Snowflake Breakfast

People are either going to stop reading this blog or someone is going to report me to the silliness police for being as giddy as I am about things like snow and breakfast. Remember, at least I own my dorkiness.

Ah, deep sigh, perfect morning. I have eggs and milk to use up before I leave, so I decided to make a batch of pancakes to freeze (when I come home, I have pretty high confidence that the toaster will still work...oh, please). The first two eggs I cracked open both had double yolks in them. Why is that so fun? I get my eggs from friends who own chickens, so they are super fresh and I love how much orangier the yolks are when you stir them into batter...the look of it is so different than store-bought eggs. Makes me appreciate Beth's joy in cooking and the delight in it when you can do it at a leisurely pace. I set the double-yolks aside to be the fried eggs for the morning, and went forward with making pancakes and sausage and then the cute little four-yolk fried eggs. A fresh pot of coffee was ready, so steaming Christmas mug in hand and delicious breakfast on the couch were complimented by the lit tree and decorations and snow falling outside. The snow is heavenly; big and little flakes are dancing and floating around so long before they land that they look like they have tossed aside any concept of gravity. When they do finally land, it looks like they agreed to do it for the sake of decoration and making way for other flakes; the laws of physics and relativity would never be so rude on such a pretty morning as to yank anything so beautiful to the ground.

After breakfast, more joy in a call to Grandma Mel to sing happy birthday wishes, and a decision that those intricately decorated Christmas sugar cookies will get delivered to the neighbors on either side whose names I actually know and to the guy who snow plows the sidewalks and driveways of the cul-de-sac. I definitely want to stay friends with him. I don't care if he knows my name :) The rest of the cookies are MINE!

In anticipation of the lights at the Mission Inn, here are pictures from the Idaho Botanical Garden's Winter Garden Aglow 2008 event. Mumsey and Popsey and I went the night after Thanksigiving and sipped cider and snapped pictures and wandered the very cold but very festive grounds.

And as always, Mommmy and I were reminded that we are very, very white. The flash on a camera brings it out sooooo nicely :)







Hooray for Christmas lights and cold nights!

Tree Sparks

Look what happens if you wiggle at all while trying to take a picture of your sweet little Christmas tree...it looks like, fire, fire, fire!



I woke up to new snow this morning and a severe winter weather alert for the Treasure Valley until 5 AM tomorrow. Snow and wind; yeah, Sluss will be staying inside today. And pondering whether I really want to deliver to my neighbors the cookies I paid a friend to make for them. I think maybe the cookies just need to keep me happy and in the Christmas spirit today. Trying to win your neighbors over with cookies is overrated, I am sure. They don't need to love me. The cookies need to love me.

Pray Becky can make it to my house tomorrow morning, that we can make it to the aiport, that she gets to work safely, and that my plane actually TAKES OFF ON TIME!

Can Baliey Breathe Under There?

In honor of the snow I may have to shovel and/or wade through at Mom and Dad's next week...may I be this giddy to be out in it.

No Stealing the Sluss

Safe again! I purchased a new garage door opener on Tuesday night, which my wonderful friend Dave came and installed today. He's earning his doctorate degree right now and he took a giant test this morning. For almost four hours this afternoon, he worked in my chilly garage. And he smiled all the way through it!



His wife and daughter, precious friends of mine, sat with me in the warm, candles-aglow house, eating cookies and drinking tea, assuring me that Dave was having a superb time "unwinding" in the garage after his test. Oh, the wonder of mechanically-minded people. Even better are mechanically-minded people who grew up on a dairy farm in crazy cold winters, so they don't mind working in temps where the ice around the chains down from the gutter spouts is not dripping one bit. Brrrrrr!



So, I am safe once again. I was worried I could be stolen with my door opener not working properly! I was a bit nervous, despite reassurances from a friend that, "No one's going to steal you...it's Idaho for goodness sake!" Sheesh!

Now on to figuring out how to replace the dead over-the-range microwave after the first of the year. One machine at a time, kids.

On a differet note, is it wrong for me to be in love with both Colin Firth and Liam Neeson in Love Actually? I feel a little like I am two-timing, but once they make up their mind about who wins me, and the victor comes knocking on my door, I will feel settled, I'm sure. I'll let them duke it out between them and not worry my pretty little head about it.

I'm so, so pleased about God's timing tonight. The ache to see my family is huge, the kind that makes me weepy at the smallest thing (like watching Love Actually). I am both amazed and so grateful that it didn't come until tonight, though. I have missed them, but not the miserable kind of missing of the last couple years that seems so constant. Just tonight, 36 hours before I get on the plane, I feel like I can't wait one more minute to hear Nathaniel say, "Um, Aunt Kathie, I want to tell you something," to hear Madeline tell me, "Uh, no," when I ask her to sing a song, to have Caleb tell me how to smash the ping-pong ball on the Wii, to hug my itty bitty mommy at the airport and swing her in a circle, and to lay on the couch with my head in my dad's lap, getting a sweet neck and head rub until my hair looks ridiculous.

Almost home! Two more sleeps until the plane and five more sleeps till Christmas!

Be Charlie Brown

Another thought from David Roper, written in October. My cubical buddy just sent it to me earlier this week after a chat we had. I liked it, but didn't quite know where to put it in my heart, if I really believed it, or if I could ever really do it.

Then a talk with a friend this morning proved it. It's true. It's better to be Charlie Brown than Lucy.

Paul insists that, “love believes all things.” If love errs, it errs in the way of credulity and trustfulness, almost to the point of naivety. Most of us are too guarded, too wary and suspicious.

"It does you no harm to be Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, but it does you harm to be Lucy holding it" (Peter Kreeft). Don’t worry about being conned. It’s better to believe in someone and have your heart broken than to have no heart at all.

DHR
10.1.08

I have typed some ending here six times, trying to capture my gratitude and heart. It always comes out sounding small. It's not small.

I don't think I am like Lucy in yanking away the football, but I am certianly like Lucy in wanting to control things. Michael, like a wise Linus, could write a book about having a controlling, bossy older sister. I have noticed, though, that having to always be in control doesn't actually feel very nice in your spirit.

It's worth it to keep coming back to what you know should be good. Be Charlie Brown and bring your hope. Let go. Love believes all things. My heart is lighter and I am so grateful.

Yes, I really had a Great Aunt Gladys

Oh...my...sainted...Aunt...Gladys. It is so cold here. I don't know what the difference is between the mountain and Boise, but dear Heaven, it feels so much colder here. There's more snow at my parents' house than here, but I have no memory of being this cold the moment I would step out a door.

Maybe I am turning into a pansy as I age. I don't know. I just know that when I walk out into this cold, my brain screeches shut. I walked into the door at the chiropractor today and just stood there. Wherever words like, "Hello!" or, "How are you?" or even, "My, it's cold today, isn't it?" normally live in my brain, I couldn't find them. I finally eked out, "The drive between the office and here is too short to let the car get warm. I can't blink--my eyes are frozen open."

It's brain-gear-stripping cold. Sucks the smart right out of you. I stood outside tonight on a step stool in front of my garage, stapling up one end of a big piece of weatherstripping that came tearing away in the wind sometime today (apparently my garage is falling apart piece by piece). I came in when I finished, closed the garage door, and used the rest of my smarts to just make it in to the laundry area. I had to wait a minute to remember what comes next: ah, yes, taking off the coat.

Speaking of gear-stripping, I have a new garage door opener sitting in my garage waiting for a nice friend to install it. He came and checked the door opener for me on Tuesday and called to let me know it was officially dead. The big gear inside that moves the chain was completely stripped. I choose to believe that it was near death before I started my attempts to repair things. Please, don't contradict my fantasy.

And, as of this evening, my microwave is making a pretty nasty noise when I try to use it and a not so nice smell comes from it when I hurriedly turn it off. The house just passed its first year under my ownership as of November 29; perhaps it has decided to walk the plank one bit at a time until I need to replace everything. Merry Christmas to me!

Oh, and this other weird thing has started to happen. It's not unusual for me to get muscle twitches in certain places in one of my arms and one of my legs. Now I am getting a twitch in my upper lip. It's smack in the middle, right under my nose. Quite distracting, I must say. It feels like my upper lip is trying to smooch my lower lip. I have peeked in the mirror when it's happening to see how noticeable it is; it feels pretty pronounced. I was worried someone would think I was making kissy faces at them during a meeting, but it seems mostly imperceptible. Very odd. Maybe my body is walking the plank one piece at a time, too :)

The low tomorrow night in Boise is supposed to be ZERO. My only comfort is that the thing that leaves its big tracks in the snow on my lawn as it continues its obvious pattern of visits will somehow freeze its buns to the ground. Sweet, snowy, frozen justice. Oh, please, oh, please.

A Palate Cleanser

If you survived the previous post, you deserve something fun and cheery. Please enjoy some Christmas fun from Straight No Chaser, an a cappella group. The annoying little white box that pops up disappears after about 10 seconds.




And, Liann? After you watch this, you have to visit Am I Right to check out Toto's "Africa" misheard lyrics. Oh my goodness.

"I felt deranged down in Africa..."

"There's nothin' that a hundred men on Mars could ever do..."

Concrete Evidence

...that no one will ever marry me. It finally happened. And it was one of those moments I have fretted about and dreaded for years. It came true tonight.

It's almost too horrible to share. But it's potentially the perfect blog ingredient mix of laughter for my friends and horror for my mother.

I can't pass it up.

I agreed today to drive two coworkers (a married couple) to the mechanic after work to pick up their car. At end of day, the husband drops by my cubical to say, "Five minutes?" I say, "Sure. Oh...let's make it six. Then I can use the little girls' room."

I shut down the computer and walk to the ladies' room. For lack of a more graceful description, I'll just say that while in the stall, I am pondering things like when I will deliver Christmas cookies to my neighbors and when I will iron a shirt I want to wear on Friday. Suddenly, a new thought strikes like lightning.

Um...you know how some girls' blouses have sashes that tie in a cute little bow in the back? Um...you know how sometimes the "ties" that hang down from the cute little bow can be kinda long? Like really long shoelaces? Hiding innocently behind you?

Um...yeah. My mind immediately fills with the thought, "Oh, dear Lord, please, no..." as I reach for the bow on the back of my blouse.

"Oh...my...UGH!" No, indeedy. The long laces were not dry. And, yes, kids, we were post bodily expulsions at this point. I am horrified. I am a grown woman with soggy laces.

As I start working the blouse off over my head, carefully encasing the laces as I go, grateful that it is the end of the day and that I was wearing this as an unbuttoned over-shirt layer on top of another shirt, I glance down at the white shirt underneath. Where it was exposed earlier today during lunch, I catch a glimpse of the little chocolate spot created by a wayward chip from a cookie I was eating. I remember that I was glad I was wearing this frilly, red, stripey blouse over the white shirt so I could pull the blouse a little more closed and hide the chocolate spot.

Geez. I killed two shirts in one day. What able-bodied, developed-world, silverware-competent, degree-holding, multi-syllable-speaking grown-up does that? When will I GROW UP?

My predicament, of course, induces a chuckle out of me. Chuckle becomes giggle. Giggle starts to repeat and increase in volume as I sit there with my wad of blouse in hand, shaking my head. I am now in full-fledged gales of laughter, echoing off the walls in a four-stall, four-sink, highly-tiled bathroom. Not quiet. And I can't stop.

I hurry to make my way out of the bathroom. I have tears streaming down my face, gasping for air, blasts of laughter squeaking out of me. I pass the desk of our travel coordinator, a dear friend with very similar humor. She looks at me and says, "Are you laughing or crying? I could hear you out here, but I didn't know if I should come in..."

I tell her why I now know no one will ever marry me. I show her the wad of evidence in my hand, laces carefully wrapped as far to the middle as I could manage while simultaneously yanking the entire garment over my head. I point to the chocolate chip drip on my shirt.

She doubles over in laughter. The wife of the couple I am driving has come running down the hall by now, also wondering if I am laughing or being murdered, I am making so much noise. She loses it in laughter as well.

As I head back to my cube, the last two guys in my department are now hearing three women laughing, and see me coming. They just stand and wait for an explanation. The moment I say the words, "Um...you know how some shirts have laces that make a bow in the back?" both of them slam their shaking heads down into their hands. At least they agree that it's never dull with me in the department.

Glad I had a load of darks waiting to be washed when I got home. For cryin' out loud.

Here's to single life and spilling all my idiocy on the internet!

Elf Party of Six

So, the plan was first we'd make snow angels for two hours, then we'd go ice skating, then we'd eat a whole roll of Tollhouse Cookiedough as fast as we could, and then we'd snuggle.

Karin took issue with cookie dough and snuggling, but insisted she's not an angry elf. Bonni was afraid someone would smell like beef and cheese, not like Santa. Arnila wanted to make sure some fake Santa would not be sitting on a throne of lies. Kathie wanted to prove that the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear. Becky just likes to smile; smiling is her favorite.

And Danielle had never even seen the movie, so she was waiting for all the quotes and references and laughter to make sense.


We decided to settle for watching Elf together, eating good food, and pretending that we were trying to stick to the four main food groups: candy, candy canes, candy corns and syrup. Sugar, spaghetti, cookie dough, syrup, the flick, and candy sufficed just fine!

What actually got ingested was artichoke dip, veggies, crackers we are still trying to unload from my pantry, Christmas salad, homemade mac 'n' cheese, Amish friendship bread, some Thai curry, hot chai tea, and Starbucks Holiday Blend coffee laced with peppermint mocha creamer. Yum!

We looked silly and had little jingle bells ringing in our ears from our hats (yes, we wore them for the whole movie!), but not one of us is a cotton-headed ninny-muggins!

Thanks for a super night, gals!

Liverwurst & Mumsey Update

How many people do you know who have used two blog titles with liverwurst in them? Not many, I betcha.

I am happy to report that my stomach was fine all night. My brain, however, did take an odd turn in its nocturnal wanderings. Here's the kind of dream that consuming sausage containing ground liver and pork trimmings will bring you:

Though we seem to be our current ages, for some reason, Michael and Devin and I are all staying at my folk's house and have to get to school. I wake up late and see Michael and Devin heading out the door like good, obedient boys. I realize I am late, jump up, grab a towel and robe, and run to take a shower. Mom sees me on the way to shower and chides me for being late. I hurry into the shower, where I shampoo my hair and promptly squeeze the filling out of a Hostess Twinkie to massage into my hair for conditioner. While I let the filling seep into my hair, I frantically shovel into my face the rest of the Twinkie, which tastes disappointingly dry and sad sans its middle. Mom sees me eating the Twinkie, tells me to hurry up and stop messing around. I then try to rinse Twinkie filling from my hair, which is as pointless as it sounds--big, greasy mess.

Dream over.

Huh? Interpretations, anyone?

On a more explicable note, I had a nice talk with Mom this morning, who sweetly said, "Your dad made me read your blog last night. You have to stop making me cry!"

"Oh, Mom, I didn't make you cry! I just told the truth. You're great."

"No...I think you are seeing things through rose-colored glasses. Not even rose-colored; some crazy, multi-colored glasses that make you see things better than they are!"

"Mom, did you see how I put on the blog that you argue when people compliment you? Hmmm?"

"Oh! Ha ha...oh, um, hee hee! Okay! Love you!"

Tee hee. My Mommy rocks :)

I also told her that after hearing an old Casey Kasem American Top 40 countdown from the 70s yesterday, and singing along with Shaun Cassidy on "Hey Deanie", I owed her thanks for taking me to see him in concert when I was nine, letting me buy Tiger Beat magazines filled with Shaun, Leif Garret, and Andy Gibb, watching The Hardy Boys Mysteries with me every week, and buying me a Parker Stevenson t-shirt and a Shaun Cassidy lunchbox. She said it was a mommy's duty :)

Liverwurst and Buttermilk

Ever try to watch The Godfather without having lasagna or cannoli in the house? Oh, the miserable moment when you realize you have to stop the film and run out and at least find spaghetti sauce to make the experience complete.

The same thing happens when I watch White Christmas. When the scene with Bing Crosby and Rosemary Clooney rolls around and they are discussing a late night sandwich snack, I have to be prepared. So, tonight, in much joy, I watched the film and munched away on a liverwurst sandwich and a glass of buttermilk.

The only risk is, Bing says if you eat liverwurst, you dream about liverwurst.

The other potential risk tonight could be that I partook in this lovely, yummy holiday ritual o' mine at 10:00 PM. A little late for any food, nonetheless liverwurst (with some Jarlsberg cheese on the sandwich, too) and buttermilk. Hmmm.

Feel free to check in with me tomorrow on the state of my stomach's health :) My mind and heart are tickled as can be!

Musings on the Mumsey

Musings in a moment. First...

I killed the garage door opener. In my efforts to follow the troubleshooting guide and instruction manual I found online to get the door to close all the way and stop hopping back up and staying open, the thing ended up not even moving the chain anymore.

For as awful as I feel, at least I can now thoroughly justify the $65 service call fee the company that installed the door charges to just come out and peek at the unit. I learned about that on Friday. I was really hoping to avoid it in this season of much-more-fun-to-spend-money-on-others-than-on-your-house. Oh, well. On to happier thoughts...

I managed to hide behind a friend today at a wedding when the bouquet toss was announced, despite at least two people hollering my name to "get up here". I have no particular aversion to marriage, but I am too old to be in a mosh pit with dozens of early 20-somethings who will body-check one another to snatch the bouquet. Ow. No bruising for flowers that promise nothing, thank you. I'll rely on the enthusiastic folks scattered around the globe (Lebanon, Jordan, Romania, Kenya, Germany, etc.), including a recently added batch from Arkansas, who are praying for me to marry someone wonderful :)

My favorite happy thoughts from today...

Ten days! Ten days and I disembark the plane to see my mumsey's smiling face! I'll be reveling in the whole family over the week, of course, but I get some time with Mommy first.

Mom gets teased a lot in my blog (in fact, there are some pretty hilarious Thanksgiving pictures to come), but I truly, truly adore her. Which means the teasing makes perfect sense; in my family, mocking you is a sign of love. If we don't tease you and embarrass you a little (or a lot), and we are really sweet to you, we probably don't love ya all that much :)

I thank God for the way he has used Mom in people's lives. It dawned on me one day after Holly had been student teaching in Mom's classroom, and after Mom and I visited a friend in whose class Mom had been an aide years ago, how God has worked through her to touch more than the lives of the children in her classes. She is complimented often by grateful parents and appreciated by former students for the role she played in their young lives, but she has been so much more, too.

When Mom was an instructional aide, she worked for several teachers over the years. Two of those were young, single women who had recently moved to the mountain. Not only was Mom a help to them as they established their classroom management and teaching styles, she was a mom and friend to them. They became like big sisters to me, like daughters to her and my dad, and they leaned on my mom for emotional support, wisdom and encouragement in some wonderful moments of their lives and in some of the darkest, toughest moments. My mom's courage, patience, and wisdom was a haven for them. I know these women to this day, so I can repeat with confidence what they say: they would not be who they are today if it weren't for my mom. They are successful, loving women who navigated difficult relationships and disappointments to marry good men and have darling families. They became outstanding teachers in their fields and cherished friends to us.

And years later, Holly was in Mom's classroom. Holly would have been a super teacher no matter what, but I know she is so grateful for Mom's experience and influence as she did her student teaching. Holly will tell you that her classroom has tons of elements of Nancy's teaching world. Except for maybe the exact positions of where the stapler and tape dispenser go ;)

When my heart is most broken and confused, Mom is where I run. When I need to celebrate, Mom is where I want to pour out the giddiness that spills out of me. When a decision is hard, I want her insights; Mom tells it like it is, the good and the bad and the tough and the truth. I don't have to do what she says, and I don't have to agree with her. It's part of why I seek her; she lets me be me, covered in unconditional love, no matter what. It's not always easy, but it's always good.

She knows about good chocolate, loves watching it snow, laughs until tears run down her face, argues when you try to compliment her, is perpetually tidy, lets her grandchildren eat humongous doughnuts, has a terrible poker face, gives incredibly generous gifts, panics a little when my dad or I get up to speak in a crowd, and I think truly doubts the value she brings to the world and the people who love her.

Anyone worried that my dad is feeling left out here? Never fear; one of his deep joys is to have Mom be gushed over with goodness and praise and love. He's happy :)

It seems trite to say, "Thanks, Mom." But, thank you, Mom. Love you, Mom. Christmas lights in my cozy house make me think of you. Thank you for leaving memories all over my house and all over my life.

Allow Yourself to Be Cherished

It pays to know people who know people. My most excellent colleague Nicholas is good friends with David H. Roper. David's list of accomplishments is long and his reputation excellent. He is also a very generous man, and has given LT permission to use his materials in our courses, and, Nicholas assured me, would be most pleased about my request to copy one of his recent blog entries here. Nicholas emailed it to me last week for my encouragement, and I just can't help but think there are others who drop by here who would be encouraged and warmed as well. So, thank you, Mr. Roper, for your wonderful writing and generosity. I am blessed because you want to sound smart and that you honestly admit why you write. Myself and my brother, Mr. Slusser, can be empathetic with and encouraged by your plight :)

So, from David Roper, something wonderful to ponder.

Lovesick and Dumbfounded

Carolyn and I often spend our quiet times reading from A Guide to Prayer for Ministers and Other Servants, an Upper Room publication (If you've visited Shepherd's Rest you've seen the copies in each bedroom.) The Old Testament passage for this morning was Zephaniah 3:17.

With apologies to Zephaniah and Bruce Waltke, my old Hebrew professor, here is my translation...

The LORD, your God is with you--
your hero, mighty to save!

He takes great delight in you.
He is speechless with love for you.
Every time he thinks of you he breaks into joyful song!

-Zephaniah 3:17

I'm awed by the notion that God takes great delight in me and breaks into song each time he thinks of my name. But it's the phrase I render, "He is speechless with love for you" that captivated me.

The verse is usually translated, "He will be quiet in his love," or in some translations, "He will quiet you." But the verb doesn't suggest tranquility or rest. It actually means, "to strike dumb."[1] And since the verb is in parallel with other verbs that suggest God's strong emotions ("takes great delight," and "breaks into joyful song") it must point to what He himself feels.

I wonder then: Could the analogy be that of a lovesick swain who is bowled-over, flabbergasted and dumb-founded by his love for the beloved-so overcome with fondness that he is tongue-tied? Is God, in some inexplicable, anthropomorphic way, "struck dumb" with love each time he thinks of us? If so, to be loved like this is, in turn, to be rendered speechless. As Isaiah would say, "I am undone."

And who is it that God so loves? One who is strong and able, brilliant, and breathtakingly beautiful? No, it is one who is "weak and the weary... who takes refuge in the name of the LORD" (Zephaniah 3:12).

DHR

[1] Jenni-Westerman, Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament.

Brain Cleft Evening

Good: Coming home and plugging in the outside Christmas lights.

Infuriating: Discovering the peppery stay-off-my-lawn-and-out-of-my-dirt-sprinkle-for-animals did not work, and something had left a gift and kicked dirt all over my walkway.

Happy: Pulling in to Zamzow's and smelling the Christmas trees on the way into the store.

Very Irksome: Spending what is now a total of $35 and three trips to purchase remedies to keep dog/cat/thing out of my yard.

Probably Inappropriate: My answer when the nice man at Zamzow's (catering to attentive gardeners and pet lovers in Southwestern Idaho) asked me on my way to the register if he could help me with anything this evening. "Not unless you can teach me how to use a BB gun and take out the dog hanging around my yard." Nice, smiling man suddenly looks as though he does not know quite what to do with me. Call ASPCA? I continue, "Or anger management classes. Whatever you think might work." Nice man: "Ha...ha...um, yeah. Huh." I think I saw him dig out the number for the Humane Society.

Surprising: The humungous light display on the house hidden from the street behind Zamzow's, which I never would have seen if I had not driven here in a fury tonight after leaping immediately back into my car after plugging in the Christmas lights. Cool.

So Very Kathie: The man and his teenage son who, as they exit their car, catch me with my nose neslted in one of the Christmas trees for sale outside the store, deeply breathing in one last wonderful dose of pine. They smile politely and start to walk a bit faster toward the store entrance, and the teenage boy carrying his new puppy puts a protective hand over the little furball and shifts him to the other side of his body. It almost escapes my lips to ask if I can pet the puppy, but I remember the man inside the store dialing 411 for the American Humane Association, and I think better of it.

Other-worldly: The brain cleft created in my cranium on the three-mile drive home by simultaneously being all goofy-giddy about the loads of pretty Christmas lights on houses and thinking about how to best make sure that whatever animal loves my yard for its toilet experiences some very memorable pain upon its next visit: Should I mix my own cayenne pepper concoction and give that a sprinkle in the yard? Oh, pretty lights! Maybe that thing needs a poke in the butt--I'll make a rampart of my little bamboo skewers out there--no squatting here, by golly! Oh, what cute swirls those people made in the trees with their lights--I should try that! Oh, a rock garden, that's it--little paws can't move boulders to dig up dirt to poo--where can I get some boulders? Oh, look icicle lights--I love those things. You horrible little animal--I tried to be nice and use "natural" pepper deterrent--now I am pulling out the chemical crap and I don't care--I hope you get Agent Orange on your butt. Oh, that person put light-up reindeer on their roof--how cute!

And so on.

The war is on, people. Me vs. my brain, and me vs. the critter. Place your bets now.

You can bet...

...that if you come into a woman's house and it's got nice mood lighting going on, and candles lit, and it's just a little dusky and romantic looking...

you're in the house of a woman who ran out of time to mop her floors. Vacuum, yes; mop, no. Keep the lights low and you can't see the floor so good. Yeah, Baby.

Keepin' the lights low tonight...

Tree Too Tiny!

For the past several years, I have been using a little (read: itty bitty) artificial tree instead of a real tree. When Liann and I lived together, I put her through enough years of sneezing and sniffling because I love real trees, that I decided the year that my Uncle Chris gave me a small artificial one to use in my classroom, and I happened to stop teaching the following June, that it was a sign that the tree was to come live in our house and allow Liann to breathe free the entire month of December. She was always a trooper and kind enough to let me have real pine needles in the house, but I find life more fun when the people I love can take deep breaths without inhaling things that irritate their lung lining.

Liann and I would combine some of our many ornaments and make Mr. Tiny Tree all memory-laden with goodness. When I had someone else to share tree space with, it felt easy enough to pick and choose a few special ornaments. Somehow, keeping a few in the box to make room for someone else was fun. Now, my tree is all my own...and I want ALL the ornaments on there! And THEY DON'T ALL FIT!

Sluss may need a new tree plan next year.

I am decorating with "Little Women" playing on DVD. Always makes me want my own Professor Bhaer. Maybe for Christmas next year...maybe he will come to my door under his umbrella with a new tree!

Okay. Reign it in. Time to squeeze more ornaments on Mr. Tiny Tree :)

snow, Snow, SNow, SNOw, SNOW!

From last Thursday...

Good news: The presentation in Little Rock went very well. Some exciting results are to follow and great relationships were started. Thank you so much for your prayers.

Bad news: Flight home is delayed. I am sitting in Denver after a delayed arrival due to a holding pattern because of snow, but more importantly, now a delay due to a maintenance problem and now a plane change-out.

Good news: The snow is purty.

Neither here nor there news: I am sitting on the floor, on a corner of a gate area (new gate; we got a gate change along with the plane change; I arrived at gate 92 of 95 this morning, was departing out of 19 and I am now at 31; anyone have a favorite number they want me to visit?) and walkway because that's where there is an electrical outlet. There must be a name for those of us who park on the sides and corners of walkways in airports when our laptop batteries need charging.

Today's update...

I made it home a few hours later than scheduled, but it was better than Tuesday's flights, so happy girl was I. Now it's time to decorate for Christmas!

I also had some happy entertainment yesterday afternoon; I had my sprinklers blown out. No, that's not a euphemism for something. It's cold enough here that if you own a sprinkler system, you have to make sure that all the water is blown out before the hard freezes in winter or else you get cracked pipes and much sadness. I'll tell ya, I felt very responsible finally getting it done, and it was worth the $40 for the entertainment value. A guy comes with a big ol' pressure washer/machine/thingy behind his truck, attaches a hose to the irrigation valve, and runs the zones on the sprinkler systems, blowing air instead of water. I had seven zone of my own private Yellowstone going off here yesterday. Little geysers all over the lawn that transitioned from water to vapor: why is that so fun to watch? It made little rainbows, too.

I am soooo easily entertained, I know. But I had a ball. Plus that little mature feeling I get when I do the responsible homeowner thing. Tingle, tingle, tingle.

Plus, it felt good to know I have finally made friends with my sprinklers and we survived a year together. Now, I just need the garage door to behave. It started acting up the night before Thanksgiving, and started again this morning.

For tonight, I will fill the house with friends who are using my living room as the midpoint for watching the finale of "The Amazing Race." I don't even watch the show, but I have friends who live in Nampa and Eagle who do, and living in Boise means I am the handy midway meeting point for all. So, will I fill my house with people I like to watch I show I don't keep up with just to have company and fun? You betcha!

Plus, I have like 800 boxes of crackers I bought when I had people coming for Thanksgiving week and I got word that my grandparents love to "snack". I am drowning in Triscuits, Wheat Thins, water crackers, you name it. I told my pals to bring cheese and salami...party on!

Views from an Airport

Got here at 6:15 AM. Plane was to depart at 7:22 AM. It's 1:00 PM. Might be out of here in 30 minutes or so. Might be. Was supposed to be in Little Rock at 2:15 PM. Might be there by 11:34 PM. Might be.

Airports, delays in particular, bring out the best and worst in people. I swear airports are little microcosms of the world; the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful all squished into one building.

On the whole, people who are trapped together in a ridiculously long delay turn into a little family. People start cracking jokes and chatting and checking on each other. Someone adopts the elderly people in wheelchairs and people do their best to tolerate children who have every right to be disgruntled. There is always some super sour pickle in the bunch, sometimes two, but they generally get ignored, and the people around them start talking about what a tough job the airline staff has when the situation starts out as a crew delay, turns into a maintenance delay, then turns into, "We have to fly the part in from San Francisco and we know you were scheduled to depart at 7:22 and it's now 9:30, but the plane should be here by 12:30 and it only takes 20 minutes to install the part, and San Fran has low clouds right now so no one is taking off, but we expect that you will be able to depart by 1:15 today."

The comments from staff are priceless in these moments. The poor gal who had been running our gate and rebooking connections for 70 people on her own (maintenance issue to fix that causes delay: not the airline's fault; not sending this woman help to serve their customers: definitely the airline's fault) suddenly got yanked over to load people for another flight at the gate next to us. The next thing we hear on the PA is, "Okay, we're ready to board at Gate 10. Flight XXXX to...where are you people going?"

Oh, and note to self: if you think you are being smart by getting in line to change your ticket 'cause you need to make phone calls to your hosts and your office and see what you needed to do and now there's only 10 or so people ahead of you before you use the little girl's room, think again. That line will take two hours. It was only a small cup of coffee, but it was indeed coffee.

I am not super worked up or anything--no point in being all hot under the collar--but as you stand in very long lines and no extra help is sent, even if you are happily humming to yourself, sometimes you find mild epithets running through your mind. Suddenly, up jumps, "This is monkey spew-biscuits." A bit later, "Holy monkey taster-chew" almost falls off your lips. Then, finally, when are a little more exasperated, "Unsnorkingbelievable, people."

Man down the row keeps asking why they can't bring in a new plane instead of a new part. He apparently didn't overhear the pilot like I did chatting with someone else about how you can't trade out Boeing and Airbus planes; the technologies don't match up one bit apparently, so they can't swap out the navigation-box-thingamajigs, and if one makes something that functions similarly to the other, they sue each other. Capitalism can trap you in an airport, people.

If you hear the airport announcements long enough, you will realize the airport voice is the only person in the world who still uses the word parcels. "Do not leave your luggage or parcels unattended."

I hope there are many parcels for me under the Christmas tree at Michael and Joanna's. If Mom changes her mind, that is; I did something last week to merit the annual, "Santa is not coming for you, child!" from Mom. I think I threatened to Elf her again or something...

I hope I see Michael and Joanna's tree and that I am not still here on Christmas Day. Parcels or not.

UPDATE: I'm in Denver! Hallelujah! And my rebooked connection means I only have a five and a half hour layover. Could be worse. Best moment on the plane was when we were supposed to be pulling away from the gate at 1:15 to depart and the pilot came on and said, "We are ready to go, but we seem to have lost nine passengers. They are looking for them in the airport now. We should pull out about 1:25. We'll keep you updated." The group I present to tomorrow will get a sleep-deprived, slightly-less-filtered version of me. Pray for them :)

Flying Away

I'm sitting in BOI (Boise International Airport—and by the way, be very careful if you Google “BOI”—you get some odd things that make disturbing ads pop up in your sidebar) because there is a crew delay for my departure to Denver this morning. "Crew delay" is code for "Your flight attendants have not arrived. No boarding until they do, kiddos."

I realized this morning that this is my third holiday season in Idaho and I now know the airport well enough to recognize the Christmas decorations. "Oh, look, the wreaths are up in the hallway. Oh, and there are the carolers in the corner, above the Frontier check-in desk. Nice to see you guys." Home sweet home.

Oh, and if you get chilly during the winter, visit an airport. Unless you are standing at the opening of a Jetway, the things are furnaces.

I also realized this morning that Christmas brings out the total dork in me. I mean, I know I am flooded with dorkiness the rest of the year, too, but Christmas brings it to a poignant yet laughable head. I love Christmas pins. I don't wear pins the rest of the year, really, but I love the little bit of sparkle-sparkle they bring at Christmas. When I fly, I always keep my jewelry in my purse until I am through security (one less thing to stand there and strip off these days), so there is a bit of reassembly on the other side of the x-ray machines. On go my shoes, on goes my belt, on goes my barrette, on goes my watch, and then my Christmas pin.

As I am aligning my little wreath, I have the sense of putting on a name tag and the thought flits through my head, "I am a Christmas Ambassador!" (which brings a big dorko smile to my face, standing there by myself, chin to my chest, getting the little clasp closed). No kidding—seriously, that was the exact phrase. In the next moment, of course, I am astonished at my own dorkitude. But I kinda like it, too. I mean, I am an ambassador of Christ all the time; why wouldn't it amp me up a little at Christmas? I always want people to feel loved and treasured. I would rejoice if everyone could feel that directly from God, but they don't. So, can’t I be a little nice and try to love people with a smile and some kind words? I am not always so super at this, for sure, but it's a heart dream of mine to leave a legacy of loving people well. Christmas brings the dream out in heaps.

Also, I am a dork because I love the Muppets singing the "12 Days of Christmas" with John Denver. I think it's why I am still single; Holly happened to pick up the exception to the rule in Tim :)

Well, boarding time has arrived. If you drop by here, please pray for this trip to Little Rock. I will be meeting with a ministry that works in 76 countries and I will be presenting LT. I didn't realize until I was texting with a friend last night why I have felt a little off kilter about the trip. My last business trip was to Spain, where I felt like such a wretched failure after a week of work. Granted, it was spiritual warfare that kicked my guts around all night before I flew home, but the whole thing has made me a little gun-shy about speaking to a group again. I could use prayers; thanks.

Edit: Boarding time has not arrived! Half the plane got boarded and they realized they had a mechanical difficulty with cockpit window heaters. Minimum of a 30-minute delay once the mechanic arrives. That's code for "Say sayonara to your Denver connections, kiddos!"

Oh, Miss Lee! Lookie Here...

Look at what happens when you leave wedding cake remnants at my house. My dad and grandma made little homemade ding-dongs with the white icing roses and layers of cake.


Then, we had to devour the blue roses. Seriously, we had to make room in the fridge before we started the Thanksgiving feast preparation. Plus, the avalanche of leftovers would obviously need a place to go. So...


Blue tongues, just for you. And Miss Christina, I know you are laughing yourself silly since my maroon and black frosting pictures were taken with you. Thank goodness people graduate from college, kids have birthdays, and couples get married. And they all require colored frosting to make it happen. How else would I make my artistic mark on the world?

Sipping from My Happy Cup

Oh, it's quiet here this morning! Not my favorite kind of quiet...it's the quiet after people I love have gone home.

Grandma Mel and Bud pulled out on Friday after treating Mom and Dad and me to breakfast at Cracker Barrel (YUM!). Yesterday was Mom and Dad's final morning here. I had the same feeling when I woke up that I did two and a half years ago when they first helped me move here. I remember waking up their last morning in my apartment, thinking, "Maybe if I just stay in bed with my eyes closed, really quiet, nothing will have to change. They won't have to leave."

It happened again yesterday morning. It's not that I can't function without them. I just really enjoy functioning with them, or with them close by enough to meet them for coffee and dinner and dominoes and laughter on a more regular basis. Their Thanksgiving visit was great--the whole time with my family was lovely. Putting Mom and Dad on the plane yesterday was hard, as always.

And it's not just because you did more yard work again, Dad :)

I read about being alone last night before bed; a good kind of alone that I think God is bringing to me. From Brennan Manning:

When God Breaks In

We are plunged into mystery--what Abraham Heschel called "radical amazement." Hushed and trembling, we are creatures in the presence of ineffable Mystery above all creatures and beyond all telling.

The moment of truth has arrived. We are alone with the Alone. The revelation of God's tender feelings for us is not mere dry knowledge. For too long and too often along my journey, I have sought shelter in hand-clapping liturgies and cerebral Scripture studies. I have received knowledge without appreciation, facts without enthusiasm. Yet, when the scholarly investigations were over, I was struck by the insignificance of it all. It just didn't seem to matter.

But when the night is bad and my nerves are shattered and Infinity speaks, when God Almighty shares through his Son the depth of his feelings for me, when his love flashes into my soul and when I am overtaken by Mystery, it is kairos--the decisive inbreak of God in this saving moment of my personal history. No one can speak for me. Alone, I face a momentous decision. Shivering in the rags of my fifty-nine years, either I escape into skepticism and intellectualism or with radical amazement I surrender in faith to the truth of my belovedness.

I sipped from a full cup all week, soaking in moments with my family. This morning, I am sipping from the special, happy cup Holly bought me during her first visit here, having coffee with the one who finds me beloved, who lavishes love on me through both my family and his Presence and Mystery.