Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Amazing Salad



I took the time to make myself a beautiful salad last week for lunch.
radish
cabbage
chicken (only a little on top, like bacon bits)
raisins
almonds
kidney beans
shredded carrots
mushrooms
tomatoes
spinach
butter lettuce
green onion
with my favorite Newman's poppyseed dressing.
I'm trying to find the picture I took... and I ate it all--the entire plateful.  It wasn't filling like meat... but I knew it was enough to eat, so that was my lunch.  I am proud of myself, more for my work of art... the colors were so lovely together.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Don't know what to say

I want to write--I have some time, but I don't know what to say.
It's been awhile, the leaves are turning, time passes.
Each day seems significant, when you have a goal.

Benjamin was a dream child two days ago, zero complaining as he did his jobs, loving and happy.  He smiled.  This is my greatest blessing.  Yesterday it started to wear off, a little bickering with his brother.  I am trying to be more intentional about hugging him whenever I am near him, it seems to help.

Ian has a good grasp of humor, and timing.  He definitely makes us laugh.  He has an extremely keen memory, so he collects a lot of lines from movies and books and uses them very appropriately in conversation.  It is always surprising.

Aaron & I are going away for some family scheduling.  Pray & Plan retreat.  A friend's cabin at the windy rainy beach and--he's bringing his surf board.  So I'll bring my book!

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Drunk at the Colonnade

   Well we had quite an interesting time on a recent visit to this Seattle park.  The Colonnade is a mountain bike park under an overpass area in Seattle.  Aaron had taken the boys once, and they've been dying to go back.  So we made the plan, drove there on a Sunday and wow!  It was my first time and it was more extensive than I imagined and--steep.  When we were first there a few people were using the course at different points and an intoxicated man was hollering down below.  It seemed he was mostly hollering to himself, so I made a mental note to avoid that area.  Unfortunately he came up to join a small group of us around a tiny dirt bike-styled "pump track" where Ian was attempting some moves, and our first encounter with "Mr. D" began.
  We were a bit on alert because the park is structured somewhat "one-way" but there aren't necessarily signs directing this and lots of blind corners.  Aaron didn't even bring his bike because he planned on closely shadowing the kids constantly.  I'm pushing Ian a little when the heckler loudly says, "Ahhh!  Take the training wheels off, c'mon!!"--LOUDLY.  I turn in his direction and reply loudly "ZIP IT!"  (I might have even pointed at him) Nice, huh?
  Aaron is there in a minute and the other family with older girls, so I'm not in danger and feel a little bold and put out, and don't want my son to have a complex about his training wheels.  I'm too focused on Ian to really follow up on my command, but Mr. D wanders off after a few moments and sputterings.  Aaron says, "Did you really tell him to zip it?-wow."  I'm really not comfortable with that guy wandering around.  When we move down the hill to a flatter spot he is there in a nook still being loud, cursing to himself.  We don't want to give in to the baser side of life and leave early, after we've been planning this a few weeks, even though I really want to leave.  This park is not for him, it's for bikes, although there is clear signs of homeless habitation.
  My feelings are a bit angry for the situation which makes me uncomfortable in a place that is supposed to be fun and instead I am miffed at this intrusion.  Of course, we are trying to explain it kindly to the kids, when I am more disgusted inside.
  Then the moment of unwanted excitement begins and the guy starts making his way rather purposefully to where we are with our two small kids.  Aaron is working with Ian at the moment and I am a bit away with Benjamin.  He passes Aaron and continues moving steadily but not fast toward me and Benji.  I am planning on him walking right by and down the path but he slows and abruptly turns toward us.  I am not unprepared for this, since I don't trust him at all, but I put myself between him and my kid, and say forcefully (very creatively), "Get away!" Benji is transfixed by this weird guy and can't stop staring at him, not moving forward to get away, but just staying tucked behind me on his bike.
  The guy is older, bearded with a hat on and light blue eyes, weathered face.  One eye is hugely dialated and the other pupil small.  He starts mumbling stuff, but not advancing, he is perhaps 2 feet from my son, and I am up a ridge a bit from where he has turned toward us.  I reach out and with my palm on his chest, shout again, "Get back, get away from my son!"  he takes maybe one step back and Aaron is rushing over, Mr. D's gaze still fixated on Benji.
  I am trying to get Benji to bike calmly down the hill away, and I'm ready for a lunch break!  I am trying to get Ian's attention so Aaron can address the guy if needed, but he's kind of just riding without much care.  I am shoving Benji up the incline toward the car (he is moving--slowly and still staring at this strange guy).  I am calling Ian to come have some lunch.
   Aaron is talking with the guy, then increasing volume, "You may not talk to my son."  Then the guy starts swearing at him and calling us swear-names and Aaron pulls out his phone to call the police.
  "Go ahead and call the police..." Mr. D slurs.  Aaron steps away then and follows us up to the car while on the phone with the dispatcher.  Shortly several police cars drive up and later an ambulance comes and they put the guy on a stretcher.  The man made no effort to leave at any point.  He apparently had a burning desire to do the Catholic crucifix (pointing across your chest) to Benji.  He was angry that Aaron wouldn't let him share this... okay.
  It shook us all up a bit.  Benjamin just couldn't get the man out of his mind, and I think I added to the drama by being loud and abrasive instead of trying first to redirect the man, maybe, but Mama bear showed up and that was it.  Aaron was impressed by the fact that I pushed the man back.  It scared Benji to think I had spoken to a stranger like that, and he couldn't sleep that night.  He was truly worried after the fact that he could have been hurt.  We prayed a lot with him, and tucked him in with a light on.  In our bedroom Aaron related it to me over again, planning to punch the guy if things really got dicey.  I too felt empowered to protect our family because Aaron was there and I knew I had back up if the guy got wild.
  That's the facts and feelings of it, I wish it had happened differently, I hope it makes my kids feel safe in the long run, but it definitely gave them a glimpse at the real life a hopeless person could lead.  And what self-destructive behavior does in a life.

Monday, September 27, 2010

The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

  This was a fabulous book!  It begins to disturb the reader just as the character's lives are becoming overrun with the difficulties of their own mystery.  It was written in sections as if the people are documenting their experiences surrounding a missing jewel as evidence.  Just as I was getting wrapped into one account it would abruptly end leaving so many questions unanswered.   It was written originally in 1868, but was very readable for that time period and I enjoyed it very much.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Writing Group

  I have a lovely group of ladies in my writing group!  We meet monthly to read each others' material and edit.  I always leave so encouraged and challenged.  I am a fast reader, but sometimes I miss details.  My mind corrects anomalies as I go, inserts a word etc.  I enjoy slowing down and being intentional in the editing process.  I have to challenge myself by asking, "how can I make this better?"  --to give my whole creative self to their work and add value.  It is a journey whose destination is publishing.  You really get an appreciation for the variety & validity of multiple perspectives.

Honesty

     Honesty is much more complicated than it seems.  I am coming to believe that loving honesty withholds hurtful truth.  Is it necessary, is it truthful, is it kind?  After all there is plenty of truth available... how about some kindness?

    

Friday, September 10, 2010

School Libraries

     My mother bear instinct has been aroused... again.  The thrill of getting three kids (one on loan) to two different bus stops in the early morning, after repeated reminders for socks, hair brushing and backpacks is, shall we say, not so thrilling anymore.  It sets the rest of my morning off with panic tainted rush.  Then my ace-reader comes home describing that he wasn't allowed to bring a book home from the library.  I investigate further...

"So what did they say..."
"Uh huh?"

They either said it was too heavy for his backpack... (What in the world?  His backpack only has an empty lunchbox.) or that it was too hard for him... which makes me want to roar.  I try to contain myself, I attempt not to cloud my child's perception that the school authorities are to be unquestioningly obeyed and revered.  But... but!!  This is INSANITY!

They haven't even tested the kids yet, to see what their reading level is, and yet they are making judgement calls.  And I could read it to him--but perhaps it is too hard for me as well!  I can understand for maybe kids who are left to themselves or something, but my kid is an achiever, and they just said--"you can't", "it's too hard!"  I get so incensed about this.  I want to sign a waiver saying my kid can have any book he picks... or call the librarians, or the teacher... or... hmmm?

I try to take a deep breath and think of the chain of command, or of going to the person who has offended you, or staving off the offense and giving the benefit of the doubt, asking questions; seeking to understand before being understood.  But all I can see is red and I feel quite settled on the issue of my child... they are all wrong.

Of course, not so, but I do try to understand the situation and the hint of the learning ceiling resounds like our previous school, but I won't believe it--yet.