Dorothy Bentley

Keep going!

2012-01-04T13:05:00.001-07:00

My husband and I have two grown children, and one ten-year old. When we tell people, they usually ask if our last one was a 'surprise.' The answer is no. We meant to have him!

We felt that our family was too small. Our older two were becoming independent, and we suddenly realized this grand adventure of raising children would be over before we knew it.

We actually had wanted two more children, but my last pregnancy was a challenge, so we counted our blessings that our last son was healthy and were content to stop.

Now, as he is getting older, I find that I am drawn to pursue other interests. I've taken up studying for a degree, and have added painting to my list of activities.

I need to keep reminding myself that this work of raising our last son is not finished.

Raising children is the most important thing we are doing.

Time invested in children will pay rewards when they are older in producing good lives for themselves and for their future families, too.

Keep going!

Learning love within Family

2011-12-15T00:12:00.000-07:00

Love is one of the greatest human needs and family is theplace where children first learn about it.

How can we as parents love ourchildren when they continue to wear out the furniture, empty the fridge, fightover the Nutella, and insist on reciting word for word the script to theirminifigures’ adventure when we have no interest?

It helps to remember that children are entrusted to us andwe owe it to them to love them unconditionally. Love should not be used as areward for good behavior, or withheld as punishment.

When a child misbehaves, consequences can be doled out basedsolely on the misdeed, without anger, which demeans and discourages. If a childspills milk, she must clean it up; if he dents the truck’s bumper, he must takeresponsibility for his actions and pay to have it replaced.

Let’s face it; we all make mistakes, even our kids. And theywant to see if we mean what we say, so they’ll test boundaries.

Reassuring a child with the words, “I love you and careabout you. This consequence is for your good,” helps to separate the child’sintrinsic worth from his actions, which can be changed. This way a child learnsshe is valued as a person, not based on performance.

Love is an action and children thrive on it more than Nutella.Dr. Gary Chapman, father to two adult children, grandfather to two, and authorof The Five Love Languages of Children,breaks it down into these categories: physical touch, like hugs and high-fives;words of affirmation, “I like your sense of humour,” and “I love you”; qualitytime, “Let’s go for a bike ride,” or “Tell me about what your minifigures aredoing”; gifts, which are tangible, but not necessarily with a dollar value; andacts of service, such as reading aloud to the child or helping her paint herroom.

We can always replace the furniture and restock the fridge,but loving our kids is an investment not only in our children, but futuregenerations, because family matters.

To commute or not to commute

2011-12-07T10:45:00.001-07:00

I ran into a couple of old friends at the grocery storerecently; friends who have left their positions at a local oil sands plant,moved away to a milder province, and now commute to work here.

They were glowing with good reports about the decisionthey’d made. They work two shutdowns a year, two months at a time, twice ayear, and earn the same, they said, as they used to in wages for the wholeyear.

They have built new homes, and their new location offers alot of diversity when it comes to recreation opportunities. No regrets.

It sounded tempting. I like to travel as much as anyone, andliving somewhere that is a vacation spot sounds like a lot of fun. Myhusband could just nip back to town a couple times a year for shutdowns.

But still.

No one wants others to think they’ve made a foolishdecision. Their wives are without their husbands for a total of four monthsevery year.

Would I really want to be a single mother for a third ofeach year? I enjoy my husband coming home each evening, even if we onlyexchange a few words before bedtime. The kids get to spend a little time withtheir dad, and talk over anything that comes up. And a hug helps toease the stresses of the day.

Family support on a daily basis includes good meals andclean clothing, most of the time. Not that I’d mind a break for four monthsevery year, but getting out of the habit of caring for my husband, and him caring for me, would perhaps make us resentful of having to start again after a long absence. I’ve heard wives ofcommuters make that remark.

Commuting also produces loneliness. No one thinks beingapart will affect them, but couples slowly drift apart and fill up their liveswith other people in their partner’s absence. It happens all the time. Many marriages end in divorce, and they are bewildered about how ithappened.

The effect on children isn’t any better. Fathers typicallydrift apart from their children. Children often cannot even verbalize that theyare unhappy and feel neglected by their absent parent, but the child may beginto act out with negative behavior or loss of interest in school. Then themother (it’s usually her at home with the kids, while dad goes to workelsewhere) has all kinds of problems on her hands while dad’s away.

Not a good scene.

Then there’s the whole issue of treating Fort McMurray likea work camp. It isn’t. It’s home to many families who have pulled up theirroots elsewhere, and come here and started fresh. They give their all, puteverything into being here.

Those are the people who get the most out of livinghere. Fort McMurray becomes home, and they make lifelong friends, and creatememories for their families.

We are that sort of family; not a commuter one.

Hunting is for men

2011-11-15T18:19:00.001-07:00

Autumn is one of the best times of year. I canthrow on a jacket and go for a walk along gold-leaf trails without having tofight off insects. The sharp smell of rotting underbrush reminds me thatThanksgiving is right around the corner and hunting season is here.

Though I know a few ladies who hunt, it’s a malepastime in my family. I tried it in the name of togetherness. I didn’t want tobe a pining hunting widow, so I went grouse hunting with my better half. Whenhe had a ruffed beauty lined up in his sights, I pleaded for its life. “How canyou shot him? He’s just standing there minding his own business. He’s innocent.Don’t shoot him.” He fired anyway, laughing at me while I covered my eyes.

Ruffed grouse is one of my favorites now, as arevenison and moose. There’s nothing like a meal of game for Thanksgiving. I’llnever go hunting again, but I really don’t mind my husband going and taking myolder son.

For one thing, young men need wholesome challengesas they approach manhood. There aren’t a lot of opportunities in the city whena boy doesn’t like competitive sports. That’s one reason why there are youngstags gunning their engines up and down Franklin Avenue. When there are two ofthem stopped at a light next to each other, they take off on the green in a showof power. Better to send them into the bush without soap or a comfortable bed.

Hunting holds many lessons for a young man: How tooperate a dangerous weapon with care; use the outdoors without creating a pathof destruction; and respect for the lives of animals that are in his power. He also learns to take only what he will use, and follow the laws.

There are always stories after a hunt. Theadrenaline and heart pounding when a big buck is spotted. The sadness when ananimal is only wounded with the first shot and it needs to be tracked to endits suffering. Sudden alarm when bear noises are heard in the camp in themiddle of the night. Every trip holds its own memories.

For the hunting widow, finding recipes to cook thebounty is a good pastime in the fall. Generally, meat with a strong gamelyflavour needs a sauce, preferable with an acidy component such as tomato sauceor cooking wine.

Last fall, after having venison cut and wrapped, welabeled the freezer packages Doe or Buck. I found the Buck much gamier tasting,so I camouflaged it in dishes such as stew or curry, and saved the Doe for potroast.

This year, I’ve asked my better half to please bring back mostly Doealthough I know if he gets a shot at a large buck, he’ll take it. It’s a guything.

Age is what you make it

2011-10-19T00:11:00.000-06:00

One thing is inevitable-—we will all keep gettingolder. We don’t have to admit it, though.

I had a startling experience recently. While I wasapproaching the check-in desk for my six-year-old’s Sunday school class, twolittle boys had a short discussion about who we were. The first boy said, “Ohthat’s the Bentleys.” The second boy, impressed, said, “Wow. How did you knowthat?” to which the first boy replied, “Oh, that’s his grandmother. She alwaysbrings him.” Ouch.

It’s not fair. I still feel like I’m in my twentiesinside. Young enough to do crazy things, but old enough to know better. Mostlybecause it hurts when I hit the ground.

The worse thing people do is start acting old asthey age. They stop being active, stop learning new things and get into a lethargicroutine. They watch Coronation Street loudly; drive twenty kilometers below thespeed limit in good weather; get up before the sun rises and go to bed beforeit sets, which, admittedly, even young people do in the north at certain timesof the year.

Hair is a big issue for people as they age. Ittends to migrate south, like the snow birds. The best thing a fellow can do isgo with it. Don’t try to hide it with the notorious comb-over, or compensatewith a pony tail. If people say it looks cool, don’t believe them. They arelaughing behind your back.

For women, I think it’s a much more complicatedissue. I always thought I’d let nature take it’s course, and I would not try tohide the gray. That was until I spotted the first ‘wisdom’ strand. Out it came,soon to be replaced with three of its friends.

My main reason for the colour remedy is that myhusband doesn’t have any gray hair yet. Bad enough people think I’m my son’sgrandma, without people thinking I’m my husband’s mother. That would not begood.

Seldom do we hear about all the positive aspects ofaging. For one, a person passes the age of caring what others think. This canbe good, and bad. Most eccentrics are middle-aged or older. Colour coordinatingclothes don’t matter any more to some folks, and others go so far as blabbingabout all their crazy ideas and opinions, until no-one visits any more. I hopeI don’t become one of those folks. Or if I do, I hope someone tells me, insteadof just not coming around.

“Hey, Grandma. Do you realize you are scaring offall the grand kids with that wacky hair colour and weird outfit? And do you haveto drive around blasting Cyndy Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ all overthe place? The neighbours think you’re crazy.”

The trick to aging well is to keep active, keep learning, keep haircolour close to normal, yet still have fun while not frightening anyone.

2011-10-14T20:30:00.000-06:00

Thank you to Mary Waind of Beech Croft Tales for nominating this blog for the Liebster Blog Award.

Criteria: This award features bloggers with less than 200 followers in the spirit of pay-it-forward. (Even though I have a few more than that, I am thrilled to be included!)

Rules: Mention and provide a link to the blogger who awarded you the Liebster and mention five other worthy blogs with less than 200 followers.

The five bloggers, (I'm such a rule-breaker... I chose 8), I wish to honour (not in alphabetical order ;}) with hopes that you can take time to have a peek at their blogs are:

Visions of Other Worlds. Author Jessica Marcarelli is a unique and talented young writer. I am honored to know her. Watch out for stunning fiction from this lady in the not too distant future. Her blog is honest and witty.

The Writers Wellspring Eloquent and disarming, Jennifer Lindsay encourages writers while on her own journey. He fiction is gripping. I think it's fantasy for the YA market.

Laramie On The Lam Deborah Dee Harper has written a wholesome series of books for boys. It's so difficult to find good reading for boys, but I'm sure you'll like these. They are fast-paced page-turners. Deb appears to write from an endless fount of literary prowess. I wish I had her font by my writing desk.

Danielle's Writing Spot ~ Danielle Grandinetti is a sweet voice who writes lovely prose. Her stories and poetry are innocent and poignant, yet realistic. Her novels will be perfect for the Inspirational market.

Bare Foot With Kids is the blog of Rose, a dear young lady who has had her faith tested in excruciating ways. And she's passed with fireworks in my books. Her blog is not full of fiction or articles. It's just real, naked life in all its sweetness, sorrow, and serenity.

Lives We Are Given are the adventures of homeschool mom Mo, with her three children. She blogs about interesting things they do, and simple life at home while learning.

The Scratchin' Hen is written by a family of homeschoolers; self-proclaimed chicken roadies. (Lol.) They are Urban farmers living on an acreage, lovin' Jesus, and sharing everything with others. I am humbled by them.

The Mad Ravings of a Mother of Eight Cyndy's blog is just one of the many things she does to bless others with her wisdom and friendship. Her ravings are mainly fun family anecdotes of life in northern Canada.

All of these ladies are real life friends and I vouch for their faith, their authenticity, their uniqueness, and their creativity. Please visit them, have a read, and leave a comment to encourage them.

temperature wars

2011-10-10T12:28:00.002-06:00

While I hugged my husband, the Builder, yesterday,I told him that he’s hot. He agreed. Then he told me I’m cool. I thanked him,since I like being cool. Most of the time we are amicable over our differences,but there are times when we’re at war.

You would think that the battle over the thermostatsetting in the house would have ended once winter was over. That used to be thecase. That is, until we had an air conditioner installed. Now we can battleover temperature all year long.

In the winter, it’s called the Two-Degrees War. Myhusband likes the thermostat set to 69 degrees F, while I like it at 71. (Wehaven’t taken the time to figure out how to change the settings to Celsius, andwe both feel confident operating in Imperial units.) I usually wear layers; myhusband wears shorts.

With the air conditioner, it’s much worse. I likeit off, while he likes it on. It’s all or nothing. I’ve been freezing sinceMay. I can’t wait for winter so I can turn on the furnace.

Everyone in the family, not just the Builder, likesthe A.C. on, to cool the house before bed. But if we all go to sleep with thewindows closed, it actually remains warmer in the house and I wake up sweatingin the middle of the night. I cannot, for the life of me, believe everyone elseis sleeping perfectly comfortably. And I cannot accept that it’s the Big Changesince I’m fine all day long.

For me, ventilation in a temperature-controlledhouse is a huge concern. Where are all the exhaust gasses going? Theyrecirculate, that’s where. There is the exhaust fan in the kitchen, but thatwill only draw out so much air. And it takes power to run.

I was horrified when I saw our last power bill.We’d used enough power to run a Central American country. Running A.C. allsummer isn’t all that it’s buzzed-up to be.

Before A.C., otherwise known as the time periodBAC, there were really only about three intolerably hot summer days in FortMcMurray. We’d fill up the kiddy-pool and pull our lawn chairs close enough todangle our feet into the cool water, under the shade of our massive birch tree,while sipping ice-cold beverages. Or we’d position a few fans strategically tocool ourselves. If sleep was impossible, we’d drag our mattress down to thebasement family room.

I never thought I’d bemoan A.C.

I had a brilliant thought the other day. Instead ofsetting the A.C. on 69 degrees F, as was the norm, I set it on 71. The A.C.rarely comes on now. I open windows at night, then shut them before midday.I’ve succeeded in ending the strife of an all-or-nothing A.C. standoff andreverted to the much more subtle Two-Degrees War.

Compromise. It’s how marriage weathers the seasons. Since I can’t movetime BAC, I need to be cool about it.

traffic

2011-10-04T23:35:00.001-06:00

Getting stuck in traffic does funny things to a person.

Some people get angry. You can tell because they inch forward in abrupt bursts, their knuckles grip the wheel, and their face looks like it’s about to erupt.

Other people are more chill and take the time to unwind from a busy day.

Getting stuck in traffic used to help me remember things.

One of the most memorable traffic jams of my life happened near Vancouver, B.C. My husband and I, before we had children, had driven from Fort McMurray to Maple Ridge and spent a weekend with friends. We enjoyed the Expo downtown for an entire day, well into the night, which ended with fireworks over the ocean. Before leaving our friends in Maple Ridge, amidst the merriment, we made plans to stop in on our way home.

The next day we left for Vancouver Island where we spent a solid week with my in-laws, salmon fishing in the Straight of Georgia and doing all the fun touristy things, like visiting Goats on the Roof Country Market in Coombs. We drove over to Long Beach, too, which is a twisty car-sick inducing trip, to picnic at the Pacific Ocean.

There is something about sun, hours and hours on the water, beach, good food, and a complete change in scenery that magically wipes away the daily reminders of routine and calendars.

A week later we were heading back to Maple Ridge except we were stuck in traffic.

We had turned off the Trans Canada Highway near the Port Mann Bridge, and came to a dead stop in traffic. It was a hot summer day and for some reason, our air conditioner wasn’t working. We had our windows open, and the radio playing. Time crawled by. About ten or fifteen minutes into our stand-still, my husband shut the motor off. I recall sliding my seat back as far as it would go and reclining to relax. It is the oddest feeling to be driving fast, then coming to a complete stop on a highway.

With all the time and nothing to do, we relived our holiday, going over the highlights, and the lowlights. We didn’t move for over an hour. Gradually, my mind drifted back to home, to work, to where we would be heading in a few days. I was suddenly struck with the realization that I was due back at work the next morning. Even if traffic began moving that instant, we would not have been able to make it back to Fort McMurray in time.

We had one of those ancient cell phones the size of a loaf of bread so I was able to phone my supervisor and be granted a couple more days of holidays.

Lately, getting stuck in traffic is having the opposite effect on me. If I’m heading downtown and have two places to go but have to crawl through traffic, I will forget about one of the stops. With all that extra time, I fill up my mind with things completely unrelated to my outing.

So if you’re expecting me and I don’t show, blame it on the traffic.

Are you hyper-parenting?

2011-09-29T06:56:00.000-06:00

A comment I heard recently about parenting stated thatparents of bygone generations didn’t really parent; not like parents of today.This prompted me to count the parenting books on my shelf. I have a total ofeight. That doesn’t take into consideration the books I’ve given to otherpeople. And not because I thought their children were unusually bratty. We’rejust hyper-parenting these days.

It all started with the inventor of the helmet who was tiredof looking at hockey players with missing teeth. He then realized his offspringcould benefit from not smashing their heads into the pavement every time theyfell off their bikes. The only reason adults have to wear helmets now is to begood examples to their children, although some adults fall off their bikes forno apparent reason while taking their dogs for runs on leash.

I personally don’t think helmets have really helped all thatmuch. Helmet wearing makes youngsters take more risks. My older son broke hiscollarbone and acquired a concussion while wearing a helmet on two separateoccasions, two things I have never managed to accomplish without a helmet.

Our generation lived on the edge, and lived to tell aboutit. (Those who did not survive have no comment.)

Here’s another case in point: I come from a hardy period intime when parents thought smoking was a healthy, stress-relieving pastime, andchildren should partake of the second-hand smoke to reap the benefits. Whiledriving on long car trips from Ontario to Florida, my parents didn’t allow us toroll down the windows while they chain-smoked for 28 hours straight. Apparently,we were very calm during the entire trip since they did this more than once.

My parents had no parenting books. My father, at one point,remarked that children didn’t come with manuals. They used to make us gooutside and play. They never once gave us the ‘stranger-danger’ talk. If therewas a disagreement, our parents didn’t want to hear about it—that was being atattletale. They trusted us to work out our differences, and invent our owngames when we were bored. As long as there was no lasting damage, it was finewith them. And the longer we stayed outside, the better. I know, because theylocked the door.

To compensate for my freewheeling childhood, I tend to be alittle overprotective. When my son walked to the store recently, I give him the‘stranger-danger’ talk at least five times while he put on his shoes. I offeredto let him take my cell phone. I suggested he wear a helmet. I ran upstairs andwatched him from a window until I couldn’t see him anymore. Once, on adifferent walk to the store when my son and his friend dawdled on their wayback, I jumped in my car and tracked them down. If my children havedisagreements, I am the peace-talks mediator. (If the Middle East let mygeneration of mothers handle the Peace Talks, they’d have settled theirdifferences years ago.)

So it’s good to read a few books on parenting, but it’sextreme to hyper-manage kids’ every waking moment. Besides, boredom is good forkids since it forces them to invent games for which they need helmets.

Kids… can’t live without them

2011-09-20T11:41:00.000-06:00

One of my favorite games to play with my childrenwhen they were young was hide and seek. I counted to 100. It was long enough tosettle down with a book and tea while they hid. Eventually, they’d make littlenoises thinking I was having trouble finding them, so I’d go look.

My husband, the Builder, and I couldn’t wait to goout on a date. We’d get gussied up in something the kids hadn’t spit-up on andfind a restaurant that was inappropriate for children. We’d order a meal thattook longer to prepare than KD or chicken fingers, breathe in slowly, exhale,and gaze across the table.

What to talk about? After a few false starts, we’dtalk about the kids. For hours.

Wasn’t it cute what Gooey (the unfortunate nicknameour oldest daughter got from her little brother being unable to pronounce hername) said? Isn’t A.J. good at skiing? And wasn’t it amazing how Mr. G. sleptthrough the night?

Into the teen years, we spent a lot of time talkingwith our young adults late into the night. Other times I’d watch chick flickswith Gooey, while the men of the house watched something more rugged.

It seemed like those years would last forever, butbefore we knew it our oldest was leaving for college. The tough Builder shedtears with her goodbyes, but I was worse. I did a lot of crying for the firstfew days and I couldn’t talk to her on the phone without breaking down. Gonewas my chick flick partner. No more late night talks with her. The house wasquieter, even with two boys still at home.

When a parent makes voluminous time for children,there’s a vast emptiness to fill once they are gone.

I added more volunteer work to my life. I wrote thesecond half to a novel. I began working on a degree. I spent more time talkingwith the men at home. Eventually, the sadness left.

We flew her home for Thanksgiving and forChristmas. Her second semester felt long since she didn’t come home for springbreak, then finally, she was home for summer.

Unfortunately, so was her stuff. She had piles oflaundry. She strung out her odds and ends from the front door to her upstairsbedroom, in the car, and all over the bathroom.

Why does it feel like all or nothing with kids?Either they are gone and life is too empty, or they are home with a meteorshower of belongings.

I think God worked it out this way so parents wouldeventually want them to leave.

This year, when it was time to say goodbye to Gooey, I felt myself choking-upat the airport. To help, she gave me a quick, tight hug, hurriedly said goodbyeand I love you, then ran off. I was able to fight the tears and get a grip onmyself in record time. I’m a little sad this fall, but now I know she’ll comeback—her and all her stuff.

We are back to home school...

2011-09-15T15:29:00.002-06:00

One of the great things about fall is that the schools fill up and the parks empty for us homeschoolers! Just kidding. We're hitting the books, just like everyone else.

Here are my choices this autumn for my 10 year old son.

My son LOVES history, and listening while building a mock-up of the story is captivating for him.

We haven't used Saxon for him yet, but it provides more practice, and more variety than the Math-U-See he's used till now.

We actually jumped from level one to level three because it moves at such an excruciatingly slow pace. It's a huge jump, though, to go from copywork to dictation, so I have him do some copywork in this book still.

Surprisingly, my reluctant writer likes grammar! These are quick, easy to digest lessons. His favourite activity is sentence combining. He may make a fine writer yet!

We are reading through the NIV New Testament together, as well as literature selections.

For Science we'll do Nature Study again.

We also use Spelling Workout, and I've bought Wordly Wise to use later in the year.

We bike ride now, swimming lessons start up in October, and downhill and cross-country skiing once the snow arrives.

We are also signed up to learn acrylic painting! I think I'm more excited about this than he.

Our older two are busy with college and career, but me and Mr.G. have our work cut out for us. It's going to be a very good year!

Summer without Facebook

2011-09-13T14:54:00.002-06:00

About three months ago, I decided to do a trial separationfrom Facebook. I wanted to see what life would be like without the daily drawto check up on the happenings of all my friends—people I know in the flesh,friends who’d moved away, family near and far, and acquaintances related towriting and volunteer work.

It was difficult at first. (There’s a reason some call it Crackbook.)I felt like I was dumping people on a grand scale, worse than any teen-aged after-crushbreakup. Once or twice I may have leaned over to read my daughter’s laptopscreen while she was viewing someone’s wedding photos, or reading a funnystatus update. And I even accidentally clicked on the Facebook link in mybrowser several times, like the times I drove home to our old house, long afterwe’d moved, on auto-pilot. Yikes! I knew I was addicted. But could I reallybeat it?

As with any addiction, my symptoms lessoned with time. Notbeing online as much created more mental space, more quiet, more free time. Ifulfilled my goal to read two novels just for fun this summer. I even read acouple of nonfiction titles, painted all our exterior doors, did some gardening, andhosted a whole parade of family who came to visit. Grocery shopping and cookinglikely took more time over the past few months, too, so I don’t even know whereI would have fit in electronic socializing.

It was so much nicer to sit face-to-face, across the tablefrom real people. Sometimes people don’t come across very well on the net. Shortlittle snippets of comments, brief updates, random quotes. In person, aroundthe table during and after a meal, conversation ebbs and flows and it’s easierto see expressions and hear tone of voice and know the intent of the personspeaking. Laughter is loud and hearty—a reaction to off-the-cuff jokes; not anLOL two days later.

The best and most notable change was that I actually grew tomiss some people because I didn’t look at a photo of them on Facebook everyday. I had to find my phone number holder (it’s an old wooden recipe box thatholds recipe cards, one for each family). I had to dial a person’s phone numberand be prepared to spend half an hour to catch up because other than Facebook,when was the last time I’d seen the friend? Almost a year ago? Ridiculous.We had a good talk and made plans to get together. I wonder if anyone missedme on Facebook?

These last three months showed me I don’t really needFacebook. I can control the time I spend on there and make more of an effort tocontact friends in real life.

But I’ve decided to reactivate my account for one reason:it’s incredibly convenient. I don’t have everyone’s phone numbers in thatrecipe box after all, and there are some friends I won’t see otherwise. Andprofessionally, it’s much easier to network using the site.

After reactivating my account and announcing my return, I got a flurry of ‘missed you’ messages. It was such an odd sensation. Like Iwas suddenly in a room full of friends.

Facebook is great for connecting with those not here, but itshould never replace seeing real local friends.

See you on Crackbook.

Dierks Bentley was fun to see at Summer's End

2011-09-04T15:00:00.004-06:00

What a difference from the night before.

Dierks was upbeat and he drew a rowdy, younger crowd.

My husband, son, and I were about halfway center stage, so we had a good view of Dierks. Being an outdoor concert, most people stood while some brought camp chairs, but once the main act started, everyone pushed closer to the stage. There was lots of hooting and hollering, dancing and general mayhem.

Here's one of his songs that I like:

Free and Easy Down the Road I Go

In his intro to another song, Dierks talked about his last name, Bentley, and how his father had taught him to be proud of his name. He said his dad had fought in the second world war. This caught my husband's interest since his dad, Tom, had as well. Tom had said he lost touch with one of his brothers after the war. So who knows? Maybe they are related. There are not many men who have a voice as deep as my sweetheart, but Dierks comes close. There may even be a slight resemblance (to a younger version of my husband).

Dierks is a husband, too. And he and his wife have two girls. Here's a story about him on
The Boot

And while Dierks is quiet about his faith, It's No Secret he believes since he wrote that song.

Reba came to town

2011-09-02T14:03:00.000-06:00

I'm not some crazy big fan or something, but my husband bought tickets for the Fort McMurray Summer's End concerts, so we went.

I'd heard of Reba many years ago. I actually read her biography published in 2005. It caught my eye at the library, and I was intrigued. How does a small town girl make it to stardom?

With Reba, it's her voice. And her stage precence. She was 39 years old when she wrote her story. It was published 16 years ago, so even as a math challenged person, I'd guess she's somewhere in her mid-fifties.

Here's the Chapters' blurb on her book:

From her childhood in Oklahoma working cattle with her ranching family to her days on the rodeo competition circuit, from her early days as a performer in honky-tonks to her many awards and a sold-out appearance at Carnegie Hall, Reba relates her experiences with heartfelt emotion and down-to-earth humor. With the same warmth and generous spirit that infuses her music, she introduces us to the most important people in her life: the family and friends who sustain her and the musicians and producers who have inspired her and helped her realize her artistic vision. With great poignancy, she also recounts the lowest points in her life, the breakup of her first marriage and the plane crash that took the lives of eight of her band members; and the highest, her remarriage and the birth of her son Shelby. Her story is not only a chronicle of a rearkable life but a vivid testament of unshakable determination and faith in God.

Some of her songs are slow love songs, but she has a whole bunch that tell interesting stories.

I really like this song:

I Keep On Loving You

There's depth to the lady. We enjoyed her show.

we like grass...

2011-08-24T22:01:00.000-06:00

Grass is one of those things that you don’t miss until you don’t have any. In fact, you may even be thinking that you would be more than happy to not have your yard full of grass since then you wouldn’t have to mow it anymore. That’s what my husband, the Builder, thought, too.

At our last house, we had a huge yard. We lived on the inside of a crescent, so our lot was pie-shaped. The front was big, but the back yard was massive.

Before my husband and I had our children, I’d daydream about playing in the yard with children. Tumbling around with them; tickling them on the soft meadow. Now, when I see that kind of scene in a movie, I wonder how the mother is going to get the grass stains out.

My neighbour spotted me cutting the front lawn one day a few summers ago, before our big move, and he stopped to ask if I was feeling okay. He must have thought I was delirious. I usually left the lawn for the men of the family, and after that one ambitious time, during a moment of women’s liberation and an hour of fighting the heat, bugs, and grass-itch, I decided I didn’t want to be liberated.

The Builder dreams of owning a riding mower and the yard to go with it. Our yard was not large enough for one of those, but it was too big for a manual push mower. He settled on a thrifty model from Canadian Tire, thinking he’d wear it out quickly, then upgrade to something more industrial. Since he didn’t plan to own it for long, he didn’t take much care of the Beast. He left it outside in all weather next to the garden shed, rarely paid it any attention, yet it started every spring and did a good days work when asked. That mower is over twenty years old now. Since we moved into our new place and went without a lawn our first summer, the Builder was doubtful the old Beast would start again. It had been carelessly shoved under the deck and left in nasty weather—again.

Being our second summer in our new place with no grass, we were extremely anxious for the green stuff. My husband was longing to cut grass and I was tired of the dog laying in the bare garden and dirt being tracked into the house.

To prepare, the Builder carted wheelbarrow fulls of loam all over the yard, front and back. He raked and smoothed.

We both waited for sod like we were expecting a baby. We fretted and checked the due date repeatedly. When the big day arrived, we were taken a little by surprise and we were overjoyed. Finally! Grass again!

Our pooch rolled around on the freshly laid velvety carpet. She was in raptures over our return to grass ownership.

After watering the luscious rug endlessly, and the sun doing its job, the grass grew. My husband dragged the old Beast out from under the deck, and he pulled the starter cord. True to form, it started. He won’t be getting a new mower any time soon, but he seems to be enjoying cutting the grass all the same.

Our time shorn of something as common as grass made us all the more appreciative.

A camping we'll not go

2011-08-06T19:28:00.000-06:00

This year will be the first year we aren’t planning a camping trip. We decided not to get into the bigger-better cycle that many RVers fall victim to. When we were finished with our tent trailer, we sold it and haven’t replaced it. My husband has a tent stashed away for short trips with the boys.

But let’s be honest; camping is a lot of work. You take the housework with you. And so many people are into it now, you need to make reservations months in advance. Most campsites feel like the line-up of vehicles at rush-hour traffic.

The worst trip has to be when we took a trailer to the Brazeau Reservoir near Drayton Valley, Alberta. When we arrived, it was sunny. By the time we settled in and I took a lawn chair and my novel down to the beach, it began raining. It didn’t let up for three solid days. A trailer is never big enough. And we had a toddler at the time who managed to go through three sets of clothes a day in the muck. Finally, on the fourth day, my husband took us to a hotel in Red Deer. I was so happy you’d think I’d won an SUV on Tim’s Roll-Up-The-Rim-To-Win contest.

The place which gets the vote for strangest has to be a little place we visited last summer in Mission, B.C. It was a mix of permanent residents who looked like American draft dodgers and hippies left over from the seventies. It is situated at a fish hatchery, and a little creek snakes around the campsites. It was damp, overgrown rainforest, and a little frightening, especially when we spotted a slug the size of a house cat. It didn’t help that my husband kept humming the Beverly Hillbillies theme song. On our way out we made a mental note to never return.

Still, I can’t help taking a nostalgic look back on camping trips in the early years of marriage in a three-man dome tent. Not sure where the third person would have slept—our heads touched one end, and our feet poked against the other. It was a simpler time. No reservations needed.

One of the coolest places we camped in that era was on the shore of Lake Athabasca near Fort Chip. It was before my husband and I had our children. We pitched our dome tent on Dog Head Point. The shore was rocky and a wind blew up at night, swirling the flames of our fire, and driving the waves against the rocks. The outhouse was the scariest one ever. It was perched above a rock cliff. Yet, the sun, the waves, the endless azure sky meeting Lake Claire on our fishing adventures were magical.

One place my husband loves is Kananaskis country. The lakes are pristine and frigid. It’s difficult to get a spot there. Calgarians zoom out on Wednesdays to hold spots for the weekends even though it goes against the posted rules. The nights were as frigid as the water, but fortunately the last two days of our stay warmed up so I could take off my long johns. During the day. In July.

For good weather camping, it’s difficult to beat the Okanogan. We pitched our new mammoth two-room tent at the terraced provincial campsite for a week beneath giant trees, enjoying the breeze off the lake, devouring cherries in season. By then we had two children and we loved our large abode. I wonder why we didn’t keep it and continue using it? Vacation would be so much easier in a trailer, we mused. When you believe that one, the next one is: Vacation would be so much better in a larger RV. Nope—not buying it.

So, we’re trying a few years of vacationing without the camping part. I have a feeling the longer we go without camping, the better the memories will be. My husband does have that tent stashed…

Mine, ours, yours

2011-07-21T22:40:00.000-06:00

A really strange thing happened the other day. I asked my son if I could drive my car. Once the words came out of my mouth, I stopped in my tracks and laughed.

When we first sold our massive suburban and bought my little silver car, the kids called it ‘Mom’s race car.’ Not that I raced. It just felt like I was tearing up a strip of asphalt each time I pulled away from the lights, compared to the ‘sub.’ I didn’t mean to screech my rally tires… I was just rusty at clutching and gear shifting. Anyways…

The years whipped by faster than snow melting in April and my older son was behind the wheel of my little car. It was easier than driving him places. It freed me up to do other things.

He and his older sister had to work out a plan for sharing my metallic baby, or else both be grounded from driving her. No blood was let and we hammered out a deal. They each got one weekend-day, as well as the times when they had to drive themselves to lessons and such. Otherwise, she was still my ride.

Turned out one of the two junior driver had a penchant for cleaning her, while the other didn’t. One stockpiled Starbucks cups and gum wrappers, while the other liked to scrub and polish my girl till she shone. Needless to say, my racer didn’t make the journey to college with the older, so she’s been pampered regularly by the younger one, the boy.

Some guys have a way with cars, don’t they?

My husband, the Builder, has been bugging our son since graduation, asking him when he’s moving out. Personally, I don’t mind him living at home and saving, taking out the garbage, washing my car, watching our young one, Mr. G., when we go out. I did nearly reconsider when he showed up at home with a new stereo which he promptly assembled in the basement and turned up to eardrum-bursting volume to test the bass. But still…

When my car needs gas, he fills her up. He just spent a whole Saturday morning sparkling her up. I needed to go somewhere, but he’d invested so much time and care into her, I felt kind of bad thinking about the spring thaw puddles that waited on the roads. Not clean puddles, either, but mucky puddles that would cling to her shine.

And I thought about how the young man had spent his morning working, after a full week of working, and he likely had plans to see some friends. Should I suddenly swoop in and snag my five-speed racer out from under him?

“Can I take my car, or do you need it?” I asked. A very weird feeling. The Proverb, ‘Diligent hands will rule,’ is a certainty. Thank goodness he’s buying his own wheels soon. Maybe he’ll still take my girl out for some gas once in a while.

a million miles in a thousand years

2011-07-13T23:15:00.002-06:00

I was challenged by Donald Miller's memoir, Blue Like Jazz, but this book... Wow!

I loved this book, particularly as a writer. This book takes Miller through the process of creating a film from his memoir (with others), all the while learning about the intricacies of story, and how the elements of a good story can be applied to his life to create a better one.

Miller realizes his own life story needs a worthwhile goal. This incites him to purposefully engage in several journeys and adventures of his own. He chronicles the lessons he learns along the way, and delivers a satisfying ending.

I'm anxious to see if he has another book with a happily-ever-after for this life.

You need to click on his book and read the review there, which is better than mine. Also there is a video which Don made of himself. It's interesting to see and hear the author.

Once in a while, someone comes along whose life resonates with our own. If you haven't read his stuff yet, what are you waiting for?

2011-07-12T23:41:00.000-06:00

blue like jazz

2011-07-11T09:32:00.003-06:00

My daughter bought Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller in a clearance bin while away at college, then gave the book to me to read. She thought I'd like it. She was right. It was published back in 2003, yet still rings true.

Miller chronicles his trek as a questioning young man through doubts and disillusionment with an irrelevant church, unravelling modern Christian myths and harmful attitudes.

For Miller, becoming a Democrat satisfied his social conscience. In Canada, many Christians do tend to vote Conservative (which is somewhat equivalent to the Republicans), but it has more to do with not wanting our government to be our social conscience. Conservatives want to make their own choices in regard to how they raise their children, which charities to support, whether climate change is a real issue, and so on, while in the U.S., the Republican party doles out positions on a wide spectrum of issues.

Miller's candid writing is disarming and helps to reconcile socially-concerned Americans with a Living God.

Strange car fascination

2011-07-07T19:19:00.000-06:00

I have a difficult time understanding my family’s fascination with all things vehicular. My husband watches Top Gear almost every day, and the older ones join him when they are home. They know all sorts of things about cars glimpsed driving by: their makes, models, engine sizes, stuff about torque, and I couldn’t even begin to describe what else.

I was downtown recently with my older son when we saw a small green car. “Hey, that’s my aunt’s car,” he said. “Not any more,” I told him. “She has a new one.” “Really? What make and model?” “Uh… I don’t know. It’s black,” I said. “Really?! That’s it?” was his incredulous reaction. As we drove through the parking lot, he asked me to compare her car to other black ones. I could have just phoned her.

I’m not completely oblivious to the charms of vehicles. A friend of my husband did let me drive his ’69 Chevelle S.S. once (I thought it was a Camaro, but my husband set me straight), and I had to pass someone who was driving slowly. I still recall the baritone rumble of the engine and the raw power as I pulled past a compact car. Let’s just say it’s a good thing I don’t own one of those.

I do enjoy driving. I just don’t see the point of mooning over something I don’t currently own or have zero likelihood of driving. Cars are metal and plastic with pretty paint; they get dirty, spew exhaust and need lots of maintenance. Sort of reminds me of how teen girls react to Justin Bieber. I don’t get it. He’s just a guy. Sure, he’s pretty, but underneath that glossy public persona, he’s still a boy with bad breath, armpit odor, homework, and zits.

No… it’s best to stick to practical rides: less showy and more guts, reliable and low maintenance.

Maybe I am wrong about this whole thing. When I asked my husband why he is so fascinated by vehicles even though he isn’t shopping for one, he retorted, “Why are you so interested in the things you enjoy?” Touché.

I don’t watch HGTV because I am house shopping or What Not To Wear because I need a new wardrobe (though I wouldn’t complain if someone wanted to give me a loaded credit card and a make-over). Because of my frequent and close contact with all things domicile, I continually want to learn about new styles, colour combinations, fabrics and advancements. I think I am beginning to see.

And teen girls, who are into music, really don’t expect to grow up and marry Justin Bieber; they just appreciate his singing voice and inspiring story. (Let’s just go with that explanation.)

It’s simply a matter of being engaged with what one enjoys, which is fine, provided that is not what we treasure. All of this—styles, cars, and music—will be different in ten years, but true treasure, like our faith and family, lasts forever.

off balance

2011-07-04T21:45:00.009-06:00

I recently heard someone teach about living a Christian life of balance. While every single point of the sermon was biblical and sound, when it was packaged up, it didn't seem to fit right into the kind of ministry Jesus lived. I am not criticizing the teacher; I am just learning something different personally lately.

Jesus, after he began public ministry, challenged the leaders of the synagogues, calling them a brood of vipers. He over-turned tables in the temple courts. He ate with sinners and loved the unlovely. Jesus taught us to live radical lives.

I love what Frances Chan says about living a life of balance. I am totally guilty of living a balanced life. How can we live radically as Jesus did?

Crazy Love: Overwhelmed by a Relentless God by Frances Chan is a highly recommended read.

Greening up the landscape

2011-06-24T23:19:00.000-06:00

God Almighty first planted a garden. And indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures. –Francis Bacon

My husband, the Builder, has been busy preparing our yards for sod. With all that bare dirt around, I was positively twitchy, wanting to plant something, anything.

There is hardly anything as wonderful in the spring as going to Dunvagan Gardens. I went on the May long weekend, along with swarms of others. I intended to buy a couple of tomato plants, a few flowers to go into pots, along with potting soil.

The air inside was mesmerizing. It was easy to spot the hardcore gardeners. They were the ones with carts. Almost as soon as I walked in, I amended my shopping list. I decided I needed a cart, too, so I finally asked someone where to find one. I was told there were only six or seven. This called for extreme intervention. I had to stalk a cart-pusher, wait in line with her, announce to other vultures that I had dibs (yes, this was ridiculous, but necessary), help her unload her greenery into her vehicle, then finally march back in, full of intent.

Other shoppers questioned me about my cart. When I told them what was involved, they wandered away listlessly. Obviously not committed enough.

My nine-year-old, Mr. G., is not a relaxed shopper. I had a momentary lapse of logic and took him with me that day. I foolishly thought he'd enjoy the greenhouses. I tried to win his cooperation by offering to let him choose a plant. I thought he’d choose a flashy flower for a pot, but no... he chose a cactus. It suited his mood at the time, bristling with energy, needling me to hurry. Finally, I paid for a couple of new pots, my tomato plants and potting soil, so I could take my son home to his dad. I had to return alone so I could think straight while choosing flowers. So many to consider. I didn’t want to buy the same ones I automatically gravitated to every year.

The second time around, the store and greenhouse were even busier. Vise-grip shoppers steered their treasured carts. There was a line up at the till about 20 strong. If I took my time, I reasoned, the line would be shorter by the time I was ready to check out.

I grabbed a cardboard tray and got down to business, which involved wandering the isles feeling dazzled and confused until I finally chose the same three flowers I always buy, except I ventured into the unknown by choosing a different colour. Now that is living on the edge. Correction… what is living on the edge is shopping without knowing what anything costs (I didn’t see any prices posted for annuals), waiting in line for twenty minutes (which isn’t bad for about thirty people in line before me), then experiencing total shock, over the total cost. It didn’t matter that they were all annuals, I sighed. They would thrive and fill my little yard with life and colour for at least four months, so it was worth it.

Why is it that a full tray in the store looks so sparse once planted? I was tempted to go back for more.

After weeks of hot weather, the first thing that happened after I planted out my flowers is that the mercury dipped below zero. “Come on little plants,” I thought, “you can survive outside the greenhouse.” They wilted a little overnight, but thankfully, the Victoria Day sunshine drew them back to the land of the living.

Mr. G. was disappointed his cactus doesn’t need watering every day, so he’s volunteered to water mine—for a small fee. Sure, why not? Gardening, as with all human pleasures, has numerous costs.

Declutter

2011-06-15T13:42:00.002-06:00

Well, it’s that time of year again—spring cleaning. Time to clear out the clutter and make space for summer breezes. For me, it means washing windows, decluttering closets, getting rid of stuff. Who bought all this stuff, I wonder.

It’s difficult getting rid of grown children’s treasures. Sometimes storing them for a year or two severs the binds which is what has happened, thankfully with our daughter who spent the last eight months at college.

It’s kind of interesting having an eighteen-year-old son, and an eight-year-old son. I am contemplating packaging up all the older son’s cool stuff which he no longer cares about, and re-gifting it to the little sprite when he’s older. Most of it is in good shape. There’s the subscription of Dirt Wheels magazines. Once he’s obsessed with quads, as he’s sure to be in the not too distant future after he learns how to ride, I could slip a back issue into the mailbox once a month for him. He’d be surprised and appreciative. I’d be doing something ‘green’ by recycling, and saving money. Would he notice the quads are older ones?

I decided to get rid of all our video cassettes one day, but my young one decided to ‘help.’ As a result, we parted with less than half our stash even though it’s been likely a year since he’s watched one.

Photos are difficult to deal with, too. How many photos does one family need? Before we bought a digital camera, I spent an entire month sorting snapshots into albums. Once done, I thought I was on top of the world. My young family (at the time) was well documented. The new digital changed things. All our snapshots were stored on the computer, then moved to CD. Now, we rarely view them. (Not that we view the photo albums much, either.) The next step in the evolution of home photo management, is to scan all the photos onto the computer, back them up on an external drive, and have them continuously scrolling on an electronic photo-frame. Photos no longer need to be kept in hard-copy. How long would it take me to scan 20 years worth of photos? I’m not sure I want to find out.

My husband and I were marvelling at the simplicity of family photo routines of earlier centuries: a wedding photo, and a family photo or two once all the children were born. Perhaps a random shot at the seaside. That would be enough for future generations to point out their inherited features: “Look, that’s your Great-uncle Jim. You have the same hair. He died from eating too much salt.” Who needs or wants to be a slave to a ginormous pile of memories? Seriously… who will want to look through thousands of photos of someone’s baby, for example? A few pics will do.

Less is more; simplify. That is my new motto. The photos are not the people. Items once cared about, once worn, once used, are not us. This is especially difficult for close relatives who have passed, but one small keepsake box works for a few special mementos.

Expert neat-freaks say decluttering your home, creating open, airy spaces, will also open your life to new possibilities. Sure—likely the possibility of more shopping, more stuff. No thanks. How about the possibility of less stuff, less clutter, less mess? Now that’s something worth cleaning for!

2011-06-03T15:06:00.000-06:00

Who needs pain?

A few months ago, I woke in the night with horrible pain. It was strong enough to keep me awake, but not as bad as labor pains, so I didn't panic. After a couple of hours, I decided that if I was going to die, I didn't want anyone to come into the house and see my gargantuan laundry pile, so I'd better do some laundry before I expired. That was at 5 a.m. By about 7 a.m., I decided I'd better go to the hospital, since doing the laundry was becoming impossible, and I couldn't do anything besides lie down.

Once there, the pain intensified, and my thoughts about possibly dying increased. I did a mental checklist of the things I had going on in life and only had one nagging thought. I didn't want my nine-year old son growing up without a mom. So I reminded myself that living a long life is a gift of God, and I shouldn't be in a hurry to get to the 'better place.'

While I was thinking all this, the nurses were at work making sure I wasn't having a coronary episode by attaching suction cups with crazy-glue to various parts of my anatomy. Once you get to my age (somewhere around middle-age), you have the fun of experiencing an electrocardiogram any time you have a pain somewhere. Better safe than sorry is the hospital's motto.)

Next, a series of nurses tried to insert an I.V. needle into my arm. I have the misfortune of having well-hidden veins that look like they were laid by intoxicated pipeline workers. First, they sent a young nurse who left practically in tears. I promise I wasn't mean to her, but I did warn her that my veins are not easy to access. I think she saw it as a challenge and tried both arms before leaving defeated. Next, a senior nurse came, much more determined. She decided that the best place for the huge metal devise was in my hand, rather than my arm. I thought I was in pain before the procedure.

As the nurse poked me with the needle and searing pain consumed me, I pictured Jesus Christ having stakes driven through his hands. It felt like the nurse was using an exacto-knife to tear shreds of flesh from my hand. I thought about the torture that Jesus endured. The beatings he had with sharp weapons. The stab in his side.

He did all that voluntarily.
He suffered way more than I with just the one hand and one needle.

You may think going through that would have made me angry, but it didn't. I actually felt like a jerk for all the times I prayed for things to go well, for God to bless so-and-so, for us to have good things happen.

All the unimportant things fell away.

Pain brought to the surface my selfishness. It made me realize how warped my perspective had become-- heal me, bless me, give me... " How wrong; how sinful. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive us.

I couldn't help crying out and moving ever-so-slightly away, so that the needle pulled out. The nurse was irritated with me for jerking my hand. Her hard work had also failed.

Finally, someone from the lab came to take blood and she was able to get a smaller needle into my hand, and soon after, they connected some tubing and medicine took away my pain. All-in-all it took maybe an hour. I would live to do laundry again, after all.

"He who has suffered in the flesh is finished with sin."

Pain has it's purpose-- not that I would look for it on purpose or think that we shouldn't ease peoples' suffering. Just saying God created it for a reason.

God brings good things out of the worst circumstances if you let Him.

Christ's suffering bought salvation for those who believe.

He doesn't expect us all to experience the extreme pain of crucifixion, but He does call us to put away our selfish ways, to honour Him as He deserves, to love others, to make this world a better place.

Pain reminded me.

Deal of the Day

2011-05-26T22:46:00.002-06:00

I really enjoy watching Extreme Couponing. It inspired me to give it a try, as I said on FaceBook yesterday. I saved around $135 on a grocery order over $300, pretty much all at Save-On Foods with their two-for-one coupons. This led to my searching online for coupons. I found a few for products I buy, but I am out of colour ink, so I will need to brave the horrid construction traffic on the highway at some point this weekend, so I can get down to Staples and buy more ink. I wonder if I can find a coupon for ink?

My Deal of the Day, however, was for a flyer item at Extra Foods. It was for liquid laundry soap: Arm & Hammer Essentials (which is biodegradable plant-based soap-- my fav!) 3.12 L size. The flyer showed a green bottle, which I usually buy, for $4.97, limit of 4, over the limit price of $7.99. In the store, I found a small sized green bottle, but not the one in the flyer. Uhmmm... figures, I thought. Upon closer inspection, I found a new yellow bottle the right size, but the regular price was over $9. I grabbed 4, and decided to try it at the till to see what happened. They rang through fine for $4.97! Sorry if this sound kooky, but I just saved over $16 in one transaction! I'll be watching the flyers more closely from now on.

Tonight, I went onto their website, and signed up for their mailing list for coupons. Wonder if I'll get one to use on this item?

sick but thankful

2011-04-25T20:57:00.001-06:00

Here is my top 10 list of ways to get motion sickness:

1. halibut fishing in the Pacific Ocean (and they said it was a calm day -- liars)

2. Highway 99 from Kamloops to Whistler, B.C. (why did I picture the road smooth and flat? too many months in Alberta)

3. the road to Tofino from Port Alberni (haven't done this in a long time, and hope to not do it again for a long, long time)

4. turbulence when flying (this is why I like driving trips better than flying -- except for on the above listed roads)

5. amusement park rides (never again!)

6. rickety chair lifts that stop moving forward (when a skier falls getting on or off) bobbing up and down above a sheer rock face

7. kiddy park spinning toys

8. spinning a child around by their arms

9. blowing up balloons

10. watching IMAX movies panning over vast panoramic views of things like the Grand Canyon

A recent drive made me think of these... hope to never do said drive again. My husband loved it and wants to do it again. Gravol does NOT work!

But, I am still thankful for...

386. staying in one place for more than a day

387. only one hour of twisty driving tomorrow

388. plane landing safely

389. fish to buy at the grocery store -- I don't have to catch one for supper!

390. the luxury of time

391. a great novel

392. a receding cold

393. warm flannel on a chilly night

394. the still small voice of my Beloved

Phil Callaway on the hot seat...

2011-04-10T08:59:00.000-06:00

If you've never read any of Phil Callaway's books, or better yet, heard him speak, you are missing out. This guy is seriously funny! He's written 25 books (at last count), won awards, gained world-wide acclaim, and yet found time to fit in a visit to Fort McMud,as it's called during the spring thaw. After Phil's visit to Fort McMurray, I asked him a few questions about writing and faith.

Dee -

How did you come to be a writer? Did you always know you wanted to write, or did you discover it one day by accident?

Phil -

I’ve always been interested in the creative. After college, I began art directing four magazines and as I read the articles I was to design or illustrate, I started thinking, “I’d write that differently. I’d change that paragraph or that ending.” And it dawned on me that if I think I’m so hot, I should write. I did. My first article was accepted by a kids’ magazine, then I was asked to write humorous articles on family life. A publisher in the States got ahold of what I was writing and I later learned that the president of the company couldn’t stop laughing while reading what I wrote. They sent me a letter asking me to write a book for them. My first book came out in 1993 and was a hit. So it’s been quite a wild ride. People love to laugh and if you can include some elements of truth that can transform their life, so much the better.

Dee -

Were you always a Christian, or is there a point in your life when you made the big decision?

Phil -

I grew up in a fabulous home with parents who loved us and followed Jesus. Much of my experience with faith had to do with religion, which is a set of rules we follow to measure up. That was pretty much what I was about for the first part of life. When my son was born I realized that i’d been a hypocrite all my life and needed something deeper. That’s when I began to follow Jesus for myself. It isn’t religion, it’s a relationship. Following Jesus of Nazareth has been a grand adventure like nothing else I’ve experienced. The great thing about it is that I could never measure up while trying to follow all the rules. I guess you could say it was a lot of do-do, because it was all about doing. I’ve discovered in Jesus that it’s all about the word done. He sacrificed his life so that I don’t have to follow a list of rules; I just have to follow him.

Dee -

Could you please tell me a little about how your faith informs your work?

Phil -

When speaking or writing, I cannot separate my faith from what I do. It’s the deepest part of me; it’s the very best thing about me. I don’t get all preachy, I just want others to know that the reason I can laugh with all the difficulties of life is that I have hope that God changes lives and I’m certain of where I’m headed when I die. And as nice as Fort McMurray is, I’m headed for an even better place!

Dee-

Thanks Phil, for taking the time to answer a few questions. And I'm sure Heaven is a better place... with less mud!

the funny man

2011-04-04T20:57:00.000-06:00

Funny Man, Phil Callaway, made a trek up north to Fort McMurray last weekend. He spoke at three events, and two services. Not bad for his first trip to the Oil Sands capital of the world. I never laughed so hard in church before. I won't say too much, since I'll be writing an article about him for my local paper, so watch out for it.

If you need laughter in your life, you won't go wrong buying one or more of his books.

They are dessert with a vitamin of inspiration, flavoured with grace.

What ails you?

2011-04-01T10:01:00.000-06:00

I've been reading through Max Lucado's Cure for the Common Life. It's about finding your 'sweet spot' when it comes to work and ministry.

Some of it I've heard before, but it does have some useful tools and encouragement to look back and rediscover what caused joy and produced happiness. (Not that life is meant to be happy all the time-- without sad, how would we know what happy is?)

'Success is not defined by position or pay scale but by this: doing the most what you do the best.'

Lucado says that is living in the 'sweet spot.' Sounds great. The challenge is to say no to the many other tempting things and offers that may come along.

I love the example Lucado gives for this. Even though the King gave David armour to wear while fighting Goliath, David declined it. It didn't fit.

You don't have to take the promotion just because you are supposed to climb the ladder. You don't have to stop doing the thing you love and begin managing people who do what you love, if you don't love managing people.

There are a lot more good things in the book. I recommend it.

Each one has received a special gift, employ it in serving one another. 1 Peter 4:10 NASB

2011-03-20T19:56:00.001-06:00

I sent off a book proposal today, to an agent who welcomed my submission, on a friend's referral. I am anxious and excited. The horrible thing is having now to wait up to 12 weeks for a response, if the agent is interested! That is long enough to write another novel. Which makes me think that is exactly what I will do.

After meeting Karen Kingsbury at a CWG special session for Craftsman, I hoped and prayed that I could catch what she had--the ability to write fast. She said she can write 10,000 words a day, meaning she bashes out a novel in 10 days. That timeline is somewhat deceiving, though.

Before she even sits down to write, she does whatever research is necessary. She has the story in her head like a movie. And she has written chapter summaries with about a paragraph for each chapter. Basically, she doesn't begin to write until she has the entire story. Another benefit from writing quickly is having much more continuity, or flow, to the story, without having to constantly go back over chapters written perhaps months before. It takes a concentrated stretch of time to write that way, but it also saves so much time in the long run.

That is the kind of writing I am aiming for. My current top speed is 3,000 words a day, so theoretically, it takes me about a month to write a novel. The last time I tried, I burnt out after week two, and it took me another couple of months to get most of the novel down, then a few more months after Hollywood released a movie of a similar storyline. After a while, I realized my story was somewhat different, and there simply is no such thing as a completely new storyline, just a fresh perspective.

So, here I go again... hoping and praying for a new story.

"I believe our heart desires are the allurements of God, coaxing us to a life beyond what we could ever ask or imagine. As we serve God out of our desires, we find a fulfillment and satisfaction like we've never known."
- Douglas J. Rumford

2011-03-14T12:26:00.000-06:00

One of the difficult things about being a writer, is sitting in a small room with four walls and trying to write about life, instead of actually living. Well, lately, I've been too busy living to write.

One of things I've done is go to a concert with my husband, his good friend Dave (who he's know almost as long as me), and Dave's wife Patty. We had a great time. We did think we were going to a country music concert, but it turned out to be a one man show all about Jason McCoy. There was a big screen on stage, and we watched a video history of Jason's career, including his amazing mullet, as well as being introduced to his family, wife, children, his home-town in Ontario and the farm he and his wife bought where they stay when not in Nashville.

Jason talked more than he sang, which sounds like a bad thing, but he was very entertaining, with stories, jokes, impersonations, and more. What a surprise.

And one of the coolest things is that Jason is involved in humanitarian work. He had a World Vision rep in the foyer in case anyone wanted to sponsor a child. While I personally like Compassion better, I have to give the guy credit for his efforts. It was not a typical concert, and if you get a chance, I recommend seeing the show (though it does contain some objectionable material).

Here's Jason McCoy's website with video clips.

pooch has bad hair days, too

2011-02-26T13:26:00.003-07:00

(Cay at Kananaskis Lake)

Our dog, Cay, is a Labradoodle. Her dad is a standard black Poodle and her mother is a pure-bred black Lab.

She wasn’t supposed to shed, but she does. And her hair grows curly and shaggy until she scares all the joggers on the trails, who think she’s a black bear on the attack. It’s kind of funny.

When someone is startled, then screams, then realizes she’s really a dog and not a bear, they laugh and keep jogging like it’s fine, no worries. But one lady in particular saw Cay bashing around in the bushes, thought she was a bear; her eyes grew to the size of wagon wheels and she shrieked, and I’m not sure, but she may have actually pushed her friend down and then put it into high gear, tearing off down the trail at about a hundred kilometres an hour. She left her friend in the dust. If there was going to be bear food that day, she decided it would be her friend, not her. Not sure I’d want to go anywhere with a friend like that. That was a fine display of the survival of the fasted runner. Just kidding, she didn’t really push her friend down… but she would have if she’d had time.

When Cay starts looking like a black bear and leaving trails of tumble-weeds around the house which clog the vacuum nozzle, it’s time for her to be buzzed.

I used to take her to a groomer, but the groomer moved away. Most places won’t take a large dog that looks like it would eat their other clients. Not that Cay would. She only beats up her good pals; canine buddies who get tackled and bitten, all in the name of fun.

No, Cay is actually super calm when she’s up on a table. I know, because she’s cleaned plenty of leftovers up for me without even being asked. In fact, once she did me the favour of eating our 11 leftover hot-cross buns, even though they were well wrapped in their plastic covering. Saved us from having to eat them.

My husband and older son resorted to buying dog clippers and doing the job themselves. I thought it would take an hour or two, because our groomer usually had Cay for an afternoon which included a bath and doing her nails. My husband will bathe her on day one, then on day two, she gets her new do. It takes hours. Partly because the clippers are not professional grade.

Because the Builder is better at building things than grooming our pet, each of her hair cuts turns out different. Sometimes he keeps a little beard on her. Yeah, I know… it’s weird for a girl dog to have a beard, but it makes her look like a Schnauzer. Sometimes her hair is cut back close to the skin, making her look like Santa’s Little Helper with a pointy nose. Other times she looks more like a black Lab.

This last hair cut left her looking particularly strange. She has no beard, her hair is close to the skin, and my husband left a poof on her tail which has a point. She looks like a black dragon. Sadly, she is embarrassed by her new look. And she doesn’t take as long outside as she does when she’s wearing a fur coat. Poor dog.

To top things off, she usually makes doggy friends along the trails, but right after her new buzz cut, she got into two fights. The other dogs must have laughed at her, and she wanted to beat them up. When I told the Builder my take on the situation, he buzzed the poof off her tail. She hasn't been in any more fights.

a challenge...

2011-02-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

Lately (for the last few years!) I have been working on a challenge in my life:

To not complain.

Here is what God's word says about it:

Philippians 2:14 in King James' time:
'Do all things without complaining and disputing...'

The Message says it this way:
'Do everything readily and cheerfully--no bickering, no second-guessing allowed!'

And for the coffee lovers out there, here is the ESV edition:
'Do all things without grumbling or questioning...'

And for the tea drinkers, here is the NIV version complete with the following verses:
'Do everything without complaining or arguing so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life...'

I've been reading through the Old Testament with my young son, and we recently read the part about the people arriving at the Promised Land, but not having faith to enter in. They had grumbled and complained for forty days in the desert.

A bunch of them were swallowed up by the ground, others flash-roasted by holy fire, and still others died from a plague or from suffocating on meat. Still they hadn't learned to really fear God. In other words, they didn't have an awed respect for Him. They thought they could act like spoiled brats, demanding whatever they wanted, and still get to go into the Promised Land. Ha.

God had bad news for them.
He decided that for every DAY they had complained, they would have to wander in the desert for ONE YEAR!
My son looked a little shocked. I felt awed, too.
God cannot be mocked.

When we complain, we are telling God that we aren't content with what He's given us. For those of us in the developed world, we need to be ashamed.

No more complaining... I don't want to wander or live in a state of drought, metaphorically or not.

I am thankful for...

363. squinty-sun brightness

364. a dozen scarlet Valentine roses from my sweetheart

365. chocolate kisses

366. a roast lamb dinner made by my honey

367. joy

368. a fixed dishwasher

369. tears

370. completed tasks

371. paper shredder

372. trip plans

373. answered prayers

374. a generous God

375. days stretching out luxuriously toward spring

376. sunday morning music-praise spirit-filled singing

377. seemingly bottomless patience of my man with me

378. my washing machine

379. my clothes dryer

380. pretty tulips and sunflowers from the sweetest of friends

381. a yummy-warm loaf of banana bread, given with kindness

382. fellowship hugs and hand-shakes

383. kind words

384. message from friends gone east

385. a gracious God who forgives complaining

places to sell your writing

2011-02-11T20:43:00.000-07:00

It's really fun to write, but it's even better to sell your work. Here are a few useful books to help you find place to sell your work. Public libraries often carry them.

Happy Writing!

2011-02-03T00:00:00.001-07:00

I am thankful for...

363. +5 degree C

364. patience with whining

365. a sweet juicy pear

366. a warm breeze through the car window

367. a gift

368. a walk with my son

369. a long, warm hug from my man

370. challenging conversation

371. the ending of busy-ness today

372. the never-ending love of God in my heart

Living in the Oil Sands

2011-01-27T19:38:00.000-07:00

Fort McMurray is in the middle of a beautiful, serene wilderness. It takes a perilous journey to get here, with sparse food stops, rare flush toilets, and no good coffee.

It is impressive to see the magnitude of the oil sands open pit mines. Oil does, literally, ooze out of the ground here. My children have had their legs covered in bitumen playing on the river banks.

The trouble is how to take the oil without damaging the land and water.

We could try to use eye-droppers to pick up the oil. It would take a very long time to get much, and people do like to drive their cars everywhere.

It is interesting that environmentalists charter jets and helicopters to fly to the mines so that they can chain themselves to a fence. They would be more credible if they walked or rode bikes.

Nonetheless, much of what people do to produce commodities is harmful to the land and us. When we’ve driven past massive agri-business operations, the reek of herbicides burns the nostrils. When I lived beside Lake Ontario, dead fish littered the shores and we didn’t swim in its waters. When I swam in Lake Erie, my ear piercings became infected. In East Edmonton, the smell of the refineries makes us turn off our vehicle’s vents. Traveling through Western Ontario and Quebec in the summer heat, the smog was enough to choke us. And near the pulp and paper mills in British Columbia, the air was acrid. Let’s face it—every part of Canada has blights on the environment.

Even though environmentalists are annoying and radical, we need them to help find the middle ground.

On the bright side, every oil sands plant has a reclamation department to return mined-out areas to a natural forest, but they can improve.

We vote for a cleaner planet every time we purchase something, whether it’s organic food, goods produced locally, used items, or things made from recycled materials. If the oil sands mining process is tweaked and made cleaner, we’ll have to pay more at the pump. Are we willing?

I would venture to say yes: we want the oil, but do it cleaner. Even those working in the oil sands want a vibrant planet. We need to be sensible caretakers, and not like greedy boys devouring candy and leaving the trash all over the yard.

My family has enjoyed many years of life in Fort McMurray, fishing, hiking, and hunting in the area. Alberta is a beautiful, diverse province worth using wisely, worth visiting, and a great place to live. Let’s keep it that way.

My son (his friend looking on) with a very large Northern Pike, caught on the Clearwater River near Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada.

The craziest thing happened to me when I changed someone's name in my novel...

2011-01-19T15:14:00.000-07:00

I decided to change one character's name from Chiara to Kiara. I thought it would read better and be along the lines of standard spelling.

I used MS Word's edit function, FIND and REPLACE.

I typed in FIND Chiara; then REPLACE with Kiara. Then I hit Replace All. The program whipped through hundreds of pages of text in a few seconds and replaced gazzilions of them.

Then I remembered that other characters in my story sometimes called Chiara, Chi (pronounced Key), so I used the edit function again...
FIND Chi, REPLACE with Ki.

Now it's perfect, I thought.

I decided to scroll through the entire novel to make sure all my chapter numbers were correct when I noticed that ALL my usages of chi had been replaced, even in the MIDDLE of words!

Where I had the word children, it said Kildren.
Where I had child, it said Kild. Ugh!!
Where I had chin, it now said Kin.
Talk about unexpected and frustrating.
It took me a couple of hours to fix the entire novel.

I'll think twice before using that editing function again.
Who was it that said, 'When something is finished, leave it alone'?

I need to remember that I am an unofficial member of the Community of Gratitude (anyone can join), so... I am thankful for:

353. a finished novel

354. an understanding and hopeful husband

355. kids who believe their mom is a writer

356. my mug from a Guild that re-assures me when I want to give up

357. flax seed oil

358. the game Apples to Apples

359. fun times with my girls' group

360. our puppy-dog Cay who keeps me company while I pound out words

361. sweet friends

362. God's vast kingdom of grace

'I love the Lord, for He heard my voice; He heard my cry for mercy. Because He turned His ear to me, I will call on Him as long as I live.'

You know you’ve lived in Fort McMurray for a long time when…

2011-01-15T15:50:00.000-07:00

You always call Sobeys by its original name, IGA, and the River-Something-Centre is still Plaza Two because you can never get all the new river related names around town straight.

You used to go to Happy Harry’s when the other grocery stores in town were closed on Sundays and holidays.

You were irritated by rush hour in the 80s which consisted of the same twenty pick-up trucks driving up and down Franklin Avenue, trying to figure out what there was to do here.

You remember the original location of Canadian Tire in a large mobile-type building at the end of Riedel Street, where you and everyone else decided to go every Saturday.

The first home you bought was a company house with a guaranteed buy-back policy, insulated against the economic ups and downs of a one-horse town.

Driving downtown on your snowmobile during the winter wasn’t a problem as long as you stuck to the ditches and parked in an alleyway.

You attended the one high school downtown.

It was faster to walk across town than take a bus.

You remember downtown having more green space and parks than apartment buildings.

You either sat on your roof during a flood, or you know someone who did.

You’d seen an overpass before either in the city you came from or on a trip to Edmonton, but Fort McMurray didn’t have one, and didn’t need any when you moved here.

You have Polaroid photos of the forest fire that closed the road up Abasand Hill, and know people who spent days soaking down their houses with their garden hoses, trying to stop them from catching fire.

You recall the Safeway strike and didn’t shop there for a decade, still sore about cashier’s hours being cut from full to part time.

You recall the organization named The Great Canadian Oil Sands Company, or G.C.O.S. which was the precursor to Suncor.

If you were a Syncrude employee you were one of the new kids in town, and the Suncor employees were the old-timers.

There were free bio-degradable paper bags at the grocery stores which were packed for us by wrappers.

You stood on the shore and cheered a friend, or rode on board a raft during the race at the annual Blueberry Festival.

You didn’t lock your truck doors, not even when you left it running in the IGA parking lot at Plaza Two in forty-below-zero weather.

You went Christmas shopping at the Hudson’s Bay department store at the Downtown Mall on December 24th and you bought whatever was left on the shelves because there was no such thing as Internet shopping yet.

You remember trying to stay warm in your vehicle parked on the Snye River, watching through a tiny not frosted part of your windshield, dirt bikes with studded tires race on an ice-track loop.

Everywhere you go, you run into old friends and new acquaintances so to you, Fort McMurray is still a small town.

How to have a happy year

2011-01-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

I love the feeling after Christmas Day when there is a fridge full of turkey leftovers, no more shopping to do, and hours of holiday time left to fill up with nothing but fun times with family and friends. We’ll revel in the luxury of time to read and watch movies, ski and walk in the woods. Why ruin it with resolutions never to be fulfilled?

I resolve this year to make no resolutions, to not start things I have no intention of continuing, and not to worry about the bathroom scale. I resolve to not start projects, or set a five-year plan, or measure myself. I will ignore all the commercials telling me I’m fat and to sign up for this or that weight-loss program, buy such and such exercise equipment, or some such other fad. None of that stuff works, anyway. All it does is separate cash from people’s wallets; basically throwing money at a perceived problem. If there’s no problem, there’s no need to throw cash at it.

I resolve not to worry about SARS, H1N1, the end of the Mayan calendar, or the next latest bug or possible catastrophe. Whatever comes will come, whether we invest worry time, or not. Why not just be happy and content and thankful for the time we have, before the end of the world? I get sick occasionally, whether I try to avoid it or not, whether I get manic about hand-sanitizer, or not, which I shouldn’t because it could create a super-bug.

Whew… it’s hard work not making resolutions.

It is also good to not try to change other people. Especially your spouse. For one thing, they don’t appreciate it. For another thing, it’s kind of counter-productive.

If you tell your spouse she’s gained too much weight and should go on a diet, she’ll hate you. Instead, she’ll likely get depressed and eat more, gaining even more weight.

If you tell your friend he’s lazy, he won’t jump up and say, “Wow, you’re right. Thanks for being a great friend.” No way. He’ll never phone you.

What you do in that case is resolve to not be critical toward people. If you accept yourself the way you are, why not accept other people the way they are, too? It’s much better than trying to change everyone. Less stressful, too.

So, resolve not to worry about changing, and resolve to not change anyone else. You’ll be happier and so will those around you. Then, if you really need to make a change, you’ll be able to, because you won’t be already stressed out from all the false-starts and forced changes you thought you had to make. You’ll be fresh and clear-minded, and just resolve to do something if it’s super important.

Each one of us was created as a unique person, with special gifts and abilities. Be the best possible you, but resolve to be content with stuff you can’t change.

a cure for the common cold

2010-12-29T09:51:00.000-07:00

Something that works well needs to be shared.

I've been drinking herbal teas to fight off colds and sinus infections this winter, and I wasn't sure if it actually worked. When my daughter came home from college for Christmas, she developed a sinus infection. I had her drink the tea, and she was better in a couple of days.

I found the suggestions in Dr. Gillian McKeith's You Are What You Eat Cookbook.

Mullein: the mucus-mover
This is good for mucus or bronchial congestion, hay fever, earaches caused by excessive mucus, a hacking cough or sinusitis.

Nettle: tonic for the whole body
Loaded with minerals and iron, is a blood-builder, diuretic. Helps cleanse the body. Also helps with weight loss.

Those are the main two I use. I have used Nettle in tea bag form. It's more expensive, but convenient. I'm now using loose teas. I mix the two, then add another tea to help with the flavour, such as a berry one, or peppermint. I drink it in the morning before breakfast, and all evening. My daughter added honey as well, which didn't seem to hamper the results.

Teas, paired with plenty of rest, helps kick the common cold.

a Christmas card

2010-12-23T13:17:00.000-07:00

M E R R Y

C H R I S T M A S

T O

Y O U

A N D

Y O U R

F A M I L Y !

May you sense God pursuing you

May you relent and allow His peace into your heart

May you learn of all He created for you

May you become all He designed you to be

May you do all the good things He has planned for your life

May you rest in His strength and grace

May you experience His J O Y !

God bless you & your family!

a teen died on Monday...

2010-12-22T11:23:00.000-07:00

he was only 16 years old.

When Corey played with my son, we didn't know his life would be so short. We lived on the same street when our boys were little. They rode their bikes for hours around the crescent, circling the park a hundred times. He had a head full of curls, a quick smile, and boundless energy.

He and a friend were driving. The roads were icy, and their truck slid across the highway. They weren't drinking, smoking pot, or speeding. They were struck by an oncoming truck. Later at the hospital, they were pronounced dead.

Corey won't graduate from high school.

He won't get married.

He won't buy his first house.

He won't run his own business or advance at work.

He won't dance at his friends' weddings.

He won't go fishing anymore.

He won't open the gifts that are for him under the family Christmas tree.

Please say a prayer for this devastated family.

My husband came home and broke down when he told me. The family is well known around town. It could have been our son. It could have been anybody. It could have been me. It could have been you.

None of us know how long God has allotted for us here.

You need to be ready to meet God at any moment.

Ask Him to forgive your sins and take time to get to know the Creator of Heaven of Earth.

He came over 2,000 years ago as a baby.

He grew up, and died on the cross for your sins, so you could be forgiven and receive the gift of eternal life.

Don't waste your life running after popularity, a skinny body, a cool job, lots of money, a hot date, fame, power, another high, food that never satisfies, another trip, a fancier house, or anything else that is really just empty and meaningless.

What are you doing with your life?

God created you for a reason. You need to find out what that reason is.

2010-12-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

I am a procrastinator when it comes to Christmas shopping.

I usually don’t even think about it until December 1^st. This year, however, I asked my family for wish lists in the middle of November and decided to do all my shopping online and have it done early. Talk about the ultimate in convenience. No driving, fighting crowds, or standing in lines. It would be so easy to get carried away and spoil everyone with heaps of gifts. What is difficult is limiting the amount and finding gifts that will really be useful and appreciated.

Preparing for Christmas always reminds me of how we prepared for each of our babies before they were born. We expected them for nine months; we gathered a few items here and there, but the closer their due date, the more excited and frenzied the activity. Definitely like Christmas.

There was a lot of anticipation about the birth of Jesus, his arrival the reason for the very first Christmas. His birth was foretold hundreds of years before by the Old Testament prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Hosea, and Micah. They knew the place where he’d be born and the significance of the event.

As convenient as we like to make Christmas, Mary’s pregnancy was anything but. She was pledged to be married, but when she suddenly became pregnant, Joseph wanted to quietly call it off. She must have felt scorned from proper society, more so than an unwed mother of today. But God spoke to Joseph in a dream, and asked him to take care of Mary and the baby, so that is what he did.

The country where Mary and Joseph lived was under Roman rule at the time, and the leader, Caesar Augustus, decided to count all his subjects. He wanted to revel in the extent of his kingdom. As a result, a very pregnant Mary had to travel with Joseph to his hometown. Not sure if they thought they’d make it there and back in time for the delivery, but for whatever reason, they seemed to be ill prepared and spent the night in a place meant for livestock. Not the cleanest most comfortable place to sleep, much less have a baby.

That first Christmas wasn’t marked by heaps of brightly wrapped packages, or multi-coloured twinkle lights. There was no eggnog or turkey feast. They didn’t seem to have much of anything with them except some cloth with which they wrapped the baby Jesus.

Sometime later, months or even years, the gifts finally arrived, brought for the Messiah by three wise guys from other countries. Again, there was no convenience. They trekked for many months likely, and brought just three gifts: gold was a gift fit for a King; frankincense was used for incense fit for a Priest; and myrrh was used for embalming, foretelling his death.

The first Christmas had no convenience, and yet the only three gifts were immensely significant. It helps to think back to how Christmas began and not get swept up into the mentality that more is better.

i love books

2010-12-04T11:04:00.000-07:00

One thing I do not want for Christmas is a Kindle or any other electronic book reader. I want nothing to do with them. I am Old School about books. Only the real paper-and-ink ones will do.

I have few personal possessions that I consider special. If the house was burning down, what would I grab? Well, I wear one of them all the time, my wedding ring, so that goes without saying. I did once grab my laptop when a fire alarm was screaming, so I’d likely do that again. Otherwise, you’d think I would say my favourite books, but that isn’t quite true. I like buying and reading books. Once I’ve read them, I don’t usually mind giving them away… unless they are a signed copy, or a rare book that is not found at the usual online book vendors.

What exactly is it about books?

The cover of a book says so much about the story. Publishing houses have this down to an art form, from the picture, if any, embossed letters, size and placement of title and author’s name. At a glance, I can tell if a book is for me.

The weight of a book tells a lot, too. A hefty hardcover will be a long relationship, come along on trips, and may last an entire season; a light paperback will be a fast read, over a weekend or two—not much commitment.

New books smell good, too. Crisp paper, saturated with ink. It must be the association of all those wonderful fictional journeys and emotional roller-coasters that condition a book lover’s nostrils to enjoy those aromas. There is a lure. Like cheesecake for dessert.

Learning to read is still the most important skill a child can learn. It is within stories that the riches of life are hidden: subjects near to the heart of an author, learning about any and many things by happenstance, carrying readers to distant lands and cultures, and examples of lives with all their consequences.

There was something magical about my first experience in a school library planted on thread-bare carpet before stacks of picture books, finding book after book to love. And even though my family didn’t own many books, my mother took me to the library every week, and it was a ritual I continued through my teen years, then more sporadically as an adult since I began to buy books.

Books make great gifts. Hardcover picture books for small children, simple novels for new readers, and everything from cookbooks and cartoons, how-to-guides and novels for everyone else.

In a pinch, a book makes a good paper-weight. If it’s a very large book, it could be a booster chair or even door-stop. Paper-backs are meant to be taken and read in the tub or a boat, so if they are splashed and dropped, it doesn’t much matter.

Real books don’t need to be charged, and they are better for the eyes than yet one more reason to frazzle our retinas with glowing screens.

Please Santa Hubby, don’t bring me a Kindle.

life in random

2010-11-28T22:04:00.005-07:00

Okay, just so I can validate the title of my blog, here are all the random things I've done this Fall. This is not everything.

grew my hair longer
ordered a newspaper subscription
didn't get it
went to church
sat at the back
got copies of the anthology in the mail with my story in it
listened to my young son talk endlessly about lego, romans, greeks, persians, goths, vikings, saxons, world war two, making lego movies
read about Mozart
listened to Mozart's music
read to my son about the Spanish invading south america
bought the soundtrack for Zorro for my son for his hand-me-down iPod
found him some headphones
was exceedingly sad a friend decided she couldn't believe in God
gave away a few copies of the anthology
taught my son how to handwrite in loopy letters
had a flat tire
took the dog for a walk
went to a wedding in banff
bought Rocky Mountain Soap
sat in a hot tub on a mountain watching the sun set over Banff
went to the oldest church in banff
got too hot in the sun
went for supper
changed into jeans
went to the cake reception at the Fairmont Banff Springs
was amazed by the fortress-castle-hotel
felt like a slob in my jeans
wrote a column
watched some movies
prayed for my friend
watched an electrician install the last of our lighting fixtures
went out for lunch with a friend
went to a jury summons
prayed not to get picked
got picked
did jury duty
got stuck in traffic every morning going to court
got depressed during jury duty
ignored the dog
ordered pizza for supper
had a bad cold
stayed home from church
prayed for my friend
stressed about what to write for my column
watched 12 Angry Men
ignored the laundry
bought a costume for my young son
he decided he didn't like it the next day
i refused to buy him another one
gave away a couple more copies of the anthology
finally came up with a column
it was in the back of the paper
went to the grocery store
got a free paper and signed up to get a subscription
didn't get any newspapers
talked to a few friends about doing jury duty
i ate too many coffee crisp bars on oct. 31
had a sore stomach on november 1st
laughed about getting to go out for lunch every day while doing jury duty since the crown was supposed to pay for it
went to a bridal shower
got a sore stomach from the lunch they fed us during jury duty deliberation
got worn-out
was thankful when jury duty was over
slept in two days in a row
prayed for my friend
treadmilled
bought herbal teas at the health food store
did the laundry
read Tanglewood Secret to my son
cried at all the moving parts
bought gift for a shower
went to another bridal shower
helped make a toilet paper wedding dress
walked the dog
went to church
sat in the middle
got a check in the mail for jury duty
did not get as much for my lunch receipts as I thought
washed dishes by hand
got the dishwasher fixed
went out to Boston Pizza with a young friend who moved away
was the only one over 30
wrote another column
went to church
sat in front
went to a youth ministry meeting
volunteered to help with a couple of events

became a youth mentor

felt happy about it

held a baby
went to a birthday tea for a 70 year old friend
wrote a column about it
watched my husband install wood flooring
got a phone call, asking if I want a newspaper subscription

put order in for the newspaper

didn't get the newspaper

had coffee with a young friend
typed out a list for a youth scavenger hunt
emailed people to help drive youth around
decided to have my long hair cut
emailed with a friend
got streaks
stayed up late skyping with my niece
went to bible study
borrowed a top from my daughters closet
made cookies with youth
was a hunting widow for 3 days

watched movies

went swimming

ate out

got a sore stomach

went shopping

cooked

bought candy for the scavenger hunt
the friend told me she DOES believe in God
was exceedingly happy
taught creative writing to some home educating children, had fun
talked to someone about God
drove to basketball
skyped with my daughter and asked her if I could borrow her top
got stuck in traffic
wrote a column about it, it made the front half of the paper
enjoyed the youth scavenger hunt
went to a wedding

cried at the wedding

bought two birthday cards - one that lights up, one that plays over the rainbow
wore my daughter's top
mailed an anthology to someone
got compliments for my daughter's top
went out for lunch with twins for their birthday
got christmas gifts from the twins
saw a deer head in the garage
watched my husband install wood flooring
saw a woodpecker hard at work on a tree
went to Starbucks with youth
wondered why my bathroom tap froze in -30C
played Wii bowling and boxing
cooked deer meat
watch Eat Pray Love, hated the theme
watched the snow fall
found the nativity set in the basement
watched my son set it up
watched a gory movie with my husband, liked the story
made a gingerbread house with my son
drove to church with deer carcasses in the canopy
sat in the middle
bought groceries
cooked
bathroom tap thawed
got a christmas card in the mail
went to a one day video conference at church
watched my husband install wood flooring
my son spilled his supper all over the new floor
thought about putting up Christmas decorations
felt defeated when I saw my neighbour's amazing decorations
went to church
heard my latest favourite song Grace Like Rain
went to the front
held a baby
put two ticks on the church ticker tape
filled the truck with gas
bought food
had carrot juice and a brown rice bagel for lunch
listened to someone tell me about God telling them to drive very slowly, slowing down, and then witnessing a car accident right in front of them, with parts flying everywhere. God is good.
decided to do all my christmas shopping online this year before december 1st
bought chickens, baking supplies, soccer balls, and mosquito nets on the Compassion website for gifts
talked to two of my three sisters on speaker phone while online shopping
got a sore neck from looking at my computer screen for four hours while i was christmas shopping
realized i hadn't blogged in over a week
listened to my son talk endlessly about x people fighting x people, and their empire being conquered
finally blogged

Have you tried skype?

2010-11-18T23:06:00.000-07:00

Skyping is strange yet fun. It is an online long-distance calling service, using a computer with a camera and microphone. In other words, video-calling. It is free so far, and the results vary, depending on both participants’ Internet connections.

When the connection is good, it is wonderful to be able to talk ‘real time’ with someone far away. With my daughter at college, it’s a great way to see her, talk about all that’s going on with her, and for her to find out what’s happening at home and see the family. Even with her, who I know so well, it felt kind of awkward at first. It isn’t at all like talking on the phone, where the message is conveyed with voice inflection, tone and mood. Suddenly, what I’m wearing makes a difference, as well as which room I’m in and what is in the background.

That little screen showing me on the screen doesn't help.

Once, while my sons and I were visiting with my daughter, the connection weakened, and a lag developed. We all looked like we were in some kind of freaky science-fiction movie from the ‘50s, with bad acting and worse filming. Later, my girl decided to relocate, so she carried her laptop along a corridor and into a different room. I felt like I was in a small box, being carried along, like a pooch in a crate. Very odd.

Another time, my husband joined in on a Skype session and I noticed my husband had something on his face, so I pointed it out. Not only did our girl get to visit with us, but she saw her parents interact just like being at home. She had a good laugh at my pickiness, and my husband brushing me off. She assured me she couldn’t see minute details like face-fluff.

It's another technological marvel that makes our world a smaller place.

Have you tried it? How did you find the experience?

Older doesn’t mean slower

2010-11-10T10:45:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday, I dropped over to a dear friend’s 70th birthday party. Her sons threw her a High Tea complete with lunch, cake, several types of tea and coffee, and the most important part, guests. Her home was jam-packed with her sons, their wives, her grandchildren, other relatives, old friends, young friends, new friends and out-of-town friends. What a celebration. This lady has obviously not slowed down in recent years.

Lately, I have been finding myself making decisions about what to do, based on what I think I want to be doing in ten years, in twenty years, and into my senior years. One thing is for sure, I don’t plan on slowing down one bit. If anything, I plan to do more when I’m finished parenting my own kids.

My husband and I enjoy discussing travel plans and even what the ideal home will be like at that stage of our lives.

There is the draw of retiring to a tropical island and not leaving a forwarding address. Sipping sugary drinks with umbrellas and screening phone calls from the kids. After all, we’ve been practically at their beck-and-call for two whole decades.

Another favourite day-dream is imagining what we’ll do when we visit our grown children in their homes. We’ll drop our bags at the front door, remove half the contents, and scatter them on the way to the guest room. I’ll finger-paint with toothpaste on the bathroom mirror. When it’s suppertime, we’ll complain loudly about the meal, and whine about our right to prefer certain foods over others. Then when our grown child is ready for bed, we’ll demand snacks and order a V.O.D. movie.

And what about grandkids? The thought of having them one day brings a warm-fuzzy feeling. I’m looking forward to enjoying all the great parts of parenting, minus the night shift. I would like to live close enough to enjoy that stage of life, and be helpful.

Something my husband and I missed out on was having our parents close-by for back-up while raising our children. Most people living in Fort McMurray don’t have parents and grandparents living here. This creates a real lack of know-how, unless you can tap into someone with wisdom, someone like my dear 70-year-old friend, and others who have traveled along the same road, but are further ahead.

It’s comforting to have seen others survive their first-born leaving for college, recover financially from feeding boys during their growth spurts, and manage to find a life after becoming empty-nesters.

I’ve been told that parents should never cry when their children leave home because they are sure to move right back in. The goal now, as it’s always been, is to encourage them to become self-sufficient, move into their own homes and be fruitful and multiply, even if it’s only multiplying dishes and laundry (which they will have to take care of).

In the meantime, hats off to people like my 70-year-old friend who is too busy to be a porch-rocker. She’s involved in every generation being a mom, or grandma, to everyone she meets.

2010-11-04T23:28:00.000-06:00

Autumn is the time of year when the aroma of rotting leaves and the crispness in the air beacons hunters to don their neon-orange garb and stalk their prey. At my place, it’s another valid reason to put building projects on the back-burner.
As a newly-wed, I went along with my husband, the Builder, and one of his nephews to hunt for grouse. We toured along a sunny dirt road, early one Saturday morning. We had a Thermos of coffee and a .22 rifle at the ready. My husband spotted a Ruffed Grouse before long, and motioned for me and his nephew to stand behind him, which we did. He lifted his rifle into position.

The Ruffed Grouse held perfectly still, as his instincts dictated, relying on his patterned feathers to camouflage him in the matching browns of the forest. Too bad he contrasted perfectly against the beige of the dried-mud road.

He looked kind of cute. “How can you shoot him?” I said to my husband. “The poor thing.” My husband started to snicker. The grouse came to his senses and flapped off into the bush.

When we got back to the truck, my husband said he wasn’t taking me hunting again. It was fine with me. I lived on a acreage until I was eight-years-old, but after that I was a city girl. I like quaint shops, cafes, evenings out, and my food disconnected from its source. I had never seen anyone kill anything except for flies trapped in a glade sticky-tape fly catcher. That was gross enough. I didn’t care to see beautiful creatures massacred.

A different time, my husband brought home three or four Ruffed Grouse he’d shot. He cleaned them and cooked them. I squeamishly tried a nibble. It was good. Tender and juicy, like chicken breast, only better. I was convinced. He should go hunting.

Over time, the Builder got into hunting larger game. Again, I was sceptical.

When I first moved to Fort McMurray, a friend had tossed a large deer steak into a frying pan, cooked it, and put it on the table for the group to sample. I’ve never tried to eat old boots, but I guess the taste and texture would be similar.

After some trial and error, we learned to cook venison, and it’s now one of my favourite meals. I still have no desire to hunt myself, or see any of the process. Only once the meat is cut and wrapped, and in my deep freeze, can I handle it.

My older son and husband now have numerous deer racks on the garage wall. I’m never surprised by peoples’ horror-struck reactions. I always wonder, though, how those same folks would react to seeing the life and butchering of livestock which they gladly purchase from the grocery store.

Finally, with wanting to cook healthy, organic foods for my family, wild meat is high on my list of ‘good’ foods. The Builder doesn’t need much convincing. And even a city girl can like hunting season because it means finding neatly wrapped food in the freezer.

Fall Fishing

2010-10-31T15:26:00.000-06:00

All fisherfolk have stories, and my family is no exception. None of the following is exaggerated.

There was the time when I went on a fly-in fishing trip to Gardener Lake with my husband and a few friends. Men tend to be competitive, so they all decided to have a contest each day, and the angler who caught the largest fish, won a prize. I was indifferent. I was there to fish, not win a contest. Later in the day, I caught a five-pound Walleye. It was the largest fish I had ever caught. One of the fellows had caught a four-and-a-half pound Walleye. He was crestfallen. I had beat him. I tried to make him feel better. Winning wasn’t important to me, so I told him, “Don’t feel bad. Mine’s just half a pound bigger.” Everyone burst into laughter and ribbed the poor guy all weekend. “Her fish was just half a pound bigger!” I didn’t get what the big deal was.

Another time, years ago, my family and I were fishing on the Clearwater River. I had a small Walleye on the end of my rod, and I was playing with it, taking my time getting it to the boat. Suddenly, a gargantuan Northern Pike rolled at the surface, dove, and swallowed my fish. Now I had a monster on. It must have cut my line with his razor-sharp teeth, because the next thing I knew, I had no fish on. “Rats. Lost my Walleye.”

A little while later, my husband, the Builder, enticed the Monster to bite his lure, most likely a giant Five-Of-Diamonds. Northern Pike are fun to have on, because they give you a good fight, and that one was no exception. It’s teeth didn’t cut the line, and eventually, my husband got the Thing to the boat. Once he had it’s mouth propped open to fish out his lure, he laughed. Not only did he find his, but he found mine as well. Same Monster. We let it go, so it could keep the river stocked for years to come.

Just a few weeks ago, my husband’s nephew and family made a trip up to visit us, and go on a fishing expedition. We were a little sceptical. Usually, autumn is the best time for fishing on our rivers, but a few factors weren’t cooperating. The weather was cold, and the river was high. Whether there’d be any fish caught seemed unlikely. On the first day, the boat was jam-packed full of people. Four adults and four young boys. Some fishermen shush everyone, but we’ve always found that noisy kids attract fish. Plenty of fish were caught, and a few eaters were kept for supper.

On the next day, just three men went. Mike caught the biggest fish of his life, a 41 inch Northern Pike, and the Builder caught the second or third largest Walleye in his fishing career: an eight-pound Walleye. Not bad for cold weather and high water. My husband likes fishing just a little better than building stuff, so we’re behind on building projects, but we’ve had plenty of delicious fish dinners.

it's here!

2010-10-21T17:55:00.001-06:00

     Recently, I entered a writing contest with InScribe Christian Writers' Fellowship. One of my stories was selected for this anthology.

InScribed
30 Years of Inspiring Writers

From the back cover:

I don't really know what it is. The view. The mountain air. The broad plains. The lack of oxygen. But Alberta's writers are unarguably among the most creative this planet has to offer. I say this humbly, of course. So it's no surprise that InScribe had its roots there. And it's no surprise that the group has attracted writers of like talent across the country. For fifteen years I've been honoured to be associated with and to recommend this wonderful fellowship of writers by the name of InScribe. This anthology is proof that their talent pool is wide and deep. In it you will find stories that inspire, comfort, and entertain. You will read of faith and family, joy and hope, laughter and sorrow. Like my mother's porridge, this book will stick to your ribs throughout the day.

    Phil Callaway, bestselling author and speaker

InScribe has a special place in my heart. I knew it back when it was the Alberta Christian Writer's Fellowship. I was living in Alberta t the the time and this was where I got my start as a writer. I found writing help, fellowship, and friendships that have lasted. It is with great pride, therefore, that I encourage you to read these stories by my friends. I know you will enjoy them.

    Linda Hall, author of 17 novels of mystery and suspense

Dive in! But be prepared for more than cool cleansing waters. You'll go below the surface expecting one thing from this collection, only to be dazzled by unexpected delights, as if the calm lake is concealing the beauty of a tropical reef. Then, when you least expect it, the scenery shifts again, and again, each time to reveal yet another profound perspective on life.

   Sigmund Brower, author of over 25 novels, with almost 3 million copies in print

I am enjoying all the stories and poetry by my fellow InScribers. And I'm excited to be able to offer my readers a few free copies.

Blessings!

A Canadian Thanksgiving

2010-10-11T09:53:00.001-06:00

I've had a long relationship with turkeys. The edible type. Turkeys have been a part of most holidays at our home.

Some years, I go on the hunt for fresh birds. It’s difficult to find ones that are large enough to feed my family, plus have leftovers for a couple of days, so I end up buying two smaller birds.

Most often, my bird gathering is about finding the largest bird. This year, I outdid myself. I bought about a thirty pound bird. My husband, the Builder, moaned when he lifted it, and he made a face. He did not approve.

It didn’t fit into the sink to thaw, so we had to use a Green Box and lug it around the house that way. He didn’t think it was going to fit into the oven.

I don’t think about practicalities like that when I’m bird shopping. I just want one large enough to hold copious amounts of stuffing, of which there is never enough, and enough meat to provide meals for several days.

I’m all about economy of effort. If I take the time to cook something, I like to make enough for at least two meals.

A friend of mind told me about two turkeys they raised for their holiday meals. One was named Thanksgiving and the other Christmas. Apparently, they were so large that they needed to be sawed in two to fit into their oven. My bird wasn’t that big. It did fit, though it listed to the side and needed to be trussed with cook’s twine. It looked like a turkey on steroids.

The Builder made a face while carving the gargantuan poultry, which took a long time. He said he is going to buy our next turkey.

I think it was a great success. The meat wasn’t dry (except for the wings-- I bake it breast down) and there were no real casualties except the bottom of the oven which has burnt drippings. I’ll need to clean the oven and make turkey soup today. Even the Builder admitted it was a good bird.

All in all, a Happy Thanksgiving was had by all. Hope you’ve enjoyed yours, too.

‘Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good. His love endures forever.’

2010-10-07T22:48:00.002-06:00

I am thankful for....

341. sushi

342. Miso soup

343. toasted rice and green tea

344. crunchy apple

345. carpet of leaves on the trail

346. summer temps

347. warm breeze

348. friendly people

349. bottled water

350. soft tissues for runny noses

351. popcorn

352. a whole weekend of giving thanks

Kids have bad eating habits… whose fault is it?

2010-09-30T17:56:00.000-06:00

Little kids are known for their picky eating habits and mine is no exception. I think my child, Mr. G. has had cheeseburgers at every restaurant between here and Tofino, B.C., at least once. And if he’s feeling adventurous, he may opt for chicken strips. We rarely eat at fast food joints, however, he somehow swindled a burger at an East Indian eatery. A wary chef likely added it to his menu after countless requests from his clienteles’ offspring. “Butter Chicken, Naan Bread, hummus, and a burger? This is an Indian restaurant. Crazy Canadians.” Then reluctantly, the chef ordered up a box of pre-fabricated burgers, with beef as their second ingredient, after filler, and a white bun devoid of all nutrition.

Why is Mr. G. eating this stuff?

Well, after a long day on the road trying to keep the little tyke entertained with movies, book CDs, and kid-friendly tunes, the inevitable whining ensues: “Are we there yet? How much longer?” “An hour.” “You said that an hour ago.” “Well, I don’t know how much longer… ask your dad.” “Dad, how much longer?” “I don’t know, but when we get there, we’ll stop for supper.” “Can we go to (fill in the blank).” “No.” “Why?” “Because their food is not healthy.” “But I didn’t get to go there this whole trip.” “We want to go somewhere nicer.” “Like where?” “Maybe that nice Indian place we found last time we drove through this area.” “But I HATE Indian food!” he says, he voice shrill—the exact tone that sounds like nails scraping along a chalkboard to his parents. “Don’t worry… they’ll probably have a cheeseburger on the menu.”

And they did. Wow, that was so much healthier for him than fast food.

It’s no wonder Michelle Obama, First Lady of the U.S. has made it her mission to tackle childhood obesity, and she’s taking on the chefs of America. Addressing an assembly of restaurateurs, she asked for them to use their imaginations to provide healthier meals on children’s menus, not just at family diners, but also in school cafeterias.

Will giving kids choice work? If a child may choose between carrot spears or French fries, it’s a no brainer that they’ll go for fries. The mistake is giving kids a choice at all.

I didn’t get a choice when I was a youngster. My dad would buy a bushel of apples, so if we kids were hungry between meals, we ate the apples. My mom usually made meals from fresh, wholesome ingredients, and occasionally, she would make home-baked cookies or pies. But not every day. I don’t recall ever eating in a restaurant during my childhood, except once when we kids were given gift certificates for Mickey D’s.

If we all stopped going to fast-food joints, maybe they would disappear? Why does fast food have to mean bad food?

There’s nothing quicker than grapping fresh veggies and fruit from the fridge. A quick wash, and they’re ready to eat. No fancy slicing and dicing needed. Instead of eating out, I am buying much more produce, and allowing everyone to eat as much of it as they like. A pint of berries for breakfast with a bowl of oatmeal, two apples for a snack, a bunch of grapes later.

If I serve something my picky eater doesn’t like, I have him eat one bite or mouthful, then leave the rest. He did this for about a year with mashed yams (mixed with yogurt or Toffutti). I noticed the last time I served it, he ate the whole dollop. I don’t serve cheeseburgers, unless they’re home-made, and I don’t give the kid much choice. Once in a while we’ll have naughty snacks, but it’s great to see everyone enjoying healthy food from the fridge, and taking it in their lunches.

Something else I started doing, is using different flours, grown organically, such as Buckwheat, brown rice, amaranth, spelt, and others. They are more nutritious than white or even the mass-produced genetically modified whole-wheat. They are more expensive, as are most organic foods, but tend to be more flavourful and more filling, so less food is needed.

Now I am the picky eater. Picky about everyone eating healthy food, most of the time. Let’s face it; we parents have a lot of influence over our children, the parents of tomorrow.

your turn to speak

How’s the battle to eat healthy food going at your place?

a coincidence with Squash Soup

2010-09-23T15:19:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I homeschooled Mr.G. ... some Bible, math, penmanship, reading, and I read history aloud to him while he coloured a picture of a ship with markers. We've finally come to the end of Volume I, The Story of the World. I'm looking forward to beginning Volume II, since I've bought it on CD, so we can both listen--he'll draw, and I can hopefully do other things.

In the afternoon, I took Mr.G. to the eye doctor. (No glasses needed, thank goodness.) Then the grocery store, the dollar store (for army guys), and back home to make dinner. After I made dinner, I decided I wanted to make squash soup with a couple of squashes I'd roasted for the purpose the day before. The recipe said I needed vegetable stock. Oops. I'd forgotten to buy some, so I looked up a recipe and decided to make my own.

I found one in this book, but I omitted fennel, which I've decided I don't like (it tastes like licorice).

Into half a pot of water, I put (cleaned and peeled and trimmed) veggies:
2 leeks
2 carrots
a few stalks of celery
a red onion
a bunch of parsley
fresh thyme
coriander
fresh rosemary

I simmered it for 45 minutes, then strained through a sieve, discarded the veggies, and used the broth to cook a yam, added 2 chopped roasted (peeled and chopped) butternut squashes, another red onion, and a drizzle of maple syrup.

I creamed it all in small batches using my blender. Very yummy with a dollop of sour cream and rye bread, or in my case, a dollop of fake sour cream (Toffutti brand) and a couple of rice cakes with Toffutti (fake) cream cheese.

While I was cooking, I asked my husband to read to Mr.G. The Builder said he would, but what? (He doesn't like reading aloud very much.) He had promised years ago to read The Hobbit, then The Lord of the Rings aloud to Mr.G. Over the summer, I had bought The Hobbit on CD to listen to while we were driving. Mr.G. loved it! He especially liked the 'hobbit music' which BBC produced to go along with the story. The rest of us were thankful our truck had a separate jack for headphones in the back, so the little scamper could listen to it for hours on his own.

So, The Lord of the Rings it had to be. I was a little worried that Mr.G. is only nine years old. Too young for the story, really. But the books are not nearly as frightening as the movies. Also, I reasoned, the Builder would take his time reading the enormous volume (one book with three novels), so Mr.G. would likely be about twelve-years-old by the time they wrapped it up.

We all were taken by surprise when the Builder read:

'Then the weather clouded over. That was on Wednesday the eve of the Party. Anxiety was intense. Then Thursday, September the 22nd, actually dawned. The sun got up, the clouds vanished, flags were unfurled and the fun began."

September 22nd??!!

It was September 22nd yesterday. What an odd coincidence, to have begun reading the story on the same day as Bilbo and Frodo's shared birthday party. And squash soup to go with it.

the twisty vacation

2010-09-14T12:28:00.001-06:00

Have you ever randomly decided where to go on vacation? We did that when we decided to visit Nelson, B.C. in August.

My husband and I wanted to spend a week by a lake; one where we could fish and paddle, preferably with sunshine and sand. I’m not sure who suggested Nelson, but the idea stuck. It sits on Kootenay Lake amid mountains and rain forest. There are quirky towns, and twisty roads. Once we did a Google search on the area, we were hooked.

It took a little longer to drive there than we’d expected. There is no direct route to the area. From Banff, we headed north to Revelstoke, then south. We crossed a lake on a ferry, and got queasy over mountain hairpin turns and switch-backs.

Finally, at our destination, the mountains and forest loomed over us, pressing us toward the water, where the canopy opened up to the glistening aqua-bride of Kootenay Lake.

We stayed at a place on the banks of the lake’s western arm, about twenty minutes outside of Nelson. We rented two kayaks, and found out about the fishing. No tackle and no barbs on the arm, and only two rainbow trout per fisherman—not that it would be a concern. Turns out the fish were as scarce as the elusive Sasquatch.

The Kootenays are a Mecca of sorts, for outdoor types and renaissance flower children, with flowing dreadlocks and sun-bleached cotton duds, enjoying fresh local produce at open-air cafes on Baker Street. Every Wednesday, the street closes for a market with vendors parading hand-crafted items, organic veggies, and bakery treats. On Friday nights over the summer, street performers liven up the humid streets.

When we weren’t paddling or savoring a delicious meal from the local fare by the lake, we zipped around the lake on a maze of country roads. Mostly cottages line the shores of the lake, but here and there, mixed farms from a by-gone era are still thriving: there were vegetable gardens, orchards, vines, grains, sheep, pig-pens and free-range chickens scattered along a lane.

One of the locals told us grain production was lucrative in the area at one time, and then fell into decline against competition from mega agri-business. Lately, however, local farmers have found a niche market for specialty grains, such as Kamut and spelt. They grow the grain, and transport it by boat to the Nelson area where it’s milled into flour for the local bakers such as The Old World Bakery by the Balfour Ferry Landing, and the Kootenay Bakery Café in Nelson. Many bakery items such as buns, pizza crusts, and breads could be found for those wishing a wheat alternative. Trying to eat healthily on vacation is usually a challenge, but not around Nelson.

I bought the best veggie burger I have ever tasted made fresh at Fairy Treats, by the ferry landing near Crawford Bay, an area known for its artisans.

As well as enjoying tasty eats, we were treated to a vintage car show as a group of drivers, who were traveling across the country, waited in the ferry line-up, too.

After a great week, our parting was bittersweet. I still miss the food and the art of the area, and the friendly locals. I’m not sure if we’ll make another trip there, since the twisty mountain roads are deterrents. It’s one of the drawbacks, but also one of the plusses, as it insulates the Kootenays from the rest of the world, creating a uniquely beautiful place.

Nelson, British Columbia, Canada

2010-09-05T17:14:00.001-06:00

Here’s a list sort of like the one I left for our housesitter when we went away in the summer:

Please feed Cay a scoop around lunchtime, and give her fresh water. She may eat it by dinnertime. Give her another scoop at dinner. She’ll eat it by bedtime and have to go out after.

Use dog treats liberally.

*Please walk Cay every day.
Do not leave any food or garbage where Cay can get at it.

When you are hanging around outside, please tie Cay up with the white rope to a post. She’s a master of escape.

If Cay does escape, look for her at the neighbourhood dumpsters. If you find her there, she’s going to smell bad and need a bath. Use the hose in the garage. Her dog shampoo is in there, too.

To ask Cay if she has to go out, ask, “Go out?”

When she’s outside, tell her, “Hurry up!” and she’ll know what you expect.

We are trying to teach her not to bark, so if she gets started, tell her “Quiet!.”

If she’s a brat, you may nudge her hindquarters to show her you’re the boss.
If you are going to be out for a while, make her go out before you leave, even if she appears to be in a comma.

You may use the car while we’re gone. Cay likes to go for rides. She also likes to go swimming. Do not take her swimming at the Snye. The Clearwater River is good. She may play around in the creek at the bottom of the hill, though. That is clean water. She’s not to swim in the swampy pond near our place. If she is heading for it, yell, “No! Get out of there.” If she does swim in that pond, she’s going to stink and need another bath.

2010-08-31T00:44:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm back from vacation. At least in body. My mind is still away on vacation, sun-baked on Kootenay Lake, listening to the waves lapping the pebble-shore.

I decided on holidays that I would work on a tan, which I haven't done for years and years. I found a cushion for the ancient lounge chair on the deck. It had aluminum cross-bars and adjustable arms to lower the back, which stuck and needed to be loosened with extreme force.

I finally got myself situated with a novel, a cold bottle of water and was fighting the glare of the sun on paper, squinting at the words, when the rest of the family showed up with kayaks they'd rented. After lugging the heavy beasts to a grassy area, everyone collapsed on deck chairs.

Some lively conversation later, water started to fly. The boys started it, of course. I jumped up to protect my self from liquids and slid on a puddle, each leg heading in a different direction. Next thing I knew I was on the deck floor with a twisted knee.

Horrible thoughts filled my mind at that point... my vacation was ruined; I'd be marooned while everyone else had fun paddling.

The Builder, thankfully, jumped into action and got me an ice pack and made sure I was comfortably situated to nurse the injury. I iced the sprain off-and-on. I was limping around later that day, and by the next day, my knee was fine as long as I was careful to plant my foot straight when I walked. What a relief.

I had a nightmare once that I drowned in a kayak, so I wasn't eager to try paddling. I watched everyone else have turns. The Builder rented a single craft, as well as a tandem one for two. The single one was much more tippy, and my husband found himself up-turned in shallow water while the kids howled.

After everyone else had turns and declared the tandem kayak sturdy in the lake, I decided to venture out. The Builder sat in the back, navigating with a foot controlled rudder while I took swipes at the water with my paddle. Every time I lifted the paddle, water would trickle down the length of the handle onto me. It was impossible to stay dry. It was hot out, so the water kept me cool. We didn't tip, and I finally relaxed and enjoyed the ride.

The Builder and A.J. were feverish about angling as fishermen can get when they are at water with fish to be caught. Having only the kayaks to fish from, the men tried several spots on the lake, always returning wet from the waist down, and usually empty handed. This only made the Builder more determined. He fished until the dim light of sunset had waned to black, and he was up before the rest of us most mornings, waking his young apprentice to tag along.

Finally, one day he caught a keeper. A Rainbow Trout. He frazzled it up on the BBQ for brunch. Everyone got a mouthful. Hm. Next time, he promised, he's bringing a real boat.

fav new receipes

2010-08-09T20:28:00.000-06:00

I seem to have developed a sensitive stomach. Not sure how... I used to be able to eat anything from hot curries, tex-mex chicken, garlicky Greek food... you name it. Not any more. Now I only feel good if I eat super healthy.

A while ago I showed you a book I was working through, about healthy eating, by Dr. Gillian McKeith.

In a nutshell, I am no longer eating wheat, dairy products, caffeine, chocolate, and many animal products. Mostly just chicken and fish and organic eggs.

It sounds extremely limiting, but I am loving this new healthier eating. I never thought I could love spinach, but it's amazing sauteed in a little olive oil, a pinch of butter for flavour, fresh garlic, and a healthy sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper.

Another thing I am enjoying, is experimenting with different grains. Surprisingly, grains and flours such as rice, amaranth, buckwheat, spelt, tapioca, and others do not bother me.

Some claim that because wheat and corn is GM (genetically modified) in North America, and mass produced, it has lost much of its nutrition. It also contains things like pesticides.

Eating Organic when possible is a good choice.

Our grocery bill has gone up, but we are worth it. Many people buy expensive vehicles, houses and clothing, yet buy the cheapest food to put inside their bodies. Doesn't make sense. I'm happy to report that I lost over ten pounds in one month. And I haven't decreased the amount I eat, just the types of food.

Dr. Gillian's eating plan of abundance is something like this:

-Begin by drinking warm water. (Don't let it stop you if you like cold water; I do, but it does slow digestion.)
-Eat up to two cups of blueberries or 2 apples, or 2 peaches (some kind of fruit)
-A bowl of grains (oatmeal or quinoa) with almond milk or rice milk, sometimes a drizzle of maple syrup or honey, or blue agave.
-Salad and chicken for lunch (lots of veggies, such as 1/2 a cucumber, 1 tomato, lettuce, carrots, etc.)
- Fruit or veggies for snack or fresh juice, not from concentrate
- Dinner with lots of veggies, lean meat, or a vegetarian dish
- Snack on nuts and seeds, or alternate grain treat, such as Banana Snack Cake, or fruit like 3 or 4 apricots

You Are What You Eat doesn't have a lot of recipes, so I found this cookbook:

Tosca, a Canadian living near Toronto, was a frumpy 40 year old, out of shape, over-weight, and down about life. She began eating like this, and working out. Now she's 50 and in the best shape of her life. It's never too late to change your life.

From her cookbook, I've made:

Orange Almond Cake
Banana Apple Snack Cake
Turkey Lettuce Wraps
Mediterranean Beans
Garlic Spinach
Avocado Dip
and others.

Highly recommended!

You body is the temple of the Holy Spirit.

Enjoy good food, good friends, good times this summer!

good news!

2010-07-30T12:37:00.001-06:00

One of my short stories has been accepted for publication in an anthology. It will be published by editors of the InScibe Christian Writers Fellowship. I am not sure when I will receive my copy and have books available, but I'll let you know.

I hope this summer you are spending time with the people who are special to you, you're keeping healthy, and learning something new or growing in an area of interest.

Blessings!

Where, oh where is it?

2010-07-20T22:23:00.000-06:00

Is it just me, or are all women better at finding things than men?

My husband, who I like to call the Builder because he is always building something in his garage, can’t seem to find anything in the house.

He sticks his head in to whichever room I happen to be in, and he’ll ask me if I have seen a particular piece of paper that he brought into the house perhaps months ago. I am the paper organizer, shuffler, discarder, filer, so I should know.

At this point, I usually ask him for a description of the paper. A colour helps, as does approximate size, any special markings, and even font type (just kidding… the Builder doesn’t notice when I rearrange the furniture, never mind font types).

My next step is to think of likely places. If I am really busy with something important, he will shuffle off to hunt on his own. This will usually involve some muttering, false hopes when he finds something similar, and eventually surrender. Regardless of how important my task, even if it’s open-heart surgery (which it’s not), I will leave my task and go help the Builder hunt. Usually, I will find what we are looking for. (Not always, as sometimes he has left the paper somewhere other than the house.)

He does this with other things, too. He’ll stand in the kitchen, peer into the bread-basket and ask, “Do we have any more bread?” First, I have to suggest where to look. “Have you checked the freezer?” at which point he will pull open the freezer drawer. “There’s none in here,” so I’ll say, “Maybe there’s some in the deep-freeze?” I feel responsible for keeping the kitchen stocked, so I will offer to go to the deep-freeze and check. “Yes, here’s a loaf,” or “Oops, I guess I need to buy more.”

Then in the bedroom, the Builder will ask, “Have you seen my shorts?” It’s a fair question. I do the laundry. If I leave him to find things on his own, he’ll get frustrated and realize I am not the most motivated or meticulous housekeeper. (Maybe he has already noticed? Sigh.)

Maybe it’s a test. After living with me for over 25 years, he knows I’m going to suggest places to look, but eventually, I will stop what I am doing, and help him locate the item he would like. Can I do it? How well am I keeping up on his laundry and the management of our papers? Have I grocery shopped recently? Did I buy more coffee cream and bread in anticipation of his morning needs? (Oops, I forgot today.)

I have heard it suggested that women who let their homes ‘go’ are acting passive-aggressive. With their quiet lethargy and neglect of mundane tasks, what they are really saying is: “I am not just a housekeeper. I am a living, breathing person with feelings, needs, and desires, and I want you to care about me, not just where your shorts are.”

I’m not sure about all that. I just get busy so sometimes things aren’t perfect, (or never, but who’s keeping track). To me, it’s more about a mutual willingness to serve each other, since sometimes I need something from the garage and I go out and stand in the garage and say, “Honey… where’s the hammer?”

Gardening Adds Life

2010-07-06T00:15:00.000-06:00

I need to garden. It’s taken every ounce of my willpower to not stop and smell the annuals. I have been waiting until we have flower beds at our new house.

I like mixing compost and bone meal into dark soil, boosting the   nutrients to feed the plants. I like planting flowers and greenery, perennials and annuals, trees and shrubs and bulbs. I like watering garden beds on a summer day, and letting the cold water splash onto my bare feet on hot cobblestones. I enjoy flora and fauna as eye candy. A garden is the axis of life.

Once, my husband and I were relaxing on our back porch, when we saw a hummingbird drink from the velvety begonias hanging from baskets,  and every spring, birds nested in the shrubs by our front door. We harvested vegetables and baskets of raspberries from our back garden, until they spread to the point of driving my husband ballistic. Finally, he pulled them all out. I don’t blame him. It was the raspberries and the clematis that drove him over the brink, coming up at the opposite end of the yard, behind the garage, and everywhere in between. Gardening would be better if plants stayed where you put them, and no extra ones joined them.

Last year, chick weed, which is low spreading greenery with miniature white flowers, insisted on taking over the
front perennial bed. “It looks almost like Alyssum,” I thought. I decided to experiment, and leave it in the bed as a border flower. Aren’t all plants native somewhere? Why was I pulling a wild-flower and replacing it with an expensive alternative? Besides, I detest weeding as the worst possible drudgery so my weeding practices are akin to a yo-yo dieter: I’m gung-ho for about five minutes, then revert to pleasurable activities. My experiment would solve two problems. Sadly, it didn’t last long. The Alyssum harbored other fugitives, so they all got evicted.

I had more motivation than usual last summer to strut my green thumb. We were selling our house, and moving. Having grown roots there ourselves, I was sentimental about leaving behind the trees and plants we had chosen and tended. I wondered about potting-up some of my beauties and carting them along to our new place.
My husband said, “No. Start fresh. It’s too much hassle.” Okay; the voice of reason and logic had spoken. And since we moved to a new-build, we had nowhere to put plants, anyway. Now, spring has come and gone. We’re waiting for our turn to have our driveway and front walk paved. Then I can finally do some landscaping.

My husband, the Builder, and I, came up with a rough landscape drawing of future beds, walkways, and a second, ground-level deck. “Maybe we should just do container gardening?” my husband suggested. “Less hassle.” Once again, the voice of reason and logic. “I do hate weeding,” I admitted. He scratched off the garden beds from the drawing.

All this patience has taken its toll. One morning, I couldn’t wait another second. I decided I would buy just two pots of flowers: one for the front porch, and one for the back deck and set them on tables, centrally, so I could enjoy the floral miracles from all angles. When I got to the store, there were giant tomato plants on sale. I decided I needed one. My son, Mr. G., groaned and began melting in the sun. “We eat a lot of tomatoes,” I rationalized. And I had to have a zucchini squash plant. There were already some fruit on. Both plants came in containers, perfect for the blazing-hot deck.

“Can we go now?” Mr. G. moaned. I was just getting warmed-up. Next I found some aromatic herbs; Italian cooking in a whiff. Just a few of those. Oh, and a crimson begonia for the front porch and a rectangular pot with a mix of annuals for the deck. Good thing everything was on sale. After I stuffed it all into the trucks canopy, with Mr. G.’s help, I wheeled my cart back toward the store for the grocery items.

“Oh… just one more tomato plant. They’re a steal.” I popped another one into my cart, and wheeled around the store. It caught a  lot of attention, like an overgrown baby, going for a stroll.

I ran into a friend who said, “Nice plant.”
“Thanks!.” I didn’t tell her about the plants bursting from the truck’s canopy. I felt a bit sheepish about my splurge, but there is only so much non-gardening I can take. I feel much better with a bit of Eden on my deck.

I am thankful for...

2010-06-30T23:31:00.000-06:00

334. happy children

335. a happy marriage

336. a happy dog

337. happy sunny rain days

338. a happy heart

339. a happy circumstance, southern exposure

340. happy plans

Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the Lord,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.

Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff
that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgement,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.

(Psalm 1)

True happiness comes from doing what is right.

2010-06-28T23:47:00.000-06:00

I am thankful for...

325. pain that teaches holiness (once you have suffered in the flesh, you are done with sin)

326. good medical care

327. prayers of friends & family

328. savory herbs in pots

329. bustling tomato plants

330. loving family

331. summer rain

332. ginger ale

333. the cross of Christ

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel (2 Tim. 2:8).

water-sliding

2010-06-18T17:45:00.001-06:00

I don’t do rides well. Never have. I tossed my cookies on a Zipper ride when I was a teen. I used to get car sick all the time. Fast forward to adulthood, and not a whole lot has changed.

I recently found myself at the top of a gargantuan water slide, after climbing what felt like a gazillion steps. My eight-year-old ran up the stairs in excitement. I stopped a couple of times to catch my breath. I like to imagine I’m eighteen, but my body doesn’t agree.

“I don’t know…” I deliberated. A few of the smaller slides had been fun. This one seemed like a serious commitment to thrills and possible bodily harm.

“Oh, come on, Mom. It’s fun!” my son, Mr. G., urged. “It’s not scary.”

My hindsight should have sounded an alert. When he says things like, “We aren’t taking you out for your birthday” what he is really saying is, “We are taking you out for your birthday, but I’m not supposed to tell you, so I’ll say the opposite, because I can’t keep a secret well yet, and this will help ease some pressure while not giving away the surprise.”

Mr. G. was giggling mischievously, but I thought he was just excited about the two of us racing to the finish on twin slides.

I hopped in, grabbed the top bar, and swung myself into the dark slide. I let the water carry me down, into the slippery darkness, worn smooth by hundreds of gleeful people, unsuspecting of the dangers to come. I lay on my back, my legs straight out in front, my arms across my stomach. I tensed my chest, shoulders and neck, craning my head up and forward, recalling that the more upright my body, the slower I should descend. It didn’t seem to matter one iota.

Soon, my body accelerated to the point that I could not keep my head up, no matter how hard I tried. I let it fall back onto the hard plastic, as I flew through the tunnel. It was dark. I expected darkness for a little while, but it continued. My stomach began to feel queasy. I snapped my eyes shut; that usually helped.

Now that my head was level with the water splashing off the slide, it spurted onto my face, and made me breathe in gasps. Any moment, I would be spat out into the receiving pool. When I felt a sharp downward plunge, I held my breath, but the splash didn’t come. Instead, the slide turned upward, and jolted me sideways, around corners, faster and faster, until another downward plunge forced me to hold my breath.

Again, no watery plunge. When? I was dizzy, disoriented, and gasping. I felt like I was going to be sick. It was like the time on a halibut charter when I had to pull myself into the core of my being to survive. When would the hellish decent end?

Finally, when I could bear it no longer, I was spit into the shallow end pool, unprepared, water forcing its way into my mouth, up my nose and sinuses. I sat, shaking, gasping for breath.

My son arrived in the next pod, hopped out and came to me. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“I don’t feel well,” I said.

“Tricked you!” Mr. G. said. “Let’s do it again!”

Getting Started

2010-06-11T15:15:00.004-06:00

Home Education has become mainstream. There are a lot of people doing it, and as a result, there many resources available. Where to begin?

parents are their children's first teachers

Parents are already teaching their children...

Early reading is the parent reading out loud to the child, demonstrating how to hold books, and pointing at letters and words with a finger to show the child the flow of words. Then the child will want to make his own letters, using his finger in sand, or on a steamed-up mirror, and eventually on paper with markers, or crayons. Letters are fun to make in 3-D, play-dough, or cut out of sandpaper.

Early grammar is correcting the child's speech, and modeling in conversation and daily interaction, the use of words in sentences.

Early math is teaching the child to count, to sort things (like his socks and blocks), measure to bake cookies, buy a treat at the store (using real money), weigh himself, guess how much snow will fall, and more.

Early history/geography/social is learning about his own family, his parents as children, about his grandparents, his neighbourhood, city, and how people came to live in the area, and about the sort of work they do. Young children also learn about their area's landscape and can use maps on trips.

Early science is noticing insects, flowers, trees, birds, bugs and any other nature in his yard, or at the park.

how to being formal lessons

The best recommendation for anyone wanting to begin formal lessons, is to buy a prepackaged curriculum, or guide.

for preschool / kindergarten

Konos Unit Studies is a 'hands-on' approach, with particular attention to character. This is a great program! The only complaint is that it is labour-intensive for the teaching mother, who needs to gather resources. It is worth it, if the mother can dedicate the time. Children learn well from hands-on activities.

Five In A Row (F.I.A.R.) is a literature based unit study, suitable for ages 4 and up. It is simpler to use than Konos. A parent reads an award winning picture book to her children, five days in a row, integrating lessons on various topics. {Also available is Before Five In A Row, and Beyond Five In A Row, for families who love this approach.} All a parent needs to add is math and phonics. There is some hands-on learning, as well as field trip recommendations.

Come Sit By Me is a Canadian program, similar to F.I.A.R. Literature based unit studies. I have not used it, but it looks user-friendly.

elementary

Sonlight, in my opinion, is hands-down, the best prepackaged home education program on the market. They put together an eclectic array of materials, and use great literature. Sonlight teaches a parent how to teach. I used Sonlight for second grade and loved it. I would have continued buying from them if they had added a Canadian History year. (Several years are heavy in American history, which is great if you're American!) It is expensive, but worth it. After using Sonlight, I was more confident creating my own eclectic curriculum.

many more choices

Those are my preferences. There are as many ways to home educate, as there are children.

Tree of Life School and Book Service has great resources, from a classical approach.

Canadian Home Education Resources has a nice blend of various resources.

Home School and More has an online catalogue and articles to help new families.

Home Education is not just something to do instead of school... it is a way of life.

Trial And Error Learning

2010-06-05T12:50:00.010-06:00

My older son, Aaron, and his friend were walking their dogs and spotted some frog eggs in a pond close to our house. He mentioned them to me. My mind swam back several years to when my older two did a frog unit study. We’d collected frog egg sacks and over time, watched them develop. A light bulb went off in my brain. “I think this is a great project to do with my younger son, Garrett.” So we headed down to the pond, pail and scooper in hand, and collected some frogspawn with the intention of returning the grown frogs to nature.

Garrett and I love the Frog and Toad storybooks, by Arnold Lobel.

I have a bad habit of making a little thing big, so I let a whole bunch of other moms know about our hop into Amphibian-Land. Some others joined us on our adventure. I gave quite a lot of eggs away, and still, when the tadpoles wiggled out of their casings, there were lots.

I had Garrett keep a record of development with small drawings.

A friend of mine is a confident frog dissector, so I asked her if she'd do the honors with a frog I had packed away in my basement (I had ordered specimens for Biology).

Our Nature Co-op watched the dissection, learned about frog anatomy and life-cycle, and did a craft.

Frog Life Cycle worksheets

About Frogs (Creationist viewpoint)

How do frogs survive the winter?

Frog species in Canada (we have tree frogs!)

Feeling confident about our frog-raising abilities, based on our huge hatch, we took half our tadpoles back to the pond to live out their natural lives. The rest, we cared for by adding water to their artificial habitat, and feeding. This went swimmingly for a couple of weeks, and the little guys were growing and congregating on the rocks we’d provided. Then we got busy and forgot to monitor our critters. I think our tank got too warm, sitting on our kitchen counter, and one morning, the brood were looking like they were on their last (non-existent) legs.

My young son and I did everything we could to save them. I scooped out the survivors, cleaned the tank, and fetched fresh creek water, a water marigold and some nutrient-rich mud to make the tadpoles feel at home in their revamped aqua-habitat. We carefully reintroduced them to their renovated lodgings. They seemed to enjoy their space at first, swimming around the rock island we’d constructed. Sadly, we only spotted one lone swimmer by the next day. I felt like a complete failure. My son’s eyes teared-up when he realized our critters had passed on to a better place.

I was no longer the confident amphibian raiser. Our adventure ended in failure. What lessons could be taught to my son? How could I ever regain his confidence when it came to being a caretaker of life?

Albert Einstein said, “Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.”

Fortunately, one of the other moms had a bumper crop of tadpoles and was willing to share. Given a second chance, we decided to move the aqua-habitat outside onto our front porch, so the swimmers wouldn’t overheat.

The fellow home-educating mom dropped some tadpoles off on the porch when we were out. She took the lid off the plastic container. When I returned home later, I found a container of pond water. “Hmm… maybe someone dumped the tadpoles into the tank already, and they’re hiding in the rocks,” I surmised. After talking with my family, it became apparent that a bird must have found the delicacies, and gulped them down for lunch.

I think we need to accept that raising frogs right now just isn’t working out.

Strangely, during this time, a lovely little bird met it’s Maker after flying into one of our windows and resting in peace on our back deck. We popped it into a Ziplock bag and put it in the freezer until we could locate our bird book and identify it. No chance of harming this creature. Bird study anyone?

2010-06-04T15:53:00.000-06:00

I am thankful for...

316. the fun time I had with my little guy floating in tubes at a wave pool

317. surviving a l-o-o-o-o-n-g ride down a dark and scary water slide, which I was tricked into, by a mischievous boy ("It's fun, mom! You'll love it!")

318. my Craftsman writers online group

319. my seventeen-year-old son's upcoming grad ceremony

320. reader-friends

321. almond butter

322. freckles

323. a fun night out with all my 'boys' for dinner and a 3-D movie for my husband's birthday

324. one of my favorite verses from the Word:

"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

Masterly Inactivity ~ from opera to tactical maneuvers to birds

2010-05-31T23:45:00.002-06:00

Charlotte Mason wrote about allowing children, once their formal lessons were complete for the day, time to play and ruminate over their lessons and reading. Charlotte called this Masterly Inactivity. A child's mind is capable of making connections, and weaving relationships between ideas.

I try to allow at least a couple of hours a day of unstructured time for this 'free play.'

Last week, my son Garrett was humming and building with Lego. Cleaning the kitchen close by, I was drawn to the tune, and recognized it to be one of the songs on The World's Very Best Opera for Kids... in English. I think he heard it on a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

I found it in a box, still packed from our move, and put it on the CD player in the kitchen. Garrett began bounding around, pretending to sword fight during the fast parts. He listened to the same song about ten times until I could bear it no longer, then we listened to the rest of the CD. The following day, we listened to his favourite song several times again, as well as the entire CD again. Afterwards, I suggested one of my favourites, Mozart's Magic Fantasy: A Journey Through The Magic Flute. Again, my son built Lego, and 'acted out' to the music.

Oftentimes, a parent needs to be available, and prepared to facilitate the child's own learning and enjoyment of something. When he's with me, I share with him what I love.

Along with all the music, we just finished off a book of Greek Myths.

He enjoyed the stories, even though some of them were quite bizarre. Many of the Greek gods acted like spoiled children, and it was comical to see them come to ruin more often than not. For Bible, we happened to read about the King of Babylon during Daniel's time. What great story companions. The connection between the myths, and the King worshipping statues made of gold, silver, wood, and stone was startling. Again, there were negative consequences, this time for not recognizing God as the one who causes leaders to be in power.

I did not point out these connections, but allowed my son to discover them, and form his own impressions. I just had him narrate back to me his own version of the stories. He doesn't tell me back everything word for word, but will recall what he feels are the important points. Mental composition.

A couple days later, I was away an entire day with my older son, and my husband had a man day with Garrett. First, they went to the Range. My husband set up balloons and targets, and taught his son how to shoot a .22. Next, they went to a gun show. After that, my husband took him to the dollar store and bought him a few inexpensive toys as a treat. They had a great day together. Much different, but so valuable for them both.

While I was away, I bought my son a rain suit, in traditional yellow. It was such a perfect day today, that I invited both sons along for a long trail walk. Garrett wished I'd bought him a camouflage outfit, but the yellow set would do... he used his imagination. He tucked his rain pants into his socks, put his rain coat on, a blue bandanna, kids' safety goggles, his fingerless bike gloves, a toy weapon in his pocket, and a few other odds and ends. During our walk, he would run ahead, crash into the bushes, hide, and scout for enemy troops. He rolled on the ground, and crossed a bridge by climbing along the outside of the handrail. (It was a small bridge over a creek, so thankfully not too deep should he fall.)

The sun blazed, and the poor kid overheated in his rain gear. He threw himself on the trail, finally, and said he couldn't go on. After a chuckle, my older son offered to carry his rain outfit for him, if he took it off, so off it all came.

After dinner, I took Garrett to the pool to practice his swimming, then back home, a snack and a chapter from The Wheel On The School.

I wonder if things will calm down now? The book is about schoolchildren wanting to bring storks back to their village in Holland. Oh, and we found a dead bird on our deck. It was sad to see the lifeless creature, and I would never want anyone to harm a bird, but we decided to save it to examine it better, and identify it. We are studying birds next.

"We don't measure a child's education solely by his progress in the three "R's," but by the number of living and growing things he knows, by look, name, and habitat." ~Charlotte Mason.

And...

"We never know just where a child's talents lie, until we give him a variety of opportunities and a wide curriculum. The child is eclectic; he may choose this or that; 'therefore, in the morning sow they seed, and in the evening withhold not they hand, for thou knowest not which shall prosper.'"

Using Charlotte Mason's methods for LA./English

2010-05-29T23:03:00.024-06:00

Many home educators love Charlotte Mason's philosophy of using whole, living books, and narration, dictation, and copywork for language arts, but it feels like a tight-rope walk without a safety net. It can be done; here's how.

Narration?

After reading a story, have the child 'tell back' what you have read, in his own words. This causes him to use his own powers of description, and mental composition, much like mental math. If he gets 'stuck,' help him with leading questions. Perhaps once a week, write down one of his narrations. When the child is confident in copywork, have him write his own narrations.

Just two 95 cent notebooks.

Your student will have two notebooks for Language Arts: One for COMPOSITION (which will contain his narrations and dictation exercises), and another for COPYWORK.

What to copy?

Use non-fiction story books about history or nature, historical fiction, or great literature, for copywork. This will be either a book too difficult for the child to read independently, otherwise known as a READ-ALOUD, or a book at the child's reading level, known as a READER. To find these, I use reading lists, such as Sonlight, or home education book suppliers' lists.

Additionally, I had my children copy Proverbs, and other Scripture, such as Psalms, and helpful ones for character training. Also, songs and poetry work well, for a change of pace.

To begin, copy a section in neat printing, or handwriting for the child to copy. Once he is finished, review the work and erase any errors, and have him rewrite until it is near perfect. As a guideline, use the number of sentences in keeping with the child's grade level. A third-grade child can copy three sentences. (Use your good judgement: If it's from The Wind in the Willows where a sentence is half a page long, one is likely enough!)

Older children do not need the teaching parent to first copy their sentences for them.

Dictation

Once or twice a week, choose a copywork lesson to dictate. Correct any errors. Dictate the same work, if the child has many errors.

I think this is the best method for copywork, narration, and dictation, since it is from books we are already reading. In this way, a child learns spelling and grammar, without tedious workbooks.

High School English

Once the child is about twelve years old, I use Writer's Inc. as an English BASE.

From his reading, usually History, I devise comprehension questions. I also assign Report Writing, and Essay Writing, on topics from History, or Electives, such as a hobby of interest.

To complete his assigned writing, the student must refer to Writer's Inc. to figure out how to do his work. This way, he is learning how to find information, and will remember it. This is also a great grammar reference. I have not used or found any grammar resource I would recommend. I think it's best to use their student's own writing, and have him correct his own errors by using Writer's Inc.

For high school, I use workbooks for spelling, and vocabulary. Of the 'schoolish' ones, I only recommend Bob Jones since it is least cumbersome. I prefer workbooks written specifically for home educators, such as Vocabulary from Classical Roots.

Language Arts and English can be done simply, and easily, using whole books.

Epic Walks

2010-05-26T10:22:00.001-06:00

Sometimes I crave adventure. Other times, I like a nice, easy stroll. I knew I was in for trouble last weekend when my husband, the Builder led me and our youngest son down unmarked trails, past warning signs. Oh well, I thought… I’d brought my camera and glasses (so I could adjust the settings) to enjoy the fresh-green forest. We had lots of time.

We’d been on several of these Epic Walks, as the kids have taken to calling them. When the Builder says he’s going out on the trails, he doesn’t usually go into any detail, unless pressed. One of the older ones asks, “Is this going to be on paved trails or down into the valley? Should we bring water?”

Or perhaps we should ask, “Do we need to bring a First Aid Kit?” Of course, no one can usually foresee what kinds of scrapes, tangles, steep inclines or creeks one will encounter without having previously been on one of the Builder’s Epic Walks.

One New Years Day several years ago, our older son and I went for an Epic Walk with the Builder. We parked near the trailhead referred to as The Old Fisheries. All started fine and well… until the Builder decided to go further than our usual three kilometre walk. “I wonder where this trail goes?” can be a dangerous coniferous flirtation. It was difficult to see the path for the trees as we meandered after the Builder into denser forest. Up paths, down and around trails. Occasionally, a snowmobile or quad would pass. The Builder had no need to enquire about the trail’s destination.

We went on and on. I knew we were in trouble when the Builder got tense. We wound our way to the Athabasca River and snaked along paths. It had been hours at this point. As the sun began to set on the western horizon, we kept faith that we’d soon emerge at a recognizable spot. And we finally did, cold and exhausted. Our daughter who had stayed home to babysit the youngest was glad she’d been spared the adventure.

Now here we were again, on an Epic Walk going down into a valley, toward a rushing creek: the confluence of Conn Creek North and Conn Creek South. Unfortunately, the bridge was washed out from the ice and snow over winter. Spring run-off overflowed its banks. The last snowstorm felled numerous trees, so there was a log for crossing the creek. I clipped my camera to my belt loop, and tucked my new glasses into my jacket pocket. The water didn’t look very deep, but still, I didn’t want to wet my feet. So along the log, then a few precarious steps across a slab of ice, and we were on the opposite bank, thrashing through pokey wild-rose bushes. When we stopped to catch our breath, I slipped my hand into my pocket to check on my glasses. Gone.

We searched thicket and bramble for a long time and swatted at giant mosquitoes. Finally, we gave up and continued our trek.

I was completely lost, but the Builder knew where we were and led us back home in good time. Sadly, I have no photos of that Epic Walk, since I couldn’t see well enough to operate my camera.

another year

2010-05-18T23:44:00.004-06:00

What is so great about birthdays?

When I turned forty, a friend came to my door with a gift. She, at length, told me how she was quite shy and didn't like people to know it was her special day, and she didn't like a big deal made. "You don't mind, though, do you?"

"Actually, I'm hiding out in the house today," I told her. "And I turned off the phone."

"Oh, I thought you didn't mind attention because there's a big sign out front on a shrub."

"What??!!" I said. I ran outside and found a huge sign with a goofy rhyme about turning forty. I pulled it down, red-faced. It was late in the afternoon by then. I supposed all the neighbours had seen it. "How embarrassing," I muttered.

I found out it was the work of my daughter Chloe, and son Aaron. They had gotten up early, and snuck outside before I woke.

Not much has changed. I still don't like birthdays. I find I have selective memory... I can't easily recall how old I am. I lose track, and I don't care to do the math.

To me, it isn't one day that is special. It is...

Life lived
Experience gained
Wisdom earned
Love shared
Gifts given
Encouragement spoken

Let me count my years not with birthdays, but with times that are dear to me.

Gifts for which I am thankful:

303. four beautiful tulips, each unique, and the friends who came with them:)

304. choke-cherry flowers

305. screens

306. curtains

307. window cranks

308. hot sun

309. thunder

310. the smell of rain on hot cement

311. gregarious flowers at all the stores, begging "Take me home!"

312. shiny Mediterranean blue planter

313. delicious plans

314. an obedient heart

315. joy that snuck up