For Will and Me

Postholer

"It's for making holes for posts."

Right.  The return to blogging, it was bound to happen one day.  Life is busy.  Work is work (which is to say consuming) and the children are growing (which is to say consuming) and the husband and I have much on our plates.   Nothing really new here except that my Dad died.   Doesn't that sound stupid and pathetic?   Well, I'm feeling kinda stupid and pathetic, so there.  I guess it's not too hard to imagine what most my ideas for posts are like, which is another reason I've not posted, but being stupid and pathetic hasn't stopped me in the past. :)

Should I tell you that some days it's like the tooth that finally fell?  Tentatively probing the gap, wandering over the vague pain and complete loss.  Or that other days it's like something deep inside, something tangible and strong has cracked, a single sharp breaking?  Something not to be examined too closely.  Those are my "good enough" days.  "How you doing Beth?"  "Good enough."

Want to hear about why the more glorious the sunrise the harder I cry?  Grief is trite. Or maybe explain to me why I find myself going all soggy at really strange, random moments?  Why there are times I take refuge in the absolute knowledge that I will see my Dad again and other times I feel like God is an Indian giver? Grief is lame and nonsensical.

Should I share the weirdness of grief?  My days: got get the kid's to school.  Do I have time to work out?  Where are my socks?  What do you mean you need your gym clothes washed now?  Probably should eat breakfast.  Someone take the dog out to pee!  Keys, keys, keys, where are my keys?  Crap, I forgot my phone again just a sec.  Drop the kid's at school: be Godly men!  Drop the husband at work: love you!  Coffee?  YES! Do I have enough gas to get to work?  Morning.  Good morning.  Morning.  Morning! Computer on.  Check messages.  Check email.  I have that many Facebook notices?  Good grief.  Calender check.  Really?  How can I have that much planned.  What don't I have planned?  Yikes.  Prayer.  Planning.  Printing. LUNCH! Cut and paste, art and crafts time.  Sunday set.  Out the the door.  In the car to fetch the kids.  Stop light.             Dad.



Green. Go. Blow the nose.  Wipe the face.  Hi!  You're hungry?  I'm not stopping, there's food at home. Homework? Yes, I'll help.  What was your day like.  Dinner?  I found a new recipe.  Yes, there is cheese in it, cope.  Please put your clothes away!  Your gym clothes?  Yes, let's get them in the wash.  Feed the dog. Reload the dishwasher. Pick up the husband:  how was work?  Home.  Eat.  Wash dishes.  Watch tv.  Read. Sleep.

Grief is lame.  Did I already say that?  Well, it bears repeating.  Seems odd (at the least) that thoughts of scheduling and recipes and locating my errant cell can occupy the same space as my father's death.

No one can carry your grief for you.  I think Anne Morrow Lindbergh said something to that effect.  She's right, but whatever.

And how are you?

Summer!

Summer is finally here (I hope).  The sun has been taking it's sweet time in making an appearance here in Oregon, but hopefully it's here to stay (for a few months anyway).  To celebrate I'm changing up the blog with this new, dandy template.  And I'm hoping to get back to posting a bit more regularly (once a month really shouldn't be that difficult) especially since there's strawberry jam to be made and cupcakes to eat, a triathlon to train for and (gulp) summer camp with 4 elementary school girls coming up.  I should have scads to write about.  Until then...

Morning reading...

Holy one,
there is something I wanted to tell you
but there have been errands to run,
  bills to pay,
    arrangements to make,
      meetings to attend,
        friends to entertain,
          washing to do...
and I forget what it is I wanted to say to you,
and mostly I forget what I'm about,
  or why,
O God,
don't forget me, please,
for the sake of Jesus Christ...

O Father in Heaven,
perhaps you've already heard what I wanted to tell you.
What I wanted to ask is
  forgive me,
    heal me,
      increase my courage, please.
Renew in me a little of love and faith,
  and a sense of confidence,
    and a vision of what it might mean
      to live as though you were real,
        and I mattered,
          and everyone was sister and brother.

What I wanted to ask in my blundering way is
  don't give up on me,
    don't become too sad about me,
      but laugh with me,
        and try again with me,
          and I will with you, too.

Ted Loder, Guerrillas Of Grace

Mountain folk:

I miss my friends.

Any chance of a get together when we pop home for the holidays?

To write?

Maybe.

PAlooooooooooooZA!

It’s finally here!

The celebration of our favorite spherical gourd is upon us… Pumpkinpalooza ought nine!* A fine Fox family fradition (sorry, I was on an alliteration role), tradition! On Friday, October 30, 2009 we will celebrate!

The Food: dinner will be around 7ish with our menu remaining the same: traditional pumpkin sausage pasta, baguette, and tossed green salad with pumpkin seed viniaigrette. Dessert will be brought by you. Yes, you provide the dessert. Why? Because there will be a punkin bake-off (and making pasta sauce and caramel corn for 60 takes all of my time)! Need a recipe? Shoot me an email and I’ll be happy to send you a recipe link for pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin cream puffs, chocolate pumpkin orange cupcakes, and yes, even pumpkin pie. Don’t do the dessert thing? Wanna bring an appetizer? Some bread? A beverage? Another dessert? That would be great, awesome even! Give me a jingle, shoot me an email, or text me, your communication options are many.

The Carving: Carving will begin around 6. We will provide a few carving implements (read: my steak knives), plenty of sharpies, and newspaper. You provide the pumpkin (hint: innovative use of pumpkins of different shapes and colors will be noted in judging), skill, inspiration, and any special tools (i.e. stencils, exacto knives, leather/ceramic tooling kits, or electric helps such as jigsaws, drills, or extension cords). If one hour between carving and food is not enough for you to complete your pumpkiny master piece, then please by all means, get a head start at home, but judging will commence directly after consumption of the dinner foodage.

This year will be the THIRD we judge the carved goods. If your jack-o-lantern wins you shall be dubbed High Pumpkin Mucky-Muck! To acknowledge your superlative pumpkin carving skills and incredible creativity we will slap your name on a tacky trophy and grant you one year of bragging rights. Afore said trophy will accompany you home where it will be kept in a highly visible place (we think your mantle or kitchen table best) till next Pumpkinfest, where you, Miss America-like, will pass on the torch or rather, ugly piece of plastic. Huzzah!

WARNING: our past two winners are exceedingly talented so bring your best game!

The Place: Since we have moved from farm to apartment quarters are tight so accommodations have been made at our church. You need directions? RSVP and I’ll send ‘em to you. That said, this is NOT a church event, though some church friends will be attending we can't afford to feed the entire congregation so mums the word.

Are you going to come? We'd love to see you there. Not going to come? We'll post photo's on facebook so you can pretend you came. Either way can you give me a head's up? I need to know how much food to purchase. Thanks and hope to see you there!

Grace and peace or grapes and peas,

-Beth


*If you're reading this and thinking: "wow this sounds a lot like Beth's past Palooza invite" you're right. Cut and paste is just about my speed right now so if my lack of creativity leaves you shattered... cope.

Update, also Why Doctor's Suck

So Dad was finally diagnosed after months of being in and out of doctor's offices, waiting for each next appointment, each next test, and each next result. All the tests came back negative and seemingly that's all the doctor's cared about.

It didn't matter that he couldn't sleep because of stomach cramps, and he couldn't eat for the nausea he was suffering from, or that when he finally could force down some food he could only take in a few bites without running to the bathroom to throw up. They gave him antacids. "Lost 20, 30, 40, 50, 80 pounds? Percuilar. Have a Tums."

When Doctor "Why-Do-You-Want-To-Be-Sick" finally found the tumor there was a flurry of activity. My dad was sent, the following day, to his GP who set up an appointment for him to meet with a surgeon (why this medical middle man was needed is anyone's guess), but he felt that the tumor would respond well to surgery. The day after that shuffle and jive a doctor and a nurse showed up at my folks home to review any questions an concerns my folks may have. After spending weeks between scheduled tests and appointments and being pawned off to the next specialist this was jiffy service indeed. The best part... they brought an insurance liason with them! Hmmm... wait... are they there to help my dad or protect themselves?

Day or so later dad meets with the surgeon who tells him that the tumor is larger then he thought (7cm) and in a hard to reach spot and he didn't think surgery was going to be an option (so much for Mr. GP's opinion), but that dad needed to have a PET scan before they could rule it out. Dad had the scan the next day and my mom went to the office that took the scan, got the results, and then shuttled the disc over to the surgeon's office so he could peruse the results and then get back to them. A week later... no word.

Mom's pretty pissed by this point so she calls the surgeon's office today. The receptionist was very helpful... no the surgeon couldn't take mom's call, but yes he had looked at the results (yesterday and today). Mom pointed out that he was supposed to call with his diagnosis, the receptionist didn't know what to say to that other then the surgeon was transfering dad to an oncologist. "So surgery is not option then," mom asked. "Well, I wouldn't say that," the receptionist replied. Of course you wouldn't! Why give a difinative answer when you can pass the buck, again!

So here we are, in a strange limbo place. Limbo sucks.

Apparently neither mom nor dad figured surgery would be an option. I was hoping it would be as it's the least harmful option (cutting into the body=least harmful option. How weird is that?). Dad is taking percocet now and sleeps all the time. He wakes up from time to time to eat some chicken soup. Mom is getting angier and angier and I'm getting pretty pissed myself.

The tumor disappearing would bring this unhappy tale to a short end, wouldn't that be nice? Right now I'd settle for him gaining a little weight back, a return maybe of his appetite, an ease to the pain, barring all those, how about a doctor who gives a crap?

A Return to Blogging (but with no words)

I've been neglectful of my blog, I know. Life is jam packed and Facebook is faster, easier, ordered up in smaller, more digestible bites while blogging always takes me so long. I'm known for always getting the words wrong (just ask anyone who's ever listened to me try and sing along with the radio) so composing blog posts is no quick, easy thing, but here it is...

My dad has been sick. Back in February he started feeling nauseous and was throwing up all the time, suffering with terrible stomach cramps. Doctor's ran tests and found nothing wrong so they ran more tests and prescribed antacids. Fast forward to three weeks ago... Dad has now lost 80 pounds and Mom takes him in for a final test, insisting they do an esophageal endoscopy (take a look down the throat). The doctor does it reluctantly. Before the procedure he asks my father, "why do you want to be sick?"
Seriously.

They found a malignant tumor right where the esophagus and stomach connect. The tumor is rather large and in a hard to reach spot and the surgeon doesn't seem too hopeful. That leaves radiation and chemo and whatever else. Needless to say, those options aren't preferable.

When I speak to my parents "they are fine". What else would they be. It's all a little weird, unreal, and Stepfordish for me and I'm feeling the distance of living 16 hours away. I imagine they're feeling a bit disconnected themselves.

So I need prayer. My family needs prayer. I've contacted my church prayer chain, but I believe that prayer is like chocolate, and more is better. And as I've witnessed these past few weeks with Miss Skaggs, prayer can do mighty things. So please pray.

I'd like to give you specific areas to pray into, but as this last Sunday when I had sweet, loving people ask me how they could pray for me I went blank, I am still blank. No wrong words this time just a lack. So I go to that same "I'm-fine" Stepford place. So lame. Guess the apple didn't fall far.

Matt has a weird ability to pray the words out of my heart. This is what he is praying:

• That the tumor disappears.
• That the bleak sense of isolation is lifted, and that Earl and Pat are brought closer to God.
• I got a real sense that for some time now, there’s been a blocking of the nourishment that Earl gets from Jesus. Since the tumor has come into existence and has grown, that blocking of nourishment has been reflected in our physical world – but it feels like they come from the same place. My prayer here is against the enemy who is directly responsible for blocking both spiritual and physical nourishment from Earl – I pray that that enemy would no longer be able to stand between Earl and nourishment – physical, and especially the nourishment for Earl’s spirit that comes from Jesus.
• I prayed for a thirst to take hold of Earl and Pat – a thirst for the Living Water of Jesus, and that they would know from whence that thirst came.
• During prayer, I had an image presented to me of Michael laying hands on Earl.
• I told Jesus that the image seems unlikely to me, but at the same time, I desperately want it. This is my prayer for that: “Michael has known You, and You’ve walked with him though he may not realize it. It’s time now for him to realize his worth in You and to see the path that You’ve laid out for him. It’s time for Michael to open his eyes and see the world as You see it. I ask for this image of Michael laying hands on Earl in Your name, to be made real.”
• I prayed for fireworks – that the urging and prompting to seek Jesus would not be subtle, but that it would be heralded with fireworks.

My parents and brother are believers, but all have been out of Christian community for years and I have watched each medicate themselves with different distractions. Aside from a moral code of nice-ness I don't know how deep any of their relationships with Christ go and in this time, it seems to me, it's not enough to cling to a hopeful moral code, but rather one needs to be able hear the words of a Savior that loves so completely that you can hear him whisper in your ear. This situation makes bumper sticker theology a reality slap: there is a difference between knowing of Christ and knowing Christ. And regardless of where this thing goes I want them to have that relationship, that bone-deep knowing.

So there you go. Don't know if that'll help with direction. I feel like I'm leaving so much out, but that's all I got right now. Tumor-free and fireworks, or something to that effect.

Thanks for reading and for the prayer. More as I know it.

In His Steps,

-Beth

Guess I'm it.

Got tagged by three peeps (geez already) so here are the rules:

1.Post the rules on your blog
2.Write 6 random things about yourself
3.Tag 6 people at the end of your post
4.If you are tagged, just do it, and pass the tag along!


Why is it hard to be random on queue when normally it's so effortless?

1. To get my morning coffee I favor a little drive-thru coffee/photo hut/kiosk-thingy place. I like the fact that this particular company has two of these little drive-thru hut-a-mi-jigs (one on each end of town) for my half-caf Americano drinking convenience and another near work in case I need another fix mid-day.

I also like this company's product. They never burn their beans (unlike some coffee chains) and decaf, haf-caf, fully leaded, sour pumpkin latte, coffee straight up, Mexican mocha blended with whip and extra cinnamon... it all tastes good and is, every time, no matter who the barista, pulled to my exacting standards.

The one thing I cannot stand is that this company favors hiring cutesy, fully coiffed at 5am, college co-eds whose hopped-up on espresso perkiness lends itself to all manner of annoying questions while stamping my punch card, taking my cash, and pulling my joe. Do they honestly care what I'm doing that day, what my plans for the weekend are, or where I'm going? I don't want to talk, but to give my order. Do they think by showing interest they're going to get a tip? When they're charging me $2.00 a cup? Ha! Unlikely.

What I long for is to be waited on by some tossled forty something that looks as tired as I feel and doesn't talk, but merely grunts when I hand them my card and cash. I think the one coffee-hut on the edge of town is picking up on my preferences. The other day I was greeted with a simple: "half-caf or decaf?" "Decaf please," I said. To which I was immediately handed a waiting cup. Sweet child. I gave her a fiver and told her to keep the change.


2. I recently found a wonderful hair stylist. I walked in and asked her to cut my hair because it was beginning to look like a giant mushroom was sitting on my head. When she asked what I wanted done I explained that I am chic deficient and have no clue what hair style would look best on me. I figured since she was the professional and had cute hair herself she could figure it out. I told her I had great faith in her abilities, so much so I didn't even want to watch as she cut and primped.

She ran a few ideas past me, I shrugged cluelessly, and she jumped right into the task like a real trooper. The end result: I have pretty cute, non-mushroomy hair, and a new stylist that understands my fashion blindness and like a sissors weilding labrador is willing to help me navigate the world of hair.


3. I eschew most things girly, but am helpless before stinkum water. I can spend hours in a store smelling perfume, bubble bath, and lotions. Go figure.


4. When I was 10 or so I once told my father that I wished that my name was Sandy or Bobbi, Beth I thought was too old-fashioned. He told me that when I was born my mother wanted to name me Gina Antoinette, to which he pointed out that we were neither Italian nor French.

Gina means queen. Antoinette means priceless. Priceless Queen? Yeah, my ego needs that. I'm pretty sure Bobbi means stripper, but only if spelled with an i and Sandy means uncomfortable. Elizabeth means consecrated or sworn to God, Beth means house or home, Leigh, in the shelter of, so: sheltering home sworn to God. It's no Maximus Decimus, but I can live with it.

Lesson learned: be thankful for what you got.

Note to self: send Dad something nice.


5. I take deep joy in cleaning my home. I wish I got to do it more. There are few things more satisfying then walking barefoot across a freshly scrubbed floor. That said, it's a toss up which is currently filthier: my home, office, or car.


6. I have killed Pumpkin-Palooza this year. Between Awana, junior high book club, a youth pastor conference (tomorrow- blech), Ben's Tiger Encounter (next weekend, thank you Lisa), meeting with my mentor, catering a luncheon for 140, hunting down Sunday school volunteers, writing curriculum, teaching Sunday's, and dealing with ministry pop-ups I'm tuckered.

The pumpkin mania that normally descends upon me every year has passed me by this autumn. I'd mourn, but I'm content to pass the torch and let others worry about fall festivities. Besides, what little energy I have left is going into making a blueberry scented Halloween costume and a giant batch of caramel corn.

In the hopes that you all have fun and frolicking pumpkin carving parties planned I offer up my faithful pumpkin sausage pasta recipe, proudly served every year at the Palooza.

Enjoy!


Tagging:
Angeleen
Kathie
Kristen
Li
Re
and Doctor (I want to know the cow story)

From my mailbox...

"Women are often portrayed in stories and tales as the Damsel in Distress. We are the ones for whom men rise up and slay dragons. We are the weaker sex; said to faint at the sight of blood, needing to be spared the gory details of battle whether on the field or in the market place. We are the ones waiting in our flowing gowns for the knight to come and carry us away on the back of his white horse. And yes. There are days when a knight in shining armor would be most welcome. We do long to be fought for; loved enough to be courageously protected. But there is a mighty fierceness set in the heart of women by God. It is true to who we are and what we are created to do.

Women are warriors too.

Redeemed women of God have tender, merciful hearts, backbones of steel and hands that have been trained for battle. There is something incredibly fierce in the heart of a woman that is to be contended with, not dismissed, not disdained, but recognized, honored, welcomed and trained."

From Captivating, by John and Staci Eldridge



Trained? Not tumbled along through life? For reals?! What does that look like I wonder?

Rejoicing!

A mighty noise was heard across the land... men cheered, children laughed, women clapped, and angels wept with joy because the pickling was done!

50 pounds, people.
50 pounds of cucumbers.
I will smell like a deli for weeks.

Dills, bread 'n' butters, cornichons, I got 'em all.

Next up: the laundry! Stay tuned for the next episode of LIFE AS A WORKING MOM.

The Omnivore's Hundred

From the blog, Very Good Taste

"Here’s a chance for a little interactivity for all the bloggers out there. Below is a list of 100 things that I think every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life. The list includes fine food, strange food, everyday food and even some pretty bad food - but a good omnivore should really try it all. Don’t worry if you haven’t, mind you; neither have I, though I’ll be sure to work on it. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise everything in the hundred, either; Wikipedia has the answers.

Here’s what I want you to do:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results."


The Shuriken and Chevre Results:

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros (a Fox staple)
4. Steak tartare (haven't gotten around to trying Bistro Maison's yet, but I will)
5. Crocodile (alligator count?)
6. Black pudding (can't bring myself to do it. It's a scab)
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi (I think? At Swaggat?)
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses (the king of cheeses?! Where do I get me some of that?)
17. Black truffle (in oil form only)
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes (grow 'em myself)
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras (some day, when I'm rich)
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (I prefer it in salsa form though)
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters (most recently: bar-be-qued)
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda (I never have, but that is something I will soon remedy)
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut (every chance I get)
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (I've had the cigar...)
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O (like my Vodka sans the gelatin)
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail (makes a lovely, silky soup)
41. Curried goat (Chris keeps saying goat is excellent)
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk (fresh goat's milk is a revelation)
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu (the only potentially lethal food I'm interested in eating comes from Hostess)
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel (sushi)
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear (I always want to buy it at the market, but I don't know what I would do with it)
52. Umeboshi (sorta. I had a dried version once. Once.)
53. Abalone (it's illegal)
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine (may have to make the trip to Canada)
60. Carob chips (blech. Unfortunately)
61. S’mores (last week, for lunch)
62. Sweetbreads (thymus gland anyone?)
63. Kaolin (dirt? Erm...no)
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (I've had 'em all! Who doesn't enjoy deep fried bread rolled in sugar?)
68. Haggis (make my own every Burns Day)
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (menudo count?)
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini (yes, but not together)
73. Louche absinthe (I'd be hesitant to drink something called wormwood)
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong (like drinking a campfire)
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant (again, when I'm rich)
85. Kobe beef (I'm working on Wagu)
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers (lavender is delicious)
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (it's only a matter of time)
100. Snake (I don't like the taste of reptile. It does not taste like chicken. If I want chicken, I'll eat chicken)

A Video for the Moose.

Thought this was cool...

Letters to a Moose, Part Three: in which I bore you with talk of canning and why Boy Scouts and uteruses should never mix.

Dear Moose:

Swimming, golfing, running, sounds like you sure are living the California life. We are firmly entrenched in the life of the Oregon wilds (which is to say canning season is upon us).

We went cherry picking the weekend before last. We picked about 13 pounds. Your Father and I picked 5-6 pounds (which is to say that the Bear picked about as much as he normally does). I've put up one batch of jam so far. It failed to set up properly and shall be relabled syrup. And while tasty, the recipe called for the addition of cinnamon and clove, which makes my summer cherry syrup taste like Christmas. It's a bit strange. Think I'll scrap that recipe and try something different.

Raspberries are up next, the raspberry lavender jam always sets up so nice, I'll be putting up lots. That means when it comes time to pick Bear better find where he stores his motivation or else he is going to be at it all day.

Speaking of Bear and tasks and trials...

We shipped him off to Scout camp the day after cherry picking. He enjoyed the days of running around at the seashore doing "scouty" things, but became very homesick at night. Nights while very dark were also very cold and the tent wasn't exactly homey (which is to say not even remotely comfortable). Your father drove me out to the camp mid-week not just for the Bear, but because they needed more parental types, either way I would've gone (which is to say the boy was just that pathetic when he called home).

Bear had a rain slicker and a few long sleeve shirts, but no sweat shirts so he was chilly during evening meetings. I bought him a camp sweat shirt when I got there. He was also lacking a pillow because it didn't fit into/onto his pack. I brought him one. His sleeping bag wasn't warm enough, so I brought him an extra blanket. Once adequate warmth and comfort levels were achieved he had a rather nice time (which is to say he wanted his Mom). Sounds like I molly-coddled him, huh? Let me tell you...

Seven boys from our pack went to camp, so did four Moms and two Dads, with parents switching out during the week there was always at least three Moms in attendance. Before you think "hen-pecked" you should know that three out of seven of those boys are sans a Dad (which is to say if not on a permanent basis then darn close). All in all it was a good time and the boys from the pack if not always perfect gentlemen were always good boys... rambunctious at times, but not malicious. I wish I could say the same about the parents.

No one was out-and-out harsh, but man! I have never heard so much whispered nastiness. There were always comments about other parents and their parenting styles or other children that weren't living up to some set standard. And boy howdy! You couldn't win for trying! If you helped your kid out then well! Your child had maturity issues and if you didn't then you were a crappy parent (which is to say, I suck. See above: lack of pillow, blanket, and warm clothing). One poor boy forgot his hairbrush, couldn't find his toothbrush till the final day of camp, didn't have any spending money, and was, in general, floated a raft of crap all week.

Kids were drilled about manners and keeping their elbows off the table by parents whose children would belch thunderously at said table. One Mom told me I wasn't allowed to carry a boy's water bottle in my bag on a hike, because he had to learn responsibility, consequences, preparedness (pick one), but when her own child's lanyard water bottle holder broke she stuck his bottle in her bag without even thinking of his education in responsibility. consequences, and preparedness.

I remember my own days of camp when hairbrushes, toothbrushes, showers, yes even a goodly amount of manners were laid aside (which is to say you couldn't be rude, but elbows on the table... not a hanging offense) in the freedom of being away from home. Bah! I suppose by ranting about all this then I'm no better then those folks, so I'll leave off now.

Camp was what it should be in my estimation: uncomfortable sleeping conditions, horrific food, lots of dirt and silly songs. There were bad jokes, lots of farting, and lots of bad jokes about farting. We hiked (which to my surprise I really enjoyed), played on the beach, saw lots of deer, and even bears (which is to say a bear and her cubs wandered into our part of the camp looking for food- exciting, but not in a good way)! Most importantly, Bear had a good time so good enough!

Anyway, it's getting late so I'm gonna sign off. Can't wait to see you. I imagine you're more muscled and a good deal more tan then when we last saw you. We are still pudgy and pasty and slightly mildewed. I hope this finds you well and ready to come home (which is to say, I miss you bunches).

Love you,

Mom

A Quiz For the Moose...

Dude, forget the combat boots! Your Mom's a gladiator!

Which Action Hero Would You Be? v. 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Maximus After his family was murdered by the evil emperor Commodus, the great Roman general Maximus went into hiding to avoid Commodus's assassins. He became a gladiator, hoping to dominate the colosseum in order to one day get the chance of killing Commodus. Maximus is valiant, courageous, and dedicated. He wants nothing more than the chance to avenge his family, but his temper often gets the better of him. William Wallace 75% Maximus 75% The Terminator 71% Neo, the "One" 71% Indiana Jones 67% Batman, the Dark Knight 67% The Amazing Spider-Man 54% James Bond, Agent 007 50% Lara Croft 42% Captain Jack Sparrow 42% El Zorro 33%

Letters to a Moose, Part Two: in which we adopt another child, talk like pirates, and blow stuff up

Dear Moose:

Was glad to hear you're getting a chance to swim and have water fights. It's good that you are having fun. Life here is pretty much what you'd expect. Thursday went to work and the Bear had to come with, he was not bored to tears exactly, but only just. I gave him some copying to do and frolicking in the supply room seemed to keep him content until I could finish up. Because he was... erm... patient? I took him out to lunch. I wanted to take him someplace special, but where do you take someone like the Bear that can be considered special, when you know his epicurean pinnacle is a bacon cheeseburger? We decided on Red Robin. Not the usual burger joint for us and they have TV's in the floor! Bear liked that touch.

Later that night David came over for dinner and video games. Bear and he played Lego Indiana Jones on the Wii. It's a cute game, one we may have to own. Your father and I, being the old fuddy-duddy's that we are had a hard time keeping our eyes open and had to shuffle David off so we could collapse. Poor David, he is girl-less this weekend and very sad for it so we decided to adopt him. When you get home you'll have a big brother to torture! It's nice cause he doesn't really take up any room, being as skinny as he is and all. Though... if he's going to be one of my kids I should give him a blogging nickname so as to protect his identity... hmmm... Kitten? We'll try that one on for awhile.

Yesterday, Kitten came over for brunch. We had huevos, cranberry-chocolate chip scones, and watermelon with mint-sugar and fresh lime. It was a very tasty way to spend the morning/afternoon. Kitten brought a new board game with him. It's called Dread Pirate. By the time we finished eating and got to the game Lisa had shown up. Things got pretty interesting after that.

Your father and I were a team as there were only four pirate ships, our "captaining" together didn't prove to be a good combination as we came in third, only just managing to beat out the Bear (and this only because he broadsided and challenged anyone and everyone who came within distance of his cannons). Kitten and Lisa had a grudge match going for most of the game. I have never seen anyone as fiercely competitive at board games as the Liser until yesterday, the Kitten is her match. He hissed and scratched every time she managed to steal the Dread Pirate flag from him. She meanwhile chortled and hurled pirate-y insults while talking to her imaginary parrot. Like I said it was quite an afternoon.

Evening found us at the Skaggs' for sausage and fireworks. We had a huge spread! There was a pile of sausage, German potato salad, more watermelon, cookies, hummus, pita chips, sodas, beer, and a Jello/Cool-Whip salad (made by yours truly as the Kitten requested it). As usual we had waaaay more food then we could eat. Something different at this years festivities was the presence of Pastor. It was nice to hang out with him though I confess I was highly distracted by Bear and Odin.

Odin finished his dinner ("MMMmmmEAT!" As he likes to say and all he really likes to eat) and then squirmed out of his chair to trounce your brother all over the yard. Poor Bear! Odin's favorite thing to do was to step and/or jump onto Bear- his gut, his neck, his nethers. The louder Bear groaned the harder Odin giggled. Pretty soon your brother was reduced to the fetal position in the grass. Odin, grass stained and wheezing was right there with him only it was cause he was laughing too hard to remain erect. It's understandable that Odin wasn't too happy about going to bed after having fun like that, but to bed he went and then out came the explosives!

We had the usual array of firecrackers. Lisa lit off as many Ground Flowers as she could at one time (I think the most was 8). There were a few smoke bombs and Piccolo Pete's (two of my least favorites). Ben lit off several showering types (like the Medusa, the Green Willow, and one known as Around the World which looked like a globe and when lit spun sparks everywhere- it was pretty cool). The real fun began when a few rockets flew up onto neighboring roofs! When no flames showed we all sighed in relief and the rockets were put away. The rest of the evening was spent with (mostly) garden variety firecrackers with two exceptions...

Lisa apparently found one of the rockets and not knowing what it was lit it off. It flew across the backyard, into the street, and clear into a neighbor's yard, where it landed in front of a police car. The police were out in force (as they are every Fourth) to kibosh the use of illegal fireworks. Apparently they were too busy with the neighbor's display to notice Lisa's rocket. Another collective sigh went up until... Kitten, not happy with fireworks, had bought some black powder. He had some interesting uses for the explosive stuff. Nothing too dangerous or scary and really nothing I'm going to go into as I don't want to give you any ideas for future hijinks. And so ended our Fourth.

I'm glad the skies cleared and you were able to see some fireworks. Doesn't seem like the Fourth without something sparkly to mark to occasion. Well, I'm going to sign off now as I have some prepping for Sunday school to get to. Hope all is well in CA. We miss you and look forward to seeing you soon.

Much love,

Mom

Letters to a Moose, Part One: in which Bear wears capris, we see a so-so movie, and a deer attempts murder/suicide

Dear Moose:

I hope you are having a good time with your grandparents and aunt and uncles and that they are not working you too hard. Aunt Jess said she'd get you to the beach and in the pool as much as possible, but that your help will be needed in tearing out the old kitchen and helping to construct the new. Be a good helper. I know you will serve your grandfather without complaint and that is how it should be. We already miss you here, especially the Bear. He thought he'd like being an only child, but he doesn't know quite what to do with himself without you about.

After seeing you boarded we headed back to the car and I commented on how the "long" pair of shorts your dad bought Bear looked like capris pants. Looking at Bear skip/lumber through the airport I came to the conclusion that, in fact, that is what they are. I told your dad that all Bear needed was a pair of Crocs and a polo shirt and he could be like the snotty rich kids that play on the play structures at Bridgeport with their over indulgent parents looking on. Your dad groaned at the thought and I laughed and Bear turned to see what we were talking about. His dirty face, spotted shirt, and shaggy unkept hair, of course, ruined the image. We decided it might be best to return the pants and get him some regular length cargo shorts that better go with his style.

We made a short stop at Target. We found no shorts for the Bear, but shirts for your dad. Bear was unfazed as he was too busy draping himself over the large red concrete balls in front of the store. You know how he is... lying on them and patting them in a way that can only be described as communing. I know this often times embarrasses you, but really I think most people have this reaction to them, Bear's just honest enough to give in to the urge. Once we were able to get the boy to say good-bye to his spherical friends we made the 8:00 o'clock showing of Hancock. It was ok. I imagine you might go see it with your uncles. It had a weird feel to it and was emotionally unsatisfying with some odd story holes (bad story telling or editing- it was hard to tell which). It wasn't the worst movie I've seen this summer (The Happening still holds that honored place), but it wasn't the best either. If you don't get a chance to see it, don't worry we can always rent it.

After the movie we headed home. On the way into town we were almost hit by a deer! It was the weirdest thing. We were coming down the hill when a deer jumped outta the brush along the side of the road and ran right in front of the car! Your father swerved and managed to just miss it (it had to have been within a few feet of the headlights). It was so scary! Your father thought it got nailed as it crossed into oncoming traffic, but I looked behind us and there were no stopped cars, brake lights, or squealing tires. It seems the crazy animal made it across the busy road unscathed. When I see Chris I'm going to tell him to keep his stupid signs and portents away from my new car, it's dinged up enough without deer butt in the grill.

We made it home and fell into bed. The Bear hemmed and hawed outside our room. It's ok to be an only child when you are going to the movies and don't have to share your popcorn, but it's another thing entirely when there is no big brother to keep you company in the dark. We finally got him tucked in (this required hugs and kisses from both your father and I) and so ended our first day without you. It was a fairly typical summer day I suppose, remarkable mostly in the lack of your presence.

We miss you boy. I hope you have fun. Eat many muffins with blackberry jam. Grow larger (if possible) and give our love to the family.

Love,

Mom

For Holly...

It's Back

A month or so ago Kristen and I were talking and she was wondering what Spring is like in Oregon. I told her I was thinking of writing a blog post about just that very subject and truly I was:

Spring in Oregon begins in a very schizophrenic manner, warm and lovely one day, sleeting the next, and it goes on like that for weeks (sometimes months), but then something wonderful happens... the trees blossom! And everywhere you go in our little town you get showered by pink petals, it's lovely and magical. It puts me in a romantic frame of mind and I see the lawns around town with their sudden growth spurts to seem as though they're suffering from a severe case of bed-head which, I suppose, they are. They don't look unkept, but rather shaggy and tossled, freshly woken. And everywhere you look... green! It's Oregon right? I rains 364 days a year here, it's always green. How could it not be green? But this green is different it's bright green, lime green, spring green! It's amazing...

And I was prepared to go on and on like that, but then the warmth finally settled in to stay and the pollen began to stab at my eyes again and all romantic notions fled. They ran away scared by the sound of my honking, ever dripping nose, frightened by my swollen, watery, angry eyes. NOTHING has brought relief. For a brief time I thought the spoonfuls of local honey that I was choking down three times a day was really going to see me through, a regular miracle cure, but Spring that fickle, flirty wench skipped away and the honey cure stopped working because SUMMER has arrived and man! Does she hate me.

Tuesday I have a doctor's appointment. Here's hoping the prescription pad has much mojo.