What a Journey!

What a journey parenting is! I vaguely remember the years before we had children, but there were only about three of them, which is in the neighborhood of 10% of the time we have been married. The 90% is what really stands out, with its many different seasons.

Early years of birthing babies and breast feeding and so many diapers. Being overwhelmed by how much love my heart could hold and crying because the babies were so amazing and new and I was so clueless and exhausted.

Toddler years of learning to walk and run and climb on the dining table. Picky eaters and potty training and gaining siblings and losing some mommy time. Barbie driving a Tonka bulldozer in her frilly pink nightie, and Superman pjs (complete with cape.) Lots of snuggles and affection and crying because my toddlers were balls of pure energy and sweetnes, and because I was still clueless and exhausted and in need of adult interaction.

Elementary years trying to figure out if we should homeschool, if our children would have friends, would learn, would be happy, would be safe. Legos, Hot Wheels, Veggie Tales, and Beauty and the Beast. Trying to make sure we showed them Jesus, and the beauty of the world and science and art and good food and creating your own place in the world. Still crying and clueless, but exhaustion being replaced with pride in their independence (and fear of their independence.)

Middle school where hormones start kicking in, but bathing is not yet a voluntary activity. When they pull away and start exploring their own ideas and desires. No longer the primary confidant and learning to be a part, but apart as a parent.  The drama, and grades and orchestra performances and school dances (The Macarana was big...) The cool clothes, skateboards, Hello Kitty earmuffs. Still clueless and crying.

High School watching them start to embrace their gifts, decide who they want to become, start looking at life beyond, and perhaps crossing some lines that perhaps should not have been crossed. Driving and dating and laughing a lot. Rainbow hair, or exceptionally long hair. Violins, upright bass and guitars. Some great choices in lifelong friends, and some who were more cautionary tales. Crying with and over them as they struggled to exit the cocoon.

And now, Katie is about to celebrate her 27th birthday, and 5th anniversary with Luke (whom we adore.) Living in (stupid) Maryland, in a lovely home with my two grand kitties. Working on whatever comes next (in addition to being a crochet machine.)

Mike is almost 23 and living in (stupid) Washington state, with Laura who is the best bonus daughter anyone could dream of, and who fits into our silly family perfectly. Also in a lovely home, but with two grand puppies. And also working on whatever comes next.

Nicholas is 20 and still home. I honestly hope he never moves out, since the others are so far away. He isn't sure what he wants to do next, but we have faith it will come to him soon. And in the meantime, he is a great cook and all the animals insist on being as close to him as possible.

So now I cry because I miss them so much, and love them dearly. I am still clueless but have learned that one of the big secrets of parenting is to simply love them hard. Whatever they do, where ever they go, whatever they believe or don't believe. And that is an easy thing to do. And also the hardest thing I've ever done.

A Parable: No Cookie Left Behind

Once upon a time two bakers decided to enter a chocolate chip cookie baking contest.

The first baker had the finest ingredients delivered to the doorstep of her well equipped kitchen, including freshly churned butter, the softest flour, farm fresh eggs, pure vanilla extract, and rich chocolate chips. She carefully followed the contest recipe and mixed together her ingredients in her KitchenAid stand mixer, then scooped out uniform bits and lined them neatly on cookie sheets and baked them in the oven. She watched carefully to make sure they were perfectly golden  brown and not too crisp or too doughy, but just right. She made two dozen yummy cookies and took them to be judged.

The second baker had to go out and try to find ingredients, but all that was available in her neighborhood was margarine, hard stale flour, lumpy sugar, imitation vanilla and a tiny bag of store brand chocolate chips. She pulled out the same recipe (it was required by the contest that they use the same one), a bowl and a hand mixer and got to work. Every few minutes someone would switch out a random ingredient for something unlabeled, the power kept going out on the mixer, and someone stood in the kitchen occasionally yelling at her and throwing wooden spoons around. She managed to make a passable version of the recipe and started to scoop out the dough, but the person in the kitchen began eating bits and pieces of the dough she put on the pan and scattering the bits of dough about. She finally popped the pans in the oven, but the thermostat on her oven would rapidly shoot the temperature up and then drop it down so the heat was very inconsistent. She tried to keep an eye on the cookies, but also had to complete an extra baking class and 14 pages of paperwork because of her zip code. Since the dough was all different sizes some of the cookies got overdone and some were underdone when she finally took the pans out. She turned out 2 yummy cookies and about 20 more that didn't turn out so great, and took them to be judged.

The contest judges gave the first baker a perfect score and exclaimed that she must be the best baker in the land and all bakers should get such fine results.

They told the other baker that she just didn't measure up, her cookies were a failure, she obviously had put no real effort into making her cookie, and she should consider having a commercial enterprise take over her future baking for the good of cookies everywhere.

The first baker left feeling greatly accomplished, not realizing that the ingredients provided and her circumstances played an equal part in her success.

The second baker ignored the advice of the judges and continued pouring herself into making the best cookies she could, realizing that judges were idiots.

The judges ran for public office and won, and continued to expect uniform results from all the bakers.

THE END

A Fat Chick Sucks It Up and Returns to the Gym

After taking a day to recuperate from my traumatic first trip to the gym I figured it couldn't get any worse so I might as well go back.

I had prepared myself for the day by texting with Katie (who has actually gone to a gym and worked out before) and more Googling, whereby I discovered that on my first visit I had chosen the rather difficult recumbent bike and used one of the more strenuous settings. Whoops.

This time around there were still a bunch of focused men working out, but there was also a staff member handy. I stopped by and told him I was about to try the treadmill for the first time and asked what the chances were of me flinging myself into a wall. He assured me it was extremely unlikely and told me which buttons to push and what to expect from the machine. I promised him that if I did get flung I would do my best to land near the 911 phone.

So with the shot of courage from the humorous banter, I walked right past all the muscle men and climbed on the treadmill tucked at the end of the row in the corner. I ignored the instructions the kind man had given me and pushed lots of other buttons instead, using my previously mentioned research. Then I waited for the gasping and burning and pain to being.

The first thing I noticed was that walking on a treadmill is weird. It was going pretty darn slow and felt really awkward. I was trying to keep my hands on the sensors at the front of the machine but after a couple of minutes I found myself tensed, leaning forward, taking tiny little steps and holding the sensors in a death grip. I felt like a 90 year old woman using a walker.

I started becoming more mindful of what all my body parts were doing, adjusted the speed and slowly found myself able to relax and walk upright. Trying to wipe the sweat out of my eyes was a little tricky, but I did manage to figure out how to work the television. I reached my target heart rate, stayed on the machine and made it for twenty minutes and nineteen seconds with out having to stop once. Hurray for treadmills!

A Fat Chick Enters the Workout Zone for the First Time in a Very, Very,Very, Very, Very Long Time

Imagine, if you will, a place filled with machines of torture and confusion, populated by muscular zombies who are focused on music pumped directly into their brains and flashing images on screens before their eyes.

Today began my journey to such a place.

After finally being discontent enough with the state of my health to do something about it, I decided to join a gym last week on the premise that if I am paying to work out I am more likely to actually stick to the program.

I joined last Tuesday and like any person with OCD tendencies, planned my first workout for the first Monday following. That gave me almost a week to do research about the gym, Google "beginner workouts" and decide what to wear. (Nothing too cute that looks like a newbie. Nothing new because I will be losing so much weight it would be a waste of money, but nothing too frumpy.)

The big day finally arrived and as luck would have it I had a meeting this afternoon which was on my side of town and had me home earlier than normal. I came home, put on my carefully selected outfit, and after only minimal whining went off to the gym. I remembered to park further away in order to get a little extra workout and marched right up to the door and flung it open...  Except it was locked and didn't budge. Not to be deterred, I gave the other door an authoritative jiggle, but to no avail. Then I remembered my fancy little key fob which I swiped and then swung open the gates to Hades.

As soon as I walked in I felt a bit of panic. I didn't see any staff members at the front and there were only a few people working out, all men and all seemingly very focused on their workout. So I put my things in an available cubby then went to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. Once that avoidance technique was exhausted (and I resisted the urge to make fart noises with the power drier since I wasn't sure if it could be heard out in the gym area) I went back out and read the bulletin board very thoroughly. After looking over a list of birthdays and lots of ads for healthy things, I was still having a lack of courage and inspiration so I went back to cubby, got my phone and texted David and Katie for moral support, all the while stealing glances at the machines and trying to see if anyone looked like a good candidate to ask for help.

I had thought I'd want to try the elliptical machines, but after watching the people on them I wasn't sure I could even mount one successfully. The treadmill was my next choice, but there was a guy right in the middle and he was very focused on running at a high rate of speed. I really didn't want to distract him with all my random button pushing, plus the possibility of a messy mount or dismount was still pretty high. Finally I spotted a bike. Hard to fall off of, it was by itself, the control panel didn't look too confusing, and it was near the 911 phone. Perfect! I put my phone back in the cubby, squared my shoulders and made my way to the bicycle.

The mount wasn't pretty but I got on and put my left foot in the strap, then tried to put my right foot in the other strap, but kept managing to move my left foot so my right foot couldn't quite catch up. Once I finally got both feet settled it was time to press buttons. The green "Quick Start" button would seem to be the way to go, but nothing happened when I pushed it. Then I saw the note on the control panel that directs the user to pedal to use the control panel. I would have thought the foot chasing incident would have been sufficient, but apparently not. So pedal, then push the button, and then lights started blinking!

The friendly screen asked me how long I wanted to pedal. Now in all my research I kept reading that a beginner should start with 20 minutes of cardio. Since I am a bit of an overachiever I told the machine I wanted to go 24 minutes for good measure. Then Mr. Machine asked how old I was, and I punched in 47. Then it told me my target heart rate was 140 and to get to work. I was a little concerned that the Mr. Machine didn't ask me how much I weighed or how out of shape I was, but figured I could just go faster or slower if I needed to adjust how hard I was working. I wasn't counting on a smarty pants machine that adjusted tension automatically, so if I slowed down the tension went up.

After a good, long five minutes of huffing and puffing I needed a break, as well as about every 2-3 minutes after that. (How lovely that the machine keeps track of your resting time and doesn't run the timer during the breaks!) Since I couldn't figure out how to operate the fancy TV I passed my time fantasizing about reaching for that beautiful red 911 phone that was mounted on the wall in front of me like it was the brass ring on a carousel.

I threw in the towel at 15 minutes but was proud of the small beginning, however the pride was short lived when I dismounted and almost fell down because my legs were so tired. I managed to stagger over to the disinfecting wipes and back to the machine to wipe it down. Then I picked up my cubby items and dragged myself to my car, which seemed ever so far away.

Working out sucks, so far.

The Restoration of Geppetto von Swimington

"I think his tail fell off!" 

I knew my betta fish, Geppetto von Swimington, hadn't been looking so hot but until one of the teachers at my school made this pronouncement I had not realized the extent of his decline -- a case of seeing him every day and not noticing the slow changes. I had just figured he was slowing down and it wasn't long before I would be shopping for a new fish, not an uncommon occurrence. 

When I examined him I realized his beautiful tail with the green dot was now a small, dotless nub, and his side fins were similarly affected. He wasn't able to swim well in this condition and spent a great deal of time flailing on the bottom of his small tank on my desk trying to make it to the surface to get some air. "Is your fish dead?" replaced "I need" as the most common greeting in my office. After doing some research it appeared that Geppetto had a case of fin rot, which is as horrid as it sounds. I considered putting him out of his misery with a burial at sea, but just couldn't bring myself to do it. Plus when I talked to him, he would make a valiant effort to swim, as if to let me know he did not approve of any DNR plans. 

So that evening I went to the pet store and stocked up on a variety of recommended products and started a regime of water changes with a cocktail of aquarium salt and an assortment of pricey magical fish potions. Over the next week or so he didn't seem to be getting better, but wasn't getting worse. He still seemed mostly dead but I kept plugging away. Then on the way home from work one day I was praying about him (yes, I pray about even the smallest thing) and then asked God why I should go to so much time, trouble and expense for a five dollar fish and His response blew me away. 

He said, "It's not about price. It's about value." 

I am happy to say that Mr. Swimmington has returned to good health, and his fins have grown back in all their glory. But more importantly I was reminded that God is infinitely concerned about every detail.

Have you Hugged Your Secretary Today?

Well, in some cases that would be a bad idea. (For example, I am personally not big on hugs and tend to stiffen up kind of like a cat when encountered with an unexpected one.) However, hopefully you know your secretary (aka Administrative Assistant) well enough to know how to bless him or her for Administrative Assistant's Week.

Now, there is a chance that you don't really know exactly what this person does all day. It usually varies widely by industry, location, personality and a great number of other factors. There are a few traits that are common, though.

1. The ability to sincerely smile 92.4% of the time, despite what is thrown at them.
2. A lack of whininess (although occasional venting is bound to happen.)
3. A knowledge of policy, procedures and laws, and a strict adherence to them (even when they are profoundly stupid).
4. The energy and courage to work to change those profoundly stupid policies, procedures and laws.
5. The ability to multi-task (i.e. answer the doorbell, phone and walkie talkie while taking a child's temp, doing payroll, turning off the fire alarm and counting money and trying to figure out when to go to the bathroom or inhale lunch.)
6. The insight that it is more important to know how to fix mistakes and apologize quickly than be perfect and never lose one's temper.
7. A desire to serve others.
8. And most importantly, making 1-7 look easy (most of the time)even though it isn't.

So, with or without the hug, be sure to say "Thank You" this week. On behalf of my fellow secretaries, you are very welcome.

On Coffee Mugs

I broke one of my favorite coffee mugs today, the one I got when we went to the Cincinnati Aquarium. It was perfectly weighted, a little bigger than average, had a easy-on-the-hand handle, and had cute little penguin drawings all over it. It had one small chip on the rim that I had super glued back into place, but it wasn't in a place where my lips would touch so it didn't effect the comfort level.

I have lots of average mugs I can use and I don't tend to keep any that are truly awful, such as the one that are really light, or too small or too big. Anything that makes you dribble when you drink or that has a really wide rim is out, too. If the color or design is a turn-off then the cup is out, but a design I love can push a borderline mug into more frequent use.

I despise drinking out of Styrofoam cups, and paper cups aren't much better. I usually grab a mug off of our open cabinet on my way to work, and I have three or four that I keep primarily for work. I keep my true favorites for the weekends when I can enjoy leisurely drinking coffee at home with David.

When I picked up my penguin mug today the thought crossed my mind, "What if I break it?" I told myself that it was just a mug and it would be fine. I didn't think anything else about it until I was rushing out the door of my office this afternoon and somehow managed to whack the mug on the edge of my desk. It flew into pieces, spraying coffee all over my desk and credenza, but the bottom of the cup landed upright on the floor with coffee still in it. High performance until the end.

I had one other coffee mug end its life in a semi-spectacular way. It was my "Well Behaved Women Rarely Make History" cup, and one day as I was leaving the house I tried to balance it on our back porch rail while I locked the back door. It tumbled off the rail and broke on the ground below. But the really bright part of that was soon after David build a little shelf onto the railing for me to set my cup down on. He even carved our initials in it. (Yes, he IS amazing.)

Goodbye, Cincinnati Penguin mug! You will be missed.

Unfinished projects

I think my list of unfinished projects has started to get overwhelming. I think I need to write them all down, purge what I can and get cracking on the rest...

We all MUST be heroes

There is one thing that I keep hearing during this crisis that I find frustrating. It is the same cry that rises up after every disaster in the world- "Where is the government? Where is the official help?"

The fact is that during the midst of a disaster there is no way for a governement or relief organization to know exactly what is happening or going to happen. There aren't enough resources or eyes to predict or even assess the event as it happens. Normally it is something that has never happened before so the best they can do is make educated guesses.

In the immediate aftermath there is much confusion and misinformation as the urgent needs are addressed and rescue efforts are organized. There is no communication in the hardest hit areas so sometimes it is not known where they are.

During the recovery period all that the governement and relief agencies can do is provide a framework to help and try to get a grasp of where the needs are. Any one of us who has organized a yard sale, fish fry, fund raiser or family reunion knows that even with weeks or months to organize it is still a huge job with huge obstacles. Now make it a matter of life and death that affects thousands or millions of people and try to make it happen instantly, with little or no warning.

There are still pockets of devestation that have not yet been found. Those residents have no water, no power, no home and no way to know where to go for shelter or apply for aid. It is up to those of us largely unaffected to connect with aid agencies to volunteer, but more importantly, don't wait to be deputized by an "official" agency. Go, do, serve. Be the bridge between the people in need and the agencies that can help them. Be the hands that take water and feet that wade through the filth to clean out a stranger's house.

As we go through this time of recovery it is up to each one of us to do most of the heavy lifting. We must take care of our own homes and the homes and businesses of those around us. We all must be heroes.

What a weekend!

We have managed to collect more than fifteen inches of rain in our gauge since yesterday. The rain collected about 1 1/2 inches high in our basement, and trickled down our chimney into the laundry room. The boys bailed the basement and I supported their efforts with lots of good cooking. We have been okay since the rain slowed down, but things are really rough in Nashville and all of Middle Tennessee tonight. Hundreds of homes underwater and the worst is yet to come as the rivers start to crest. Here are some pictures the boys took of the soccer fields near our house. Fortunately we are way up on a ridge and it is down in a bottom, but close none the less.

There are two sets of pictures taken several hours apart. You can click on the photos for a larger image.

Also, we are quite close to the Opryland Hotel and it has been evacuated and the water is in the parking lot of the hotel and Opry Mills Mall. It is all very surreal.

These steps at Lock Two Park go down to the Cumberland river about ten feet further down.
May 2, 2010 at about 11:00 am.


Heartland soccer fields
May 2, 2010 at about 10:30 am


Heartland soccer fields
May 2, 2010 at about 10:30 am


Heartland soccer fields
May 2, 2010 at about 10:30 am


Heartland soccer fields
May 2, 2010 at 5:30 pm



May 2, 2010 at 6:00 pm



May 2, 2010 at 6:20
The disappearing fire hydrant. Now you see it...


May 2, 2010 at 6:45
Now you don't.

Fire hydrant mostly gone, and the blue storage containers from the earlier pictures are just visible in the right corner.

Inspiration at Work

I had a horrendous morning and was looking for some inspiration. I asked someone for an encouraging word, but she didn't have any. Then I asked her why we keep showing up every day to do what we do. I thought I wanted to hear something about how "children are our future" or "it takes a village." Maybe a dash of "being where God sent us" and even a bit of "a mind is a terrible thing to waste." What I got was "to pay the bills." And you, today I think that was just what I needed to hear.

Easter Pictures

First Mowing of the Year

Nick's Room

Nicholas is getting a belated birthday gift with a freshly painted room. One wall is black, the opposite wall is neon green, then one of the other walls will be black with small green stripes and the last wall will be green and black checkerboarded. David and the boys have been working hard the last two days to get the base coats down, then we will start figuring out how to do the stripes...

Saint Patrick's Breastplate

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through the belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with his baptism,
Through the strength of his crucifixion with his burial,
Through the strength of his resurrection with his ascension,
Through the strength of his descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of Cherubim,
In obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In hope of resurrection to meet with reward,
In prayers of patriarchs,
In predictions of prophets,
In preaching of apostles,
In faith of confessors,
In innocence of holy virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of witches and smiths and wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.

Latest Nicholas News

Nick has conqured the EEG and MRI and now we just have to wait for all the results. Our Dr. moved our next appointment to April 29th so we will be waiting for a while.

Nick has not had any seizures since that first one and life has just about returned to as normal as it gets around here.

Please pray for good results, wisdom on the course of action, and our finances. David's work schedule was quite a bit lighter last year and has been very sparse so far this year. The combination of less income, more medical expenses and tax season has really put a squeeze on our finances.

I'll post an update on Nick when we have anything else to share.

Nicholas' Stinky Day

Last Wednesday, February 17th, David got a call from Nicholas' school that he had thrown up and needed to be picked up. A few minutes later they called back to say Nicholas seemed to be zoned out and was possibly having a seizure so they had called the paramedics. The short version is that we spent the afternoon at Summit Hospital and the evening at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital. The neurologist ruled out most of the big scary things and the standard protocol was to start Nick on an anti-seizure medication and then follow up as an outpatient.

Nicholas took a day or two to recuperate from the ordeal and has been going full steam since then with no more seziures. We had our first appointment with the neurologist this afternoon and Nick has an EEG scheduled next Tuesday and a MRI on 3/11 (or maybe the other way around.) The plan is to continute on the meds for now then figure out a long term course of action after the tests are completed.

There are a few possibilties as to what the test results may show.
1. Absolutely nothing to indicate why Nick had a seziure. This would be frustraing but obviously our favorite option.
2. Scar tissue or some type of genetic or developmental areas that would most likely explain the seziure.
3. Least likely, but still a possibility, a tumor.

Regardless of the findings the suggested course will include finding the most effective dose of meds and continuing on them for two years. If he remains seziure free for 2 years then they would try to wean him off and see if he remains seziure free. If not the meds would be restarted. If it were #3 there would likely be neurosurgery involved, as well.

Please continue to keep us in your prayers as the Lord leads, and here are a few specific requests as well:
*Peace for all of us because it is easy to be fearful sometimes
*No more seziures, ever
*Financial provision
*Wisdom for everyone on Nick's medical team.
*Wisdom as we make medical decisions
*For Nick to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, how much God loves him

Thanks to all of you who have supported us with your actions, words, time, finances, and prayers. It has been a blessing to remember that we are not walking through this alone. Much love to you all!

My Father's Stories

I have been working for several years to collect my father's stories. I have hours of tapes that I have transcribed and have started editing them for readability. I thought you might enjoy reading some of them here...

The first time I saw my official birth certificate it was a bit of a surprise to discover my name listed as Gerd Fredrich Franz Schmitz. My first name as far as I knew had always been Gert. Fortunately that was in an era when a misspelled name on a birth certificate could be overlooked. And it was only one letter.

I think the earliest memories I have are kind of sketchy, more like flashes. I can see myself in a little wicker basket on wheels. It has 4 legs on it and a kind of white finish, with rings around the rim. That was my basket to sleep in. We lived upstairs in an apartment of the house where we later lived downstairs. I was in the bassinette about a foot from the stairs and I remember that I looked down the stairs. Then my mother came and grabbed me because I was jerking my body in the basket and jerked it toward the stairs. If she didn’t pull me out I would have gone down the stairs in that basket. I probably would have gotten killed.

I remember once when I was about three years old, I walked off from our home, toward Trills, which was the next town. I just took off and a friend of ours recognized me when he passed me on the street. He took me by the hand and brought me back to my mother. She was already looking for me.

Another early memory of while we lived still upstairs and we had walls that were kind of slanting down because of the roof line. There was a window about two feet off the floor, but it dropped lower behind the floors I could actually sit on the edge of the floor with my feet down a little more on the window sill. During the German Carnival people would run around in the streets while wearing masks. I was sitting in the window watching them and some older boys saw me sitting up there and said, “We’re going to get you! We’re going to come and get you!” And I was afraid and said, “Mommy! Don’t let them come up here and get me!” I was scared to death they were going to come up and grab me, but they never did. That is engraved on my mind.

Then the next thing I remember is almost drowning in our septic tank. We had an outside septic tank but it was like quicksand. There was straw on top that they took from the chicken and rabbit bedding. There was also the liquid stuff and the bad stuff in there from people. One day mother had me all dressed up in a blue knitted outfit with a matching hat with a ball on top, like skiers wear. I picked that day to try and walk on top of the straw and I went through the straw and into the sewage so all you could see was my hat floating on top. We had a German shepherd by the name of Rolf and he barked and barked and barked. My mother came out to see what was wrong, because she knew I was outside. Rolf looked to that big concrete pit and kept barking. He went wild! Then my mother saw just my hat there sticking out of the straw, and she pulled me out. I remember my mother pulling me out and the dog barking. I must have swallowed some stuff while I was under there because told me much later on that I stank for days when I burped.

There was another blue outfit I remember. A blue Kossack outfit with black trim. She had me all dressed up, washed and combed with knee socks on and nice brown shoes polished and everything. We were supposed to go visit somebody, and she got me ready before her so I went outside. Mr. Rüffert, the one that owned the place (he was also a relative- his wife and my dad’s mother were first cousins) had a long bean stalk, about twelve feet long, that had a big cloth ball on the end, like a Q-tip. He used that to clean out the chimneys and he had laid it alongside the chicken coop. I saw it laying there and had to get my hand on that ball! I went in all that soot, and played with that. I was one sooty mess! I had a knack of getting into things like that, especially when I was all cleaned up. My mother saw me and had a fit. She had to change my clothes and wash my hair and get me all cleaned up again. I don’t know why I played with it. Because it was there I guess. I don’t know where we were supposed to go, but it must have been important because we all got dressed up.

Those are the earliest things I can recall. I also have very clear memories of the years before I went to school, when I was 4 and 5. My favorite playmate was also my uncle. He was the son of my mother’s father and his second wife, Maria. Maria was close to my mother’s age and Helmut was close to my age. At that time Maria worked at Stallenhouse. That was a big farm, really a huge farm, almost like a castle. They had the houses in a square with big doors where you could come in and be protected inside the square. That’s the way they built them way back in the 1700’s and1800’s. Stallenhaus had lots of land and cows and pigs and chickens. Thousands of chickens! My grandmother was in charge of the kitchen there and they had to cook a lot. They had eight or ten farm hands that came in for breakfast and lunch and dinner.

When Helmut got out of school, there was nobody at his house because his and mother were both working. I wasn’t in school yet, so he took me with him to the farm in the afternoons. I had nothing else to do and Helmut and I were together a lot, so he and I walked up the street about half a mile to the farm where she worked and we stayed there on the farm just fooling around until she got off. We had pretty much the run of the farm and we constantly got into trouble.

We loved to play in the barns where they had the straw. We would build passages in the straw and crawl around inside. We must have breathed in dust by the pounds! It was so dark in there. We played in there all the time and we called it buden bauen --- that’s an old run down place where people live.

Stallenhaus had all those chickens and a huge chicken coop where all the chickens laid most of their eggs. But the chickens were also allowed to run loose so they went all over the farm. We didn’t call it “free-range” back then but they definitely were. The chickens loved to go into the barn, and would get way up in the rafters. There were little boxes formed where the four by eights went horizontally and the rafters came down at an angle. It was a perfect nesting place for the chickens so some of them would lay eggs up there. Nobody could go get those eggs but us kids. The grownups wouldn’t climb up there. They didn’t even know about it until we found the. We would climb from rafter to rafter and to get all the eggs out and would throw them all down in the straw. They usually didn’t break when they hit the straw. We had 10, 15 eggs sometimes and had to make sure we didn’t throw them on top of each other. We’d have to make sure we spread them out. Then we climbed down and got a basket and took them to my grandmother. She paid us a penny for each egg we found, which was pretty good! Helmut and I each had a book. One was Helmut’s Egg’s and one was Gert’s Eggs. That’s how we kept up with our earnings.

How do you define church?

I was pondering this morning what exactly defines a church. I have been feeling a bit disconnected at our home church, although we have attended several years. I have been encouraging myself to get more involved and attend more activities but sometimes all that "more" just make me feel stretched so thin. I was trying to define what it is I feel like I am missing and really it boils down to relationships and shared lives with people who hold the same core values and beliefs that I do. Which led me to the question of how to define church. I spend 40+ hours a week with a small congregation of people who share one another's burdens, pray for one another, cry on each other's shoulders, encourage my faith, minister to the poor, pray for deliverance, and prophesy. We've even been known to break bread together and share what we have to meet one another's needs. We do all this as we fulfill with excellence our roles as teachers, administrators, and servers of all kinds. Now granted, we rarely pray together or study the word together and those are both things I require to keep my soul from shriveling up. So while I don't intend on giving up church membership because of a great workplace, maybe many of us should remember to appreciate and recognize the community of faith we are privleged to be a part of each and every day. What a blessed woman I am!

Lower standards

I know in a world where we are constantly trying to do things better you might be shocked to know that I've discovered the secret to happiness is sometimes lower standards. Realizing that it is okay to not vacuum the living room because we allowed Nicholas to create a Ninja room by stringing out an entire skein of macrame cord is not the end of the world. I can live with a messy house (but not a dirty house.) It is simply not possible to do everything on my to-do list every day, so instead of feeling chronically guilty I just quit making such a long list.

It was also a revelation to figure out that perfectionism had the ability to paralyze instead of spurn forward. Example thought pattern: "I need to change that light bulb, but while I have the step stool out I should clean the fixture and if I'm going to clean the fixture I should go ahead and dust up there, too. If I get the duster out I might as well dust the rest of the room, but if I dust then I will need to vacuum because dust will be all over the carpet. If I am going to vacuum I need to move all the furniture around and I better sprinkle some deodorizer on the dogs sleeping spot so it will not smell so much like dog"... You get the point.

I'm telling you, for some of us less is definitely more!