Questions for Jennifer

I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to recycle one of the questions I gave Paul, because I'd like to hear how you'd answer it.

Here goes.

1. You grew up in a really large family. How has your growing up experience influenced how you parent your own children?

2. How, after attending an Anabaptist college, did you end up Presbyterian?

3. What do you like most and least about being a pastor's wife?

4. Who are your favorite literary heroines? With what fictional character have you felt the greatest kinship?

5. You just won a contest sponsored by Miramax. They offered to make any book of your choosing into a film. What book do you choose? What casting suggestions do you give?

When you post your answers on your blog, please include the following:
::If you would like to participate too, here are your instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions (not the same as you see here).
3. You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.::

You turn your back for one minute....
(not for the squeamish)

This evening, I was helping gather up dinner items to carry out to the dining room, when I hear Joel let out a big "Aieee!" from the next room.

I ran to see what the matter was, and Joel walked into the kitchen carrying a tiny, maimed mouse.

"Claire was holding this, cuddling it close to her face!" Joel said. "Yuck! I mean, it's cute and all, but gross!" He carried it out the back door and plopped it in the garden. We then washed Claire's hands and face with antibacterial soap.

This mouse was really small, probably about an inch and a half body with a long tail. It must be a litter mate of the mouse Keats was tormenting last week. I doubt that little critter survived so many days after the mauling Keats gave it.

Note to self: Stop procrastinating. Buy traps.

Questions for Paul
OK Duggie-meister, here are your questions:

1. You just won a contest sponsored by Miramax. They offered to make any book of your choosing into a film. What book do you choose? What casting suggestions do you give?

2. If you could have any of the following services free for the next year, which would you choose? Explain your choice.
a. a live-in housekeeper
b. a minivan chauffeur service for your family
c. a chef service that drops off hot meals to your door
d. a personal trainer and dietician to help your family be fit and healthy
e. a life coach to help you with your career, parenting, marriage relationship and any other emotional issues in your life

3. If you were offered a generous stipend to pursue an advanced degree, what would you study?

4. A wealthy relative offers to send you and Sylvia on a three-week all-expenses-paid dream vacation to celebrate your 10th anniversary (without the kids!). Where do you go?

5. If you had free rein to change the worship services at Tenth Presbyterian, what alterations would you make?

When you post your answers on your blog, please be sure to include the instructions (see my earlier post).

Rats!
Or should I say "Mice!"? As I write this, my little black kitty Keats is tormenting a young, gray rodent under the buffet in my dining room. I suspected he had found some new prey when I heard him rambunctiously scampering around, his license clinkety-clinking.

The last I checked, he had the mouse cornered in a coiled piece of extension cord on the floor. The mouse would peep up his tiny, gray head every once in a while, only to receive a sound swat from Keats. While I don't relish the thought of the dirty rodent skittering across any part of my person, it is awfully cute and deserves to have a more humane death. Perhaps we should buy some traps. Quick and no torture.

I just hope I don't wake up to find a dead mouse on the threshold of our bedroom. Earlier this week that's where Keats left a pocket pack of Kleenex that he "killed" for us. Weird cat.

Interview questions from Dawn

1. What is your favorite thing about your house? Why?
I think the location is still what I love most. We're in the city, with easy access to museums, fine dining and shopping, yet surrounded by lots of trees. Since I grew up in a rural area, trees are very important to me. Extensive hiking and biking trails are just a block away. At the same time, there's a movie theatre and wine shop within walking distance.

The area also has a strong sense of neighborhood. We actually know several of our neighbors' names and talk to them regularly. Many of the early 1900s homes are just really pretty to see as well.

2. If you had to choose only one artistic ability (sing, cook, draw/paint/etc., play an instrument, or another) to excel at what would it be?
I think I could happily forgo being a Broadway or opera star if I could excel at creative writing. I would love to write books for pre-teens and teenagers that capture their imaginations and help nerdy kids feel good about their particular strengths. It's something Madeleine L'Engle does well and why she remains one of my heroes.

3. Are you still liking being a "stay at home" mom? What is the most challenging?
I still really love being home, but I'm still in a honeymoon phase, I think. The most challenging part is yet to come, when discipline issues really come to the fore. Two-year-olds are very skilled at pushing their parents' buttons and wearing them down with persistent misbehavior (whining, tantrums, etc.).

4. Susan Howatch. I've read Wheel of Fortune. Where do I start in her other books?
I'd recommend going to what she wrote next, the Church of England series. The first book is Glittering Images, then Glamorous Powers, Ultimate Prizes, Scandalous Risks, Mystical Paths and Absolute Truths. The series is arranged chiastically. The first and sixth books deal with a father and son who represent the evangelical wing of Anglicanism. The second and fifth book deal with a different father and son, who represent the Anglo-Catholic and Charismatic wing. The central two books both look at one character from two points of view. He represents the liberals. I think he's central because liberalism became a kind of turning point in the church's history.

5. You've had a rather, um, eclectic history with churches. How did you come to the PCA and does a "Reformed" view fit well with your theology?
I came to the PCA in a rather circuitous way that seems kind of typical of my life. Here goes:

I got a low-paying job in the Philly area and needed a cheap place to stay. I called the only Southern Baptist church in the area (the denom. I was attending with my parents at home), and asked to put up a notice on their bulletin board. Within a week, a Christian family called me and offered a free place to stay if I would live with their elderly relative and do housework, laundry and errands. Within four months, the elderly woman died.

One of this lady's close friends decided to take me under her wing and invited me to attend church with her family. They, of course, attended Tenth Presbyterian. For quite a while, I continued attending the Southern Baptist church in the morning and Tenth Presby in the evening. A large part of what got me to leave the Baptists was the fact that they had almost no other single people in the congregation.

Going only to Tenth was a difficult transition in some ways. I hadn't grown up with infant baptism or such emphasis on doctrine. I found myself reacting to the first sermons I heard from James Boice with a mix of eagerness to hear more and irritation. I'll try to explain this in my answer to the second half of the question.

The second part of this question (does a "Reformed" view fit well with your theology?) is rather hard to answer. I think my faith has been strongly shaped by my eclectic background, and at heart I want to incorporate the strengths of several traditions. I think reformed preaching appeals to my intellectual side, and I prefer traditional worship on the whole. Most of my quibbles with the PCA are not theological. It's more matters of style, liturgy and attitude that bother me.

I've met too many reformed people who find assurance of their salvation in having the right ideas about Jesus and his atoning work, rather than through actual faith in Christ. The intellectualism that gets so much praise in reformed circles can in some ways be a liability. "Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up." I see people becoming discouraged because they're expected to be "theological racehorses" when their spiritual gifts lie elsewhere and rarely get used to build up the church. (My thanks to John B. for articulating this so well in a conference talk.)

I don't want to belabor the point here. I like a lot of things about our church. Some things I'd like to be different. Part of my faith journey has been an increased interest in liturgical worship. Aside from wanting to receive the Lord's Supper more often, I like the fact that liturgy is very Trinitarian. I think the Baptists frankly have a more robust view of the Holy Spirit than most Presbyterians I know.

I could probably be very happy as an Anglican, if there were any churches of the non-wacky-liberal variety anywhere near us.


::If you would like to participate too, here are your instructions:
1. Leave me a comment saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions (not the same as you see here).
3. You will update your blog/site with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.::

Rental
If you're looking for something fun to rent from the video store this week, I recommend A Mighty Wind. It's another mockumenary from the creators of Best of Show. Many of the same actors appear in both films.

The writers really capture the documentary feel so well that you're shocked to laughter by some of the absurd things the actors say or do. I think it's that mixture of mock serious mixed with the silly and outlandish that also makes Monty Python so appealing.

I'm not especially familiar with the world of folk music, other than being vaguely aware that it was popular when I was little. Joel said that he thought the mock folk songs were fabulous parodies, then played a few Peter, Paul and Mary tunes to prove it. The writers did indeed satirize the genre amazingly well.

Perhaps the most funny of all is one of the female singers from the group "The New Main Street Singers" who explains her religion, WINC or "wink." The tenets of this faith include the worship of color. She and her husband do quirky rituals before each rehearsal and performance that are absolutely sidesplitting.

Aaah shelf space
In the spirit of non-hoarding, I want to get rid of some of my books. For a while I belonged to three book groups and read some stuff I didn't much care for. Some I've earmaked to pass on to others who might enjoy the stories I didn't like. The others I can't in good conscience recommend.

Here are a few examples:
Personal History by Katharine Graham. Too long. Annoyingly huge amount of name dropping. You'd think a newspaper publisher could be more pithy and tell only the really interesting bits.

Waiting by Ha Jin. A love story in communist China that is more frustrating than Remains of the Day. Characters become increasingly unlikable as the story progresses.

Ahab's Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund. This book starts great, then takes a major swerve with twists that strain credulity more than I'm willing to suspend disbelief.

It's not a huge pile, maybe 10 or 12 books altogether. I'm thinking of selling them on amazon.com. Have any of you done this before? Any tips? Pitfalls to avoid?

Waaah!
I just realized I have less than a week until the big 3-5. It kind of sneaked up on me this year. Soon I won't be able to say "I'm in my early 30s" without lying outright.

On the bright side, we're going to a cool, free Celtic music festival on Saturday to celebrate. Wahoo!

Hoarding
I was re-reading the last issue of re:generation quarterly (now defunct) and came across a great article on homemaking. What really stuck with me was this (a rough paraphrase, because I can't find the issue today):

"Jesus said that if we hoard our possessions, they will rot."

That really nailed me to the wall, because I have a terrible time parting with clothes, even if I never wear them. The author challenged readers to see our hoarding of stuff rather than giving as stealing from the poor.

It really felt like a breakthough to hear this. I hit the closets harder than I ever had before. I tried to picture the woman who really needed the clothes I wasn't wearing. A blazer and skirt for the single mom trying to make it and raise her kids alone. Jeans for a teenager whose parents neglect her. A sweater for an elderly woman scraping by on Social Security.

Filling bag after bag became like a prayer. Bless her, and her and her and her. Wrap Your love around every one who receives these clothes. And thank You for Your abundance. Help me to always rush to give and hesitate to hoard.

A calling
This evening I was looking through a book on various saints that someone gave Claire as a gift. I found some food for thought in the entry on Ann, the mother of Mary and patron of homemakers:

"Human beings are not like birds, whose instincts tell them how to make the right nest for their offspring. Homemakers must use their minds to discover how to create a home that will protect, nurture and teach the children who belong there. While each bird hatched in the nest is almost identical to all the other birds in the species, no human child is like any other. The homemaker works to create a place and make the time in which each unique child has a chance to grow and flower into a strong and loving person for whom the world will give thanks.

"Making a home that protects children has less to do with locks and bolts than with the loving presence of a homemaker who is aware of the many dangers children face, both body and soul. The homemaker employs experience and foresight to guard the children from such danger. A true homemaker does not run a fast-food concession. She or he knows that meals shared around the family table not only provide better nutrition but also help prepare them for life in the community outside the home.

"The homemaker teaches the children of the household not only by direct instruction but by creating the home environment: Tables and chairs are arranged with children in mind; storage cases, cabinets and dressers are provided to encourage children to be independent and orderly. The homemaker is true to this vocation when she or he makes the home's simple, everyday objects speak to the children of their own dignity." (Patrons and Protectors: Occupations, Liturgy Training Publications, Chicago, 2001)

I've been somewhat concerned about the level of priority that's appropriate to give tidyness when parenting a small child. So many of my peers keep a different standard than what I grew up with. I wonder if I'm becoming too persnickety. But this excerpt did bolster my belief that creating an orderly environment is an important part of helping children grow, giving them a sense of safety, proportion and rhythm.

Back
Been away since last Wednesday visiting friends while Joel was at a conference. Claire had an awesome time trying to keep up with my girlfriend's 2- and 3-year-old. Her walking improved tremendously for one. She even went to the zoo for the first time. The monkeys were a big hit.

Abundance
Choir started for the year, and it's great to be singing with a group again after a 9 year hiatus. One side benefit of joining the group, I thought, would be getting to know more people at church.

God knows what we need better than we know ourselves sometimes. At rehearsal last night, the director asked all the new people to introduce ourselves. He started with the sopranos, so I explained that I'm a stay-at-home-mom and where I live in the city. When the altos started intoducing themselves, one of the women said she also was a SAHM in the same section of the city and that she really wanted to talk to me afterwards because she's new to the area and "I really need friends."

We talked after rehearsal, and it turns out this gal lives on the street that runs parallel to mine, basically just ONE BLOCK away! We were both really excited. She has use of a car most days, and I know the area fairly well, so it will be fun to have someone to errand run and explore with. Her son is 2 1/2, so it will be interesting to see how the kids interact.

I'd had a kind of secret wish for a friend who's close by to do things with, but hadn't ever articulated this desire to anyone, or even specifically prayed for it. God truly does provide more than we ask or imagine.

1 kraZ mama
How utterly kewl is this? I found a pair of Rollerblades (yep, the brand name ones) in my size for just $10 at a yard sale. They threw in the full set of knee, elbow and wrist pads for free. I'd been scouring yard sales all summer in search of blades for a more fun workout. I never dreamed I'd find them so cheap.

I first tried blading two years ago at a roller rink and thought it was fun. It's more like ice skating, which I can do without embarrassing myself too much. Today I took Claire and the stroller and my new blades (and pads and a helmet) to the River Drive to get rolling.

I don't know what I was thinking. I have next to no experience and set off using the stroller to balance. That was well and good until I hit a slight incline. I didn't know how to get enough momentum to go uphill, or how to safely slow down going downhill. At one point I had to roll off the trail into some grass to slow down and banged the stoller into a fence. My water bottle went flying, making the impact seem harder than it really was. Claire was unphased, but I was really shaken. My good sense returned and I knew I needed to take off the skates, go to a flat place, then try skating.

I did pretty well on the flat. My ankles and hips got a bit achy, but I'm beginning to get the hang of this skating thing. My rule of thumb for now is NO HILLS. And definitely no hills while pushing the stroller.

Crisis averted
Whew. We heard from the vet today and Keats' blood tests were normal. The vet thinks he was licking his leg repeatedly because of an allergy (the area he's licking is rashy). The vet thinks the continence issue might be related to that.

I think it might really be a territorial thing. The spot he liked to pee on was some cotton rugs we'd layed out for Nicky to nap on. The rugs sit right next to Keats' feeding area. It would make sense for him to become suddenly territorial with Nicky after we returned from vacation. Keats needed to re-establish hierarchy here after spending 18 days carving out his hierarchical spot among my brother's pets.

The weight loss could have also occurred while we were on the road. Keats may actually be regaining weight lost then. After all, Nicky usually goes on a hunger strike for a few days when we leave him with a pet sitter. Keats likely did the same.

Joel thinks my UTI hypothesis might still be correct, since the vet wasn't able to collect a sample for urinalysis. No fever could mean he was getting better on his own.

We're just glad it's nothing serious. The possible diabetes diagnosis was especially scary. It would have meant type I diabetes since he is so young and thin. A special diet for an aging fat cat is one thing, daily insulin shots is another matter altogether.

Kitty crisis
Mr. Keats has had some continence problems lately, so I asked Joel to take him to the vet. I figured it was just a urinary tract infection. Well, the vet said Keats doesn't have other UTI symptoms like a fever. His thirst and weight loss over the past 3 months did worry the vet though.

So they took some blood and are testing Keats for feline diabetes and kidney disease. Neither diagnosis sounds like a fun road ahead to me. We frankly can't afford the costly care if he has either condition, but I don't relish the thought of having to put down a cat who's only 2 years old. :-( I doubt anyone would be keen to adopt a chronically ill pet.

There is an outside chance that Keats has an anxiety disorder, because he also licked part of one of his legs bald. If that's the case, a month on medication should cure him.

We'll have a better idea when the lab results come in. It's hard not to worry about the worst case scenario.

Welcome to geezerhood
This week Joel will finally be the same age as me. Of course, I get to forge ahead further into geezerhood at the end of the month.

I don't know why I was always so eager to be a year older when I was a kid. I think I'm finally beginning to understand that whole "29 and holding" thing.

Nunsense?
This evening I returned a video to the video store. As I was leaving, a car full of nuns pulled into the parking lot.

What do you suppose they were going to rent? The Sound of Music? Sister Act? My guess? The Fast and the Furious. :-)

Pen pals
While cleaning out a closet, I came across a bundle of old letters from a pen pal I had through high school and college. Talk about a blast from the past, some of the letters date back to 1982! I'd met this fellow at a Christian summer camp and we became friends because of a mutual interest in music.

How exciting it used to be to get mail. But of course, the letters seemed so few and far between. I envy modern kids and their online pen pals, able to shoot replies in no time, e-mail photos, IM or even use a Web cam. Of course, they miss some of the goofy goodies my pen pal used to send--Canadian coins, broken strings from his violin, stickers and French vocabulary lists.

I wish I knew exactly what I'd written in my first letter to this pen pal. I'm sure it was something dreadfully sassy, because he replied "I didn't expect any of the girls to fall madly in love with me, so don't give yourself credit with uncovering any of my suppositions." LOL. I must have accused him of being flirtatious, the sort of thing a 13-year-old girl considers high treason in male friends.

As I read through the stack, it was a little sad to see how ordinary the letters were--talk of the weather, school and grades, learning new instuments in band, family trips, plans for college. This fellow seemed so much more witty when I was 14, 15, 16 years old.

The last time we met in person was 1986. I was heading off for Messiah with new contact lenses and big dreams. He still had grade 13 to complete.

We stopped corresponding in college. I'm not sure which of us stopped answering the other's letters. Today it strikes me as a little sad that I've lost track of so many old friends.

Dear John from Altamonte, Ontario,
Do you remember meeting me at Camp Susque? We were going into 9th grade. We wrote letters regularly for the next six or seven years. What ever happened to you, John?

I graduated with an English degree, worked in publishing for 10 years, got a master's degree, got married, and now have a great kid. She loves to play our piano (not very well though, she's only one!).

Please write back soon.

Why I love my job
It is really, really cool to have the time flexibility of a SAHM. I was able to spend the morning today at my injured friend's house helping out with some housekeeping and a meal. I never would have been able to do that while I was working. Even my weekends were busy with errands and chores.

I also played with my starting-to-walk kid for hours, reading stories and singing songs. Her new word for the week is "cracker." I would have missed her first steps and new words if I were working.

And tonight I made two batches of peach jam. Mmm mmm. I love keeping up all these great domestic skills my mom taught me as a kid that no one I know does any more. I know people who knit, make their own bread and grow fresh vegetables, but I don't know anyone else who still cans. And it's quite easy--especially jam.

Owie!
Please pray for hierogrammate's wife. She broke her leg today at a church women's brunch (slid on an embankment outside). They have two small kids, age 2 and 4, and no bathroom on the first floor of their 3-story twin.

We her friends also need wisdom in knowing how to be of help to the family. One thing that's pretty obvious is that it's time to take my compulsive tidying on the road. ;-)

She did it!
Today Claire took her first steps. w00t! We're very excited...and a little sad. They just grow up so fast!

By accident
I just remembered something funny from vacation when we attended church in Atlanta.

When we picked up Claire from the church nursery, one of the workers handed us Claire's diaper bag and said "Oh, she had an accident."

Our reaction was, "Oh! Is she OK?" thinking she'd fallen, bonked her head or pinched her fingers.

"Oh yes," the worker said, "we changed her diaper at about 11:45."

Is this just one of those weird Southern affectations, not saying things like "dirty diaper"? In my mind, only the toilet-trained can have accidents. A baby using a diaper for its intended purpose is not "an accident," it's very deliberate!

Quiz quandary
Well, I took the "What Country Are You?" quiz and got a surprising answer. I'm not sure what to make of it. Any interpretations? Tell me in the comments.

You're South Africa!

After almost endless suffering, you've finally freed yourself from the oppression that somehow held you back.  Now your diamond in the rough is shining through, and the world can accept you for who you really are.  You were trying to show who you were to the world, but they weren't interested in helping you become that until it was almost too late.  Suddenly you're a very hopeful person, even if you still have some troubles.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

Borrowed time
My luck will likely run out soon. Claire has been napping 3-4 hours a day while she's in a current growth spurt. It's been great getting cleaning and organizing projects done, walking the dog and even blogging occasionally while she rests.

My project list is entirely too long. Five closets need serious attention. The study is a fire hazard, as is the basement. I have to keep reminding myself that I really can take months to do these projects if necessary. Having fun with Claire and helping her learn is really my core job anyway.

Reader's lament
Last night I discovered that Susan Howatch's much anticipated new St. Benet's novel, The Heartbreaker, is out. In fact, it has been out since April. Unfortunately, this seems like news I have to receive with fingers in both ears while whistling loudly because it's only available in hardback from Amazon UK. Not exactly in our budget right now. The paperback is available for pre-order if anyone really wants to make my late September birthday extra happy. ;-)

Carter Graham is back with her new, more feminine name, Carta. She's now doing fundraising for St. Benet's instead of working as a high-powered tax attorney. The setting is 1990s London during the recession. I'm eager to see how the story unfolds.

In the U.S., several of Howatch's early Gothic novels are back in print. These might be worth a read, not sure. One of the women in our book group had been somewhat prejudiced against Howatch because the early novels that made her popular had such sordid, overblown plots. I kind of thought that was just the expectation for the Gothic genre. This friend was really blown away by Howatch's 2000 novel The High Flyer, so I'm guessing early Howatch may really disappoint.

Par-tay
Saturday we had a little shindig to celebrate Claire's first birthday, which is this week. I really had fun preparing. The theme was "indoor picninc." The "indoor" part was wise because a thunderstorm hit during the middle of the party.

The menu included wonderful picnic food: barbecue chicken, homemade potato and macaroni salads, fruit salad, three kinds of chips, cake and homemade ice cream. We decorated with checked tablecloths and napkins, lots of baskets, streamers and balloons. I set up a teddy bear picinic tableau on the mantle, which I thought the kid guests and grandmothers would enjoy. Here's a pic:



Claire wore an uber-cute embroidered party dress and had a great time playing with the pint-sized guests.



New toys and old ended up strewn from one end of the house to the other. It was really hard to turn off what I now realize is a compulsive tidying streak. I think the compulsive tidying is why I have such a hard time cooking. I feel like I have to wash every item I dirty right then and there.

Night terrors
Last night while we were watching the evening news, Claire suddenly woke up screaming. It's not unusual for her to wake between 11 and midnight, cry for 10 seconds then fall back to sleep. But this was different--she wasn't crying the "I'm thirsty" or "I'm so tired" cry. She was really freaked out.

We went up to see what was the matter. Even when I held her she wouldn't stop crying. She didn't want a drink and wailed inconsolably regardless of which of us held her. I thought the two parent ruckus might be too much, so I sent Joel to bed and tried rocking Claire on the twin bed in her room. As soon as he shut the door, she screamed even louder and started kicking.

I started to worry that she had gas pain or some other health problem, so I switched on a table lamp with a low watt bulb that we keep in her room to get a better look. She seemed to calm down almost immediately.

It was a mommy Aha moment. My baby is becoming a toddler! She's now afraid of the dark.

When Joel had left the room, he'd cut the ambient light coming in from the next room. Ah.

I put Claire back in her crib and gave her her favorite blanket. She flopped sleepily on it and looked up at me as if to say, "what took you so long to make the bad dark to go away?"

Now she has her very own night light.

Next stop, tantrums and picky eating....

Knit wits
I occasionally peek at some of the blogs on Dawn's copious blogroll and came across this one. It's somewhat interesting to hear about others' creative endeavors, as long as some other topics are thrown in. Ya know, a little variety.

I can't imagine being so engrossed in a hobby that I'd want to make it my exclusive blogging topic. Excuse me, but, BOR-ing.

The really scary part is that a whole host of the knitting obsessed blog their yarns about, well, yarn...

I have heaps of embriodery floss. Many needles. Much aida cloth. But I don't intend to catalog how many Xs I stitched today. So please send me a cyber-slap if this blog ever becomes a hobby-obsessed abyss. Thanks.

Blogger meeting
Among the highlights of our trip last month was meeting Dawn and Barb in Ohio. Barb's dog Angus and our Nicky became fast friends, being the same size and equally up for playing tag. Barb's cat Eleven, however, was far less enthusiastic than Nicky about any sort of friendship.

You see, Nicky mistook Barb's small, black feline for our small, black feline, Keats. Nicky was really missing his kitty brother who came to our home as a kitten and enjoys a good wrestling match every once in a while. Eleven, however, is far too dignified for such shenanigans. Nicky chased the poor kitty in circles and he was so eager to escape, he leapt up a chair and bounced off the ceiling. I've never seen a cat jump so high. Let's just say it was quite the icebreaker for our party.

Claire gorged on copious amounts of fruit, while we enjoyed a really yummy meal. The sausage and pastry dish was especially memorable (recipe, please!).

The conversation was lively and we stayed longer than we'd planned, we were having such a good time. I can't recall all the topics covered. Some of the things we discussed were the conference--and tangential topics related to talks given and people we met-- and careers and movies. Joel and I did our best to defend Moulin Rouge, which works to deconstruct the romantic musical genre and in so doing shows that stories about redemptive love resist deconstruction. (But many people can't get past the frenetic first half hour and don't get the humor.)

My first comment to Joel as we drove away was "I wish all these cool people didn't live so far away! I'd love to hang out with them more often!"

Thanks again for your gracious hospitality, Barb, and for giving up a vacation day, Dawn!

I know, I promised
Yeah, yeah, I said I would post more about our trip last month. But here I am not writing it. But I really will. I even have a few photos to post. Eventually....

Out of the stone age
A nice couple from our church donated software for us to computerize our church library catalog. Well, we tried it out today and it's a DOS-based system from 1985! Yikes, I'd forgotten how cumbersome computing was in that era. Remember all those BASIC commands you needed to copy files, open them, save? Remember swapping around 3 or 4 different disks to open the program, enter data, then save it? Oy vey. I'm glad technology has come a long way since then.

I think we're going to purchase a program called ResourceMate. The price is within our budget and the demo seemed pretty easy to use. It even allows you to import cataloging information from the Library of Congress database. We can later add capabilities to make our catalog searchable from the Web so that church members can see if we carry a book or video. It would be cool to eventually make our check-out system computerized too. We could more easily track overdues for one.

You wouldn't believe how far overdue some materials are--I think some items checked out as long ago as 1990 have never been returned. Aside from enstating a fine system, I'm not sure how to really beef up our current system of mailing overdue notices to patrons. What's really appropriate in a church setting? Public shaming in the church bulletin?

SAHM
What a misnomer, "stay-at-home-mom." I have hardly been home at all my first week in my new career as domestic engineer. Aside from loads of errand running and a few appointments, Claire and I have been out being social. We had our first "play date" with some friends from church today--fun for both of us. Tuesday I got to play tour guide for my sister, niece and niece's friend visiting from Hungary. They had a few hours to kill before putting the Hungarian teenager on a plane for Budapest. She loved City Hall and the other Victorian-era buildings in Center City, including the recently renovated Reading Terminal. She even showed mild interest in Philly's historic sites. It got me wondering if Europeans, with their Medieval churches and walls still standing, think our short history like the memoirs of a grade schooler.

Back in the saddle
OK, I'm making an earnest attempt to blog again, though I have to admit I've been avoiding the computer because it feels too much like work. After telecommuting twice a week for nine months, I will probably have this gut-level feeling for a while.

Anyhoo... our 3,000 mile adventure on the road with pup and babe went surprisingly well. The big SUV we rented did make for a much more comfortable trip. (I still think the SUV acronym stands for "Satan's usual vehicle," a prime example of American conspicuous consumption. But that's another rant entirely.)

The biggest downside to our arrangement was meals, which on the road were primarily drive-though fast food eaten in the truck. I'm really regretting we didn't send Nicky to obedince school. Buy the right harness, take my glasses away and I think we could have pulled off a pretty convincing seeing-eye impression. But alas, our fur boy is too spazzy for such a role that would have made him acceptable in restaurants everywhere. And since we didn't want baked dog, the whole family was banished to eating in the vehicle.

Claire took a few steps back in her eating on the trip too. We're trying to wean her off pureed food from jars, but it's honestly the most convenient way to feed a kid on the road. Most fast food fare isn't appropriate for the under 1 set. Pre-toddlers generally aren't good at warning you they're going to need to eat soon. Suddenly, she shifts from happily playing to cranky and crying--"Feed me NOW!" And she's so messy feeding herself, it's just cleaner and faster to spoon out the Gerber purees.

I learned a lot about hospitality on the trip. Not that I could really articulate it well now without some concentrated reflection. That's on my mental "agenda" in the coming weeks, however, since I've been trying to pull together a second article for Meshereth magazine on the topic. I wrote the first one somewhat under the gun and see a lot of places I could have clarified or expanded a bit.

We really did get to see the famed "Southern hospitality" in practice. One of Joel's BH friends had arranged for us to stay with a former parishoner in Birmingham, Ala. This fellow then realized he'd be out of town and said his mother, who lives next door, would be happy to put us up.

Well, we didn't have her phone number, and because Joel had worked out so many details via e-mail with the son, we just showed up. As I'd vaguely feared, she didn't know who we were. But she welcomed us in anyway, happy to have company on a quiet weekend when most of the family (who all live nearby) were away. Once we explained our connection to various BH folk, she was simply delighted, asking after various people we'd met at the conference. (We now think she had simply forgotten discussing our visit with her son, rather than that he'd never told her.)

She had several bedrooms ready and available, bathroom set up with fresh towels even. She's accustomed to a steady stream of kids and grandkids visiting. It really made me think about what it means to be willing at all times to show hospitality...and showing kindness to strangers. Especially when we went out to dinner and she wouldn't let us pay.

More trip stories to come...

The South is another country
Conversation between Joel and young boy in a motel parking lot in Kentucky.
Boy: Hi, mister
Joel: Hi
Boy: That shuer a purtty dawg. Do he bayte?
Joel: No, he won't bite, he's pretty friendly.
{nicky howls}
Boy: You shuer he don't bayte?
Joel: He just howls when he's excited.
Boy: Well, Ize skeert a dawgs.
Joel: I see. Well, I'm going to take him for his walk now.
Boy: Bye, mister.

Kitty withdrawal
I miss my wicked kitty. Mr. Keats is staying with my brother for a few weeks while we travel.

I drove him to my brother's on Sunday evening and he cried the entire 45 minute trip. I'd packed him in a tall open-top box with a cozy towel and some food. Occassionally, he'd peep his head out of the box, see the cars on the highway behind us and cry even louder, as if to say "What is happening? Oh help!"

The trauma continued when we got to J's. He has two dogs that Keats used to know when he was a kitten. (J's former cat is Keats' mom. She got hit by a car this past spring.) J let Keats get his bearings, then let in the dogs one at a time. The small dog ignored Keats, the big one wanted to play. I hung around for an hour, and Keats was still under the dining room table, back arched, hissing at the big dog like mad.

My poor furry boy. I didn't get to hug him goodbye because he hissed at all of us for fear of the dog. I hope by tomorrow they will have established some sort of pecking order and will get along fine. I guess his casual attitude towards dogs really only applies to his "brother" Nicky.

Yum
I just had another dish of the homemade peach ice cream we made last weekend with our new ice cream maker from my in-laws. I had tried to lighten the recipe a little by using 1% milk where it called for milk and whipping cream in place of heavy cream. It's still so amazingly rich (read: fatty) it leaves a film in the bowl. Joel quipped "mmm, this is good peachy butter...er, I mean ice cream."

Civic duty
Yesterday I spent a L-O-N-G day taking part in Philly's jury selection process. You sit in a big room with 300 to 400 other city residents and wait to be called to a group to go to a courtroom and wait some more. The lawyers whittle the larger group down to 12 and send the remaining "rejects" to be "recycled." If you're recycled, you go back to the big room and wait some more to be called to a courtroom and inspected by lawyers. When all the judges have as many jurors as they need, the remaining "recycled" folks get to go home. For this wonderful service of waiting for hours and hours, you earn a whopping $9 per day.

All the waiting is indeed dull, though I had reading material and some needlework to keep me occupied. The pool of potential jurors is an interesting cross section of the city's population--slightly more black than white, with a good portion of Latino and a handful of Asians; ages 18 to mid-80s; poor, middle class and rich. It was cool to see first hand the diversity of the city I call home.

The group I was called to was a group of 60. We all knew this must be an unusual case, because most civil trials needed pools of 30 potential jurors, and most criminal trials, 40. It took almost 45 minutes for the court staff to herd such a large group up to the courtroom.

We were seated in the section where observers usually sit. Three men sat at the defendant's table, and one at the prosecution table. The judge swore us in and explained a little about the case and the voir dire (sp?) process. The case, he said, involved murder--intentionally killing with malice of forethought. He pointed out who was sitting at each desk--the defendant and his attorneys and the assistant district attorney. Then the judge said that because Pennsylvania has a death penalty, it might be applied in this case if appropriate.

I got a cold sinking feeling in my stomach. I didn't want to kill the man sitting there. I don't even know him. It felt so creepy. Perhaps if I'd heard the details of the case I would have felt differently. But frankly, the American justice system is badly broken and ultimately unjust because usually only the poor and minorities end up sentenced to death. (The defendant was an African American man.) A truly just punishment has to be fairly applied--even to the rich and powerful.

But my ethical beliefs never came up, because the time commitment to sit on this jury was the bigger problem. The judge estimated the trial would run past my last day of work and into our trip south. I asked to be excused to wrap up at my job, my stomach in knots. Fortunately they excused me and I didn't have to forgo part of our trip, hear how someone's life was lost or send someone to his death.

EEK
There are rodents among us.

Earlier this week, when Joel stayed up late finishing an article, Keats brought him a special treat at about 2 a.m. --a young mouse. Not completely dead either. Joel praised "the mighty hunter" and Keats played with his prey for a while. Now we don't know where the nearly dead creature is. Our only hope is that Keats ate it.

When we were cleaning up after dinner last night, Joel accidently scared one of the adults out of hiding. It scampered across the counter and dove under one of the burners of the gas stove. We think the nest is either behind the stove or in the basement and they use the opening around the gas line to come visit the kitchen.

Keats spent nearly the entire evening crouched in the kitchen, staring at the bottom of the stove, waiting for his prey. It's about time the rascal started earning his keep around here.

Wild about Harry
I haven't been online much the past few weeks because we've spent almost all our spare time reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix aloud. Acutally, Joel reads and I do things like wash dishes, fold laundry and cross stitch. It's more efficient than each of us trying to read silently. And Joel does great voices. His Dolores Umbridge voice is really priceless.

I was really impressed by how well Rowling captures the attitudes, frustrations and obsessions of teenagers. Some of the reviewers were annoyed by the romantic subplots, but in my memory, romance looms pretty large in the mind of the average 15-year-old. Harry's little fits of temper also seem age appropriate. At 15, those first sweet tastes of adult-like competence are heady, and make it all the more aggravating to be reminded that you're still a kid.

Umbridge is perhaps the best villan Rowling has yet conceived. She strikes me as more evil than Voldemort in some ways because her motivation is far more real-world. Nothing like a petty bureaucrat scrambling for position to push far beyond the limits of law, ethics and decency.

Phoenix has some scenes that make you laugh so hard you can't breathe. Great action too. Though now that the kids are older and becoming more competent at spells, the dangerous scenes didn't seem quite as frightening. Frankly, book 4 seemed scarier. This one has a bit more heart.

bq withdrawal
I miss Berek. And I don't just mean his superb dishwashing abilities.

It's just sooooo quiet around here. Meals are pretty subdued now--no stream of chatter about PoMo theories and who said what about whom in blogland. It's weird not hearing a unique mix of opera, 70s pop, country and techno-dance tunes pouring down the stairwell from the third floor.

Claire keeps trying to have raspberry competitions with us. It's a skill bq tried to cultivate in her. :-) That and waving her arm like Eminem.

I mostly feel sad that bq only got to know me when I was totally stressed out and coming apart at the seams.

Mouths of babes
Watching Claire learn to talk is truly fascinating. Several times a day, she becomes quite chatty in her own language. It's like a combination of Swedish, bushman and Chinese. "Pthoga chithpa ee-juh hakimij pekethuch." (That's the best phonetic equivalent I can give.)

She has a few English words now that she uses accurately: da-da, ma-ma, bah (ball), dok (dog), keeh (kitty), ka (cat). When we were at the grocery store the other day, two little boys were playing with some playgound balls for sale at the store. Claire watched them, then said distinctly, "BAH." :-)

I do wonder, however, if we confuse her calling Keats "cat" and "kitty cat" alternately. And is it confusing that both Nicky and her big stuffed Clifford are "dog"? Can a baby really get that one is "real dog" and the other "pretend dog"?

It seems like understanding a category of things is pretty complex thinking. Especially dogs, which vary hugely in size, color and shape. And the dogs she sees are either real, toys, photos or illustrations.

I bet that if I showed her a picture of a horse, she would call that a "dok" too. The only thing she calls "keeh" or "ka" is Keats himself.

Road trip
We're getting pretty excited about our trip to the BH conference in Florida later this summer. We're going to meet and stay with some great people in our travels. One night we're planning to motel it in eastern Alabama, and Joel just booked the room. When he asked about their pet policy, they said, "shue-ur, we tayke pay-ets." Gosh I love hearing "pets" as a two syllable word. :-) I have to remind Joel that when a server asks if you want a Coke, the correct answer is "Yes, I'll have a root beer."

Any other key idioms we Yankees should know about? Rick? Betsy? Sarah?

New path
Well, I've done it. I resigned from my job today. My last day will be July 15. I figured it would be a good idea to give a month's notice instead of the required three weeks since there's no other employer chomping at the bit for me to get started.

I feel slightly light headed. Giving up the salary makes me a bit nervous, but I'm so excited about the prospect of being with Claire all day.

Vegan cookies
I've never tried to cook for someone with dairy and gluten allergies like Annie does (you're heroic!), but I have made Thanksgiving dinner for family members who are vegan. The real trick was coming up with desserts that don't contain eggs or milk. Fruit pies work, of course. Then I remembered this eggless cookie recipe that's a great standby when you realize there are no eggs in the house. It also happens to contain no animal products. (Warning: these are not low fat! (-:)

Swedish Coconut Cookies
2 C margerine
2 C sugar
3 1/4 C flour
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
2 C shredded coconut
2 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 F. Cream margerine and sugar. Add flour, baking powder and baking soda. Stir in coconut and vanilla. Drop by spoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake 10 to 12 minutes. Makes 7 to 8 dozen.

Rainy day treat
I got a craving for an old childhood favorite today, so I whipped up a batch of cookies we used to call "fudgies." My brother and I first had them at our school cafeteria in a small, rural public school in northern Pennsylvania (K-6 and about 160 students). Mom was able to get the recipe from one of the cafeteria ladies.

They take about 15 minutes to make, and no baking required. It's a good recipe for kids to try because it's easy to make and has few ingredients. The cookies look a little like something you'd find in a diaper, but they're a very tasty chocolate/peanut butter treat. The appearance has never kept people from devouring them when I've taken them to parties and church events.

Fudgies
2 C sugar
1/2 C margerine
1/2 C milk
1/3 C unsweetened cocoa powder
3 C rolled oats
1/2 C peanut butter
1 tsp. vanilla extract

Bring sugar, margerine, milk and cocoa to boil in a large saucepan and boil 1 minute. Remove from heat. Quickly stir in oats, peanut butter and vanilla until oats are covered with cocoa mixture. Drop by teaspoonfuls onto waxed paper. Let stand until set. Makes about 4 dozen.

Taste in the disco era
Well, I ruffled a few feathers when I apologized for being a Carpenters fan as a child. Keep in mind that I have older siblings who were in their teens and 20s in this era. I distinctly recall their attitude toward 70s pop is that is was decidedly uncool. Cool people listened to stuff like ELO and Led Zeppelin. Not folksy songs with happy lyrics. Folk was cool only if it was anti-establishment.

So I guess it would be more accurate for me to describe my childhood taste as "uncool" rather than simply "bad." As Sarah pointed out, Karen Carpenter's vocal quality is superior to a majority of pop stars.

If we really want to talk about bad taste in music, well, there's my parents. They were teens during the Swing era and got to jump, jive and wail to all this awesome 40s dance music, only to turn into Muzak afficianados in later adulthood. If you think "The Girl from Ipanema" is bad, you should hear "Thriller" played by a 101 string orchestra. Yikes. (I wish I was kidding. The local "easy listening" station truly did play such a rendition when I was in high school.)

Inci-dental
Yesterday I got my first filling in seven years. Not a bad record considering the number of fillings I've collected so far (like the five I got seven years ago, plus a root canal).

I'd forgotten how surreal it feels to have half your face numb. It amazed me that I could talk to the receptionist after my appointment. And that people didn't point and stare as I walked down the street. I was half afraid to look at my reflection, convinced my head had swollen to twice its normal size on one side.

For an even more surreal dental experience, nothing beats nitrous oxide. Under this disembodying drug, you don't really care that the dentist has his knee on your chest trying to yank out a long-rooted molar. I still think of floating in a drug-induced haze whenever I hear the Carpenters, the cassette I usually chose to listen to through seven professional extractions prior to getting braces at age 11. (Yes, I had atrocious taste in music as a child. I blame my bad taste on the ugly clothes I was forced to wear in the 70s.)

Frail flower
Last year I got just one bloom on my peony because of the dry winter. The second day it was in bloom, a rain storm soaked open, petaly, lone flower. It collapsed under the weight of all the water it caught, then all the petals fell off. The plant's dark, glossy leaves are lovely by themselves, but I was sorely disappointed to lose the flamboyant flower.

Sadly, these enormous, fragrant blooms (they're about 5" in diameter) only seem to last a week at the most, even in the best conditions. This year I was able to rescue my peonies to enjoy indoors before they were decimated by rain. (They opened this morning, and a thunderstorm is in the forecast for tonight.) Here are four of the seven blossoms for the year.





Any green thumbs out there, is it possible to get a second set of blooms on a peony planted in the Mid-Atlantic region, or is this plant "done" for the season?

New heights
Joel beat me to the punch blogging about Claire's latest gross motor skill feat--stair climbing. I don't think it's time to panic yet. First, she only climbed one step. Second, when I tried to get her to repeat the action, she lost interest and crawled away.

I'm just glad that our staircase has so many bends, the most stairs she could tumble down at a time is about eight.

Spam, spam, eggs and spam
I've noticed a disturbing trend. I seem to get a lot of e-mail letters from strangers claiming to be related to some important person in Africa or Asia whose assets are tied up because of a military coup or some other disaster. Only with my help can they save the family fortune, they claim. By helping them move millions of dollars out of their home country to a U.S. bank, they promise me a large cut of the money. All I have to do is provide a bank account number and several other pieces of personal information, or simply up-front cash.

Of course, armed with this information, these strangers can easily siphon thousands from bank accounts. Or they simply take the up-front money and run. From what I've heard, this is an extremely old scam. Entire cottage industries have sprung up around swindling gullible Americans using this type of story. The Internet just makes it cheaper to reach more potential victims.

I'm still trying to figure out how so much of this variety of spam gets past the office firewall to end up in my business e-mail account. I probably get four a week and delete them all.

Taken to task
Multitasking is not for amateurs. My big misadventure for the week happened after a tiring grocery shopping trip, slogging around the store with a cold and sore throat. I'd nearly finished unpacking the groceries when one of my girlfriends called. I chatted away while putting tea on to boil, packing away food items and tidying up.

After making the tea, I noticed the pan under the set of burners needed to be cleaned. So I pulled away the metal grilles from our gas stove with my bare hands. My girlfriend heard a shriek and a crash. Yup, I grabbed one of the grilles over the burner where I'd just boiled water. Good friend to have on the end of the line, this ICU nurse. She talked me through how to care for my burns while I sobbed through the intense pain.

I now have several second-degree burns on my right hand, thankfully none on my finger tips. I have some very interesting blisters, though. The first night was the worst. I slept clutching a re-freezable chill pack for the cooler.

Talking on the phone is dangerous. So just send me e-mail from now on, thanks.

The One
The Matrix: Reloaded. Whoa. Just as intense as I'd expected. Also a lot more confusing. I'm not sure what to make of some of the new plot points, and the multiple new enemies to deal with.

I also wonder how much Cadillac paid to get their cars placed in the freeway chase scene. I mean come on, this is the brand one usually associates with seniors in golf pants driving under the speed limit, not svelte women in leather weaving through traffic at furious speeds dodging bullets.

Anyone with a knowledge of physics, is it really possible when fighting on top of a moving vehicle to land in the same spot after jumping in the air? It seems like the wind drag would put you further back. Yeah, yeah, it's the fake-o land of the Matrix, anything is supposedly possible. But this film requires you to suspend your disbelief an awful lot. The line between, "wow, cool" and "yeah, right" was getting a little thin for me at times.

Definitely worth seeing on the big screen, as long as you have time afterwards to unwind from this adrenaline rush.

La Luna

I saw a lunar eclipse for the first time on Thursday after babysitting for hierogrammate's kids. I can't believe it's taken 34 years to see this fairly common astronomical event. (BTW it was way cool.)

I really need to get out more.

Above and below stairs
Anyone keeping up with the new PBS show "Manor House"? It's a "living history" sort of show styled after "1900 House" and "Frontier House," in which contemporary people step back in time and live for an extended time in another era.

In "Manor House," one family lives "above stairs" in wealth and ease as Edwardians, while a group of volunteers serve them. It's kind of cool that a several of the volunteer servants have relatives who were "in service" and wanted to get an idea of what Granny's or Great Aunt Betty's life was really like.

By episode four, the servants are getting pretty exhausted and the younger ones are really chafing under the conventions of servitude. But interestingly, it's the wealthy unmarried aunt above stairs who becomes so depressed she needs to leave for a while. It was surprising to learn that in some ways, it was probably more fulfilling to be a parlormaid than a rich spinster during this era in terms of feeling like you contribute and matter.

Sabbath reflection

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds thy hands have made.
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.

Then sings my soul, my savior God, to thee;
How great thou art, how great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my savior God, to thee:
How great thou art, how great thou art!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:

And when I think that God, his Son not sparing,
Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin:

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration,
And there proclaim, "My God, how great thou art!"

Back in college when I sang with a music ministry group, I remember visiting a church with an active deaf ministry. This was one of the hymns of the morning. Seeing a whole group of people signing the lyrics made me really hear the words of this piece that always seemed a little flowery. "Then sings my soul..." Even when one can't praise God with one's voice, He hears the song of one's soul. In spite of my "lisping, stammering tongue," every failure and weak muteness, I can yet praise him.

We are amused
When life gets stressful, there's nothing like a little Monty Python. Watching some old episodes last night, I saw another favorite sketch:

(Opening shot: Sports announcer outside metal starting stalls used for horse racing.)

Announcer: Well they're under starter's orders for this very valuable Queen Victoria Handicap. And they're off...

(The starting stall doors fly open; out come eight identically dressed Queen Victorias who go bustling off up the field.)

Announcer: And Queen Victoria got a clean jump off, followed by Queen Victoria, Queen Victoria and Queen Victoria. It's Queen Victoria from Queen Victoria and Queen Victoria. It's Queen Victoria making the early running on the inside. And at the back Queen Victoria already a couple of lengths behind the leaders. Queen Victoria has now moved up to challenge Queen Victoria with Queen Victoria losing ground. Queen Victoria tucked in neatly on the stand side with a clear view. Queen Victoria still the back marker as they approach the halfway mark, but making ground now, suddenly past Queen Victoria with Queen Victoria, Queen Victoria and Queen Victoria still well placed as they approach the first fence.

(A low angle shot as the Queen Victorias appear over the fence and thunder towards the camera.)

Announcer: And at the first fence it's Queen Victoria just ahead of Queen Victoria and Queen Victoria falling away in third place. And Queen Victoria in the lead....

Caged
Claire's latest achievement is pulling herself into a standing position. Now when she wakes from a nap, I find her rattling the sides of her crib as if to say, "set me free, Mama!"

Lone Xylophone redux
I'd wanted to repost one of my earliest blogs that explains where I got the name. Now that the archives have been recovered, here it is...

Lone xylophone, I realize, is a kind of odd name for a blog, and merits explanation...

My sophomore through senior years of high school, I played mallet percussion, an experience that put me in an even more freakish subset of band freaks: girl percussionists. I didn't play something delicate and feminine like a flute or clarinet, but a huge instrument that had to be strapped to my body. I carried sticks and hit things.

Being a girl percussionist is not for wussies. I got to wear a 40-pound marching xylophone through blazing heat, rain, and snow on football fields and several-mile parades in hilly towns. (I only fainted once, during a two mile parade in 98 degree heat in a wool uniform. Fortunately, a parent caught my instrument before I was impaled on the harness.)

My band director decided that the percussion harnesses were ugly, so we had to wear them under our uniforms. It's amazing I ever got a date, wandering around football games with lumpy shoulders, bolts bulging at unnatural places on my chest and a steel bar sticking out by my groin. Of course, with the instrument attached I could do some serious damage if I turned around too fast--and did knock the wind out of a trombonist...

I'll save some of my crazy band days stories for future posts. Suffice it to say, my experiences shaped my imagination in unique ways, and I can hear beauty in hitting things, see dignity in the lumpy but strong.

Archives
It seems that Joel got the archives back up and running.

Richie
The latest issue of re:generation (not online yet, sorry!) has some really powerful stuff in it. (Maybe later in the week I'll pull together my comments on Read Schuchardt's article on Disney.)

Becky Baer Porteous' article "From Race to Taste: Wealth and Status in the Postmodern World," felt a bit like a kick in the teeth in the best possible way (if that makes any sense). She asserts that "having the wealth to consume and display certain sorts of 'taste,' even a taste for packaged ethnic diversity, makes anyone acceptable....In a postmodern world, it's what's over the skin that counts--the surface and the image it sustains." Okay, sounds like a typical anti-materialism story condemning the upper crust, right?

Well, Porteous goes on to describe feeling depressed while living in Zimbabwe, and realizing it came from being separated from home, from being accustomed to "being a wealthy person in a wealth contry, constantly stimulated by color and taste and aroma and touch--by things I coveted and wanted to consume." She comes to the realization that much of her former happiness came from being a white American and that life should be about sharing in Christ's sufferings in the world.

Even if my wardrobe isn't terribly stylish and we drive an older, dented up car, equating hapiness with stuff is still a big problem for me. I'm not at all eager to forgo my plush, comfortable bed and full cupboards to suffer for Christ.

Splot
It is extremely difficult to eat a slice of cantelope (in the rind) with a plastic spoon.

Leaps
Growing up in a Christian family, it's easy to assume that the next generation will simply fall in line behind us. Alas, they have their own struggles. My oldest brother's girls have done both the MK and PK thing. His youngest has had her ups and downs, and my brother and sister-in-law have really struggled to woo her back to Lord when she's drifted away.

Well, my niece is about to embark on a spiritual journey. She's going to India for a few months to serve as a nanny for a missionary couple while their children have school holidays. We got the nicest note from her asking for our prayers as she takes this leap of faith, leaving her comfort zone (among many non-Christian friends at university) to connect with God again. She leaves next Tuesday.

We pray that like the prodigal, she sees her heavenly Father running down the road to meet her.

Thanks, Easter Bunny

Boy, that Easter Bunny sure is smart. He knew that a busy couple with a baby doesn't need candy, we need some help around the house! ;-)

Lacrimosa
As part of our Good Friday observence, we attended a concert put on by the Ama Deus ensemble at the big Catholic cathedral here in Philly. They performed a Gregorian chant setting of the "Stabat Mater," followed by a Verdi setting of the same text. The group also performed a Verdi setting of the "Ave Maria" and Mozart's setting of the "Ave Verum Corpus." Finally, they closed with Mozart's "Requiem."

Sadly, the only piece that was truly outstanding was the chant. And it had nothing to do with the group's virutosity. They set up the orchestra and choir right beneath the dome in the cathedral--the absolutely worst spot acoustically for most classical music. With all of that open space, the sound waves echo and overlap excessively. All the snap of Mozart becomes a muddy mess.

The last time I heard the same group perform Mozart's "Requiem" in a different venue, it I couldn't keep from weeping because of how achingly, powerfully beautiful the music was. This time I wanted to cry for the performers who I knew were doing an equally amazing job that this cavernous cathedral was warping, disorting.

So much for grandiose scenes. We would have had a better auditory fortaste of heaven had the performers been crammed into the choir loft at the back of the church.

No soliciting
I walk past several clumps of Jehovah's Witnesses at the train station the three days a week I commute to the city. Usually these overdressed folks coyly wave their fans of literature and smile. Others -- mostly the older men -- stand around in their tweed and fedoras holding Watchtower magazines like offering plates ready to receive a contribution.

None have approached me yet, but if one did, I'd be heartily tempted to say, "Oh, the Arian heresy, how quaint."

How low can you go
The network execs at Fox must be smoking crack. How else can you explain a show like "The Pitts"? Its central comic concept about a family of accident-prone losers is about as funny as a train wreck. I can't say I've managed to sit through an episode yet. I think I'd rather watch a whole season of "Charles in Charge" reruns than one episode of "The Pitts." The ads for the show are so painful the thirty second exposure makes me want to run from the room and call the nearest psychiatric center to schedule electric shock treatment.

I can't wait to get a new book on tape from the library tomorrow.

Weebles wobble...
J: Your feet look so small in those shoes
M: So you do think I look like a Weeble! (see Friday's post)
J: You're not a Weeble. I'll prove it. Come here and I'll knock you down.

In a mirror darkly
I really hate the full length mirror in the bathroom at work. It makes me look like a Weeble. (Like I didn't have enough body image problems to begin with.) I think the surface might be slightly curved, because my feet look so small and my middle looks so wide compared to my full-length mirror at home. Of course, my mirror at home may merely flatter me into thinking I'm more evenly proportioned.

The other thing we so easily forget about mirrors is that they reflect a backwards image. I remember watching a 20/20 spot about a company that sells mirrors that reflect true. Most people are really freaked out the first time they see themselves unflipped.

We're really accustomed to seeing a distorted, backwards image of ourselves. Even photos lie--they can make you appear 10 pounds heavier than you really are.

We now see God as "but a poor reflection as in a mirror" (I Cor. 13:12 NIV). But we also see ourselves through a glass darkly. Someday we will see Him face-to-face and know Him fully, in the full way He knows us. What a strange and awesome day that will be, when the distortions are removed.

Perhaps we'll also get a glimpse of how our savior and bridegroom sees us as well. How extraordinary it would be to know how I truly look to the only true eyes in the cosmos.

Finding joy with gel pens
I had a big doodle fest last night with some birthday cards and a baby shower card. It started innocently when I wrote "Meredith" on an envelope using sparkly gel pens I got for Christmas. The next thing I know, I'm covering the envelope with elaborate doodles of rattles, moon and stars, a blankie and teddy bear.

It seemed a little like a dam burst. Since taking this job, my creativity has dropped to a trickle. I knew that once I stopped doing graphic design, I'd miss it, but I never expected this. If I didn't have a baby to be home with, I think I'd honestly consider changing jobs soon.

This epiphany felt like another confirmation that leaving this job in the fall to be home (and be creative again!) is the right thing to do.

No big surprise
In Middle Earth, I would be hanging out in Rivendell.


Elvish


To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla

I think that going on regular hiking and camping trips with my family to Rickett's Glen State Park, with its miles of mountain trails and amazing waterfalls, has made my soul a little more elvish. While I love Rohan, I'm a bit too timid to really fit in that culture.

What I'm waiting to see among the blog set is someone who comes up Entish. Or Dwarvish.

Making the shift
Yesterday I picked up a copy of Larry Burkett's Women Leaving the Workplace from our church library. I think it's just what I needed: a how-to book on going to one income written from a Christian perspective. It does a good job of balancing the ideas of God's provision and our stewardship. The reason many women don't make it staying home is because of poor planning.

I was encouraged to discover that we've already done all of the right things to make a one-income lifestyle possible. If anyone else is thinking about doing this, here's some of the planning steps Burkett mentions: get out of debt, practice living on one income, cut luxuries, reduce monthly expenses, build a savings cushion, make and stick to a budget.

Our only debt is our mortgage, which we're in the process of refinancing (though we did put 20% down when we bought). We own one car. We don't have cable. We've tried to live one income for basic expenses since we got married, using the second income to get out of debt and build up savings.

The next big challenge is budgeting. I kept a budget when I was single and found it time consuming and tedious. I think I need a simpler system that what I was using. It was good to keep track of what I was spending, but tracking more than a dozen categories made it too complicated. I think this Burkett book has a sample budget system in it, so I'll have to take a look.

Amy Dacyczyn who wrote the Tightwad Gazette books said their family doesn't budget that closely, they simply spend as little as possible on everything to save for larger goals, like paying off the mortgage early and saving for their kids' education (she has 6 kids). I think I agree with her premise that if the system is too complex, you'll give up.

EDT
Well, I survived the week of working weird hours from home (10 a.m. - 7 p.m.) to help with the annual convention out in San Diego. Strangely I didn't hear much from the team while they were out there putting together three daily newspapers. From what my boss said, they were running so far behind most days, they had little time to edit stories.

Today, of course, I'm totally dragging because it's hard to make yourself go to bed early just because the clocks changed. The look on Claire's face when I woke her this morning summed it up: blink, blink, pout, crumple face, howl.

I feel the same way about the first week of daylight saving time.

Changes afoot
I'd been hesitant to blog about this until Joel and I made some more definitive plans, but for now I'll let you know what's in the works. I'm going to leave full time employment, possibly as early as the fall semester (late August), to be full time Mommy and run our household.

Our quality of life has been poor since we've both been working. While sharing the load of running a household is good thing, Joel really does more than his share to enable me to work. This semester would have been totally nasty stress craziness if Berek weren't here helping out around the house. The only reason last fall wasn't so awful was because Joel and I were both working full time simultaneously for only six weeks.

Going down to half our income is a scary prospect, but I can think of dozens of ways we could economize if we had more time. I've already dusted off my old copies of "The Tightwad Gazette" volumes I and II, which in my single days helped me pay off all my school debt while working a low-paying editorial job. I hope that by gradually tightening our belt now, we can adjust our attitudes and continue building up a good-sized savings cushion.

I'd love to hear some words of wisdom from other one-income families. Please share some tips!

Apologies
I've been trying to remove the link to Jim Hart 3000, but blogger won't let me update my template. So I'll warn you now not to click the link. Apparently, the domain has been taken up by a porn site since Jim quit blogging. *cringes with shame*

Unredeemed
I'm disappointed that Chicago won best picture at the Oscars. Joel and I saw it back in February, shortly after I returned from visiting my parents, and I got too busy to blog about it then. At the time it seemed like a waste of a night out with babysitting.

Yes, the costumes and dancing are very flashy and entertaining; yes, the song lyrics are clever. However, the overall plot and themes aren't even remotely redemptive.

You're set up to see fame as a fleeting friend, but none of the characters seem to learn from their mistakes kow towing at the altar of fame. I honestly hoped the Roxie character would be redeemed by her husband's sacrificial love. But no, in Chicago sacrificial love is for "chumps and losers." Bribe, blackmail, perjure and murder all you like if it gets your name up in lights.

Well, that's Chicago. Personally, I'll take Calvary, thanks.

Beauty tips
A friend e-mailed this to me and it seemed blog-worthy.

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.
Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you will find one at the end of each of your arms.
As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands; one for helping yourself, and the other for helping others.

--Audrey Hepburn

Babblerama
Claire is just so darned cute. She now has quite a babble repetoire. She says da-da, ma-ma, na-na (for Nicky, of course) and Pft. Her latest is bar-bar. That's for Berek, who can get her to roar with laughter just by smiling at her. He seems to have some innate comic gift. I have to do some concerted tickling to get a laugh out of Claire.

B-U-S-Y
Work is really busy right now. In addition to the monthly magazine, we're also trying to prepare for the big convention next month. We usually publish three daily newspapers for the convention, doing most of the work beforehand so only a few stories need to be written and edited each day on site. The advertising department sold so many ads, we have to do three 24-page issues. Last year the issues were only 16 pages. We've had to generate a lot of new editorial material and it's a lot to slog through.

The one bit of good news is that I don't have to travel to California. The team will e-mail stories to me while I work from home--on California time. Long days, but at least I don't have to leave Claire for 5 days.

For now I'm keeping my eye on the goal--saving all we can so I don't have to work full time forever.

Memories
Last night we met with two other couples from church to lay plans for a new neighborhood Bible study that Joel will be leading. The young couple who plan to host it are newlyweds, just two months past the altar. Their apartment reminded me so much of our first apartment--spacious and boxy and very beige. It even had the undersized fridge like we had. I remember being so excited to have my own fridge that I didn't have so share with two roommates who had staked out particular "territory" and became miffed about sharing space.

Unlike J & A's place, which is in the basement, our first apartment was on the third floor, in a highrise on a hill with a view of the Wissahickon Valley. We had two big picture windows that I liked to look out and watch the trees swaying in the valley below. That hill was also at the intersection of two busy streets. Day and night you could hear the Route 27 bus "talking" and souped-up car stereos thumping out gangsta rap.

The neighbors next door were transplants from Africa who tended to cook not-quite-fresh meat. We often held our breath to get from the elevator to our aparment. But everyone in the building was so friendly, from the priest on the 9th floor, to the two mentally retarded men and their helper on the 6th. It was fun to comiserate with fellow tenants at the train station about the heat that never turned off and, of course, the cockroaches.

We were lucky to have so few roaches for being in a city highrise. But just the same, I never went to the kitchen in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Or if I did, I turned on the kitchen light without looking in the room, waited a minute for the bugs to hide, then went in. Denial is sometimes a necessity.

Despite being a bit crammed with Joel's 6,000 books, we were pretty comfortable there. I definitely learned to be creative with using space. For example, we kept a small freezer in the second bedroom closet and set our bed on an angle so we could hide boxes behind the tall headboard.

Those were the days when Saturdays were all about big pancake breakfasts and cooking shows on public television, not gardening and cleaning 11 rooms. While I love my bigger fridge and owning a washer and dryer, some days I miss that low-maintenance apartment.

But not the gangsta rap. Or the rancid meat smell. Definitely not the roaches.

Whenever I need a laugh...
...I just remember last Friday night, when we took bq to a 76ers basketball game for his pretend birthday (he doesn't have a real birthday until next year). We were quite riled up and punchy after the Sixers beat the Utah Jazz. In our long walk to the parking lot, bq and Joel showed off their best silly walks. I was laughing so hard I almost had an asthma attack.

John Cleese, eat your heart out, bq is next in line to take over the Ministry of Silly Walks.

Good things come to those who wait
I generally frown upon procrastination, as it leads to all sorts of evil like expired coupons, dust elephants and dead houseplants. However, a little dithering on my part really paid off this week. After months of telling myself, "We really should refinance the mortgage," I finally locked in our new mortgage yesterday--at 5.5%. Woo hoo! Our original mortgage was at 8.125%.

Okay, I'm ready for the bad economy to be over now, thanks.

Analyze this
I've sure had some strange dreams lately. Earlier this week I dreamed Saddam Hussein came to our Sunday school class at Tenth. He was dressed in a dapper suit and spoke thickly accented English. Strangely, he was very charming, and even more strangely had dark blue eyes.

I also dreamed that everyone in Philadelpia had suddenly become a chain smoker. Everywhere I went--the office, the train station, the mall--people were hanging around smoking. I think the tirgger for that dream was Berek coming home after class Tuesday smelling like an ashtray. He gets a ride from his prof who smokes in the car.

Ooops
Apparently Valerie is still in the land of the blogging. Every time I checked her blog today, all I got was a nav bar, but it's apparently just a fluke.

Whew. Thanks for helping me bear the blogging load, Valerie!

Avril
OK, I now feel really pressured to keep on blogging something, anything, in the face of so much empty cyperspace. Yet another of my favorite blogs has gone on hiatus.

So, I noticed in Newsweek a fun little blurb on trucker caps, made popular by singer Avril Lavigne. The article commented that only someone so beautiful could get away with such ugly clothes. Frankly, there's a lot I like about Avril's style. She always dresses very modestly, unlike her trampy contemporaries on the pop scene like Britney. I'd definitely prefer that Claire be a tomboy rather than emulate the immodest clothing and behavior of most female teen idols.

I also like the fact that the guys in Avril's videos are clearly her good buddies. They don't leer and ogle and treat the young lady like a mere sex object. Avril and the guys are just friends who enjoy one another's company. (I really can't comment on her music, because I've only heard the two top-40 hits.)

In our sex-saturated society, it's nice to see some plain old buddy-ness among boys and girls. I really enjoyed the different perspective of my male childhood friends, and the chance to occasionally play superheros together and drive toy trucks in the sand.

Some random thoughts on hospitality
I've been thinking about hospitality a lot lately, partly because I promised Sarah that I'd provide some ideas for her essay [book?] on the topic. Then I read some of Rick's posts about hospitality gone awry. So here are some of my musings on the topic of dinner parties.

Hospitality is about giving and putting guests at their ease, making them feel accepted and cherished. When certain rituals, conventions and expectations get in the way of that, you as the host have to just let them go. ("He who covers over an offense promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends." -- Proverbs 17:9)

Is is polite for a guest to bring a hostess gift? Yes. Should you expect one? No. Perhaps your dinner guest's gift will be to offer to help with the dishes. Or perhaps your guest has no training in etiquette at all. He or she needs to be gently taught, not humiliated.

Say a guest comes to a group dinner party and seeing the other guests' bottles of wine or desserts, realizes he should have offered to bring something. So he turns to you, the host, saying in great embarrassment, "Oh no. I should have brought something. You must think I'm so rude."

You're centainly not going to put your guest at ease by agreeing that he is incorrigibly rude or by smiling condescendingly at his plight. Give him an out. "My friend, you have brought the best gift, a willing heart. Could you help me fill the water glasses?" (This doesn't mean your guest is obliged to be your servant for the evening. Just give him one or two easy tasks so that he feels he is being a good guest.)

Another way to handle this situation is to ask your guests to bring a specific item when you extend the invitation. Gear your request to the guest. The point is for them to feel comfortable, so don't ask for items that will take a lot of effort or expense to get. For instance, it's best to ask busy guests to bring something they can get at a convenience store--like ice, a few bottles of soda or ice cream. Cash-strapped guests could bring something inexpensive, like a box of tea.

Always say yes when a guest offers to bring something or help. Refusing a gift is a kind of rejection of that person. There's always something that will enhance a meal, even if it's just flavored coffee creamer, a new kind of tea or an ice cream topping. Treat your guest's gift with honor, even if it's something you don't care for. Honor their thoughfulness with kind words.

So what if you didn't think to ask a guest to bring something and she didn't offer either? The guest might surprise you, or she might not. Just be prepared if she brings nothing. Have some extra wine on hand, and a dessert that keeps, like sorbet or ice cream. Move along with your stored items if no food gifts are on offer, thanking God for your guest and for the privilege of serving her. Remember in Jesus's parable about the sheep and goats, when the King says "whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did it for me" (Matt. 25:40).

Ah, wuv...
Joel is worried. He thinks Claire has a crush on Berek. She stares at him all though meals and seems to have a special smile just for him.

Well, my little princess, he is a bit old for you...I think you need to have teeth before you can think about boyfriends.

Whee!
We are hunkered down for a few days of going nowhere fast. Snow has been falling heavily all day, and we're likely to have 2+ feet of snow before all is said and done.

The groceries are stocked, and we've got several weeks' supply of cat food, dog food and diapers. Of course, we were much too busy this weekend helping my brother move to stock up on disaster supplies, which is okay I guess. Joel mocked me for falling prey to hysteria. OK, mocked is too strong a word. He said this whole campaign reminds him of the "duck and cover" civil defense drills from the 1950s. If there's a biological attack, is plastic over the windows really going to help?

So I'm just going to enjoy some time at home and try to not worry. We're all a bit punchy already from being cooped up. Berek was whining about getting an A- in one of his Whitfield courses and we threatened to throw him out in the snow. Then we ate lots of cheese and crackers, watched a Gilmore Girls rerun, chased Nicky around the house, then Joel and I had a tickle fight. Hee hee. Snow brings out the kid in all of us.

Signs?
Last night I had a very disturbing dream. Joel and Claire and I were living in a house in the country and a tornado was heading straight for our house. I became absolutely hysterical and paralyzed trying to figure out what items to grab before we evacuated.

Then today at work, we received a huge packet of information on disaster preparedness.

Is this some sort of sign that I need to get my act together? Normally, I don't worry to much when the government becomes excessively paranoid, but maybe I should this time. We own no duct tape, have few first aid supplies on hand and our stock of batteries is low. We really, really need to burn some CDs of all the digital Claire photos and locate my birth certificate, too, in case of a normal disaster like a fire.

I hate to admit it, but I'm also seriously thinking about picking up some surgical gloves and masks, as well as fuel for my Coleman camp stove.

Weighty matters
Thanks to the spiffy new virus diet, I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight. Saturday I wore a pair of jeans I hadn't worn since last February. Of course, these are my "moderately fat" jeans, so I still have some work to do to get back to my pre-engagement weight.

But there's nothing like a little success, however painfully won, to get me psyched up.

Pounds, you are comin' down! Body fat, you are outta here!

Gilmore laughs
I really love the writing on Gilmore Girls. Two days after seeing the new episode, I still chuckle when I remember some of the lines. I especially loved Rory's rant in the hospital: "...And they want me to put on a gown. Those gowns don't close well, you know. I've seen a lot of butts today."

This also cracks me up:
Lorelei to Sherry: Just don't look at the baby too closely until they clean it up, or you might think you gave birth to phlegm.

Better care
The Florida saga continues: Dad is now staying in the skilled nursing facility for a few days. This stomach virus we passed to him made him so dehydrated he blacked out and hit his head (just a bad cut, not a concussion or anything).

I had blacked out the first day I was sick while fixing a bottle for Claire and spilled formula all over the floor, so I can see how he too might pass out.

With some IV fluids he will be on the mend very soon. I feel so guilty, but Mom says he was fairly dehydrated before he got sick. The one medicine he takes requires heavy fluid intake, which he stubbornly refuses to do. She said she's actually glad this happened because it will make the seriousness of drinking enough more clear to him.

Ahh, home...
Joel rescheduled our flight home, so Claire and I flew back from Florida yesterday. Thanks everyone for your prayers, I definitely felt palpably uplifted! We DID get an extra seat for Claire, and only prayer can account for it because a number of standby passengers were squeezed onto the flight. I could just kiss the US Airways staffer in Fort Myers who pulled the strings for us. Aside from a little whineyness, Claire traveled very well this time.

On the plus side, the weather was really, really beautiful the whole time I was there--sunny and in the mid-70s. When I was well, I enjoyed the spa-like elements of their retirement community--the heated pool, jacuzzi, fitness center and trails along the Caloosahatchee River where dolphins frolic.

I helped Mom with organizing and framing pictures of all the grandkids, a project she's been meaning to do for five years. I took Dad shopping for Mom's birthday gift (he unfortunately didn't understand what we were doing) so that she didn't have to buy herself something and pretend he remembered (which he isn't capable of). Dad totally loved having Claire there--he's such a softie anyway, and especially so with babies. Sadly he probably won't remember the visit in a short time, but I hope that when he sees her picture, he at least thinks she looks familiar. I try to not let it get me down, but I hate how dementia has taken my Dad from me, and that neither Joel nor Claire will ever know my other Dad, the smart, funny, gifted, creative, fix-everything guy.

Overall, I think my visit with my folks was like mommy boot camp. I let my poor kid get a horrific ulcerated diaper rash, which scared me a lot. Fortunately it was very treatable and cleared up in a few days. The stomach flu that she and I had Friday and Saturday we then passed on to both of my parents.

My lowest point was Sunday night when I was still feverish, Mom was sick as a dog and Claire had a relapse with vomiting. Rescheduling the flight home made total sense at that point. Dad got sick Monday, so I spend my last morning doing loads and loads of laundry, scrubbing toilets and cleaning stains out of the carpet.

It's good to be home again.

From bad to worse

For all my trying to be aggressive, I still couldn't get an extra seat on the way down to Florida. Because I had a window seat Claire was stuck in dirty diapers for hours on end. She also had several long screaming jags on a very full flight. I just wanted to hide under the seat.

When we finally landed I was able to change her diaper for a second time and saw that she had the worst diaper rash she's ever had. No wonder she was screaming. With a little research we discovered that the rash was a yeast infection and, using an anti-fungal cream, it seems to be clearing up.

Other than the rash we were enjoying our visit, until Friday night when Claire began vomiting. 24-hours later I was hit with the same bug and couldn't keep anything down, not even water. After being up most of the night every hour on the hour, I finally crashed and slept until about 3pm today. I can eat bland foods again, but I dread my plane trip home.

Please pray that Claire and I will be in full health on the trip home and be able to get an extra seat for her on the return flight.