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.

Habby Gwanny

Grandma Mel got her back right molar pulled last Monday morning.

My very kind dentist called early that morning and said, "Of course we can't have her feeling badly! How about 10:00 AM today?" The whole drive to the dentist, Grandma kept saying, "I feel better, really. I think I'm fine."

When we arrived at the office I told the receptionist Granny said she felt better. The receptionist smiled. "Ah. We hear a lot of that around here."

After filling out paperwork and chuckling over which box to check about fear of dental work (Extreme, Moderate, or None), they call Granny back. Bud and I have a good chat while she is gone, sitting in my dentist's waiting room that is nicer than my living room...it's got a library!

Eventually I see my cute grandma heading our way, accompanied by a dental assistant who says that it's very good that we came in when we did; the tooth needed to come out. I am looking at Grandma, wondering exactly how many teeth they pulled; my goodness, her lower teeth are missing! It's then that I learn she has a partial, which is at the moment wrapped in a tissue in her hand. Whew!

She has a wad of gauze tucked in the back of her mouth where they yanked the molar, and a big grin across the front of her face. I have never seen a smile that big on someone who just had a tooth pulled and was numb on one side. Before I can even ask how she is, Grandma says, "Oh, I feo so mush bettew!"

"Really, Granny? It's okay?"

"Oh, dis waf wunneful! I feo so mush bettew!"

"You know, Grandma, if you feel that much better that quickly after having your tooth pulled, it must have really been bothering you."

"Weo, ifs been a widdle paifoo."

"Well, then I am glad we came. Do I have a happy Granny?"

"Oh, yef! Habby Gwanny!"

We came home, I made a sandwich for lunch for Bud, and Granny tucked little bits of doughnut into the still intact left corner of her mouth. Don't try to tell an almost-84-year-old what they should or should not eat. Just let them grin and munch pastry bits with their head cocked to one side, pretty blue eyes all a-twinkle. Kinda cute.

Sunday Morning With Granny

Grandma Mel and Bud arrived yesterday afternoon. Apparently there was a decent amount of snow in the mountains on the way over and they almost turned around and went back home. I am grateful they made it, and just a couple of hours after they got here, it started to snow here for the first time this season. It was beautiful! Grandparents and snowflakes and a game of Mexican Train Dominoes last night...happy, happy!

As all things grandparenty should be, we had dinner at Elmer's last night. During my yummy split-pea soup, I hear Grandma make a little, "Eep!" sound while she is eating her salad, and I look up to see her holding her right cheek like she bit it or her tongue or something. Turns out she has a bit of a toothache that has been pestering her, and it seemed to flare up more significantly right then. Hmmm. Okay.

This morning, she comes into the living room talking like someone who is trying to move their mouth as little as possible and keep their tongue as still as possible. Hmmm. "Granny, how long has this tooth been bothering you?"

Now the story comes out. It's been bugging her for a few weeks (she thinks it's from a filing that wasn't done terribly well). Bud asks her why she hasn't mentioned it at all. "I was afraid we would have to get it fixed and we wouldn't be able to come here. I didn't want to miss the trip." (Make sure you read that aloud with your jaw and tongue very still.)

How do you tell your 84-year-old grandmother that you are thrilled that she wanted to see you so much, but you want to bop her on the nose for sitting around in pain and not getting it taken care of?

Ask me someday about the...what's a nice word for stubborn?...ah, determined, independent, tenacious, adamant, resolved, single-minded, headstrong...women on the maternal side of my family and the DNA I have inherited as a result. If you need a thrill sometime, get yourself a seat with me, Mom, and Grandma Mel all together and ask us to try doing anything that looks the tiniest bit like inconveniencing someone else or disrupting a plan we have made. Eh gads.

"Grandma, I bought the most expensive turkey I have ever seen for Thanksgiving. You are going to my dentist tomorrow, because if you don't eat your share of this turkey, you are sleeping in the garage."

It takes me an hour to convince her that I would like to go to the store and buy her Orajel. I finally just go get dressed and when I come out of my room, she is in her jacket. "Granny, I can just go and you can stay..." Nope. We both get in the car. I am happy to have her with me; I just don't know how fun her tooth finds the bumps in the road.

I am actually secretly tickled pink to have a little trip with her and to care for her. We get out of the car at the drug store and it bothers me zero to wait for her slow-moving body to climb out of the seat, close the door and walk toward the entrance. I covet every moment I have with her.

Then we get in the store. All I can think is we need the Orajel and we need it fast; I am feeling magnanimous because I acquiesced to Orajel today and my dentist tomorrow, when I wanted emergency dentist today. Grandma stops at the newspapers and picks up a Sunday edition. I offer to carry it, which, of course, I am denied. Okay. I try to move us on to the aisles in the back where the medicines are. Just when I think we are truckin' along, she stops at a candy display...CANDY! She piles four different bags of Hershey's chocolates on her newspaper! "Grandma, you can't even eat, your tooth is killing you, and we need candy? What in the world?" She tells me to hush and bats my hand away, and starts to giggle like my mother. Sheesh.

This is the point where I call my mom. I was perfectly fine to just take care of all this and let my folks hear the story once we had a dentist appointment...but I can't wrap my mind around the illogic of the candy purchase. I also know it's exactly the type of thing Mom would do. When I tell my mom, she just giggles and says, "Apparently you didn't read the fine print on the agreement for having them stay with you! Have fun!"

I happened to mention a doughnut place across the street the day before. We finally have medicine in hand (and newspaper and candy) and are in the car, and as I pull out to head home, Granny says, "Donuts! Let's go!"

Oh my. She picks out seven doughnuts (one an enormous fritter). As Grandma is paying (because, of course, I lost that argument, too), the doughnut gal asks her if this will be everything. "Yes!", I blurt out. "There are only three of us!"

At home, after a slathering of Orajel, we all settle in to watch A League of Their Own with our coffee and donuts. Granny drinks her coffee on the left side of her face and it takes her the whole movie to eat one jelly doughnut. I mention at least every 20 minutes that we are going to the dentist tomorrow.

Good thing Tom Hanks makes her laugh :)

Cakeitude

Ace of Cakes came to life Friday night for Becky and me. A little, mini, one-person-knows-what-they-are-doing and one-person-can-hold-the-frosting-roses version, anyway!

Two late nights and one afternoon after first commencing "Operation Get Cake to Church before MAF Game Night on Friday", we were off to the church with the cakes and gear in the car. And me riding in the passenger seat, holding the white roses you see in the back...the blue ones could stay back there because we didn't care so much if they got munched. The white ones...very important.



We arrive and there is a table waiting. There are little pillars already inserted in each layer, so icing gets squirted in between to act like glue.


Becky tried to tell me that if I ever worked with icing enough, I might not be so inclined to chomp the little rosettes of sugary delight. She said it loses its appeal after a while. Yeah, right. I told her about my colored-frosting-tongue photo collection (currently available in blue, maroon, and black). I have many colors yet to capture.

More icing gets piped around the edge of each layer to fill the gaps created by the pillars. What did I contribute thus far? Ever seen those guys on ships landing planes with orange, glowing sticks? Picture me doing the equivalent of that for Becky to stack the layers, making sure they were centered well. But instead of orange sticks, it was lots of, "Go, go, wait, back, no, this way, hold on a sec, more this way" and fingers pointing while I did laps around the table and the cake. I was also a human lazy susan for the individual layers for last minute touch ups before stacking. Becky said my speed was excellent :)


I also found a place to stash the roses so they would not get all soft and thus very difficult to attach to the cake. Classy, huh?


Oh, and I helped assemble and fill the fountain. We wanted it nice and full. So we filled. And filled. After we had it running for a bit, we noticed that the little holes were not able to keep up with the volume, so water was also running over the edges of the tiers, lessening the effect a bit. We want the bride to have the perfect little fountain of her dreams...but it's already assembled under the cake and surrounded by tulle...so....


We are set up in front of the church's coffee and snack bar, so Becky grabs a coffee stirrer. And starts sucking. And swallowing. Water from a plastic fountain that I am sure must have had some warning in the directions about "Do not use this to drink from. Made in China and coated in melamine." or something.


I at least find a regular size straw. After a few swallows, I realize this cannot be the most efficient way to do this. However, I am not a particularly efficient girl...just better than Bekcy. So I grab phase three of "Rescue the Fountain", which is a cup to spit the straw-sucked water into.


I have to tell you that while I was sucking and spitting, Becky just kept using the skinny little red stirrer to drink. Between my sucks and spits, I am yelling across the cake that she is nuts, get a regular straw for God's sake, and really, I don't think you should be drinking that water, there are more cups behind you, woman. Oh, and Becky, I don't think it has to do with the amount of water in here...isn't it just a pump power issue? If it wants to be a volcano with this little ridiculous motor, then so be it, don't you think? And do people think we are getting snockered right now because this fountain has a light in it which makes the water look kinda beige, like champagne? Also, does she need her car's gas tank siphoned any time soon? I am becoming a pro in a matter of minutes...plus, I am a little light-headed. Is she still standing over there?

Of course, as evidenced by the above photo, much laughing commenced while we were engaged in our rescue. It was a heroic feat not to blow trumpets of water from the straw or stirrer when we started to laugh. A little voice in my head kept saying, "Don't hose the cake, please don't let me hose the cake."

Whew! I finally can't stand it anymore...mostly because the laughter has rendered us useless... and God directs me back behind the snack counter again and I find a little paper cup that I can dip into the fountain and use to pour water back and forth to the bigger cup until we finally get the level right. Oy. Note to self: no tiny cake fountains at my wedding.

The actual cake results are lovely and Becky received much praise for her work. And I can claim that I pointed out where icing holes were, and I stuck some of the tiny blue fabric flowers in...the ones in the back :)

Vanna and Vanna with the completed masterpiece.


And, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and indeed there comes a point where you have watched enough icing be scraped around, wiped on surfaces, and treated like paste that you decide you can take a break from eating it for a while. Who knew?

Wedding Cake in The House

I love when my house is helpful. I bought it with the hope that it would be a blessing to people. The house certainly had a fun and busy summer with lots of visitors. I think it's happy when people are here :)

It's had some fun the last two nights that I confess I had not imagined when I signed the escrow papers...wedding cake!

No, no, not mine. Put the confetti away, people.

Becky is the queen of wedding cakes, and she is making one for someone at our church. It needs to be delivered Friday night to a church in Boise. Rather than have Becky drive all the way to her house from work or bring the cake to work, then drive to Boise to set up the cake, then back to Nampa for our MAF game night (I made her promise to find me people I could play Mexican train dominoes with), I suggested she decorate the cake at my place since it's only 15 minutes from the church. She toted everything over here last night and the baking began.

Last night ended late. Tonight not so late, but we'll be back at it tomorrow, and she has decided she would like me to help her deliver it, too.

Has she ever seen me try to carry anything delicate? Yikes!






The above was just practice assembly to see how things will fit together. Piping and roses and decoration went on tonight and we'll assemble and pipe, pipe, pipe more icing tomorrow to make everything fit together.

I do the dishes, by the way. Not the piping. And I eat the tops of the cakes that Becky cuts off to make them flat. I have my own eight-layer cake-top cake in a pile on a plate :) And I woke up this morning to a house that smelled like chocolate cake...now that is a great way to meet the morning!

The CEUs of Life

When I was teaching, like lots of people in lots of professions, I had to keep my CEUs up to date. I had to have enough Continuing Education Units every five years to convince the State Board that they should renew my credential.

I am enjoying the CEUs of Life these days. Sometimes they are challenging, difficult things, but sometimes they are just downright happy and crack me up.

A recent CEU was in one of my favorite areas of course and lab work: Introverts and Extroverts: How to Be Friends, or, Kathie's Perpetual Amazement at The Differences and How She Blows Right Past Them.

The other day, my sweet buddy Becky, my smiling airplane seatmate from the airstrip dedication, lost her keys. An email popped up at work right at the end of the day, sent by another friend in the office, saying that Becky could not find her keys and asking if anyone had seen them. Becky was looking forward to heading home and voting (now you know what day it was) and could we help out by taking a look around?

A few minutes later I toodled over to the other side of the building to see if there had been any success. Nope. Someone had volunteered to pick her up in the morning, and another person had volunteered to drive that evening and drop Becky off at her polling place, but they had to get home and couldn't stay to wait for her to vote. Becky said she would just walk the couple of miles home after voting.

The sun sets here in Idaho at 6:00 PM this time of year; can you say dark and cold? I couldn't stand it, so like the helpful-whether-you-want-me-to-be-or-not girl that I am, I told Becky I was taking her to vote, would wait for her, and would drive her home. Yeah, I am gonna let my friend walk home in the dark and cold and rain...right.

As we head to the car, Becky relates to me the saga of looking for the keys and their inexplicable disappearance. She, along with a couple of other folks, searched every inch of floor and drawer in her office. Nothing. She sheepishly confesses that she does have a theory...do I remember that morning when I opened the front door for her because her hands were full with a huge box and other goodies because she refused to make a second trip out to the car? Well, she thinks perhaps her keys fell into the box while she was carrying so much stuff...a box filled with smaller boxes she was sending to a friend for Christmas...which she sealed and mailed that afternoon...to Portland.

Tee hee hee! Becky might have mailed her keys to Portland! I am cracking up, and reminding her that at least the box is headed to her childhood best friend and not a stranger!

As we get to the car, Becky tosses her things in the backseat and climbs in front. As I am still loading a few things into the back, a colleague comes out to her car and asks if Becky found her keys. I leap up to stand on the side where the back door is open and yell over the roof of my car, "No, no keys, but guess what? Becky thinks she might have mailed them to Portland! Ha ha ha!"

I plop myself into the driver's seat and find Becky looking at me, eyebrows up. "Um, not everyone needs to know I might have been a dunce and mailed my keys away."

Oh. I stare back, my eyebrows furrowed down. What? "I was aleady kind of horrified when they sent the email asking for people to help look for my keys...I finally gave up out of desperation, but I would have been perfectly happy for no one to know."

Oh. Ohhhhh. I pull my mouth down into a sad face. Oh, yeah. There are introverts in the world.

I apologize. She laughs and tells me it's fine...she needs to learn to chill about things sometimes. I sheepishly confess, "I forget that introverts don't want everyone to know every time they do something foolish or embarrassing. I, on the other hand, like a good extrovert, have a blog where I can broadcast all the stupid and humiliating things I do. Anything for a laugh. I'm kind of a laugh ho."

By now we are both laughing hard. And I get her permission to tell this story using her real name :)

And she treats me to dinner at Bardenay after voting! Apparently, extroverts pick exceptional friends!

The keys, by the way, did not end up in Portland. They were cleverly hiding under a folder, waiting to be found when Becky sat in just the right spot at her desk the next morning. We think God wanted us to have a great dinner together so he hid her keys :)

Good News This Morning

I woke up to discover I was not the one who let the tool bag float away during a NASA space walk this morning at the ISS.

Just hearing that story on the news made me check to see that it wasn't me that did it. The gal was cleaning up one mess and another resulted in the meantime. That would be a classic Sluss move.

Whew. I knew there was a reason I scrubbed out of the space program.

Marley Is In The House!

Okay, first off, I am completely giddy about this holiday season. Giddy, I tell you. I love the holidays every year, but this year has both some new things and some simplicity compared to last year.

Last year was special and good, and having Tony enjoy December in the States was a blessing. But I won't deny the challenge of it all, especially since four days into his three-week visit, we knew we would not continue pursuing a romantic relationship. God knew the amount of time he had planned for Tony to be here and all the people Tony would meet, which was wonderful and I am very grateful for the opportunities he had while he was here. Hosting any guest always has some surprises, and if you toss some cross-cultural differences into that, it means my filters were never really all the way down, plus we had a crazy schedule to keep, so I didn't really relax into my family time in California. I had also just bought my house and moved in, and I was TIRED! (My parents should have been exhausted, too; they helped me move and then hosted guests in addition to all the usual fun.) Basically, the holidays flew by and I felt like I hardly got to experience them.

This year...I am giggling at every bit of garland and lights and big snowflakes on the lampposts throughout the city, tickled pink every time I see a house adding fall or Christmas decorations, dancing in the car with the steering wheel when the Muppets and Miss Piggy sing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" ("ba-dum-bum-bum!") on the CD Corrina sent me, and skipping with the shopping cart in the grocery store as I buy ingredients to make fudge and things to munch, munch, munch for dinner and snacks with Granny and Bud and Mom and Dad for Thanksgiving!

I am giggling while I grab the cute flannel sheets to make beds for my guests, buy Thanksgiving Blend Coffee at Starbucks, pick up my first free range, antibiotic-free turkey (thanks for the idea, Wendy!), realize that my bright idea that I don't need a cart when I am picking up only one item at the Boise Co-op is not a bright idea if the one item is a 17.5 pound frozen bird (brrrrrr!), put away more groceries than I have ever had in my possession at once since I moved to Idaho, arrange my fall decorations that my parents drove up this summer, and make sure there is Bailey's in the cupboard so Daddy and I can have Irish coffees in the evening.

Thus, Marley has arrived and is the freezer, the sage is in the cupboard, there are breakfast and lunch goodies in the house for my grandparents who are arriving this weekend (hooray!!!), the Mexican train dominoes are ready to go, and Duffy the car is ready to pick Mom and Dad up at the airport next Tuesday...I am the luckiest girl on the planet.

Happy Dance!

Anyone who remembers our dog Scooter will likely recall his happy dances. If he thought he was getting food, he would do this crazy, scampery jig around the kitchen, his little nails click-clicking on the tiled floor. And his legs frequently almost splaying out from under him...both sad and funny.

I am doing a happy dance this morning! And, yes, I also do one when I think I am getting food, but this morning is for a different reason.

Remember the Smack post? I had booked my Christmas tickets in October for just over $400, thinking I was pretty smooth, then found fares later for the mid $300s. Well, this morning, I found new, even lower fares for the very same flights on the airline I had originally booked and was able to rebook at the lower price, saving over $80! Whoo-hoo! Happy dance, happy dance, happy dance! (In my head, that sentence sings like, "Humperdinck, Humperdinck, Humperdinck!" from The Princess Bride :) There's no clicky noise, though, 'cause I don't have puppy paws and I am in my carpeted cubicle at work...but it's still a happy dance!

I can't get a refund on the credit difference, but I can use it toward a later purchase, which of course I will do within the coming year. Thanks to a friend I had coffee with on Saturday who told me rebooking was worth looking into (she had seen prices dropping like crazy), and thanks God!

Monday, Monday: The Sequel

Finally, the finish. I know you have just been waiting...

The surprise blessing in Monday #1: Turns out that I never would have known it was the exact day between my colleague's two meetings and that my Monday evening was going to be the Tuesday morning before the presentation to all the pastors if I had not called when I did on my Monday morning (got all that?). What it means is...

when I called that night, after fretting all day, I was able to pray for him on the phone before he started a really big day. To thank God for him, for his family, their sacrifices, the work God has done through them (which is terrific), and that the Spirit would work through him during his presentation. I found out later how touched he was by my "out of the blue" call to pray for him.

That call was so only a God thing. I never would have called Southeast Asia that day if I had not gotten that crazy, frustrating call in the morning.

The surprise blessing in Monday #2: Well, um, I don't actually know. Turns out many people thoroughly enjoyed our chapel speaker that morning, and I gave people plenty to chuckle about for the rest of the day--bonus. The weirdness of that Monday is the friend who told me, after reading the blog, "You know, I just kinda had a feeling that something like that was going to happen to you that morning." New rule--speak up, people! If you got foreboding hanging around, let a girl know!

Oh...I also learned that this is why you always make sure you stay friends with the base operations guys, so they can pull your chestnuts out of the fire when you surprise them with things you should have told them a week before. It's why you let them eat all the chocolate out of the candy dish on your desk whenever they drop by. And when necessary, pay them off later with Hostess Fruit Pies and Monster Energy Drinks :)

(Okay...I gotta confess my secret shame on here...'cause it's on TV while I type...I hardly ever watch it, but when I catch a moment of it, My Name is Earl makes me laugh every time. Every time. It's like a test now when I catch a few minutes...will I laugh? Yup. Humiliating, but true. Please, someone else confess a secret shame [not too secret...this is for public consumption, people] in a tiny font so I don't feel so badly!)