The Longest Day

Happy Summer Solstice!

What a beautiful day! I don't like to use this blog as a "journal", but I got to do so many great things today...

~Drank my Arabian Mocha Sanani blend coffee on the back deck looking out at the lake while reading the Friday paper, which had a great picture and blurp about a sewing camp for kids that had met at our church this past week. And a good review of "Get Smart".

~My hubby trimmed my hair. I know it doesn't seem that noteworthy, but it saved me from going back to the salon after only 2 weeks. And it looks good.

~Rode around the lake in a 1932 Ford Deuce Coupe. And then I got to drive it. After owning it since 1957 (yes, 51 years!), my father-in-law finally has his hobby car running and he and my mother-in-law drove it out today.

~Had a great lunch (BBQed chicken sandwiches) with my in-laws.

~Rode around the lake in the boat. In the sunshine. Hot enough for a bathing suit, but not sweat inducing. Strong sun, Michigan blue sky,and fluffy clouds. Enough said.

~Took a nap laying across the bed in the sunshine. Is it just me, or does that just make it more decadent than a couch nap? Purr...yawn!

~Went to see "Get Smart". Highly recommend it. I had never even seen the original series, but what a fun movie! James Bond action and stunts with Steve Carrell humor and his odd sweetness. The most I've laughed out loud in a movie in ages.

~Rode the motorcycle with Dale out to Fenton to The French Laundry for a late supper. Highly recommend it as well! They sell Zingermann's baked goods and use their bread in their sandwiches, and I had an awesome hazelnut cappuccino and chocolate croissant for dessert (the boss' favorite--would have brought him one if he'd been in town-next time!). Definitely going back for my birthday!


~Saw two wagons loaded with square bales of hay near Fenton. Some "country" things don't change!

~After a chilly ride home, there's still time to snuggle up with a new book while hubby watches HGTV. And it's only Friday night. Thank you, Lord for extra hours of daylight!


So what did you do with your
almost 15 hours of daylight today?

The Memory of Hay

"Smell is a potent wizard that transports us across thousands of miles and all the years we have lived...Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening fields far away."

Helen Keller, quoted in Nancy Ortberg's new book, Looking for God

The barn is full of hay bales. Not the big round ones you see in the fields these days that look like a giant spilled his baklava all over the countryside. These are the compact and solid small, square bales, tightly twined toward each end and about the size of a small ottoman. They stack in tightly like bricks, filling the far end of the large metal barn on my granddad's cattle farm. As my father slides the large rolling door open, my sister and I race in, climbing quickly to be the first to reach the top. They are stacked in a staggered fashion, leaving an puzzle-like staircase for us to clamor up. Sometimes the stack reaches to the top of the barn and our dad issues a caution to "be careful" to us as we try to touch the ceiling. We carefully sit and peer down on he and his father, chatting beside the dark green tractor parked in the main area, or checking on an expectant cow that might be confined to the barn until her delivery. We feel like giants sitting on a sweet smelling dried clover sofa. When we climb down, we often take a moment to push away the loose strands of residue at the edge of the stack to see the spot in the concrete where we pushed our hands in the wet cement and wrote our names with a stick. We lay our hands over the impressions, seeing how much our hand extends beyond the print and noting how much more grown up we are now.

In the years to come, I grow old enough to drive the tractor with the brick red wagon-trailer behind it, as my dad and granddad walk along and pick up the baled hay from the field. A hired man comes in and rakes the fields, following up with a hay baler. It's a fascinating machine that draw the loose, dried grasses into it's inner workings and shoots the twined bales out a square shoot in the back. Picking up hay is back breaking work, and I wonder at my grandfather, who even then seemed too ancient to be doing such hard labor. Driving for them requires focus and attention in a boring job so as not to go too fast and to hold steady on the steep hills of the farm pasture. Once in a moment of inattentiveness, I push down on the clutch and miss the gear allowing the whole rig to roll forward too quickly and get quite a scare as I rush down the hill, loosing a few bales along the way. Neither man chides me though--they only worry that I'll be hurt and urge me to be more careful. We proceed through the morning, slow and steady, until the hay is piled higher than they can toss the bales and we head back to the barn. I slide over and let my dad drive us in at a faster pace, thankful for a respite and the slight breeze that cools my sunburned arms.

These bales will last through the winter to feed the small herd of black angus my granddad raises for food and profit. They graze on the 80 acres that contain the farmhouse, a small pond, another smaller barn, and an oil well pump and tanks that emit a pungent oily crude smell of their own. Soon we head to the house, sweat and dirt mixing with an itchiness from the hay. It's a good tired we feel, and grandmother greets us with a cold cup of water, or maybe a bottle of orange soda which we accept gratefully.

When I was only 19 years old, newly married and newly moved to Michigan, I took a job that required me to take a bus from the suburbs to downtown Detroit in the early winter for 2 weeks of training. One day the bus let us off in front of a construction area where they were pouring new sidewalks. There were bales of straw, some broken open and scattered near the site. As we hurried into the building, someone commented on the "bales of hay" and how out of place they were here in the big city. "It's straw, not hay. Trust me, I know hay from straw," I commented. After our elevator had climbed high to our class on one of the upper floors of the skyscraper, I peered down from one of the windows to the street below. I smiled and wondered how it would be to press my hand into the wet concrete below and leave my mark beside the square twined bales.

"All Those Stories"

"But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget. You take your material where you find it, which is in your life, at the intersection of past and present. The memory-traffic feeds into a rotary up on your head, where it goes in circles for a while, then pretty soon imagination flows in and the traffic merges and shoots off down a thousand different streets. As a writer, all you can do is pick a street and go for the ride, putting things down as they come at you. That's the real obsession. All those stories."

Tim O'Brien, "The Things They Carried"

I'm Going to Kathmandu..

I stopped at the 7-11 for coffee last week. I know this must seem blasphemous to those of you who know that my son works at the Great Coffee Monopoly, but sometimes I just get in a hurry and don't want to make coffee at home. And my son never works in the morning, so I'm stuck only being able to get freebies that are decaf during his evening shifts, or an occasional latte made by Pedro (who as far as I know is neither Mexican or straight, but is totally adorable!) when I run by when I'm grocery shopping.

So, about once a week I stop in for amazingly good coffee that only costs $1.16 for a grande size. There is always a young man conscientiously cleaning and straightening up the coffee area, and in a friendly mood for not yet having had my morning fix I asked,
"Which one is your best coffee?"
With a slight accent he replied, "the regular roast."
"Really? Well, I'll try it." Always interested in people's accents, curiosity got the best of me. "Where are you from?"
"Nepal."
"Oh! I love Nepalese food!"
Ok, is that about the most lame thing you can say to someone from another country or what? I do love it though. We had the best Nepalese meal at a little restaurant in Frisco, CO of all places the day after we skied Arapahoe Basin.

(Kathmandu Cafe')


"Where do you get around here?" he asked (his English is a little broken).
"There used to be a great place in Royal Oak, Kathmandu Chulo, but it closed recently. There are probably other places around here though." Then I added, "I'd love to go to Nepal."
He said, "The mountains! Mt. Everest--you have to see. Everyone goes there."
"I would love to see it--the mountains there must be amazing!"
"Let's go!" he said with a smile.
I laughed. "Not today, I have work to do!"
I left, but couldn't help pondering throughout the day--what if I could just go to Nepal today?

In case you missed it...

In case you were without power due to the recent storm, I did a "Grown Up" first this week. A prize offer! Don't miss your chance to win! Check it out!

On forgetting things

Michael Anderson, a memory researcher at the University of Oregon in Eugene, has tried to estimate the cost in time of forgetting things. "According to a decade's worth of "forgetting diaries" kept by his undergraduate students (the amount of time it takes to find the car keys, for example), Anderson calculates that people squander more than a month of every year just compensating for things they've forgotten." (National Geographic)"

I'm usually pretty good about remembering stuff. Over the years I've developed habits for putting keys on their hook, receipts in their file, and books on their shelves so that I don't waste a month of my life looking for them. Remembering is a skill that is helpful and necessary in my job. ("necessary" is a word I always forget how to spell!). As an assistant, a big part of my job is to help my boss remember various appointments, meetings, phone calls, and names. I have found that my ability to remember useless trivia like how to say the ingredients of a Big Mac sandwich backwards (it was a contest), has transferred over to being able to remember who mentioned that their wife might want to help head up the church picnic planning committee or what is the name of the 3rd child of that huge family that homeschools. It seems like God has a sense of humor about how he gives us ways to use our natural gifts.

Sometimes other people remember things involving us that we have no recollection of taking part in. Years ago, a woman who had just started coming to a Bible study I was involved in shared with our group that she remembered a day when I came in to the clothing shop she owned. As I was standing in line, a woman clearly cut in front of me. As she worked the register, she was surprised that I didn't make a fuss, but just let it go. I said something about how she must have been in a hurry, paid for my purchase, and went on my way without any sign of anger or malice. Something about it sparked her, and she wondered what made me different. She had come to know Jesus, and noted it as a signpost of sorts--God showing her a glimpse of a different way of living--one she later attributed to my living as a follower of Jesus. I had no idea of the impact at the time (I'm just usually weirdly patient in lines) and really no recollection of it, other than maybe a vague memory of being in the store.

I just hope I've forgotten more things like that.

Advice to the Young Me

Imagine....time travel has been perfected. And despite dire warnings about disrupting the whole space-time continuum, you are allowed to do it. The following restriction is given: You can only go back to one time in your life and you can only give yourself one minute of advice. What would you say? What advice would you give to the younger you? Would you tell yourself to be more grateful? More relaxed? Worry less? Exercise more? Eat dessert first? Would you warn yourself? Don't take that job. Don't marry that man/woman. Don't buy that house. Don't put off that doctor's appointment. Would you encourage yourself? Don't give up on getting your degree. Keep trying to get published. Be open to that relationship. I think I would go back to when I was 22, after my first child had just been born. We had been married about 3 years, and I had dropped out of college to work so we could get into a house and start a family. It was a time of beginnings and really entering adulthood. I can think of a few things I would say:

• Savor this time while your kids are young and don't hurry them or yourself so much.

• Start a journal and make yourself write in it.

• Wear a bikini now. It's only going to get worse and you'll kick yourself later for being so self-conscious.

• Don't ask 'what will people think?' as much as 'what do I think?'

• Spend less on stuff and give more away.

• You won't regret buying that boat. It will foster years of family fun and memories.

• Don't waste time working at what you don't really love or enjoy unless it's absolutely necessary. If it is absolutely necessary, ask God to show you something that makes it bearable and even enjoyable.

• Pray more. Read more scripture. Less rules. More love.

I realize as I read back over my list, that most of what I've listed is still good advice to myself now. Of course, the problem isn't in giving the advice--it's in taking it and putting it into practice. So, Self, listen up! You heard Yourself! Now just do it! There. And we didn't even cause any trouble with the whole space time continuum.

I know you're out there, blog readers! What advice would you give yourself? Special book prize goes to the most profound comment. Or the one I just like the best! Family members are not necessarily disqualified from winning, but get no special advantage either!

My Dear Body!

"Why, I say, should I ever have bitterly blamed [my body] for such trifles as I have blamed it for: for having too much flesh in this spot, too little muscle in that, for producing this wrinkle, that sag, that gray hair, or this texture? Dear body! My dear body! It has gone about its incessant business with very little thanks." ~Janet Burroway, quoted in O Magazine

Oh, but I am "bitterly blaming" it tonight. But not for trifles. Actually, after going to my mini-reunion Memorial weekend and seeing a few friends I went to school with 25 years ago, I felt like thanking it for holding up pretty well. There were no more wrinkles, sags or grays than anyone else--less than some. At the very least, I felt comfortable and confident in my body--something few of us feel when we are in our teens.

No, the outward 'trifles' are not giving me pain, but the inner workings are incessant in their complaints. For months now, I have been living with a nagging and restless pain in my neck and shoulder. Diagnosed at first as a pinched nerve in my elbow, then as muscular shoulder problems, and now as a damaged joint at the bottom of my neck, finding the source has felt like trying to hit a bullseye at a carnival. You think you've got the right pitch to score the big teddy bear, but there's something fishy about the whole set up that makes it just about impossible. Some days it feels like the doctors are about as competent as the 'carnies' running the midway, and I'm stuck going from booth to booth and giving out more money. I can't even imagine what it must be like to have a serious life-threatening illness.

I won't give you the boring details. I won't go into the emotional flare-ups that this sometimes ignites at times due to growing up with a parent who suffered chronic pain. I will say that God is there in the midst of it and it does keep me clinging, complaining, crying, and trusting Him when it gets to be too wearing.

It is why I haven't been writing much lately (well, that and I big women's event that I helped put on at my church). Physically, it's just not very good to be on the computer any more than I have to be. Mentally though, I'm missing the creative outlet. So, I plan to get going again. (Maybe it will inspire me to be more concise!) If you talk to God on a regular basis, mention me when you think of it.