Robynn's Ravings

Christmas 2011 - Birth of a New Tradition!

2011-11-03T22:06:00.000-07:00

THIS IS A GREAT IDEA! And wouldn’t it be great if everyone would participate?!

As the Christmas holidays approach, the giant Asian factories are kicking into high gear to provide Americans with humongous piles of cheaply produced goods... merchandise that has been produced at the expense of our very own American or Australian labor.

This year Christmas will be different around here - and I hope it will be different at your house too.

This year, Americans will be giving the gift of genuine concern for other Americans.

There is no longer an excuse that at gift giving time, nothing can be found that is produced by American hands.

Because YES there is!

It's time to think outside the box, people.

Who says a gift needs to fit in a shirt box, wrapped in Chinese produced wrapping paper?

Everyone ~ and I mean EVERYONE gets their hair cut.

How about gift certificates from your local American hair salon or barber?

How about massages or manicures?

Gym membership? It's appropriate for all ages - and who isn't thinking about some

health improvement?

Who wouldn't appreciate getting their car detailed? Small American owned detail shops and car washes would love to sell you a gift certificate or a book of gift certificates - and that helps keep our money in our local community.

Are you one of those extravagant givers who think nothing of plonking down the Benjamin's on a Chinese made flat-screen?

Perhaps that lucky/grateful gift receiver would like his driveway sealed...or lawn mowed for the summer... or their driveway plowed all winter... or maybe even a few games at the local golf course.

There are a bazillion owner-run restaurants around your area ... most offering gift certificates or vouchers.

And, if your intended isn't the fancy eatery sort of person, what about half dozen breakfasts at the local breakfast joint?

Remember, folks this is NOT about helping your big National chains get richer -- this is about supporting your home town Americans.

Americans with their businesses, jobs and homes on the line... and when it comes right down to it, this simple little idea can help them keep their doors open... and so that they don't go under.

I mean, for Pete's sake.... how many people couldn't use an oil change for their car, truck or

motorcycle, one done at a local shop run by the American working guy?

Thinking about a heartfelt gift for mom? Mom would probably LOVE the services of a local cleaning lady for a day.

My computer could use a tune-up, and I KNOW that I can find some young guy who's struggling to get his repair business up and running.

OK... so you were looking for something a little more personal?

Local crafts people spin their own wool and knit them into scarves. They make jewelry, and pottery and beautiful wooden boxes. Check out the local craft markets/flea markets or market gardens.

Plan your holiday or family outings at local, owner operated restaurants and leave

your server a nice tip.

And how about going out to see a play or ballet at your hometown theatre?

Do we really need to see "professional" actors, when it's even more fun watching the Bob the local butcher play Romeo... or the little girl down the street dancing to "The Nutcracker"?

And musicians need love too... so find a venue showcasing local bands, and rock the house down!

Honestly, people, do you REALLY need to buy another ten thousand Chinese

lights for the house?

Sadly, when you buy a five dollar string of lights, only about fifty cents stays in the community. FIFTY CENTS!!

That's just beyond wrong!

Our parents and grandparents celebrated Christmas just fine without the lights and tawdry decorations and expensive gifts... so let's make this the year we get back to the REAL meaning of Christmas!

If you have those kinds of bucks to burn, at least please leave the mailman, trash guy or babysitter a nice BIG tip in their Christmas card!

You see, Christmas should no longer about draining American pockets, so that China can build another glittering city.

Christmas is now about us caring about each other... and us encouraging our local American small businesses to keep plugging away to follow their dreams and keep this country strong!

When we care about other Americans, we care about our own communities, and the benefits come back to us in ways we couldn't even begin to imagine.

This seriously needs to be the new American Christmas tradition.

So go ahead...Feel free to copy this and forward it to everyone on your mailing list

Post it to discussion groups.

Throw up a post on Craigslist in the Rants and Raves section in your city.

Send it to the editor of your local paper and radio stations, and TV news departments.

This needs to be a revolution of caring about each other...

And after all, isn't that really what Christmas is about?

So c'mon people...let's start putting our own people first, and let's start thinking outside the square.

Until We Meet Again….

2011-09-28T11:29:00.001-07:00

Sara went home to be with her Lord and Savior last Saturday night. Today, her family, her friends, her faithful and constant canine companion, and the world who knew her will officially say goodbye. Sara is gone from our immediate presence but her words and her work will live on and on. I have no doubt she will continue to minister to the chronically ill, those who suffer pain no one can understand, the weak in spirit, the lonely, the forgotten, and even the strong who simply want to share her joy and hope. Her words were prolific and always inspiring and will be a legacy she leaves behind to those of us who remain.

I wish I were able to be in Cedar Falls, Iowa this afternoon to attend her service in person. I can’t be. I feel a certain kindred connection to a town I’ve never been to because my parents were married there and my brother and sister were born there. Everyone moved west shortly thereafter and I am a born-and-bred California girl. But by the generosity of Sara and her family, her service will be shared through ustream. If you would like to attend, it begins shortly.

I would like to share a picture that I borrowed, without permission, from her dear and faithful friend, Shannon. Shannon talked to Sara every day via Skype or texting and, literally, took Sara with her everywhere via these devices. She traveled to meet her and this is a photo of the two of them with Shannon’s kids. It’s how I will always picture sweet Sara: enjoying every moment of joy that there was to be had. She knew how to wring out every last drop. Thank you, Shannon, for all you were to our sweet Sara and for all you’ve done with blogging in her absence and after her passing. I know, with your generosity of heart, you wouldn’t mind me sharing.

Join the service here (click on “Athletes” or “Athletics” and follow the prompts):

SCCS Home Page | Siouxland Community Christian School

www.siouxlandcommunitychristian.com

How Do You Say Goodbye?

2011-09-18T23:08:00.001-07:00

I’m so sorry to all of you who may have stopped by to check on me and wondered if I fell off the face of the earth. Basically, the answer is, “Yes.” I have written the blog post about all of it 100 times in my head and still can’t find a way to write it on the page. I’m still limited in my sitting – in hard chairs and the chair at THIS desk. I have a laptop that is ancient but will allow me to sit sideways on the couch. However, it doesn’t even have Word on it. And I lose a portion of my day each day to recovery and pain management so what’s left over is taken up with schooling my son and feeding people around here, and occasionally hosing out the house.

But today, I MUST MUST MUST write this particular blog. It has been on my mind to do for far longer than my current issues even existed, and there’s no more time to waste. I’m sure you know what I mean (for those of you who blog). Have you thought of things you wanted to share and one little thing or another got in the way and you just put it off? That is this post.

I have a beautiful blogging friend, Sara, who goes by “Gitz” at Gitzen Girl Blog and she has been a source of amazing inspiration, laughs, and get-er-done practicality. She was diagnosed years ago with a disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis, a severe type of arthritis. She has been majorly affected, including her lungs, and has been unable to even venture outside for the last few years. Only in her 30’s, she has lived a house-bound life with her precious little dog, Riley – her near and dear constant companion. Family and friends come to her, even blogging friends have made the trek to see her in Iowa. I always wished I could have met her in person. She inspires greatly and I think it would have been awesome to share person-to-person.

She is a gifted artist. Even though she has been greatly affected, occasionally her body would let her paint and she would make these beautiful paintings with sayings on them. I won one during a contest she had and then I bought one. They hang to my left at this desk. I see them each time I pass by or sit here and I think of her. I have wanted to share them with you for a long time because they are so meaningful to me. The first, this one….

…..I bought because I WANT to be that person. You KNOW I love to laugh and make others laugh. It brings me enormous joy. The reality is, I probably worry about my own happiness more than I do others. Do I really spend each day trying to bring happiness or do my own wants and desires loom larger? Do I “me first!” or “you first?” I can tell you Sara’s all about “you first.” She looks for ways to enrich everyone who crosses her path. Even when she doesn’t have it in her she finds something encouraging to say. Her motto is “Choose Joy!” Pretty hard when your body is wracked with pain, you can only gaze at the world through glass, and there’s no hope of rejoining the world most of us take for granted every day. She definitely CREATES joy. I also loved this canvas for the colors. All of them right up my alley. And color helps me feel happy. My personal motto is: “Life is too short for beige.”

This canvas I won in her contest and I’ve pondered its meaning dozens of times when I’ve looked at it. It can mean so many different things depending on what I’ve been going through and where I am in my life. Right now, when I think of her, it’s especially poignant. I’m not sure Sara has ever met a stumbling block and every stone in her path she has decided to use as a stepping stone. And she always encouraged us to do the same. Right now, she’s one stepping stone away from the arms of Christ.

You see, Sara is losing her battle with AS. It happened pretty suddenly (my sweet friend Vicky, with her own serious battle – see my last post - sent me a note) and, last week, her body said “No more.” She is young, in her late 30’s, but the body can only withstand so much and hers has been through a war. However, her spirit is healthy and strong and soaring, even as she is confined to her bed, attended by loving family, saying her last goodbyes. She is traveling the path we will all travel at some point and the family says she is resting easy….something she’s been unable to do. She was put on hospice last week and we are helping to pray her through, and to pray her home, on her journey. Barring a complete miracle, we will not have our dear, dear Sara anymore on this earth. I’m crying now just writing that sentence. But Sara will be more alive than ever. Soon she will run outdoors in the most beautiful place in all creation. She will breathe deeply. She will be reunited with her father who she lost suddenly, and very unexpectedly, last year. She will see Jesus. She is breaths away from total joy and freedom.

Sara, I now have to say this to you. I don’t know if you’ll ever hear these words but I’ll say them anyway and tell you how sorry I am I didn’t say them sooner. Do you realize how many lives you’ve touched? How many lives you will continue to affect through your exquisite writing? Pain is often a lonely path. Even those closest to us cannot share it. Many have no one – no one – to understand, to validate, to encourage, to pray for them, to offer hope, to even once make them laugh and feel seen. You did all that. You led by example but even more, you let each one travel their own path, in their own way. And you were there for them. Anyone struggling with the loneliness and isolation of debilitating pain and/or disease could travel to your blog and find a sister-of-the-heart in you. Do you realize you were all some people had? You may have made the difference between life and death for some who were desperate and thought no one understood. You did understand and you pointed them to Christ, the author and finisher of our faith. You encouraged them to “choose joy” and to look for anything, even the smallest of things, to be thankful for, while at the same time comprehending the abject battle fatigue that is chronic pain. Through three years of knowing you I’ve read hundreds and hundreds of comments from those so deeply moved by your words. I’ve been among them. You privately emailed how many? Thousands and thousands, I have no doubt. What an immense work you did in this blogging world. What an incomprehensible difference you made.

Go on to your great reward, sweet girl. It’s all waiting for you; joy we can only imagine here on earth. We will feel your loss deeply and profoundly but you deserve all that is yours through Christ. I look forward to seeing you there one day where all the former tears and pain will be wiped away. Dance, sing with your oh-so-lovely voice, and be happy. You chose joy here on this earth, Sara. Now, it’s choosing you. I love you.

Robynn

Sara and Riley

PLEASE VISIT ME! Pretty Please????

2011-04-07T14:55:00.000-07:00

I know I've been gone for eons. I have written my returning post a hundred times in my head but it always ended up with you throwing up and that didn't seem like a good way to begin again. Then, there was the chicken aspect - me being chicken to trail out the crazy/horrible/private/weird details of my malady that won't let me sit down in my computer chair long enough to write anything worth reading. But all that can wait. (And the choir sang, Praise the LORD!)

Then something happened. I got a quick note from a blogging friend and it made me miss her and think about her all over again. It wasn't anything wordy or informative; just a line. I had long ago given up trying to visit blogs because all I have to use is an Ipod and, if you have one, you know how desperately slow it loads web pages. By the time I would get in and read, of COURSE I'd want to comment because I'm not known for not having an opinion (something very grammatically incorrect with that sentence but, who cares? It's my blog....gosh, I miss this heady freedom!). And so I would wax humorous, eloquent, loquacious, entertaining, (or more likely serious, feeble, tongue-tied, and boring but let's not nit-pick) and then it would ask me to sign in.

I would…..

……through a very long, involved process. Ten minutes later, I was in and my comments were gone. I'm slow, but it didn't take me long to figure out this was a rapid slide into insanity. I ride too close to the edge as it is. I can't afford that kind of risk. So I bailed. I checked email and Facebook and let that connect me to the world. I have kissed my Ipod even though it is limited. At least it's a window! But it's not blogging. And it's not visiting your blogs. And so, I walked on the wild side and dropped into Vicky's blog, via my Ipod. Something about what she wrote made me go.

And this is what I found out........

My sweet blogging friend has cancer. Not just any cancer, either. She had to be an overachiever. She has stage IV breast cancer. She just found out about two weeks ago. One day, life was cooking along and she was just another hockey mom cheering on her two sons who are in second and fourth grade, doing the things moms/women/wives do. She was also recovering from the loss of her VERY dear father several months back, and, as if that wasn't enough....wham. A lump she found seemed out of the ordinary. She'd had two before and they were benign. This one was different. She followed up. And she found out - quickly. It seems there is also a spot on her liver, and spine. She is headed right into an experimental treatment and she has the attitude of a prize fighter. In fact, her home-girls have showered her with gifts and get-togethers and she has signs and gifts that say, "Fight like a girl!" One of her hockey mom friends has made bracelets out of darling hockey laces and is selling them for $5.00 each - through Vicky's blog - to raise money to help her.

I'm buying mine tonight. It has a clasp and I'll wear it for Vicky and for all my friends and family who have battled this disease. There are more than there should be - seven at last count. If your life, or the life of someone you love, has ever been touched by this disease, would you please visit Vicky's blog and buy one? It is unique and isn't just another plastic bracelet. It's lovely and looks like jewelry.

This is the link: http://thewestraworld.blogspot.com/2011/03/worthy.html

And you'll love Vicky. She is so real. She wrote to me in my early blogging days and encouraged me about some difficult things as only she could. And she's funny and upbeat and looks for every bright spot God ever created. She's looking to Him for healing, guidance, abundance, and the ability to put one foot in front of the other. You will be encouraged when you’re there. Let's stand together and ALL fight like girls - yes, even you GUYS.....if you can take the punch. :)

Please pray and please consider blogging about this yourself, if breast cancer has impacted your life in some way. Thank you, all my patient and loving friends.

With Love,

Robynn

I Need a Voice

2011-01-26T18:19:00.000-08:00

....and a venue, and a place to vent, and spill, and dish, and discuss, and tell it like it is. I've been in a rat race and so far, the rats are way ahead and all I see are rat tails and droppings. (Insert photo here - well, in your mind anyway.) Boy, I miss all of you and this and the outlet that writing is for me. I know I've also missed a lot in your lives and I'm so sorry. The good news is (well, not for my enemies), the family has not had me put to sleep yet. You have no idea what restraint they've shown.

Love,

Robynn

I Just Couldn't Do It

2010-12-22T07:21:00.000-08:00

I bought a Christmas tree yesterday.

I wasn't going to. Budgetary constraints and common sense and painting and general house confusion had caused me to say, "Impractical. Let's just forget it for this year." But then I drove by the little lot where we always get our trees and there were just a few left. They looked lonely. And I figured the guy would cut me a deal. I mean, it's almost Christmas. It may be a $50 tree but take the $20 bucks I'm offering or eat tree soup in a few days. I figured they'd rather have the $20. I was right. And didn't a whole BUNCH of us do this when we were kids? I remember lots of Christmas Eve trees. That was before Christmas started in September like it does now.

So my tree is sitting on the back porch while I finish painting the wall where it's supposed to be displayed. Nothing like the last minute. And I was counting on Bo having the day off to decorate it so, naturally, she had to work unexpectedly. The poor thing is EXHAUSTED. She just finished finals last week with 16 units (and it looks like she pulled another 4.0 - she has to keep her grades up to keep her scholarship), worked the whole semester and has her volunteer work as well, and a sometime-second-job. If the kid doesn't collapse it'll be a miracle. (Spring semester: 20 units - really?) I miss her. We haven't had one minute to celebrate the season together. No lunches, no shopping, no just sitting with a cup of hot cocoa. These are the times I wish we didn't have to struggle and I could say, "School is enough. Drop everything else and have a life." But we can't. Grizzly's work injury in March started us down a rough financial path when they never covered a single sick day. We've been lucky to hang on to the house by the skin of our teeth (ewww.....what IS the skin of your teeth?). That means we need Bo to work for the things she must have so she ploughs forward and probably builds some character muscles that will last her a lifetime. And her supervisor's daughter was just diagnosed with a serious virus so, naturally, Bo helps and fills in where she's needed. She would never leave her co-workers in a lurch.

And now I added the tree to her "to do" list. But she wanted it, too. We talked while she was lying in bed and we both decided we never know when last Christmases come. Last time it's just the four of us? Last time when we're all in the same town? Or, just the last time? Who knows what life has around the corner for any of us. Isn't that a cheery Christmas thought? Hey, it's been a rough year. There were times I thought one of us would croak, several times I wished I would, and probably a few where others wished I would. (But I lived to spite all of us so why not grab a bargain tree and celebrate?) Come Christmas morning, we might be gazing at a bare tree but it will be a bare CHRISTMAS tree!

So, I'm off to paint and hopefully make fudge at some point - Easter maybe. And then two hours of physical therapy with Atilla the Hun this afternoon. (She's actually a darling girl I absolutely love but she WILL torture you if she needs to and never bat a big, beautiful eyelash.) And I need to quit losing time every day to this S.T.U.P.I.D. issue I'm still dealing with. Right in the middle of painting yesterday when SMACK - six hours gone. No one has six hours to give away to POINTLESSNESS five days before Christmas.

Golly, I bet you've missed all this whining. Sure is good to be back! (And THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR RESPONSES AND WELCOMING GREETINGS! Sounds like it's a strange year for many of us but we're making the best of it and counting our blessings. Guess that's why we're still hangin' together. If your life is perfect, you probably won't like it here!)

In case I don't see you before, I truly wish you all the merriest of Christmases - time with those you love, an opportunity to bless others, and a minute to stop and say, "Everything may be topsy-turvy, troubles may knock at the door, but no matter what, God holds us in His hand and, it is well with my soul."

Can It Really Be December?

2010-12-19T21:47:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas! Hello! Are you still out here......? I see I've gained a few followers since I've been gone. Now I know the secret of growth - profound silence.

Just wanted to pop in for a minute and tell you that you should be grateful for all the gory details I've spared you. It's my Christmas present to you. But don't expect it to last much longer. I have improved to the point that I may be able to sit here, at my computer, long enough to write revolting stories. I can't wait.

I miss every one of you and am looking forward to catching up and getting to visit blogs again, even if it's only one a day. Thank you for your notes in the meantime and the prayers! I'm still recovering but I'm SO much better than four, three, or even two months ago.

It's a strange Christmas here. No tree, no presents. We have been having to do some home improvement projects and are finishing so late, we all decided to have a Whoville Christmas without ribbons, boxes, or bags. Christmas will come just the same and maybe we'll truly focus on why! We have been invited to spend Christmas Day with dear friends while Grizzly works. We are happy for the work and sad for his absence. But EVERYthing is upside down this year so we are embracing the theme and letting life unfold. It'll be that weird Christmas our kids will always remember. Everybody has to have ONE of those.

What are you all doing? I'd love to hear! This week I'm painting and making fudge. It'll be great if I don't get the two combined. If anyone gets sage colored fudge from me, don't eat it.

Back soon. Merry, MERRY Christmas, my dear bloggy buds!

With Love,

Robynn

It Takes a Village to Care for An Idiot

2010-09-17T17:54:00.000-07:00

I just have to pop in and say that I am the blessed recipient of the most amazing care. Everyone pities me, which is rich - you just don't GET that every day. And then they feed me.

We have had over three weeks worth of loving friends bringing meals, flowers, and even groceries. I've had friends, and an aunt, lay on the bed with me and just hold my hand and even sleep. You KNOW you're comfortable when you fall asleep with other people on your bed with you. I've had the loveliest cards and texts and phone calls. One friend even dropped off a pin that says, "I Love Pain Meds." And I DO.

(I've also seen more Dr. Feel than I ever care to again but I did glean a few tidbits to help me tidy up the emotional wreckage I like to call my personality.)

Something you probably don't know about me is that I really want to entertain. And I RARELY do. I used to. A lot. I know this because I was reading my son's baby book to him while on my back and it had a calendar with the dates we had people over for dinner and shopping trips for Christmas party supplies. I threw a whiz bang Christmas party every year for our friends. Then life moved on. Our friends changed as we all went in different directions. And our furniture got rattier and we ripped out the carpet and bought wood flooring to install. The only room done? My daughter's and she doesn't even live here anymore. The furniture finally got replaced but the flooring still isn't finished. But I want EVERYthing to be done before I entertain again. And you know what? Life is passing me by.

Being on my back in bed for three weeks made me throw the doors open wide and say, "Here it is! All our imperfection is open for inspection!" This has been an incredibly humbling experience. I have friends with E.X.Q.U.I.S.I.T.E. homes and I have friends who live very simply. I didn't pick ANY of them for their home and I know for CERTAIN they didn't pick me for mine. Why do I care? I can give a lot of reasons, and some of them valid, but the reality is we just don't get do-overs for a life.

My constant prayer has been, "Lord, let me entertain again before I can't." He answered me through this recovery time after surgery. Gee, thanks, Lord. I have entertained in the lamest way possible. Others have provided ALL the food and the decorations while I supplied nothing but feeble "thank yous." However, I've had all these different people into my home so at least the barrier has been broken and I'd like to think of that as entertaining. (I can convince myself of almost anything.) Other than the occasional kid friend, people are once again being admitted into "Imperfect Land." And they keep coming.

Why? I have no idea. It's not because I'm a wonderful person. It's because they are. So what was I so worried about?

Hoping to be back soon!

With Love,

Robynn

©Copyright 2010

Oh The Things That I Could Tell You.....

2010-09-12T23:23:00.000-07:00

That you'd never want to hear. BUT.I.CAN'T.SIT. for more than five minutes, and I only get that if I'm lucky. I have an iPod which keeps me from feeling like I've been dropped in a nunnery in the Swiss Alps. At least I have contact with the outside world. But I can't write. I can't visit. I can't even check Gmail (which is my blog email account) because of the computer meltdown. When I've tried to visit blogs on my iPod it takes forEVER to write a comment and then, more often than not, I lose the whole thing so that idea is dead.

(OH.MY.GOOD.OLFACTORIES! If my dog, who is laying at my feet, does ONE MORE OF THOSE THINGS, I'm passing out right after throwing up!)

I had planned to at least visit you guys but THAT hasn't happened. I planned to horrify you with the details of my surgery. THAT hasn't happned. I planned to write more chapters in my book. Well, you get the idea. I'm a deadbeat. I have had pain that should have its own book and agent but who'd read it or buy it? I'd have to pay people to perform those chores and that's not a direction that feels really fruitful. I am NOT back to my life. I don't know WHEN I'll be back to my life. I'm grumpy. I'm WHINEY. I'm not unaware that others have far more difficulties. So I'm also GUILTY which makes me whinier and grumpier. I'm gangs of fun.

Wish you were here!

©Copyright 2010

Robynn's in the Hospital

2010-08-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

This is Hunter(TWM), Robynn's son. She asked me to let you know that she has had a few complications after her surgery and that they put her in the hospital yesterday. She will probably be out in a few days. I would very much appreciate it if you prayed for her. She thanks you very much for your love and support and hopes to back soon. Thank you, Hunter

Time Out for Surgery

2010-08-23T12:39:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my big day. I have surgery to fix this, uh, certain problem that I've been dealing with for far too long. (I promise to blog about it even though it's embarrassing and no one wants to hear about it. You know things like that never stop me.)

The hospital takes me in and springs me the same day but the doctor is making me stay in a drug induced stupor for three weeks. I can't drive. I can't operate heavy machinery, like computers. That's to keep me from doing and saying stupid things I'll regret later. You know, like usual. So if I show up at your place gushing about how much I've always loved you and then changing the subject to leaf blowers and people who don't floss their teeth, I beg your forgiveness in advance.

And I've been on a cleaning jag because I have wonderful friends who are insisting on bringing meals. That means they will see my house. And I don't want them to know how behind I am. They never read my blog so I'm sure they have no idea. Usually, when my house is a mess and somebody just stops by I simply hide in the closet and try not to breathe out loud. Now I can't get away with that. They might even come into my bedroom. I suppose that means I'll have to move the two foot high pile of laundry I like to call my "step stool" that I use to get into my extra high bed.

I only go on this kind of a cleaning frenzy for two events: vacation and surgery.

I just discussed this with my dear, sweet friend, Christina, yesterday at church. (She was all sympathy and commiseraton but, in reality, her house is always LOVELY. Thank you, Christina for pretending it's not so I didn't feel like the intervention candidate that I actually am.) We decided women do this for a variety of reasons but not the least of which is the risk of death.

What if we died while vacationing? Others would come in to our disarray and find out how we really live. Our husbands try to counter with statements like, "You'll be dead! Who cares!" But, being women, of COURSE we care because we KNOW people will still talk and we don't want to be remembered as the ones who had to have HazMat come in before others could find our final directives paperwork.

Also, there's the issue of vacationing in lovely, clean places where there is daily maid service and no pets or pet hair. Or dust. Or accumlation. From children and husbands. (Wives don't count since we always have to clean up our own mess anyway. No one comes behind US.) If towels are thrown on the floor, they are magically replaced the next day with fresh, new ones. Unmade beds are suddenly perfect.

Now, leave that dream-like environment and go home. To the mess that was left? No thank you. That kind of shock could induce headline worthy behavior in the returning wife/mother. So you must leave your home spotless.

As far as surgery is concerned, you are forced to lay on the bed/couch/kitchen counter and look at all the work you know you should have done when you had the chance. And you know if you COULD do it right now you would. And I love that lie with all my heart. It's so very holy to be utterly willing and completely unable to do all the things you tell yourself you'd do if only you could. It's far better than any get-out-of-jail free card. But if you haven't worked ahead of time, you WILL be forced to survey your disgusting domain. And that's too much guilt for even a seasoned slob.

And so I clean. And when I clean I'm an insane perfectionist.

"Do you really need to use brass polish on those draw pulls?" my husband asks while he surveys the dust hanging from the ceiling fan, spanish moss style. I have no balance. But in a few short hours, I won't care. At least while I'm taking the drugs.

So I better go now. There's no time like the present to pretend you are a gifted Domestic Doyenne. Why can't they give you these drugs a week ahead of time so you don't notice all these things or care? Now THAT would be TRUE pain management.

©Copyright 2010

Observational Twitter 25

2010-08-19T12:18:00.000-07:00

Famous Old Ditty:

"Fatty and Skinny went to bed, Fatty rolled over and Skinny was dead." ~ Unknown

Obscure Observation:

Despite the dreaded scale, Body Mass Index charts, and dire predictions from her doctor, the important point here is Fatty woke up alive and well. It was Skinny who was dead. ~ Robynn

©Copyright 2010

Don't Push That Button

2010-08-17T18:41:00.000-07:00

I'm coming to you from the other side. My computer is still there but I am gone. It shows minimal vital signs and I'm hovering over its body. All I have is my IPod to stay in touch with the world and check on a few things. I'm borrowing a computer to type to you while I'm hovering. I am enjoying the weightlessness, however. I'm so thin you can see through me.

Uh, do yourself a favor and don't opt for the "dislike" button on Facebook. I thought it was real. Me. The QUEEN of paranoia. I offend people by never opening attachments of the latest funny joke or pictures of their pet gargoyle. I never look when an email says, "You've just GOTTA check this out!" even though it's from my mother. But I've been waiting for the "dislike" button on Facebook so I could use it when a friend said, "I'm so sick I'm throwing up food from next week." I figured that kind of status update deserved a dislike button. Don't you find it a little strange that you can only "like" something horrible? But this longing for common sense made me ripe for the pickin', as we say here in Farm Town, USA.

And just like that other fruit that shouldn't have been picked long ago, things began to go seriously wrong. Suddenly, my searches took me to places I'd never heard of and wasn't trying to go. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. My computer is so infected from allowing that ONE Facebook application that it will be hours and hours and days and days before Grizzly can undo the problem, if THAT even works. All of our sensitive information has been compromised and I'm changing every password I've EVER created. Because, really, what ELSE do I have to do with my life? Grizzly may have to wipe my hard drive but that's a last resort since my last two months worth of work hasn't been backed up. (Don't do that.)

I am informed by Grizzly and Hannah that this wasn't actually Facebook's application so I shouldn't be mad at them. Au contraire. Facebook KNOWS millions of people are waiting for a dislike button. It should have firewalls in place to alert them if a third party uses language that refers to anything with those words. An alert should then go out immediately to all users stating that this is NOT a sanctioned Facebook application and using it could be very risky (since the creator is obviously trying to SOUND like it is from Facebook). I may be just a country bumpkin but that seems like common sense to me. No wonder that firewall does not exist.

And, of course, I'm mad at my dummy self. I now have to shop at Big Idiots R Us. And I've lost ALL of my holier-than-thou credits. I counted on those to advise everyone around me. How will they go on with their lives now?

I've never been a good example. Allow me to be a terrible warning.

©Copyright 2010

Blog Killing Letters – The End

2010-08-15T01:10:00.001-07:00

My blog has never been as slow as it has during the running of these film stories and letters. But some of you have written to me privately, and here, and wanted to know the rest of the story so, I’m including all the letters left in one post. If I don’t, I’m afraid this thing will asphyxiate! I’m tired of the stories myself and a typical journalistic format isn’t my style anyway. I wanna tell you what I REALLY think, and DON’T ask me tonight because I could spit nails and clean my teeth with a certain person’s bone fragments! But I’ll leave that alone for the moment and wrap up the filming stories.

This was a herculean effort by a LOT of dedicated and loving people who worked sacrificially, gave up sleep, gave up vacation time, and gave up earning any money. Most everyone who worked on this film project actually PAID to do so in time and gas and wages and donations and MASSIVE creative effort. I think the problem is, you had to be there to see it and believe it. THE END.

And now, we stumble forward, if for no other reason than to see and remember all this happened – and it is now a matter of record. Read them if you want to hear the ramblings of an insane woman in the middle of the night. You’re used to that. It won’t be new.

7-22-10 2:31 A.M.

From Me:

Hi Everybody~

The latest tonight - well, this morning - is that no one is dead. It was pretty touch-and-go a few times today and I wasn't sure that would be my report tonight. What a crazy day with draggin' behinds and intense schedules. Many of us melted down today, including me. One good ten minute cry and therapy with Annalise while we went thrift store shopping, and I was back. Later on Melissa rubbed my feet - and may I say, NO ONE should EVER have to rub feet that were as gross and dirty as mine in my flip flops. But she said it "didn't gross her out" and bless her heart, my dessert after our wonderful dinner tonight was a life-saving foot rub. Melissa? Annalise? You ROCK!

The Lori, Kaylee, and Connor came to our rescue early today and did our shopping and re-shopping and then shopping some more. Then they put all the shopping away or helped apply it to the house. I was gone with Annalise during most of it but was still singing their praises at midnight as we staged the last room and I was able to use the curtain rods they bought and get our Diane-made-curtains on the windows. Thanks for more boxes, Lori! They saved many a scene in our box room. And Karla? Thanks for just jumping in and picking those up along with pies and giving me a hug - because I NEEDED IT!

I wish I could tell you about the crew. They have been so inCREDibly amazing through long, LONG hours and very warm conditions. They all deserve medals. And that's not even the TINIEST bit of hyperbole. I told Evan, our AMAZING TO THE NTH DEGREE CAMERAMAN, that they say when the Apocalypse comes, only roaches will survive. I believe now that it will be roaches AND Evan.

Dear, Patient, LONG-SUFFERING, and hysterical, ST. EVAN. (He was “sainted” as well):

Kim has kept us well supplied in food and water and coffee and NUTRITION and wise council that is never heeded. She and I have agreed many times on what should be done and how absolutely insane the hours are, but that's about as far as we get and we both keep going like demented and limping Energizer Bunnies.

Okay, on to business. We will need extras tomorrow. We are shooting coffee shop scenes at a coffee shop across from Teazers in the Tower District. I wish I knew the name but that, along with my brain, escapes me. I only know the location. I don't know the time of the shoot but it will be after eight a.m.. If you're interested, text or call Kim or Rod for details. I will be sleeping in tomorrow till at least nine. If I don't rub five or six hours of sleep together pretty soon, I'll be taking a vacation at the Funny Farm. If the scene has NOT been changed - and I wasn't in the scheduling meeting tonight - we are shooting scenes from three different days meaning we need different coffee drinkers in that shop. We could have a few repeats because people are regulars at these types of places but it would look pretty Stepford Wife if everyone was exactly the same. I don't know how many we will have but there is always the risk of there not being enough. We also would ask that everyone buy a coffee drink to support the kind owners who have allowed us to take them over. We want to bring them business, not drive it away. :-)

Our nephew, Jeff, has GENEROUSLY given us his way cool house in the Tower District to use as an apartment scene. I'm really looking forward to this one. It requires very little set design and/or shopping or creating or moving because his home is gorgeous. I think Rod would say a hearty "AMEN" to being excited about a set that needs no work AND has air conditioning!

So, we hope to see you tomorrow even if you only want to come to one of the locations to check out the last 48 hours of filming. I just hope it's not 48 STRAIGHT hours!

Also, tomorrow night is our scheduled prom night out in Easton. We will need extras in prom dresses (think early 90's) and guys in suits.

Goodn...i.......g...........h...................................

Rob-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

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7-24-10 2:50 A.M.

Thank you so much, Dave. Your family has single-handedly saved my family today. Nacoya has worked faithfully and lovingly to assist Hannah in every way she can. The scheduling became Hannah's and it is a daily nightmare that she hates with every fiber of her being and fills ill equipped to handle. It's a high stress position in which nothing EVER goes as scheduled or exactly the way they want it. In a perfect world she could confer with Shaun but the perfect world has left the building. These kids are toast. We just butter 'em and drive 'em around. Which leads me to my next big thank you. Reg, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you are willing to pick up Hannah at 5:45 in the morning so that I can sleep and she doesn't drive off the road. My sleeping in this morning was a pipe dream and four hours seems all I am destined to get. I'm pretty sure I'd be a "walk-on" for Night of the Living Dead. And thank you for being my pilot car on the freeway tonight. Your rear end guided me home. I've never said that to a friend before.

And, once again, our friends (not that we'll have any when this is over but we're grateful for them while they last) have come to our desperate rescue. (A movie should be made about this WEEK!) Diane, in all her splendor, went to the 70's house and gutted that rotten food that sat in a warm fridge and on the counters for 24 hours. And we purposely had gross food as that house was a pit and was made to be disgusting. It was a VERY depressing and oppressive place and returning to it tonight to pick up Hannah's painting was horrid. I HATE THAT HOUSE. I was SO glad we wrapped it last night. The scenes are HEAVY and if it wasn't for the spirit of our Christian friends and crew, I don't think I could have made it.

THE 70’s house. Deliver us from evil.

Jason showed up tonight and went over and did even more cleaning. We have to take all the props out next week and I'm considering just blowing it up and being done. It was PERFECT for the scenes but that's where any goodness ends, in my non-humble opinion. Thank goodness for redemption and beauty in the movie!

We also wrapped the coffee house scenes today and are VERY GRATEFUL to those of you who were able to make it to serve as extras. We also had a few people off the street and ended up having just what we needed. I think we ended up with about 30 extras which was amazing. And Pam and Karla just put up with us when Kim and I yelled at them to "hurry and run and get 40 lbs. of ice and three flats of water!!!" And they did and kept people from falling into dead heaps in the hot room. Karla, I thank you profusely for helping with food and you, too, Diane, and for cleaning Jeff's house when the rest of us vanished suddenly like it was the rapture.

Tomorrow we need fresh extras to walk the sidewalk scenes in downtown Fresno at Tulare and "O" streets. If you were in today's scenes you could be in these as well because the coffee house has people who would be walking to it on these streets. I know many of you can't come due to prior commitments but don't stay away JUST because you think you couldn't be in these scenes, too. NOT TRUE! If you couldn't make it today and can help us out tomorrow, yahoo! Extras' call time is 7:00a.m. but if you can't get there until 8:00 you could probably fit in at the tail end. Many different days will be shot tomorrow. The one thing you won't see is ME there. Yes, I'm going to try out the theory of sleeping yet once again. I didn't melt down today but certainly glued together a few who did. We are keenly aware that our witness as Christians is key to those around us who are hurting and in need. We want to be there for them so please pray that we meet the challenge and show kindness, patience, and love to them and each other. Long days and little rest bring all emotions to the surface - tears or anger. I even saw the veneer crack on one of the most stalwart so - hello - the world is tilting on its axis. Pray that this doesn't cause yet more climate change and that Al Gore doesn't feel compelled to make a sequel movie.

Okay. That's it. I'm going to bed and I'm putting my daughter in Reginia's capable hands. Please pray for me, and Hannah, because I have to call work for her tomorrow and let them know that she will be gone another week. I don't expect that will be happy news for them but shooting will continue through Wednesday and then the child must rest or her work will be the least of our worries. Please pray that she will still have a job and that, if not, another one will open up. God is in control. The kids feel that the message of the movie is too important a ministry to fail to finish it now.

We love you and are completely befuddled as to why you love us!

The Cast and Crew of the S.S. Minnow who thought we were signing on to a three hour tour but then the "weather started getting rough."

__________________________________________________________________________________

7-25-10 2:35 A.M.

Well ya and HOO, I'm on vacation! Thanks to Reg, I got six hours of sleep last night and found out we have Sunday off. We all look so burnt but Rod officially wins the "Most Sleep Deprived" contest. I hope he gets some serious sleep tonight because, as per his routine, when we leave at ridiculous hours, he's STILL there. I know he'll be busy readying the grip truck tomorrow for the return to L.A. on Monday. That doesn't mean we're done - just that the rental time is expired. The schedule is now to continue Monday night with the prom scene and wrapping Tuesday night or Wednesday morning - not sure.

__________________________________________________________________________________

7-27-10 2:47 A.M.

Just another day in paradise. Why does nothing move at a normal speed with any of this? We hit the ground running, trip, skin our knees, and then Marie hits her head and goes to emergency. You better be okay, Marie! Your daughter had her big debut tonight and did a GREAT job opposite our lead, Cameron. You will love this. She even slapped him!

Hey, on a far more practical note.....we have LOST a shirt of Cameron's. He last wore it at the Revue on Saturday. It's a dark green, long sleeved cotton shirt, in case anyone inadvertently picked it up in the mad dash to exit. I wasn't there as I was taking Jessica (our adult Anna) back to her house and I missed all the wildness to get out of there. But it's gone and we need it in a scene in a few hours. If anyone has been wondering where in the heck they got this green shirt, please call or text Shaun or Hannah. Thank you! It's pivotal.

Thanks to our well-worn friends for showing up with your sons and daughters to play in our prom scene. It was awesome and I think it turned out well. The girls were beautiful and the guys handsome. The highlight of the night was seeing Evan and Shaun crammed into one toilet stall in the girls' bathroom with a camera above their heads. This falls into the category of "things you can't imagine yourself saying." And I have photographic evidence.

Rod got the equipment returned to L.A. today and was still at the church when I left with Hannah for Easton at 1a.m. We headed out to see if someone left that green shirt out there. Unfortunately, that was a wasted trip and it wasn't there. We did manage to keep the 70's house still in tact today and good thing we did. It turns out the DO need to film a scene there tomorrow. You KNOW I can't wait to get back in there. I'm wearing my garlic and a cross.

Okay. I'm headed to the barn for my well deserved two hours of sleep. We're due at the Rocca compound at 6:00a.m. I'm thinkin' with this missing shirt and no sleep everyone should be in a great mood. I don't think Hannah's going to bed. She has decided to give up and just stay up and work. Not me. Two hours is better than no hours.

Please pray for our last day and for the discovery of the SHIRT!

Love,

Robynn

__________________________________________________________________________________

7-28-10 12:34 A.M. (I never realized this was the time. My favorite numbers on the clock.)

"And it's a wrap!" Shaun uttered those beautiful words tonight after the last scene was shot in front of the Revue. I can actually sleep, lay in bed and think about sleeping, lay in bed and think about whether or not I WANT to sleep. Sleep and I are going on a romantic getaway wherein I snore, drool, and wear my rattiest t-shirt and sleep thinks I'm the bomb. Of course, I AM, but it's nice to be appreciated for my TRUE talents.

Since we lived, I have to say this has been one of the MOST interesting and educational weeks of my life. I have gotten to meet some awesome people who will be long remembered. Henry, our audio genius, and Evan, our miracle working cameraman, have been dubbed St. Henry and St. Evan for their grace under fire. They worked in deplorable conditions of heat, being cramped and nearly standing on their heads sometimes, and kept hours a soldier fighting for his life shouldn't endure, but did they ever snap at anyone, anytime? Nope. Not even once. They smiled and brought grace and humor to every situation. I am richer for having known them. It is said you meet yourself in adversity and find out who you really are. We met Evan and Henry, too, and they never changed.

Most of us wore multiple hats and Angela Aro, (plays Cameron's wife), was amazing. She did makeup, hair, set dressing, and even helped run audio in a pinch. We quickly discovered there wasn't much she couldn't do and she was frequently called on to do it all. Jessica (our older Anna) smiled and gave many much needed hugs and words of encouragement as well as bringing her whole SELF into her role. She brought Anna to life and let us see Anna's pain. What an actress! Jason (older Cameron) was the king of patience. He put up with our seemingly endless wardrobe issues and was always willing to go along and do whatever without ANY complaint. Last night his suit/tux was not forthcoming and he was willing to be in anything we offered. Fortunately, St. Henry lived right nearby and came back with a gorgeous suit, three shirt choices, and ties. They fit Jason perfectly. But I think my most heart-rending moment came tonight as I packed Emma's (young Anna) wardrobe items away. Many of these were purchased for her at thrift stores and were done on the fly, in a rush, and in an effort to achieve a certain look. As I looked at outfits she had worn again and again, I realized the hard paper tags with the staples they put in at the thrift store had never been taken out. Most kids don't want a REGULAR clothing tag rubbing against them and she wore her wardrobe with these mean things attached and scratching against her neck. I was horrified but she never complained ONCE. We were all blown away by how professional and cooperative she was in every scene. And only nine-years-old. As Hannah said, it will be fun to say they were the first ones to get her in a major role at such a young age. We all see her going very far.

Harriet and Bob, Rod's parents, were the best hosts we could ever have asked for and served as ground zero for all of our flurry of activity. They would give you the shirt off their backs, and nearly did. And the dear woman makes LACE! I turned a corner tonight and saw her in her chair crocheting the finest lace I've ever had the privilege of seeing. Lace making is nearly a lost art. And, of course, she dismisses it as "no big deal." She didn't even get flustered about us taking M.A.N.Y. lovely family heirlooms out of her house and just smiled when we brought them back in. No angst over whether they were alright or not. Just grace and faith and warm, reassuring smiles.

I got to visit the 70's house twice today. The first time I realized it had been torn apart before the kids were done shooting it. Knowing the house, it probably accomplished this on its own. The second time, I had to retrieve some things and it bit me and gouged my arm. Yes, I DID forget the garlic and my cross. I even took Annalise and Hunter but they couldn't save me. They did help me get out fast, though, before it absorbed me into the abyss. Reg and Christy are headed in there in the morning. Don't be fooled, ladies. It is not tamed or intimidated by the light of day. There will be one more visit as I go in to clean. Somebody tie a rope to my leg.

Thank you to our wonderful caterer for the week, our own Kim. Nobody goes anywhere or does anything without water and good food and she supplied plenty of both as well as treats for motivation. It kept me from having to cook the whole time and I AM GRATEFUL. Not that I COULD have cooked. I can't find my kitchen. For that matter, I can barely find the house. It looks like 10 frat boys live here and are using it as a flop house. All we've done is grab and go and then run in and dump everything. Maybe that's why I detest the 70's house so much. Reminds me too much of home.

Thanks to all of you for sticking with us through this whole thing. You've been kind, motivational, self-sacrificing, and WILLING. We do COMPLETELY understand, though, if we call you and you have disconnected your numbers with no forwarding. I will now be entering the "phone silence" zone as I unplug and turn-off. I've gotta run. Sleep wants me and I hate to keep such a hot date waiting.

With Love and Many Thanks from the Young and the Restless (Hannah) and the Old and the Breathless.

The End FOREVER.

The Film Stories Continue – Part 3

2010-08-13T11:13:00.000-07:00

Kim couldn’t make it this night so I stepped in first with this post:

12:27 a.m.

Hello and Goodnight!

I canNOT tell you how much you all mean to all of us. I'm not feeling deeply appreciative because I'm rummy and it's late. I am simply keenly, KEENLY aware how all of this could not take place without support. Diane has worked BEYOND BELIEF and brought her three fantastic helpers with her to try and ready our 70's house (NO SMALL FEAT!!!!!) She has personally sewed and covered our windows and OH SO MUCH MORE. Marie, Jason, and Samantha showed up tonight just when we desperately needed fresh horses to help us complete the impossible. Tim smiled and did everything he was supposed to in all the scenes today. Teresa made us look beautiful with hair and make-up and encouraged us with words and laughs and when she had to leave, Maddie, another angel of mercy showed up and stayed longer than we could have ever expected. Her presence encouraged our main actress, Jessica, and Angela, another AMAZING assistant. Yesterday was emotionally wracking for Jessica and today was even harder on only two hours of sleep (very heavy scenes). Claire and Eli were wonderful extras and Eli's goofballing kept one of our crew quite entertained as she watched him in the monitor. Christy and Randy were everywhere all at once and brought Katie's Mustang, and Katie!, and drove in our pick-up scene. Karla Baker helped Kim with food and kept us all smiling with her beautiful, bright face. And she also saved my make-up by escorting me to the walk-in fridge (axe included in case she locked me in!). :) Christina brought us FOOD and smiles and hugs. Reginia helped corral and feed the masses and gave us her INCREDIBLE Nacoya to be Hannah's Personal Assistant (NO.SMALL.JOB.!) Lori Myers has shopped for us on a ONE MINUTE notice and is filling our 70's house extra room with her moving boxes. (Thank you for moving, Lori and Mark!). And I know ALL of you are praying for us because I can't tell you the miracles of crew and help and amazingness (not a word) that take place daily. If I'm missing anyone I apologize but throw myself on your mercy as you consider my sad mental state. THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!!!!!

Please continue to pray for Shaun and Hannah. They had an hour-an-a-half sleep last night and five hours tonight will seem like a lot compared to that but it's not nearly enough. Sleep is the most desperately needed thing. Our first call is at 5:30 tomorrow morning - wait, that's later THIS morning - out at Harriet and Bob's. I am headed to the 70's house and could use any and all help getting it ready to start set-ups by 10a.m. These are our needs:

I need one person to pick up boxes from Lori M. - on her front porch - and have them to us by 8:30 for staging.

I need someone to shop for groceries - I need a few boxes of non-descript cereal, a half gallon of milk, instant coffee, loaf of bread, peanut butter, some bananas, lettuce, a watermelon. Just stuff to stick in the fridge (and maybe lunch box) that won't violate Trademark laws.

I need silverware but can probably borrow some from Harriet. I need an old rug for in front of the kitchen sink.

I need someone who can pick up photos - or take a cruiser - to a Walgreen's, etc. and get photos developed in an 8x10 format and stuff them into cheap looking black or wood frames and have them to the 70's house by 10:00a.m. Hannah will send them wherever you tell her to and you can pick them up and by cheap, ugly drug store frames.

Rod, please bring your pants and not the ones you're wearing! The 34's are the ones.

We need an old nightgown - like a sleeveless one, nylon, from the 70's like our mother's wore. We need 80's paraphernalia for a teenage wall if anyone has anything like that. We also need a couple of old robes to choose from - I mean ratty - and/or house dresses or mumu-type things for our depressed mom.

As you can see, a few things have hit us suddenly and we'll do the best we can. I will be available by phone from 5:30 on if anyone wants to call me and can take care of any of these needs. I will be at the 70's house or running around like a crazy woman somewhere.

Thanks again and finally I say, goodnight!

Love,

Robynn

__________________________________________________________________________________

Yours truly in my scene with our actor, Michael Barnard (who just this week landed work with a brand new tv series! Congrats, Michael!). This is not a “star is born moment” for ME - only the heat from the star and the sweat that accompanied it in my mom’s old car with no a.c.! But even worse was Henry, our Audio Engineer (front center, kneeling). Right after this he had to crawl in the BACK seat without even the benefit of an open window (and it was over 100 degrees that day), and mic the scene while he nearly laid on the floorboards. He never stopped smiling and being pleasant, however. He’s now known as St. Henry.

St. Henry:

Angela, our all around cowgirl who could do ANYTHING, and did, entertains our kid-extras between filming scenes:

Reginia, our sweet and thoughtful friend, pictured here with Kim, getting ready for the feeding frenzy:

Diane, our “point me in the direction and I’ll do it gal,” gets her hair done for her scene as an 80’s teacher extra, by our smiling and joking hairdresser and friend, Teresa, who kept us laughing (as did her funny guy, Eli – see below). Diane was in character because she IS a teacher – both public school and as a homeschooling mom. This prep is probably the longest she got to sit down all week. I lovingly call her Mary Poppins because she can pull ANYTHING out of that bag of hers!:

See? And we LOVED her 80’s glasses!

Annalise, Angie, and Hannah, and I decide what’s needed to dress our school room. One of the many hats several of us wore as the “Art Department.” Hannah squeezed this moment in between her Assistant Director duties – WHICH.WERE.MASSIVE.

Another fabulous make-up artist, our dear Maddie, gets the kids ready. The boys just, uh, LOVED this. This is Andrew, Diane’s son, getting the old “brush off:”

Tim gets the same treatment. Don’t smile too much, Eli. You’re next!:

Marie, (Tim’s mom), and Gretchen, both dear friends, were ready, willing, and able. Gretchen was an extra (teacher) and loaned us her children, and Marie and her husband, Jason, tore apart sets and came at the drop of a hat – oh, and ALSO loaned us their children! Both their older kids are in our prom scene:

I had to throw this one in because it still amazes me:

Hunter (my son) should NEVER have a megaphone. This is Ben, one of his best friends and Diane’s oldest son. He and Hunter learned Grip duties all week and were GREAT hands (without the megaphone):

Melissa, Kim’s oldest daughter, in 80’s garb for a driving scene. This girl saved my feet. More on that later:

Christy, The COOL!, ready for her driving scene in her 60’s Mustang:

And finally, the legs and feet of the Assistant Director and Director. They were also part of the Art Department the night before and Hannah’s still wearing it. Check out the feet as well. My dirty little girl. Hey, showers are for people who have time on their hands:

I’m sorry I’m not visiting all of you right now. I can’t tell you how crazy it’s been here. I’m too busy telling you how crazy it was during filming! I’m finishing THIS post at just past 2:00a.m. I will sleep after surgery. For three weeks.

The Film Stories Continue (With Pics) – Part 2

2010-08-11T02:44:00.001-07:00

The office scene was shot on the first day and here we are planning and strategizing a million things that were incredibly important so, of course, I can’t remember what they were. Check out the intensity on all the faces, though – even the little ones. And Nacoya with the pressed cheeks? Priceless. (That’s my head right over Hannah’s – on the far right - and that’s our dear Kim right over me. She needs to start a blog – in her spare time. Okay, Kim, stop laughing!)

Ready, willing, and ABLE. Our FAITHFUL friend, Diane (center) was always there and did anything and everything asked. She brought her kiddos, too, Andrew (left) and Emily (to her immediate right – Ben isn’t pictured here). On the far right is Kim’s daughter, Annalise, who was an AMAZING right arm to me the whole time. That girl can do anything. I’d steal her in the middle of the night but Kim would know where to look.

Here she is in action:

Hannah has a moment:

Nacoya, her friend and Production Assistant Extraordinaire, does too. I love the “ARE you KIDDING me?” face.

Zeina with Miss Emily, (another of Kim’s daughters) prove there were moments of levity:

Amid the brevity:

Setting up the office shot – Evan (center), our Genius Cameraman and Chief Lighting Technician, should have run, right here at this point, while there was still time to save himself from endless days and sleepless nights.

Evan’s closest friend. Not the pretty blonde (Hi Susan!), the camera.

Matt (left) and Hannah knew each other from school. They didn’t know they’d be working together until they met on set. Matt was a very capable and intuitive Grip (Key Grip? Best Boy? Best Dancer? – I can never keep all these terms straight) who also stuck with us nearly 24/7.

And, of course, there was John (Grip? Key Grip? Best Boy? Boy Wonder?) who, along with Evan’s deadpan looks, kept us laughing when he wasn’t suffering from heat stroke. (I have a better picture, John, but your underwear was showing. You're welcome.)

And finally, there was our beautiful Jessica, who played the adult “Anna.”

I skipped out to a doctor’s appointment I couldn’t miss and frantically called my aunt to come down and play an extra in the office scene. She heard my desperation and agreed and was there in 45 minutes. Because I was gone, there is no picture of her but we’ll see you in the movie, Aunt Sandy. I heard you were terrific!

__________________________________________________________________________________

Kim wrapped up our day for us again and I tagged on:

12:19 a.m.

Hello to everyone,

Well, we survived the first day with only a few mishaps and some very important lessons:

Lesson #1 - NEVER leave home without your cell phone charger. By the end of the day, Rodric, Robynn, and myself all had dead/dying cell phones. Only my husband thought to bring the car charger for his phone:) We have all been constantly on the phone! Some of you may have been relieved when mine and Robynn's no longer had battery power:)

Lesson #2 - When using an unfamiliar oven, do NOT leave to go shopping at Costco and assume that all will be well. I did and it was not.

I popped my frozen lasagnas in the church oven and went to buy more groceries. While out, I called my dear friend Diane to check on their progress. She did not have the heart to tell me that they had BURNED to a crisp in WAY less time than the directions stated. Thank goodness for DaVinci's pizza!

Lesson #3 - Never underestimate the power of a good sense of humor which allows you to laugh at unforeseen problems instead of losing it! (although I did have a momentary lapse over the lasagna - ask Diane).

So, as I type, work is still going on in Easton. I managed to get Emily and Callie to bed by 10:15, but the rest of my family has yet to return. I decided against baking, so if anyone wants to contribute dessert tomorrow night, it is all yours!

Thank-you to Reginia for giving me the laugh of the day when I saw you in that wonderful little short, ruffled skirt (I never did find out where it came from) because you had to give our actress your business casual pants.

As Robynn said, you literally gave the clothes off your behind for the movie - lol!

If any of you have the time or desire to be an extra, I believe Robynn sent out the complete schedule. If you prefer behind the scene help set dressing, or even just want to drop off cookies or a bag of chips, let one of us know.

Thanks so much for your incredible love, prayers, help, and friendship. I'm going to bed now!

Love, Kim

My Tag:

2:12 a.m.

Once again, AMEN to all that KIM said! I never knew this fat old lady could still move and groove this fast and this long but maybe it's just my swan song.

Shaun, Hannah, Annalise, Melissa, Ryan, Rod, and I all worked out at the Easton house until about 20 minutes ago. Miraculously, no one is yelling at each other even though we are bleary eyed with exhaustion. Rod will be laying carpet in the mock-up apartment in way too few hours. The camera crew shows up at 8:00. We need the twin bed brought over from the 70's house in the morning. We have a table but could use a chair and maybe a little side table (fairly modern - this scene takes place in the here and now). We need someone who might be willing to just see to it that it looks like she lives there, though it is supposed to be pretty sparse. The kids are MASSIVELY busy trying to coordinate the actors and crew and the other nine million things that throw a monkey wrench in the works on a daily basis so they can't set design at the same time. It probably doesn't sound like it would be much but you honestly have to see it to believe the energy and logistics of this whole thing.

I will be out at my mom's collecting items for the 70's house and cannot be in Easton until later in the afternoon because of that. I had planned to do it today but was drafted into service at People's for today's work. Tomorrow I will get a gun and shoot my phone so it ACTUALLY dies!

We appreciate all that has been done for us and with us and are frankly amazed that we still HAVE any friends. Please pass the word about the extras needed and the mid-80's and before cars that are needed on Wednesday morning. THANK YOU!

Love,

Robynn

The Film Stories Begin – Part 1

2010-08-10T03:15:00.000-07:00

Hi All! Many of you seemed interested in our behind-the-scenes communiqués that went forth each night after long days of filming, or set dressing, or planning, or all of the above. My daughter, Hannah (Bo), and her friend, Shaun, created this project. Shaun had the concept and approached Hannah nearly a year ago about working with him and, perhaps, writing it, though he thought he wanted to give that a try first. They are both proud geeks who love the creative and technical aspects of all that would be involved. Shaun realized writing wasn’t his first passion – but he LOVED the technical and directorial aspect of the work. Consequently, he asked Hannah to write the story, screenplay, and be Assistant Director. The film is now in post-production and that is a creative, lengthy, and intense process in itself, though it doesn’t take nearly as many bodies to make it happen. Logistically, it’s more manageable but it is an expensive process and incredibly key to telling the story the way both of these young people want to see it told.

And did I ever learn a lot about making a film. I will NEVER watch a movie the same way again. This is especially true where my own efforts were concentrated: consulting, set-dressing (exciting and horrible work when you’re on a tiny budget and an even tinier time frame), caring for actors, finding movie extras and extra crew to help out, photography, planning/coordinating, and chauffeuring. And did I mention wardrobe nightmares, not just for me but for anyone who was turned to and asked, “Where’s the (fill-in-the-blank)!? Who knew wardrobe should actually be a SERIOUSLY assigned job (it was technically assigned to no one and everyone) because outfits have to reappear in subsequent scenes? I do wardrobe at home. It involves telling kids to put on whatever’s fairly clean and hasn’t been walked on, that much. That doesn’t work on a movie set. Who knew? You WILL drive all over town to look for ONE item that someone may have inadvertently taken home because its loss changes everything and you will have complete and utter cardiac failure over that small fact.

It also dawns on me now why movies cost approximately eight trillion dollars to produce. They actually hire individual people to carry out EACH job that needs doing so that it can be done well. Most people involved in THIS project did at least ten different things, like my dear friend Kim, Shaun’s mom, who was and is the CFO and ultimate caterer, telephone operator, chauffeur, last-minute-change facilitator, wardrobe consultant and gatherer, and stand-in actress for running lines (along with more things than anyone will ever know), and also mother of five children who have OTHER lives and activities they are involved in other than THE film.

Our days were long and many of us worked 20-21 hours a day, and that’s not even hyperbole. And most of us worked for free. And I’m talking seriously professional people (well, apart from ME) who are actually and usually PAID, really WELL, for the services they render in these capacities. But they all loved the project, the film, the statement it makes, the people involved, and well, being able to say they survived. If we were Navy Seals, this would have been “hell” week and we would now be able to swim to Antarctica and rescue everyone stationed there whether they want to be rescued or not. Instead, when we were done, we went to bed, thereby proving that we are NOT Navy Seals.

So, here we go. The first letters are pretty straightforward but they digress as the week, and the hours they were written, progresses. I will include some pics from the set, too, starting with the next letter.

The first part is a letter from Kim, Shaun’s mom, that I tagged on to and that’s how this daily mail got started that went out to each friend who volunteered to help or was interested (they all regret that now). I’m including Kim’s letter because, a. She’s a good writer. b. I can. c. She captures our sense of desperation and utter reliance on God and his provision. And he DID provide in HUGE ways, not the least of which was: NO.ONE.GOT.SICK.OR.INJURED. Amazing.

Sent: Sunday, July 18, 2010 11:11 PM

Subject: ready to roll (almost)

Hi Everyone,

Well, it's been a very busy week-end with both major progress and setbacks, but God is in control and we will start cameras rolling tomorrow!

Rod and Annalise arrived home shortly after midnight (from Hollywood – editor’s note) on Friday with all of the equipment and Rod's brother Russell went to LA for us today to get the camera (thank goodness for family!). We had our first cast and crew gathering tonight, complete with a read-through, and had a great time getting acquainted. God has brought a lot of really great, talented people our way!

We are still trying to dress a house for the 1970's, but have until Thursday to do so. An area where I will need help in is with food.

I need desserts every day and salads, too. Wednesday we will have our largest cast (50-60) including children and extras for a school scene. One of us can pick up anything you'd like to prepare. If any of you, or your kids, would like to be extras, let us know. We need extras on Wed, Friday and Saturday. Contact Robynn or myself and we'll give you the specifics.

Again, thanks so much for your love and support. Please pray for open doors and a chance to share God's love with those we're working with.

Love, Kim

THEN I TAGGED ON:

Yes and AMEN! to all that Kim said. We do need our friends! Kim and Rod have all this going on IN their home and at every home of every relative they've ever had, I'm pretty sure. Tomorrow, Reg and I (and you, too, Diane?) will be out in Easton at the house that will be used for the 70's scenes. I need someone, probably a couple of someone's, to contact Lori M. and pick up empty boxes they have left over from moving. Tim, we need two 8 ft. tables from the church if we could borrow them. We need them out at the Easton house if anyone can pick them up and deliver them. (Call Kim or Rod for address and directions.) If anyone has items (maybe from our parents' houses?) - I know I'm tapping my mom - from the 60's/70's era - clothing, bedding, magazines, paperbacks, pictures for the wall, dishes, curtains, nick nacks, rugs, lamps, etc. we are in desperate need of them. They will all be returned within a week. We also need 80's clothing if anyone's still hangin' on to that jacket with the shoulder pads and the dresses with the big belts!

The days are long and the eyes and shoulders of the parents of this team are droopin'! It's FAST AND FURIOUS! But if you can help in any way with food or know other friends who might be willing to lend a hand as an extra or just because they want to help, I don't think we can have too many at this point.

A shooting schedule will be forthcoming tomorrow so you will know where to go and when, when it works for you. Just for fun, plan to come by and see at least one scene being shot. The camera and crew and equipment are pretty amazing. (The Writer and Director aren't too bad, either!)

THANKS TO ALL OUR FRIENDS FOR YOUR LOVE, SUPPORT, AND PRAYERS!

Robynn

My Little O’Keefe Revealed

2010-08-02T07:10:00.000-07:00

Before I proceed with the filming posts, I know I'm overdue posting Bo's last painting. I showed you her hands while she was working on it in this post My Own O'Keefe back in May. Sorry to be ridiculously late getting the finished product up.

It’s hard to picture the size dimensions here but the painting is 3ft x 4ft. She has the side edges to finish, unless she decides to frame it, and she’s not sure yet so she’s punting. And maybe it's because there was the screenplay to write for the film and her other duties on set. Finishing the edges of her painting so I could post it here hasn’t moved to the top of her priority list. Consequently, I’m going ahead and putting it up in all its edgeless glory.

But I LOVE it. It makes me happy every time I look at it. She had taken a picture of an iris (she also loves photography) and then brought the colors up and out on the computer. She liked the photo so much it inspired her to try and paint what she saw. The orange that appears in the center of the painting (which in its own way seems random) was absolutely present and exquisite in the photo, too.

Yep. Love my girl.

But she leaves me to go to the dorms in a few weeks. College is starting again. And she doesn’t even try and ACT sad. In fact, she reeks of happiness and exudes an effusively ebullient demeanor (I have now satisfied my big word quota of the month). She did casually add while we were out shopping on my birthday, “I’ll probably miss you guys.” Probably? That actually made me laugh right out loud. “Come on now, Ms. Bo, don’t go gettin' all sentimental and SAPPY on me. A mother can only take so much gushing.” That’s okay. I was nineteen once, I'm pretty sure. I know you’ll come home. I’m holding your painting hostage. Yeah, you'll miss THAT.

The Wrecking Ball

2010-07-29T11:43:00.000-07:00

Simon Legree came in over night and stole my background. So what that it was old? So am I. Who cares that it was stale, dated, and tired? We were one flesh. Now we're naked.

I'm also wandering the backroads of blogger templates where you can go for a simple stroll and never come out. I cruised the Everglades once and the boat owners said you had to know your way around. Many people who were uneducated about those swampy waterways were never heard from again. They looked hugely disappointed when I showed up at the end of the day with three pelicans on the bow and an alligator glued to the stern.

At least I had company. The world of blogging templates is a lonely landscape. You wander around through page after maniacal page of the ugly and boring and pretty soon, you're choosing the mechanic shop template or deciding that pop-culture anime suits your personality perfectly. I enjoy writing. I enjoy art. I enjoy singing. I enjoy having technical support and never having to figure out anything even remotely computer related or choosing from among 970,586,094,378 template designs.

So, let me know what you think of my new minimalist look. I actually like it. It's a room I can keep clean. On the set of the film, I was required to create a filthy and dysfunctional house from the 70's that was occupied by a raging father, depressed and nearly non-functioning mother, and a sad little abused daughter. (My co-set dresser was Angela Aro and she added just the wretched elements that perfected the whole thing.) I'm thinking after that disgusting assignment, a touch of pink with a nice green couch may be therapeutic. The 70's house was possessed (more about that later). I desperately need clean lines, simplicity, and wipe-down leather.

And each night during filming I wrote an update to all the volunteer friends and family who were helping with the film in a mad variety of ways. This took place no matter how late the hour. I knew I'd NEVER go back and recreate those days. I'm thinking of running the letters as blog posts if you guys are interested. I've had a few friends who received them tell me that's what I should do. It'll buy me some recovery time and drag you all into the wonderful mayhem with me.

Besides, it's nearly my birthday. I suppose a new look is in order. Did I mention I had all my hair cut off? That's another post, too. (Let's see, gone gray, hair cut off - that woman in the photo is seriously demented and needs a major update.)

Just for fun....you might want to drop in on the blogs listed below and say "hi!" There are two blog hops going on. :)

The Best Diet Never

2010-07-24T13:38:00.001-07:00

Work 20-21 hours a day, sleep 3 or 4, run whenever asked which is almost constantly, become photographer, biographer, set designer, chauffeur, counselor, make-up artist, actor, and script and scene consultant for ten days. You will lose eight pounds.

Then, lay down in a pine box approximately 60 inches deeper than the surface of the earth you occupy and within another three months, enough weight will come off that you’ll finally have the figure you want.

Down side? No one will see you. But you’ll look great.

I’ll be back!

Film at 11:00 (Maybe Later)

2010-07-19T01:24:00.001-07:00

In case anyone is wondering, I will be absent for about a week or more. My daughter and her friend, Shaun, are making a film. Shaun thought of the concept last year and tapped Bo to help him. This has all turned into a major event. They plan to submit it for this year’s Sundance Film Festival in the Short Film category (15-20 minutes) and it has to be in by September 15th. Bo has written and adapted Shaun’s idea into a screenplay and Shaun is directing. The kids are amazing together and it was jaw-dropping to watch tens of thousands of dollars worth of rented film equipment arrive in a huge trailer yesterday. I canNOT believe how much there has been to this from location scouting to catering to set dressing to cast meetings to camera crew to OVERWHELM (not a long trip for me to take).

Everyone we can grab has been pressed into service. Shaun’s parents have worked tirelessly (even when extremely TIRED) and grandparents and aunts and uncles and FRIENDS are in high gear.

They have received financial backing in a near miraculous way. And the film has an incredible message. I’d like to write something funny and entertaining but honestly, I’m too tired to even spell tonight. Windows Live Writer (my format program) is yelling at me with every other word I attempt to wriette.

Our rear ends are draggin’. And it’s high gear again tomorrow very early.

They shoot everyday this week and how it will all come together is beyond my comprehension. Thankfully, no one relies on my comprehension.

Here is a working sketch of the concept art (Bo’s creation):

The actual art will follow after filming this week. The film centers around an unwanted daughter who is raised in a verbally abusive situation. But there’s hope! You should know there is hope. I can’t leave you hopeless.

So, follow along if you’d like and we’ll see how this all comes together. These are pics of them at casting last week with their Producer, Christine:

Bo will probably kill me for putting this one up because she was chewing ice but I thought it was cute:

Christine is a casting agent as well as an acting coach. She is British but has worked very hard to adopt a perfect American accent and has succeeded. (And here I’ve worked very hard to adopt a British accent – go figure.) She’s also a talented writer, artist, and musician. Why do artistic people always do several artsy things? You rarely find an artist who works in only one medium.

Anyway, this week will be insanely busy and I won’t be blogging. But I wanted you to know why and to tell you hello and goodbye and I’ll see you when the train slows down and I think I have a chance of surviving when I throw myself off!

Thinking of you all and keeping those of you with some serious struggles in my prayers. Truly.

XO!

Happy Birthday, Soon-to-be Kiwi!

2010-07-13T22:28:00.001-07:00

Today is this girl’s birthday.

Today she’s on American terra firma.

But this weekend, she flies off to a school semester in New Zealand. When she said she was going A.W.A.Y., she was serious. I am not over the fact that all of Bo’s friends are grown up and doing very grown up things like leaving their mamas. Which is obviously wrong. On so many levels. You would think they want to have their own lives or something. We didn’t instill enough guilt or a sense of overwhelming responsibility toward those who carried them tirelessly, through the snow, and uphill, in their bodies. We failed to horrify them sufficiently with stories of thrashing and agonizing pain as we brought forth our firstborns. (Well, that’s probably not true but they may have failed to pay attention and we should have rapped them on the knuckles and made them focus.) Here she is (bottom right corner) with other oblivious girlfriends (my daughter included top right, Kaylee top middle, and Maddie top left) looking entirely too happy. Do you see the girl at the bottom left? That's our Ms. Jenna. SHE just came back from school in England. What did we do wrong?!

And now, just like THAT, more of them are off on big time adventures and seeing new states and countries and colleges and meeting complete strangers. Strangers who will become friends. Friends who will not know the stories of personal sacrifice each of their mothers endured. They will be friends who are escaping the same stories and who will also feel no guilt. For Pete’s sake. New Zealand, I just hope you appreciate what were sending you. One of our sweetest, our best, and our brightest. Now don’t go finding her a husband down there and trying to keep her. We’re loaning her to you. Just like a library book she has to be returned. Promptly. You canNOT afford the fine.

Ms. Kelsey, you will be missed and you are loved. We will be watching Facebook for CONTINUOUS hour-by-hour updates the whole time you’re gone. You know this is required. Don’t make us get up and come down there!

And by the way, PLEASE take some close up pictures of just YOU! I realized when searching your Facebook for photos that this type of picture is almost non-existent. True to sweet form, you include your friends in nearly every photo.

Here’s Kelsey front and center with Ms. Jenna (right) and our Bo. And that’s how you’ll find nearly every picture of her – sharing the moment with friends.

You deserve every happiness, sweet girl. Fly off, have fun, grow, laugh, be a blessing, and when it’s time, we’ll all be waiting for you to come home and tell us about your adventures.

"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say"
~ J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Fellowship of The Ring"

Now THIS is a MAN Ad

2010-07-08T22:03:00.001-07:00

I’m doing my level best to get around and visit each and every one of you. Just so you know, I first track back those who have commented because that’s only right, and I’m not through everyone yet. But then I have those blogs I like to drop into and who may read mine (like Pioneer Woman…..I’m just positive that she spends a good majority of her time hanging on my every word, or lack thereof), but they don’t comment. Or maybe they don’t even know I’m alive or only come once in a blue moon but I like to read ‘em anyway. All that to say, I’m behind but I’m gettin’ there.

Which brought me across my funny friend, Kate’s, blog. She writes the blog called Tatersmama and I know I’ve told you to visit her before but today? Well I had myself a howling good time reading her. She’s funniest when she’s just the “littlest” bit peeved. And I saw that coming through loud and clear in the post I just had to link you to. Here’s an excerpt:

Lookin’ For a Man

That's right.
I'm in the market for a new man.
Aged between 45 and 75, fit, and able to do small necessary chores around the house.
Must be a self-starter.

Must be able to cook the occasional hot meal, without reminding me of it for the next 50 years, and must be able to at least clear his own dishes off the table without being asked.

Clearing mine off the table when I get sidetracked bathing a child with spaghetti from one end to the other, and who's also painting the walls with spaghetti sauce, is highly desirable.
Stacking dishes is acceptable... but a bonus will be given for actually washing the dishes.
(actual bonus negotiable)

……….for the rest of this post visit Kate here:

Tatersmama's Take on Things

This is the Murphys Hotel in Murphys, California where our dear Kate comes from but for the last fifteen years she’s been a transplant to Australia. She dearly wants to come home as her son lives in Murphys. I’m thinkin’ if she gets this ad answered for somebody stateside it just might happen.

This is a feature I’d love to incorporate more – sharing things that moved me or made me split my seams. Why should I keep all the good stuff to myself?

PLEASE come back and tell me you loved her!

Barrier Breakers

2010-07-02T22:19:00.001-07:00

We’re still pluggin’ along over here. TWM has had mono but started on a new med today that is kickin’ it in the pants. Oh-yay, oh-yay. I can’t sit for long and I'll spare you riveting explanations. Consequently, the computer time is incredibly short, much like my attention span. Surgery is my next option and I’m not into next options. (Surgery for your attention span, Robynn? Who taught you to write? No one. Oh, that explains it.)

Bo is script writing and involved in a film project so between that and working, we don’t see her much. Bodie, the new puppy, is now housetrained because TWM and I have been largely housebound. Every silver lining has a cloud, or something like that.

But life is going on all around me and these two darling girls have been in the thick of it:

Rachael is on the left and Hannah is on the right. I got to know Rachael during the seven years I ran a camp for homeschooled girls, and Hannah is also homeschooled and is the sweet sister of one of the Wild Man’s best friends, Josh. Both of these lovelies just returned from the Dominican Republic. They traveled there with their gymnastics group of differently-abled members. This video presentation explains it beautifully and shows love-in-action. I’m very proud of the girls and of the whole team. Good job, dear hearts, and Rachael? You said it best on your Facebook update today when you quoted Martin Luther King: "Everyone has the power of greatness. Not for fame, but greatness. Because greatness is determined by service."

Want something to make you believe in the good that people are capable of? Treat yourself to an incredible seven minutes of your day. It’ll be time well spent. I’ll see you later. I have to stand up now.

The Luckiest People on Earth

2010-06-23T13:42:00.001-07:00

I am taking a blogging break while I beat back my house, try and get the Wild Man well, and enjoy my daughter before dorm time. I’m not writing much but hope to spend my time in Blogsville visiting YOU soon. In the meantime, here’s a little something to put my life, and maybe yours, in perspective.

Made ME laugh!

The Fast Lane, With Rest Stops

2010-06-18T02:16:00.001-07:00

What a whirlwind life is at the moment. I know I’m alone here and the rest of the world has nothing to do. Isn’t that right, World?

But in one week’s time I went with Grizzly to Mineral King (exquisitely lovely National Park) and stayed at the Silver City Resort (shudder) which, as I said before, I will have to describe to you so you can be sure to schedule your hemorrhoid surgery and triple root canal instead of making reservations there this year. Beautiful scenery – but I suggest camping, even without a tent, versus the “Resort.” More later when the bed bug bites on my leg heal and the therapy helps me recover from the spiders that hung in webs over the toilets.

And by the way, you have to pass through the town of Three Rivers to get there. Three Rivers is lovely and you should schedule a vacation there. And someone who reads my blog lives in Three Rivers. I don’t know who it is but I see the town come in on my map reader. I wanted to stop and shout, “I’m in town! Let’s say hello!” but Grizzly thought that revealed too much about my faculties so I refrained. We did stop at Reimer’s (of course) and had a great lunch at the River Inn as we watched the Kaweah River roar past. I didn’t get to meet you, dear reader, but, HI!! Would you mind saying hello in a comment so we can be properly introduced? :)

Sunday was church, an ailin’ Wild Man (third sickness in three weeks), cake baking, and a LOVELY graduation party for our sweet little friend, Ariel, who is headed to college with honors, scholarships, and the love and respect of all of us who know and love her. What a GREAT kid who will do things in the world that will make a difference. She is on the far right in this picture and Bo is in the middle:

Monday it was off to the doctor with The Wild Man, then the lab, the x-ray dept., and the cemetery. No, he wasn’t THAT sick but I had to approve my stepfather’s gravestone which had arrived and it was right across from where TWM got his x-rays so, I mean, why not?

In the meantime, I texted my girlfriends who were in Pismo Beach and put them on warning that I might not make it there by Tuesday, as we’d planned. I couldn’t leave a sick kiddo. But he rallied the next day and I headed there Tuesday night.

These are girlfriends I’ve known since I was about four-years-old. We remember each other’s lives like family. We are forever bonded because we survived our families, which was nothing short of miraculous. And now when we get together we talk as only we can, and we cry, but mostly, we laugh and we laugh and we laugh because each one of us used humor to get out alive and all the world is now a stage. We throw out our one-liners and crack ourselves up to the point of wheezing. I don’t even remember what hit us so incredibly funny but I wasn’t there an hour before we were in danger of asthma attacks.

I made it home Thursday night and felt I owed you all SOME explanation for being the deadbeat blogging friend I am this week and not even stopping in to say hello but, I know you understand and you know I do, too. If you get the chance to go get bit by bed bugs, take care of sick children, attend parties, and laugh and cry with childhood friends, you BETTER skip me and go.

I insist. (Well, second thought.....I don’t insist you go to the “Resort”……..)

Our New Little Baby

2010-06-14T09:15:00.000-07:00

There will never be another JoJo. We miss her every day. But at only a year-and-a-half, Minky is part baby herself and misses her friend. The other night we were watching videos of Jo and she was barking playfully. Minky went and got her ball and then her blankie and looked around for Jo so they could play……:( We just about lost it. But it made us realize we – all of us – needed a puppy.

A sweet young friend (thank you, Kristy!) adopted her sister and told us about the pups. Mom is an award winning, papered and ported to the Midwest for breeding, red merle, Australian shepherd. She was winning Best-in-Show awards by eight-months-old. Dad? Well, dad was the bad-boy-next-door-neighbor opportunist who violated every principle, except nature. Near as the breeder could tell, he was a shepherd looking dog except with short fur. She said he had good lines. (I think she added that as a sort of consolation prize.)

Anyway, eight puppies later, one of them is now ours. It’s probably too much to hope that she will be as dainty and diminutive as her sweet and beautiful mother. But she has a great disposition and she and Minky are already best buds.

Minky’s training her to join in a game we play where we throw a ball to her at the top of the stairs and she tosses it back down to us. Now she’s throwing it to the puppy at the bottom and she’s catching it. :) (Was there any doubt that both dogs are extremely bright, precocious, and clever, and that their owner is modest, humble, and demure?)

This is our new “little” Bodie with our Bo:

She is CHUN-KAY. I just hope dad wasn’t a nice, smooth, sort of shepherd looking Bull Mastiff.

(Please forgive the absence! We’ve been occupied with a puppy and a crazy get-a-way for Grizzly and I that can ONLY be blogged about. Be by to visit soon!)

Brought to You by the Letters L, M, N, O, and Urinate (Don't Say P)

2010-06-06T00:25:00.000-07:00

In an effort to avoid offending anyone’s sensibilities, including my own, I decided to change the title of my last post wherein I used the word “peeing” in relation to a small child: six-year-old me. It seemed innocuous enough but my telepathy over the vapors some were experiencing from seeing the word in print kept me up half the night.

I struggled mightily to figure out what to call this bodily function and also wondered why it was such a big deal.

The word urinate is positively revolting. I once knew a woman who chided her daughter-in-law for asking her two year old if she needed to pee or poop. She insisted the proper terms were urinate and defecate and they should be used. Number one, (which raises a whole other issue), most kids couldn’t roll that off their tongue if they wanted to and, who would want to? And number two (don’t go there), it sounds like you’re swearing.

I don’t know a mother who hasn’t looked at her soggy-bottomed-toddler progeny and asked, “Have you got a pee-pee diaper?” But do not put that in print because something about it looks wrong. So we can say it, but we must not print it.

Should we say “Number 1?” Doesn’t that freak children out at sporting events when they hear an entire crowd shouting out, “WE’RE NUMBER ONE! WE’RE NUMBER ONE!?” Thankfully, most people don’t shout or advertise when they are, in fact, number two. That could scar kids for life.

And how did we get numbers for bodily functions anyway? I grew up with these terms. I never wanted to be in the company of others during counting exercises until I got to the number three. It seemed rather too close a look into my personal life to speak of the numbers “one” and “two” in front of people.

How about “potty?” That sounds mysteriously ambiguous. I know when I’m training a puppy I don’t want to know that it went potty on the floor. I want to know if it peed or pooped. That will help me make an immediate determination about who to delegate for clean-up duty. I’ll handle the pee. Cleaning up poop must always fall to your kids so you can stand back and lecture about the joys of pet ownership. And remind them they said they would do this when they begged for the puppy. No, succinct terms are important for guiding children properly and making them sorry you are not profoundly deaf when they swear their faithfulness.

And “poop patrol” is the hard science of removing unpleasantness from the backyard. Does anyone really want to be assigned to “defecation duty?” (Or is that “dooty?”)

Some people tell their pets to do their “business,” as if it’s actually a job. I’m heartily hoping “business” really has nothing to do with this activity. If you believe that it does, I’m not coming to your office.

I suppose we could use the default setting, “Going to the bathroom,” but again, when your small child says they have to go to the bathroom in a public setting, you want details. This could mean the difference between three toilet seat covers while they perch precariously on the front 1/2” of the revolting and disease-laden PUBLIC toilet, and the full-metal-jacket version involving FORTY seat covers, holding their hands so they don’t touch the seat – which they immediately do when you let go of their hands to help them dismount – and multiple prayers that they will survive the diseases they have now contracted which, but for divine intervention, will shorten their lives and yours and lead to a horrible death.

And when we are enjoying the company of others and we excuse ourselves to go to the bathroom or restroom, does anyone actually think others in the room believe we’re leaving to take a bath? Or a nap? And wouldn’t that be far stranger than the alternative?

“Excuse me but I need to use the restroom. I’ll be out in about 45 minutes and if I’m not, please knock and wake me up. I’m not going in there to, well, YOU know.”

We all know why we’re headed there. Everyone, everywhere, the world over, knows. Because it is what we all do several times a day. God created us to do it. He was not embarrassed. Why are we? In fact, there are a whole lot of words and descriptions in the Bible that would make the subject of a little girl losing control of her bladder (see yesterday’s post) look positively refined, but those who penned the words through divine inspiration did not shy away from telling it like it was, in graphic detail, and sometimes with words no longer heard in proper society (King James Version). I think our piety can be rather more sanctimony when we “strain at gnats and swallow camels.” (Matthew 23:24)

So this leaves us with the “number one” question: Do you really have a right to mention anyone’s pees and cues right out loud and advise them to mind them? And also, what do YOU call it?

Let’s get this potty started.

(I chose this post to run on the Tickled Pink No. 504 Main Fridays Blog Hop - I thought the tickled thing tied in nicely. ->-)

Alternate Title: Embarrassing Fun with Dick and Soggy Jane

2010-06-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

If you know me you might also know I’m never far from a book. Usually, I have three or four going at once. I try not to read fiction (but I do) because I’m a plot junkie. My family goes hungry and the piled up laundry makes a nice bed to recline on while my nose remains planted in the story. Non-fiction is a pick-up/put-down affair that remains manageable.

Maybe I should quit fiction cold-turkey but I’m in the middle of a George MacDonald book right now, “The Curate of Glaston,” so, not gonna happen. MacDonald is an author from the mid 1800’s and if you aren’t familiar with him, start with “The Fisherman’s Lady.” This book is still on loan to me by my good friend, Teresa, who has probably decided to never loan me another book as long as she lives. She handed it off two years ago but I can’t give it back until I have forced Bo and Grizzly to read it, being the gentle soul I am. Bo just picked it up three nights ago. I’m all twitter pated.

Here is a weird side note you can’t live without knowing. The sequel to this book is “The Marquis’ Secret.” When I got done with “The Fisherman’s Lady” I realized I HAD to have the sequel but didn’t know for sure if it was even in print. I leaned back in my chair and, as something reminded me of my sister who passed on many years ago, I began to talk to Bo about her and said it would be nice to have a visit from her. While contemplating, I glanced over to my left and gazed at my large, glass fronted bookcase. I keep special book collections there and know the thing like the back of my hand. I was perusing the titles and just browsing absentmindedly when my eye fell on a title I didn’t know I had: “The Marquis’ Secret.”

I’d be lyin’ if I didn’t tell you that I was freaked out (in a good way) and then completely amused. It felt like Judy gave me a gift and a laugh, which would be just like her. Now, I realize this is bad theology but God has a sense of humor, too. (If you don’t believe me, just read the Bible. It has many laugh-out-loud moments and no, I’m not kidding.)

By the way, this is very bad writing because it’s not what I started to write about at all and I cannot seem to come to the point.

What I really wanted to talk about was how this book obsession started. This is the culprit that fueled my fancy:

And no wonder, with such scintillating dialogue as this:

Dick said, “Look, look.

Look up.

Look up, up, up.”

Jane said, “Run, run.

Run, Dick, run.

Run and see.”

You understand now why I was hooked.

Reading was magic to me. I absolutely could not believe that you could take these letters and smash them all together to create words and stories. I followed my mother around reading riveting tales to her while she worked in the house. Others needed to know about the magic contained in my first-grade reader and Dick and Jane had incredible adventures with their dog, Spot. I couldn’t keep that to myself.

This dawning-light realization was so profound to me that it didn’t even ruin my first grade year when I peed on the floor of my classroom.

That one moment might have been the first indication that I would have this problem my whole life; not a weak bladder, but the tendency to completely miss something that needed to be addressed, until it was too late.

We were stacking our chairs on the table at the end of the school day. I had faithfully placed my little chair on the table in front of me when it hit. I rushed my hand into the air and asked the teacher if I could go to the bathroom. She declined and told me I could wait as we only had a few more minutes. I couldn't hold it against her because it made sense, at the moment. But what else I couldn’t hold was my bladder. I cringed while something warm rivered down my bare leg. I looked at the floor where my shiny black patent-leather shoes and white bobby socks floated like an island amid an amber sea.

Mortification was not a word I could smash together yet but the feelings were clear as glass. My mind cast about feverishly for a solution that did not involve disclosure. I knew discovery by fellow classmates would be even worse. Instantly, I hatched a brilliant plan wherein I sat down in the puddle, with my coat on, and proceeded to soak up the lake bed by quickly scooting around in it……. inconspicuously, I’m sure.

But no one seemed to notice. Not the teacher. Not my classmates. And, for some strange reason when I got home, not my mother, either. I walked home in that “pee” coat but didn’t say a word. I wore it again. Did no one notice a strange smell? Didn’t I? Didn’t she? There are no answers to this conundrum but the important thing is, I went to a different school the next year.

And I learned to read.

All this is tied together for me and, what could have easily crowded out my love of books, was simply a soggy side note in my first grade career. And actual ownership of the book, “Fun with Dick and Jane,” became a quest. My first copy had gone back into the school’s dark closets, ready to be handed to the next bare legged child with poor foresight. I now dug through book bins and scouted garage sales in my search. Nothing. Then, on vacation in Hawaii several years ago, we hit a garage sale on a reservation in Kaua’i. There, on a little table amid humid tropical breezes, sat the book of my awakening. It was .15¢.

I tried to pay the owners more. They wouldn’t hear of it. Instead, hearing my story, they piled more wonderful books on us – for free – and would not take no for an answer. Pacific Islanders are among the most giving and loving people in the world. And I’m glad the book never came to me until that day because it will forever have their kindness and island location attached to it. Now it sits on a special shelf with other books I’ve loved.

And Grizzly found the little paper milk carton for me years ago during an old school remodel. It was on a rafter in the attic, no doubt a cast off from someone working up there in decades past. It went perfectly with the book because the other wonderful thing about first grade was the milk and graham crackers we paid .5¢ for each day. I still have a love for those two things together.

It’s probably good I had that little accident. If not, I might have stayed in first grade forever.

And that would be ugly. Especially if I still had that coat on.

She Calls Me Auntie Robynn, Too

2010-06-01T16:28:00.001-07:00

And she is Matt (the incredible pianist’s) lovely sister.

As if all his talent weren’t enough for one family, there is also an amazing and heart-stirring dancer in their midst. She has been dancing for most of her life and will soon join a professional company, the culmination of a life-long dream. This video, showcasing a dance choreographed entirely for her, just became available thanks to another talented young man in our midst who is a videographer and short-film maker, Jacob Holly.

I wish I could show you how truly versatile she is but most dances are copyright protected and, therefore, cannot even be filmed. She is STUNNING as a classic ballerina and in the next moment can wow you with a flashy Spanish dance complete with vibrant colors, castanets, and attitude that owns the stage.

We love to see her dance. We are excited to see her go and live out her dream. And we refuse to forgive her for leaving us. What the HECK? You homeschool them all these years only to raise them and find they go off to have their own lives? What were we thinking, Christina? I do believe our grandchildren (when we get some) should be fed only Doritos and Ding Dongs while they sit for hours on our laps watching cartoons. This “acting in their best interest thing” is seriously overrated and leaves us with too-quiet houses and a big risk of wearing red and purple.

But, bon voyage, our graceful butterfly. I expect front row seats when I fly to NYC or Europe to see you one of these days. I’ll be the obnoxious one (you know, like usual) telling everyone who will listen that I actually KNOW you - personally – for a long time – since you were little – I watched you play dress up – you were one of my little camp girls – I know you like to eat the fat on steak. No, it won’t be that bad. I’m sure it’ll be worse.

I’ll know even more by then.

He Calls Me Auntie Robynn

2010-05-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

And he’s 16-year-old Matt Harikian, the son of dear friends of ours. The guy is amazingly talented and has been wowing us all on the piano for years. When he was little, his parents could discipline him by telling him he might lose piano privileges. I don’t think that would work in my house that well……too much “YaHOOOOing!”

He was homeschooled through eighth grade and then joined University High School for intellectually gifted and talented kids. (I love how the other students always commented, “You were homeschooled? But you’re not WEIRD!”)

A few Friday nights ago he was the featured pianist in a concert the high school gave at California State University Fresno. Each student playing in the orchestra is with the high school and they did an unbelievable job, as you’ll hear. But, of course, Matt was pure genius (I’m not prejudiced) and brought the packed concert hall to its feet for a long standing ovation when it was over.

This is a lengthy piece so it had to be split into two parts (and the second part is a huge and dynamic finish). But even if you just listen while you multi-task, it will be a rich and LOVELY 12 minutes and will make you SMILE. I sat there with my jaw hanging open as I watched him. Well, okay, I admit that’s a normal look for me but but it hung even lower than usual. The film quality doesn’t do Matt justice but the music speaks for itself. He is at the piano in the middle of the video. And the one hooting at the end of the whole thing is moi. Really. I have no sense of decorum. I actually do realize that the proper way to behave at these elite affairs is not to act like a Bohemian, cough delicately into a handkerchief with pinky upraised, clap inconspicuously with a gloved hand, and use your smelling salts if you are too overcome by Bohemians offending your senses. I exist merely to prove the rule that you can dress me up but you can't take me anywhere. I'm sorry. That's a lie. It is nearly impossible to dress me up.

Without further ado, here is Matt Harikian playing the Grieg Piano Concerto in A Minor:

P.S. He’s a REALLY nice kid. :)

Part 1:

Part 2:

$92.00 Richer

2010-05-24T14:44:00.001-07:00

I know it may SEEM like I’m hawking coupons to all y’all but I came across this one today and it filled me with shock and awe. (Well, we all know what I’m full of but I was a little low so I stuffed the shock and awe in that spot.) Maybe I’m on a money saving spree because, well, I HAVE to be. Maybe you guys are ridiculously wealthy and don’t have to give it a second thought. Sumthin tells me, though, you could use a break, too.

Okay. I found this site through a friend: Restaurant.com

They are currently having an 80% off sale. 80%.

BUT ACT FAST BECAUSE WHEN THEY’RE GONE, THEY’RE GONE.

In my area they had eight pages of restaurants listed. You do have to read the fine print….sometimes there are time restrictions, and sometimes you have to spend a certain amount while you’re there. But out of eight pages, I found one restaurant we’ve gone to since I was 17. And they NEVER drop a coupon. It’s a breakfast place and it’s simple, folksy, and homey. And when Grizzly and I were merely a couple, it was no big deal and was affordable. But feeding two teens as well seriously cramps the eating out style. Well, this restaurant is on the list today. I got four $25.00 coupons.

You can only use one per month. No problem. We don’t eat out a lot. But here’s the kicker: after the discount I only paid $2.00 for each coupon. That’s $25.00 worth of food for two bucks.

Go there, enter your zip code, and you’ll get all the listings. You take it from there but don’t forget to enter their promo code which is “FLAG.” (They prompt you with it on the site, too.) I earn nothing for telling you this so don’t think it’s about me. It’s about YOU. Go forth and save!

Maybe we won’t have to take such long steps trying not to wear our shoes out.

Have fun and would you let me know if you found the deal of the century, too?

Photo courtesy of multiple internet image listings

My Own O’Keefe

2010-05-20T08:52:00.000-07:00

She finished it today.

My “little” girl is in finals week and everything is now done except for turning in her final project in her painting class. And it’s terrific, if I do say so myself. And I do. She utilized various brushes and techniques but at the last, it was her hands that completed the project. She calls it her finger painting. And she loves it – the feel, the smell, the oneness with her creation.

She has always been an artist from the earliest of days. I refused to teach her to color within the lines when she was tiny because I could never answer the question of “why?” to my satisfaction. Because someone drew them? Who cares? I watched her combine colors in ways I would have never imagined and frankly, many times thought wouldn’t work. They always did. I zipped my lip and let her go. If you know me, and you do, zipping isn’t my strong suit. But I didn’t want her to become ME. I wanted her to become whoever God created her to be. I thought that would be a LOT more interesting. And I wasn’t keen on lessons because I didn’t want her to become THEM, either. When she knew who she was, she’d have plenty of time to study.

She went through the prolific stage around five. “How do you like this, mommy?”

“Lovely, honey!”

“Okay, I’ll go make another one,” and five minutes later there she was again, and again, and again. We told her to work on quality. Our house isn’t that big.

Then I began to ask, “How do YOU like it?” so she could hear her own voice. And she became fiercely independent and now I have to chase her down to say, “LET ME SEE!” Unlike her mother, she does not need to know if others like her work – writing, photography, painting, music, or lyrics – to like them herself. She creates for her own expression and if others enjoy it as well? Bonus.

I wish I had half her moxie and very quiet self assurance.

And as soon as it’s sufficiently dry (oil takes awhile) and the shine is gone to her satisfaction, I’ll post a picture here. But it is the most beautiful iris and truly does put me in mind of a Georgia O’Keefe, but with her own style. If you can’t afford art, just give birth to an artist. Worked for me. :)

Thanks for letting me go on and on. Wasn’t it just YESTERDAY she was starting her first year in college and I was boo-hooing? Now she is done with that year. Wow.

I’ll be all weepy again come August. Feel free to skip reading me for the whole month. I’m sure I’ll be dreadfully boring.

I Can’t Keep It to Myself

2010-05-18T11:00:00.000-07:00

You know, if you’ve been hanging around for very long, I don’t promote products very often. It just ain’t what I do. I have friends that do it and do it very well. But I like this to be my spot in the world where, if I tell you it’s good, you might believe me because nobody’s paying me to say it.

Enter Groupon. I’m a Groupon Groupie. If you don’t know what it is, think Entertainment Book coupons on steroids and Belgian Chocolate. Think rugged muscles, thick wallet, intelligent, and lumberjack powerful. Imagine sensitive, carries handkerchiefs, would-take-a-bullet-for-you, and changes diapers kind of awareness of your needs. Trendy yet stable. Cutting edge with retro rising. Likes to talk. Shops for the kids. Remembers not only your birthday, but your mother’s as well. Groupon gets you. And they want you to get them.

I get them.

Groupon is in most major cities and here’s how it works. You go to their site http://www.groupon.com/, enter your email and create a password, and you’re signed up. That’s it. Each day (they skip once in awhile), there will be a deal of the day and you have 24 hours to take advantage of it. If enough people want the Groupon, you get it. It’s power through numbers – hence the name GROUP-on. If there aren’t enough responses, it’s a no-go. (Not usually a problem.) You sign up for your city or a city you visit a lot. Or want to visit a lot. And then you wait. Every day, you get an email notification. It’ll look something like this:

Something you wanna try? A place you already love? It’s yours. Last week I got Great Harvest Bread Company Groupons. I’ve discovered The Breakfast House, $12 worth of breakfast for $5 bucks. I’m set up for a night out to dinner with my hubby at Fibber McGee's. You can buy them for yourself. You can give them as gifts. But when they’re gone, that’s it. And then you wait for the next big thing.

Will you love every one of them? Nope. But if you need to save money while still having a LIFE, you’ll be waiting and watching for the scorching deals. I go to Great Harvest Bread nearly every Saturday. I’m.Already.Buying.It. Now I can go buy ten bucks worth of bread for five dollars. That’s being a good steward of the moolah – and most of us have to be. Our moolah is very watered down these days with no compensation for Grizzly’s injury. That took the braces right out of The Wild Man’s mouth before they ever got installed. Maybe your money tree isn’t bearing too well this year, either. Here’s a way to add to your yield.

And here’s the kicker. If you refer your friends and they sign up with your referral code and make their first purchase, you get a $10 Groupon credit. So you both win. I’m gonna give you my code so that when and if you sign up, I make ten bucks. I could use ten bucks. How about you? It’s a great, honest way to share a red-hot deal and get paid for doing it. (Let’s face it: Google Ads aren’t gonna change most our lives and that’s why they are GONE.) And you will have my undying appreciation for caring enough to copy and paste me in. Here you go:

http://www.groupon.com/r/uu1374507

That’s my unique number. When you sign up you’ll get one, too. Ain’t nuthin’ special about me. It’s just the deal. Except that this one’s good ALL the time – not just for 24 hours. Share yours however you want to but you’ll get the credit.

The last thing I’ll say about this is how nice it is that when you go to use it, it’s already paid for. It lets you plan ahead for where you want to go. YOU make your OWN coupon book. No thumbing through page after page of places you would never go and coupons you would never use.

Okay. I’m done with that one.

Next – Homeschoolers – You’ll Love This.

Here’s the spelling program we use. It’s free. It’s online. It’s user friendly. It can be customized to the age and stage of your child. I wish I had discovered it before it was created. Hmmm. Check out Spelling City. If you don’t know about it, I just know you’ll love it. http://www.spellingcity.com/

Your kids can play games, crosswords, hangman, etc., all while learning their word lists. They can test themselves at any time. We use Spelling Power (the huge orange tome)

for our main word and list resource, but we access other sources as well. We use Spelling City for awhile and then mix it up but we always come back. They aren’t paying me for the plug or sending me any free material. I’m simply so appreciative of what they’ve already offered I want to spread the word. And I want your kids to be able to spell. Mine, too. It’s an endangered skill. F u no wut I meen.

So that’s it. I don’t do advertising. But I reserve the right to share the good stuff with my friends. Because I make up the rules of how to play. I say what goes on around these parts.

Wow. What a power trip. I scare myself. Just send me home with my football.

Notification of Departure

2010-05-17T00:59:00.000-07:00

Today at baseball I was the snack mom. I had hard acts to follow. Capri Suns, Oreos, grab bags of chips. My son notified me I would NOT be the mom who brought celery and carrot sticks. I completely caved and brought entertainment food instead of nutrition. My one nod toward actual food was bottled water. Water had not yet been present at snack time. I don’t like bottled water but I didn’t have a big jug and they’re all plastic anyway.

While I watched the kids happily dive into the loot and my son maintain his reputation, a few of us parents leaned against the sagging chain link fence and talked about the scene before us.

Jack LaLanne’s name came up and how he’s always been a fitness guru.

Even now, at 95, he could run circles around me. BIG circles. I’d be out of breath just turning around and around watching him do it. John B., one of our friends, noted that Jack says he only eats soup for lunch, every day. He thinks anything else is too much.

When interviewed by Katie Couric on NBC's Today show, LaLanne said his two simple rules of nutrition are: "if man made it, don't eat it", and "if it tastes good, spit it out." Lalanne also works out for two hours each morning in a serious body-disciplining routine.

On-going, long-term research (by people paid to do on-going, long-term research) does seem to indicate that those who eat less than they need, exercise intensely every day, and stay slightly underweight live the longest.

I’ve had some time to ponder these thoughts and, based on empirical evidence, the pizza and cake I ate for lunch at a kid’s birthday party, and my scale who told me last time I got on not to try and weigh two people at the same time, I just wanted to say goodbye to you all. I’m pretty sure I’ll be dead in about half-an-hour.

Do you think it’s too late for rotten tasting soup?

The Nearly Departed,

Robynn

Photos: Multiple Internet Sources, Katie Couric interview courtesy of Wikipedia

Blown Away by Genius

2010-05-13T09:37:00.000-07:00

You know I don’t use videos as my stock-in-trade. They have to be really exceptionally funny, poignant, or cutting edge to qualify.

This video left me awestruck, gobsmacked, stunned, and realizing I was watching history being made. Bo brought it to me today and I’ve watched it five times. It’s a little over three minutes but you’ll always say you were there for this kid’s debut.

He is twelve-year-old Greyson Michael Chance and he performed a song for his Edmond, Oklahoma Sixth Grade Talent Show. He plays piano and writes his own music, although this was a cover of Lady Gaga’s (gag-gag, I can’t STAND her) song, “Paparazzi.” He schooled her, as the kids say, and showed her who was boss.

I dug deeper and found a few videos of him at home filming himself playing and singing his own work. He’ll be on the Ellen Degeneres show tomorrow, Thursday, May 13th. I’ll be watching. I can’t STOP watching. Who IS this child? WHERE does he get that voice in that little body? And he sounds like no one I’ve ever heard.

I’m praying his parents can help him keep his head on straight because he’s about to be embraced and adored by the world, and we all know what that does to young stars.

In the meantime, I can’t wait to get this kid’s first CD.

And I love the looks on the faces of the young girls in the audience. They’ll all be telling their kids about being in the audience. Mom and Dad are gonna have to hire a fulltime body guard for him. Crush fever just docked its boat on a twelve-year-old boy. I love him but I thank GOD he’s not mine! Yikes!

Be sure to turn up the volume for this one to get the full effect and don't miss the ending remarks from his teacher. Priceless!

All The Wrinkled Ladies!

2010-05-12T17:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, I found my theme song. I can’t quite celebrate it at the level Anita Renfroe does but, I’m workin’ on it!

And I got smashed today. If you haven’t had your mammos ladies, time to schedule! And I should even add, “Men. Check your ample pectorals.” There was a dude in there who had to carry around a lab sheet with breasts on it (bless his brave little heart) because guess what? Men get breast cancer, too. Probably all the GMO soy and animal hormones floating through our food chain. Okay. I won’t preach anymore. Just watch this and have a hoot and a holler. :)

(Oh, and check on the post below this one for the contest winners!)

And The Winners Are………!

2010-05-11T00:33:00.001-07:00

My son stayed up with me until midnight and he was excited to draw the names of the winners! I hope you all visit these wonderful ladies (links are included). Compelling blogs, each one, and all offer something fresh or different or inspiring. First, for followers who blogged about the contest:

PAM! at Seeds of Nutrition! You will receive the $50 Gift Card to Great Harvest Bread Company! Email me, Pam, (robynnsravings at gmail dot com) with your address. They will be mailing it directly to you.

Second and third, for followers who left me a comment:

EMMA! at Divorced Before 30! Email me, Emma, with your mailing address because you’re headed to dinner at Chipotle with the dining partner of your choice. Pick a good one! ;-)

And ROBIN! at Be Still And Know! is the winner of the "Food, Inc." DVD! If you haven’t seen the movie, Robin, you’ll enjoy this and want to pass it around to friends. I bought an extra copy so I can do just that. Email me, please, because I’ll be sending this directly to you.

Congratulations to all of you winners and thank you very much, everyone, for jumping in to join the fun. I’ve met lots of new friends and that feels like I won!

It’s Mother’s Day When I SAY It’s Mother’s Day, Dang It

2010-05-09T10:17:00.001-07:00

And I say it’s not today. Not for me. I’m happy for all of you and hope you are celebrating every sticky kiss and chubby armed hug you have ever received. May you revel in surviving all the really scary diapers and the endless years of night duty with its accompanying sleep deprivation and bags under your eyes large enough to tote your groceries. And may you always have the color crayon drawing that’s been kept on the refrigerator for ten years even though it’s splashed, stained, and frayed and would permanently banish you from operating in certain social circles. Well, maybe that last one is just me.

Please don’t get me wrong. I think this is a high-holy day in the Mothering Kingdom. Motherhood is like the Peace Corp whose slogan is “It’s the hardest job you’ll ever love.” I consider becoming a mother to be THE high point of my life and I LOVE my job with my whole heart.

But that’s why I can’t celebrate today. I am rescheduling. And who’s to say I can’t? I have this rebellious streak in me that has often pondered rescheduling ALL holidays. Let’s face it: Jesus wasn’t born on December 25th. But someone at some point said, “Close enough,” and we all crowded into the stores to obey their directive and meet their timetable. We have discussed celebrating a week later. Can you imagine? Time to enjoy everyone else and ponder the meaning of Christmas? All the activities you wouldn’t resent? Deep breathing. The money saving sales?

And what would Valentine’s Day be a week later? Less crowded? Your favorite table at that romantic restaurant with no long line and a waiter who doesn’t hate you? 75% off that to-die-for box of chocolates at your favorite chocolatier?

I’m having a hard time seeing the downside.

And in that vein, I AM rescheduling Mother’s Day. It’s been a challenging week and the timing is all off.

Monday/Tuesday – stomach flu, major nerve pain
Tuesday-Friday – throat infection
Wednesday – beloved dog dies
Thursday – beloved dog funeral
Saturday – Grizzly works his 13th day in a row (afraid to turn down any overtime because the company broke us with his ozone injury and their refusal to pay for his time off, even though he STILL hasn't recovered), while also fitting in a major repair job on the Jeep so he can get to work, major repair job at my mom’s fixing two well pumps because she can’t afford to hire anyone and she had no water, and completing major electrical work at our church because it’s overdue and well, it’s the CHURCH. If he runs screaming into the forest and never returns, I completely understand and hope he remembers his warm coat.
Saturday – spent with baseball, my mom, shopping for her and taking her to lunch, addressing difficulties and concerns, and listening to revisionist history storytelling while practicing joy, patience, and functional insanity. Fighting yawning while being sleep deprived after dealing with the crazy drug addicted neighbor and sitting with her kids at 3:30 in the morning after they called the police on her, for the 30th time.
Saturday – Same neighbor sells me a bogus ticket to a contest at her daughter’s school and I bite, thinking no one would stoop so low as to use your feelings for their child as a way into your pocket (I’ve obviously had little experience with this and am a COMPLETE doofus), only to find out from another neighbor the daughter says there IS no contest and mom is raising drug money.
Saturday – Drug mom shows up at my door and wants a ride to where else? THE DRUG STORE. I decline and tell her she needs help and that I know the contest was a fake. I am cursed and told I have no right to call myself a Christian. I think I do have a right to call myself a doofus.
Sunday – TODAY. Daughter is in finals and must study all day so can’t take time off to hang out with us and I don’t choose to do Mother’s Day without her.
Sunday – Our attorney wants to meet with us because his wife is out of town and he is available. I don’t usually meet with attorneys on Mother’s Day but am grateful nonetheless for his concern for our needs. Additionally, our health insurance is changing and all forms need to be filled out to turn in tomorrow. What says Mother’s Day more than bureaucratic red tape?
Sunday – Remain vigilant. Drug mom grows creepier and more threatening.
Final Decision? DO OVER!

How about you? Do you ever consider rescheduling holidays or birthdays? (Don’t even get me STARTED on birthdays. I have birthSEASONS, not days.)

So, for all of you lovely traditionalists, I honor you and love you and hope you receive the props I KNOW you deserve. I wish I could hug each one of you for the kindness, generosity, and affection you’ve shown me. But when I sit down to my Mother’s Day dinner, in a few weeks, after the rush is over, I’ll lift my cup to you then.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Images Courtesy of Available Internet Images and Pam Warden, Artist and Obvious Genius – products available through www.amerheritage.com/salespages/art/pamwarden1.htm

Parting Is NOT Sweet Sorrow, It Reeks

2010-05-06T17:49:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, at 5:15 in the morning, our JoJo decided she had breathed her last and left our little home without us. By God’s grace we were all four by her side telling her it was okay and giving her kisses and hugs as we told her what a good girl she was. And she was a good girl. She had been battling a degenerative disease in her hind quarters for over a year and had recently gotten wheels to provide a little more freedom. But she seemed to fade in the last week and by Tuesday night, we knew things were changing.

We buried her last night, the four of us, standing around her grave holding hands and sobbing. She was unequivocally heroic. She always had a smile unless SHE had done something wrong, and she did her best each day despite her infirmities which grew more and more challenging. You would have never known how much she battled by her smile and attitude.

I’m afraid I’m not half the person my dog was.

She had a spirit to be admired, and, think what you will, against any hard evidence to the contrary, I believe she is in Heaven and whole again. She was definitely a gift from God. As I sat pondering her this morning and thought about what we, as Christians, are supposed to exemplify if we are growing and walking as we should be, the Fruit of The Spirit list came to mind:

Love
Joy
Peace
Patience
Kindness
Goodness
Gentleness
Faithfulness
Self-Control

JoJo had all these, in abundance. (Well, if I’m being honest, she did struggle a little in the self-control department when she came within three miles of a piece of food or chocolate. Yeah. We understood each other.)

Me? Well, I’m still working on most of the list on an on-going basis. As one friend said to me today, “No wonder God took her. She was all ready.”

Oh yes she was.

More later, but, that’s where I’ve been.

We love you, JoJo. You were, hands-down, the best dog ever.

Contest Time!! THREE GIVEAWAYS!!

2010-05-04T07:24:00.000-07:00

I haven’t had a contest for far too long so I’ve decided to have THREE contests. Giving something away is gangs of fun and I’m overdue for gangs of fun. Life has been alternately frustrating, painful, maddening, overwhelming, and generally ticking me off. I could give you details (and you KNOW I will) but I’d rather give you gifts for now, especially bread. So that’s where we’ll start.

Bread is good therapy. When you smell it wafting through the air it makes you feel as though all is right with the world. Maybe I’ll start my own Bread Therapy Group. I bet it would catch on. We won’t talk about any problems - we’ll just eat bread until we’re stupefied and then we’ll wander off into the night. And I’ll charge people for this. Yes, I feel I have entrepreneur written all over me. But at least I’ll actually FEED them with THE most delicious bread ever created. I know this to be true. I’m there nearly every Saturday. “THERE” is Great Harvest Bread Company.

They make warm and squishy and delectable things like this:

And this (which lasted for four seconds after this photo was shot):

Here’s one of their bakeries:

If you’ve been hanging around here very long, you know that I believe in REAL FOOD. I define that as food made from real ingredients, organic if possible, unprocessed or lightly processed, knowing the people who grow your food, buying locally, and buying fresh. It’s being in touch with what you eat.

Great Harvest Bread Company exemplifies the values that are important to me. They do business with small farmers, many of whom they’ve known and worked with for many years. Bread is made fresh daily, wheat is being ground into flour regularly, and customers are treated to samples that are generous.

But here’s something that’s really important to know:

They truly care about our communities. Kate Ord, Director of Marketing states, “At the core of our mission statement is ‘give generously to others.’ We donate more than 4 tons of whole grain bread to children and families in need.” They also take part in life-changing projects like this Habitat For Humanity home:

They get to know their customers with a Farmers’ Market presence in selected locales:

And they know what they’re buying and what they feed us. It matters. It’s at the heart of everything they do.

The company was recently named “Best Place To Work” by Outside Magazine and “Most Democratic Workplace” by Worldblu. They’ve also recently started a blog you can link to HERE.

I so love this company that I contacted them to find out more about who they are. I was fortunate enough to meet the lovely Ms. Kate Ord. We became fast friends and when I told her I wanted to introduce my blogging buds to Great Harvest, she did what they do: jumped in to help. And this is where our contest begins.

Great Harvest has offered to give one lucky winner a $50 certificate for your choice of fresh, lovely, squishy, delicious bread products from a bakery near you. And just in case you don’t yet have one of these wonderful places, they will send you a basket of mixes to create your own fresh-baked treats in your kitchen. (Fresh bread wouldn’t be all that fresh by the time they shipped it to you so making your own is the next best thing!) And here’s the kicker: They’ll send this basket to you WHEREVER you are. That means my international friends can enter, too! I’m officially jazzed.

This contest will be for my BLOGGING FRIENDS. You will be entered if you follow me and BLOG about the contest. It can be as simple as, “Hey, Robynn’s Ravings is having a contest for these items (and then list them). Go see her at http://www.robynnsravings.blogspot.com/ !! Or you can write a book, but whichever you choose, click the follow button to the right with all the photos and then leave me a comment with your blog link and I’ll head on over to your place.

The next items are for ANY followers and you tell me which contest you want to be entered into. One is from Chipotle. You may remember Chipotle from me blogging about them or you may have seen them featured on “Nightline.” Chipotle is a fantastic restaurant that makes every effort to purchase its meat and food from growers who raise their animals and grow their crops in healthy, sustainable ways. And the flavor of their food is proof positive. If you already follow me (or decide to) and you want “Burritos For Two including gourmet burritos, fresh chips with guacamole, and drinks,” then leave me a comment and include the words “Following” and “Chipotle” somewhere in the comment.

However, not everyone lives within a convenient distance of this food paradise so you may want to select an alternate prize. Therefore, I offer you this:

A brand spankin’ new DVD of the most fascinating look at why it’s important to eat REAL FOOD. This could change your life, your health, and your mind. I think everyone should see it. And my kids even loved it though I included a trip to see it in their homeschooling curriculum.

Again, just click that “follow” icon over there on the right. (If you’re following me on a feed or through a reader, please click anyway just so I know about you!) Then type in “following” and “Food, Inc.” somewhere in your comment and I’ll put you in for this one.

So there you have it. Lots o’ loot and fabulous reasons to eat good food and REAL FOOD! I hope this brings you out of the woodwork if you’ve been lurking and I hope it spreads the word about GREAT HARVEST BREAD COMPANY! This is the first time I’ve featured them.

The contest will end at midnight PST, Monday, May 10, 2010. Winners will be announced Tuesday. Good luck!

You’ll Forgive Me But……

2010-05-01T22:24:00.001-07:00

That’s my boy. And it’s Saturday again. And, well, they grow up so fast and….uh…..I told my kids this blog would chronicle our lives (as well as my general insanity) so…..……here’s lookin’ at you kid. I carried you in my formerly-functional-body and delivered all nine pounds of you at 37 weeks, even though the doctor said I measured 44 weeks and should’ve had two of you. My baby belly arrived places three minutes before I did it was so huge. (Okay, men, this is your chance to run away screaming.) I had way too much water and you swam around inside me in an Olympic sized swimming pool, using the high dive for cannon balls. During my c-section it was a flood worthy of Charlton Heston playing Moses. I think I saw some Egyptians and a Pharaoh get washed away. I think they came out with you. My mid-section will never be the same.

Neither will my heart. I love my boy.

Thanks for indulging me in this motherly moment. I couldn’t help myself. He’s just so very cute, in a MANLY sort of way!

Thanks again, my dear friend Chris, for your photographic talents and willingness to make my son feel important. I would like to tell you all about Chris sometime. You would love him.

CONTEST COMING MONDAY!

The Kindness of A Dog

2010-04-29T11:54:00.000-07:00

The news recently featured a man left to die on the streets of New York City after he had been fatally stabbed while saving a woman from her assailant. Twenty-five people, including the woman he aided, failed to act on his behalf. One of the people passing him got out a cell phone and took his picture for entertainment purposes. Finally, someone called 911, but it was too late.

This story has haunted me this week as I have pondered it. Did he look like a homeless man asleep on the sidewalk? According to news reports there was blood to be seen from the stab wounds. However, for over half-an-hour no one investigated further or even called 911 to ask someone else to look into it.

Who are we?

Contrast this story with the following video clip of a dog saving another dog. I was dumbfounded and moved to tears after watching the clip that follows. Please, Lord, always give me the good sense and compassion this little dog had. How can we do less as human beings?

(This is less than a minute to watch and has a happy ending for both dogs.)

I am reminded of these verses from the Bible.....

Matthew 25: 37:40 "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

40"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' "

We're supposed to be living by these words. God can get our attention through any means he chooses.

North And South

2010-04-26T11:35:00.000-07:00

North: Me, on the left – location - California (Okay, yes, that IS my gray hair so there ya go…..I always said I couldn’t be fat AND gray and that is now a patently obvious lie. I have also blown my big reveal.)

South: Kate – location – Australia, author of the “Tatersmama's Take on Things” blog which you will love if you VISIT. She has been in Australia for 15 years and came home to the foothill mountains of northern California to see her son, grandkids, other family, friends, and blogging buddies. (She likes to have her picture taken about as much as I do. Consequently, this photo is an act of love on both our parts so our blogging friends could see us meeting - like when Ms. Pac Man comes out to meet Winkin’ and Blinkin’ and Nod, or whatever the heck their names are.)

This is what we REALLY wanted to put up:

We think it shows us to our best advantage.

My visit with Kate was shorter than I wanted because we were late. Speaking of which, here’s a riddle I made up:

Question: What happens when you show up some place early?

Answer: I have no idea.

The prevailing factor this day was Tom-Tom. She’s my husband’s other girlfriend (the first in his affections is his espresso maker, Sylvia). Tom-Tom may have a guy’s name but she’s definitely a girl and speaks with a British accent. Supposedly, her job is to navigate for us and tell us the best way to get everywhere. Due to palpable jealousy, she did her best to thwart my plans. She didn’t take us the fastest way; she took us the shortest way, which included abandoned stage coach trails, a child’s footbridge, through a living room, and finally the end of the road where we had to backpack in the last five miles.

But it was worth it. If you know Kate through blogging, I’m here to tell you, she’s the real deal. Loving, sweet with a vinegar tang, funny, and as warm as can be. She even introduced me to The Old Guy and her friend, Jenny. These people are frequent players in the dramedy of her life and actors on the stage of her blog. She had a warm and welcoming family and the setting was LUSH with verdant greens and wildflowers thanks to all the California rain. I could have stayed for a week.

It’s a funny thing when you’ve been keyboard-pals for a year-and-a-half. You bypass all those firsts and move right to sharing in the nitty-gritty of each other’s lives. We KNOW each other. Of course, there are missing elements but we were already friends in 2-D. We just added the Imax screen and our 3-D glasses. We skipped the popcorn but only because of time constraints.

Speaking of food, there are some things you need to know about hardships in Kate’s life.

This woman lives in an odd country – sorry my Australian friends but I think you’ll agree with me on this one. She cannot get Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. She cannot get Butterfingers or Dr. Pepper. And these are among her favorite foods. We could argue that these don’t fall into the REAL FOOD category and we would be right. She would agree and isn’t calling them virtuous. But that doesn’t mean she deserves to be force fed Vegemite. (Another Australian friend tells me she’s never had a Twinkie. It’s alright, Julie. When the apocalypse comes, these things will sail right through. And they have a shelf life of 5,000 years. You’ll probably get a shot.)

So I came armed with her favorite foods. She immediately ordered me to hide them from her son, like any good mother would do. I knew we were kindred spirits.

I brought my own actors from my blog stage:

Griz and the Wild Man – husband and son. Bo couldn’t make it. She was busy cleaning the River Parkway north of Fresno. She had gangs of fun (literally) tearing out old animal pens and rusty barbed wire while avoiding a baby rattlesnake.

In the photo below, you can see where Tom-Tom tried to dump me on an old miner’s trail: Mark Twain’s Cabin at Jackass Hill. This effort contained a complete lack of subtlety.

Writing didn’t pay that well, apparently, by the looks of the cabin. (Must have been a lot like blogging.) But Mark Twain’s first book was inspired here, “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County,” and, like a few famous bloggers we all know, sometimes you get that big break and find your place on the map. I’m just hoping I can work up to a cabin like this one of these days. I might be able to afford this level of luxury. Somethin’ tells me fame and a size 8 will be forever elusive. I have a body made for radio.

But I’ve got this strapping guy to look after me in my old age, which, near as I can tell, should be here in about three hours.

So Kate, it was great, and I thank you. Now when I read your blog I will see you and think of you the same way you can now see and think of me.

From the forehead up.

To Gray Or Not Too Gray

2010-04-23T13:00:00.000-07:00

I’ve been going gray since I was 24.

The shock came on an Easter morning. I had just washed my hair and was blow drying, getting ready for church. Something glisteny (that’s a word as of now) caught my attention in the glare of the bathroom lights. I dove in after it like I’d just discovered fleas.

I could not believe my eyes and immediately ripped it out. I was quite sure it was a freakish anomaly and now that it had been annihilated, I could proceed with my youth.

The thought did occur to me that three more gray hairs were supposed to take its place. Just an old wives tale, I reassured myself, and proceeded to kiss Denial right on the lips.

But those old wives are much maligned and they get even by being right.

Consequently, I began a serious relationship with “Sun-In.”

Now, in case you’ve never used this fine product, I should explain that Sun-In is supposed to make your hair look like you’ve spent a scintillating summer frolicking in dazzling light rays. It’s designed to impart the color of young locks and lend highlights and streaks to your carefree, tousled hair. You exude an aura of babe-a-liciousness. And it does that about as effectively as an orange spray tan resembles softly burnished skin, fresh from tropical beaches.

I’m pretty sure the look I affected was closer to the Straw Man (Scarecrow) in the Wizard of Oz. But not as attractive. My boyfriend du jour summed it up with “What did you do to your hair?” Well, I recaptured my youth (as a hay stack), thank you very much.

A few years and job promotions later, I was in the luxurious financial position to have my hair foiled fairly regularly. This is achieved by taking small strands of hair, brushing them with a bleaching agent, wrapping each piece in tin foil, and not stopping until you resemble an aluminum Christmas tree. The general effect is a masking of your gray and it works well until you have so much gray mixed in with the blonde that it looks like you’re having a May/December relationship with yourself.

Enter coloring.

This would hide the whole mess, I figured. (Well, except during outgrowth periods which consumed 9/10ths of the period between coloring and recoloring.) So I went lighter. And the lighter was so light it matched my nearly white hair which was good for outgrowth but then, what was the point of coloring? And if I was going to have nearly white hair, why not have white hair? Well, I reasoned, because I was a blonde at heart. I was born a tow-head – yes, almost white, but with golden highlights. And I was always a blonde, even when it darkened as I got older. It made sense then to move away from gray/white and back toward more golden shades. And everyone was fooled and thought I actually looked 13 even though I was 45.

And then one morning, about six months ago, I asked Grizzly what he would think if I raised the white flag over my white hair. He said surrender was decidedly French but he’d love me anyway. Maybe more, if I came with a side of fries.

So I grew out. And not just horizontally.

It is a fascinating occupation to watch your actual, real, bonafide, genuine hair color appear. My blonde had become pretty light again so it wasn’t striking, but it was noticeable. My hairdresser friends said blend it. I said no. It would only delay what I was trying to achieve: the unvarnished truth of my real hair color. And with each haircut, more silvery white appeared and the blonde tips were fading and disappearing. I currently lack one hair cut being completely done. (Pictures will follow when I am.)

And what do I think?

I am trying to figure out why I waited so long. It’s deliciously freeing. As I suspected, it’s decidedly silver, almost white. I don’t recognize myself in photos. I sometimes think I look like I overdid it in the coloring department. Then I remember: that IS my color. I can’t quite get over myself yet but I’m starting to actually love it.

I’m a tow head again just like when I was a mere infant - minus the golden highlights, sun-suit, and the diaper. I don’t think the golden highlights or the sun-suit will ever make a reappearance.

Let’s hope the same holds true on the diaper.

(Me, at three.)

The Boyz of Summer

2010-04-17T16:57:00.001-07:00

It’s not the Big League. It’s not even the Little League. But it’s definitely a league of their own.

And NOBODY ain’t got nuthin’ on them in the good-times department.

Best Buds left to right – The Wild Man, The Arm, and The Goofball

The Goofball Goofs

Ready and waiting.

Hmmm……

Play ball.

Thanks for the photos, Chris. You rock. :-)

P.S. I added the watermark with photography credit because our friend didn’t want it. He doesn’t seek the limelight. So I must shove him into it. It’s what I do. Shove. And “The Arm?” That’s his kiddo. Can that boy ever throw a ball. Yep. Good times. Good memories. Good friends.

Good deal.

(For the interested, I've been asked to post updates on The Lila Minkler Project and I told you I am a bear of very little brain so, of course, I don't send out reminders. If you are interested, a new post appears EVERY DAY there because this is a fast-clip project. If you've missed something you think you want to see, you can link HERE).

What Not to Wear

2010-04-15T05:25:00.001-07:00

Perhaps this would be better titled: What Not to Share. But if one cannot humiliate oneself and get a blog post out of it, then really, what’s the point of humiliation?

Let’s consider three different shoe combinations, shall we? These are perfectly acceptable. They may not be your taste but I have foot problems (why of course I do – is there anything on my body which functions normally? No Virginia, there is no Santa Clause-only Dr. Scholl’s), and so they have to have a little heel, but not too much. And they have to have great arch support. These qualify and are therefore a shoe of choice: (Pay no attention to the wrinkly ankles.)

And again, this next pair has suited me so well they are nearly worn to a frazzle, like their owner:

While each of these pairs of shoes are perfectly acceptable on their own, combining them seems to be a fashion error:

And I think we could all agree it would be decidedly silly to think you could go into public with this combo and so, of course, we wouldn’t. Unless you’re me and then, of course, you would. It would happen while once again dressing in the dark, which we know always gets me in trouble – (if you’ve forgotten the underwear incident or never read it you can horrify yourselves HERE).

This time, it was apparently too much trouble to turn on the light in the entry way and actually survey the shoe basket. I simply reached in with my toes and felt my way around. Now, due to neuropathy in my feet from an unknown cause (no, it’s not diabetes), I have little “sensing” abilities. I can’t always tell when my feet are even touching something, let alone the RIGHT something. I’ve been known to shove a turned over toe into a closed shoe and not even realize it immediately. Consequently, I’m supposed to be careful but careful and I don’t get along that well so we don’t hang out as often as we should.

And so confident was I that all was right, I merrily flitted out the door and drove myself to community choir. And really, all would have been well, indeed possibly even undetected, if our dear choir director – thank you, Licia – had not insisted we all gather together out of our graduated seating positions and join one another in a large and convivial circle on the floor, where we might blend our voices in harmonious rapture.

The only problem was that would mean we were all looking at each other – from the ground up – full view – no hidden feet behind the chair in front of you. But I gave it not a second thought. I did not presume for a moment to be concerned about anything other than the part I was supposed to sing – in tune and on time. However, when others – yes, Kaylee, I mean YOU – happen to consider your frame (knowing it is weak), and they casually observe your less-than-desirably-shod situation, they are inclined to become uncontrollably hysterical, and, in so doing, they will draw others into their frivolity, happily revealing the source by pointing and laughing to the point of tears.

You will woefully realize, upon closer examination of your feet, that your extremities are the source of this spontaneous merriment. What are you to do under such circumstances? Why nothing more than to take a spin around the circle of song birds, advertise your feet, and allow them to crow more loudly.

And then you simply resume singing when everyone is done wetting their pants and crying, because, after all, it IS me.

No one really expects anything different.

“For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?” Mr. Bennet, Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.

The Lila Minkler Project - First Post

2010-04-14T13:38:00.000-07:00

And we're off over there at The Lila Minkler Project.

If you want to follow along, please click the follow button on Lila's blog so you can get updates. When I post here I'll try to remember to always include a link, but my mind is a convoluted mass of equal parts "Hoarders," "CSI," and "Survivor." I can barely find anything in there so don't pin your hopes on me.

Thanks for your interest!

Coincidence? I Think Not.

2010-04-12T15:03:00.001-07:00

Nineteen years ago today, my little girl was born. My first born. I was silly. I was a mess. I was deliciously tearful and emotional and milky and thankful and overwhelmed. I had waited four long years through surgeries, treatments, check-ups, scans, prescription drugs, pregnancy tests, counting days on the calendar, and checking my breasts for telltale signs of soreness until I became unfit to appear in public. When I FINALLY saw a “+” on the test strip, I was thunderstruck. What I couldn’t know is, I would lose that baby and my heart and my faith would sink like the Titanic, only faster.

I wrestled with God and poured out my anger, my disappointment, my last drop of energy. I wanted to quit and just give up. But six months later, hope began anew and it wasn’t long before Miss Bo entered the world.

It is a foregone conclusion that she was, hands down, the most beautiful baby who had ever come into existence at that time.

Two years later we would go through infertility again trying to have The Wild Man. My trips to the doctor for scans were now accompanied by my little satellite, Bo. On one trip she asked where we were going and I told her, “To the doctor for a scan.” She had heard a lot of talk about “eggs” and I never gave it a thought. She piped up and said, “Yep, we have to go and see if you have a chicken baby in your tummy.”

Don’t talk about eggs in front of two year olds unless you’re scrambling them. The eggs, that is.

Besides, it was no chicken baby, it was a swingin’, jumpin’, howlin’, bouncin’ MONKEY that ended up in there and I’ve been tryin’ to cage him ever since (while secretly hoping I never do – he’s too much fun just the way he is).

But when Bo was due to arrive, I had to have a scheduled C-section due to health issues (are we SHOCKED?). I got to pick the day and I had two possibilities. One was on our niece's tenth birthday so I called and asked her how she felt about it. Some kids wouldn’t want to share the day. Not Miss Nickle Pickle. She was all over that and so these two favorite girls and cousins are exactly ten years apart.

Not a coincidence. A plan born in love. God’s for us. Our’s for each other. A sweet young cousin’s with a generous heart. And is it just me or does she look almost exACTly like Faith Hill? You KNOW my penchant for matching up faces.

YOU be the judge.

Our Niece

Faith Hill

Happy Birthday to two wonderful and loving young women! Your mama/auntie loves you!

(P.S. – Now REALLY, my next post will be “What Not to Wear.”

The Lila Minkler Project

2010-04-11T13:15:00.000-07:00

I figured out a way to write when life is busy, painful, or I'm abjectly lazy: get your great grandmother to say something for you.

Though my great grandmother, Lila, was born in the late 1880's, she still has an opinion. Women in our family are just that way. She speaks from the grave. Nothing seems to silence us.

I am in possession of a book of hers and it is a prized treasure. It contains clippings, postings, letters, photos, and newsworthy events including the Lindberg baby kidnapping and the assassination of President McKinley. It is replete with inspiration, controversy, and marital heartbreak. It contains mysteries yet to be answered. And everything there is fading. Photos and newsprint are sometimes over 100 years old. And the book could burn, or be lost, or have my coffee spilled on it and then where would I be? Lila would be silenced. And I need Lila to talk to me; to work when I can't. What are great grandmother's for?

The pages will be scanned to show the originals and I will retype what each clipping says for clarity's sake. I may weigh in with an opinion - I never lack for those - but mostly it will be a preservation project to share what Lila thought was important.

Please come visit over there if you want to but feel no obligation to comment. I am unoffended and realize we cannot comment on everything, even most things. But if you are a history buff and are remotely interested in the thoughts, hearts, and struggles of our foremothers, you may find a friend in Lila. I realize many of us are blogged out and I'm really creating this for my own children. However, you are welcome anytime.

Here is the link: The Lila Minkler Project

Join me next time when I will appear on my own version of "What Not to Wear."

My Easter Blessings

2010-04-04T12:41:00.000-07:00

We've been away on vacation. Grizzly has fought headaches and blood pressure issues from the ozone but is coming around. The vacation did him - and all of us - a world of good. There hasn't been an area in our lives that hasn't been extremely stressed in the last few months. We had no phone and it was delicious. We had internet but I limited myself to checking in to Facebook a few times. I thought I would blog and visit blogs but the family gave me THAT look. So I refrained.

Now, we're headed home after a great, unplugged week in the Los Padres National Forest in a darling cabin generously opened to us by Grizzly's dear brother and his sweet wife. They even turned their stick-shift Jeep over to us and I felt like a big kid whizzing down dirt roads grabbing gears. (Our Jeep is a little tamer with an automatic and had to stay home in favor of the big SUV to haul everything.)

I am always surprised by generosity and big hearts. My SIL and BIL are the "What? Why didn't you ask US?!" types. And they mean it. They obviously want what they have to benefit others as well. I'm more used to suspicious types, wondering what people want and why. A blanket of trust and kindness warms you to your very heart with a lasting heat. I'm as much enriched by that spirit as I am by the time away. I'll be thinking about it for a long time and hope to be half as loving and giving.

And I thank all of you, on this blessed Easter Day - as I'm thanking God for Christ's sacrifice on our behalf - for your faithful visits, kind comments, and willingness to stick with this blog. I hope you are being enveloped in the bosom of those who love you most today and finding others to love who truly need it.

With Love,

Robynn

Copyright 2010

Rantin’ And Bawlin’

2010-03-26T18:12:00.001-07:00

A friend posted a video today that I just had to share with you guys.

I hate to cry alone. But it’s such a GOOD cry. A happy cry. The cleansing kind. And I needed cleansing. Liver, spleen, and mouth. I was so mad at Grizzly’s employer today I was not only able to spit nails but I was able to manufacture them as well.

Grizzly got ozone poisoning yesterday afternoon from an irresponsible client who allowed him to enter a highly toxic room. No signs were posted and no warnings given. Well, unless you count the one on the other end of the warehouse that they frequently flood with ozone gas to prevent their “healthy” vegetables from going bad. THAT sign says “Danger – Poison” and the employees are not allowed to enter the warehouse full of vegetables while it’s flooded with ozone. But he had to work in the room with the generator that was MAKING the ozone.

And did the client feel bad about this? No. Denied any responsibility.

And did his employer feel bad about this? No. Said it couldn’t actually be determined that his poisoning and ridiculously high blood pressure (that he never has), dizziness, and cough (at the workmen’s comp doctor’s office) was related to a work event. So they drug tested him. That’ll be a boring result. Unless they find ozone gas. And I have no idea if it shows up in a urine test but I HOPE it does. His clothes reek of it. And in high enough concentrations, you can be dead from it in 15 minutes.

This is a guy who in over 20 years has never missed a day due to a workmen’s comp injury. Who SHOULD have missed many days, weeks even, but has always worked through. A guy who several months ago fell on the job and banged up both knees so badly they were twice the size, had water on one knee, and still has pain. Didn’t miss any days. Just a short time on light duty. So as a thank you, his boss stood him up in front of his co-workers and told them they would all have to work harder and faster for the next six months to pay for Grizzly costing the company a workmen’s comp claim.

Yeah. He's a real stand-up guy.

So when a friend posted this video it reminded me that, besides Grizzly, there ARE good guys out there. There ARE people who offer love and sacrifice, even when it costs them so much. This was the warming my heart needed. Sometimes in this rat race, it can sure feel like all the rats are winning.

Thanks for letting me rant. It’s been awhile.

Now, here’s something worth celebrating. Thank you to our soldiers who really ARE stand up guys and gals.

Under Construction

2010-03-22T20:01:00.001-07:00

Shingles. They’re not just for roofs anymore.

Okay. That was fun. Next? My recommendation is you try not to get shingles. Follow my advice.

And why is it roofs and not rooves? The plural of hoofs is hooves. I know I’m not the first person to ask this but it bears repeating since no one has answered it yet.

I lost over a week and gained five pounds just laying in bed. Well, apparently I ATE something as well.

Now I’m recovered and I’m crawling around on the floor finishing the stripping of wallpaper and regretting five more pounds to haul into an upright and locked position. I fantasize about what it would be like to be young, and lithe, and weigh less than a mid-sized car. I’ll never know but if you’re young and lithe and thin, go kiss yourself in the mirror for me. I’m washing wallpaper paste off and taping things that shouldn’t be painted, like tile, and window casing, and pets.

I’ll get back to you. Look for me on your blogs during all the future breaks I’m planning as I try not to overdo.

I love that word. Overdo. What a great canceller of excuse guilt.

Observational Twitter 24

2010-03-08T15:12:00.000-08:00

Famous Saying:

“It was the least I could do.” ~unknown

Obscure Saying:

“It was the least I could do…..and I always try to do the least I can do.” ~Robynn

Idiot Day…….I Won.

2010-03-03T17:35:00.000-08:00

Next Tuesday, March 9th, in our little town of about a million people (in Fresno County), our local Children’s Hospital of Central California will host an annual event called, “Kids’ Day.” People volunteer and stand on street corners to sell a special edition of The Fresno Bee, featuring info on the hospital and it’s young patients. It’s a great cause and raises much needed money. The kids and I signed up. Bo has had multiple eye surgeries there and The Wild Man has had surgery as well. They have also been hospitalized for flu when they were very young and given the royal treatment. They LOVE Childrens, as the locals call it.

However, what FEW people know is there is a special day exactly one week before this event for brain-dead homeschooling mothers. It is called “Idiots’ Day.”

Not just everyone qualifies. These are the conditions:

The day before Idiots’ Day your college age daughter must have all her planets line-up with work difficulties, school deadlines, and social obligations colliding at warp speed. This must cause her a meltdown in the way that the polar ice-caps encountering Krakatoa might cause a trickle of water.
Your long lost brother must give you his office address for mailing for fear you might stalk him at his residence.
Your pain medication must quit working. Your pain must not.
Your 14-year-old son must repeatedly make sounds, thump the desk, argue, and fall out of his chair while you teach him Algebra. This will not happen because he is simple. It will happen because he can.
Your dog must learn to jump the fence for the first time – and does.
Your mother must call and want to know all the information the attorney disseminated for her, in your presence, the Friday prior. You must disseminate it again.
You must call your nephew at Cornell and wish him a happy birthday into his cell phone message center and worry that in the past three months, none of your phone calls, texts, or emails have been returned and decide whether or not to consider foul play or police contact.
As you share your day with your husband, he must tell you about a friend whose homeschooling wife is leaving him AND the children. You know you should sympathize but instead you ask if there is room in her car. Your husband will reply, “No,” as he has already claimed the extra seat. He informs you that HE is leaving and you can homeschool his friend’s children as well as your own. You both know he’ll never beat you to the car but he will try.

At the end of this glorious day, you will inform your children that they must go to bed early because you will be waking them at 4 a.m. for Kids’ Day. They will be thrilled. Your daughter will stay up until midnight doing homework because that’s life. Your son will stay up reading…..because he can. You will go to bed and set two alarms because you’re exhausted.

At 4 a.m. you will awaken and find two groggy children. You will put your bra on backwards and head out the door. You will head to the pick-up destination where you will all find your instructions, your aprons, and your newspapers. As you pull up, you will notice the parking lot curiously empty. You will then realize, this isn’t Kids’ Day. You are a week EARLY for KIDS’ DAY. You will realize instead, this is Idiots’ Day. And you heartily congratulate yourself. You won.

You feed the less-than-happy children, send them back to bed, and go to bed yourself. But you will not sleep. Your husband’s alarm will begin to go off at 5:30 and he will hit the snooze eight times.

You spend your time in productive murder plots but decide to blog instead before leaving for choir, shopping, homeschooling, and making dinner for a friend. You will realize in a last, desperate, choking realization, you forgot to get the phone number of the departing wife.

The End

Photo Courtesy of: The Collegiate CSUF

Observational Twitter 23

2010-02-26T19:47:00.001-08:00

Famous Quote:

“If wishes were horses all beggars would ride.” ~ Old English Proverb

Obscure Quote:

“If wishes were horses all those beggars should get a clue. I know I would. I’d wish so much I'd be exhausted, create the biggest horse flesh business in the world, trade publicly, and pay people to ride for me. Let's have some vision here.” ~ Robynn

I'm Not Dead....Pretty Much

2010-02-24T11:12:00.000-08:00

And I haven't been doing anything resembling much of this, either. You thought I was going to tell you I've whipped my house into shape didn't you? I mean, I try. I really do. But it's like bailing out the ocean with a thimble.

So what did I do on my summer vacation this winter?

Did I take care of my innards? I think the answer to this would be, "Yes," if by "take care of" I mean I saw to it that they stayed mostly inside my abdominal cavity. I feel I have been successful at that. I have not found my liver, spleen, or alternator just laying around anywhere. I haven't gone to McDonald's or Taco Bell. But if you mean I ate extremely well and juiced everyday then the answer gets hazier. Like Erica Kane's face (All My Children) as they film her through the years.

Ever notice that? I don't watch this soap opera anymore. I quit about ten years ago when I started choking on their political agenda. But I had watched it from the beginning. And whenever I happen to come across it in these past ten years I always notice that Erica is heavily filtered through a hazy lens. I can barely make out her features to be sure it's her. I know they're trying to keep the illusion of youth alive but it makes me feel incredibly old because my sight seems to be going each time she appears on screen.

I'll try to stick to the subject: Not being dead.

This morning as I laid, lied, lay, lie, lain, (the correct tense never sounds right to me and is my participle past, present, or dangling? Has it been dangling all day and no one told me?).....let's just go with "assumed a supine position in bed," and tried to add up everything that's been ailing me and keeping me from more than four or five hours of sleep every night. But by the time I approached the end of the list, I forgot my reason for counting. When I remembered why, I couldn't recall the point of the exercise. And you can be grateful for that little fact, my overtaxed readers.

I do know I can't sit for an extended period of time because I injured my tailbone and sitting is certainly a vital part of blogging. I remember this salient fact each time I park it. Which is frequently. Almost all of our homeschooling is on the computer.

Also, life hasn't felt very funny since my stepfather's death. We weren't especially close but my mom needs me a lot now and that's its own fresh challenge and excitement in the way climbing Mt. Everest in my bikini - with my current body and photographers all around - would be a fresh challenge filled with excitement. My only cheerful thought would be a timely plummet from a slippery precipice. However, by God's grace I am coping and seem to be some help, so I continue to tie off and use my safety gear, against my better judgment.

The other issue that is ever before me is the simple fact that writing attracts readers. And when readers come, readers who usually have blogs themselves, I like to visit back. And I can't right now. So that makes me feel greedy and makes me hesitate to write.

My solution is to absolve all of you from any obligatory visits and know that I will write and post here simply to remember what in the world I did with my life, when I look back someday. Feel free to stop in if you want to or skip me entirely. I will pop in to your places from time-to-time because I SERIOUSLY ENJOY reading about your lives. But I can't figure out how to have time for everything.

I am considering pulling down the 30 Day blog and simply accepting that combining the info here will be more in keeping with how I live my life - everything overlapping and mushed together. I don't think I can maintain two blogs and do them any justice.

And I have to finish ripping the wallpaper off my bathroom wall and repainting. Grizzly calls the current motif, "Late World War II." That's generous.

All I can offer, I suppose, is a stark comparison for you. Lay your inconsistencies against mine, consider the shadow your figure casts, gaze about your gracious abodes, and come away feeling incredibly successful, sane, and lovely.

To warp a borrowed epigram, I cannot be a good example but I happily offer myself as a terrible warning.

Hello again and thank you for all your kind wishes and inquiries. Really. You ARE the best. WHAT are you DOING here?

Lilly Livered

2010-01-24T21:21:00.001-08:00

So I spoke too soon about all my colonoscopic success.

Apparently, you have this gross looking thing living in your abdomen known as a liver. (I find it mildly disturbing that I possess parts which may appear on a menu.) My liver is extremely petulant and indulged and decided to throw a temper fit shortly after being bombarded with Movi-Prep. It has had its problems over the years and contributed to interruptions in vacation schedules and general good health. It does not take medicine and sticks out its little liver lips and pouts. Now it has the dubious distinction of also being clinically fatty and enlarged.

And why not? It belongs to a person who is fatty and enlarged. Shouldn’t we be a matched set? This is apparently undesirable. I think the clinical term the doctor used was “not good.” But it may be reversible with concerted effort. (I always got D’s in concerted effort). If it does get fixed I hope the rest of my body follows. It would be a shame to have a beautiful and svelte liver that didn’t match the whole ensemble.

All of this led to a dramatic visit to the hospital via ambulance. (The ambulance driver invited the lovely 18-yr-old Bo to ride along. No one invited me when my stepdad fell. It must have been my chubby liver.) It would seem something was jostled during my colonoscopy or else all the Movi-Prep moved and prepped things not designed to be moved and prepped. Whatever happened, something went seriously amiss and dire pain ensued along with other effects that do not deserve honorable mention. And since my abdominal menu item is in a less-than-healthy state, it has had some trouble recovering.

I am happy to say it is at least up and receiving visitors, though it draws the line at alcoholics. They are too toxic. Not to mention obnoxious.

Juicing and even more healthy eating are before me. This morning I juiced carrots, beets, cabbage, dandelion, fennel, broccoli, apples, and oranges. It takes FOREVER to wash, juice, and clean up. I was going to blog but I had to juice. That’ll be my excuse now for everything. “Oh sorry……I can’t

Run for governor
Clean
Do laundry
Drive the speed limit
Keep appointments

I have to juice.”

Think of the things I’ll get out of. I may have the liver for this after all.

I Can See for Miles And Miles

2010-01-08T15:14:00.000-08:00

(And you thought YOU had a bad job. How would you like to have been a fleet enema character at the Indiana State Fair last year? And I don't know what his date here is supposed to be and I have no desire to know. This is a field trip we won't be going on soon.)

As far as my actual results I got the "all clear" on the colonoscopy which, really, how could it be anything else after the 55 gallon drum of Movi-Prep? I'm pretty sure if you look down my throat you can see my shoes.

Now, for those of you of a certain age, and we know who we are, it's your turn. You can see how much fun Dave Barry and I had. Why not you? And it buys you at least one cheap blog post. It is not unmentionable. We all have a colon. They don't have to be whispered about. I mean, I'm not having a party for mine (or dressing up in costumes) but I am wearing a party hat about it's high functioning status. Nice to get an "A" on something.

And sorry, Scurra, no pictures of my intestinal maze. And for all the rest of you? You're welcome.

The Bottom Line

2010-01-06T07:19:00.001-08:00

Greetings friends and hello from the ~~deadbeat~~ vacationing author of this blog. It truly has been a near Tibetan monk retreat time. You may or may not have noticed my absence on your blogs and even my complete avoidance of email connection. In true Tibetan style I have chosen to eschew the modern trappings of electronic communication and have, instead, immersed myself in unbridled electronic entertainment - oh, and books.

I have become addicted to Monarch of The Glen, a lovely BBC series the whole family is now unreasonably invested in, reveled in Cranford with Judith Dench, buried my nose in Two Years Before The Mast which I’m nearly reading at traffic lights due to utter fascination (and the idea of a nearly empty California which baffles the mind of this California citizen – one among 37 million), and have consumed yet more books on healthy eating, organic food growing, and politics, while falling even more in love with author Michael Pollan and Polyface Farms owner, Joel Salatin.

It has been a lovely retreat and, frankly, I think I look great in the vibrant colors and jaunty hat. (Unfortunately, I was JUST out of the frame on the right there.)

Now I come to you on the eve of an event I knew you wouldn’t want to miss: my colonoscopy.

Yes, that’s right saddle pals. It’s time to once again purposely inflict upon my person nausea and epic evacuations, all in the name of health. Oxymoronic though it may seem, I will chug volumes of nasty tasting salt cocktails whilst rendering myself permanently adhered to the porcelain throne. If you’ve never read Dave Barry’s account of this marvelous adventure, I encourage you to click http://www.miamiherald.com/dave_barry/story/427603.html.

But don’t eat or drink while reading or you could cause severe damage to yourself or your computer. Especially if you’re prepping for a colonoscopy. The damage could even include others.

You may remember Katie Couric, in near Jules Verne style, grinning at us in her drug-induced stupor atop a hospital gurney while inviting us to go journeying into her “center of the earth,” as it were. We were treated to pictures of her cavernous insides so that we, too, might see how simple this procedure is to endure. No offense, Katie, and I know your heart was in the right place (I think I saw it), but big deal. It’s not that phase that’s really the problem. Please feel free to bring cameras along and don your headgear for the spelunking part of my adventure tomorrow. I’ll be like you, blissfully drunken, or if I’m really lucky, knocked out. But where were the cameras and where were you (like we don’t know) during the PREP part of this mission? Not nearly as filmable. We all know how that part works:

I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this deeply important aspect of my life so, out of the goodness of my heart and typical thoughtfulness, I return to include you.

I don’t know. Maybe this was a crappy idea.

Photos Courtesy of: Flikr/Wallpapers Desktodesk

It’s The Wind Up

2009-12-23T08:21:00.001-08:00

Christmas is almost here, in case you missed that little fact. Maybe you’re way more organized than I am and, by now, are sitting around your toasty fire (or swimming pool for my southern hemisphere friends) sipping a mocha latte. Not me. It’s more fudge making this morning, gift wrapping, house cleaning, and then fudge delivery (but I LOVE that part).

I don’t have a great deal in the way of family traditions passed down, especially from my father’s side of the family, but THE FUDGE is one thing I do have.

It was my great-grandmother’s recipe and is only handed down to the next generation when their complete discretion can be counted on. I didn’t qualify until I was in my 30’s which probably speak volumes about my character. That’s when my aunt took me aside and made me swear an oath never to reveal the secret except to my own children. It would seem it’s the original See’s recipe and I honestly cannot tell the difference between the two so I’m likely to believe it.

The fudge is requested each year with great anticipation by some of my friends and neighbors and my girlfriend’s nine-year-old son, Andrew, even requested the fudge – in a pan – for his birthday cake two years ago. I found out at the Christmas parade that he wanted it again this year but she wouldn’t let him ask me. DIANE. The child can have a pan of fudge ANYTIME he wants one! Andrew!! Don’t ask your mother! Call me directly! I’ll slip you my number later today.

And I’m back from my travels to Bakersfield to see dear, life-long friends, Jeannette and Jo Ann. We’ve known each other since I was three and those friendships are more like family……well, family you want to see. Jo Ann was here from Missoula, Montana so we had to grab the visit while we could, even amidst the Christmas rush.

Officially, I’m saying good-bye until after the New Year and will be taking some time off to have family time and maybe get a project or two done. I pray you all have a blessed experience celebrating in your own particular way and I want to thank you for all the gifts you’ve given me this year. Your sweet support and comments are gifts I can return to and they continue to bless me. I wish I could sit across from each one of you, hold your hands, look into your eyes and thank you for being my friends, walking with me through this year, and sharing your lives with me. I’ve learned so much from you.

I’d like to rerun my Christmas post from last year when I was just starting out in the blog world because it still warms my heart and I hope it does the same for you. Here it is:

A Christmas Story – But Not The One With The Leg Lamp

I don't think I can top the Bumpkiss' dogs or the fish-net leg lamp. I can identify with Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" when he has to suck on a bar of Lifeboy soap. I became a regular connoisseur of the latest "on-sale" bar soap when I was a kid. Lux, Lifeboy, Dial, Ivory. Apparently getting cleaned from the inside out was the way to approach child rearing. Maybe it was a chaser for the bleach I accidentally drank from a Ball canning jar several years earlier. My heart may have its stains but my intestines are clean as a whistle.

It was during this same period my Christmas story takes place. It wasn't humorous but it was definitely happy. I remembered it today when the kids and I were part of the follow-up team for handing out Christmas food and gifts collected by the company Grizzly works for. We volunteered for the privilege because who doesn't want to be part of that kind of Christmas cheer? Of course, I groused about schedule logistics (note last blog) even though I truly, truly wanted to do it. I mean really, WHAT is my DEAL?!

We drove across town to the warehouse, picked up seven boxes of groceries and a few toys, and headed to the home of a single mother with lots of children. The neighborhood was down-trodden but several neighbors stood against the blight with cheery light displays and decorations.

The home sat on a quiet corner, surrounded by a chain link fence. A chewed rope hung limply from a metal pole advertising a dog no longer tethered there. I walked up and tapped lightly, feeling slightly awkward and apologetic. The door creaked open and out peeked little shining faces, obviously excited to see strangers bearing gifts. A teenage son arrived home just in time to help unload the car and serve as translator. His mother spoke only Spanish and I spoke only English. He stared at us through dark-lashed eyes that were guarded with a mixture of suspicion and embarrassment. He couldn't have been much older than Hunter. I wondered if my son wouldn't have felt much the same. I sensed his gratitude but also felt the sting that charity might bring to a young man. He quietly complied with my request to let his mother know I had been on the receiving end of a Christmas delivery when I was child. I suppose I wanted her to realize (and him to understand even more) that I knew how it felt on both sides and it was a blessing to give back. Her shy smile showed her appreciation, and discomfort as well. It truly is more blessed to give than to receive.

I wanted to share my own story with them but I couldn't invade their emotional space. He needed me to leave; she needed me to leave; and they couldn't have been more quietly gracious about it. I drove away remembering a Christmas that wouldn't have happened but for the intervention of friends and strangers.

I was ten and my sister and brother several years older. It had been a year of great upheaval. Well, come to think of it, I guess all of our years were years of great upheaval but this one came with even less money. My mother had just landed a good job but found out right before Christmas there would be no paycheck. It was a government job and the policy was to withhold the first check to be used for future severance pay.

The morning of Christmas Eve arrived but there was no sign of Christmas at our house. We had often gotten our tree on Christmas Eve because they were rock-bottom priced then. But on this day there was no discussion of a trip to the tree lot. The pantry was pretty bare and there hadn't been any talk of presents except to say there wouldn't be any. I don't remember being worried that we would eat beans for our Holiday dinner, but I do recall wondering afterwards what the menu would have been.

I think, on that day, I must have been in that beautiful place children live in their minds; the place that helps them believe everything will be alright somehow; the place where magical thinking rules and reality doesn't have a prayer. And it was in that moment that a knock came to the door. My sister and I opened it and saw our mother's friend, "Aunt" Fran. She had her husband with her and much more importantly, to our minds, the most beautiful white-flocked Christmas tree in tow. Now, our trees had been pretty much the bargain variety and we had never entertained the idea of a tree this grand. This was purview of the rich; the domain of the entitled. We were suddenly and at once part of this club of exclusivity. Aunt Fran was the prosperous owner of a nursery school that was much in demand. It was always immaculate and beautifully appointed. Each year, at the school, she prominently displayed her faith in God and her exquisite tree. It would normally have remained up through the New Year but this year she and "Uncle" Austin dismantled it and brought it to our house, along with the ornaments.

We had barely begun redecorating the tree when there was another sound at the door. Representatives of The Lions Club stood on our doorstep with arms full of boxes filled with ham, canned goods, and items far more tempting than beans. They left everything on our dining room table, wished us well and "Merry Christmas" and were gone. Here was food and here was a gorgeous tree. How could it get any better? In a matter of minutes it did. Another rapping at the door brought members of First Baptist Church bearing more food and wrapped presents. I can still see the white tissue paper and red ribbon wrapped around what I knew was a game. I couldn't wait to open it the next day. I don't know what the other gifts were that year but I was the happy recipient of "Sorry" and it's the game the kids and I still use after all these years.

Apparently, Aunt Fran had placed us on a few "needy family" lists and I'll be forever grateful that she did. It wasn't until years later I realized how close we were to having a very different Christmas experience. It was nothing short of a miracle to me and yet it lived up to my faith that all would be well. And for that time and for that day, it was. And that was enough.
I hope it will be the same for the dear family we met today. I pray a bright memory of Christmas miracles lives on in the hearts of the kiddos there and, if only for a short while, a burden is lifted for a weary mother. I hope a tentative young son feels compelled to drop his guard. I think that might be the case. I hugged his mother and then turned to him to pat his arm. He started to lean in for a hug, too, then caught himself. But it had happened, nonetheless, and in that moment, if only for a moment, I think all was well.

May you have the merriest of Christmases, my friends, and may God richly bless you.

With Love,
Robynn

Trouble With My Vowels

2009-12-17T12:58:00.000-08:00

If you’re a gal who pulls all vowels and one weird consonant when playing Scrabble, then you have to marry a guy who pulls all consonants and one weird vowel.

It says so in the marriage handbook.

On Thanksgiving, this was how it shaped up. After 23 years we finally figured out why we’re together.

On a fundamental level we understand each other. My vowels are a problem and he’s consonated.

And you know what that spells: romance.

Goofballs Keep Me Sane

2009-12-15T07:57:00.000-08:00

This guy on the left keeps me crackin’ up. That’s my Wild Man. (Blurry photo as I try to sneak up on them.)

The guy on the right keeps me crackin’ up. That’s his sidekick, Mr. Drama.

They have a ball together and could talk all the legs off a centipede. They could power a small country with jaw movement alone. They regularly injure one another in wrestling matches trying to establish who is dumb and who is dumber. Right now, it’s a tie.

They’re killin’ time here between performances in a production.

At least they weren’t killing each other.

The Wild Man has one wrist in a brace and an injured thumb on the other side after the smack down a few days ago.

Yep, it’s good to be fourteen, heavy on testosterone and energy, light on gray matter. Hopefully, this will balance out when he gets older.

Probably around 75.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like HOLIDAY?

2009-12-10T06:14:00.000-08:00

Okay. So I was watching a commercial on television with my nearly grown children (who undoubtedly were basking in the glow of my presence) when onto the screen loomed a mother, Christmas shopping with her teenage son. Said son whipped out a gift he bought to give to a sibling and mom replied to him in surprised tones, “You bought a holiday present for your brother?!”

“A holiday present?” my children and I replied in unison.

And this would go under the holiday tree? What holiday would that be exactly? I don’t know……Christmas?

I know retailers, in an effort to be financially correct and carve out any possible green from all wallets of any persuasion, have assumed the position of neutrality. “Holiday” and “Holiday Tree” are the new correct terms. But there IS no neutral and there is no need for correction. Guess what? It’s Christmas! It’s about Christ. Being born. For us. In a manger. In Bethlehem. Around this time of year.

When Meredith Wilson penned the now famous words “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” she had an opportunity to use the term “holiday.” She didn’t. And there’s something about, “I’m dreaming of a white holiday,” that just doesn’t have the same warm, fuzzy glow to it. Irvin Berlin knew what worked and called it "the best song he, or anyone, ever wrote." And he was proudly Jewish.

But if the word “Christmas” isn’t safe, what other words might become fiscally or politically offensive to those who want our dollars or would seek to control our beliefs?

What will we do with the song, “O Christmas Tree?”

“O holiday tree, O holiday tree,

Thy leaves are so unchanging (well, except of course we understand that nothing is cast in stone and if you want to change we will support your decision),

Not only green when summer’s here (or rather, we mean that time of year when the position of the earth – be it northern or southern hemispheres – is closer to the sun….it is not our intention to limit you to the term ‘summer’),

But also when ‘tis cold and drear (understand that we are not attempting to cast judgment by intimating the positional rotation away from the sun is in any way negative),

O holiday tree, O holiday tree,

Let’s just forget we sang of thee.”

And can “A Charlie Brown Christmas” ever be the same if we must now call it “A Charlie Brown Holiday?” What will we sing when we hear the theme song? This?

“Holiday time is here……”

Perhaps we should change ALL special days to reflect greater inclusion of every possibility and build in apologies as well. Maybe New Year’s Day could be “Culturally and Historically Egocentric Day of Western Civilization Time Marking.” Definitely makes you feel like popping a cork on the bubbly.

We in America err gravely I’m sure to celebrate Independence Day each July Fourth. Far less divisive to call it, “Lack of Cultural Sensitivity Day Wherein We Did Not Strive to Be Good Citizens by Working in Unison With A Somewhat Oppressive, Albeit Temporarily Misguided, Overseas Monarchy That Seemed Unwilling, Or Perhaps Unable, to Represent Our Interests.” Pack that in your fireworks and explode ‘em.

And in celebration, as we raise aloft our sparklers, let us not hail that Star Spangled Banner over the “land of the free.” Let us sew a picture of the whole world onto one flag so as not to celebrate that we in America, with our stars and stripes, are the home of the brave. We may be sending a message that “you, over there, are not.”

So, lift your spiced egg milk product, throw a cement log on the gas jet, let Jack or Jane Frost nip (no, that sounds distinctly like drinking and could be misconstrued as an alcohol endorsement), er, touch you on the nose (if that’s agreeable to you and you do not feel it creates a hostile holiday environment), and sing your non-descript carols. And have yourself a happy little holiday now.

Wow. I feel sort of tingly and sentimental. Don’t you?

Photo Courtesy of: FreeChristmasWallpapers.net

I’m Such A Child

2009-12-08T08:14:00.000-08:00

Does marching up and down the street pretending you’re actually IN the parade and embarrassing your children count for anything? I believe this type of activity is important to desensitize my progeny. This way, when they walk out of the bathroom with toilet paper trailing behind them or they accidentally spit food on their date, it will be child’s play. They will say, “We survived our mother. Humiliation has no power over us.” And they will have me to thank.

You're welcome.

Aren’t you obligated to march around and be filled with wonderment and joy when you hear music, see twinkling Christmas lights, and have a party of twenty five friends all determined to have a merry time in the nippy, windy cold?

And the first thing down the street was my FAVORITE entry each year. I have no idea what it’s called but I want one. These photo effects could call my sobriety into question…….

(click to embiggen – good luck)

See?

The people ride in the center and I wanna be one of those people.

The drought’s been so bad here we have to put our boats to use on land.And hey, it’s Clovis…….we’re a rodeo town….we gotta have our horses…..

……and country music. Advice to KISS Country - Allison Krause should be on the side of that bus.

And Jeeps……being a Jeep gal myself I think this is a vital part of the parade.

This one had so many lights he ran with a generator on top. Bo spotted that. I could see her making plans for our Jeep and generator.

And then other 4x4’s got in the show……

This one was a favorite. I’d use it for my Christmas tree and shove the presents under the differential.

And no self respecting cowboy town would be complete without its semi trucks (this was AWEsome)…..And the really old cars….

And the rare cars…..like this Kaiser Traveler.

It’s older than I am and I appreciate that about a car. I ran down the road after it just to keep getting photos. My son was hollering after me, “What are you DOING?” Gee whiz. Doesn’t he know by now?

The marching band has to get in there and if you’re having Irish Coffee while you’re staring at this it should look just perfect to you.

This one as well. But check out the light trails on the drumsticks. Whoa. Dude.

Here come the sweet ones with the kiddos.

And finally, the float that sums up the season. The one about CHRISTmas. Love this.

So there you have it. Proof (on the banner over the street) that you’re supposed to be a child to attend. I qualified. And I’m proud to be a Clovisite, or Clovisian, or a Clovisonian…..whatever it is we’re called. We have an identity crisis around here. We used to be a little bitty town. Now we have over 100,000 people and no one’s ever heard of us. They never give the weather for Clovis, only Fresno. We aren’t on the maps on the local news. Shoot, we can’t even elect our mayor. It’s an appointed position that harkens back to the time when we only had three people in the town and they had shoot-outs over who got to be mayor and wear the three piece suit. (I'm sure I'm next in line to be town historian.) We have one guy whose been mayor about 48 times. Hi Harry.

But we are who we are and you can see we don’t let it stop us. If you’re ever in central California, slow down, turn east, and you’ll find us at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Our official town motto? “Clovis Is A Way of Life.” And all I can say is, “Boy Howdy!”

Thanks for coming to the parade with me. :-)

Small Town Christmas Fun

2009-12-05T12:37:00.001-08:00

No, it’s not a float but doesn’t it look like it could be? This is some hearty soul’s house and I wish he lived next door to me. I don’t have one light hung, no tree, well, it’s leaned against the shed out back being hosed down with water as I write. (Gets rid of dead needles and spider hitch-hikers who FREAK me out when I reach into the tree and they reach back.) Shudder.

Back to floats…….Tonight we’ll be seeing lots of them and some will probably look like this. Downtown Clovis always has an electric light parade the first weekend in December and we try never to miss it because it’s so homespun. There’ll be semi-trucks, Jeeps, horses, marching bands, decorated dogs, and kids wrapped up like presents.

Usually a few friends join us and we huddle up and drink hot chocolate or Starbucks and munch cookies and popcorn while we talk about how we’re freezing. However, this is California – low level elevation California. Freezing is relative. It’ll probably be clear down in the 40’s for those of you in snow country who would probably be in swimsuits here. But we’ll shiver anyway and bring blankets and coats and love every minute of it. And I’m breaking with tradition and making iced cranberry and orange scones. For the moms. And LOTS of friends are coming this year so it should be a blast. All I can say is…..

Wish YOU were here!

Oh yeah, and I also wish Santa would visit while I’m gone tonight and decorate my house but not before cleaning it and doing all my laundry. Why can’t a girl get what she REALLY wants?

Why, It Was Only Yesterday

2009-12-03T22:14:00.000-08:00

Well, and the 364 other yesterdays.

That’s when I pushed my pin into the blogosphere map and marked out my territory….my little spot in the blog world.

This was my original post (obviously the blog name changed but my sentiments remain identical):

I'm Finally Here!

For all who have waited breathlessly for my opinions, reflections, and life-changing insights,(both of you), I have arrived.I named my blog "Laugh Til You Die" because I can't handle life without finding something to laugh about on a nearly daily basis. While it's true there are experiences in our lives which come without any humor, most of the time we can find a chuckle even in the dark. For me, the laughing lights a light so I can navigate. If I must face all difficulties with intense sobriety and "appropriate" seriousness, I forfeit joy. And joy is God's gift to me. I hope to use it until I leave for heaven and then I hope to get new material.

What was I hoping for and what did I expect?

I hoped for readers and just maybe followers as well.

I expected myself to write. I wasn’t worried about subject matter because I’ve always been able to make much ado about nothing. That didn’t offer my reader the promise of anything substantial but I figured I could fill a page.

I had no idea how time consuming it would be.

I had no idea how important it would feel…..the sense of responsibility I would develop toward it.

(All my sentences are beginning with “I.” It’s the mark of a superior writer.)

I wanted a place to be accountable for consistent writing. A book felt a tad overwhelming back then but a post every day or two or three? Doable. Most of the time.

What I didn’t expect was actual friends.

I figured a few hearty souls would belly up to my bombastic bar, drop a comment or two in the tip jar, and be on their way to partake of finer fare available at the more posh blog houses in the village run by professional proprietors. Finding out I had regular patrons who actually made my humble establishment their destination of choice was heady stuff. And I let it fuel my desire to write and connect. It made me feel as though I had something to say. (Not sure if that's true but I said it anyway.) Maybe I couldn’t consider it my magnum opus but I decided to carpe diem even if it meant the occasional mea culpa. After all, caveat emptor.

(I have wanted to trail out my Latin for awhile but will now cease before I hurt myself. All I have left in the arsenal anyway are my conjugated verbs about love and I get those mixed up with my Spanglish.)

But you and I became friends. And miles and face-to-face visits weren’t necessary to find myself invested in your lives, your health, your relationships, and your hearts. And, likewise, you took me in. I began to speak of my friends on the east coast, or in the Midwest, or Canada, or Sweden, the U.K., or Australia. A few came in from African countries and sometimes Russia would drop by, or China, or India, and other places. And my world expanded and I had NO IDEA what it was I could possibly say that brought any of you here in the first place. But you came. And I thank you for your faithful visits and time and words and words and WORDS of encouragement. I could stop right now and have enough loving words to drag me out of any depression for the rest of my life. You are TOO good to me and that isn’t humility on my part – it’s fact. I’m not nearly as terrific as you all make me sound.

I’ve always told Grizzly I want to have my funeral while I’m alive so if anyone has anything good to say, I’ll be able to hear it, and look here – I have. (He likes to remind me that in my regular life people will like me a lot better when I’m dead and will be inclined to be more generous then. He's such a riot.)

So yahoo! I made it. I read statistics somewhere – unverified though they may be – that 70% of all bloggers wash out before a year is up, or at least quit posting. Do you think that’s true? Who knows but I’m happy to look back at 250 posts (including both blogs) and think, “I’m still at it.”

Life happens. Breaks happen. If you’re really lucky, vacations happen. And I have GOT to write my books so I know that will take me away sometimes. (I’m sure I could sell at least 14 copies if four of you would be willing to buy one and I buy the other ten.) But I don’t want to say goodbye. I am a citizen of this place now and we’re walking through life together – messy, lovely, funny…..you name it.

Who knew all this was waiting on the other side of that little door I peeked through?

Photos courtesy of flikr.com

Contemplating My Navel

2009-11-25T12:20:00.001-08:00

My belly button should cooperate so much when I’m done. Wouldn’t that be great if our navels just popped out and let us know when we’ve had enough to eat? Why does it take my WHOLE stomach, rear end, thighs, and fat face popping out to sound the alarm? And it would seem I don’t even wake up then. I hit the snooze way too much.

I know what you’re thinking right now….."How have I lived without all this deep wisdom?” It’s truly a miracle you’ve made it through.

I offer up my paltry excuses for bad eating today on the 30 Day Throw Down! blog. You might be able to use some of them so please drop in and read up while you are baking pies, working, changing diapers, planning for relatives and guests, getting the kids off the furniture, shaving one leg (let’s face it – you’ll never have time for two), grocery shopping, answering your email, phone, Twitter, Facebook, and cell while simultaneously reshuffling your IPod to play only Christmas music, and smiling graciously to your dearly beloveds who grace your table tomorrow, and those not so dearly beloved (which will take more muscles to produce the smile – believe me I know – my face could compete in weight lifting trials right about now).

You ARE all that. And I know it. And I am ever more and more grateful that you choose to drop in and check on me and read my drivel. Have a lovely day. May you be hugged and appreciated for the hard work you do and especially for all the things that make life move along but are unseen by any but God. I don’t know what you have to do or face but I know there is much that is unspeakable. Still, you do it. Still, you persevere. And still you take time for others. I’m one of them.

And I humbly offer my Thanksgiving. Many blessings to you my friends. I hope you have a lovely day tomorrow filled with yet more reasons to give thanks. (Hey! Maybe the rotten relative will call and tell you they can't come. This is my sweet and gentle Thanksgiving wish for you.) Enjoy!

Kryptonite

2009-11-21T12:07:00.001-08:00

Humor is my super power.

It’s not that I claim to be so hysterically entertaining or funny. It’s that humor is the “S” on my chest. It gets me through the toughest times and keeps me seeing the upside, or the irony, while it fuels my optimism. I rely on it heavily to diffuse nearly every difficult situation of my life.

But then there’s kryptonite. And existing within inches of it for several weeks or having it force fed to me has had crippling effects.

It’s not the death of my stepfather. We had an amiable (though complicated) relationship, but he wasn’t ever a father figure to me. He married my mother when I’d been gone from home for four years and he never had children of his own. He didn’t have fatherly ways. He enjoyed limited time with my kiddos, in small doses, but he and my mother built a very tight little world for themselves that didn’t really have room for others. And that was okay because my mom and I do best with one another when we visit only occasionally. We have far too much traumatizing history and, because it’s truly pointless to confront or try to change anything (I know – I tried for years), I simply move forward when history is continually revised and regurgitated in my presence. And I suck on my kryptonite tablet while moving closer to the precipice.

And I nearly fell over it and crashed to the bottom.

Thank God for trees that grow close to craggy cliff sides and insist on pushing roots out into thin air. As I began to tumble, one of those tree roots caught me and that’s where I’ve been hanging, but it's also what saved me.

Strangely enough, my tree root was my kids getting majorly sick. High temps, deep coughs, too sick to read or even play a computer game. They came down with what Grizzly and I had two months ago. I had hoped, back then, that The Wild Man had the same thing we had even though his symptoms were different, but I was wrong. And Bo never did get sick during that siege. They both made up for it. Grizzly and I were immune because we had already had it. Quite sure it was H1N1. The university where Bo is attending has had a clinic just to test for it, it’s been so prolific. But she was too sick to get there.

I was called back to fulltime, hands-on mothering, because being younger, they were hit even harder than we were.

And all the tending and nighttime vigils and forehead mopping and praying brought me back to reality. And it gave me space to spit out the kryptonite and a legitimate reason to be away from the source. In so doing, I began to recover. And friends provided food and support and cards and conversation - and the thing I was lowest on - humor.

And I’ve received the sweetest comments and emails from you all. You’ve taken the time to pray for me, for us, to check in – to drop another note. And I began to remember why writing was important to me, even if I couldn’t find any words worth jotting down. I’m not sure these qualify but it’s a start.

So, hello. I’m back. Not fully there but on the road. I know you understand. I’ll be by to visit soon and hopefully, not from the computer in the solarium at the insane asylum.

I’m limiting my time with Lex Luthor.

Almost There....

2009-11-11T08:36:00.000-08:00

Hi Everyone.....

A quick note with an update. Today's is the funeral.

What a whirlwind dying is. I had no idea and have signed a contract promising never to do it.

A. It's unbelieveably expensive

B. It's incredibly involved

C. We will have to revert to a funeral pyre for me because we would never be able to afford all the costs. (But that's only if I break my contract. Otherwise, I would be very irritated about being put on pyre.)

Like hospitals, funerals bring out the best and the worst. The worst has been minimal and the best has been abundant. God sent me a family friend to help out with everything. He's on leave from Okinawa and when there is time, I will tell you about him. But truly, he was a Godsend. Between his computer skills and Bo's, they have provided what ten people would normally do. I have wonderful, loving friends who are cooking for the luncheon today. They've also made us dinner and insured my kids are supported with overnights and distractions. Our own dear pastor and family are singing today for the services, even though my mother and stepdad weren't part of our congregation. My pastor has gone to the hospital to counsel with my mother and pray with my stepfather and was there just a few hours before he passed.

And you. You have sent me notes of support and blessings and love. And you've prayed for me. And those prayers have been answered in ways I could have NEVER forseen. Thank you seems so inadequate but it's from my heart.

There are still a few days of wrapping up but I expect to return here Monday. I know your lives are moving forward and I'm missing so much but I also appreciate your generous grace. You are in my prayers as well.

With Love,

Robynn

Passages.......

2009-11-06T19:02:00.000-08:00

Hi My Caring Friends.........

This is to let you know that my stepdad passed away last night just before 8pm. It was peaceful, he knew us up until the end, and when I asked him if he knew I loved him he squeezed my hand. He was with my mom and other people he loved as he drew his last breath.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your outpouring of love and prayers. Sometime I'll be able to tell you how very much I felt those prayers and how they were answered. For now, I will be helping my mother to move into this new place of her life. There is much to take care of and I will be absent for a bit but will return as soon as I can.

Blessings to you all.

With Love,

Robynn

Your Life Is Important to Me

2009-11-04T12:31:00.001-08:00

Keeping Robynn's Ravings separate from 30 Day Throw Down! is my way of addressing two very important aspects of my life: humor and eating to optimize health and weight. The second of these isn't always funny. Well, the first isn't either. I have no idea what I'm talking about. Nevertheless, today my blogs must intersect.

Like all areas of our lives, things cross over sometimes. Your talk-til-you-drop pesky neighbor starts shopping at the same grocery store you do so you drive 40 miles to the next town to avoid hour-long conversations about her colonoscopy, with photos. Oh wait, maybe that's just me.

Today's info on 30 Day is SO VITAL to your well being that I have to send you there. PLEASE go. Never come by again if you don't want to but know I care about you and want you to thrive. Besides, who will comment if something happens to you? See? Altruism positively drips from me.

It will take about 10 minutes. And you can sit down and have a cup of coffee. Call it a prescription from the Village Medicine Woman. But please take this SHORT ten minutes, including the video, for yourself. If you have or know anyone who has suffered from heart attack, stroke, cancer, diabetes, or asthma it may be the best ten minutes you'll spend in the blogosphere. AND NO, I'm not selling ANYTHING because I don't have anything to sell. Except my old gym suit from junior high school. But I can't even sell that because it's my proof I was once skinny. So there you go.

And speaking of health.......

I wanted to give you all an update on my stepfather.
I have been spending most of my time at the hospital and must apologize again for not visiting you all. I miss our visits. They brighten my day. But there are only so many hours. We spent about five of them yesterday in two meetings with the funeral home.

He is down to his final hours, maybe days, and plans must be in place. Very surreal and macabre to sit with a funeral director in a convalescent hospital while your loved one is just down the hall. I almost threw up. But that wouldn't be fair to my mother who has to do this AND lose her spouse. So I perspired profusely instead. And twisted my hands. And sighed way too often, though involuntarily.

My blogs keep me connected to something other than death and difficulty right now, though finding the time to be here is hard. THANK YOU for caring and dropping in. Watching end-of-life issues makes a person even more committed to caring about health while we still have choices. Please eat well, visit 30 Day, and take care of yourselves.

With Love,

Robynn

Photo source: Internet Images

Observational Twitter 22

2009-11-03T01:55:00.001-08:00

Famous Quote:

“Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” ~ Tennyson

Obscure Quote:

“Tis better to have loved, had love requited, harkened to volumes written about your charms, fair heart, and abounding beauty, and be positively ill from the number of chocolates you are continually proffered and encouraged to enjoy. But feel free to form your own opinion.” ~ Robynn

Little Doghouse on The Prairie

2009-10-31T23:59:00.000-07:00

It’s Halloween, children. Time for a story.

A long, long time ago, there was a dog named JoJo who was very happy being an only dog. However, she was unable to convey this to her loopy owners. They were convinced that JoJo’s life would be enriched by a canine companion. They talked about getting another dog but no one did anything, which was fine with Jo. Then one day, JoJo’s Great Aunt Sandy decided they needed a little Chihuahua puppy who was looking for a home. For a small fee they could own a nearly invisible dog who was so tiny JoJo might actually think she had a flea instead of a friend.

The children thought it would be fun to name her Lassie because she looked nothing like a famous dog with this name. The children of this family were as strange as the parents. So Lassie came home one evening to the delight of the children. But not JoJo.

Lassie was very afraid and everyone did all they could to make her comfortable. They kissed her, held her, fed her, and babied her. She seemed to relax, though she always shook as if there were a gale force wind in the living room.

Lassie’s favorite pastime was peeing and pooping on the carpet. This made her owners very unhappy. It made JoJo disgusted. It made the children and the father blind for they could not see little tootsie rolls laying right in their path. It was like a Christmas Miracle that only the mother could see them.

No matter what they did, they could not train Lassie to go potty outside. JoJo tried to show her but Lassie, like the children and father, pretended she couldn’t see things right in front of her such as the pet door that led to the outside world. She felt the indoor bathroom was much more convenient and warm and did not feel an outhouse was necessary.

The mother got very annoyed with this position and would give the wee dog scathing looks which caused her to shake and look decidedly guilty. But it did not cause her to poop elsewhere. That’s when the mother got a brilliant idea. She would return this dog to her dear Aunt who had two more dogs exactly like Lassie. The mother thought that Lassie might learn from dogs her own size and the Aunt thought it was a marvelous idea, though she had to convince her husband, The Ogre.

The Ogre was not happy but the switch was made. Lassie did learn to go to the bathroom where dogs should go (or so it was presumed) and she was thrilled to have dogs around her who were also the same size as fleas. They played and ran and soon she became queen of the castle. She also made the Ogre love her and fuss over her as if she were a real princess daughter and not simply a dog. And they all lived, and are still living, happily ever after.

You may think this is the end of the story, but it’s not. JoJo went back to being an only dog and was very happy with this arrangement until her parents decided she should have another companion. That’s when Minky came to live with them, which is another story altogether. JoJo was just as thrilled as before.

And while Lassie was still living with JoJo and her family, the children who were completely unable to see little dog tootsie rolls laying about on the carpet, could see the possibilities in dressing up this tiny dog in doll clothes. The little girl who lived there even made a miniature prop background to feature the wee dog in photos. And JoJo was also arrayed for the occasion which made her all the more thrilled to see the little dog go. It became apparent to Jo that Lassie’s influence over the children was horrid.

And now, this is the end. Except for the pictures. And we all know those are worth a thousand words, though that never stops the author from using a thousand words and many more besides, even long after they have ceased to mean anything.

Now, go and have a very fun night and try to dress up as perfectly as our models. They have a story of their own they tell other dogs when they attempt to explain these incriminating photos.

___________________________________________________

“Life on the prairie was hard. We had to do everything in long dresses. Going to the bathroom was nearly impossible. Stories of my indiscretions often leave out the fact that I was hobbled by outfits such as this.”

“You can see how the bitter years took their toll on my mother, JoJo, here. She looks crabby and disgusted. She was.”

“This view shows you just how much dress I had to endure. It made me tough, though. And lean. And shaky. I think it weighed more than I did.”

“Here I am as that prairie wind began to whip up and threaten my very existence.”

“Some say I look like Granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies in this photo. I have no idea who that is but she must be seriously good looking.”

“As Jo is my witness, I will never go to the bathroom outdoors again!”

“And thus ends my tail. Happy Howloween.”

Rich Text

2009-10-29T09:47:00.001-07:00

And not the html kind.

Scold me if you want to but I have to tell you something.

I live in California.

We aren’t supposed to talk on our cell phones without a Bluetooth device while we are driving. That doesn’t work too well for me as is evidenced by THIS post.

We aren’t supposed to text and drive.

I think both rules are good ones.

And I also think rules are made to be broken occasionally, otherwise, we wouldn’t have gravity. Is that clear now?

I broke a rule. I checked a text and I sent a text. While in a car. As the driver. In my own defense, I was on private property – the church where my son has choir - and hadn’t yet entered the “no phone zone.” I was sitting at a stoplight ready to exit the church property when a text came in. Much is going on right now with my stepfather’s issues and so I looked. It was a dear friend and I could have decided to look later, but I didn’t. I flipped open my phone, read a kind and supportive message, and typed a two word reply. I was on the last two letters of my reply when my son said, “The light is green.”

Instead of beginning my entrance into the intersection, I finished those letters (because no one was behind me), pressed ‘send,’ and then looked up to proceed – these three actions took three seconds.

Just at that moment as I was removing my foot from the brake, a car came careening through the intersection at 50 mph running a red light. It came from around a curve to my left and I would have never seen it. Very likely it would have killed me and possibly my son. I almost always look left and right before I proceed because this is THE craziest state for people who push to make it through the yellow light. The guy couldn’t have been pushing. It had been red too long. He never saw it, would be my take. And my looking left and right wouldn’t have revealed him to me because of the angle of the road.

My son’s jaw dropped and he said, “Do you realize that text message just saved our lives?!” And I got chills, and then tears. He was exactly right. I proceeded through the intersection and then had to pull over. It wasn’t my day, our day, to die. It wasn’t the other driver’s day to die.

I’m not advocating the flagrant flaunting of rules. These two are especially good. It’s just that all our actions fall under a higher set of rules and our days and times are ordered.

While I was pulled over, I called my friend and told her, tearfully, what had just transpired. She got chills because she almost didn’t send the message. She had sent one about ten minutes earlier and then got busy with the house, the dogs, etc. But something kept working at the back of her mind to send the second text. And that was the one.

It could be argued that had I not responded to the text I may have been more aware. And that is a possibility. But I don’t think so. My head has been elsewhere with all that’s going on and I’m not at the top of my highly attenuated driving game. I think I needed something to stop me for a few life-changing moments.

Don’t worry, though. I will presume this was a once-in-a-lifetime event where the phone is concerned and won’t be driving while under the influence of texting. I think the real text message from the One who cares about us the most was, “Wake up!” And that one, I’m answering.

The Narrow Passages

2009-10-26T19:47:00.001-07:00

And so we come to the crossroads.

Many of you know my stepfather broke his hip last week. Surgery happened Saturday and it went well but with his other health problems, complications are mounting. Last night he had a heart attack in the hospital. Today, three doctors told us there is no chance of recovery. He also hasn't eaten, and really hasn't wanted to for weeks. The palliative doctor said that's part of the process when we head to those last days. And the last days could be hours or a few months. We don't know.

And so I spent the day at the hospital with my mother and will head back tonight. Tomorrow she will make some final determinations and I will attempt to help her through the narrow passages. I don't know the way and we are mismatched traveling companions. But for all intents and purposes, I am an only child. I lost my sister years ago and my brother, who is still wounded and embittered by our childhood, hasn't been in anyone's life for years and years. What does that mean? It means I have been pressed into service where, very often, pain abounds. But God is sufficient and nobody knows the ins and outs of all of this like He does. So, I'm not alone. And having been shown mercy by Him, I have to offer it as well.

Thank you, my friends, for your loving comments and emails to me over the last several days. Your support and prayers are much appreciated. Please pray that I walk well and that my stepfather's passing is as painless for him as possible.

___________________________________________________

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen. Ephesians 3:20-21 (NIV)

The Artlessness of The Nut House

2009-10-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

Today I was on the Jerry Springer show. I didn’t even know I was scheduled. I accidentally walked on stage and a chair flew by.

Apparently, it was being taped at the hospital where my stepdad had surgery to repair a broken hip this morning. He had a mini-stroke several weeks back (TIA), then developed pneumonia and other complications. That landed him in the convalescent hospital but my mom was able to bring him home about ten days ago. However, he’s old and stubborn – like I'll probably be – and he didn’t use his walker a few days ago and fell. Broke his hip. And who did my mom call first? Not 911. If any of you have parents this age you may know what I’m talking about. They tend to call us first.

“What should I do? He says he can’t get up. Can you come out here?” (They live in the country.)

“Yes, mom, I can but if he can’t get up you’ll need to call 911. Something’s wrong.”

“But which hospital should I take him to? We can’t decide and you know we’re gonna sit there all night long.”

“Mom? Mom. Call 911. I’ll be right there.”

And so it goes. They are casual about the emergency room. They practically live there. And yes, it was broken and the surgery took place this morning. He now has a plate and will be in recovery until tonight because there are no rooms at the inn. Recovery means no visitors. I sent my mom home for a nap. And then I escaped the nut house myself.

Hospitals bring out the best or the worst in people. I experienced the latter today. My mother was surrounded by dubious comforters, from a caustic pastor (forgive me, Lord, but I’m used to the kind and gentle heart of MY pastor and can forget how blessed I am), to one of the guests on the Jerry Springer show who was actually a friend of my mother's. This woman engaged the rest of the nut house strangers in the waiting room who, only moments before, had treated us to a raging, screaming blow out over who ought to see the patient in question and who shouldn’t and who was a liar and who was a drug user and all the while young children were caught in the crossfire. From the nonchalant expressions on their faces this wasn’t anything new.

And that was the highlight.

It went downhill from there. The ring leader we had never seen before marched over to us to explain her case and cause. I said nothing because she made no sense. Mom’s friend saw it as a great opportunity to continue the interaction. The argument was on and people stormed in and out as they shared their drama with the rest of the hospital victims.

Meanwhile, back on the front, to stop my mother’s friend from interacting, I asked questions of her. If you can get people talking about themselves – and that isn’t hard to do – it can keep them, and you, out of trouble. So I asked away. And she talked away. Loudly. And then one of my stepdad’s relatives came in. And I asked more questions. And she talked away. And I kept asking because while people are focused on themselves, they never see you, and that can be a good thing. I smiled, nodded, asked a few questions, and verbally applauded. It's like wearing Kevlar body armor - it can keep you from taking a bullet.

I interacted with no less than ten people and never answered a question, because no one ever really saw me. No one inquired about my children, my life, my husband. Everyone there wanted an audience. It was a room full of people all vying for top dog position while no one listened to anyone else. Everybody was interested in ME FIRST. Understand ME, hear ME……ignorance abounding, and pain and/or selfishness - or both - underneath it all.

I harkened back to my childhood where I grew up in the midst of this kind of drama. People went for the jugular, patty wagons were called, juvenile hall was involved, items were thrown, dishes were smashed, belts snapped, fists flew, and lives were ruined. The quieter sins were worse.

Trauma. I have worked hard to remove myself from it, and, by God's grace and only His grace, I have. I have labored to keep it out of my children's lives. It’s bottom-feeder behavior. I don’t want to feed off the bottom because there is nothing but the most unsavory of items to be had there. The people engaging in it cannot see how transparent they are. They believe themselves to be presenting a compelling case but everyone witnessing their behavior sees them for who they really are.

I watched a couple of the men in the group try and distract the kids and talk about other things, and I admired them for it. But the women continued their Springer-esque diatribe. No one could stop them, short of the police. It had to play itself out. Not one word could have been uttered that would have made a difference. It was a runaway train and anyone who tried to throw themselves in front of it was mowed down.

This isn’t a funny post, I realize. Maybe I could’ve put that spin on it but violence and utter self focus lack humor and it would have minimized disturbing behavior.

Please go kiss your spouse, hug your kids, smile at the grumpy neighbor, and when we have to stand up for something, for what’s right, let’s bring bravery, intelligence, and wisdom into the situation. And just for a thrill, let’s actually consider the other people involved and listen, carefully and prayerfully, realizing we can be wrong, too. Because it doesn't have to be like this. There is a better way.

If you approach people on these terms you may be a party of one, but yours is the party people will want to be invited to.

by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

(or a true woman, my daughter.)

“Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God.” Matthew 5:9 (Geneva Study Bible)

Things We Can’t Do at Our House

2009-10-23T11:25:00.000-07:00

48 seconds to realize I need to have a serious talk with Minky and JoJo.

And I was excited when I ran my finger around the glass rim and made a sound. I may be an underachiever.