Retired In The Rockies

When Autumn Leaves Start to Fall

2011-10-17T20:39:00.000-06:00

Chet Atkins playing Autumn Leaves is the perfect accompaniment for the photos I took yesterday when John drove us up the road to Rocky Mountain National Park to see the changing colors. The aspen trees always look splendid, but their Fall colors are my favorites.

It was a long day, since it began with me singing at both services at our church, First Christian in Loveland. We were there from about eight in the morning, or somewhat before that actually, until nearly one in the afternoon by the time we cleared the parking lot. I was wishing I had eaten breakfast, but I keep crackers in the back seat of the car and had two of those between services (great crackers, by the way—Crackerfuls, Four Cheese flavor). We took a lunch up the hill about twenty minutes to the park entrance, just the other side of Estes Park. We know how lucky we are to live that close.

The drive up along the canyon, following Big Thompson River was beautiful, but I always love rivers, and this one is popular with fly fishermen. On our way back down later we stopped and talked with one who said he was having a very good day, and didn't mind that I included his photo in my blog. He said the fish were biting, but not as much as he had hoped. Still, any day on the river is a good day.

When we arrived in Rocky Mountain National Park we knew we were a couple of weeks too late to get the best of the fall colors, but it's taken the physical therapist a couple of weeks to get me to the point where I could get in and out of the car, climbing around taking pictures. We were lucky we made it when we did, since a storm front came in last night, and I understand the rain and snow pretty much did in most of the last of the leaves. If we hadn't made it last night, it would have had to wait for next year. I think we went through that last year, didn't we?

My hip was a little extra sore this morning, but when I look at photos like this, it's worth it. I took about 300 photos, but lucky you... I've condensed my favorites into a short slideshow for you. And since nobody does it better, I downloaded Chet Atkins' version of Autumn Leaves as the accompanying music. He played as crisp and clear as the autumn air.

St. Petersburg, Russia, and Cruising

2011-10-14T16:10:00.002-06:00

I grew up in a generation that feared the Russians. In the early 90s I was in the Thousand Oaks, California audience for the performance of the Red Star Army Chorus when they brought the audience to its feet, and most of us to tears by singing God Bless America. Even then, I never expected to walk the streets of a Russian city, tasting its beauty and photographing the extravagance of its culture.

As always, sharing the adventure with family made it so much more special. The cruise ship's second stop was St. Petersburg, Russia. Ben and I were both in pain, and everything we wanted to see seemed miles away, but we walked for hours, and the weather held off from its expected downpour until we returned to the ship. People in costume posed with tourists like us for a small sum, and we thought it was worth it a couple of times.

There are many photos that show John looking back, and that was because I continually limped along behind the group. I guess he figured they'd eventually lose me, but they never did.

The buildings were amazing, a blend of spectacular and military grey. There was enough gold on some of them to fund a third world country. It will never be scraped off the buildings, of course, since it is their country's heritage in many ways, but it still astounded me to see the glitter next to the somber darkness of some of the older buildings. It is a country of contrasts, if St. Petersburg is anything to go by. Here's your Slideshow.

After wearing ourselves out trying to see everything possible in the city, we made our way back to the cruise ship, and I enjoyed my "daily spa treatment." I should explain that. The first night on board ship, Ben let us know he was going to the ship's spa for a drawing. Hardly anyone knows about this sort of thing, as they're off drinking and exploring. Ben always checks things out, and had learned that there was a "have to be there to win" drawing for products and services in the ship's spa. I invited myself along and got in on the draw. Ben and I sat there and listened to name after name being called, with the people not being present. It ended up with Ben and me each winning $250 in spa services. He used his for a couples massage with Ruth, but I split mine up for the daily massage specials, which meant I got a massage and facial every day we were on the ship, except for the day we disembarked. Sweet. Thanks, Ben. I've never used a ship's spa before. I'd never had a facial before—good things, both.

I spent the next day either with the kids or on deck photographing the Baltic as we went through the passage. It was beautiful, and sunset that night was incredible. I love being on the ocean, and a day at sea is a pleasure for me.

The next morning, as we made our way through the small inhabited islands of the Baltic approaching Sweden once again, I enjoyed the early morning fog and mist that rose from homes and churches dotting what I believe was Finland for a time. It was remote and beautiful, and it appeared that people came and went by boat.

There were few people out as early as I was, but I didn't miss having them in my photos. Some of the islands were tiny, and some were fairly large. You'll see a larger sampling on the Cruise Slideshow.

We pulled into Stockholm at the end of the trip and were among the first to return to land. I have already shared photos of Sweden before and after the cruise, but there's one little side trip I failed to include. We went to a mall for ice cream, and I have to admit it was one of the most interesting presentations I've ever had. They split open an absolutely delicious cupcake or muffin, at the choice of the one ordering, and filled the split with an ice cream or frozen yogurt of your choice. It was way too much, I thought, for one person to eat alone, and the girls had cones instead, which they loved, but Ruth showed us the truth of the old verse: Where there's a will, there's a way.

Tallinn, Estonia—First Cruise Stop

2011-10-04T10:15:00.000-06:00

Each of the three years we've gone to visit the kids in Amsterdam, we've gone on an adventure together. This year our adventure was a trip to Sweden, followed by a cruise to Tallinn, Estonia and St. Petersburg, Russia, then a day cruising in the Baltic Sea, returning to Stockholm.

I've been working on a slide show for the Tallinn, Estonia portion of our trip this morning, while I'm "fresh." Physical Therapy yesterday took a lot out of me, but gave me hope that there's light at the end of the tunnel. There's just no replacement for a great physical therapist. I'm not sure how many years of training they have to go through, but the good ones, and I know I have one of the best, have magic hands and an incredible font of knowledge.

Estonia, at least the corner we visited, wore its age well. I would have loved to see it without all the tourists, but since we were part of the horde, I shouldn't complain. Everything in America seems fresh and young by comparison to cities and countries in Europe. They treasure their history, at least in the places we've visited. You'll see a modern building, something from the last fifty years or later, next to a building hundreds of years old that's been preserved and is still in use. They exist side by side and add character to the city.

As always, seeing these places with family make them more special, and going through the photos brought the memories back to life. I remember Kate having a melt down and wanting to be held, and how Ben picked her up and walked with her, even though his back was beyond painful. Ruth was so upset that he wasn't taking care of himself, I thought she'd grab the child away from him, but she allowed him to do what he felt he must. Their respect for each other, as always, melted something inside me—and Kate calmed down instantly.

Ben always researches thoroughly whatever places we'll visit and finds the most interesting things. Tallinn happens to have an out of the way romantic spot... a kissing statue that's said to be good luck for couples who stand and kiss next to it. They couldn't resist. We were coerced. Let's say we couldn't resist them. The photos of that are proof enough, and are in the slide show.

After walking back to the cruise ship and making arrangements to meet for dinner, I took something for pain and headed for the ship's spa and a massage. I was counting my blessings with every step. Enjoy the slide show. They represent precious memories to me.

Family Time in Holland

2011-09-27T09:14:00.000-06:00

Before and after our trip to Sweden and the cruise, we spent days of love and laughter with Ben, Ruth, and our grandchildren. We enjoyed Kate's 3rd birthday, highlighted with laughter and the joy of watching how beautifully she knew how to share with Ashley. We were still there for the first day of the school year for Ashley and for Kate, starting preschool for the first time. We were there when Aiden turned 6th months old, and knew joy day by day.

When I think of our travels, these are the first days that come to mind. It's not the monuments and tourist sites that made August memories the most special of treasures. It's the time spent with family. It's true that it's not where you go in life, but who you share it with that makes it special.

There were times spent at the local play area near their home, when the girls ran from swings to other playground equipment. It's a nice place for children, and a great place for a nap, as Grandpa demonstrated.

Ashley showed off her skill on a bicycle and the girls played in the sandbox. Ruth's patience seems endless. You can't hide the kind of parents you are when you invite the folks to spend a month. These are solid, loving parents—consistent and deserving of as many children as they can handle. I realize I've said this before, if not on my blog, then at least to friends: I'm so glad they're raising my grandchildren. I know my other sons well enough to believe they'll be good parents, too, when they're so blessed.

Just in time to see us before we returned home, our oldest son, Tighe, flew in to Amsterdam on a business trip and was able to join the family for a visit before getting down to work. It was such a wonderful time, and I loved hearing the girls count down the days before Uncle Tighe's arrival. They adore him, and it's no wonder why. He's so willing to get down on their level and play, almost tirelessly. Most importantly, he loves them back in the same way.

He had his arms and lap full almost from the moment of his arrival, it seemed, whenever he sat down. Standing up, someone was climbing one of his legs or dancing around him. Uncle must sound like a word of delight to him, the way their sweet voices sang it out.

Our time with the family was sweet, and here's a short slide show to share some of our favorite photos of those days.

Two Visits to Stockholm, Sweden

2011-09-13T21:21:00.000-06:00

After a few wonderful days with Ben & Ruth and the grandchildren in The Netherlands, the trip to Paris, and a few more days in their home after our return from that marvelous trip, we all flew from Amsterdam to Stockholm, Sweden. Each time we visit their family in Europe, we have an adventure together, and this was the beginning of this year's journey.

It started and ended in Stockholm, but I'm combining the two visits to save myself a little confusion. My camera, unlike Benjamin's, doesn't have a GPS locator in it, and I was (again) a little careless about resetting the camera's date and time function. There you have it. My younger brain wouldn't have forgotten. Now I'm just happy to take good photos and sort through them later.

Because Ben hurt his back just before leaving for Sweden, he was in considerable pain and unable to lift anything, including children or luggage. In fact, he had all he could do to walk for a few days. At one point, Ruth looked at the kids, the luggage, and Ben. He was hunched over like an old man, his face twisted in pain. We were preparing to leave the house for a flight, a cruise, and another flight. "Are we nuts?" she asked me. "Probably," I answered, but none of us wanted to scrap the travel plans he had worked so hard months ago to put in place. Besides, we'd already paid for everything, so—carry on!

In Stockholm Benjamin bought walking sticks to help him get around in a fairly upright position. Ruth and John took up most of the slack with carrying the kids and luggage as needed. Until my shoulders are repaired or rebuilt, I'm very limited on what I can do without causing further damage, and my left hip hurts worse than either shoulder, so I was nearly as bad as my son. We were a motley crew, but together we managed everything. John is a trooper, with never a complaint. It's no wonder I call him my Sherpa.

The sights and sounds of Stockholm will stay with me forever. The weather was supposed to be heavy with rain and thunderstorms, but we got just a few drizzles and some glorious clouds. It was cool and bright most of the time, which made all the walking so much easier. I've mentioned before that I do not do heat gracefully. It's all I can do to be nice when the temperatures "soars" beyond 80°. Yes, I said 80. I love it around 60-65°. Even 70-75° is fine. That's about what we got.

Trust me. You've never been shopping until you window shop with grandchildren. They had so much fun trying on hats and wigs, playing with little wind toys and looking at things, I spent the one afternoon of shopping just laughing until my cheeks hurt. It amazed me how few times they expected to be allowed to keep anything. Once in awhile they'd ask, but it was never with the expectation of hearing a yes. Good parenting. You can't ask the grandparents to come for a month and hide what kind of parents you are, or what kind of relationship you really have. It's solid and beautiful.

The churches (or should I call them cathedrals?), theaters, canals and gardens were spectacular. If my slideshow seems long, rest assured you're not seeing one in thirty of the photos I took—especially of the children.

I know it's not politically correct to say "my grandchildren are the cutest, the smartest," etc., and I always swore I wouldn't be that kind of grandma. Blame Ben and Ruth for having the children they have. I can't help it if I'm honest enough to admit that they are the cutest and smartest kids I've been around.

Paris for Two

2011-09-10T08:15:00.006-06:00

Just the two of us? But we don't speak French... I really wasn't in favor of this trip at the beginning. I could picture getting lost and people laughing at us as we tried to communicate in sign language. I don't know sign language.

But Benjamin told me that Paris was the number one tourist destination in Europe for a reason, and this would probably be our last opportunity to see it. We should go. Alone. The two of us together. An early 35th anniversary trip.

I was excited, yet I was moderately terrified. I thought of the Louvre. I thought about walking along the Seine and seeing the Arc de Triomphe. Going up in the Eiffel Tower sounded like something I could force myself to do. Maybe. I found out it wasn't scary at all.

Most of all, I wanted to go to mass at Notre Dame. We did that, and although I didn't get much out of the sermon, not speaking any French besides ferme la buche (probably spelled wrong, but means shut your mouth) which I don't think the priest had call to use, it was beautiful. And the organ music was enough to make angels weep. Before leaving I was able to light a candle for my mom and Papa John in front of the rose window.

A little warning...if you ever want to go to church there, make sure to arrive at least an hour before service starts so you can actually get a seat.

John and I went on a wonderful cruise of the river Seine, ate crepes along the way (chocolate) and took photos. The bridges are amazing. We saw a bride and groom walking along, him fussing with her dress, and it seemed a sweet moment in time to me. There was also a boat accident that confused us, since nobody else on our boat seemed at all concerned about it, even though divers were going under the water and an ambulance was racing along the shore toward the craft. We never found out what had happened.

I'm not sure what kind of ceremony was going on at the Arc de Triomphe the day we were there, but they rather quickly closed it off from regular tourists and a bunch of military types swarmed in with flowers and such. It would have been so nice if I hadn't run my battery out of juice just at that moment.

We loved our time in Paris, and it amazed me how easy it was to get around on their rapid transit lines. Their metro is slick and well organized. I imagine anyone who can read any language using the same alphabet could very quickly learn their way around the city. Each stop has bullet points that show which connections can be made from there, so if you know what line you need to get to, it's easy to see where you need to transfer. They've made it simple.

I loved their train terminal. After having gotten lost and making it to our train by only three minutes in Amsterdam, where you absolutely must ask someone where your train is, since there's no sign telling you, this was pure pleasure. Everything was big, bright and very obvious. Yes, my slideshow is somewhat long, but maybe you can tell me later what I could have cut out. I couldn't decide.

July in California—Family Gatherings

2011-09-06T08:19:00.011-06:00

July only seems like ages ago because so much has happened since. My camera is the best indicator. I've taken over 2,500 photos since then. No, I'm not going to share them all. Don't you feel lucky? Here are some of my treasures, though, and a short slide show of moments and memories we shared.

We arrived in California on the Fourth of July and our first stop was at Aunt Lisa's home in Simi Valley. She's our Ruth's sister, Aunt to our grandchildren. We shared a pot luck and went on to their church's big grassy yard to watch the children play until the fireworks started. There were the requisite oohs and aahs, of course, and then we split up for our own beds. It was the first time we'd met our newest Grandson, Aiden. It had also been ages since we'd enjoyed a face to face visit with our granddaughters or our youngest son Ben and his wife Ruth. Simply put, it was a splendid evening together.

The week had a couple of other events I'll share. Beach day was a special memory. I know, I don't much care for the beach, even though I love the ocean. I just don't love the sand. It's hard to walk on and gets everywhere you don't want it to be. It's fun to watch the kids play in it, though, and I think you can do anything with grandchildren and have a blast.

The other really special day was visiting Great Grandma Zimmerman, my mom. Papa John spent most of the time we were there in another room. His eyes were bothering him, and the flash of the camera was upsetting him, so he didn't get in any photos that day. I'm more sorry about that than I can express, especially since he's gone now. The pictures we got were wonderful, though, and I'll share those. The girls loved picking oranges from Great Grandma's trees.

Finally, if you have time, I put togethe

r a little slideshow. This one isn't too long. As I progress through our European holiday later in the coming weeks, they might get out of control, but for now I'm using restraint.

Last Night of Vacation

2011-08-26T14:11:00.002-06:00

We've been gone nearly a month now, and tomorrow morning we'll head back to the airport and take flight back across the Atlantic Ocean toward home. There will be many hours in the air, eight time zones crossed, and a few hours and customs to pass through in Washington D.C. before the final flight to Colorado.

So much has happened this month, it will take many posts to share it all. The first step, once we return home, will be to download my camera of all the priceless photos I've taken. I'm grateful for the digital camera we have, since I already know we have beautiful images to share, and I'll do some slide shows that capture the best of our memories—I hope.

Our first week with the kids and grandkids was wonderful, and then John and I left for Paris together. It surpassed any expectations I had. I can honestly say it was one of the more remarkable cities I've visited, and I didn't feel hampered by my ignorance of the language. People treated us beautifully. I did learn to say "Good day, do you speak English?" in French, which probably helped quite a bit. Most people did, at least enough for our needs. I can hardly wait to share our visit to Paris with you all.

Shortly after our return to The Netherlands, we all boarded a jet together and flew to Stockholm, Sweden. Ben put his back out just before we left, so he was in a considerable amount of pain. It made getting baggage and children from place to place a little crazy. That's part of the Sweden story, but it's just a side bar to several days that were great despite Ben's pain and rainy weather.

We took a cruise from there, and the story will continue with tales of Estonia and St. Petersburg, Russia. What an amazing city that was! You'll see by the photos. We walked our legs off, but there was so much to see that it was worth it.

Our day at sea would seem to have been a time when the camera might not be used, but my photos that day were wonderful as well, from the grandchildren, to photos of the fiords we were passing through, and capped off by a spectacular sunset. It was heavenly.

We returned for another couple of days in Stockholm, where we got the news that my step father of 30 years had been transfered to a Hospice Home for his final days. I knew we wouldn't be able to make it back to my Mom before he passed away, and it saddened me. We waited and prayed as we continued on, flying back to Amsterdam on the 20th, four days before Papa John passed away.

So it's been a long month, and we'll be taking another trip to California to see Mom after we get home. The memorial service is being delayed so family can gather. It'll be on the 16th of September. Hopefully our jet lag and laundry will be memories by the time we pull out of the driveway to head out there. And I'll have at least one or two cities posted. Tomorrow is for flying. Tonight is for sleeping. Goodnight, Moon.

We're Not In Kansas Anymore

2011-08-09T13:41:00.003-06:00

No. We're not in Colorado, either. We're back in Amsterdam after three days in Paris. I'll do a city by city detailed account with photos when we return home, but I did want to update you on some of the highlights while they're fresh.

We had no reason to fear being Americans without any French language skills. The people we met were charming and friendly. Our time there was beyond special, if not without trials. Getting out of Amsterdam proved to be a trial because the metro line we were to take no longer connected to our destination due to work on the line. None of us knew that, however, and every time we got on one of the trams, it let us off at the next stop. We made it to Amsterdam Central Station with 30 minutes to spare, but there are no signs telling people where to go for which train, so you have to ask. No one knew—and John needed a bathroom. We finally decided to stop looking for one of those and continue looking for the train.

We wound up on a track that I was sure was the right place. Someone in a uniform came along, and I thought I'd verify with him by showing him our tickets. He said, No, go over there and pointed across the rails to the other side of the track. We had ten minutes before the train was to leave, so we rushed down the track, a set of stairs, a concourse, then up another set of stairs and down that track. It took five minutes to get to the top. No one was there. I looked across to where we had been and saw a train was now boarding. I yelled across at a different man in uniform. Is that the train to Paris? Yes, he said. It leaves in four minutes. Hurry! We ran all the way back, suitcases bumping down the stairs, and were out of breath, and the last the board the train before it pulled out 30 seconds after we got on. John got to use the W.C. on board.

The train station in Paris is very different. Everything is well marked. You would have to be an idiot to get lost there, I think. We had no trouble finding our way from the train to the metro, nor did I have any difficulty buying tickets for two two-day Metro passes and a one way Metro ticket each for our trip that evening to the hotel.

Some of the images I'll keep in my head forever from Paris are the man playing violin in the Metro station while he waited for his train to come. The trio practicing with keyboard, sax, and horn that we rode with long enough one of the days to hear Blue Moon and Hello Dolly. They were really good. Reading signs and realizing I could understand some of them. Watching John try to find a cup of American coffee. He'd end up drinking espresso and being polite about it, but he never did find what he was looking for. The bread! I'll probably dream about the breads we ate... baguettes, croissants, breads I have no idea what their sweet little French names were. They'll all live in my heart forever, absolutely delicious.

One thing we realized when we got on the train is that my beautiful raincoat got lost somewhere—probably on the last train they crammed us into on our way to Central Station. It was standing room only, and they were starting and stopping at full speed. People were falling into each other, and John took my hat and raincoat along with all the baggage to keep me from getting hurt, so I'd have two hands to hold onto the pole with. He's a good guy like that. We met a wonderful clerk in a boutique next to the hotel after getting caught in a rainstorm. She had nothing under 400 euros, and I told her that was over my means. She gave me directions to a store near the Louvre. Wait until you see my Paris raincoat! I've never had anything so beautifully made. And that kind lady was right. We paid 68 euros for it. I can't get over the detailing on it.

When I revisit the cities one by one (with photos) I'll go into details on The Louvre and The Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triumphe and Notre Dame. Meanwhile, just know that I wouldn't trade these memories. And I'm so grateful I have John for my traveling companion. He's the best.

Happy Days

2011-08-05T22:19:00.002-06:00

We've been enjoying our first few days in The Netherlands with the kids. Unfortunately, Ben has had to work, since it's been mid-week, but we've seen him in the evenings for dinner and usually a movie and conversation at night. One of the highlights is always their bedtime routine with the children. We're lucky to have them raising our grandchildren. They're great parents.

What makes their bedtime routine so special is that it's a family affair. In most homes, including ours when the children were small, bedtime involves parents telling the children it's time to go to bed and the little ones arguing about it and bouncing out of bed for a while until both children and parents are exhausted. While this is going on, the parents attempt to talk or watch television.

Here, bedtime is something to look forward to. They climb the stairs together, Mama and Daddy supervise the choice of pajamas and help with brushing of teeth and other necessary chores. Then the fun begins. First they read a scripture, followed by a story. The children take turns picking out what story is going to be read. Then they each choose two songs to sing together, and everyone sings along. After that, each one takes a turn describing the most special part of their day. This is followed up with bedtime prayers and tucking in the little ones. Daddy then produces a children's travel type spill-proof bottle of water for each of them, and it goes on the corner of their headboards. A final kiss goodnight, the covers are pulled up, and the children are down for the count. It's really beautiful.

During the day Ruth is constantly picking up toys, cooking, and doing craft projects with the girls. Day before yesterday she let us sort colors from a box of Fruit Loops into little cups. Then we transferred each color into a plastic baggie and mashed them up with a rolling pin, then put them back into the cups. Each of us (yes, Grandma made a picture, too) got a sheet of construction paper. We'd paint with glue and sprinkle Fruit Loops onto it. Shake the extra back into the bowl and then glue paint where you want the next color. It was really fun. The pictures, once dry, got hung in the entry way for Daddy's loud exclamations of amazement.

Today John and I will travel (alone!) to Paris. We're taking the train, and we're both moderately terrified. Neither of us speak French, of course. I get lost really easily, so can't be left alone anywhere. It wasn't always this way, but certainly is now. (Have a few seizures and see what changes for you...) Ben made all the travel arrangements—train and hotel, so that's half the battle. We just have to figure out how to get from the train station to the hotel, and from there to everything we want to see.

You'll probably get updates, since the Concorde La Fayette, our hotel, has free WiFi. I wish we had thought to pack the GPS. Or maybe it wouldn't work over here. I think we would have had to buy maps. Probably worth it. At least I've got the iPad to help now. I think I can find anything on it that I could on a computer. Oh. It is a computer. It's so small and portable I almost forgot. The whole house is sleeping, and I'm sitting at the kitchen table posting a blog on my iPad. How sweet it is. Thank you, John. He thought it was a smart decision for my writing, and he's definitely be correct.

So as you are all heading into the end of your Friday, we're starting our Saturday here. Blessings to us all.

Early to Bed

2011-08-01T22:05:00.002-06:00

I actually went to bed at 8 o'clock tonight. We leave the house at 4:15 a.m. tomorrow to catch a ride with our good neighbor Doug to the local bus connection that will take us to Denver International Airport. From there we'll be on the 10:03 United flight to Houston where we'll change planes and continue on to The Netherlands. We'll land the next morning in Amsterdam at 8:20 in the morning.

Now it's almost 10, two hours later, and sleep has evaded me. I have mental images of grandchildren running up to greet me, warm hugs from my son and daughter-in-law warming my soul. I guess I can sleep on the plane. I've got a Karen Kingsbury novel all queued up on my iPod to keep me company on the plane if I don't sleep, but since we arrive in the morning, I hope I'll drift off at some point. Still, I'm sure an afternoon nap will be in order the day we arrive.

Swallowing my pride, I decided to take along my cane for use in the airport. My hip has been giving me fits lately. It's painful, which I'm used to, but it's also been collapsing under me unexpectedly at times, which is disconcerting to say the least. It won't hurt to have the extra support if I need it. The can is light weight and collapsable for when it's not in use. If there are stairs, or we hit rough weather on the cruise ship, I may find I'm glad I took it. Better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. I'm also taking along some extra empty zip lock baggies so I can ask for ice if the hip or my shoulders get really bad on the plane.

I'm asking myself the same pre-travel question as always. What am I forgetting? The only thing I'm sure of this time (so far) is wrapping paper for Kate's 3rd birthday gifts. I already warned Ruth, and she says we'll handle that when we arrive. At least I'm happy with the presents, and I can always use tin foil. My mom often used tin foil with pennies taped onto it. As a kid, I thought that was awesome.

We had friends from church over tonight, and it made me think about how difficult it is for me, as an adult, to make close friends. I can count on my fingers the number of tight friendships I have. Still, those I count as friends remain that way indefinitely, because I don't put up a mask. What they see is what they get. Tammy and Matt didn't stay long, but we made plans for S'Mores when we get back. We originally met them through the Financial Peace class we took. That class was a blessing in many ways. Matt is one of the men John works with now in the sound booth at church. It's so nice when both halves of the couples really like each other. I'm glad we got to see each other before we leave.

It'll be difficult to post much while we're gone, but I'll try to write once in a while. Photos of the trip will come after our return on the 27th, most likely few if any earlier than that. I hope you each have blessings in your life during this next month. I know I will—new places to visit, and my arms full of grandchildren.

Advising the Baby Deer

2011-07-25T21:36:00.002-06:00

Our yard is graced by woodland creatures. We see red fox, very timid, who race away through the cool morning twilight whenever they see me head out for the newspaper. There are bunnies and a few people swear they've seen mountain lions, but we've never spotted one in five years, or any sign of one. We get the most joy from the regular visits from the deer. It's especially wonderful when their fawns are born.

This year our herd only had three new babies, twins from one of the does and a single baby from another. Until today, they've only visited with their mothers. Today the three came together to our yard to play without any adult supervision. I guess they're growing up, but haven't lost their spots yet. I went out to sit on the deck after dinner and they all scampered through the pines away from me, then stopped at a safe distance. There they turned and stood looking at me.

I moved slowly, sitting at the table on the deck and said, "Hello, deer. Don't you all look wonderful tonight!"

I always talk to them, using my most nonthreatening voice. I treat them like they should expect people to talk to them. Gradually they wandered back until they stood in a wary group about ten feet from me, heads canted, listening. I told them we were planning to take a trip, and would be gone a month. I asked them not to forget me while we were gone. To take care of each other, and keep growing strong. I suggested they listen to their mothers, even when they didn't like what they were hearing.

Have fun together, I said, and be glad you have family and cousins around. That's important now, but will be more important in the future. And make sure you take care of yourselves, because winter is coming. I know it's been hot lately, but when the snow starts to fall, it will balance it out. I explained that I clomp around in the yard once the snow covers the ground, so they should get used to seeing me around the yard, and not just on the deck.

With a rustle and a bark, one of the mothers came through the shrubbery and pines. She stood and watched for a minute, then turned to leave. "Hi there, Mama," I called. She looked back, but kept moving. I wondered if she is one of the babies from the last five years, all grown up. Impossible to tell.

As the three from this year's generation fell into line behind her, I realized how contented I am to be living here. The feeling comes over me often.

When I'm Not Writing

2011-07-24T20:12:00.003-06:00

At the Crested Butte Writers Conference I attended recently, I was fortunate to meet many wonderful writers. They touched and inspired me in many ways. One evening we had a reader's night. Sitting in a large circle, we took turns reading some of our work. (No, I didn't read. I did, however, join one of the others playing guitar at the end of the evening.)

There were a wide variety of genres being read. I sat with notepad open, taking names so I'd know who I wanted to buy from the published authors, and follow from the pre-published ones. Some, I felt sure, would soon wind up on my book store shelves—they were that good. (I do realize there is no such thing as soon in the publication business...)

Tonight I want to mention one writer in particular. Marcie Telander had slipped through the conference days without my noticing her. We'd never sat at the same table, or shared a meal together. Suddenly I became totally mesmerized listening to her read a poem entitled "When I'm Not Writing." It was such a clear view of the dichotomy of a writer's life that afterwards I asked permission to reprint it on my blog. She said I could, but then we failed to connect for me to get a copy.

Today she emailed it to me. I reprint it here and recommend you visit her website to enjoy more of her work. Just click the link. And thanks, Marcie. This is such a keeper.

When I Am Not Writing by Marcie Telander www.marcietelander.com

When I am not writing

I am sure that constellations, galaxies,

whole universes are

disappearing.

When I am not writing I starve

and the scent of forbidden

fruit, in the form of feasts,

fetishes, the phantasmagoria

of words

are being served up

and devoured by others,

not I.

When I am not writing,

I always bore

myself.

When I am not writing

I am grieving—

I am the Orphan.

When I am not writing

my characters are

planning to run away

or worse, write me out of

the plot.

When I am not writing

I can take time

to stare at my cat,

lie across my horse’s warm

lazy body,

make long slow hours of love,

with a real human being.

When I am not writing

I can actually listen to you,

and not be seduced by

the dialogue in my head.

When I am not writing I am

a devoted partner, a fabulous gardener

an ironer of sheets,

an arranger of flowers, a harvester of wild plants,

a dancer of tangos, a greedy reader of books,

a sultry singer of scat,

adventurous explorer, and peaceful, pausing

Madonna in the sun.

When I am not writing

I am glad, guilty,

despondent, elated

clanking with envy—

I may drink too much, I rage—

I yearn, I feel divorced and

set free, at last! And--

I am always seeking

that lover

who left me last chapter, last

week, and is still,

if I am worthy,

waiting just around the

next parenthetical bend.

When I am not writing I am calm, still,

myself at last---

but, do not trust me for a second.

Deep inside there lurks the

desperate lover who

is ready to kill or die

for all those characters, voices,

terrible, wonderful relationships

that could,

should be born—

when at last,

I am

writing again.

Are We There Yet?

2011-07-14T08:35:00.001-06:00

As difficult as this trip has been, there have been bright spots of joy blended into the mix. I'll begin with those, then explain the current predicament and when we plan to return home.

We've spent time with our youngest son, his beautiful wife and their children—our grandchildren. I got real giggles from Aiden when I called him a "cheap date" at the frozen yogurt store. We met up there for an evening treat. Grandpa decided to buy for everyone, but Aiden is only four months old. He didn't get any. He was happily watching everyone enjoying their choices when I told him he was a cheap date, and he must have thought that was the funniest thing I had ever said. Laughing babies are such a blessing. Granddaughters enjoying frozen desserts are, as well.

It was more fun with a cold delicious bowl than I ever remember having before. By the way, I chose banana with miniature Reece's Cups on the top. From my point of view, it was perfect. We went from there to Target, where we walked around and the girls got to pick out their new backpacks and lunch boxes. They both wanted the same ones, so Ruth is going to have fun making sure each girl gets the right bag and box when it's time to leave home. Maybe she'll put names on them. Disney Princess bags and Tinkerbell lunch boxes won the competition in both little hearts.

Yesterday morning the local theatre had a free showing of How to Train Your Dragon. Neither of the girls had ever been to a show in public before, although they watch movies at home with the family. They did beautifully. John and I joined them, and Ben bought a huge bag of popcorn to share. It was a movie John and I had seen before, but it was much more fun with the girls. I was amazed at just how respectful and quiet they were. Kate isn't three yet. Ashley is just four. I figured their first trip to the movies would entail some hushed whispering about behavior. It never needed to happen.

Some memories are worth more than gold. Near the end of the movie, when things were getting really exciting, Kate reached up and kissed my cheek. I looked over and she smiled at me. I held out my arms and she climbed on my lap for the last ten or so minutes of the film. It reminds me of that wonderful old hymn... "Precious memories, how they linger. How they ever flood my soul."

These moments have kept us sane. We return to the home where my mom is dealing with deterioration and dementia. My step father is not doing well. It appears he has had new small strokes that effect his balance, and he can no longer walk properly. He keeps falling and wants no one to help but her. She can no longer leave the house. He won't cooperate with anyone else. He barely eats. Doesn't want the walker. Refused assistance from the nurses (2) and physical therapist who have come to the house to help Mom.

It's been a nightmare for her, and an exercise in frustration and patience for us. We can keep her grocery list filled. I can change her bandage twice a day while she heals from her surgery. I make sure she's not spending her energy on cooking or clean-up. I can lend an ear and a shoulder to lean on. What needs most to be done is beyond me. I cannot make her see the need for him to be in a care facility. I can't show her how emotionally fragile she's become without upsetting her more.

Big brother to the rescue. We'll leave for home Sunday after church. Pat and his wife will arrive Sunday afternoon. Already I know we've stayed beyond what is wise. I run out of my medications five doses before arriving home. It's the seizure medication that worries me most. I'll call my neurologist today and see if he can phone in a small prescription to get us home. The blessing, all problems aside, is knowing Pat & Betty will be here to support Mom. You can get a clear image of them. Think salt of the earth.

We can head for home knowing Mom won't be left alone to make impossible decisions.

Caretakers Have it Tough

2011-07-10T06:10:00.002-06:00

Until you're in the same house for days at a time, it's impossible to realize how very difficult it is to be caretaker for a loved one who has dementia. There are the obvious problems, but there are hidden ones as well.

If you try to explain something to them and go beyond two sentences, they cannot remember the first sentence when you get to sentence three. Neither do they care. Trying to have a serious discussion with someone who sits there grinning at you with a "talk to the hand" look on his face makes me want to scream and slap. You can't do that. It wouldn't help anyway. It wouldn't work with a two year old, and it wouldn't work with a 97 year old with dementia.

The current crises, and of course we're having one or I wouldn't be up at 5 a.m. writing, should be classified as, "I won't do that. People will think I'm old." Again, when you're 97, why would you care? Your years should be counted as memories or milestones, badges of honor. Not demerits. He's decided that he can't use a cane. Physical progression of age has determined that he cannot walk without it. He grips walls and furniture as he makes his way through the rooms. Walls work quite well. Furniture tips over, pulling him down and crashing on top of him.

He's a big guy, well over six feet tall. My mom is about five foot two. She can't pick him up. He refuses help from anyone else. He has fallen three times in the last two days. Each time he swears at my husband, who "must have pushed me." After all, it has to be someone's fault, and can't be his. He won't allow my big strapping husband to assist him from the floor. He wants my little mother to do it.

On Monday she'll call a visiting nurse. She's afraid to take him out of the house without the cane he refuses to use. She can't even continue sending him to the Senior Concerns adult day care center if he can't walk without falling.

We'll be here another five days. It's not enough. She refuses our offer to stay. She needs more support than a visit can provide. No wonder I'm not sleeping. There are no easy answers for a caretaker. Apparently there aren't any for a daughter who lives so far away, either.

Difficult Decisions

2011-07-09T04:38:00.001-06:00

The call came from my son just as Mom and I walked into the pharmacy to purchase more bandages. She had another skin cancer surgery on on Wednesday.

The good news is that it was basil cell. The bad news is that the Mohs surgery took three rounds to get all the cancer, and when they were done the surgeon needed to remove part of her ear lobe to do a skin graft, replacing part of the ear he had needed to remove. It was a painful process, leaving her swollen and unable to wear her hearing aid in the only ear with any hearing.

It needs to be cleaned and re-bandaged twice a day. I've never seen her so needy. I'm used to her being strong and opinionated, independent. My heart is with the kids and grandkids. This was their last day at the beach. When Ben called to invite us to the beach I told him the truth, as far as it went. John didn't want to get back in the sun today. He would prefer to go after the worst heat of the day was past. Could we head out there around sunset? No, they'd be putting the kids down right after dinner, since they were leaving the beach in the morning.

Mom had already asked me to take her to Bingo today to see her friends—a little sympathy, a little fun, she said. My step-father has severe dementia and this was one of the days the bus took him to the adult day care program to give her (and other care givers) a breather from their difficult routines. She wanted to make the most of it. I waited hours before agreeing. The next three hours were already promised. My heart was torn. I have so little time with these sweet grandchildren, but how much do I have left with my mother? She turned 90 in December. There was no decision to make.

Ben will call me when they get back to town from the beach. Mom's already talking about Saturday bingo. Her John will have to go along, so if my John (my mother, sister and I all married men named John, so it sometimes gets confusing) and I come along, they can play pool together while we play bingo. Four hours is all she's asking from my day, counting travel time. Will it work out? I'll have to hope Ben calls early and invites us over early or late, rather than in the afternoon. Children nap in the afternoon, right? That's what Mom said, hopefully suggesting just one more day at bingo together at the senior center in town.

I've often thought of the quandary I'd be in if given the choice between an out of mind and an out of body experience. If I could be in two places at once, it would be so much easier. Since it's not my choice, I guess an out of mind experience will have to do me. It'll last longer, anyway.

A Day at the Beach

2011-07-07T21:01:00.001-06:00

I honestly cannot remember the last time I spent on the beach before today. Whenever it was, I guarantee it wasn't nearly as much fun. There's something magical about grandchildren. Sharing anything with them enhances the experience, bringing it up a level.

My perfect day at the beach before would probably include sitting in the parking lot listening to the waves and watching them roll in. I don't like sand. It makes walking painful and difficult, and gets in any crevice available. I do, however, love the sound the ocean makes as it breaks along the shore.

My iPod has a few different CDs burned onto it that help me enjoy the sounds without the sand, even without leaving Colorado. One has the beach sounds during a storm. You hear the waves as a storm comes in, with rain and then thunder added to the pulsing of the ocean. It's a super nature CD. I have a few others that just have the sound of waves, or waves and seagulls, whales, or whatever sea life is within microphone range.

None of them bring me quite the same level of contentment as ocean sounds and grandchildren, though. There's something quite unique about the sound of a child's laughter coming in with the tide. I love watching their sturdy legs running along the edge of the foamy waves, daring them to douse their legs as they race.

Kites fly overhead. Babies sleep beneath the shelter of makeshift awnings. The newest of those belongs to me—grandchild number three from son number three. Surfers paddle in mediocre waves, proving this is California, while Kate pauses to rest and accidentally falls asleep in the sand, a smile on her not quite three year old face. Cousins come and peek at her and whisper "be quiet" in voices I can't believe she sleeps through. Her good mama pulls a towel over her so she won't sunburn. It's a sweet scene.

Watching my tall son, a father three times over, patiently and with great pleasure dig a huge hole in the sand to fit several children was more fun than digging it myself. Duh. All the children love Ben and Ruth. I can see why. They're fun. And when a couple of the older cousins dug a trench around the side and collapsed their hole (with them still in it) no one got upset. It was that kind of day. Maybe I do like the beach after all.

Ode To So Cal Friends

2011-07-07T02:07:00.002-06:00

After a couple of days in California, I've stopped to think about my attitude toward the State. People I love live here, and many of those who have moved away can't wait to visit. If I could get the people I love to visit us in Colorado instead, I probably wouldn't come back unless we were going to Disneyland. I do love Disneyland, especially on a drizzly day when there aren't too many people around.

I'm not sure how a person can live somewhere for over 35 years and never feel like that's where their roots are. It was home, but my heart wasn't in it. We had some wonderful years in California. Friends worth driving two days to see still live here and have never driven out to see us—yet. Sooner or later they will also retire, and travel will undoubtedly go both ways. It's beside the point.

What I'm trying to discern is my emotional distance from an area that holds so many ties for me. I have friends, relatives and a history here. I drive past the home where we lived from 1976 until 2006, and there isn't even a twinge of nostalgia. We raised three sons there, and I feel all the emotional impact imaginable when I think of them, but looking at that house that used to be our home? I feel nothing beyond what I would feel staring at an old piggy bank used to save up to buy what you really wanted.

We used to drive through Hidden Valley together, John and I, and he'd say, "Someday I want an acre of my own." Even then John felt about the suburbs the way I did. Now we have that acre and a little more. One of the things we first liked about the home we chose in 1976 was that it was at the end of a dead end road, turn right, and pass three vacant lots. They put the road through, made it a major traffic artery, and put homes so close together on all those vacant lots there were twice as many students in the classrooms at the local school.

Crowding, of course, combined with traffic is bad. Weather is something very few people complain about in Southern California. Except me. I always did. I think you have to have seasons. I don't like Summer to begin with. If I don't get a Winter to balance it, then I'm really cranky. If it's just one of four seasons, then I can deal with it (as long as I have air conditioning.) The rumor in Southern California is that it really doesn't get that hot, so you don't need a/c. Lies, I tell you—lies! You need it. My air conditioning system was about four showers a day and a fan in every room.

But...today my friend Sherrie (one of the people worth a 20 hour road trip to see) took me for a drive. We saw Lake Sherwood and Hidden Valley. She drove me up Potrero Road, and we saw the old hills where John and I used to drive and dream together of our 'someday' acre. The beauty is still there. It was hot, but it's Summer, so it's probably hot at home, too. There was traffic, but there's traffic aplenty in Denver. I wouldn't be able to live in Denver, either.

As always, I come to a point where I know that I'm glad I came. Even though I never managed to grow roots here, so many wonderful people did, that part of my heart will always feel welcome to visit.

Notes From The Road

2011-07-04T07:58:00.003-06:00

All I had to do all day was look out the window to see why we never drive on holidays. Yet here were are, driving on a holiday weekend. Hello, Fourth of July traffic. All the idiots are out, and all the police vehicles you'd think people would notice. Cars whip past us as we follow the posted limits. Then we pass many of them as they sit hunched over the wheel down the road, uniformed officer at their window. Do they think they're invisible or just above the law?

We passed a herd of bison as we climbed the Eastern slope of the Rockies, and normally we would have stopped for photos, but this is not a normal trip. We're heading to California to see family and meet our newest grandson for the first time. If we want to make it in time for the fireworks to begin, we

can't make any unscheduled stops.

A sudden heavy rain cleans our windshield, and a slick convertible races past, top down. The driver's hair is plastered to his skull, and his passenger is slumped in her seat. She appears to be yelling at him. John is laughing, enjoying the scene. I get a mental image of the driver eventually pulling over. He opens his door and a flood comes out of the car. John pulls up by the passenger door and offers the lady his hanky.

Within a half hour we had gone from 61° in a Rocky Mountain rain storm to low 90s. By the time we stopped in Parachute I no longer wanted to look at our temperature gauge. We dropped off a birthday gift for my sister in law, promised a longer visit on our way home and got back into the air conditioning with refilled coffee mugs and empty bladders. Leaving Parachute behind, we crossed the Colorado River and noticed how full and swift it is this year. It looks beautiful.

Have you ever seen a horse with a bit between its teeth? We finally walked into our hotel room in Mesquite, Nevada just before midnight. The time change allowed us to turn the clocks back to eleven, but that didn't help my body much. Now it's time for breakfast and today's run. We have grandchildren to see, kids and a mother waiting. Fun and fireworks. I hope they're ready to see Grandma sleeping. Just kidding.

Carter Lake

2011-07-03T04:59:00.009-06:00

This seemed appropriate, since we're going to leave home for a couple of weeks, to let everyone see why it's so very difficult to go away at times. When we lived in Southern California's suburbs, I was always ready to go—anywhere. In fact, we generally tried to find a place that looked amazingly like where we now live. After five years in Colorado, we still drive up our hill and say, "Aren't we blessed?"

I hope you've enjoyed these photos, a few of the many I took this week. They are some of the things I most love seeing here at Carter Lake.

Baked Custard

2011-06-27T16:21:00.002-06:00

Once in a great while I like to share a recipe. I always choose one I've been asked for time and again. This is one I often make when asked to bring a dessert to share. It's almost a lost art, elegant in its simplicity. The creamy specialty is not all that difficult to make, but its life expectancy in our house is quite short. We like to top it with whipped cream.

Grandma's Baked Custard

Ingredients

3 whole eggs

2 egg yolks

1/2 Cup sugar

3 Cups whole milk

1 Teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 Teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Directions:

Preheat oven to 325°

Butter a 1-quart baking dish and place it in a roasting pan with enough hot water to come halfway up the side of the baking dish.

Place in the oven to heat.

Combine the eggs, egg yolks and sugar, and whisk until thick and pale.

Heat the milk to boiling point and slowly add to the egg mixture, stirring constantly.

Stir in the vanilla.

Remove roasting pan from oven and pour mixture into the baking dish (carefully)

Sprinkle with nutmeg.

Return to the oven. Don't slosh.

Bake 45-60 minutes until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. The time will depend on the depth of the baking dish.

NOTES: I often double this recipe and use a 2-quart baking dish. With my particular baking dish it needs to bake about 85 minutes.

Yes, you can use nutmeg from a can, but there really is a difference you will taste if you get some fresh nutmeg and grate it yourself. It's cheap, stays fresh forever and will impress your own taste buds.

Ben's 1st Trip to the Dentist

2011-06-26T16:55:00.004-06:00

My daughter-in-law films and blogs the funny things their children do as they happen. Thirty years ago we didn't have digital cameras and an internet, with social media so handy for sharing the highlights of our little comedians' days. I'm still pulling up memories to record here, for the future amusement of our grandchildren. I hope they enjoy this one when they learn to read.

Anyone who knows Ben today would assume correctly that he's always been bright and inquisitive. He has an eye for detail and a question for everyone. His first trip to the dentist was no exception. We took him to a special children's dentist with a great reputation for building rapport with kids. Since my experiences with military dentists left me with a lifelong fear of being in that chair, I wanted my children to give this dentist a try.

I don't remember his name, but I'll never forget the hour he spent with my son. He sat him in the chair and took his photo with a Polaroid camera, then allowed Benjamin to pin it to the bulletin board. Once back in the seat, Ben was presented with a tray of tools to examine. The good dentist explained each tool, and how he was going to use it. He had me standing just out of sight in the doorway, where Ben couldn't use me as a safety net, I was told, but I would feel secure in his well being.

As the fairly long litany of tools and their uses came to a close, the dentist leaned over and said to Ben, "Now, do you have any questions?"

"Yes," Ben said very seriously. "Who made God?"

There was a short period of silence and then the dentist said, "I mean about your teeth or what I'm going to do." Ben said he didn't, and then the dentist came out to talk to me for a minute, leaving Ben with his laughing assistant.

"Why did he ask me that? I've never had anyone ask me something not related to teeth before!" He wasn't quite angry, but obviously frustrated. I honestly didn't know, so I suggested he ask Ben. He didn't. Maybe he was afraid of him—I'm not sure.

When Ben came out, quite content with his first visit to the dentist, I asked him myself. "I wonder about who made God, and he said I could ask a question."

Children expect us to know whatever they don't for a long time. They ask so many questions. The really smart ones can be a terrifying responsibility. That day I laughed while he couldn't see me, then I tried to answer him. I think today I might suggest we google it.

I was surprised to find, when I called for his next checkup, that the dentist had unexpectedly retired. I've wondered through the years if the Ben's visit could have pushed him closer to his decision. No, I don't suppose so...

The Jeremiah Tree

2011-06-24T21:24:00.003-06:00

John and I drove to the other side of Longmont today to a big tree farm with an excellent reputation. We wanted to get an education on planting an aspen tree—and keeping it alive.

I had pictured having to get someone to truck a huge tree into the foothills and plant it for us at great expense. What I learned, however, is that this is something John and I will be able to handle ourselves. It will be a memorial tree for Jeremiah True, our first grandson. We want to have it solidly started before November 16th, the first anniversary of his short hour of life.

We chose the aspen for several reasons. They're so beautiful, and the slightest movement of breeze makes the leaves quake and shiver. The trees seem to live vibrantly, growing in clumps with white-barked trunks similar to the white birch trees I loved as a child playing in Northern Michigan's woods. They grow swiftly, and are extremely disease resistant. For a non-gardener, it seems like a perfect match. I know how to water. That's what it will need from me.

Add a little bench and a garden memory stone, and we'll have a wonderful place to commemorate our first grandson. His life may only have lasted ninety minutes, but his impact lives on. I've been donating blood again, which I had gotten away from since moving to Colorado. That's one thing I can do.

Hopefully our son and daughter-in-law will be able to join us here in November. We'll have the tree dedicated on the 16th. We'd like the tree to live on as a reminder—our Jeremiah tree.

I Met The Most Interesting People

2011-06-22T20:34:00.002-06:00

"Have you ever been compared to the Paula Deen of the writing world?"

"No," she laughed, "But I'll take it."

Kaki Warner was one of the most delightful people I met at the Crested Butte writer's conference. There are times it would be nice to own the home next door and keep it as a guest cottage. If I were in that financial bracket, this is one woman I'd love to have move in and stay for a very long time. She made me laugh, and she really knows her craft. Her writing craft.

There are two types of writers, basically. One type plans everything out painstakingly before ever setting down a word of the actual story on paper. They know from first to last exactly what will happen. The other type of writer sits down with the characters all yelling in her head and lets them tell their story through her as it unfolds. Kaki and I both fall within that latter category.

As an aside, let me say that my characters woke me up for months before I was told that if I didn't write their story nobody else would. Melissa Mayhue said that to me when I went to one of her book signings. I wasn't planning to try because I'd never written a novel before. Why would I have to nerve to think I could be a novelist, just because I'd written all my life? I'd never written anything that long.

Now, back to Kaki. She was giving one of the workshops when a hand shot up. The question related to how much time or attention she gave to outlining each novel before beginning the first draft. She replied, "What's an outline?" or something like that. Then she explained that she doesn't tell her characters what they're going to do—they tell her. She said she got half way through one book and was starting to write something when her hero told her, "I can't do that. I'm dyslexic!" She said, "Well, why didn't you tell me that at the beginning of the book?"

She said she occasionally has to go back and fix things, since her characters don't always explain themselves up front. That's what "pants-ers," as those of us who write by the seat of our pants are called, pay for the creativity we get in return for allowing our characters the freedom to react to the flow of the story. We get a character-driven plot, rather than plot-driven characters.

I liked her. I understood my own writing style better, and felt the importance of her answer. I had been ashamed to admit that I didn't outline and plot each chapter. It was the reason I would have an eight page chapter followed by a two page chapter. It was what the characters needed.

The only problem with meeting someone like Kaki is that I now have three new books (signed, so they won't be carted around on our trips) that I want to be reading. Well, I'm world building right now, so they're waiting. Books are so patient.

God, please grant me another twenty years to write, and then fifteen more just to read and blog.

The Accidental Conference

2011-06-20T19:53:00.004-06:00

Thank you Robin D. Owens. Thank you John Harrell. If it weren't for the two of them, I would have spent my weekend writing at home instead of being at the Crested Butte Writer's Conference. Attending wasn't in our budget, but when Robin wanted a passenger for the six-hour trip, I mentioned it to John, not expecting a positive response. I'm blessed to have his wholehearted support for my writing. He said it was an important opportunity.

It was. As I mentioned in my last post, I had three appointments to discuss my fantasy novel, A Different Song. Two were with agents, and one with an editor. All three asked to see more of the novel. One asked me to email the entire manuscript. I got all that done today. Not only that, but I honestly enjoyed these people. Yes, they were professionals, but all were unpretentious. I loved the questions they asked. I loved having answers for them.

What will happen? I don't pretend to know. I could have three rejections, or I could end up with an editor and an agent. If so, I know these are people I could work with, editorial beasts to help me improve this novel while writing the sequels. In fact, I need to mention world building.

The most exciting workshop of the weekend, and there were several to choose from, had to be the world building workshop given by Michael Braff, Del Rey Spectra Books editor. His information on constructing your characters' world, from history and customs to religion and a timeline, was amazing. It's a good thing I type over a hundred words a minute. He talks fast and doesn't waste words. My notes are fabulous. I won't be having my characters falling out of context in the sequels. Thanks, Mike.

There are more stories to tell, writers published and not whom I met and enjoyed. I'm going to spend a few evenings sharing the weekend in my blog. I did look down several times today, though, and my feet really are still touching the floor. It just doesn't feel like it.

How To Know When You're A Writer

2011-06-15T11:12:00.006-06:00

Conversation during a recent Mini Conference in Denver enlightened me on the various ways my peers deal with friends and family members who scoff at the time they spend writing. To those of us who are pre-published, the term now being used when none of your work has managed to sell, the conversation triggered many questions.

How long do you continue writing before you decide this is just a hobby rather than a profession? What can you do to express your gratitude sufficiently to those closest to you who show their support with their own time, or pay for conferences from the family budget? Who cheerfully drive an hour to drop you off at a meeting point so you can carpool to another writer's conference, and miss your cooking for four days? And how do you know when you really are a writer?

You continue writing forever. It's not a choice. You write because you must. Most authors, even those of us who have never been published, were born telling stories. My parents said they thought my first stories were just lies. Then I got old enough to start putting them on paper, and they realized I never expected to be believed when I strung out intricate stories about what I saw in the park, or my reason for failing to change clothes after school. My stories were simply more interesting than the truth.

This will never be just a hobby. I work too hard at it. Spend too much time perfecting the craft. Music is a hobby. I'm happy just to have fun and entertain with the guitar and accordion. I don't need to be Chet Atkins or Les Paul. I'll never be willing to invest sufficient time in practice to achieve perfection. I'm not sure I'd ever have the talent for it. Knitting and crochet are hobbies. Writing is work. I enjoy it, but it's work I'm passionate about.

To thank my husband for his unflagging support, I plan to spend a couple of hours today cooking. I'll make sure the fridge is stuffed with food choices for him while I'm gone the next four days. The Crested Buttes Writer's Conference will be an exciting learning experience. He shouldn't starve because he wants me to allow me to grow in my career. My words of appreciation aren't enough. Food says it best for John. As soon as I return, we'll celebrate Father's Day together. His gifts are wrapped. His card is signed and waiting for him to open on Sunday morning. He knows how I feel. The good old days are the ones we're sharing now.

How do you know when you're really a writer? Everyone has to answer this question individually. I can gauge my progress as a professional by a quick glimpse at my DVR's Recordings Screen. I have 27 Jeopardy programs awaiting my attention. Seven weeks of 20/20 are ready for me to have time to watch them, along with 19 hours of House, 21 episodes of The Event, 7 Bones, 14 Fringe, and 8 movies. There are other things on there as well, totaling 39 hours.

My "to be read" shelf is stuffed. My dictionary and thesaurus get more action on most days. I used to read a book a day while I was working in corporate America. I read during all the cracks in my day. Every break, and even walking across the building to the printer would see me with a book open, walking and reading at the same time. Now, I'm plotting and thinking.

This weekend I'll have appointments with two agents and an editor. They've read the written pitch for my novel along with my first two manuscript pages, and requested a meeting at the conference. I'm somewhere between levitation and hyperventilation. Yes, I'm excited. Whether or not they're interested enough to sign on as my agent, request the entire manuscript, or even buy the novel, I know one thing with no doubts. I am a writer.

Loving the Internet

2011-05-22T20:07:00.002-06:00

I'm sitting comfortably at Pat and Betty's home in Parachute. He's my brother, and she's his wife and treasure. I wish we could stay for a long visit, since they're great people. We always enjoy seeing them, but we'll leave early in the morning. (I can say anything I want. They don't read blogs—anybody's. Not even mine...)

My feet are up, my laptop balancing on my legs, and I just finished doing some research. I'm so grateful for the internet. How would I learn how to write a synopsis without it? We'd have to stop at a book store, I guess, and buy references with our gas money. Or food money. I wonder why I didn't realize I would need to have a synopsis ready if the editor at the pitch session yesterday wanted to see more of my book. It's ready. I'm not. No synopsis. I should have known.

I have now printed about 30 pages of contradictory information to read in the car tomorrow as we continue on toward California. Then I'll write the synopsis as if it needed to be even better than A Different Song, the novel it will represent. After that, I can attach it to an email along with my first three chapters, as requested, and send it to New York.

Am I excited? Do bears... oh, that's not appropriate, is it? I may be pre-published, but I'm still professional, right? Let's just say I'm decidedly satisfied with life.

All Packed Up and Places To Go

2011-05-20T20:35:00.006-06:00

Springtime in the Rockies is never my first choice for leaving home. We are, however all packed up and more or less ready to leave in the morning.

Nature bid us goodbye with a rollicking thunderstorm today. Everything stopped while I listened to the pounding rain as the storm crossed the lake and passed over the house. Hail came down for awhile adding its clattering music while daylight hid behind the clouds. An hour later it was gone and the sun was again shining on my budding iris plants. I pray they'll wait to flower until our return. I hope the deer hold off on having their little spotted babies until then, too. The fawns are usually running all around our acre by now.

We had already been to town for my Critique Group meeting, and it went very well indeed. It's a fine group of six—a fairly new group, still getting to know each other. We write everything form fantasy to Westerns. Each one is a serious writer, which makes the group meetings lively and intense while still being helpful and friendly. They're all supportive of my adventure tomorrow as I go to pitch my novel at a mini conference near Denver.

Yes, I'm excited. I'm much calmer than I was three weeks ago. Much more prepared. John will have the utility trailer hitched behind us when we arrive at the conference, since we'll head across the Rockies as soon as it ends. We won't see home for almost three weeks. Tomorrow night we'll stay with my brother and his wife, and spend Sunday with them as well. It will be good to get in a good visit with them.

Monday morning we'll head to the Las Vegas area, and Tuesday we'll arrive in California. We take it a lot slower when we pull the trailer. Don't expect regular blogs while we're on the road. We'll be staying with my ninety year old mom. She doesn't believe in the internet. It's alright, though. She says the internet doesn't believe in her, either.

We're coming, Mama. I can hardly wait to see you.

A Frock is a Dress

2011-05-18T20:36:00.002-06:00

My husband knows I have a sense of humor. Occasionally he understands it. There are times I get the blank stare of incomprehension. That's acceptable. Once in a while I'll make a play on words that he'll misunderstand to the point of anger. At times like that it's best to let him calm down before I try to explain.

Of course, I'm thinking of one particular time. We were expecting our youngest son, Benjamin. In fact, we were expecting him at any moment, while still cautiously enjoying square dancing together. Money was tight, but we always dressed up. My secret was my sewing machine. I could turn old curtains or a table cloth into a square dance dress and matching shirt and tie for John.

The mid-dance break gave John an opportunity to leave me surrounded by friends while he surrendered to the lure of punch and cookies. Some of my fellow dancers had suggested I start making square dance clothes for pregnant ladies, since nobody else was doing it. They thought I should open up a shop, or just have a line of clothes that could be sold on consignment at the one square dance shop in town. John walked up to the group just in time to hear me say, "A store would be great. I could call it The Mother Frocker."

He grabbed me by the arm and dragged me from the room. He wasn't smiling. He was furious. He didn't want to hear that a frock is a dress, so a frocker is a person who makes a frock. As far as he was concerned, I knew what it sounded like, and that was all that mattered.

It's been over 30 years. I doubt he even remembers it. I'm still laughing.

One Day In Bed

2011-05-17T21:14:00.002-06:00

That's what I want. As a start, that's what I want. What I really want is one day in bed without anybody noticing. No phones will ring. No one will come to the door. I won't be sick, or injured.

John will magically find and heat leftovers when he gets hungry. He won't discuss it with me. He won't notice if I'm not eating. Or writing. He won't lose anything I need to find, or spill something I need to clean. The house will remain cool, quiet and dim.

We could begin our trip Monday or Tuesday. John could pack. Yeah, right. I realize that's more than I could expect. So is a day in bed.

Robert Browning said it best. "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?" Do you suppose there are beds in heaven?

Ault to Be Learned

2011-05-15T20:29:00.002-06:00

Northern Colorado Writers offers many classes for writers at their Fort Collins studio. I attend what I can. Most of them are quite reasonably priced. Today was the first time I know of that a class was offered on a Sunday. Normally I wouldn't consider a Sunday class, but this is crunch time for editing A Different Song, and when a class I could afford was offered I considered it carefully.

The lecture title was promising: Weasels, Ferrets, and the Seven Deadly Sins of Writing, by Sandi Ault. How could I resist? If you know me personally, you're already laughing. Yes, I sat in the front seat. I had my hearing aids turned all the way up. I didn't want to miss a word. I was not disappointed.

I'm down to five working days before I go to the pitch session next Saturday. I'm close to being ready to pitch. I'm going to re-edit with the handouts given today, though. This was valuable information.

Just so you know, weasels are words or phrases that are throwaway words. Unnecessary. They clutter up your story and steal the power from your sentences and paragraphs. They make your story drag, cause readers to yawn and wonder what's in the fridge. I need to find those weasels and weed them out.

Ferrets are even sneakier. They are the habitual things each writer does without thinking about it that are peculiar to him alone. (No, I'm not politically correct. I still refuse to say him or her.) Some writers are in love with adverbs. If they were to do a search for 'ly' at the end of a chapter, they'd find dozens of such examples—and remember, not all adverbs end in ly. I happen to love gerunds. I'm already aware of that, and have been exterminating them as I edit. Not all of them. Let's say many if not most. I'm trying. I do love them, though. Each writer has his own favorites. We must ferret them out.

The seven deadly sins were a surprise. I listened with interest as we went through the list. I won't give the list here, as it's not mine to give. Take her class if you get the chance. I will say, though, that when we got to Deadly Sin number 6, I said, out loud, "Oh, crap."

This is where being new at wearing hearing aids gets you in trouble. I would have sworn no one could hear me. The chuckles in the class stated otherwise. The two deadliest sins, numbers six and seven, will be problems for me to correct. Number six I'll have to practice to overcome, since it deals with using the passive voice. Shall we just say I have been known to do that? Number seven deals with defeating fear and self doubt. Yeah, right. I've been attempting that in every area of my life for over sixty years.

In one of her books, Wild Inferno, Sandi Ault penned this message to me: Kathleen, I believe in you.

If she does, on such short acquaintance, how can I not? Sandi—you have my profound gratitude for four of the shortest hours I've spent in years.

My New Reference Shelf

2011-05-14T23:52:00.005-06:00

Who knew I could get so excited about a forty dollar book shelf? I now have so many reference books on writing, editing, and publishing that the trip across the room to my big bookshelf was really intrusive. This week I spent the big bucks to get a small convenient shelf that fits quite cleverly between my chair and the lamp table.

Now my Oxford American Writer's Thesaurus is at my fingertips. My copy of Diana Hacker's A Writer's Reference, with its big tabs and concise tips and explanations is always within reach. No more teetering piles will spill from the lamp table when I have my notebook computer on my lap.

What else do I have on my shelf? Noah Lukeman's wonderful volume, The First Five Pages is there, along with two by Karen Elizabeth Gordon, The Well-Tempered Sentence and The Disheveled Dictionary. (Transitive Vampire, also by Gordon, is in the car right now, to read on the road.) One of my favorites is Orson Scott Card's Characters and Viewpoint. I bought it because I love his novels. After reading it, I understand better why I love them.

Oh, look... There's Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss. Maybe I'll reread a few pages before bed. This may be the best forty dollars I've spent in a long time.

I Need a Business Card?

2011-05-13T19:15:00.003-06:00

Preparation for representing myself in something as important as pitching my novel has been an eye opener. Everyone in the industry seems to have an opinion about the best way to go about it. I've been getting so many tips I can't keep up with them, but I've been trying to choose the smartest and prioritize.

Condense my novel into four sentences. I'm still working on that one.
Dress professionally. How about from the waist up? Does that count? Good jeans can be professional, as long as they're paired with a great top and blazer—right?
Edit your first chapter until it's as exciting and completely polished as you can make it, with particular attention to the first 140 words. Some people say 120, some 100. If those aren't pretty close to perfect, you're bound for the slush pile. That's what I'm reading.
Don't sweat. Be calm. Don't rush into your pitch. Spend some time building rapport first. Remember, you'll probably have a whole ten minutes together.

I could go on, but there are so many of these lists available, I hate to be just one more. A major detail was obvious once I came across it. Don't forget to have a professional business card to present. Oops. Why didn't I think about needing a business card?

This week I took time out of my editing to design a card. The photo above is the one I chose from my collection of glorious Colorado pictures I've taken. I'll end up printing note cards to match. Luckily, the cards will arrive with three days to spare.

I now have a whole week left before I face the editor. I'm actually beginning to look forward to this.

Teenaged Girls—Even They Don't Understand Them

2011-05-10T20:41:00.004-06:00

Like little boys who long ago would dip a special little girl's pigtail in an inkwell, thinking that somehow she's going to understand it as a symbol of love, teenaged girls often have strange ways of showing they're attracted. I can't believe I'm going to tattle on myself.

Seventh grade. I was plump, unknown, the newest kid among new kids on a military base in Virginia. Up to that point there were few important things in my life. I loved books, getting straight A's, knitting and music. Those things were all portable, and in my life that counted. That mattered. That lasted.

We lived in a duplex with three bedrooms. My parents got one room. My two brothers shared one, and my sister and I shared the other. Our room also shared a wall with another family. Actually, the wall was shared with the bedroom of their high school aged son. My newly teenaged heart was suddenly alive with hope.

He failed to notice.

I realize now that I didn't have a chance with him. He was a senior, several years beyond me. I was his little sister's age. We gathered to play RISK on occasion, and he treated me like a sister. Not what I wanted. My little brother tagged along. Not what happened in my dreams. He went out on dates, driving away in his dad's car. I watched from the upstairs bedroom window. Not what I was scripting in my fairy tales.

So what does a young teenager do to really get his attention and let him know how very aware she is of him? We did have one thing in common. We were both musicians. He played clarinet, and was very serious about his daily practice. I was very serious about mine as well. I played accordion. Loudly.

The walls were thin. I started practicing whenever he did. Different songs. Accordion versus clarinet. It's rather like bagpipes against a piccolo. I didn't win his heart, but luckily he was a worthy young man with a sense of humor.

His high school graduation and acceptance at Annapolis saved him from too many further machinations. I can actually only think of one. Discretion... I'll just keep that one to myself.

Just Un-Multiply

2011-05-09T17:44:00.002-06:00

Today a friend on Facebook asked for ideas to help her young daughter who is having a hard time learning long division. I suggested she un-multiply until it makes more sense. She didn't understand my answer, so I offered to go into more detail on my blog.

As I child I counted my schools for a while. When I stopped in 7th Grade, Hill School at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, it was my 13th school. My dad was military—U.S. Army to be exact, and during most years I was in more than one school. In case you don't realize it, there is no relationship to what a person is taught in 3rd grade, for instance, in Illinois and Idaho; none whatsoever between what is offered for a sophomore in Virginia and one in Southern California.

I'll discuss another time what this did to my ability to make deep friendships. Today I'm just going to touch on one of the educational aspects of the classroom experience. I managed to learn addition twice, while missing subtraction completely. I left one school just before they started it, arriving at another when they had already finished and were starting multiplication.

We did multiplication and were preparing for division when my family was reassigned again. The new school had just begun multiplication. It was an easy (read that to mean boring) time in math for me. We were gone again, of course, before that class was ready to tackle long division. If you're following the pattern here, you realize that the next class I got to had already finished long division.

I figured out ways to compensate. With double the normal practice on addition and multiplication skills, whenever I hit a subtraction problem, I would un-add. If the numbers were 15-7=something, I would automatically read it 7 and something equals fifteen. Un-adding, I would know it was 8.

Multiplication and division worked the same way. If you had 24 divided by 3, I would say, what times 3 equals 24? I knew that answer was 8. With long division, just write down the answer and carry down the numbers. Then, since subtraction is in order, I would just un-add the balance and bring down the next number.

Eventually I learned how to do it correctly as a student, but I'm out of practice now, so I do it the old way, as I taught myself growing up. I un-add and un-multiply. It works. So it's not the most normal method you've ever heard of. I've never tried to be the most normal person. I've never even understood what normal was, or why it should be deemed important. I found something that worked. I could move every 6 months and still get A's in school.

Now, if I could only remember why that was important...

Mother's Day Digest

2011-05-08T17:57:00.004-06:00

Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!

The video says it all. My kids love me. It's been quite a day. (Thanks for the video, Ben. We know you'd never exaggerate...)

Mother's Day wasn't high on my list of potential happy occasions this year. Losing Jeremiah still weighs heavily on me, and the thought of my daughter-in-law having her first childless Mother's Day, one that should have been celebrated with a baby ready to turn six months old, took most of the steam from my sails.

None of our three sons would be here in Colorado for the day, and I won't get to see my Mom for two more weeks. I knew that there would be phone calls but other than that—a regular Sunday.

It's been said before: Oh, ye of little faith. It was still dark outside, and John was in the shower when I walked through the living room toward the coffee maker. The oversized square envelope on my recliner startled me. A card from my husband? He just doesn't do that on Mother's Day. John has always assured me, "You're not my mother." I sat and read one of the most touching cards I've ever received.

We arrived at church a little more than two hours early. That sounds hard to do, but once a month our church combines services, skipping our regular early service to meet at the late service. Today it ended up taking almost twice as long. It was moving, and we enjoy it, but came out starving. John and I went to lunch, forgetting that we'd wait in long lines on Mother's Day. So we left for church at 7:30 and got home at 3:30, eight hours later.

I do have to add one little thing from Ruth, my daughter-in-law in The Netherlands. Today on her blog she entertained us all with another funny story about her 4-year old daughter. Now that Ruth and Ben are the proud parents of three little ones, with a 2 year old daughter and 2 month old son, we get a lot of funny stories. Today Ruth wrote:

Ashley just said she wants me to have another boy again when my body heals. We asked if she likes boys better. She said, "No. Because girl, girl, boy, boy. And then girl, girl, boy, boy again until Mommy's an old lady!"

So now I'll either be up late doing the homework I had planned to catch up on for my online class, or I'll be up in the wee hours doing it. Does it matter? From John's card, to the calls from all three boys, and the unexpected email from Tighe with the book store gift card in it (he knows me so well) this has been a Mother's Day to write about. I wasn't expecting that.

Trusting My Own Opinion

2011-05-07T20:25:00.006-06:00

I've been taking an online course given by Margie Lawson called Deep Editing and Rhetorical Devices. It came highly recommended by a couple of my writing friends. It's definitely giving me more and better tools for my journey toward publication of my novel, A Different Song.

This is my second online class, and since I've really just started rolling with this one, I'm getting a good process going. I'll work on a class lecture, do the homework assignment related to the new tip, trick or tool, and then go back to the spot where I left off editing my novel. I'll read the next chapter, then go back and edit using what I've learned in the class up until then. It definitely is working for me, and I'm learning to trust my own opinion more. I also have an edits partner. We mail homework assignments back and forth, and our comments hopefully help each other keep things tight and on track.

Today I was reading one of my chapters. I call it Facing the Fire. It was my first read-through in a while. Sitting at the computer, I was unaware when John walked into the room and stood next to my chair. I didn't see him as I continued reading. I didn't see him as tears rolled down my cheeks. I didn't see him as emotional despair swept me away from home and computer, lying half broken beside the injured bodies of two beautiful people who wanted only to die.

"Is it that bad?" John asked, tearing me out of my story world.

I didn't see him for long, as I reached down and grabbed for the electric flyswatter I keep by my chair.

Extreme Condensing

2011-05-06T21:23:00.002-06:00

Today I was advised to write three or four sentences to sum up my 86,000 word novel. Then I'm to perfect those sentences and get comfortable with them. That's what I'm to use when I pitch my book in two weeks. Now, that's what I call tight editing. I've been laughing on the inside ever since.

I suppose I could start by deleting all the adjectives, pronouns and adverbs in the entire manuscript. Might as well get rid of most of the verbs. You don't really have time for much action in three or four sentences. I suppose I'll begin by painstakingly choosing four really powerful nouns—one would have to be fantasy, I suppose. The editor is going to insist on being told the genre.

That really only leaves me three sentences to describe a world, a couple of immortals, human protagonists, nonhuman guardians and the villain. Maybe I could leave the characters out and just hint at what happens. Obviously somebody or something is going to make it all happen. Editors must already know that.

This reminds me of that old joke about how to sculpt an elephant. It's really very easy. "You get a huge block of granite, a hammer and a chisel, then just go around and knock off everything that doesn't look like an elephant."

I wonder if there's a way to find out if this editor I'm meeting has a sense of humor.

Taking Little Kids to the Cemetery

2011-05-05T20:39:00.004-06:00

For some reason I recently remembered when our three sons were small, and we drove from our old home in Ventura County, California, to the San Fernando Mission Cemetery where my dad is buried. (Daddy died at the start of my Junior year in high school.)

That day we brought along little spades and things for the kids, aged about 1, 4, and 8, to help as we pulled weeds and cleaned up around the headstone a bit. Of course we stopped and bought flowers before we arrived, and talked to the boys about where we were going, and why.

Ben, the youngest, was oblivious to anything but playing with the water and dirt. Tighe, as oldest, was fairly familiar with the routine. We didn't get to the cemetery too often, but he had heard stories about the grandpa who was buried there. He had come out with us more often than either of his brothers. He knew we would always leave flowers and a flag. My daddy had been military to his bones.

Jeremy was finally old enough to pay attention on this trip, though, and for the first time he questioned me.

"That's my grandpa under there?"

"Yes, Son."

More weeds were pulled as he thought about the concept. Jeremy was often serious and quiet.

"Is he going to grow again?"

"No, Honey."

He looked at me with one of those befuddled looks only a child can give a really dumb parent.

"Then why did you plant him?"

There are a few questions a parent just can't stop laughing long enough to answer.

Plans Are Good

2011-05-04T22:01:00.003-06:00

It's said that life is what happens while you're making other plans. I suppose that's why people buy trip insurance. Sounds like a good idea to me. Seems like forever since I actually got around to my blog. It's been nearly four months, and that's definitely too long. I'll begin by saying there's no excuse. Then I'll give you no excuses, but tell you what I've been doing.

I've been writing. Remember my novel? I decided it was high time I got busy re-writing the entire thing and getting it ready to offer up for publication. Is it ready? Nope. But I'm taking some editing classes and business for writers classes. Tomorrow I have a class on copyright law—just an hour at the Northern Colorado Writer's Studio. We'll all bring lunch and listen to some really important information. It's so great to be surrounded by professionals. Then on Friday I'll be back at the studio for my Critique Group. I just got word from one of my critique partners that he thought this week's submission was my best yet. They're all helping me work through some of the rough spots on the novel.

Now I'm pushing backward for a couple of weeks, trying again to be satisfied with the first chapter (I'm not) because I'll be pitching said novel to an editor on May 21st. As I told some of my email buddies, pitching is such a great word for it. My stomach has already started.

The next day we'll take off for California to visit my mom. We'll stop on the other side of the Rockies to visit my brother Pat and his wife Betty on our way there, then stay overnight in Henderson, outside Las Vegas. Before we leave California to return home, and it'll be a fairly quick trip altogether, we'll make a run up to San Francisco to see Tighe, our oldest son. Our return trip will take us through Salt Lake City to see Stacey and Ryan, friends who deserved a visit in December and didn't get one. I was an emotional mess then and was afraid to meet their baby son. Sorry, Sully. I'm much better now.

We need to be home by June 9th or 10th, since I believe I'm singing in church again on the 12th. I should double check that on Sunday, shouldn't I...

Then we'll be running back to California for a flying trip in July to meet our newest grandson, Aiden and see our beautiful granddaughters, Kate and Ashley. It's hard to see them so seldom, but so special when we do get together. They're flying out for their annual leave, timed for her family reunion, so part of the time there they'll be unavailable to us. That being the case, we'll only be with them a short time, but it won't be a problem since we'll be seeing them again shortly after that.

We'll return home only until August, when we'll have a grand celebration of our 35th anniversary. Like I tell John—ten wonderful years! (And he's starting to understand my sense of humor.) We'll go to The Netherlands, Sweden, Estonia and St. Petersburg, Russia. Sounds beyond wonderful to me... Time to start looking at travel blogs again.

Am I ever glad we spent thirteen weeks going to Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace Institute classes at our church! We're in better financial shape for taking a trip like this than we've ever been. Ever. And I may never see London or Paris, but I've never chosen the best traveled path in my life. Why should I start now? Thanks, Ben, for wanting such an interesting adventure. I can hardly wait. And yes, I did buy the trip insurance...

Only Your Hairdresser Knows

2011-01-17T09:04:00.004-07:00

I don't normally get my hair done on Sundays. It's not a me-day. We go to church, then have time together. We talk to the kids on the phone and eat together. It's a quiet day. Occasionally we'll stop at the grocery store on our way home from church for a few necessities, since we live up in the foothills and there are no stores close to us, but it's not a shopping day either.

This Sunday was different for a reason. The only person who has taken care of my hair in the four and a half years since we've moved to Colorado is Ambrosia, and she does such a good job, I just no longer trust anyone else to do it. I went in to see her in early November, just before we left for Louisiana for Jeremiah True's birth. Ambrosia was expecting her daughter Noel a week before he was born, and I just managed to have my perm (plus highlights as a novelty) before she went on maternity leave.

Ambrosia always commented on how unusual it was for someone in her 60s not to have gray hair. I explained to her that my mom's hair was just now, at 90, really starting to go gray, so I have good genes. I'd get my hair permed and cut, and when there was a special event, like a wedding or or for Jeremiah's birth, I would consider highlights just to feel a little extra special. She would do it in such a way that it would grow out naturally, with no root line, just like when the summer sun's highlights fade and disappear as your hair grows.

Yesterday she came back for the first time, even though it was Sunday, because it was a rare day when the baby's father was able to take over child care for her and she could get some hours in. She's not actually expected back until February, and my hair had gone stick straight and was looking its worst. Already feeling blue after Jeremiah's death, looking bad only compounded the situation. She was shocked when she saw me, since my perms normally last 3-4 months. Then she looked really close and saw that I have a root line for the growth on the last inch and a half or so—about the amount of time since Jeremiah's death. All the hair that's grown in since then is gray. Surprise...

Well, she asked me if I wanted to start coloring my hair, and I said no. I'd heard that grief could make a person go gray, but I'd never really believed it before. If I'm gray now, I'll wear it proudly. I loved that little boy, anticipated holding and rocking him, buying little treasures for him, reading to him and watching him grow. He'll always be my first grandson, and the first male Harrell born in his generation. Nothing will change that. And even if I get highlights occasionally, I guess I'm now officially one of the gray-haired old ladies. Maybe I should get some boring shoes?

The Banana Belt

2010-12-21T04:34:00.003-07:00

Just a short note on living in the banana belt of Colorado. Yesterday morning when we were leaving for our trip to Louisiana, the temperature at our home was 56° at a couple minutes to seven in the morning. When we wound our way out of the foothills to the plains below, the temperature had dropped to 37°.

It's not always that dramatic, but people are always looking up Loveland and telling me how hot or how cold it is at my house, and getting it wrong. We're actually a thousand feet above Loveland, and nestled in the foothills, so we're protected from lots of the weather most of the time. It's called the banana belt, and runs through the foothills in a band. We're cooler in the Summer and warmer in the Winter, at least most of the time, by anywhere from five to twelve degrees, but it can be more.

We got lucky, picking our home. We could have done a lot of research and chosen scientifically and not found a smarter spot. We chose because we loved it up there. We've never been disappointed.

I'm Now Decorated for Christmas

2010-12-19T19:46:00.004-07:00

If you know me, this post won't surprise you. John called Ben this morning and had him help bully me into going to the emergency room, which he had bee unable to do since last night when I flew from the edge of a suitcase to the closet door, nose first. I insisted on going to church first, since we were lighting the advent candle this week.

It's a good thing I wasn't supposed to sing, like John thought I was, since I couldn't breathe, let along play the guitar. My right hand got mashed as well, along with my back and neck. I hit hard. I couldn't see any sense in going to the emergency room. I had gotten the bleeding to stop, after all. Wow, there was a lot of it, too. I put ice on it. What more could anybody else do?

Here's what they could do. They could do a cat scan of my head as well as ex-rays, and tell me that although I didn't have a skull fracture, I did have a broken nose and a concussion. Then they gave me some medication for the nausea which was getting progressively worse because blood was still dripping into my stomach. That's what the doctor explained. So I can't take aspirin for the headache, but I can take my good headache tablets that I keep on hand for migraines. The other pains will go away eventually.

He also approved our going on the trip, and gave us seven pages of instructions for care and warning signs—when to pull off the highway and look for another emergency room, in other words. I was also told that within two days both eyes would most probably be several shades of black, yellow and purple.

"I know why this happened," I told him. Of course, he was interested in that. "From the time I was very small, I was extremely proud of having the smallest nose in my family. I don't think God takes kindly to people being very proud of things they didn't do anything to deserve."

The doctor, of course, disagreed. "I don't think He's that petty. Was there an ancillary reason?" (Yes, he actually used that word. Maybe he was trying to see if my vocabulary had been scrambled.)

"Well, there was a suitcase on the floor that I didn't see in the dark," I admitted. He laughed and told me that he was willing to bet that was the reason, and not my first guess. He then told me I wasn't to walk in the dark anymore. Ever. For any reason. He was actually a lot of fun.

John put the suitcase back on the bed this morning, and I filled it tonight. Now we can leave for Louisiana in the morning. By Tuesday night (weather cooperating, of course) we'll pull up with the trailer in front of Jeremy and Elisha's home. Ready or not, here we come. And I won't walk in the dark...

For Jeremiah, in Memory

2010-12-17T06:04:00.004-07:00

The Christmas season is a time when families gather together, and those who are no longer with us are painfully missed. As most of you know, we have just returned from welcoming our first Grandson into the world.

Jeremiah True Harrell was born November 17th with a bright spirit, but too little blood to sustain life. Heroic measures failed, and he passed from his earthly father's arms into his Heavenly Father's arms after just ninety minutes of life.

His parents, Jeremy and Elisha, have asked me to thank you for all your prayers, and I hope you will continue with that. They also request that anyone so inclined will donate blood in Jeremiah's memory. You may save another little one's life.

I sing this song in his honor, and in memory of all those whom we miss during this holiday season and beyond.

On The Road Again

2010-12-16T05:09:00.004-07:00

We've been at my mom's in California, gone from home for nearly two weeks. We went to help her celebrate her 90th birthday, and it was really great to be with her. We also got to see some dear friends, although we were very rushed, since we were only there a week, plus three days on the road each way.

My sister Ellen is always the best hostess. She put together a marvelous dinner party for Mom and us on the 11th, with home made manicotti, too many great appetizers to count, and a beautiful cake she created out of a cheesecake and cream puffs. It was drizzled with chocolate syrup, and topped with candles—not only beautiful, but perfectly delicious. As always, I left wanting more of my sister.

We'll stay home long enough to unpack, wash clothes, repack, go to church, and bake cookies for our good neighbor Doug, who watches over our home when we're traveling (and when we're home, he's just a great guy to have around.) Then on Monday we'll take off again. We'll go to Louisiana. What? We were just there. We just don't want the kids to be alone on Christmas. Why should we do Christmas alone at our home, and have them be alone at theirs? It's better to be together.

We'll pull the trailer and continue to pray for decent weather and safety on the road, since we don't usually travel during the Winter months. This time the trailer will have their new bed in it, and they'll have John to help them turn the nursery into a guest room. I'm so glad they wanted us back. It seems unfair that some strange mess up has postponed their trip, but there's nothing any of us can do about that. We do only what we can. The rest is out of our hands.

Someone at Bingo, referring to the tragedy of Jeremiah's death, asked me why this would happen. "How can things like this happen? It's so unfair!" I've heard that so frequently lately, and I know what they mean. I told her what I've heard myself saying lately. Unless we're going to question every blessing we receive, it's not really fair to question the trials.

I've had too many blessings to count. We're going to Shreveport to visit a couple of them.

We Give Up — Temporarily

2010-12-06T05:25:00.005-07:00

John recorded me singing at church yesterday. It was a memorial for Jeremiah True, and we can see it in the video camera. There's a little problem, though. We can't get it to transfer to the computer. He pushed a wrong button which switched the camera to a different mode. All the video clips which were currently in the camera became invisible on the camera's monitor screen, but are visible when you try to download on the camera. (I'll admit, though, that when you push the download button, all you get is a beep.)

The recording of me singing for Jeremiah is clearly visible and playable on the camera's monitor. However, when you attach it to the computer to download, it disappears. No amount of fussing and button pushing will make it appear for download. We've read the manual. We've tried the Mac and the PC. John sat up trying "just one more thing" until two a.m., even though we're leaving for California this morning and he's pulling a trailer. He's that kind of man. He was the one making the recording, so he blames himself.

I know it's my fault. I thought the camera was so easy I didn't think he needed to practice. Push one button, point and shoot. But there are a lot of buttons, and he doesn't hold the camera the same way I do, so "the one by your right thumb" isn't a very clear instruction. We should have practiced. What he did was turn on the long playing feature, which apparently stores the clip somewhere else or some way else. It also, unfortunately, makes the clip a very low resolution.

My feeling is that we should just wait until we're in California and have the beautiful little church we used to attend available and go down there to St. Matthews and set the camera up and let me play it again. He can record it again. It will be the same song, with the same feelings—how could I ever sing it and not feel what I do for Jeremiah?

Still, I think we'll end up at one of those photo transfer places where they might be able to help us. John thinks that's the way to go, and he's so very often right. Meanwhile, if you're waiting for this... sorry. I haven't been thinking too clearly lately.

Food Court Flash Mob: Hallelujah Chorus

2010-12-01T17:11:00.007-07:00

It happened at the Welland Seaway Mall in Ontario, Canada, on November 13, 2010. It's gone viral on YouTube. Over one hundred members of Chorus Niagra, a group of singers from local churches, colleges and homes, infiltrated the mall food court. The video that was taken that day has been watched well over 5 million times.

Because they allow people to embed it, I'm sharing this treasure with you. I hope it brings you the joy I just received when my high school friend Anita sent the link to me. (Thank you, Anita.)

In Memory of Jeremiah True Harrell

2010-11-22T18:30:00.003-07:00

Taps

Day is done, gone the sun,
From the lake, from the hills, from the sky;
All is well, safely rest, God is nigh.

Fading light, dims the sight,
And a star gems the sky, gleaming bright.
From afar, drawing nigh, falls the night.

Thanks and praise, for our days,
'Neath the sun, 'neath the stars, neath the sky;
As we go, this we know, God is nigh.

While the light fades from sight,
And the stars gleaming rays softly send,
To thy hands we our souls, Lord, commend.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Today the family gathered to celebrate the short and blessed life of Jeremiah True Harrell, first child of our son Jeremy and his wife Elisha. He was born in joy, with no problems expected, only to be termed critical immediately and taken from them barely ninety minutes later. His service today was as beautiful as it was heart breaking.

Making Pottery Gifts with Elisha

2010-11-13T07:01:00.013-07:00

Elisha's first day of maternity leave was yesterday, and we enjoyed it together while Jeremy was at work and John made his way through his "Daddy Do" list.

Actually, John did amazingly well, installing security lights, extra door locks, changing furnace filters and light bulbs on really high ceilings. Then he managed to change a vehicle light bulb that the service stations were going to charge the kids an hour of labor to "figure out," because their car is a Prius, and nobody knows how to work on them. They opened the compartment to change the bulb during an oil change and said the bulbs couldn't be reached. Oh, yeah. The mighty John figured it out and had it done in ten minutes.

Elisha took me to her favorite gift-making place. It's called Arts on Fire, and is a pottery shop here in Shreveport, where you paint the unfired pottery and then they fire it for you. Of course, it looks very dull and bland before it's fired, so it's hard to tell what color you're really painting, but she said that you get used to that. I think I still prefer plaster craft, which is basically the same thing, but it's done on pre-fired pottery where what you see is what you get.

Still, we had a great day. Elisha picked a gift for my mom's 90th birthday next month, and I painted a piggy bank for their baby. I wish I had thought to take more photos of the pig once I had finished painting it, but I forgot. It looks pretty boring the way it is now, but I added some little animal stencils and JTH, the baby's initials. He'll be the third JTH, by the way, following John Thomas and Jeremy Thomas. I love the name Jeremiah True.

I actually tried to talk John into Jeremiah when Jeremy was born, but John preferred the name Jeremy, and now I'm glad he did, since my first grandson will get the name I've always loved so much.

It was a wonderful day, full of painting and laughing. The owner is an interesting woman named Quincy. She gives just the right amount of help—whatever you need without telling you how she thinks it should be done. She's warm and friendly and handled the table full of pre-teen giggling girls having their first-time painting experience with only one mom to watch them with such ease I thought she'd been doing it for years.

Elisha filled me in. Quincy had never painted before, when the shop owner decided to sell out. One of her twin daughters loved to paint there, so she and her husband decided to buy the place. And that's how history is written, I guess. Our children introduce us to the some of the best paths in our lives.

Shreveport is having a Blues and Jazz Festival today, and we're going to try to get to that, as long as Elisha is feeling up to it. She's still sleeping right now, since with only 3-4 days left until the baby's delivery date, she's up and down all night visiting the euphemism down the hall. As all good babies know, it's important to find mama's bladder and rest there as soon as she gets to sleep. (Thanks for that, Jeremiah True... You're getting her prepared for the ups and downs of nighttime feedings.)

Laughing and Waiting in Shreveport

2010-11-11T20:31:00.008-07:00

After five days in Dallas visiting John's cousins, we traveled on to Shreveport, Louisiana to see Jeremy and Elisha. Their son, Jeremiah True, our first grandson and third grandchild, is due on the 17th of this month. We've been having so much fun visiting and laughing together.

There are too many things parents have to buy when they're expecting a child—especially their first. People have been very generous, sending them gifts for this baby, but there were still many additional expenses for them, of course. I finally had to explain that the fun part of being Grandparents is that we don't have to buy anything. Whatever we get is the fun stuff that we decide we simply want to buy. Today we found nine Dr. Seuss books at Sam's Club. I had already checked prices on them at Amazon, and these came three for eleven something. The ones at Amazon would have been nearly triple that. What fun to fill a grandchild's book shelf. (Well, he still needs the shelf...)

Jeremy has to work tomorrow, so Elisha and I plan to go to her favorite craft store where they do ceramic painting. We're going to do a piggy bank for Jeremiah. I have a feeling John will stay at their house, working on his "Daddy Do" list. He's really been going through a bunch of fix-up projects for them. What a hero.

This has been a wonderful trip. Their home is warm and welcoming, and they're so cute in their excitement. I just love being here.

Quick Update

2010-07-23T17:45:00.002-06:00

Two days after I had the epidural on my back, we got in the car to drive to California. It wasn't the best timing, but that couldn't be helped. The epidural did help. It didn't help as much as I hoped, but made it so I'm much more mobile than I was. It looks like I'll either be seeing my old back doctor while I'm here, or having back surgery when I get home. I haven't decided yet, but the option is available to see my good old doc for another epidural here. The doctor who did the last one said it might be necessary.

We hit town the same time as a heat wave. I understand there's one going on in Colorado as well, though, so I shouldn't say too much—except that I'm more comfortable at home. And we do have cheaper electricity, so we keep it cooler. Is that enough?

The music for Pastor Stan's welcome back service at St. Matthews went well, I think. I got applause just for standing up and walking to the mic. That's never happened before. It made me feel very welcome, and it also kicked my sense of humor into action. I almost said, "Thank you," and turned to sit back down again. The only thing that kept me from it was seeing so many new faces in the congregation who didn't know me and would have no idea that I was joking. It's great working on the music with "Staniel" again. (Think lion's den...)

Sunday after the early service John and I will be driving to Lake Isabella until the night of the 29th, when we'll return to Newbury Park so we can be ready to greet the kids and grandkids as they start to arrive the next day. These two weeks between the welcome service and the kids' arrival have been the limbo caused by our not wanting to drive back and forth from Colorado twice in a month—not at the price of gas these days. We'll have absolutely no internet at the lake, and I'm not sure there's even a hot spot, but we'll look. It would be nice to put something other than a quick update soon.

I'm Alive

2010-06-22T22:04:00.008-06:00

My DVR tells me I've got 26 episodes of Jeopardy that I haven't watched. I used to watch one every night. That was before I crashed my back and started taking pain medication.

My husband remembers really well-thought-out, beautifully prepared meals every night. He was down in his HAM radio room about quarter to eight when I called him on the telephone's handy intercom feature tonight. It's handy because I'm having a really hard time using the stairs right now. "Here's your stupid question of the night," I said when he answered. "Did we eat dinner?" You can imagine how bad I felt, having to ask, but pain medicine makes me stupid, and I just couldn't remember.

He usually reminds me to eat, but I didn't remember that, either. "No," he said. Luckily, we had some leftovers I was able to put together in the time it took to dish it up and use the microwave. We never used to eat like that. He could help or complain, but he isn't doing either. I hope this doesn't last much longer. At least I'm losing some weight. I noticed him eating steak at lunch time, so I don't think he is. I had an apple with peanut butter, but fell asleep before I finished it.

I haven't been writing in my blog, and still owe a slide show on our return to Venice. I'm supposed to be playing a 45 minute set on my guitar at our church on the 4th of July. I haven't practiced in over two weeks. I have a pile of laundry that nobody else is going to wash. My doctor's office called, and he's out sick. No wonder I waited a week without hearing from him.

I go to physical therapy three times a week, and this Friday morning I'll be seeing a spine specialist. Early. I hope I can make it to Fort Collins by 9 a.m. Actually it'll probably be easier than noon. I'm usually awake by three or four, when the pain won't let me lie down any longer and then I'm exhausted by mid-morning. Hopefully this new doctor will have some answers for me. I know he'll have a report from my physical therapists (both of them) before I get there.

If I never see another air cast in my life, it will be too soon.

Make God Laugh

2010-06-04T18:08:00.004-06:00

Last night I laid out my plans for the blog. God is laughing now. Or maybe He's not. I'm not sure this time. I refer to the adage that if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.

I thought I was in quite a bit of pain when I got to the physical therapy office. Going through my mind repeated since yesterday was a prayer of gratitude that I had this double appointment. Relief was in sight. Physical therapy isn't always exactly pleasant while it's in progress, but it really works. When I walk out of there I always feel so much better than when I limp in.

And then there was today. We were running late, so I took the stairs, not the elevator. I could hardly stand up straight when I came through the door. They took me back immediately. First Jami worked with me. When that appointment was done, Ashley took me in for an hour, and even kept me about ten minutes over. I was feeling better than I'd felt all week—even after the last appointment. We discussed the upcoming week's schedule while I struggled to put the cast back on. I was still sitting on the therapy bed.

Can you just feel the other shoe getting ready to fall? I went to swing the leg with the heavy air cast off the bed without supporting it properly. I tore something in my back that connects to my right hip. I can no longer pick up my right foot.

I went home, medicated myself and went to bed. I just got up and I'm getting ready to take another pain pill. I'm allowed to take 1-2 every 4 hours. Believe me. I'll be taking 1 every four hours until bedtime, and then 2. I've got ice packed on my back and hip right now, and when I lie down, I'll switch back to damp heat. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I won't be going anywhere. Maybe I'll be up long enough to write about Venice. John's on his own for dinner. I'm having Crackerfuls.

Hours Later:

My back has calmed down enough so that I can tell where the real pain is coming from—the hip. I'm beginning to wonder if I either broke or cracked something in my hip. I guess I'll be calling my regular doctor tomorrow morning. I wonder if he works on Saturday. I've never thought to check before.

My Complicated Week

2010-06-03T21:30:00.006-06:00

I'm running late with my last Venice blog, and tying up the trip home, but this last week has been spent dealing with physical therapy and and pain while I handle the effects the air cast has on my back and hip. It hasn't been pleasant, to say the least. I've spent a little time limping around the house feeling guilty about the laundry backing up and the blog not getting done. I have spent hours in physical therapy, though, and gone to a short writer's class on self-editing, which I needed for my novel.

The only thing of real interest we did was today, when we met up in Denver with friends we hadn't seen for nearly 25 years. We just reconnected with them online, and found that they had retired to Colorado Springs, not much further South of Denver than we are North. We met on the steps on the Capitol Building, had a quick tour, taken in slow motion by a guide who was very understanding about my mobility limitations, and then took the free shuttle to the mall area where we had dinner at Swing Thai.

I'll get photos up for that soon, too. The only other interesting thing that I've done, other than take long hours lying down rotating ice and heat on my hip and back, was to play guitar and sing for both services at church last Sunday. That went very well, as far as the music went, but by the time I got home, I was wiped out—happy, but exhausted and in too much pain to sit at the computer and think about photographs and memories.

This too shall pass. I'll get back to the trip, because it's what I want to share so badly. I have a double PT session tomorrow, and it'll be over early, giving me time to start a blog before I cook dinner. That's the one thing I've managed to keep up, since John depends on me for that.

So if you've been watching for the final Venice photos, I apologize. They're coming. Just not tonight.

I'm Being Punished

2010-05-28T19:23:00.005-06:00

I can't think of what I might have done to deserve this, but our furnace went nuts yesterday, and started indiscriminately pumping out heat. John has since figured out that it's not actually the furnace. It's the heat pump, which is the thing that changes from heat to air conditioning. That means that every time the thermostat tells it the house is too hot, it switches to cold air. Since it's not working, it just pumps out hot air.

It's 95° in the house. I've had about eight cold showers, and if anyone comes over, I'll have to either run and hide, or run and put clothes on. I think of anything over 80° as a punishment. (What did I do this time?) Obviously, he tried to fix it himself first. Then it occurred to him that he'd better call for help and found himself on the receiving end of Memorial Day weekend messages. Perhaps someone can call us back Tuesday. Oh, wait. I have physical therapy at the crack of dawn on Tuesday. No one will be here to answer the phone.

I don't think I'll be doing a slide show tonight. I think I'll go take another cold shower and stretch out under the ceiling fan again. It's a good excuse to take off this hot air cast. (Please, God. Don't let the power go out. I really need the fans right now...)

Climbing the Walls in Dubrovnik, Croatia

2010-05-26T20:47:00.008-06:00

Benjamin probably said it best. "We would never have chosen Dubrovnik, Croatia, except that it was on the ship's tour schedule. Missing it would have been a real loss." Or something like that. I took far more photos there than anywhere else. It was astoundingly beautiful, and the clouds that day were phenomenal. If I had painted them in, I would be getting complaints that they were too beautiful to be real. My slide show is longer than usual, but I cut it down twice already, and I'm not going to slice away any more photos.

John and I kept smiling at each other that day. It was hotter than it had been, but there was a bit of a breeze to keep us comfortable. I was enjoying the beauty of the day, the orange roofs and small alleys we could see as we looked down from the walls that surround the town. Of course, we had to climb long flights of stairs up to the walls first, but once up there, we had long stretches that were fairly straight. We looked down on yards with hanging laundry, flowers, churches, musicians, and (of course) lots of tourists.

We passed canon and craftsmen, including a man in costume making coins the old fashioned way: with a huge hammer from blanks in a very old machine that contained the reverse artwork that would be pounded into the blank with two or three strikes of the mallet. John collects that type of coin, as well as the souvenir pennies from various interesting spots we (or the kids) visit, so we had him make one for us.

This is one spot that I didn't buy a single post card. If you take a look at the photo above, I think you can get a pretty clear idea why I didn't. With digital cameras, it's easy to see what you're getting. I knew I had post cards in my camera already if I needed them. All I needed to do was print them out. Another thing I appreciated about Croatia was their music. It's another good reason for having a long slide show. I got to use two songs.

Again, the statuary and buildings were beautiful and attention to detail is amazing. It was obvious that "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," as the saying goes. History, once again, was all around us. This is another one of those spots that we were getting to taste, when a full meal would have gone down really easily—maybe a week of full meals...

As we left Croatia to tender back to the ship, I realized that we would be leaving the cruise the next day, back in Venice. Our vacation, and the time with Ben and Ruth, Ashley and Kate was coming to an end. But what a way to finish it!

An Evening at Mykonos, Greece

2010-05-24T20:10:00.003-06:00

The same day we left Santorini, we enjoyed short naps, had a light meal, and then caught the tender boats about 5:30 p.m. to Mykonos. We were still in Greece for this one more stop. It was delightful.

Still very light out, we were able to get some great photos of the ship in the harbor, the city as we approached, and the people wandering the small tourist shops along the waterfront. Then we disembarked and joined the throng. It was the slowest paced spot along our itinerary, and had a sweetness to it as night fell.

Most of the time we stuck together, walking and exploring, going into small churches and shops, chatting and just enjoying the evening together. As evening fell, however, we eventually split up. John and I wandered into a music store, finding some Greek music (you've been listening to it if you've been watching the slide shows) and a few presents for Ruth and the grandkids. I spent some time saying "thou shalt not covet" over lyres and lutes and Greek instruments I'd never seen before. It was a great stop.

We returned to the harbor and took the tender back to the ship just as full dark was falling. I loved the windmills along the shore, and the way the cruise ships looked resting out at sea. Still, I was aware that we had the next day at sea, then one stop at Dubrovnik, Croatia, followed by our return to Venice the following day. Our cruise was winding down. Reliving it by putting together the slide shows and blogs has been pure pleasure. Thanks for sharing these memories with me. Here is our Mykonos, as we saw it on May 5, 2010.

Santorini, Greece Was Unforgetable

2010-05-22T21:11:00.008-06:00

If you have ever been to Santorini, Greece, you'll never see a photograph of the place without immediately knowing where it was taken. The place is just that striking. From a distance, I was amazed to see snow-capped mountains in the distance. As the ship pulled into the harbor, I realized that the snow on the mountains was, in actuality, white-washed buildings—not snow at all.

We arrived at the gathering station on board the ship early to take the tender boat ashore. Ben, Ruth and the girls, John and I all boarded the small boat and then a bus to travel along winding roads up to Oia Village.

We wandered and had a great time until it was time to get back on the bus and go to Thera or Fira, depending on who is spelling it, Greek or America, and had another fine time there, seeing so many beautiful sites I was instantly in love with Greece. I'm really happy with this slide show. I hope you don't think it's too long. (And I love the music!) The funny little man you'll see with John in one of the photos wanted me to take his photo with the "big man" and then, after I took the picture, he wanted me to give him money. I pretended not to understand him.

I think Benjamin and Ruth and I were passing the cameras back and forth quite a bit that day, taking photos of each other so that we'd all have pictures of each other on all the cameras with the beautiful scenery. The one above is one of my favorites, since it commemorates Kate learning to scream. She never did it for long, and seemed really proud of herself, even though it never got her anything. Still, I guess she was expressing herself. Ruth never screamed back, either. Neither did Ben, come to think of it. Grandma and Grandpa tried to hide their grins. I hope we succeeded. We really didn't want to encourage her, but it sure was funny.

I've never seen anything like Santorini. I didn't even think to wonder, while we were there, if they have earthquakes there or not. I found out that in 1956 they had a major earthquake along with a volcanic eruption (great combination) that caused such devastation that many of the villages on Santorini Island were deserted. Now, thanks to the tourism and wine industries, the island is once again prosperous.

I was so amazed at the beauty of this place, and how it all managed to cling to the cliffs like this. We stopped for photos so many times that I got a lot of rest stops, which made it a fairly easy day for me. At least that's how I remember it now. Still, by the end of the day, there was no way I was walking down all the steps like Ruth and Ben did. We stood in line and waited for the cable car. Now, that was a trip...

...but we made it safely. The people in the car with us really laughed when the car swayed wildly at first when we got in, and I made the sign of the cross in reaction, though. Couldn't hurt.

Walking on Air Casts

2010-05-21T08:17:00.005-06:00

As I read over my travel blogs, it's obvious that I'm fairly obsessed with the number of stairs I needed to climb to get to the places we saw. Was it all worth it? Oh, definitely. That's what my podiatrist asked me, too, before fitting me for the air cast yesterday, and admitting to me that he would have been right beside me, making the same decision. Some things are worth the pain, he agreed, and consoled me that I didn't do any permanent damage to my foot. I didn't do it any favors, though.

Anyone with plantar fasciitis knows that you're told to "take it easy," and I didn't do that. I did my exercises, took the anti-inflammatories while they lasted, and kept going. Now I'll be in the cast for a minimum of three weeks. The good thing about this contraption is that it comes off at night and for showers. The bad thing is that it makes my right leg longer than my left, so my left hip and back, already in pain and inflamed from the arthritis, is going to take a beating.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, let me recommend the benefits of therapeutic massage. I had my second session a couple of hours after being fitted for the boot. My hour turned into 75 minutes, and I've pretty much decided that there are people who will do that for you in heaven. You just won't be in pain when in starts. My hip still hurts, but my back barely does. I'm getting used to walking with the air cast, and it's awkward, but but manageable.

Hopefully, in three weeks when the good doctor next examines my foot, he'll be telling me I don't need another one to three weeks with it. That is a possibility I'm aware of, but using the power of positive thinking to reject.

Standing on the Acropolis of Athens, Greece

2010-05-19T21:15:00.007-06:00

After reaching the top of the steps and winding our way through the crowd, I spent about a half hour taking photographs of the ruins, being totally overwhelmed by the experience, when I noticed a little group of people coming out of a small building. I recognized them immediately. They were from our tour group, and had been the ones who had decided they couldn't manage the steps. They had opted to take the elevator. They were just arriving. I knew I had made the right decision, even with the plantar fasciitis and back problems, to take the stairs. I had done it because I didn't want to miss anything. Some things are worth the pain I know will come, and some are not. I knew this would be. I just didn't know it would also be that much faster.

460 B. C. That kept running through my mind as we climbed the many, many steps of the Acropolis once we were off the bus from the Athens, Greece ship terminal to the ruins. I remembered the wonderful nun who had taught ancient history to my third grade class. She made it come alive for me. I remembered coming home and telling my mother that the Sister was reading to us from some books called "The Idiot and The Oddity," and not understanding why Mama laughed until she cried. Okay, so I loved the stories but got some words messed up even then. And I kept telling myself to keep climbing, that at least I didn't have to carry a child on my back like Ruth and Benjamin did.

These buildings have been standing for almost 2500 years. That seems almost impossible. As I walked along, the preservation efforts are obviously determined and ongoing. Even with the crowd that was there that day, every effort was made, as is obvious in my slide show, to allow everyone to get some photos unobstructed by the masses. It was a well coordinated effort.

Again, I have to say that this was not a place I ever imagined I'd actually ever get to see in person. Like the Taj Majal or The Highlands of Scotland, the Pyramids of Egypt or the Great Barrier Reef, I dream big but expect my travels to be done from the passenger seat of a car in my own country. (I've been to all 50 States.)

So if you're sitting at home thinking that you'll never see a remote part of the world, remember that dreams come true. You never know when some unexpected blessing might pull you out of your normal daily life and give you a taste of the exotic. To Ruth and Ben, who made this possible for John and me, and to Kate and Ashley, who showered us with as much love as Grandparents could ever believe in receiving—thank you all so much.

We knew we were lucky to have seen Athens and the Acropolis at all on this trip. The day we were originally slated to arrive, the next day, there was a political rally scheduled, and our ship was re-routed. No one would have been able to get to the ruins that day. Costa Cruise lines did a great job for us. We had no problems at all.

My slideshow begins with the bus ride from the ship, where our tour guide entertained us with stories of Greece and its history. Some of the photos of John and me together were taken by Ben. He probably took five photos for every one I took. Thanks for sharing, Ben. You do good work.

Exploring Corfu, Greece

2010-05-17T20:05:00.013-06:00

If you've seen the James Bond movie "For Your Eyes Only," then you've seen the island of Corfu, Greece. That's where it was filmed. It's a lush green, set among the crystal blue Mediterranean waters that are so clear you can see the bottom of the cove.

Our morning started, as my slideshow does, waking up before dawn and taking my camera on deck to take photos of the sunrise. Then I trotted down a level and walked to the stern of the ship as it got lighter. Enjoying my first cup of (definitely not American) coffee, I waited for the sun to glisten off the wake of the ship and finally captured the beautiful colors left by the path our ship, the Costa Victoria, as it cut through the sea. I could easily get mesmerized watching that.

Ben took a photo of John and me at the temple on the hill we climbed. I thought I'd put it here, as if there were no stairs at all, but we did have to do some climbing to get there. Still, it was an easier day than most for us. Ben climbed higher than any of the rest of us. In fact, he did it twice. At one point, while we were still all together, there was a tunnel. He reset his fancy camera, a digital SLR, for the lower light levels, and forgot to reset it to the regular light when he left the tunnel. Then he proceeded to climb up to the top of an additional hill that none of the rest of us had the energy to climb.

When he came down and realized what had happened, he asked whether or not he should go back up and retake his photos. I said that if he didn't, he'd probably regret it forever. I know I'm still sorry that I couldn't retake all the photos I took on our Alaskan cruise in 1991. It was in the pre-digital days, and I paid over $200 to process my film only to find out it was all very gray, low-contrast. I was so disappointed... Off he went with Ashley in the backpack, and it didn't take him all that long, it seemed to me. He's young and strong.

The stairs we climbed were enough for me that day. We really had an easy day, though, since we had taken a shuttle bus from the port to the city center, and then walked over to some archeological ruins and decided to pay the small fee to explore them. I was surprised how few people took advantage of that, especially once we got inside. Of course there was climbing involved inside, but not nearly as much as on other days, especially since we didn't go up all the way to the top like Ben did.

The area we saw was phenomenal, though, and we knew the next day would be arduous, since it was to be Athens on the new schedule. Originally we were slated to see Athens on Wednesday, but the cruise line had found out that there was a scheduled labor protest on that day, so they re-routed the ship and had us arriving a day early. I was determined to make it up to the Acropolis under my own steam, so having a slower day on Corfu was great.

And yet we saw and enjoyed so much! I hope the tree gives perspective to the massive size of these buildings. If you think we didn't do any climbing, realize that I'm taking the photo looking down on it, and we did start at the bottom. But by now you'd probably prefer to just see the slide show, and if you need more information, there's Wikipedia, or you can ask questions in the comment area and I'll come back and answer them. I don't want to write a book here. (Not yet, anyway!)

My First Blog Award

2010-05-16T21:27:00.003-06:00

While we were on vacation abroad, I was honored (and more than surprised) to receive my first award for my blog. It is called a Sweet Blog Award, and was given to me by Patricia Stoltey, a published author from here in Colorado.

I noticed some new people visiting my blog and leaving good comments, and then got an email from Patricia herself, telling me of the award. Of course I had to go back into Patricia's blog to find it. What a treat!

It made me feel especially good after getting one remark in an email this morning from an unnamed acquaintance stating that she would never blog because "Writing a blog would imply that I think I have something important to say." Hoping she was just kidding me, I said it made me wonder if she thought I should stop writing. She wrote back and said we'd discuss it later, that it was time for her breakfast. Okay.

Thanks, Patricia. I'll just bookmark this award and look at it on mornings like this one.

Ancona, Italy from the Costa Victoria

2010-05-15T20:41:00.005-06:00

Maybe if I do a blog every other day, I can relate this magnificent trip of ours without overwhelming anyone—including me. I'm still very tired, and find myself wanting to be asleep at strange times, and wanting to be awake in the middle of the night. I'm slowly getting back to normal, though, and I pray I'll be able to stay awake during church tomorrow. Tonight I want to recount the many steps we climbed in Ancona, Italy. It was our first port after boarding the Costa Victoria, the cruise ship that was to be our home for the next week.

What a grand home it was. John and I were on the twelfth floor, one of the few cabins up there, and one of only a couple of small cabins nestled among the suites. Ben and Ruth were tucked into an outside cabin with Kate and Ashley on the eighth floor. We were on opposite sides and ends of the ship as well, so it was somewhat of a hike to get to each others' cabins, but once we learned the layout of the ship it was no problem.

Some of the photos show the many steps we climbed to get to the top of Ancona. Yes, I climbed them all. That has, along with all the climbing we did in the other cities, I'm sure, contributed to the flare up of the plantar fasciitis I'm being treated for, but some things you know are going to hurt before you do them, and you weigh the merit. Will this be worth it? Yes or no. Then you decide whether or not to go for it. I have no regrets. My memories outweigh all the pain and recuperation I'm needing, even if my physical therapist might be a little frustrated with me.

As we pulled into port, I took a few photos of the city coming into view, and realized it was built more like San Francisco, with the waterfront leading up to the interesting things on the hills. Here, however, the stairways were stone steps leading straight up, and the railings were often intermittent. Ben and Ruth led the way, with John looking very strong behind them while I brought up the rear—determined and relentless, I suppose, with plenty of stops to take pictures.

It was a wonderful day, and I guess I wasn't altogether sure I'd make it all the way to the top at one point. There was a beautiful church at the top, and incredible panoramas of the village below, with the cruise ship sitting at anchor in the harbor. It was a little overcast, but the weather was mild. If it had been hot, I'm sure I would have given out. I don't do heat gracefully, and I consider anything over 79° as punishment. ("What have I done this time, God?")

I remember suggesting to Ashley at one point that she walk and I ride in her back pack, and she thought that was pretty funny. She told me I was too big. Those kids were great. The one way Kate would usually be willing to hold my hand, for example, when she really wanted to run on ahead, was if I told her, "Don't lose Grandma!" Then she'd run back and grab my hand. They were so much fun!

So here's my slide show of Ancona. It was a great day, but they all were.

Venice, Part One, Before the Cruise

2010-05-13T21:51:00.005-06:00

I wasn't really prepared for Venice. I had some pre-conceived notions about the bridges and waterways, but it was very different from what I'd pictured. It's hard, I think, for an American to really grasp the age of these buildings and streets. In fact, the streets are little more than cobbled alleys, and most of them could hardly be called streets here. Ben chose a hotel for us really close to the Piazza San Marco, which is pictured above, the heart of the city in many ways. A city of this size, over 270,000 people, with no cars is also inconceivable to us, even when we're expecting it. You walk for a couple of hours, and then realize that you have to get back the same way. We do spoil ourselves, driving everywhere.

So I'll start with a little advice. If you're beyond your prime (as it's rumored that John and I are) and not in the best shape of your life, and you want to see as much as possible, don't go with a senior citizen group. Go with someone young and healthy who loves you and wants you to have fun and really see the sights. Someone who cares enough to be patient when your body starts to hurt and you lag behind, or when you get so excited about what you're seeing that you simply stop and stare and they're blocks ahead, but still remember to stop and look behind for you, and then wait for you to catch up. You'll end up exhausted, but very happy. John and I certainly did.

It was almost like being children in a sense. Ben made all the plans and arrangements. We didn't have many decisions to make. We were certainly given choices, and we made those as necessary, but otherwise we just had to follow Ben and Ruth, who carried the girls in packs where they could talk to them. The girls were up high where they could see what was going on and ask questions about what they were seeing, or relate what they wanted. It was a different story from the multitude of children I saw plugged in to "rubber mothers," what I've always called pacifiers. They were being pushed around in strollers, totally separate from the parents who pretty much ignored the crying much of the time—at least it seemed that way to me. Our granddaughters did seem to be the happiest kids around.

One of the things I most wanted to do in Venice, and didn't expect to accomplish, was getting to Murano Island, since it's quite a distance. The private water taxis are very expensive, and I knew that it would take a big chunk of our time and money for all of us to go that distance on the public boat. The lines are outrageous. The first morning in Venice we were stopped by a gentleman who spoke beautiful English. He explained that he worked for the city department on the Island of Murano and they were sending people there that morning in private water taxis if we'd be interested in having a tour of the Glass Masters' Factory. (Dreams come true.) He promised they'd return us the same way. We all said yes, and he walked us to the dock, paid for the taxi and off we went. It was just the six of us in the most beautiful little cabin cruiser. I'd love to get John a boat like that. Wow.

I bought a few gifts, and Ben bought Ruth a stunning bracelet for Mother's Day and managed to keep it a secret from her with my help. The whole experience was amazing. In fact, when we got out of the taxi, there were huge lines from the public ferries waiting to go in. A gentleman met us at the water taxi, took us in by a private door, and gave us a private tour. He took us through everything. We were even able to ask questions and take photos. On our way out we saw the room where we'd had our private tour crowded with about 50 people, all jammed together watching the masters work. It was different from the treatment we had received. I'm just not sure why. Then the tour guide took us to the dock, paid the taxi driver to return us to Venice, and off we went. All together, I guess we were gone about three or four hours.

We climbed steps, toured cathedrals and bell towers, looked down over the city and just enjoyed each other for two days. We even had a wonderful gondola ride through the side canals. I had no idea they were so easy to tip over. (No, we didn't quite manage that, but I sure thought we were going to!) We ate pizza and pasta until it was coming out of our ears, and the last night we hiked half way across Venice to find the only MacDonalds in Venice. Ben was "pizza'd out." Then we packed up on May 1st and went to the cruise ship for the next stage of our adventure. In fact, just getting to the ship was an experience. I found out how far Ben can throw a duffel bag.

The best part of being on this trip was doing it with people we loved. Being with Ben and Ruth, Ashley and Kate was amazing. I see the kind of parents they are, and I feel so fortunate that our grandchildren are getting the love and attention they do. They're smart kids, and good kids, but like all children—well, if you let them, they could take over the world. Their corner of it, anyway. Any child can turn into a tyrant if you let them. Ben & Ruth are so united in love that the kids can't play them against each other. I could go on, and someday I might do a blog on what I saw that impressed me so much.

I asked Ruth one day, which seemed especially long, if she ever felt like screaming. She's so patient. There's no question of her saying, "Because I said so" just to end a discussion with a 3-year old. She looked at me and said, "Sure." But she doesn't. She's probably the most gracious woman of any age I've ever met. (Good job, Ben.)

So I'll close Venice by saying thank you to both of them for being so welcoming to us, and so patient with our less agile bodies (especially mine). We know you could have covered more ground without us. Here's my slide show, if the photos weren't enough for you...

Home Again, The First Day

2010-05-12T20:55:00.003-06:00

I'll go into detail later, but right now I only have the energy to deal with today. It seems like we got almost nothing done, but I know that's not true. We returned many phone calls and emails. We went to the post office to mail a couple of packages and pick up our mail.

The worst part about picking up three weeks worth of mail is that you have to sort it out when you get home. I actually did that right away. It didn't take much more than an hour. There are some checks to write, but that can wait for tomorrow.

We did some of the marketing—enough to eat for a couple of days, anyway. I wasn't up to a marathon shopping session after the long plane trip yesterday. We were pretty much a food-free zone when we got home, though, so the trip to the store was a necessity. We put gas in the car as long as we were out, and then headed home for some major unpacking. (No, it's not done yet. Neither is the laundry.)

Tonight I had an evening physical therapy session, so we went out to dinner on our way. It made for a very early dinner, but gave John the opportunity of going straight to bed when we got home. I'm jealous, but I know that if I go to bed at 8:30, I'll be awake again by about 3 a.m. Such is life.

My goals for tomorrow include downloading the camera and selecting photos for the first slide show; one load of laundry; one nap; finish unpacking; get the other packages ready to mail... oops. I think I've already over-goaled myself. Maybe that should be for the next two days. Well, we'll see what we shall see.

At least I have all this lovely snow to look at. I get enough Summer in its own season. I'm enjoying Winter's last fling. I thought we had missed it while abroad.

International Mother's Day

2010-05-09T15:49:00.002-06:00

Oh, this is going to be short—

We woke up this fine Mother's Day in Venice, Italy. It was 4:00 a.m. What a wonderful morning it was for a race across a couple of canal bridges pulling suitcases to the bus stop. Now actually, I pulled a little one while Ben and John did most of the work and Ruth managed the girls. I did a little shepherding, but not much. At quarter to five, which is when we left the Hotel, little ones prefer their mamas.

We took the bus to the airport, and flew back to Amsterdam for the final two days of our incredible trip. I'm just overwhelmed at how wonderful every single day has been. We've loved the places we've seen, and traveling with these special family members made each place more special.

I promised myself I'd never be the kind of grandmother who boasted that her grandchildren were the nicest, the cutest, or the smartest. I've just spent nearly three weeks with them. I'm not boasting. I can't help how they turned out. The credit goes to their fine parents.

You'll get a real blog by Wednesday night, with photos… They'll come in stages, of course, or you'd never watch a slide show with 2000 photos on it!

The Adventure Continues

2010-04-29T03:14:00.003-06:00

We're about an hour away from leaving for the airport for our trip to Venice, and two days after that we'll get on board the Costa Cruise ship for our trip down the Mediterranean to Athens, via many ports, and back through Croatia to Venice again. We'll be back in Amsterdam on the 10th, and I'm thinking that will be my next opportunity to post to the blog—but you just never know.

Meanwhile, I thought I end with these few photos of the family in action. That's been the real fun so far. Then I'll sign off, singing a strange rendition of "Happy Trails to Us."

Keukenhof, The "Kitchen Garden" of The Netherlands

2010-04-26T04:47:00.007-06:00

On Saturday morning we traveled a half hour by car to Keukenhof, to enjoy a day walking through the "kitchen gardens" of The Netherlands. That's what Keukenhof translates to mean, and all I can say is that they can boast the biggest, most perfect and without a doubt most fragrant blooms I've ever seen. From beginning to end, it was a wonderful day. It ended with Ben pulling up their copy of Ironman on Apple TV. I really didn't think I wanted to watch it, so I got my clothes together for church, then wandered down to say goodnight and got sucked in. Good movie, by the way. Very good movie.

Words won't do the day justice, but then they rarely will when it comes to travel and family fun. This time I started by creating a slide show, just so I'd know if it worked or not. To begin with, it worked. Ben came home and showed me how to make it automatic, though, so once you click on it, you no longer have to tell it to start from the page that opened. (When he does it, you click on the link and it just opens and starts. Now mine does, too.)

Two days are already gone, and they've been

wonderful. Our Sunday was filled with church, food, and bedtime routines for the girls. Then the adults sat together and played Clue. What fun that was! I think I've got the game nearly figured out, at least if you don't expect me to have an actual strategy. I want a rematch.

As for this blog, I'll go ahead and post it now and tweak it later. That way I'll have more time for having fun…

Ashley graduates from Joy School tonight, so I imagine there will be more photos in a day or two. Tomorrow is, after all, another day, and the fun has just begun.

Happy in Holland

2010-04-23T15:42:00.003-06:00

I actually did get a couple of hours sleep on Thursday night. There was a fabulous thunder storm that I needed to enjoy first. It finally tapered off sometime after midnight. I was in the shower at 2:30 a.m. John wanted the 3 a.m. slot, so I cleared out for him and woke him up just before the alarm would have gone off. We were ready to fly into Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

Our neighbor drove us to the shuttle (thanks, Doug). The shuttle was really punctual and arrived early at the airport. The day continued with nothing of any significance going wrong. I will say that the quality difference between Continental and Delta's food served is staggering. Our August and September 2009 flights on Continental were highlighted by the food. We were amazed at how really good it was. We'd never really had airline food that you could brag about before.

Well, Delta obviously doesn't care. At least I can say honestly that it was served by a very nice woman who didn't seem to be getting any thanks at all from the passengers. I made sure to tell her that we really appreciated getting food. We did. Even though it wasn't great, we were very hungry. Remember the adage, "Hunger is the best sauce?" John and I had a lot of "sauce" on our food.

Being here with Ben & Ruth, Ashley and Kate is wonderful. The smiles and giggles are so endearing. It really tickles me to see how excited somebody can get to see us. (The little ones got excited, too!) More tomorrow, and hopefully with photos. We're going to see the tulips in the morning.

Latest Flight & Health News

2010-04-20T22:48:00.002-06:00

This is just a quick post to update everyone who might be interested on the latest news on my health and our flight to Amsterdam. Today's flight of the same number corresponding to our flight on Thursday is in the skies, scheduled to land in Amsterdam on time in less than an hour, 7:35 a.m. their time. This sounds very promising for our chances of arriving as scheduled, God willing and the volcano doesn't blow in the wrong direction...

I spent an hour with my wonderful physical therapist today. If you're in the Loveland area, you really can't beat Rebound Sports Physical Therapists. Jami, the therapist I was lucky enough to get, saw me limping in and checked me over. She had one of the assistants pack my back and neck in hot, wet and heavy packs, and then worked on getting me as pain free as possible. I can't believe how much better I feel than I did before I went in there. There are times when a good physical therapist is better than a doctor.

Flight Update—Holland Dreaming'

2010-04-19T22:44:00.003-06:00

We're not on the airplane yet, of course, but things are looking up a bit. Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, where we're supposed to be headed on Thursday, has changed their front page statement. All day it's remained unchanged from yesterday's warning that no flights would be taking off and there was no estimate on when flights would be expected to begin. Tonight, however, there's a new message:

"Dutch airspace will gradually become available for air traffic on Tuesday. Air traffic to and from the airport will commence in phases. Initially flights will only take place at daylight and capacity will be limited. It will take days before air traffic to and from Schiphol will be fully resumed."

On looking further, I found some news that might be considered alarming. Our flight is going through Detroit. The eight fights tomorrow that go through Detroit have all been cancelled. There are nine flights being routed through JFK in New York City. Of those nine, four are still scheduled to arrive within an hour of their originally planned time.

I'm fairly positive, with all the people stranded coming and going, it's too late to change our city of departure. What does that mean for us? It's still prayer time. (Well, it's always prayer time, isn't it?)

Ice or Heat After a Fall?

2010-04-18T21:33:00.002-06:00

Oh, look! A short cut! Famous last words. I had gone down the hall to use the rest room before doing the sound check in church this morning. We still had nearly an hour before the congregation would arrive. I was singing and playing my guitar (country Gospel) at both services. As I returned from the ladies room, I noticed a sign on a side door that said "Audio Room" which happens to be in the very back of the sanctuary, and exactly where I needed to be for the sound check. What it should have said is "Big Step."

Although I love my trifocals, since they allow me to really focus at all distances, the one thing they don't allow me to do is focus on my feet. My feet are far away, relatively speaking, but the bottom of my glasses are for close-up viewing. I went through that door, hit the step and went flying. Luckily it was my right side that took the brunt of the fall, since if I had wrenched my left wrist like I did the right one, I wouldn't have been able to hold the strings tight enough to play. I also tore open my right knee and got a big goose egg on the back of my head. (Yes, somehow I managed to hit the back of my head on a metal components cabinet.)

So I've been using ice, which I've been told since my childhood days of being called "Stumble, Fumble and Fall" that it's the proper thing to use for the first 24 hours. After that, you switch to heat. And I'm dealing with the fact that many places on my body that didn't hurt twelve hours ago are chiming in now. I guess I'll be visiting Dr. Bohm tomorrow. He'll know what to do with me. He always does.

If I were a horse, someone would have shot me by now.

On Volcanos and Travel Plans

2010-04-17T20:34:00.004-06:00

Our airline tickets for Amsterdam are for Thursday, April 22nd, five days from now. The airports across Europe are still closed due to ash from the volcanic eruption in Iceland. The volcano continues to erupt. Oops. Our son, who is expecting us for this visit with his family, gave me the link to check Schiphol, the Netherlands airport directly for updates. As of five minutes ago, it says "Forecast: no air traffic will be possible to and from Amsterdam Airport Schiphol until further notice. Unfortunately we do not know at present when air traffic will be resumed."

Bummer.

I've heard that if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans. Well, excuse me, Sir, but did You happen to remember that I have Granddaughters over there? Excited Granddaughters? Little ones who don't understand things like volcanos far away that they can't see, and planes that won't fly when the sky is blue and clear? (Their daddy told me it was.)

Thousands of people are stranded at airports across Europe, while I sit here in my very comfortable home. Many people planned to leave this week and are already inconvenienced. I'm not worried yet. Really—I'm not. I'm praying, though.

Paperback Swap Club—I Love It

2010-04-16T21:51:00.005-06:00

Jeremy and Elisha called tonight, and were very excited about their first prenatal ultra sound. This grandma was pretty excited as well, of course. They're both working hard and pinching pennies. Any expectant parents who aren't are just irresponsible.

While we were talking, I mentioned John putting up a bigger mailbox

for me, to hold all the wonderful audio books I was getting through PBS, the Paperback Swap Club that's been saving my own budget so much by allowing me to trade books instead of buying them. Jeremy said he was getting ready to buy an audio book himself. I asked him what it was, and he said "Rich Dad, Poor Dad."

"Well, let me check the club listings." Within two minutes I had the audio book on its way to him, at no cost to either of us, from a helpful club member who had it on her shelf and no longer needed it. She'll pay the postage to mail it directly to him. I'll give her two credits, earned from mailing an audio book to someone else who wanted one of mine. The club keeps all the records so I don't have to do any of that. List price for the audio is $24.98.

Just then Elisha chimed in. "Find out if they've got Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth About Pregnancy and Childbirth." I asked if she wanted paperback, hardback or audio. She wanted paperback so she could throw it in her purse and carry it around easily. Again, within two minutes PBS came through for me. Another member had it on her shelf, and it was ordered for Elisha. Since it's a book, it cost one credit, and the member will mail it directly to Elisha for me. The list price for this book is $12.95.

That means they just saved about $38—if they could find them in one place. They could beat that price on Amazon, of course, but not get them free. Then there's shipping and handling charges, too, unless they're Amazon Prime members. I don't believe they are.

What a great way to share books, save money and make friends. It's amazing to me that I've met some really great people through the club. You find people with similar reading tastes and put them on your buddy list. Messages go back and forth almost as often as books. What a blessing this club has been for me. And the new mail box looks terrific. I hadn't realized how dented and old the other one was. Our mail carrier even called out to John and told him what a nice box it was. I think she was just relieved at the size. Some days I get seven or more audio books. They fit much better in the new big box.

Photo Update

2010-04-11T20:17:00.009-06:00

This is sort of a tribute to having two cameras. When I only had one camera, I never got the photos that we'd see from the car, like elk roaming close to the neighborhood, or concerts in church. So many times we'd say to each other that some day we were going to get a very small but decent camera to keep in the car all the time so that when we wanted one, it would be there.

About two months ago, more or less, we were in CostCo and saw a huge discount on one of the small cameras they keep out for people to test. What's that called, a floor model? Whatever it is, we saved about 40% by purchasing it. It had a couple of very small scratches, but was otherwise perfect. It's not as fancy (or as heavy) as my good digital, but it's the same basic brand, a Panasonic Lumix. Here are the first photos we took with it, interspersed with photos I took around the house on it's big brother, the Lumix DMC-FZ18. I can tell the difference. If I blew them up to 8x10 or larger, anyone could.

I'm going to start with the photos of the elk. This morning they came closer to the house than ever before. I'd guess they were about .2 miles by road, or less as the crow flies. We don't have any crows, though...

{Editor's comment... I've been trying to download photos to Blogger for over an hour, and I'm giving up for tonight. I guess they're having some type of problem with the site, since I've done it many times before without getting an error message. I'll try again in the morning. For now, at least this much will let you know what's coming, and that I am trying.}

I spent several hours during the morning and again during the afternoon, and finally (at son Ben's suggestion) went to his slide show page and did it that way. I got it done, but am not sure I know how to connect it. So hopefully, you're going to click here and see a slideshow. If you don't see it here, just wait (again) until he gets up. Remember, he's in Holland, and they're eight hours ahead of my time zone. When we connect, he can walk me through it. I'm pretty frustrated at this point. I really do have other things I was supposed to be doing today.

Wednesday, April 14th, 1:15 p.m. here (and 9:15 p.m. in Holland)— Ben was so good as to look at what I had done and send me the fix, so if you were here and tried to see the slide show, you got a message that said "Access Denied." Sorry. I think I mentioned that there's no fool like an old fool? Well, try it again. It should work now. If it doesn't, this entire blog post is going to disappear. That will fix it.

On Crowns and Kings

2010-04-05T21:14:00.002-06:00

This hasn't been our best week, and it just started. Actually, you could say it started last week. On Thursday John broke a crown. It happens to be on one of his "anchor" teeth, which holds his dentures in place. Since we leave for Europe in just over two weeks, we need to rush through the necessary dental procedures to get him fixed up so he can eat and smile. He's not smiling now, I can tell you.

Turns out he needs to have at least one root canal, possibly two. They're sending him to an endodontist, which is a root canal specialist. We've been to three appointments so far, and tomorrow at 6:30 p.m. (yes, that's p.m.) we finally see the endodontist, about an hour from home, and hopefully he'll get right on it and not say, "Well, I'll examine you tonight and we can do it next week." If he does that, I'm not sure how much eating John will be doing on the trip. (Got a blender, Ruth?)

Meanwhile, I developed severe plantar fasciitis in my right foot and moderate (same diagnosis) in the left, so I've been going to physical therapy twice a week. I have an eye appointment Wednesday for the glaucoma testing, which must be done every three months because of the anti-seizure medication I have to take. It's a known risk. I'm not quite half done with the baby blanket I'm working on, and haven't done the hat or booties yet. I really wanted to get that in the mail before we leave.

I still haven't found my camera's download cable. We've got either a doctor's appointment or dental appointment every single day this week, and then we're getting hair cuts as well on Friday. I feel like that old commercial, product unknown, where the guy is sitting at his desk talking on the telephone.

"I can do that," you hear him say. "I can do that. I can do that. I can do that." Then he hangs up and looks at the phone and says, "How am I going to do that?"

A Day in the Life

2010-04-01T20:38:00.004-06:00

Has anybody seen the download cable for my digital camera? I know where it should be. I know where I thought it was. I even know where I figured I put it. Yes, those are three different places. It's not in any of them. I could have left it in the console of the car, but it's dark out there—and raining. And I hate to remind John that he was going to help me find my car keys, so I could I borrow his? Again?

Maybe I don't need to download photos tonight. Perhaps I'll think of it earlier tomorrow. Nobody's going to read this tonight anyway, right?

Besides, I have to go to town tomorrow for physical therapy on my foot. Plantar fasciitis. Fun stuff. I can check in the car then without making an extra trip. No one will notice that I didn't put pictures in here again. Of the elks. Of the snow. Of the beautiful hills. Sigh.

Plushenko's 2008 Sextravaganza Skate

2010-03-29T18:28:00.005-06:00

Just for fun—hide the children—I had to share this. I'm never sure why some things sleep for years and then suddenly do the rounds on YouTube, but a friend shared this with me today. I had a good laugh, and I know so many people who need one right now that I figured this was a great place to put a copy. So here comes famed Russian champion ice skator Evgeny Plushenko, giving his February, 2008 performance.

He skated to the Tom Jones classic "Sex Bomb," and I'm not sure where Plushenko was, but it was some kind of gala. That's all the information YouTube gives. So clear the room and enjoy it. (Actually, there were children in the audience, so it's not too raunchy.

Telling You Why I've Written Less

2010-03-27T21:33:00.006-06:00

The last few weeks it's been very difficult for me to write in my blog very often because I don't want it to turn into a political blog. I do occasionally share my opinions and frustrations, or a bit of political humor, but I can't allow it to turn into a soap box. Unfortunately, the events of the last month have so overwhelmed my attention that it's just been very difficult to change pace and write a humorous blog, or put together something that deals with the quirks of my everyday life.

So with this nonverbal expletive, I'll sign off tonight with the resolve that tomorrow I will download my camera of the photos I've taken during my walks the last couple of weeks and see if I can't put together something a little more cheerful. But before I put this away, I have two things to add. Did you like the new ObamaCare Logo pictured above? And have you seen the latest music video released to try to get people to laugh while worrying and praying? I couldn't resist adding it below.

Books: Not Such Guilty Pleasures

2010-03-23T20:51:00.003-06:00

Books are abundant. Even good books are so numerous I despair of reading them all. I'll admit I'm trying, but realize it's a hopeless task. One of the things that makes it so impossible is the number of new authors with talent. They seem to manage the editing process better than I have. {To me, editing is like deciding to have plastic surgery on your toddler's ears. Aren't they the way they were meant to be? Don't they fit his face the way they are?} Okay, so Im struggling with editing my own novel, but that's a totally separate topic. Today I want to discuss Gil.

Gil? I ran across Gil in PBS. Look to the left of your screen. You'll see the little PBS logo there. It's Paperback Book Swap, and I've written about it. It's amazing, and I've met some great people there as well as cutting my reading budget by about 90%. Now—back to Gil. He writes a book review blog that is my favorite new blog in months. I'm addicted. It's one of the fun blogs, because what he wrote this week is neither more nor less relevant than what you'll find in his posts from months ago. They're books. You can still find them.

Gil calls his blog "Gil T's Pleasures," and his writing is as clever as his blog title. It's got me hooked. I turned on a cooking show that usually holds my interest a few nights ago, and during the first commercial instead of fast forwarding I thought I'd glance back at some of Gil's old book reviews. Suddenly it was midnight. My DVR had ended the program, going on to something else, and I hadn't noticed. I was lost in a world of books with a new list of authors that I absolutely had to take out for a test drive—or invite for dinner.

I write for fun, and because I can't help it. I've always just written. It's part of who I am. I even write because I know some of my stories, the ones about my childhood and my children, will be important to my grandkids some day. But people like Gil write to serve us all and the authors who add so much to our lives.

Thanks, Gil.

A not quite Midnight addendum: I head from Gil tonight, and he let me know that he has older archives as well as parallel posts in another blog for anyone who wants to delve back. I had a look, and I'm delighted to find they go all the way to April, 2005. There's a little quote on top of the page you'll find of interest: "If it's reviews you want, I got 'em. Books, Movies & Music. I also hold contests (books, dvds, mp3 players, iTunes giftcards are just some of the things I've given away.)"

Healthcare Bill Homework

2010-03-21T21:38:00.004-06:00

Like many Americans, I sat in front of the television and watched what I considered the debacle of the vote on the House Floor as Obamacare was shoved closer into law. It was handled with secrecy and back room deals, enough pork and promises to shame the country, and probably bankrupt us.

Here's your homework. Call your doctor. Ask if they plan or will be able to stay in business if this plan, as it appears to be moving forward, is enacted. Please don't stick your head in the sand on this one. You have a senator. They have a phone number and an email address. It hasn't passed the Senate yet. If we do nothing, it will be law by Tuesday.

If you didn't watch and listen, be warned. If you're on Medicare, it's being cut. If you're on Medicare Advantage, it's being eliminated completely. If this bill is passed, your health care will be overseen by the IRS. Yes, that's correct. They're going to have to hire something like 15,000 new IRS agents to oversee your healthcare. If you like how they handle your taxes, just think how wonderful it will be when they are in charge of deciding what tests your doctors can give you.

Do your homework. I'll be hoping for lots of comments. I feel sick and scared. I have great insurance, and we pay an awful lot for it. I don't like how much we must pay, but at least I know that when we're sick or injured, we can get the care we need. This bill ensures the rights of everyone to free healthcare, and that includes illegal aliens. That's right. Don't take my word for it. The bill is online.

And want doesn't it have it it? Tort reform, interstate commerce to enable people to get a better deal, breaking up the insurance companies ability to overcharge within their own little world. There's so much that needed to be fixed with this, the world's best health care system. How long have I been worried? Look back at my old blogs. I started with humor. I tried music. I try to keep my blog lighthearted, but tonight I just don't feel lighthearted. I'm discouraged and I'm disgusted.

Shame on you, Congress.

Recommending Another Blog

2010-03-19T21:14:00.002-06:00

Have I ever recommended someone else's blog? I don't think I have, and perhaps that's a mistake. I read several that are very good. I'm going to highlight two this week that are particularly wonderful for people who love to read. Sounds like me. I'll begin with the one I found first, and let you enjoy that for a couple of days before pointing you toward the next one. They're very different, and each has its own strong points.

Thoughts in Progress is a reader's blog I should have mentioned months ago. Mason Canyon is the blogger's pen name, and while she's giving writing tips and holding great contests and give-aways on books and audio books, she's also hosting guest authors. They talk about their latest books, writing methods, inspirations and more. It's a very inventive way to learn about what's happening in a broad spectrum of the publishing world.

I realized a long time ago that no one was going to just let me read all day, and that even if it were possible, there are simply too many great authors for me to be up to date on all the really worthy ones. My tastes are too eclectic to keep up with all the genre fiction I love as well as all the great literature that is being written in so many styles. Besides, if all I did was read, when would I write?

Give Mason's blog some time. Enter her contests. I've won books or audio books twice now, so I know it can be done. It's really exciting, too, to get that email in your inbox telling you your name was drawn. I'll admit, though, that even if I was never one of the book winners, this is still a site I would go to regularly to see who is writing what that I might want to put on my reading wish list.