Church Lady Chronicles

The next 24

2011-09-21T22:49:00.001-04:00

The next 24 hours were foggy and felt like uncomfortable jeans. I roamed and paced the floors aimlessly. I overfed the cats. I ran a load of nothing in the washer and I put my lingerie in the dishwasher. I was disoriented. Well, I was more disoriented than I usually am. In pacing laps around the worn floors I passed by my other 'beep beep' hanging by the door. It shivered every time I paced by from its hook on the key plaque, like a puppy ready to go on a ride, can we? can we, huh? can we?a run of fun in the great outdoors. I wrapped my hand around it; ran a finger over the red beep beep button and gently pressed it, then kept pushing it, pushing it, pushing it. No cabrio responded. The memory of that familiar noise moaned a faint echo that ran over and over in my head like a skipped record.

I curled up in my old red chair and held tight. I was mad with Law and Order because the detectives had been busy catching thieves and murderers when they could have been chasing down the crack dealer right on my street. In fact, if they had worked the case undercover in my zip code, the whole demolition would never have happened at all. In a fair world, the psychic cops would have flashed their badges as the couple got into their car at the bar. The car would never have met the pavement on my street. Oh, the humanity of it all. sigh.

Calvin's demise

2011-01-25T16:13:00.008-05:00

I've not written in a long time. I've watched my jars of collected words dwindle down to consonants and a few os and ys. Those sneaks have been escaping during this time of no writing. Had a grievious event occur unexpectedly, and ghost walked through a week or ten days feeling paralyzed with sadness and shock. Supportive friends and daughters helped, and I had a good talk yesterday with a wise wise friend. Last night as i wasn't finding sleep, I managed to lasso the story.

It was a period Friday night. The kind of night that puts a dot at the end of the week. After work, I met my daughter at the Y and we ipoded our way through some time on the illiptical machine. I stopped by the grocery before heading home. The Teeter had a special buy- one- get -one-free Cup-a-Quiet, and I had a coupon, so... score!! I looked forward to just being home and still. My little black cabrio turned onto my street and I wondered, as I drove past the townhouses that lined the way, "How many are there? 100? more?" Built in the 40's they have withstood time pretty well.
I didn't like having to park on the street, but in the 6 years I have lived at 1040, my propensity for parallel parking has improved greatly. I lucked up and was able to park right in front of my unit by the steps. Woo hoo!! home at last...

It was one a.m., the cats and I were watching another Law and Order Marathon. A dumpster truck came by and the sound of one of those big boxes being lifted and shaken shaken shaken drowned out the show. Good grief. Those guys work some long hours. The city doesn't pay them nearly enough for this kind of late night work. Dedication, that's all there is to that, pure ded-i-cay-shun. I pondered this as I sipped on my cup of delicious quiet. A commercial interruption broke my concentration long enough for a teeeny tiny thread of reality to work its way to my consciousness. I realized that:

1. There ARE no dumpsters anywhere nearby, and
2. What the heck was going on outside?

I slid off the bed and wandered over to the window. My two cats spent many an afternoon lounging on this second floor sill. I opened the window and gazed through the trees. Down a few units, I saw an SUV sitting catty corner right in the middle of the road. A girl got out and puked. She staggered up the street screaming, "Help me, he's trying to kill me!"

I walked back to my bed and picked up my cell from the bedside table. I paused, and glanced at the TV. Another episode had started and the scene wasn't too far off from what I was witnessing outside in the street. Wow. Detectives Olivia and Elliott arrived on the set and I left them to solve the television crime while I dialed 911. I gave my address and described what I had seen. While I was talking, a man in a black leather jacket climbed out of the driver's side of the SUV and started running up the street after the screaming girl, rasping, "Where's the crack, bitch?"

I hesitated a moment and spoke into the phone, "Oh, and officer, I think there may be drugs involved." Then I hung up.

I stood in my bare feet, leaning on the sill between the cats and made a closer observation of the crime scene below me. Clearly, the SUV had hit something, but what? The car’s injured front headlights cast their lights on two empty parking spaces across the street; I saw no road kill or body parts scattered about. My side of the street had a couple of cars parked on either end of the block. Hmm.
I propped my elbows on the sill, rested my chin in my hands, and thought out loud to the cats. “Well, kitts, I think I may have been mistaken in my assumptions. I bet the dumpster noise was probably the point of impact. Ooh. Hmm. That makes sense.”

I glanced up at the night sky, "Nice night."

Glancing again over the street below I thought, "Now where did I park tonight?"
The thread took on a wiry twist and continued to weave and wriggle through my brain.The squiggle found a voice and started chanting "Something is a-wry, a-wry, a-wry."

I looked down the way to the right. No Cabrio there. hmmm.

I looked down the other way to the Left. Nope. hmmm .

I looked down the way to the steps out front. Nuthin'. hmmm. Then, "Oh, yeah! I got lucky and found that space right by the....... steps."

I looked down again at the steps. No Cabrio. asphalt? yes. car? no.

The inside voice grew stronger. "That was a looooooooooooong noise you heard. Almost like a vehicle, that could not possibly resemble yours, being brutally struck, abducted and dragged some distance. Almost."
I cleaned my glasses with the hem of my nightie and tried looking down again. No matter how many times I looked, blinked, or stared, I could not make the cabrio appear. I heard myself croak, “Oh crap.”

The puky girl and black leather guy came running down the street. He chased her around the SUV and through the grass. She kept screaming and he kept rasping about the damn crack, then suddenly disappeared into the night. She cried her way to the car just as the police arrived.

When the first squad car approached, its headlights bounced off of something across the street in the grass, and my eyes were pulled to it like a magnet. The light reflected off of a familiar looking piece of orange plastic. I knew that shape. It was a parking light. I loved that little light. "I think they hit the cabrio."

The cats looked at me, then each other. They meowed under their cat breaths, "No shit, Sherlock"

I raced downstairs, pulled on my shoes, and grabbed my coat. When I opened the front door, a policeman was standing on the stoop with his hands in his pockets. He was young and reminded me of an anxious schoolboy, staring down at his shoes.

Maybe he was checking on the single middle aged woman who lives here, in case she was frightened by the noise.
Maybe he needed to use the bathroom, and he heard I lived here and that I was a very welcoming woman who loaned out her bathroom to strangers.

He stood awkwardly at the door and appeared to be struggling to find words. I decided to help him out.

"It's a black cabrio, isn't it?"

Relieved at not having to deliver this news, he exhaled about 35 pounds of dread and said, "You might want to pull some long pants on, it's cold out."
I followed his advice and grabbed a pair of sweats that were in line for laundering. They were so covered with cat hair that they were fuzzy. Ratty old nightie, fuzzy sweats, bare feet in untied athletic shoes and a quilted half coat later, I ventured out.

I walked past the offending vehicle in the road and saw my little car crunched in the dark, huddled alone, pushing against a sign that said "Pick up your dog's crap... City of This" His back tires looked like a toy car that had been stepped on by an unsuspecting adult.. both tires were flat and slanted in. They looked like they had to pee and were trying to hold it. The back driver's panel was gone, guts exposed. If I had only thought to bring a blanket….I made my way to the front.The grill was bent around the sign post.

The policeman walked over to me and shook his head. He started to speak, but I held up my hand and said, "Don't ." He moved around me and continued to draw the yellow chalk line around the lifeless Volkswagen.
While the girl was being interviewed by one cop a few others were walking around with flashlights looking for the culprit who had run off. "He's a drug dealer, he got in my car and I knew he was drunk because I was too, but I couldn't stop him, so I got in too and he got mad and we were fighting and then we hit....................................................."
…..and then they hit, at full speed, an innocent black cabrio that had settled into his perfectly parallel parked space for the night. They then dragged it several car lengths down the road and somehow pushed it across the street, over the curb and into a No-shit sign..

I walked back across the street , went inside and called my eldest. She had mentioned she was going out on the town, so I wasn’t sure she’d be interested in coming over. “Hello?” I heard noise and fun going on in the background.
“Are you having fun?” "Yep."
I looked outside at the now, 6 or 8 policemen who were looking vigilantly for the crack and the crack head who had disappeared into the night. “Are you sober?”

“What happened?” she louded into the phone.

I spoke in my most motherly protective tone “The cabrio got hit, no one is hurt, but don’t come over here if you’re not completely sober because police are all over the place.”
“I’ll be right there.”

A little while later, she and her bf showed up and we had a lovely time of show and tell. Her friend whipped out a camera and was snapping pics as if it was a crime scene from CSI. She had it down.

We went inside and called the insurance company. Daughter kindly took the reigns and answered the questions to get the ball rolling.

I felt the need to talk to someone but everyone I knew usually used this time of night to catch some zzzzs. Then I remembered a friend I had happened upon on FB one night late like this, so I called her cell, and lo! She was awake. On that FB night, she had been sipping a cup of Drowsy tea in hopes of becoming, well, drowsy. We talked until she thought she might be getting ready to start feeling like she might be getting a little drowsy and just hearing her say that made me yawn so we hung up.

I told her I was glad she answered! I asked her how the tea-sleep therapy was working and she said, not very well. She told me that the Drowsy tea hadn’t done a thing that FB night after all, so she tried some Double Drowsy, but that didn’t even make her yawn! She was confident in the Extremely Double Drowsy she was drinking tonight because it was concentrated and the suggested serving size was 64 ounces. She was on her third serving of Extremely Double Drowsy tea when I called. After a very short conversation I wondered how anyone could sleep very long if they had had three servings of that. I thought that maybe the Extremely Double Drowsy had been a misnomer and maybe it should be called something like Quick and Ready or maybe Tinkletime tea .

We went back outside as the tow guy was getting Calvin onto the back of a truck. He had a paperclip sticking out of his mouth and he smelled of motor oil, so I could tell he was a real professional in the auto tow world.
“This yours?” he spoke through his teeth that were gripping the clip. Looking at that made my teeth hurt. Looking at that made me want to offer him a piece of aluminum foil so all of his teeth might enjoy the metal on enamel experience, but I held back.

I shook my head and patted the cabrio’s crushed back end as it was pulled onboard the train- to -nowhere -good.

He shook his head then our eyes met. He stopped, stood up a little straighter, then respectfully said, “You’ve kept her in pretty good shape considering her age” He climbed aboard the tow truck train and took off. I wondered if someday, some well meaning friend would ever say that about me.

The kindly policeman came over. “Well, that’s about all we can do here tonight, ma’am.”

I thanked him and added, “Well, when you leave maybe you could head the way that guy ran, THHHHennnn maybe just maybe at the traffic light, a dark figure moving in the bushes will catch your eye and you can quick quick turn that way and see the drug dealer and force him up the hill right there and he’ll get tired running up that hill and will head over to the grass where he’ll slide down because it is still covered with ice and then you’ll catch him.”

My comment or suggestion caught him off guard and he hesitated. Then he replied, “ORRRRRRRRRRRR an 18 wheeler will come by as he’s crossing the street and run over him and we won’t have to deal with his ass anymore.” His words spilled out with ease and I could tell he felt better saying that. The three of us gave him a thumbs’ up and saying Thank you, we went back inside.

My daughter stood with her friend in my living room looking at me. “Mom, I’m really proud of you.”
"How thoughtful for her to notice" I thought to myself. I thought I was handling the night very well, myself."Really, sweetie?”
“You buttoned up your coat so that no one could see that you, you know, weren’t wearing a bra.”

I looked down at myself. I saw a speed limit aged woman with wild hair, in an ancient nightie, old athletic shoes, furry pants and coat . “Yeah, I didn’t want to run anyone off.”
Both tow trucks drove off, the police continued their pursuit, and the girls went home to sleep after such a long night.I heard the morning paper hit the front door as I went up the stairs for a nap.

First venture out…

2010-08-27T15:57:00.009-04:00

My boss has become the Godfather. He is presently residing inside the parsonage across the street from the church in a soft leather recliner. He started receiving some appointments and there have been some people seeking him out as well. I haven't seen anyone kiss his hand yet. I think that at this point that kind of thing wouldn't be a very good idea. His right arm is being held prisoner to his body by a curious looking stripped down straitjacket. It wraps and holds tight and travels all around to the other side to wrap and hold tight again. All of this in a perky shade of white. That arm is not going anywhere for a while and he isn’t either. His left hand/arm is bored and looks a little lost.

Someone loaned him a piece of equipment that has managed to give some relief to his aches, but I have to say I am confused by the contraption. The small white cube shaped cooler has two blue flexible tubes coming out of it. They wrangle and wave like the whiskers on a catfish but they have a very important job to do. They connect to a shawl that looks like bubblewrap with a lovely blue cover. The tubes deliver cool/iced water to the entire area that is injured. It’s kinda neat. The shawl stays attached to his shoulder with matching blue ace bandages. The machine sounds like a hesitant pump. It says "poooosh" then nothing."pooooosh" again and then nothing.

I have bonded with the ice pump this week. I’ve learned how to work it and put it on the patient patient. I expect my certification license to come in any day. Something has been bothering me about it, though. The machine is a miracle worker,the idea came from an obviously brilliant mind. I’m just thinking that this machine was created for people who can’t move well, who are hurt and need to sit in the shawl and rest. So, why do you think there is no on/off button within reach?

I came by a couple of days ago to check on the pastor patient, and the machine was off, shawl off. He asked me to help him put it on, and I did. While I waited for the poosh sound, the newly injured and weak-eyed boss slipped past me, gently treaded across the carpet to a dresser a few feet away and picked up a ginormous plug. “Now I just have to plug it in and we’re all ready.” As he tentatively reached behind the dresser to plug the machine in, I said, “Stop! I’ll do that.” He looked relieved. The worn out one-armed pastor meandered back to his chair and melted into it. …..

Are you kidding me? Talk about a bad joke. Did the inventor really expect people who are in bad enough shape to use this machine to be able to get up, walk over anywhere and plug/unplug the darn big bazooka plug? I decided that the inventor must have had some serious unresolved issues when he created this thing.... might have had to do with caring for his ailing mother when he was really wanting to go outside and play baseball with the team.

I went to the hardware store and got a surge protector that reached to his chair and now he just has to turn it on or off. He can do that very well with his toe. Toes don't get to do much except wiggle and point. What in the world was so hard about that, Mr. Inventor? I’m sorry to say that I hope you get a splinter one day that you can’t find. And I hope it hurts for a while.

After a couple of days of agony, my boss’s brain began to clear and send him whispers, “Go to church. Get up out of that chair and go to work. Go visit someone who is in pain, pray and plan a service or two. Go on now, do it.”

His body was sending him answers to those whispers on a louder scale. “DO NOT MOVE OR SHIFT YOUR BODY OR BREATHE TOO DEEPLY.BE STILL. IF YOU INSIST ON VISITING SOMEONE IN PAIN, VISIT YOUR OWN SELF. PLAN A SERVICE OR TWO IN YOUR DREAMS. GO ON NOW, DO IT.” The tug of war continued and grew stronger until he decided to prove his brain right and so he got up and waited by his window to watch the church finish the day and settle in for the night. He gazed through a cracker jack telescope (because the binoculars were just too heavy for his out of shape free hand.). He waited as the last Bible Study closed and the members left. He waited while two friends stood outside and talked through their day. He watched the lights go off one by one and he waited until even the bunnies who frequented the churchyard settled in for a good sleep.

Unfortunately, after being in a recliner for 3 days, the standing wait exhausted him and the pain meds got tired, too and wore off, so back to the recliner he shuffled- carefully and as still-like as he could go. An odd thought crossed his mind as he sank into the chair. "I'm glad we don't have earthquakes around here." He fought off the shudder inside him that heard that thought.

He was awakened by the sound of the morning paper hitting the front storm door and knew the time was right, and short, so he eased himself out of the chair and hiked the rugged terrain of the parking lot over to the sleeping church. The steeple light led him across the street. All was quiet but for the gentle jingle of his church keys and the nearly silent, lower case sounds coming from his own mouth with every other step. “ouch” step step “ahhrgh” step step. “yeow”. His right fingers were thrilled to finally be given a useful and painless job, holding the keys.

He made it to the front door, looked through the glass and saw the alarm was shining green. “Whew, no alarm to deal with this early morning.” Out of habit, his right hand tried to put the key in the lock, but the automatic movement came to a screeching stop when the straitjacket prevented the motion and the pain of even considering it screamed at him to “STOP”

“Oh, yeah.” He relaxed and let the pain drizzle away.

His left arm started twitching and his fingers were full of energy. “It’s our turn!!! We can do it!!! We want to try!! Give us the keys, we’ll get the job done, by golly!!” His left hand swept up and gently, out of sensitivity for it’s mirror twin, took the keys out of the pained right hand.

In his mind’s eye, the key made a beeline for the lock- zip, zing, turn. In reality, he watched as the keys tried to cast the awkward hand closer to the lock. “Look, we’ve not done dexterity trials in a while, give us a break. Give us a minute, will you? “

He watched as the working left hand moved the keys closer to the general area of the lock finally zero-ing in on the keyhole. Alas, the key was upside down. He stared at his fingers and willed them into turning the key around in preparation for a second go. Key hit glass. Move it over a bit. There. Key hit metal, missing hole.

The Pastor froze in aggravation and looked around.

“Oh dear Lord, how long have I been here? He glanced at the sky and was relieved to see the sun had just barely started to show a bit of shine to the coming day. The key was still maintaining contact with the metal.

With a bit of a left-handed jiggle, the key finally made it into the keyhole. What a feat! The surrounding audience of churchyard grass and morning dew applauded and wept at the long awaited success. Surely Ripley would be interested in publishing this exciting accomplishment in the next Believe it or not edition. He stared at the connection between key hole and key and with deep concentration, he watched his hand turn. Although he was making good use of his one good hand, the left, he was still thinking in right hand mode, so instead of unlocking the door, he locked and re-locked it.

Deep breath. Try again. The key turned, the lock released and he was free to enter his workplace, his worshipful space, his church. His hand tugged gently on the key, getting a head start on opening the door.

His right hand tried to reach the door handle , to open it as he had done every day for the last 6 years, and immediately recoiled from the mistake.The door settled back into its frame and the lock clicked back in place.

Sad eyes peered through the glass. He was soooo close. He could see the welcome mat just inside the doorway, patiently waiting to welcome him to HBUMC. He saw the outline of the front desk and the round lights on the elevator against the back wall. “We’re right here, Pastor. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.”

Two tries later and he was in. He was in, exhausted and ready to go back home to the recliner. He could feel it calling to him, the soft leather saying, “Come on back, my friend. Come back and rest. We’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Determination kept him moving forward. He shuffled through the lobby, around the corner and approached his office door. His working hand reached for the handle and pressed down.

The door wouldn’t budge. His office was locked.

If you have ever experienced the power of a perturbed pastor’s silent scream then you will understand why , at that moment, the sleeping bunnies awoke and ran away as if a fox was on their tails. You will know why the pictures hanging on the hall walls rattled, and you will feel sad in your heart to see what flocks of birds that live in churchyard trees look like when their feathers fly right off of their sleeping skins.

The silent scream woke up some much needed endorphins, and he felt a wave of patience break over him. He shuffled three steps over and leaned inside the mailroom, his free arm reaching in a cubby for the spare key. Yes. It was there. That’s a first.

He relaxed and entered his office. He walked around his desk and slowly lowered his weary self into his chair. He had made it to land at last.

Guilt ridden

2010-08-24T21:13:00.007-04:00

I know I'm bad minded. Concerned about me, me, me. I'm sorry. But if you are going to know me, you might as well know all of me. Something happened this week that brought out the me in me. Something terrible. Horrid. Painful. Sad and just not fair.Not fair to my boss, anyway.

The day started out like every other day to him... Fast and furious. zoom zoom Monday. He levitated out of bed in the darkness that predawn snuggles into before the birds awaken. Like every other Monday,he drove to the gym and sweated out enough liquid to make room for his morning caffeine- then headed to the coffee shop. Even though the parking lot speed limit is 50 SPM (steps per minute), his legs were still in cycle spin mode, and he screeched in at a cool 75. The coffee shop doors, accustomed to his morning visits opened just in time and he irrked to a stop at the cash register where the clerk, who was familiar with his preferences in latte, held his grande like a gold ring on a carosel. The fast exchange of payment for coffee went smoothly and the liquid nearly jumped into his gulp. His morning intravenous coffee began to kick in."Ahhhh. Now the day can begin." he jittered to himself.

The regulars were there, and the friends exchanged nods and laughter, funny eyebrows and head tilts.My boss walked by, crisp and clean after a hard workout and quick shower. A wave of his cup and he was off. As he backed out, pushing against the double glass doors, someone said, "Have a great one, Pastor!"
and although my beloved boss had every intention of following through with that send off, well, it was just not to be.

While he was inside gearing up for the first fresh day of a new and wonderful week with coffee and friends, there was a viciously unhappy horizontal parking space hurdle, disgruntled with his laid down hurdle life in the concrete jungle where he lived, a few feet outside the coffee shop doors. Un beknownst to speedy-start-the-day boss, the hurdle had just hit an emotional wall. Maybe he held one too many pieces of chewed gum, or maybe he had been tinkled on by one too many peekaboos . We'll never know, but we do know this. Somehow, that hurdle had gone to the dark side and with evil in his hurdle heart, had discovered how to cloak himself.

When my boss backed out the doors and turned to walk, skip, leap- whatever mode he was in at the time, to his car, that hateful hurdle activated his cloak , then braced for the impact of the pedestrian trip. My boss never saw it coming. He fell so fast he didn't see the pavement leap up to meet him.

One second changed the lives of so many (for 4-6 weeks).

The slight of build bustling man fell hard and fast. His breakfast coffee leapt to the safety of his shirt and suit. The liquid clung to his clothes, not wanting to meet the 'crete or come near the invisible monster that had caused such a collision. The irritation of the wet beverage soak over-shadowed the reality of the fall and he picked himself up, got into his car and headed home for a shower.

He called me from the house to tell me he was running late and we discussed if staff meeting should start later, or if we should go ahead without him.
I was curious who had died, gotten deathly ill, or cried for help. "So what's up?"
"My coffee spilled and is all over me. I really just need to take a quick shower and oh, by the way, I can't move my right shoulder." echo echo echoooo can't move move move my right shoulder shoulder shoulder......

Being messy in most things by nature, it was the right shoulder comment that caught my attention. " Do you want me to come over and take a look at it?"
" No I need to get this coffee off of my clothes. I hit the sidewalk like a brick and nearly all of it spilled onto my tie and shirt." The additional information sent off a tiny alarm. Sidewalk like a brick.
" Or, How about I come over and take you to the ER?"
" No, thanks. I'll be over in a little while."
" Well, at least take your cell phone with you into the bathroom so you can call me when you have fallen and can't get up, okay?"
"okay"
Twenty minutes later, I left my office, walked two doors down, rounded the corner, and walked past the front desk. The phone rang."It's your boss, for you."
"Hey"
" My wife's on her way home and we're going to see about having my shoulder x-rayed."
" Want one of us to stay with you til she gets home?"
" No, thanks. I'm just having a little trouble with my clothes. I'll wait til she gets here. It won't be long."

I imagined him realizing that sometimes clothes that come off, are harder to put back on again, especially when one limb is immobile and I hoped it wasn't the day for the cleaning lady to come and I hoped Fed Ex did not have any morning deliveries for him. I prayed that Girl Scouts didn't sell door to door anymore, and I especially hoped that the sweepstakes van would not pull into his driveway in the next 15 minutes or so.

The staff worried, but we forded on through our day. By mid afternoon, his loving wife called to give me an update. "His shoulder is broken. Surgery won't help, so he'll be in a tight, secure sling for 4-6 weeks."

" Oh, No!! I'm so sorry!" I heard the genuine concern in my voice, but at the same time something else was at work in me. It was the bad me. The me, me, me at work. I hung up. A Pacific coast wave of panic began to rise up inside me. Someone walked by my door and said, "What is it? What's wrong, church chick?"
"Boss's wife called and he's broken his shoulder. He'll be wrapped up- his good arm, for 4-6 weeks."
"Oh, gosh. Oh, Man"
I stood up. Placed my hands slam down on my desk. "You know what this means?" "OMG DO you KNOW what this means?"
Several staff had gathered around my office door, the hub of the church, the place to find a moment's peace, the bubblegum factory office.
Someone said, "what?"
"THIS MEANS THAT HE'LL NEED A REAL SECRETARY!" "OH MY OH MY OH MY GOSH!"
I never claimed to be that. Even when applying for the church secretary job years ago, I never signed anything that certified I was, in fact, a secretary. I said I would do my best. That's it. You can check the records.

"He can't use email, or write letters. I'll have to glue myself to his good side and type/write down his every word, I'll have to buy new running shoes and try to keep up with him and type at the same time. I'll have to turn my head the other way and cover my ears and sing LaLaLa while he's counseling OH MY"

I plunked down in my chair and put my thinking cap on. Then I picked up the phone.
" Mr. publication wizard, we have an emergency." I spoke to our magic man of the computers at work.
"Tell me where the fire is, and I'll be right down" he rolled out those words in his usual comfortable and pleasant voice.
I began to ramble. " Boss... broken... right shoulder.... computer use kaput.... email no go.... need voice recognition installed immediately."
I could feel him picture the near future and what it meant and he suddenly appeared before me , tights, cape and mask all in tact. "I won't return until i find what we need!!" and he was off. My hero.

He came back later with a microphone and we found a program that sounded reliable. THE SAVE YOUR SECRETARY'S SANITY SOFTWARE by Worth a try, inc.

I went through the tutorial and started practicing the program that was about to save my career.
I watched the screen as I spoke, " I am here talking into the computer." The screen showed, " In any gear walking to the can opener."
I looked down at the reference card of cue words. "Delete phrase."
The computer spit out , "Deplete the race."
I held the sheet and looked again at my clear and simple directions. "De LETE phrase"
"De FEET brakes."

oh. so that's how it's going to be.

I took the directions to the program that I was counting on to save me and carefully crushed the pages into a tight ball.

"Write what I say! Write what I say right now! Write it write it write it write it!"
"No. No I will not. The End."
Sigh
Sigh again.

I closed out the useless program and pulled up his inbox. It only took 25 minutes for the Bizzy Hub copier to print out all 300 emails that had come in over the last day. Then, I picked up the phone and called the tech turned- super hero- turned human. "I think we're going to need a lot more paper for a while."
"Oh, okay, I'll place the order for more delivered weekly. How long do you think?"
I closed my eyes. " Probably 4-6 weeks."

The rest of the car oven story...

2010-08-10T15:48:00.005-04:00

Today we finally were able to try car cooked nachos.

I came back from lunch and carefully "installed" the "oven". (parked in the sun).Made sure it was set to Preheat (put the top up) waited...

After a hot bit of time and prep, cooking buddy and I left chips on a cookie sheet sunbathing on the dash, black beans jumping about in their open can in the heat, chilled cheese sauce working on letting go, softening in the warmth. The ingredients were set to go.

A half an hour later they were not ready yet, but trying.

I was on secretary duty, so Su chefs went out and assembled, no. They created a unique construct with a warm chips foundation, black beans sprinkled about, luscious cheese sauce drizzled over, salsa on top. perfect. 15 minutes later only a few beans and crumbs left. Thank you, Cabrio. Thank you, cooks and helpers!

We were negligent in taking pics to remember the confections by this summer. rats. Then, by happenstance,a visiting church organ builder stopped by today. Our own organist brought him into the office -they followed their noses- and he partook, then snapped a pic. "Otherwise, nobody will believe me." he crunched out the words and left the office with a bit of black bean drip on his shirt.
and I have no idea why this last paragraph wants to boldly go where the other font doesn't.

What makes summer feel like summer?

2010-08-05T13:26:00.004-04:00

I’ve not been able to put out chronicles for a while and decided that when the syllables are ready to come, the words will skip off the keyboard just like they always do. I appreciate the requests for the chronicle blips and I hope those who enjoy the words will hang with me a little longer.

The last few weeks, I’ve been swept up in the distraction of car cooking. I used to make dashboard s’mores with preschoolers during summer camps. I drove a big ass van at the time with a big ass dash, so a cookie sheet sat very nicely on that space and the sun shared its heat without even being asked.

The preschoolers layered the grahams , chocolate,and marshmallows on board and we all walked out to put our goods in the “oven”. A while later- the marshmallows puffed up, and we sealed the deal with a graham on top. The squish of the bite was second only to bonfire s’mores. The children were intrigued, and I enjoyed watching them buy into the magic of car cooking.

This year, after the closets had been cleaned out, and my drawers were reorganized and prepped for fall;when staff vacations were in full swing, and I was the primary and sometimes only one here,well, somewhere in there I lost my focus. I began craving chocolate and marshmallows and I needed a little fun. I wanted to see if car cooking was as much fun as I remembered. Last year, I shared the idea with one of the preschools here, so that didn’t count. What would it be like to car cook for adults?

The s’mores were pretty much inhaled by those who were at work that day and a stream of youth came by to gobble up the rest. I appreciated the fact that my co workers allowed me the luxury of a little play in my day.

I knew they were humoring my whimsy….but they sure didn’t seem to mind sampling the wares, either.

We were swept into a heat wave for a while, and I used the time to the fullest with dashboard delicacies. Front seat marshmallow treats went well. Easier than making rice krispy treats at home, I’d say. A coworker- at the time a bit of a nonbeliever, came with me to check on them and as she poured the krispies and cheerios in while I stirred. ..she was sold.

My boss came in one day asking me what was on the volkswagon menu and I took that as permission to try new things. He suggested something with pretzels.

Polka dot knots were born next- pretzels with white chocolate and dark chocolate chips melted in them went over well, and those were made while I was borrowing my daughter’s Passat. Nice to know there is versatility in this cooking method. I knew my car would cook. It cooks me every time I get into it, but I didn’t know if a light colored car would work. Now I know.

Buckle-up buddies came next. I had errands to run at lunch, so I buckled up the metal mixing bowl (primary car cooking utensil)in the passenger side, put the peanut butter, butter, and chocolate chips in and off we went. I parked in the sunniest spots I could find while I was out and about and made sure to aim my front oven window right towards “Mr. Sun, sun, Mr. Golden sun (who) please (did) shine down on me.” When I got back to work, a friend helped me add the chex and another held open the gallon bag that had confectioner’s sugar in it. We loaded up the bag, sealed it and shook the heck out of it. Those went over so well, we did it again the next day.

Yesterday, Cabrio clusters made their debut. Overcast, but still hot…..hmmmm… I left the bag of butterscotch morsels in their own home bag, and placed the bag in the bowl alongside a group of Chinese noodles who were ready for the cabrio cooking challenge. When I checked later, it took only a quick snip of the bag and the melted morsels ran into the bowl and covered the Chinese noodles like lava. A passer -by held the bowl while I stirred them all together. They are but a memory now.

I decided it was time to expand the menu, so today we went right into main course fare. I brought an aluminum vegetable grilling sheet with me and placed some bread on it, then laid it on the dash of the Cabrio. A while later I flipped the slices and lined the bowl with tomatoes, nature’s seasoning, and grated cheese. Pimento cheese went on a couple of slices. In a bit, a friend came with me to check the outdoor kitchen and everything was ready. We transferred the tomato melts onto the toast and came inside. A dollop of Dukes Mayonnaise made mine perfect.

Just as I finished my dashboard delight, one of the pastors came irrrrrkkkking in. “Am I too late?” she asked, exasperated. My mouth full of the last bite, I nodded. Her body fell into a let-down-slump. Don’t you just hate to disappoint your customers?

One of the pastors was leaving and asked what was next and I told her we were making Nachos with homemade cheese sauce tomorry. She said, “I’m not here tomorry, please don’t deprive me of that delicacy.” So I won’t . The nachos will have to wait. Well, maybe we’ll take a practice run with them tomorry.

Don’t know if this is a one season pony or if we’ll try to keep at it, but the distraction of the Cabrio confections has made this hot time of year feel a little more like summer- used-to-be. Don’t we all need a little of that at times? The activity has also kept a sense of community growing. Facebook friends have been interested and supportive. Work church members and staff have participated and enjoyed the results of their labors. Aren’t those good things?

This morning I thought to myself, “Self, I think you have a knack for distracting. Finding distractions during challenging times.” Self answered. “Yep. You’ve had a few of those, and you do tend to seek out random activities that sometimes seem to balance out those moments. I’m thinking that may not be such a bad thing if it brings good energy about.”

Well, I can’t say if that self awareness is good or bad. I think it just is.

So, what makes summer –summer? I think for me, a splash of serendipity goes a long way to cool a hot day. My Cabrio is all about that. Whether leaves, dirt, furniture or fruit, my cabrio carries a tin of serendipity in the trunk . Right next to the metal cooking bowl.

Maybe I’ll create a travel car-cook kit so other folks can enjoy cooking while stranded on the side of the road, or when stuck in heavy traffic. Hmmm. Hmmmmm. Just hmmmm.

A moment of silence

2010-05-28T11:17:00.000-04:00

I've been without words for a while but couldn't let another day go without this.
The plants at my neighborhood shopping center were changed out a week or so ago.
I noticed the change immediately. I didn't show up at 7 to get what I wanted. I didn't go at all.
Gosh only knows how many ajuga and lamium bit the dust. The thought makes me sad in my heart.
I would like to have a moment of silence for our rooted friends, who lost their lives for no good reason.
I can only hope they grow in debri and trash, because that's where they are now residing.

I've been thinking that, come fall, i may write the landscaping company and offer them lunch after they have made the change out so I can pilfer through the dump truck and see what I can save.
Just thinking about it.

One of my daughters has taken a new interest in plants and it has been interesting to hear her tell of creating her own outside grow space. Another daughter just put in her veggie garden and added a soaker hose that is connected to a rain barrel. I think that is neat.

I recall putting a shout out for iris and liripe last year to neighborhood elists, and so I did the same this year with rocks. I am trying to finish up some beds for a friend before her parents come into town. I offered iris in exchange and got a few takers. A friend at work brought me more than the Cabrio could hold almost, but I'm still about 15 short. Last year i was bordering with liripe. Maybe i need something more certain and stable in my hands this year. I like how they look, anyway.

Exchanging in this way feels comfortable and like a good thing.

The church yard is doing really well. This year, I've hidden 2 tomatoes, 2 eggplant and one pepper amongst the guara and daisies and pincushion plants. We'll see if we get to donate any food from them to Interfaith food shuttle. I sure hope so. It doesn't take much space to grow produce.

The periwinkle is slow going, but has doubled since last year, so i hope next year it won't look like a bad hair day out there around the pine trees. I've got 3 varieties going; intertwined might look interesting. At any rate, it would be more in keeping with life. We'll see.

Slower season is creeping in here at work church. Hope i can get some 'get ready' tasks done so fall won't be so hectic. Hope i can write more, too. Haven't done more than a grocery list in a while.

Hug someone today and say hello to a plant that catches your eye- both of those make a difference.

Gifting

2010-04-16T11:50:00.011-04:00

For as long as I can remember, which is sometimes 50-some years ago and sometimes only a minute ago, I have found amazement in the ability for gifts to create themselves. My children will roll their eyes at this, but they will also shake their heads, yes. Oh, yesss. Here she goes. Grab a coke and a bag of chips and get comfortable….

Something inside of me believes as strongly as I believe in truth, that everything around us and among us has some thread of life and spirit of giving. When these characteristics make their selves known, it feels like a gift to me. I mean not to ME, but to me.

I can recall many years ago thinking it pretty brave for the grass to grow back after being mowed time and time again, and especially when the hard working little green blades knew darn well they’d be cut back again anyway. I thought it a gift to witness such strength.

If the sun shined on a day I really needed to be out in it, well, you may as well have put a bow on sunrise that day.

Talk about gifts. I was thrilled that my children chose to be born. As if they could choose NOT to be. Well, maybe they could have, they are each pretty determined creatures. I’m just glad that they swam to the light.

The fact that they were such fun to be with growing up- a gift.

Watching them become individuals-sometimes challenging and scary,but more often big bigger biggest gifts.

After they passed the age of 9, I felt like each one of them gave me a huge present by continuing to talk to me, the mom, and the fact that they wanted to talk or ask questions or do things together- a gift

My children used to give me coupons for holidays like Mothers’ day or (puke) birthday. I still have the Ovaltine coupon jar in the attic. I didn’t use the coupons much, not nearly as much as I could have, but just having the thoughts and ideas from my own children, well, it was overwhelming. I mean, come on-

Who doesn’t find it incredibly invaluable to have a “10 minute playing with hair” at the wait?

When my car starts, I am thankful. It might just be damn tired of being a multi-use vehicle and decide not to run anymore. Such a gift.

Cooking- messy cheffing- When the food gets eaten, I am thankful for those who took the chance. Yep, even now.

The fact that my counselor continues to support me and see me weekly is unbelievable. I continue to try to prepare myself for the “You’re fired, Melanie” words. But he reassures me that we will keep talking and we have lots of work to do. Don’t I know it. The stories and experiences that have entered his space over these years have filled every nook, crannie and corner with silken interwoven webs from my past and present. Still, “See you next week” comes out at the end of our time and I am always surprised. Always. Isn’t it a gift to find a safe place where you can completely bear your soul and all that lies enmeshed in it? Gift.

Connecting with and forming a trusting and delightful friendship with a friend's daughter- g.i.f.t. The gift of watching her become.... is so much a present.

Being the not-peer- not mother with a collective group of teens is so big in my heart that it would clear out a whole wrapping paper aisle in a Hallmark store to wrap it.

I enjoy working in the dirt. My back doesn’t love it so much, so my effective working time is limited, but I find calm and hopefulness in gardening. When bulbs come up- when vegetables produce, flowers bloom- cuttings take root- How are those not huge huge gifts? I am putting them in the ground, to sleep. No one told them they had to get up.

These are fair examples but there are examples of gifting everywhere and always.

Call me quirky. I don’t care. I appreciate the simple gifts of nature and friends and that’s about all I can take, too. For good reason, but old reasoning, I have a visceral reaction to being given gifts outside of that simple range. I’m working on it. (see above… weekly talk time with one who knows and is wise)

When the work church good elves and good fairies leave me treats and presents, I am stunned. I’ve been here over 5 years now, and still have the same reaction. Home church surrounds me with more gifting than I can fit into this post even if I changed to a .3 font.

When my boss reviews me and he doesn’t say, “It’s been nice having you but really, let’s be real. You just aren't cut out for this job” I walk away in a daze. That’s a big gift. Big.

A couple of years ago, I rode my neat old and worn bike to work. Before the day was out, the bike was being driven by a regular visitor to work church who needed transportation to find work. Even though I knew this visitor well enough to know he would probably sell it and purchase things I didn't want to know about, I thought giving him a dose of trust might be a good thing, so I sent him off on my bike where he was spotted half an hour later by a work friend who saw him driving like a bat... we didn't read any headlines about robbers on bikes the next day, so we let it go.

I started looking for a replacement but I wasn't really sure what to get. Classifieds read: Middle aged body seeking comfortable two wheeler....... what to get? A friend who is framily now, called and took me looking. He and his best- in- the- world girlfriend and I had fun shopping. Actually, I think they had fun shopping while I was having heart attacks at how much new bikes cost if you get them with a seat and wheels, which is really more useful than a lone frame. The seats were mostly built to hold one cheek of the average adult bottom, too. What's THAT about? The day ended and I had such a nice time.

The next day, I came home from church and on my back stoop sat a bike. A bike with wheels AND handlebars and a seat that might just hold even my aged a......I couldn't believe it. How serendipitous! The very next day after we'd been looking and shopping!!. I called my friends and yelled into the phone to them, "Someone bought me a bike?!........ Did you buy me a bike?........ Why could you how could you do this !?" I could feel their good natures over the phone.

I hung up and brought it in the house. One week. Two weeks. A friend came by and said, "Hey, why don't you ride your BIKE? or are you going to leave it in the dining room and start eating on it?" I rode it to a friend's house and to work. I would probably frame it if I could and hang it because the thought behind it means so much more to me than the bike itself. Now, a few years later, I ride it but not as much as I wish I would. When I do, I am taken back to a day when three friends spent a Saturday just tooling around talking and looking at bicycles. The value of that time and the friendship means everything to me.

I have a friend at work, I’ll call her birthday girl today, who has learned more about me than most and she understands with love, this thing about gifts being hard for me. She knows I am grateful beyond measure for any kindnesses, but she also will be patient and huggy in those times. That present is one I hold onto dearly. The unconditional love.

A few months ago, I suggested to an older friend at work church, that I would be willing to write down his stories if he would record them. He tells stories about as much as he breathes. I find them interesting and can only imagine the value his family would put on those things if they were contained in an easy- on demand form like a bookish kind of thing. He agreed, and has been recording and I have been typing.

How delightful to be swept away from your own minutes for a little while and to be thrown into someone else’s- very different times and places.. I am enjoying this and feel so honored that he is willing to let me know his story. What better present than to be trusted with someone else’s life history?

Not long after I started typing, birthday girl’s husband dropped by to see me. He came in –in his work clothes, work satchel in tow. He, too knows me well. He sat uncomfortably in a chair in my office while I worked. I thought he was coming to see his wife. I typed and he fidgeted. Finally, he said, “I have something for you.”

I stopped typing.

He tensed.

“It is a good thing. Not a bad thing. I want you to let that sit with you for a while.”

I sat, staring at my screen wishing I had purchased and hooked up that rope ladder to my alley window when I had seen one on sale at Ace a while back.

He got up, and walked over to my desk.

I turned in my chair and steeled for the unknown.

“Tom asked me what you could use to make your transcription easier and since I work on your ancient home laptop, I said, a computer. So this is one for you to use for his stories.”

I was relieved. So much so that I let out a breath. Using a nicer laptop would be great and when I am done I know where to return it to. Perfect. Equipment on loan.

He opened the satchel and pulled out a new laptop and opened it. He turned it on.

A familiar and friendly picture of Hoops and Yoyo popped up. (I use pictures of hoops and yoyo on Facebook and I have them in my office and I love them a ton because in another life, we were next door neighbors) It became clear to me that this computer was a gift for me to use and keep. When I was able to turn my head to look at him, he had a Kleenex in one hand and both arms open. He kept saying, “This is a good thing. Please keep it. This is a good thing.” He and Tom had contributed to this and since he does the work on my present computer he was able to know better about what I would use more readily. He got me a mouse and a bag to carry it in as well. He told me of his adventures in shopping and that story alone felt like such an incredible offering from his spirit and friendship that I really did not need the story to end with, “and then I bought the computer and brought it here.”

I took it home and looked at it for a few days. Then I took it out of its case and looked at it for a few more days. I put it here, and then I put it there. Eventually, I opened it, took a deep breath, and still overwhelmed, I put it right back in its case and got my old one and put it in the case too, and took it to my friend so he could transfer info from old to new. In the days that followed, I talked with my weekly advisor, my girls, and others in my small but –tightly- woven -with -trust -friends. I hugged Tom when I saw him and tried to accept this generous tool. Now, it’s been a couple of months and Dell and I are beginning to bond.

Two weeks ago, my cabrio (Calvin) croaked. I drive that car like a truck, hauling mulch and leaves and plants and cuttings and kids and groceries and yard sale furniture in it. When it rains heavily, I carry water in the doors and floor and call the car Camel instead of Calvin. I knew the list of the cabrio's car problem issues was growing, but I decided that I would drive it until it was undriveable, and then be a pedestrian after that. Calvin tried to tell me he was in trouble. He kept his check engine light on. Even when I took him in to the shop for a look see, he’d get to shining that check engine light on again after we left. Then, the brake light started coming on intermittently. The coolant began leaking, and after checking that out, and finding no problem, it kept leaking anyway so I started keeping coolant in the trunk along with the shovel, fertilizer, and gloves. An invisible marble began rolling around under the hood. The steering wheel would occasionally screech and resist my hold. The car acquired a shimmy that my oldest daughter calls the Katherine Hepburn. (Sounds more like an expensive dinner choice until you take a ride in the cabrio... voices turn into her rattled rantings due to the shimmy.)

The mechanics, who are really friends who love Calvin, checked it out and said to keep at it unless it got worse so I did. It didn’t get worse for a year. Calvin finally succumbed to full fledged illness and with my oldest daughter following me, we got him to the hospital. By the time we pulled into the auto shop driveway, the steering wheel would only turn a quarter turn and the marble had become a petrified dead body part so we sounded like a screeching banging kabooming black boogie car about ready to call it quits.

I knew I had no appointment and I knew the car’s time for attention was past due and I also knew I had no funds to repair all that was needed to be fixed. I got comfortable in that, and decided I would become a pedestrian at last.

I walked to work and anywhere else I could. My daughters were more than kind in offering me rides, but they have their own jobs and things to do going on, so I resisted unless I absolutely needed a vehicle. They loaned me their cars to garden, and to grocery shop for Messy Chef jobs. They were very very kind and loving. Friends at work were just as kind. My biggest fear was not being able to get to weekly talk time. but framily came through. My daughter and then a friend at work offered to take me and even my kind counselor came through with making sure I got home. Too many kindnesses. I started learning the bus routes and rescheduled errands of like kind together. All good habits to learn. A week passed. No news. The weekend and a few more days, no news.

I called to see if Calvin was still in the OR, and the mechanic sounded pretty optimistic on the phone. She told me what they had done so far, and said they were going to keep going down the list . She seemed very upbeat and confident that Calvin would grace the roads yet again sometime soon. She seemed a little too chipper, if you know what I mean. The kind of chipper when you have to tell your 9 year old the hamster died, so you start off with telling them how much responsibility your child has shown with this pet, how many fun times they enjoyed together, and that you were so proud that your child was such a good caretaker and you both did all you could and then … eventually, the words blurt out “but the cat ate him anyway.”

That night one of the front desk receptionists from work church gave me a ride to home church and when I got there, I went to see my friend who works too much. While I was standing in her office, A teenager walked by and noticed me in there and backed up. “Oh! Hi! Melanie!”

I smiled and said “Hi!”

“Hey, I was working at the garage today and saw your car!”

“Oh! How was it doing? How does it look?”

Just as a typical teen who lives in the second would do, she answered spontaneously, “Well, the mechanic complained all day that your car is really f……… up. Yeah, really messed up bad. Good to see you! Bye!” and she left.

I wondered if I should call hospice or just wait for The Call.

Finally, the next day the mechanic called and read me the list of what had been repaired. It could have filled an entire excel spread sheet and if you don’t know excel you will just have to trust that the list was long. Thoroughly and impossibly long. They had fixed all but the Katherine Hepburn shimmy and AC ,and they had been driving it to test their work and I could come get it and bring it back next week for a half day to finish up.

I told her, the mechanic, that I had XX amount of money and I would either like to keep the car there until I could come up with the rest. (which meant I needed to find a treasure, win the sweepstakes, or sell my firstborn-it was obvious I wasn’t getting anywhere hitting the downtown stripper stretch at night. No takers. J) or I would like to give up my apartment and move into the car. She said come on over.

I got there, and saw a customer standing in the office. A man who looked as if he wasn’t really sure he wanted to be there at all. A man who may have been thinking he should have come in sooner. A man who had that look of dread that comes with one when the car has to go to the shop.

The mechanic was on the phone with a new customer and when she saw me come in, she told the caller that she wanted the new business, but she needed to help someone and would call them back later. I had never known her to let a potential customer go. I imagined her wearing scrubs when she walked over to a clipboard that had my key clipped to it. I gave her my check, she gave me my key and said, "Look. I was told to do this.” She tore up my check.

The uncertain man in the room took a complete turnaround in his demeanor and stance. He stood up taller, his eyes grew wide and you could tell he was wondering if this was for real, or if this was a joke. His eyes darted around looking for the video camera. Do these people love their work so much that they do it for free?????

My feet cemented to the floor and suddenly, it seemed as if the mechanic was speaking in a foreign language. I could not grasp the meaning of her words.

“People have been calling and coming over here to check on the state of your car since we’ve had it. I’ve heard more stories about you than I ever knew. After a while, the vendors got onboard and the two of us, too. It’s been a group effort to get your car running and out of here so you can keep doing whatever it is you are doing that has people calling here and coming by. All I can say is that you are very loved.”

From across the room came a loud sniff. The mechanic and I looked over to see the man break down. The three of us clustered into a raging salt water waterfall for a long time. I was unable to get that I was not paying for my car.

The crying man said, “I don’t know you, but if you wait a minute, I’ve got a few bucks in the car.”

The mailman drove by and beeped.

A train sped by and blew its whistle.

The prisoners a block away were all clinging to the bars chanting, “Cal-vin Cabrio, Cal-vin Cabrio, Cal-vin...”

The mayor, who lives a mere block away wanted to be with us too, I’m certain of it.

I won’t go into my reactions other than to say they were staticly overwhelming and soggy. I needed to find out who had made this happen so I could repay them. The power of that thought was strong.

The mechanic wanted to show me what she and her partner had done. After looking at the parts they removed from Calvin, the ones they were planning funeral services for, I headed back to work.

As if I wasn't already struggling to find my clearer thinking over this ginormous act of kindness and mystery, I got green lights the whole way back . I thought I saw a stop sign coming up once, but it ducked before I could get there.

I walked into work, dripping, and the front desk receptionist gave me a note that said a friend had left me a casserole in the frig for dinner…. Oh, and here’s$2 to help finish off paying for your car. . Apocalypse was upon us. There was no other explanation.

Work wasn’t working, my management gauge was out of order, so I went to therapuke and sat in Calvin until talk time. That saving grace, as usual, helped me immensely. I won’t go into the details, but I will say that for some reason, a collection of people who know me came together to do this for me. It appears as if the loving act of kindness rippled out and touched other folks, as well. Do you see the gift in that? It is so clear. The man in the shop, momentarily relieved of his guilt for waiting to bring the car in, has a better trust in the care his car will be given. The mechanic got to play Santa Clause in the pollinated spring and the friends, whoever they may be, gave big big, goodness to not only me, but to lots of others they don’t even know.

I won’t say I understand this generous giving being pointed my way, but I am today, dry eyed (mostly) and very grateful. Sometimes I think we aren’t supposed to ask why.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

2010-04-01T10:54:00.003-04:00

Lifeslittlebits.blogspot.com

Campredbird.blogspot.com

The “Things I don’t want to do” day.

2010-03-26T16:29:00.005-04:00

I took a day off this week to take care of some things on my I don’t want to do list.

Days like that are full of dread that is built from big doses of procrastination. Eventually, the dread becomes too much, and I succumb to the doing. Ugh.

Most of the time I take off to cook at home church or to visit children who live away and once a year, when we are really lucky, I take time off to go to the beach with the girls. Doesn’t look like this year will be one of those years, so I may take a trip to Raleigh during that week. I did that a few years ago and it wasn’t a half bad vacation.

Yes, I know I live in Raleigh, but anyplace looks a little different when you are viewing through vaca eyes, don’t you think? We'll see....

Okay. So back to the I don’t want to-

I went to the bank and had my taxes done because I had done them myself and wasn’t the least bit sure I had done them right. I was sad to find out, though, that I had. Sigh….

It will soon be time to renew my driver’s license and now there is a law that says your social security card and your driver’s license have to match up exactly. Well, the name on my social security card is off by one letter. My last name is commonly spelled wrong, I expect that. I guess the mistake didn't nag at me enough to fix it until the renewal reminder arrived. Oh, that procrastination......

s-o-n is the common spelling of the last few letters, but the correct spelling is s-e-n. I offer the reminder to friends, that since there are NO ‘sons’ at my house, (4 daughters), we spell it with “se” instead of “so”. Unfortunately, the social security administration isn't too interested in that explanation. I wonder if there is something terroristic in that.

I went to the social security office. After driving around for a while looking for a parking place, I finally found a niche for the cabrio and parked. I walked into a room full of strangers, plastic chairs and linoleum.. Not a welcoming environment, let me tell you.

I am not comfortable in closed places or cramped and crowded places either, so I was really working hard to make myself keep moving inside the building. A woman behind me on a walker pushed up against me until she finally got ticked off and just picked up the darn thing and walked around me. Then she placed it down and continued to scrabble at a snail’s pace again.

I felt something hovering over me and looked up to see the 7 ‘ tall security guard who really didn’t want to be there, either, looking at me. He lifted his eyebrows and looked into the room and I read that as ‘Get your ass in there, lady” so I did.

I followed the signs to the machine that decides when you get seen and saw reason for being seen. I chose the option- Because it's on my don’t want to do list. The machine spit out a ticket with #326 on it. I looked around me, not feeling very comforted to know there were that many people lurking in chairs, nooks and crannies, and I looked for a place to sit. The only open seat was right by the ticket machine. When I sat down, a voice over the intercom graveled out, “Number 22 to the blue hallway. Number 22.” I looked down at my ticket again. Yep. 326. I was pretty sure I might have needed to take 2 days off instead of just this one.

Over the lonnnnnnnnnnnnnng minutes of my wait, and in between the announcements-("Number 32 window A") I bonded with the overworked ticket machine. ("Number 49 to the red hall") She must get tired of spitting out tickets all day. ...people poking at you , grabbing at your paper… The very paper you are offering in kindness to strangers in an effort to help them be seen. (“Number 62 to the green hall”) I watched this vicious scene of people finger punching the screen over and over and I really felt for the weary ticket spitter equipment. (“Number 128 to window D”) Her screen was fingerprinted to death. Layer upon layers of prints – some I imagined were years old- lay on the graveyard monitor.

I started pretending no one was there except me and the ticket machine. People came up and asked me how to use it and I started plugging people’s info in for them.. I felt protective of the worn machine. Then, it happened. She ran out of tape. What to do? I looked up at the security guard and pointed to the machine. “She’s run out.”

He stared at me as if he expected me to magically create a new roll of ticket tape. I shrugged, held out my hands, clearly showing I had no such thing on my person. Security guard Goliath tromped across the room, squashing people in line along the way. People who didn’t speak-ah the English came up to the disabled machine and I shook my head then held up my index finger- the international sign for “wait”.

The security giant returned and fumbled with the machine and tape until he finally got it to fit and she soon started spitting out tickets again. What a life, I thought to myself.

Two days later, when my number was called, I was pleasantly surprised by the woman at window 'A'. She said, “Oh, I have to get my license renewed, too and I am so afraid of the sign test.” I was relieved that someone else understood why that task was listed on my “don’t want to do list.”

She continued. "I don't know why that silly test is scary."
“I know why.” I said to her.

“You do? Well, what is it? I mean, I've driven a lot and I know the signs. It’s not like I don’t.”

“I think it’s because right now, as we sit here, a law has been passed that changes the color and shape of the stop sign and when I sit down later today and look into that binocular sign gadget, I won’t recognize it and I’ll fail the test and will never be permitted to drive ever again in the history of the world.”

She looked at me, then quickly began correcting my information.

I continued. “Or maybe there’s a sign out there that no one has ever seen or used, and some irate driver’s license employee decided to add it to the test just because they can.”

She nodded as if she understood exactly what I was saying.“Well, you’re all done!” she cheerfully spoke. “Off you go!!” and “Good luck!!” then she leaned over the desk and whispered , “Hey, if any of that really happens, will you come tell me because I don’t have to go til September.”

“Sure” I said. And I was off.

Two tasks down.

I made it to the DL office while the sun was still shining but when I wound my way through the line and finally made it to the desk the calling machine crapped out. The officer in charge looked at my letter of correction from social security and still told me that he needed proof of the spelling of my name.

Luckily, I had collected every certificate, card, paper and dust bunny that looked as if it may be called for during these tasks. I laid out my life on the counter. “Here’s my birth certificate- there’s my maiden name” My hand elegantly glided over the letters, much like Vanna does on the game show.Then I laid out the next worn document –“Oh look! I got married! There's that knarly name change... and wait! BONUS!! Here’s the groom's birth certificate, too!!...Then a few photos to flavor the counter presentation. "Here are the children 1,2,3,4. Aren’t they darlings?” He sighed and rubbed his hand over his balding head, probably trying to calculate the days until his retirement would rescue him from this insanity. "Okay lady. Listen up. YOU are A. Got it?"

"A. You’re my first A since the calling machine broke so stand right over there and wait and I’ll call A-1 when it is your turn. Next….”

A little while later, He came over to me and said to no one in particular, “A -1” I straightened up with a start and walked to the next available desk. The woman at the desk was very kind and patient, or maybe, the woman was on valium. Either way, she said, "Look in here and tell me what you see." I looked into the evil sign machine and saw no surprises. The whole thing took 6 seconds.

I was so overjoyed that I really fought the urge to go back to social security window A and tell her the good news. It was a good fighting thought, but it passed pretty quickly.

Next, to de- mildew the convertible. Even though this winter has proven to be very precipitous, the cabrio hasn’t had one icicle all year hanging from its jowels. I only had to scrape the inside of the windows once, too. I thought the leaks were gone, but nay nay. I can’t seem to find the drain holes that were drilled in last year, so I haven't kept the holes clear for draining and apparently the water has overflowed on occasion and with the warm weather, well, can you say Science experiment? I didn’t realize this until I had already gotten a couple of loads of leaf mulch and compost, so I contributed to the petri dish unknowingly. Lysol is my new best friend. The end.

I had moved a weekly saving -grace-and -life meeting to this day so that I could collapse and unload the tales of the day in a safe environment. Good plan. Good idea to get the hardest things over with and end with the good and gracious.

Icing on the cake was a ballgame that night. Company was swell- wind was bitter. Saw some exciting plays by a friend I’ve watched grow up in baseball. I love going to the games because they are just easy to watch. Rachel came with me, and while my friend’s dad and I were bitterly shivering through the game, she sat, relaxed and comfortable, commenting on how lovely the breeze was and how this feels like summer in Minnesota. She spent last summer in Minnesota and acclimated to the climate, apparently. It was nice to have her right beside me in NC. She'll be off and gone again in about one minute's time.

Although the game was a refreshing end to a “don’t want to” day, we did have neighbors sitting next to us that added a sour taste to the event. I never got the nerve up to actually turn and look over there, but a man’s voice overshadowed the game announcer with a variety of comments that were pretty ludicrous.

Lots of political fussing about this and that, of course, then he moved on to other topics. Something about homeowners’ associations and how unfair they are and who needs them and oh by the way, he’s been sited several times for merely leaving raw eggs and trash out an extra day, parking his big ass broken down Ford truck with two flats and bird crap all over it on the street in front of his neighbor’s yard instead of in his drive way and another time leaving a dead body on the curb instead of inside his property line or some such.

I mean really- can you believe that?

After that, the conversation went to sushi, yes Sushi. Someone commented on liking the fresh fish at which he came back with the well known fact that none of the fish used in sushi is fresh. It is all frozen because that kills the parasites. What delectable conversation this man had to offer in the midst of “SteeeeeeRIKE!” and “SLIDE” and “RUN”. Totally lost my interest in sushi after that. I like making it, or used to. Think I’ll give it up for the rest of lent- this year and maybe the next 8..

Anyway, he finished up with road kill stories. No, I’m not interested in seeing what or who is in his freezer at home, and I don’t know who the maniac talking man even is, but the way he carried on, well, it sort of felt a little Wake County School boardy. You know- rude, crude and nonsensical?

All in all, the day came and went, and so did the list. For now, anyway.

Camp Redbird

2010-02-12T15:54:00.002-05:00

Well, here's another risk.......
A book I wrote for kids based on a preschool camp i started in my home when the girls were little. It just seemed easier to have 3 or 4 friends over on one day, rather than drag it out over a week with one extra here and another there. The laundry and clean up was more concentrated and short lived if I piled it all into a day's work. We named it Camp Redbird because our household was full of redheads.
Over time, the camp grew- I offered it when big school was still in, and preschool was out and we filled up fast.
We made good use of the garden, and my simple sewing skills. Old fashioned fun to replace what I was seeing as the new play- tv/ computers/ couching.

Eventually, the city asked if I would consider holding the camp with them, and so Camp Redbird became the first preschool camp- later changed its name since you can't really duplicate what we did at home outside of home.

I saved many stories from those days and wrote a series of books based on some of those camp times. I have the outlines for 4 or 5 more, but this is the only one i completed and I will add chapters here on occasion.
campredbird.blogspot.com

opening a door- just a bit

2010-02-12T15:42:00.004-05:00

I am really stepping out into the muck today. I have a confession to make.
Although i write the chronicles, i also have a few other writing projects that I have decided to open up. I may change my mind in the next five minutes, but right now, i'm going to brave the waves of anxiety and introduce you to Life's little bits- I have sometimes put some stories about my girls into the chronicles, and I may continue to do that, but today, i'm introducing you to a concentration of experiences I've had with my girls.
I have a book full of these, and will add a few as time and insanity allow.
To see the blog go to lifeslittlebits.blogspot.com

Winter's gifts

2010-02-12T11:35:00.003-05:00

Well, this year, we are experiencing something very odd. I can't recall the last time I took a walk and enjoyed the fresh air. I am more reminded of the Lion , the witch and the wardrobe's wintered earth. Baby, it's cold outside. What's going on? What happened to our serendipitous NC faux winters where we get a chill then the next day we're picnicking? By golly, i think Mother Nature is having her menopausal way with us this year and it isn't even very fun. Just because she is experiencing hot flashes is no reason to freeze us all out of our skins.

My Christmas Cactuses are blooming for the second time this season.

The bulbs are trying to poke through the ground but keep getting pounded back down by snow and cold rains.

The wreath on my front door is still preserved, this time last year it had turned brown and had begun shedding. I need to see that sign of spring.

I purchased a ton of 75% off bulbs just last week and was told it was not, unfortunately, too late to put them in. Will this Alaskan air ever leave?
Hmmmmm. Surely, it can't be all bad. Let me give this a think.....

Winter’s unwanted gifts:
Frigid air- still AND moving.
Cold car seats
sore fingers from thumping –before- touching doorknobs and handles because I don’t like being shocked and there is no way to avoid it, thank you winter.
The ground refuses shovel access; frozen dirt is hard to interrupt
Plants hibernate and take their colors with them.

Winter’s gracious gifts:
Unexpected days off due to snow or anticipated snow or hopes of snow or hearing snow has fallen somewhere within a 1,000 mile radius.
Hot chocolate’s flavor is in its prime
The transition from winter to spring is an easy one, for a change
Flannel sheets and heavy covers offer security
An opportunity to watch nature change her clothes
Knitting and crochet and felting are at their best

Manna.... the rest of the story

2010-01-15T15:04:00.004-05:00

If you have not already read the "manna" entry, you may want to do that before you tackle this one-

My boss had the honor of being asked to teach a workshop last weekend.
The job was supported by a grant that was very specific -as grants can be.

During the weeks prior to the workshop,as he was putting his teaching plan in action, he chose items from workchurch and his basement that he could use as props. He was very intentional in not purchasing materials unless he absolutely had to.

A couple of days before the workshop, he touched base with his contact person and discovered that part of the grant was designated for materials, a signifigant amount, and he HAD to spend it or else. This caused his rightbrainy-ness to go retro and start processing in reverse.
He was in a panic because now, he had a blank canvas to work from- and not much time to regroup and shop- yikes.

He asked me where he might find some props- unusual items like giant pots, old and worn authentic items... I suggested the store next to the restaurant at the Farmer's Market. I visit there on occasion to find things I like, then I look for them at yard sales and the flea market. He was desperate. He trusted my idea and took off in his batmobile.

The afternoon wore on. Winter was blowing bitter blasts and it was dreary to boot. I was getting ready to leave when he blew in with the wind.
" Come see what I found!!!" he bounced.
"Did you spend what you needed to?" I asked as I put my coat on.
"Yes, and I found things I never even would have considered. It was so much fun!!! Come see!! Come see!!!" I paused and breathed a sigh of envy for whoever babysat for him when he was 5 or 6 because surely it must have looked like this but even cuter.

We went out to the batmobile and opened one of the doors. That car was packed slam full. Like a magician reaching in his bag, he began pulling items out and telling me just how they would be used at the workshop and how we would later use them at work church.

"Look, a trough!!! a Realllll trough!! We can put manna in it, or turn it this way and we can put rolls in it or candles or prayers!! Can you believe it?"
"I'm trying, but it's pretty hard to believe, alright."

"And these wooden blah blahs... you can turn them over and they become blah blah blahs!!! This is soooo exciting!!!"

I watched him reach into his car and pull out his found treasures countless times. I soaked in his excitement and wondered if the participants would also be energized when they saw his presentation.

I couldn't imagine how he had been able to fit so many items in his car. Wow. Good minutes. Cold, good minutes.

"Yes! I love your finds!!! Wow! I'm so glad you found so many things so fast!!" I poked my head into the car and took a closer look. I saw round pieces of this and boxes with holes in them and then I saw something else.
I backed out and took a step away from the car. I wasn't cold anymore.
The winds stopped and whispered away. Everything got quiet. still.

"Crap! Are you kidding me? Seriously, are you kidding me? You were gone a couple of hours and you found this? "

Looking confused, he dipped into the car and then he reached for something and just stayed like that, his body half in and half out of the car.

I spoke to his coat."I like everything you got today except THAT."

He pulled himself out and faced me. He was holding a beautifully rustic, real,even Biblical THREE FOOT SPOON. I could tell just by looking at it that the aged utensil longed for manna.

"I'm just letting you know now, if that spoon comes within my reach, well, I can't guarantee what will become of it."
and I went back inside.

Accidentals, inc and acceptance

2010-01-05T20:50:00.008-05:00

I am beginning to learn that part of who I am is just plain messy.

For as long as I can remember, I have tried to do things just right. Just exactly right. Through the growing up years,I sharpened my observation skills so that I could better see exactly what was expected, I learned to listen intently for clues and I practiced practiced practiced.

Instead of becoming more of a perfectionistic thinker and doer, which i have come to realize is not in my genetic makeup, i began developing my own secret expectations of end products. I realized that it took a great deal of upstream energy to aim for 'right'. This skill, to this day still does not come easy for me.As a child, i began learning respite thinking. I began finding ways to do things that just came out however they came out- and being pleasantly surprised when the outcome was a good one. This 'messy' thinking is a part of who i am i guess ...

Messy Chef is a friendly name that is attached to my cooking skills. Not because I am a messy cook, but because the things I cook look messy. I am a clean -as -you -go -chef, but the dishes are not Monet by any stretch. When my girls were coming up, I baked their birthday cakes, of course. I see old pics now of those monstrosoties and cringe. ...except for the looks on the faces of the children. By the time my girls were old enough to care how things like that looked, they had grown accustomed to mom's messy blob birthday creations, because they tasted good. The first time i decided to try making an ice cream cake, I made a pound cake, sliced it in thirds, and layered ice cream and then put it in the freezer. uh. just a helpful hint: That's not how it's done. The ice cream melts before it can re freeze and you have pound cake mush.
Bake, cool, slice and freeze the cake FIRST. It works much better that way.On the other hand, let me just say you can NEVER have too much icing.....

I am not an exact or perfect anything. I cook and sew and do most things intuitively- that may be good and not so good depending on the issue or project. When cooking, I pour liquid into a bowl and count out loud "one third, one half, one cup". I palm the flour and salt and baking powder.
and i look and see how it feels before i continue.

I sew the same way. Love to sew. Failed Home Ec. Still love to sew. In the 8th grade, we were making durndle skirts and I decided to put 'invisible' pockets in mine, so i just cut two slits in the fabric and, well, let's just say it's a good thing I didn't need to pass home ec to move to the next grade.

I don't pin patterns to fabric. I use hairbrushes, pepper grinders, a shoe.. whatever is handy to hold the paper still while I cut. When the girls were younger I made many of their clothes and i cut out in bulk. I could knock out 4 or 6 pair of shorts or dresses in one go. I would cut out during one nap time, and sew during another. The clothes were comfortable, fabric they liked, and that's what counted.Well, for a while anyway.

Knitting and crocheting and felting works the same way. Yes, we all know that every one of my felting projects has a surprise ending. My friend, co-worker created a name for my company. She calls it Accidentals, inc. specializing in Melanizing.

When I knit socks, I knit one at a time and i do not make matching pairs. Socks are exact, and if one is going to get lost in the dryer, which everyone knows is the law of the dryerland, then I'll be darned if I want to waste a second sock that way, so I just make one like this and one like that and let it go. One day, I'll do two at a time, but right now, I'm happy with one at a go. Plus, it is fun to wear a different sock on different feet. A foot can have preferences, too. I just enjoy the activities and hope for the best. Sometimes things work out and sometimes not but this Christmas I had real good luck with a project.

I have a very special friend who has a very special dog. For some reason, this dog really likes me. I think we are connected on some level. I work in the garden at her house and visit with her but our time together is limited and yet, she still loves me. I decided to make her a sweater for Christmas. I had a pattern for a sweater for a schnauzer, and she is much much taller and longer than that, so I had to guess how big to make it. I sat down and closed my eyes. I imagined being at her house and petting her.I went through the motions of petting her and pretended she was right there with me. "Baci, hey Baci, sweet girl, hey there" and i petted and stroked her back. After going through this imaginary motion a few times, I was familiar with how long i patted her down her back, and i made the sweater that long.I was surprised to see how well it fit!!! Nice to have those good results. Truth be, forget the sweater, its all about the dog. full of life and happy acceptance. I could tell she knew I gave the project TLC. I think i like gardening so much because it isn't meant to be neat, and it feels alot like finding treasure when i plant seeds or bulbs or move plants from one yard to another, then see them bloom or grow. This reminds me of another story I must save for another day. Preschool planting.

For the years I have worked at work church, this messy thinking of mine has caused me great worry. I want to do things with ease and perfection. I want to get it right. I think I have realized that my margin of error has pretty much remained the same over these years. I send out about the same number of committee reminders and i send out about the same number of UN reminders. I enjoy learning new tasks, but unless i am doing that exact task every day, it's like learning all over again everytime I do it. Between computer and program upgrades and my age- ing brain, i run into that darn margin of error more than I would like. I think that is why i am surprised i am still called secretary. I love my job, largely because of the variety and because of the pretty incredible tolerance from staff of my messy ways. At any rate, when things turn out right, I'm the first to be excited. and when they don't, well, I'll try it again. The good thing about being a messy me is that there is always a surprise at the end. When it is good, it is very very good and when it is not, it is do-over.

I am in awe of people who have strengths in areas like knitting a sweater with both arms being the same length, or typing a letter that looks so neat it could be framed. I stand in wonder. I stand in my overalls, muddy shoes, but in wonder.

Manna

2009-12-24T10:36:00.004-05:00

When Christmas comes, children are filled with anticipation. They are enthralled with the mystery of the season and the wonder of all that it brings. Christmas works the same way for me at work church. After being here 5 years, I have come to anticipate Easter and Christmas in ways you might not expect. My boss, creative genius flowing briskly through his veins, has a knack for last minute artistic revelations. I call it the “Hey, can you find me a picture of prayer that doesn’t have hands in it?” syndrome.
When the spell comes alive, his feet stay about ¾” off the ground and his sense of reality is replaced with lightbulb ideas.
I’m talking the kind of lightbulb that doesn’t break or flicker- Strong bulb ideas. He will speak in strange tongues, sling phrases and questions out as if I can understand him, which, usually, I can’t. The whole of it is fun to watch and be a part of. I find that I look forward to the idea -spring every spring and early winter. The energy around it is all good. All. Good.

I expected the spell to hit late on the afternoon of the 23rd, but this year it came on lightening fast on the 22nd. I first questioned whether this was, indeed the “Hey, can you find….” moment, but then decided it probably was and it probably came early so there could be a REALLY last last last minute change. I figured right.

So, on an unassuming Dec. 22, my boss casually walks into my office and then right out. He continued this in/outness for a few minutes. I was working away at the usual- baptisms, calendaring and trying to see how many people I could cram into his Bible study which is another story I hope I’ll write.

Finally, he stepped in and stayed. He stood in front of my desk in wait, wringing his hands. – This is a sure sign something is cooking, so I put the top back on my pen and gently set it down. I scootched back into my chair and looked up at him; I was at the ready.
“Do you have time…. Uh, No really, do you have time to ……?”
Without losing my gaze into his now glazed -over -with -artistic -imagery –energy- eyes, I pushed the papers I was working on off to the side.
“Spill it.”
“Well, Do you have a feed bag?”
My lips pressed themselves together in an effort to keep me from smiling.
“You mean a burlap bag that has feed in it like horses eat?”
He brightened at my understanding of his request.
“Yes!!”
Unable to keep my composure, I reached for a tissue and pretended to blow my nose. Inside, my thoughts were screaming-
“Why in the heck do you think that your secretary would have a 48” burlap feed bag at her fingertips? And Why do you ask that question as if you are asking me if I have a blue pen, or a paperclip?”

I tried to remain casual, but I could tell my composure was twisting about some. I feared my facial expressions would soon take over.
I pulled a note pad over to me and grabbed a pen. I started a list.
1. Feed bag

Holding that writing pose I looked up and said, “Okay. What’s next?”
He let his hands drop and stepped back through the doorway as if he was in a hurry to get back to his office for more ideas.
“Can you google manger?”
2.Manger
“Do you want me to find out what it is? Or what?” I tried not to sound facetious.

“No No, see what you can find out about its meaning. Liturgically.”
“Okay. Got it. Anything else?”
He headed across the hall to his “cave” then spun around on his heel and popped his head in.
“Can you pick up some Manna while you’re out? We only need a few pounds.”
3.Manna
“Manna? Okay, so if you give me the bible verse I’ll look it up . I didn’t know we really knew what it looked like. Maybe it’s on special at the Teeter. Or do you have a coupon?”
He smiled because he knew I would try very hard to do these things for him and because he knew that I trusted his ideas. “Something grainy that we can run our hands through.”
“Okay.” I scribbled down grainy manna on my list. I was relieved that he did not request spongy manna because I was pretty sure most of the stores had sold out of that type. Whew.
He stood in the doorway of my office and spoke low and fast. “There’s one more thing.”
I waited.
“We need a 3 foot spoon.”
4. Ginormous spoon

Then he left. I heard the bell on his door jingle when it closed.
I sighed, picked up my list and gave it a good look before letting it fall back onto the unassuming desktop.

I looked up. I looked under my desk. I stood up and looked out tothe alley.
No candid camera in site.

I googled for a while and finally came up with a couple of definitions and some liturgical jargon around “manger”. Slimpickins, but at least it was something.

I went downstairs and opened up the box of flower bulbs I had wintering over. The burlap bag that held the sleeping bulbs looked like it knew I was coming for it. In fact, now that I think about it, I believe the whole box had a slight glow about it. Not as bright as the North star, but still…

I had spent the last few months looking for a suitable storage bag for bulbs and a friend found this in the mountains and brought it back for us to house our bulbs on their off seasons. Wow, I thought it was serendipitous but maybe it was more….. hmmmm…….I headed upstairs.

So, I tiptoed into his office and said, “You know those days when you wonder why you hired me? I have those often enough. Well, THIS is WHY!” and I presented the bag and miniscule info on mangers to him. He looked relieved.

I hit the road and searched most of the morning for manna and giant spoons. Thrift shops, novelty stores, Tuesday Morning stores, Big Lots, Mexican restaurants, and finally, I just couldn’t do it anymore, so I took a break and went to the whole foods market and checked out the manna assortment. Finding a grain that seemed like it might enjoy being manna for a one night stand, I headed to the check out. When I passed the restaurant section I felt a chill. I asked one of the bakers if they sold soup and when he said yes, an idea tapped into my brain.

“So do you make it in big pots?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“and what do you stir it with?”
I could tell he thought he may be talking to an overzealous and organically grown veganatrian. Yes, veganatarian. That’s a vegetarian and a vegan and every other type of 'v' person rolled into one.

“We use a paddle. BUT it is made of all natural wood with no additives and most of our soup paddles have come from trees found in the hidden jungles of organic continents that have given their tree lives up- voluntarily- so that other baby trees and vegetation may thrive, thus helping end global warming.”

I tilted my head to the side and took a good long look at this young baking man. He was really trying hard. I decided if I had the power to, I would have patted him on the back and given him the day off and I also would have hit him with a $5 bill and told him to go get a Happy Meal at McDonalds so that he could have a reality check. I figured he’d been pesticide free wayyyyyy too long.
“Thanks, sir.”

I headed to the nearest restaurant equipment store and lo! Wooden paddles sat in wait. I bought one, took it back to work, stuck a sticky note on it that said, “I CAN be a spoon!” and waited for my out of body boss to return.

The manna passed snuf, but the spoon made it all worthwhile.He said, “It’s a paddle. No spoons?”

I said, “This spoon was forced into being a paddle. It wants to be a spoon and it can be if you’ll call Clay and ask him to perform a conversion on it.” Boss was excited. SOOOO excited. Made me feel really good inside to see him in his Christmas best.

So, my thinking that this “Hey” day came early for a reason was right.

The next day, he came in and said, “We’ve decided manna should be mashed potatoes.”
Of course you did. But let’s be truthful about this, boss. It wasn’t quite that human, was it? I bet sometime in the night, an angel came to you in your dreams and sang on high, “ Mashed potatoes” and you woke with that understanding.
At any rate, I hit up the Kroger and bought the last of their super sized manna mashed potato flakes. When I got back to work, I typed labels that said Manna and I stuck them all over the boxes.

When he returned, he grabbed the boxes, glanced at them and said on his way out, “ Oh good, they had some”
I called to him.
“Excuse me?!”
“Yes?”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“It means that Kroger is old as dirt. Which is a little different than the history books say.”

He flashed me a smile and hit the sanctuary running.

Just as I locked up to go home, I heard his footsteps on the slate floor of the sanctuary. He was running and I flattened myself against the wall in preparation.

“The baby Jesus is too small!!!!” he cried. So, is this what the season has come to? The baby Jesus is too small? I made a few calls to families that I knew had children and then I shopped downstairs in the preschool area and came up with a bigger baby Jesus.

When I carried it into the sanctuary I stood in shock and wonder. I was quickly and delightfully reminded of my boss’s gifts and talents, his wisdom and spirit. The sanctuary held all of the elements I had purchased, but he had transformed the simple items into something Godly.
He carries a spirit inside him that is good and strong and fullof love and creativity. This church is so lucky to have him lead them.

Take a closer look at the picture and .....
Just remember: grain, mashed potatoes, plastic babydoll, wooden paddle and burlap.

Happy holidays

The President's address

2009-12-02T09:22:00.000-05:00

Last night President Obama spoke to the nation from Westpoint. I enjoyed shifting channels to see how each network covered the event. The mainstream channels had the same head-on camera angle, but CNN kept sweeping over the audience of cadets. A few of these sweeps later, I found myself laughing out loud in my living room. The cats just stared at me, wondering what the joke was. In the span of 5 or 6 minutes, I counted 7 sleeping listeners.
One got jabbed by his neighbor, but the others were blissfully enjoying the opportunity to sit in peace, and only one nodded. Thank you, CNN for making an otherwise boring drone amusing!

Church lady chronicle guide to challenging assistance people

2009-11-10T11:09:00.005-05:00

The question of this church chick day is, “How do you get someone who asks for assistance to leave when they are not being especially obnoxious but they are clearly settling in for a long winter's nap?”

Well, this is your guide to extended stay visitors.

When they come in and follow the front desk person as she walks to your office to tell you someone is here for assistance, don’t panic. Bolt right out of your chair and jump across your desk so that you are blocking the threshold of your office so they will not enter, which would mean trapping in your own office which is not a good thing.

When they stand belligerently in the hallway, demanding to see the Senior Pastor and you know that he is only an open- door office away, and you know that this person, regardless of how many ways he tries to say he needs spiritual assistance, is really here for some money- well you put your Protect the Pastor hat on and you say, “So, tell me what's going on?”

That might get you nuthin’ or it might get you the beginning of an hour long explanation that includes vital statements such as, “I’m not on crack or heroin, and I’m not a drug dealer, and I don't go downtown.Society is out to get people, just like Police.” These enthusiastically offered statements might suggest that ,perhaps, he is not being truthful but don’t stop listening because as he continues rambling, it will give you a chance to notice that his teeth are slowly being eaten away (a characteristic side effect of meth consumption) and you may notice a white powder stuck on his nostril and lips which may or may not be confectioner's sugar.

If you stand your ground and keep listening, you might hear about how comfortable some laundromats are for sleepovers and how the police are against us all and the Caucasian population is not family friendly.
Use this last statement as an opening to say, “Let’s sit down.” Then stretch out your arms in a welcoming fashion and side step down the hall as if to lead and point to a better conversation spot while all the while you are really blocking the open -door office where your boss is working hard with another staff member to prepare some important info for an upcoming meeting.

If you can successfully make it past the door, and around the corner you can land your visitor in the lobby where he will continue to talk about things such as his problem with anger management that he is going to get under control without anybody's damn help, and how his parents died and he didn’t get enough of the inheritance and he works in construction but not now but he might someday even though he hasn’t actually- he thought about it and he won’t pay his parking tickets in another state so he can’t have a driver’s license until then but who cares because he drives a bike that is an expensive one but you can’t tell because it looks cheap but it is a ruse so it won’t be stolen it is really a very important bike or will be when he gets a new tire on it and the gears fixed and no he didn’t even get hurt when he was hit from behind by a Caucasian driver in yet another state once and then you might get a really detailed description with words and body language about his being rocketed into space and how he tumbled and which foot hit the hood right not left or maybe it was left but it felt right and he can get a truck and get other people to drive it.

As you listen intently, be on the lookout for the visitor to take a breath. It may not happen often, but it is a vital opportunity for you to say, “What do you need from us today?” If you miss your first opp, be prepared to listen for another 15 minutes about Ann landers and maturity and she can help you manage yourself when you are mad which police and other people, especially people in soup kitchens can not.
When you get lucky enough to interject the question, be prepared to get a multiple choice answer.

Food, money, cash, not grocery cards because when you ride with food bags on your handlebars, the police drive by and say, “Let’s rouse him” so you have to get food that you can eat right then but Kroger is the best.
By this point, you may go ahead and release the hold on your number one rule which is “see and copy identification, picture ID in particular” and go to your number one substitute rule in case of emergency which is “Give them a giftcard and help them move on” and then the back up back up number one substitute rule, “Give them the contents of the gum bowl if you have to.”

Be prepared to accept without comment when they pull out a worn out document that may or may not contain a SS number with no name. Don’t comment on the arrest papers that the visitor may give you to use as identification, even though he just told you he’s never been arrested. Accept it and go is a wise management skill in those moments.

Expect to have to “sell” this gift card since it may not be Kroger or cash. Do not think that by accepting the offer of a card it means that your visitor is indeed ready to leave. When you go to your office to get the card, you may want to take the opportunity to down a handful of tums. They work pretty quickly. Do NOT, however be overzealous in this remedy for tummy nerves. A large handful can leave you with a tums powder mustache which may resemble the visitor’s crack shadow. Probably not a good idea to bond on that level.

When you bring out the card, you may find the visitor on the church phone. Feel free to inform him that the phone is for business calls only, and don’t fret over being calmly firm, because there is every chance the visitor will respond with “I had a cell phone but the minutes are all gone and if I had 10 dollars I could buy more minutes,” At which time his dead cell phone may very well ring right there on the spot.

If this occurs, take a step back and bite your tongue. When his minute-less conversation runs into several minutes, resist the urge to point out that what he is talking on is indeed a miracle as it is a dead phone arisen and with minutes to boot.
When he hangs up, give him the gift card and make it clear that is all you have to offer him, but don’t think he is finished with you yet because after all that conversation, he just might want to rest a while.

He might want to rest a while in the chair where he has been parked all this time because there is now a comfy pressed- in spot that fits his physique just so.
This might be a good time to affirm his statement that he is going to stay and add to that a drop of reality with , “ Sure. It’s fine for you to stay for a few minutes. There are benches outside that are also very comfortable and as a matter of fact, it is such a lovely day that you may enjoy the fresh air after a few minutes out there.”

Consider taking the time to return to your office for more tums at this time. It is possible that you may have noticed this individual stands out a bit from other visitors requesting assistance. You might even recall the soft and intelligent voice of the serial killer in The Silence of The Lambs, but don’t give in to this assumption wholeheartedly. Many people share similar language and intonation. On the other hand, you might want to cut back a bit from watching Criminal Minds and Law and Order for a while.

After a few moments, return to the visitor and when he is off the phone that has no minutes yet again, you can try letting him know that it is nearly time to close. Ignore the fact that you are standing in a church that never really closes. When he says, “Oh, yeah. What time is it anyway? 4:00?” you can safely look at your watch and say, “No it is 3:30, but we close at 4 today.”

Ignore the reaction of the front desk receptionist, and ignore her silent mouthing to you, “We close at 4 today? Really? I get off an hour early?” Just blink those words away.

When he says, “sooo I can sit here another half hour?”

You can respond with, “You can sit her for 10 minutes because we have to close up the front desk.” Discard the confusion of the receptionist as she looks around the front desk for things that need closing up.

Go to the phone and call the maintenance super and say to him on the phone, “Hey, it’s time to close up now, you can come on up and lock the doors.”
When he responds with, “Wut? Why are we locking the doors? You know where the key is, don’t you? Closing early? We’ve got Bible studies tonight.” Just repeat in a calm and steady voice, what you have just said and then add, “You can COME UP HERE right now and lock up” and if you hit just the right notes, he may sigh with irritation and say to his partner, “women” and then to you, “okay, we’re coming.”

This is probably when the visitor will discover he needs to use the restroom.

Fight the urge to direct him to the shrubs outside. After all, you are the gardener at church and the plants won’t appreciate that a bit. Acknowledge with active listening, much as you did with your own children perhaps, when they were younger, “You need to use the restroom.” Try to keep away from a tone of disbelief.
When he stands up and, with confidence, heads to the restroom, you might say to yourself, “Self, he knows where it is. He seems very comfortable here, yet you have no record of any prior visits, perhaps he’s been here when you were not.”

This is another good time to finish off the tums bottle. When he leaves the restroom, take note that he may not backtrack, but he may feel a sense of adventure and might decide to explore the other half of the building. If this happens, the maintenance men may be able to herd him toward the front door.

Offer to help him get his bike outside and alert him to the fact that the Thanksgiving food collection box is not for shopping, and didn’t he say something about bags of food on the handlebars were a red flag for police to rouse him? Then, sidestep quickly so as not to be hit with his quiet rage.

When he has actually exited the building, you might discover that your intuition about this visitor was on target. You might discover he has been to the church on other occasions, and you might also discover that contrary to his strong insistence that he has not ever been arrested, he has a record for violent crimes in another state. Multiple arrests. This information can help you to trust your gut next time and not feel guilty about judging his needs.

Remind yourself that you try very hard to help people who come into the church and that the world is full of people who need food help and people who just need help leaving the premises.

Halloween radio

2009-10-27T09:12:00.002-04:00

I'm not into frightful movies or even frightful moments, so Halloween isn't really a favorite holiday of mine. In fact, when the girls were younger, two of them were allergic to food coloring- red #20 and FD&C 5and 6 in particular, so Halloween and Valentines day and Easter were not the best holidays for us.

This is Halloween week and by a lovely surprise, mystery radio is playing ghost stories and scary tales all day. I am loving it. This morning when I came in, "Macabre" was playing. The 40's sounds of murder and mayhem are most entertaining.

Off and on through the day yesterday, as people stopped by to chat or vent, their conversation was occasionally interrupted by a Faye Ray scream or a Boris Karloff deep and deathly calming threat.

Watching reactions to this are very entertaining for me, so I can only hope for a week of funny faces and deliciously old timey tales of terror.

Adventures in transcription

2009-10-26T16:25:00.005-04:00

One of the things I enjoy most about this job is the variety. For the last few days, I've been transcribing a journal that one of the mission trips composed on a trip to a far away place last summer.

I am really enjoying the stories, and today, I realized that I am also rewriting bits of them.

The journal was passed around so that each team member was able to handwrite an entry. I've been reading and interpreting fonts that aren't really of this universe yet. My own handwriting is a challenge;one that has come in handy on occasion. My girls haven't been able to decipher holiday shopping lists for years. whew.

I've been wrapped up in the stories as I've been typing them from scribble to keyboard type, and today, I realized that I may be getting some of the story not quite right. The front desk receptionist and I chipped away at a few of the unintelligible words today, she's an expert- being a sudoko warrior.

There was one word that neither of us could quite get, though, so I asked for some help from one of my staff pals.

The paragraph involved celebration and a crowd and another "c" word. I was able to pull apart all the other words in the grouping except for this one. Dag nabbit. My friend breezed through the paragraph, hesitating only slightly when she got to the mystery "c" word. Her reading was different than my transcription, though. Hmmm.

I gave the journal to another passer-by and asked for a reading of this paragraph and they came up with the same thing. Good guesses for all words and only slight hesitation on my challenge word.

My friend asked me to read what I thought it was and before I had gotten half way through the piece, she had to take a break- catch her breath- put her teeth back into her mouth. Her laughter shook my plants right out of their pots.

Her reading went something like this:We went to a celebration and luncheon this afternoon Our bus pulled into a crowd with costumed dancers, a tent area with chairs, tables and a large crowd gathered to celebrate the young children...

Mine went this way: We attended a celebration and luncheon. This afternoon, our bus pulled into a crowd with Costumgo Dancans, a tent area with chairs, tables and a lance crown gangled to celebrate the young children.

I was wondering a few things as I typed. Who the heck was Costumgo Dancans, and was it a cultural thing to celebrate children with lance crowns and whatever those were, they didn't sound too kid friendly.

My friend rolled her way downstairs to her office and shot off an email to me asking to speak with Costumgo. Funny, very funny. Then, her youngest son called me and asked to speak with Mr. Dancans. I told him to hold while i transferred him to his voicemail and then I hung up.

I've pretty much decided to attach a copy of the original journal with my transcription. That way, the readers can choose whichever version they prefer.

Returning to the scene of the crime

2009-10-14T22:27:00.002-04:00

Last night I returned to the scene of the crime. My wilderness daughter and I walked over to the shopping center to meet friends, and lo! Suddenly, there we were at the very scene. The elephant ear bed. All signs of life had been removed. The dirt lay bare. No yellow crime scene tape, either.

We stood together, me glad in my heart that my story was now proven true that the landscapers were due to come when I thought they were, and sad in my heart that the cousins of the plants I had saved were now. gone.

I looked around and all of the pots had been brutally emptied, their summer arrangements replaced with shrubs. How bland, I thought.

" Okay, mom. It's time to let it go" my daughter said. She gently pulled me away.

There wasn't a red rose in sight to leave on the grave.

It was good while it lasted

2009-10-13T15:07:00.006-04:00

I am a spring/summer church chick. Cold weather sends me into hibernation.
I search out things to look forward to that can string me through the cold months.
Planting bulbs, getting the free shopping center plants, making pomegranate ahm, making soup for church. Those things usually take me through February.
Last week, I tried to plant bulbs at church but it was too warm for the bulbs to hit the dirt, so I still have that to look forward to, and I have my own to add to and two friends’ yards as well.

The free plant day came up yesterday. I've been looking forward to it for weeks, watching and mentally picking out what I need for this yard or that. You’d think the planters held chocolate instead of dirt.

Yesterday, right in the middle of a quarterly staff planning day, I got the call. THE CALL.
“The truck is here!! They are here!! Come right over” said my contact. The timing was very unusual because usually the landscapers come at the crack of dawn, not during lunch rush hour. I dreaded digging amongst folks enjoying pizza, reubans or nachos, but one must do what one must do sometimes. This was one of those times.

I excused myself from the meeting, determined to dig fast and get back quick as a wink.
I met the friend/contact at her store, dug up what she wanted and what her boss wanted. I rode around and pried up the plants I needed for church and yards, then took a last drive around the shopping center to see if I forgot anything. I saw the elephant ears waving at me from afar and I pulled up and got out with my trowel. Note: Never fall for an elephant’s ears' wave.

I loosened the dirt around one of the waving plants and heard a voice behind me. “Are you with the landscapers?”
“No” I stood up and brushed the dirt off of the plant. A woman in an SUV had pulled up beside the curb. She held her phone to her ear.
“Who are you with?”
I smiled and said, “just me”
“I’m calling security.” The next few minutes are an exaggerated blur.
Another car pulled up, an officered police person came walking over, and a plain-clothed security officer also walked over.

I told my story to the woman, explaining that I had permission, and how I had permission and that if it was no longer okay for me to save these plants that were about to be dug up and abandoned in the landfill, then I’d release them back into her ill care.

She understood what had happened and let me know that the policy was now changed (now being the target word here,) and no one could have them but the landscapers. The reapers. The grim reapers.

I explained that the landscapers were glad to let me dig because it meant less work for them, but she held tight. We both waved off the FBI and the security guards. I convinced the police to go back to chasing bank robbers, and I begged the state trooper to look for speeders on the interstate. Finally, they left.

I was resigned to the fact that the glory days of collecting discarded plants was over. I wept inside, thinking of the orphans that were about to hit the landfill. I grieved. My heart was sad. The first woman felt my heartache and put her arm around me. “ If they are really really strong, they’ll make it no matter where they end up.”
I shook my head and blew my nose.

The second car took my attention. It contained a hormone depleted, slightly thinning but dyed blonde haired woman who had surely mistaken a bottle of rancid perfume for lotion. It was obvious she had virtually dipped herself into it several times. Her body gave off waves of the stuff much like a car hood does heat.She looked wavy.

She was dressed in a shirt and skirt combo that I can only guess was a‘wanna-be Chico outfit mixed with a slather of American Eagle for the aged’. Her fashion statement was held together with a big black hippo tongue, or maybe it was a belt. The buckle was acrylic. gold-dipped plastic.

Her bright purple nails were a hair longer than her fangs, which had obviously been overwhitened, or maybe she swished with Clorox when she brushed. She must have had on spandex hose with tummy tighteners because her legs looked human, but her navel was popping up through her cleavage. She wore heels. I think. I had never seen shoes quite like that before. They were thick 4”platforms with skinny 3”heels coming out the bottom. They matched her nail color. Her neck and limbs dripped gold. Please don’t make me describe her face. I need to sleep at night.

She stepped out of the vehicle and towered over me. She pulled a megaphone out of the car and began yelling sharp pointed words at me. Wait. That wasn’t a megaphone. I think it was her lipgloss- covered botoxed lips.

She made it clear to me that I was a heinous criminal, foraging and stealing plants from her.
I explained that I had been invited to do so by the landscapers and the store. She wondered why I came at this particular time and day and I told her about the letter letting store owners know when the plant change out was coming. I told her of the call I got telling me they were here now. The woman grew zits as she threw angry words at me. In the midst of my fright and horror, I was somehow comforted to see that she was in some way, human after all.

The woman spoke so hard that the first woman began crying, sobbing, “It wasn’t her, it was me. Me! I tell you. Please, for Gosh sakes, let her go!” The crying woman then looked at me and said, “Run, run as far away as you can and don’t stop running until you can’t run anymore!” She backed up and inserted herself into her car.

The screaming life-crisis continued telling me how stupid I had been to believe the store owner regarding plants outside the store. I broke. I finally cracked in half and broke.
“But I’m a church secretary, for God’s sake! Why would I be digging up plants in the middle of the day for anyone to see if I was stealing them?” Oh, where is a prozac when you really need one? I could have tossed it down her megaphone mouth and we both would have felt a ton better. But, nay. Such luck was nowhere to be found.

She suddenly stopped making noise. The glare was there, but I had side stepped just out of the glare -ray field, so I wasn’t too scorched.

“ Do you want me to return them? I’ll gladly put them back, but they will be taken away anyway.”
“ What have you taken?” she seethed.
“ Well, ferns and these elephant ears.” The question was moot as the fern was sticking out of my side window and the elephant ears were still waving at me from the car. They looked perky and ready for a roadtrip.
“No. Enjoy them.” She said. “And don’t come back”
I opened my car door and whispered to the elephant ears that were hogging the driver’s seat, “scoot over”. I got in and left. The stowaway caladiums in the trunk were cheering as I pulled out. “We’re saved!!! Woo Hoo!!”

It’s funny in a not funny way how in the span of a few seconds one can be convinced they are indeed criminal, evil, vile and bad bad bad. I held that sense all the rest of the day.

I returned to work, shook the dirt out of my hair and threw a sweater on over my now dirty shirt. I rejoined the staff planning, but trembled all afternoon. I kept looking for a SWAT van to pull up. It never happened.

I was in need of comfort, clarity, and I needed reminding that I had followed advice and information as I knew it. I needed to know I was not as bad as I felt and that I could indeed continue to be allowed to live on the planet. Surely, no church would want the likes of an accused plant thief working in their building and for that matter what church would want one of those as a member? My imagination drank in the adrenaline from the unfortunate experience and kept on with the thoughts that I would be asked to move out of my townhouse because my landlord would learn of my mishap, and my children would sharply turn away from me, I would lose all of my framily as well.Why, I was sure my kitties would hiss when I returned home later. I was a mess.

After the meeting, my boss asked how it went and I whispered, "Mother Mary, forgive me, for I have sinned. It's been a while since my last confession."
He looked around the room, then at me, and said, "Wrong religion, what happened?"
I said,"I got in trouble." The word "trouble" drew attention and a few of my co workers came over to hear the story. I had not gotten very far into the tale when the reactions began. Rejection wasn’t in the mix, though. No. It started with sniffs, then lowered heads and finally outright laughter. “When you call me tonight, give me a few minutes to laugh, and then I’ll come bail you out.”

What is wrong with these people, I thought. Where was the shun? ...the rejection, the disappointment in my obvious flaw of character? Were these things hidden in their laughter? It didn’t seem so, and it left me confused.

I called my oldest daughter and she had no reaction at all. She suggested without hesitation that perhaps the old biddy had the misfortune of sitting on something sharp, or maybe she had woken up on the wrong side of the plastic surgery. or maybe she needed to be pinched to bring her back to reality.
Reality. That is what was missing in my thinking.

I had an intense need to rid my car of the “hot” rooted victims. I gave away some of the goodies before I left the building to an assistance person who would have rather had food, but seemed amazingly satisfied with a fern.

I drove by a friend’s house- someone who regularly invites me to dig plants from her yard, and I did a drive-by drop off.

The only plants left were ferns for a friend, and caladiums for church.

I decided that what I needed was a visit with our framily friends who have a luscious 3 ½ year old and a 4 month old. Some kid- time might help me find my way back to steady.
I drove my -now full of dirt car- over and skatted up the front walk to the front door. There was a sign on the door that read, “We love convicts. Herb thieves welcome here”
Funny. Very funny. How did they know?

I entered and was met by my 3 year old friend who hugged me tight. Just what I needed and wanted. Just what I needed to remind me I was good of heart, okay. He hugged hugged hugged me and said in my ear- “ Menandy, I luv u even if you are a fugitive”

He took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen where my oldest daughter was trying to hold her mouth shut with both hands, unsuccessfully. Across the room my little friend's mom was shaking with laughter, unable to look at me for fear she wouldn’t make it to the bathroom in time, and his dad was frantically stirring a pot of empty spaghetti water. Somehow, the laughter among people I have come to trust helped me think more realistically.

After that, I went to a friend’s house and planted the ferns in her yard. It was dark by then, so the sense of sneaky crime had crept back into my head. There I was, hunched over the dirt digging a hole like a murderer digs a hole for his victim. I stopped and said into the dark,"Oh Lordy." I quickly finished putting the illegally adopted ferns to bed, then I went inside and spilled out my story.
No one there seemed to see me as a rotten crook, either. My teen friend was intently typing on her laptop, appearing to be working hard on homework, though i suspect she may have stumbled into her facebook account. She never looked up, but said, " You didn't do anything wrong." It felt like a line on a chinese fortune cookie. I wanted to believe it.
I stayed a while, grabbed some much needed hugs and headed home.

My cats were glad to see me. My landlord had not called or left me a notice. I began to think that maybe, like Alexander, I had just had a few minutes of a no good very bad day. So I went to bed.

It was good while it lasted, and the plants that came home with me last Spring and yesterday, will have chances to live and thrive. I think that’s as good as it gets.

As for the irate woman? I think she just needs a good bite of chocolate, and maybe if she’d unsproing herself from spandex and pointy high heels, she may see things a little differently.
I’m not planning on finding out, though.

Mother nature

2009-10-09T15:04:00.004-04:00

Today is bulb day. Mid October, we've had some chill in the air to prepare the dirt for a good winter sleep, and the few bulbs I actually purchased for this year have arrived.

I have been psyched for this for weeks. I have counted on this day to help me ease out of warm summer days and into fallwinter. It seems to me that we only have 3 seasons around here. Spring, Summer, and fallwinter. One day it will be a high of 50 and the next a frigid 22 low from mid Oct to late Feburary.

Although we've had several cool nights and days, today presented with humidity and the promise of August heat. I suspected something was amiss when I first put my glasses on this morning and they fogged. Usually it is my brain that stays in a bit of a fog, but today my glasses decided to give it a try.

I put on my overalls and went downstairs for tea. When I broke a sweat coming down the stairs I wondered "What in the world?"

When I got into the Cabrio, the top automatically opened. I turned on the radio and caught the weather report. "High of 86 today" my radio sweated the news to me.

I couldn't believe it. I'd been sleeping under a blanket for a while now, and suddenly we're stepping into summer again? Was Mother nature P-M-S-ing? or what?

Oh, well, I decided. The heat won't hang around long, I'll bulb anyway.

When I arrived at work, I went downstairs and brought up the two boxes of tulip bulbs and early blooming daffs that have been resting all summer. The early daffs came from a church member who willingly thinned her bed out early summer for me. For the church. I noticed the flowers on her plants were just a tad smaller and delicate than the strong yellow flowers I planted a year ago and I thought the variety would look nice. The members here are generous that way. Many people are when it comes to plant sharing, I have discovered.

I made the trip for compost, loaded up my car with bags of it and put on my garden gloves. I sharpened my hand shovel, popped a piece of super bubble into the old mouth and brought the boxes outside.

My bulb collection has grown allsummer. Most I either dug up or begged for from others' yards,

I decided to plant seasonally starting with early spring bloomers. Windflowers.
I hoped they would be a groundcover of daisy-like blooms that would eventually cover the daff greenery after the blooms had faded.

I pulled out the bags of little black bulbs and set them on the ground where I wanted to plant them all along the front beds of the church.

When I got to the end of the bed I turned around and, with shovel in hand, I headed back to where i started, ready to plant where they lay.

The bulbs were no longer laying on the dirt where I had left them. They were some, back in the bag, some scattered in the box, and a few others rolling around in the grass.

Hmmm,I thought to myself. I scooped a handful of the AWOL bulbs and walked over to the dirt. I pressed my shovel into the rich earth and made a lovely hole, warm, comforting and inviting for any bulb to inhabit.

I dropped a bulb into the hole and it flew right up like Marilyn Monroe's white dress in that scene on the sidewalk. Luckily, I caught it. I tried again, this time placing rather than dropping. The bulb reacted to the hole as two resistant magnets. The little black ball would not, could not, or maybe just refused to go to bed.

The 86 had hit by that time with 100% humidity and I looked like I had just run through the sprinkler. Wishful thinking. Suddenly, I was weary. Hot and bothered. I decided that Mother nature knows better than human nature sometimes, and this was one of those times. I bagged up the bulbs and carried them back inside.

Maybe next week will bring a bulb day again.

Methodist tomatoes

2009-10-08T13:14:00.005-04:00

Update on the front work churchyard gardens- The tomatoes and peppers have moved on to another part of their life cycle, and the broccoli plants look comfortable as they are getting their roots settled in.

A couple of weeks ago, an assistant person came in determined not to leave empty handed. I know this sounds harsh, but this particular visitor is a regular. He comes so often that he can now follow his own worn footpath in the lobby carpet from the front door to the chair. He is cheerful and desperate at the same time. Sometimes he looks 76 and other times he looks 40 so I have no idea what his true age is, and the day of copying his license has long since passed.

When he is sober and lucid, I try to figure out what of his needs we can help with but more often than not, he comes in reeking of smoke and old beer. I sit down with him and listen for a while before helping him out the door. He is most interesting and full of stories.

Billy Ray is famous in some parts around I-95 where he prayed with Billy Graham as the Reverend came through a truck stop where Billy Ray just happened to be resting. Billy Ray and Billy Graham had many things in common you know. They both had the same name, and frequented the same truck stop to pray. Those were the good days.

He’s had liver disease so bad his liver has been replaced 2 times and nearly 3 but they took his gallbladder instead and snatched his appendix while they were shopping around in there. There, being his gut. He’s had open heart surgery several times “before open heart was even known around here”.

On this particular day, Billy Ray was about to have yet another surgery. Bypass, even though he’s had more bypasses than the beltline in town. His doctor told him to eat fresh fruits and vegetables and to walk 7 blocks and rest. Just like that. 7 blocks and rest. 7 blocks and rest. I found it interesting that we were on the “rest” end of that exercise regime. He reminded me that everythin’ happens fer a reason. I don’t doubt it, well, not on that day.

I told Billy, as I had on many other occasions, where the food pantry was- a couple of miles away, and then he asked for a gas card.
I reminded him of his doctor’s strict orders to walk 7 and rest. He didn’t look too thrilled at the reminder.

I asked him if he liked tomatoes and he brightened right up.
“Well, come on, then, with me.” And I headed out the front door.
He followed , but with caution and a little bit of concern- or it seemed so to me.

When we got outside, I climbed over the flowers and felt around the veggie plants and came up with 4 tomatoes and a bell pepper. He looked as he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
I stood up. “There! Now, here, hold your hands together like a bowl, like this.”
He did.
I filled his hands with the veggies. “ You can’t get any fresher than that, can you?” I beamed.
“ Uh, no I guess not.”
“ Okay, now, there you go. Probably ought to get back to your walking and resting. You know what your doctor said.”
He walked across the grass and started along the sidewalk.

“Hey Billy Ray! That’s the best tomato you’ll ever eat! It’s a Methodist mater!”

He held up his hands –of- plenty and kept walking.

Voting in America

2009-10-06T10:07:00.003-04:00

Today is a voting day for the county where I live, so I voted . Then, I got a sticker. They still carry a little magic, stickers.

When I was filling in the circles on the ballot, I was reminded of how lucky we are to be able to vote. Being able to elect and select empowers us sometimes, makes us feel strong and choosy.

These feelings jumped right off the paper and into my morningness.

I noticed that there were a couple of blank spaces for write ins so I did that, too.
I voted to ban Monday mornings.
I voted for free laundry and cleaning service.
I voted for sugar free sugar and fat free fat.
I voted to never have another flat tire and for babies to sleep through the night starting on their very first night in the world.

The ideas came to me one after the other with none of them taking turns. One idea pushed the other right out of line, and soon, my pen went dry.

I asked one of the voting helpers for another pen and she said, “Sure, is that one not working? I opened a new box of pens this morning- must be a fluke.”
When I traded pens with her I said, “No, I don’t think that’s it. I just used this one up.”
The whispering between the helpers outside my voting booth didn’t distract me from continuing on.

I voted to give clergy peace and strength and for congregations to recognize that Pastors are people, too.
I voted to build in a workday naptime each and every day.
I voted to exile nightmares and night terrors.
I voted for Danskos to always be on sale and for cats to stop shedding.

My list went on. I started writing in teeny tiny fairy print.

I voted for framily to be an official and recognized word and entity.
I voted for squirrels to stop bullying bulbs that want to sleep til spring.

When I stepped back from my booth and asked for a second ballot, one of the women behind the table shook her head and windshield wiper-ed her index at me. “We only get to vote one time today, Missy. One ballot, one vote counted.”
Rats. One ballot didn’t even come close to holding all I wanted voted on. Important issues. Critical points.

I resigned myself to her directives and took my ballot to the ballot eater. My fully voted document was heavy with ink and it took me three tries to convince the machine to accept my offering. When I heard the machine swallow my votes, I went back to work and made a mental note to take note of when our next voting day is…

Every Little bit helps

2009-09-14T16:22:00.000-04:00

The church yard is looking wild and wolly. The sweet peas are in bloom around one pine tree and the passion flower seems to be settling in. I can't wait until it blooms.
The lamiastrum is growing. Eventually, the pinestraw will be all green leafy plants.

Along the front, I will be adding mexican petunias in a couple of weeks for next year, and well, I will be pulling the tomatoes and pepper up soon in exchange for broccoli.

I snuck a few veggie plants in with the flowers this summer and lo! they are producing.

I took 2 measley pounds of roma tomatoes and a green pepper to the Interfaith Food shuttle today and you would have thought I carried a bushel basket overflowing with grand vegetables in. The response was so comforting. Every little bit helps. I hope to keep mixing vegetables in with the flowers until I can get approval for a small raised bed on the grounds. In themeantime, I'm proud of the work the few plants have done and I am grateful for their bounty. Someone will be enjoying them tonight.

2009-07-22T17:12:00.003-04:00

Summer is speeding by- and I find myself looking daily -at my pile of CL scrap notes of things I want to share here, and today I realized that its been a long time since I've added a church lady chronicle blabber.

Over time, some 200 + entries now,I have broadened this venue to include my observations and experiences outside of my church chick job and hours and so far, that seems to be fine with readers.

I am grateful for that tolerance, flexibility, and grace.

Writing is something that I may not do well, but, still, I am compelled to pour syllables onto the keyboard nearly all the time. Compelled with a want/need to do so. Time, or lack of, usually gets in the way, but the last couple of months have held something different.

The month of May was catch up work from Easter time, and then June arrived with some distracting transitions, and somehow, my words have hidden from me, though I feel them wiggling around just the same.

I have locked up that vulnerable source. Protecting what, I am not sure. When the words are at ease enough to get their feet wet again, I will pour them out here... and I hope that they will be welcomed back no matter what they decide to say.

Maybe the thing to do is to wait and hope for the best. Spontaneity has apparently been my style. Well, I don't really think I have a style, but when stories spew out the way they seem to do when I write, I think spontaneity is a digestible description. Spew sounds more like puke which makes me want to , sort of.

Community Garden in a new light

2009-04-28T13:49:00.003-04:00

I’ve been wearing my flippers lately at work, trying to swim harder through the work muck.
Easter came and is still showing signs of renewal. I notice it in nature.

I’ve been hearing a lot about community gardens and sustainable communities, CSA’s. Buying local, pulling in and working on us from within instead of reaching out, way out, for the things we need and want.

I’ve been thinking of a way I can help build that kind of community from where I sit. Sure, bubblegum and pretzels sooth spirits and calm the unsettled souls. A cozy office invites conversation, and the bird feeders are now being emptied daily. Still, an idea for a broader connection with nature and building community through that escapes me. I’ve been thinking and thinking about how to build connections…. I'm not so comfortable in groups of people, but there is nothing more peaceful than visiting with a bed of plants. They are people, too and they want to grow just like people do, and they need help, too. Just like us.

The thought of a community garden thrills me. The thought of a community garden made by, managed and sustaining 3,000 members scares the poison ivy out of me.

When I am trying to figure things out, I tend to fill my time with busi-work. Messychef cooking, or knitting or sewing or gardening- writing. I rent a small townhouse with a little yardette and gardenette and they are lovely, but not enough to sustain my need to figure out some questions knawing at me, so last year I asked a friend if I could work in her yard. I think I’ve overwritten about this. Well,the job is going swell. With money a problem- or lack thereof, I discovered ways to get plants at little or no expense.I sent out on a few neighborhood elists an offer to thin irises, daylilies, daffodils and liripe and got a good response. I discovered that if you hit the shopping centers at just the right time, you can save the plants used for landscaping from a frightful death by bringing along a pitchfork and taking them home when they are being traded out during the seasonal changes.

I’ve traded irises from my house for liripe from a work church friend’s house.
Now, a year into the project things are coming together. This one yard has had a ripple effect. There are plants all over this city from other places in town.

I offered to help a friend at work get her garden started, and now we meet almost weekly and have a wonderful time learning and planting. She is so delightful and willing to accomodate my short time. I mean, all this gardening is not like hiring a landscaping company. A middle aged arthritic woman cannot be compared with a team of workers with tillers. I come equipped with gloves, a pitchfork and short amount of time. These projects are being created one bit at a time.

Children in the preschool have been helpful, and an assistance person helped me once. At work, the maintenance crew helps me with the hose - It's a village. Truly.

I think we are also creating a community garden here at work church with a twist.

A year ago, the grounds were abound with greenery. With the brilliantly colorful idea of my boss, we welcomed spring with a church fronted with daffodils and crocuses that I put to bed in the Fall. The color brought about an awakening in some folks, and so I have been trying to keep the color coming along on the church grounds with the goal being to have something alive and looking good all seasons.

I visited one church member and saw the most beautiful purple blooming plant. I asked if I might thin them out, and move them around and she said very kindly, ‘Have at it. My yard is your yard.” Some of her purple plants are now under the dogwood tree.

Another has been bringing me vinca to add to the starter periwinkle around another tree.
A second friend noticed, and has offered to bring some as well.

Someone heard me mention Lenten rose, and said she’d bring some for me later in the season.

I traded irises with my front desk garden buddy and now we have some of hers and mine popping up like mad.

A member from home church opens her yard to friends, and I have visited her site many times. Work church is holding some of her plants.

I pass one member’s house on my way to work, and inquired about helping her thin her late blooming daffs and I brought her a bag of irises yesterday.

Our work church garden, as well as the other friends who let me piddle in their yards are all benefitting from neighbors’ nature. If that’s not building community, I don’t know what is.
Our community garden is not just one. It has rippled out and multiplied in many good directions.

LIttle Easter

2009-04-10T13:19:00.005-04:00

The second high and hearty season of the church is about to peak - so hold on!! There is so much going on around here that the building mortar is trembling. The newly refinished pews are tensing for the masses. The entire staff has been on high test coffee for weeks now, in preparation of this important time in the church.

I have tiptoed into my office and hunkered down every day trying to keep the nut jar, pretzel jar and the bowl of gum full to meet the stress demands, and finally, after I realized sometime last week that the humming I kept hearing was not, in fact, a faulty florescent, but the thinking waves zapping off of staff- well, I just stopped. I just simply s.t.o.p.p.e.d., and I reflected on the season and how much work goes into making the wonderful services that happen here come together and how easy it is if you are one of the artists putting together the puzzle, how easy it is to lose sight of breathing.

I decided to try to slow down the pace a bit but I wasn't sure how to do it. I leaned back in my chair and I tapped my nose and I crossed my arms and I thought. nuthin. I glanced down at the weekly listing of "What's going on at church" " Prayer Labyrinth in the Chapel, Stations of the Cross in the back grounds, Palm Sunday, Prayer and Healing workshop, Floral Cross....." gosh, I felt tired just looking at it all in print... then......AH! Finally an idea beamed into my entangled brain.I looked at gnomey and I looked at sparky the watchbear and I said, "Boys, it's Easter time." I printed a labyrinth off the internet and put it under the tall stool in my office that acts as a side table and I put gnomey and sparky on it and then I waited.

It wasn't long before someone blasted into my office in a rush and instead of jumping to the occasion and thinking ahead to figure out what the inquiry was going to be, I held up my hand in a "stop" position and said in a quiet voice, "Could you please enter in a meditative manner?"
and then I pointed to the stool.

The church organist was the first visitor. We enjoy learning how to read each other and do it pretty well now. We've experienced a few funny trial and errors, but we've gotten into a good grove and he didn't miss a beat. He stopped, followed my pointing finger and looked down. Then he observed the duo "walking" the labyrinth, and he gently respected the moment. You've gotta love that in a church organist.

That type of exchange continued all afternoon. People came and went. I made them aware of the goings on under the stool and they honored the moment. I was really enjoying the staff reactions, and thought it couldn't get any better-then the magic happened.

I came back from a late afternoon jaunt to the PO and discovered the pair had shifted positions on the labyrinth. In addition, Sparky was holding a miniature "Lenten devotional". The book was so small it only read "Lenten devo" and gnomey was holding a tiny kleenex. Sometimes the labyrinth experience brings tears to the surface. If you are made of plaster, it is wise to have an absorbant tissue at the ready.

By the next day, someone had added signs of the stations of the cross for them. Little 2"x 2" signs glued to the legs of the stool. They were written on aluminum foil bits.

The Monday after Palm Sunday, there was a palm branch added to the collection; and yesterday, a friend and I glued two popsicle sticks together in a cross,and filled the space with flower petals for the floral cross.

These measures were not taken lightly. They were not intended to be rude or make fun of any of these special rituals and it amazed me that they were accepted at face value and somehow, those two small not-alive (see? I KNOW they are not alive, I really do) creatures gleaned respect from real live people........ who had to slow down to notice and they had to slow down to create additions, and they had to breathe in all that. It was a wonderful sight to see and still is.

The wooden rhino, Hal, that my eldest brought back from Zimbabwe tried to join the group, but his horn kept getting in the way, so we just let him pray with my praying angel that usually sits on the bookshelf. The zebra that probably was a happymeal toy was sadly asked to leave the labyrinth because his stripes, mixed together with the lines of the labyrinth, made the walkers dizzy.

Yes, I've worked. Yes, I'm working. Consider this experience -staff support. It's in my job description.

Hubbida hubbida Happy Birthday

2009-04-02T09:12:00.002-04:00

Cinderella is one of my favorite Disney flicks. I like most of the old ones, but there is a part of this one that always makes me feel light hearted. The mice, who I respect so much for being wonderful friends!!! There is one mouse, I can't think of his name, but he sings out Hubbada, hubbada HappyBirthday!!! and on Saturday, April 4, I would like this message sent out via all micey folks to one of my favorite better half-s. Turning 80 and still wreaking havoc !!!
Congrats to you, friend!!

Easter flowers

2009-03-20T16:28:00.002-04:00

The bulbs decided they couldn't wait another minute and they have started coming up and showing their best faces.
I've decided these are to be reminders that Easter is coming instead of Easter is here.

Next year, both sides will have purple and white added and the right side of the church will be finished out so both sides are overflowing with color.

For a first try, they look pretty good. They've done a great job of growing and I'm proud of their efforts to restrain from blooming.

I'm antsy now to add something so we can continue to have color welcoming you when you come to the church. I've been fortunate that the church has allowed me to expand my job description to include dirt.

Name tags

2009-03-13T16:19:00.003-04:00

I have become a wiz at making the best of what I've got and celebrating the small successes in office university(this is on the job training). This week I learned how to do nametags -kind of. I kind of got ahead of myself and it went to my head a little bit.

Boss was having a meeting and I decided on my own that a real secretary would make name tags. My boss didn't even ask me. I just decided to figure it out.

So, I did. I went to Publisher and said, "Publisher, help me make name tags." An hour later, I was ready to print. While the printer was spitting the newly perfect nametags out, I stopped by my office buddies' office and said something like, " I learned how to make name tags. la la la la la "
They ignored me which should say something about how much faith they have in my announcements.

I picked up my name tags from the printer and there were 12 pages of labels with one name in the left hand upper corner of each page. sigh......

I came back to my desk and tried again. I printed again. 12 more pages came out with 30 Tom Smiths on the first page and 30 Joe Brown on another and .........

I felt defeated. and name tag label paper shy.

So, Jiminy Cricket in my pocket , I made the best of it. I cut out the top left corner tags and then paper clipped them to boss's meeting stuff. Wow. well, almost wow.

By then, the others came by to see the fruit of my announcements and i held up the sheets with the corners cut out. They were able to withold from releasing their amusement. Then I held up the sheets that were full of the same names. This was too much for them to bear.

Here comes boss. "OOOHHHHH Let's show these to Pastor Boss. He'll be so impressed that - la la la You can make nametags!! la la la "

I stepped in front of them and gave him the packets. He looked at the seemingly benign tags and said, "oh. okay." Then one of my "buddies" held up the partially sliced out sheet and the other held up the full sheets. and then he got it. They were laughing so hard I thought they'd need to call for "Cleanup on aisle 5". Obviously, I am not graduating from office university yet.

I went home.
I came back to work the next day.
The story isn't finished.

I came in and one of my buddies was already in, waiting for me. " Oh, Oh, church chick, I've got to tell you this. Boss came in the hallway last night during his meeting clutching the name tags you made for him. He looked panicked and I asked him what was wrong? and he said that when he set up, and put people's names at their places, he decided to , oh, what the heck, go ahead and put his on and realized that they were printed on the wrong side. so the outline would stick, but not the name part."

I turned around and started to go back home when i ran into him. 'Hey, it wasn't anything, we got the publications guy to do it, but struck me funny when I got everything set up after all that you went through to make them, murphy's law not helping you any, and then they were printed on the wrong side."

Well, I'm glad he can laugh about it. Clearly, I've got more name tag practice in store for me.
oh, good grief.

I keep seeing the unfortunate truth

2009-03-13T15:17:00.003-04:00

I never said I was or could ever be a real secretary. I was clear about that from the start. In my time here, there have been many, many, many forgiven mistakes. and there have been even more forgiven Melanisms.

It took me forever to figure out the phone. I used stickers, one for each staff member, animals and such to help me know which button was who.

I empathize with and personalize the office equipment. Bizzy is our new copier. She is the Anne Taylor version of Biz, or maybe a sex change was involved somewhere down the line. She is sleek and stylishly black and white. Verynice.

I send out reminder notices and sometimes send out UN-invitations the very next day.

I could keep adding on mistakes, but I've written about many and yet, I am still employeed.

The thing is that I work very hard at getting things right. It is important to me. I'm not a perfectionist by nature, or by genetic marker, but I strive to be better than messy. The truth is that I'm not right angled and i am messy in my thinking, in my work and in my hobbies. I like gardening. What could be messier than that? I like knitting and crocheting. Both are knotty hobbies. I am compelled to write and that flows like a mountainstream over bumpy rocks and silty soil. My nickname Messy Chef is true. Not so much in how I cook, because I like cleaning up as i go, but more in what I cook. None of these "skills" are neat. But all of them are me.

There have been many things going on in church and out of late. I've worked hard to work smart and strong. This week I saw a perfect example of how swimming against our natural current can slam. I planted daffodills and crocuses in front of the church this Fall . I loved it. It balanced out my duties, and gave me peace. I felt lucky that my bosses were open to and allowed me to stretch my job description in this way. I was so careful planting. I watched my lines, and I followed the beds.I spaced bulbs just so. I planted the crocuses in front of the daffs so they, being the early risers, would be seen first. I was careful.

I mulched, fertilized, mulched, mulched,mulched. I tried to keep them down until the last minute hoping they would welcome Easter with their yellow blooms. I knew with Easter late this year, it would never happen, so I shifted my expectations and decided when they bloom, if they bloom, they can act as a reminder to the congregation that Easter is COMING.

The crocuses got the word from Mom Nature to pop up and check out the chill air. One by one they came up and then started to bloom. The daffs weren't far behind. This week the daffs have started to bloom. I stood at the entrance and gave it all a look and what I saw horrified me.

On one side of the door, we have a stream of yellow crocuses and daffodills. On the other side, we have a lovely bed of yellow, white, and purple crocuses and daffodills. They don't match. Not even.

Dagnabit. Criminy!

Next year, I'll add some white and purple color to the other side and add a few where I ran out.
But darn it all. I really tried hard on that. shoot.

This week has been crazy around here. My boss has not spent a minute inside his own head, he's been full of everyone else's troubles. and yet- his sense of humor lives on. It surprises me.

He came in in a rush asking me to google First Baptist Church in smallville. So I did. The map came up, I printed it. I had been working all morning printing forms and envelopes for confirmation. Just as I was printing, he asked me to quick quick look up an artist with an odd name. We googled it, and finally found it. This took only seconds. I wrote down the information for him and reached for the printer to pull off the map. The map had printed on an envelope,so only a fraction of the information was on it. "Oh, Good Grief" I said, and quickly googled First united methodist smallville church in smallville so I could print another map. Nothing came up. He laughed. "You are so funny" he said. I stopped and looked at him. "What is the name again?" He humored me. "First Baptist...." He was smiling.

Good gosh. In the span of 30 seconds, I had completely forgotten and changed denominations. I typed in the right one, put paper in, and printed it. He seemed fine. It was as if I was teasing him, but truth was, I was middle-aging on him. I was four daughters losing my mind- on him. I was time change spring falls forward an hour i cannot afford to lose on him. and it seemed okay.

whew.

After he left, I continued on with my project and promptly printed a lovely confirmation certificate on an envelope. Rats.

Now I will say, in my own defense that there are more multitasking opportunities in this office than most. I love that about the job, but sometimes, my everready runs out, and I print wrong, or change denominations on maps. These are the times I count on forgiveness and hope that the bubblegum and nuts will bail me out.

Oh, sure, they could hire a real secretary, with real secretarial credentials, stamped and embossed. But maybe having someone who befriends the machines and tries harder than Avis to be a safe and comfortable presence in this wild and crazy place is what they need right now. I sure hope so.

A sure sign of the times

2009-03-11T11:11:00.003-04:00

I went to the Dr. for a checkup, a year late, last week.
I like the practice I use, partly because i don't use them often and partly because they offer an environment that is un-clinical. They are located a mile from the nearest medical facility meaning they are far from the aeromatic germ free-ness that floats in the corridors of hospitals.
I like that in a practice.

They have doctors and physician's assistants on staff. I like that, too. I used midwifes during all four of my children's births, and I hold PA's second on that high list of preferred providers.

There are plants in the waiting room, that are alive, too. That says a lot about a place.

Beaded doorways create a calming clicking when you are moving from one area to another.

They feel "today". and I like that, too. I have an intense fear of "yesterday" types of medical facilities, but that's just me.

So, I was pretty calm when I went in, dragging a trusted friend with me. Because it had been so long since my last visit, I had to fill out the "form" again. The question form. The 347 questions form.

So I did.

The questions covered just about everything from age to health history, to sexuality.

Being divorced for 5 years now, and still struggling greatly with the aftermath of that, i have no interest in dating of any sort, so when the question asked if you are sexually active, I answered,
Not any more
and when the next question asked when i had last been active, i answered, before time began
and then came the question that really slapped the reality of how things have changed in the -Dr's office question form -world.

Please specify- sexually active with: ___men ___women___both.

Both? " are you kidding me? Both?" I looked at my friend and showed her the question.
"Oh my gosh, I can't believe this. Both?" I realized that the shock I felt was in having such questions asked of ME. any of them. I felt a little bit privacy lean. My feelings of how other people answer are carefree.

A lady sitting across from me shifted in her seat. " I heard that. " she said.

I didn't really know what that meant. Had I shuddered or gasped and missed it?
Had I offended her because she might have checked all three? or added an additional choice, perhaps?

I glanced over at her. "I'm here in my pajamas." she said. She wore a robe, bedhead, and zoo animals flannel. This told me more than i really wanted to know, so I just nodded and scooted closer to my friend.

Later, a nurse skated through the form with me. I was waiting for her to come to that "both"question. She made note of my cobwebbed answer to recent sexual activity and yet, proceeded to ask me if I used contraception. I hesitated. I mean, really? REALLY? Despite my answers, and my age of nearly 54, she still wondered?

Then, I decided that her intentions were only good, and so I answered accordingly. "Yes. Abstinance".
She looked at me a little cock-eyed, head tilted.

" Okay, that's great, then!" and we continued on with our Q&A.

She walked me into the exam room and told me the PA would be in shortly. The rest of the check up was as expected.

I left that day feeling like I had just stepped out of an altered universe. I wonder what new questions will be added the next time I go?

I've heard tell

2009-02-19T22:00:00.004-05:00

Home church is cozy. We keep up with concerns of the church family via a white board that hangs in the office. Babies, death, illness.... it's all there. Announcements at Wed night dinner and joys and concerns during the service keep the names of those with both good and bad news - fresh in the prayerful minds of the congregants.

Work church is three home church's worth of cozy. We also keep a white board with concerns, joys and deaths. Funny how this simple tool works no matter the size of the church.

Although I don't know all of the names that appear and disappear on the white board, I hear passers by comment on the names throughout the week. That white board is a great people connector, conversation starter, comment opener.

I've heard tell of a church that had a listing under concerns for a "Jane Smith" Nothing else, no further description but Jane Smith. People stopped to read the board and said, " OH, Bob had surgery. The Joneses had a baby. and .... JaneSmith. Hmm. What happened to her? .......Who is Jane Smith?" Over the span of a week there wasn't one person heard to say " Oh, Jane. I wonder how that surgery went?, did the transplant take?, or has the flu subsided." With no other information beside her name, how were they to know?

What else could they do but guess?
Over the next few days the guesses bubbled up."Jane Smith. Didn't she have that leg rearrangement? or was that someone else?"
" Is that the woman who had 16 babies? Is this THAT Jane Smith? or was that someone else?"
"Jane Smith. Does she go here? Why I don't believe I've seen her in the early service. Wonder what she looks like?"

Typically, people make it to the white board and stick around for a couple of weeks until they make their way off the board and back into the real world, but I've heard tell that Jane stayed on for 2 full moons. Just Jane Smith. People grew accustomed to seeing her name on the board. They stopped wondering who she was and accepted her for the whiteboard listing that she was.

Then one day, something mysterious occurred. A member stood in front of the board and read aloud, " Jane Smith Cardiac" The questions scurried out of folks' mouths again. " What hospital is she in? Cardiac what?"

A few days later, though- Jane Smith stood alone again, minus cardiac. " Guess she's doing better, whew." "Wonder how the surgery went for her?" "Wonder if she had any surgery?"
" Oh, Jane."

Soon after, an obituary appeared on the floor beneath the white board. It said simply, "Jane Smith died yesterday and she's being buried tomorrow. The End."

"Is that OUR Jane?" "What happened?" "Oh, Jane. Oh, Jane, Jane, Jane. Why didn't you let us know you better?"

The next morning, Jane Smith was not on the board. The mailman stopped and noticed it.
" Jane Smith gone from the board. Gosh, I miss her"

Two days passed. The white board held its listings for all to see and pray about. Sam Slug, neck twitch repair.... Polly Scurry -Burry nip tuck. Jane Smith.

"How'd Jane get back on there?" "It's a miracle!!""What tha??"

Jane held her position for a good week before her condition changed. Jane Smith -lobotomy- nothing found

"What about her heart?" "Oh, my"

One sensitive member picked up the eraser and swiped away the words around Jane's name.
" I think this just labels her. She's had Cardio and then the obituary and now this. It's not right for any one person to endure such labels and I'm taking it off."

So Jane stayed on the board alone again with joys above her and deaths underneath. People passed by. Days came and went. " Jane's still there, hope she's doing better." "Jane seems to be holding her own."

Finally, on a bitter winter afternoon, the mailman came by on his usual route. He stopped and looked at the board. "Jane's been up here a long time now."He called to the secretary. " She's been cardio-ed, lobotomized , obituarized and left out to dry. I'm just wondering who the heck IS Jane Smith?"

The secretary pulled up the church database and looked her up. No Jane there. ???hmmmmm.
She heard the sound of feet on carpet outside her doorway and she stepped out to see 5 people standing in front of the white board shaking their heads in sympathy, empathy, sadness.

" Gosh that Jane's been through a lot" said one.
"First the heart then the brain" said another.
"On the board and in the ground and all the way back again" said another.
The church secretary, as I hear tell, said to the cluster of white board readers, "Do any of you know who Jane Smith is?"
"Well, not really."
" I thought YOU knew who she was."
"I've been coming here for 49 years and I just thought I forgot who she was."

The secretary sent an emergency email to each staff member with the same inquiry. Not one had a clue who Jane Smith was, yet each one replied with concern over Jane's trials over the last weeks.

No one knew her ; no records of her in the church books. The secretary picked up the eraser and started to erase the name off the board.

The whiteboard readers dropped their heads and turned away as only whiteboard reading crowds can do.

The board held an especially white-white vacant space. It glowed with emptiness.

In the days to follow, people walked by as they always did, but the secretary noticed that the comments didn't come along. Folks stood in front of the board and took in the names, but no one had a thing to say.

The hallway took on an odd sense of missing.

I've heard tell bright and early one morning the secretary came into work and as she leaned into her door to open her office, something caught her bifocaled eyes. She took a step back and glanced at the white board.

Jane Smith- the words had returned and clung to the melamine surface with passive intensity.

"Welcome back, Jane" said the secretary.

As she stepped into her office, she heard someone pass by and say, " Jane Smith. Wonder what it is this time?"

There are meteorologists and then there are Trexers.

2009-01-23T11:47:00.004-05:00

At work church, there are many aspects of the job that I enjoy, one of them being the multi-jobs that many staff hold. My job started out as a secretary but has developed into an all trades type of work, and that suits me just fine.

The children's directors also started and run a unique preschool- the two jobs filling all of their time

My next door neighbor also keeps manyplates in the air at home and at work. She does it with great tact and balance.

Another hallway office mate started out keeping records, and now has personal knowledge of where every speck of anything is in this place. During the renovations, when everything was rearranged, she was there, and she was there when everything came back. This knowledge makes her priceless, of course, plus she's a worthwhile soul anyway

The Choir Director also is a meteorologist, can you believe it? He has a website that he is pressured to keep up and running during the winter months. I wondered if he may take offense at my ramblings about weather toys, but considering he runs his life via toys- blackberry things, ipod things, mac user- and two young boys, I think he'd be the first to agree that he is energized by maps, lingo and "toys", plus he's the only person I know that has a website that snows.

The staff and many church members are hanging on his every enthusiastic word to see when the next "event" may fall.

Winter in NC

2009-01-21T14:04:00.005-05:00

There are lots of reasons that living in NC is pleasant. This week, one of those fell from the sky.

We have moderate weather, mostly. Sometimes, we have exciting precip like Tuesday. The Gods gave us snow, pretty and steady for a large part of the day.

Meteorologists on TV are masters at setting us up for oncoming -giant- history -making- potential- events. Let's be real. They want to play with their weather toys and NC doesn't give them many opportunities to do so .

We cling to the local meteorologists' reports, full of warnings and watches. More often than not, the actual event is a bit of a let down .

I recall a few years ago a local station created a neat way to vent their excitement about snow potential. The winter wasn't shaping up as they had hoped, and some creative soul started this blip called "Operation Snowdesk". Early in the season, the Operation would kick in between television programs with a trumpeted announcement and these two guys at a desk with a map behind them would swoop into our living rooms with big news of jet stream and high pressure systems and low systems and they would taunt us with quips like, " 1-3 inches in just two states away, heading in our direction, probably maybe could."

Father Winter refused to blow much our way besides frost and fog that year, and as the season progressed, the weather updates changed into bullet-ed info that arrived on a stock ticker at the bottom of the screen just letting the viewers know important information like the temperature was cold enough to support solid precipitation for really real, and they offered uplifting short short stories fit for Ripleys, such as the amazing true life examples happening right here in the triangle..... some viewers have called in saying their fog turned into frost before their very eyes, and snow was bound to be born from that at any minute....they think.

As the season continued without any fun white playfluff, the Operation Snow desk interruptions became more and more desperate. I recall having a show interrupted by two bedraggled announcers who were begging for prayers for snow... One held a crystal in his hand and the other held up a spoon, showing viewers how to place it under our pillows. Sleeping with a spoon underneath our dreams encourages a larger snow accumulation, some scientists' research has shown.

I found Operation Snowdesk quite entertaining. I realized that the whole idea came from a place of optimism, something that January typically is shy of. I still sort of miss it.

This week, though, mother nature gave us a show worth waiting for. We were strung along for a while, and then bam! the sky opened up and flakes danced around and settled into everything they could find. And clocks stopped. Time held its breath. Moments waited.
In this busy world of nonstop movement, thought, action, it was a welcome gift to have to check all that for a day.

Just another reason I love living in North Carolina.

We've heard alot from Northerners about our over reactions to these kinds of weather events.
"Yeah, well, we're from Tim Buck Two and we have snow from October to May and I tell you, it gets higher than the roof and we still drive in it and go on like every other dang day."

When I hear comments like that I think two things. ... One- yeah, well when we have these kinds of weather events, they last a DAY, and. ..... Two.... isn't it interesting to hear these stories from people who are now, living HERE? :-)

I'll take crazy panic about extreme cold or snow any day. This, coming, of course from an ice-phobic old woman.

The media excitement breaks up the still winter months, and I think it makes the drab season more colorful.

Now, excuse me while I re-salt the front stoop, on the off chance the fog we expect tonight may change over to a thick coating of ice.......

Short and sweet so it counts

2009-01-16T16:34:00.003-05:00

One of my goals for 2009 has been to catch up the chronicles and add stories from Little Bits, my collection of stories about the girls.

This week has been impossible with a lengthy staff planning day on Monday( I refuse to call it a retreat, even though it is a treat to have all of the staff together at one time), a funeral, and a bit of church chick being hit with underweatherness.

So, just so it counts, I'm listing a few thoughts here for you.

I enjoy listening to the internet mystery radio station, as you know, and this week, I have jotted down some of the titles:
Suspense
Murder at Midnight ( MURder at MID night is how the announcer says it)
Mysterious Traveler
X X X X X X x x x x minus One One ONe
Dragnet
Lights Out!
The creaking Door
Criminal Codes.

I also heard a delightful commercial for Lifeboy soap- Use Lifeboy so they won't whisper, "B.O." when you pass by. I found that hysterical.

My pals have a few interesting blips they speak that I like alot

"Life's too short for cheap chocolate"

"Do it pepperfied"

"Sometimes in life you have to stop and shake your caboose."

I also learned how to knit two socks at one time and about half way through the leg, I realized that I really don't LIKE doing two at once, so I just moved one sock over to it's own needles, and now I'm knitting one and two at my leisure. It is more peaceful for me, but I'm glad I could do it if I wanted to. I just didn't find the magic. What can I say? I still may try Magic Loop sometime if I need a new challenge.

I felted a sock and hope i can get it online. It was fun, because I just knitted a baby sock, took about half an hour, then I washed it and it shrunk right on key. I thought about using it as an ornament, then decided it might make a cute necklace for your chapstick or cell phone. I thought as an ornament, it might look cute hanging on a tree with a card that says "Life socks"

I really want to do mini sweaters. The gnome who looks out my doorway has a beard that can't compete with these frigid temps. We'll see.

me

That's all I've got today, this week.

Baby, it's Cold outside, woo hoo. For me, cold and dry is better than cold and wet. Cabrio isn't telling what it will show and tell when it snows. I'll keep you posted.

Little Bits: Tantrums

2009-01-09T19:34:00.003-05:00

Life has its ups and downs, I've heard that and I live it. Traveling from one extreme to the next when growing up is provided by the Tantrum Transit. When raising my 4 girls, tantrums were not really big problems for me, because I understood the frustration that caused a lot of them. It seemed like every time the babies would reach a landmark in development, shortly after the celebration of their remarkable feat, I found myself in a state of confusion because the "wonder child" would transform into a gnarly creature.

I was so excited when Em rolled over!! I didn't sleep for the next 3 weeks because she was mad that she couldn't roll back.

I was thrilled when Liz reached for toys because it meant she would soon be able to entertain herself. I didn't anticipate the aggravation she would experience over realizing her limitations in toy control. Reaching and manipulating are two different things.

When Rachel learned to walk ( woo hoo!!) she saw a whole new level of things she could not get into, and Mary's delight at being able to reach the doorknob to the world was very overshadowed by the fact that she could not reach the dead bolt that was 3 feet higher.

They voiced their frustrations in the forms of whines, screams, and baby mumbles. Their body language raged with wiggling, kicking, and squirming. When they were babies, I wished they could just tell me what it was, so I could help make it better. Then they started talking coherently and telling me what it was... and I began wishing for the mumbles again..

Be careful what you wish for......

On the other hand, it is funny how life has a habit of running in cycles, isn't it? For instance, as children mature, the tantrums dwindle. Life sort of lets you catch your breath- until adolescence trickles in- then the whole process starts over again. I remember being faced with a young lady tantruming who was, at that time, very near my size. (she has since grown much taller than I am. They grow, I shrink in height- that's another story) I was having such a adifficult time coping with the situation until I looked deep into the "eyes of the tiger". There, before me, was the familiar one year old, doing the Rumplestiltskin I knew so well, the 3 year old showing her determination, and the very familiar 4 year old who knew all there was to know and more.

I realized that I had seen this movie before. I was watching the same old frustration over not being able to have the toys that were out of arm's reach. The simple difference was that the toys had just changed over the years. With this empowerment of insight, I was able to maintain my cool as I had when they were terrible twos. I am so very grateful for that realization, because even now, when I look at an irate teen I smile inside, because I can so clearly see the adorable toddler within.

Sink or swim

2009-01-09T16:59:00.005-05:00

Sink or swim
I enjoy the Y. I take mostly yoga classes there, and do my own cardio on the elliptical. My oldest and I are workout buddies. Recently, I decided to try the water aerobics class. I used to teach, and I used to take, but both have been a while. A long lifetime ago while.

I brought along daughter #3 who was home from college for the holidays, and we entered the pool area. The new pool, how exciting!!!! Two lanes were designated for the class, and the rest were for swim team practice. There was a fan running, somewhere around us. The sound surrounded the joint. The noise was deafening, and dragged along a huge echo to boot. Between the fan, the swim team speed splashing, and the supportive SCreaMMMMSSS and whistles from the team coaches, I felt like I had walked into a whole house fan that was running on high.

My thinking changed when we got into the water. Add to the noise, the waves rippling from the swimmers. I began to believe I was trapped inside a food processor. It was a challenge to stand upright; being still was not an option.

There were maybe 8 people giving the class a shot along with us. Some were older than I was , and a few were younger. Everyone had on a swimming suit of one sort or another.

A woman entered the pool area wearing tennis shoes, a long fitness spandex top over a jog bra with nylon shorts. She had her goggles resting atop her frantic hair.I wondered, if , maybe she was lost or in the wrong place, or time. Or, maybe she was the mother of teenagers.
Her rubber soles squeaked our way with intention and a sinking feeling bubbled up inside me. Having a sinking feeling when you are in a pool is not a good thing. The mystery spandex woman stood on the side of the pool and looked us over.

She welcomed us and introduced herself to us. I think. She might have been screaming obscenities or singing for all I could tell. Between the noise and the echo it was really hard to understand and impossible to hear anything that might resemble an entry in Webster’s best coming out of her mouth. She looked happy enough to be there, so I'm assuming the best.

She suddenly started marching in place and mouthing something that looked like “EEEE IIII”
Then, she lifted her knees higher and cranked up the speed.

If you have ever been in a pool of water, you may have noticed that the density is a bit different than standing in air. Life moves at a different pace in liquid than it does in an outside air environment. Things. Move. slowwwwer. Moving through water is a lot like living with depression except you can actually point to the reason why life feels like mud. Depression tends to hide its reason under the cranial cap. Real, but hard to identify sometimes.

So, what might happen if an instructor is giving directions on what to do, and the instructor is standing outside the pool barking out hand- over -mouth sounding directions and yet, you are IN the water, well, what might happen? YOU MIGHT DROWN is what might happen.

Guessing what she was saying and trying to follow was a dangerous task. I think I can safely say that I understand what it feels like to be in the middle of a tsunami- the undercurrent part of it. Fortunately, I, being built like a buoy, float in those kinds of situations. I’m just lucky that way.

The class must have looked like fish out of water, because our instructor stopped marching and put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips. Then she spoke into the pool echo full force. She added a few decibles to her volume as if louder is better when you are in a cave.

“BAAAAAAA NNNNNN FFFFFFUUUUUHHHHHHH, EEEEEIIIIIIIII, EEEEE IIIIII!!!!” Then she drew a circle in the air at us. At us, no kidding. I felt it splash my freckles and it made me blink. When I blinked, I lost my balance and buoyed around causing the people around me to buoy around too and, well, it wasn’t pretty.

We attempted to move in a circle and I noticed that where we had started with 8, we were now down to 6. Two were clinging to the deepest part of the ocean- uh, pool, and they seemed to be pretty happy about it. One lifted up an arm and waved at me. I kept trying to circle. As I remember this, I am becoming sea sick again.

I noticed that when our circle splashed close to the deep end, one or two students would leave the whirlpool and break out, dog paddling to the deep end. Escape was the mission of the day. I wanted out, too but I was sorely lacking in maneuverability. I didn't think I could break the circle and escape safely.

She changed directions from her perch on land,and started moving her arms like a ballerina, both arms reaching to the right, legs leaping alongside. I tried to follow but all I could think about was Swan Lake. I imagined myself in a tutu and added a few feathers to my head while I aqua-leaped across the pool. I closed my eyes and felt the toe shoes’ ribbons wrapping theirselves around my ankles and calves. I was a water ballerina, I was. Then, I was-glug- glug under. The fantasy fell apart and chlorine cleared my thinking and my sinuses.

By the end of class, my loving daughter and I were the only survivors. The rest of the class was enjoying the show down at the Deep End Bar and Grill.

We left, and I got dressed in the sauna, which is my favorite thing to do in the winter at the Y. When I came out, the instructor was standing outside the door changing her own clothes.

Spandex is such an interesting material. It stretches, and yet, when wet, it doesn’t like to move. She fought between her skin trying to escape the hold of the fabric and the fabric refusing to release the damp skin. I’m sorry, I had to turn away. I couldn’t bear the sight. (Only moments ago, I was experiencing that same tug of war with my swimsuit, but the sauna heat was on my team and we won the battle of the suit removal pretty quickly. )

When I shifted my focus and started looking for the nearest exit, she exclaimed, “You know why I teach Water Aerobics?”

I hesitated, still looking away, and I tried to remember whether or not I had indeed inquired or even thought about such a thing. I know I talk to myself out loud but I was pretty certain I had not voiced any words, much less interest in the topic of how in the world she ended up teaching or screaming water aerobics. But, no matter. She told me a tale that in simple terms said she had a passion for it. I support reaching for and pursuing our passions. I also wasn’t planning on repeating the experience of participating in what that looks like, either. Not for a while, anyway.

A few days later, I happened upon this instructor in the aeriated world. She asked me if the girl that had come to her class with me was my daughter and when I said yes, she said she could just eat her up. Being 22, I don’t think #3 would really appreciate that idea even though I realize it was well intended.

It was an adventure of sorts. It is encouraging to see someone pursue their interests. All the same, I think I’ll stay on land for a bit. You know what they say- different strokes.........:-)

New Years Day

2009-01-02T10:50:00.002-05:00

As with many people, when I divorced, I left behind many traditions. In the few years that I have been on my own, I have created new ones for my girls and have left many behind, some with a sad heart.

I remember the first Thanksgiving that I was single again, and how awkward and hard it was to reconstruct a family turkey day when our family was broken. That year, I realized that it may be easier to create than to try to re-create in an environment that was not the same. I started cooking Thanksgiving dinner for my girls on Wed before Thanksgiving. It was successful all around and in some surprising ways. We made our own rules, for one. We started out making the menu list with the same foods we always did. In the middle of discussion over oyster dressing, one of the girls said,in a quiet voice, "I don't like oyster dressing" and the others heartily agreed. I became the brave voice that suggested, "What if we don't have it?" Well, you would have thought the mere mention of changing the menu would have brought on an earthquake, the way we all froze at that idea.

After a few moments, when the earth did not self-destruct, something eased within us, and I enjoyed all eyes on my pen as I scratched through oyster dressing on my menu list.
This new-found freedom continued and this year, well, we ate when we wanted, we had one dessert, not 3, and we basically enjoyed the whole darn experience. We have a new enjoyment of Thanksgiving.

New Years' Day we used to have a community meal for friends who didn't really have hangover plans. I liked that meal especially, because, like the annual pig picking, invites were by memory and happenstance. I loved having people count on coming into our home haggard and dehydrated, knowing they could have a bite of something that might kick off some good vibes in the coming year. We filled our house with food and people every New Years Day for years. That is one event I wanted to continue on a smaller scale and, to date, the event has worked well.

I cook pork and saurkraut with potatoes all day, collards from the garden, black eye peas with ham. I make plenty of sweet tea, and a few pies. Long about 2 pm, friends start dripping in. There are never more than 8 or 10 people present at any given time, and so I can manage the numbers, or rather, my scrambled nerves can.

This event offers a great opp to put the 6 degrees of separation thinking to work. There is nearly always an unexpected connection found among strangers.
Yesterday went well, and I was once again reminded of the importance of finding one's chosen family. My girls and I are building support and relationships through creating expanding family and it is a very very good thing. The girls enjoyed the day, and there was such a relaxed sense of calm that I did, too. This is one tradition that has managed to cross over from one life to another in our family.

Cabrio- the amazing popsicle car

2008-12-31T14:45:00.015-05:00

I have a miracle car. My 2001 black VW Cabrio has been my best friend for several moves and grooves since I've had it. The car has been a willing companion when moving children to school, or from apartment to apartment. I have filled the seats with groceries, gifts, people, cats, furniture, and most recently, plants and dirt, compost and leaf mulch.

The car has not uttered one complaint. I mean, sure, it whines for gas every now and then, but as for the water- not a peep. I clean it out fairly often, but not nearly often enough.

When the girls and I returned from our fall vaca, went to my car ( that we left home) to run some "back home" errands and found the passenger side floors were full of water.

FULL. Like- I -opened- the- door -and -a -family -of- water bugs, earthworms, and mosquitos -rafted -out -into -the street- full. The youth director at home church happened by and helped me siphon it out. I put the rugs on the line.

I got in the car and took off for the grocery for some land food. I had the distinct feeling that I had brought the ocean back with me. Silly, me. I turned a corner and felt a spray of wave lightly brush against my face. When I came to a red light, the ocean tided again into the floorboards and I immediately pulled over. I sat in a state of after-vaca- disorientation and slowly slipped my tongue out over my lips and stretched it as far right as I could, hoping to catch a drop of the wave spray that had hit me a few seconds ago. Hmm. Wet. Nasty. But fresh, not salt water. What in the world??

Although the mats dried out and the carpet dried out over a few warm fall days, the sloshing took a while longer. When at last, the water had evaporated, I drove relieved. I took Calvin the Cabrio to my mechanics and they said it was most likely the roof leaking, a common problem in convertibles and they recommended someone for me to visit with the problem. ugh. $$$$$$

I waited. I drove. The rains came and I sloshed. The itsy bitsy spider climbed up and got washed out countless times, the sun drying up the rain again and again. My eldest daughter who is savvy in many things, sent me to a self cleaning car place that had a wet vac. Thank Gosh.
Fear and cost clung to my socks. I kept putting off taking the car in to the shop.

People who rode with me grew accustomed to the sound of water lapping at their feet,just as they had gotten used to the psycho window on the passenger side that had acquired an aversion to going all the way up. My regular riders had learned the pattern for getting the window to close all the way. up halfway then up a bit, up a bit, up a bit and we're all the way there.

A friend who was aware of my earlier fall plantnapping kept asking me if the combination of dirt and damp had sprouted anything yet?

If nothing else, passengers find the ocean sound effects lulling. Good to know.

I grew accustomed to parking with two tires up on the curb to allow the water to drip out more effectively. Two loving work peers commented that they could tell what the weather was based on how the cabrio was parked.

Before Thanksgiving, my daughters surprised me by taking it in and having the handles adjusted hoping a tighter fit would stop leaks. I was so surprised by their sneaky thoughtfulness. I was speechless. My little girls were big enough to do a really adult thing for their mother. woah.
One moment,please, while I absorb yet another big clue that they are transitioning into growny friends from babes. excuse me just one more moment.....

There. Okay. So I went along happily and stayed dry for a few weeks, and then last weekend we had torrential rains and the lake filled again. sighhhhh. I had plans with a few youth friends from church and so they had to ride with their feet up. They made the best of it and created a song called waaaaaater. Every time I turned a corner they'd hug their knees in tighter and sing, "wattttter"

I drove to my new favorite hang out- the car cleaning place, and vacuumed out the floors. Driving around caused more spills, so by the time I took them home, the floors were full again. I took the car back and cleaned it inside and out at length. With armor-all at my side, we got that Cabrio looking new and spritely!!

That night, a hard freeze came to town. When I got up the next morning, every car parked on the street in front of my townhouse was frosted. Neat. First real before winter frost. Wow.
I left for work, the morning chill putting a crispness into my step. I got into the car, cranked it up, and turned on the defroster. Then I waited. I adjusted my seat, squirmed into a comfortable pose, and turned on my windshield wipers. They slid smoothly against the glass, but my window was still frosted. That just didn't make sense.

I leaned back into the cold leather of my seat and slowly brought one gloved hand up to my mouth. I bit into the glove and pulled my fingers out. Then I reached for the windshield and scratched. My nails filled with ice. The inside of my windshield was frosted hard!!
AS were all of the other windows.

Then, I threw a cold sideways glance at the floor mat. It gave me a frigid stare right back. I leaned over and touched it. I learned something.

I learned that car carpet and mats can freeze. I learned that frozen car mats crunch when pressed. I know this to be true.

I was determined to stay chipper and bright, so I reached for my window scraper and tried scraping the inside. I learned something.

I learned that I should have paid more attention to geometry when I took it in High School. Angles Angles angles. The scrapers are designed to scrape the outside curves of the window NOT the inside ones. I scratchedacross and got a line that gave me all of a clear view about .000000000000001 inch wide.

Being cold, my brain cracked. Did you hear it? If you drove by that morning, I suspect you did.
I scratched a few choice words, backwards, on my windshield, then I pulled out an overextended credit card and put it to good use. Then, I learned something else.

I learned that I wish I had paid more attention in Science class as well. As I scraped the front window, I began to see a lovely pile of shaved ice form on my dashboard. At the same time, I heard a gentle and steady drip behind me. The back window defroster was doing a fine job of melting the back window ice, and when ice melts, it becomes water and when that happens INSIDE your car it is called RAIN.

By the time I scraped a large enough space to see through, I had rolled a miniature family of snow people on the dashboard of my car. They accompanied me to work.

When I got to work, I called the car place and made an appt for the next day. The day came and went. It stayed below freezing all day with a hard wind.

I left work, and walked out to the parking lot where my popsicle car was parked. Hanging from the doors on both sides were icicles. Murderous sized icicles, I tell you. The water had been trickling out all day and freezing along the way. The icicles met the asphalt. I learned another damn thing.

Icicles, murderous sized ones at least, make a heinous crunching sound when they are forced apart from asphalt where they have been happily frozen all day. In addition, if it is cold enough for a car to drip icicles, then it is cold enough for any moisture inside the car to Re-freeze on the windows. dejavu boo hoo vu.

I drove to the front of the church just as some coworkers were leaving. They stopped dead in their tracks. I got out. One said, " What is wrong with this picture?" She looked around, scanning the street and parkinglot then returning her gaze to Calvin the frozen Cabrio.
" I don't see any icicles OR frost on anyone elses' car but yours, church chick."
"So, I guess you can see that I am Obviously the lucky one here, right?"
By this time, her kids had approached, opened the doors and were scratching pictures and words on the inside of the windows.
"Cool" said one.
" Yah" said another.
I looked at the boys and thought to myself, " Gee, I used to really like those kids."

The next morning was the same except that I wasn't a rookie anymore, and as soon as I got in, I pulled out the now-worn- overextended credit card and scratched a driving peep hole.
On the way to work, I caught a red light. I took advantage of the time and scratched the peep hole bigger, but something kept nagging at me and glanced at the car beside me, only to see a big-a__ SUV with a cowboy driver, hat tilted back, staring at me. Although I would love to have taken hold of his bandana and tied it extra tight around his lovely, glaringly red neck, i just shrugged and said, "What?" Then the light turned green. I drove off and the Cabrio and I left him in our frost.

I got the car to the shop, and a few hours later, they called with good news. "It's not the roof"
They announced that as if it was the grandest thing in the world that the roof was not leaking, and that it was perfectly A OK for water to be flowing through the car for any other reason.
Like, I could add a few goldfish and leave a happy customer. Really?

The explanation was complex, and I will probably need to explore it with another shop should the water return, but for now, the short story is that the drains were clogged underneath the doors and that a seamseal is clogging them along with pine straw and leaves, so they made the drain holes bigger and oh-by-the-way- you might want to keep a screwdriver handy so you can poke those holes open every little bit , few days or so, to keep the drains running. Get a car cover, don't park under or near trees, build a garage, have a nice day.

I asked them if they could wet vac the carpet and they said, " Well, the mats are still frozen to the carpet, so not until they thaw out. " I had a turkey thawing out at home and wondered how long it would take a mat to thaw out in a cold car. Let's see... 2 lb mat requires 3 to 4 hours if vehicle is parked in a sunny spot. This info according to the Joy of cooking...no I mean the Joy of automobile care. ugh. Eventually, they did vac it out for me at no additional charge, too. How about that?

So as I write this on the last day of this eventful year, the mats remain dry, with no stirring or sloshing in the sides. Who knows what next year will bring, but i know one thing for sure- squatting down and poking a screwdriver through near-invisible holes under the doors of a car really works the quads.

I

End of year etceteras

2008-12-31T14:34:00.003-05:00

I blinked. I tried so hard not to, but I did anyway and now we are hours away from starting a new year. again. I blinked.

As I get older, sometime time doesn't flow by fast enough, and then there are other times when I am sure time is stuck in a groove. a groove. stuck in a groove.

Work church has been very gracious with me this year. They are every year, and I am still stunned by their thoughtfulness. I tried to be a secretary when I was hired, but despite my attempts at making this a 9-5 job, I have grown to know and love many people who venture past my office. Both churches remind me of fractals. Home church is just a smaller version of work church. Work church is just a larger example of home church in many ways. The people are really the same. Both are full of faithful people who are searching.

The day after Christmas, my boss called me at home. He was apologetic but pleading at the same time. He and an associate had participated in a funeral which was now over, and they had left all of their belongings in the church which was locked.

I came over right away and when I drove up, I saw two pastors in black garb, one with a lovely white stole on, the other holding her bible. They were walking in the drizzle of the day across the church parking lot. It struck me funny that of all the days in the year, Christmas day was the day the Pastors got locked out of their own church. Doesn't that sound a bit odd to you, too? I let them in and came back home. I forgot where God keeps the hidey key.

favorite terms

2008-12-04T13:42:00.002-05:00

These are some of my favorite thoughts, and words that are worth googling when you need something different to occupy your time. They describe my life in many ways.

Ocum's razor ( simple works best)

Escape velocity( when you have to work harder than hard to break the cycle you are in)

Fractals of nature( facinating to see that parts of nature can be broken up into smaller bits that are the same as the bigger ones )

Tessalations ( pictures that fit together to create other pictures, Escher is famous for these)

Tom Sturgis

2008-12-04T13:40:00.002-05:00

Some of you may know my office as the Church Secretary’s space, but by now, after these 4 years, most who visit the church on any kind of regular basis know it as Grand Central. Some days I host the pantry, some days my office serves as a conference room, but every day, I hope it provides warmth and respite for all who venture in.

I keep bubblegum in a bowl on the desk as a staple, and usually a jar of mixed nuts or some other concoction as well. Of late, I’ve added pretzels.

Years ago, I happened upon some pretzels that I liked especially well. Tom Sturgis.
There is a picture of a little cowboy on the front and I like that, too. I took them to the workshops I taught and shared them as energy snacks. They were well liked by all.

I bought them for my family, for friends and neighbors until one day.. there were no more to be found.
I was sad in my heart. I visited several other stores but no Tom.

I asked the store managers to restock and they all said the same thing. Tom had been ousted by Big Boy UTZ and SNYDER.

So, I wrote the company. I told them how I, my children, and friends had enjoyed them and the lengths we had gone to to find them.

A few weeks later, I received a call from Jean Sturgis. She asked if she could use parts of my letter in their marketing. I was flattered, sort of. It seemed as if she had missed the point. Where Are The Pretzels? Where, Jean? I told her she could use my words if she sent me some pretzels. She did. She also, corrected me on the comments I made about the cute cowboy. Seems Tom is a dutch boy. Sorry.....Soon, I received several tins of a variety of their goods. Heaven…..

Then, we consumed them and we were without Tom again.

At that time, I was traveling the state teaching workshops to teachers and administrators and I started asking people to keep their eyes open for Tom, especially people who were traveling to Pennsylvania. For a few years, I received random bags as people visited Tom’s Ovens.

I have been out of that world for several years now, and yet, I crave, still Tom’s little mini cheesers.

A dear friend mentioned he was going to visit Penn and thought I was joking when I asked him to look for Tom. How could I be so serious about something as mundane as pretzels? Well, said friend and his honey bunny did follow through and they did find Tom and they did not resist the urge to sample the little ones, and lo! They not only brought some back for me and the girls, but they kept some for their own pretzel loving selves. Such friends who trust and walk blindly in that are rare!!!

Eventually, I caved and ordered some from their gift catalog for the desk and have been pleasantly surprised and entertained to see people reach into the jar saying “ oh, pretzels….. sigh…..” At first crunch, however, there is a complete turnaround. So much so that we now keep them in the closet so they will last longer. Ordering via catalog isn't nearly as much fun as having random bags be delivered by friends, but when you need a crunchy pretzel, we'll take them however we can get them.

Over the break, I found that two staff members were traveling to Penn. I asked them to bring back Tom. They were good sports and did, in fact, look, but they were not near Tom’s bakery so they did the next best thing. They bought pretzels while they were in the pretzel state that were made in the towns they visited. I was touched. Thrilled. Grateful. It was a very kind gesture on both their parts to do this for us.

The products do not compare. I am taking them home to dip them in white chocolate so we can enjoy them as a treat. They really can’t compare to Tom.

Next time you come by, try one of Tom’s pretzels and tell me what you think.

church chick

AHM

2008-11-10T17:02:00.004-05:00

I can tell fall is here in lots of ways... Nature's palate has shifted on the color wheel, for one. I want to hibernate, for another. I don't kick off the duvet in the night anymore and the cats are cuddling against me in bed without being coaxed.

The dark creeps in before I'm ready, and the morning sun has a chilled kick to it. The trees are beginning to do their strip tease and some are already naked and shivery. Fall is here.

The spider lilies tried to warn me a month ago with their red wispy fingery blooms, but I didn't want to do more than appreciate their beauty. I was in denial of the coming changes.

Pomegranites are in their prime right now, and that is a sure fire tasty sign that fall is not going anywhere . This year, pomegranites are the hot fruit, baby. They cure all, prevent what isn't even known yet and their nectar is available in lots of combinations of juices.

Many years ago, a very dear friend introduced us to a dish his mom made called, Ahm. She was from a far away culture, from another world.

We never knew how to spell it, so i made up the simple spelling and we've kept it. Ahm because it is Ahhhhhh and Ummmmmm all in one. The dish has pearled wheat, pecan halves, golden raisens and pomegranites in it with anise, the spice that resembles a licorice flavor.

As with any recipe, I've altered it over the years a little. The girls never liked the anise, so i cut it back until this year when I just didn't add it at all. The pearled wheat is sometimes substituted with bulghur but it isn't the same. Sometimes I put chopped pecans in instead of halves. Cranraisens or regular Little Miss Sunbeam raisins instead of golden. But to tell you the truth, Ahm is a simple, magical dish and substitutions don't do a thing for it. Aside from the anise, I rarely change the ingredients anymore.

The recipe is ancient, and has been in my friend's family for longer than he can say, and now we have made it a tradition in our own family- plus I've passed on this to my extended family as well. This year, two of my work pals were in my office, and suddenly one said, "Oh! pomegranites!! It's that time of year again! When will we have ahm???" I have to say that I just loved that. They both like it and my boss does too. I tell you, it is a magic potion.

There is a nice combination of TLC that goes into every batch. Comfort and calm, with a crisp burst of sweetness in every bite. The combination of the simple ingredients come together and mix around with each other and then suddenly a nectar is born. No kidding.

It's a love/hate thing. Most people either love it or don't care for it at all. It is chewy, but crunchy. Sweet and tart and it is fresh but feels like you are making an ancient connection somehow. Pomegranites have been around since Biblical times. I think that's neat.

When we first became spellbound by this delicious delicasy, we decided to add pomegranite plants to our backyard garden. We had plants shipped from Texas and they rooted well and settled right in with the cherries and apples and pears and kiwi. Fall came along, and we had 4 or 5 plants full of beautiful fruit. I entered one in the state fair and won first prize. The specimen was pretty amazing. The color was one that crayola has yet to create. The shape and size were in perfect sync. wow.

Problem was that the first freeze killed every blame one of them. NC just doesn't hold the heat long enough for the fruit to completely ripen. So close.... so close..... ugh.

Since that time, I look and buy in the stores. This year, I noticed the fruit is bigger than usual, and more readily available. I'm sure it is because of the health effects through marketing. I suspect in a few years we'll discover they've been genetically altered to give us the bigger and earlier availability, but until I know this, I'm buying and making and sharing. That's the best part. sharing.

Seeding the fruit takes a while. It is a very hands' on activity. I watched a great old movie and seeded 6 over the weekend. Steady working the seeds out is a calming activity for me. I'm sure to find pomegranite spots for days in random places. Lovely color, but the seeds are tricky. They spit quite a bit. Can you blame them? Working over a big bowl with some water in it helps. A soothing dish to make ......

Fingers don't absorb as much of the color as they do with strawberries, either. The hue is temporary.

I usually simmer the wheat while I'm working with the poms and after the wheat is the texture I like, i cool it in the colander and then it is just a matter of mix and store. It lasts about a week.

With the popularity of it around here, I'll be making another batch in a week or so. Fall is here. So say the pomegranites, anyway.

A picture worth a thousand bulbs

2008-11-02T09:42:00.002-05:00

Friday i noticed two Fall crocuses popping up and looking around. There were a few of their friends coming up in 2nd and 3rd place. I discovered FALL crocus this year and bought just a few for home, CG, and church. I was so excited to see something rearing it's little purple head, that I called my boss and asked him to come see.

He is so good with people's excitement. He came along readily. We walked to the church sign and I let him find the blooms on his own. They are teeny tiny, but for me, they are a sign that things are really trying to grow. Either that, or they are trying to hitch a ride on a passing car.

My boss noticed with genuine kindness and then it happened.

I could actually see the vision of all the flowers popping up NOW instead of in the spring.

I saw a blanket of yellow daffodils reaching up to greet the world and I saw the horror of that thought on my boss's face. His mouth dropped and he twitched a little.
" Are you SURE they are supposed to be up now? NOW? What about the Spring? Are the other ones coming up too? Now, remember... Easter is in APRIL this year, not OCTOBER."

Once I realized why he was stressing, I reiterated, " These are FALL flowers. I only got a few. The rest are SPRING flowers and they should come up in early spring. Don't worry. Only mother nature knows when they will really pop, but they are cozy in the dirt and they are sure it is still Fall. These few bloom now to give the head's up to the rest of the crowd. The Fall bulbs let the spring bulbs know what to expect."

I think he appreciated the purple blossoms much more after that.

The gardening snowball effect continued

2008-11-01T22:24:00.008-04:00

This entry is prefaced by the previous 3 or 4 entries - starting with October's entry. Plant self-revelations. They go together, I think.

Since the shopping center fun (I prefer to call that day operation Plant Rescue), I have been on a mission to find and trade plants. Here are some of those examples-

I needed Liripe, bigger than I already had, for the CG Community garden. Anna had some growing on its own in an isolated part of the yard. I didn't ask if there was a behavioral reason for the separation from the other liripe in her yard, i just took my pitchfork and dug it up. That's called unconditonal liripe love. She showed me her backyard and mentioned she wanted to make a daylilly/iris prayer garden. Later, I dug up some irises, and answered the response on a neighborhood elist request for anyone needing iris/daff/daylilly thinning and I dug up some lilies. Then I visited Julia's garden and she had a spare lenten rose. The trade made Anna happy, and the CG look a lot better.

Someone at home church was looking for some irises, and was lamenting about how hard it is to keep the wild ferns down in their yard. A few days later, the trade took place. I brought the iris, he brought the ferns.

A friend from work church picked up on the planting energy, and wanted some iris and periwinkle. I went by and it was really fun to do a little weeding and pet her dog/child and visit. I could see their energy picking up. They are going gung ho on the yard now. I hope to see their progress tomorry. If not progress, then at least hugs.

I saw on the elist where someone had done their yard over and had an overage of sod. The CG yard has a few tire ruts in it, so i went and filled my trunk with rolls of sod. After, I drove by home church and passed by a friend from church. Possessed with the excitement of such a good find, I blurted out, " Only because you know and love me- do you need any sod?" Now, this is not exactly the greeting one would expect, so she and her partner sort of stopped and stared at me a minute, as if I had just spoken Greek. I think they were expecting me to say, " Hi! glad to see you!" and were trying to make my " Hi! do you need any sod?" sound like the greeting they were expecting. Then, the magic of the gardenese kicked in. " Well, actually yes. we DO need some sod." They followed me over to the alley way where the free leftover sod sat and they were thrilled but had no bags. NO worries!! I am now manufacturing trash bags in my trunk. We loaded her up with a bag of irises from my backseat as well!!

Yesterday I was dropping off a church key to my oldest daughter. In the ten seconds it took to give her the envelope, I noticed 3 small ferns growing along her front wall.... Let's just say they aren't there now. I don't really recall getting the pitchfork out of my trunk.

Today,I was walking through a parkinglot, and I found a random elephant ear plant that was so overflowing its small bed, it was sending a few ears out and over into the drain. I pulled one up and brought it home. Yes, today I adopted a purple elephant ear. People in the parking lot watched me and probably wished they knew why in the world would I rescue a strange elephant ear. Just because I could, that's why.

Yes, the gardening snowball effect is alive and well. I need a plant, you have one. I have one, you need one. I need to plant some. You need to see some growing. We talk and build community with people and nature ....

Today at the CG, I looked over all the plants I've put in this season and came up with this.
The garden has come from 15 different sources- yards- shopping centers-friends' plots- 15.
Wow. I think I've put a village in my friend's yard.

My other boss at work wants me to continue the planting. I guess an overzealous church secretary-turned-planter is cheaper than using a "real"landscaper; he's on the train, the wagon, the wheelbarrow. He wants to see if we can convert pinestraw beds into sustainable gardens. I'm in baby, plus, this should make the stewards of the earth committee happy.

I ordered a few plants to get us started, and I'm looking for more. Today, after pulling some periwinkle and digging more irises at my place, I put them in the ground at work church. Next spring, if they live, we'll be on the road to creating color on the church grounds. I'm excited.

My angel friend on the phone tonight also said, "OMG. One day , we will pull up and the church will be gone. hidden away like a secret garden" or something like that. She's really a little concerned that a forest might move in on the root tails of my periwinkle. She's also wondering if these bulbs and plants don't grow, well, maybe I'll need therapuke in a big big way.

Only the shadow knows. I can tell you one thing, though. She, and the other staff may think I'm a little over the topsoil on this gardening thing, but it has created a really nice connection and sense of community not to mention the cheap entertainment.

I still worry a bit about my car becoming a terrarium. I won't be surprised if I climb in to drive one day and see sprouts. Plants are supposed to increase the air quality, right?

The gardening snowball effect- shopping center plant rescue

2008-11-01T21:59:00.006-04:00

I was talking tonight with an angel friend of mine and sharing this update with her, and i randomly said, "Maybe this gardening thing is really some sort of therapy for me." She, being wise and NOT ME, said, "Ya think?"

The community garden (CG)benefited greatly from the shopping center haul. I mentioned this upcoming event in a previous blog and I am here to say that the experience has created a snowball effect in my gardening. I am NOT a landscaper. I am a planter. i plant. I weed. I get plants and plant them. That's it. No guarantees. This task of planting hurts my back, but it heals my heart. Yoga helps the back, so it all balances out.

I mentioned an important date. The day the landscapers change out the plants at the shopping center. The day came.

I was at the shopping center at 7am. No landscapers. I ordered breakfast in the restaurant where the manager first told me about the changing of the plants. Still no trucks. There I sat in my work clothes, in wait. Suddenly, one, then two, then several more trucks began to pull into the center parking lot. Men got out. Men pulled plants out of pots. They were at the other end of the lot from where I was, and time was short. I drove over and asked if they were pulling plants today and they said, yes. I asked what would happen to the plants, and they said they were dumping them in the truck and carting them off. I asked if I could have them when they were thrown away and they said, what did I want? I said, caladiums and ferns. They said, with a handfull of irritation in their voices that it would be a while before they got to those. Then,.....then....I said the magic words. "Well, actually, I have a pitchfork in the trunk of my car, I can dig them myself."

You would have thought I was the dentist saying, "No cavities!"

The men finally smiled at me and said with a little bit of caffeinated enthusiasm" Have at it, take what you want! It's less work for us!! Have at it sister!!"

I drove back to the restaurant where the staff was waiting for the trucks, and held up my pitchfork. "He said we could DIG!!" Well, they pulled boxes out of mid air and I shared my pitchfork and, like Edward Scissorhands, we cleaned out those pots in seconds. The manager asked for my information so she could call me in the spring because it was so much fun.

I toured the rest of the center and by 8:30, I had a literal jungle residing in my car. My little VW cabrio had elephant ears hanging out the window, ferns, caladiums, two trees that looked like lantana, and multiple mystery plants stuffed in every spare corner. There were leaves and stems dragging the street like when you close your coat in the car door. It was Fabulous, I tell you. A traveling nursery. With the radio blaring, I sounded like a modern day icecream truck only with plants.

Well, my boss shopped from the car, as did co workers. Several people wondered how I would ever get the dirt out, but i wasn't worried. Even though I had put the goodies in bags, the dirt escaped with fervor. There were inches of dirt in the seat, on the dash, and on the floor. My only concern was knowing my convertible top had a leak, and if we had rain before I could clear out my inventory, well, I admit I was a little concerned about rooting plants in the floorboards of my vehicle. A novel idea, but not one I really wanted to see up close and personal.

In two days' time, the plants were transferred to new dirt. I have maybe a hundred caladium bulbs sleeping on newspaper in my green room. along with a tree hoping to live long enough for me to give it to one of my daughters for Christmas. The rest are in the community garden, my gardenette, and at co workers' houses, and home church friends' houses. Isn't that neat?

The gift that keeps on giving. Dirty, in a good way. Something happened that day, coupled with the growing pleasure of working the community garden, I was finding community through sharing plants, and I was feeding my problem solving hankering by figuring out how to find plants that I needed and connecting the needs of others - a plant switchboard sort of. It became theraputic for me.

Usually, I refer to therapy to therapuke because if you are really doing the hard work therapy requires, it feels puky. But this therapy had no puke in it. Just dirt.

Bulbs for Easter continued

2008-11-01T21:41:00.003-04:00

A person came in for some assistance. One of my jobs is to work with people who come in for help. I call them Avon people because at home church these folks have to ring the bell to come in. At work church, there is no doorbell, but i sort of hear it in my head when they enter. This is a very challenging part of my work. I think to myself with every person I talk to, "This could be me...in one day, this could be me. One month late on my rent, and this could be me. An extended illness, an expensive car repair, and I become an Avon person." Being a single parent has put financial security in a space ship and has sent that concept into outer space.

The reality of helping our Avon people is that some people really do need help, and others are just working the system. Since I am not in a position to judge the difference, I've come up with a system that helps me decide what we can do to empower rather than enable. The system is simple. It is the same system that I relied on to help me understand my children when they were teenagers. I ask questions. and I listen.

I guess I could write a whole long story about assistance but i really only need to say that on this day, someone who really needed help came in seeking it. We talked, and I gave what I thought we needed to, and then I gave him resource suggestions to help him find more help. He, like many, asked what he could do to pay us back. Most of the time, this is a question that comes from a sense of pride, and most of the time, all of the time since I've been doing this, the question evaporates when they walk out the door.

This man sounded like he really wanted to do something to repay us. I told him to let that go, and that is what we are here for. Then, I paused. I knew he had been a working man until recently, and I knew he was in his mid 40's and had an unexpected heart ailment and I knew that major heart surgery often brings depression with the recuperation. I thought how helpless it must feel to suddenly, literally over night be without independence. So, I said, " Well, I'm planting bulbs in a week, do you want to help?" and he said, yes.

I didn't expect him to return and he didn't the next week. But- he called and asked for a raincheck, so I gave him one and lo. LO! Friday morning, there he is sitting on the bench in the lobby waiting for me.

I told him I was so glad to see him, and that I really just wanted the company, I didn't want him to think he was going to be working for the help we had given him. He was shocked. I said it would be the biggest favor to me if he could help me by being with me while I dug. So, together, we went outside and he snipped open the bags of bulbs and I planted them. The 700 planted bulbs grew to 1,000. ( FYI: If they don't grow, I'll deny this entire series)We chatted, he seemed to need to talk, and doing a simple mindless task such as repetitive planting is a good, safe way to just chat. I took him up the street for lunch later and left him there with a friend to take him home; both of us feeling a little better about the world.

So, the idea- the great idea my boss had that sounded so simple showed its true colors. Planting bulbs has already turned into planting good things with others. See how smart that man is??

Bulbs for Easter

2008-11-01T21:14:00.003-04:00

My boss is a creative lunatic. He dreams up ideas that blow us all away, once we can understand the concepts. As long as I've been working for him, I have known this to be true. I've written of several instances where he's given us crumbs from an idea he's in the midst of creating, and although it is a wonderful thing to brainstorm, it is a near impossible task when you are brainstorming with a category 5 hurricane.

This year, he decided that giving the congregation bulbs to plant would be a good tactile/visual lesson on how we are growing in our faith... Greater things God can do with us -for us- at us..... and he thought if every member planted their bulbs, they could bring their flowers on Easter Sunday and Woah Baby!! We'd have SOME floral cross that day, sister!! The idea is brilliant. Amazing. Lovely. True to his talent. ...but as I sat next to him listening, a tiny centipede of reality began crawling around my head. " What if people don't plant their bulbs? What if only 3 people plant their bulbs and they don't grow? What if we have a flowerless cross? What kind of Easter would that be?" said my centipede realist. So I suggested that we order extras and I'd plant them in front of the church so we could use them if we needed them. He gave me the okay. I envisioned a lovely wave of yellow daffodils welcoming Easter morning.

I asked the landscapers to till narrow beds that ran in front of the bushes and they did, thank gosh. I looked at the newly turned dirt and felt sad that we couldn't have a little color to let us know Easter was coming. A little pre-bloom. So, I ordered 200 crocus bulbs as well.

One Friday, I put on my farmer -me overalls and planted the beds.

I invited the Wee Care preschool kids to help me plant the crocuses. I explained to the enthusiastic three year olds that bulbs had tops and bottoms just like us. Their bottoms are bigger like us, too and they wear special underwear that feels like paper. They want to reach for the sun so they point up. They need the same things we do to live- food, water, and love. Their food comes from the dirt, the sun and the rain. They were able farmers and helped. Some of the crocuses will be greeting the spring mornings from the tilled up beds, and some will be springing forth from the bushes and the grass. I figure Mother Nature is random, and who understands that better than a 3 year old, right?

700 bulbs later, my fingernails were unrecognizable and I had bonded with the dirt. My being was benefiting from the spiritual connection with nature. I stood and looked at the beds and thought what it might look like in the spring. hmmm. something was missing. The crocus bulbs had run out . I needed to order more. No. there was more going on here...Suddenly, the color left my sight and the grounds looked a little dull. Everything looked black and white.

I walked around and went to the corner where the brick church sign sits. That poor sign is the welcoming invite to all who drive by. "Come in!!" it beacons. But the brick stands alone. A sad semi circle of pine straw sits at its base, a flat and brown audience. sighhhh.

I went back inside and ordered more bulbs and then I ordered some special flowers just for the sign.
I thought about what I would like if I were standing on a corner waving people into my house and I ordered tiger iris, mixed daffodils, crocus and Fall crocus with a few delicate drippy white bell flowers to tuck into the corners. There. That is better. whew. Now, all I have to is wait.

Plant self revelations

2008-10-04T16:00:00.005-04:00

Today is a perfect Fall day. or Spring day or early summer day or random winter day with color.
Temp is just right. sunny, mild, benign. Just a day. I have been looking forward to this day all week.
I visited Julia's yard again and scavenged some plants again and i went to Anna's to dig up some bigger Liripe. I drove over the rainbow to Jennifer's where she willingly shared some of her spider lillies with me. I put a request out on one of the neighborhood elists for daylillies and daff bulbs that needed thinning and got 3 responses, so after work, I went digging.

I now keep the pitchfork in my trunk. My baby cabrio is doubling as a truck. Somewhere in its baby cabrio soul it wanted to be a truck, so now it gets to-on occasion.

The city yard waste place i get the leaf mulch and compost is having a sale. The notice was more exciting to me than the Steinmart flyer i got in the mail. Ye Gods. What does this mean? Buy a load get one free. So now I can get 20 bags worth of eye watering nature vitamins for the price of one. I only spend 5 or 7 dollars as is, think I'll just keep to that. When I pull up in line behind the big-bed trucks, Cabrio Calvin and I feel so teeny. When I pull up to the window, I used to get smart looks from the compost teller, as if she is thinking, " What is this? a joke?" I just fill kitchen bags with leaves or compost to where I can carry them, and then I pile them in the trunk, floor, and well, every space I can stuff them. It doesn't take many trips for my space and now that I have the community garden spot started, I will only add compost to the beds. My friend prefers pine straw and she is on her own for that.

My daughter still has a couple of bags of leaves her friendly landscaper mom dropped off a couple of weeks ago. I'm delivering this stuff. I have grown to love the pungent odor of nature renewing it's own resources and changing leaves into growing fodder. My kids like it too. We don't have to unload truckloads of it anymore so it makes it easier to appreciate the value now. Good stuff.

Today at the bank, i noticed the landscapers were putting in pansies. I asked them what they had taken out and one guy pointed to a trash can behind their truck. I dug through the discarded plants but they were sun- loving plants, so i left them be. The community garden needs shade loving rootables.

Someone at work church supplied mums for centerpieces and gave them away later. I planted a couple at my house and one at the community garden. Gerbers have ended up in those places as well.

OMG
I'm addicted to scavenging plants. I'm hooked on putting other people's plants in other other people's yards. I'm a cross planter.

I pay attention to what's in bloom when I'm driving or walking now.

Monday, at 7 am, I will be waiting for the landscapers to arrive at my neighborhood shopping center because I hear they will be changing out the plants for Fall and I want to see if they'll let me have caladiums and ferns. But I'll really be hoping Santa landscapers will fill my bags with it all so I can figure out later what will work.

I'm a greedy dirt monger.
I rearranged my own plot out back and moved the mondo around, collected and regrouped the seedums. Just like furniture. What in the world.

I planted over a hundred sundry bulbs at my house and the same if not more in the community garden. Some bought, some dug up. Spring will be a mystery until we see what comes up. Oh, I hope something does come up. I can't wait to see the color. The hard work paying off. The thing is, all of this is learning for me. I'm getting to know how to do this in conditions different than I'm used to. It will be nice to see some blooms.

I realized that it feels good to me to have living things around me. My office is full of plants and a philodendron that is winding its way around the room. There is comfort for me in being with living things that require nothing more than tending and time. Weeding is peaceful for me, meditative. Wish I could do that weeding in my head and clear it out sometimes. I tend to personalize everything I see, but in this case, all of these things, including the dirt are alive.

oh! two more replies to the neighborhood elist request. Irises are waiting to meet new friends - Maybe today I can pluck a few before dark.

Soon, the season for dirty work will be hibernating and I'll have to rely on soup making to keep me out of my own trouble. Until the clock ticks us into winter, I'm keeping my fingers dirty, though.

Fall 2008

2008-09-23T15:22:00.002-04:00

Where to start?
Yesterday was the first day of Fall and I realized I have been lacking the time to write chronicles. Plenty has happened, but the adventures haven’t made it into type.

Where to start? Now that fall is here, ringing in the beginning of the church year, the pace has picked up. Actually, the pace has picked me up and thrown me looping around and around. Yes, the busy season is in full swing, as it is in most churches right now. Deep breaths have run into hiding. Staff meetings run past lunch.
The birds who visit my feeders are packing their cheeks and carrying miniature Samsonites with travel stickers on them. My boss has become a blur of movement. My hidden bag of “Emergency Only” chocolates is getting low again and that’s a sure sign of stress and busy. Why, as I type, there is a coworker reaching under my desk for the chocolate stash. Will it be dark or milk chocolate today, I wonder?

I go home most days and think to myself, “ What did I do today?” as I collapse into my chair before going to the Y. Maybe it’s not just me. Maybe the world is spinning a little faster. Or, maybe MY world is spinning faster. At any rate, I miss writing, and hope to post snippets as they enter my days.

Home church is hopping, too. This year, I gave up volunteering with the 2-5th graders so that I can hide in Libby’s office and knit. Call it sanctuary. We all need that. Home church holds several of those for me... the balcony, the cubby, and always the kitchen. Soon it will be time for the soupathon and my weekends and weeknights will be spent at home church brewing up vegetable beef soup, chili, and black bean soup. I have grown to look forward to that time because it helps me get through the dreariness of winter. But wait! It is only Fall!!

The state fair will be here soon, and I’ll enjoy Maple cotton candy!! I’ll be listening to friends’ kids talk about the rides, and I’ll be so glad I’m not on them!! I’d much rather watch nausea form on the faces of others, than to feel it myself.

Messy Chef has some gigs coming up, too. I look forward to those.

Summer was good. Slower and calmer, and just nice. I dried tomatoes from my gardenette to use for soup later, and I ate a cucumber sandwich nearly every day at work. I kept knitting, and hoping that one day, I would be able to create two socks that resemble each other. It could happen. After all, I’m using the same directions. Go figure. 7 socks later, they still don't really look much closer than 4th cousins. I have Melanized the socks. Maybe I'll sell them as singles. Choose your sock. i dunno.

Summer. I’m not ready to give it up yet. The girls’ annual beach week was great. 3 of my 4 made it and we enjoyed each other as we always do. We read and swam, and laughed. I rode my bike to get shrimp. We watched the “Closer”- our favorite summer show. I knitted. What could be better than spending time with my girls?

My oldest had the most brilliant idea.
We learned that a local grocery would bag your groceries if you ordered online ahead. ARE you kidding me? For 20 something years, I have been the grocer on this trip, and to think that someone else would shop FOR me?

I went online and tried to shop but discovered that I need to be perusing the aisles, so my lovely daughter offered to go with me to a local store and act as secretary. We did just that, me pretending we were at the beach shopping, and she writing it all down. She then put the order in online and we paid for it and viola!! When we arrived at the beach, and gave our name, our groceries magically appeared. I still can’t get over it. What a love to do that just to save me time.
She also made my bed when we arrived. I just don’t see how it can get any better that that for vaca. Do you?

My thoughts are skipping, I’ll add more when I can. Gosh, it is good to be back.

Community Garden

2008-08-23T17:22:00.005-04:00

I sense a slow but steady shift these days towards more versatile use of community. Sustainable communities, building communities, community watch.... yadayadayada.

When I was married,we had a half acre back yard that was largely used for gardening. Fruits, veggies, an orchard. I think I've mentioned that here before. There are things I miss and don't miss about those days, but one especially good use of that space was to offer our goods to the community.

Now, a few years later, I am in a rented townhouse with a minute border of viable planting space, so the days of big gardening are over for me.

I have, however, found a friend who wants to have a garden, or at least wants to have living things in her yard, but doesn't have the steady interest to make it happen, so she's let me pretend her yard is my canvas and I've turned her front yard into a community garden of sorts.

Community meaning that I've filled her front beds, driveway border, mailbox plot and natural area around the trees into places that hold plants FROM the community. Yes, Julia gave me the run of her yard to pull and dig out plants, like long named things I can't remember; Tricia's mom is too elderly to manage her yard, so Tricia has allowed me to dig up daisies and cone flowers that have become overgrown; My own yard has an abundance of periwinkle and liripe, so some of that has put down roots "elsewhere", Louise gave me irises that grew and multiplied and are now in the community yard, the apartments where my oldest daughter lived was sold and everyone moved out in prep for demolition and I dug up some irises there as well, I "borrowed" Wisteria that was looking for an escape from a yard I pass when I walk to the Post office at work, and I found some cousin wisteria vines behind work church. I'm on the lookout these days for overgrown beds and I listen out for folks who want to thin out their plants.

A couple of years from now, if anything is still alive, the yard will be rich with diversity and culture, as our own world is. The only fighting is between flower and weed, or the occasional lawn mower herbivore.

I've started working towards the front side now and eventually, I think I'll have mini areas of lots of different things. I use my own compost, or that I can get on sale or at the City yard waste center, so the cost is low. It costs more in gas to get there than in materials now that the get- ready work is done. That's sad. I want to get a bike sometime, and a goal would be to ride out there on Saturdays to work a while. Like I said, it's a goal. Plus, if I poop out, my friend would bring me home I bet.

The plan is to create a yard that doesn't' really need attention. Self-sustaining. A popular word these days. When we get there, I guess I'll have to find another poor soul who will let me play in the dirt. It's hard work, but I keep my own pace and many/most days I am reminded that the simple motions of digging and putting new plant roots into fertile soil, then bedding them down with water and dirt feels comforting to me. So many things these days don't, but working outside, slow and steady comes second only to licking batter- in comfort levels.

Next year, when spring arrives, it will be interesting to see if the hours I've given to this look like anything good. It would be nice to have a positive influence on something as simple as ground.

Maybe I'll post pictures or maybe not.

If you have a place where plants grow, take the time to visit and talk out there. Plants are people, too. ...Or at least in my book they are. Special people who really don't need much from me but a little time, water, conversation and a listening ear.

Trick or Treat

2008-08-21T22:12:00.005-04:00

There is nothing more special than being treated to lunch, especially when the few dollars kept in the wallet have left the building. How invigorating to be picked up and brought back in a luxury car (albeit ancient) Yes, the thrill is hard to put into words, not that words were encouraged, mind you.

Yes, today was a treat of all treats. I was invited to a lunch at a specific place at a specific time and with a specific dish in mind. I was picked up precisely at 11:30 in a lovely black tank called Lincoln. Lincoln took me and my inviter along with the spirit of said inviter's spouse to a nearby restaurant. Three in the front, but only two to be seen. What a ,yes, again, treat. I was grateful for the spaciousness of the interior, the low mileage on such an aged vehicle.(40,000 and a car that was made in the days when steel and spit were the prime materials) I felt safe knowing nothing short of a Garbage truck could possibly do us injury in a collision. Yet, again- what. A. Treat.

We arrived at the restaurant, parked in handicap (made me wish I had brought along my wheelchair) and before I could scope out the set up of the restaurant, I heard the staff being informed of our seating location and of our menu selection, including beverage. Wow

I didn't have to do a thing but be there. What a treat.

We were seated with the best of care, and although the menu was useless, since our lunch had already been selected, I chose to take hold of it just because I could.

I inquired about other options, but was informed that if I chose to have something different than what my inviter had already chosen, I would need to do that on another day. Gosh. I was so relieved. How many lunches do we get to just be expected to be present and consume? I didn't need to drive, or look, or choose. whew. What a relief.

It didn't even matter that the food we were about to ingest has a history of jumping right back up and out to see the world. I cooperated the best I could, but I will say, swallowing that meal knowing it was temporary for my own body gave me pause. I wondered if it would be rude to order two dishes, one to go- one of my choice to go- so that i might be able to have lunch that would stay with me a little longer than 15 minutes.Leaving my etiquette book behind, I guessed it was not a proper idea, so I let it go.

During the consumption, I fielded the 20 questions per bite from my inviter. Dodge/ bite, dodge/ bite. I got a good upper body workout. What a treat.

I used to think having lunch with someone meant you talked about when and where, and usually ended up with a place you both agreed on.. I also thought there was some choice in what you did or didn't have while on the luncheon outing. Ah!! There's the trick.

I had a trick or treat lunch that day. No bags of candy to sort through at the end of it either. Just a lot of tums. I did,however get to know the upstairs ladies' room quite intimately. The stall and I bonded, so all is not lost on this lunchtime adventure but-

I think from here on out- I'll stick with more simple fare with work buddies. That's not really fair, is it? I guess I've forgotten the other side of that potty seat story. I've been very lucky to have lunch with friends who seem to share the same thinking as I mentioned earlier about discussion and having choices, etc.. I guess it all boils down to some lunches are treats, and some are just plain tricks.

Stranger than fiction…….

2008-08-21T18:38:00.003-04:00

The world is a dark place. Full of confusion and chaos, selfish envy and over indulgence. I think sometimes that the world today is the same ball of fire and gaseous nastiness that it was so long ago, "in the beginning". The lens shows a somewhat different picture, but much is the same. Thankfully,there are bright spots, and faith helps us see those and faith helps us build upon them. But this is a tale of murder and mahem, not sunny side of the streetness.

One nasty varmit that wreaks havoc on our world is crime. Humans hurting other humans, I speak of here. It’s a sad reality. Murder in particular. As much as I enjoy watching Law and Order and Third Watch, the reality is not pretty when it comes to that kind of human pain. Rarely are cases solved in 60 minutes – minus commercials.

Some murders are mysterious, complicated, and obscure. They go on forever; grow into "cold cases"...Others are clean cut in black and white; catching the culprit a relatively easy task.

Crime in the home is prevalent, but on a much lesser level in most cases. For example:

When my children were younger, one of the girls, then 3, appeared before me with sticky pink fingers and a lovely glaze of sugared red #20 gently coating her innocent face.
“Mommy, I want some juice” said the glazened babe.
I stopped what I was doing and looked down at her adorable pinkishness.
“So, have you been eating candy?” I asked.
“No.” came the reply.
“Are you SURE you haven’t ?” I tried again to offer her an opportunity to tell the truth. ( This was before I knew that threes don’t always do that when given the chance)
“No-ooo.”
I gave over to her, the bottom of my tee shirt and she stuck to it quite well. We proceeded into her room. We stood at the door. I scanned the space. A cellophane wrapper caught my eye and I approached it. I bent down and looked the wrapper square in the , well square. “Did Mary eat you?” I asked, leaning over so that I could better hear the response.

I noticed that this candy wrapper was but one among many. Hiding behind the first were an additional 60 or so empty wrappers.

Mary peeled her fingers from my shirt and backed towards the door- the escape hatch.

I looked at her. “It says, yes, Mary. Did you eat it? Is this the one on your fingers or on your cheek? Or is this the one still stuck in your teeth?”

She stuck her fingers together- apart-together-apart and then her three year old tongue swept around her lips. With determination came,“Nope, Mommy.”

Oh, what to do with this lie in the bold face of truth! I did what any self-respecting mother of 4 would do. I said, “Don’t tell me, sister. Tell them” and I left her to work it out with the empty and restless candy wrappers.

On a larger, more serious scale, though, people tend to react the same. In the face of bad truths, they will lie. A murder occurs. Someone is bludgeoned to death. It is mentioned in the news so much that the general public becomes numb to the facts. Eventually, the culprit is found guilty- the facts come about clear and undeniable, and the murdering husband is sent to a cell where he can write about it.

Time passes.

The seasons change. The hot spot news stories lull, exciting happenings hit the vaca circuit, and the newspaper starts desperately reaching for stories of interest. A reporter comes across an attorney who has decided to bring up the (aforementioned) murder story again with a twist. The attorney has discovered that the poker did not, in fact, kill the woman, but that an owl killed her. Proof being a feather stuck in her cap- er, uh scalp. The talons of said owl match the scratches on the woman’s body. The owl had been seen flying by at dusk the night before….. the woman left on the stairs clutching a feather. An owl feather.

The story made me laugh. I set the reality of the event aside and laughed. Give me a break. This is a story that one of my children could create. Wait. This IS a story that one of my children could create.

I put on my detective hat, did some research, and found to my dismay, that this attorney in fact frequents the ice cream store that we, too, visit often. I asked the dipping crew at the store if they recognized the attorney’s face from the papers and they said, “Yes, why, he was in here a few weeks ago when you and the girls were, too. Don’t you remember? One of the girls was reading a story from an old journal to you all. Then a few days later you came by looking for it, don’t you remember?”

OMG. I DID recall that event, and the journal has still not surfaced. How interesting… very interesting..

The story my child was reading that night was about a little girl who was accused of taking her sister’s candy, and when asked to tell the truth about it, she said a pterodactyl had been napping under the bed and was hungry when it woke up and they, of course like cherry sours the best of all, and he sneaked into sister’s room and scraped a talon full of them and flew back into the other sister’s room and hid under the bed and ate them and then went back for more and left scrapes in the carpet that could have looked like someone trying to cut the carpet with scissors but it was really pterodactyl claw marks and the red stains were red drool from eating the candy and then he went back and got the rest and he left the wrappers because he was going to have them later for dessert because he liked the way they crunched in his beak and so the little girl found him and said, “I’m going to tell my mommy you ate sister’s candy” and he said,
“No, don’t because I will have to fly away and if I give you some to eat, then we can be friends,” and she said “well, okay” and they ate the candy together and that’s how she got red on her and on the door frame and under the bed and in the carpet.

The story had been dictated to an older sister by a very imaginative 3 year old who was growing cavities as she spoke.

I thought. Owl/ Pterodactyl…. Feather, owl talon marks/ beak, claw carpet marks, red drool. Do you see anything peculiar in these stories?

If I remember correctly, there is also a story in that same journal that involves not sleeping at naptime, and writing on the wall with crayon. I wonder how those stories will manifest in the local news

Fall is here part II

2008-08-19T19:56:00.004-04:00

Well, once I got the info to copy, I set it aside, as I said ,to "meditate" on exactly how to do it. I needed a plan.

I took it to the genius tech magician who works so much he nearly lives at the church, and he flipped through it.

"Hmmmm, oh, wow..." he let slip, and his eyebrows raised. I had a sinking feeling. He put the pile of papers down and looked at me.
"This is more complicated than it looks. Let's just view it as a learning experience, opportunity!
First you need to divide this into sections, then count each section and the odd numbered groups, well, they'll need a blank piece of paper inserted BUT be sure you put a black dot .00621 mm in the center of the page. Use a marker fine not extra fine and only India black ink
Put the pages of one section at a time in like this, and use the 3 hole punched paper, BUT... put the paper in the tray like this for one sided and then, put it like this if you want two sided which it looks like you might- to save paper, then put in the special secret top secret CIA color code in the BIZ printer and stand back. If it accepts the code, then you still have to press color for it to work. You have 2 seconds to do this or you have to start all over. Don't put in more than 45 pages at a time if you want accurate copies, and the sienna toner is running on 4 bars, so it will run out soon. Got that?"

"Melanie?" " You got that?" he repeated.

I heard a far away voice calling my name. The sand felt warm under my feet, and the sun was bathing me with Vita D. The water was blue blue, and calm like a lake. sighhhhhh

"Melanie!!" " You okay?" the tech's voice rolled like a rip tide pulling me out into the sea of his directions.
"Uh, yeah. I'm here. You lost me on 'Oh wow', man"

He kindly repeated the directions again, then he left to shovel out the mountain of work he loves.

I stared at the papers. I stared at Biz.
I spoke to the dead trees and the robotic marvel."It's you and me, kids."

Biz hadn't been copying long before I realized he was eating the paper like candy. I grabbed my keys and headed for Staples.

Take note: Shopping at Staples the week school starts is NOT a good idea.
Parents are trying to decipher ridiculous school supply lists handed down by the almighty underpaid teachers whose only power left in the world is to create impossible lists for parents. This list acts as payback for all the coffee mugs and notepads they receive as end of the year gifts.

I think there is a conspiracy between psycho teachers and notebook companies, pencil companies, marker companies. I think the teachers give the companies lists that say something like please be sure to supply Staples with these specific supplies ONLY:

#2 wooden pencils, Clear plastic 3 ring notebooks 2" only, watercolor thin point markers.....
and then the teachers send a list to the parents that say:

"Absolutely NO #2 wooden pencils allowed, Clear plastic notebooks MUST be 4 rings and 1.2" or they will be sent home, and Chisel point markers are required."

That is the only explanation I can come up with that would cause the parents' faces to contort into such horrible expressions. The children are drawn to all the cute new products that are absolutely useless, and the parents are weeding through the supplies looking for the one perfect item that sits on the back rack hiding from the paparazzi-crazed parents. The energy is just like that I see on E! TV, only the stars are the few lone supplies that meet the requirements and the maniac paparazzi are the parents.

The store was reeling with stress and panic. I seriously thought about substituting Xanax in the Pez and gum machines.

I grabbed a cart that had a 5 year old clinging to the under tray and headed to the notebook aisle. I grabbed a box of 3 hole punch paper along the way.
There were no employees in sight, so grabbing a box of notebooks from the top shelf was not going to be an option.
I filled my cart with 3500 notebooks, ( just slightly exaggerated, but believe me, it felt like that many) and ran to the front in search of an available register.

I lucked up and got the service desk cashier who looked glad to be there. She looked TOO glad to be there. I heard her say, " Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to Staples" and then I realized that she was using her first-day-on-the-job tone and stature. good grapes.

I gave her a notebook and she started tapping away at the register. The price came up different that the aisle label had said, and I told her. She kept smiling, canceled out and started over, putting the lower price in. I was grateful she trusted me. I am absolutely sure that the 67 angry parents behind me in line had nothing whatsoever to do with her decision to believe me. This time, the register bucked like a scared horse and decided that it didn't like either price and would sell me the notebooks at "buy 2 get one free , every 8 1" get 2 2"free "

By now, the notebooks, being held captive in the close quarters of my cart had become friendly and multiplied. The stray stowaway child crawled out and started looking for his mom, who had clearly had an emotional snap as she had mutinied another register . She was pressing the "Easy" button and started yelling out," Over here, over here! Everything is half price!!" The child clung to the mom and sucked on a purple glue stick.

Meanwhile, back at my "First day" register, I was faced with a math equation. If Mary needs 3500 notebooks, and can buy two plus getting one free, every 8 gives her 2 free, how much does each notebook cost if the total is 5,000??? The register rang out its own answer, and I was suddenly strangling in a length of receipt that had to be 30 feet long. The people behind me lifted me up and pushed me and my overloaded cart out of the way.

I snapped. I grabbed a nearby, innocent stapler and flung it open, holding it up. I shot staples randomly 360 until the whining and fussing of the customers stopped.

" Alright everybody That's IT!!" hands on your carts. NOW!! The curiously cooperative crowd followed my demands. A red shirt of an attendant trying to escape caught my eye.
"YOU in the red shirt HOld it right there!!" I yelled. The college aged kid recognized the power of my, now, MOM voice and he froze in his tracks. "yes ma'am?"

"How the heck am I going to get all of these loose notebooks to my car, cowboy? Get me a box, son, and I mean today!"

5 minutes later, I was driving back to work with a convertible full of boxes of notebooks dragging a trailer on back full as well.

The moment I pulled in front of the church, the entire maintenance staff left for lunch. I could have sworn I saw one of them looking out for me on the steeple as I approached, but I may have been delusional by then.

I lifted the boxes out of the car and stacked them and started pushing them over the pavement towards the church. Once I got inside, the carpet allowed the cardboard more leeway and with a mobile down -dog pose, I pushed the boxes down the hall, past the pastor and a few members to my office.

I thought I heard someone say, "Now there's a view." He must not have known I still had that stapler in my back pocket.

Yes, Fall is here. No question. The pace is up and the work is coming out of the woodwork.

Fall is here part I

2008-08-16T15:47:00.003-04:00

I can tell summer is nearly done. The office tides are already in flux, shifting more clearly and with a slight rip added into the water around here. Ah, well. It’s been a great summer. I mean that. The pace was calmer and I had time to almost knock out my TO-DO list.

My boss came rushing in this week, clearly running on full strength Starbucks. “I have a project for you to do before you leave for vaca, Church Chick.”

I felt a slight shudder tremble up my spine. Vaca for me wasn’t for another 2 weeks. If there was a project I needed to start now, it must be bigger than big. Harder than hard, and surely full of mistake opportunities. OMG.
“ Sure thing, boss. Tell me what it is and I’m on it.” My voice sounded calmer than my pulse.

I grabbed my note pad and followed him into his office. I watched him pilfer through piles of paper and important notes. He was stressing, big time. I settled into the couch, tapping my pencil against the yellow pad. The pencil took control and scratched a message onto the pad.“This is not good."

I left him to find whatever it was he WASN’T finding, and crept back into my safe cave across the hall.

The day progressed.

Late afternoon, he flustered into my office. “We’ve got to get this project done right away” he spoke in a bit of a panic. I could tell he was trying to get the message across to me that this was an urgent request.
I searched for the perfect reply, the response that would put him at ease. "okay” was all I could come up with.

I listened as he told me what the “project” was. 45 notebooks filled with a range of info on Africa. About 100 pages with color pictures and some one, some two sided pages. To those of you who only know copying via Kinkos, let me tell you that this mix is an equation for a Melanie disaster, no doubt about it. I knew that my boss knew this, too. I knew he was trying so hard to be patient with my lack of team-urgency.
Again, I looked hard and deep for a calming reply. “okay” plumped out again.

I strolled down the hall towards the copy room and looked over the collection to be collated and copied and decided to meditate on the process a bit.

He followed me. “We’ve got to get going on this in time for the information meeting this week!!!!”

“ So, when is this meeting?” I asked.

“ This Sunday, the 24th!!!” he panted. His blood pressure was so high it was sitting on top of his head glaring at me.

Finally, I got the picture. Clear as a bell. Easy as pie.

My boss had been time traveling again.

“But this Sunday is only the 17th.”

He stopped and took in what I said. His heart settled back into his chest. The high blood pressure swam home. I thought I heard him breathing, and thinking. I could tell he was looking for just the right response.

Then, “Oh. Okay” He softened and walked back across the hall to his office. I heard the jingle when he quietly closed his door.
whew.

VBS or Bust!

2008-06-28T22:20:00.003-04:00

Vacation Bible School came to town recently. 35,000 little people parachuted into the church and ran rampant for 5 days. 200 adult volunteers were driven to drink, and 100 teenagers had a head on crash course in birth control through interacting with the logical consequences previously addressed as the parachuting pixies.

I kept notes all week as ideas came to me about sharing the experience with my readers, but the insanity hit hard around 5 each day, and I ate my inked words. All I have now is indigestion and fading recollections.

The mass was divided into groups and were expected to follow birdhouses on sticks. I dreamt bird dreams all week.

There was so much activity flowing through the hallways, that the construction crew forgot how to construct. On Friday, when I left, I poked my head in the -now- gutted Sanctuary, and I swear I saw a giant Birdhouse where the altar used to be.

Messy Chef Summer somethings

2008-06-18T10:42:00.002-04:00

I've been messy cheffing for a camp at home church for a few days. Here is one of the desserts that get requested each year. For the kids' camp, we just call it "Seconds"
Second To Sex
1C. all purp flour
1 stick butter
1 cup or more pecans
Melt butter in a pan that is about the size of a manila folder. Mix flour with it and press into pan Add nuts and press into crust.
Bake 350 til golden. Cool
Meanwhile-
1 sml package of instant chocolate pudding
1 C milk
Mix and set aside
Next-
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
½ or ¾ C XX sugar
6 oz cool whip ( ½ of a 12 oz container)
Mix and set aside.
Save other half of coolwhip.
When crust is cool- layer this way:
Crust
Cream cheese mixture
Pudding
The rest of the coolwhip
Eat a corner, then cover it up and put container in frig.
Will keep well for just a day or two.

Delayed reaction

2008-06-13T15:01:00.002-04:00

Something is happening around here. It's been building up for several weeks, like a storm on the prowl. I have been trying to keep myself behind my desk to avoid catching the mystery, but i got "bit" anyway.

The symptoms are disorienting. I woke up one Wednesday morning and thought it was Saturday. I came to work in shorts and tennis shoes, hoping to get some cobwebs off of my desk. I thought everyone else must have had the same idea because everyone else was here, too.

Everyone AND some extras. A few kids roamed the hallways before lunch.

About 3pm, I got a call from a church chick friend. "Hi. What are you doing?" I asked.
" I"m working on meeting minutes, how about you?" she commented.
" I'm trying to clear my desk a little bit. Hey- how did you know to call me at work?"
" Well, it's Wednesday. Aren't you usually at work on Wednesdays?"
I looked at my watch. The day/date blinked at me. "Has it been Wednesday all day?" I asked.
" I'm not sure, but I think that's how it works. Why?" she asked.
" Well, it's just that I woke up in Saturday and somehow I'm now stuck in Wednesday afternoon."
" Probably Alien abduction"
"It's not just that. I've lost my focus, too."
" Like you ever had any?" she smirked over the phone to me.
" No, really. Something is going on. I'm seeing littler people in the hallways, and I've been obsessing over bringing my lap top and beach chair so I can work on the lawn before it gets too hot outside."
"Oh. That's what you mean about something going on.... School's out. Summer's on the train into town, and, like a cold front, it is pushing time and focus out of the way."
I felt myself slump into my chair.
For a moment, I was homesick for summer vacation. The days of being at the pool all day.

I felt a click click click inside my head. I think it was a delayed reaction to reality.

Somehow the old days of pooling equated with today days of wearing shorts to work. No matter the shift, the feeling remained. It still feels like summer, and that's a good thing.

I look forward to the coming weeks. I'll get lots of prep work done for Fall without a push from the clock. I'll clean out my closet, and watch the birds feed at the window. I'll enjoy the chaos of Vacation Bible School, and I'll stay in a constant state of confusion because every day will be different. Different staff ( Who's on vacation this week?), different friends ( my how your child has grown!), different spin.

Hello, Summer-

Felting fodder

2008-05-02T09:42:00.003-04:00

Ye Gods!!! I have fallen into The Felting Forest

Felting is some kind of weird challenge for me. It is a real joke around here at work.

I've shown examples in previous blog entries, and after all this time, I remain mesmerized at the magical change that takes place when the wool hits the wash, but I can't quite seem to tweak the process so that I have a consistently useful product when it is all over.

A while back, I saw a beautiful felted purse that looked like it was done in a self-patterning yarn, and it was.The purse was unique and really neat. I wanted to make one BAD.

The skeins were about the size of your fist and it would have taken 6 or probably 10 to make a purse and they were ten bucks a piece so no go:-(

Later, I bought 5 skeins of my usual cheap wool yarn and I made my own skein by tying lengths of different colors together. I made the giant purse last weekend and it came out of the wash looking like a yoga ball that had been deflated, then runover by a car and cut in half.

The handles, were oh so creatively designed by me. I made two, then crossed them over each other and they came out blobbed together.

Then, while drying on the dining table, one of Liza's cats peed on it. When I came to check on it in the morning, hoping the elves had somehow transformed it into a useable object, there it sat, the smushed and sliced yoga -ball- wool -felted -bag- wannabe.

The colors looked great... bright and cheery. They camoflaged the pee, so when I picked up the bag to take a look, the pee escaped and down the front of my clothes. I had to change for work.

The bag went to the trash.

The good news and lesson learned was that the felt holds water, and I liked the tied skein effect.

I've started another.The thing is ,I follow directions and each purse still comes out different.Therego the appropriate name of my pseudo pretend business:

Accidentals, inc. specializing in Melanizing.

I finished a baby hat and booties for a couple at work who are expecting their first child. I got kudos from two pals at work when I finished the hat- they were no doubt thrilled that the baby hat turned out a size suitable for a human child. I imagine it was refreshing to see a completed product that wasn't fit for gnome or some prehistoric sized creature, for once.

When I finished the booties, and gave them to the new dad at staff meeting, they mouthed the question across the table to me. "Are they the same size?" Maybe I should have been insulted by this whispered inquiry, but these two love me to my heart, and they have no rose colored glasses on when it comes to knowing my true self, so I wasn't insulted in the least. Oh, sure, I glared. I looked hurt. But I was had. I whispered back,"No, but they are close". Then I told the new dad later that no two feet are exactly alike and that is a special skill that you can expect from Accidentals, inc. We accomodate the real.

sigh.....

Home depo

2008-04-30T17:15:00.004-04:00

When I was younger, time spent with friends looked like this: talking at length on the phone, passing notes in class, fast talking in the hallway in between classes, going to the mall, sleepovers.

As I grew into momhood, time spent with friends looked like this: 30 second catch up conversations, meeting at the playground and conversing while watching the children play, chasing them down, helping them up and on, rarely having eye contact with the friend. There were many days at the park that I didn't realize I was sharing stories with a total stranger.

When I began working full time, the prescription for friend time became any space of time when I could be with a pal and chat. I learned to drag friends to the grocery, send invites for a trip to the PO, and meet friends -in- passing on the stairs. I’ve learned to summarize and question in quicktalk fashion. Hey, whatever works, right? All I can say is things don't slow down when the kids get older, other things slip right in there, like work.

So on this day,a good pal needed to vent, and I invited her to come along with me to the Home Depo store. She agreed.

She pushed the cart and chatted away about the challenges of her day. I walked alongside the cart, holding the list that mapped our shopping route. She vented and I listened, calling out our next "stop" in between .

We strolled down aisle 6A “Fiberglass netting” said I.

She replied with, “I couldn’t believe after all the work I put into that project, that he deleted the whole thing!! ARGH”

"The whole thing? criminy!" I added supportively.

We arrived at the netting. I looked at the choices of width and length. “Do you think I need the 200 yard, or the 50 yard roll?”

she continued her story with ,“ AND, the draft was deleted, too!! Gosh I’m so mad about that….. Um, get the 200 yard roll. You never know when you’ll need the extra length……. So then, after all that, he came in late the next day!”

I put the roll in the cart and caught the eye of a red-vested employee. “Sir? Where are the shovels and pitchforks?”

We kept walking, she talking, and me directing the cart in line with the red vest. We dead-ended at a display of tools. “Pitchfork or shovel? I don’t know, what do you think?” I waited.

“Last week, he left the quarterly board meeting before we even got to financials. Nobody else does that, and he didn’t even bother explaining. He just left! He left us all to work hard at staying awake through the number jabber. ….. Pitchfork will go into the dirt better if it is dry and compacted, probably. Are you digging in clay or dirt?”

I closed my eyes and let my head rest back onto my shoulders. “Yeah, lots of leaf-covered soil, vines and dead brush… I think we’ll go pitchfork. It’s a few dollars less, too and I like the handle.” She backed out the cart and we continued on our shopping trail.

I looked at my list. “Um, let’s see what’s next… bungie cords.”

“ Can you believe he has had interior design people in re-doing the board room 3 times this year. And then proceeds to complain about expenditures!!” her pace picked up.

My right arm swung out and held the cart back from running over a runaway child who skirted around the cart and kept running.

The near miss did not deter the venter from venting. She stopped and draped herself over the front of the cart handle, talking into the cart. “ I just don’t think I can take it much longer. The man is insane!”

A red vest crossed our path. “Excuse me, sir. I’m looking for bungie cords?”

“ 18 A about half way down. Here, I'll show you.”

“Thanks.”

We took a hard left down aisle 18. A mound of cords caught my eye. “ Gee, some of these are so short, I don’t know.”

“ How long do you need them to be, ma’am?” the kindly depo man asked.

I stretched my arms into as big a circle as I could, with my fingertips just touching. “ Oh, about this big. Big enough to go around a trash can.”

“Then, you’ll need these, probably. Yes, these should do you fine.” Plop went a pair of lime green bungies into the cart.

We continued on- me now holding the side of the cart so as not to lose it or the driver, and my friend, hanging by her armpits driving with her head hanging lower than a snail’s pace, and her feet dragging behind. I could tell our visit time was coming to a close…just one more item.

“ Ah, there. Garden accessories. Now let’s see if they have a … yeah! I see it, this way, come on, we’re almost done.”

The cart driver moaned, “ I can’t sleep thinking about having to go in to work tomorrow. I can’t do it.”

I patted her bobbing head.“Okay. Here are the rainbarrels. They are all over the place these days, there are so many that they are invisible if you know what I mean. Why, you walk by them in the neighborhood and don’t even notice them. Too big for my Cabrio. Oh, here’s a collapsible one…. But is it big enough?”

I looked around and noticed the outline of a person who was squatting behind the rainbarrel giving it a look. He stood up, then walked away.

My friend bolted upright, her upper body rocketing out of the cart. “OMG. Did you see that man? I thought it was HIM for a minute.”

I put my hand on her shoulders, and guided her back down to ground level. “Come on, let’s go. Anyway,I think that’s about right, and it will fit in my car, too. ”

I walked over and picked up the collapsible rainbarrel and added it to the cart. I pushed against the cart, aiming it for the front of the store and we headed towards the checkout.

We wove our way through the store in quiet. Then, her voice released slow syllables, “ Uh, what are you getting these things for, anyway?”

A lightbulb flashed in my mind’s eye as I inventoried our cart and replayed her store ramblings.

I smiled. “You mean why did I get a length of netting big enough to wrap, say, a body ? and why did I get bungie cords long enough to wrap around a body so the limbs wouldn't fall out? And Why did I get a rainbarrel big enough to hold an average sized person? And Why did I get a pitchfork strong enough to dig a big hole?”

She stood- frozen in the homedepo, her eyes wide as full moon. I could see the hairs standing up on her arms. She had a hard grip on the cart.
“Uh, yeah. Why DID you get those things?”
“I got these things for the garden, of course, what did you think?”

And we headed home.

Bell-less Wednesday

2008-04-30T10:00:00.004-04:00

There are no bells today. My bell friend is traveling to her summer home now. The halls are quiet this morning. sigh.....................
The bell choir is on sabbatical until Fall.
sigh.......................
I rely on a few of Edgar's words to fill in this bell-less blog.

I Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
.

Kansas??

2008-04-22T20:27:00.003-04:00

I am a church secretary. A church is a place that usually houses a sanctuary, a place for fellowship, and often times a smaller sanctuary called a chapel. I used to work in a place that met all of that but over the last few days, when I've entered the building, it just hasn't felt like Kansas anymore.

Midweek of last, I was booking down the hall to visit the Business Administrator's office and as I rounded the corner, I glanced into the Chapel,but the baby cute Chapel was gone. My gasp echoed back to me, bounced off of the vacant walls and floor. The room was empty. Aliens had clearly abducted the pews. The sacred room was pewless. On that day, in that moment, I assumed I was hallucinating. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed the change, but it didn't appear so, so I cautiously entered the foreign space. I stood in the middle of the room and closed my eyes. The spirits of days gone by were clearly present. Memories of weddings and baptisms whispered past me. In a matter of seconds I was surrounded, encased by years and years of the essence of history. The room was full. When I opened my eyes, the sense of all that evaporated. The chapel was a different space.

Friday, I thought I had lost more of my mind, (there is not much left to spare) and so I retraced my steps to the car, keeping my eyes glued to the pavement in search of mind. None found. I headed for the kitchen, and cut through the Fellowship Hall to get there. I crawled over soundboards and flat screens; scooted between black boxes and tripped over cords snaking about the area. Where did the Fellowship Hall go? What happened to tables and chairs? What??

Today, I wondered if we were going to be on an upcoming episode of "Flip This or That House". I entered the building and ran slam into long, slender open casket-like boxes,stacked 6 feet high in the Lobby. The sanctuary doors were open, and the carpet was gone. So were half the pews- some sat disassembled , others waiting their turn. The organ had been silenced by an ongoing tonsillectomy in full swing. There were strangers at work. The figures in the stained glass look worried. Would they be next?

I used to work in a church. Right now, I work in a place that is called a church, except it has no sanctuary, no chapel and no fellowship hall. We're not in Kansas anymore.

VACA- How little it takes

2008-04-18T09:32:00.009-04:00

Although you'd never know it based on my job at church, I am an introvert. I used to think otherwise, for much of my life has been spent in front of crowds teaching workshops, or training other teachers, or in a classroom with a gaggle of children. I've done my fair share of speaking to City Council and have had many occasions to hold community events and dinners at home or in our back yard. For reasons I now understand, those times were just times when I was 'on'. In truth, I count on solitude to calm my spirit and to recharge my soul. We all need to find our individual balance between chaos and calm. I love to write and sew and read; crochet or knitting soothes and relaxes me; gardening heals. Cooking can be meditative. My comfort zone is tiny as well. I live in a circumference that I can walk to - work, the Y, church, grocery. It works for me. I don't travel much.

I love my job at work church because it gives me the best of both aforementioned siblings, Chaos and Calm. In the course of a day at work, I see many many people, but usually in drips and drabs. On busy days, a steady stream of people stop by the office or phone or email, and I enjoy that contact, but at the end of the day, I am ready for some quiet. I think that is one reason I like Yoga so much. Sometimes, when I'm in Yoga, I can hardly believe I used to teach disco dancing- the two are so completely at odds with each other.

My oldest daughter had a big occasion this week- her first conference event that she had planned and organized. She offered me an opp to go with her on a 'pretend' vaca. It was one overnight, and located close to two other daughters' schools so I agreed, then said, "Well, I dunno" then, " Sure, I'm going" then, " Well, maybe not". She was kind and patient, and I finally decided a change of scene was in order so I drove us up to Winston-Salem. She is good travel company. She told me she had planned a pedicure for me while she set up for the event so I'd feel more vacationy. It was a very nice treat.

We arrived without any unwelcomed travel hitches, and she headed into the conference area to set up shop.I left the hotel with directions in hand, and a few minutes later, I was parked and had my shoes off . I enjoyed the treatment. Mostly, I appreciated her letting me know ahead of time and the fact that she was so thoughtful as to treat me to such a luxury without coming along for the entertainment. I tend to sink into the massage chair and have been told I look somewhat like a cat or dog leaning and twisting into the bark of a good scratchy tree limb trying to "get" the tree to scratch just the right spot. In addition, my feet are extremely wary of strangers, and they tend to jerk and squirm in the hands of the pedicure artists. Twice a year, sometimes 3 times, I'll go through the torturous, in a good way, pedicure. I can't take it any more often than that.

We had a surprise dinner with my Wake Forest near graduate daughter, and were in bed in our nighties by 7. Yes, 7. I crocheted a hat for our newest youth director and his preggers wife, and lights were out at ten. I was up at 3 as per my usual wake up call, and emailed a bit - my daughter's anxiety kept her up so we visited in the dark for a few moments and back to sleep fell we.

She was up and out by 7; I took my time getting ready, then drove to Greensboro to see yet another daughter who is majoring in recreational therapy. We shopped, and had lunch and yarn shopped, I got a friend some needle sticker things, and used a coupon my daughter gave me to have my car washed. " since you can't do this in Raleigh, Mom", and then we just piddled around. I saw the "wall" and Outdoor Adventures where she works.

That afternoon, I drove back to Winston-Salem in time to watch my oldest succumb to a nasty stomach virus. I ended up sitting at the conference table handing out nursing certificates and packing up when it was all done while she spent time in the restroom- not resting. We drove home with the top down, hoping the fresh, albeit frenetic, blasts of air might keep her nausea at bay. It's hard to puke when you're in a convertible going 70 mph.

I dropped her off, helped her into her cozy apt, and I made it home in time for yoga. It was a good trip. Short and sweet and with most of my girls. I missed work, though. Yes, I did. No, really, I did.

While gone, on this extended trip, I called a buddy at work and reported in a few times, and emailed in between. I missed my work friends so much that I brought back special treats. A shoe shiner for one who loves shoes, a miniature bottle of lotion for one who appreciates those finer things, a makeup remover cloth, and a couple of cards- one said "Help" and the other had room for notes. I had looked high and low for these types of items while shopping in Greensboro, but alas, it was in the hotel room alone that the particular quality and perfect designs were found. Isn't that just the way? You look all over creation for just the perfect Do not disturb sign and there it sits hanging on your hotel door the whole time? I had fun giving them out when I returned today and I could tell they all appreciated tremendously, the thought that went into each and every specialized gift. I love my workmates.

My boss couldn't seem to find his special gift, and as I got up to go pull it out of his mail cubby i said, " Yes, you've been to Italy, and brought me a lovely mixture of beans for soup, but THIS present can't be found just anywhere." When he saw the trifold pamphlet titled, "NOTES" I could tell he was touched. That's just the kind of guy he is.

This morning when I came in, one of our building maintenance crew said she had missed my quirkiness. I guess she called it. Her gift was a day old flattened chocolate croissant, that had actually been the victim of passenger sittage. The delicacy was warm when I bought it, the day before. She seemed to feel special when I handed her the squashed paper bag. She knew my heart was full of good intentions. That's when she made the quirkiness comment. I can think of worse characteristics. I'll take quirky anyday. Doesn't hurt anyone, and isn't mean spirited. Sounds pretty good to me.

My next door office neighbor left me the sweetest note of what she did when I was gone.
"Missed you, made coffee, ate nuts, had gum, ( out of my desktop sustenance containers on my desk) missed you some more. " It was nice to come home to. You'd have thought I had been away a week.

The organist ( we are partners in desktop snackness choices) moaned that it was no fun sneaking the goodies if I wasn' t there to notice. He is an artist in so many ways, delivering moan-y missed-you comments being one. It was dramatic, loving, and delicious- made me feel glad to be back.

I think it says something special and good when you can be away a couple of days, and feel like you've been to Jupiter and back. I am grateful to have been missed.

Something awry happened, though. While I was gone, it snowed. It snowed paperwork on my desktop. A blizzard of work sat on my desk, sprawled and restless, listening to the mystery radio station, awaiting my return. How did that happen? Gnome and Watchbear( nicknamed Sparky) must have skipped out when I did because they are supposed to keep away extra work that tries to enter the office. Guess I'll have to talk to that duo next week.

vacations/timeshare

2008-04-12T21:18:00.002-04:00

I had an opportunity to messy chef cook at home church this week, so I took Friday off to shop and to give myself an additional day to pull it together without being rushed. At home church, i am called Messy Chef because my meals are comfort foods, which are messy. I'm actually a neat cooker, I like to clean up as I go; it feels a little magical when the cooking is done, and there isn't a sink full of pots waiting to be bathed.

When I help Nathan, who is a REAL chef, I'm his clean up crew. It works well. I like to help him in this way. Over my years as a mom, and wife, I've solved many a problem or quandry standing over a kitchen sink full of soapy water. Salty tears dispell the bubbles, so you either have to keep adding the liquid soap, or work through whatever is on your mind quick. I've done both. There is comfort in that.

Tonight, my oldest daughter came by to eat with me in the kitchen, and she said something like, " You're in the zone of this now, you are standing in that mom stance." Apparently, I stand with my legs crossed when I am cooking and concentrating, or doing the dishes or chopping or stirring. She finds comfort in seeing that, it brings back some good childhood memories. I am glad she has those. I am more glad she shared it and that she came to just be with me- she was a big help.

You never really know about those invisible moments unless your kids tell you.

Anyway, I worked very hard yesterday, shopping in bulk, and prepping and made massive amounts of brownies among other things. By day's end, my body was aching . My fingernails were slumping over with exhaustion, and my legs kept trying to fake me out, hopeng I'd give in and go home. I told my church chick mentor/friend that my body was tired, but my mind had been on a complete vacation all day. I had lunch with my best church chick buddy, and I spent hours working on the meal for tonight. It was pure heaven. I think it falls into the category of a type of vacation called Timesharing.

I used to think those timesharing deals were places, but for me, timesharing is sharing time in safe and peaceful places. I highly reccommend it.

Earlier in the day, I had stopped by a friend's house to piddle in her yard. I'm trying to help her with a garden this season, and we are enjoying the time to just visit. I can't work too long in the dirt as I used to, but I enjoy it more now because i can choose when and how much to do. There are a couple of friends that I am helping with this season. I think I'll be a garden tender on the side. Get it set up , and then just check on it or talk to the plants to pump them up and spend a little time with them. It's a comforting activity.

One friend has wanted a garden but needed incentive to get it in gear, so we've worked together to get it going. The other friend has been very free and flexible in letting me just do in her yard. Funny, I actually have some ideas of what might be fun to try. We'll see how it goes. When they are away alot this summer, I'll be over watering and checking on our plant friends. It will make me feel like they aren't gone. The other friend works crazy hours and needs help keeping her garden tended.
My own gardenette is going well! I have a head of lettuce ready to pick and the summer plants are antsy to hit the ground. My oldest daughter is also getting ready to put her gardenette in. Ah, the time of year. Some folks take gardening as seriously as taxes, but I find if you keep your expectations in check it is much less stressful and more enlightening in other ways. My goal is to not kill and to get something to live. Surely that will happen. Time will tell. One head of lettuce and a beautiful brussels sprouts plant are telling me that. Oh, and my potatoes are up . These are good signs.

Gosh how did I get to gardens from timeshare vacation?I don't know, but I will tell you this
When you've put your heart and grateful soul into messy cheffing at home church and you find you are feeling like your age has doubled , and your body is getting ready to blink you, the best refreshing thing to do is go to a friend's kid's ballgame and sit.

I discovered a few years ago the rejuvenation one can have by watching someone else's child in action. Be it singing in a concert, or playing ball, just being present for another child is quite refreshing. I loved watching my own kids, but they are grown now, and the stressfullness of hoping they would do as well as they wanted, the dread of if they disappointed their father, well, it was hard. I was proud of their efforts always, and I still am, but relaxing during those events- nada.

This is different. It is so interesting to watch other kids grow into who they want to be. Fascinating. One friend's daughter sings. I have seen her go from a tiny angel to a lovely young teen, who connects with the music. Her spirit flies about when she is singing. Something touches her in a special deep place when she is able to connect with the music. I'm not sure she is even aware of it, but I can see it.

I've been to my best buddy at work's son's ball game, but he's into football now and that hurts.

There is a young man I have enjoyed watch play ball for a long time now. First, the differences between boys baseball and my own experience with girls' softball was something that interested me. Then there was the relief that I did not have to keep score, then that I didn't even have to know all the players, or keep up with exactly all aspects of what was going on. It felt like vacation to sit and just watch a ball pitched, and the play that ensued. I still seek out those opps, and in that, I'm able to watch this young man grow. All of these experiences are gifts that I value greatly.
My own girls enjoy the baseball with me as well. Those days were important to them, and now, they enjoy being on the other side of the fence with friends who play.

Today is over now, the meal finished, cleaned up. I am tired. and achy, my back is hurting more than Yoga can fix, and I am sweaty, and all my joints are on strike. But I can't wait til the next opp comes up. In these days of not knowing much about who and where I am on this path of life, these moments tell me I can go through the motions of putting together a meal for friends, and motion is probably healthy. I am lucky that home church lets me just be me and accepts what I can give them. I am lucky they accept me who and however I am, these days very uncertain many times. Work church takes me as I am as well, and that is pure grace. Sometimes, I don't know what to do with it. The acceptance from others, is so much more than I expect. Go figure

Right now, the ibuprofen is kicking in, i'm cozy at home, with dishpan hands, and I will say, on Monday when I return to my favorite "real" job , that I had a wonderful vacation.

When the phoneman rings twice

2008-04-09T14:42:00.005-04:00

Isn't this just typical? When the boss comes home, the phones go out? We've had phone problems over the last few days that I find personally amusing. You might say, "Hmmm. church chick. .... Could this humorous perspective come from the fact that the phones ring steady most days in/ days out? Could your lightheartedness be floating on the wings of not wanting to answer? Another. Darn. Call.???????????????? Or is it simply your sick sense of comedy at work? "

The answer is - no comment.

The phoneline nervous breakdown presented with symptoms of neurotic ringing. The phone would ring once; the receptionist, or me or my neighbor would pick up to hear- absolutely nothing- not even heavy breathing. nada. just silence. This happened alot. Then not at all. Then alot. Then some. Then, a few and then none. Eventually, a pattern evolved. We figured out if we let the phone ring twice, then it was probably a real person calling in, and not someone trying to call from the grave, and we began waiting for the second ring to pick up.

Our tech guy called the phone company and they sent someone out. The guy they sent was a kind hearted fellow,though he reeked of smoke. We spoke often, as he investigated the awry phone saga, but every time he left my office, I quick quick opened my window to release the stale smoke. Once, he left and did a quick turnaround. I was busy pushing open the window and trying to find a clean breath of air when I heard him yell out, " Don't Jump, Miss. Please Don't jump!!" I pulled myself back inside the office and turned around. " I was just opening the window, man. Just getting some fresh air."
He stood at the door, looking relieved. " You know, I WILL fix this problem. It's just going to take a while."
"I have every faith in your ability, truly I do" I answered as supportively as I could.
So he went back to work.
Hours passed

The phones finally succumbed to panic and started to scream-ring at veryloud volume. Having no phone-anti-depressants or anti- anxiety meds on hand, I tried my best to comfort my desk phone by talking it down. " It's just issues, my friend. We all have them. Humans, birds, phones, copy machines. Let it go. You'll be better soon." The lights that had been blinking erratically all afternoon stopped completely. The phone went dead. Not knowing phone cpr, i removed the receiver from the cradle and gently laid it on my desktop.

Later that afternoon, I was at the front desk and I noticed the phone guy standing at the desk barely able to hold himself up. His eyebrows were dripping sweat and his eyes had gone dull.

"What is it, Mister Phone man? What?" NOW, who's looking low, I thought to myself. A quick scan of the area brought a nearby window into my sight and i moved my position so as I became a barrier between him and it.

" The part they sent was faulty. and now I can't get the old part to Not work like it has been Not working, so you basically have phones out of control. I don't usually work on this kind of system and I'm really worried that I can't get it right. I've ordered a new part, and it will be in tomorrow."

"Listen, buddy. Go home. You've done all you can here. I know you have given it your all."

--------------The next morning arrives.
I come in to work. The phones are singing loud and staggered. But something is different. I walk down the hall and notice that whenever a call comes in, ALL phones ring. Typically only my and the desk phone ring in outside calls, the rest wait to have calls transferred to them. I sit at my desk and pick up a call and realize quickly that the ability to transfer has stopped functioning. The phones are now losing bodily functions. Transfers cause disconnections. OH, man. This is going to be a grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaattttttttttttttttday, I can tell.

I hear a voice coming from down the hall. "Church Chick, something is wrong. I'm getting all the incoming calls. and I can't seem to transfer." I walked down to the staff person's office and delivered the news of reality. "Bottom line is, we're ALL the receptionists today until the phones get fixed."

A little while later, my boss is in. The phone rings. and rings. I go in and say, "Just say, Church, can I help you?" He said amidst the continuing ring, " No, my red light is blinking, it is for me" I watched him pick up and just say hello. Then a peculiar look came over him."No, we don't need another credit card, thanks." He hung up.
"The phones are not working, are they?" he asked.
" Right"
About that time, the youth directors came bounding down the stairs. '

" WEll, I guess WE'RE the receptionists today! The calls are ringing in our offices."
I said, " Well, the phones are ringing in EVERYONE's offices. and the transfer doesn't work."
"Oh." said one
"Oh." said the other.
"I got a call and transferred it and then they called right back"said one.
" Me, too!"
I added, " That's because you cut them off"
"Oh"
"Oh"
"Yeah."
"So what do we do?"
" I'm thinking we take messages and deliver them; sort of like the pony express , only with phone messages. "
"Oh, okay." and they traipsed back up the stairs.
The preacher answered the phone today. The associate answered. I did. The maintenance man did. The steeple repair guy answered. The mailman answered. It was a full team effort.
Man, talk about wearing somebody else's shoes. That is what happened today.

The Boss is Back!!

2008-04-08T14:05:00.002-04:00

I have missed writing. My fingers itch itch itch, but by the time the day is done, they can't type a straight sentence,so I've been amiss for a while.

I appreciate the comments and requests for more stories, it makes my day to have friends, some who i have not even really gotten to know, comment on the chronicles. Thanks for that.

Today, I only want to say, The Boss Is Back!! This fact has restored my faith in good things.

He got away for a few days with his honey bunny of 30 years, and I'm glad about that.

What I am NOT glad about is the size of the wheel wells of commercial airplanes. No kidding, you can't get a small animal in there much less a middle aged, overweight church secretary. It's a crime.

In addition, I was very frustrated with Samsonite to see that their suitcases did not zip from the inside. American Tourister either. Louis Vaton?? Nope. How in the heck do they expect people like me to stowaway if we can't even contain ourselves in the luggage? Criminy!!!

So, I stayed behind at the old mill and kept typing away. Being spring break, and the let down after Easter, traffic was slow and quiet. I got lots of work done without pressure, and lots of mistakes made and corrected without the side order of panic. I look forward to summer when I can do more catch up work at a slower pace.

Time rolled along, and many folks stopped by to say things like, "How's it going with the cat away?"
"meOW, baby" said I, typing through kitty tears at my keyboard.

Later in the week, " So, having a blast with the boss gone?"
"NO"

and

"Is it quiet around here without your boss on the hall?"
"I MISS MY BOSS!!"

What does it say when the mice get depressed when the Cat is away? It means, the cat must be the Cat's Pajamas. and believe me, he is. I couldn't ask for a better boss, and I'm glad he's home.

mystery in the gardenette

2008-03-03T20:19:00.002-05:00

The mulch is now munched into the dirt, along with the compost, and the carrots and sugar snaps are napping in the soil.
The rainbarrel is sitting, mouth open waiting for rain
The baby plants are sitting in new and bigger peat pots. They spend their day at a second story sunny window that overlooks their growing space. I keep the window locked so they won't jump.

The pansies and snaps I put in last year are racing against the bulbs to see who can bloom first and best.

Today, when I got home to take the 30 second walk around, I noticed a butterfly garden stick standing in among the cabbage and brussels sprouts. It is pretty and dangly and blue butterfly colored.

Did Gnome from work put the word out? Is this the work of gardenette gnomes? I can't say, but it feels a little like magic.

gardening

2008-03-01T13:56:00.003-05:00

We used to take the truck and get a load of leaf mulch and compost from the city 5 or 6 times a year. The girls and I would unload it bucket by bucket and it was pure misery. That truck bed never seemed to get empty. Not pleasant memories there except for the miraculous effect that stuff had on the plants. It kept weeds down, and kept water in, and looked so incredible once we had it all spread out.

Since I'm learning how to do gardening in a downsized way, I decided to take cabrio extraordinnaire to the city leaf mulch site and see what i could do. The cab and I felt so tiny sandwiched in between the big daddy trucks in line to load up on the natural fertilizer. When it was my turn to pull up to the pay window, the man just looked at me like, "What are you doing here? He sounded like he was joking when he asked me what I wanted.

" I'd like a load of mulch and one of compost, please."
He looked at my car and said, " Do you want us to drop a bucket of each in there? or do you want to bag it yourself?" smartie pants compost man.
" I'll bag it myself, thanks." I carried a load of kitchen trash bags with me. For 7$ today, I got 8 bags full of leaf mulch stuffed delicately in the front and back seat and as many half full of compost in the trunk of my car. Last week, a fine friend and I filled up her van with twice that and only spent $11. A car load for me is rarely more than $5.00. unbelievable. I can't wait to work it in. This stuff is expensive when you buy it retail.

Hopefully, the rainbarrel will find a new home today, too. I've been using a bucket that catches the gutter water, but it overfills in a hot minute. I can't wait to see how this barrel really works.

Truth be told, I have room for maybe 10 plants or 15 total. But it feels so good working the soil again, that I've been begging friends to let me just spend time in their yards. My work buddy graciously let her son and I mulch her front flower bed, and another friend who is interested in trying a garden, has let me play landscaper at her house. i bartered with my cranio-sacral therapist for a sessions/mulch and got some for my daughter. Call me crazy. Too late-

I'm increasing the plants in my office, too- come by soon and see the changes. The philodendron has made it almost all the way around the room, and a kind volunteer put up 3 plant hangers for me so I can add more plants at the window. I finally got a hummingbird feeder, so I think we have most birds covered, now. I hope to have the new items up next week at work. My office is my "other" home besides home church. I want visitors to feel at home when they come see me at Grand Central Station/ office.

Not much meat to this entry, but a lot of gusto!

rain barrels are good friends

2008-02-29T19:49:00.004-05:00

We are experiencing a drought. Mention of this has become so overused it is invisible and often falls on deaf ears. This situation reminds me of times when my girls were small and one of the four was in dire need of attention. Maybe a gentle tug on my shirt would take place or a repetitive song of-"mommy mommy mommy" would kick in. No matter, whatever, or who ever was claiming my focus, eventually, the constant tug or song would find it's way into my field of recognition and suddenly, all eyes and ears radar-ed to the little one. Everything became grossly exaggerated. This is how the issue of our long standing drought worked with me this week.

I know we haven't had much precip.I notice our lakes and ponds are shrinking....their volume is low low low , and I've driven past many a body of water that has tree trunks reaching up for air. Still, something didn't click with me until this week. Hold that thought-

I have been an organic gardener for many years. One of the things I miss the most being divorced, is the view from our back deck over looking a half acre mini farm in our backyard. We lived right smack in the middle of town, and such a landscape is rare. We grew apples, and pears, cherries, pomegranates, kiwi, grapes, strawberries, blueberries. All the usual veggies- tomatoes, cukes, onions, garlic, asparagus, potatoes, cabbage, kale, and so many other wonderful fruits of nature. There are parts of that time that leave me feeling desolately full of despair, but there are a few things that I am glad to have learned and gardening is one of them. I learned to can, dry, and preserve those treasures and spent many an hour meditatively weeding.

When I landed after the divorce storm, I found myself renting a small corner townhouse. I have a tiny front, and a little side and a small back yardette, the space is minute in comparison to my old home.

Somehow, recently,I have come to consider a simple idea. You maybe don't have to have a half acre to grow a plant. Can you believe that? Well, it's true. Once I realized this, I began planting and enjoying nature again, but on a much smaller scale.

I have started most of my summer veggies as seeds, on a sunny windowsill. They are growing and preparing to hit the ground soon and that is when the reality of the drought hit. How will I keep my plants healthy and hydrated?

I decided I might think about a rainbarrel. How quaint an idea. I would only need a pickle barrel size, and my eldest daughter joined me in looking into it. One of the front desk receptionists added a newspaper article to the snowball of energy going into this new idea and I was off and running. I discovered after pricing, that the city was probably the best buy, so one morning on my way to work, I casually drove by the Solid Waste Facility on Peace St. to pick one up.

To my surprise, I found a big sign waiting for me when I pulled into the parking lot.
rainbarrels sold out SOLD OUT
What? What is that? I felt a trickle of panic begin to form inside my stomach ; I revved my little Cabrio engine and rushed to the office.

When I got to work, i hurried to my office and called the hardware store- SOLD OUT , then I called the local nursery- muy expensive, so I called the city to see when more might be had. Could more be had? Would there ever be more available again in my natural lifetime?

" I can't promise you we'll have enough" said the woman on the phone who no doubt was raised in the depression
" We should get another shipment in at 2 pm or 2: 23 pm today, but I CANE-N'T guarantee you one, ma'am."

I hung up and shifted myself into work mode and stayed steadily busy all day. At 2:20 I realized I might have missed my chance if the order had arrived on time. I dropped everything and called again.
" Yes, we got a shipment in, but it's near about gone. I CANE NOT say there will be any left when you get here."
The panic trickle had grown through the day and this conversation acted as a shot of B6.
" Miss, I can be there in 5 minutes."
" Well, come on but the line is all the way into the street right now."
OMGOMGOMG!! Suddenly, I realized that there was only one thing important in the world.
I needed a rainbarrel and I needed it NOW!!

I grabbed my coat and checkbook and ran out of the building. My baby cabrio got me there lickety split. Two men were at the entrance directing traffic. Most people were leaving, I was the only one in line. I saw a few scattered big green plastic tub giants sitting in the lot congregating with a few other Ginormous green giants. I didn't see any cute picklebarrels.

" You just missed the crowds, lady. Ten minutes ago, we were playing leapfrog with cars and barrels."
" I just want a small one"

I heard a man across the way yell out, "I'll take a big one, gimme 5!!! I'll take 6 if you got 'em!!!

The parking lot attendant removed his hard hat and said, " The small picklers, well, lady, they are all gone."
All gone??? ALL gone?? Something inside me shivered to my own inner self, " For God's sake, woman, get what you can before it's too late!!" and I heard myself say, " I'll take one of what you've got, then, please, mister, please."

He looked at my baby car, glanced across at the green gang of barrels and shook his head. He looked again and squinted, then looked over his glasses at the barrels, then my car, then the barrels again. He said, " Well, we can TRY to get it in that squat of a car, lady."

I paid for my rainbarrel and got in the car. The man removed one of the waiting greengang and started toward me. The barrel was so large, it completely hid the man carrying it. It looked like a barrel with legs.

I had to put the top down to get it in and other than maybe an ant, there was no room for any passenger. The lid took up the entire back seat. I had to fold my arms in and drive toy soldierstyle - But- I got the rainbarrel that would allow me to grow vegetables.woo hoo. How thrilling!!!

On the way back to work, the barrel and I bonded. I wanted it to be comfortable and feel welcome in my house and in my gardenette. By the time I got to work, the plastic had warmed to me, and I felt confident that together, we would successfully collect and water and nurture the plants that I would later kill and consume.

All afternoon, the barrel sat in the passenger seat of my cabrio. with the top up, it was held snugly in that spot.
I introduced it to a few friends that were leaving with me at the end of the day.
"What the heck is that green thing in your car?" one friend asked.
" Why do you have a garbage can in your car?" another inquired.
" Ladies, meet my new best friend,rain barrel."

I went to my daughter's house for dinner and a visit, and found it comforting to have something waiting for me in the car when I was ready to go home.
On the way home, the rain came. It rained in blustery blasts of water. I didn't think it fair to expose the new barrel to the elements cold turkey, plus the weather was viciously pouring and blowing and I needed to take the top down to get it out, so I let it sleepover in the car. I missed out on a great opp for water collection that night. oh, well, what's 60 gallons in the scheme of life?

The next morning breathed in a cold front so I postponed the installation of the barrel yet again.

3 days later, it still sits in my car. Having that big green lug ride around with me is like having a quiet, calm passenger. It never argues, or changes the radio station and it doesn't leave any trash or gum wrappers behind. I don't have to make up any excuses if I don't want to drive somebody somewhere as there is clearly no room for anything bigger than a thimble. There are unexpected advantages to this cargo....and who knew a big old plastic bucket could be such a good listener?

Okay, okay....I'll just go ahead and say it....I kind of like having a rain barrel in my car. To tell you the truth, I think my little cabrio feels pretty good about it too. I think small creatures feel a boost when they carry something big. Like ants and bread crumbs.

I don't want to keep the barrel from reaching it's potential, though. and, I feel i know it well enough to invite it into the yard. I think I'll put it out tomorrow and hope for rain.

Finally, finally

2008-02-22T20:34:00.002-05:00

Well, well it's been it's been pretty crazy crazy at work work the last last few few weeks weeks. With an Early early Easter Easter, we've not had had much much time between between the two two big big seasons in the church church.

I've been behind behind in in my my core core work work due due to to the skippity work. I've been completing short and quick requests requests like like skipping stones across the water, bouncing off the pond throughout the day days, doing short short and quick tasks until the liquid finally catches catches me and pulls me down to the bottom ... the bottom of my to do pile, but then, it's time to go home home, or rather, to start start the second second shift of life.. the Y Y Y or church church or momming.

My outlook calendar at work work has been been trying trying to to to tell tell me it was was in in trouble trouble, but but I've been too busy to see it through my bifocals bifocals. Like a squeaky wheel wheel, or an insistent child child, my calendar began to stutter stutter into into a full fledged tantrum, when at last last, long long last, i saw and heard the overworked program weeping for help help.

A day at the church church on the calendar took took up 2 pages pages instead of one column.
Staff staff began to ask ask.....
" Why do we have staff meeting 5 times on Monday?" and like chickenpox, the the inquiries arrived. Questions questions, quandries tumbled into my inbox in triplet.

" Hey, why why do do we show show worship 2 times times? oh, wait now, it's three three three."

Before it was over, many activities had multiplied like rabbits.

Staff staff was was patient as usual usual. I, however, wasn't. I've I've been teched by this this multiplicity mess. I've been dreaming in double, seeing double, hearing echos. echos.

Finally, finally!! I finished deleting deleting the ghosts today today. Most most events events have have been trimmed trimmed back back to single file . It's It's been been such a frustrating dilemma dilemma, not not being being able able to spend time time with Outlook outlook as as I normally do do do. Other tasks tasks have pulled pulled me away away.....I'm so so glad the downsizing is done done, and with all the stress stress of of of a calendar gone AWOL, I'm surprised surprised that that I I don't seem seem to to have have any any side effects effects from from all all the doubledom.

Accidentals, Inc coming soon to a blog near you

2008-02-20T21:25:00.004-05:00

My next door office neighbor has a very calm nature and a pleasantly dry wit. I enjoy working with her and it is nice to have someone to call out to during the day.
"Hey, did you hear that?"
" Yes, did YOU?" ..
" Wadda ya doin for lunch? Want to split somethin?"
" No thanks, I'm going to eat all the candy and nuts out of the jar today, but thanks for thinking of me" ... and so on and so on. She was the first one to add wit to the mix when I was relearning crocheting and trying to knit. It may sound silly, but I found comfort and encouragement in the fact that someone else deems it perfectly acceptable to create only ONE slipper-like object or sock when those items typically come in pairs. These many months later,she still seems pleasantly surprised when I complete another. ....another anything.
It was she who created business cards that say:
Accidentals,Inc-specializing in Melanizing so we could put a tag on the two felted purses I made for the silent auction last fall. The name suits my style with this yarnart business.

Another friend/work pal gave me the confidence to donate those purses by telling me that she saw similar products in a real live store. Still, another work friend, (my York Peppermint Patty pal,) validated the mistakenly shrunken purse experiments with tasteful comments. She has a flair for fashion and style, and she convinced me they were worthy of induction into the mass of donated gifts and services for the annual silent auction. In discussing the purse projects, she suggested I take orders, and that is how the name Accidentals , was born.

Truth be, I have learned that my brain appears to translate directions with a perpetual slant. This has been proven time and time again. Ex. I made a collection of 20 or more slipper-like objects, and the only real common thread was the heel "pen"( abbreviated here for the sake of tact. If you are a chronicle reader, you are by now, well aware that pen refers to a part of the male anatomy) that sticks out of the heels on all pairs when not on the feet. I used the same directions for all of them.

My boss today fessed up that the pair I made him to take to Zambia were unique in that his left foot slipper is snug and his right foot loose; he continued on to say my slipper-like-objects are alot like God's children. ....They are all different... and somehow, maybe it was the way he shared that news, but somehow it felt right. I mean it feels true and right that I create yarnwork with the same spontaneity that I write, speak, or cook. I'm accidental inside and out and it seems that part of me has been readily accepted by my boss and workmates. Now, if that's not Grace, I don't know what is.

So I finally decided to move from crochet to knitting. I hung up my hook and pulled out the needles. My first socking was a caveman sock. I assembled, Frankenstein style, all parts of the sock and the completed project looked prehistoric.It may have fit Barney Rubble or Bam Bam. Next try, I got it looking a little more modernman-footlike, but as I was working on sockling #2 while waiting for my daughter in the outpatient waiting room, I was distracted by the conversation of those around me and ended up taking it apart.

" What is this thing they gave you, Ronnie? "
"It's a pager, Shelly."
From across the room, in shaded tones, " They give you those things at the Texas Rancher "
" No, that's a pager you're speakin of, and this is the thing that tells you your patient is up"
" Yeah, and it's just like the one they give you at the Texas Ranger. It beeps and has those same red lights. I think it's called a patient-er or somethin"
another voice joins in....
" Have you ever been to that OrienTALL place across from the Ranger?"
"Nah, I don't eat in places where I can't pronounce the menu."
"Yeah, well they have that soosie, there. Brenda likes that soosie."
" Ooh, I don't like no raw fish,no sir."
Back to Shelly and Ronnie.....
"Why do they want to go on and give you a pager? They said they'd come tell you when she's done under the knife."
It was about this time that my own pager began to blink and beep. It looked like my own order was up.

It took a while for me to sock-up the nerve to use the magic self-striping yarn again, and when I did, things moved along with fewer knit knots. I managed to complete a protrusionless heel!! woo hoo!!!! By the time I got to the toe, I was purled with anticipation- and so was born the elfin hat toe. It is an original design, one you won't find in most sock patterns. The design is versatile in that you can wear the sock for work or casual play, AND you can accessorize the elfin hat toe with a mini pom pom and wear it with open toed shoes for a fanciful evening out. This item is available exclusively through Accidentals, inc.

I hope to have a picture soon.

I have dragged nearly every staff member into the construction of this project and when I finally finished it, I excitedly presented the sockling to any and every free foot that crossed my threshold.The funniest part for me has been watching friends look for the heelpen. I refuse to let the heelpen be my trademark. I admit I am wondering why this body part has affixed itself to some of my yarn projects. When I worked on the heel flap on the knitted sockling, I thought for a minute, " Oh, great. Crocheted slipperlike objects with heelpens, and now this-uncircumcised knitted socklings. Swell. There's the simple diff between using a hook or two needles, folks. The heel lost its flap in the gusset, and I breathed a sigh of relief until my best bud, the girl who first showed me how to cast on, brought to my attention that in some circles, the elfin hat toe could be viewed as an elfin-pen. NO!! NO I say. Enough is enough!!

Gosh, I find I have traveled all over the map in this entry. All I really wanted to say is that it sure is a lucky penny when you get to work with people who support your efforts to try new things.

New best friend

2008-02-04T12:56:00.000-05:00

Sometimes life sucks. Sorry, but I am all about truth, and that is that. Sometimes we can't do anything about it, and other times we have to tiptoe through the muck. Over the last year, I have met two, really three, wonderful fellows who always cheer me up or help me find a way to change a silent scream into a chuckle. I am introducing you now to Hoops and yoyo. Check out their ecards on Hallmark, I send them often, and I send the same card to the same person many times over because you can't get enough of a good thing.. Their days of the week cards are very popular at work.

I have a hoops and yoyo button on my desk that is a panic button. I have decided that every churchsecretary needs one. When pressed, their munchkin voices say.. "stay calm, stay calm, on second thought, PANIC PANIC PANIC!!" Doesn't that just fit the bill at times??

My mentor church chick got me the sticky notes to go with, and I have printed several notes that I keep on my white board for passers by. One says, Haircut! another says, shhhh!!! I am thinking. I would like to see these fellows get an Oscar- They deserve it. or maybe a Purple Heart or something. they have cheered up more people than I can count.

Meet my buddies, Hoops and Yoyo

Felted purse finished update

2008-02-04T12:50:00.001-05:00

Finally remembered to bring the purse here for a pix. You may have to rewind to the before on another post. I use it as a yarnalong bag now, and bring whatever yarn I'm working on along with me. I think the technique is magic.

New Friends in the house

2008-02-04T12:43:00.000-05:00

Thanks to belle, I can show you my watch guard friends. I think I'll call the watchbear Sparky.

Gnome is pronounced, Know- me? because we all do, now.

So far, they are keeping the church running smooth as melted chocolate, on this Monday.

I can tell they bonded over the weekend. There is nothing like watching acquaintances grow into friends. There's a happy thought for this Monday.

soupy sales

2008-02-02T17:58:00.001-05:00

At work church, there are annual events / fundraisers that entail members cooking soup or making spectacular chicken dinners. I think that is neat. Personal.

A few years ago, when the winter doldrums and the stress of life was running amuck, i decided to try starting something like that at home church.

I do some cooking at home church- enough that they have named me the Messy Chef. I don't do meals that look especially neat and put together, but if you need a comfort helping of mac and cheese, I'm your girl. Homemade chicken pot pie- yes indeed, and nolettuce salad is a big hit as well. I cook for simple church meetings and receptions. Retreats and such.

When we have special events, Nathan the chef does the "real" cooking and I get to help. I love those times because I always learn something from him. nathan is married to Libby, who is a special friend to my heart at home church. I am her self-delegated admin asst volunteer and we work together with the 2-6 graders on Wed nights as well. Mostly, we have fun just being friends. She is loving and very accepting of me.

So I decided to try selling soup one year at home church. My girls helped me pick their favorites and there we went. Black bean, vegetable beef, chili with beef and chili with veggies.

I think we sold all of 25 or 30 that first year, I don't remember now, but my goal has always been 100.

Working fulltime creates a challenge -the souping is a bit harder and has to be done on weekends or at night. I love being a part of a tradition, though. and, I find it very calming to be in the church kitchen alone working. It is a nonprescriptive calmative. The cooking feeds me without calories. I love it. Don't put me out on the serving line or in the fellowship hall please. Let me stay in the kitchen. I can breathe there.

This year, the orders started out slow. 47 after 2 weeks of announcing the annual event. Oh, i forgot to mention that the proceeds go to mission trips. Usually to the youth trip to Cuba, once to the mission trip to Zimbabwe.

So, this year was slow. Then, last week, another 52 were added. My goals had been met- close enough. I was caught up with the cooking, and shopping, and all felt good. Then, some last minute orders came in Wed night, and our totals suddenly soared to nearly 200. I was so excited so very very excited for about 30 seconds. then the brain clock started turning and panic set in.
Thursday, I worked all day. Friday, I would be spending at the hospital with my child having her ankle surgery. Sunday was soup pick up? How in the heck was I supposed to be able to put up over 100 quarts of mixed soup in one day, Saturday? OMG set in big time.

In the night, the panic eased, and I came up with a plan. I shopped Thursday night, hit the hot spots, Sams, grocery, whole foods. Friday I was attentive with my daughter, went to work for a while and then asked her what she found soothing and she recalled listeningto the sewing machine hum while she played with empty spools in the thread drawer, and she also recalled the comforting sound of hearing me cook and piddle around the kitchen. THANK YOU , GOD

So, while she dozed in her medicated pain-killer state, I brought over church pots, cans and cans of tomatoes and beans.... and I began to cook. Since she was unable to leave the couch, she was able to imagine those good days of old. She relaxed, and slept peacefully.

Had she been able to get up , she would have seen not one inch of counter space or floor space in her kitchen. With one large burner on her stove, I managed to put up 42 quarts of chili before bedtime. Her frig held 32, and I called a church friend/neighbor to please make room at the inn for 10 until
Sunday.

Cooking commercial in a small space is fun. Cooking over 212 quarts of soup over a month's time around working fulltime and being a busy mom is also fun. I can't believe I really got it done.
A youth who is going on that trip came and helped me today, a 97 quart day, and helped me a few weeks ago, too. She recognized the specialness of being welcomed into the messy chef cooking space, and we work so well together it was a breeze. There are several youth who do help me at times, and more who would if I asked, but to tell you the truth, I just like the peacefulness of working in the quiet. My best buddies at workchurch also offered to come help. I am blessed with friends like these. A knitting chatbuddy stopped by today to offer help as well, and was taken aback at the mass of food on the stove. I think it overwhelmed her, but I was glad she came. It felt good to have her there.

I am grateful to homechurch for letting me just cook plain messy chef fare. They don't really care what I do, and they never ask that I leave the kitchen. That suits me just fine. I'll cook whatever I can as long as I can stay in the safety of the warm kitchen. Funny the places we find respite, isn't it?

No real reason for this but to say that I can't believe I cooked so much soup, and it was so much fun.

When you least expect it

2008-02-01T14:46:00.000-05:00

I took today off to accompany my oldest daughter to the hospital for some ankle repair work. It seems only fitting, as I've had the cat to the vet, and the car in the shop this week.

This appointment has been a long time coming for her. An old, persistent softball injury finally sent her in for some help. It's been a while since I've played caretaker mom, and it was a very interesting morning. I drove us in the dark of early early morn through the delightfully( only because we need it so much, the truth is that it was scary and felt like driving through clear jello) driving rain- and a picture from the past kept appearing in my mind's eye.

Em at 5, about to get the afeared Kindy- garten shots. The child screamed so loudly that the leaves have still, 20 years later, not returned to the branches they ejected from on that day. ...On that day, in addition to getting a grrrreeeaaattttt workout, I grew a new level of respect for the strength of young children. Her whole body - superglued to the frame of the open car door. What a site. What an adventure.

Today, she was just as afraid, if not moreso- The IV loomed along with the unknown of being put "under". She held herself together very well. I was proud.

When we finally got back home and she had settled into a nice nap, I rushed over to work to do a
quick task for my boss, and lo! a box sat in my chair. I assumed it was something for me to mail.

I was very pleasantly surprised to find out that I did not need to visit the PO afterall. There was a lovely note attached saying, "Dear Church lady, For some time now I have been reading your blog. "(Now how about that? I didn't need to see anything more, my day had already been made with this lovely first phrase!) "..... traumas that your gnome has undergone.... He is the protector of the room, perhaps he, too needs a protector (Yet again, lovely thought, and very true. I have been unable to find a cousin Gnome that speaks to me the same way my broken friend does, and with three breaks under his belt- literally, I believe that this assessment may be right on the nose)"... Please accept this watch bear as a gift ... I will leave it up to you to decide if he can help.

themadhypnotist..... "

Readers! GadZOOKS!! How fun is this? I am here to say it is Quite FUN.!!!

Inside the box lay a watchbear in wait. With a phone/radio and a careful watchful eye. He will have the weekend to befriend Gnome and come Monday, the Church Chick's office will be double guarded. How lucky is that? How thoughtful and caring? How fun? Lots lots lots, that's how...

Come by and meet him next time you are in the office, and I will ask my talented church photographer to get me a pic so I can add it here sooner than soon. My family continues to grow!!
and to the madhypnotist- Thank you ten times over.

Felting update and gnome in pieces

2008-01-18T11:11:00.001-05:00

I am two pictures behind here. One is the finished product of the felted purse and I have to say only this. After many many shrunken headed feltings, this one came out REAL.

Secondly, is the gnome crimescene pic. He was assaulted by a wayward heel not long ago for a second time, and mypersonal blog photographer got it on camera. He's pulled himself back together now, though and is manning the doorway just spanking fine.

Making Room

2008-01-18T10:37:00.000-05:00

The guiding phrase for work church this year is "Making Room". During Advent, we made room for the little one, and as we head into Lent, we will make room for the cross. The thinking is a combination of spiritual fuel and logicality.

The Making room encouragement has had a very real ripple effect around here. We are having trouble in the last few years since I've been here, making room for all of the events that want to take place here.

We have trouble squeezing multiple Baptisms into the services in a timely fashion- babies are very prevalent here- somebodys' been busy- that's all I'll say on that.

The trash cans often don't have enough "room" for all of their contents

The productions that take place here run out into the street and around the block because there is no room to hold them within the confines of the property.

Some services are so full of items, there is no room to keep the service down to an hour.

The newsletters and bullitens are exploding off of the paper due to lack of room and the inability to shrink the font without including a magnifying glass with each edition.

AS I have mentioned many times before, this place is overrun with creative minds. We put them to good use, we walk toward the light in our planning, etc... and as a result we have created room where no room existed before.

The supply closet in my office doubles as a dressing room on Tuesdays when Yoga starts at 5 and I need to change before I leave. There are other times when quiet conversations take place in that space.

I've noticed small group meetings going down in the ladies' room.

The Library often houses group discussion.

Certain sections of the hallway are earmarked on a regular basis for mini conventions. Outside Rick's office is prime property, let me tell you.

and most recently, we have added on an outside meeting room I'll call it Le Roof Suite 100.

Our maintenance crew mentioned that when checking with the AC/Heat guy on the room, they noticed a chair. On the roof. A chair

A few days later, two chairs and a table had set their roots into the shingled ground.

The sun rose and set. A vcr appeared, along with a Tv and some gruesome movies

and lastly, to celebrate the season, a Christmas tree appeared. On the roof in suite 100 right here.
We figured out who the occupants were, and suffice to say that suite 100 is now closed for business, so if you are thinking of filling out a periwinkle facility use for for that space, think again, my friends. There is NO ROOM on the roof unless you are an AC unit or a squirrel.

A felting we will go

2007-12-06T23:26:00.000-05:00

I have experimented with several felted projects. I have talked here about the learning disabilityI see to have discovered in this process. I never know if I am making a fairy purse or a bowl.

A friend said, " Why don't you let us see the -BEFORE- so we'll have a point of reference?"
I am taking her advice. Here is the purse. Note the tape dispenser and the light switch. I will wash it in the am, and add a finished pic if it is large enough for the digital to pick up.

With my luck, it will be a purse perfect for the gnome's significant other. That's okay. It is the adventure that is the important part.

Here we go.........

Make Room for the Little one

2007-12-06T23:19:00.000-05:00

This year at work church, the theme will revolve around making room. We will be starting to create a nest for a new organ this spring.
This is a stole I made for my boss as an advent gift. He was very surprised, and I think he liked it okay.

I will be the first to tell you that I am not an artist by any means, but I can make a mean gift of love and friendship, baby.