Dang.

What is the matter with me? I am so darned double-minded. Or quad-minded. Or dodecahedron-minded.

I have a Really Big Problem with organization. And routine. And deciding What To Do First. So, many times I just Chuck The Plan and do something random. But then I leave Several Things Undone.

My sister is coming for nine days this Sunday night. (Yeah!!) I did pretty well for awhile, about three weeks ago. There was some decluttering I wanted to do. Some little sewing projects for her Happy Box (annual box of little fun things--handcrafted stuff, funny magazine articles, thrift store gags). Planning a slow-paced visit with lots of Down-time.

Lost the vision last week in the panic of "oh-my-goodness-she'll-see-All-The-Dust-in-the-house-and-know-I'm-not-Wonder-Woman." Kinda got paralyzed, now don't know where to continue.

Then, last night, stopped by the local teachers' store to pick One Thing up. Now, I can't stop thinking about getting the new year's things out, making lesson plans and schedules and...

I am so pathetic.  AAACCCKKK!!!

Kind of a mental panic attack. Deer-in-the-headlights. Cornered-animal. Need to breathe.

Make a list. Cross stuff off.

Maybe I can do this.

Otherwise, she'll see the dust.

Maybe I can be human, right?

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I am reading the book A Life That Says Welcome by Karen Ehman. Its subtitle is "Simple Ways to Open Your Heart and Home to Others." It was only a few pages into the book, where I found a quote to latch onto: "When people leave your home, they should be refreshed, not impressed."

Wouldn't we all love to have a home that looks like House Beautiful or Country Living? I confess, I have a subscription to Country Living. I don't think I actually am *envious* of those homes, tho' they ARE really, really lovely. I learned somewhere, sometime, that the homes don't always look like they do in the magazines. The magazine brings in more "stuff" to "round out" what the owners already have in the rooms. So the forty-two Christmas trees in the "castle in the Adirondacks" in the December issue? The owners did not decorate all of them.

You will also notice the lack of dust on all of the people's "collections" in those mags. Twenty-thousand pairs of salt-and-pepper shakers with nary a dust bunny to be found. This is not natural, people.

Some lessons I have learned throughout my lifetime:

I don't think I have ever, ever noticed dirty woodwork in any home in which I have been a guest. So, either I am the only one in the entire universe with fingerprints on her woodwork, or, nobody is noticing Mine, either.

Don't wait for the Perfect Furniture or Painting the Walls to invite people over. I was in a ladies' Bible study once. At prayer and praise time, a woman asked if we had heard of the two murders up at Lake so-and-so that week. These were two different neighbors of hers. She then told us that the Lord had been impressing her for two years to begin a neighborhood Bible study, but she had told Him, "not until I get new carpeting." That really spoke to me, that hospitality is Not about the house or the nice china or perfect food.

Our church homeschool group holds monthly meetings in members' homes. I remember one September meeting, in a very gracious home, with a huge family room, with enough room to seat everyone. The next month was at my house, with my little square living room, where we had to put two rows of folding chairs around the circle. Later, I mentioned to a friend how lovely it would be to have a bigger room, and she told me that (another) friend and she were talking, and decided that, even though the other home was more suited to "hospitality," they actually felt more comfortable in my home. (a very lovely compliment, let me tell you...)

Now, don't get me wrong. I love pretty things, and I love to decorate for parties big and small, even if my budget is more modest. I remember growing up in the 50's and 60's. When my mother had company, the Electric Percolator was plugged in, instead of the old, everyday, aluminum coffeepot. When we saw the shiny percolator "perking," we knew we had to wash our faces and hands, and get ready to be "on our best behavior." Even if the company was "drop in," and all Mom had on hand was store-bought cookies, it seemed special to us. There was an air of "expectancy." I wonder if that is how we are to feel, in case we are "entertaining angels unaware?"

Wow, there's a thought. Maybe learning hospitality is learning how to be Expectant? I'm sure you have had the experience of thinking a get-together was going to be ordinary, but ended up anything but? Treasured memories can come from unexpected things.

I'll share one more story of an unexpected blessing from being willing to share my home and food. My daughter Forget-me-not was at a seven week summer session before her first year of college. She was at the university just seven blocks from our home. We were having a Fourth of July cookout, and we had a family visiting from out of town. As my friend Kay and I were pattying hamburgers for the grill, we were talking so much, that we pattied all eight pounds of burger I had bought on sale that week! We decided that we would be having lots of leftovers!

My daughter called and said the university was not serving dinner that night. (What were they thinking?) There was a fast-food place within walking distance, but she wanted to come home and bring her two roommates. We were sitting on the porch a little while later, when three University vans filled with students showed up. Twenty-eight in all. My daughter said, "they heard I was coming to a cookout, and I told them, no problem, my parents won't mind!"

Well, there were no leftovers that night, but we had a beautiful time, getting to know the students, many of whom were far from home. We had a great time of worship on the lawn, and the evening was far spent before everyone went home. Little did we know the blessing that the Lord had planned for us. And, of course my Mama-heart was pleased to have been able to take care of so many other Mamas' children.

As I write, many more times like these come to mind. Maybe I'm beginning to learn. Hospitality is not about outdoing the Joneses, or I'll-invite-you-because-you-invited-me reciprocating. It's all about the love of God
"shed abroad in our hearts."

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The book Look Me in the Eye: My Life with Asperger's by John Elder Robison was suggested to me, because my son Don Quixote was diagnosed with Asperger's at age 27. I will give you the same warning that was given me: the book is crude in many places. But, outside of the actual "memoir" chapters, there is a lot of insight into the way Aspies think.

My son went through what many like him do--a lot of torment from other children, because he is different. Asperger's is not a "visible" disabiity, and so people didn't think to "allow" for the disability when dealing with him. Besides, Don did not get a diagnosis until age 27.

A short, but far from complete list, if you are not familiar. Aspies:

--cannot "read" faces, and don't know when you are angry or perturbed with them

--cannot remember faces, so appear rude when they introduce themselves to someone they "should" know by now

--do not have the emotional feelings and social skills NT ("neurologically typical") people have

--because of this, they do many, many things that are socially unacceptable. One time Don asked a not-close acquaintance, "What's it like to be black?"

(to elaborate on this--Aspie's never pick up on the "social cues"--what is "acceptable" or "not acceptable"--that we NT people naturally get, just by growing up in a culture. For instance, it seems just as logical for an Aspie to ask a person "Have you gained weight? You look fatter than the last time I saw you" as "Have you lost weight? You look thinner than the last time I saw you.")

There are many other idiosyncracies, but that will give you a little picture.

In addition, Aspies can exhibit almost savant-like tendencies--my Don used to multiply two three-digit numbers in his head.

The author explained several things to me quite well. I knew that Aspies, being ridiculed by their peers, often relate well as children, to grownups or to younger children. They feel accepted and valued. My son Don gets the same acceptance by foreign people, in the ESL classes he helps with.

The author talks about scientists who study the "plasticity" of the brain, and its development over a lifetime.

Children who cannot connect socially, retreat into themselves. Profoundly autistic children (Asperger's is a higher-functioning form of autism) don't communicate at all with others. Robison feels he was saved from that, because he could interact with adults. During his childhood and adolescence, he exhibited those savant-like traits in math and science, but at the same time, was struggling socially. Now, at fifty, he has developed his social and emotional capabilities, and the other traits have diminished. He uses an analogy that I have used with my son: his focus was "laser-like" and so those "abilities" were magnified until they seemed savant-like. But, as his "world" got bigger, that laser dissipated into a much larger "brain". But, as it dissipated, the super-genius thing was not as evident. He speaks of looking at diagrams of computer circuits he designed twenty years ago, and not even recognizing them. But, he says, the trade-off is worth it--he now can connect with people, has a wife and son, and is immeasurably more happy.

One other thing the author said really spoke to me. He says:

"Many descriptions of autism and Asperger's describe people like me as "not wanting contact with others," or "preferring to play alone." ...I'd like to be clear about my own feelings: I did not EVER want to be ALONE." (p. 339 of the large-print edition)

We were ALL created with a need for love and acceptance. Aspie's appear to "like to play alone" because they are not accepted by others.

I know there is a theory that autism spectrum disorders are a result of immunizations. Don was immunized, yes, and with vaccines with mercury preservatives. But, the author of this book, because he was born in 1957, was not. A few issues ago, TOS magazine featured special needs kids, and one of the articles was about Asperger's. They gave a list of "symptoms" you could look over, to see if you wanted to get your child evaluated. I was surprised at the list: every single item could be attributed to either Charming or me. So, Don Quixote's Asperger's could also be a simple genetic mix.

One important thing to realize is that Asperger's is not a disease; therefore, it doesn't need a "cure." It's Just The Way Don Is Wired. Just because it is Neurologically Atypical, doesn't mean it isn't normal for Don. I am glad, though, that the word is getting out, and people are beginning to be educated.

This is getting Too Long, so maybe I'll write more about it another time. Since I started out to write a review of the book, here's the short version: The "memoir" portion is crude in places, but the information I gathered confirmed what my mother-heart knew, even before my son was diagnosed. I feel that it has been worth my time to read.

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The Lord has blessed this week! (of course, the Lord blesses every week, every day, every HOUR...but this week it seems, well, Obvious.

Last Sunday night, the neighbors gathered as a fire truck, ambulance, and police car came onto our block. I knew that the young woman who lived in the upstairs apartment of the house next door, had been in the hospital gravely ill a couple of weeks ago. It was funny: each of the neighbors "filled in" a little of the information. I had known she was disabled, but they parked the car in the back of the house (most of us neighbors greet each other "on the porch" or getting into the car to go on our way), so we didn't see so much of them. Another neighbor said they thought she had MS or Multiple Sclerosis. Her downstairs neighbor said she had had a lung transplant eight years ago, and Sarah's folks told her that a transplant is good for 7-9 years. At that point, I thought she probably had Cystic Fibrosis--a 20-year old with a double lung transplant suggested that to me.

When the ambulance left with no Sarah and no siren, and the policeman stayed until the Coroner's van arrived, I knew what had happened. But with all the "bits" of info, no one offered a clue whether or not she knew the Lord. Another example of the urgency we *need* to feel, as witnesses of His love and His yearning to find his "lost sheep."

Out of this event, however, Alvin Fernald was able to speak with Sarah's stepson, and prayed with him to accept the Lord. Last night, we took him to Youth Group, where he was again prayed with.

*********************

Sunday was Graduation Recognition at church, so the youth pastor spoke. At the end of his sermon, he called his seven-year old up to the platform, where he Jumped up into his Daddy's arms. He rested completely, laying his head on Daddy's shoulders. The pastor asked us, "is this what your relationship with Jesus looks like?"

Pow. Right in the kisser.

As I thought about it, I think that my relationship with Jesus looks more like, Here I am, doing my thing, and Jesus is walking beside me. If I need help, I'll let you know, thanks very much. But, as a Grown Woman, and a Mom for 32 years, I have my "job" dowm pretty well. Yet, I am Worrier Supreme. not Warrior Supreme, W-O-R-R-I-E-R.

And that should not be. How many Bible verses say Don't Worry or Take No Thought? Last night at Bible Study, I heard of three (among many) struggling with desperate illness. Grief surrounds me. Unemployment. Relationship issues. And here I was, worried because my air conditioning was p**ping out, and the forecast calling for 90's for the next few days?

Well, we changed the filter on the a/c, and Charming hosed out the outside part. Now we're back to full cooling. The Lord nudging, "just keep it clean, silly!"

My marriage? Great. My kids? Having the luxury of growing up slowly, getting to be "kids." All of us well in body. No Crises.

Me worried about the price of gasoline, or paying for school stuff, or whether...?

Hopefully, not anymore, any time soon.

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...Well, that is what the older male patients in the hospital would call me when I came in to take a blood sample. "Here comes the vampire!"

Here's another little-known fact about me: My fingerprints are on record with the FBI.

It came about this way. My little brother was dying of a congenital blood condition. Our pediatrician had heard that there was a study being done at the National Institutes of Health for this condition. They would treat my brother for free, if he could be kept alive until he arrived. He was treated with *experimental* drugs that are quite commonplace now, including Prednisone and Vinchristine. (in fact, those two drugs were part of my mother's chemotherapy when she had her cancer.) Imagine steroids being *new* and *experimental.*

My brother was in the study for 2 1/2 years, until he died. At some point, about a year into the study, the NIH invited Scotty's three siblings still at home, along with my Dad, to come for a week and be Volunteer Patients. It was incredibly fascinating for this seventh grader. The nurses and doctors from all around the world. I had planned to be a nurse when I grew up, and all of the fascinating nurses' caps from the different nursing schools--I fancied choosing my nursing school based on the cap!

But my plans for a career changed on that trip. I found out that every floor of the hospital had its own laboratory, complete with rabbits and white mice. The pipets and test tubes. The chemicals. I was enchanted. I also found out that the "lab rats" were the ones who took our blood every morning, as well as nail and hair samples.

I was "number 5" in our family. (although only four of us came to volunteer, I don't know why I was "Number 5...") Somehow, the glass syringes with which they drew my blood were always breaking. I think I had two "sticks" for every one my brothers got. No problem. I was fascinated at the way those syringes filled up by themselves after I was stuck.

(by the way, about the fingerprint part--every "guest of the government" was fingerprinted automatically. My Dad told me that now I had to Watch Out and avoid arrest, or they would Find Me Out. So far, so good...)

(by the way, Part II: did you know that the FBI was originally devised only as a repository for fingerprints? Once it was discovered that fingerprints are unique, and began being used to identify criminals, they needed a central, national place to keep them, as criminals didn't conveniently stay in the states where they committed their crimes.)

So, when I was looking at college, I found out that I could major in Medical Technology, and work in a lab for a career. Was I excited!

Well, I only got to go to college for a year, but that's okay, I met my darling Charming, and, if that's all I got, so be it! I came home, and got a job at a hospital lab as a phlebotomist. (the real name for us vampires!) Oh, how I loved it! Palpating for veins--Charming was always weirded out, because instead of holding hands I wanted to feel his veins. By then (1974) the vacuum tubes you see now for collecting blood were in use. Oh, but no computer labels--handwritten was the way to go. Gloves were only used for Infectious People. A*I*D*S was in the future--hepatitis was what we feared, if we were accidentally stuck.

When all you do all day is stick people, you get very, very good. In my two years on the job, I did newborn venipunctures (with a needle, instead of the heelstick) and even arterial punctures (in the artery in your wrist).

A few years after I quit, A*I*D*S came on the scene, and I figured I got out at a good time. I figured that if I ever went back to school, I might try the nursing thing again. But lately, I'm remembering the absolute fascination of the Laboratory. Let me tell you, the Apologia Science books are great--all the experiments! I think I drive my kids nutso, being So Darn Excited about science. Next year, Blackeyed Susan takes Biology, and then Chemistry! *Love* is in my future again!

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I'm feeling the need of some Psalm 51 today:

   ¹Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy lovingkindness: according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions. 

   ²Wash me throughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin.

   ³For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.

   ⁴Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that thou mightest be justified when thou speakest, and be clear when thou judgest.

   ⁵Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.

   ⁶Behold, thou desirest truth in the inward parts: and in the hidden part thou shalt make me to know wisdom.

   ⁷Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

   ⁸Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.

   ⁹Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.

   ¹⁰Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.

   ¹¹Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.

   ¹²Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation; and uphold me with thy free spirit.

   ¹³Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee. --vv. 1-13

*********************************

I have a note in my Bible next to verse 7. It says "hyssop is a plant used for scrubbing." It reminded me of my kitchen floor. Being chubby and having bad knees, the corners can get neglected week-to-week. Eventually I need to get the scrub-brush in there and get the *accumulated* grime.

That, I'm afraid, is like my life. I catch the "biggies" most of the time. When I hurt someone by a harsh word, I ask forgiveness. But I tend to "brush over" some things on my get-right-with-God list, and leave them in the corners, to build up. That's when I need Psalm 51.

I remember one incident in particular. I had been married about ten years, and had been "stuck in the house" with my six kids all week. Charming was home on Saturday, and, by golly, I was going shopping. ALONE. Never mind he was ill, and needed to sleep. "I promise, honey, I'll only be gone a little while."

Well, my shopping trip ended up being almost three hours. I remember thinking at one point, "oh, well, [Charming] will forgive me."

Red flag.

Well, of course, he did forgive me. But, of course, That Is Not The Point. I was wrong, wrong, wrong, to be so inconsiderate. And I have never forgotten that little thought--oh, well, he'll forgive me.

I so, so often treat my heavenly Father like that. I know that He will forgive me. I go on glibly, leaving "stuff" to build up in the corners of my life. Then I need that spiritual hyssop to do some scrubbing.

So, please, Lord. I'm way overdue for my Spring Cleaning. I want to be shiny and have that smell-good, Clean Feeling.

Then I get to do verse 13--"teach transgressors Thy ways, and sinners shall be converted to Thee."

Good, good stuff.

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"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth."--Genesis 1:1

"In the beginning was the Word; and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."--John 1:1

I don't think of these verses often, but when I do, they just *thrill* me. I was a biology major in college in the 70's, and, even tho' it was a Catholic university, I was required to take a semester of Evolution. Just thinking about it now makes me laugh. Studying something that isn't true and that I never believed--for an entire semester? Can I get a refund of my tuition? (don't laugh when I tell you that the entire year's monies for my private college tuition, room and board, and fees came to $3800...)

I read of people or organizations saying that Creation could not be the mechanism by which the universe began. But then, scientific method also fails: it is incumbent upon the *observable* and *reproducible*. So we end up with the Big Bang or the Primordial Soup, both leaving the unanswerable question: Where did the "stuff" of which the Big Bang or Primordial Soup were composed, come from?

Blackeyed Susan and I studied Descartes last week. You remember him: "I think, therefore I am." He decided to lock himself in a room, and begin doubting everything he could think of. He got to the place where he could doubt everything except the fact that he was "doubting." Thus, his famous saying, upon which he built his entire philosophy. He proved his existence to himself by ruling everything else out.

That is pitiful. Just pitiful. And he is one of the Great Thinkers? As we used to say in grade school, It Is To Laugh.

You who are reading this probably never met my mother. And, because of that, you might claim that she does not exist. I would have to laugh at that, since I know her. No theory or other "evidence" you could present would have any effect on me whatsoever.

So, when someone says that God does not exist, or that we cannot *know* that He exists, I might have a little chuckle. Because, you see, I KNOW Him. That is the incredible, impossible-to-believe fact. Not only do we have His Word to tell us about what really happened "in the beginning," He allow us, nay WANTS us to be in relationship with Him.

Face it, we all want and need to know we are wanted and loved. Our loving Father does not leave us in the dark. No need to wonder, He lets us know in many, many ways.

Charming and I made it a point to make the first words we spoke to each of our children the Good News: "this is the most important thing Daddy and Mommy will ever tell you. God loves you and sent His Son to die on the Cross for you so that you can be with them forever." And then the second thing: "and Daddy and Mommy love you so much!"

As mothers, we have the most precious opportunity to be the ones to bring the Truth to our little ones. Early and often. I was surprised with the many, many "teachable" moments that happened every day. And they are still happening, as I homeschool my last two children. They are finishing seventh and ninth grades, but we are full of awe when studying science or math, and the laws which the universe follows. The incredible creativity of poetry, art and music. God is a creative God, and He created us to be creative.

The greatest thing, I think, is that, even in a lifetime of study, we cannot get to the end of what God has done. What he did "in the beginning" is there for the discovery, hour by hour, day by day. We can know His creation, and Himself, for ourselves. And what you know yourself, no one can take away.

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Wow.

An article in the Wall Street Journal says that it might be a better use of your money to stock your pantry, than any other short-term investment.

We all know how much our grocery bill has gone up in the last year or so. Stocking our pantries (especially with the "sale" items every week) seems a natural for us with families--it's What We Do.

But equating it with getting a Much Better Return on your money than the interest you'd earn with a CD?

As the German guy used to say on Laugh-in:

Interesting. Ver-r-ry interesting.

hat tip to Meredith at Like Merchant Ships.

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Found on a vintage ad on the wall in Applebees restaurant:

"Karo Corn Syrup is the only syrup served to the Dionne quints. Its maltose and dextrose are ideal carbohydrates for growing children."--Allan Roy Dafoe, M.D."

Yum.

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I woke up to my bed shaking. That isn't really un-usual; it happens from time to time when Charming gets a cramp in his hamstring, and attempts to "shake it out." But, as I came to consciousness, I realized that he was not the one doing the shaking. It was an honest-to-goodness earthquake.

Now, some of you may find "earthquake" something you have experienced before. Some of you may run for the nearest doorway on a somewhat regular basis. My Auntie Marylin was nearby during the San Francisco earthquake of 1987. But here in northern Indiana, it's much, much more rare.

Charming told me that he has never felt an earthquake before. I have: once, when I was a teenager, I was taking a nap on the couch on a summer afternoon.  Suddenly, I found myself on the floor.

After this (early morning's) quake, I heard a few dogs barking, and a car alarm going off. A few minutes later, the birds resumed their morning songs.

Alvin Fernald came down to watch the early morning news on tv. Here is the info: The epicenter was 7 miles north of New Salem, IL, 61 miles northwest of Evansville, IN. It registered 5.4 on the Richter scale.

I probably won't even find a knicknack off the shelf. But I think it is so cool that God can make Himself evident in just a few seconds, and call us to attention. He has shown us again that HE is all-powerful: it is nothing for him to shake the earth itself. It really *is* a big thing, though, to think about something that can shake your house back and forth!

Thank you, Lord, for keeping us safe tonight. There is nowhere else I would rather be, than safe in Your hand.

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I "inherited" a set of books from my dear mother-in-love, when her own children had grown up. It is by McGraw-Hill, and has titles such as Life of the Pond, Life of the Forest, Life of the Jungle (now, of course, it would be Life of the Rain Forest), Life of the Marsh (ditto--"Wetlands"), etc.

My geeky children loved to read these volumes, mostly "redeeming the time" in the bathroom. Their favorite by  far was "Life of the Cave." A fascinating volume, with a lot of info on those creatures that, because of living in complete darkness, are both blind and colorless. Some of these species have only a scientific name; no common name has ever been given. Creatures who feed on things without chlorophyll--no use for it, since there is no sunlight.

As you may have guessed, I pulled out this volume over the weekend, for some personal enjoyment. Though what I find "enjoyable" about these things is a mystery--I mean, they are all CREEPY-CRAWLIES, you know...eeuuww.

One phrase is used over and over: "they spend their entire lives foraging for food to exist." Then, in turn, *they* become "food for worms," or bacteria, or fungi, whatever.

So many, many species, even the higher species, "spend their [entire] lives" doing this. Predators/prey. It's all around us. Only our domesticated animals are free from this. Our puppies, kitties, horsies, they "have a life." ("it's a dog's life," you know...)

Now, of course, most of these species aren't sentient--don't even know they exist. "Go to the ant," the Bible tells us, to see an example of a good work ethic. But you don't see those ants getting up a game of croquet after dinner dishes are done, do you?

When I was a little girl, I felt sorry for these kinds of creatures. What a life of drudgery. As I got older, I realized, of course, that "it's all they have ever known," so it didn't bother them. Like a rabbit done in by a hawk: after it was all over, did the rabbit care?

And, when I discovered Biology Class (one of my great passions in life!) I could see that all of these creatures fulfilled their place in God's creation. One species being food for another, on up the food chain, and then the Decomposer species, cleaning up after the picnic, "leaving the place cleaner than they found it." (sorry, I lapsed into the old Girl Scout mode...)

Wow, do I have a cushy life. A roof over my head. Warmth, or cool, depending on the season. Food and gasoline that I complain about the price of. Medical care in abundance, and an abundance of "alternative" health options. A library full of ideas, to think about, or relax and escape into. Church of my choice on just about every corner.

Then I remember that "to whom much is given, much is required." I don't work as well as the ant. I don't keep my nose to the grindstone like the earthworm or the fungi even. It gets quite difficult when, because of how God made me, I have Choices. And then I must Determine to Choose Correctly.

Well, I'd better get on to What Needs Doing. So I can get back to Life of the Cave during my free time.

Do you think I "think" too much???

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Well, it looks like I haven't posted in ten days! The big news, of course, is that Lily *did* finally have her baby, a beautiful son. You can read about him here.

I have been seeing either the new little one, Cambridge, or his one-month-old cousin Oxford every day, as well as my other grandbabies. Lots and lots of baby love going on around here!

My father, who lives in a nursing home, was in the hospital for a week, and they found he had M*R*S*A, that staph infection that lives in such places. (tho' he really got it in the nursing home, I think.) He needed to be in isolation for a few days, and his nursing home did not have a private room. Their "sister" facility in a little town south of us ("Population: 1,106 nice people and 4 Grouches!") had room, so he has been there.

Well! Does he LOVE it there! The biggest news is that Sister Nursing Home buys their eggs from farmers (Original Nursing Home uses powdered eggs--gross). He loves the food (or the cook!), loves the staff, loves the birds singing outside of his window.

I spoke with the social worker, and they do have space available for him, after he is no longer contagious. So, we will be picking up his things from Original Nursing Home, to move him "one more time." He is confined to bed, and it is so wonderful to see him taking interest in this thing. I'm so glad he is able to take control of Something in his life--there isn't much else he can control. To make this decision makes him feel once again Independent. It was just "by chance" that his home did not have a room for him to use. But then, we know that there is nothing that is really just "by chance." Our heavenly Father uses these "chance" happenings to move us along the path He has set for us.

Daddy had been in the room he and Mother shared at the Original Home, and still there two years after her passing. I guess he's ready to Move On with his life. Of course, at nearly 86 years old, he is also ready to Move On to the next life! But a few adventures still await.

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So here it is, April 1st. I see photos on many of my friends' blogs of beautiful hyacinths and daffodils. We have a few leaves struggling up through the soil here. It is a dreary, rainy day, though it will reach *almost* 60 degrees.

I know that spring arrives in Indiana later than in the south. I know that sunny days will come, when I can take a "wildflower walk" in the woods, seeing week-by-week the different wildflowers. I know I will see 65, then 70 degrees, as well, with a warm fragrant breeze.

I just want it NOW.

But then, I also want Lily (now 11 days overdue) to have her baby. But not as much as *she* wants her baby.

So I'll stop complaining.

Because "one of these days," it won't matter how many days late my new grandbaby arrives. Right now there is a "boy" quilt and a "girl" quilt waiting by the door, with my camera and extra batteries, waiting for the call. Soon, one of the quilts will be wrapped around the new little one. And the photo card will be full, waiting to be uploaded to the computer.

And "one of these days," I'll be wishing that spring was traveling a little more slowly through these parts. Mourning the passing of the spring beauties and Dutchman's Breeches for another year.

Okay. I'm all right now.

Thanks for letting me vent.

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"Jesus called out with a loud voice, "Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit." When He had said this, He breathed His last." --Luke 23:46

"Like David, Christ often gave His life into His Father's hands for His daily needs (e.g. Ps. 31:6). But here was a new turn: Jesus gave Himself over to death, thereby giving up all control over His life. He declared Himself willing to face the darkness and death of the grave--there where He could neither think nor pray. He trusted His Father to care for Him in His hour of darkness, and to waken Him at the right time."

--Daily in His Presence, by Andrew Murray with Bruce Wilkinson, entry for March 15.

Wow. I have heard many Good Friday meditations about how Jesus was completely *alone* when He died, because of our sin which was upon Him. He, who had never been separated from His Father, and how awful it must have been.

This devotional gave me an additional aspect to that alone-ness. Now He was alone, going into death, "where He could neither think nor pray." From here on, He must trust His Father to complete the work. Jesus declared, "it is finished," the once-for-all Atonement for sin. But He must also conquer Death, and rise again. 

Of course, He was placing His trust in One who is altogether Trust-Worthy. Still, the complete surrender of Himself to His Father astounds me. When I think about the little things He asks me to submit to Him, and my balkiness about doing so, I must needs be ashamed. You'd think, after walking with the Lord for over thirty years, I wouldn't have a problem trusting Him *every* time He asks me for something.

Pesky Sin Nature. Pesky Self.

Time to Step Up to the plate and Move Along here, Barbie.

When I was little, before the current polio vaccine (is it "live" or "dead" now?) we had to get polio shots every two years. My mother would brook no tantrums when it came to getting shots: "when the doctor says you need to do something, you Just Do It. (Nike got its ad campaign from her.) No complaining." My sister, brother, and I would have a contest to see who could be the bravest, and not cry. I think all of us were successful. Mother was a good coach! And she was right. Just Do It. No Complaining.

I had no trouble in *most things,* trusting Mother. I love that about how God set things up. We are so in love with our mothers by the time we get to the age of Reason that that pattern of trust is set in stone.

Now Mother is gone, and I wish I could tell her once again how much she and Daddy were examples of Christ. How I can take their example, and learn how to trust Him, who is ever more worthy. But I *can* thank the Lord, once again, for giving me the beautiful parents He did.

And, I can get to working on that Complaining thing.

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My daughter Violet turns me on to the greatest books. A few months ago I read The Treasure of Sutton Hoo, per her suggestion. I am now reading The Children's Blizzard, by David Laskin.

This is the story of the 1888 blizzard, the worst ever to hit the American plains. The 1888 blizzard was called the Children's Blizzard, because so many victims were caught as they walked home from school. The blizzard came on almost instantaneously, on a deceptively balmy January day.

I'm in the middle of the book (that seems to be my custom, to rave about a book before I'm even finished with it!)--not even to the Blizzard yet. The first chapter is about the wave of immigration, the pioneers who came to the great plains. Many Swedish, Norwegian, Ukranians came to find the idyllic life promised by the railroad companies. Perfect weather, perfect soil for growing, free land. Well, anyway, the Land was free. It made me feel sorry for all of those who burned their bridges behind them to find themselves victims of "the big three": grasshoppers (remember the Little House story about that one? 'Bout drove me crazy just reading it...), prairie fires, and extreme winters. Here those people came for the *prosperous* life, and they were left, year after year, barely surviving.

Many of us have read The Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder. The Snow Winter (Laura's Long Winter) was 1880-81. Mr. Laskin uses many primary sources (diaries, newspaper articles) to show that Laura's rendition was a common experience that year. Grinding wheat in coffee grinders, because the storms began before the settlers had time to take their crops to the mills to have them ground. Twisting hay all day for fuel. The endless whining of the wind. Trains stuck until June.

(I usually re-read The Long Winter in the middle of summer, when I need to "escape" from the heat...)

The next chapter of the book deals with meteorology, sort of a short course on all of those meteorological terms we hear bandied about on the Weather Channel. It ends up that the Blizzard happened because of a freakish combination of factors that made it a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Or, they call them 50-year or 100-year storms. One thing I did not know, was how much meteorology was actually known then. Although not nearly as sophisticated as it would be in the next century, it was definitely "out of it's infancy" by then.

Then there is a chapter on the Politics of weather-prediction. It appears that the Army's forecasters and the civil meteorologists didn't get along. And, along with politics goes quite a bit of corruption. Also, the meteorologists were a tad lackadaisical about telegraphing the results from place to place. Timing was everything in this instance, and Timing Didn't Happen.

Yet to read? The accounts of the Big Day. The toll it took, and the Aftermath. Definitely looking forward to my Free Time today.

Wonder what Violet suggests next? I'll let you know when I find out!

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(did I get your attention with that lack-of-proper-grammar?)

I have not-a-green-thumb. What do you call that, a "brown" thumb? I used to dread, after giving birth, the standard Plant from Charming's work. You know the drill: Plants last lots longer than cut flowers. She'll appreciate that.

Let's make one thing perfectly clear:

I have killed every plant I've ever owned.

Even my cute-as-pie Shamrock plant I bought at the grocery two years ago. I put it in the middle of the dining room table for St. Paddy's Day. I managed to keep it alive until winter that year. By Christmas, all of what-was-left was brown and drooping. So I ripped all of the dead foliage out, and stuck the pot in the basement. Lo-and-Behold...a few weeks later, I had a small-but-healthy plant going strong again! I had blooms by St. Pat's last year.

Well, now, the plant is still alive, but not in the best shape. I really should just kill it, but I still keep watering it. It certainly isn't a thriving, blooming addition to any table centerpiece. So I'll have to move it to an inconspicuous place for next Monday.

Which leads me to Gardening. I've started a few gardens. Go gung-ho, preparing the soil, and planting things. Caretaking goes pretty well for a few weeks. By the time Memorial Day comes around, (and the heat of summer comes right along with it) I am Done. Being. Outside. on any regular basis. By July, if the plants are still alive, they are choking with weedies, and veggies are small and scarce. My neighbor comes to my rescue, supplying me with tomatoes...

This year will have to be different.

Have you seen the produce prices? $3.99/lb. for tomatoes? And on down the line...

I think that it is my Responsibility to have a garden. Even if it is not Giant, or have twenty-seven different vegetables. Tomatoes fer sure, no garden in Indiana is without them. I hear green beans are easy. Charming wants jalapenos. (we did do those one year, with a modicum of success.) Cucumbers are not *so* easy in my neighborhood--the bunnies come out of the woodwork for cukes.

My problem is that I am *already* second-guessing myself. Just because I find it hard to bring a garden to the "fruitful" stage, doesn't mean I'm not capable, right? My darling Mother-in-love is a great gardener. She loves to Get Her Hands Dirty. I love to Stay In The Air Conditioning and Sew... 

Better pray that I suddenly get a Love of All Things Veggie.

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"There were three ladies in the room and one gentleman. Before I had been standing at the window five minutes, they somehow conveyed to me that they were all toadies and humbugs, but that each of them pretended not to know that the others were toadies and humbugs, because the admission that he or she did know it, would have made him or her out to be a toady and a humbug."

--Great Expectations, p. 88-89

I wonder exactly what was running through Dickens' mind while he wrote these words. It surely was fun to read them aloud this morning!

Alvin Fernald likes to sit while we read, dictionary in hand. Here are his findings:

toady--a truckler to the rich and powerful.

(--truckler--to yield obsequiously to the will of another)

((--obsequiously--devoted; fawning.))

humbug--one who deceives or misleads; an impostor.

So, what I found out was that I really *did* know what a toady was--someone who ingratiates themselves to someone who's *somebody*. I've used the phrase "toady up" to someone many times; I've just never used it as a noun.

Now, of course, we use much cruder words to express the same thought. Several years ago, it was "brown-nose-ing;" now, the term of choice is "s*cking up."

Both of those modern terms are disgusting in their origins. Maybe "toadying" or "truckling" were???

Somehow I think not. The dictionary indicated their origins were allusions from other known activities--"truckle" referred to rolling a trundle bed under a big bed, usually the apprentice's bed under the "master's" bed.

So, I could go on and on about the Devolution of our Language (and culture, and...it *is* one of my soapboxes...) but instead, I think I'll make sure I throw "Toady" into every conversation I can, to replace that "other" term that is so, so common.

So, if you need a New Word to use, I have one for you:

Toady on up to someone today, and let them know you're doing it ;)

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...well, to be absolutely truthful, at Forget-me-not's house!

Go here to see photos of new baby Oxford! (the blog-name comes from a family joke...)

This Grandma is ready to burst with pride! Oxford was born Sunday night, and is ready to go home this evening. Big brother Blueberry is fascinated, of course. Violet is coming to stay with Forget-me-not for a few days--a special treat. But you know that I'll be parking over there part of every day. What a blessing that Forget-me-not lives only two miles away.

Better close this before I become silly or something...

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I grew up with record albums, those lovely LP vinyls. (in fact, we even had a number of the hard 78's, as well...) My mother had her Big Band collection, but I loved the Musicals the best.

We had a number of them: Camelot, Flower Drum Song, Carousel. But "Oklahoma!" took center stage one year.

My sister was six years ahead of me in school. When they announced the senior musical was going to be Oklahoma!, that record got "record" playing time in our house. I was in sixth grade; nothing could be more exciting than the process of Janny talking about tryouts, costumes, practices, songs... (you probably know what I'm talking about, due to the present High School Musical phenomenon.)

There was quite the controversy, however, about the part of Ado Annie, and whether they were going to allow her part to stand as written. If you don't know the musical, here are partial lyrics from two of her songs:

I'm jist a girl who cain't say 'no'
Kissin's my favorite food!
With or without the mistletoe
I'm in a holiday mood!
Other girls are coy an' hard to catch
But other girls ain't havin' any fun!
Ev'ry time I lose a wrastlin' match
I have a funny feelin' that I won!
Though I can feel the undertow
I never make a complaint
'Till it's too late for restraint
Then when I want to I cain't
I cain't say 'no!'

She falls in love with the "Will" character, and he approaches her, asking if she thinks she can be faithful to him after marriage:

Will:
I heared how you was kickin' up some capers
When I was off in Kansas City, Mo.
I heard some things you couldn't print in papers
From fellers who been talkin' like they know!

Annie:
Foot!
I only did the kind of things I orta, sorta,
To you I was as faithful as c'n be--fer me.
Them stories 'bout the way I lost my bloomers - Rumors!
A lot of tempest in a pot o' tea!

(later in the song)

Annie:
Would you build me a house
All painted white
Cute and clean and purty and bright

Will:
Big enough fer two but not fer three!

Annie:
S'posin' that we should have a third one?

Will:
He better look a lot like me!

Annie (holds up her hand in an "I swear on the Bible" pose:
Yer spittin' image!

Will:
He better look a lot like me!

Now, when I was in sixth grade, I had no idea what these lyrics were talking about. (Oh, if I could say that about my own children! But, maybe not, they need to know so much more now, don't they...) So I didn't understand the hullaballoo. Frankly, I don't even remember how the situation came out; all I remember was watching the play, looking for my sister's parts! 

Forget-me-not and MacGuyver were in a production of Oklahoma! in 2000. No mention was made of any inappropriateness--wouldn't anyone who scoffed been laughed at in derision? 

I had always heard that Oklahoma! had ushered in a new era of the Modern Musical. But, I was surprised to learn that it debuted in 1943. Guess maybe Rogers and Hammerstein wanted to push some boundaries?

We all know that when anyone (artist, politician, etc.) decides to "push some boundaries," they will often push way, way, too far, so that when the public complains, they "pull back," only not quite all the way. This "two steps forward, one step back," eventually succeeds in getting people's agendas where they want them to be. It is getting harder and harder to keep an eye on these things for our young ones.

'Way back when *I* was dating age, the Big Question was whether you would allow a boy to kiss you on the first date. I'm not seeing that discussion going on anywhere around me these days!

Charming and I have safely guided six children to adulthood, and two into marriage. We have two to go: Blackeyed Susan is 14, and Alvin Fernald is 13. I'm grateful for our church family and homeschooled friends with similar standards. Mistakes will still be made; sometimes Big Mistakes will be made. I pray that their Big Mistakes won't be the kind that will scar them for life. But the good news for them is, that they cannot do anything that will stop God from loving them, or their Daddy and Mommy, as well. God is a Fixer and a Redeemer. How my life shows that for a certainty!

I encourage you to spend some time today, thinking of how God has redeemed our sorry little lives in all those large and small ways. It will be Time Well Spent.

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