Squishy Footprints

12-Step

2011-01-27T19:56:00.000-08:00

“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict.”

If I was going to join a 12-step group at this point, I’m fairly sure that’s the admission you’d hear coming out of my mouth by way of introduction.

When my friend, Cindy, and I started a walking program 4 nights per week back in May of 2009, we wanted to get off the couch and lose weight, but we were adamant that we a.) were not going to become runners and b.) were only going to be “casual” exercisers, not like those hardcore folks you see pounding the pavement through heavy rain or triple-digit heat.

Although we would occasionally jog for maybe 50-100 yards to increase our heart rates, the pain in my knees and her hips seemed to prevent us from attempting running, even if we had wanted to do so. Thus, we kept the first resolution.

We also kept the second resolution – at least initially. The balmy spring gave way to one of the hottest summers in Oregon history, and we sensibly agreed not to walk on days which were 95 degrees or hotter. By fall, we were debating what indoor workout options we might consider for the upcoming winter. But by that time, walking had become so engrained that we just kept on walking, night after night. We shifted our route to well-lighted areas, even as we talked about trying martial arts, dance, or finding an indoor track, but somehow we managed to keep walking. Outdoors. All winter. There was even one week so cold that the water in my bottle would freeze as we walked. That was when we realized we had become fanatics. Well, so much for the second resolution.

Pride started to kick in, as we’d relay stories back and forth about the reactions of co-workers and acquaintances to our feats of temperature tolerance or distance. Our waistlines shrank, we had more energy, and suddenly we started having these crazy ideas. After walking for 8.5 miles on Thanksgiving morning to prepare for our respective Thanksgiving feasts, we started thinking “Why couldn’t we walk a half-marathon?” Then a casual conversation Cindy had with a co-worker made us start asking, “Why couldn’t we train to walk the Portland Marathon?”

Whoa. This was new territory for me. I’ve called marathoners crazy on more than one occasion, and now I was actually thinking about doing it? For real? “We’d be walking, not running, so that’s only half crazy.”

We initially started pushing ourselves with 12 mile walks on weekends, albeit not at a fast pace. After being warned of “overtraining” by a professional, we eventually purchased an online marathon training guide, and spent June and July doing the more modest ramp-up walks for speed, distance and hills. This guide propelled us to my corporate gym for the requisite cross-training sessions. We lifted weights, used elliptical trainers and stationary bikes, and walked inclines on the treadmills, trying to increase our pace from 18-20 minute miles to 15-16 minute miles.

Just about the time that Cindy, a naturally fast walker, announced that she was ready to risk paying the $135 registration fee while expecting that we would be fast enough to finish 26.2 miles in under 8 hours by October, I had come to the opposite conclusion. I was beating myself up that I couldn’t keep pace with someone 5 inches shorter than myself and with substantially shorter legs, and feeling like I would rather risk waiting to register until later when I had improved enough to feel confident. After all, if I was going to shell out $135 to take a 26.2 mile walk, I was going to get the shirt, the medal, and all the glory of accomplishment…. or die trying.

As it turned out, we didn’t have to make the decision, because the marathon was already full and registration was closed by July. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed, so I settled for both. Of course, when race day dawned cloudy and with heavy downpours, I moved squarely into the “relieved” camp.

Our major goal was going to be delayed by a year, but we kept on walking and cross-training 4 days per week, as had become routine in the 14 months leading up to that point. But I was already doing more than our normal schedule called for. I had added in yoga classes 1-2 days per week.

Now fast forward to the fall of 2010. Cindy had to take most of November and December off due to work commitments and a lingering cold virus, but I soldiered on alone. And then my company started offering a Zumba class 1 day per week, and I jumped at the chance to burn more calories. And samba-ed at the chance. And hip-hopped at the chance. And belly-danced at the chance. (I love dance, and I’m still waiting for the many shows and performances I’ve watched to translate into some actual dancing skill on my part.)

So here I am today. I look and feel better than I have in perhaps the past decade, but it doesn’t feel like enough on many days. My body still isn’t what I would like it to be. I feel compelled to go for the maximum calorie burn on every workout. I regret my choice to hop on the stationary bike for an hour and “only” burn 350 calories when I could have burned 600 on the elliptical. I think about things like, “How will I be able to keep this up if I ever get married or have kids? I desperately want those things, but I don’t want to be chubby again either. I don’t want to be the wife who ‘lets herself go.’”

On one of those evenings alone in the gym, I was thumbing through a fitness magazine, and followed a little flow chart that asked questions about how often you work out, do you skip social activities if they conflict with your workout schedule, how do you feel when you miss a workout, etc. At the end of the chart, I ended up squarely in the bucket that said, “You need to give yourself a break sometimes.”

And it’s true.

People say “You look great!” and ask, “What’s your secret?” I answer, “Walking, elliptical training, yoga, weights, and now Zumba.” In my head, though, my snarky (and somewhat true) answer is “Self-loathing.” There are some very healthy aspects to what I’m doing –exercise being great for the body and mind– but I’m also realizing that on the other side of the coin of exercising in the name of health is punishing myself for not being as beautiful, skinny, and athletic as other women. I’ve long struggled with feeling less worthy of love than the svelte and glamorous women around me. “I can’t force my frame into a single-digit pant size, but dammit, I can be better than I was, and then maybe whatever man chooses me won’t feel like he got short-changed in the hotness department.”

It all goes back to the lie of the Great Enemy, as so eloquently described in the book Captivating. Satan paralyzes women with the notion that we’re “too much and not enough.” I’m too tall. I’m too curvy. I’m too uncoordinated. I’m not skinny enough. I’m not graceful enough. I’m not pretty enough. I’m not desirable enough to get a man. Lest you men think the lie stops at such a shallow level, it includes much more. I’m too independent. I’m too standoffish. I’m too critical. I’m not compassionate enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m not self-disciplined enough.

And so the exercise I’m doing is generally quite good for me, but the Enemy is ruining it with guilt that it’s not enough. I’m not enough. And that needs to stop. I need to keep making good choices for my health, but not get so beat up in the process.

“My name is Lisa, and I’m an exercise addict. I need to find a better balance. I need to be nicer to myself. But mostly, I need to find God’s grace to a woman He created to be tall, curvy, introspective and just as worthy of love as the petite, athletic, seemingly picture-perfect women He also created. Amen.”

What Men Need to Know

2010-08-19T18:42:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've had a general complaint about a certain male behavior, and my pondering has morphed into not being sure whether or not men realize they do this.

It's pretty simple really, and it goes something like this: If you're in a committed relationship and have a friendship with a single woman, she needs to know that you're not available.

That sounds simple, right? So why do I keep getting burned by this?

It's pretty obvious when a man is wearing a wedding ring that he's off the market. When a man is dating someone, even long term, it can be less obvious unless he chooses to make it so.

Men, you need to know that women try you on like we try on shoes. It doesn't take long from the initial introduction until we're trying to picture what we'd talk about on a date, what we would do on a lazy Saturday morning together, how we'd interact as a couple having dinner with our friends...

If you didn't realize that, please don't be freaked out. In a healthy woman, it's just a preliminary assessment of potential compatibility, and it stops there. It doesn't mean we've already planned a life together and are going to make sure it happens come hell or high water. We've just done a quick mental inventory and decided that there's enough potential to say yes to a date should you ask. (If, on the other hand, you find a woman who believes that you will indeed spend your whole lives together just because that picture of Saturday morning is romantic and happy, RUN. Run fast. She's not healthy at all.)

Back to the issue at hand. A casual reference to your girlfriend when chatting about your weekend plans, a photograph in your office... these are the subtle clues that help us single ladies cease & desist trying to see if you might be a good fit.

If that initial try-on yields hopeful images, and you don't let us know you're not available... well, that's when the hurt happens. We click well in conversation, we have lots in common, we think you're attractive, and we notice you notice us.... so we think This is someone I could see myself with. We definitely have a connection. You've never mentioned a significant other, and you seem to show interest. And that's when our heart starts to get attached.

It may be completely unintentional for many men, who assume that either we know you're not available, or that it's just innocent flirtation so what's the harm? Other times, I've distinctly felt that it's intentional. Either the man is enjoying the ego boost of having the woman's attention, or perhaps he is keeping her in the dark about his relationship because he kinda digs her and wants to keep her for a backup in case his current relationship fails.

If the latter, let me say this: Letting us know that you have a girlfriend now doesn't mean that you wouldn't be up for consideration in the future if you become single again. Even more so because then we'd know if we were ever to become your girlfriend, you'd show us the same respect of letting other women know you're not available.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't have friendships with single women for fear of sending the wrong message. I'm just saying be transparent. If over the course of hours of conversation you haven't found one opportunity to mention that camping trip with your girlfriend, or include her name when describing your plans to attend that concert or food festival on the upcoming weekend, then Houston we have a problem. At that point, I think it's time to examine your motives and let that poor deluded girl off the hook.

Phew. I just really needed to get that out in the open because it hurts. Deeply. Please, please show us respect & compassion with that small action of disclosure. Naturally, the same goes for any women out there who are involved but still stringing along some hopeful fella.

Okay, I'm stepping down off my soapbox now. Thank you and goodnight.

An Open Letter

2010-07-16T18:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Uterus:

I would like to remind you that you are NOT in charge of the universe. Furthermore, I repudiate your attempts at world domination. Stop it, just stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.

You are not entitled to dictate the terms of my whole life. While I may not be able to entirely prevent your interference in certain aspects, this does not give you grounds to take over entirely.

My appetite does not normally compel me to consume pizza and cookies by the boatload whilst bathing in a sea of hot fudge. Therefore you shall not incite these behaviors for 3-5 days each month, wreaking more havoc on my already puffy midsection.

Speaking of bloating, I banish your infernal power to inflict 2-3 pounds of water weight gain, and then to make it feel like 10 pounds. I’m pretty sure you’re subtly altering my wardrobe to amplify the effect, but I’m not giving in to your pressure to wear sweatpants to work. I will look stylish, even if I feel hideous.

I am henceforth reclaiming control over my lacrimal ducts, so that you may no longer cause me to sob at news stories, the outcomes of reality television or game shows, song lyrics, traffic jams, spilled milk, or the mere sight of baby clothes on racks at the store.

Furthermore, I’ve decided that cramps are just a physical manifestation of your tantrums when you don’t get your way on various issues. If I have to preemptively sedate you with Pamprin or Advil, even days in advance, so that I don’t end up in a fetal position unable to straighten myself up from my office floor, I’ll do it, so help me God. That is not an empty threat.

I could go on and on about specific incidents or the emotional impact of your domineering nature, but I’m hopeful that this public censure will improve your behavior and render further chastisement unnecessary.

I would thank you kindly to remember that you are but one small part of my body, and should not therefore take on disproportionate influence.

With hope for a better future relationship,
Me

Copycat

2010-06-28T19:48:00.000-07:00

I'm totally copying Beth by reformatting my blog and pledging to write again, at least occasionally. Would it sound better if I said I was "inspired by" Beth? :o)

Cricket... Cricket

2009-10-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

Wow. I just realized that there's been nothing but utter blog silence here for months on end now. That's sad.

I could say that it's because between work, exercise, and volunteering at the zoo, I simply have no time. But the fact of the matter is that I've not been in a very contemplative place recently, because sometimes it's just too damn painful. Sometimes there's no comfort. Sometimes you don't hear His voice. Some things just can't be forced.

In a sermon recently, Pastors Bill and Jane described the response, "I'm fine" as an acronym for "Feelings I'm Not Expressing." But when an honest response to a casual question might give way to a deluge of hot tears and a torrent of emotions, some very childish and ugly, it can seem like a better bet to opt for the safe route. "Just stay away from those things. Go distract yourself. There's nothing to be done to fix it anyway."

Hiding? It may feel safe for awhile, especially for us introverts. Building walls? Erm, now it gets a little dangerous... no one gets in, but you can't get out either. Hardening the heart to dampen the disappointment. Ouch! That's not how I want to end up.

Jesus, keep me tender, despite my disappointed dreams and hurting heart. Please.

Are You Smarter Than an Almost-3-Year-Old?

2009-05-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

Observations from babysitting Odin, which is a brand new experience every time. My understanding is that some of the rules which I have documented here are fairly consistent, while others change depending on the babysitter... or the weather... or the moment... :o)

ODIN’S RULES for SATURDAY, MAY 16th*

*Rules are subject to change at Odin’s sole discretion, with or without prior notice.

1. Toy trucks shall be called “roaries.” Any vehicle that is not actually a truck may also be categorized as a “roarie” at Odin’s discretion.

2. Lisa’s suggestion that hot rods and sports cars should be called “vrooms” instead of “roaries” shall be ignored.

3. Cranes are required construction when playing with building blocks. Furthermore, cranes must be constructed of either red or blue blocks. Green and orange cranes shall not be tolerated.

4. Wide bases to prevent tipping shall not be added to any new or existing cranes. This is not aesthetically pleasing to Odin and will not be tolerated.

5. Trains running on Odin’s track shall consist of one engine and one box car, neither more nor less. Multi-car trains are an abomination and must be eliminated.

6. The elimination of multi-car trains should involve spectacular derailings and much carnage.

7. Sometimes trucks and trains take precedence over silly things… like dinner.

8. Odin shall have the latitude to leave the dinner table to fetch “roaries” or Play-Doh at his whim. Tables are overrated anyhow.

9. When Lisa makes an unreasonable request, such as returning to the dinner table, Odin shall use the baby gate to lock himself out of the kitchen, thus providing a solid excuse for not being able to return to the table.

10. Odin shall periodically and arbitrarily change his mind on all manner of subjects, to make sure he always “wins” and to keep Lisa on her toes.

11. Baths are a welcome event, but shampoo is for sissies.

12. Odin shall retain control of any cup used to pour water over his head, prior to or following shampooing.

13. Feet are the only body part which shall allowed to be washed with soap. Soap is for sissies… but clean feet are next to (Norse) godliness.

14. Following the bath, hair combing is acceptable, provided that Odin retains control of the comb.

15. Bedtime stories must be read on the couch. Period.

16. If Lisa manages to trick Odin into his crib under the guise of scooping him up for a bear hug, Odin shall be allowed to retain his dignity by pretending to have been aware of Lisa’s intentions all along.

28 Days Later (And I'm not talking about zombies...)

2009-05-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

In case you were wondering about the prodigious growth rate of the goslings in my previous post, here's a little comparison to enlighten and entertain. The oldest goslings were about 2 weeks old in the photos I took on April 17. The new photos here are from today, a mere 4 weeks later.

This little, fluffy family...

...with the most darling faces...

...is now a ragtag gaggle of gawky teenagers...

...with down coming out in tufts, quills sticking out everywhere, and a general appearance comparable to mangy featherdusters...

Of course, when you grow to 2/3 your parents' size in only 6 weeks of life, there must be some growing pains involved...

...and a lot of sleep is required. (Seriously, is this one even breathing? It looks more like roadkill than Sleeping Beauty.)

Well, at least they don't have to go through it alone...

There's comfort in numbers. And their awkward teen phase is only a few weeks long, as opposed to a decade or more for humans. Heck, I'm not sure I ever got through mine. ;o)

Extreme Sheep LED Art

2009-05-15T18:00:00.000-07:00

Ha! It's 'Sheep Pong'! That'll do pig... that'll do. :o)

Give Peeps a Chance

2009-04-21T19:23:00.000-07:00

One of the many privileges of working for my employer of the last several years is our beautiful campus. We have plenty of green space, and the landscape designers went to the trouble of recreating the small streams and wetlands that occur naturally just a few miles up the road from here. As such, we have a plentiful supply of wildlife just outside our windows. I see nutria, Canada geese, ducks, and herons on a daily basis. And on several occasions I've even seen deer.

The resident population of Canada geese can range from just a few pairs of "permanent" dwellers all the way up to 150+ migrating geese enjoying some respite for a few days (or even weeks) at a time. While I love sharing the campus with these beautiful fowl, I know a number of folks who are less than excited about the abundance of goose poop on the sidewalks. And then, of course, there are the handful of people who are deathly afraid of birds. Watching those individuals take some very circuitous and inventive routes across campus to avoid them is practically a spectator sport. I think perhaps the geese take some sadistic pleasure in hissing at and chasing those people, who squeal and bolt like frightened bunnies. Me? I'm the Goose Whisperer. I speak to them softly as I walk by, and they let me pass in peace, and sometimes even chat back.

My *favorite* time of the year on campus is April because of -- you guessed it -- the goslings!! We've had three newly-hatched broods in the past 2 1/2 weeks, so I took advantage of the clear skies on Friday to go out on a little photo safari at lunchtime.

It's really not fair to the rest of the universe to have this much cuteness concentrated in such a small area. Brace yourselves -- this may hurt a little. :o)

This first set of 7 was about 2 weeks old at the time of the photos...

By comparison, this next group of 5 was only 3-4 days old at the time the photos were taken. They grow at an astounding rate, believe me!

And finally, just in case you haven't reached the cuteness saturation point, here are the newest 2 goslings, who just joined this world about 20 hours prior to their photo shoot today...

So there you have it. In a world faced with economic crisis and deadly weather phenomena, there is still new life and goodness all around. As they say, give peeps a chance.

Of Sunshine and Moods

2009-04-07T19:45:00.000-07:00

After a freakishly snowy winter, Oregon was blessed the past few days by an early visit from Spring. We've now had 3 (or 4?) days in a row in the 70s, with a high yesterday of around 78 degrees.

Before you get too jealous, keep in mind we're going to plummet right back into the 50s tomorrow, in the typical fast-cycling bi-polar weather patterns of the Willamette Valley. Nonetheless, after a few emotionally draining weeks, the sunshine was a rather nice tonic. I made sure to get my fishbelly white flesh out into the sun as much as possible to induce production of that natural happy-maker, Vitamin D.

For those of you who are reading this and needing to live vicariously because you are still snow-bound, or threatened by tornados or floods, here are a few pics to get you in the spirit.

I took the opportunity on Sunday to plant some pansies in my balcony flower boxes...

Naturally, they're all purple, because that's how I roll...

I let the furs join me on the balcony to get in touch with their inner wild cats. Or at least with their inner lazy couch-potatos, but in an outdoor setting for a change.

The Bear...

Her Royal Highness, Emma...

The Princess, Khaliah...

Of course, all of these scenes of feline ease were *before* they realized that the penalty for rolling in my potting soil and getting goodness knows what kinds of dirt and pumice and fertilizer in their coats was that they all got baths when we came back inside. There are no pictures from *that* portion of the day, as I was too busy wrestling damp cats and protecting my vital organs to use a camera. That was pretty much a buzz-kill, and they spent the rest of the evening shooting me suspicious looks and probably flipping me the bird when I wasn't looking.

Anyhow, here's your window into my sunny afternoon, which will be just a lingering memory when the downpours start tomorrow and last for the rest of the week. I'll have to revert to the mantra I picked up from someone at work on one such rainy morning: "I love Oregon because it's so green... I love Oregon because it's so green..."

Clown Snake

2009-04-03T18:37:00.000-07:00

For my friend, Patricia...

Because the only thing scarier than a snake is a clown. And the only thing scarier than a clown is a snake with clown makeup. (I won't even go into the clown with snake makeup.)

I will gladly be your human shield anytime you come across hissing geese, whiskered rodents, or slithering garter snakes. I'm glad to call you my friend, and I only tease you because I love you... and because you're so cute when you squeal and run away. :o)

Hugs.

Indecision

2009-03-17T18:21:00.000-07:00

After months of waffling, I finally ordered the shirt that I feel has described so much of my last year...

So at least I'm being decisive about my indecision. There's that at least. ;o)

Seriously, though, I find that the more I am stressed, sad, discouraged, or dejected, the more difficult I find it to make even simple decisions. Here's the irony... In Myers-Briggs terms, I'm an INFJ. That "J" says I'm not comfortable in limbo, that I like to have things decided as soon as practicable. But ask me what I want to do for a girl's night out, or where I want to eat, and you'll get lots of shrugs and variations of "Meh."

I could pretend that's just because I'm "easy like Sunday morning" (as Beth would say) and truly don't have a strong preference in most cases. I think my family and friends might beg to disagree, though, if I said I wasn't opinionated and didn't sometimes really dig my heels in when I'm in disagreement with a decision.

When it boils down to it, I think I often want people to make decisions for me so I can just go with the flow and not have to expend any emotional energy in the process. I'm tired of being my own head of household. I want to submit to a good leader, like a husband. But then why oh why is it sooooo hard to submit to the Lord sometimes? Isn't He better than any husband, real or imagined? Maybe it's that His plans are often hidden from me, so even though I know His plans are good, I feel like I'm in limbo just because I'm walking blind.

Lately I've had to face up to the fact that I've been disappointed in God. Instead of waiting to see what wonders He will eventually unveil in my life, I blame Him because I feel left on the sidelines of the game. "I'm tired of being a bench warmer!" I rail against Him. I pout. I justify trying to take things into my own hands because in my blindness I interpret the invisibility of His plans as myself being brushed aside while everyone gets to live their "real" lives.

But He is light. Why would He keep me in darkness? I think maybe I'm keeping myself there and need to take a big step toward the light. Not that all will necessarily be revealed, but it's sure more comfortable waiting in the warmth of His glow than glowering under a self-imposed veil.

Philadelphia Part II: The Cheesesteak Nazi

2009-02-09T18:33:00.000-08:00

Another trip back in time, to January 31st...

The “Soup Nazi” episode of Seinfeld is perhaps one of the more memorable in sitcom history, but I did think it was fictional… at least until I went in search of the quintessential Philly Cheesesteak.

It didn’t dawn on me that I needed to experience the “original” cheesesteak until I saw a cd at a gift shop entitled “The Cheesesteak Song.” Suddenly on this, my final night in Philadelphia, I had a quest. I asked a local where I could get a good cheesesteak, while remaining close enough to the freeways to not get hopelessly lost. I was given directions to a place in South Philly called Pat’s King of Cheesesteak.

Finding it turned out to be the easy part. Parking? Well, that was a different matter. That part of town is a “one-way” grid of epic proportions, but with streets about 15 feet wide. With cars parked along every single inch of every curb, that makes for one tiny little lane in the center, barely enough to get through. I actually saw a couple of what I thought were miniscule alleyways, but the street signs seemed to indicate that they were indeed lanes of travel. Maybe for mopeds. There was no way my rental car was getting through!

After circling for a while and trying to decide how badly I really wanted that cheesesteak, I finally found a likely looking parking spot. I could fit there without technically blocking the fire hydrant, and the curb wasn’t painted yellow at any rate. Despite inner forebodings about getting the rental car towed and finding myself stuck in the city, I saw other vehicles parked much worse than I would be. In a moment of “recklessness” (because you all know how “reckless” I can be), I decided to leave the car there for 15 minutes and hoof it to Pat’s King of Cheesesteak, which was now several blocks away.

Pat’s is basically a walled-in kitchen on a small triangular lot between 3 streets. Patrons line up –and boy do they line up!– to order their food and either take it to go, or eat at one of a few small outdoor tables. Being that the temperature was barely into the 20’s and with windchill it felt even colder, I decided not to linger any longer than necessary. As I was standing in line, I could see one of the kitchen windows, stacked with giant cans of Cheese Whiz. I kid you not. Does Cheese Whiz qualify as “cheese” in the proper sense of the word? Perhaps not, but its uncanny ability to melt into velvety smooth cheese sauce is really the whole purpose of its existence.

While hopping up and down a bit to keep the teeth-chattering at bay, I started to get close enough to the front of the line to read the “how to order” sign. This is when I started wondering if Pat and the Soup Nazi are related. I can’t remember the sign word for word, but here’s the best approximation I can give…

1. Decide if you want your cheesesteak with onions (“wit”) or without onions (“wit-out”).

2. Specify what kind of cheese you want on your steak: Cheese Whiz, American, Cheddar, or Provolone.

3. Have your money ready. Do any borrowing while you are waiting in line.

4. Practice your order while you are waiting. If you don’t get it right the first time, you can go to the back of the line and try again.

I did practice. And I *almost* passed for a seasoned cheesesteak orderer. I got the words out all right, and handed over my money efficiently. But wait… where do I actually get the cheesesteak? I was so busy practicing in my head (“American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out… American mushroom cheesesteak wit-out…”) that I didn’t watch anyone in front of me actually get their food. In that moment, I reverted to my Soup Nazi education. I ordered, handed over my money, and stepped to the left. And then I heard it. “Hey, ma’am! You have to wait for your sandwich!”

Doh! So close. Oh well. My abundance of fleece outerwear and lack of stiletto boots for walking in the city probably already gave me away as a west coaster. After 25 years in Washington and Oregon, I guess it’s hard to hide anyway.

So the mission was a success. I got my cheesesteak. I was not sent to the back of the line as punishment. My rental car was just where I left it, safe and sound. And most importantly, I eventually found my way back to I-76 W, I-476 S, and my temporary home sweet home at the Marriott in Devon Square.

Another day in Philly, another adventure. The last adventure remaining: finding my way back to the airport. Don’t laugh. It may be more of a challenge than you think…

Philadelphia Part I: Battle of the Airlines

2009-02-05T18:55:00.000-08:00

This should have been posted on Sunday, January 25th, so you'll have to take a little trip with me back in time...

I’m en route to Philadelphia – somewhere I’ve never been – for software configuration training. I’m excited since I’ve wanted to take this class for a couple of years now, but I’m also a touch apprehensive. Partly that’s due to my usual reticence about leaving my furry, quadrapedal children at home, this time for 8 days. Also, though, there’s the “what if” game… What if this is too abstract for my brain to comprehend? What if I stink at this and my manager realizes he’s spent $4,500 to send me to a class and still gets no additional skills from me?

I actually had a “test anxiety” dream a couple of weeks ago. I dreamed that after this weeklong brain-stretching extravaganza, I was supposed to take a highly technical test to show what I had learned. I sat down in the classroom, broke the seal on my test booklet, and – to my horror – found that it contained nothing but legal and employee relations questions: “You suspect Employee A is embezzling money from the company. Describe in detail how you would proceed.” “Employee B and Employee C have been in a physical altercation, and both claim that the other employee instigated the fight. What are your next steps?” etc. This being a dream, naturally I could not find an instructor to tell that I had been given the wrong test booklet, and the others around me were blissfully finishing their test in record time and with utmost confidence in their success, while I wailed and bemoaned my fate.

Yes, folks, that’s a bona fide HR nightmare. :o)

This morning did not get off to an auspicious start. I was running a few minutes late – I know, I know… try not to be shocked, right? – and didn’t really allow enough extra time to park in the shuttle lot and take the bus to the terminal. I arrived at the ticket counter 43 minutes before takeoff, only to find out that United’s cutoff is 45 minutes before takeoff. 2 minutes. Seriously. They refused to let me get on my scheduled flight, even though my seat would be vacant. They also charged me $75 for the privilege of being bumped. I was NOT a happy camper to say the least. So after waiting almost 3 hours at PDX until the next flight, a very grumpy and tired Lisa sat in seat 17E mentally ranking and rating United against my usual carrier, Southwest. Here’s my tally so far…

Ticket agents… SWA ticket agents, in my experience, are friendly and accommodating. They actually want you on their flights. Even during freak snowstorms that cause thousands of flight cancellations, they try to get you to your destination without too much fuss. And they look the other way when you’re laden with Christmas gifts and so your bag weighs a couple pounds over the 55-pound limit. United, on the other hand, was unbending and unhelpful in general. It was too much for the attendant to help me successfully use the self-check in kiosk. It wasn’t possible to let me on the flight if my reserved seat hadn’t already been filled by someone on standby. There were no smiles, no apologies, no pathos. SWA +2 United -3

Seating Assignments… This one is a toss-up. The SWA open seating has a certain cattle call feel to it, with folks trying to check in via the web exactly 24 hours in advance to get the coveted A passes with low numbers. On the other hand, there’s a certain advantage to choosing your seat and being (mostly) able to avoid sitting near the families with screaming toddlers whom you noticed in the terminal and prayed (in vain) would not be on your flight. SWA +1 for freedom. United +1 for a more calm boarding procedure.

Checked Baggage… SWA still allows up to 2 checked bags per person, up to 55 pounds each. No fees. United charges $15 for the first bag, $25 for the second bag. SWA +1 United -1

Snacks… SWA still gives you complimentary beverage service and your choice of pretzels or peanuts. United charges $6 for a snack box. Cash only, preferably exact change. SWA +1 United -1

Flight Attendants… SWA has those wonderful, witty, cheeky flight attendants I enjoy so much. I think there are sarcasm and irony portions of their flight attendant exams. On the flight back to Portland after Christmas, one such flight attendant got on the intercom and requested that a certain passenger called Josh ring his call button if he was aboard. When the 30-something-year-old pushed the button, the flight attendant got back on the intercom for everyone to hear and said this: “Josh, your hotel just contacted us. I’m sorry, but they were unable to find the Spiderman pajamas you left there last night. They said you can call back later and they’ll check again.” Heh. Now that was funny. United? Not a single joke cracked in 3 ½ hours. How very boring. On the other hand, at least they weren’t rude. SWA +2 United 0

In-Flight Movie… I’ve never been on a SWA flight that’s had a movie. United treated us to “The Duchess” today, featuring Keira Knightley. SWA -1 United +1 for showing a movie and +1 additional since the movie did not feature any SNL alumni.

Passenger Flatulence… Today felt like I was at a military training base in the biological weapons training facility. Okay, I know I can’t truly blame the airline for the copious consumption of gas-inducing foods by the persons sitting near me – after all, it’s not like the airline gave us any food! – but maybe those oxygen masks need to be available for more situations than loss of cabin pressure. No score here.

Landings… My last two landings with SWA have been at significant speeds, such that myself and many other passengers braced our hands against the seats in the event we’d go sliding off the end of the runway. United had fairly clean landings today, with only minor side-to-side movement. SWA -1 United +1

Okay, let’s check the tally… Drumroll please…

SWA: 5
United: -1

I guess it’s official… I prefer good ol’ customer service to in flight movies or other “luxuries.” :o)

Guess I'm "it"... Do I have to squeal like a 3rd grade girl getting chased on the playground?

2008-10-21T18:09:00.000-07:00

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!

ONE: I fell down a couple of stairs when I visited the Louvre. I don't think anyone saw. Those marble floors are slick!! :o)

TWO: I'm growing my hair out because last December I had a dream that I had very long hair, almost to my waist. In the dream, whenever I let my hair down out of a ponytail or clip and it would cascade down my back, men would literally stop in their tracks. Here's hoping it was a prophetic dream!

THREE: Sometimes I think I like animals better than people. Not that I don't love my friends and family, believe me. But as an introvert with a capital "I", people are often exhausting. I enjoy spending time with my pets and watching animals at the zoo because they have a completely different energy than humans. I find them very soothing.

FOUR: I once got teary-eyed to the Eminem song "Lose Yourself." Granted, I was very hormonal that day. But can't you just feel the raw emotion in these words? "Success is my only motherf****n option. Failure's not. Mom, I love you but this trailer's got to go. I cannot grow old in Salem's Lot. So here I go it's my shot, feet fail me not. This may be the only opportunity that I got." Sniff, sniff. Okay, so maybe I'm hormonal today, too...

FIVE: Every time I visit a bookstore, library, or craft store, I need to poop. Immediately. Without fail. Maybe it's all the paper?

SIX: I watch "America's Next Top Model" and try some of the crazy poses. I never look as glamorous as they do. I also watch "So You Think You Can Dance?" and then get down with my bad self. Ahem. I don't think I'll ever make a living as a dancer either.

Tag you're it! If you've already been tagged, I'm tagging you again because you haven't posted your 6 random facts and I'm pretending like I got to you first. :o)

1. Patricia
2. Kathie
3. Rebekah
4. Kristin
5. Monkey David
6. Liann

I guess this means...

2008-09-17T17:36:00.000-07:00

that I don't have to get married just to get a KitchenAid stand mixer.

My wonderful extended team at work totally ambushed me this afternoon - in the best way possible. There was a meeting on the calendar that simply said "HR Treats" which I assumed was in honor of one of our departing co-workers. Instead, I was presented with the shiny black KitchenAid of my dreams, along with an apron and new rubber spatula.

Over the last three+ years here (at this company which shall remain nameless), I've enjoyed baking for my teammates and my extended department for a myriad of birthdays and other random occasions. This was a very much unexpected and overwhelming 'thank you' from them, and a total blessing to me.

For Paty and Aim and anyone else who might actually read this, THANK YOU!!!!!! I don't even have words right now. I'm so very touched. (sniff, sniff)

Pachyderms & Pickles

2008-09-04T16:57:00.000-07:00

On Saturday morning, August 23rd, I fought the general laziness that compelled me to sleep late or stay at home. Instead I rose early and made the trek up to the Oregon Zoo. The zoo opens at 9:00am, and in the summertime, you’d better get there by 10:00am if you want to find a parking space. I arrived and began my own version of a “three hour tour,” and much like Gilligan, I got sidetracked and ended up spent vastly more time there… 9+ hours actually.

One of our female Asian elephants, Rose-Tu, was expecting a bouncing baby girl. The due date, after 22 long months of gestation, was anytime between late August and early October. I just wanted to go commune with the animals that morning and leave by noon, not having heard that Rose was in labor. I arrived at the elephant exhibit and found the doors to the indoor viewing area blocked off and covered with paper and signs advising that only staff could enter. I quickly found a volunteer and confirmed my suspicions, that the blessed event was imminent. Much to my excitement, I also discovered that the staff had set up a flat panel TV inside the Elephant Museum building with continuous live feed of the labor & delivery process.

I understand that for many people, watching video of an elephant in labor would rank only slightly higher than watching paint dry, but to me it was irresistible. I stood in that museum for 4 hours, watching, waiting and praying for a safe delivery. Some people might find it a bit odd to pray for animals, but I figure the Lord cares for all of his creation and wants to see animals thrive as well as humans.With the recent decline in the Asian elephant population and a decade-long hiatus on any serious breeding programs, we are at risk of having only 20 Asian elephants left in North American zoos by 2050. The 30% mortality rate for infant elephants doesn’t help either.

Rose-Tu wasn’t alone in her time of need. Shine and Chendra, the other females, kept her company. Normally the “experienced” mothers in a herd would function as midwives and assist a first-time mother such as Rose. Although neither Shine nor Chendra is a mother, Shine had actually witnessed Rose’s birth 14 years ago, when she herself was 11 years old. Shine did her best to comfort her, staying nearby and stroking Rosie's contracting belly with her trunk.

I started watching around noon, just after her water broke, along with a crowd that ranged from perhaps 50-60 people in quieter moments to upwards of 200 in the final hour before the delivery. Early on, Rose-Tu’s labor seemed to be progressing nicely, but by 3:00, it seemed to have stalled. The keepers and vets came in to perform another ultrasound and give her some massage to encourage her contractions. After determining that a.) the baby was in a safe position and b.) that labor had virtually stopped, the vets decided to administer oxytocin to speed things up. The gamble paid off, because at 3:56pm, the baby arrived!

The crowd cheered wildly in those first moments, until things took a frightening turn. It’s common for elephants to nudge their newborns to break the amniotic sack and help the baby to stand, but Rose-Tu seemed confused about what was happening, and became aggressive. She kicked the poor little guy repeatedly, sending him spinning around like a hockey puck. I watched, horrified and wondering if the baby was alive, as the keepers rushed in to intervene. The video feed cut out at that point, leaving the crowd shocked and unsure of what we had just witnessed.

The first update, given by the verklempt Deputy Director about 20 minutes after the birth, was dire news indeed. Although the baby was alive – and surprisingly a “he” rather than the “she” that was expected – they anticipated that he might have internal injuries. The news 20 minutes later was slightly better; the baby was on his feet (with some help), and didn’t have any obvious fractures or deformities. X-rays and scans were needed to rule out any invisible injuries. I spent the next couple of hours wandering around aimlessly and periodically returning to the Elephant Museum for updates. Finally there was some good news! The baby was walking around, had a good sucking reflex and had accepted some fluids, and he was calling for mom. Better yet, Rose-Tu was starting to call back to him. At that point, the Deputy Director said they were “guardedly optimistic,” and I breathed a major sigh of relief.

The battle wasn’t over, yet, for our dedicated staff. Although baby appeared healthy, they now had to reintroduce him to Rose-Tu and determine that her intentions were maternal instead of murderous. The first couple of attempts did not go well, and there were fears that she would reject the calf entirely. After a slow and careful reintroduction process that took nearly 4 days, Rose-Tu began to nurse the baby and accept her role of mother. Hallelujah!!

So this brings me to this past weekend, and the title of my blog… On Saturday, August 30th, the zoo starting offering limited viewing of our new boy. Naturally, I *had* to be there, to bring the traumatic events of the previous Saturday full circle in my mind. I arrived at 9:00am, and stood in a line of hundreds to get a brief peek at the little one. Of course, “little” is a relative term for baby elephants. Nonetheless, our boy tops the scales at 286 pounds – significantly more than the 200-250 pound average.

When I reached the front of the line and entered the viewing area with eager anticipation, I was elated to find a healthy and curious baby, with mom stoically eating and keeping tabs on the boy. This guy is all charm and personality, and it seems clear he’ll be a handful when he gets bigger. And like all newborns, he sleeps. A lot. In fact, while I was watching, he deemed it was time for a nap, and went from exploring and literally trying to climb the walls, to flopping down for a snooze. I think the transition took all of about 20 seconds, and left the observers giggling and emitting gleeful noises.

So the pachyderm connection is clear, but what about the pickles? Well, that was the other main event in this 3-day weekend… trekking to Sauvie Island with Beth and Rebekah to procure 50 pounds of lovely, petite cucumbers for this year’s pickling extravaganza. After 2 days of washing, sorting, slicing, packing jars, and boiling brine we are now knee-deep in dills, bread & butters, and tarragon pickles. The payoff for the labor is worth it in the end, but as Beth indicated, it’s an exhausting process that tends to leave a person smelling like a deli and not wanting to see another pickle for quite some time. Luckily, this is the stage where the pickles “rest” for about 6 weeks, and by the time they’re ready for eating, we’ll have forgotten the long hours in the kitchen and will appreciate anew the glory that is homemade pickles. :o)

Pachyderms + Pickles + 3-Day Weekend = Contented Lisa

Jonathan

2008-08-21T12:32:00.000-07:00

A poem for Jonathan, who sees the zoo through his own unique eyes... :o)

jonathan at the zoo

shrewd felines wink conspiratorially
sagacious apes soundlessly beckon
meerkats hint at secrets unbidden
but the stalwart owl reveals nothing

nimble elephants dance a merry jig while
stately giraffes converse in rhyme
placid fish take fight beyond
the long reach of resolute penguins

peacocks dabble in vain pursuits
bears stifle giggles behind huge paws
zebras heckle neighboring gazelles
and the croc nods his head in approval

but animals aren’t the only ones who speak here

sidewalks tug at your feet
compelling you against restraint
“hurry, boy, lest you miss
the antics of these affable beasts”

Heat, Humidity & Profanity

2008-08-18T18:52:00.001-07:00

For any of you not local to the Portland area, our summers are relatively mild, with typically maybe a dozen days of temps over 90 degrees, and only three or four 100+ degree days each summer. This weekend, we had three of those 100 degree days in a row. Now you might not think that's so bad, but I assure you, central air conditioning is not common around here given the usual climate. To make matters worse, I live in a 3rd floor dwelling, where the heat accumulates readily. One hot day won't totally ruin my indoor temps, but three sure will!

It was somewhere in the high 80's inside my apartment by Saturday night, and I was sweating while sitting still doing nothing. The cats at least generally had the good sense to avoid cuddling, so as not to combine our heat and increase it exponentially.

I was so desperate to escape the heat that I actually stopped watching the Olympics to go to a movie. I have been so entranced by the gymnastics and swimming events, that the last 10 days have left me sleep-deprived and thus relatively grateful that this only happens every four years (or every two if you count the Winter Games). :o)

I took a chance on "Tropic Thunder," the concept of which looked fairly funny. I was sorely disappointed... not by a lack of humor - the audience was certainly laughing - but by a level of vulgarity that made all other Stiller movies seem like Pixar flicks. This was a 1 hour 46 minute "f-word" marathon. The rare lines which didn't contain that particular adjective/verb/adverb/noun - they used it in more ways than I had ever imagined!- substituted euphamisms for male genitalia instead. By the end, I thought my ears must be bleeding. I really felt like a worse person for having watched it.

It's unfortunate that the writers chose to take it that route, because the concept was definitely funny, it was very well cast (Kudos to Robert Downey Jr!), and had the potential to be a laughable farse. Instead, I needed "brain bleach" afterwards to rid myself of the parade of expletives and graphic depictions of sexual favors.

Anyway, moving on to more pleasant territory... There is now large a cold front pushing out the hot air (hooray!), and resulting in some rip-roaring thunderstorms, reminiscent of when I lived in Nebraska as a kid. So with the weather somewhere in the high 60's right now, it's time for me to head home and catch up on laundry and other heat-creating household chores, not to mention catching up on 3 day worth of kitty snuggles. >^..^<

McDonalds, My Nemesis

2008-07-30T18:23:00.000-07:00

I haven't been a frequent customer at the "Golden Arches" for several years now, probably since reading that a person would have to walk *10 miles* to burn off the calories contained in a BigMac value meal. Nonetheless, I periodically feel the draw of the drive-thru... much to my detriment.

For all of you ladies, you *know* how much hormones affect your eating choices, epecially on those PMS days when you are either craving a.) red meat b.) grease & fat c.) chocolate d.) salt or e.) all of the above.

I started the day on a reasonably healthy note, with a piece of string cheese and a slice of banana bread for breakfast. I then proceeded to have a low calorie, all-fruit "Pomegranate Paradise" smoothie (courtesy of Jamba Juice) for lunch. That's 5 servings of fruit in all their lovely, blended glory, baby! I felt pretty satisified until about 4:45pm when my stomach was empty and gurgling, and someone at work (you know who you are!) started talking with me about RedBox video rentals, which are located at --everyone say it with me-- McDONALDS!

Suddenly my mouth started watering profusely and I could taste that unique McD's burger grease. It was all I could think about for the next 15 minutes. I agonized. I looked at the clock. Dang it, 1.5 hours to go in my work day! No one could reasonably expect to fight a PMS craving for that long, with a growling tummy and a diabolically scheming uterus! Why is my uterus yelling at me this way? Why can't it just go back to its singing antics?! Doh!

I caved. I admit it. I am weak. I hopped in my car and drove to the drive thru, and I returned to my desk a very satisfied woman. Maybe a regular cheeseburger would only require a couple of miles of walking? Plus one more mile for the small order of fries? 3 miles isn't so bad, right?

Men, you will NEVER, EVER know the power of PMS. You may think you do --heck, you may even live with it for a few days each month-- but you will never really know.

Penguins! (and an occasional dinosaur)

2008-07-21T18:08:00.000-07:00

A bit over a week ago, my sister and niece made the 400-mile journey to Oregon for a long overdue visit. Last time they were here, 2 years ago now, our plans were thwarted by a bout of flu, and they departed having spent more time in bed or bent over a bucket than doing anything fun, such as visiting the zoo.

My behind-the-scenes Africa tour of the zoo in March --wherein I fed the giraffe, hippos, and rhino-- proved to be addictive, so I felt the need to spread this new "habit" to others. My sis has been a penguin freak ever since we were kids, and the obsession seems to have been genetically passed to her daughter. Therefore, when the zoo announced a behind-the-scenes penguin encounter, plans were quickly made for a visit that weekend.

Fast forward a couple of months, and we found ourselves at the gates of the Oregon Zoo, preparing to go meet the Humboldt penguin residents. We met up with "our" keeper, Rick, in the "kitchen" (work room) behind the penguin habitat, and he quickly summoned Mochica, the guest of honor.

Throughout his lifetime, Mochica has staunchly refused to believe that he is indeed a penguin. He decided early on that he was a human, and nothing the keepers tried convinced him otherwise. He won't pick a mate, despite his valuable genetics, instead favoring the company of the keepers.

Rick summoned Mo, who came running for the door to the kitchen, and joined us there. He strolled around our feet, preening compulsively and generally being grumpy as he was in the middle of his annual molt.

After the sharing of some fascinating tidbits about penguin anatomy and adaptations, Rick scooped up Mo and brought him around for us to touch. There are two ways I can describe the sensation... First, penguins are extremely muscular and solid. The feeling is similar to wrapping your hands around your quadriceps while flexed. Second, the texture of the feathers felt like petting a damp labrador retriever. It's sleek, but you can feel the texture of the many little clumps of hair (or feathers in this case). We touched him again later when he was dry, and he was rather soft at that point.

Rick decided to take our group out into the enclosure at that point, and we filed through the door onto the platform at the back of the exhibit. I was first through the door, and found myself down at the end of the platform where a ramp leads down to the water. It wasn't long before several of the penguins came up the ramp to check us out, and presumably to determine if we came bearing fishy gifts.

Humboldt penguins are of the variety that mate for life, and we were able to see one pair that had been together for 18 years. (Puts a lot of marriages to shame, eh?) She is nearly blind and he has arthritis, so they're like the perfect little grandparent penguins. :o)

We left the penguin enclosure after a bit, and headed back into the kitchen for a photo op with Mo. I was ecstatic when Rick retrieved the penguin from under a kitchen counter, took my camera, plonked him down on the floor in front of me and said, "Here. Hold him."

My sis had the same opportunity, and her huge grin nearly split her head in half. Here's my sister and niece in a different photo op with our tuxedo-wearing buddy...

After the conclusion of the tour, we spent the rest of the day at the zoo, totalling about 9 hours of viewing pleasure. This was tough on my sister, who had fallen down her basement stairs and wrenched her back 2 days before the trip, but I'm glad she was up to checking out the whole place considering how much she's heard about it from me, and how long it took to actually get them here.

The zoo has had a special exhibit his summer, featuring animatronic dinosaurs in a "natural" setting along a newly built and lovely trail. Some were small and very clearly animatronic, but others were a bit more realistic. The predatory dinosaurs, such as Megalosauros, were posed so that they looked as if they were about to leap on you. T-Rex is the only life-size model in the bunch, but they did a phenomenal job with him, placing him at the head of a trail as you come up a little hill and around a corner. He's there, waiting to blast you with a loud roar, and following you with his beady eyes. It's really quite an effect (even his throat "muscles" move!), and my sister found that her heart rate sped up substantially, even knowing that he's not real.

At the end of the path, we took a moment to rest with the apotosaurs...

The zoo was just one highlight of a lovely weekend. Girls, thank you so much for coming, and don't stay away too long!

Smooches,
"Aunt Lisa"

Braveheart

2008-07-14T16:06:00.001-07:00

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

You scored as William Wallace

The great Scottish warrior William Wallace led his people against their English oppressors in a campaign that won independence for Scotland and immortalized him in the hearts of his countrymen. With his warrior's heart, tactician's mind, and poet's soul, Wallace was a brilliant leader. He just wanted to live a simple life on his farm, but he gave it up to help his country in its time of need.

William Wallace

79%

The Amazing Spider-Man

67%

Maximus

67%

Neo, the "One"

67%

Indiana Jones

67%

Batman, the Dark Knight

63%

The Terminator

58%

El Zorro

58%

Lara Croft

50%

James Bond, Agent 007

46%

Captain Jack Sparrow

46%

In all her glory...

2008-07-07T18:30:00.000-07:00

As life has been spinning around in a whirlwind the past few weeks, I've been kept away from "recreational" computer use and thus, my blog has been neglected. Sigh. But I'm back, for what it's worth...

Mom came for a much-needed visit in mid/late June, and we opted to go somewhere different than our usual haunts. We headed north to Mt St Helens, and were richly rewarded for the 2 hour drive. I hadn't been there since I was in 6th grade, so around 19 years ago. That visit was 9 years post-eruption, so it has now been 28 years since the big kaboom, and a lot has changed.

There are sites all over Bronson Pinchot National Forest - scratch that, I mean Gifford Pinchot National Forest - worth seeing, but unfortunately there is no road that circumnavigates the whole mountain, so something that's 20 miles away as the crow flies might take 4 hours to get to by road.

Being that we only had a few hours - ideally, this would make a great camping trip for a long weekend, to see the many sites on all 4 sides - we had to stick to the north and west sides, but those provided stunning views at any rate. This route takes you along the North Fork of the Toutle River, where the mud flows ultimately raised the floor of the river valley by 150+ feet.

As you leave I-5 and head east towards the mountain, you can hardly throw a rock without hitting a visitor center (whether state, federal, or private) or dramatic view point. Here's a view from the visitor center near Castle Rock by Silver Lake. It's a bit tough to see her in the photo, because the sky was positively bathed with sunlight, and the vibrant greens somewhat drowned out the white snowcapped beauty. This is almost 50 miles from the base, but even here you can tell that she's one giant mountain!

The drive in from this first visitor center to our ultimate destination, Johnston Ridge Observatory, entailed about 45 minutes or so of beautiful forested country and cool bridges. (Note: When you pull off at a viewpoint called 'Bridge View', the view is *not* that of the mountain from a bridge. It's really just a view of a bridge.)

As you approach from the northwest, you start to see the gaping hole in her side. We couldn't resist the snapping a few pics at this viewpoint, where we also viewed herds of elk that have congregating in the area again since the year after the eruption. I also 'fed' a large elk statue here, much to my dad's befuddlement when he viewed the pics. Time for an eye checkup, okay, Dad? ;o)

As we got higher in elevation and closer to mountain, the stillness and heat gave way to substantial winds. At this particular place, the Loowit Viewpoint, the blowing ash and dust gave her a surreal misty quality. If you had told me I wasn't actually looking at a mountain but rather at a matte painting, I would've almost believed it.

As you drive towards the mountain, there's a pretty clear line of demarcation where the Weyerhauser-owned lands were replanted and where the national monument lands have been intentionally left untouched to see how and when life will return. The copious quantities of ash (several feet deep in places) initially prevented new plant growth, unless a plant had survived that was already rooted in the soil beneath the ash... of course, that's in the places that still have soil and weren't blasted all the way down to the bedrock. It may take centuries for abundant life to return within the 6-mile 'blast zone' around the mountain. Anyhow, I digress...

We left Loowit and discovered to our surprise that we were literally just around the bend from Johnston Ridge Observatory. The observatory, named in honor of geologist David Johnston who was killed in the blast, is a mere 5.5 miles from the crater, and the view is breathtaking. From here, you can actually see the glaciers inside the crater, as well as the new cone trying to 'rebuild' itself. Although quite a few plant and animal species have returned in the past 28 years, the pumice plain in front of the lateral blast area is still barren and haunting.

Mom and I lingered for a long time, not really wanting to leave her. Mountains in general are impressive, but she's one of those special ones that seems utterly majestic and imbued with (mostly) repressed strength, all the while being simply gorgeous. She seemed to speak, if you can believe it. (Maybe this is what the Bible refers to about even the rocks crying out?) It was hard to leave, and we kept craning our heads backwards as we drove away, always wanting one last view.

Kathie, next time you are here visiting in late spring/summer/early fall, we'll all need to take a road trip to see her in person. I, for one, am I kinda sad that I stayed away for so long and have missed out on this beauty in our 'backyard.'

Just a shout out to Mommers - Thank you so much for coming to visit and being there to comfort my hurting heart. I continue to be grateful for the providence of your presence that weekend. I love you!!

Start rant.

2008-06-23T17:30:00.001-07:00

Boys really suck sometimes.

End rant.

It's June 2nd...

2008-06-02T16:37:00.000-07:00

...which means that my month sans chai lattes is over, and I was free to indulge in one on the way to church yesterday. The good news is that I believe the magical spell is broken. It tasted good and I was glad to drink it, but it wasn't like, "O Sweet Nectar of Life, where have you been?!?!" I think chai has been downgraded from addiction to merely something I enjoy. Now that is good news for my spirit, my waistline, and my wallet! I suppose perhaps I should try this little fasting experiment with chocolate to break its hold on me... but not quite yet. I'll get there one of these days. :o)

Tra-la-la-la-laaaaaa!

2008-05-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

My routine 6-month dental cleaning was yesterday, and I noticed something strange in my chart notes...

The hygienist was asking about medications and supplements, and I mentioned taking evening primrose oil for menstrual symptoms. She noted that it was for "minstrel cramps", so I guess if my uterus breaks into song then you'll know it's my time of the month. :o)

Shout to the Lord

2008-05-14T17:22:00.000-07:00

WOW. Okay, so I heard from a reliable source (Seth, our drummer with the TFC worship team) that the American Idol contestants sang "Shout to the Lord" as a group number on one of the shows this year. It's not that I disbelieved him, but I really wanted to see for myself. Well, here it is...

Jesus has definitely been a more prevalent name than usual in this year's competition, especially on the night when Dolly Parton was the guest artist. On that night, more than one contestant sang faith-based songs, and Dolly herself sang a song called "Jesus & Gravity." What a remarkable thing, to welcome our Lord and Savior onto network television! :o)

Day 8

2008-05-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

This, my friends, is Day 8 of my month without indulging in the supremely addictive chai lattes which have become my comfort from stress and the bane of my caloric existence. Argh, this is harder than it should be. It's only a beverage right? On the bright side, I noticed today that my hands aren't shaking in the morning with the rush of sugar and caffeine. That makes it much easier to sit at my keyboard and type, without the appearance of early-onset Parkinson's disease. Oh why, oh why must you call to me so, O Woobie in Liquid form, Thou $4 Temptress?! As Beth would say, "You will not defeat me!"

Random cat humour...

2008-05-06T16:59:00.000-07:00

...courtesy of YouTube. >^..^<

An Engineer's Guide to Cats

Cat of 1000 Faces - Episode 1

Cat of 1000 Faces - Episode 2

Cat of 1000 Faces - Episode 3, The Star Wars Special

Presentation Skills

2008-04-30T15:48:00.000-07:00

Today's lesson on the art of presentation skills:

While providing corporate training on the use of internal web-based software applications, make sure that there aren't ridiculously cute goslings gawking at the class through the conference room windows. They *totally* steal your thunder and cause the students to be distracted...

I'm a tricksey one! :o)

2008-04-24T14:04:00.000-07:00

Your Superpower Should Be Invisibility

You are stealth, complex, and creative.

You never face problems head on. Instead, you rely on your craftiness to get your way.

A mystery to others, you thrive on being a little misunderstood.

You happily work behind the scenes... because there's nothing better than a sneak attack!

Why you would be a good superhero: You're so sly, no one would notice... not even your best friends

Your biggest problem as a superhero: Missing out on all of the glory that visible superheroes get

What Should Your Superpower Be?

I'm cheating on my own blog.

2008-04-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

Just a nod to my *new* blog, specific to Battlestar Galactica. If you're interested in reading my sometimes snarky commentary regarding Season 4, feel free to check out Previously on Battlestar Galactica...

http://previouslyonBSG.blogspot.com

If you choose to just remain here, it'll protect you from spoilers... and from boredom if you're not a BSG lover.

Now grab your gun and bring in the cat. What do you hear? Nothing but the rain, sir!

Not Easter, But Valentines

2008-03-27T18:43:00.000-07:00

There are days in life that stand out from the rest, remarkable and unforgettable. This past Saturday was one such magical day for me.

As a birthday present to myself last month, I registered for a VIP Encounter at the Oregon Zoo. I realize that this wouldn’t be everyone’s ideal way to spend a Saturday, but to me, the zoo is a place of rest and never ending fascination. I don’t believe that anyone has to know me very well or for very long before discovering my passion for animals. In the days leading up to the tour, I became increasingly excited. Saturday morning dawned and found me much as a child on Christmas morning. I awoke with the sun and continued to toss and turn in giddy anticipation. Today I am going to meet a giraffe.

Giraffes in particular delight and astound me. They are a miracle of engineering that I believe defy natural selection. Due to their absurdly long necks, the only way that blood can actually make the long trek to the brain is by a special series of valves to prevent gravity from dragging it all back down between heartbeats. Likewise, when the giraffe straddles his front legs wide and dips down his head to drink, the overwhelming rush of blood to the head would be fatal, were it not for a pressure-regulation system in the upper neck. The giraffe has a 2-foot long heart and twice the blood pressure of other large mammals (three times the blood pressure of a human) to power this amazing circulatory system. The giraffe’s extraordinarily thick hide (2 or more inches) serves as a pressure suit to prevent the massive blood pressure from forcing blood out through the capillary walls.

This is no simple creature, but highly developed and highly specialized. If it really is “survival of the fittest,” I’m a bit skeptical about evolution trying so hard to put together an herbivore that defies physics, just to keep the topmost foliage from getting out of hand. Seriously, wouldn’t a bird or a climbing primate or marsupial do just as well, and with less modification? To me, the giraffe speaks volumes about a superbly creative God, and defies the notion that a creature with such intricate systems evolved on its own from the primordial ooze from whence we allegedly sprang.

Returning to my story, I rose early on Saturday morning and prepared for a day which I knew would be potentially amazing. I’ve watched this particular giraffe, Akeem, for many hours, and have longed to get up close to him. The tour description said that we would be feeding treats to Akeem, which was enough to make me pay the $85 fee, even if that was all we got to do. The rest would be gravy.

After arriving at the zoo and walking with two volunteers and the other seven individuals on the tour to the predetermined meeting place with “our” zookeeper, we commenced on a tour of the Africa exhibit, learning fascinating facts along the way. Our first animal contact was to take place at the giraffe barn. I entered into the building just behind the zookeeper, and made a beeline for the window at Akeem’s head level. For some reason I was imagining that he would need to be summoned, to be coaxed over to meet us, but the moment I approached the window, in swung his big, beautiful head in greeting. I was standing face to face with one of the most glorious creatures I’ve ever been privileged to meet. While he is meek, Akeem is anything but wooden. It’s hard to describe, but he radiated a sense of thought and purpose. His eyes were dancing with thoughts unknown. I approached with a handful of alfalfa pellets, and his whiskered and warm lips eagerly scooped them into his mouth, his breath warm on my fingers. It was magical. I looked past his head and my eager eyes traveled down all 16’3” of him to the floor. It’s an impressive sight, believe me. After an all too brief time with Akeem, I reluctantly departed the giraffe barn to continue on and meet other fascinating creatures.

The tour ended after we looped back around to the rhino barn, and went in for a “meet and greet” with Pete, the black rhino. Unbeknownst to me, however, the rhino barn is also the hippo barn, and we were also going to meet the curvaceous hippo gals, Poppy and Bubbles. Could you possibly come up with more dainty names for 2000+ pound hippos? The irony was not lost on me. The keeper called to the plump pachyderms, and they came lumbering up to the gate separating the barn from the hippo habitat. I’m not going to pretend that hippos are the most aesthetically pleasing animals, but I must say that their charm greatly helped to offset other deficiencies… like oral hygiene. These ladies were all about the chow, and immediately propped their many chins against the bars of the gate, and opened up those cavernous mouths in hopes of a snack. We proceeded to toss in slices of fruit, which they occasionally closed their mouths to chew and swallow. We were able to stroke them under their chins, which surprised me given how inherently grouchy and dangerous they are in the wild. These ladies seemed quite happy for the attention, however. I have to admit, though, that I snatched my hand back pretty quickly whenever those massive jaws closed down.

After bidding a fond farewell to Poppy and Bubbles, we proceeded back through the barn to the next paddock, the home of Pete. His keeper called his name loudly, and moments later he appeared at the gate. Pete is an easygoing old guy who seems to like people and enjoys a good scratching. Here’s a side note about rhinos: the “white” and “black” rhino species are really misnomers. White rhinos are called such because of a misinterpretation of the Afrikaans word for “wide”, referring to its wide mouth, used for grazing on grass. The black rhino, while not particularly darker in color, has a narrow mouth and a prehensile upper lip, used for eating leaves, twigs, and woody plants. Pete is of the “black” variety, and up close his lip is just the goofiest thing you can imagine. Unlike the rough leathery body, the lip is smooth and rubbery, and acts almost like a finger as he uses it to scoop up food. We offered him pieces of apple which he maneuvered from our cupped hands using that ridiculous appendage. As often as not, our whole hands would get sucked up into his mouth along with the fruit, but we were not in danger of being bitten. We were, however, in danger of being drowned in slobber. I’m telling you, I was wet up to the elbows!

After a final snapshot or two with Pete and a thorough hand washing, the tour ended and we all went our own ways to enjoy the remainder of the day. If this was where my story ended, if this was the end of my day, I’d have been incandescently happy. But there was more in store for me.

This being the day before Easter, the zoo had a variety of activities for families and kids, including egg hunts and face painting and the like. One thing I had noticed on a flier I was handed as we entered the zoo, was that at 12:45 there was to be a drawing which would allow a few lucky winners the opportunity to hide Easter treats for the elephants. When we left the rhino barn, it was already 12:30, and I had to hustle to find the place where I could enter the contest. After a brief wait, a local radio DJ commenced pulling names from the basket, while I sat down and reviewed the schedule, planning to go see the polar bears receive their goodie baskets. I was shocked when I heard my name called a few minutes later. Are you kidding me?! This morning I got to pet and feed a giraffe, two hippos and a rhino, and now I get to go into the elephant enclosure?? This is unbelievable!
Our group of perhaps twenty winners headed to the back of the elephant barn, and were let into the paddock. I expected that the elephants would have been taken into the barn, and then let out again once we were safely outside. I figured wrong. The three female elephants were lined up obediently at one end of the enclosure, while we proceeded to hide apple and sweet potato pieces in all of the nooks and crannies of the walls or lightly buried in the dirt. The zookeepers encouraged us to challenge the elephants a bit, and I was happy to oblige. (Anyone who has endured my Easter egg hiding skills can relate.)

After we had hidden the loot, the humans were asked to return to one area of the enclosure, and the elephants were then led out to “center stage.” After performing a series of tricks, including lying down, sitting up, and saluting, the ladies were released to look for the food. The keepers then asked if we’d like our pictures taken with an elephant. They had to ask?! They drew a line in the dirt and had us approach one person (or one family) at a time and stand on the line. They would then lead one of the elephants up behind us and have it pose for the shot. I ended up with Chendra, a rather small adult female, in my photo. (She’s the one that makes most visitors say, “Oh, look at the baby!” but she’s actually an adult that was malnourished as a youngster and is consequently maybe 2/3 the size of the other females.) After the picture was taken, I looked over my shoulder and found that she was perhaps 3 feet away from me. Gasp!

When I arrived home, still positively grinning and floating on air, I returned a call from Beth and related the experience to her. Oddly enough, her response was what I had been thinking all day: “Jesus loves you, Lisa!” Throughout the morning as I was able to partake of His glorious creation, and especially when my name was drawn for the elephant experience, I couldn’t help but feel like the Lord was saying, “The doors are open for you today, my love. Come. Experience my creation. Taste and see that I am good.” In the midst of a season in which my faith has felt transient and contrived, this was a welcome blessing indeed.

Jesus speaks to Chris through bears (and through deers in the past) and to Lanette via hearts, but here was my love letter. So for me, this weekend wasn’t so much Easter as it was Valentines Day. Amen.

Simon is a genius!

2008-03-12T11:20:00.000-07:00

In case you missed Angeleen's semi-recent post of the side-splitting animated escpade of a cat trying to wake his owner --or in case you already saw it but need a good laugh-- here it is in all its comical glory.

I just discovered a new short animated film by Simon Tofield, and present it to you for your viewing pleasure. Seriously, this guy KNOWS cats and all of their mischievous and charming ways... :o)

Fun Fact for Friday

2008-02-29T14:05:00.000-08:00

The "Real Fact #96" from the inside of my Snapple lid says, "The average American will eat 35,000 cookies during his/her lifetime."

Last I heard, the life expectancy for a woman in the US is up to 78 years, so that would mean an annual average of 448.7 cookies. Break it down further, and that's 1.2 cookies per day. We all know what happens when you break open a bag of Double Stuff Oreos, so not only do I find the statistic of 35,000 believable, but I'm also thinking that I am *not* one of those folks bringing the average down. :o)

One Poor Sonnet

2008-02-19T18:24:00.001-08:00

Bethy McBethles has posted recently about her escape from the stresses of life - extraordinarily more stressful as of late - into the world of entertainment. I, too, divert myself down this path, however not into the world of action (ala 'Prison Break') or snarky medical dramas (ala 'House').

I used to have two comfort movies - the flicks to which I ran away over and over, depending on my mood. When I needed reassurance that there is still good in a broken world, I watched 'Babe.' When James Cromwell says, "That'll do, Pig... That'll do," give me a tissue and somehow life is alright again.

When I needed to vent my cheekiness or ire, I'd rely on the crass 'A Fish Called Wanda' for its brilliant British wit, not to mention Kevin Kline in perhaps his best role ever. And I'm sorry, Beth, but even if the Monty Python boys are getting a bit geriatric, John Cleese and Michael Palin still do it for me. ;o)

Nowadays, my comfort movie has become the (2005) Keira Knightly version of 'Pride & Prejudice.' While I still love the (1995) Colin Firth version, Keira has won me over with her portrayal of Elizabeth Bennet. Plus Donald Sutherland, in a surprisingly wonderful role for him, can make me weep happy tears like none other. Who woulda thunk it? (sniff)

I'm too exhausted from my real life romantic woes (or lack thereof) to expound much on the story behind it, but here's my favorite scene from the movie, following Mr.Darcy's rude dismissal of Elizabeth at the ball:

Lizzie: I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

Darcy: I thought that poetry was the food of love?

Lizzie: Of a fine, stout love it may, but if it is only a vague inclination I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead.

Darcy: So what do you recommend to encourage affection?

Lizzie: Dancing... even if one's partner is barely tolerable.

Just the look alone on Keira's face as she bows to Darcy and walks away following that last remark should have earned her the Oscar. The rest - the stellar cast and beautiful story - is just icing on the cake. I also still marvel at the scene at the long awaited Netherfield ball. I haven't timed it, although it must be a good 10-15 minutes, and it always makes me drop whatever I'm doing to stop and gawk. There is one long continuous shot, weaving through the rooms of this English manor, and picking up the dialogue and subtle actions of about a dozen principle players. The execution of that scene is flawless and a cinematic marvel.

Then there's also the WORST marriage proposal EVER. Seriously, it will make you cringe. See, there's just so much to love about this movie. If you haven't seen it already, I *highly* recommend that you pick up a copy and sit down some quiet afternoon or evening to enjoy a delightful retelling of Jane Austen's beloved novel.

I've rambled long enough now, so I'll sign off before I'm tempted to type the script verbatim.

That'll do, Lisa... That'll do. :o)

Some things never change...

2008-01-18T17:43:00.000-08:00

In the last weeks, which have been framed with the dissolution of a dear friend’s marriage (not to mention three other marriages in crisis amongst my friends and acquaintances), the sickening news of the allegedly successful cloning of human embryos and their subsequent destruction, and other challenging circumstances which I have been calling “a big bag of ugly,” it’s nice to know that some things remain unchanged. I still suck at video games.

This may sound absurd, but I had actually convinced myself that once I got to try Will and Ben’s new Wii, I would discover that this new kinesthetic style of play suited me infinitely better than just sitting around with the old analog controllers or joysticks. Not so. I still lack the hand-eye coordination necessary to defeat even a child… although in the boys’ case, they are quite skilled. I think that possibly a one-eyed cat playing with its tail might be able to beat me. Had I actually turned out to have some mad “cow racing” or “tanks” or “ping pong” skills, I’d be afraid that the sun was going to explode. Or stranger still, that the Cubs might win the World Series. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no reason to panic, folks.

Though this is all quite tongue in cheek, there were a couple of simple joys that made this week easier to endure. Last week, the betta who shared my desk for the past 2-3 years passed away, leaving my office feeling bereft of life, and really was the final “emotional straw” that day. Normally I’d just say, “Aw, poor little thing” and move on, but I actually grieved that beautiful creature. Last night, after 9 days sans betta, I went to the store and picked out a new one. And this morning when I brought him to my office and set up his bowl, I was beaming like a proud parent.

The other joy –and yes, you may laugh at my geekdom– is that the release date for Battlestar Galactica Season 3 on dvd was FINALLY announced. March 25th, baby! Seeing as the release date was supposed to be last August (according to a post on Bear McCreary’s website), when I saw the “official” date announcement, I was positively giddy. If I was a puppy, I would have peed on the rug in my exuberance. If I was a cylon puppy, I still would have peed, but not because it was a biological necessity… just a design component to make me seem more realistic. Clever cylon bastards.

Anyhow, I find it appropriate to end a completely nonsensical post such as this with an equally nonsensical Norwegian proverb: He who shall, so shall he who.

Remember that, folks. That’s deep stuff.

This is the post that does not end...It just goes on and on, my friend...

2007-12-26T19:10:00.000-08:00

It’s strange how events in life with little or no spiritual significance in and of themselves can serve as the best “teachable moments” and provide openings for the Holy Spirit to inject the mundane portions of life with reminders of the sacrifice which enables us to live with freedom and with hope.

This past week, as I drove through the Columbia River Gorge to my parents’ home for Christmas, I was merrily speeding along, hoping to make good time and shorten the hours of solitary driving. I came around a bend and saw a police car sitting in wait by the side of the road. I hit the brakes, but alas, too late. I saw him pull into traffic, and then that unwelcome site of flashing lights was in my rear view mirror.

A number of thoughts flashed through my mind as my stomach lurched and then dropped. I pulled over and waited for my doom to be pronounced. A very nice (and handsome, if I may digress) trooper approached my car and introduced himself. He had clocked me twice, at 78 and 77 in a 65mph zone. With trembling hands, I gave him my license and proof of insurance. He examined the proffered documents and noted that my insurance card was outdated. Dang it! I felt sick and slightly panicky. How did I not think to swap the stupid card out?! I explained that I had been with my insurance company for the better part of ten years, that the policy renewed automatically, and that my monthly premiums are automatically deducted from my bank account, blah, blah, blah. He suggested that I try to find a current insurance card while he went and checked out my information.

Although I searched the glove box hoping for a minor miracle, I was sure that the last couple of policy renewals were tucked away in my filing cabinet, about an hour and a half away. He reappeared at my window, and I had to admit that I did not have a card with me for my most recent policy period. I feebly suggested that I could call the company and verify my coverage. Although he agreed that yes, either he or I could call to verify coverage, he explained that the law doesn’t just require having valid insurance, but having proof of said insurance. Incidentally, the fine for not having said proof is $240. Double dang. I was having visions of my premiums rising, and having to dip into my emergency fund to pay my potential fine, which seemed to be increasing at an alarming rate.

He asked the usual questions about why I was speeding, to which I could only lamely reply that I had been going with the flow of traffic and didn’t realize exactly how fast I was going. I listened attentively as he lectured me (albeit kindly) about how keeping up with the flow of traffic is not always safe, and how sometimes, especially when the pavement is wet, it’s better to drop back and let others go around. I expect that the look on my face as he described the potential fine must have resembled a puppy cowering while his master approaches with a rolled-up newspaper.

And then he did something unexpected. He said, “This could be an almost $500 day, but I expect that you have better things to do with your money, especially right before Christmas.” He wished me a safe trip, handed me a pamphlet with emergency contact numbers in case I were to break down or spot a drunk driver, etc., and admonished me once more to slow down. Then he turned and walked away before I could even finish the words, “Thank you, Officer Hol--”

As I drove away, shaking my head in disbelief at this unexpected turn of events, and mumbling repeated and sincere thanks to the Lord, it hit me. This was a powerful demonstration of grace; free and unmerited favour. This state trooper, at that moment in time, was the embodiment of mercy.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines mercy as “Clemency and compassion shown to a person who is in a position of powerlessness or subjection, or to a person with no right or claim to receive kindness; kind and compassionate treatment in a case where severity is merited or expected, esp. in giving legal judgment or passing sentence.”

There’s no question that I deserved a ticket. I broke the law. I don’t know what convinced the trooper to let me go with a warning instead of writing a big fat ticket, but it’s only a small thing compared to the measure of clemency that our Lord and Savior applies to me every day that I draw breath.

I have sinned. I continue to sin. I deserve the full punishment for those sins. I’ve turned from the God I love, and yet he continues to say, “Your debt has been paid,” and then separates those dark blotches on my soul as far from me as the east is from the west. He looks on me, not through a filter of my past sins, but as clean and purified.

There is a line from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” that always moves me deeply when I read it, and it came to mind again that day. Professor Lupin, after unexpectedly snatching a rule-breaking Harry away from swift and sure punishment by Professor Snape, gently but sternly rebukes him. “Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.” Ouch. How often is my life a poor repayment of Christ’s sacrifice? How often do I let circumstance and emotion dictate my behavior, even consciously knowing that I am sinning?

That’s where the next biggest measure of grace following the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ comes into play. The deed is done, and there’s nothing else that I can do to secure my salvation beyond accepting that which is freely given. If the deal was that Jesus had to die to cover all my sins but that I would reap the undeserved benefits if and only if I measured up to His life, then I’d be sunk. We’d all be sunk.

Grace versus works is a struggle that has defeated many a person and left them crushed and disappointed in themselves, and in God for making them so weak. It’s so easy to bandy about words like “grace” and “mercy” and speak the appropriate “Christian-ese” language to present ourselves as righteous and “mature” believers, all the while ranking and rating ourselves against our brethren. I attend regularly, I volunteer with the kids’ program, and I minister with the worship team… surely this must all look good on my “permanent record.” What a poor repayment indeed, to feel that I deserve grace more than any other person. In the end, I pray that my life will amount to more than using grace as a “get out of jail free” card, but rather to be deeply and unequivocally changed by it.

Since I have been dubbed a "Cookie Princess"....

2007-11-15T17:30:00.001-08:00

...and since Kathie "misses [me]" and "SOOOOO misses [my] ginger cookies," here is the recipe. Um, by the way, did anyone else notice the disproportionately placed affection here? ;o)

GINGER CRINKLES

Ingredients:
1 1/3 C Sugar
1 1/3 C Oil
2 Eggs
1/2 C Molasses
4 C Flour
4 tsp Baking Soda
1 tsp Salt
2 tsp Cinnamon
2 tsp Ginger
1/2 C Sugar for dipping

1. Preheat oven to 350○
2. Mix sugar and oil. Add eggs and mix well. Stir in molasses.
3. In a separate bowl, mix the dry ingredients well. Add to wet ingredients and stir well.
4. Form into balls and roll in sugar. Place on ungreased cookie sheet.
5. Bake for 8-10 minutes.

TIPS: I mix dough by hand, not in mixer. Don’t overbake! Remove cookies from oven when they are cracked on top, but still look somewhat doughy -- they will continue to bake on the pan. Let cool for approximately 10 minutes before removing from the pan to cool on a rack.

'Flowers from Heaven' feel better than 'Pennies from Heaven'

2007-11-13T17:16:00.001-08:00

...at least when they unexpectedly fall and bonk you on the head, as has happened to me twice today. :o)

You have to understand, I basically never get flowers. I don't have a significant other to give the obligatory romantic bouquet on holidays and anniversaries, so except for those rare occasions when a friend buys some on a whim or plucks them from the garden, it's pretty much up to me to buy my own flowers if I feel so compelled.

That said, I showed up at work this morning and found a lovely fall bouquet propped against my door. I helped someone (a manager that I don't normally support) out of a pinch yesterday evening, and she brought flowers as a 'thank you.' Naturally, this brightened my morning significantly. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I took a long lunch for my semi-annual dental cleaning, and came back to find a STUNNING -I kid you not- three and a half foot tall orchid plant on my desk! It's absolutely breathtaking, and appears as if it should be the centerpiece at some formal Japanese banquet. This was a 'thank you' from another wonderful co-worker, and left me postively flabbergasted and glowing more than a little. (insert ridiculously big grin)

People keep peeking into my office as they walk by, with quizzical looks on their faces that suggest they're wondering if they have somehow missed my birthday or some other important event. Of course, that just makes me smile more, and increases the sense of curiosity. Hee.

What started out as a very difficult week has been intersected in a way that basically amounts to little hugs from Jesus wherever I look. Sigh. I love this stuff.

Zoo Camp

2007-08-08T17:44:00.001-07:00

I recently had the opportunity to accompany a severely autistic 7-year-old (although differing reports say he's 8) to Zoo Camp at the Oregon Zoo. The week was challenging, exhausting, and wonderful. Let me start by saying WHERE WAS ZOO CAMP WHEN I WAS A KID?!?! I would have LOVED it!! Oh, wait... I didn't live near a decent zoo from Grades 2-12. Anyhow, I was like a kid in a candy shop. But I digress...

The boy - let's call him Bobby - is highly intelligent with a memory like a porous oceanic creature. He's also very "Rainman"-esque with some physical tics and certain catchphrases he repeats mantra-style. My favorite of these is "I'm a tree... I'm a tree... I'm a tree..." Bobby can be very lucid and tuned in at some moments, and then he'll disappear into his own world for hours at a time. While his lack of eye contact and selective hearing can sometimes be legitimately blamed on his autism, he also has plenty of moments where he's just a plain ol' WILLFUL little boy. For example, when you call him and he looks you in the eye, giggles, and bolts for the hills. Or when he's kicking aside the other campers' backpacks in hopes of finding his hat on the classroom floor, and when you call him on it, he looks you in the eye and kicks 2 or 3 more as if they were errant soccer balls. Grrrr. Those moments didn't go over well with me, nor did it when this 60 pound child would go deadweight or start violently twisting in hopes of breaking my grip on his hand. Little did he know about my famed ninja "monkey grip" and just how tough that would be! Bwaa-ha-haaa! >:o\

Bobby responds well to concise, firm, military-style instructions, and I had my share of drill sergeant moments. Nonetheless, until you note his odd behavior and speech, Bobby is a beautiful little boy and at first glance looks "normal", and therefore I got my fair share of raised eyebrows from other adults as I would bark, "Bobby! Get on your feet now!" or "Bobby, you HAVE to wait your turn!" Sigh. If only they knew the challenge of 5 full days with a special needs kid. They might think I was a saint instead of a grouchy nag. Sigh.

In addition to Bobby, there were 35 other first graders in the class, and a total of 9 in my small group. So by the end of the week I was plum tuckered out and ready for a vacation from my vacation.

My two favorite moments of the week:

1. I always had one hand holding Bobby's hand, and the other was often grabbed by one of the little girls as we walked to and fro from the drop-off and pick-up zone to our classroom. I became accustomed to Bobby periodically letting go of my hand long enough to adjust his baseball cap or nametag, and I was always happy when he let go of my hand to wipe his nose rather than using my hand for the purpose. On one such morning walk, Bobby was holding my left hand, and little platinum blonde Kimberly was holding my right hand. I felt him let go momentarily and then grab my hand again, and thought nothing of it. The next time I looked down to ask him a question, I found that Bobby had apparently turned into a small Asian girl! Talk about a magic trick!! Okay, it was actually Cindy, and Bobby was placidly walking about 10 kids ahead of us in line. Still, that cracked me up!

2. One little girl was quite the "sensitive" child, prone to tears at any small bump or perceived injustice. On our small group's very first trek through the zoo, Bobby accidentally bumped into her at the underwater sea lion viewing area. She promptly burst into tears and tattled to me, a pattern which continued throughout the week. I couldn't seem to make her understand that a.) it was not intentional and b.) she was not actually injured in any way. On Friday afternoon as the group departed the classroom for the final trek into the zoo, I was caught in a line for the bathroom. The other leader advised me of the direction they were headed and we agreed that I would catch up. Not 5 minutes later, I caught up to the group, only to find that this same girl was HOLDING BOBBY'S HAND, contentedly being his "buddy." As we walked from exhibit to exhibit, she would kindly call to him, "Bobby! Come hold my hand!" and he seemed happy to please. At the end of the day, as we hiked through the zoo and around the parking lots to the pick-up point yonder, she automatically grabbed his hand and escorted him. When one of the other kids asked why she was holding his hand, she matter-of-factly replied "Because he's my friend."

So, there's the simple beauty of first graders. So helpless and wiggly and whiny and infuriating at times, and yet also able to extend grace and friendship in simple practical ways. Insert collective "awwww" and possible dabbing at the eyes with tissue.

In the end, while I was so exhausted every night that I feel asleep shortly after I got home (and consequently took the entire week to read the final Harry Potter book!), it was full of great moments, and it was a blessing to be able to help Bobby and his family by enabling him to go to Zoo Camp for the first time, when in the past he has had to stay home with mom and the baby while the his other siblings go.

This year we had a variety of classroom visitors including an armadillo, a spiny lizard, a hare, a hydroasaurus, and a Madagascar Hissing Cockroach. Next year, assuming that Bobby graduates to 2nd Grade Zoo Camp, we get to feed the otters. I can't wait! Where do I sign up?!?! :o)

He Said, She Said

2007-05-22T17:27:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago, under the guise of building my "writer's toolbox" (and conveniently avoiding housework), I challenged myself to come up with as many substitutes for the word "said" as possible. So far my list numbers 165. I think it's possible to get to 300. Please join me in this endeavor and plunder your vocabulary for the best "jewels"! I'll update the list periodically. :o)

P.S. Feel free to print and use the list, however I ask that you do not in any way sell or monetarily profit from my list. Thanks!

accused
acknowledged
acquiesced
added
addressed
alluded
amended
announced
answered
appealed
articulated
assented
assured
babbled
badgered
barked
begged
broached
bubbled
cackled
cajoled
called
cautioned
censured
chanted
charged
chided
chimed in
chortled
chuckled
coaxed
comforted
complained
confessed
confided
contributed
cooed
countered
cried
croaked
decided
divulged
deliberated
demanded
demurred
denied
dictated
directed
divulged
echoed
enunciated
exclaimed
explained
expostulated
exulted
fawned
forewarned
giggled
grasped
grumbled
guffawed
gushed
hiccupped
hinted
hissed
howled
implored
impugned
inquired
insinuated
insisted
interjected
interrogated
interrupted
intimated
intoned
invented
jabbered
joked
lamented
levied
lied
mimicked
moaned
mocked
mollified
mumbled
murmured
muttered
narrated
objected
opined
ordered
petitioned
paraphrased
placated
pleaded
preached
predicted
pried
proclaimed
prompted
pronounced
proposed
purred
queried
questioned
quoted
ranted
raved
reacted
reasoned
reassured
recapitulated
reciprocated
recounted
remarked
repeated
replied
reprimanded
requested
responded
retaliated
retorted
roared
ruminated
sang
sassed
scolded
screamed
shouted
shrieked
sighed
snarled
snickered
sniggered
spat
spluttered
spoke up
squealed
stammered
stated
stuttered
submitted
suggested
supposed
taunted
threatened
thundered
told
translated
twittered
urged
uttered
ventured
verified
wailed
warned
whined
whispered
wondered
yelled
yelped

Caving in to peer pressure again...

2007-04-24T17:39:00.000-07:00

I can dig it! I just wish I had her hair and looked that good in a jumpsuit. I wouldn't mind snogging Will Riker either, come to think of it... :o)

Your results:
You are Deanna Troi

Deanna Troi		80%
Uhura		75%
An Expendable Character (Redshirt)		65%
Geordi LaForge		60%
Data		58%
Mr. Sulu		55%
Beverly Crusher		55%
Chekov		50%
Jean-Luc Picard		50%
James T. Kirk (Captain)		45%
Will Riker		45%
Spock		42%
Mr. Scott		40%
Worf		40%
Leonard McCoy (Bones)		30%

You are a caring and loving individual.
You understand people's emotions and you are able to comfort and counsel them.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz

An Ode to Señor Don Gato

2007-04-06T14:05:00.000-07:00

A couple of weekends ago, I had one of those LONG telephone conversations that I think only sisters and/or the best of friends can truly enjoy. For four hours on a Friday evening, from eight o’clock until nearly midnight, we giggled and chattered, reminisced about our shared childhood, and finished one another’s sentences. I was simply enjoying her company, and I believe she was enjoying the distraction from the reality that my poor niece had been hit with a stomach bug and had been vomiting at regular intervals since dinnertime.

Now if you know me and my sister well, you’ll know that we have freakish memories for obscure trivia, movie lines, song lyrics, and the like. Remember the McDonalds promotion sometime back in the late eighties where they gave away records with a song listing all of the menu items, and a chance to win a prize? We spent hours and nearly played that little vinyl to death in the process of memorizing it, and to this day, we both remember it in full. “Big Mac, McDLT, a Quarter Pounder with some cheese, Fillet o’Fish, a hamburger, a cheeseburger, a Happy Meal, McNuggets, tasty golden French fries (regular and larger sizes), salads Chef or Garden, or a Chicken Salad Oriental, Big Big Breakfast, Egg McMuffin, Hot Hot Cakes with sausage, maybe biscuits (Bacon, Egg, and Cheese), a Danish, sausage, hash browns too, and for dessert hot apple pies, and sundaes (three varieties!), a soft serve cone, three kinds of shakes, and chocolaty chip cookies, and to drink a Coca-Cola, Diet Coke, and Orange Drink, a Sprite, a coffee (Decaf too), a low fat milk, also an orange juice, I love McDonalds 'Good Time Great Taste' and I get this all at one place!”

Whew! Never could do it all in one breath, but there it is (perhaps the longest run-on sentence in world history) fresh from the recesses of my brain. Our other classic is the warning label from the bottom of our kitchen chairs: “NOTICE: Only the resilient filling materials contained in this article meet California Bureau of Home Furnishings flammability requirements. Care should be exercised near open flame and with burning cigarettes.” That little joke originated one day when we were home alone and my sister was lying on the kitchen floor pretending (in big sister fashion) that she either had a concussion or had gone into some altered mental state. She just looked catatonic and kept repeating that warning over and over. Eventually I figured out her trick and we committed it to memory. The joke is so long-standing expect that whichever of us lives longest might just end up including it in our eulogy for the other.

Weird? Yes. Definitely. No question there. Whenever I hear that the average human only uses 10% of their brain, I get slightly worried that upwards of 7-8% of mine might be filled up with “Princess Bride” and Monty Python quotes, the plots and punch lines from just about every episode of “Friends” ever made, LOTR and Battlestar Galactica trivia, and a plethora of song lyrics.

Anyhow, in the course of our reminiscing, my sister and I tried singing our mutual favorite song from grade school music class, a little ditty called “Señor Don Gato.” We had no trouble with the first, second, and third verses, and most of the sixth. We struggled with the fourth and fifth verses, though, and were just about to give up for the evening and head towards our respective beds. We said goodnight, hung up, and I had started washing my face when suddenly a flash of the missing words light up my brain like a lightening bolt. I scrambled for the phone, dialed, and without preamble nearly shouted “It’s something about doctors holding a consultation…How does it go??” By then there was such a bee in her bonnet that she climbed out of bed and Googled “Don Gato lyrics” and quickly found what we were seeking. It seems the song is (or was) quite popular in grade school music class repertoires, and whole generations of adults probably have that song tickling at the backs of their minds. Should you care to do so, it’s even available for download on iTunes.

So, Ladies & Gentlemen, without further ado, here they are in full…my tribute to sisterhood and a noggin full of memories… the lyrics to the song about the lovesick kitty, Señor Don Gato. If you know it, sing along! :o)

Oh Señor Don Gato was a cat
On a high red roof Don Gato sat
He went there to read a letter
(Meow, meow, meow)
Where the reading light was better
(Meow, meow, meow)
'Twas a love note for Don Gato

I adore you wrote the lady cat
Who was fluffy, white and nice and fat
There was not a sweeter kitty
(Meow, meow, meow)
In the country or the city
(Meow, meow, meow)
And she said she'd wed Don Gato

Oh, Don Gato jumped so happily
He fell off the roof and broke his knee
Broke his ribs and all his whiskers
(Meow, meow, meow)
And his little solar plexus
(Meow, meow, meow)
“Ay Caramba,” cried Don Gato

Then the doctors all came on the run
Just to see if something could be done
And they held a consultation
(Meow, meow, meow)
About how to save their patient
(Meow, meow, meow)
How to save Señor Don Gato

But in spite of everything they tried
Poor Señor Don Gato up and died
And it wasn't very merry
(Meow, meow, meow)
Going to the cemetery
(Meow, meow, meow)
For the ending of Don Gato

When the funeral passed the market square
Such a smell of fish was in the air
Though his burial was slated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He became reanimated
(Meow, meow, meow)
He came back to life, Don Gato

Is she or isn't she?

2007-03-05T13:06:00.000-08:00

If you’ll oblige me to have one juvenile, ranting moment here, I’ll just say “I DON'T WANT STARBUCK TO BE DEAD!” I don’t really want her to be a Cylon either, but have been suspecting for some time that she might be one of the Final Five. If she indeed reappears as a Cylon next season, imagine what that will do to Bill Adama, as the second of his beloved Viper pilots, and the daughter of his heart (if not his biological offspring) is revealed to be the “enemy.” Will he shoulder the grief and continue being the father-figure Admiral who somehow manages to balance his love of his crew with the realities of military life? Or will be become more distant and disciplined, a strict tactician with a gulf of detachment between himself and those he commands?

I’m half-inclined to be a bit miffed at Apollo for taking her out on that mission, knowing that she was a few pressure valves shy of a functional tylium refinery… erm, or some other less geeky euphemism for "out of her frackin’ mind." At the same time, it reminds me of a recent episode of Lost in which the mysterious jewelry saleswoman points out to Desmond a man who is about to die, but doesn’t attempt to prevent it. Desmond is appalled at her apparent apathy, but she indicates that even if she prevented him from getting crushed by the scaffolding, the universe has a way of course-correcting. So I suppose that even if Starbuck’s ship didn’t implode due to atmospheric pressure, then the next day she would be killed in a training run with Hot Dog and Selix… Or if she didn’t go on that training run, then the day after that she’d fall out of her bunk and crack her head open, etc…

So here are a few questions that come to mind regarding Starbuck’s death and/or potential Cylon status:

*If she is a Cylon, perhaps that’s why she was particularly suited to understand and fly the Raider in Season 1? Also, maybe that’s why Baltar was so attracted to her? After all, he does seem to dig the robo-chicks! ;o)

*Will Dualla manage to pull her face into some suitable expression of loss and grief, or at least empathy for what poor Apollo will now be going through? (Her actions did contribute to Billy’s death after all!) Or will she be privately smirking and doing the dance of joy? As much as I have disliked Dualla ever since she ripped Billy’s heart out of his chest and used it for target practice, I hope that she isn’t that vindictive. (I, however, am still bitter...)

*How will Apollo react? Will he go back to Dualla and make the best of their marriage? Will he be overcome by another fey mood and try to meet his death in battle? Will he blame himself, indulge in excessive “emotional eating,” and become Chubby Apollo again?

*When is Billy coming back as a Cylon?!?! (Sorry, that’s my own personal dream, not likely to happen…)

For the answers to these and other burning questions, only time will tell, and apparently we are going to have lots of time until we find out the fate of Starbuck… January 2008 according to the SciFi Channel’s website.

Like tylium through the hourglass, so are the days of our fleet…

So say we all.

Well ain't that shiny...

2007-02-07T16:40:00.000-08:00

Taking a cue from Bethy McBethles... and suspecting that this sort of blatant unoriginality is the very reason Rebekah doesn't blog, per our conversation last night. ;o)

Your results:
You are Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)

Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)		75%
Derrial Book (Shepherd)		75%
Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic)		70%
Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command)		65%
Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)		65%
Inara Serra (Companion)		60%
River (Stowaway)		55%
Wash (Ship Pilot)		50%
Alliance		45%
Jayne Cobb (Mercenary)		25%
A Reaver (Cannibal)		5%

Honest and a defender of the innocent.
You sometimes make mistakes in judgment
but you are generally good and
would protect your crew from harm.

Click here to take the Serenity Firefly Personality Test

Bad Idea #341

2007-01-18T16:23:00.000-08:00

Bad Idea #341: Cats as service animals

The Seeing Eye Cat:

I don’t know what a Buick LaSabre is, but I do know what a sparrow is, and there’s one perched on a fence across the street…

You need to go to the bank? Yeah, well, I need a nap… for the next 6 hours.

Loud teenagers at a bus stop? You’ll find me up the nearest tree…

I helped you get to this bleepin’ restaurant! What do you mean I’m not welcome to sit on the table and eat off “your” plate?

The Hearing Ear Cat:

The only sound I respond to is the sound of a can of cat food being opened.

What did you say? I was distracted by that spider on the wall…

I’d apologize for not listening, but frankly, I don’t care.

eHarmony

2006-12-18T10:15:00.000-08:00

I joined eHarmony (hereafter referred to as “eH”) nearly 2 months ago after much hemming and hawing. Despite knowing at least two married couples who met via eH, the concept scared me. I was supposed to place my photo on the web and face rejection by men from all over the country? I think not.

Eventually I took the leap with some help from a friend, and two hours or so of personality tests later, my first six matches popped up. And thus began those first two weeks of constant agitation. My stomach lurched and flipped each time I logged on, wondering who might have initiated communication, who might have closed our match, and generally just feeling pressured to determine the potential of these men based on a profile. The matches came pouring in -which was somewhat of a relief...at least I was matchable!- but I felt pressured to make decisions. I didn’t want to close any matches lest I unknowingly close out my Mr. Right.

And then it happened. A Canadian lad initiated communication, and he had all of the humor and charm and wit I could hope for, love for his Savior and his family, similar dreams, and… and well, I let down my guard. His messages left me grinning from ear to ear, giddy like a school girl. I floated down the hallways at work, starting to imagine future visits and life events together.

It’s stupid really. I *know* better than to do that, but the idea that we were identified as “extremely compatible” by the experts at eH, and then had a seemingly great chemistry… It was all too easy to think “Yes! No wonder I haven’t met anyone in Oregon! My guy is in Canada, so it’s not like we were going to bump into each other at the grocery store! All I needed to do was join eH and now my life will begin…”

After some regular exchanges, Canada Boy disappeared into radio silence. I awaited the next message while dismissing other matches with thoughts like, “He doesn’t make me laugh the way Canada Boy does… His writing isn’t witty… He doesn’t grab my attention…” etc. After a three week silence, I logged on one evening to see that Canada Boy had closed our match with the stated reason “I’m just not ready for the next step.”

I fell to pieces. What the hell was he doing on eH if he wasn’t ready to pursue a relationship? Or maybe he was interested until I posted my pictures, and “just not ready” was a lame excuse instead of saying “I’m not attracted to you.” This was the exact reason I didn’t want to join in the first place… to be anonymously rejected seems worse somehow. Why can’t I just meet someone at work or church, have him find me attractive and intriguing, and ask me out?

I was heartbroken, frustrated by the lack of closure, and I walked through the next week or two like a zombie, making small talk and changing the subject or flat ignoring any inquiries of “How are you?” lest I start weeping. I didn’t want to be lectured about not letting my heart get ahead of reality. I already knew that I contributed to my own heartache without being told. This was supposed to be like trying on shoes. This was “practice dating” and I wasn’t supposed to have expectations.

I’m back at it again, reviewing profiles and answering inquiries, but with a sense of detachment. I don’t know if it’s a healthy sense of detachment, or a self-defense mechanism. I have over 100 matches sitting in my box, most of whom I haven’t had any reaction to, either positive or negative. I read each profile, shrug, and move on to the next one. There isn’t anything unsavory enough to make me close the match (with the exception of a few extreme Type A personalities, one self-professed porn addict, and a couple of apparent man whores), but nothing that captures my attention enough to want to pursue communication.

Truly, I don’t know where this eH adventure will lead me. Maybe I’ll be one of those marriage success stories, or maybe my future husband will show up next to me in line at a Starbucks here in Oregon. I just pray that it is soon.

Jesus talked to me last year about guarding my heart, leaving it as intact and unscarred as possible for Him and for my future husband. I reflected after the Canada Boy incident about why I was so willing to allow my heart and mind to plunge headfirst into infatuation, knowing all too well the perilous path I was embarking upon. I concluded that, frankly, it feels good to use that part of my heart which feels like it is wasting away, unused and unwanted. I understand that marriage is not a cure for loneliness, nor is it easy, nor is it the missing ingredient that will complete my happiness. At the same time, I believe I was created with a deep desire to be a wife, and that desire comes from God. I am prepared to work hard at my marriage, and to choose to love my husband every day (even when we inevitably annoy the crap out of each other). Now it’s just a matter of the Lord’s timing. So, Jesus, whenever you’re ready, I’m here...

The Sound of Silence (My apologies to Simon & Garfunkel...)

2006-11-14T17:26:00.000-08:00

The Oregon Coast and Willamette Valley experienced a reasonably large windstorm on Sunday night --large enough to knock down a plethora of trees and leave thousands of folks in the dark, either for minutes or hours at a time. It was uncanny... The weather forecasters predicted 10pm as the starting time for the storm, and sure enough, at 9:54pm... BUZZ. ZAP. CLUNK... The power went off in my home and silence descended like a curtain. What?! No TV?! I am appropriately ashamed to admit that I was watching a reality show (which shall go nameless here) and was mildly vexed that I was going to miss the results!

Alone with my feline companions, I promptly lit a few candles and snatched up my cell phone to reach out and connect. I texted a friend..."Are you without power, too?" Then I called my dearest Mommers to relate what I was experiencing at that very moment, and while it wasn't exactly press-stopping news that I was in the dark, she patiently listened to my plans for just how I was going to manage to clean up the painting project that I had been in the midst of, and how I would need to use the alarm on the cell phone for the morning since I couldn't set the clock by my bed. Eventually she tired of my survival checklist mentality and excused herself with the advice that I should simply go to bed since I couldn't do anything useful anyway.

I fumbled my way thru washing my face, brushing my teeth, etc. A sidenote on the bedtime toilette routine: Why is it that when you're washing your face by candlelight, *that* is the exact moment that the stupid urban legand about looking in the mirror in the dark and saying "Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary" comes to mind?! You couldn't have paid me enough at that moment to try it. Anyhow, I digress....

It felt truly strange to be in total quiet, no comforting white noise of the cats' water fountain or the aquarium filter or the dryer tumbling my clothes. No sight but the flicker of a dozen candles in my living room, reflecting from the 3 cats' wide, curious eyes. A few faint flickers behind curtains in windows across the way reminded me that others were at home, sitting in the same silence, whether they found it to be refreshing or oppressive. After a brief attempt at reading by candlelight, I gave up the fight and went to sleep.

Power returned during the night, and as I pondered the experience on Monday morning while grooming myself for work, I kept thinking back to a point Pastor Bill made in his Sunday morning sermon. We often chip away at our exterior lives, trying to force ourselves to be more like God. We keep track of how often we pray or read the Bible. We engage in acts of mercy or compassion, consciously thinking that this is "what Jesus would do." Not to devalue those things, but we can try to squeeze endless godly activities into our lives, and form words that sound like a gentle rain of wisdom straight from the Bible, but we can never carve or mold ourselves into a righteous, godly being. That change works from the inside out. You have allowed Jesus into your heart, and from there he speaks directly to you of his love and will for you, and rebukes you out of fatherly goodness when necessary. The process is more like an injection mold... We start out as this empty casing in the image of God, and then as He works his way into the very corners of our existence, the mold is filled from the inside, gradually expanding until it is complete. After our earthly existence ends and the shell of our bodies is peeled away from our soul, out pops this newly completed spiritual being, in the image of our Heavenly Father.

Here I was, sitting in the dark, bemoaning that I couldn't do anything "useful" and initially uncomfortable with the silence. How much of my life is like that? Do I volunteer to sing with the worship team because I love to praise the Lord, or because it's one of those ministry activities that should in theory benefit my spiritual growth? Do I volunteer with the kids program because I treasure the youngest members of God's Kingdom, or because it's an opportunity to show my spiritual maturity & leadership, making me feel like a better Christian? Am I just trying to chip away from the outside? And maybe most importantly, is the silence uncomfortable because it throws into sharp relief what's in my heart and mind and forces me to work with God from the inside out instead of saying, "See? Look what I did for you this week? Aren't I doing well?"

Maybe power outages are less of an inconvenience, and more of an opportunity to look into deep places untouched by the light we try to shine for the world.

Celebrity Lookalike

2006-11-06T14:04:00.000-08:00

Dammit. I caved to peer pressure and tried the "Celebrity Lookalike" program. I was utterly (although not unpleasantly) shocked that Courtney Cox is my highest rated match (Puhleeease! Does this mean I get to have her teeny-tiny bodytype as well?!). Then there's the eensy wee problem that all of the rest of my matches are GUYS!!!! I think it cut me off at at 9 celebs, so the freakish resemblance to James Spader will not be evident unless you use your imagination. Just picture him wearing almost identical glasses with an almost identical backdrop and an almost identical smile... Kinda creepy really. (Or for Beth and Elise, that would be "Creeepay!")

Elton John?! Phillip Seymour Hoffman?! WTF?!?!

This may take some time and plenty of facial masks, pore cleansings, and alcohol to get over. I blame Devin.

Parental Notification

2006-11-03T21:15:00.000-08:00

Election Day is fast approaching and Oregon once again faces a ballot measure that will set precedence regarding the sanctity of family and the rights of parents to be involved in the lives of their children. The measure is designed to require parental notification for minors seeking abortion, 48 hours before the procedure. It does not require parental approval or permission, just notification. The measure includes a loophole for cases of incest or minors who might face danger at home if the parents were notified. The loophole requires a judge to waive the notification requirement based on a meeting or phone call with the minor in question.

Silly me, I thought this would be a fairly cut and dried issue. Minors are differentiated from adults because they're different, right? We set age requirements for driving a motor vehicle and for exercising the right to vote. Why? Because the maturity required for certain activities takes time to develop. Granted not everyone is a safe driver at 35 much less 16, and some adults never make their voice heard in the political process, but age increases the potential for wisdom and more informed choices.

For the life of me, I can't imagine that ANY 14, 15, or 16 year old who finds herself with an unwanted pregnancy is mature enough to set aside fear and circumstance to make a decision that will affect not only the remainder of her life but also determine the life or death of a newly formed human being. Hell, I don't think teenagers are emotionally mature enough to have sex no matter what their bodies may tell them.

Next time you walk thru a shopping mall, take note of the ear piercing station at the teeny-bopper jewelry store. Parental permission is required for minors to pierce their ears. Why is this even a question that a teen should be able to undergo a medical procedure to terminate a pregnancy without a parent being involved? Why is it that about half of the folks polled in Oregon are planning to vote against this common sense measure?

How has our society gotten to this place? Is this about "choice" and "reproductive rights"? In which case, do we hold that notion so precious that we think it extends to not only women, but young girls as well? Is this issue rooted in that legendary fierce American independence, that none of us can be owned or controlled? Bottom line: Parents are responsible for the welfare of their minor children.

A majority of Oregonians stepped up two years ago and said, "Marriage is between one man and one woman. We believe that definition is crucial to maintaining the institution of family." Certain lawmakers promptly said, "You know, you're wrong. We're being tolerant and accepting of other lifestyles, and you are clearly either ignorant or just plain bigoted. Since we know better, we're going to go ahead and establish 'civil unions' in order to make Oregon a progressive and accepting sort of place."

IF this parental notification measure passes, I expect the same type of reaction from Planned Parenthood and the other "feminist" powers that be. How can we consider taking away the rights of these pregnant teens? How could a parent possibly know better than a kid when it comes to her body? How, you ask? Because we love them. Because we respect them enough to say, "You aren't ready to make a decision like this without the support of the people who love you best and will stay with you either way."

Waxing Sentimental

2006-10-20T12:21:00.000-07:00

Not quite sure why, but lately I've been waxing sentimental ...and no, I don't mean I've been getting misty-eyed over past hair removal attempts.

Perhaps it's that I'm nearly 30 and still single, which is significantly different than the timeline for my life that I had planned. More on my timing vs. God's timing later....

Anyhow, one tall, strapping, red-headed lad keeps coming to mind. He and I were close while I was nearing the end of my college career and he was just starting. Then seemingly out of the blue he ended not only any potential for the relationship to turn romantic, but ended the friendship altogether. I was devastated to say the least, floundering and unsure of my path as graduation approached, and feeling like I would be entering the unknown without my best friend by my side.

The following poem was one I wrote that year in the midst of my heartache. I have no idea where he is now. I've only seen him once in the last 7 years, in passing at a county fair where he was walking hand in hand with another young woman and wouldn't make eye contact although I was sure he saw me. Wherever he is, I hope that he is finding his way in this world and that he is truly happy.

You granted me an empty hello
As you passed me by
Doled it out as if it were a gift
Eagerly I snatched it up
This morsel, this crumb
Your name rose to my lips
Once sweet and gratifying to utter
Now unsavory
I echoed your greeting
But those two words, however small
Choked me
Then escaping, fell on your stone ears
Casual indifference framed your features
Betraying not the guilt I prayed I'd see
Not a hint of a smile played
On those lips that mingled with mine
Mercilessly capturing my affection
One clear March night
Back when you were real
And so today I continued
Down the path you cut for me
A hollow woman
Empty as your hello

Get out of my brain!

2006-10-13T13:37:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Bethy McBethles and I have that tendency, as do many folks who spend much time in close company, to find that we are thinking the same thing at the same moment, and even have the words pop out simultaneously, often with the very same intonations. Silly and goofy, yes. Occasionally weird, yes. But mostly just plain old good for a laugh! One of my favorite of her exclamations on these occasions is, "Get out of my brain! You're leaving squishy footprints!"

Somehow that seemed quite appropriate for a blog in which I'm essentially letting you into my brain. So please, look around. Explore. Just don't wear like soccer cleats or track spikes, or stillettos 'cuz... ouch! :o)