To view more of this shoot visit my flickr slideshow.

Saturday morning: News from my handyman.

Yes, I have a handyman. In Denver. Not the bow-chicka wow-wow "Oh my it IS hot please DO take your shirt off would you like some lemonade" kind of handyman. Not the 25-year-old porno pizza delivery guy variety. No, he's a Vietnam Vet who's logo is a giant red octopus. A giant red octopus with a tool in each tentacle and a face that looks eerily similar to his. A giant red octopus smokin' a cigar, which is accurate. It's actually pretty funny.

Anyhoo, the news. My house -- the house I bought two months before MP was born; her first home; the tiny 1923 cottage I put so much work into; the place that's now a rental -- was left an absolute pigsty by the latest tenants. Two college guys. I am officially a WANKER for convincing myself they couldn't do much damage in nine months. Which is comical, considering the gestational significance of the lease and their correlating level of maturity.

The mess wasn't the worst part. Apparently, in the three weeks it had been sitting vacant, the washing machine was continuously filling and spilling ... all over the mudroom floor and down into the basement. Not only did I need to have the washer repaired, the resulting moldy carpet needed to be ripped out; as did the warped wood floor beneath, and subsequently, MY HAIR.

Oh yeah, the boys broke the electric garage door, too. A nice little $750 parting gift.

I LOATHE being a landlord. (A long-distance landlord, no less.) Unfortunately, considering the current market's sorry state, I can't afford to sell. And truth be told, I have a strong emotional attachment to the place. When I finally DO sell it and say goodbye to all it's ghosts, admitting that chapter is REALLY, TRULY closed is going to be more than impossibly tough.

Between dealing with carpet cleaners, numerous trips to Home Depot and lots and lots of sweaty yard work, I DID actually manage to do a few FUN things.

Saturday night: Sleepover and vodka lemonades at Tattoo Daddy and Corporate Mommy's new house. When did my friends become the kind of people who live in 4,300 square foot homes? In the 'burbs no less? It pains me somewhat to admit it was actually quite nice. So nice, in fact, it took them -- consummate city dwellers -- by surprise too.

As strangers living across the street from one another in one of Denver's very urban neighborhoods, our infant children brought us together. Their son, FDR (logic behind this real life nickname is too politically incorrect to post, trust me), and MP are two months apart in age. Tattoo Daddy was MP's first, if not unlikely, babysitter.

Together, they're the coolest couple I know.

And just good people. Case in point: later that night, when MP's eye swelled shut in violent protest to their cat's dander, Tat Daddy happily ran to the store for Benadryl. Good peeps. I miss 'em.

Oh yeah, almost forgot about this.

For the first time, I have appliance envy. 'Crushed ice machine' has always been on my list of frivolous things I'd buy if I were fabulously wealthy.

Turns out, there are actually refrigerators on the market that DO THIS. What?!? Something on the Fabulously Wealthy List may actually be within my reach??

Ice is my vice. My dentist's nightmare. I chew it ALL. DAY. LONG. Yes, I'm aware of the whole supposed sexual frustration connection, my fellow junior high friends, and trust me, that's one explanation that wouldn't be a stretch for this single mama. However, I don't think that's the case. It's more of a full-blown addiction.

The monkey on my back.

Which brings me to ...

Sunday morning: The Denver Zoo. Quote of the day: "Mommy, those monkey's tushes are GROSS."

Yeah, about that. Remember how you wanted a pet?

Have some cotton candy instead. A "food" first. Had it not been for Spongebob, this little undesirable would've gone virtually unnoticed.

As in, "Huh. That's weird. A big ball of pink lint on a stick. Meh."

Okay, it WAS mind-numbingly good.

The corndog was pretty tasty too. Another "food" first.

Sunday night: Grandpa Bobo wakes me up at 12:30 a.m. to tell me there's an alarm going off. Clearly spooked, he makes me get up and investigate with him. Turns out to be my brother's travel clock in the living room.

Bobo later admits he's freaked out in my brother's 100+ year-old house and confesses his temptation to tiptoe into the guest room while MP and I sleep, and camp out on the floor.

The next night my brother baits Bobo (who, as expected, buys every word) by telling him strange things have happened in the house -- always at 1:20 a.m. -- and then predictably sets the travel alarm to 1:20 a.m., leaving it by the couch as Bobo lay sleeping.

I had to intervene. I had to get some sleep.

Monday night: MP touches a light bulb. Says she wanted to see if it was hot. It was. Glad we cleared that up.

Tuesday night: Out to dinner with the fam. The drive downtown finds us stopped at a light behind some fancy-schmancy car. Bobo oogles and asks (like I'm an authority) what kind it is. I, of course, have no idea. I reply, "It ain't no Pickle Car," which he adopts as a catch-all phrase for the remainder of the trip.

For those unfamiliar with the genius of Richard Scarry, THIS is a Pickle Car.

Add it to the Fabulously Wealthy List. I'd SO enjoy driving to work each day in this.

Turns out the car was actually some kind of crazy Acura. That looked like a Kit Car. That looked like a hairy Italian.

Later, at the restaurant, all hell breaks loose. MP finally cracks under the continuous stream of excitement. Once home, I send her to bed with the iPod and her Princess tunes. Along with the cotton candy, the corndog, and the lightbulb-touching incident, the iPod is indeed another first.

Two important new discoveries: Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe. Deadliest Catch, also with Mike Rowe. Did I mention he's my new secret boyfriend? More on that later ...

After a busy five days, the best part of the trip, hands down, was watching MP interact with her younger cousins. I mentioned last week she insists on calling them her "brothers." She wants siblings so badly. And I do wish I could give her a few. Maybe, with more visits, this will be a happy medium.

We went to see Wall-E today.  Two big thumbs up from me, and the rest of the family really liked it too.  I loved the storyline -- it was really thought-provoking in terms of conservation & consumerism, and delivered a sobering message without being preachy.  It definitely reframed some of my thoughts around what I might "need".  I'd been ruminating on that as it is, as Lane has started noticing advertising and marketing gimmicks and I'm trying to show her them for what they are.  Does she want that tube of toothpaste because she thinks it will make her teeth really clean, or because it will taste good, or is it just because it has Diego on it?  Yes, the Aqua Globes on the infomercial are cool, and yes we do have plants, but our watering can works just fine, we don't need hand-blown glass globes to automatically deliver the perfect amount of water for up to two weeks!

In trying to help Lane see through this mental clutter, I've started to realize how much of it I have, and how I sometimes fail to see around the obstacles that the media has planted in my mental path.  I've spent a long time really digging Burberry plaid.  Why?  I do find the pattern visually appealing... but do I like it more because of the illusion of status it might convey?  Probably.  I drive a Honda Odyssey right now.  We bought it with the intention that we would take care of it and it would be driven until it simply could not be driven any more.  It boggles the mind how many times people have called that into question -- do I really want to drive a car into the ground?  What if it lasts another ten years?  Do I want to be driving a 15-year-old vehicle?  Part of me does cringe at that... ugh.  But why do I cringe?  Is there anything fundamentally flawed about loyalty to a vehicle that continues to serve its purpose, that being to get me and my family and my stuff (some of which I probably don't need anyway) from Point A to Point B and back again?  Why should any part of my brain worry about the impression someone might get because I don't have the latest model?

We are in the process of buying a house.  This whole foray brings up a related set of values and perceptions.  Frank and I were contemplating buying a 3 bedroom ranch, and my in-laws (people who are not generally the keep-up-with-the-Joneses type) were convinced it simply could not be big enough for our family.   First of all, it was more than big enough for us.  Maybe not for all our 'stuff' too -- but that could be rectified via a garage sale, Craigslist and Freecycle.  Regardless, my brother and I grew up in a 3 bedroom ranch that wasn't any bigger than the house Frank and I were considering, and my childhood house was probably smaller.  Before we bought the 3 bedroom ranch, my family and I were in a 3 bedroom cape cod, which was DEFINITELY smaller than the ranch we bought when I was 13... and while it may have lacked for space (especially in the closet department) we survived.  The house we are now under contract on is definitely bigger, a 4 bedroom raised ranch with a living room and family room and roomy master suite with two closets, and a dining room and huge deck and big backyard.  We decided to buy it not because it was "more house" but mainly because it was very close to my in-laws' house.  That it is bigger and more updated is simply a bonus (until I start thinking about the bigger mortgage that comes with it.)  Yet a part of me still feels a big oodgy when I mentally compare it to other people's houses.  How does it compare, and how will others compare their house to mine?

This rat race, it is a hard habit to break.  And it seems so fundamentally pervasive in our culture.  It must tie somehow to some mental process, some functioning of the human psyche that served us well for survival when we all were hunting and gathering and trying to avoid saber-toothed tigers lest we become an entree.  Perhaps it helped to ensure our survival, if we always strove to collect more berries than the people in the next cave.  But it's time to draw the proverbial line in the sand.  I've collected enough berries.

Berkesempatan mengambil foto penari-penari kecil dari Kg. Melayu Raya ketika sedang membuat liputan untuk Utusan.

After 3 hours we didn't find any Morels, but kids are still happy:

Catching up with our horse friends:

Feed, bathed and now happily relaxing in the sun:

We hope you had a great 4th of July as well!

Here's the thing, friendlies:

I'm tired. I'm tired and I'm tired and yeah.

Also, it seems odd that people are getting married. People my age. People who five years ago were like OMIGOD LIZZIE MCGUIRE!!!

Right? Right? It's weird, right?

It was the kind of beautiful, balmy evening that makes a casual American barbecue such a perfect way to end the weekend. That dreaded Sunday-night-before-Monday-morning feeling never got a look in. The steaks were pink and juicy, the salad crisp and refreshing, and the wine flowed just enough, not too much. Sometimes I struggle in my parents' company, but not tonight -- everything was easy. The girls ate their dinners and then chased lightning bugs around the garden while we sat back in our chairs around a table of emptied plates and chatted. It was lovely.

I had worried a little when I saw E1 reaching to steal a piece of steak off of her daddy's plate, because it was nestled next to his salad covered in a creamy dressing. My first thought was that the dressing probably contained egg, so I immediately stopped her and gave her a piece of meat off my plate instead. And for the rest of the meal, I kept one eye on that plate with its creamy residue round the edge and one eye on her, until it was finally swept up with some other dirty dishes and taken into the kitchen.

And my guard was instantly awoken when a Ziplock bag of walnuts appeared, to be sprinkled on the salad. E2 saw it and began pulling at M's trouser leg and making a noise that insisted she wanted to try whatever intriguing thing it might be. He took a handful of the nuts and chucked them neatly into his mouth and then bent to pick her up, as I yelled out with a slightly panicked voice, "Wipe your hands first! Quickly, please! And your mouth..." With nut-allergy results as severe as hers were, there is the risk that even the walnut dust left on his hands might trigger a dangerous reaction.

When, at last, I fed E2 and got her down to sleep, the pain came on quite quickly. If there's soy in my system, then breastfeeding will set it off like flicking a switch. I had forgotten how sharp it is -- how it takes my breath away, screws my face up, and leaves me unable to tolerate little annoyances with grace. I barked at M for waffling on about something that didn't interest me. He looked at me in surprise, and we suddenly both remembered this person that I haven't been for so long now. I apologised, and slumped down at the kitchen table, my head in my hands. It would pass in an hour -- or perhaps three. Nothing to do but wait...

After it began to ease off a bit, I picked up the phone and rang my mother. "Guess what? I've been in quite a bit of pain." She felt terrible -- and took it as a criticism, as she so often does -- and quickly began explaining how it had all been a misunderstanding... I stopped her -- no need, I knew. I had just wanted us to both be aware of the lesson I had just learnt: even the littlest bit of soy brings the pain. Vigilance and complete abstinence are the only solution.

And then I realised it had to go a bit further. I told my mother that it had been a lovely evening, except that I had spent half of it being worried about leftover creamy salad dressing and the possibility of dropped walnuts. Our family barbecue should be a relaxed environment for everyone. I asked if next time, and from now on, we could make our family get-togethers allergen-free for everyone -- no wondering if that has eggs, no watching to see where the nuts are, no guessing which salad dressing is safe -- just a nice, relaxing time for everyone. There was a little part of me that felt angry that I even had to ask this, and I wondered if she might think I was being over the top, but she agreed right away. I was surprised by how relieved I felt -- I had been more stressed during that relaxing evening than I'd realised.

And then I sat down to ride out the last few waves of pain -- brought on by a simple misunderstanding and a mere teaspoonful of the wrong food.

1. The fact that when we went for a little house-hunting drive today, we spotted several possibilities which I will ask our real estate agent to show us later in the week.
2. That for some strange reason, the only story that E1 wants Mummy to tell her at bedtime is the Three Little Pigs, and so I get to repeat the same simple story every night, and it is her daddy and her nana, instead of me, who have to try to remember the ins and outs of the myriad other fairy stories.
3. The fact that the food reaction we had to deal with was simply a bit of pain for me and an evening spent slumped onto the kitchen table, instead of a proper allergic reaction by either of the girls and a trip to hospital.

I am so grateful for all of the love my family has shared with me over the past few days, and the wonderful memories they've shared and how everyone made a point to tell me what he had meant to them.  I don't know how I was so lucky to be born into such a loving, amazing family.

It was sad sitting under his favorite tree in my aunt's yard, missing his clever contributions to the conversation.  My mom left a little sprinkle of his ashes there, and tomorrow we'll scatter the rest at my grandparent's farm.  This feels like a real goodbye.

I can't write any more.

I miss him.

3 of the 4 tubing. Lake Eufala. 7/6/08

Nathan reading the paper at the lake house. Lake Eufala. 7/5/08

Since Independence Day is our country's birthday (in a fashion) we celebrated the way we celebrate all birthdays in this house: we had a cake decorating party. And how can one be gloomy when there is cake? It's hardly possible.

There was frosting:

There were toppings, in an appropriate color palette:

There was, of course, a cake to be decorated:

S4 commenced the requisite Taste-Testing of the Frosting (all-important, after my last fiasco with buttercream):

...and the verdict is....

...we're good to go!

There aren't many opportunities to photograph when you're swishing frosting on a cake AND trying to keep your busy little helpers from swishing frosting on each other, the table, the chairs, the windows, etc. Thus, you must trust me when I tell you that we frosted the cake.

Then came the fun part. Toppings!

Of course, no amount of admonishing my offspring about saving the toppings for the cake could keep them from sampling the goodies.

At least they got some on the cake, right?

Speaking of cake, they did a really nice job.

And how could one have a birthday cake without candles on it?

Yes, those are sparklers on the cake. It's the Fourth Of July, which might as well be "Fireworks Day" in our neck of the woods. Gotta have the sparklers.

And in case you think we aren't cool or something, let me just say this:

and this:

Yeah, Duff Goldman. Take THAT.

In other happy-picture news, I peeked out at the garden yesterday, and guess what I saw? A baby tomato!! It's so teeny tiny, but it's there! And my other tomato plants have flowers! Wooot!

And there's more. Oh, yeah, baby, there's more. Like, my first nasturtium bloom:

Nevermind that little bit of red lettuce poking up on the right. It was in my salad today.

Meanwhile, we have a wicked cucumber plant doing all sorts of acrobatics on the trellis:

Do you see the little flower near the ground? How exciting is that?!

Sigh.  Doesn't that just make you smile?  It does me.  I can't wait for all the plant sex to start.  It's very exciting.

It appears that the secret to happiness- in my case, at least - is to set cakes on fire and film plant pornography.

I must be really, really tired.

]]> http://lvimages.wordpress.com/?p=69 Mon, 07 Jul 2008 04:35:54 +0000 j http://lvimages.wordpress.com/?p=69

Caleb wakeboarding at Eufala. 7/3/08

So fast that it's been nearly two weeks since my last post.

I took a few days off last week. Needed that in a huge way. Work is a bit nuts right now. And rarely do I get what I'd call stressed, but there I was, stressed beyond belief. The few days off snapped me out of it. I hope.

Two days off meant lots of great family time. I wish I could say we did this, that or the other thing, but we didn't. And that was fine. Totally fine.

We did drive to NY on the 4th for a barbecue hosted by one of my dearest friends from college. It was a fabulous time and the kids travelled fairly well in the car.

The night before, on the 3rd, Renee and I travelled to Tanglewood in the Berkshires to celebrate the 40th birthday of Erin's godfather at a James Taylor concert. Another fabulous time. And almost a very wet fabulous time. We had lawn seats, and the rain was coming down like crazy on the way there, and when we arrived. So what did I do? I went to the gift store and dropped 30 bucks on two ponchos. When did the rain stop and the sun came out? Yup, literally less than five mintues after I bought the ponchos.

Want some real excitement? We bought a new dehumidifier for the basement. Woo-hoo!

Oh, and perhaps the most exciting thing? Seriously. Erin took her first real steps! She's been getting closer and closer and she now loves to 'walk,' going three or four steps on her own right now. Look out!

I think that's it. I told you -- I got nothin'.

Finally, I note that I have not yet begun a petition drive to make slides illegal in the City of Chicago. Based on the recent track record of the City Council (thanks for the sparkler ban, by the way!), I'd probably have a better than even chance of getting an ordinance passed if I really worked at it. As it is, though, I don't expect to change anything about the slide in our own backyard, where the Unfortunate Incident occurred. I told Unfocused Girl today that I'd appreciate it if she'd refrain from climbing up the slide for a day or two, until I get my equilibrium back, and I'll point out to Junior (once his cast is off and he can climb up onto the playset again) that he should go down the slide on his bottom, not on foot, but other than that I don't know what else there is to do. I could enclose it in a big plastic tube, I suppose, but that would get really unpleasant on summer days.

* This photograph is copyright 2008, all rights reserved. The remainder of the post is subject to the usual Creative Commons license (see the sidebar for details), but I don't release the rights to pictures of my kids.

The relaxing weekend will soon evaporate, as my son starts yet another all-star baseball tournament, this one at their home field. Games start Monday night and end on Sunday. We have games Monday, Tuesday and Saturday, which determine our position in the actual tournament on Sunday. We have to work concessions and the field this week, since our club is hosting the tournament. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to write to my blog in the early part of the week-- since there's no wireless Internet connection at the baseball field. :)

One of the things I missed while I was out of town was the slow pace of a baseball game, even one that's part of an all-star tournament. I missed sitting in a lawn chair, watching the evening turn to night, bugs flitting around the lights, siblings shouting and playing in nearby dirt piles, cicadas buzzing on and off, and dads coaching from the sidelines. I missed the smell of the grill (even though I'm almost sick of eating grilled food) and the smell of bug repellent (not a great smell, but a fond one for some reason). I cherish the sights, sounds, and smells of summer-- my favorite season.

Baths were done, it was about 9:30 and I walked over to my son.   He has his old hand-me-down computer in the corner of the back room and as I was walking over there I looked out the window, which faces the front yard, and I notice a car out front.

My son noticed me paying attention to the car and said...

"They've been out there wrestling in the back seat for about 10 minutes."

I fought back my initial smirk, pretended like is was just some innocent wrestling and went to the other end of the house to figure out what was really happening.

The "wrestling" that was going on in that car was anything BUT innocent.   Despite my vision being hampered by the downpour, there was, without question, two people in the backseat either performing a rhythmic dance ritual or doing what guys and girls "do".

Despite being a homeschool family, this is really stretching the limits of what we want to be teaching here in the MTAE household.    I think in a couple of years, we'll just turn on some Cinemax during one of those free weekends of movies...he should be able to pick up enough from there.

My son had already lost interest in the events taking place out front and I closed the blinds by his window to ensure the couple had a little privacy.  But I was going to have to do something about this.

If I am not getting any action inside, I'll be damned if some strangers are going to experience this in my front yard.

Besides...there are all sorts of issues about the possibility of these kids, or maybe just one of them, being under the age on consent.   So I called the police non-emergency number.

This number is posted on my refrigerator and I end up calling for this same reason a couple of times a year.  We live at the end of a dead end street and it must have been a popular spot for the years this house sat vacant, because everyone must be telling their older brothers where to take their dates to get some action.

Out of about ten incidents, the police have only caught someone once...evidently teenage boys aren't known for parking for "a long time".  By the time I call the police and the 20 minutes, it takes the police to get to the house; the deed is done and they are off to do whatever else teenagers in "love" do. 

The one couple the police managed to catch "in the act" turned out to be a under aged girl (15) and a non-under aged boy (20).  It ended up with them carting him "downtown".   I have a police scanner and it made for very interesting listening for about an hour.

Last night, either the police car made it faster, or the boy was a little more "skilled" than the others that have frequented my street for some "action".   The police car pulled up right behind them and sat for about two minutes without them noticing the viewing party.

The officer aimed the spot light and shined in right in the car.   I was suprised that the feet and elbowed the were already moving at an accelerated pace, could move even faster...but they did.  The officer then turned on the overhead flashing lights announcing that there was going to be a threesome in their near future.    The officer let them get dressed for another two minutes before "SHE" came up to the car.

Yes!  A lady officer.  All I could think about was that this dude was going to be in trouble.   First he probably did a lot of convincing to get this girl to do what he wanted to do, then he had to probably covince her to do this in front of my house...only to get thwarted by a female officer.

The end of the proceedings were pretty uneventful and the car ended up leaving with the guy driving away and the girl leaving in the second police car that came to the house.   There was very little radio traffic from out there.  There was a lot of lightning and the usual calls about house fires and school alarms being set off were dominating the airwaves.

Going out and interrupting one of these situations is not something I really wanted to do and I will keep handing these the same way since I am really not looking for a confrontation or a peepshow.  

I guess it would be kind of funny for me to sneak out and get a picture for the next blog entry about this.  By the time I thought about grabbing the camera for a picture of the scene, all the lights were off and the star had already left the scene of the crime.

For you readers, I promise to do better next time with some crime scene photos.  Just of the police cars and lights flashing, not of the actual participants.

A Life Restored (Remix of Sunday’s sermon – audio download - http://www.firstgrandville.org/content.cfm?id=213&category_id=4 )

To have it all on the outside – money, success, lots of stuff - but falling apart on the inside?

Sin, grief, anger – these things have a corrosive effect on our souls. But also, the stress, the pressure of keeping a job, finding a job, keeping a family or relationship together – what does all of this do to our souls? We depend on ourselves; we turn inward; we go off the path; we turn away from the one who loves us most.

And ultimately, our souls become like a wilderness or a desert.

We need to be restored!

Today, when we think of restoration, we probably think of the spa. But there is something better than anything a spa can offer…

The definition of restoration is, “to bring back to its former state; to bring back from a state of ruin, decay, disease, or the like.”

You see, from the beginning of the Bible in Genesis to the end in Revelation – the goal was reconciliation and restoration between us and God. God’s pursuit of us and then the cross through which the reconciliation was achieved. And because of the person on that cross, Jesus, God got personal, literally. And through Jesus and the power of the Holy Spirit we can be restored in souls and in our lives.        

Psalm 23 offers us this pathway to restoration guided by the Lord, the shepherd. Jesus calls himself the good shepherd in John 10. Think about it, a shepherd is personal, gentle when necessary, but also protective and patient.

As you might imagine the biggest obstacle to Jesus the shepherd leading us to being restored is …us…

But we are going to change that today…

Receive what His hand provides

He comforts…

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want

            Not lacking in anything spiritual

He makes me lie down in green pastures

            Being fed with and resting in, God’s best

He leads me beside still waters

                        What refreshes you?

Are you thirsty?

He restores…

He restores my soul

To lead away (Come away with me…) – meaning of restore – in Hebrew

Follow His guiding and protecting hand

He leads…

            He leads me in right paths for his name’ sake

            Not ours battle to win – it’s His.

He protects…

Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me

Imagine being able to say to Satan and challenges – I don’t fear you – my shepherd is with me – I don’t fear a cancer diagnosis, I don’t fear losing my job…

            Your rod and your staff they comfort me

                        Shepherd - Rod for protection, staff for guidance

Embrace His open arms

He welcomes…

            You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies

                        Nothing can stop the hospitality of the Lord

            You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows

                        Both point to abundance

He embraces…

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,

                        Hebrew understanding of “follow” is pursue

Romans 8:28 – God works for the good in all things…

            And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

                        God’s presence – belonging to Him above all things

He knows what we need. We don’t need a day at the spa, we don’t need more money, we need a restored soul. And he wants to give it to us abundantly. This Psalm begins and ends with the Lord – “The Lord is my shepherd, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

Our souls were not meant to be deserts, dry and deserted - they were to be places of pastures and quiet waters – overflowing with the presence of God – the Holy Spirit.

Whatever is going on in your life today…

If you want rest and comfort,

If you want to feel his protection when you are in the darkest valleys,

If you want the “cup” of your soul to overflow with goodness and mercy,

If you want true abundance,

Then say it - The Lord Jesus Christ is my shepherd, and I am going let him lead me, and protect me, and let him fill me, and run to his open arms and never leave.

The restoring can start right now…

Amen.  

Discussion Questions

1. Have you thought of Psalm 23 in this way? Often you hear at funerals, which is completely appropriate. But how about it in the present tense – in the now?
2. What about restoration? What have you thought about it prior to reading this? Do you need some?
3. What is the state of your soul? What can we do about it?  
4. Have you let the Lord touch and restore you? How about today?

At the same time, a visit home brings it's own stresses. I rarely see everyone I want to, I rarely feel like I've spent enough time with the ones I do see. I end up feeling like I've bruised someone's feelings, and/or have to remind myself that just because I'm on vacation doesn't mean everyone else is in order not to let my own get bruised. Such was the case this weekend. Mom was "sick" and didn't feel like company. My grandmother was out and about with other visiting relatives, and our paths couldn't seem to cross. One friend needed to use the weekend to catch up, another needed to pack--and then leave, for vacation.

But I did get to spend some time with two of my best buddies--the 6 and 9 year old sons of two of my closest friends. For some reason, maybe because I tend to let myself be a big kid whenever I can, kids usually love me. These two in particular view me as their personal entertainment. And this weekend, my time with them taught me a few things, namely:

1. It's good to let yourself be a kid again. I've always known this, but it's good to have a reminder.

2. Grown ups (me specifically)"look dumb" riding a Razor Scooter. At least that's what the six year old told me when I tried.

3. Getting high on a swing and then jumping out is best left to the kids. I tried it, landed awkwardly, then went into a head first roll across the playground--it must have looked bad, because everyone just gasped until I started laughing at myself--at which point they broke down and doubled over laughing at me.

4. Likewise, rolling down a grassy hill is best left to kids. Adult stomachs are more easily upset by rapid rolling, and adult skin apparently is more easily irritated by grass, bugs, and whatever else lives on a lawn.

5. Kids take everything literally. The six year old was riding in the backseat of my car with a mutual friend of his mother and I. He was trying to blow a bubble with his gum, but instead shot it out of his mouth. "If you get that stuck on his car, Uncle Villager will flip his wig!" the friend chided. The six year old leaned forward, pulled my hair then stated matter-of-factly. "He's not wearing a wig!"

My favorite thing to do is go to the movies, like I did today. Me and The Max have a ritual that we go through when we visit the theater. He gets a kid pack and covers the popcorn with too much salt. After which he asks for some of my popcorn that I embellish with a box of Jr Mints. Today we saw Kung Fu Panda. It was blah. But during the film my mind wandered to the many ways that a movie going experience is far different from what it was when I was Max's age.

First off, and least important is the cost. Yes. It costs more. I have no idea with inflation if it is more than it was 25 years ago. I now pay ten dollars for a full price ticket. It feels like a lot.

Also, there's the snacks. When I was a kid, we went to the Anoka Cinema, which is now a community theater with live acting. They offered popcorn, soda, and maybe five different kinds of candy. Now I can get my popcorn in seven different sizes. There are twenty different types of candy. Also: nachos, dipping dots, hot dogs, and of all things bottled water. And all these treats are whisked off the floor in a timely manner after each show. I distinctly remember my velcro sneakers sticking to the floor at the theater from the lack of clean-up in the past.

The seats are the improvement that I enjoy the most. Being short used to mean that you needed to worry about that lady with the aqua net hair-do sitting in front of you and ruining your view. Now, all theaters seem to have stadium seating. The person in front of you is going to have to be seven feet tall or better to block your shot of the screen. The seats are typically more comfortable, as they are made of squishy foam and cloth and not hard butt-bone-bruising wood. The arm rests with cup holders are an appreciated bonus.

Multi-plexes are what we have now as well. There are still the old theaters in the funky neighborhoods with only a screen or two, but it's rare to see a new theater that has less than 10 movies showing at a time. I suppose choice is a good thing.

The only real gripe I have about the changes in theaters is the ads. I don't want to go to the theater and see ads for anything other than movies. Previews are great. I seldom sit and watch TV. (not because I am a TV hater, I love the television with all my heart) But not watching television means that I do not really ever see commercials for what is going to be coming soon to the movies. I like previews for this reason. I don't like watching ads for ketchup before the feature presentation.

So, though I am a sucker for nostalgic things, I am definitely happier with the improvements made to theaters. Most importantly, they are cold.

Here are some of my favorite daddy and his kiddo photos. I know there are more, but I've changed laptops a few times, so here's what I could find!