Narrow Shoes

Scar tissue: the twinge of something real...

2011-11-29T13:43:00.000-08:00

How can it be that I haven't blogged in 2 months?
Strange.
I really miss it.
But obviously not enough to stop all the other stuff I'm doing to make more of a habit of it.
It's nearly the end of November.
My tiny scar behind my left eyebrow twinges and I remember an awful "THWACK" I received August 15th at the Edmonton Wave Pool when my brow bone collided with Weston's skull.
Funny that, the little twinge of scar tissue. A tiny 'zzzt' to remind me to be more careful, that I am fragile in some ways.
So what have I been doing instead of blogging?
Reading
Sitting at a computer looking for voice over jobs for the entire family
Reading Facebook updates and going on rabbit trails through the internet
Watching a tv series on dvd: Pushing Daisies
Journaling
Teaching (or rather facilitating) a Faith and Art class
Coaching two finely talented acting students
Recording, editing, emailing from above 'found' voice-over jobs
Thinking
Drawing

I long to write, but I think it's time to admit I've gotten intimidated about the time I think I must have as a window before I just begin.

Just beginning is the key.

I don't have to have a whole cute story with a spiritual metaphor planned out before I just begin.
I just have to start telling the truth and then the air around me feels fresher and before I know it, I inevitably discover a metaphor and perhaps a charming story, once I start to write and breathe the fresher air.

Ahhhh

The scar twinge reminds me again of my fragility and my fear of dying early and leaving my family. It makes me want to churn out all the huge ideas in my head and heart that I've been carrying so they could perhaps benefit others before I die. -But those are big ideas that take a lot of work to make ready.

Why don't I at least tend to the little things better - more carefully...?

One thing was special, Weston and his favorite stuffie Brown Bear helped host a tea with toast and friends event. We sampled various tiny loaves of bread and sat with friends at the same table. Good thing.

And on another night we filled Samaritan's Purse (Operation Christmas Child) shoeboxes with shoes, pens, candy, socks, gadgets and hand written cards - longing for this box of "stuff" to convey some sort of meaningful connection other than just Western Consumer habits and breakable junk. That longing nearly made me stop and not participate. It's hard to have faith in something so big and systematic - so materialistic and lacking in genuine connection, at so little cost to the giver... really. So, what do we do? We make it cost a little more, but still wonder whether we're putting our time and resources into the best outlet. So we buy shoes that cost a little more, try to buy Canadian made things, write a note telling the truth about ourselves and what we hope for... and do it on a night where we gather with a few others and eat only rice, one night out of the year. -I'm still left wondering.

We also just gave a whack of money to World Vision Canada online. But it didn't hurt in the way you might think. You see, we made a substantial amount of money this year, on the side, through voice overs, -and through hundreds of hours of my time (by choice.) It was fun to watch the boys select their "good cause" giving from the easy-to-use catalogue. Supposedly freeing young boys from soldiering, buying fruit trees for a needy, smiling family, and even sponsoring their own child.

But now what?

That was still too easy.

I know it can be good, but it's not nearly as memorable as my friend Paul who picked up and went to Africa for two weeks. It's not nearly so hard as trying to forgive that man in my church who is hard to love because I always think he's selling me something with his winks and grunts.
It's not nearly so important as me just taking time to listen to my child tell me a story.

Catalogue giving - and buying I suppose... takes the personal out of decisions by making them ready-made and easy as the click of a button.

Still some good, yes.

But I'm thirsty for meaning.

I want to be changed toward goodness in a way that sticks. In a way that costs me something. In a way that I can register and remember and not worry about getting credit or a free bracelet.

I'm not very proud of myself when I don't remember how I gave. It's almost like not giving at all.

It's like I need a little scar to remind me. A little wound showing where I made a sacrifice and for months later I feel little twinges of healing. A scar I could tell a story about because it revealed to me what it means to be human by uncovering my fear or deep desire.

The twinge of something real.

Extended Fall

2011-10-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

I feel like we've been given an extension. God has granted our beautiful autumn to continue even longer than most years I can remember since I've moved to Alberta.
We've harvested the beets and are nearly through canning all the tomatoes, we've gone for walks under a startling blue sky, and we've been able to be outside... as much as we want.

Halloween is tomorrow and I can't believe it's so warm.

Weekends have become jealous family times - meaning: we rarely share with anyone else, but hunker down in our favorite position: the picnic in the living room while we watch a movie. The food always tastes SO GOOD that way.

I don't even feel guilty.

I like this less scheduled season... although that doesn't mean I'm not struggling to get things done.

Voice overs are still thick, which is good, and I've managed to bake bread and meet with friends and even catch a play in Calgary. We raked leaves, had quite a few kids over to play and eat cookies, and even made a new cranberry orange cake. Yum.

I've been reading "The Spirit of Food" with Carol Wall and now my mom too, and it's been inspiring to think of designing food and connection as a spiritual blessing. I made a fun tomato soup with 5 County toasted cheese bread when Carol and I met for our first spirit of food connection time. Dave lucked out to walk in the door at the exact time and joined us.

The boys and I are still in Harry Potter afterglow with tossing little facts back and forth and trying to decipher each character a little more. Donovan fashioned little wands and he and Weston were casting spells like swordplay up the hill.

What I'm not doing is exercising regularly; what I'm not doing is teaching very much (that will pick up again after the Christmas show opens next week); what I have been doing is enjoying myself very much with reading, movies, computer work, and cooking. Huh. Wow. I even sort of enjoyed cleaning the kitchen today, right after lunch. That almost never happens.

What an unusual time.

But I'm gonna grab it before someone shakes the snowglobe.

Priming the well...

2011-10-20T13:28:00.000-07:00

I’ve been so blessed by this sunny, sunny fall. I love the backdrop of the blue sky against the harvest colors: the shorn wheat fields are still golden until they kiss the horizon all around on the drive into town, and then of course there is the remaining bit of color left on the trees, hills, and grasses around Rosebud.
It beckons one to wander out and explore. To breathe and recall once forgotten memories.
And to create, in this time of transition.

Our family has been quite creative lately with food, crafts, and a steady diet of voice-over work.

But still I’m restless.

I want to pour my feelings into a work of art, but it’s hard to parcel it out. There is no sizeable opportunity in front of me or scheduled time to enable my appetite for endeavour. --And thus begins the battle of bulges. My gut and my mind both are fat with needs and plagued by the fear of lost chances.

Why is it so hard to just begin? Why must I wait for a four hour chunk of uninterrupted free time to write or work on my memory book? I know those projects are huge, but I don't have to do them all at once, right? Why can't I just begin? Is it too far to venture into and still leave time to crawl back out? Maybe.

It seems the more I'm at home, the more I struggle with working. Strange. The pantry with its all important snacks are so much easier to think about. They provide instant gratification, fodder for work, and inspiration! For example, right now I am slowly dissolving a Cadbury Dairy Milk Mint chocolate square between the roof of my mouth and tongue. It oozes silky sweetness and cooling mint simultaneously in a way that awakens mystery and awe at confectionary chemistry. See? How can writing my play compete with that?

And now my Arvo Part music shifts to Jane Siberry and I have to shift it back. I can no longer write to interesting music with lyrics. "Spiegel im Spiegel" is the only music for me. It subtly primes my well of feeling and draws it up hand over hand by a golden thread, so that even my ugliest regrets seem suddenly forgivable in the bright light of today.
Understanding softens the sorry choices made out of fear --and beauty is found everywhere I look. Now the after-mint coolness in my mouth is a stroke of brilliance, not over indulgence. It's honesty and grace in action.
Or am I kidding myself?
Regardless, I am relieved by putting some of my thoughts and feelings into words. The fog clears and I see where I'm standing and realize again it's not so far off the path. My feet are on the ground and I'm grateful again for my good health and the gift of my family. They're so interesting. *****

Only at this time of year does Rosebud look this way. The fall is so much shorter than the winter here, and summer feels long and dry. White winter reigns for months and Spring doesn't seem to claim it's own space - just a war between winter and summer - whereas Autumn... Ah. Such a beautiful sad/grateful way for leaves to go and this year, with time to process.
A year ago I was still reeling from the awful death of my friend Jeremy.
I continue to carry a vision of him in my thoughts often.
But this year is different.
It is not saturated with death after shocking death of ones I know.
No. It is not.
Instead, it is like the bursting of tree blood into its extremities, causing them to show themselves in their true color. It is the full-headed glory of age and wizening and the fury of love of life in the face of the imminent dormant season to come.
--It makes me want to hear stories of elders who have weathered the storm and have such clarity in their vision now that death is indeed the next season.

Happy Chef pancake

Do the trees know (I wonder) if spring will come again? Is that why they bend to the law of nature?
I can't help thinking of Jesus, knowing the joy that was set before him... -- sorta takes the risk out of it for a moment, if I may be irreverent. I mean, if it was a magic trick all along, where was the sacrifice?
But then
That journey of feeling forsaken, of sheer pain and finitude, even for a bit, -- guess it was enough to sweat blood and cry out for another way.
Giving birth is sorta similar.
The likely aftermath is gonna be good, so do it.
And then there's this entrance of an amazing creature into your lap that can't even stand up. So you carry it around with you, outside your skin this time, and sure enough you find yourself pretty attached and with a strong urge to see them live and laugh and love.
My little creatures are now so smart and hilarious and rascally and strong-willed and joyful and quirky and sensitive and industrious, and they really want nothing more than playtime and freedom. ******

I'm reading lots. Just finished the huge Harry Potter adventure with Weston. Wow. Wonderful excitement and pathos, and such a great opportunity to read aloud. Now I'm onto other books and am overwhelmed by the choice of readings for my faith and art class. I resound with each author as they reflect a piece of the gospel in a new way, most often through story.
I get it now.
My truth, when uttered kindly and artfully, can resound with others who love truth.
And maybe it's not as hard as it sounds.
It really only takes beginning (whether through a particular song or piece of great chocolate), and then it's a process of letting it be drawn up out of the well, picking out any obligatory debris or bits of borrowed truth I haven't yet made my own, but staying open and letting me deep thoughts be seen in the light.

* David is gone now. Just for one day, but he'll be gone overnight, so I will soldier up in the morning to rouse and feed the boys and get their little buns on the big yellow bus in the wee light of dawn without him. God help us.

Hey, ya know what?
I may just be facing that huge chunk of unscheduled time tonight after the boys bed down!
Here it is staring me in the face and while I've been monologuing on principles.
Still, I'm grateful.
This has been important.
A runoff first gush from the deep waters.

There may be no stopping me now.

Orange is the new Pink

2011-10-17T09:42:00.000-07:00

My life has slid into fall in such an unusual way. Orange. The color has been prominent. Donovan must have 3 orange t-shirts. Now my red load of laundry is nearly half orange as orange has lately been a favorite color of David and Weston too, not to mention myself... and what with Grandma Meltebeke’s old swirly hand towels, I nearly need an orange load all to itself!

The other morning the whole horizon was orange-peach with the sunrise. It was harvest time and something in the air made for the most glorious light outside, we had to investigate before breakfast. One of my students later told me she thought there was a fire, everything was so red outside.

I’ve been happy to see the weather let the colors happen this year. Two years ago was so sad when everything went instantly brown and died suddenly. The slow passing is so much more glorious and gives time for contemplation. ‘Course, we’ve also been blessed with warm days and not until this week has the frost started to bite.

My fall has been full of putzing in a way I’m so grateful for. I’ve canned tomatoes and pickles and had time to work on voice over projects for my family. I’m taking an art class in drawing and spend much more time reading than I have in years. I’m into five books right now: Telling the Truth; the Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy, and Fairytale by Buechner (for the fourth time) -- faith and art text; The Spirit of Food (which I’m reading with Mom and Carol Wall) - loaded with food stories and recipes; Mansfield Park (which I was reading with Mom until she already finished it) - love it, and it’s a good exercise in complicated sentences and Victorian prose; My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok (for the second time - text for drawing class) - an incredible story of a young Jewish artist; and of course, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, book 7 of the series with the final 27 pages to be read tonight to an eager household before we take on the movie. Whew.

What a lot of stories going on in my head, no wonder my play is lying dormant, waiting for the warmth of inspiration after this foraging into other worlds.

I’m so grateful though.

There was at least three invitations last night to go out and socialize and we all stayed in, grateful not to be interrupted as we supped and centered as a family.

I’m so proud of my boys. Donovan built a “grass tobogan”. Yes, a huge bobsled out of cardboard that holds three kids and they went screaming down Hamm hill this weekend with the delight of Calvin and Hobbes without any snow! I’m sorry I don’t have pics of that...yet.

The orange in the autumn air is making us resourceful, creative, and spontaneous. There has been a resurgance of new ideas and original work here at the Snider house, like the turning of a pond in the spring. Why is it the coming winter, the nearness of “death” and the change of color bring about such industrious endeavor? I won’t ponder too long, but enjoy the season. This is a time for freedom in trying new things and harvesting the work of the summer. This is a time for thoughtfulness and quiet afternoons. This is a time for dreams and discernment for the future. This is a time for peace.

Hovering above...

2011-08-08T21:28:00.000-07:00

I had such an incredible urge to walk yesterday. The weather was perfect. It was warm and bright and there was a strong breeze. I left hatless and without sunglasses wanting to walk far, fast, and feel the wind and sun weathering my face as I strode. Of course I slung my camera along too, so the fast part was greatly compromised. I was struck everywhere by almost everything. The colors, the warmth, the buzzing of bees, the flowers, the birds. I was surrounded by summer beauty. The Rosebud valley looks so amazing right now. Various shades of green and yellow, and all so lush.
I took a side path, wondering if it would be overgrown, but the thin dirt trail beckoned me on, up and up the short cut to Smiley Face Hill.
I wanted to weep with the awareness of beauty all around me. Has it taken my 42 years to REALLY appreciate the wonder of it all? If I had been this grateful, this observant, and this clear 20 years ago, I think I would have also been more courageous.
It made me wish to be in shape, so I could respond to the urge in my being to run and leap like a gazelle.
Is it too late?
No.
The real issue is, am I willing to give up my comfort for the discipline it would take.

I realized that I have finally fallen in love with this little valley. I heard peaceful patrons from Calgary say they love coming here, but it's taken me awhile to see it's merit. Quaint, yes. Unique, yes. Creative and quirky, yes. But today, it stirred in me the knowledge that I know it. I know it, I love it, and it has become my home. --That's a scary one, because I long for Oregon where I grew up. Where luscious beauty and mild climate thrive year round. I don't want to let go of my original home, for fear that I won't get back. Or worse, that I might forget.
Nearing the top of the hill, suddenly three huge dark birds took off. They were riding the currents for what looked like pure joy in the prime conditions. The soared and dipped and then hovered in the same spot like magic.
     Instead of taking the road across the cattleguard and under the barbed wire, I took the safe way back, only a bit puzzled. Two years ago (has it really been that long?) when I was up there, it was much easier to get through.   But the three flammable power plant warning signs did their work in dissuading me and I turned round and walked the road home, wondering if I'd missed another adventure.
     But no. For it was there on that ordinary gravel lane, that one of the birds drew near. One of the big dark ones, (I'm not sure what it was - not speckled like a hawk, not ugly enough to be a vulture, and maybe not big enough for a... but oh, could it be? --a golden eagle? - It sure looked eagle-like, only dark brown!), anyway, he hovered over me for a good 7 seconds. I know he was just finding a sweet spot in the warm and cold drafts, but it was stunning!
   I've only seen birds hover a few times, and each time has been memorable, and a sign to me. A crack of the eternal shooting through for a moment to remind me of another dimension -- the one with no boundaries and hearts that long for good.
   My walk was twice as long as the brief ones I've been taking over the past few sunny months, and so a different pull was beginning to beckon me back to my family. I was grateful for the time to be alone. Time to utter truth about my thoughts and feelings. And time to soak in the natural and be reminded of God and his Provision.

The wind tugged at my wisps of hair around my face, trying to get them out from my too tight hairband. I squinted into the sun, aware again of having no hat, sunscreen, or shades, and yet I loved it. I'm usually so protected, but today I wanted to be weathered by the elements - to really feel them on me. It dawned on me that I actually had a craving to taste the wind.

     There are frequent times that I thirst to be near water, so I can feel the ions it gives off calming me.
     Other times where I've stared into a fire well past conscious thought and been mesmerized by the light flaring in the coals.
     Lately I've been soaking up time in our little garden. Tending. Weeding. Pruning. Listening to the soil drink the moisture from the storm in the night.
     Well, here I was finally being saturated in wind. I had been missing it. The last few outbreaks that broke our branches were observed behind glass. Finally I was out in it and sensing it, and in the most beautiful way: no rain or cold; just warmth and life... and hovering majestic birds.
     I was reminded that I don't always have to travel to encounter profound truth and beauty.
     But sometimes I have to get out in it to see my home from a different perspective. To hover above it for a good seven seconds and see that it is indeed, blessed.

Summer

2011-07-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

I have so much to catch up on. My life has been saturated with the Badlands Passion Play. It's been in my thoughts and heart more than I eat or sleep lately. I must be riding on a double high of summer nights and outdoor theatre, and the sense of a job pinnacle and near finish.
I've had more fun wearing dresses to rehearsal and performances in the last few weeks. I wasn't sure if I could still run and direct in them, but I can!
It's been an interesting experience starting the let-go right after the late night pushes.
I didn't know my job would entail late night directors meetings post sound meeting post production meeting post show. Wow. Two nights in a row I crawled into bed at 3:30am after emailing my notes off for proofing and posting. Amazing.
And yet... I must be going off adrenaline, because I'm OK. Yes, I'm sleepy and tired, but I'm thrilled too.
The play is spectacular in it's visual and aural impact. And I'm so please many have come and enjoy it.
I think I partly love it because there are 2000+ people sitting in the same valley, participating in the same story, either telling it or watching it, and that is remarkable to me. It makes me weep with the rare beauty of it. And the weather --- no complaints. In fact it's been perfect! No wind. Sun and warmth with evening coolness, and shade when I needed it. I feel blessed.
The full moon last week was another beauty, and my heart and mind were so full last night, along with the charged air from a long awaited storm, there was no sleep to be had. None. Until about 5am.
Today I went for a brief walk and then had to run. (for a bit anyway). I love it when that happens. My spirit and body coincided with the same urge to run, to feel the breeze, to move, to feel strong and agile... at least for a bit.
Summer.
You are here.
I see it in the growth in my garden: thick green tomato branches, bushy cucumbers, new pepper leaves and curling, furling wine colored beet tops! The earth is wet and warm and I can almost hear the roots drinking and growing from last night's down pour.
I should have taken pictures relevant to my ramblings, but alas, my camera is nearly kaput. It can not hold a charge for more than 20 seconds.
So instead, I share some overdue photos of Donovan and Weston's last day of school and our family picnic under the snow from the cottonwoods at Partici Park. Different story, but similar feel to the abundant sunny blessings I feel now,
even in the midst of my tiredness
I feel so alive.
Like the plants in my garden, I thrive on the abundance of light and the sudden surprise of water.
I long to remember these warm fragrant nights in the dead of winter and be ever grateful to soak up the sweetness of life and love when it is offered.
I think I must be near to the center of what I'm made to do when I feel this good.
Thank you Lord

And thanks to Dave too for letting me work full time for a bit.

Straight, stuck, and surrender

2011-06-16T21:24:00.000-07:00

Here I am as a Jedi warrior with my once in a lifetime straight hair. That's right. Stick straight. Never in my life have I seen my self with hair so straight, so I had to document it.
Mom, take a look. Have you ever seen me this way?
I got my hair cut, obviously, and when I was done the stylist asked how I wanted it "done". "Just leave it" I said. "O no" she says. "Then do whatever you want with it" I say. "I want to straighten it" says she. So I'm thinking, she's gonna whip out the blow dryer and make it all swoopy smooth. But no...
She whips out the steam waffle iron thingy and straightens my hair from crown to tip! Amazing! I didn't know it could be done.
I got several compliments, many which included how young I looked. Well,... it was fun for a day, but I can not invest that much time into my hair on a daily basis. I am now back to air dry and curls, but here are the pics to prove, I was once straight.

This goony one I took myself of course, looking into the mirror.
It was an interesting experiment, to change my look. To have my perception of my head, the frame of my face, and the thickness and volume of my hair so altered. I was surprised how much it tripped me out! I'd forget about it, of course, then I touch my hair and it was so slippery and soft and thin, it felt like much of it was gone!
   Spring in Rosebud has been full of sun and now full of rain. I wrote last time of the delight in our little garden sprouting from seed, so I included a shot of our baby spinachs... now they're much bigger. In fact, we ate some in salad last night. Ahhhh.
   I finally got out to walk the other day and I saw such a sad sight. A dead deer carcass with it's foot caught in fence. One little foot trapped and the whole animal had to remain and die there alone. How long did it take? What were it's thoughts? Why didn't anyone see or help? How long ago did it happen? Was it there all winter? How many creatures have fed on it since?
   My sympathy and my anger rose in me. Why? Why would God allow one of his creatures to die such a pitiful, helpless death?
   Could I bear to die that way? Would I be asked to suffer so?
   Right now I am immersed in helping direct a new script for the Canadian Badlands Passion Play. I tend to arrange the 150+ crowd actors around the action of the scene. But first I must catch the vision of the story as articulated from the co-directors Royal and Barrett, then translate that vision into words and images for the many volunteers. Many of whom have never been trained in theatre, but many of whom have done this play before, more times than I...
It is a challenge.
More than I thought.
And in different ways than I thought.
I realize I am used to being in charge.
When I direct, I am THE director, and I don't have anyone looking over my shoulder or ... well... telling me what to do. I'm used to a director telling me what to do when I'm the actor, but, this is trickier.
Nonetheless, it is exciting. The script is still being revised and we are inventing it as we go. And with the new sound system in place, there's some magic that happens when action meets bentonite striped badland hills, meets humans in period garb, meets stunning underscore spilling from speakers dispersed throughout the live ampitheatre.
   Which brings me back to the deer.
Jesus, in the end, died alone. He was not rescued or saved from discomfort, agony, or a sense of helplessness to save himself. He endured until he breathed his last and surrendered to God's way.

The deer didn't know the fence would trip him. His instincts didn't equip him for barbed wire. But I imagine him suffering silently, submitting to his fate. Still, I wish I had found him sooner. I wish then I had the courage to free him. I hate to think of his loved ones waiting for him to free himself, they themselves equally helpless, and then the awful reality that he must be left. It pains me. But I guess that's good.

   I long to get out more.
Strange, because the weather is beckoning me, but still I sit and audition for voice overs, or manage the boys accounts, and... well, I snack... and I don't just run out of doors when I get the least urge.
   I have all my limbs, and yet I'm stuck like the deer to my computer with my curiosity and desire to achieve. I have my foot caught in the desk, but I can still get out; if I don't give up my hope.
   The other day I took Dave on a morning walk with me to see the pitiful creature. But for the mosquitos, it was a stunning day. I don't know if Rosebud can get more beautiful than it is right now. The sky so blue, the grass so green and everything singing and bursting with the urgency of a late spring. ('Course then, I think of the sparkly winters... but no -- ) I love whatever season is happening when it really begins. And summer is in the air. A glance out my window shows me the last rays of sun striking the clouds and it's 10:22pm!
O God, I hope to make better use of this summer energy.
Thank you for the green
Thank you for the blue
Thank you for the rain
And thank you for the new

May I be diligent with my responsibilities
And patient in my sufferings when I find myself caught.

Help me to surrender and not lose faith in your bigger purpose.

"Who for the joy set before him, suffered death, even death on a cross..."

Award day at school

2011-06-08T13:12:00.000-07:00

Weston finally got something he has been hoping for all year at school: an award.

We were so happy for him. He got to stand up and receive it in front of many young peers and few proud parents and then stand in a line with others to get his picture taken.

What was it for?

Well...

I sheepishly admit his teacher gave him the drama award. Dave and I both had tummys sink a bit when that happened. I think we were all hoping for one of the "Christian Spirit" awards, but nonetheless, he got an award.

Don't get me wrong. Weston is a fine actor. I hear him weekly in voice over work and at the supper table where he and his brother crack us up on a regular basis.

[Where did the kid learn to make such manic smiles for the camera? Calvin and Hobbes? ]

But a skill in drama is one he doesn't have to work at. He doesn't have to really "earn" it in our minds, as he's already making money at it, frankly, so he's a professional.

Nonetheless, as I said earlier, it's an award. And Weston has been longing all year to receive one. Thank God it happened before the year ended. Oh, don't I sound like one who lacks faith? Ha - I'm laughing at my own cynicism as I write this.

Anyway,

Congrats West!

We love you

Even when you're not performing.

Then we round a corner and there is Donovan's art on the wall. I guess he was assigned the letters H,I, J, K, L, M and had to make a picture and caption. So he came up with: "Horribly irritated jackrabbits kill large monsters".

Sigh.

I'm glad they don't leash their imagination just yet.

2011-06-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

Beautiful spring. Warmth and moisture - both. I’m so surprised at the joy I have discovering little plants sprouting up in my garden after I had lost hope that they would actually germinate and break through the mud above. I can hardly wait to find more. I’ve never grown cucumbers from seed before - or spinach. Three of out tomatoe plants already bit it from frost or deer, so these seedlings are a treat.

Spring has brought some heavy rains and Dave and the boys went puddle riding and all came home with bootfulls of muddy water!

Last week was also full of Passion Play rehearsals and meetings, and a wedding for former Rosebud students Belinda and Michael Bartz. Dave and I found ourselves trying to speak about marriage to these newlyweds and others who had gathered to honor their promises to one another. We both had a lot to say about where marriage goes years from the wedding day than at the start, but it was an interesting, important, and slightly humorous service.

We both really enjoyed the reception as well. The new Merc gave a delicious lunch.

Last Wednesday, Dave left for the U2 concert in Edmonton and was in eager anticipation when I snapped his photo on the porch -- not unlike the first day of school shots I take of the boys!

Donovan loves playing wii and Weston vasilates between the ipad and Lego. Overall, I marvel at how clever they are.

I’m sad that I can’t muster up the will to write the plays that are brewing inside me. But I do work hard at the Passion Play, and I just need rest after that. Also, our whole family is fitting in voice over work, and I’m the chief facilitator of all that.

Writing a bit, even with this blog, helps, so I hope to get back into the habit - if only to help myself see what I’m thinking.

I wish the mosquitos weren’t so present. They are a deterent to running outdoors every few minutes when the urge hits to inhale the fragrant air. The leaves around here are really only about 10-12 days old and lilacs are gorgeous throughout the town.

Just breathe.

Gluttony of riches in transition

2011-05-14T08:03:00.000-07:00

Spring has rushed in with the wind this week in Rosebud. It is stripping all the caterpillar shaped seed pods off the trees and scattering them everywhere. The sky is blue, the grass is green and things seem warm and bright.

My parents blew in as well and it's fun to have them here at a time when the weather is nothing to complain about.

Donovan and Weston are certainly creative these days, moulding tinfoil scary masks and helmets and playing in the dirt and biking. -Of course wii is still a big distraction at times, even on a perfect day to be outside, but we're working on that.
Today is our last day of Ron Reed's "A Bright Particular Star" at Rosebud Theatre. It is a real shift in many ways. Like the eager Alberta spring, my duties at the Canadian Badlands Passion Play are already sprouted and growing with meetings and workshops and creative musings about staging and story.
And in another part of my conscious my play I Heard the Bells is pining to be weeded and tending. I think I'm finally ready for a good pruning and turning of the soil on that one. It's growing so large inside me, I'm longing for a space to write. But... I honestly don't see one. Yet. I may have to give up more sleep to let that one happen.
In the meantime, we're chipping away at student evaluations, grading, cleaning house and taxes. Yes. We're late.
The other night I hosted a risk night in the Gallery. It's a safe way for artists to share things work they may not have mastered yet, but are eager to try.

I was especially touched when little Arwen Eliuk preached an impromptu sermon on Jesus even loving our enemies. She was so clear and earnest. She also enthusiastically cheered on every performer, and even sat near Matt as he sang his song.

...

The sun seems to be around all the time now and disorients my sense of time. Meals tend to be later and the mornings earlier.

There's also a certain sadness... a nostalgia for happy times in the past in the sun. Although if I'm honest, those times weren't any more happy than now. They were laden with possibility, but I was also more afraid. Now that I'm maturing (in some ways), I am less afraid, but not as agile or free with my time.

So it is with a certain opening of my hands that I try to let go of my acting gig and step into directing while the churning thoughts of the playwright continue to fester into something burning to get out. My mother and wife roles are catch as catch can as I hand some of that over to David in the coming weeks.
Sigh.
My life is a gluttony of rich opportunities.
I hope I have the vision to grasp it as a gift.

Floating Fish and Mercy

2011-05-03T08:09:00.000-07:00

Dead fish are floating in the two ponds below the church in Rosebud. Hundreds of them. Freckled, white, and belly up. They're congregating in the stagnant corners and some are beached on the grass. My friend Morris says they took a wrong turn when the waters were running high and ended up in an ox bow without sufficient oxygen in the water. Hundreds of them.

They followed the flow, the movement, the school, the group... and suddenly found themselves stuck far from home and stranded for passing heron.

My boys were fascinated of course. -Here's one without an eyeball, here's one dried like a Japanese delicacy, but I felt sad. Lost, trying to sort out the purpose.

Today Morris and I walked briefly to the spot and sure enough they're still there. He confirmed my drowning suspicion with all the flooding we had,
but I also wondered if they were polluted by possible methane leaks from nearby drilling. The water in the farm wells just past these pounds has been contaminated with methane to the point where they can light it on fire. -So I'm told.
What does that say about our water from the hill? What does that say about our earth? These are troubling questions I don't even want to answer right now because I'm ashamed of my ignorance.

The Canadian election happened yesterday and many of my artist friends are disappointed and scared and many of my decent stable neighbors are glad. It reminds me of the polarization I hear in the States when I visit family. Strong feelings and threats... It weighs on my chest.

--Bin Laden... I have no joy in this. And not because I am righteous. I actually have fear that a retaliation to save face will come from the Taliban.

I want no celebration for the death of this poor deluded man.

I want truth and grace to be our focus. Not justice above all.

Sunday evening I spoke Portia's monologue from The Merchant of Venice to a small congregation at the Lutheran Church in Drumheller. It was part of an evening fundraising concert by the women's choir. Beautiful acoustics...

I had the opportunity to look out over the sanctuary and up into the balcony and voice some Shakespeare that has been in my bones for 24 years. "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath..." "consider this: that in the course of justice, none of us should see salvation. We do pray for mercy. And that same prayer doth teach us all to render the deeds of mercy..."

Thank God when it comes to us, Mercy doesn't just "season", but trumps justice.

I'm still sad.

But a little better for the chat and morning walk in the grey with Morris. He sees truth in both sides of the election, and harps about those who spout villainy. He's right.

There's good in both sides.

And true Villainy is rare.

We spout because we're afraid.

and that's the grey truth of it.

So today these swollen fish remind me:

Be careful of rushing waters,

Be careful of groups

Be careful of getting out of your depth where there's not enough air to breathe. Not enough truth

or clarity.

Be careful

Do justice, love mercy,

walk humbly.

[none of these images are mine this time]

The little one is seven.

2011-04-27T21:19:00.000-07:00

Catching up again here...

We celebrated Weston's birthday on the 13th of March (one day before his real birthday) and invited friends to come frolic in the dark and then eat apple crisp (Weston's request) and see Toy Story 3 at the community hall.

Weston is really not so little anymore, but he has not lost the hope for magic on his special day. I think in the end he was somewhat bewildered at all the activity and social dynamics, but he is now 7 and talking like a 10 year old.

The other day Dave greeted the boys when they got off the bus and Weston said, "Ahh, Dad, now we can spend some good time together before you have to go do the show." {That is not typical, but it is also not surprising.}

Both boys have been keeping busy with school and friends and kids choir and karate (Donovan) and voice over work.

And now... they are ever wanting to play wii. (or is it wi?) Anyway they always wanna wi. Why? Because Weston helped buy one with birthday money and we caved. It's pretty fun. Although I think I nearly put my ribs out swinging in baseball.

Ha.

The boys made special light sabers at Disneyland and are finally getting to go outside to play. Weston had a great glow in the dark fight time in the basement gym of the hall and later Kelsey and Nathan showed up as ninjas -- a hit!

He still wears the famous blue rainbow striped shirt Aunt Janice made him and now, I must say he is getting as handsome and clever as ever. What's a mom to do, but try to listen and keep up best she can?

Change is better...

2011-04-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am delinquent in sharing about our spring break back at the end of FEB! Wow. We had a special time visiting with David's grandpa Abe Shoemaker and his aunt Carol Shoemaker. We also got to see other aunts and cousins and old friends from grad school. And of course, we went to Disneyland and California Adventure. Special memories. All.

It was good for me to see Southern California again. I'm afraid I start to feel that it is all plastic and smog and greedy scared materialistic people... but no.

There are simple, loving, earnest people there too. There are beautiful mountains and tons of palm trees and blooming flowers and the ocean and citrus trees and although there is a lot of traffic, there are also people walking and babies and really really great Mexican food.

It was a lot colder than we packed for, but still so much warmer than back home.

There were a few times we got separated at Disneyland and that was tiring or terrifying, but overall it was a fun place to be.

On the way home we discovered that our return tickets were dated for March 28 instead of Feb 28. We were stunned and then in a panic, as we had to get home for a play reading and day one of rehearsal THE NEXT MORNING.

Agony.

Finally, several phone calls, hours, and nail bites later, we were able to catch a flight up to Edmonton and make a connection there back down to snowy Calgary.

Strange.

Yet somehow typical.

The trip was starting to feel too smooth for travel.

I was so glad to connect with many people I rarely see.

I was blown away that our classmate from U of I, Will Simms, found us on Facebook just one month before we left and he and his family generously gathered together a group of old friends and fed us sushi and we talked and laughed about memories that hadn't surfaced in years. Such a blessing.

It was tough to be without our home, but we received from others.

What a world we live in that we can travel to vastly different climates in a matter of hours.

We haven't quite recovered in terms of slowing down or resting, but that trip was certainly a change that may have proved better than a rest.

Facebook: Fast and Frozen food?

2011-04-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

I miss blogging.

I did it quite regularly for a time and it helped me process my day and the tensions in my heart and mind, which in turn helped to quiet my soul.

Instead of writing (even a bit) every other day, I have filled my time with the internet - either looking for and rendering voice over jobs or checking facebook and emails. There is a dis-satisfaction with the replacement my blog habit with facebook in particular. I see "facebook" gets a red dotted line under it when I write it --which confirms my suspicion: blogs are already out of date.

I have taken to the frozen food version of connection and truth telling at the expense of home made. It's so much quicker to track down everyone's status on my home page and spy into their friends lives and keep abreast of the daily panic or humor, than to have a genuine conversation or critically engage myself with my world. It reminds me of watching television -- or eating fast food.

I participate in this willingly, and not sure I intend to lessen my habit... but it is with a certain sadness that I acknowledge the lack of blogging. It takes longer, but I am not comparing my thoughts and words to another blogger when I write. I am often crying out from my heart, which then gets somewhat tamed by articulation and comes out as quirky truth telling that helps me see and perhaps stirs the longing for truth in someone else. I am risking being seen - to an extent. And that is usually a generous, if not loving thing to do. By it costs me something. My time and effort.

My status with Facebook is more illusive. I now have such a breadth of friends that I'm not sure how to articulate my truth to such a large demographic. There are many dear friends and family that would be at polar opposite ends of many issues -- which is wonderful in one sense for me -- but in another way, I find it puzzling. How does one address all their world at once? It renders me more apt to be silent, or fretful after I risk stating something. It's strange. It's not real conversation, and yet... it has been amazing to reconnect to people I had thought long lost. In one way it removes the effort with a certain measure of satisfaction, but then... why do I still feel unfed most of the time?

I need some homemade food, not just the fast or frozen kind. Or as Dave says, "Food made with love." Of course it would be even better if I toiled in the ground and grew my own food, for then there would be no need of preservatives. In other words, the metaphor in my mind goes: if I really want to serve myself by telling the truth and putting my thoughts and feelings into word and image, I could just journal privately, for then there would be no pressure for the consideration of how others might perceive...

Instead, I choose to blog, which is already like buying food at the grocery store and then making it my own. I use a system (blogger) to enable a level of truthtelling that is somewhat censored by the fact that others may read it. Nonetheless, I often end up with something that reflects part of who I truly am, and there is a release (a setting free, if you will) in that exercise that helps me.

But facebook... much as I willingly participate, does not provide the same kind of freedom or respect... there is not the vibe of safety or health in the quick and gossipy.

But I do stop in to McDonalds often when it looks like it'll save time and ... who am I kidding?... I love their fries.

So, this is a rather rambling take on the metaphor of nourishing one's soul like we feed our bodies, and the various options we avail for ourselves.

I for one, am grateful for this dose of fresh ground whole wheat toast with store bought butter. But it's not enough to keep me from buying that donut.

Late Night truth telling; part 2

2011-03-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

12 truths before 11:30pm (written at 11:26pm)

1. It's late and I'm tired

2. There's a lot of fresh snow in Rosebud; it feels like Christmas

3. My feet hurt from wearing healed boots on a raked stage in the show

4. I don't believe in wearing corsets

5. I miss seeing my boys at bedtime

6. This doesn't feel like a blog entry; it feels like a meagre attempt to speak truth

7. I like my hair

8. I want fresh pizza again from the Italian store's dough... um

9. I like oranges

10. I like grapefruit, but I always eat it as a half, cut sideways

11. Weston is going sour on voice-overs and I don't know how to pull him back

12. We're all a part of the Passion Play this summer... God help us.

Late night musings

2011-03-20T21:56:00.000-07:00

I have missed blogging so much, but obviously not enough to just sit down and do it.

I've been squeezing in voice overs when I have time between teaching and rehearsals.

So much is happening; my mind is processing it in abstract dreams each morning.

12 quick things before 11pm:

1. It snowed today after a great thaw

2. Weston can no longer lie down flat in the tub -- he's too long

3. Dave and I ate SO WELL all last week after buying incredible Italian food in Calgary

4. Morris fell and cut his brow and has a black eye and stitches, but says our show is in good shape

5. I get to wear burgundy in "A Bright Particular Star"

6. I'm out of time already!

7. I chatted with my brother for the first time on Facebook.

8. I bought a comb with a point at the end for parting my hair 1880's style -- I felt so old fashioned at Walmart

9. I'm glad Heidi is done with chemo

10. My hair is long

11. I'm mystified by what happening in Lybia, sad about Japan, and confused about the USA and Canada

12. I haven't been to the chiropractor in 3 months

I long to say more, for my sake and anyone taking the time to read, but I must rest.

I find myself in such an unusual place with this play... It pricks at my own issues and desires, but answers the questions differently than I. It challenges me to be humble, yet ready to fire on cue. I must be patient, standing side stage in corset, bustle, hoop skirt, petticoat, costume and uncomfortable boots... tuning, waiting, listening for the music to enter, and then delivering my slice of the story.

I still wrestle with it so much in my heart. Much is not ready to say to those involved... but quietly wait.

I feel like Sophia in Uncle Vanya "We must wait, Uncle. We must wait."

It is a strange sensation to have vast ideas and ambition, but to be captive to a story where I am not the center.

I am trying to let go of urgent business to attend to the project at hand, but I wander.

Here's to enduring focus.

And rest.

Good night.

How to have it all.

2011-01-29T18:26:00.000-08:00

So full and busy! It's great and hard all at the same time. I got to participate in a workshop here in Rosebud in liturgical dance and personal expression. Things really warmed up and a lot of snow melted, then it dusted back in over 20 hours and now we have a foot of new powder!

It was a kind of luxury to get to be a student. To let someone else facilitate and get to be the one to explore. After 10 weeks of teaching dance last term, I relished the opportunity to jump into the mix myself.

I found that as a group, we were ripe to risk and explore and I was not alone in my imaginative curiosity.

I've also taken to making bread again and trying to keep ahead of Weston's sandwich needs.

There's been some steady voice-over work that's been really encouraging. The boys are not as excited as I am, but I love it.

January has been so full. I don't know when I'll feel caught up, but I'm thankfully keeping in the weekly flow of responsibilities... just barely.

Donovan is learning how to type, Weston has changed and now looks older, and both of them need a haircut. I know because of their awful bed-head each morning and how they squirm when I wet-comb it right before they waddle off to the bus in their insulated snow-ovies.

I finally got to watch a couple movies!! That makes a snowy January so gleefully cozy! Some fantasies with the boys: The Dark Crystal, the Last Unicorn, and the Mirror Mask. And a couple with David: Au Balthazar, and The Blind Side. Both came highly acclaimed, and certainly stuck with me into the next day... but as usual, David and spent at least an hour after each one perfecting it in our minds. How to make it more relevant, more realistic, better story, more conflict and more... more connection to our souls in a way that we most love. The conversation is as stimulating or more so than the flick. Still, my hunger for story is not quenched. I could watch movie after movie after movie these days, especially with great special features. Dave and I also watched a retelling of Macbeth in a contemporary setting. It really brought home the violence. So many murders (of course), but put in today's world it suddenly had so much more consequence than when we wriggled around in all the coolness of it back in the day -- on stage.

Simple things like dragon fruit still amaze me. It makes me chuckle somehow, that God has the aesthetic of a 6 year old girl at times: white with black polka dots with hot pink! I've been so thirsty, that eating exotic fruit is sensational. I'm sorry for all the trouble it likely caused someone traveling from Viet Nam, but I'm just grateful.

Being indoors a bit more in this semi-darkness has made for more creative fun. Like funny mirror faces in the frying pan lid and a pulled tooth. Or noticing the subtle variance in the January prairie sky. White, light blue, lavender, peach, bright blue, grey, and black. We had a few breathtaking moonsets a few mornings back, and saw a couple sundogs on our way home from retreat. When it got warm enough, the snow got wet and shape-able enough for the boys to sculpt many more snowmen, and even a small boy in the front yard.

Blogging is good for me. Even if it isn't always profound or crafted enough for me to feel it is well written, by the time I list all I'm doing and notice the little joys in all my photos, I realize I have so much to be grateful for.

So, even though I'm terribly busy. I really have it all.

Christmas vortex and blinding white-outs

2011-01-16T18:39:00.000-08:00

Christmas came and went and we are still recovering.

Not that it was bad; it was wonderful.

It's just that the work it took to go and the work that faced us on our return has been intimidating.

We were home from Oregon two days and I had to teach two classes before we were off to a Rosebud Retreat.

Now that I look at the term as a whole, it's hard to see any room for extras, but I'm grateful for the opportunities I have.

The past week held a flurry of voice over jobs, particularly for Weston, who is reluctant to "work", even though his work often consists of 5 minutes of recording time, compared to the hour of editing Dave or I do. I finally set up gmail accounts for each of the boys to keep their jobs straight.

It's been a tough adjustment after Mom and Dad's and retreat. Two mornings I woke up dizzy in the dark trying to find my bearings. Which house, which country, which city was I in?

All of us commented on how it was especially hard to leave Oregon after a week of little responsibility, rich foods, games and family.

One of the highlights for me was seeing Voyage of the Dawn Treader in 3D, with most of the Shepard/Meltebeke/Snider clan sitting in one row. Seeing a movie in a big theatre is a treat to begin with, but a story of Narnia?!--even better!

I didn't get to see as many friends as I wished in Eugene, but we did get to connect with Dave's sister Michelle and Kevin, and a few Study Center and Theatre friends.

Most of the time was spent with family. Just hanging out, shopping, preparing meals, and of course, Adam's wedding. I even got in a little biking. My goodness I was thirsty to see the river. Oh it was so beautiful! Now I realize how unique Eugene is to have so many wonderful trails. I breathed in the moist air, the colors, the sun and all the GREEN. I was sad to realize what a huge part of me that land is and how I'm no longer near it. I was shocked to find a few moments where I actually forgot I had a whole other life in Canada -- I just felt so at home and everything seemed so familiar that I thought I had lived there all my life.

Before we left I tucked Donovan into his sleeping bag underneath the tree near his cousin Heidi. "Mom," he asked with a chocolate induced sleepy contentedness, "can we just stay here... and not go to school?" I chuckled. "Donovan, if we lived here, you would have school." "Ummm..." he groaned and rolled over, succumbing to sweet slumber.

Alberta has been a sharp contrast to Eugene in some ways. The snow has been extreme at times and I partly love it, when I get to stay inside. The main drawback was the white knuckle drive from Camp Caroline after the retreat.

It really wasn't all that bad; but the uncertainty kept me tense. We would travel through moments of white-out that would suddenly clear just when I couldn't stand it another moment. In general, we could see far enough ahead to drive at a reasonable pace with adequate time to stop. The roads were not slippery really, but there were drifts at times, and since we were were driving in a caravan, the car in front of us would stir up the powder into a blinding white for a second or two that felt like 10. We kept on, but I kept thinking it was going to get worse, and that long stretch between Olds and Three Hills had little room to stop and turn around. Scary.

And yet...fine.

The only truly terrorizing patch was a curve on Hwy 9. The drifts were so thick, we HAD to travel on the left side of the road. The van in front of us was kicking up blinding dust, but then we watched them fishtail... right before we did. We must have swerved 5 or 6 times before we hit pavement on the other side of the curve. Scary.

But again, sort of fine.

Thankfully, no one was coming the other way, so our whole caravan made it through the snowy turn by driving and swerving on the wrong side of the road.

There was no snow plough in sight.

Sigh.

I kept exhaling deep breaths throughout the whole ride just to calm my nerves.

I hate being scared.

And yet...

I was fine.

There was no real danger, in one sense, ... just the potential, and that's what caused the fear: the potential loss.

The best thing when you're blinded with those brief white-outs is to keep steady and keep moving, trusting the road is there, is straight, and is clear just up ahead. And it was. But every blinding white-out thrust me into a true sense of vulnerability -- where I had little control over the outcome, I could only hope.

And I was fine.

All that fear, instantly conjured up through a bit of dust. And then clarity.

SO similar to my life and my worries.

If I just keep on and keep steady, I'll find the pavement again, only seconds away.

Actually my entire life is susceptible to death or safety at all times; it's just that I carry the illusion that I am in control. Those blinding white-outs remind me a bit of Saul's confrontation with Jesus on the road.

Sometimes it takes a loss of my senses to remember how truly vulnerable I am, and to trust that the dust will settle just in time to see clear again, the path that was there all along.

Stopped in the middle... to really see

2010-12-20T18:00:00.000-08:00

Inspiring music softens me as I work. It lifts and separates (ha!), but it does: it buoys me up and carries me along, and it helps me discern the dross from the pure gold. The Reality from the exaggerated fears.

This week is so challenging when I look at it all. A mountain of to-do’s and pressure to do them well, as I am holding the hopes and fears of my students in my hands with the words I choose to tell them the truth. It usually takes more than one comb through to get out all the tangles of my own quirkiness, indirectness, or bile. Sigh.

Lots of sighing can happen during this process of careful teaching. Affirming and naming, prodding and pushing.

If I’m not careful, I easily feel robbed of my holiday time. The boys are home and longing to show me their creations. I’m so torn. Dave is weary as all get out and under it as much or more than I.

I’m trying to make healthier choices with my eating (well, and exercising, but that’s so hard when it’s cold out and my house hardly has room...) and being home to work is challenging with snacks nearby to distract and fuel... at least in the immediate.

Still, Donovan and Weston’s desires stop me. Donovan is so hungry to create -- something new every day. It’s amazing. He whipped up a large canvas painting of a knight and a dragon in 20 minutes! And then, with their new found “toasty toes” (see pic above with Weston modeling, albeit fuzzy) they can stay out in the cold for longer periods of time, and Donovan made various slain snowmen (inspired by Calvin, I’m sure). "The Backstabbed Dewey", "Poor Shmo who got split by the whippersnapper on the scooter", and of course the other "Shmoozle who tried to scoot in the snow and crashed and disintegrated". Still haven't shown the one that got impaled by the telephone pole... maybe next time.

And Weston... he wants to go Christmas Caroling. It’s funny, but we had to plan to do that three nights from now just to find a time when we could all do it together. Weston craves tradition and connection; he needs pattern and regularity -- something to look forward to. So sweet. I hope we don’t disappoint him.

I see parts of myself in both these boys, the parts of them they can’t live without and it suddenly dwarfs all my ambition and stress when I just stop and really see them. Precious souls. Forming. Now.

Then I know, all will be done.

All that must needs be done will find its way to the surface of my conscience and my mind and body will follow and tears will break me and I will be grateful to feel so alive.

God, help me to be brave; to not cave into too much chocolate, and yet also give myself room to achieve slowly, truly, and remain open to spontaneous visits and the needs of others. Help me discern. Please.

Christmas round the corner

2010-12-15T14:16:00.000-08:00

Where did the first half of December go?
Sheesh.
This is an intense week for classes at RSA, today I host two finals. And at a performing arts school, that is not written work!
I'm scared I may not accomplish all I need. That is why it is easy to blog instead. But I won't be long.
The boys can hardly get out the door in time for the bus on these dark mornings. They know this week is pregnant with celebration and nothing of real consequence at school.
Weston performed in the Kid's Choir show last Sunday at the Community Hall: cute! Who knew he'd commit so beautifully to an interpretive dance as a chipmunk!? That was a nice surprise, let me tell ya.
Donovan made some great designs for the costumes and set and we were very proud of him as well.
This top picture shows the boys watching a Christmas video.
They've been having a regular fare of festivities and special performances complete with treats, which makes for late nights and crazy dreams.
I hope I'm not losing touch with them in all the whirlwind...
Well, tomorrow we'll spend the afternoon together in Drumheller waiting for their school concert in the evening. Likely swimming, laser tag, or (believe it or not) bowling. Ha. So, God help us, we'll make it through.
I think Dave and I have at least 50 combined evaluations to write and we're trying to chip away at it now that most classes are done.
The weather's warmer and made for some great snowmen making. Donovan was inspired by Calvin to have many crazy and dying snowmen all around our house, including one impaled by the telephone pole through his heart, while lying flat on his back. -I'll have to snap a photo.
So, this entry is rather random, short, and not too profound.
My hair is long; I have not cut it in over a year.
What's that say?
Well, my kitchen is still not finished being painted in it's new coat from when we started this summer. Hummm....
But I did get a rock and roll type voice over gig where I sang all three back-up singers. That was fun, if a bit raunchy.
Those are all the highlights that come to mind at the moment.
I'm obviously so saturated I'm scattered.
Forgive.

Am I willing...?

2010-12-05T21:11:00.000-08:00

Sore throat.

Alas, I wasn't eating my regular quota of fresh ground whole wheat bread, and sure enough, Weston and I caught the cold Donovan brought home from school.

I think I may have picked up 200 Kleenex tissues over the last two days from Donoman the nose snorter!

Today I got to see Weston sing in the children's choir. He's so cute! Not really afraid, but he had a bit of a smile stuck on his lips that he was singing through. It was like someone told him to beam out. Ha. And I love that he wore his bright red fleece pants. He makes me chuckle. He won't wear cool jeans like all the other kids. No no. He only wears SOFT pants.

That kid is so tactile, I think he might fall in love with a bunny.

Dave and the boys helped frost many mini cupcakes for the choir concert and our kitchen is very flour-y.

We also pulled out a few Christmas decorations, but we don't have room or time to put them all up. That was hard on the boys. Of course. I didn't think of it before. They need some things to be the same every year. Christmas traditions have already formed for them just out of precedent. I've been so busy, it's easy for me to let go for now, but not Weston. He had to open every box and longed to take out at least one special ornament. Then he commenced with draping and wrapping ribbon everywhere.

Donovan meanwhile, was forging new swords and light saber handles out of cardboard and drawing on the computer.

They're so into Christmas they even put their seals on my grocery list along with the official stocking stamp.

We had a hoar frost this last week. Suddenly every detail got defined with an inch of icy snow. Stunning. The details I usually don't see suddenly came into focus.

Then Dave announced he'd invited friends over after the show, which is great, except for the fact that our living room was covered. Suddenly the details came into view: craft remains and bag after bag of Christmas decorations and little bits of tissue paper used for wrapping fragile ornaments. I spent a good chunk of my personal writing time cleaning up the living room last night and I struggled again inside.

I don't think I would have stuck with it, had not our dear guest Andrew Cooper started doing the dishes. I could hear him generously hand washing as I kept sighing with frustration.

It feels humiliating to scoop down and pick up all the mess. I didn't make it. Why am I the one cleaning?

The silence speaks.

And I know the answer.

I sigh.

Because I am a mom.

And like it or not, that is what (at some point) mom's resort to doing so they can have company over and use their living room as a sitting area and not just an arts and craft room.

God knows I have other ambitions and desires.

God knows this stooping down is one of my biggest battlefields.

It reaches right into the core of me and asks a simple important question: am I willing to bend the knee?

Remembering and Cleansing

2010-11-26T21:56:00.000-08:00

I realized what it was today that was different.

It wasn’t just the thaw,

It wasn’t just the snow on the roads going from white to chocolate milk and even brownie dark,

It was the slush, slush, spatter, spatter as the trucks rumbled up the highway.

The quiet that had cloaked our valley was disentegrating on the roads and noise returned.

We’ve had a bit of of a holiday here during the month of November.

Remembrance Day, Parent Teacher interviews, Grandparents arriving and a couple snow days. It’s like a bit of summer again. Dave and I have been ever so tired in the evenings after the time change, but we have been grateful for the special family time.

Weston wrote his first poem, phonetically. He was so serious and sweet as he read it. He even inspired Donovan to write one too. They were both so profound to me. It was powerful to hear them grappeling with death and sacrifice and searching for purpose.

The boys have been enjoying some Saturday morning movies as well so Dave and I can both attend Grounding from 8:30-9am. They are so gleeful to be left home alone with such indulgence.

Snow has been a highlight for them. The first day it appeared they pulled back the curtain and said at the same time, “it snowed!” chiming in their sweet voices. It reminds me of Buechner when he says, “unless the child in you is completely dead”, you thrill to the first fresh snow (or something like that.)

When we travelled to Canmore with Mom and Dad it was very cold. Didn’t stop the boys from playing in the white stuff though, even if it meant red faces.

The boys love hotels: elevators, pools, television, movies, good food, no school and very few chores!

Now that we’ve returned to the Bud it’s hard to work.

The boys each took a warm bath last night. They’re so happy being submersed. It looked so inviting I thought I’d try it after they went to bed. --I can’t remember the last time I bathed in shower tub. I know I did it a few times when I was pregnant...

Well, it took me squeezing into the darn thing to remember: I’m too big! That’s why I don’t bathe! I can’t fit in the honkin’ jorgin’ tub. One part of me is always sticking out and getting cold!

I endured it anyway. No sense all that hot water going to waste, not to mention the bubble bath.

I found a way to relax and close my eyes. I nearly slept. I was quiet with my thoughts for a good 10-15 minutes before I realized it was dangerous to rest any longer. But as I lay there I pondered. Cleansing. Thirsty skin. Baptism. The washing of blood. Naaman in the river, the lame man at the pool of Bethesda, the blind man's rinse, a shedding of the old and new beginning. That’s what I desire. As I washed my body I tried to appreciate something about each part. To be thankful. Well, it was Thanksgiving, but it didn’t really feel like it, as we celebrated on Sunday. Nonetheless, I challenged myself to accept who I am without desiring to change. Interesting time of quiet.

The boys are sleeping now. Gosh they’re growing fast. They are so sophisticated with Star Wars now, they can tell me every character, planet, spaceship, weapon, and number. They’ve taken to filming. They designed crazy Christmas cards. I can’t keep up. I’m especially torn between my ambitions and their needs, and I’m a bit confused. I feel so encouraged and gracious after I have some of my own creative time, but it’s been hard to find lately.

I will try to let it go, but I need some discernment. Sigh.

A few more voice overs for myself and Donovan have been good.

Still more deaths connected to people in this valley losing loved ones. Not sure what to do about it, as though I should adjust something. At least it helps me treasure what I have, and again, not hold too tightly to things I don’t have control over.

Thank God The Secret Garden is doing well for Rosebud Theatre. Dave’s gone a lot, but I’m glad it’s giving to a lot of people.

Boy time and buns in the haze of busyness

2010-11-08T10:38:00.000-08:00

This first picture cracks me up. I love that Weston took it, and he did a good job getting both of us in the shot, but it's out of focus. I can't help thinking there's something symbolic in that. We're nearly there, nearly present, nearly accessible to our little six year old, but there just a fuzziness to full clarity. Here I was hoping for a nice shot of us in our fancy duds on Dave's opening night, and instead I get a truer picture of the week proceeding: a bit of fuzz and murk in the the progress of efficiency.

Thank God for the extra hour!
Our family made it through opening week of Dave's show: "The Secret Garden" without sickness and without too many consequences.
Just one privilege lost and a very messy house. We rolled up our sleeves last night and started to uncover the living room, and today we hope to bring a modicum of order to the boys' bedroom. It's challenging, because I don't like housework, especially when I didn't make the mess. But, we did some, and God helping, we will do a little more. Discipline is so tough when you feel like you've been just hanging on for a while -- I want my husband home, I want to eat cookies, I want a movie night --I want a reward!
Donovan had been asking about cinnamon buns for a couple weeks now, so finally we made some. He helped. And he did a good job. I was pleased. There are many steps to a good home made cinnamon bun, and we made a lot. Even enough for Daddy to take a fresh batch to his Christianity and the Arts class. I thought Donovan might leave early, but he stuck it out. I remember him saying, "I know these will taste great because of all the care we are putting into them." True. Food made with love always tastes better.
Then yesterday the boys had a good romp on the bouncy castle at church. Dave caught them in action. I love his photos. He captured a true picture as well, only slightly posed, perhaps. Nonetheless, seeing them framed in the bright red circle of a mammoth inflatable toy helps me look at them closer. I see glimpses of the men they will become. And I am humbled and slightly frightened for my own mortality. Will I know them then? Doesn't matter now.
I should seize the time.
It's only boy time for a little while longer.
And if I'm still focused on the busyness, I'll miss the moments of clarity.
And time spent with care will leave a better aftertaste.

Blow ye winds...

2010-11-02T12:55:00.000-07:00

Another georgeous November day. Who wouldda thought? The grass is still green in my backyard and for the second day in a row, I shared a croissant sandwich and cup of soup with my husband before he headed to to tech rehearsals. It still feels new to me to have the boys gone in the day. It's so quiet. You'd think I'd be more productive, and... I am to an extent... but I'm more aware of the time and think it will take longer to pass than it does.
This week I have embarked back onto playwriting. It is good and tough, both.
The last of the leaves finally blew away last night with warm wind from the south -- an unusual thing.
The boys are still hyped on Halloween candy, and even Dave is craving "heavy meals late at night" to come down from rehearsals. He's funny, because those urges are rare in him. He got to sleep in this morning and was a big lump until we went for a crisp walk together. Again... no boys. So quiet. I miss them.
So, every day I write in my play, my hope to blog (even a tiny bit) first.
ACK! --I'm just back from an urgent call from the school saying my boys were not on the bus. !!!!!!
What? The lady said someone picked them up. --This was not supposed to happen as Dave and I were both here. Fright choked my throat as I said, "Well, that would be bad." [So articulate.] Then she said, "Oh, they might be on the wrong bus. I'm hearing the district had them line up differently." [Brilliant.] Well, that was better than the wrong person picking them up, but still not very comforting. Finally she asked for the bus drivers cell, and called: Yes. The boys WERE on the bus, safe and sound... it's just that the school records said they weren't. THANK GOD. I hated that emotional scare.
I'm so flighty now. I can't hardly write.
I'm like the leaf in the wind and I want to be the tree.
I need a fresh wind, but I must stay grounded.
So, to quote Henry W. Longfellow: "Blow breath of inspiration blow" just like the wind that whipped through our town and brushed away the clouds in today's blue, blue sky. Bring me breath of song and a heart for long suffering. And forgiveness for silly schools who follow paper rather than flesh and blood.

We love our own

2010-11-01T07:29:00.000-07:00

The other night we went to a pumpkin carving party and the boys took great pride in their creations, especially Weston. He loved his so much. When Royal was going around giving evaluations of each one, Weston laid his head down on his and gave it a hug while staring up at Royal. Weston didn't win. A brilliant "bat as mouth" pumpkin won in the kid category by Annika Lassen. Congrats to her, it was great.

Weston was confused. He had such an attachment to his pumpkin with the homemade light saber sticking through his skull... he knew it was the best.

Donovan didn't mind, he got the highest compliment ever: "The grossest". He was pleased. Donovan did not take too much time on his like usual, instead he chose to have his pumpkin vomit its guts out its mouth like a bomb went off inside.

So all the way home, Weston and Donovan kept asking which pumpkins I liked best. I mentioned several. I especially noted things I liked about each one of theirs, with great exuberance even, but I couldn't bring myself to say either one was my most favorite. I could tell they weren't satisfied.

That night was late for finally tucking them in. In fact I thought Weston was already asleep as I pulled his green fuzzy blanket up just under his chin, but then I heard him say without opening his eyes, "Mom, Donovan said said he loved my pumpkin best of all." "Oh, honey, I'm so glad. It really is special." "Yeah. I love it." Then he sighed a bit like Cindy Loo Who, turned onto his side and fell fast asleep with a smile on his lips.

[Thank you, Donovan.]

Our Early Thanksgiving

2010-10-30T15:58:00.000-07:00

I'm finally taking a moment to recall a special early Thanksgiving we had on the first of these wonderful FIVE weekends in October: Oct 2-3 when we went to the Schramm farm in Olds.
Actually our day started in Drumheller where the boys had a double play date with friends Thane and Liam at Greentree playground before attending Despicable Me (where once again I was the rare Laugher at times amongst a sea of kids.) Sometimes this belly laugh erupts out of me when characters take things too far. I'm so out of practice at going to films, too. Only one or two a year is not enough to remember to stifle. Anyway, we had a special time with the boys, then headed off through the harvest fields and a VERY ROUGH Highway 9 construction towards Olds. We must have counted 16 combines -- no, more. More like 16 fields that were team combining with 4 each. Yeah, that's more like it. And it was a wonderful whopping 27 degrees =perfect. [That's 80.6 F for my American family and friends.] Anyway, it was a good drive (except for that nasty construction stretch where we nearly high centered!!) and we arrived safely. Cassia and her two dogs and 3 donkeys and 2 two horses greeted us.
What a special place, and special people.
We got to feed the donkeys and horses carrots and carrot tops and settled in for a wonderful meal. --Oh yeah, and I took a bit of a nap!
The next day we attended mass at their church and our family got to help bring forward the offertory and elements for communion with the Schramms. That was special and interesting. I thought the boys would chicken out, but they walked bravely and did a good job handing the gold and silver items to the African priest with the big smile.
After church we searched out a geocache near the Shramm's drive and took and left a few treasures. Then we fed the donkeys and horses again while the boys played in the barn with Cassia's younger brother Daniel. In fact Daniel and the boys played together pretty much all the time we were there. I don't think I've had so much adult conversation in one day for a long time. Another special treat was having the boys sleep in the camper outside. They were tickled.
Then we had a special Thanksgiving meal together. I baked some of mom's rolls, which took forever to rise, but it didn't matter in the end. They were good. And so were all the fresh vegetables and fruit, ham and potatoes, and apple pie.
What a special time.
We even got to bring home a bundle of fresh Schramm beets and I've since made buckets of borscht!
Cassia's on my mind a lot now as she's buried in "Secret Garden" rehearsals as Mary Lennox. This farm girl is getting a good dose of theatre this year. And I especially enjoyed picking carrots with her, when I spotted a good "bit of earth" under her fingernails.
The other day as we were carving one of our pumpkins Donovan asked, "What's your favorite holiday, Mom?" "Well..." I said, thinking. "Besides Christmas, of course," he cut in. "I think Thanksgiving" I said. "Because it's about people coming together and connecting." "That's just cause you're not a kid" he said. "Otherwise you would have said, 'Halloween.'" He's right. When I was a kid Halloween was my second favorite holiday right after Christmas and in close contention with my birthday -- all times when you got great gifts and/or candy. I was pleasantly surprised to acknowledge that I really, really like Thanksgiving. Christmas too, but sometimes it takes awhile for the flurry of Christmas giving and festivities to mellow into the heartfelt truthtelling that Thanksgiving inspires by its simplicity. Yes, there can be the stress of a great meal, but really there is nothing else to do but cook, talk, eat, and talk. Unless you have a tv.
I am grateful.

The Kid in Us

2010-10-28T13:42:00.000-07:00

These times of David being in full time rehearsal necessitate Mommy getting off her duff more to play outside. And up until the beginning of this week, there was some pretty great weather to get out in.

The boys and I were told of a geocache located up by the Rosebud Cemetery and we went off to find the treasure. We set out on our trek on foot (which is a coup in itself in our household as the boys would rather ride than walk any day.) Nonetheless, we started our hike up the highway, pausing here and there to engage in light saber battles (thank you Sebastian Tow -- [I think] -- Star Wars has now surpassed not only Thomas the Tank Engine, but also Pixar and even... (duhn, duhn, duhhhh...) Pokemon!) Yes. My boys love Star Wars. They play it with Legos and Sabers all the time. At least they’re playing together which is usually pretty great.

Anyway... we stopped at the Rosebud sign, and then we found ourselves at the old cemetery. The boys each picked a direction and walked around the hedge until: huzzah! Donovan spotted it first. They were tickled. Well, so was I. There’s something childlike in all of us about discovering a treasure. (Of course it helps that Dave’s reading them Treasure Island right now; adventure is coursing through their veins!)

We enjoyed reading the little log book of others who had ventured and discovered and left a symbol of their presence. The boys, too, left little trains and pulled out their own treasures from the container and returned it to its hiding place.

Then they love taking the steep way down: running as fast as their young legs can get under them. For me, that is not so fun. Falling is a big deal now. But the exhileration I can appreciate. A simple game of tag or a jump on a neighbors trampoline usually does it for me these days (unless I pee myself slightly too early on. (embarrassed post maternity sigh.))

We had a great time. I loved having a quest and that (once they got there) the boys didn’t whine or complain, but instead wanted to keep running up and down the steep hill and falling in the grass. --So I keep patching the knees of their pants; at least they’re torn for good purpose.

Another child-filled day was a light saber battle/circus act performance/fort building/general playtime in our backyard with the Eliuk kids and Annika and Kai Lassen. The afternoon was full of general fun and even some great cooperation. I thank God for the Eliuks coming to Rosebud. I hope it can happen in a permanent way soon. [They’re waiting for their other house to sell.] They have three boys and one girl. It’d be so great to have them here, especially after the disappearance (move) of the Haltermans.

Another playful excursion happened with my dance class. We’ve been exploring the body’s impulses to move and express and letting the body lead before the mind. This has led to wonderful spontaneity in and out of class. Watching adult kids play on the playground was delightful.

I’m so grateful we have kids to come tug us by the hand, or we’d sit too long.
I’m so grateful there are playgrounds beckoning all of us to come enjoy.
And I’m so glad know the child in me is not dead. Not even remotely. At least once I listen and give her a chance.
Sigh. Smile.

Seeing the forest...

2010-10-16T08:16:00.000-07:00

These were the leaves, the leaves, the leaves.

These were the trees, the trees, the trees.

These were the boys who fell in the leaves, that fell from the trees, that stood in my yard.

These, these, these.

These are the the things I love.

These are the blooms, the blooms, the blooms.

These are the colors, the orange, the pink.

These are the colors that live in my yard, that smile at the trees, that let go their leaves, that pile in my yard.

These, these, these.

These are the things I love.

These are some carrots, some carrots, some carrots.

They are strange shapes, strange shapes, strange shapes.

They remind of life, and creatures, and privates,

But they are just carrots, root vegetables and sweet.

These are the carrots that came from the Schultz's, who work on their farm, to gather the grain, to make the fresh bread, I eat as my toast.

They are some friends that I love, I love, They are some friends that I love.

These are the days, the days, the days.

These are the moments, the thoughts, the tears,

When I ponder anew, the purpose of life, the nature of God, the role of a wife.

The leaves blew away in wind storm so fierce, the petals are frostbit and some even worse, the frost slows the harvest and carrots are gone, but me and my leaf boys, we still ramble on. We sit at our desks, tell stories and play, we see things in Legos, in dancing, and clay. The autumn has fallen, the branches are bare, the trucks rumble down the highway with care. But still I am grieving good friends gone too soon, I hope I can surrender --to give my God room, but still I don't like it, I think it's not right, two friends, 5 kids, and cancerous blight.

But I'm grateful for sunshine, I'm grateful for tears, they help me be honest and not ruled by fears, but soon I want peace, and energy and laughs, too much of great sighing can lead to big wafts of heaviness here in our cluttery small home, and some laughter could raise the roof like a dome.

I long for more time, yet I'm sure I would fill it; I long for no criticism -- just trust I will mill it, like the wheat in the grinder, those stinging thoughts may, just gather together to give us our day...ly bread, bread, the butter on bread, smears thicker and sweeter the longer I spread.

I think I need help, I think I am fine, I think I can see through the gaze that is mine. I'm full to the noggin with thoughts and "to do's", but when the day's done, I just want to muse. To sort out my feelings, my thoughts and my urges, to reckon with children and more housing purges. My husband is gone, eight hours a day, my boys are not sorry, they just want to play. But I am left here, responsibilities in tow, to distinguish and act on which ones can not go.

These are the snapshots in my scrapbook of Mind that I will remember when vision can't find, a healthy perspective, to hang up my hat, to look for the stars, when I'm feeling fat; and talk to my God, whether He hears me or not, and tell Him the truth, and to listen a lot. Because sometimes I think, in moments like these, I can see the forest --because of these trees. These trees, these trees.

These are the things that I am.

Surprises and a second bloom.

2010-09-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

My son Weston surprises me. I think I know him, and then he does something I would never do.
My son Donovan I understand a little better; we have similar weaknesses and similar drives, but Weston...Hmmm.
Last night we had special sugar cookies with chocolate chips. Donovan wanted three but only got one; Weston turned his down. "I don't think they're very healthy for me" was his response.
This morning Donovan was still looking for his hoodie when he should have been at the bus stop. Weston had left three minutes earlier on his own saying, "I'd like to be there early today."
Weston puts blue food coloring in the sink water to play Pirate Lego and jumps on the trampoline and burns holes through the knees of his pants just like Donovan, and probably just like every other boy. But there are times where I see him come into his own as a unique creature and it strikes me.
I tried to help him get a head start in PayDay the other night (just the two of us). I knew we didn't have long to play so I wanted to give him a couple extra thousand dollars to buy better deals. "No, mom. I only want the exact amount I am supposed to have." --Not that he isn't tempted, mind you. He wanted to roll his die over a couple times when it fell off the table in his exuberance and didn't end up so favorably,-- I didn't let him off the hook on that one. But he still surprises me.
The day before school started Weston closed the door to his room and wouldn't let anyone in for 20 minutes. I had complained earlier that day how I longed for the boys to tidy their room, as I had just tidied it two days before and now it was a complete disaster. Then Weston opened the door -- the room was spotless. He had quietly done the whole thing on his own and determined he was now ready to start grade one.
Weston reminds me of some these flowers around. We've already had like three frosts, but now the warmth has returned and a few of the plants and flowers have willed to bloom again. I thought they were done, but no, a resurgence, a new blossom of true nature and the will to live and thrive is pushed out to manifest itself for my enjoyment.
I will try to never take either of my boys for granted.
I realize I am still just getting to know them.
I look forward to many more blooms.

Grabbing back a day of summer.

2010-09-26T19:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday the boys and I went with Janice Lassen and her kids Annika and Kai to nearby Horseshoe Canyon. It was stunning. The colors were vibrant and the striped hills amazing as ever. The scoot down was tricky and 4 out of 6 of us slipped down to our bums.

Back in the 'Bud, it was a work day at the new firehall for Dave. I considered helping over there, but in the end I was glad to accompany Janice with the four young ones. There were some precarious times on the trail, but thankfully we made it through with only a bit of mud and minor scratches.

The kids found a fun little cave to stop for a snack.

The bentonite always amazes me. It's soft and pliant underneath with all the moisture, but crumbly dry on top. At any moment the ground could give way and little rocks go tumbling down. Other areas were like packed white sand and mud.

There were thistles and wild roses and tracks of deer and rabbit, but with three running boys we never saw a beast except two startled pigeons.

We found a few fossils, but never stopped long as there was always a new hill to climb and a new path to find. It was good we stopped when we did, however as some were getting tired, hungry and thirsty, and we were out of supplies.

While Janice went to get the van, Donovan found some nearby firewood and they all got terribly filthy drawing with charcoal, but they loved it.

I'm so thankful that warmth has returned to the province. Finally, a number of farmers turned a wheel for the first time in weeks. The outlook for this week looks good as well.

This morning's sunrise was so stunning: bright orange. It seemed a symbol of God's blessing for more warmth and beauty to come. And it was. Another dry day until a brief cool shower around 7pm that cleared soon after.

The world is suddenly glowing with gold and everywhere I look I'm stunned. The blue skies are amazing behind the bright leaves, and I got to go on a brief walk and then bike ride with Dave and the boys.

The only sad thing I saw was the top of the labyrinth tree that had broken and fallen, but was being held by the other branches. The broken part was easily identifiable because of its dark brown leaves, in stark contrast with the shiny gold of the old poplar.

I can't help thinking of my grief and struggle with God over Jeremy. Here was another image. I felt like the healthy tree was clinging to this dead weight that needed to fall to let the tree grow. Instead the yellow vibrant branches wouldn't let go. But gazing at it, it was apparent the broken top had to go. Its only good purpose now would be to warm folks beside a fire.

Over the Rockies and Back... in one day!

2010-09-26T09:05:00.000-07:00

After the big Rosebud ceremony for student achievement, we slept, got up at 5am, piled in the van, picked up Morris "across town" [30 seconds away], and drove to the airport before the sunrise. After a little trouble getting Sebastian's wrapped gift of a Star Wars lightsaber through security, we were at our gate and soon on the plane with little TV's for each seat. The boys were thrilled.

I had a bit of a headache... which is what I am recognizing happens when I need to weep and have not released enough of my grief. I'm still struggling with Jeremy's passing. I don't like it one bit. Not one teeny tiny bit. Suddenly I have such a sense of loss and futility that this man we love is a few smithereens -- ashes. Some carried back in a box by his mother to be buried in Pennsylvania by his beloved grandma, and some to be scattered on sea by Chemainus where his children have such fond memories of him at the beach.

I have fond memories of the beach there too.

The ones with Jeremy at the beach are few, but I'll never forget the first time.

We egged him on to join us swimming down at Malcolm beach and he bravely went in the first few feet and stopped cold. Actually COLD. Poor small man with his t-shirt and shorts. His little white legs would go no further into that frigid sea. I felt bad later. I had no idea he got cold so easy. Granted, the sea WAS cold, but I had bought a scuba mask at a garage sale and had found a WHOLE empty moon snail shell at the bottom 8 feet down and dove for it, even though my face and ears burned with the cold that far down. Sigh. That was day two in Chemainus for us, and one of the first distinguishing circumstances between Jeremy and I.

When it came to day three, there was another situation I'll never forget. Jeremy had us interns take four hour shifts in maintenance and dish pit help in the kitchen, and it was my turn. I worked and worked, alone, in the steam and grime, burning my fingers with hot water, only to slink out like a limp rag after to the loading bay and sit on a step in the sun.... until Jeremy came out. He took pity on me. I felt so weak that I couldn't do that work for so long without wilting. I just wanted to act. Jeremy changed our shifts after that: no dish pit, and all the interns shared the bathroom cleaning in less time!

Jeremy would always take time to talk and listen when I ventured into his office. I felt truly cared about.

Back in Vancouver Monday morning, as Morris was walking our family to his favorite breakfast place, I spotted a beautiful leaf: all red with touches of green. Just like many I used to collect my first fall in Chemainus years ago. I had pressed them, and made them into a garland. Jeremy saw this, and after a visit to his beloved Grandma, brought a leaf back for me from Pennsylvania. Wow. I hadn't remembered that until I picked up that leaf in Vancouver on the day of his funeral.

After a great breakfast, we drove down the Vancouver Art Gallery (where they filmed "Night at the Museum") and the boys played on the steps as we waited for Jeremy's son, Sebastian to join us. Mark and Erin DuMez showed up and we chatted over coffee. It was good to see Mark and Morris connect too, as heads of theatres. (Mark took Jeremy's role as AD for Chemainus over a year ago.)

Finally Sebastian came (thanks to Steven Greenfield for picking him up) and he loved the saber. The boys play, play, played and I got a few shots. I tried to get one of Dave and Morris AND the top of Hotel Vancouver, but the picture didn't quite capture all that I saw in the screen and it's off kilter. Oh well. We were just thrilled the sun came out and to hear the boys playing. Such a healthy sound in the wake of such loss. I didn't know what we would say to Sebastian, but it didn't matter. As Morris negotiated thick downtown traffic and firetrucks, the boys were in the back of our rental van talking NON STOP. Once at the church, they played a bit more outside, then it was time to go in.

SO MANY loved faces from Chemainus, Vancouver, all over. I was so surprised... I knew almost EVERYONE there. So many actors, and theatre professionals who had been touched by Jeremy. Wow. The music was stunning, the speakers were apt, articulate, funny and poignant. And we were all there together sharing in this loss. Poor Anita. She was strong and lovely. But I still cry over her pain. I don't like it one bit.

My good friend Lisa was there and I found her at the back 3/4 way in to the service after I HAD to remove Weston who was so restless and cranky from all the stress and missing his lunch, he just couldn't STAND IT anymore. At first I was furious I had to take him out, but then I grew softer. Once I found Lisa and pulled her away to this beautiful side room with tons of light with Weston rolling along the floor, I was actually grateful to be there with them instead of listening to a sermon.

Many hugs and well wishes after the service. The family slipped out (which we were told would happen) and all the old friends lingered and hugged and caught up a bit. Wonderful.

Finally we went out to dinner with Lisa in our van and met up with Pacific Theatre greats Ron and Carol Reed, Deb Sears and Jonathan Bruce. The table was long so it was a bit hard to converse, but wow, my boys ate SO WELL because they were starving! Ha. Poor things. I don't think either of them left anything on their plates.

It was good to connect with my old theatre professor Ron. He put Jeremy on to us after grad school in Illinois and initiated that connection for us to come to Canada. Sigh. I was very encouraged. It was a huge day of reconnecting, albeit briefly. There was a solidarity in that church of courageous theatre souls. If anything, Jeremy's life spurs us to keep on keeping on.

On the flight home I got to sit beside one of my favorite people: Morris Ertman. While the men in my family plugged in to those little tv boxes with their ear pods, Morris and I talked just barely over the hum of the jet about life and struggle and longing and hope. I love that.

The drive home was not eventful, which was perfect for little boys sleeping with their mouths slightly open in their car seats. I even got a bit of rest in the back listening to the low tones of Morris and Dave up front.

We fell into bed, slept, and slept a bit more the next morning.

OVER AND BACK. I crossed the mountains. Lived in Vancouver for a day. Breathed moist, low altitude air -- filling my thirsty lungs-- Then I returned to the Alberta prairies.

It still blows my mind.

I wonder how we will travel in the BIG LIFE.

Huh.

Thanks Lord, that we got to go, and that it was so smooth.

I know we're still recovering on many levels, but I'm so, so grateful.

I will try and let him go.

Please help me to understand.

The whirlwind of this new season.

2010-09-24T10:28:00.000-07:00

Where to begin?

Oh this month has been a rush of special events and focus mingled with squirrelling away time on the computer to avoid work. In the midst of feeling overwhelmed with all our responsibilities and sad about our friend Jeremy, I, Jeany, took to playing a video game. That's right. Sometimes I play my video game "Cradle of Rome" instead of doing a difficult task. I am ashamed, and then I just enjoy it. There's a genuine feeling of accomplishment (albeit short lived) that comes from winning the next level. I suppose it's the one thing I can quickly succeed at.

But in between bouts on the computer, I did start teaching classes, I did make over 200 cookies and sell them (all!) at 15 minutes of Fame -where I also got to hear Dave open the show, Donovan and Weston and fellow Buds of Rose perform, and sing a bit myself by the end of the night. I did have a special time with Karla and Gary Adolphe and little Hudson, I did have a great visit with the Eliuk's on their property south of town, and I did help organize the annual Snider obstacle course for the amazing race in Rosebud to initiate the new students.

Also, Dave and I celebrated our 17th anniversary over the whole weekend by attending a fun dinner with friends (Lindsey, Nate, Kelsey, Bill and Rentia) at the Merc. (which was great because we usually go on our own) and then got to see a lovely piece of theatre by South African playwright Athol Fugard: The Road to Mecca (opening night.) I was very proud of my student and friend Alysa van Haastert. She was stunning and capable and I was intrigued and moved by all three performers and couldn't take my eyes of Morris' evocative set with all it's sparkles, candles and hidden imagery. So blessed.

Then a rush of homemaking came upon me (probably as a way of nesting before the new routine) and I made a large batch of whole wheat bread, homemade carrot-vegetable soup "whole-ly" natural, and roasted granola with whole pecans.

Weston and Donovan attended a birthday party here in town and I helped with the food there too.

Weston could not get enough of apple bobbing. This little guy LOVES apples and dunked his head in that frigid water again and again, even after others were done and chunks were floating, he was not deterred. He must have munched down five apples. --No wonder he didn't want much dinner.

Before we left for Vancouver on Monday, there was the annual awards ceremony for RSA students at the opera house on Sunday and I had volunteered to decorate. I wasn't sure how it was going to work out, but thankfully Jerod hung the RSA banners (which are rust and slate blue of all colors) and I found time to bust into Drum to buy some sunflowers, delphiniums and roses. The rest of the bouquets were made up of Renita and Dave's sunflowers and leaves and wild bushes here in Rosebud. I was pretty pleased in the end. I had three vases like the one pictured here in front of the podium, but it was all by God's grace. That morning I had woken up dizzy; the room was moving more than it should in my vision and I couldn't shake it. I felt a little nauseous but plunked on. Dave helped a bit, which was great. I believe it was the stress of the upcoming journey to Jer's service and all that needed to happen before then. Nonetheless, I made it to the theatre with all my flowers and just.. started... putting them together. I found places to tuck them around the screen and even little bits of banner material to wrap the base. It took a lot of time and concentration to finish the job down to cleaning the last bit of debris in the backstage area, but I finished just in time to make it to church (where I couldn't really stand or sing the last hymn because I was silently weeping.) A large outpouring of sadness came then, once my responsibilities were done, and I wept. I don't like that Jeremy is gone. When I think of Anita and the kids, I can't think of one good reason for it. Right now anyway.

We're all a bit out of sorts, even though we're keeping on. The boys are finding some solace in their Star Wars Legos and have actually played quite peacefully with one another.

Maybe that's partly why I've been playing my game. It's safe and comforting in it's constancy. It's not likely to die on me or evaluate how well I'm doing at my job.

After we got back from Vancouver on Monday night, I drove the boys to school and hour late because they needed the extra rest. --We all did.

As I drove up out of Drum I turned on the stereo and the heard the opening of "Where the Streets Have No Name" by U2. I began to howl out my grief. I was gasping and crying, and then trying to shake the tears out of my eyes so I could drive straight, but it was a huge release. I surprised myself with the depth of my howls and cries. So much came out of me. Then, (and this has happened before, believe it or not), my safety belt tightened on my chair adjuster buttons as the van drove the steep pitch of the hill up out of town and suddenly the chair starts tilting BACKWARD and I'm being pulled away from the wheel! I yelled (and swore, sorry) and then I had to laugh and laugh.

Here in the middle of my passionate primal howling, was something so ludicrous, I had to laugh. And then cry. And then laugh some more.

And then I probably farted and snorted.

And laughed and cried some more.

Isn't it strange that I waited until the safety and quiet of driving alone along Highway 9 in rural Alberta, along fields of wheat WAITING for the heat -- hanging on, but risking cold nights and mornings-- to finally give voice to my deep feelings of loss?

I'm still grieving off and on here at home.

Still waiting like the crops for a final blessing.

God is not early. As usual.

But I bet there's a silver lining for all of us soon.

Please.

Thankfully, I conquered the last level last night.

(Ah... of my game that is.)

And I believe I am now done with it.

The final stretch...

2010-09-24T10:03:00.000-07:00

After the leaving the hot springs, we wound our way down to Missoula where I scored a steal of a few new clothes at JC Penny's. I can't believe how cheap things are in the States right now compared to Canada. I cringe to think of how these clothes got made and how they could possibly be making a profit... but it certainly didn't stop me from buying them.

We found our way up along a beautiful lake and kept thinking we would stop, but the boys weren't complaining -- they were sleeping! So I chatted with Dave to keep him awake and we discussed every endeavour we were about to embark on with teaching at Rosebud School of the Arts when we returned. We did finally stop and eat lunch at a nice park with a playground and then piled back in the now full van (we bought some great organic groceries to take home as well) to Glacier National Park.

It was expensive to drive in, and therefore tempted us to stay the night and make the most of it, but there was an urge within to get home as well to sleep in our own bed and not have to break out the luggage. So we drove on. Well, I did.

We only stopped once along a great green river, but there was beauty everywhere. I felt like Frederick the little mouse who stores up impressions and memories during harvest for the cold winter months so he can wax poetic about all of life's beauty inside the cold wall when they've run out of stores. I have had such huge doses of beauty and nature this past summer, that I have enough impressions collected for a year of winter.

The Highway to the Sun is the most amazing road I've ever driven. A narrow road cleft from the face of the mountain on one side and a low stone wall on the other as the cliff falls off into a steep valley. I have never climbed a mountain so ON THE EDGE like that. It was long and slow (twice we stopped for construction) but it was breathtaking -- both in the good and "eek this is scary" kind of ways. Dave and I kept commenting to the point where I'm sure the boys were tired of my constant exclamations of beauty. Some day they'll understand. Cool sites can be as great as Legos.

After we were down from the mountain, I lead-footed it to the border. For me, it was a race against the setting sun, and NO TRAFFIC in sight. I must admit, that's when I love to drive, and I do speed -- if no one's around. You can cover so much ground and the highway is all yours. After the no-lineup at the tiny crossing, I launched into Canadian farmlands with the setting sun glowing my left side. I saw maybe 4 cars in 40 minutes. Suffice it to say, I made good time.

When became too dark, we stopped at Clareshome for a gas and pee for poor Donovan who didn't think he could possibly make it, and Dave drove the rest of the long way home. Yes home. Through traffic and headlights and tiny aphids hitting the windshield. We finally reached our humble abode around 11:40 pm.

Thankfully our house was in good order as our neighbors had stayed there some while we were gone because of floor work being done in their house. So I fell into a bed with clean sheets. That's when I knew we had travelled far and long. Because I don't remember anything else until the next morning.

Connecting to nature (the last days in Idaho and Montana)

2010-09-17T18:30:00.000-07:00

The last few days in Idaho were very special. Again, we had sunny weather and said farewell to Cathy and Chet and Carol and Grams (Judy) went off to work. That left Gramps with nothing to do but play (or so it seemed). I loved watching the boys and Gramps pull fish and after fish outta their back pond. Without complaining, Charlie stayed on his knees most of the time doing all the dirty work: worming the hook and then taking the bloody thing back out of the little sucker's jaws. The boys had all the glee and none of the mess. It was delightful for us.

Then they got to ride on Gramps quad and that was another treat. That night we got to go to a favorite restaurant of Gramps and Grams: Brick 39 (I think that's its name.) There was a special chef there who designed "food made with love" as Dave calls it. It was a great way to end our time together.

The next day, we drove, drove, drove through some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen in the US. --Mountains and trees and rivers and windy roads with little evidence of civilization except log cabins tucked away along the trees at the river's bend. Oh, Dave and I kept sighing with longing to live there in one of those beautiful wood houses by the water. The boys were watching Star Wars and could hardly be persuaded to glance at the lovely stone patterns in the churning river, for fear of missing some of the action on the tiny screen. Alas.

I drove through 98 miles of curves -- tight curves-- and started to go a bit crazy with my contacts when it got dark. I pulled over right after the summit into Montana on the #12 and got a bit of fresh air and took in the INCREDIBLE full moon that had just surfaced. Stunning.

By the time Dave drove us into the hot springs, the workers had decided to close the pool early and they wouldn't let us swim. I was so disappointed. We had pushed to get there in time, only to encounter two bitter employees who chose to regale us with all the management problems they had encountered, as well as their plans to desert the joint that very night and never return. Nonetheless, they assured us we could swim in the morning, and gave us a deal on a "no-frills" cabin.

Even though it was cold and dark, we scrounged up some firewood (not seeing the bin full of it until the next morning) and had the campfire that Weston had been craving since we left home. The marshmellows, however, having lived in a bag in a hot van for too long, were glommed together in one unfortunate mass and made for sticky, unappealing smores. Dave and I choked some down out of duty, but when it came time for Weston to enjoy the treat he had been craving for days, he said: "No thanks. I don't think it's good for me to eat sweets so late at night." Silence as the gloop in our guts sat there and we quietly asserted that we felt the same way, and why hadn't he said so sooner, and now I wish I hadn't eaten anything but water...

We definitely stayed in a "no frills" cabin. It lacked a mother's touch in every way except the little heater that clicked and hissed off and on all night. Frost covered everything the next morning so we were at least grateful to sleep indoors and not have to pull out the tent again. I spent half the night fretting whether the boys would fall off the top bunk, as there were NO RAILS! -- Why do they make top bunks without rails? It's enough to give a mom insomnia.

The boys hated the bathrooms "Very stinky" they said, but the woman's wasn't too bad. I just had to ignore the toothpaste colored walls and the spiders in the corners.

Thankfully the sun came out and right away we spotted steam coming up from a stream by some of the most interesting rock formations I'd ever seen. We followed it, looking for the source, only to keep bumping into the swimming pool area that we were told would not open until 10am.

So... we went out to breakfast at the restaurant there called "The Bear Cave." I spent most of the time waiting for my breakfast gazing and reading all the captions to all the black and white photos scattered around the walls depicting the history of the resort and the original white owners and trappers who had travelled there. There were also paintings of many American Indians enjoying the hot springs. These lovely portraits contrasted sharply with the pictures of the 8 bear hides, 86 lynx hides in another picture with two white dudes in mustaches and rifles. I felt sick. It seemed such a waste of beautiful animals. The hot springs was a spiritual center for many tribes before a family from Missoula decided it was theirs and set up a resort for wealthy travellers. Of which, I had to admit, I was now one.

I saw pictures of a small cave at the base of one of the sculpted rock towers and asked where the BEAR CAVE was, thinking maybe we could go there on a short hike while we waited for the pool to open. I was given a blank stare. "What cave?" asked the bewildered server (it was his first week), "the Bear Cave-- in the photo." "Oh... I don't know." Later, after some of the best bacon I've had in months, I sauntered over to the fancy lodge (as opposed to the no frills cabins we had stayed in across the highway) I snooped around the store and bought a book on Indian legends from the area, then I asked the man behind the counter: "Where's the Bear Cave?"

"It's right next door."

"Oh?"

"Right there. The Restaurant."

"No, I mean the actual cave."

"?"

"The cave called the Bear Cave"

"I don't know of any bear cave."

"There's a picture of it in the restaurant."

"Hmmm. Never heard of it."

I was vexed. --This guy, coupled with the startled looking server, and the two complaining pool workers who threw in the towel the night before -- seemed to know diddlysquat about the history and significance of the place where they worked! Well if they were silent, the stones themselves seemed to shriek with ecstasy about the glory of their Creator. I walked up to them anyway, family in tow, and longed to go further up and further in along the horse trails I saw winding up through the trees into the mountains. I kept thinking at any turn I'd find the famous BEAR CAVE and be mystically inspired, but Dave's practical voice of time and safety called me back and I never found it. Maybe I'll go back some day.

The pool was nice. We had it all to ourselves until another family joined us. Hoping to meet some friendly Americans, we asked where they were from.

"Calgary" they said.

I laughed.

Inside the building was a smaller pool, and again, despite the awful toothpaste color they chose to paint the walls, it was the real thing. A little greenhouse type room built over the hot spring itself. My favorite part was a the corner they couldn't paint -- where the rough natural rock jutted into the pool and you could see it's opening into the earth. I was thrilled. Again the significance of this miracle... water travelling down through the rock, warming at the earth's core, and returning to the surface at slightly warmer than a hot bath, on the top of a chilly mountain. Incredible. I knew it was spiritual somehow, even if some ignorant humans weren't conscious of it. I lay in the water right at the mouth of the springs and closed my eyes. Imagining myself (I must confess) like one of the beautiful Indian princesses I'd seen slipping her naked brown foot in the water from the painting in the restaurant. It felt like a gathering place of elders and ancestors. It felt holy.

Wow. I have gone on and on. I haven't thought about that day for awhile because SO MUCH has happened since then.

I see now I will have to write about the rest of the journey home on yet another blog. {And I still haven't caught up about school starting and Vancouver and .... sigh.} Right now I will sign off, thanking GOD for the sunny skies (so desperately needed for the farmers) and the golden leaves and bright blue all around above.

Sigh.

Jer-Bear

2010-09-15T07:23:00.000-07:00

Our good friend, Jeremy Tow passed away last night.

Oh, I miss him so.

I weep when I think of his loving family trying to orient their lives without him today.

His wife Anita, his daughter Emma and his young son Sebastian are in Kamloops with Jeremy's parents Jerry and Leah and Anita's 93 year old Doris lives near by.

Jeremy was almost 47.

He was a brilliant thinker, performer, singer and rising director in Canadian theatre.

Jeremy grew up in Alabama and Pennsylvania and his extended family now lives in North Carolina, but the last 15 years he has made a large, close-knit family of Canadian Theatre artists.

Jeremy is the reason Dave and I are in Canada today.

Twelve years ago, as we were finishing grad school, Jeremy emailed us from Chemainus BC. He had got wind of us through my Trinity prof.: Ron Reed and was looking for theatre interns to come to Vancouver Island.

We forged a quick and intense friendship that year with Jeremy and his wife Anita. We stayed in Chemainus eight years before being wooed away to Rosebud. We ate together, sang together, acted in Macbeth together, worked on many great shows together, and our kids played together.

I love Jeremy.

I pray for Anita and family. Especially young Sebastian, Donovan's best friend.

I'm so sad.

But I'm grateful the 24 hour care Anita and Jerry were giving Jeremy in his last days has come to completion.

I know they are so grateful for every moment.

Jeremy died of a brain tumor that gradually shut down his whole system.

I don't know why.

Our Idaho trip: day three

2010-09-12T19:20:00.000-07:00

After another walk along the cornfields and a starry night, we ventured off to a beautiful canyon not far from Dave's folks where there is a stunning waterfall. The gorge cuts away from the hills so narrow you'd hardly know it was there. It was a challenge to pull the boys from the wii, but thankfully they loved it once we got there and had no trouble with the hike. In fact, Donovan was one of the first ones in the water, frigid as it was. Eventually the whole family joined him and sat under the waterfall. It was scary and fun. My shoes went "squash, squash" on the hike back and Donovan and Weston couldn't resist plucking some Lamb's Ear leaves. They were so new and soft to them. Dear Donovan wanted to make a blanket out of them. I only let him keep a few and he held his collection close and tidy during the gravel drive home and I found myself suddenly sandwiched between two napping boys.

It was a very memorable excursion.

Followed by another amazing meal.

I remember not sleeping so well that night as the moon was so startlingly bright and a wind was shipping through the trees off and on. It was a new sensation to feel so vulnerable sleeping outside. Then suddenly the horse next store began GALLOPING! The earth thundered beneath me and incredulous, I imagined the fence would be no obstacle, and I prepared to be trampled. Thankfully, he roared up and down his little lane. But I have never heard a horse do that in the dark. I marvelled as my little family of men slumbered with sweet sleep.

Our Idaho trip; Day two (The Fam)

2010-09-03T17:16:00.000-07:00

Our second day of vacation took us through beautiful northern Idaho. We passed field upon field of rolling golden wheat against a blue sky on a two lane highway. It was so bright and the sense of harvest was pregnant in the air. After dropping down into Lewiston and then on to Grangeville, we found ourselves along the Salmon River. After one look I recognized it: the white sandy banks, the deep blue, the rocky gorges and the swift rapids... I had been on that river when I was 10! OK, maybe not this particular fork that skirted the highway, but at least one very similar. --When I was 10 my family joined our good friends the Sniders (no immediate connection to Dave) and the Dalleys and my Grandma and Grandpa Armfield to ride the Salmon River in Idaho for a week. I remember sleeping in sleeping bags on the sand under the stars and spotting my first satellite. I remember horse flies and bees and cooking out and no bathrooms and an old ghost town up the bank. As I kept gazing at this beautiful river and seeing large rafts of people swimming, lots of images came back. I remember floating along in my oversized orange lifejacket with my shoes on. I remember the inflatable tahiti canoes we would take turns riding in, I remember the scary fun rapids, and now I marvel that my mom and grandparents were such good sports.

The road was so curvy coming into Riggins and out again, but it was stunning to follow the rivers.

We stopped at New Meadows and tanked up, then I drove the rest of the way down 95 to Homedale. We actually made pretty good time on such a narrow road, and I was happy to see country I'd never seen. Dave's voice kept petering out as he tried to read to the boys and soon all three were sleeping deeply as the foliage turned from green to brown to dessert and sage and large hills.

We were greeted by Charlie and Judy and Judy's sisters Carol and Cathy and her husband Chet.

It took us a while to get to setting up our tents as there was much talking to do.

Oh my did we ever eat well down there. Judy had planned every meal with such care and preparation, it was like having a national holiday feast each meal. Scrumptious sandwiches, salads, dishes and treats.

The boys were pretty excited to watch Gramps and Grams TV and use their wii. I think they could have easily done that all day every day if we hadn't pulled them out to go walk or swim. Their only consolation in going to Caldwell was their Star Wars lego they bought with their US birthday money.

It was fun to celebrate Dave's birthday again with his family and all the women went together to buy him and original pottery pie pan from Homedale drugstore.

But most of all I enjoyed seeing the boys interact with the family.

It was a special place to be and again we had a beautiful view of the sky through our see-through tent.

Day one of our trip: Sparwood and Spirit Lake

2010-09-03T09:51:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago we left after a brief instructor meeting and took off in our van with tenting supplies, snacks, pillows and blankets and DVD's and started toward the Idaho boarder. I'd never driven south on the Number 2 and then West on the 3 and it was fascinating to come across all the wind turbines. It was gorgeous. Stunning. The weather was absolutely beautiful and the mountains, streams, deer, rocks and trees -- breathtaking. Of course the boys were more interested in watching movies, but we finally got them out and about in Sparwood, BC -- home of the world's largest truck! They loved it.

Then we piled back in and headed for the boarder. There was no long wait and no trouble (course I was at the wheel...) I'm convinced that women have less flack from boarder guards than long haired men. HA. The guy looked over at Dave and the first thing he said was, "So what criminal activity have you been involved in?" Silence. (Dave was deliberating whether to joke back or play it straight.) Finally he said rather sincerely, "Just being an actor." Thankfully the guard left it at that. Until he asked if we were truly married and if we were travelling with our own biological children in the back seat. Yes, we assured him on both accounts.

Then we were off singing Neil Diamond's "We come to America......(pause long enough for David to find it irresitable to join in...) --TODAY! Dah nah nah nah nah nah NAH! We come to America... and so forth. It's our little ritual for us old Americans. That's when our kids say, "I'm Canadian."

We wormed our way down a two lane highway into northern Idaho through more stunning territory and little traffic. We had plenty of snacks in the car so we really didn't have to stop until we reached our meeting place with Dave's cousin Dion.

Dion's girlfriend Jessica's dad lives near Spirit Lake in a beautiful lodge like house in the woods. Amazing and quiet. They treated us to a full second supper with LindbergSnider seasoned pork chops, deep fried okra (delicious!) and sweet white corn. Weston ate his whole meal. Then we set up our tents in the back yard facing the woods where moose roamed and the boys got to watch a cartoon of Clifford the Big Red Dog on a BIG Black screen. Jessica and her family and her dogs were very welcoming and generous and by the time we left the next morning, the boys were smitten and didn't want to leave.

Tune in next time for: Idaho living Day two: the fam.

Back 2 Skool!

2010-09-02T20:23:00.000-07:00

Well, it began. Whether we were ready or not, a new routine is establishing itself and I can hardly pull myself from my cozy bed in the wee hours of the morning to make TWO distinct lunches: one with NO bread or cheese: salami and rice creackers, veggies (no carrots, just peas and tomotoes), juice, fruit (preferably grapes), napkin, note, and of course -- a treat. Another with a sandwich (spicy chicken with pickle, seedy mustard, mayo, cheddar and TWO slices of homemade bread), veggies (loves carrots, no tomatoes), fruit (no bananas), chips, and extra water (treat not necessary). HA. Aren't they so unique!?

This week has also been one of cookie baking. So far we have: Good ole Chocolate Chip, Frosted Molasses, Oatmeal Skotchies, Peanutbutter Cup, and Chocolate Peanutbutter Cup. We're gearing up for the big outdoor concert on Sunday: 15 Minutes of Fame. My boys are rehearsing for their 5 Minutes of Fame with the song: "Where Have all the Staplers Gone?" from Veggie Tales. Should be fun. Dave will open the concert with his now traditional "Jeremiah Had a Bullfrog", technically known as "Joy to the World", but nobody calls it that because of the more famous and superior Christmas Carol.

Nonetheless, we are embarking on an eventful weekend with rehearsals, baking, and coordinating our yearly obstacle course to initiate the new students as part of the Amazing Race!

Back to school: Donovan smiled the first moment he walked into his grade 4 class (that's how they say it in Canada: "Grade 4" not "Fourth grade"). He got his favorite teacher (Mr. Judge who does a great gym class) and his desk was in the back row center SURROUNDED by his three best friends!!! Can you believe it? First thing he said was, "This is gonna be fun." Wow.

Over in the other arm of the school, however, were the kindergarteners and first graders. ( I know, I should say Grade 1-ers.) The parents were hovering over our little chicks and not willing to say goodbye until the bell rang. Weston's new teacher is stunning. She looks exactly like Amy Adams and her last name starts with "Angel"! Weston was all set and staring forward when I went to say my final goodbye with Dave nudging me off. "Goodbye, Weston. I love you. Have a great day," I said from the side. Weston never batted an eye. He never looked my way. With his eyes forward to the chalkboard and beautiful angel teacher he replied in his grovelly voice, "Goodbye Mom." Well, that just wasn't enough for me. I leaned in and touched him on the arm so he would at least look at me. "Just want to say goodbye, honey." Same response. No looking. "Goodbye, Mom." That's when I knew I was suddenly irrelevant at that moment. I went out into the hallway to linger and spy through the doorway with the other parents. I felt like crying. Not in that profound way, but in the silly kind of "Ah, I can't believe my doesn't need me anymore! And... now what am I going to do with my day? (Slow smile and hands rubbing together in my mind...) Dave and I laughed and then went out for breakfast. Sigh.

Frankly, we have had a few tough adjustments this week with the boys being quite willful and not wanting to help with dinner. Their bus ride is long and Weston got in trouble for standing up. Poor guy. We'll keep at it though. After this next weekend there will be less unusual events. I think.

So, this time of separation is a big change from the summer constancy. I was with the boys EVERY DAY and now that I have the free time I've been clamoring for, I'm scared. I don't always feel motivated to be as productive as I should. It must be the nervousness from the new classes starting for me as the teacher next week. Yes. That's a big part of it. But also my other endeavors are crowding close and if I'm not careful, something will slip. I pray I can remain healthy and full of grace to accomplish all I am entrusted with, through God's guidance.

Thanks for remembering our family in your thoughts and prayers.

Our last day in Kamloops

2010-08-17T09:09:00.000-07:00

After the birthday blog, I'm finally getting back to finishing the story of our trip last week...

Our last day in Kamloops provided a wonderful surprise: the DuMez family! (Well, all except Ruby). Mark and Erin and Hannah came to join the Tows and us for some picnic-swim-play time and conversation. Earlier the boys helped Sebastian with his paper route, then we took Emma and Sebastian to ride the old steam engine: The Spirit of Kamloops. It was a peaceful little journey and the mock train robbers were too kind, but it was good to have something interesting to do. Then we set up a picnic back at Riverside Park where the DuMez's found us. Hannah is so inspiring with her zest for life! It was fun to see all five Chemainiacs together again. Believe it or not, Hannah, Donovan, and Sebastian were all born in the same year.

Then we play-play-played on the playground -- two of them, before returning to the Tow house (hoping we had given them enough hours of quiet to get some shut eye after a tough morning tending to Jeremy.

We had a very special visit with Anita and her good friend Bina who had come out from Calgary. The kids had a good two hours of the trampoline and grass boarding before they settled into the TV room downstairs to watch Night at the Museum 2 (Battle of the Smithsonian) while we tended to the garden.

For supper, Mark and Erin brought in Little Ceasars and we had a wonderful meal out on the deck. I love seeing the kids play with each other. It was so special and felt so natural, even though we hadn't all seen one another for over a year.

Finally we said our goodbyes after hearing about the Chemainus fundraiser for the Tows from Mark and Erin, and hearing a few more words from Anita about Jer.

Goodbye was hard. Especially for Sebastian. I know because as we were turning around in our van and waving he kept flick spinning his Chinese yoyo and saying, "Goodbye! Goodbye! Goodbye!" with each unfurl. I still have that image in my mind. The smallest eight year old I know... a little blond man with a heart bursting with fear and love, tossing the top of his new yoyo, plaintively calling: "Goodbye! Goodbye. ... Goodbye." We waved until the last possible moment of visibility... and then a bit more. Then we were quiet. All of us full of thoughts and questions.

And new memories.

Thank you, Lord.

Photographic Memory Making

2010-08-16T20:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we went to Strathmore to celebrate David's birthday. He wanted to have a memorable day, so thankfully, I remembered to bring my camera along. My pictures sort of hit and missed. A couple were great, but most are not. It's always tough to get the right moment without too much posing or pausing, and then there's light and focus... oh I have so much to learn.

I love this first picture. My three men. Donovan is beeming (which is hard to capture, David and Weston have exactly the same expression so the resemblance is crystal clear, and there's this funny smudge on my lens that makes Weston have this old age actress haze. It makes me laugh because he's not the one who needs it.

Not that I mind Dave's age, mind you. I really don't. It 's really more mine that I'm having trouble embracing. My middle is spreading and I don't work hard enough to stop it. Pictures of myself these days startle me with their unbiased view. I actually see myself as prettier and fit looking out from behind my eyes. Ha. I think that might be better than thinking of myself as worse anyway. -- But then that reminds of that great Stan Rogers song "Lies" where the woman grows old and laughs at how the mirror tells her lies. What a great image.

This next picture of David with his Bono shades almost scares me. I don't quite recognize him. But it reminds of the necessary stop to pull out the bat and gloves we had packed "just in case", even though it made us late for the gathering back in Rosebud. [I almost wrote "Chemainus" cause that's what my head was saying. Strange. I still get these two small communities mixed up when it comes to naming them. Probably because of our recent visit with Anita (who I kept wanting to call Renita- oh my, I need to remember which community I'm in!) Family photos around a restaurant table are never flattering. Especially the food, and especially when you've just gone swimming and the light is harsh. Nonetheless, the memories are better and this shot will still trigger the whole day for us.

Dave's sparkler/cake moment is great, but in the darkness my camera didn't know what to do and it's terribly grainy. (I never got to finish Randall's photography class.)

Now this picture of Weston and Donovan on the caboose is priceless. Rarely do I get a genuine smile of Weston. He usually sees through the camera (which is pretty breathtaking), but when he smiles it's often a big toothy manic grin like Calvin in the comic strips. This one is great.

The picture of the Canadian flag wound round the pole in the midst of seaguls flocking above, the sun is so starred is seems fake. More like the typical star of Bethlehem. Maybe the wisemen were looking through a lens like mine.

These last five pictures are a strange sequence of missed moments. I'm always the one behind the camera, so I thought I'd get the whole picture of the beautiful meal, guests, family, new placemats and turquoise napkins with the timer. Living on the stove and then the cupboard, and then I forgot to push the timer button, and not once did I capture the beautiful table or the best of all the people in it... but it doesn't change the fact that the food and the occasion were important and festive. I especially like the desperate smile and my chin in the surprise one! Ha Ha.

Look at Wojtek-- such the calm European. I think maybe only Americans grew up trained to smile and say cheese every time a picture happened, and we never questioned it. If a picture was being taken to capture a moment you were supposed to hold a stuck smile until the flash ended. Period. Now I realize some of the best photos are far more relaxed than that.

This dinner was in honor of Wojtek. He helped us earlier this spring by drafting some original graphics of our house addition ideas, and we finally got around to thanking him.

So even though the pictures don't capture the emotional connections I have, or even the mental pictures I carry with me, in time they will be the triggers for those memories and images and eventually will establish themselves as the mental picture years from now. Powerful things, pictures. Almost as powerful as movies. For sometimes they contain a whole story within the stillness.

Our journey of joy and grief

2010-08-10T07:35:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday we packed up our van, left our messy home, and travelled over the mountains. Part way we got stopped for construction, then we moved a bit, then we stopped then moved then stopped... then WAITED. We were coming out of our skin with aggravation when ONE HOUR later we were finally rolling again. We stopped at a beautiful teal lake to eat and the boys kept going deeper in until they basically could have gone swimming in the first place. I drove over the highest pass and got terrified for a split second when my headlights made no dent in the darkness that quickly smothered us in the tunnels. It was stressful to negotiate the length of the passing lanes and other traffic on those mountain roads. No consideration did I see.

When we arrived in Kamloops, forest fire smoke nearly blocked the sun and turned it red. The pictures don't do it justice. We eventually found our "campsite" (after calling the poor woman because we left our directions at home on the counter) and set up our tents. It went a lot smoother than I thought so we had time to silently get back in the van to deliver some food from our cooler to the Tow family. We had such trepidation because we did not want to disturb them as we knew they were on watch 24/7 with Jeremy who is dying. We left the boys in the car at first and went to knock softly on the door, but Anita and Lucia were already there opening it for us with warm hugs and whispers. Right away, Sebastian (Donovan's first friend, who is also eight) was out the door asking for the boys. I told him they were in the van across the street and he ran to visit his old friends.

...It 's so sad and strangely beautiful to see close friends under extreme life situations. We stood on the porch as I pulled out individual portions of lasagne in foil boxes and a chocolate "just because" cake with homemade frosting and sprinkles. It was really all we had to give. Then we all laughed hearing how Lucia and others had brought loads of food already that morning and their coffers were full.

Soon the boys made their way around to the backyard to a trampoline and more laughter was spilling. I wondered if it was too loud, but Anita just smiled and shook her head and touched my cheek to drink me in. She was open. I was so glad. There are times when Anita keeps her grief close, but during our visit she generously let us in.

We stayed and visited a while on the back porch while the kids play-play-played. When it was time to go and we herded the boys back in the vehicle as Anita walked me to the front. The inevitable facts came then about Jeremy. We were so ready to know. But it worse than we had imagined in some ways. --The inability to communicate, the frustration on both sides, the deterioration. Good stuff to be told.

We drove back to Amy Baskin's backyard to our tents under the apricot trees and slept under the stars. I rarely slept. Thoughts of Jeremy and the night sounds pierced my consciousness so I awoke after 2-3 hours morning slumber.

Back at the Tows, the boys played in Sebastian's room and outside while we had tea and conversation again with Anita. Then we took Sebastian for a day of play. (His sister Emma was away in camp still.) We went to the river and I swam against the current and wept with the exhilaration and grief into the water. The boys spent hours creating an amazing sand castle that became a mud hot tub. Sebastian was quite the foreman and I mused about his need to lead and invest in a project.

Then we had a picnic followed by more swimming and sand building. It was exactly what Sebastian wanted: "We'll swim for a bit, then sit on a blanket and have a bit of a picnic, then swim some more" had been his request. Before we left Riverside Park the boys played for a good hour on the playground. I got involved too. At first, just to intervene with the mean spirited competition that was creeping in, but then suddenly I was the tickle troll under the bridge and all the young boys of the playground were trying to run past without being nibbled by my fingers. I'll never forget this adorable tiny East Indian boy who squealed so loud with gleeful anticipation anytime I got near him! -So much life.

When it was time to leave, Dave opened the trunk to put things away and a glass bottle of warm grapefruit Fruitazza sprang out and broke into a 1000 pieces. We just stopped. Glass shards as tiny as grains of rice were everywhere. It was such a humbling slow task to get them all up. Both Dave and I got slivers. Again, like the construction the day before, we were suddenly ground to a halt. The shattering kept replaying in my mind as so symbolic of our frustration in releasing our friend from this life and the helplessness we felt in trying to pick up all the pieces. We could never get every one. We stopped three times and then saw more. So trying and sad.

Then we went out to dinner and eventually back to the Tows. We scooped Sebastian away again to see a movie in the boys tent back under Amy's apricot trees. Sebastian loves Star Wars, so Dave splurged and bought the original trilogy on DVD and let our boys be initiated too.

The next day we had Sebastian again all day as Anita was travelling to Maple Ridge to collect Emma and Jeremy's parents were tending to him on their own, so we went out and about. The boys swam at a large pool with lots of diving boards and a 5 meter platform while I went shopping. First to Pier One for some special gifts, then to Super Store for more necessities. Surrounded by endless options, I lost it again. I bought things for Jerry and Leah (Jer's folks needed a new reliable razor for Jeremy's steroid strong beard), a nice sand bucket and shovel for Sebastian, some fun imported foods we don't have in Drum... but then I just had to weep right there in the aisle. There was NOTHING on the shelves I could buy to help Jeremy live. I was so tired and sad I didn't make sure the cashier gave me half off the expensive razor so I had to return the next day after I'd already given it as a gift. (Thankfully, there was another one in the 50% bin to get the bar code.)

Leaving Superstore I made a wrong turn. Well, to get to where I needed to go, I went in the right direction, but not knowing Kamloops well, I ended up in neighborhood after neighborhood trying to travel like a bird toward the NW, but the roads wouldn't let me. Humiliated and frustrated once again in my tired grief state, I went all the way down town and started again the way we came originally. I was craving being in that water so bad. I wanted to have another cathartic cleanse like the day before in the river. Thankfully, the boys and Dave were still enjoying the pool and I was able to get some time in. When I came to jump in Donovan encouraged me to go off the high platform. I didn't flinch... until I got up there. It was like jumping off a bridge. I hadn't even tested the water yet, but here I was about to commit to a huge fall. "I know how to blow out my nose" I thought, "shouldn't be too hard." Down, down, down... and then down I fell before being assaulted by the water. I blew out, but water rushed up even faster and cleaned out my sinuses. Under the water after such a violent entrance my body went into automatic and I clamoured for the surface. I was fine. But I felt throttled. I had to laugh. Who in their right mind enters a pool for the first time from a 5 meter fall?

After the pool we took three water-logged boys to Tim Hortons and then on to visit Anita's mom and Sebastian's grandma, Doris Wittenberg. Doris is 91 and lives in a residential care facility. I was prepared to see a frail, slightly senile woman, but Doris was glowing. Incredibly, she recognized us -- even Dave with his huge hairy ponytail didn't throw her off. She smiled and let Sebastian wheel her like a Nascar driver back to her room so we could give her the donuts and put the flowers in a vase. We chatted a bit, and I saw a picture of Jeremy and the family taken back in April, which was really helpful. It was good to have a picture of him still smiling, but in his weak state.

Doris blew me away. She looked so happy and alert. She was aware of Jeremy's situation and sad for Anita and her family, but later she said. "If I'd known how good is was to get old, I'd've done it sooner!" Doris is truly an inspiration. I believe it is her positive attitude that keeps her alive. "I going for 100!" she told us.

We finally made it back for dinner at the Tows, thanks to Jeremy's mom Leah. I was alone with her for a bit in the kitchen fixing a salad when suddenly she burst out: "I just thought God was going to heal him!" Her cry was so distraught. I realized this woman who had been praying for a miracle was suddenly allowing in the very real possibility that she would have to watch her son die. I could tell it shook her and her faith to the core... but there was something so right in the truth she let into the room like fresh air. I was proud of her.

I have blogged long. I needed to.

There's more to say, but my precious family is waiting for me to join them at the breakfast table.

I'll continue later.

Getting back to the dirt

2010-08-02T14:35:00.001-07:00

We watched Julie/Julia last night with Dale Marushy. It was delightful. What an inspiration Julia Childs is to this tall dame. I love her optimism and determination. David was inspired to make a special roast today!

The boys had an important time in the dirt today.

And yesterday they chipped out a miniature fossil from a kit.

All this digging makes me want a garden.

Thankfully, we do have a few crunchy sweet peas from a tiny patch in our front yard and some potato and a couple of tomato plants survived too. They're late, but maybe we'll harvest them before the frost sets in.

Getting back to the dirt. Sometimes you just need to put your hands in the earth. Do we feel a kinship with the substance we were formed from? Part dust, part breath?

It appears our friend Jeremy Tow is in the final stages of the little life and ready to enter the big life.

We will pack up our tents and travel across the rockies to be near the Tows in the next few days.

Please remember us as we hope to share love and work and not add stress to our dear friends.

We look forward to playing with young Sebastian (Donovan's first best friend) as his sister Emma is away at camp, and we hope to visit with Anita's 96 year old mother Doris who lives near by.

My good friend Lisa hooked us up with a lovely woman named Amy who is loaning us her backyard, bathroom, and kitchen access during our visit. How sweet. All it took was asking a friend to ask some friends.

So, tomorrow we prepare and try to ready ourselves for a different kind of camping adventure; a mission of love and grief.

May God give us wisdom and courage along with a sense of fun and adventure.

Getting back to the dirt is helpful for grounding in reality.

Death is an ever-present reality that I only think about when I have to.

I believe that Jeremy's body will return to dust, but not his soul.

Just like a fossil, the earth keeps many of it's creatures, but they are mere shadows, remnants of the flesh and blood being... only hints to the whole story.

I can't fathom what Jeremy's days are like right now, but he and his family are on our hearts.

Soon he will have super sight and understanding at the feet of his Maker, seeing the story from a new perspective.

Please join me in praying for Jeremy, Anita, Emma and Sebastian Tow this week. (And parent/grandparents: Doris, Leah and Jerry).

Memory Making in limbo

2010-07-31T16:58:00.001-07:00

Today was a big day in Drumheller.

Donovan attended MAX college of animation's one day workshop where he basically drew for 5 hours! He loved it! While that was happening, Dave and I took Weston to the famous Tyrell Museum for a look around the galleries, as well as a small hike to a fossil site where he and I inspected lots of rocks in the heat. Poor guy. He seemed a bit disappointed in the end. He didn't find any dinosaur bones. But he did find some cool petrified wood and some impressions in rocks where fossils had been, and some quartz crystal.

We finally discovered the Drumheller library this week, and the boys have almost finished a graphic novel of The Hobbit. Video stores seem to be going out of business right and left and we scooped up a few deals for our library; now it's just a matter of finding the time to watch after the boys go to bed (which is quite late these sunny nights).

It's been a time of change too: we're priming and painting our kitchen, wall by wall, and David shaved off his beard.

Other than that, it's been hot and we have to regulate the temperature in our house with the windows, fans, and blinds.

This week was also notable because of all the voice over work the whole family secured. It's been remarkable, and quite fun. David got a job based off another job we did as a family, Donovan got a special spot honoring "A Day with Dads" for families of prisoners, and Weston and I got a job with the state of New Mexico promoting their childcare rating system.

So, we're keeping busy.

I'll need to turn my attention back to my play and preparing for school next month, so I sigh because I think that means a few less voice over auditions. Right now I feel like I could do that every day.

We're looking forward to a road trip to Idaho soon and maybe a trip to Kamloops to visit our friends the Tows. They're hurting so bad right now with Jeremy suffering from a brain tumor that is no longer responding to treatment. I long to help them, but not sure yet how.

So we're in an unusual time of little structure and limbo. Nice but loose to the point of vertigo sometimes. Grateful, but longing for routine and joy with the boys. Funny how special days can sometimes trigger self protection more than staying home.

Something to think about.

Still, I'm grateful for the opportunities in fields that the boys are each interested in.

And hey--I found a fossil of a pinecone! And hey--even if Donovan wasn't excited, I bought two new folders from the school supply section and I'm excited like a kid with new shoes. And hey--the sun is now setting right in the arch of the cemetery from the gaze of our kitchen window. And hey--it was a beautiful day and Daddy got to be with us the entire time! Yeah. We have so much to be grateful for! Thank you Lord, for these memory making days.

More birthday...for the budding artist

2010-07-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

We extended Donovan's birthday yet again with a Reece's Peanutbutter cup ice cream cake from Dairy Queen. Some Rosebud friends joined in the celebration and we played "Whoppers" or "Two Truths and a Lie" with everyone around the table.

We had to go into Calgary the next day to return some sound equipment and Donovan fell in love with kid sized guitar and persuaded us that he wanted to learn to play it. We, of course, weren't sure about that investment, but he said he wanted to put his birthday money toward it, so we took him seriously. Not sure if he'll keep with it, but he did practice a bit with the dvd we got. So we rented it for now. We'll see a month from now.

Donovan is still busy with projects: a Pokemon movie/slide show on imovie, a whole world of "Exemon" characters (like Pokemon, only Donovan Snider originals), and now original playing cards. I think Donovan could stay inside all day and play on the computer or draw if he had his druthers.

I get that, sorta. Thank God for Weston who hears the call of the wild and gets us out in the fresh air more than we would without him.

So, here's to my creative visual artist son and to the balance we have as a whole family.

Everything else is replaceable...

2010-07-24T10:00:00.001-07:00

My son Weston has said some funny things.

He's so perceptive and strangely wise for his tender six years.

I'm told that while on vacation with cousin Heidi he said, "Heidi, I think I'm winning [at this card game]" to which Heidi responded, "no, actually Weston, you're losing." Then Weston said, "Don't take a man's pride from him, Heidi; he needs it." --Ha! Can you believe it?

When we returned to Rosebud from Oregon, our good friends the Halterman's had moved to St. Albert. Weston and Donovan had gotten into a good habit of inviting the Halterman boys over, and now their playmates were gone.

Weston went alone to the dirt piles and returned about 25 minutes later. After a swift cup of juice I heard a sigh from the kitchen table and sat down to gaze at my ruddy faced son. "Mom... It's like everything's changing. The Halterman's are gone, the dirt piles are different, [someone had come to remove one of the piles], and it just feels like... I know this sounds strange, but it feels like someone else is going to have to move," he said, and took another thoughtful drink. I stared at my son. He sounded so profound, so prophetic. He was trying to make his peace with change and resettle into who he is at home after being in another place. I, too, found myself struggling to place where I was when I woke up the next several mornings after Oregon. At Eagle Crest I slept in three different beds and back at mom and dad's I was in a fourth. Waking up in Rosebud was strange too because Dave and I have switched sides of the bed, and now the window is in a new place for early morning reference. Wierd.

It's been easy for the boys and I to slip into summer time schedule with late nights and lazy mornings, even some lazy afternoons. This doesn't feel right to my soul because of all the beautiful weather and light; it seems like we should be outside more. But it feels right to my body and will because we just sort of putter about the house -getting reacquainted and don't get out much. There's been a renewed desire to sort and clean and organize, but because the job is endless the spurts of determination are short and end up in more clutter until they are finished. This has especially been hard on Dave. Now that the Passion Play is over he has returned from the land of freedom and independence to the den of lion cubs and clutter. I too have been so hungry to work on my creative projects that we're almost competing for time to be alone on the computer. Right now, for instance, I can hear the energy from my boys escalating beyond Daddy's calm pleas and I will have to sign off soon.

I was going to share more Weston quotes and round them out with some tie-in when I got to the end.

I just toss out a few more and get off.

Weston the teenager: "Oh please, mom, don't be so enthusiastic."

"I bet now is the time Dan is writing Gallavants, now he is in his pride."

Responding to me about bringing something to his plate instead of putting it in his grimy outstretched hand: "the hand, Mom; the hand."

With Weston at the dirt piles the next day after he found two bones [his collection is now at six on our kitchen window sill (unsanitary as that may be.)] Mom: "Weston, your turning into a veritable archeologist!" Weston: "Mom, don't you mean paleontologist?" [Smarty Pants.]

The other day we had a Tornado Watch (of all things) and had to go to our neighbors basement to sit it out. Poor Weston is deathly afraid of tornados and after I had said, "Gather Brown Bear, a hoodie, and put on your shoes," the next thing I saw was poor Weston coming out of his bedroom, his arms LOADED with clothes and toys and his eyes full of dread and sadness. "I can't carry everything in time; I don't think I can make it!" "Oh Weston," I said, "don't take anything except what I said. You are the important thing; everything else is replaceable."

Sigh.

Well that really puts my anxiety in perspective right now.

I think I tend to be like Weston and grab onto all I can for fear of losing it.

If I'm not careful, I'll miss the whole point -- what is right in front of me.

Like my kids who keep me from my ambition and creativity.

And my husband who can't live with the clutter.

Beloved Heidi

2010-07-16T22:57:00.000-07:00

Heidi Shepard is our beautiful and beloved niece and cousin. She has just been diagnosed with cancer and must begin therapy at the the age of 14 for a tumour on her hip.

Our hearts go out to Heidi and her family: my sister Janice, her husband Randy, and Heidi's siblings Julianne and Daniel. I'm so grateful for the wonderful time we had with Heidi at Eagle Crest and at Mom and Dad's in Oregon a couple weeks ago. I got to see a strong and energetic young woman dive for coins at the bottom of the pool, ride a double quad bicycle with her grandma, and search out a nest of cedar waxwings in a nearby juniper tree.

Heidi is very special to all of us, but she is especially dear to my boys Donovan and Weston. She gives generous, playful and kind attention to them and they can never get enough of her. When they eat together, Heidi ALWAYS has to sit in the middle, equally between the two of them, or there is a riot.

Heidi is a brave soul and I'm sure she will weather this storm with patience and determination because of God's grace.

Please remember Heidi and pray for her and her family with us.

Donovan's birthday

2010-07-11T17:30:00.001-07:00

Donovan's Magic Birthday: 9 on the 9th, was actually drawn out from the 7th through the 12th.

When we were still in Oregon, Grandma made a special strawberries and waffle breakfast in the dining room. Then we went for bumper boats in Drum to get good and soaked before sitting in the warm sun at opening night for the Passion Play. Donovan got to have sushi for supper and his birthday cake ended up being a chocolate donut with sprinkles!

Dave did a good job in the show and we stayed up late -- seems to be the trend. (even the boys)

On Sunday we got an official ice cream birthday cake from Dairy Queen and invited his Rosebud friends (Halterman boys were missed) and a few Passion Play friends. We played "Whoppers" where you tell two truths and a lie and everyone tries to guess which is the whopper.

Our house has been consistently cluttery and I don't do too much to change it. I came back with such an appetite for voice over work after all that vacation, I was on the computer and garage band every chance I could sense a quiet house!

We got news that Weston got another job: a radio commercial for the San Diego Natural History Museum. Yeah! Weston has the quintessential "cute kid" voice, without even trying, so we're trying to encourage him to make hay while the sun shines by responding to more invitations to audition, but he'd rather just play.

He and Donovan have been re-aclimating (as have I). Actually I've been more hibernating than anything. I haven't ventured out much, but kept my nose to the computer and planning house projects.

I don't know why I have taken so long to catch up on my blog, though. Even though I loaded up the pictures for these last four entries, I actually did not write them until late, late, Friday night July 16. --Not sure why I avoided all that. Maybe I thought processing so many days and experiences would be too exhausting. I'm glad to do it now though, even if it is just a smattering of details and impressions.

What I haven't written about yet is new news from my niece Heidi.

I think I will do that another day, when I'm ready. Right now my heart and mind are too full to get the words right.

Flashback to Oregon #3: the final days

2010-07-11T17:30:00.000-07:00

More and more vacation happened in our final days in Eugene, including a couple visits and swims at Dave and Carol's heated pool and matinee of Toy Story 3 -- I loved it! I laughed so much and the theatre was nearly empty at 11:50am, so sometimes I was the ONLY one laughing, but that's never really stopped me before. But the surprising things was -- I cried. Twice! Those toys and their loyalty and determination in the face of certain death really got to me. It was a real treat.

We got to see Drew the last night we were there and he must have swam for a good hour or so with the boys in the pool. Weston spent the whole vacation without using a life jacket. His dog paddling gets him in and out of the deep end pretty good now.

I got to see Alison briefly and take the boys shopping at Target (which they love) and I couldn't resist a few colorful knick knacks myself, even if they are made in China. Cheap US prices are hard to pass up for this small town girl.

On the final day, Mom and Dad drove us up to Portland for our trip home. It was good to know we'd see Daddy back home, otherwise, I'm not sure we would have left.

This whole vacation really came out of the blue as we were intending to do a big drive in August, but I'm grateful for it, and I know the boys loved it.

Flashback to Oregon, part two: the 4th of July!

2010-07-11T13:18:00.000-07:00

The fourth of July is a big deal in the Meltebeke family: Mom's birthday, Dave and Carol's anniversary, and of course, Independence Day. This year the boys and I got to be in the States on the fourth and got to help mom celebrate her 70th! The boys were infused with American patriotism from church in the morning until the dazzling fireworks at night. It was exciting to see them experience all this excitement in one day. We had a wonderful picnic lunch with family out on the gazebo where Dave and I got married almost 17 years ago! I wish he could have been there. It was so, so beautiful. Mom's roses were blooming and the canal was so inviting, and the weather almost warm for even Carol. She and my brother Dave celebrated their 23rd anniversary. Drew was the only other one missing as he was in California. Daniel and Julianne have been working at Camp Harlow this summer. It really brought back a lot memories hearing them talk about it.

After the picnic, we played volleyball and badminton, then we took off for a park across town by the Study Center (now Gutenberg College) where my nephew Adam played his saxaphon in the Eugene Symphonic Band. He did great. Again, more patriotic songs, beautifully arranged; many of the same ones we had heard in church.

Poor Donovan was a bit under the weather with a cold, but it didn't stifle his insatiable need to watch "Amercia's Funniest Home Videos". He and Weston laugh and laugh, and Grandpa even saves some on his TV, so there's a stockpile. It took some big BOOMS to finally get the whippersnappers away from the TV and out to the deck to watch the fireworks show over the Autzen parking lot. Oh, those booms thundered in our chests and we snuggled under the blanket. Poor boys, they were so torn because they so wanted to go get the video camera to capture all this magic for Daddy. They couldn't stand to think that he was missing something so amazing. I tried to assure them that it was alright. That Daddy had seen something similar before, and would want them to just sit and enjoy it. Those boys slept well that night.

I was really proud of mom for arriving at 70 so capable, healthy, and beautiful. She actually did a lot of the food prep for the picnic, which I wish wasn't the case, but she said she liked being productive. And I know she enjoyed having everyone around. I think it was wise that it was just us rather than trying to find meaningful connection with Mom amidst the masses out at Harlow for the First B. picnic. I would have been too distracted and worried about the boys...

It was a perfect day for storing up memories of Oregon in its splendour.

Flashback to Oregon part one: Eagle Crest!

2010-07-10T22:42:00.000-07:00

Our first week in Oregon, we were scooped up by Grandma and Grandpa and taken to the Portland Zoo. It was a lovely day, and despite a bit of tooth pain for Donovan, no one was out of sorts. We got to ride the train through lovely tall trees and hillsides, and for these three Albertans, those forty shades of green were a sight to behold. I breathed deep, tasting the moisture in the air, and then we got off at the rose gardens and all were in bloom. I think the lavender roses spell the sweetest and the spiciest. Soooo fragrant.

Then after checking out several wild animals and taking in a well packed grandma picnic and playground, we ambled back to the motor home and started out towards Mt. Hood and on down toward Eagle Crest.

I don't know if I have ever travelled that highway that winds past Mt. Hood, but it was stunning: so white against such a blue sky. It was like you could reach out and touch it. As we drove away we encountered desert-like rocks and sage -- much like the prairies in Alberta. There were some super sudden deep gorges, and interesting formations.

Finally we reached Eagle Crest, with a view of the Descutes River behind. Gorgeous. The best part for the boys, ( other than all the great food and their own twin beds) was the pool and cousin Heidi.

All the Shepards were there the first couple days, but Heidi got to stay all week long, and the boys couldn't have been happier. I think they swam about 14 times in 7 seven days. We also enjoyed walks, biking, horseshoes, and eating out on the deck. Weston completed one of his voice over jobs with Grandpa's equipment, and the boys even learned how to play pinocle! Well, they know the basics, at least.

We got to do some shopping in nearby Sisters, but mostly we stayed in Eagle Crest and took walks and ate, and ate some more.

It was beautiful weather and the juniper trees were so striking against the blue sky and rich green lawns of the golf course.

I enjoyed the pool a lot too. And liked not having to ever style my hair or wear makeup.

Mom's siblings came and we played lots of cards and shared meal times. They had a surprise cake in honor of her 70th.

Oh yeah, and we did LOTS of puzzles. Well... we worked on a few puzzles... A LOT. That kinda made it seem like Christmas.

Sometimes the noise may be a blessing!

2010-06-12T20:45:00.001-07:00

This day is known as orange juice day in the cleanse.

I still want solids instead.

Today I discovered that yes, it is possible to make a batch of cookies and not eat the dough. Tough, but possible.

David was gone for 13 hours today. That's a long time when one is wanting to work on one's play and do voice overs.

But, the boys had a blast.

They biked, they played, they had a huge mud fight with Xavier, we climbed Hamm Hill where they peed at the top, they ate watermelon and cookies, I patched three of Weston's pants...

It totally felt like summer.

Our lawn mower quit working and our lawn is now a jungle. I heard a mower start up a bit ago and I thought, "Man, I really have to get my voice over recordings in quick, there are so many people mowing lawns!" But then, it got really LOUD, like right outside my window loud, and I looked, and there was my neighbor Vince, mowing OUR yard! How sweet. All this time I was resenting the noise, he was doing me a favor! Dave will be so pleased when he comes home. It's 10pm and the sun is still setting. It's glorious.

This day was so full of summer for the boys.

And I can't wait to eat.

Tomorrow is a church picnic, and I am allowed soup and then salad. Yippee!

Then I'm back to normal eating hopefully by Monday or Tuesday.

So... my play.... will have to wait.

Perhaps that is a blessing somehow, too.

Living on fumes

2010-06-10T17:23:00.000-07:00

I have such an appreciation for savory foods.

Any food.

Any food other than lemons and maple syrup.

I am now, for the first time in my 10 day cleanse, seriously considering breaking it on day 9.

I am longing for seasoned chicken noodle soup with fried bratwurst, like I made for the rest of my family. Ahhhh.

I have lost my gut, in a good way.

I do tend to have more energy.

I am grateful to have gotten more work done, and think and clarify, and come to appreciate things like eating much more than I used to.

But now I want solids.

Ugh.

My boys are cranky and I want to be comforted and filled by food.

Here's what I long for:

Salmon with rice

Swiss cheese on a cracker

goat cheese salad with craisens and balsamic

Any kind of lettuce

A banana

Milk

apples

Naan bread

olives

tomatoes

potatoes

waffles

And now,

What I'm grateful for:

1. Another voice job (likely). We'll discuss terms tomorrow morning.

2. A green, green, valley

3. Bunnies

4. Davey bought primer to coat our kitchen walls. (that means new paint will follow!)

5. Dave got home from rehearsal early

6. So much sunlight, that 10pm feels like 7pm

7. Birds: meadowlarks and redwing blackbirds that sing, sing, sing

8. Weston got his yellow belt in karate last night!

9. I coached an interesting scout today who loves Shakespeare, writes music, is interesting, and is a male. (good for the student ratio in Rosebud)

10. I did some good mental preparation for my play reading on Tuesday.

And... I'm still hungry.

I wonder what is best?

I'll start with mint tea and then listen to my body, REALLY close.

I know one thing I'm learning is HOW OFTEN I turn to food. I am not used to living with hunger, like so many people in the world. I satiate myself all day long when I'm home. And these days I'm almost always home.

Hunger reminds me of what I most want. What I need. And makes me grateful for all I have.

How did Jesus go 40 days? Why did the Spirit drive him to the desert? And sure, his testing happened at the very end.

The final testing before breaking the fast.

--What was being clarified for him? His calling? His identity? What he most wanted and needed?

Woman does not live on bread alone, but bread with butter, peanutbutter, jam, cheese, and mustard.

Hummm

Woman does not live on bread alone, but with a husband and children and a village full of souls.

Humm.

Woman does not live on bread alone, but on God's promises. For provision. For forgiveness. For an eternal inheritance with a heart that knows right and does right. I want that. Now I know.

I have a hunger for my soul that is stronger than my body.

And I will be filled.

After testing.

Right now I'm living on the fumes -- little whiffs of the real essence of things without really being satisfied. But my senses are sharp.

My own two Scents

2010-06-07T16:22:00.000-07:00

Donovan has been a good helper lately. He can now officially make chicken noodle soup for he and his brother.
--Yesterday was a big day.

We started with a waffle picnic on the floor so as not to disturb the PayDay game on the table.

Then both Donovan and Weston participated in the church service with their Sunday School classes. They carried the ark of the covenant 7 times around and shouted, blowing trumpets with Joshua. Donovan made a very creative trumpet and Weston was so dedicated carrying the ark that he continued on for seven laps, even after he lost a shoe on round 2! Ha.

Later Weston shared a bit of what he loved about Sunday School this past year. (Daddy is his teacher.) He said his favorite thing was a bean craft where he got to make a cup of overflowing love. Dave was gone most of the day at Passion Play rehearsal, so the boys and I biked with friends and practiced our "Halterman Song" with Marie.

....My sense of smell is so strong now that I'm on the cleanse.

I can smell what people have been eating before they even open their mouth.

I can smell chopped celery in the kitchen from the hallway.

Both Dave and Weston have garlic reeking out their pores right now. --I still love them; but they stink.

Donovan ate it too, but somehow his body smells different.

The air down between the ponds past the church is so think with lilacs it almost makes me dizzy.

Burnt crumbs in the bottom of the toaster oven reveal their cheddar origins when I make toast.

Wow.

I never knew how keenly I could sense food.

Going without has sure clarified a lot.

I have thoughts to turn to food to satisfy my uncomfortableness about 30-40 times a day.

These last six, I have only had my organic lemonade cleanse and tea.

Oh, how I appreciate food now.

Soon I will be singing with the cast from Oliver."Food, glorious food!..."

Right now I'm enjoying planning my menu when I return to solids. Vegetables never seemed so inviting before!

Ten things I'm grateful for:

1. Dave got off rehearsal early and we may just have a chance to watch an installment of Return of the King special features together.

2. I re-discovered my silky turquiose tank top I forgot I had because it was hanging up in my closet!

3. The perfectly warm weather, rain or shine; it's mild and I love it.

4. Weston has fallen in love with the board game Pay Day and hasn't watched a movie in 2 days.

5. I added a new scene to my play today.

6. Because our tulips live on the north side of our house, they're alive and thriving in now as the only ones in town as all the other southern exposure ones have faded.

7. I'm so proud of Donovan for creating a farewell poem for the Halterman's last night and reading it aloud at their party.

8. I read "The Skin of Our Teeth" and liked it much more than when I read it 12 years ago.

9. My mom called me today and there's possible summer fun brewing.

10. I have my cast for my play reading on the 15th!

Thanks God!

I'm grateful for my sense of smell, even though I don't get to taste along with it.

I'm grateful for all my senses. I have them all. I am blessed.

Auditions tomorrow....

Thankfulness as I begin to cleanse...

2010-06-02T07:35:00.001-07:00

We had the best family barbecue the other night over the campfire!

Weston had been longing to do it for days, but we'd had so much rain, it just wasn't practical. So, when Daddy came home from rehearsal we started up a fire and had a late supper of roasted hot dogs and wursts, but Weston really wanted a burger. So... we took our frozen sirloin patties, wrapped them in foil twice and buried them in the coals. -They were perfect! Who needs to buy a BBQ when you can build a fire? Of course, then we had to have smores. Old spokes from our broken umbrella worked great as roasting sticks.

We loved it.

I've talked before about my love of water, well, I believe fire does something similar: ions that recharge your body and remind you of basic needs and pleasures.

The funny picture with the mic stand and "clouds" is my little sound booth. I pretend it's a space capsule and it makes it more secretive and fun when I step in to record. We're still exploring new sound buffing measures. Thus, the batten clouds .... we'll probably add more of those soon.

Weston made a cool veggie plate design with peas and carrots. My boys will not eat cooked vegetables, so we always go raw around here.

I love this picture of Donovan. All I did was crop it, the light from the window and his smile did the rest.

...Today the sky is so blue behind the shiny green leaves.

Today I start my cleansing.

I'm going to focus on ten things every day and be as positive as I can.

Let me remember a few things I love...

I love it when my hair is slipper clean with no tangles and has a bounce all it's own.

I love it when the tulips are gold, red, and gold with orangey stripes all together in a cluster.

I love it when tiny birds find Weston's red bird house and make it their home.

I love Westons' excitement every time he sees them.

I love it when David shakes his foot when leaving the room as a final wag of farewell.

I love my red satin sheets and pillowcase.

I love seeing the sunlight sparkle off the flowing river when you stand on the bridge.--I can not resist spitting to see how long it takes to fall.

I love turquoise, teal, blue green, aqua, midnight blue, and almost any combination of blue and green.

My favorite crayon is cerulean.

I love it when we all get laughing around the table.

And...

I love hearing the birds sing.

In Rosebud, we don't get singing birds from about November to April, so singing birds are very audible after their absence.

Now, if I can stay disciplined to keep cleaning inside and out... more on that later.

My first born

2010-05-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

This, is one of my quirky sons.

This is Donovan.

I usually don't have as many pictures of Donovan because he goes to school full time, as opposed to Weston who goes only twice a week.

So here's a check in with Donovan.

Donovan did very well last week performing his kata in karate and I believe he will receive his yellow belt on Wednesday.

Donovan is still an avid drawer and storyteller.

He has a new story about a purple dragon he's composing on our old computer. (Not sure how he's taught himself to type.)

Donovan still does not like bread, but loves pancakes, waffles, cinnamon buns, hot dogs with buns, and communion bread.

Donovan eats noodles with balsamic vinegar and olive oil about 4 times a week.

Donovan loves Pokemon.

He can tell you all sorts of statistics and characteristics of each one, and he's even created a number of his own.

Donovan loves to swim.

Donovan loves french fries (who doesn't). Donovan loves grapefruit soda. Donovan sleeps with a soft pink blanket he's had since he was a baby and likes the fan on.

Donovan is a very special person, who continues to surprise me with his wit and vulnerability.

Donovan is at the top of his class. I don't really have to say that, but that's what his teacher told me.

Donovan will be nine soon and I keep thinking he's already nine, for some reason.

Maybe because he seems so grown up already.

That's why I love these photos.

Here I see the goofball kid side of Donovan.

He is looking and acting exactly his age.

I love it.