To Laugh or Not to Laugh . . . that is the question.

Deanna came home from school one day last week upset. It seems they were playing kickball at P.E. One of the girls in her class was up and, as she ran towards the ball to kick it, it somehow missed her first foot and got stuck between her two feet. The girls all laughed, including the one trying to get past the ball, but when her friends continued laughing, she got hurt feelings and started to cry. Deanna said she wasn't laughing and some of the girls took it a little too far. They got into trouble with the coach and Deanna felt really bad for her sweet friend, a girl we dearly love.

It brought up an interesting question. Is it okay to laugh at something that's objectively funny when it involves another person. I'm terrible about that. My kids are always doing crazy things like using the wrong words, falling off the bench at the kitchen table, etc. I can't help myself - I'm not making FUN of them, I just think the humor in it is so unique and it catches me so off-guard that I crack up. Deanna has told me before that she feels like I'm making fun of her. I've assured her that I'm not, that I'm laughing WITH her, not AT her and pointed out that, normally, she's laughing too. The last time she got hurt feelings, I started pointing out to her the times she did the same thing to her brothers.

"Were you making fun of them?" I asked her.

"No, Mama, of course not. It was just funny."

"And that's how I feel, too, honey. When you do those funny things, I'm not making fun of you - I'm just appreciating the humor in them."

I think she's beginning to see it and I think it probably is a more sensitive issue right now because of her age. We don't laugh if the person involved in the incident is hurt (unless it's REALLY funny and I try hard to stifle while I'm running to help the hurt child).

I know I must sound terribly callous. There was a time when one of the kids fell off the bench and, literally, turned a flip on their way down. It cracked me up. I wanted to hold up a score card and yell, "10". The injured child was quite insulted and cried. I rushed to him/her, bending down to assess the damage, but I just couldn't stop laughing.

"I'm so sorry, hon. Are you okay? (Ha, ha!)"

"NO! I hurt my shoulder and my foot, Mama."

(Ha, heh!) "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me help you up." (Chortle, laugh)

I WAS sorry they were hurt, but I couldn't quite get the picture out of my mind. It was like a spontaneous slapstick comedy right there at my kitchen table. The child got angry.

"STOP laughing, Mama. It's NOT funny. I'm hurt!"

"But, honey, it really WAS funny. I'm sorry to be laughing, but you nailed the landing!"

When the child looked around and noticed his/her siblings cracking up and they began explaining the humor of the fall, the child finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.

Every now and then, Deanna will call me "Evil Mommy"; like the time we were showing her new underwear in the package to her friend who was joining us for dinner. We played keep-away from Deanna who was trying to reclaim her undies. Her friend was convinced we were all bonkers and Deanna still cracks up when telling that story, but it's times like that when she calls me "Evil Mommy".

There was also the time we were coming home from church on Sunday. It was a dreary, cold morning and we were all VERY tired from the trip we had taken the previous day. As we sat in absolute silence at a long stoplight, an elderly man began to slowly make his way across the street in front of us, moving like a snail. When he was right in front of us, I yelled, "Hit him, Daddy!" I was just trying to put a little levity in our morning. Apparently, though, with the low cloud cover, my voice really carried. I may have been a little louder than I intended, too. Anyway, the poor little man heard me, jerked his head up, looked me straight in the eyes and began running for the side of the road. He went from wobbling and barely walking to running for his life. The children and I burst out laughing. Of course, I had been joking, but the little old man's reaction was priceless. We will NEVER forget that scene, and we recall it often when we're together as a family. It STILL elicits peals of laughter from all of us except Don. I think that's when Deanna gave me the nickname, "Evil Mommy".

Anyway, back to her friend. I think it has a lot to do with their age and the fact that they're all dealing with insecurities right now. Nobody wants to feel like they're a laughing stock, even if they thought the incident was funny.

The moral of this story: I'm trying to teach Deanna to lighten up and see the humor in life. Choose to not be hurt or offended. It's a very hard lesson for ALL of us, but particularly hard during adolescence. If she can just get it down, her life will be less stressful and she'll get along better with everyone.

As for our dear little friend with the ball - out of respect for her, we won't bring it up. When she's older, we may remind her of the story. I expect, by the time she's out of school, she'll see the humor in it, as well. But for now, we'll protect her self-image and try very hard to not laugh at faux pas involving Deanna's friends.

Lamenting

Cough, cough . . . groan; cough, cough . . . clear throat, groan, blow nose.

My head aches, my throat hurts, my ears are congested, I can't breath. I feel terrible.

I don't think it's the flu, I think it's just a cold, but BOY, do I ever feel bad.

I'm going to have a cup of hot Theraflu and go to bed early; as soon as I get the boys down. It would be just plain dangerous to hit the sack before them.

But I feel like I could sleep for 2 solid weeks. Sure wish I could.

Round Robin

It seems to have moved through the family and lighted on me. Last week, Deanna was home sick Thursday and Friday. By Saturday, she was coughing so hard, I made her a hot buttered rum (yes, I know she's only 13, but I HAD to do something) at 12:30 a.m. so she could get some sleep. The hot drink and the little dab of alcohol I put in it calmed her cough down and she finally was able to get some rest. By Sunday, she was feeling noticeably better and we decided it was just a bad cold. Then Dane came home from his camp-out, went straight into the bathroom for a hot bath, and emerged (at 9 a.m.) in his pajamas.

"I don't feel well, Mama," he said. Gee, that wasn't obvious. "I can't seem to get warm."

I kept him home Monday, but he was feeling better yesterday, except for his cough. I've been giving him breathing treatments, which help tremendously. Without them, he has that choking, never-stopping constricted cough. But he went back to school yesterday and did fine.

Yesterday, Daelyn began complaining of a sore throat. I wasn't surprised. I asked him to have his daddy give him some medicine before bed. By the time I crawled into bed myself, my throat was sore and my nose congested.

Daelyn decided he'd rather brave school than brave spending the whole day with Mommy today, so he threw his school clothes on at the last minute and took off out the door with his siblings. I have been wandering around the house, a little oblivious, in a daze of drippy nose and fuzzy head.

My prayer is that Don doesn't get it. He's working so hard these days and such long hours, he just can't afford to be sick. It's straining him to the absolute limits to be doing all he's doing already - adding illness to that is not an option.

I guess I'm going to have to put our 10 second daily kisses on hold for a couple of days in the hopes of preserving his health. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, I'm sure there'll be an opportunity to explain it in another Post.

Camping - without me!

Don and the boys are camping out this weekend. It's a Boy/Cub Scout thing. Last year, we did it as a family, but I couldn't handle another weekend away from home, so Don got duty.

I was a little concerned about the event with the weather turning cool and the rain. The same thing happened last year - driving rain, freezing temperatures. We slept in gloves and knit caps to stay warm. This year, I packed lots of layers for the kids, including warm socks to wear in their sleeping bags.

They came home midday today to take showers and change into clean, dry clothes. Dane was fussing about not needing a shower and how he was going to miss the knife activity where they got to sharpen a stick. Daelyn seemed happy to see me and Don just needed a bit of relief.

I know they're having a wonderful time but I'm glad I'm at home in dry warmth. Besides, this is a great opportunity for their daddy to bond with them over a male thing.

I plan to pop some corn, have a friend over to visit, and cuddle up on the couch and read for a while. We had Deanna checked out by a good friend who's a Physician's Assistant and she said Deanna's moving air well and she didn't hear wheezing or rattling, so I'm comfortable holding off on taking her to the Emergency Room this evening.

I seldom enjoy having Don gone and I can't really say I've enjoyed the quiet in the house, but I HAVE had an opportunity to get some work done that seldom gets touched. All too soon, the weekend and camping trip will be over and we'll be back to the weekly grind. So, I'm taking advantage of every minute tonight.

Where's that unopened bottle of wine?

Pending Surgery

Just a quick update. I had an appointment with my Hand doctor today and I will be undergoing surgery on my left thumb, most likely within the next month.

I have significant arthritis in the joint which has caused me a lot of pain. At my last appointment with the hand specialist, he gave me a cortizone shot, hoping it would give me several months of relief. It lasted 6 weeks.

The surgery is very successful and done under local anesthesia at a surgical center as an outpatient. They will remove a tendon from my left arm, remove a bone from the thumb joint and sew the tendon in the place of the bone, creating a cushion.

Recovery is a whole nother issue. I'll be in a cast for 28 days, then will have therapy twice a week for 8 weeks. Total recovery will take between 9 months and a year.

Anyway, it will be good to not have to deal with this pain long-term. However, I HATE surgery, and it seems I've had well more than my fair share.

Foggy Memories

While I was at the Reunion this weekend, I got to look through a few Annuals. At SHAPE, high school began in the 7th grade and I left in the 6th, so the Yearbooks from the year after we left had pictures of many of my classmates.

In the military, people come and go rather quickly. In one year's time, more than half of the students in the 7th grade were new. One of the guys at the Reunion told me that there were 5 families, all with classmates of his, on the same flight back to the States with his family. Five not only left the exact same day, but were on the same flight. Interesting.

Anyway, there were a lot of new faces in that one year after we left, but there were a lot that I recognized, also. It had been a very long time since I had seen pictures of my elementary classmates, and it jogged lots of memories and made we wonder what had happened to all those people.

When I got home, I decided to begin searching for some of them and was surprised to discover that one of my old friends that I had already found was in contact with another old friend. Andrea Trumbull, whose father was a teacher in the high school, lived in Belgium her entire childhood. She graduated from SHAPE and moved to the States to attend college, living with an older sister who was married. We've been in touch for about a year now. But when I went to her Facebook page, I discovered she had found the third in our trio, Julie Fossum. I've thought about Julie so often, and even tried to find her, but that was before Facebook and I had no idea if she had married and what her name might be.

Of course, I immediately sent Julie and friend request. Last night, we exchanged messages, getting caught up on each other's lives. From her friends list, I found another of our classmates, Jerry Pearce. I'm sure there were lots of kids that I didn't know well, but Jerry wasn't one of them. He was a fun-loving, larger-than-life guy, and I was delighted to discover him again. Funny thing is, though, his profile picture looked exactly the same as how I remembered him from the 5th grade, except for a little facial hair. I would've recognized Julie from her picture, too. She looks very much the same, but looks even more like her older brother looked back in SHAPE.

This has gotten me motivated. I'm working hard at finding some of my other classmates that I still remember. Not a lot of luck so far. I've made contact with a Suzy Stack and a Jerry Minerich, but both of them are not the ones from my past.

I'm going to keep trying. More and more people are joining Facebook all the time and most women seem to include their maiden names. It's the best possibility I've ever had of finding these old friends.

Another Reunion

In November of 1969, my father was transferred with the Army from Taipei, Taiwan to SHAPE Belgium. SHAPE stood for Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers, Europe. Essentially, it was the headquarters for NATO, which had previously been housed in Paris and was moved to Mons, Belgium a couple of years before we arrived. The Class of 1968 was the first graduating class from the school in Belgium.

I was in the 3rd grade when we moved. We lived there until November of 1972, when my father was reassigned to Ft. Gordon, Georgia, from whence he eventually retired. My only brother, Chuck, graduated from SHAPE in 1971 and my oldest sister, Tenny, graduated in December of 1972, early, staying behind and living with family friends so she could finish out the semester and graduate, joining us in the states for Christmas. So, our family boasts two alumni of SHAPE American High School.

The thing about being the youngest of five is that I knew all my siblings friends and classmates. On a military base in a foreign country, most everyone knew each other and there was a strong sense of comraderie, a tight bond that most Americans have never experienced. Add that to the ages of my siblings and the fact that most of the military families were large and my friends often had older brothers or sisters that were friends of my siblings, and we all seemed like one big, happy (albeit sometimes trying) family.

Since most of the graduates of SHAPE return to the States eventually, over the years there have been SHAPE Reunions hosted in different parts of the U.S. My two oldest sisters attended one in Arizona in 1989 and had a wonderful time. They reconnected with many old friends and there were even a few of my friends who attended. This past weekend, a SHAPE Reunion was held in Myrtle Beach, SC - a 4-hour drive from us. My brother, who hasn't seen many of his high school classmates since graduation, decided to go. My middle sister, Toni, also decided to go. Half an hour before they planned on leaving, I threw my name into the mix, hurriedly packed, and headed out with them.

The organizer, one of Chuck's classmates, had rented several houses in North Myrtle Beach. One very-large, 3-story home with a pool (right ON the beach, as were all the homes that housed the attendees), was the hospitality suite. All the meals were served there, buffet-style. Everyone milled around the decks, living rooms and kitchen, visiting with old friends and other alumni who lived in SHAPE during a different timeframe. We got reacquainted with old friends, we visited with siblings of our friends, and we made new friends. It really was a wonderful way to do a Reunion.

I was amazed how many people I recognized. Many of them look the same. From all over the room, you'd see someone stick out there hand and hear, "Who are YOU?" being repeated over and over. It would've been nice to have had nametags, but someone said, "It's more fun this way - it makes you think and you reach out to even people you didn't know." There was even one graduate from my class, although he arrived in SHAPE after we had already left. We sat on the couch together, poring over Annuals, refreshing our memories to all the people we had spent those years with. Although he was there after me, we knew and had been good friends with many of the same people.

I found it a little surprising how many of these women had married military men and how many of the men had gone into military service. It seemed like half of them had been fighter pilots. Many had seen combat and it was a little weird talking with kids that we grew up with and hearing stories from them that sounded much like my father's. Lots of them had stayed in touch over the years. There was one guy there who had been the HUNK of the high school. He dated one of the prettiest girls in school and they married after returning to the States. She's still beautiful and he still has that easy smile although he's lost all his hair (which was very long and a lovely color of light brown in high school). The man's younger brother was a good friend of mine and had been scheduled to come to the reunion, backing out at the last minute. Saturday evening, Scott told me he had spoken to Mark on the phone and told him I was there. Mark had sent along well-wishes for me. I told Scott to tell him he'd better be at the next Reunion.

My favorite part was watching my brother, eyes shining with memories and the rekindling of friendships, sitting around with a group of his buddies from high school talking about motorcycles. Chuck was always looked up to by the younger guys and that is still happening. I overheard some women talking about taking pictures "on Chuck's motorcycle" and giggling like schoolgirls. I was standing visiting with people several times when Chuck walked by and there was a real sense of deference and respect towards him.

Toni and I were given a bedroom in another beach house about a mile further up the beach. Turns out, the other people assigned to that house were all classmates of hers. We headed back to our house around 10:30 Saturday night. The noise, heat, and crowds at the main house were a little much for us. I planned on climbing into bed and reading for awhile before going to sleep. Toni was hoping to visit with her friends.

When we got to the house, everyone had gathered in the living room. There were just enough couches and easy chairs for all of us. The whole group sat in the living room telling stories, talking about other classmates and where they are now, and reminiscing. It was such fun, I hung out for another two hours. I couldn't get over seeing my sister sitting with the same people, all these years later. Periodically, I'd glance around and couldn't hide my smile. There really was something amazing about seeing all those people again.

Someday, I'm going to spend some time thinking about the impact of three short years on the rest of my life but, for now, the dryer stopped and I've got lots of wash to finish. And, after I start the next load, I need to go to Facebook and see if anyone's posted pictures yet.

Spa Day

Today is Deanna's 13th birthday. She was born at 11:33 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. My doctor delivered her by C-Section during her lunch hour. Our beautiful baby girl was an even 8 lbs and beautiful from the moment of birth.

I asked her this morning what she wanted for lunch today.

"Can I have a ham and cheese sandwich?" she asked. I thought for a minute. No ham. But I figured I could run by Arby's and pick up a hot ham and cheese for her and drop it by the school. I put applesauce and a drink in her lunchbox so it'd be heavy enough that she wouldn't guess at my plan.

Unfortunately, I was a little late. By the time I arrived at the school to pick her up for our "Afternoon of Fun", lunch was over and her friends were very concerned about the evil mommy that didn't pack her a lunch on her 13th birthday. To top it all off, I left her sandwich, cheese sticks, and Jamoha shake in the van. She'll have to redeem me tomorrow.

I got her around 12:30, had her change into the clothes she had packed in the van (Pierre Cardin pale yellow sweater, blue jean skort, and high-heeled brown sandals), and headed out for a Spa Day. I had booked her for a facial at 1:00, a massage at 2:15, and we were both having pedicures at 3:15. Then we were supposed to go to Olive Garden at 5:00 for dinner and the prayer meeting at 7:00, where she would be sung to.

Suffice it to say she had a wonderful day. I've never had a professional facial OR a massage, but I felt like I was having one just sitting in the room with her. The sconces were dimmed, candles were lit around the room, and soft music with ocean sounds in the background played. There was a small waterfall tinkling in the corner and they had a steam arm that directed warm mist at her face to open her pores. I almost fell asleep sitting in the semi-dark listening to the music and relaxing.

On the way to dinner, I got behind a very slow and dangerous driver. She came to a dead stop at the end of the Interstate on-ramp when both lanes of the Interstate were clear. I almost rear-ended her, then had to wait several minutes for a new break in traffic before she ventured out. Finally, I was able to pass her.

"Thank goodness!" I said aloud. "She was SO-O-O-O slow, it was making me very nervous."

"I'm not nervous at all," Deanna said. "I'm totally relaxed!"

I would be, too, if I had had the treatment she got today!

Garden Woes

I'm in a bit of a quandry over my gardens. I've never planted a winter garden before, but I decided to try it this year. I started plants inside from seeds. Once they were tall enough, I moved them into large styrofoam cups with holes for draining and put them outside to harden. Most of them are now ready to go in the ground and, since I don't expect anymore really warm weather, this is the perfect time to get them in the gardens. However . . .

It seems my summer crops aren't finished producing. The bell peppers and banana peppers are doing quite well. Dane's cowhorn peppers are producing much better than they did during the summer. Even my tomato plants, which did very little during the summer, are thriving now. But I can't get my winter plants in the garden without pulling out the summer ones first.

And I may have gone a LITTLE overboard with my winter seeds. I just wasn't sure how many would really make it, so I have something like 10 bean plants, 14 cauliflower, 20-something broccoli, peas, and I still haven't planted cabbage.

I need a new garden. That would solve all my problems. I can let the summer vegetables continue to produce until they freeze and die but put the winter plants in a new garden. Next year, since you're supposed to rotate crops, I could switch gardens and plant the summer things in the winter garden and vice versa.

But it seems a huge impossibility to put another box garden in right now. There's just too much to do, between Silent Auction, Dane's soccer, Deanna's volleyball, preparing for Christmas, putting up the summer vegetables, and trying to settle back down into a routine.

I'll have to give this some more thought. Maybe a solution will present itself yet.

Revisited

My husband sent his mother an e-mail suggesting that she read my Blog to stay up-to-date on what's happening with us. She wrote him back and told him I hadn't posted since the beginning of September. At dinner, Don asked me about the status of my Blog.

"Since I began using Facebook to stay in touch with people, I've almost completely discontinued blogging," I told him. However, that got me started thinking.

Why did I begin a Blog in the first place and why have I moved away from blogging. It took a little bit of time, but I realized that the social elements of Facebook are what draw me. It gives me an opportunity to keep in touch with people who I wouldn't otherwise - my goddaughter in Korea, my nephews in Alabama and California, friends from high school, etc. My Blog wasn't about socializing. But it WAS about a permanent record of my children's growth, a journal about our life, an extended "baby book", if you will, as well as a chance to write again.

The joy of Facebook is interaction and brief status lines. Could I not put the same brief status lines on my Blog and refresh that keeping of that permanent record? Of course I can. Even if all I do is repeat on Mercy Drops Falling what I put on FB and expound a little from time to time, at least my children will one day be able to go back and read not only their mother's writing but, also, stories about THEM.

It's time I took the time to return to blogging. Even if the posts are short, at least they capture moments from our lives.

So, here goes. Today, I'm cleaning out the middle shelf of the fridge. I've had such little time lately that I've resorted to taking a shelf at a time. If I can get the fridge finished and wash up our bathing suits from our beach trip this past weekend, I'll have two major projects finished. And, perhaps I'll even have enough time to begin putting some of the beach stuff away in the closet.

If I get off the computer, that is.

And That's the Reason for my Blog Name

It's so hard to believe summer is really over, although the temperature outside and the quiet inside go a long ways towards convincing me.

I have such mixed emotions. On the one hand, as I move from room to room, surveying the total devastation and realizing that I may actually get some work done now that the children are gone all day, I feel elated at the prospect of a clean house (which it hasn't seen since April in preparation for my nephew's wedding). On the other hand, I feel like I'm moving through a dream and, once I wake up, things are going to reel out of control.

I've been starting to write things on my calendar again - Monday - PE for one child; Thursday - PE for another. Speech therapy, Social, volleyball games, soccer practice, allergy shots, giving rides home . . . it all seems overwhelming right now. I've gotten 6 invitations in the last 1 1/2 weeks to baby showers and bridal showers. This weekend is my dear friend's baby's baptism (a event we would not miss as a family), next weekend Don and I will be on retreat, the following weekend is his birthday and my 30th high school reunion (with a baby shower smack in the middle of), the next weekend is Deanna 13th birthday.

The pace of life is staggering. Even thinking about the pace of life is staggering. The thing about it is this: I can't live my entire life with the attitude "If I can just get through this day (or this weekend, or this week) . . ." Entirely too much of my time is chalked up to "just getting through". Where's the "living"? Where's the quality of family life. Two of my children deal with stress-related stomach ailments. Is it any wonder?

We all feel the need to slow down, but I'm no longer sure I even know what that means. I know my life is not a testament to peace and order. But where do you start? And I only have 3 children - how do families with 6, 7, or 8 manage?

Once again, I have lots of questions and very few answers. I'm praying that this month will bring clarity to my life and unfuzz my mind so I can get at the tasks at hand with focus.

I'm praying for God's grace, once again. I need his mercy, a whole torrential downpour of it. Come, Lord Jesus. Fall on me like raindrops. Let your mercy flow.

Going Out With a Bang

We had the most awesome day yesterday. Don decided he really needed to work, even though it was a holiday, so I decided to have one last hoorah of summer and take the kids to the beach. My mother and sister went along.

We chose Tybee Island, which is Savannah Beach. The weather was perfect, the water was cold, and there was a lovely breeze. My good friend, Fr. John, who has just been transferred to Savannah, joined us and we spent two hours huddled under beach umbrellas watching the children and visiting. It was glorious.

On the way home, we ate at the Crab Shack, which John recommended - a most delightful experience.

I told the children in the afternoon, "This beach trip is the reason I love the beach so much." It was absolute perfection and the perfect way to spend the last, final day of summer.

It's back to school and the doldrums of eternal busyness. But I'm already beginning to dream of next summer.

Laundry Dilemna

A couple of years ago, Dane told me that he likes the shorts that are that quick-drying mesh material. He said they are very comfortable and they look cool. We set out to buy him a pair or two and came home with about four.

This year, I noticed some of Dane's shirts are beginning to look like bikini tops. I always buy the children's clothes at least one size large so they'll have some growing space. But Dane's growing space had been used up plus another healthy portion.

"Time to pass them along to Daelyn", I thought. So, off to the store we went. It seems they only carry those mesh things in blue, red, and black, so his wardrobe is a little redundant and boring. When I'd do his laundry, I'd find that matching the tops and bottoms together took way more time than it should - I just couldn't seem to easily match the right shorts with the right top, they were all too similar.

I came up with an idea; how about marking the tops and bottoms somehow so I would know which ones went together. I tried by writing a description on the shorts of the top that went with it. That worked okay, but few of the shirts had distinguishing characteristics. Plan B was to write numbers on them - Shirt and Shorts #1, written in black Sharpie on the tag. This worked great except when I forgot occasionally which number I was on. But it made it hugely easier to match up his clothes, almost like Garanimals. He could even do it himself.

When Daelyn moved into the spare bedroom the beginning of May, I realized he was desperately short of summer clothes. I guess the shorts I had bought Dane were long enough that he wore them into the year that Daelyn needed them, and Daelyn is only wearing one size smaller than Dane at this point. He had a couple of things that had been passed down, but not enough for the summer, where he needs a shorts outfit for every day of the week.

Back to the store, to the same old rack, with the same red, black, and blue mesh shorts and tops. But how would I ever differentiate Daelyn's clothes from Dane's?

In a rare stroke of genius (getting rarer with every passing year), I switched to the alphabet with Daelyn. He now has shorts outfit "A", "B", "C" . . .

This concept has revolutionized my laundry day. It's so much easier and doesn't require much brain effort, something very valuable to me at this point in my life. The only problem I have is that there are a few outfits that are reversible and don't have tags (where do you put that "G"), a few more that were not around when I was Sharpie-ing them (is that really a word?), and a couple others that are so dark I had to use a silver Sharpie for the label and it's hard to see.

I found myself yesterday pulling a pair of shorts out of the dryer. Without even looking, I said to myself "G". They're one of the pairs with the silver Sharpie that's barely visible on the navy blue back. I guess something's stuck in that old, slow brain.

I may be incapable of matching colors and styles, but at least I can match letters and numbers.

"The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be!"

Traveling Mercies

My brother wrote one of the most beautiful things I've ever read. He e-mailed it to my father and entitled it, "Ramblings". Daddy sent it out to his other children. I didn't open it immediately, Dad forwards a lot of jokes and stories, but when I finally opened it and read the attached document, I was stunned, then moved to tears.

It's difficult to explain why this meant so much to me. Some of it, I'm sure, is because of the great love I have for my only brother. He's the oldest, I'm the youngest in the family, and he always took time with me when I was growing up. He'd take me motorcycling riding with him when he went off with his friends. We always seemed to have an understanding that he didn't have with our sisters. We had a special relationship, something that existed beyond words.

I still feel that way about Chuck. I get pangs in my chest when I think about him. I still miss him terribly, even though he's lived away from home since I was 10 (38 years ago). I've lived away from him almost four times longer than I lived with him, but he still impacts my life in many ways. I'd do almost anything to make him proud, while simultaneously understanding that I don't need to "DO" anything to make him proud of me - he already is.

Perhaps his ramblings struck me because I've felt many of the same stirrings as those he describes. For years, as I've mentioned in the past, I've felt like I missed out on something by not having a hometown, not living in any one place long enough to be able to take my children "home". Recently, I realized that "home" for me is the little town in Canada where my mother was raised and my father met her. My maternal grandparents lived there until their death, my mother was born and raised there, and the Blonsky Farm is still owned by my cousin. But I've never lived there, only visited, and the feeling of always being on the move, never lighting anywhere for very long, has always pervaded my memories of childhood.

"There are Travelers, and there are Stayers. Stayers are the type of people who enjoy the stability and permanence of the same routine, the same places, the familiarity of repeating the same drill time after time. Do you drive past half a dozen restaurants you've never tried for the same old spot you know has good service, good food and reasonable prices? Can you show your children or grandchildren the home you grew up in, or Grandad's old fishing hole just a short drive from where you live now? I used to envy the people that I knew that hadn't moved in 30 or 40 years - they were Stayers."

I, too, have envied those people. However, I also find myself suggesting the new restaurant, the one we've never tried. I find myself mixing up the way I drive to certain familiar places, not wanting to get bogged down in the same routine. Always something new, which has been quite a challenge to Don throughout our marriage, since he's what my brother would describe as a "stayer".

At the root of it all, like my brother, I'm a Traveler. I don't believe I would've been content in my life had I stayed in the same place for very long. Even now, while I've lived in the same house for 25 years or so, I find myself wanting to go to different places on vacation, places I've never seen before. I'm always interested in the new thing.

While I guess there are always rewards in staying, I can think of so much beauty in life I would've missed if I hadn't been a traveler, so many relationships that would have never been, so many expressions of God's love for me.

"Somewhere between Edson and Hinton, the smoky image of the Rockies starts to appear ahead and encourages the anticipation of the beauty of the mountains. By the time you pass the Big Horn Highway turnoff to Grande Cache, the mountains are rushing towards you like an enormous blue, white and purple storm. The streams and rivers and rock outcroppings start to blend together as the road climbs towards Jasper. The only phrase that even comes close to describing the feeling is 'breathtaking'."

My life would have been much sadder if I had missed out on scenes like this one. The beauty of God's creation calls out to me from every direction, begging me to come and see. And I, being essentially a Traveler by nature, answer in kind.

"I'm coming, someday soon. I'll be there to gaze on you - as soon as I get the trip planned."

Dane's Vacation

Dane's at Grandma and Grandpa Doughty's this week. I drove him up on Friday, meeting them about halfway. We had a nice lunch together at Cracker Barrel, then loaded Dane's stuff into their car, said goodbye, and headed off in different directions.

When I was packing him, we talked about what he wanted to take to keep him occupied. When Deanna goes, she takes lots of crafts, projects she wants to work on, books, etc. Dane opted for his baseball stuff and a window art crafts book that included the paints.

"That's all you want to take?" I asked, shocked at how little and wondering if he'd get bored.

"That's all I need, Mom," he responded. "After all, they have cable and computer games, and I'm going to visit with Grandma and Grandpa. I want to make sure I'm not too busy to visit."

I mentally ran through the list: swimming trunks, books, baseball, crafts, cable TV, computer games . . . I guess he'll keep himself occupied.

He called Friday night to tell us goodnight.

"Mom," he said to me, "I want to call every night and talk to EVERYONE. I want to know what each of you did ALL day and I want to tell you everything I did."

"We'll try, Son, but it's Grandma and Grandpa's long distance bill and I'm not sure it's fair to them if you talk to everyone. We'll see."

Don came up with the perfect solution. When Dane calls, he puts everyone on the phone at once. We have four handsets - two in the kitchen (so if the primary one is not in its cradle, we can still answer the phone), one in the den, and one in the living room. Each of us get an extension and listen while he tells us everything he did ALL DAY LONG! The children seem to be interested, which shocks me, but they even ask him questions like what he had for lunch and what games he's playing on the computer.

So, anyway, he called Saturday night before he went to bed.

"What did you do today, Son," I asked him.

"Well, first, I got up and made my bed . . ." I won't bore you with ALL the details, but he enumerated a pretty impressive list of accomplishments, including weeding Grandma's garden, visiting with her on the deck, playing baseball with Grandpa, working in the greenhouse with Grandpa preparing plants for next year, playing a new computer game, and a trip to a Nursery in Ohio where he bought a water plant.

"And, Mama, Grandpa has 17 different varieties of colius' and we're rooting them for me to bring home. And I found a succulent on the edge of the pond and Grandpa said I could dig it up and take it home 'cause he has a lot of them. And they have fennel and Grandma says it's out of control and she needs to dig some of it up and get rid of it, so she said I could take some home, but I have to have your permission first. And the water plant I bought has beautiful flowers." He was a little excited.

Deanna and I laughed about it afterward.

"Dane's done a whole week's worth of activities in one day," I told her. "If that had been you, you'd have done one of those things a day and made that stretch through the whole week."

Our conversation with Dane last night was similar. Grandma and Grandpa had taken him out for seafood and he had shrimp scampi (his absolute favorite). He's having a wonderful time and taking advantage of every minute with his grandparents.

Deanna was missing him terribly on Saturday. She called him and asked him to come home. He had only been gone a few hours, but the house is awfully quiet without him.

Daelyn will be having his time with them alone in two weeks. If she thinks the house is quiet now, she'll be shocked at how quiet it gets without Daelyn.

Pickling Season

Wow, has it ever been a long time since I've posted. It seems I don't have time to do Blogging AND Facebook. But we've had a wonderful summer so far.

I've continued to Can and have tried my hand at making pickles. I actually picked 10 cucumbers from my garden today. I find it necessary to make pickles about every third day. The only problem is I'm running out of jars.

Don's family owned a pickle factory when my mother-in-law was young and she still has the recipe for the Dreher Pickle. She e-mailed it to me so I could try my hand at them. I made a whole bucket full, but we didn't like them real well. They were very salty and didn't have much garlic or dill taste, although they were Kosher Dills.

I've doctored them up a little and we like them far better. The problem is that the recipe was for a ton of pickles, so I had to try and modify it for just a couple dozen. Apparently, I didn't get all the quantities quite right.

I did find a recipe on YouTube that I've been using and we LOVE it! It uses red pepper flakes and makes a very zesty pickle. I've made mostly sandwich slices (and I've added sugar to some and made bread and butter pickles) but Dane requested hamburger chips, also, so I've made two jars of them. I've decided to try to pick for the next week or so when they're still babies and try my hand at baby dills . . . right after I finish with the 30 or so I've already picked this week.

A Foregone Conclusion

"We have weapons on board, in case we need them to fight the Aliens. We have nerve gas, even nuclear."

It may be on DVD, but this Superman episode is obviously old.

Skirmish #2

Dane had a baseball game tonight and then he and I stayed to watch his classmates' team play, so we were late getting home. Don took Deanna and Daelyn home after Dane's game, so when Dane and I came through the door, Deanna was waiting, having just had her shower.

"Did I tell you about the squirrel today?" she asked.

"What? Did Donovan chase another squirrel?"

"Not 'chase', almost caught!" she replied emphatically.

Dane walks Donovan in the morning, Deanna in the afternoon. When she took him out for his walk, he spotted the squirrel playing at the base of the tree. Deanna said she watched as Donovan crept slowly towards him, stalking him. When he was about 3 feet away, he took off at a dead run.

"And he would've gotten the squirrel, too, if it hadn't been for me!"

"You held him back? Why? He deserved to get that squirrel as hard as he's worked the last couple of days," I chided.

"I wasn't trying to keep him from the squirrel, but when he took off running so fast, it caught me by surprise and I couldn't keep up with him. He reached the end of the leash before I could get close enough for him to reach the squirrel. He almost jerked my arm out of it's socket."

Squirrel: 2
Donovan: 0

And the war continues. My bets are on Donovan.

Hunter

Dane came running in the house from walking the dog the other day, hollering.

"Mom," he yelled, "Donovan almost got a squirrel!"

Apparently, our brilliant dog had spotted a squirrel in the yard, and moved quickly, without the squirrel noticing him, between it and the tree. Then the stand-off began. Dane stood back, holding Donovan's leash, observing with delight the antics of his favorite puppy (we still call him a "puppy" even though he's three years old). Donovan stood quietly until the squirrel looked up and noticed he was cut off from his tree.

As the squirrel moved to the right to get around Donovan, the dog moved slightly to his left, matching the position of the other animal. They kept this up for a few minutes, Donovan countering every move of the squirrel.

Finally, the squirrel took off at a dead run. Donovan, being a dog and a hunter, at that, couldn't stand still any longer. He took off after the squirrel. Finally, the squirrel came to a screeching halt, Donovan tried his best to stop, but his heavier weight propelled him forward. The squirrel slipped in past him and ran up the tree before Donovan could recover.

Dane was quite excited that his dog had fared so well and can't wait to see the next skirmish. It'll be interesting to see if Donovan's learned anything and can hold his ground without chasing the squirrel - nature vs. training. Not that it really matters. We don't eat squirrel and I would hate to see him kill the little critter.

Although, I'm not entirely sure that Donovan WOULD kill it. He may just want to play with it some. We have yet to see him harm any other creature. He seems to think every other animal is his playmate, but I don't believe the squirrel labors under that false assumption.

Predicaments

Daelyn: "I have quite a predicament on my hands!"

Me, trying to discretely find out if he really knows what the word means: "Oh? And just what is your predicament?"

Daelyn: "I'm hungry, but if I have a snack now, I won't be as hungry for dinner, and I really like the dinner we're having."

Yep, he's got a predicament on his hands, alright. Typical male. If it were Deanna using that word, she'd be saying something like,

"I want to do my hair so it looks nice, but we're going swimming this afternoon and it'll just get all messed up again."

I guess predicaments are in the eye of the beholder.

My Achin' Body!

I went to see the Occupational Therapist yesterday for my hand. Despite the cast, it's not doing too much better. Apparently, water-skiing and tubing last week may not have helped. I, figuratively, got my hand slapped for using it too much when it needs to rest so it can heal.

So, in addition to the cast, I now have to wear a pressure glove on my left hand to help reduce the swelling. It's bad enough that I can't use my left hand most of the day, but add to that the huge bruise on my knee from where the ski hit me last week as I dropped into the water and the lump and bruise on my bad ankle from who-know-what, and I'm not faring very well.

The kids and I are in hot pursuit of the yard beautification project. Dane and I had the front bed ready today to put the brick border up, add Miracle Grow soil and mix it well in with the hand-tilled ground, and prepare it for his Four O'Clocks. I also bought a bag of wild flower seeds to sprinkle in our new bed, so as the Four O'Clocks die out, they should be replaced with some lovely summer flowers.

We were picking up the rest of the brick border when one of the bricks fell, hitting against the fourth finger on my right hand. It slit my finger significantly. Blood began pouring out of my finger and the skin was hanging off, only attached by a sliver. They sent us to Customer Service for doctoring but it wasn't long before my right hand began to ache.

Okay, I can get around without my left hand for a while as it heals, but no hands makes things a little difficult, especially when you're gardening.

Deanna's had to open bottles for me today as well as other various tasks while I've favored BOTH HANDS!

I found myself laughing today as she, once again, helped with something.

"I have a bum knee, two bum hands, and a bum left ankle. There's not much left of me that works. Daddy's going to trade me in on a newer model if I'm not careful."

Deanna grinned and nodded. Although I'm bruised and battered, I keep chugging along and it's amazing how much work is getting done in the yard. I've decided that prior planning, and making sure the kids are very clear the evening before what's expected of them the next day, is key to this yard work business. I just hope I don't mess up the right leg . . .

Mega Zucchini

When we got home from camping Saturday night, Dane and I took off outside with flashlights to check the garden. We couldn't wait to see what progress our plants had made while we were gone.

First, we went to the big garden in the back. One of our pickling cucumbers had two flowers. All the cucumbers had grown and two had even outgrown the stakes that seemed huge when we first put them beside our little plants. Our bush tomato was a full foot higher than the highest rung on the tomato cage and had miniature tomatoes and several more blooms, as did several more of the tomatoes, including my Roma's. The potatoes, which I planted by cutting 3 or four of our potatoes into individual eyes and burying each eye methodically (all the research I did said you can't use store-bought potatoes because they're treated to keep them from rooting - we tried anyway, and I'm sure glad we did), were much larger, the tallest measuring 8 - 12 inches in heighth. Dane and I counted 11 little potato plants. The bell peppers had flowers and the sweet banana peppers, which I planted very late, even were beginning to establish themselves. We were thrilled and oohed and ahhed excitedly about each little plant.

Then we moved to the box garden on the side of the house. We began pushing back leaves and checking for yellow, crooked-neck squash. We found some huge ones that shocked us both. All told, there were about 5 that were almost too big for the plant to sustain. Additionally, there were several that needed to be picked over the next two days. As I was finishing up with the yellow squash, Dane moved to the other side of the garden to check the zucchini. I heard a gasp, then a yell.

What, son?" I asked. "WHAT?"

Dane could hardly contain himself.

"Mama, you've got to SEE this!" he screamed at me. I sure hope none of the neighbors were trying to sleep.

I made my way to the other side of the garden. He was holding back leaves and pointing his flashlight at one of the biggest zucchini I've ever seen. We looked at each other and laughed.

I can't even imagine how that thing got so big in the 4 short days we were gone. Surely, it must've been ready to be picked before we even left for our camping trip. I suppose we may very well have just missed it amongst all the foliage. The yellow squash stand out amongst the green, but the zucchini are much harder to see. They look very much like the stalks on the leaves and can be difficult to pick out unless you look VERY carefully.

In addition to Mr. Mega Zucchini, we also found two others that were very large and needed picking. There are three more on the plants that will need to be picked tomorrow or the next day.

I plan to make zucchini bread with that largest one which is probably mostly seeds and not very good eating. The rest will need to be cooked up. Dane's birthday is Sunday and he wants them battered and fried in the deep fryer for his birthday dinner.

In the meanwhile, I'm looking for creative uses for yellow squash. I cooked a lot for dinner last night and cooked 3 more for my sister. I'm thinking about cooking up the rest and canning them. They'll be great this winter, when yellow squash is in short supply and the squash bores have long-since claimed our plants.

I'll have to take a picture of Mr. Mega Zucchini to post before I shred him. Dane will want to keep a record of some kind for posterity.

I just want to eat him.

The Beginning of Summer

It's been awhile since I posted - the end-of-school craziness always leaves my head reeling and my feet running.

We've just finished the first full week of summer vacation, and what a fabulous start! Last Monday, the children and I worked hard all morning. Dane and I are making a new garden in the front yard and plan to move his Four O'clock's to it, then put a box garden (for vegetables) in the spot where his Four O'clock's have taken over. Dane has become Gardener Extraordinaire and I want him to have his own garden plot to plan and work.

We spent two hours cleaning up the area behind the swingset - weeding, digging up stuff that had begun to grow, and rooting out the vines with throns that are so plentiful in that area of the yard. It's amazing how much we got done and how much better the backyard looked after just two hours. Then Dane and I began turning over the soil in the area where we want to put the new garden. Daelyn worked on cleaning up under the deck until it was just too hot to do too much more. We left the project in the front for another day.

While we were doing that, Deanna worked inside, doing laundry, cleaning up the kitchen, and beginning to pack us. We spend most of Tuesday packing for our camping trip, which started on Wednesday.

As a reward for hard work, I took the kids out to the local lake Monday afternoon with my friend, Kelly, and her children. We swam, floated, dug in the sand, explored in the woods, and grilled Bubba Burgers and fresh yellow squash from our garden for dinner. It was dark by the time we got home, so the kids got a quick bath and headed straight to bed.

Wednesday dawned beautiful. We packed up the van, cleaned up the kitchen, and headed for a further lake, about 1 1/2 hrs. drive, to meet friends to camp for a few days. We had sent some of our stuff ahead with them, including our tent, and, when we arrived, they had already set it up. The kids helped me unload and we began setting up camp - pumping up air mattresses, putting up our canopy and tablecloth, setting up our work table and getting out my new Coleman stove that Don gave me for Christmas.

Without going into too much detail, we had a wonderful time. We were camped right in front of the boat dock and our friends, Ken and Karen, have a boat, so we swam off the dock and boated until we were exhausted and burned like lobsters fresh out of the pot. My dear friend, Anne, and I spent a lot of time on deck chairs on the dock visiting and watching the children swim and play. Across our inlet was a sandy beachy area (the kids called it "the island") and they spent a lot of time swimming over to it, then playing in the sand. I shelled pecans while Anne and I visited and, after the first day, discovered my knees had sunburned. My chest and my knees. No other part of my leg - just those knees that were poking up.

We skiied, we tubed, we swam and boated to our heart's content. We visited, we told stories, we snacked and read until we were quite satisfied. We enjoyed ourselves to our very core.

Now we're home and have days of work to do to get caught back up, but we're all happy and life is taking on a slower pace. I think I may try to plan camping trips for the very beginning of summer every year to help us adjust to summer rhythm.

Our plan for this summer is to make and wrap all the children's Christmas presents for family and friends (like usual), serve others (we've come up with a specific plan for serving outside the home), and beautify our house and yard. We'll work in the mornings, and do crafts, can, or swim in the afternoons.

Seems like a lot to accomplish, but I really believe we're moving at a much slower pace than during the school year, which we all need. I find it much easier to REST - completely and thoroughly, without the panic I normally feel to "get it all done". The kids are out in the yard now, after having worked yesterday afternoon to help unpack and clean up. The boys are having water gun fights and Deanna's reading on a swing up the backyard. I have dinner in the crockpot and am finishing up the laundry.

I love Summer. Then again, I love Spring with everything budding and beginning to grow. Spring carries with it hope and promise. And Winter contains Christmas, my favorite holiday, and cooler weather with fires and hot cocoa. Then there's Fall, with the smell of coldness, the start of school and order again. In fact, I think I love all seasons equally.

But right now, I love Summer the most.

Commitment takes Many Different Forms

I've been having cramps lately. First, my thumb froze in place, pressed against my palm, not one, but three different times the same evening. I chalked it up to having a cast on the other hand and overusing my right hand. Several days later, my big toe froze poking straight up into the air. Weird! I could feel the muscle stretched across my arch knotting and spasming (Spellcheck doesn't think this is a word, but I KNOW better). Then, around 3 a.m. Wednesday morning, I woke violently to a charliehorse in my left calf. I could feel the muscle knotting, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I began yelling to Don and reaching for him, aimlessly thrashing my right arm his direction. For some reason, I have this VERY mistaken notion that he will massage my legs when I get cramps and help work them out.

I finally jumped up and began stomping my left foot on the ground, hoping to jolt the muscle back into compliance. It relaxed and I finally, gingerly, climbed back into bed.

"What was THAT all about?" Don asked.

"What do you mean? I had a cramp in my leg!"

"Well, why did you wake ME up?"

"I was hoping (emphasis) that you would get up and massage my leg. I needed HELP, honey!"

"Is THAT why you beat me mercilessly in the head?"

Long pause.

"I was concentrating on my leg. I didn't realize that was your head."

That evening, Don and I were to attend an appreciation function for the church volunteers. I wasn't sure if he would be able to make it or not. He called from work and, before I hung up, I asked,

"Not to put any pressure on you, honey, but do you think you'll be coming to the Party?"

"My plan is to leave work in enough time to get there. However . . . you beat me in the head last night!"

I wonder if anyone's ever written a book on the "true" cost of marriage?

THE Game

Dane's baseball team played the team that all the rest of his classmates are on last night. The team is coached by two of Dane's friend's dads. The other boys began playing together in T-ball and the coaches moved up to each subsequent league with the boys, so they've been together now for many years. They're a very hard team to beat and play well together.

We didn't start Dane in baseball until much later than the other boys began. For various reasons, he didn't ever get on his classmate's team, which has been just fine. Dane loves the team he's played with for the last two years and really respects his coach. T.J. (Dane's coach) has been a constant encourager to Dane and has taught him well, even working with him to make him into a pitcher.

T.J. has told me several times this year that he wants to put Dane on Pitcher's Mound, but it hadn't yet happened. When I discovered we were playing this other team, I called the coach and suggested that this might be a good time. He told me later, at the game, that it was Divine Intervention, because he had been talking to his wife about getting some of the other boys up on the Mound since they'll be moving up to a new league next year and really need the experience. Nine of his players will move up and he had only used 3 as pitchers so far this year; his two regulars that he rotates and, in one game, he used one other boy.

At the start of the 3rd inning, I saw Dane trot out to the Mound and begin warming up with the catcher. I jumped up from where I was sitting right next to home plate and ran to an empty field where Daelyn was playing with some of Deanna's classmates.

"Daelyn," I yelled to him, "Dane is pitching. You need to come and watch!" Daelyn took off on a dead run to join the family. The opposing team's dugout was directly behind me when I yelled to Daelyn and, as I walked back to our side of the field, I heard an excitement growing from it.

"Dane's pitching!" "Dane's pitching?" "Dane?" "Yep! Dane's pitching!" "DANE's pitching!" "Dane IS pitching!" Bz-z-z-z-z-z-z, like a swarm of bees amongst his friends. Apparently, they were very surprised, but seemed pleased, as well.

It's a hard situation to watch. My son, on Pitcher's Mound, pitching against boys that I've known and loved since they were in the womb. Before he got on the Mound, I found myself routing for OUR team unless one of his classmates was up to bat. I couldn't help but yell encouragement to them.

"Hit it over the fence, J.P.!" I hollered. He turned and grinned at me. Later, I called to Ben.

"You can do it, Ben. Whack it good!" And Conor, "Come on, Conor, I know you've got it in you to get a homerun!" Booty, Sam . . . I had to root for these boys. The other moms on my team were scowling at me until one quiet, patient dad explained that these were all Dane's classmates. "OH!" yelled several moms, then turned and smiled at me, understanding in the way only a mother can.

But once Dane was standing out there, preparing to wind up, all I could think of was, "STRIKE HIM OUT, Son!" I didn't want to discourage these sweet boys that I love so much, so I walked a good ways away and joined Don and Ben's dad, an assistant coach on the other team, where they were standing, evaluating every pitch. I sat right up until J.P. took his batting stance, then I couldn't stand it any longer. It was like watching one brother pitching to his blood brother. These two, while they've strayed from each other over the last two years, have always been very close, like siblings. J.P. is an only child and I have a very close relationship with both his parents. We've been on vacation together and are going camping together right after school gets out. I just couldn't take it. That's when I joined Jimmy and Don. And, boy, was I glad I did.

Jimmy knows a lot about baseball - way more than me or Don. He explained to us that the coach wanted Dane to pitch high and outside on a particular batter, who was one of their best hitters, so he (the coach) had the catcher stand up and put his mitt on the outside. Dane always pitches to a glove. Wherever that glove sits, that's where he's going to aim his pitch. T.J. knew that (because that's how he's taught Dane, of course), so he moved the catcher around to where he wanted Dane to put the pitch. It was so exciting.

Anyway, he struck out the first batter, then walked one. The next hit they got out on base. Dane walked a second. Someone must've gotten a base hit, because the bases were loaded with two outs when this great batter stepped up. Jimmy was talking Don and I through every pitch. Strike, ball, ball, strike, ball . . . FULL COUNT! And with the bases loaded. If this guy got a hit off Dane, they would have gotten home some runs, maybe as many as FOUR! It was absolutely nail-biting.

"I can't take it! I can't watch," I mumbled, terror in my voice.

"Watch, Patti, watch!" Jimmy coaxed. "T.J. knows that with really strong batters, you pitch either low and outside or high and outside so they'll strike for it but miss. This guy tends to hit low, so T.J.'s having Dane pitch high and outside. Dane's doing a fabulous job and has a great delivery. T.J. knows what he's doing. Dane'll do it. Just watch."

Despite my protests, I couldn't peel my eyes away from the game. I think I held my breath for a full three minutes as Dane wound up for the final pitch. What would it be? Would he throw a wild ball with all the pressure, walking the batter and forcing a runner home? Or could he control himself, with as little experience as he has, and throw that pitch just where T.J. wanted, egging the batter to reach for a ball just outside his strike zone and shut down the inning? Could he do it? I really didn't know. Jimmy seemed very certain that Dane could, but I wasn't so sure.

As soon as the ball left Dane's hand, before it even reached home plate, Jimmy said, "That's it! Dane DID it!" Sure enough. High and outside. The batter stuck at it but couldn't quite stretch far enough. THE THIRD OUT!

Dane trotted off the field, a great big smile on his face.

"I'm going to go talk to him," Jimmy said. "He did a GREAT job!"

Isn't it wonderful to have friends that love your children so much. The coach of the opposing team came over to congratulate Dane on a job well-done in the middle of the game. I really love our life.

Matt, the Head Coach of the other team, threw the game ball to Dane with a smile. After the first half of the next inning, the game was called - 4 to 2, but one of their runs was a bad call by the Umpire and the game should have been 3 - 2. We lost, but held our own really well. It was a game played with pride.

In our dugout after the game was over, T.J. gave his usual pep talk. He always highlights all the good plays of the game and talks about plays that should have worked better. Mostly, though, he encourages the boys to have fun and play like a team. He announced that he doesn't believe in giving out Game Balls, because every player is just one on a team and it takes the entire team to win a game, but he wanted to make an exception in this game. He wanted Dane to take the Game Ball, take it into school today, and show his friends.

"There was a lot of trash talk about Dane not being able to pitch from the other team," he said. (I told him that. Dane's been telling me for weeks that the boys in his class have been saying, "You can't pitch." "You're not a pitcher." "I don't believe you pitch!", etc. That's what T.J. was referring to, I believe. I didn't hear any trash talk during the game.) "I think he proved them wrong real well. And I think he deserves this Game Ball. This was his first time pitching, he didn't give up ONE run. Way to go, Dane."

When we got home, Dane had me write the date, "Game Ball" and "Pitched 3rd Inning" on the ball in Sharpie for him. It's quite a treasure. I just wish I could go to school with him today and hear what his friends have to say about his pitching. I'm sure they'll be encouraging. They're all good boys. They just hadn't ever seen him pitch before. That's not the case now!

I don't know if he'll get the chance to pitch anymore this season, but he made himself (and us) proud. And he pitched as well as the two boys T.J. typically uses to pitch, maybe better than one of them. It'll be interesting to see if he gets used again, but there are lots of other boys on the team who want a chance to pitch in a game, too, and deserve that right.

Today, I'll be walking with my head held high and my chest puffed up just a little. I think Dane actually looked a little taller today before school. Or maybe it was an illusion because of the grin and gleam in his eye.

News of my Hand

I'm in a cast. The Orthopod did an X-ray and said he didn't see any broken bones. However, he said, broken bones in the hand frequently don't show up on traditional X-rays and require an MRI to accurately diagnose.

Meanwhile, at the minimum, I have a bruised bone on the outside of my hand (where the lump is) and several bruised muscles underneath the thumb, which he says has many muscles. He believes the only way it will heal is to immobilize it to give my body time to work on the injuries.

He ordered a removable cast. They made it right there in his office, which was quite cool. I just wish the boys had been with me to watch the process. Modern medical science is amazing. They cut it off while it was still wet, cut an opening the length of it, covered all the edges with soft material, then put velcro straps on the opening to hold it together. The technician that made the cast told me that I could wash it in the top shelf of the dishwasher, if necessary.

The doctor told me I should wear it as much as possible.

"Can you give me an idea of how many hours a day I should wear it?" I asked him.

"Just whenever you're doing nothing," he said. "You should wear it every night while you sleep and while driving, and while you're watching T.V. at night."

I laughed.

"While I watch T.V. at night, I'm either doing hand-sewing or shelling pecans or stripping the dog. I seldom just 'sit' to watch T.V." I explained.

"No hand-sewing, pecan-shelling, or dog-stripping for the next two weeks," he responded. "I see you're going to give me trouble."

Yep. Now he's beginning to get the picture.

He explained that the cast would make me feel so much better that soon I'd want to wear it all the time. While I found that doubtful, that has turned out to be the case. I'm to wear the cast as much as possible for two weeks, then I have a return appointment. If I'm not significantly better at that point, he'll send me for an MRI and look for fractures.

The cast hurt for the first couple of days. It was almost a relief to remove it. But my hand really is beginning to feel much better and I find now that I'm reluctant to remove it. Of course, I took it off to get my garden in the ground on Saturday. And I take it off to cook and clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. But I'm trying to learn to do more while wearing it so I'll get the full benefit.

Boy, do people ask a lot of questions. It's very kind that they care, but even the children's friends are all abuzz about it. Within the first 24 hours, I finally decided to just smile and nod when they ask, "How did you break it?" It's easier to let them think it's broken than to have to explain the whole situation to every inquisitive little mind.

The children have been very helpful, as has Don, but I've been a little slower than usual. You should see me trying to get my seatbelt on. The cast immobilizes my thumb to let those muscles heal, so I can bend my four fingers down to the middle knuckle, and that's the most my hand functions. Since the seatbelt is on the left and my cast doesn't fit between the seat and door, I have to open the door and reach around with my right hand to get it and pull it around me. Deanna had to help me dress this morning.

Anyway, life is always an adventure, I've decided. While this is an inconvenience, it's not really too bad and it's given my children a chance to help more around the house. I'm not quite sure why I'm so upbeat these days. Maybe it's the medication my OB/GYN gave me. Perhaps it's because summer is JUST around the corner. Or maybe it's feeling like I'm getting some things accomplished. I don't know. I only know that life is good and I'm happy. I love my husband and children. I have great friends and a wonderful life. I have an amazing extended family that cherishes my family and a church home that nourishes our souls. God is good, and He continues to pour out His love and acceptance on us.

Even in casts.

Squah Blooms

There must be 15 open blooms on my crooked-neck squash plants this morning! It's so exciting! The temperature has dropped, it rained hard yesterday, and today it's only in the 50's (rare for May in Georgia). After dropping the kids at school, I took a toothpick and went outside to try and cross-pollinate my squashies. Most of the blooms were female, with little tiny fruit on the end, but I found about 4 - 5 male blooms and scraped pollen off them, then transferred it into the female blooms. With the weather being cool today, there's very little insect movement and it's the bees that generally handle the pollination of fruit.

I don't think the blooms stay open but two days, anyway, a very short time, so I was concerned. We should know in another couple of days if my efforts worked. Here's hoping!

I finished up my blackberry syrup last night and made 3 jars of blackberry jelly. There was enough left in the pan for a small jar for us to eat. The children had it with breakfast. Between the blueberry jelly I made in April, the strawberry jam I made in April, the mint jelly from earlier in May, and the blackberry from yesterday, I have quite the stock of homemade jams and jellies. Now I'm ready to branch out into green beans, which I'm hoping to can today. My cousin in Canada (Calvin's sister, Kathy), has sent me a recipe and some of her tips. I cleaned and sorted the beans last night to get them all ready.

This is so much fun. And I should know enough by the time my garden is producing to be able to put up my own vegetables this year . . . if we stay in town long enough.

Summer Sunday

As we were leaving Choir Practice Wednesday a week ago, the boys discovered wild blackberries growing in amongst the shrubbery that borders our Christian Ed building. We took the time to pick a few. They were very tart (typical for wild berries) but flavorful. Since our Choir Concert was last Wednesday, we hadn't yet checked in on them again.

Our Church Picnic was today. I don't know exactly why I thought about the berries, but when the picnic was over at a nearby park, I loaded up the boys (Deanna wanted to go home with her Daddy - we had to drive separately because Deanna sang this morning for church and had to be there by 9:15. I didn't need to be there until 10:00), borrowed some gallon-size Ziploc bags, and headed back to the church for berry picking.

We had a wonderful time and found tons of wild blackberries just waiting to be picked. We half-filled both of the gallon bags, then headed home. I cleaned them and cooked them down, then made a batch of blackberry syrup and three jars of blackberry jelly.

This evening, as they munched on dinner, we reminisced about the day. We got to sleep in. Then, before dressing for church, I harvested my basil (for the second time), some dill, and parsley and began cleaning it. Deanna sang beautifully at church and the sermon was particularly short. Then, off to the picnic, which was a blast. We followed that up with berry-picking and jelly-making. What an amazing day.

It already feels like summer. Only 2 more weeks of school to go.

I'm counting down.

A Little Confused

While eating lunch, Deanna and I were talking about how simple and humbly our neighbors live.

"Let's not talk about the neighbors anymore," Daelyn said.

"Why, son?"

"Well, isn't it GOSSIP?" he asked.

"No, dear," I explained. "Gossip is when you are talking about other people in a way that causes the listener to think badly or less of the person. Were we saying anything about Bud and Grace that made you feel bad about them?"

"NO!" Daelyn said very emphatically. Then, after a moment of silence, he added,

"I think bad thoughts about the Bad People off and off."

Deanna and I glanced at each other with raised eyebrows. (By the way, the "Bad People" are a family that live directly behind us, separated by an 8-ft. wooden fence. Their habits are quite questionable, and when I asked the local policeman about them, he said, "Oh. You mean the Crack House!" Thus, the Bad People.) Daelyn saw the look pass between us.

"Okay," he corrected. "Then, on and on."

This time, Deanna and I couldn't help ourselves. We snickered.

"Daelyn," I told him, "the saying is 'off and on', dear."

"Sor -r-r-y!" he responded, sounding irritated. "Sometimes I don't remember Nursery Rhymes!"

That Lump in my Hand

Okay, one more, since I'm a few Posts behind this week. But a short one, for Grandma Doughty, who doesn't like reading my long posts.

The hand that got slammed in my mother's car door last Tuesday . . . I was at the ENT's office yesterday (he gave me a steroid shot in my arm and it ached all day) and showed him my hand. I have a long lump near the outside of my hand where there shouldn't be any. He thinks I've got a broken bone in my hand and recommended that I see an Orthopod immediately. He said that you can chip small bones in your hand very easily and not have any decreased mobility. However, the bones often migrate and can lodge in a nerve or muscle, significantly debilitating my hand.

I called my Orthopedic doctor yesterday and have a 2 p.m. appointment today. I'm hoping it's just a hematoma and not serious. Don, however, is talking about the possibility of them taking me immediately into surgery to remove bone chips.

I think he's thinking a little too far to the extreme, although this is a remote possibility, I admit.

Anyway, I should know something by this evening. Maybe a cast, maybe a splint, or maybe nothing. I'm hoping for the nothing.

More Gardening

I had all but given up on my big garden this year. I still had to dig a trench, bury the soaker hose, cover it, even out the garden with a rake, cover it with newspaper that I then wet, then cover the top of that with black plastic before I could plant.

What's all the hullabaloo about? Well, I've reclaimed this garden from the yard. It's right underneath the only REAL tree in our yard, which offers a lot of shade but, also, a lot of seeds. Because this soil is so rich (actually it's loam from the decayed bark mulch that's been sitting there for 3 years), anything and everything grows in it. While I've been in the process of preparing the garden, things are continuously sprouting and I keep seeing little green leaves poking up their little heads. The only possible way to keep the grass and seeds from taking over this plot again is to starve them of light. And the only way I know to do THAT is with lots of newspaper and black plastic. The newspaper and black plastic make the process of watering much more difficult, though, because it requires a lot more water to penetrate all those layers. Thus, the buried soaker hose. Much more efficient, and conserving water as well.

But this all seemed like a little too much work for me at this point in my life. Plus, most everything I have already planted is doing GREAT. The herbs on the deck are ready to be harvested again - for the second time already this season. And my box garden is doing amazing things. It meant I wouldn't have tomatoes this year, since I haven't yet planted any, but I reasoned that I could live without them for one year. So the garden has sat. Periodically, I'll go out, turn a little more soil, dig up a few more of those little sprouts and roots, but I haven't really progressed much.

This morning, Dane met me when I arrived in the kitchen.

"Mama, before you start breakfast, will you come outside with me and look at the squash?" he asked. Dane and I made an agreement last month to which he has been VERY faithful. If he waters all my outside plants before school on Wednesday, Friday and Sunday mornings (before Church on Sunday, that is), for the entire month of May, I'll pay him $10. He started around the middle of April and never needs to be reminded. Every other day, he gets to check out the progress of our gardens up close while he waters. He loves it and is getting paid and it means I can scratch something off my very full TO DO list. Today was watering day. He had been looking over the plants.

I pulled a coat on over my jammies, and we headed out to my box garden. I had planted 6 yellow squash and 6 zucchini. Then went back and put 5 bell peppers in amongst the squash, reasoning that the squash plants would stay low to the ground and the peppers would get tall, a perfect recipe for existing in the same garden area. One of my zucchinis had died immediately, but I still have 11 plants in this garden. I walked around the corner with Dane and sucked in my breath. The squash is absolutely out of control. There are 3 - 4 layers of leaves from each plant, so large that they billow out like a tropical rain forest. The entire garden is covered. From the top and the sides, you can't see ONE SPOT of soil, just beautiful, fuzzy green leaves. Dane and I dug through the leaves to look below. Each squash plant has several fruit already, with blooms on the end which will open this coming week. One should open today. I counted as many as 12 blooms on some of the plants. The yellow squash is just as prolific as the zucchini. My poor peppers, however, are completely blocked from the sun by several layers of squash leaves. I just waited too late to plant the peppers and they didn't have a chance to establish themselves and grow taller than the squash plants before THEY took off. I fear it's too late now.

"Mama, what are we going to do about our poor peppers?" Dane asked, perplexed. He wasn't the only one. I can't stand the thought of these little plants dying for lack of sunlight. Especially not when they're in so rich a soil. I've tried breaking off some of the squash leaves around the peppers to allow them sunlight. The squash has promptly filled in the area with new, larger leaves.

"I don't know, son, but we've got to do something! Maybe I'll just have to transplant the peppers." To where, though, I thought. Do I want to put out another planter on the deck for the peppers? I think not. And there is that WHOLE big plot in the back of the yard, just waiting to be planted.

Guess what I've been doing this morning? Yep. The soaker hose is now IN!! Yay! And tested and cover up. And I've gotten a lot of the leveling done. I had to stop for a drink break and decided to write my Post. Now I've got to hurry out, finish the leveling, put down my newspaper and plastic, and I can get my little peppers in their own garden. Maybe I'll get to the peppers tomorrow and can put in some tomatoes, as well, now that I'll have some space.

I decided that biting off the whole garden was too much for me this late in the season. I only dug one trench from front to back of the garden, which is 16 feet long. That gives me a row on each side of the hose or 32 linear feet of planting space. That ought to be more than enough for this year, and a good start to my garden. Next year, I'll dig a second trench and, maybe, a third for my soaker hose and spread out a little more. But I decided that something was better than nothing this year, and 32 feet of garden is nothing to sniff at.

I've got to get back at it, though, if those bell peppers are going to survive and thrive. Once that's done, I've got basil, parsley, and dill to harvest.

I love Spring!

Need's Deep

About a month ago, Dane begged me to go on a Field Trip with his class to the Zoo. I don't remember all the details, but it was virtually impossible for me to pull it off. My friend, Kelly, recommended to me that I promise to go with Dane's class on their big, all-day field trip to Charlotte, NC in exchange for the Zoo one which I couldn't pull off. I took her suggestion and made a deal with Dane.

The big Field Trip is this Wednesday. When I contacted the teacher to tell her I wanted to go on it, she told me the date. Wouldn't you know? It was the only date this whole month that had something already scheduled that I couldn't change - our Choir Concert. The class doesn't expect to be back from the Trip until 6:00 p.m. and the concert starts at 6:30, a 1/2 hour drive away. Choir Call is at 5:30 and I direct the Cherub Choir, so I need to be there for Rehearsal, robing, etc. before the Concert.

I was faced with a huge dilemna, but I had promised Dane. I was able to work out the details and, with a little help from the Lord controlling traffic, we should make it with time to spare. The bus will be re-routed through North Augusta, down the road where our church is located, and will drop me and Dane in front. If we are on-schedule, we should be there by 5:40, but if we're even a 1/2 hour late, we should be okay. My parents are keeping the other two children and getting them to the Choir Call on time. Don is coming directly from work and will take us home.

As I was tucking Dane in a few nights ago, we were talking about how badly he wanted me to go with him and how hard I had worked to make it all happen. Suddenly, I remembered something that happened when he was in First Grade.

Kindergarten was only a half-day; he got out at 1:00 each day and we would read books together, do his homework, watch a half-hour show on T.V., or just play together. This was OUR time. Daelyn was napping and Deanna was in school, so that two hours was devoted to Dane. When he started First Grade, he didn't get home until 3:00 and we he had to compete with his sister and baby brother for my attention. About two months into school, he broke down one day on the playground. His teacher called me to tell me that he was sobbing in the middle of the play equipment.

"He just keeps saying, 'I can't take it anymore! I can't take it anymore!'" she told me on the phone.

What WAS it he couldn't take? The answer seemed elusive. That night, I snuggled him when I put him to bed and asked him what the problem was.

"I just can't take it anymore, Mommy," he started.

"I understand, son, but what IS it that you can't take anymore?" I asked him, trying to make some sense out of what was going on with him.

"I can't take being away from you so much!" He cupped his hands around my face and his little face screwed up into a frown as tears began to flow. I was absolutely broken-hearted. The next day, I called his teacher.

"Dane is so tender-hearted," she said. "He just needs more quality time with you. He's doing so well in school, I think you ought to schedule one day each report card period to take him out of school and just spend the day with him. I think that will help." What an understanding teacher.

I never needed to take him out for the day. The next week, they had a day off for something or other, two weeks later, they were out for Thanksgiving, and Christmas was only 3 weeks after that. By January, Dane had pushed through and was doing just fine. But I've never forgotten that and how much he needed time with me.

He's my one child that ALWAYS needs my attention. EVERY night, before bed, he asks me to come and tuck him in. He wants snuggles and kisses everynight so he can fall asleep feeling wrapped in my love. He's just like Don in personality, but so needy of my attention and affection.

It's not that the others don't need me. They have different types of needs. But Dane is the one who craves that contact with me and always wants me with him. If Don and I both have to drive our cars somewhere and we give the children an option of who they can ride home with, Dane always chooses me. I don't know WHY he's so different from the other two, just that he is.

Anyway, I'm going to Charlotte with him on Wednesday for the whole day - 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. And he's thrilled. It was a lot of work, but well worth keeping my promise to him. I keep telling myself that he won't want me with him for forever. There will come a day that he'll feel less of a need for Mommy. But, for now, his need is frequent and obvious, and I pray I will never zone out to it and leave him feeling neglected.

After all, I want him to grow up to be as wonderful a man as his daddy.

Spring Chores

As I was dropping off to sleep last night, I began thinking about my herb garden on the shady side of the house. (Isn't this what everyone does in bed at night?) There are several problems with this garden. First off, as I said, this is the shady side of the house, which means these plants only get late afternoon sun. While my rosemary has done marvelously well (I'm convinced rosemary is impossible to kill), nothing else has really succeeded there. One year, many years ago, I planted basil. It did alright, but nothing like my basil is doing in the planter on the deck filled with moisture control soil and watered regularly.

The second problem with that side of the house is the soil. Most of the ground around our house is red clay below the topsoil. I've dug down a little ways and tilled up the ground, but not very deep and it's been years since I've added any good soil to that little plot.

Thirdly, I always forget to water on that side of the house. I don't know why, but those things fight for their lives every summer. I guess it's because I really never get around to that side of the house. I'm always on the deck and we walk right past my box garden to get to the car, so I see the progress and the plants drooping, if they're dry. But I never seem to wander past my herb garden.

With this in mind, I dropped the kids off at school this morning, then unlocked the shed, pulled out my tools, and got to work. I had decided, in the wee hours of the morning, to transplant my Greek Oregano, which was the only other thing still alive in my herb garden (other than the rosemary bush/tree), into a planter on the deck with the rest of this year's herbs. I already have basil, which I've harvested for the first time, dill that looks better than anything I've ever been able to grow in the fern department and which I've also harvested once already, mint, and parsley. Why not add a little oregano? I had a nice square box planter that I had bought several years ago and put mint in, but it was too shallow-rooted and I left it on the shady side of the house, thus, it never got watered and promptly died. So the nice, square planter (the matching one now holds my parsley and mint) was full of twigs.

I went around to the side of the house, planning on emptying it out, punching holes in the sides for drainage, filling it 1/3 full with drainage rocks, then 2/3 with good soil mixed with fertilizer, and - voila! A perfect recipe for great oregano. But, as I rounded the corner of the shed, I discovered I had already put the square planter to use holding bushes that my neighbor was having replaced. I had already planted 9 of them across the front of the deck to make a hedge, but I had several more in the planter waiting to be put in the ground. I sighed. Can't use the planter until I do something with those bushes.

But where to put the bushes? I had originally asked my neighbor and friend, Jane, if I could have them because we want to put in a patio at the back of the yard and surround it with a nice hedge, leaving a large opening to walk in and out of. But it occurred to me that if I planted the bushes, it would make building the patio much more difficult because we'd have to work in a confined space, taking care not to trample the bushes. I finally settled on planting them down one side of where I would like the patio - the beginnings of my hedge. Maybe that will also help get us moving on actually doing it.

I dug several holed, which turned out to be a bigger job than I realized. That area is underneath the only shade tree we have in our yard, which is why it's the perfect place for a patio. But there were so many roots, I had to take after them with a pick-ax. I finally got my holes dug, filled them most of the way with good soil and mulch, then picked out the nicest bushes. Once they were planted, I put dirt back on top of the soil/mulch mixture, tapping with my foot to secure them. After a good watering, I was finally ready to get started on my planned project, the replanting of the oregano. It had only taken me two hours or so to get ready.

The oregano is now on the deck in the square box planter. And I built a little platform out of bricks around the pot that contains my dill. Part of the reason I believe my dill is doing so well is that I've covered it with a deck chair (sounds crazy, I know) which creates a terrarium atmosphere for it. I mist it with cool water, then place the chair over top of it so as the day heats up, the water will condense on the underside of the chair and drop back down on the dill. A guy at Lowe's suggested this to me (not the chair part, just covering the dill somehow to create a misting field). The chair's perfect because it doesn't conduct heat and it has a hole in the back, which I've strategically placed over the dill, so rainwater will drain down onto the plant. But the chair was too low and the dill was being forced to grow sideways, out past the chair. My new platform raises the chair just enough to still keep the terrarium-effect while giving the plant a little more room to grow.

I'm exhausted, but still have a few more chores I want to do in the yard. And I NEED to get at least some of my new garden planted.

Maybe . . .

The Home Stretch

We're already into the end-of-school rush: last minute field trips, Teacher's gifts, baseball games, Choir Concert, and plans for the summer.

I keep telling the children to just hang on, we're almost there. Only 17 more days of school . . . and counting!

I can't wait for the summer. I can't wait to put the lunch boxes up in the cabinet and not have to deal with them for 3 months! I just want to sleep in, hit the pool, and spend lazy days lolling around with my children.

We're trying to plan a trip to Washington, D.C. and have already scheduled a camping trip with friends for the week after the children get out of school. We also have a short, 4-day vacation in Hilton Head planned and visits to Grandma and Grandpa's. Last year was a little too busy for me, so this year I'd like to slow down a little and enjoy the summer. But I sure am ready to get it started.

I just have to get through the next 3 1/2 weeks!!!

Accidents by the Vanload

I got rear-ended yesterday. Deanna agreed to walk Daelyn across the street to his soccer practice. Kelly said she'd be willing to be the responsible adult for him and would keep him after practice if I wasn't back yet. Deanna had lots of homework, so I gave her the spare key so she could get back into the house and get started. Then Dane and I loaded up to run and get our allergy shots.

On the way home, in the rain, a young woman, driving her friend's mother's car, hit me from behind when I had to stop in traffic. She was probably going far too fast for the amount of traffic and the rain and couldn't stop in time. I watched her in my rearview mirror as she plowed into me. Dane and I weren't hurt, but we both walked away with bad headaches and my tailbone began to ache. It worsened as the evening wore on.

It took an hour to exchange insurance info and fill out the Incident Report. The policeman who helped us was wonderful and a dear friend and neighbor, who was driving by, stopped to check on me and Dane and stuck around through the whole thing, which was a HUGE relief for me. I worked for him my first job out of college and having him there was the next best thing to Don or my father.

By the time I got to Kelly's to pick up Daelyn, then home, I was sore and rattled. Nicki was coming to dinner, so we packed up and went out for Mexican food. On the way, my arm was itching terribly. Nicki (who's an oncology nurse) checked it out and told me I was having a reaction to my shot and that I needed to take some Benadryl and go to bed. She also gave me Ibuprofen to take the edge off my headache and soreness. Before heading to bed, I measured the welt on my arm. It was 4 cm long and 2 1/2 cm wide. My arm still itched and ached this morning and my tailbone pain was back.

But today is another day and was my day with my mother. We took off to run errands, then she treated me to lunch. As I was getting out of her car, trying to open the umbrella in the open doorway, the door swung shut on my hand, hitting the outside of my palm and slamming the soft tissue underneath the thumb against the hood of the car. Blood vessels popped in both spots and they immediately began swelling. I couldn't use my hand. A girl at the counter at the fast food place took pity on me and got me a bag of ice, which helped, but I have to keep my hand above the level of my heart or it throbs.

To sum all this up - my two-day injuries amount to: pain in my tailbone whenever I sit or move a particular way, a headache, a welt with pain and itching on my left arm, and a swollen, unusable left hand.

I'm not sure if I should look forward to tomorrow or dread it.

Got Any Empty Jars, anyone?

About two years ago, I felt like the Lord told me I needed to learn to can. We have a friend (actually, the mother of the family with whom Don lived when single and who helped us tremendously through our courtship) who is an expert canner and I felt like I should call her and ask if she would teach me. I never did it.

When the economy turned south and the government began to deal with bail-out propositions, I realized that I should have done what the Holy Spirit prompted me to do. If I had, I'd be sitting pretty now with jars of canned goods on the shelf.

"It's not too late," I reminded myself. Good thing God gives us second chances. So I called Vicki and put in my request.

"I'd love to teach you," she said. "But you mostly can during the spring and summer months, when produce is plentiful."

In the meanwhile, I haven't sat idly by for the last two years. I HAVE learned to dry foods and have done a good bit of freezing. Actually, it was the freezing that led me into drying. Freezing berries and fresh tomatoes are wonderful ways to use up the plenty God provides, but the finished goods take up a lot of space in the freezer.

I've tried my hand at drying just about everything. I've made jerky, croutons, and sun-dried tomatoes, which I've mentioned before. But I've also tried my hand at drying berries (blackberries and strawberries do the best), pineapple, peaches, apples, oranges, peas, potatoes, carrots, green beans, celery, squash . . . just about any fresh produce can also be dried. I like the carrots. They dry real sweet. And the dried pineapple makes a wonderful snack. The dried oranges are really good, too - very tart and flavorful. My favorite part about drying is that the nicest flavors in the vegetables or fruit become much more intense.

So, I'm scheduled to begin learning to can sometime this summer. In the meantime, my mother was defrosting her freezer and pulled out bags and bags of frozen blueberries. My father showed up at my back door with them.

"Mama was going to throw these out. Would you like them?" he asked. I wasn't sure what I'd do with them but, like my father, I just couldn't bear the thought of them being thrown away.

I refrigerated them for several days. Then I poured off all the juice and made two batches of syrup - one for us with a little lemon juice for tartness, and a low-sugar syrup for my parents.

But what to do with the huge pile of remaining berries? I decided to make jam. Unfortunately, I haven't made jam since I was a young girl living in Belgium and I didn't remember the basics.

Several months ago, I had seen some boxes of Certo marked down on Clearance at Wal-Mart. I bought them, anticipating canning over the summer. Now seemed like the time to open them. I did, and found a long insert full of directions for jam and jelly-making.

Over the years, my Aunt Faye, who is a Master Canner, has sent home with me from visits to Canada tons of jars of jam and jelly from all the Northern berries. I've noticed that she uses just plain jars, not canning jars. Obviously, this can be done, but I had no idea how. I poured over my cookbooks, which gave detailed instructions on canning, but only with using canning jars. That was right about the time my Aunt Faye arrived for the wedding. I told her that I wanted to make jam and asked her if she could help me one evening. She was in the middle of making Hot Cross Buns for Easter but said she'd try and come back over later and help. I went ahead and got started.

As I was cooking down the berries and squeezing out the juice, Calvin walked through the kitchen and asked what I was doing. I explained that his mother always used plain jars and I wanted to learn to do that, too.

"It's real easy," he said. "The key is that your liquid has to be very hot and your jars have to be real hot. Then, as the liquid cools, it creates a vacuum and seals your jars. Would you like some help?"

I was ecstatic. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing. I scooted over at the stove and he worked with the jars, showing me how to pop them in boiling water for a few minutes, then turning them upside down on a drying rack to drain. We made 3 jars of blueberry jam - a small one for my parents and two larger ones for us. One of the two for us didn't seal.

"No problem," Calvin said. "That just means that you refrigerate that jar and eat it first."

The next day, I was telling Auntie about it. She explained that if she has jars that don't seal, sometimes she'll reheat the liquid from just that jar and attempt to re-seal it. Usually it works the second time around.

"I had forgotten Calvin knew how to can," she told me. "You know, now that I think about it, Calvin is a much better canner than me. He used to can chicken. He'd buy them by the cases and can them. They're the most difficult of anything to can, because it's so easy to mess them up and poison yourself."

I had gotten help from the expert after all.

Shortly after they left, I tried strawberry jelly. I was wanting to try my hand at not being quite so careful to follow a recipe, so I put way more strawberries in the kettle than I should have. Every jar sealed nicely, but they didn't gel - not enough Certo for the amount of strawberries I had.

I left them out on the counter. They were safe, just not very good. This morning, I uncapped my jars, dumped the ungelled strawberry jam into a large saucepan, and started the process all over again. I have five jars sitting on the cooling rack and I can't wait to see if they seal and gel. I can take up to 24 hours to know for sure.

It's exciting to see the work of your hands in jars in front of you and know that you're providing for your family for the future. I have a feeling my children are going to get very spoiled with fresh jams and jellies and not want store-bought ones anymore. We haven't even cracked open a jar from the store in weeks. The children request my blueberry jam when they need something sweet for their toast.

I feel like I'm beginning to get the hang of this. I'm certain there's much more I can learn from Vicki, but I also put up stewed squash this morning and both jars of it sealed nicely.

So much produce, so little time. And so few empty jars on hand!