown. Don got up and checked the water heater. The drip pan was full of rusty water. Not good news.

The short version is that I spent the entire day yesterday getting an approval code from Rheem (it was still under Warranty) for a new one, then going to a Rheem dealer and filling out all the paperwork, then having it delivered. Today a plumber connected it up.

I was breathing a sigh of relief. "Okay," I thought, "that's our two appliances," when the vent fan over the stove suddenly came to a grinding halt while I was using it.

"Uh, oh," Don said, "do we need a new hood, also?"

"Maybe we can get one in black to match the oven," I suggested. And, no, I didn't rig it. Did I have the numbers wrong with appliances?

Memories of England

Dane has Show-and-Tell tomorrow and for two weeks, he's been planning what he was going to take into school. He wants to show off the button that he got from Buckingham Palace when we were in London 2 Christmases ago.

Since he's spent so much time thinking about it and planning for it, I decided I needed to give it Due Diligence. This morning, I got on the computer and started looking over our pictures of England. I've printed 7 on plain paper as sort of a pictorial diary of the story he plans to tell which is repeated below.

Don had about a week off after Christmas. He worked 7 days a week in England, very long hours each day. He got up early on Sunday morning, went to the 8:00 service at the Parish Church, then walked the 2 or 3 miles into work. Everyone else arrived much earlier than him so he couldn't catch a ride, but he wasn't willing to give up church attendance for this job.

Since he finally had some time off, we decided to see some of England during that time. We felt out time would be best spent going to London, so we booked train tickets for December 27 (the 26th is Boxing Day in England, which is a Holiday, so the trains don't run - the earliest we could book was the 27th), packed our bags, reserved a hotel room, and took off.

Don had done lots of research and booked us on some tours, which turned out to be VERY smart. Walking in London is exhausting, but we could hop off or on any of our tour buses for 2 days at any of the stops, so we were able to ride from place to place, tour, then hop a bus to the next site we wanted to enjoy. The deal he booked even came with tickets for all of us to take a sunset cruise on the Thames.

Cut to the chase. They only do the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So we got there early (or so we thought) on Tuesday. The square in front of Buckingham had thousands upon thousands of people crammed shoulder to shoulder. The sidewalk in front of the Palace was jammed, also. We were only 5 of thousands who had gotten there early. It looked like some people had spent the night.

After sitting across the street for awhile and being chased off a wall (where we put the children in the hopes they could see better) by a Bobby (Policeman in English), we decided to elbow our way into the mass of people on the sidewalk in front of the gates. We found the spectators to be quite sociable. There was an American family from Texas that pulled us up to the fence, then gave us their spots so we could stick the camera through the slats of the iron fence and take pictures. I was worried about losing the children in the crowd and hung onto hands hard.

After the ceremony (during which the band played American Showtunes, which was interesting, but certainly NOT what I expected), the Palace Guards made their way out the front gates of Buckingham, into the street, then down the street, marching and playing. The crowd quickly began to dissipate.

As it thinned, we pushed our way forward, very near the front gates, which were locked. But there were some palace guards still inside and a Police Box just inside the gate, manned by a Bobby, not a Palace Guard, which I thought was VERY curious. Why have Palace Guards if they don't guard the Palace?

There's a railing that comes down from the sides of the gate across the wide sidewalk to mark off the driveway into the Palace. A couple of German women were standing at the railing and motioned to me to bring the children closer. They gave the boys their spots at the railing, which the boys began climbing on. About that time, one of the Palace Guards that was still inside headed for the Police Box. He talked with the Bobby, then they both headed to the gate, the Bobby with a ring of keys in his hand. He unlocked the gate, let the Guard out, then began to relock the gate behind him when he spotted the boys. He began walking towards us. I've got a picture of him, coming right for us. He has the keys in one hand, and the other hand is closed around . . . something. (You can see the railing on the other side of the driveway in the picture.)



He approached Dane (I thought he was going to get after us about climbing on the railing, like the Bobby who had chased us off the Wall) and asked him if he had enjoyed the Show. Dane just sort of looked at him. I prompted him with a polite response. The Bobby chatted for a few minutes, then turned his left hand over in front of Dane. Inside was a shiny, gold button. He told Dane that one of the Guards had lost a button during the Ceremony and asked Dane if he would like to have it. Dane's eyes got big around and he nodded quietly. The policeman snickered and gave it to him.

People immediately began gathering around Dane, oohing and aahing. Many wanted to take pictures. As the crowd closed in, I felt like Charlie in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the old one, not the one with Johnny Depp, which I haven't seen) when he finds the last golden ticket and a crowd begins to press in around him. The newspaper seller that Charlie works for yells, "Run home, Charlie. Run!" I grabbed Dane and Daelyn and we got the heck out of there. I was afraid someone would steal his button right out of my hand.

We were so-o-o-o-o thrilled. Out of all the thousands of people who gathered there twice weekly, we were chosen to be given the button. And I doubt Palace Guards pop buttons off their uniforms every day. This was probably something that happened once a year or so. How many people have crowded into Buckingham Square in a year's time? We knew that this was a once in a many million opportunity. It was the highlight of our day.

The next day we continued our tour with a visit to the Tower of London. The Tower of London is still a Palace of the Realm. There are high walls all around the perimeter and many buildings inside the walls. In fact, the entire Corps of Beefeaters live within the Tower of London with their families. In the center of the compound is the White Tower. This is where important political prisoners were once held captive, such as Ann Boelyn and Oliver Cromwell. The Crown Jewels are secured in the Tower of London (which we got to see) and so are suits of armor and weapons of torture and execution used throughout England's history. The boys loved THAT.

Midway through the day, Don and Deanna left me and the boys. Don had bought tickets to take Deanna to see "Wicked", a Broadway Musical which was playing in London. Turns out, the performance that Deanna attended was the final performance with the original Broadway Cast. Beginning with the next performance, the London Cast was taking over. Don wanted to surprise her so we hadn't mentioned any of the plans to her. But I had packed her dressiest clothes and shoes and Don's suit in my backpack. We went into bathrooms and I did Deanna's hair and packed back up the clothes she was wearing for touring. We said goodbye to Daddy and Sissy after making plans to meet up later for dinner, then the boys and I continued our tour.

I really enjoyed talking with the Beefeaters. They're so knowledgeable about EVERYTHING and to become a Beefeater, you have to be a Veteran of a certain number of years in the Queen's Army - I don't remember the number, but I think it's 25 or more. You also must have attained a certain rank. If interested, you go on a waiting list for an interview. There are only a small number of Beefeaters (43 or so, I think) and hundreds of men on the waiting list. You have to wait for one to retire before the next soldier on the list gets the call up.

There was an historical encampment on the grounds of the Tower of London that the boys and I toured. We spoke with the people representing historical figures and wandered around. Then we spotted two Palace Guards walking towards us, two young men. It was surprising to see Palace Guards inside the Tower, which is policed by the Beefeaters, so the boys and I approached them and asked a few questions. While we were talking, I noticed the buttons on one of the guards coats. It was identical to Dane's from the previous day. I got excited and started pointing them out to Dane.

"Look, son," I said. "Just like your button." As I pointed, I moved my finger up the soldiers coat, pointing to each button in turn, until I reached his chest. NO BUTTON.

"Your button's undone," I told him, politely.

"No, not undone," he said. "Lost. I guess I had too much Christmas Dinner."

"You popped a button?" I asked him. And, of course, you can figure out the rest of the story for yourself. HE was the Palace Guard who had lost his button the day before at Buckingham.

What's the line from Casa Blanca? "Of all the ____ joints in all the world . . . " That's exactly how we felt. The probability of being handed a button in the first place was astronomical. But, then, to meet that very guard the next day in a totally different location - chances had to be one in a trillion.

He posed for pictures with my boys, the missing button spot prominently displayed. Dane will never forget this story, neither will the rest of us. It probably was the most memorable part of our 3 months in England.

So, he's chronicling it for his classmates tomorrow. And I'm chronicling it for myself here. I'm getting older, details get fuzzy . . .

Questions, questions

Okay, I want to tread lightly here, but I have a question to pose, in light of the election results last week.

At what point does God choose to stop "fixing" our mistakes and let us live out the results of our decisions? As parents, we practice tough love sometimes with our children. In order to help them mature, sometimes we choose to not cushion the uncomfortability of some of the situations they get themselves into. They have to learn prudence and they never will if we continually protect them from the consequences of their actions.

Does God do the same for us? While I absolutely and completely believe that God awesomely loves us and only wants the good for us, did He not destroy Sodom and Gomorrah? Did he not bring judgement against individuals in biblical history that chose to ignore him or outright disobey Him? Moses wasn't allowed to enter the Promise Land because of one fit of temper and a thoughtless act of flinging the tablets in anger. And I understand that was the "Old Testament God", before the coming of Christ. But God is still God.

I've also watched, over the years, as painful things have happened to my family and others I love. God CAN but doesn't always choose to heal. How many people do we know that died of cancer? How many women have lost babies. How many people have lost children after birth? Is this because God is callous or unfeeling?

NO! God is the epitomy of caring and love. He IS love. But I've come to believe that God seldom intervenes in the affairs of man. He created nature and He set it up to work a certain way. Why do so many unwed 16-yr. old girls get pregnant after one night of indiscretion, many of them good girls who love the Lord and have been raised with Christian values but just slipped in the heat of passion? Because God created our bodies to function a certain way and he seldom intervenes and stops them from working that way. That said, the reason we have Dane in our family is because God made something unnatural happen with my body. I double ovulated the month Dane was conceived, 12 days apart. I was certain I was safe - absolutely certain, until I ovulated the second time. I know God intervened. Bodies are not supposed to work that way. But why do people get emphysema? The natural consequence of pollution and/or smoking. Why does my father have hardening of the arteries that caused him to go blind? Because he grew up eating wild meat in the backwoods of Canada, much of it salted for preservation.

It's not that I don't believe God CAN make the situation with our government all okay, it's just that I wonder if He even wants to. His people were held in captivity over and over again. They've struggled and fought for their tiny strip of land. Are we in the U.S. any better than God's chosen people, the Israelites?

I'm not trying to light fires here, just posing a question I've been pondering in my heart. Last night, at a meeting I attended that is also attended by a Christian (Spirit-filled) Jewish Rabbi and his wife, we talked about the state of the country. He said that at his last Rabbi's gathering, they were all in agreement that Scripture exhorts us to pray for the King, and our King will soon be Obama. Many of the Rabbi's in his group (the Messianic Rabbinical Association) are from Florida where there is a large Neo-Nazi movement. Some of the Temples have FBI agents that attend their services and are armed just in case of trouble. The FBI has told these Rabbis that the Neo-Nazi's have a clear intent and plan to assassinate Obama. As much as I would like to see someone else in our White House, the thought of the heinousness of that act and what would follow in our country if it was to happen sent chills down my spine and threw me immediately into fervent prayer for the Lord's protection around our President-elect.

There's no question in my mind that we need to pray for our country and ALL it's leaders. But we needed to before the election just as badly as we need to now. People have shared scriptures with me since the election such as Psalm 23 to bring comfort. My mother has said, "God is still on the throne!" Of course He is. And, yes, He wants to lead us beside still waters. But I don't think He's going to stick a bit in our mouths and drag us to still waters anymore than I believe that His being on the throne will change Obama's agenda. We need to pray for our country and President-elect Obama, the Congress and Supreme Court that will be deciding the laws of our land, but we also need to prepare for a United States that may look very different in 4 years.

And, on top of all that, I'll pose another question - how much power does a President really have? Can they EVER accomplish an agenda? Does it even matter (except, of course, in the case of foreign policy and how we're seen abroad) who lives and works in Washington, DC? In my disappointment last Wednesday, I felt the Lord prompted a thought in me: We survived not 4 but 8 years of Bill Clinton. Can we not also weather the upcoming 4 years?

Just the ponderings of my heart on this Wednesday morning in the middle of November.

The Verdict on Dane

Dane is scheduled for surgery next Monday, November 17. It will be in the morning, probably very early, but we don't have the time yet and won't know until Friday afternoon. They'll confirm the surgical schedule and call us with the time.

He has "Pan sinusitis" which is infection in every sinus cavity. They will be going into every sinus except the frontals, which are very small in children and make the surgery much more dangerous. The doctor is hoping that by clearing drain holes in the ethmoids, which are just below the frontals, the frontals will be able to drain down. Hope he's right.

Dane's very worried and I have lots of planning to do and arrangements to make.

God's Sense of Humor

If any of you doubt that God does, indeed, have a sense of humor, read on. How could He possibly have created my family and be stoic. He must get great joy and lots of laughter from our antics.

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday. We're not planning anything big, since Daddy celebrated his 80th just a few weeks ago and we had a big shindig for him. But my father showed up at my house yesterday concerned.

"Hon, I don't have any ideas for your mother's birthday. I've been waiting to hear from you girls, but no one's called. I don't know what I'm going to do!"

There was real concern in his voice. I reassured him, then told him I'd gather the sisters and we'd do something for Mom. Thus began the day-long saga.

Since we have Choir Practice on Wednesday nights (and we've just started working on the Christmas Program and need every second of practice time we can get), I decided we should all try to take Mom to lunch. I called my two sisters that live in this area. Neither were home. I left messages for both of them explaining what I was proposing and asking for call-backs.

Quite a while later, one sister called back. She said that she had to take her daughter to school at 12, but could meet for lunch later. I asked when her daughter got out of school.

"4:30," she responded.

"Isn't that a little late for lunch?" I was a little taken aback. Was she really proposing we wait until after Amanda finished with school, at 4:30, to grab lunch together?

"What does that have to do with lunch?" she asked. We were both equally confused. I assumed that, if she had to take Amanda to school that she'd also have to collect her again. She's told me before that she runs errands in town while Amanda's in school or sits in the parking lot and reads or prays. Apparently, what she meant to say was that she had to drop Amanda off at 12, then was free until 4:30, when she would have to go back to pick her up. It took a few minutes of explanation for us both to get clear, but we managed.

"Okay!" I was getting excited. Two down, one to go. "So you could meet somewhere at 12:30." Now, if I could just get a call-back from the other sister.

"I have an idea," she said. "How about you pick me up at home, I'll let Amanda take my van to school, we'll eat somewhere out here (she lives a 40-minute drive from town in a neighboring small town) and then go to that Second Hand Store that Mama and Toni love."

Sounded good to me. I waited to hear from Toni. Before I did, Mama called and said she had talked to Toni.

"Really? I left a message for her hours ago and she hasn't yet called me back." I was getting a little frustrated.

"Well, she said she was REALLY busy," Mom explained.

Finally, Toni called.

"I have something at 10:00 that I'm in charge of. It'll probably last until 12 or 12:30. Then I have floor duty in the office, starting at 1:00 and can't leave until 5:30. Lunch is completely out for me."

Back to Ground Zero.

"But," she added, "I could do it on Thursday. I have nothing on my calendar for Thursday. Could YOU do it then?"

I glanced quickly at my calendar. All clear. In fact, nothing all week. I wasn't sure when Dane was going to get scheduled for surgery, so I kept my calendar clean.

"I'm available all week. But I'll have to call Trina back," which I did. But first, I called my father to make sure Mom was available on Thursday. He said it looked okay to him.

Trina said that Thursday was a possibility, but Amanda had an appointment and she wasn't sure exactly what time. She'd call me back later.

Without going into any more nitty gritty, I'll end the saga here but, trust me, there were many more phone calls and much more arranging to be done.

We are having lunch TODAY. Forget Wednesday . . . and Thursday. It all got moved to Tuesday - because Amanda's available on Tuesday and could go with us. As you can imagine, that took several more phone calls. Then we had to address the issue of where to eat.

When I finally crawled into bed last night, I realized that it took an entire day to make lunch plans for 4, two of whom were shoe-ins. And it wasn't just a day spent waiting on calls. It was making them and taking them - ad nauseum.

I'm picking Mom up at noon, then swinging by the school to get Deanna. We are meeting Trina and Amanda and my other sister, Toni, at a Chinese restaurant at 12:30.

It was a day well-spent, all things considered, but I can't help but think that God must be chuckling in Heaven about the "Hunt Women". We're quite a crowd. The good side is that we love each other enough to keep playing these lunch games. And at least one of us was motivated to make it happen.

No wonder Daddy didn't know what to do. He probably has enough experience to know what he was in for if he tried planning anything.

Gotta Keep 'Em Happy

Don and I are again Chairing the Silent Auction fund-raiser for the children's school. It will be held on Saturday, December 8. There's lots to do and very little time. Also, we're planning on spending Christmas with his parents in West Virginia, so I don't have those last few days to finish things up around the house.

Realizing that if I wasn't really on the ball and didn't have a clear plan for preparing for Christmas (like last year), the time would slip away from me and I would discover too late that I hadn't gotten everything accomplished (like last year).

So, at one of my many doctor's appointments, whilst waiting in the Lobby, I pulled out my pocket calendar and started planning. It looked something like this.

Week of November 2 - Write X-Mas Letter and X-mas Cards
Week of November 9 - X-Mas Baking
Week of November 16 - X-Mas Baking
Week of November 23 - Shopping/Wrapping (Thanksgiving Week)
Week of November 30 - Prepare for Silent Auction (What a Joke! I'm spending hours each day preparing for the Silent Auction. But at least I realized that I needed to devote a whole week to it without other preparations to worry about!)

And so on and so forth . . .

I began the baking on Saturday, having finished up my cards on Friday. I had already made a list of the cookies, pastries, and candies I wanted to make this year so I made up the grocery list, including those items, and started on the things for which I already had the ingredients. Sunday afternoon, the children figured out what was up.

"Mom, I want haystacks this year," said Dane, chirping up from the kitchen table while eating his dinner.

"Sorry, son," I responded while standing at the sink loading the dishwasher. "They're not on the list this year."

"Certainly, you're making Scotch Shortbread," informed Deanna. "It's Grandpa's favorite!"

"No, actually, it's not on the list, either."

Silence from the children for several seconds.

"Just what IS on the list?" Dane asked softly.

"Well, let's see. I know I'm making Baklava and Danish Pastry and Truffles for Daddy," I responded, trying to sound upbeat.

"I HATE Baklava," Daelyn piped up.

"No HAYSTACKS?" asked Dane in a concerted tone. "I LOVE your Haystacks."

"I'll read you the list, children," I responded, a little less upbeat. "I was just trying to do some different things this year that we don't have EVERY year."

"But we LIKE the things you make every year," Deanna pleaded.

I read them the list. They weren't impressed.

Today I'm making Scotch Shortbread and Haystacks. Then maybe I can get on with my REAL Christmas baking.

Full Up, At Last

Don is allergic to seafood - not just shellfish, but ALL fish, fish of any kind, fish, fish, fish. He won't even kiss me if I've eaten seafood. So, when he's not with us, like those trips to Grandma and Grandpa Doughty's with just the kids, we tend to take advantage of the opportunity to get seafood. Then there was last summer at the beach. I picked up freshly-steamed, seasoned shrimp at the grocery store twice, then made cocktail sauce and kicked back on the couch, suckin' down shrimp while watching T.V. Ah, bliss. I couldn't have done this if Don was with us. I can't even put seafood in the fridge. He says it taints the taste and smell of everything else in the refrigerator or freezer.

But Don's allergy isn't the problem. The real issue is, Dane's favorite food in the whole world is . . . you guessed it - seafood. Specifically, shrimp scampi. I don't quite remember how he discovered shrimp scampi, but suffice it to say that Daelyn, from the age of 2, referred to Red Lobster as Shrimp Scampi each week as we passed it on our way to Sunday School, church, and choir practice.

Friday night I decided to take the kids out to dinner since we were one family member short. It was Don's last night in C0lorado and I thought it would be fun for us to go out for an early dinner. Deanna commented that we should go out for seafood. I hadn't thought of that but immediately realized that was the perfect plan.

When we arrived at Red Lobster early so we could beat the weekend crowd and get in and out in a relatively short time, we were immediately seated. Our waitress told us that this was the final weekend for the "Endless Shrimp" promotion. Dane's eyes lit up.

Although it was a little pricey (especially for a 9-yr. old) at $15.99 a head, we chose the Endless Shrimp for Dane. It included two types of shrimp (which they would refill endlessly), a salad and a side dish. I decided I would eat Dane's salad and baked potato so he could concentrate on shrimp. He chose the Cajun Shrimp and, of course, Scampi.

Without going into all the details, I'll just say that 5 servings of shrimp later (yes, I said 5!), Dane finally admitted to having his fill of shrimp. For his last serving, he chose the Cajun, then dunked them into the sauce left from two servings of scampi so he got the best of both kinds. Deanna had taken along a book and she used it. We all sat, trying to wait patiently, as Dane ate and ATE AND ATE!

I have to admit, I don't think I would have felt that I got my money's worth if he had stopped much sooner, but I was a little surprised at how much shrimp this boy could polish off. There had been a joke in our family up til now that it was impossible to "fill" Dane up on shrimp. It was nice to see it actually happen.

I told Don about his son yesterday after he got home from his trip.

"What did the waitress say?" he asked.

Nothing, I told him. But when she saw Deanna pull out her book, I'm quite certain she knew we were there for the long haul.

A Whole Country Snowed

It's going to be a very different country a year from now. What a SAD commentary on our freedom.



Don's winging his way to Colorado right now. The memorial service for his uncle is tomorrow. He'll be staying with his sister and brother-in-law and I'm thankful he'll get some time with them.

Dane is going to have sinus surgery next week. This week we'll focus on getting tests and being pre-certified.