Ponderings Concerning the Mall Santa

Where's the Line to See Jesus?

I wrote this short story in response to this music video. It was for a specific online purpose, but either I'm too computer illiterate or they were way too complicated. In either case, it didn't work out. But since I'd already written it, I didn't want to waste it. So I thought I'd put it here instead. 

It was a question for the ages. One that could not possibly have an answer. But it still tormented me as I unlocked the door to my apartment and entered later that evening.

My thoughts had not been occupied with anything other than a contented peacefulness as I passed by that Santa display at the mall tonight. I was out with nothing to do but shop. I had a lifestyle and a bank account that gave me the privilege of buying exactly what I knew would be perfect for each of my loved ones. The mood in the mall had been festive and happy.

In a way I wanted to despise the little Scrooge who seemed to come from nowhere with his question and vanished to the same. What right did he have to ruin my holiday spirit? Was he a little demon sent to spread gloom and darkness into a world only trying to celebrate life, if just for the season? Or was he an angel sent with a warning that precluded our expectation of divine blessing?

My mind swarmed with endless possibilities. I gulped back the sense of dread that had started to become tangible as an aching in the back of my head and the pit of my stomach. I dropped my packages that only minutes before had been treasures and now seemed like dead weight on my soul.

I fell to the couch in despair.

“What’s wrong?”

I didn’t hear the whisper with my ears, but rather the tones swirled around my being as the softest summer breeze kissed by the sun.

He was there.

I sighed with relief as the tension began to lessen. Words tumbled from my mind one after another. “Jesus, where were you tonight? How can everyone be so happy and content to forget that all of this is for you? Is because of you?”

His spirit breathed peace to mine. “Dearest, I was there.”

“No one noticed. No one saw you. I don’t know if I can keep on living in a world that doesn’t want you. It scares me how often I don't even think about you.”

“You won’t have that problem forever. But now for a time I give them a chance. I stand waiting. I knock. I long for them to come to me. And you are my tangible proof of that yearning. Of my love.”

I thought about his gentle words; the truths he spoke came to me as if they had materialized out of the Bible that sat closed on the coffee table in front of me. I picked it up and held it close to my chest.

“Let me be your hands. Your voice. Let me make this Christmas a grand display of who you are.”

I paused, seeking his eyes that I could almost see.

“Even if no one comes. I’ll be there. And most importantly, Lord – You’ll be there.”

            

Why I am not Concerned about the Winner

It's fairly obvious that most of the country is caught up with election fever. Phones ringing off the hook, a solid mass of political ads on television or online. People debating back and forth on facebook and twitter. Everyone sure that they are so obviously inspired in their own thinking and ashamed of anyone with the opposite view.

I've been accused of not caring. I've been accused of being politically indifferent because I'm avoiding the issues and afraid of conflict. While that might contain a sliver of truth, it's not likely to change. And overall, I feel justified in my neutral position.

When I say neutral, I don't really mean neutral. I will not deny that I lean toward conservatism in that I find it ridiculous to assume that spending more money, money we don't have as a country will somehow make us stronger. I do feel strongly that we are setting up a big problem for our children by pretending that these decisions don't have repercussions that will be felt for many years to come. AND YET, do I think that is one person or one party's fault? No. I think it's the result of a nation that has thought for too long that we were entitled to happiness and security within a broken world.

But that financial position is my deepest political conviction. And I must say that as a conservative and a "Christian," I find myself ashamed of some of those who claim the same adjectives to describe themselves. Wielding a sword of so-called non-negotiable issues such as the legality of abortion and the definition of marriage provide a place of refuge from reality for people who are willing to make bold statements and call them truth, but not willing to back up their opinions with any sort of action to prove it.

What do I mean? I see a very lazy portion of God's church in this world, especially in this country. Quick to denounce anyone who suggests that the government is not responsible to strictly adhere to biblical truth, when the government is not made up of people who even claim to belong to Christ. Keeping women out of abortion clinics will never happen by trying to force government to make it illegal or by protesting and shaming the people who are involved. Women will stay out of abortion clinics if they are loved by people that are filled with God's spirit and selfless enough to enter the messy world of other people's heartaches and struggles. When "Christians" are willing to love another person enough to provide for their most basic needs, to listen to them, to stand beside in the hardest of times, we will see a difference in the number of lives that are cut short by abortion. 

Likewise, I find it absurd that the same lazy portion of God's people think that marriage is even capable of being defined by a governmental system. When did God make such a statement? When did he bemoan the necessity of a government backing up his own ideas? God is still God no matter the state of government-approved unions in America. How did we get the idea that a picket line with such godless statements as "God hates gays" would prove God's unconditional love and rescue plan in Christ? I hate to break it to fellow "Christians," but God loves the gay person as much as he loves you. A gay person is just as welcome at the foot of the cross as someone who is not. And the only way that person will see Christ's love is through his church getting over themselves and again - loving people, providing for people, and listening to people who struggle and sin. For the person who has been saved by the grace of Jesus, who has the Spirit empowering everything he does and says, who is connected to the church and accountable to other believers - sin is possible to slowly and methodically eradicate. For the person who does not yet know the truth - conquering sin may well be impossible. How can I judge someone else's choices when I know I would struggle and in fact do struggle on occasion with my own areas of sin that sometimes seem too big for me, even with God's Spirit within me?

So, in the end, I look at these two people who want to be president. They are both decent people who love their families and believe in our country and desire for us to continue to be a beacon of hope in the world. They both have ideas that are questionable, and they both have good ideas. That's why we have the system of government that we do. Our fail safe is that we have many different people with different opinions working together to come up with plans that keep our country strong. We are all accountable to each other, and we are all flawed in our own ways. No president that comes out of the masses of humanity will ever be perfect, or will ever be the savior of the world. 

That position has already been filled. 

So rest easy, vote the best way your conscience allows, and remember that whoever sits in the oval office has been allowed to hold that position by God. The Bible is clear on that fact. They deserve respect, they deserve your earnest prayers, but at the end of the day, they won't make or break our nation anymore than our unwillingness to get our hands dirty reaching out to the broken people in our paths.

Watch an Engineer Build a Playset

My crafty MacGyver has been busy since the beginning of August. He's been building the kids a swingset/playhouse in the backyard. They decimated the old one, so he decided that it was more practical to make his own from scratch so he could make it extra sturdy.

I think he succeeded. I'm fairly certain this thing is built better than our house.

Here's a fun little video of his progress. He makes it look so easy!

Watch an Engineer Build a Playset from scratch in 44 seconds HERE.

Bittersweet - October Flash Fiction #1

It’s the way of this life in its present state that every moment of bliss is infected with the reality of transience.

A mother held her two-year-old. She breathed in his freshly bathed scent. She stared at every line of his features, the softness of his skin that was quickly fading away the taller he grew. She marveled that once he had been so small, so helpless. Now he filled her lap and his long legs dangled at her side.

These moments didn’t come often.  She knew she should revel in it. She knew she should hold him tight while he was willing and savor every last moment of the time they had left as mama and baby.  She stared at the mound of laundry that waited for her attention. She thought of the tower of dishes. Not to mention the floors that must be swept and the grimy windows.

It wasn’t that she wanted to do those things more. She didn’t exactly relish accomplishing those things when she knew they would just as quickly be undone in the remaining hours of the day.

She supposed the truth was that the longer she sat there with him, the longer she felt his little frame within her arms and smiled at his lisp as he spoke quietly to her – the more it would hurt when his body decided it must move and he pulled himself away.

It made her throat thick to think of him growing up. Not needing her in this way anymore. But there simply was not an option to pause his life so that she might grow used to the idea of his childhood slipping through her fingers.

Oh, for the day when this little bit of bliss was eternal. When every beautiful moment she had ever known would be captured forever, and time would no longer be her demanding enemy.

He pulled away. Ran down the hall shouting gleefully with the carefree nature of youth.  She watched him go with a lingering pain in her being. But she was also thankful. For his life. For his health, his growth, and his changing mind and being. As much as it hurt to say goodbye to the sweet moments of her baby’s life, she knew sweet moments – different moments – would follow in the days to come.

For it was the way of this life.

Laura's Home

"Then pa looked straight at Laura and said, 'You girls keep away from the camp. When you go walking, don't go near where the men are working, and you be sure you're back here before they come in for the night. There's all kinds of rough men working on the grade and using rough language, and the less you see and hear of them the better. Now remember, Laura. And you too, Carrie. 'Pa's face was very serious.

'Yes, Pa' Laura promised, and Carrie almost whispered, 'Yes, Pa.' Carries eyes were large and frightened. She did not want to hear rough language,whatever rough language might be. Laura would have liked to hear some, just once, but of course she must obey Pa."

- Laura Ingalls Wilder (By the Shores of Silver Lake)

I spent my early years reading Laura's collection of memories in the "Little House" series over and over and over. I would say that she was probably one of the most significant influences on my thinking as a child, probably because I had quite a bit in common with her.

Recently on our family vacation, we were able to tour Laura's home in Missouri. This was her home until the day she died, the place she lived with her husband Almanzo and her daughter Rose; this was the place that she sat and wrote by hand all of her memories as a story for children at the insistence of Rose, who had already become a prominent author by that time.

There is something about Laura that speaks to us all. If we didn't grow up with her voice in our head as we read, then we saw the television series based on the books (very loosely based on the books) or we at least knew something basic about the little woman who grew up as a pioneer. But I thought of Laura as a dear friend. I think that was her intention when she sat down to write her stories.

So my daughter Spirit and I were elated to explore her home and the museum that housed the collection of her belongings, many straight from the pages of her books. We were captivated by the sight of Pa's fiddle, the "Give us this day our daily bread" plate that was saved from the fire that destroyed their home, the many pictures of their family and other mementos that meant something to anyone who was touched by her delightfully descriptive words in her books.

If you are ever in Mansfield, Missouri you must take some time out to see Laura's home and memories. Here are a few pictures for those who are unable to see it themselves.

"We'd never get anything fixed to suit us if we waited for things to suit us before we started."  -Laura Ingalls Wilder 

Laura Ingalls Wilder Home website

Possibilities

For a fairly optimistic person, it's not too surprising that I admit I am excited about the possibilities.

But I am. I feel something rising. I see a big hill coming and though I know it means some hard climbing, I'm feeling the rush of what the ride down will be like.

I'm taking some steps of faith that have been eight years in the making. There's an amazing wonder that comes right alongside of finding out whom you were always meant to be. Or at least taking another step toward the top.

My stomach is in knots. My heart is beating fast. But when I think of not taking the chance, not setting my sail to catch the wind... I know I have to. I would rather fail than wonder one day what might have been if I had only tried.

And so I try. And I can't say "here goes nothing." It wouldn't be true. Rather I tell you with all the conviction of my soul "here goes everything I have been through, every rabbit trail I was sidetracked on, all that has come into focus to be me in order that I might come to this inevitable conclusion."

Finding Balance

I'm going through an adolescent phase in my writing. Literally and figuratively.

I've just written this book. The other six books I have written were easier. They were the type of writing I'm most familiar with and very comfortable with. They fall safely in the Christian Fic genre.

Not so with my new baby. Earlier this year my mind got a hold of this idea and wouldn't let it go. Believe me, I argued about this with God. I said he was going to need to get this idea out of my head or I'd end up writing it. I said that I'd have to be true to the story and make it the kind of epic I love to read, and I said to do that I might have to put things in it that some people in my circles find objectionable. But the idea didn't go away, it just kept evolving. So I decided that I should try to write the kind of story that I love the most.

There was plenty of inspiration. I played off of a few of my favorites. Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Fringe, Firefly. I took general aspects of each that I loved and weaved them into a story. A story based loosely on a Bible story, but not a story that would fall neatly into the category of Christian fiction.

Science Fiction. Young adult science fiction with a healthy smattering of historical.

I know that if you just happened on this blog and don't know me from Adam... or Eve... you'd probably wonder why I'm making such a big deal about writing a science fiction book. But if you grew up with me, you might be nodding in understanding, or possibly judgment.

There's this weird unwritten rule that says that Christians should only read safe, holy Christian books. Even though the Bible is full of stories of people doing awful things. Still, Christians got this idea that they shouldn't ever consider evil.

This was the atmosphere I grew up in. It wasn't my parents, who are fairly free-thinkers for their generation and who enjoy the same sort of stories I do. I can't really say it was even a specific group of people - it was just this attitude that we all needed to put on our very best face, never admit to sin, and stay away from sinners and sinful entertainment and places. And the "sin" part was highly subjective. Quite a few rules made their way into my mind that I've yet to find a biblical basis for. So when you grow up like that, and you manage to look past it and know it's not truth, you find yourself on this swinging pendulum. You feel like you swing wildly either way and never find that balance in the middle between legalism and true wrong.

And so I find myself with the best story I've ever written. Doesn't mean it's ready, I have a lot of work to do now that I've written "The End." But is the thought of the editing what keeps me from sending out that query letter to the first ten agents on my list? Nope. It's the thought of people that I love reading it and thinking that I must not really be a Christian for writing such trash. I know there will inevitably be people that will think it's trash and say so, because they've already said it about a lot of the inspiration I used to write it.

I didn't write trash. I promise. But I let my characters be themselves. I let them do things that I wouldn't necessarily do if it furthered the story. And I threw a few things in there that Christians generally accept as sinful that I don't see in the Bible. My thinking was that if I could meet young adults where they are - try to capture their thinking and put it down on paper - maybe that would give them a place to wander back into the truth, if they aren't sure what the truth is. Maybe I could quietly and honestly give them a way to think about spiritual things without throwing a bunch of confusing and questionable rules in their faces.

I don't know if I've managed any of these things. Like I said, I need to get to work. But finding that balance is one of the struggles of people that have grown up in a pseudo-legalistic environment. The little voice in the back of your head that helps you know right from wrong isn't always God's voice. And the trick is learning to tell the difference.

Anyway, my ramblings for today. If anyone stuck with it this far, thanks. :)

Five Reasons to Keep Going

Being a writer is hard. Being a writer and trying to keep all the other balls in the air is even harder. That's why it's been advised that you shouldn't write unless you can't help it. Unless you would accidentally still spill words all over the page even if it were outlawed.

I'm in that group. And so it's been my journey to discover how to write without going insane. For example - to write you need hours of your day to be absolutely alone. Being a homeschooling mother of four kids under the age of eight definitely makes that a challenge. 

I'm also discovering how you manage writing in such a way that makes all the time you sacrifice worth it in the end. There are many definitions of the worth of writing, but my personal goal is to get to the place where my writing can enrich and entertain others. 

Here are five reasons to keep going if you find yourself in a similar place:

1. IT GETS EASIER.

It becomes more natural to get the words on the page the longer you've been at it. This is provided you are also devoting time to reading the type of books you want to write, and reading books about the writing craft by successful authors. (I highly recommend any by James Scott Bell.) But the more effort you put into learning, the more professional your writing begins to seem.

2. THERE ARE OTHERS OUT THERE LIKE YOU.

It's very easy for me to believe that I'm all alone. Especially since I spend a great deal of time alone, other than to care for my family. But when I read the author blogs or the see the Twitter and Facebook posts, I realize that there are other people out there that are similar to me. 

As a writer, the more you try to be your actual self, the more you realize that your thinking is just a little bit out there. But that's what makes a creative, curious personality able to accomplish the art of crafting stories with words that challenge and entertain. So embrace it, even if you get a few weird looks.

3. IT BECOMES MORE ENJOYABLE.

There are still days when writing is a chore. My creative ability waxes and wanes with how much sleep I've had and my present hormonal state. It's a fact of life, especially for women. So take advantage of the times when the story is exciting and real and seems to write itself through your fingertips. And push through when it doesn't. Write anyway, no matter what else is going on.

4. BIG DREAMS JUST TAKE MORE WORK.

My daughter likes to say "I can't" whenever I ask her to do something that takes effort to get done. This is an unacceptable phrase in our household. Because it isn't true. In fact, usually the more work something requires  the more worth doing it really is. Whatever your hands find to do, do it to the absolute extreme of your ability.

5. YOU ARE ACCOMPLISHING MORE THAN JUST WRITING SKILLS.

I don't know about others, but this comforts me. I've reached the point where my writing has become like a full time job. I spend time writing, researching, studying the craft at least six hours a day, usually more like eight. And it scares me a little when I think of how much time I could be wasting if I'm not in fact heading toward publication (aka validation!) 

But truthfully, there are no regrets. Learning to use my writing ability has been a valid pursuit, even if I never walk into a bookstore or a library and see my book sitting on the shelf. It has taught me perseverance, faith, self-discipline, and humility. I'm teaching my children that I am also responsible to work hard to achieve my dreams, just as I expect of them. 

So, no regrets. If you're a writer at heart and you have things to say, put in the effort and learn how to communicate them so someone will listen and benefit from them.

Hitting Those Walls

I'm a fairly easy-going person. I think that everyone who knows me well will add that I have moments when I'm definitely not so easygoing.

This is something I try to hide. I think it may be a combination of oldest child/pastor's kid/Regular Baptist syndromes, but somehow I got the idea that I should present to the world a "got it all together" vibe.

I had no idea 8 years ago when I first felt God whispering to me about being an author that it would be such a hard road. I have always enjoyed writing immensely. So I had a flowery picture of me happily typing out a novel and skipping off to the publisher who would gush and throw money at me. God neglected to mention that it would be hours and hours of learning the craft. He didn't mention that I would be here, six completed novels later, still not ready to seriously try to sell anything I've written. Talent with words does not mean you are ready to wow the world by any stretch of the imagination. And so you see by the picture that eight years later I am still learning constantly what it means to write a story.

Sometimes, I can't stop writing and learning. Sometimes the words flow and I experience a kind of joy it would be difficult to describe, something I assume will be standard issue happiness in eternity. It is easy for me to fall in love with fictional places and people. It is pleasure to craft their stories. And in these moments I have faith that God will complete the work in me and do what He intended to do when the timing is perfect.

But sometimes, like today, I wonder. Have I wasted all the countless hours of my life, pursuing something that is not realistically ever going to matter? There are moments when people respond to the things I write, but most of the time, I feel alone in this venture. I don't see where all these people that are going to be changed by my writing are going to come from. Is it just foolishness? Silly dreams by someone with a small life and an overactive imagination?

When I read books intended for authors, true authors, they resound with me. It's easy to know that I have the heart of a writer. But there are so many other people writing. Will anything I put to paper ever really matter to anyone but me?

This is my deepest truth: I don't really care about fame and fortune. If I were to receive a windfall from a book deal, I honestly wouldn't want anything except to travel more often and to help those in need. For me, the desire to write has to do mostly with just wanting to enrich someone else's life by crafting an enjoyable story. By encouraging and lifting up the spirit of a reader. My heart is to show love to others through words.

This is my deepest enemy: My own doubts and embarrassment about not being perfect. It's hard to spend months writing something, and be really excited about it, then to finish it and put it away and come back to find that it just wasn't that special.  It's easy to come to the conclusion that I'm never going to feel strongly enough about any of my stories to go to the lengths it takes to get published in today's market. It's not uncommon for writers to send queries or proposals to 60 agents or editors and still be rejected 60 times. Being a writer takes a thick skin, hard work, and above all perseverance.

I'm praying for faith and direction. I have to believe all this will make sense in the end.

That's my truth for today.

My Favorite Moms

It's Mother's Day. My mom is off watching birds and my grandmas are busy hanging out with Jesus, but I felt like putting up a few pics of the moms who have meant the most to me. These are the women that showed me how it's done. 

Above is my mom. Reader of stories, leader of adventures, and the one that always tried to see what I was pointing at even if no one else in the world understood. She still does that. She was great at the art of mothering. She held on tight enough that we knew she was always there and that she cared more than anyone. But she let go just enough to allow us to figure out who we were and what God had for us. I pray I can find that fine line as gracefully as she did, and still does. 

My Grandma. She has always been one of my heroes. Not because she was perfect, but because she was real. She admitted it when she didn't know what she was doing. She said so when she was mad or unsure or worried or sad. And most of all, she loved like crazy. Everything we did or said was precious to her. I don't know if I've ever known a hug as tight as Grandma's. She was responsible for some of the most outrageous, fun moments of my life. I feel like everyone who didn't know Nellie Mae Hubble is missing out. Someday I'm going to get her story right, and then everyone else will be able to see her as I do.

Eileen. This list wouldn't be complete if I didn't introduce Grandma Eileen. She wasn't really related to me, but she took on the job of Grandma with all the gusto of the best grandmas in the world. She and her husband Joe were members of my dad's church in Illinois, and they became like family to our family for the first ten years of my life before they moved far away to Texas to be close to their own family. Eileen was tough. She was a school principal and you didn't mess around with her. But she was also sweet, and fun, and full of good advice. I am forever thankful for the woman who was one of my earliest best friends. I still miss her, and she's been living in Texas for 25 years now.

 My Grammy. Grammy was already in her 70's when I was born. I didn't go on any wild adventures with her and most of the time I spent with her she was sitting in her chair crocheting. But I was like my Grammy in many ways. I had inherited the ability to play music by ear, and she liked to listen to me play hymns and sing. She tried to teach me to crochet. We liked the same programs on television. She was a peaceful spirit who loved deeply. She took care of her invalid daughter every day, every night, never complaining about it or showing any impatience at all, until she was in her 90's. She taught by example more than by words. I'm thankful for her influence.

The day I became a mother I realized just how special each of these women were. I hope that I can follow their godly examples for the rest of my life.

May 10 on 10

 "What? Don't all messy faced toddlers sit on the table?"

 I had an MRI this morning. Thankfully, it was so early that it almost seems like it was just a bad dream. And wow, I'm old.

 Memorizing her verse for Bible. Apparently it works better if you pace around the kitchen.

 Brotherly love.

 My new workspace. As you can see I'm busily... twittering.

 My inspirational view from said workspace.

 This is very important. The SECOND right answer. Never the first.

 Sweet sleepy baby with a knot on his forehead. I'm seriously considering a helmet for the poor child.

 Trying to put my new contacts in. I get a little better at it every day.

 Favorite song. It will probably change tomorrow, but at least today it was.

BONUS PICS JUST BECAUSE IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY:

My reading material. LOOK HOW MUCH NONFICTION I HAVE!

 My dog giving me a condescending look. He thinks he's better than me.

 Gotta get those teeth out somehow. (JUST KIDDING!) Notice Sarge's face.

 Nope, it's still there. He lost the other one when he was 3 during an unfortunate "superman" event.

 Do we look tired? Cause we are.

 The only picture I edited. Then I got lazy. But look how nicely my boy did his last phonics paper for the year.

Yeah. No caption necessary.

Are we really surprised who wanted to be the cop and who wanted to be the crook?

The Purpose of Passion

I'm reading a really great book. It's saying a lot when I read nonfiction. It's called The Art of War for Writers by James Scott Bell. I admit, when I got it based on another author's suggestion, I thought it was tips on writing about war. I'm kind of surprised I still went through the motions to reserve it and pick it up at the library. But it is not about war, thankfully. It's about fighting yourself and becoming the author you really want to be underneath all the self-doubt and laziness.

I've definitely got both of those on my back constantly. So an arsenal of weapons to wage attacks on my two biggest enemies is a timely and necessary pursuit.

There was a great exercise about identifying your passions when you are thinking through ideas for stories. The things that an author feels most strongly about will cause him or her to write in the most meaningful way. So at Bell's insistence, I wrote down a list of my deepest beliefs. The things that are unshakable, non-negotiable beliefs I would stand up on a soapbox and preach about if I felt they were being threatened.

Not surprisingly, most of mine are about God. I thought I would share my list on my blog. If you'd like to make your own list, please provide a link to your blog in the comments. I'd like to read them.

My Strongest Beliefs

1. God is perfection and love.

2. Jesus is the answer to every question.

3. The best stories always directly or indirectly point to Jesus.

4. The Bible is the ultimate model for any story.

5. Prayer changes things.

6. Greater love doesn't exist than someone being willing to sacrifice their life for someone else.

7. In the end, God wins.

8. Life without imagination is cruel and joyless.

9. Creativity is one of the most amazing gifts of God.

10. Anything worth doing is hard.

11. Nobody can be me better than I can.

12. You're only asking for trouble when you add your own rules to God's rules.

13. Humility and meekness offer the Holy Spirit opportunity to be strong and change things. 

14. Pride is the root of almost any sin.

15. Forgiveness heals relationships.

16. Pretending to be better than you are is a roadblock to your dreams.

17. I'm nothing but a sinner saved by grace.

The Good, the Bad, and the Not So Attractive

 The Good. I got a camera. I am the proud owner of a new Nikon D3100 that I have only dropped once so far. (Collective gasp from all the photographers.) Not only do I have this wonderful new camera that is taking really good pictures of my currently uninteresting life as evidenced here, but it was given to me by my amazing Grandma who is two years in heaven and still managing to buy me the coolest presents. You may ponder this if you wish. I finally decided to buy an expensive camera because if I had asked her what I should get, a camera would have been one of her first answers. Grandma loved taking pictures of people she loved. I think she was always trying to capture the moments of fun and togetherness and hold on to them forever. I am mournful in spirit that Grandma never knew the endless wonder of digital photography.

Good thing number 2: Season finales. I'm just going to be honest here and say that around this time of year, I get a little obsessed with my "stories." I try to keep this to myself for the most part, after all, no one likes to admit that they have a tendency to go overboard on something. But no one that reads this blog will think any less of me. Or if they do I can live with it. I've kind of lost interest in almost all the shows I was watching, but there are two I won't miss for the world. Fringe, on fox, and Castle, on abc. First of all, give me a story that's headed somewhere specific and that will stop when it gets to the end. And please please please give me characters that make me care about them and capture my interest. And there you have the fun that is Fringe. Fringe also keeps me on my proverbial toes. Generally, I can predict where a television show is headed in the first five minutes or so. I'm not trying to praise my highly intellectual television viewing ability, I'm sure everyone can do the same. But the difference is I like to be surprised. Fringe makes me crazy by throwing me for continual loops. Ask MacGyver, I've tried to predict it. I've tried to be just as completely out in space as they get. I'm almost always wrong. But what's more unusual, is that when I'm wrong, I end up liking their trail better. Anything that can surprise me AND satisfy the story-lover in me has my utmost respect. I look forward to every last juicy, scientific, mind-blowing bit of the next and final 15 episodes.

Castle may be a bit more predictable as far as plots go, but they're at the sweet spot. If they were the standard and quite unimaginative mystery/cop show that is on every other channel they wouldn't have caught my attention in the first place. But it's about a writer, after all. And they've come to the turning point of the story, after four patiently developed years. I've always loved Castle's wit and character interaction. They've slow-cooked a zesty blend of homicidal detectivism and literary interplay and placed on top a healthy dollop of comedic icing. And how can one resist a story when two people start out at opposite ends of the spectrum and gradually their variances and contentions become respect and love? They've played the romance old-school and precious few take this route anymore. So they have my attention for at least another episode, the last of their fourth season.

The Bad. I realize no one wants to read a blog that is authored by a whiny complainy-mcplainerton. But life has been a little challenging lately, and it helps to put it here on the proverbial page. A tangled string of dr appointments has plagued three members of our family, and I'm a little overwhelmed. My baby boy has had two seizure-like episodes and will be seeing a neurologist next month. I have a prescription in hand for an anti-seizure medicine that is supposedly going to help tame my migraines, but it is with dread I contemplate taking it and discovering what long list of side effects it will cause. And it is with even more dread that I will have an MRI. There are few things I find more terrifying then tightly enclosed spaces.


Also challenging at the moment is trying to finish homeschool. We are in the home stretch. But neither Spirit or I have any interest in furthering our grasp of 3rd grade mathematical principles. Battles are erupting. Students and teachers go missing when the time comes to reduce our fractions or solve our equations. It seems like the last 5 or 6 lessons stretch on to infinity. I have great respect for the teachers out there that manage to accomplish this part of the year with not one but as many as 30 completely un-self motivated 8 year olds.


The Not So Attractive. Yeah. It's time to get serious about diet and exercise again. I put it somewhat out of my mind for a month. Time's up.


Check out not-so-unattractive Screech and Sarge. And if you Twitter, find me. It's my new adventure, and it's actually pretty fun!

Ten on Ten: Nondescript Day

 Coffee.

 J eating his smoothie in usual J fashion.

 At least we look busy.

 At least he looks like he's practicing.

 J helping with the dishes I avoided until dinnertime.

 The Sarge said she'd sweep.

 J's 437th escape attempt.

 Snack.

 While vacuuming, I discovered a little artwork J left for me.

Sigh. Relaxation.