A Christmas Story - And No One Shoots Their Eye Out

I am reposting this for Christmas.  I wrote it five years ago and was reminded of the story by a friend.  I hope your Christmas is filled with the joy that comes from helping others, the ability to find and count your blessings (though they're sometimes buried among the pain and struggle of life), and the hope that came into this world through the sacrificial love of the One who breathed life into us all and calls us to Himself. Merry Christmas.





I don't think I can top the Bumpkiss' dogs or the fish-net leg lamp. I can identify with Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" when he has to suck on a bar of Lifeboy soap. I became a regular connoisseur of the latest "on-sale" bar soap when I was a kid. Lux, Lifeboy, Dial, Ivory. Apparently getting cleaned from the inside out was the way to approach child rearing. Maybe it was a chaser for the bleach I accidentally drank from a Ball canning jar several years earlier. My heart may have its stains but my intestines are clean as a whistle.

It was during this same period my Christmas story takes place. It wasn't humorous but it was definitely happy. I remembered it today when the kids and I were part of the follow-up team for handing out Christmas food and gifts for the company Jamie works for. We volunteered for the privilege because who doesn't want to be part of that kind of Christmas cheer? Of course, I groused about schedule logistics (note last blog) even though I truly, truly wanted to do it. I mean really, WHAT is my DEAL?!

We drove across town to the warehouse, picked up seven boxes of groceries and a few toys, and headed to the home of a single mother with lots of children. The neighborhood was down-trodden but several neighbors stood against the blight with cheery light displays and decorations.

The home sat on a quiet corner, surrounded by a chain link fence. A chewed rope hung limply from a metal pole advertising a dog no longer tethered there. I walked up and tapped lightly, feeling slightly awkward and apologetic. The door creaked open and out peeked little shining faces, obviously excited to see strangers bearing gifts. A teenage son arrived home just in time to help unload the car and serve as translator. His mother spoke only Spanish and I spoke only English. He stared at us through dark-lashed eyes that were guarded with a mixture of suspicion and embarrassment. He couldn't have been much older than my son and I wondered if he would have felt much the same in a similar situation. I sensed the boy's gratitude but also felt the sting that charity might bring to a young man. He quietly complied with my request to let his mother know I had been on the receiving end of a Christmas delivery when I was child. I suppose I wanted her to realize (and him to understand even more) that I knew how it felt on both sides and it was a blessing to give back. Her shy smile showed her appreciation, and discomfort as well. It truly is more blessed to give than to receive.

I wanted to share my own story with them but I couldn't invade their emotional space. He needed me to leave; she needed me to leave; and they couldn't have been more quietly gracious about it. I drove away remembering a Christmas that wouldn't have happened but for the intervention of friends and strangers.

I was ten and my sister and brother several years older. It had been a year of great upheaval. Well, come to think of it, I guess all of our years were years of great upheaval but this one came with even less money. My mother had just landed a good job but found out right before Christmas there would be no paycheck. It was a government job and the policy was to withhold the first check to be used for future severance pay.

The morning of Christmas Eve arrived but there was no sign of Christmas at our house. We had often gotten our tree on Christmas Eve because they were rock-bottom priced then. But on this day there was no discussion of a trip to the tree lot. The pantry was pretty bare and there hadn't been any talk of presents except to say there wouldn't be any. I don't remember being worried that we would eat beans for our Holiday dinner, but I do recall wondering afterwards what the menu would have been.

I think, on that day, I must have been in that beautiful place children live in their minds; the place that helps them believe everything will be alright somehow; the place where magical thinking rules and reality doesn't have a prayer. And it was in that moment that a knock came to the door. My sister and I opened it and saw our mother's friend, "Aunt" Fran. She had her husband with her and much more importantly, to our minds, the most beautiful white-flocked Christmas tree in tow. Now, our trees had been pretty much the bargain variety and we had never entertained the idea of a tree this grand. This was purview of the rich; the domain of the entitled. We were suddenly and at once part of this club of exclusivity! Aunt Fran was the prosperous owner of a nursery school that was much in demand. It was always immaculate and beautifully appointed. Each year, at the school, she prominently displayed her faith in God and her exquisite tree. It would normally have remained up through the New Year but this year she and "Uncle" Austin dismantled it and brought it to our house, along with the ornaments.

We had barely begun redecorating the tree when there was another sound at the door. Representatives of The Lions Club stood on our doorstep with arms full of boxes filled with ham, canned goods, and items far more tempting than beans. They left everything on our dining room table, wished us well and "Merry Christmas" and were gone. Here was food and here was a gorgeous tree. How could it get any better? In a matter of minutes it did. Another rapping at the door brought members of First Baptist Church bearing more food and wrapped presents. I can still see the white tissue paper and red ribbon wrapped around what I knew was a game. I couldn't wait to open it the next day. I don't know what the other gifts were that year but I was the happy recipient of "Sorry" and it's the game the kids and I still use after all these years.

Apparently, Aunt Fran had placed us on a few "needy family" lists and I'll be forever grateful that she did. It wasn't until years later I realized how close we were to having a very different Christmas experience. It was nothing short of a miracle to me and yet it lived up to my faith that all would be well. And for that time and for that day, it was. And that was enough.

I hope it will be the same for the dear family we met today. I pray a bright memory of Christmas miracles lives on in the hearts of the kiddos there and, if only for a short while, a burden is lifted for a weary mother. I hope a tentative young son feels compelled to drop his guard. I think that might be the case. I hugged his mother and then turned to him to pat his arm. He started to lean in for a hug, too, then caught himself. But it had happened, nonetheless, and in that moment, if only for a moment, I think all was well.

May you have the merriest of Christmases, my friends, and may God richly bless you.

With Love,

Robynn

Copyright 2008

"Oh Doctor, stop! You're killing me! Incredulity is coming out my nose!"

Child number two down with fever and big time cough. He's had a nagging cough for two weeks but was handling it and getting better until yesterday when he tanked after lots of school, late nights, and early mornings. Schlepped him to the doc earlier today only to find out that our beloved doctor quit and is now a work-at-home mom (sad for us but happy for you, Dr. C!). Sooooo, naturally, my patiently-putting-up-with-me friends, we had to get a NEW doctor within the practice. And BOYYYYY was she new. Like just-bought-a-stethoscope-on-her-way-to-work new. Young, no wedding ring, so probably no children but she knew ALL the theories and all the answers, even to the questions I was apparently too mentally challenged to ask.

I was informed that I had neglected my 18-year-old son. He would not have been so sick if I had been treating his Reactive Airway Disease (seriously? When did he get that? EVERYTHING is a disease these days including getting a secondary infection when you've had a cough.) Had I only had him on his inhalers that had been prescribed for him in March (mind you, that was for the PNEUMONIA he had which cleared completely and he never coughed ONCE after it did), he would not be sick today. And when asked if he was running a fever and I said, "Yes, but only around 100," I was informed this is NOT a fever. It is not a fever until it is 100.4. I think his was only 100.3. And no, I could NOT get cough medicine with codeine to help him sleep even though it works like a miracle. Older doctors write for that but those of the brand-new-stethoscopes don't anymore. It's bad for them (though they take it only 3 or 4 nights a couple of times a year). But they should live on daily meds and inhalers for diseases they may (or more likely do NOT) have. Boy, the THINGS I'm LEARNING! And she wrote a prescription for antibiotics but it would not cure his airway disease, she informed us, because I was apparently wearing an expression on my face that looked as if I thought antibiotics cured everything, including incredulity. I expected CPS to be called in any minute. Except, being 18 and all, it's hard to find the right foster home so, maybe we'll be a low priority.

But I think we can ALL agree that I AM neglectful and just don't amply treat my children or seek appropriate medical care, as is evidenced by my adult daughter who has been to four doctors now and had 2,874,389 tests run in the two months she has been sick with her mystery illness. Not to mention holistic approaches like healthy organic food, massage, stress management, and even travel to a healthier climate.

Time to get my son established with this adult daughter's doctor. We've been in the same pediatric practice for 23 years and we've had wonderful ones and you-can't-be-serious-and-you-did-NOT-just-say-that-to-me ones; watched 'em come and watched 'em go. THIS one may go but if not, she's in for a rude awakening. I may have been sitting before her and nodding like a demented bobble head (seriously, NOT worth the battle), but there WILL be others after me (I'm almost done with pediatrics) who will school this dear girl so full of knowledge and devoid of wisdom. You cannot accuse and dismiss experienced moms VERY often without your life becoming terribly unpleasant. Thank you, Dr. Who (must-not-be-named). I AM writing a book about these migraine-making-medical-mishaps and you just gave me yet another chapter. But hey, UNIVERSE, now hear this: I'm REALLY okay now. I have enough material in so many areas of my life and it's time for you to share with someone else. Seriously. Next in line, please! I have to go now. I have children to neglect, for Pete's sake.



©  Robynn's Ravings 2013

Your Advice Needed - If You're a Skilled and Professional Masochist

Okay. It's true confession time and a rant so look away while you have the chance.  I am about to blow a gasket and I KNOW I'm not alone.

Here's news that will (not) shock you:  Very few people actually do their job these days, or follow through, or keep their word.  Anywhere.  Anytime.  ALL the time.

This is not my way.  If I say I'll do it, I do (barring serious illness, laundry pile avalanches, and/or death), and I have some friends I can count on for the same commitment. We don't expect trophies or awards, we just do it.  You don't have to suck up, kiss up, or indulge our diva-ness to get good treatment from us.  Of COURSE we make mistakes but when we do we own them and then try and fix them.  We don't cop an attitude and we don't blame it on others.  We don't ask anyone to PAY for our mistakes - with time or money.  Why is this such a rarity? Why am I surrounded with people lately who have made rather large mistakes and yet take the offensive and get in MY face with no acknowledgment of their responsibilities to answer calls or read emails (or even to read copious notes I have created, by hand, for hours on end, sitting at your table, so things will be understandable and run smoothly? Hello, mother).

And can YOU get a doctor's office staff member to call you back?  I can't.  I mean, hands down, I cannot.  I call and call and call.  I write emails.  Unless you are in the office and looking them in the eyeball, nothing happens except attitude as if you're bothering them by making them respond to you and do their job.  And may I just add, as an aside.....do not EVER presume, from a doctor's office, that no news is good news on test results.  My mother-in-law died this way.  When I examined her chart during the last days of her life I found an entry from three years earlier stating they saw a spot on her lungs and that it should be followed up. No one informed her.  No one followed up.  It took her life. No news is NOT necessarily good news.

My daughter, during what has turned out to be a very mysterious two-month-long illness, was supposed to see a cardiologist a week ago but it took nearly a week just to get one of the girls from her regular doctor's office to call me back.  Not call me the first time, mind you, because that never happened.  I mean, call me back after my calling THEM several times when days had gone by and I had heard nothing.  Her doctor had said he wanted her SEEN within a week - not referred within a week.  And when I pushed for the referral after not being able to get them to contact me, it was  accompanied with attitude and heavy sighing.  Fast forward to the cardiologist's office when the referral finally got there and the same thing.  It clearly stated she was to be seen STAT and the names of two doctors she could see (either one was fine).  The appointment we got, I found out at the last minute, was with a different doctor.  That's a no-go.  Her very competent doctor had picked the other two specialists for a reason.  It's now been two-and-a-half weeks.  I just called the scheduling woman at the cardiologist's office AGAIN. She said she will text the doctor.  She forgot. Dear lord.

And then there is the mini spa package my husband bought me for Mother's Day this year.  Made my appointment and, after an especially harrowing series of events three weeks ago, couldn't WAIT to get in for my facial and massage. But the day before, I got notified that the aesthetician quit and would, on Saturday morning, instead of giving me a facial, be cleaning out her things.  If she was going to be there anyway, couldn't she have just honored her final commitments that were ALREADY PAID FOR and honor the appointment she had actually made herSELF?  Apparently not.

And there are other situations I could describe that would raise your eyebrows or maybe your blood pressure but I'll spare you - to protect the guilty.  And I'm not a victim.  I'm not alone in this.  You go through it, too, but how do you handle it?  Do you throw it all at the feet of Jesus and just give up?  Do you soldier on and arm yourself for battle? Do you unplug/turn off the phone and go into retreat mode? Do you turn the other cheek and just let the kickers give it to you in the teeth until they are satisfied? If you confront them, do you win the battle but lose the war?  Is it so much beating of an ant hill and then the ants just swarm and bite?  I honestly don't know.  While I had my head in my glacial freezer yesterday thawing out the Titanic worthy icebergs, I alternately cried, blew my nose, and dried dripping water and tears with the blow dryer.  I came away with no answers.  So, what's your advice?  I would love to hear how YOU handle these daily vagaries.  Most of it isn't life threatening and in the big picture, each thing alone is manageable - except for my daughter's issues which still confound me.  But it is a steady barrage and assault that takes its daily toll and makes me want to live in a hermitage with vicious, protective dogs as my only companions and greeters of would-be visitors. 

If you've read this far you are obviously a masochist which, apparently, makes you my kind of people and qualifies you to advise me.  Go for it.  I'm not Dr. Frasier Crane but, I AM listening.


© Robynn's Ravings 2013

More Pool Fun With Count Dracula and Countess Oblivious

Except for running into Loogie Man at Trader Joe's shortly after his, uh, doNAtion to the pool water at the gym last week (see last post), things have been pretty quiet there.  I only see most people once as they do their one-day-a-week workout or they choose a different time and we never cross paths again.  The time I've settled on seems to be a slow one at the pool which is, of course, why I chose it.

Today was no exception. It was PERFECT.

When I walked in, the water was still with not one person in sight.  I had the pick of the lanes.  I chose the double lane (wide enough for two people) because it gives me the best view out the tall windows and as I do my side-stroke laps I can watch the tops of the trees swaying in the wind.  It makes my exercise more meditative. And there I was, meditating away, when I turned to see Count Dracula in my lane, three feet away.

He was older and balding and spoke in a very thick accent - a straight from Transylvania accent.

"May I SHARE your LANE vis YOU?" he inquired through furrowed brows and two very prominent eye teeth (read fangs) with no teeth between to bridge them from one to the other.

"Uh," I replied deftly.  "The whole pool is open and you can take any lane," I offered helpfully. He looked around but didn't move and I got the direct impression he wanted to be close to me.  So I offered to move....and I did.  He looked too motivated as he assessed me and fat people and pregnant women have more blood flowing through their veins.  I was a veritable Thanksgiving dinner.  He looked so disappointed while my liver and I swam away.  He probably had some fava beans and a nice Chianti under his towel.

Then in the locker room, I came out of the shower with my too-small-towel and too-much-acreage only to be confronted by an oblivious woman with her five or six-year-old son by her side.  She was much too engaged in her phone conversation to pay attention to him, but I wasn't.  I was in a TOWEL, and only SORT of.

"Excuse me, but, we are DRESSING and UNDRESSING in here."

"Oh," she replied vacantly. "I'll move over here," which was nowhere near where naked women would not be.

This wasn't a restroom situation where we've all taken our little boys because they were too young to leave alone, outside.  The restroom at least has partitions.  Our gym provides CHILD CARE - 30 feet away.  The little victim of Idiot Woman walked around the locker room singing songs while flanked by perfect strangers in various states of undress around him. I could hear him with his mother around the corner - him singing, her relaying some inane gossip, phone glued to her ear - and I got dressed in a herky-jerky fashion with layers of white towels draped over me thickly and haphazardly as if some demented surgeon were currently performing an operation on me, and I was assisting.

As soon as every article of clothing I owned was slopped back on to me, I marched to the front desk.

"Excuse me, but we have a NOT cool situation in the women's locker room," I announced intensely.  They stared at me wide-eyed as I described the problem.  "Would you let a dad walk in the MEN'S locker room with his six-year-old DAUGHTER in tow?"  The male factor of the three attendants looked horrified.  "Exactly," I replied.  They promised to take care of it.  I think it was the eye-level factor of a child this age that suddenly broke through the purple haze.

I knew what needed to be done.  The mother should have been thrown in the pool with Dracula but no one else came up with that idea so I didn't mention it. I do hate to be the one who always has to point out EVERYTHING.

Ah, the gym.  What a place of respite.  I realize why I go.  It's just SO good for your health.



© Robynn's Ravings 2013

Gym Dandy or Why People I Work Out With Are Lucky I Don't Travel With Weapons

This is a ROTTEN way to come back to Blogland. No promised explanation of my absence (trust me, you'd thank me if you knew), no howdy-doo or by-your-leave or other weird saying that really makes no sense.  All I can say is hello and if I don't just drop a Facebook status update in here that I just posted a few minutes ago, I may never blog again.  So, if there's still anyone out here who's watching for a return from the dead, be encouraged. The zombie awakens.  Here's the post:

Sooooo.....I got up this morning at 6 to head to the gym...Hunter with me. Got to the gym, no lock for my locker in my gym bag. Back home. Walking in to procure lock, face planted into the dirt and a bush while tripping over my own garden hose. Borrowed Hannah's lock. Back to gym.

Pool lanes full. Wait...wait.... Get lane, two people try to get me out of it by getting IN my lane. No go. Two chubby girls stand at the pool windows from the gym side and point and laugh at chubby people in the pool. I am included. I stare at them and send thought bombs for their stretched-too-tight seams to split mid squat.

Guy in my shared lane proceeds to cough repeatedly and spit in the pool. Dear Lord. I am not the person who can handle this sort of thing, Mr. Loogies R Us. At 40 laps (I do 50) old ladies (trust me, the obvious that I could be one of them does not miss me), gather in MY lane for THEIR class which doesn't even start for 15 more minutes. I ponder why this is so as I wouldn't dream of getting on an exercise machine someone was already using. Unless it was one of these old ladies.

Out of pool, shower, head to locker as inconspicuously as possible because I have too little towel for too much acreage. Lock won't open with combo daughter gave me. I try ten times. I reverse said combo. No go. Arm is going to sleep from holding towel and other arm is going to sleep from working the lock. All clothes, keys, etc. are in the locker. I contemplate crying and talk myself out of it - aloud - and I'm overheard by someone who probably thinks I'm nuts - I am. I realize I'm going to have to seriously work on the lock while NOT holding a towel. I must get back into my wet suit as I am unwilling to entertain the other option. I'm also contemplating asking a stranger to go out in to the vast gym calling my son's name to see if he remembers a different combo. It seems best to approach strangers while clothed.

I achieve the near impossible of trying to stuff a wet beach ball into a water balloon and I am back in my suit, before an audience. I try the combo a few more times and, magically, it works. It is a possessed lock and needed me to humiliate myself before it would function. Wish granted.

Upshot: I shaved four minutes off my swim time today.

Personal motto I forgot to recite: Calm down and carry on.

Most pleasurable moment of the day: Lying down on my bed post gym, defeated, only to have my dog reach her front feet out, stretch, and claw the skin off my arm.

It's just how we roll around here. I mean, are there OTHER options?

© Robynn's Ravings - 2013

Why Sweet Pea?

My mind is working all the time now and writing and rewriting blog posts. In an effort to create space for the Big Reveal as to what in the HECK went wrong with me, I offer this little token and free up space for even more observations of this astonishing depth:

As a person of endearments (I use them lovingly and often), I wonder why we can use the flower and term, "Sweet Pea," when referring to someone as in, "Please grab that firefly, Sweet Pea," but we would never say, "May I please have more horseradish, Violet? Rose? Hydrangea? Marigold? Hyacinth? Bougainvillea?" You just wonder how the sweet pea won the garden lottery and using any other flower name would simply make you sound disturbed.





Copyright 2012

Christmas 2011 - Birth of a New Tradition!

THIS IS A GREAT IDEA! And wouldn’t it be great if everyone would participate?!

As the Christmas holidays approach, the giant Asian factories are kicking into high gear to provide Americans with humongous piles of cheaply produced goods... merchandise that has been produced at the expense of our very own American or Australian labor.

This year Christmas will be different around here - and I hope it will be different at your house too.

This year, Americans will be giving the gift of genuine concern for other Americans.

There is no longer an excuse that at gift giving time, nothing can be found that is produced by American hands.

Because YES there is!

It's time to think outside the box, people.

Who says a gift needs to fit in a shirt box, wrapped in Chinese produced wrapping paper?

Everyone ~ and I mean EVERYONE gets their hair cut.

How about gift certificates from your local American hair salon or barber?

How about massages or manicures?

Gym membership? It's appropriate for all ages - and who isn't thinking about some

health improvement?

Who wouldn't appreciate getting their car detailed? Small American owned detail shops and car washes would love to sell you a gift certificate or a book of gift certificates - and that helps keep our money in our local community.

Are you one of those extravagant givers who think nothing of plonking down the Benjamin's on a Chinese made flat-screen?

Perhaps that lucky/grateful gift receiver would like his driveway sealed...or lawn mowed for the summer... or their driveway plowed all winter... or maybe even a few games at the local golf course.

There are a bazillion owner-run restaurants around your area ... most offering gift certificates or vouchers.

And, if your intended isn't the fancy eatery sort of person, what about half dozen breakfasts at the local breakfast joint?

Remember, folks this is NOT about helping your big National chains get richer -- this is about supporting your home town Americans.

Americans with their businesses, jobs and homes on the line... and when it comes right down to it, this simple little idea can help them keep their doors open... and so that they don't go under.

I mean, for Pete's sake.... how many people couldn't use an oil change for their car, truck or

motorcycle, one done at a local shop run by the American working guy?

Thinking about a heartfelt gift for mom? Mom would probably LOVE the services of a local cleaning lady for a day.

My computer could use a tune-up, and I KNOW that I can find some young guy who's struggling to get his repair business up and running.

OK... so you were looking for something a little more personal?

Local crafts people spin their own wool and knit them into scarves. They make jewelry, and pottery and beautiful wooden boxes. Check out the local craft markets/flea markets or market gardens.

Plan your holiday or family outings at local, owner operated restaurants and leave

your server a nice tip.

And how about going out to see a play or ballet at your hometown theatre?

Do we really need to see "professional" actors, when it's even more fun watching the Bob the local butcher play Romeo... or the little girl down the street dancing to "The Nutcracker"?

And musicians need love too... so find a venue showcasing local bands, and rock the house down!

Honestly, people, do you REALLY need to buy another ten thousand Chinese

lights for the house?

Sadly, when you buy a five dollar string of lights, only about fifty cents stays in the community. FIFTY CENTS!!

That's just beyond wrong!

Our parents and grandparents celebrated Christmas just fine without the lights and tawdry decorations and expensive gifts... so let's make this the year we get back to the REAL meaning of Christmas!

If you have those kinds of bucks to burn, at least please leave the mailman, trash guy or babysitter a nice BIG tip in their Christmas card!

You see, Christmas should no longer about draining American pockets, so that China can build another glittering city.

Christmas is now about us caring about each other... and us encouraging our local American small businesses to keep plugging away to follow their dreams and keep this country strong!

When we care about other Americans, we care about our own communities, and the benefits come back to us in ways we couldn't even begin to imagine.

This seriously needs to be the new American Christmas tradition.

So go ahead...Feel free to copy this and forward it to everyone on your mailing list

Post it to discussion groups.

Throw up a post on Craigslist in the Rants and Raves section in your city.

Send it to the editor of your local paper and radio stations, and TV news departments.

This needs to be a revolution of caring about each other...

And after all, isn't that really what Christmas is about?

So c'mon people...let's start putting our own people first, and let's start thinking outside the square.

Until We Meet Again….

Sara went home to be with her Lord and Savior last Saturday night. Today, her family, her friends, her faithful and constant canine companion, and the world who knew her will officially say goodbye. Sara is gone from our immediate presence but her words and her work will live on and on. I have no doubt she will continue to minister to the chronically ill, those who suffer pain no one can understand, the weak in spirit, the lonely, the forgotten, and even the strong who simply want to share her joy and hope. Her words were prolific and always inspiring and will be a legacy she leaves behind to those of us who remain.

I wish I were able to be in Cedar Falls, Iowa this afternoon to attend her service in person. I can’t be. I feel a certain kindred connection to a town I’ve never been to because my parents were married there and my brother and sister were born there. Everyone moved west shortly thereafter and I am a born-and-bred California girl. But by the generosity of Sara and her family, her service will be shared through ustream. If you would like to attend, it begins shortly.

I would like to share a picture that I borrowed, without permission, from her dear and faithful friend, Shannon. Shannon talked to Sara every day via Skype or texting and, literally, took Sara with her everywhere via these devices. She traveled to meet her and this is a photo of the two of them with Shannon’s kids. It’s how I will always picture sweet Sara: enjoying every moment of joy that there was to be had. She knew how to wring out every last drop. Thank you, Shannon, for all you were to our sweet Sara and for all you’ve done with blogging in her absence and after her passing. I know, with your generosity of heart, you wouldn’t mind me sharing.

Join the service here (click on “Athletes” or “Athletics” and follow the prompts):

SCCS Home Page | Siouxland Community Christian School

www.siouxlandcommunitychristian.com

© Copyright 2011

How Do You Say Goodbye?

I’m so sorry to all of you who may have stopped by to check on me and wondered if I fell off the face of the earth. Basically, the answer is, “Yes.” I have written the blog post about all of it 100 times in my head and still can’t find a way to write it on the page. I’m still limited in my sitting – in hard chairs and the chair at THIS desk. I have a laptop that is ancient but will allow me to sit sideways on the couch. However, it doesn’t even have Word on it. And I lose a portion of my day each day to recovery and pain management so what’s left over is taken up with schooling my son and feeding people around here, and occasionally hosing out the house.

But today, I MUST MUST MUST write this particular blog. It has been on my mind to do for far longer than my current issues even existed, and there’s no more time to waste. I’m sure you know what I mean (for those of you who blog). Have you thought of things you wanted to share and one little thing or another got in the way and you just put it off? That is this post.

I have a beautiful blogging friend, Sara, who goes by “Gitz” at Gitzen Girl Blog and she has been a source of amazing inspiration, laughs, and get-er-done practicality. She was diagnosed years ago with a disease called Ankylosing Spondylitis, a severe type of arthritis. She has been majorly affected, including her lungs, and has been unable to even venture outside for the last few years. Only in her 30’s, she has lived a house-bound life with her precious little dog, Riley – her near and dear constant companion. Family and friends come to her, even blogging friends have made the trek to see her in Iowa. I always wished I could have met her in person. She inspires greatly and I think it would have been awesome to share person-to-person.

She is a gifted artist. Even though she has been greatly affected, occasionally her body would let her paint and she would make these beautiful paintings with sayings on them. I won one during a contest she had and then I bought one. They hang to my left at this desk. I see them each time I pass by or sit here and I think of her. I have wanted to share them with you for a long time because they are so meaningful to me. The first, this one….

…..I bought because I WANT to be that person. You KNOW I love to laugh and make others laugh. It brings me enormous joy. The reality is, I probably worry about my own happiness more than I do others. Do I really spend each day trying to bring happiness or do my own wants and desires loom larger? Do I “me first!” or “you first?” I can tell you Sara’s all about “you first.” She looks for ways to enrich everyone who crosses her path. Even when she doesn’t have it in her she finds something encouraging to say. Her motto is “Choose Joy!” Pretty hard when your body is wracked with pain, you can only gaze at the world through glass, and there’s no hope of rejoining the world most of us take for granted every day. She definitely CREATES joy.  I also loved this canvas for the colors. All of them right up my alley. And color helps me feel happy. My personal motto is: “Life is too short for beige.”

This canvas I won in her contest and I’ve pondered its meaning dozens of times when I’ve looked at it. It can mean so many different things depending on what I’ve been going through and where I am in my life. Right now, when I think of her, it’s especially poignant. I’m not sure Sara has ever met a stumbling block and every stone in her path she has decided to use as a stepping stone. And she always encouraged us to do the same. Right now, she’s one stepping stone away from the arms of Christ.

 

You see, Sara is losing her battle with AS. It happened pretty suddenly (my sweet friend Vicky, with her own serious battle – see my last post - sent me a note) and, last week, her body said “No more.” She is young, in her late 30’s, but the body can only withstand so much and hers has been through a war. However, her spirit is healthy and strong and soaring, even as she is confined to her bed, attended by loving family, saying her last goodbyes. She is traveling the path we will all travel at some point and the family says she is resting easy….something she’s been unable to do. She was put on hospice last week and we are helping to pray her through, and to pray her home, on her journey. Barring a complete miracle, we will not have our dear, dear Sara anymore on this earth. I’m crying now just writing that sentence. But Sara will be more alive than ever. Soon she will run outdoors in the most beautiful place in all creation. She will breathe deeply. She will be reunited with her father who she lost suddenly, and very unexpectedly, last year. She will see Jesus. She is breaths away from total joy and freedom.

Sara, I now have to say this to you. I don’t know if you’ll ever hear these words but I’ll say them anyway and tell you how sorry I am I didn’t say them sooner. Do you realize how many lives you’ve touched? How many lives you will continue to affect through your exquisite writing? Pain is often a lonely path. Even those closest to us cannot share it. Many have no one – no one – to understand, to validate, to encourage, to pray for them, to offer hope, to even once make them laugh and feel seen. You did all that. You led by example but even more, you let each one travel their own path, in their own way. And you were there for them. Anyone struggling with the loneliness and isolation of debilitating pain and/or disease could travel to your blog and find a sister-of-the-heart in you. Do you realize you were all some people had? You may have made the difference between life and death for some who were desperate and thought no one understood. You did understand and you pointed them to Christ, the author and finisher of our faith. You encouraged them to “choose joy” and to look for anything, even the smallest of things, to be thankful for, while at the same time comprehending the abject battle fatigue that is chronic pain. Through three years of knowing you I’ve read hundreds and hundreds of comments from those so deeply moved by your words. I’ve been among them. You privately emailed how many? Thousands and thousands, I have no doubt. What an immense work you did in this blogging world. What an incomprehensible difference you made.

Go on to your great reward, sweet girl. It’s all waiting for you; joy we can only imagine here on earth. We will feel your loss deeply and profoundly but you deserve all that is yours through Christ. I look forward to seeing you there one day where all the former tears and pain will be wiped away. Dance, sing with your oh-so-lovely voice, and be happy. You chose joy here on this earth, Sara. Now, it’s choosing you. I love you.

Robynn

Sara and Riley

 

©Copyright 2011

PLEASE VISIT ME! Pretty Please????

I know I've been gone for eons. I have written my returning post a hundred times in my head but it always ended up with you throwing up and that didn't seem like a good way to begin again. Then, there was the chicken aspect - me being chicken to trail out the crazy/horrible/private/weird details of my malady that won't let me sit down in my computer chair long enough to write anything worth reading. But all that can wait. (And the choir sang, Praise the LORD!)

Then something happened. I got a quick note from a blogging friend and it made me miss her and think about her all over again. It wasn't anything wordy or informative; just a line. I had long ago given up trying to visit blogs because all I have to use is an Ipod and, if you have one, you know how desperately slow it loads web pages. By the time I would get in and read, of COURSE I'd want to comment because I'm not known for not having an opinion (something very grammatically incorrect with that sentence but, who cares? It's my blog....gosh, I miss this heady freedom!). And so I would wax humorous, eloquent, loquacious, entertaining, (or more likely serious, feeble, tongue-tied, and boring but let's not nit-pick) and then it would ask me to sign in.

I would…..

……through a very long, involved process. Ten minutes later, I was in and my comments were gone. I'm slow, but it didn't take me long to figure out this was a rapid slide into insanity. I ride too close to the edge as it is. I can't afford that kind of risk. So I bailed. I checked email and Facebook and let that connect me to the world. I have kissed my Ipod even though it is limited. At least it's a window! But it's not blogging. And it's not visiting your blogs. And so, I walked on the wild side and dropped into Vicky's blog, via my Ipod. Something about what she wrote made me go.

And this is what I found out........

My sweet blogging friend has cancer. Not just any cancer, either. She had to be an overachiever. She has stage IV breast cancer. She just found out about two weeks ago. One day, life was cooking along and she was just another hockey mom cheering on her two sons who are in second and fourth grade, doing the things moms/women/wives do. She was also recovering from the loss of her VERY dear father several months back, and, as if that wasn't enough....wham. A lump she found seemed out of the ordinary. She'd had two before and they were benign. This one was different. She followed up. And she found out - quickly. It seems there is also a spot on her liver, and spine. She is headed right into an experimental treatment and she has the attitude of a prize fighter. In fact, her home-girls have showered her with gifts and get-togethers and she has signs and gifts that say, "Fight like a girl!" One of her hockey mom friends has made bracelets out of darling hockey laces and is selling them for $5.00 each - through Vicky's blog - to raise money to help her.

I'm buying mine tonight. It has a clasp and I'll wear it for Vicky and for all my friends and family who have battled this disease. There are more than there should be - seven at last count. If your life, or the life of someone you love, has ever been touched by this disease, would you please visit Vicky's blog and buy one? It is unique and isn't just another plastic bracelet. It's lovely and looks like jewelry.

This is the link: http://thewestraworld.blogspot.com/2011/03/worthy.html

And you'll love Vicky. She is so real. She wrote to me in my early blogging days and encouraged me about some difficult things as only she could. And she's funny and upbeat and looks for every bright spot God ever created. She's looking to Him for healing, guidance, abundance, and the ability to put one foot in front of the other. You will be encouraged when you’re there. Let's stand together and ALL fight like girls - yes, even you GUYS.....if you can take the punch. :)

Please pray and please consider blogging about this yourself, if breast cancer has impacted your life in some way. Thank you, all my patient and loving friends.

With Love,

Robynn

I Need a Voice

....and a venue, and a place to vent, and spill, and dish, and discuss, and tell it like it is. I've been in a rat race and so far, the rats are way ahead and all I see are rat tails and droppings. (Insert photo here - well, in your mind anyway.) Boy, I miss all of you and this and the outlet that writing is for me. I know I've also missed a lot in your lives and I'm so sorry. The good news is (well, not for my enemies), the family has not had me put to sleep yet. You have no idea what restraint they've shown.

Love,

Robynn

I Just Couldn't Do It

I bought a Christmas tree yesterday.

I wasn't going to. Budgetary constraints and common sense and painting and general house confusion had caused me to say, "Impractical. Let's just forget it for this year." But then I drove by the little lot where we always get our trees and there were just a few left. They looked lonely. And I figured the guy would cut me a deal. I mean, it's almost Christmas. It may be a $50 tree but take the $20 bucks I'm offering or eat tree soup in a few days. I figured they'd rather have the $20. I was right. And didn't a whole BUNCH of us do this when we were kids? I remember lots of Christmas Eve trees. That was before Christmas started in September like it does now.

So my tree is sitting on the back porch while I finish painting the wall where it's supposed to be displayed. Nothing like the last minute. And I was counting on Bo having the day off to decorate it so, naturally, she had to work unexpectedly. The poor thing is EXHAUSTED. She just finished finals last week with 16 units (and it looks like she pulled another 4.0 - she has to keep her grades up to keep her scholarship), worked the whole semester and has her volunteer work as well, and a sometime-second-job. If the kid doesn't collapse it'll be a miracle. (Spring semester: 20 units - really?) I miss her. We haven't had one minute to celebrate the season together. No lunches, no shopping, no just sitting with a cup of hot cocoa. These are the times I wish we didn't have to struggle and I could say, "School is enough. Drop everything else and have a life." But we can't. Grizzly's work injury in March started us down a rough financial path when they never covered a single sick day. We've been lucky to hang on to the house by the skin of our teeth (ewww.....what IS the skin of your teeth?). That means we need Bo to work for the things she must have so she ploughs forward and probably builds some character muscles that will last her a lifetime. And her supervisor's daughter was just diagnosed with a serious virus so, naturally, Bo helps and fills in where she's needed. She would never leave her co-workers in a lurch.

And now I added the tree to her "to do" list. But she wanted it, too. We talked while she was lying in bed and we both decided we never know when last Christmases come. Last time it's just the four of us? Last time when we're all in the same town? Or, just the last time? Who knows what life has around the corner for any of us. Isn't that a cheery Christmas thought? Hey, it's been a rough year. There were times I thought one of us would croak, several times I wished I would, and probably a few where others wished I would. (But I lived to spite all of us so why not grab a bargain tree and celebrate?) Come Christmas morning, we might be gazing at a bare tree but it will be a bare CHRISTMAS tree!

So, I'm off to paint and hopefully make fudge at some point - Easter maybe. And then two hours of physical therapy with Atilla the Hun this afternoon. (She's actually a darling girl I absolutely love but she WILL torture you if she needs to and never bat a big, beautiful eyelash.) And I need to quit losing time every day to this S.T.U.P.I.D. issue I'm still dealing with. Right in the middle of painting yesterday when SMACK - six hours gone. No one has six hours to give away to POINTLESSNESS five days before Christmas.

Golly, I bet you've missed all this whining. Sure is good to be back! (And THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR RESPONSES AND WELCOMING GREETINGS! Sounds like it's a strange year for many of us but we're making the best of it and counting our blessings. Guess that's why we're still hangin' together. If your life is perfect, you probably won't like it here!)

In case I don't see you before, I truly wish you all the merriest of Christmases - time with those you love, an opportunity to bless others, and a minute to stop and say, "Everything may be topsy-turvy, troubles may knock at the door, but no matter what, God holds us in His hand and, it is well with my soul."

© Copyright 2010

Can It Really Be December?

Merry Christmas! Hello! Are you still out here......? I see I've gained a few followers since I've been gone. Now I know the secret of growth - profound silence.

Just wanted to pop in for a minute and tell you that you should be grateful for all the gory details I've spared you. It's my Christmas present to you. But don't expect it to last much longer. I have improved to the point that I may be able to sit here, at my computer, long enough to write revolting stories. I can't wait.

I miss every one of you and am looking forward to catching up and getting to visit blogs again, even if it's only one a day. Thank you for your notes in the meantime and the prayers! I'm still recovering but I'm SO much better than four, three, or even two months ago.

It's a strange Christmas here. No tree, no presents. We have been having to do some home improvement projects and are finishing so late, we all decided to have a Whoville Christmas without ribbons, boxes, or bags. Christmas will come just the same and maybe we'll truly focus on why! We have been invited to spend Christmas Day with dear friends while Grizzly works. We are happy for the work and sad for his absence. But EVERYthing is upside down this year so we are embracing the theme and letting life unfold. It'll be that weird Christmas our kids will always remember. Everybody has to have ONE of those.

What are you all doing? I'd love to hear! This week I'm painting and making fudge. It'll be great if I don't get the two combined. If anyone gets sage colored fudge from me, don't eat it.

Back soon. Merry, MERRY Christmas, my dear bloggy buds!

With Love,

Robynn

It Takes a Village to Care for An Idiot

I just have to pop in and say that I am the blessed recipient of the most amazing care. Everyone pities me, which is rich - you just don't GET that every day. And then they feed me.

We have had over three weeks worth of loving friends bringing meals, flowers, and even groceries. I've had friends, and an aunt, lay on the bed with me and just hold my hand and even sleep. You KNOW you're comfortable when you fall asleep with other people on your bed with you. I've had the loveliest cards and texts and phone calls. One friend even dropped off a pin that says, "I Love Pain Meds." And I DO.

(I've also seen more Dr. Feel than I ever care to again but I did glean a few tidbits to help me tidy up the emotional wreckage I like to call my personality.)

Something you probably don't know about me is that I really want to entertain. And I RARELY do. I used to. A lot. I know this because I was reading my son's baby book to him while on my back and it had a calendar with the dates we had people over for dinner and shopping trips for Christmas party supplies. I threw a whiz bang Christmas party every year for our friends. Then life moved on. Our friends changed as we all went in different directions. And our furniture got rattier and we ripped out the carpet and bought wood flooring to install. The only room done? My daughter's and she doesn't even live here anymore. The furniture finally got replaced but the flooring still isn't finished. But I want EVERYthing to be done before I entertain again. And you know what? Life is passing me by.

Being on my back in bed for three weeks made me throw the doors open wide and say, "Here it is! All our imperfection is open for inspection!" This has been an incredibly humbling experience. I have friends with E.X.Q.U.I.S.I.T.E. homes and I have friends who live very simply. I didn't pick ANY of them for their home and I know for CERTAIN they didn't pick me for mine. Why do I care? I can give a lot of reasons, and some of them valid, but the reality is we just don't get do-overs for a life.

My constant prayer has been, "Lord, let me entertain again before I can't." He answered me through this recovery time after surgery. Gee, thanks, Lord. I have entertained in the lamest way possible. Others have provided ALL the food and the decorations while I supplied nothing but feeble "thank yous." However, I've had all these different people into my home so at least the barrier has been broken and I'd like to think of that as entertaining. (I can convince myself of almost anything.) Other than the occasional kid friend, people are once again being admitted into "Imperfect Land." And they keep coming.

Why? I have no idea. It's not because I'm a wonderful person. It's because they are. So what was I so worried about?

Hoping to be back soon!

With Love,

Robynn

©Copyright 2010

Oh The Things That I Could Tell You.....

That you'd never want to hear. BUT.I.CAN'T.SIT. for more than five minutes, and I only get that if I'm lucky. I have an iPod which keeps me from feeling like I've been dropped in a nunnery in the Swiss Alps. At least I have contact with the outside world. But I can't write. I can't visit. I can't even check Gmail (which is my blog email account) because of the computer meltdown. When I've tried to visit blogs on my iPod it takes forEVER to write a comment and then, more often than not, I lose the whole thing so that idea is dead.

(OH.MY.GOOD.OLFACTORIES! If my dog, who is laying at my feet, does ONE MORE OF THOSE THINGS, I'm passing out right after throwing up!)

I had planned to at least visit you guys but THAT hasn't happened. I planned to horrify you with the details of my surgery. THAT hasn't happned. I planned to write more chapters in my book. Well, you get the idea. I'm a deadbeat. I have had pain that should have its own book and agent but who'd read it or buy it? I'd have to pay people to perform those chores and that's not a direction that feels really fruitful. I am NOT back to my life. I don't know WHEN I'll be back to my life. I'm grumpy. I'm WHINEY. I'm not unaware that others have far more difficulties. So I'm also GUILTY which makes me whinier and grumpier. I'm gangs of fun.

Wish you were here!

©Copyright 2010

Robynn's in the Hospital

This is Hunter(TWM), Robynn's son. She asked me to let you know that she has had a few complications after her surgery and that they put her in the hospital yesterday. She will probably be out in a few days. I would very much appreciate it if you prayed for her. She thanks you very much for your love and support and hopes to back soon. Thank you, Hunter

Time Out for Surgery

Tomorrow is my big day. I have surgery to fix this, uh, certain problem that I've been dealing with for far too long. (I promise to blog about it even though it's embarrassing and no one wants to hear about it. You know things like that never stop me.)

The hospital takes me in and springs me the same day but the doctor is making me stay in a drug induced stupor for three weeks. I can't drive. I can't operate heavy machinery, like computers. That's to keep me from doing and saying stupid things I'll regret later. You know, like usual. So if I show up at your place gushing about how much I've always loved you and then changing the subject to leaf blowers and people who don't floss their teeth, I beg your forgiveness in advance.

And I've been on a cleaning jag because I have wonderful friends who are insisting on bringing meals. That means they will see my house. And I don't want them to know how behind I am. They never read my blog so I'm sure they have no idea. Usually, when my house is a mess and somebody just stops by I simply hide in the closet and try not to breathe out loud. Now I can't get away with that. They might even come into my bedroom. I suppose that means I'll have to move the two foot high pile of laundry I like to call my "step stool" that I use to get into my extra high bed.

I only go on this kind of a cleaning frenzy for two events: vacation and surgery.

I just discussed this with my dear, sweet friend, Christina, yesterday at church. (She was all sympathy and commiseraton but, in reality, her house is always LOVELY. Thank you, Christina for pretending it's not so I didn't feel like the intervention candidate that I actually am.) We decided women do this for a variety of reasons but not the least of which is the risk of death.

What if we died while vacationing? Others would come in to our disarray and find out how we really live. Our husbands try to counter with statements like, "You'll be dead! Who cares!" But, being women, of COURSE we care because we KNOW people will still talk and we don't want to be remembered as the ones who had to have HazMat come in before others could find our final directives paperwork.

Also, there's the issue of vacationing in lovely, clean places where there is daily maid service and no pets or pet hair. Or dust. Or accumlation. From children and husbands. (Wives don't count since we always have to clean up our own mess anyway. No one comes behind US.) If towels are thrown on the floor, they are magically replaced the next day with fresh, new ones. Unmade beds are suddenly perfect.

Now, leave that dream-like environment and go home. To the mess that was left? No thank you. That kind of shock could induce headline worthy behavior in the returning wife/mother. So you must leave your home spotless.

As far as surgery is concerned, you are forced to lay on the bed/couch/kitchen counter and look at all the work you know you should have done when you had the chance. And you know if you COULD do it right now you would. And I love that lie with all my heart. It's so very holy to be utterly willing and completely unable to do all the things you tell yourself you'd do if only you could. It's far better than any get-out-of-jail free card. But if you haven't worked ahead of time, you WILL be forced to survey your disgusting domain. And that's too much guilt for even a seasoned slob.

And so I clean. And when I clean I'm an insane perfectionist.

"Do you really need to use brass polish on those draw pulls?" my husband asks while he surveys the dust hanging from the ceiling fan, spanish moss style. I have no balance. But in a few short hours, I won't care. At least while I'm taking the drugs.

So I better go now. There's no time like the present to pretend you are a gifted Domestic Doyenne. Why can't they give you these drugs a week ahead of time so you don't notice all these things or care? Now THAT would be TRUE pain management.

©Copyright 2010

Observational Twitter 25

Famous Old Ditty:

"Fatty and Skinny went to bed, Fatty rolled over and Skinny was dead." ~ Unknown


Obscure Observation:

Despite the dreaded scale, Body Mass Index charts, and dire predictions from her doctor, the important point here is Fatty woke up alive and well. It was Skinny who was dead. ~ Robynn


©Copyright 2010

Don't Push That Button

I'm coming to you from the other side. My computer is still there but I am gone. It shows minimal vital signs and I'm hovering over its body. All I have is my IPod to stay in touch with the world and check on a few things. I'm borrowing a computer to type to you while I'm hovering. I am enjoying the weightlessness, however. I'm so thin you can see through me.

Uh, do yourself a favor and don't opt for the "dislike" button on Facebook. I thought it was real. Me. The QUEEN of paranoia. I offend people by never opening attachments of the latest funny joke or pictures of their pet gargoyle. I never look when an email says, "You've just GOTTA check this out!" even though it's from my mother. But I've been waiting for the "dislike" button on Facebook so I could use it when a friend said, "I'm so sick I'm throwing up food from next week." I figured that kind of status update deserved a dislike button. Don't you find it a little strange that you can only "like" something horrible? But this longing for common sense made me ripe for the pickin', as we say here in Farm Town, USA.

And just like that other fruit that shouldn't have been picked long ago, things began to go seriously wrong. Suddenly, my searches took me to places I'd never heard of and wasn't trying to go. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. My computer is so infected from allowing that ONE Facebook application that it will be hours and hours and days and days before Grizzly can undo the problem, if THAT even works. All of our sensitive information has been compromised and I'm changing every password I've EVER created. Because, really, what ELSE do I have to do with my life? Grizzly may have to wipe my hard drive but that's a last resort since my last two months worth of work hasn't been backed up. (Don't do that.)

I am informed by Grizzly and Hannah that this wasn't actually Facebook's application so I shouldn't be mad at them. Au contraire. Facebook KNOWS millions of people are waiting for a dislike button. It should have firewalls in place to alert them if a third party uses language that refers to anything with those words. An alert should then go out immediately to all users stating that this is NOT a sanctioned Facebook application and using it could be very risky (since the creator is obviously trying to SOUND like it is from Facebook). I may be just a country bumpkin but that seems like common sense to me. No wonder that firewall does not exist.

And, of course, I'm mad at my dummy self. I now have to shop at Big Idiots R Us. And I've lost ALL of my holier-than-thou credits. I counted on those to advise everyone around me. How will they go on with their lives now?

I've never been a good example. Allow me to be a terrible warning.


©Copyright 2010

Blog Killing Letters – The End

My blog has never been as slow as it has during the running of these film stories and letters. But some of you have written to me privately, and here, and wanted to know the rest of the story so, I’m including all the letters left in one post. If I don’t, I’m afraid this thing will asphyxiate! I’m tired of the stories myself and a typical journalistic format isn’t my style anyway. I wanna tell you what I REALLY think, and DON’T ask me tonight because I could spit nails and clean my teeth with a certain person’s bone fragments! But I’ll leave that alone for the moment and wrap up the filming stories.

This was a herculean effort by a LOT of dedicated and loving people who worked sacrificially, gave up sleep, gave up vacation time, and gave up earning any money. Most everyone who worked on this film project actually PAID to do so in time and gas and wages and donations and MASSIVE creative effort. I think the problem is, you had to be there to see it and believe it. THE END.

And now, we stumble forward, if for no other reason than to see and remember all this happened – and it is now a matter of record. Read them if you want to hear the ramblings of an insane woman in the middle of the night. You’re used to that. It won’t be new.

7-22-10 2:31 A.M.

From Me:

Hi Everybody~

The latest tonight - well, this morning - is that no one is dead. It was pretty touch-and-go a few times today and I wasn't sure that would be my report tonight. What a crazy day with draggin' behinds and intense schedules. Many of us melted down today, including me. One good ten minute cry and therapy with Annalise while we went thrift store shopping, and I was back. Later on Melissa rubbed my feet - and may I say, NO ONE should EVER have to rub feet that were as gross and dirty as mine in my flip flops. But she said it "didn't gross her out" and bless her heart, my dessert after our wonderful dinner tonight was a life-saving foot rub. Melissa? Annalise? You ROCK!

The Lori, Kaylee, and Connor came to our rescue early today and did our shopping and re-shopping and then shopping some more. Then they put all the shopping away or helped apply it to the house. I was gone with Annalise during most of it but was still singing their praises at midnight as we staged the last room and I was able to use the curtain rods they bought and get our Diane-made-curtains on the windows. Thanks for more boxes, Lori! They saved many a scene in our box room. And Karla? Thanks for just jumping in and picking those up along with pies and giving me a hug - because I NEEDED IT!

I wish I could tell you about the crew. They have been so inCREDibly amazing through long, LONG hours and very warm conditions. They all deserve medals. And that's not even the TINIEST bit of hyperbole. I told Evan, our AMAZING TO THE NTH DEGREE CAMERAMAN, that they say when the Apocalypse comes, only roaches will survive. I believe now that it will be roaches AND Evan.

Dear, Patient, LONG-SUFFERING, and hysterical, ST. EVAN. (He was “sainted” as well):

Kim has kept us well supplied in food and water and coffee and NUTRITION and wise council that is never heeded. She and I have agreed many times on what should be done and how absolutely insane the hours are, but that's about as far as we get and we both keep going like demented and limping Energizer Bunnies.

Okay, on to business. We will need extras tomorrow. We are shooting coffee shop scenes at a coffee shop across from Teazers in the Tower District. I wish I knew the name but that, along with my brain, escapes me. I only know the location. I don't know the time of the shoot but it will be after eight a.m.. If you're interested, text or call Kim or Rod for details. I will be sleeping in tomorrow till at least nine. If I don't rub five or six hours of sleep together pretty soon, I'll be taking a vacation at the Funny Farm. If the scene has NOT been changed - and I wasn't in the scheduling meeting tonight - we are shooting scenes from three different days meaning we need different coffee drinkers in that shop. We could have a few repeats because people are regulars at these types of places but it would look pretty Stepford Wife if everyone was exactly the same. I don't know how many we will have but there is always the risk of there not being enough. We also would ask that everyone buy a coffee drink to support the kind owners who have allowed us to take them over. We want to bring them business, not drive it away. :-)

Our nephew, Jeff, has GENEROUSLY given us his way cool house in the Tower District to use as an apartment scene. I'm really looking forward to this one. It requires very little set design and/or shopping or creating or moving because his home is gorgeous. I think Rod would say a hearty "AMEN" to being excited about a set that needs no work AND has air conditioning!

So, we hope to see you tomorrow even if you only want to come to one of the locations to check out the last 48 hours of filming. I just hope it's not 48 STRAIGHT hours!

Also, tomorrow night is our scheduled prom night out in Easton. We will need extras in prom dresses (think early 90's) and guys in suits.

Goodn...i.......g...........h...................................

Rob-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

__________________________________________________________________________________

7-24-10 2:50 A.M.

Thank you so much, Dave. Your family has single-handedly saved my family today. Nacoya has worked faithfully and lovingly to assist Hannah in every way she can. The scheduling became Hannah's and it is a daily nightmare that she hates with every fiber of her being and fills ill equipped to handle. It's a high stress position in which nothing EVER goes as scheduled or exactly the way they want it. In a perfect world she could confer with Shaun but the perfect world has left the building. These kids are toast. We just butter 'em and drive 'em around. Which leads me to my next big thank you. Reg, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you are willing to pick up Hannah at 5:45 in the morning so that I can sleep and she doesn't drive off the road. My sleeping in this morning was a pipe dream and four hours seems all I am destined to get. I'm pretty sure I'd be a "walk-on" for Night of the Living Dead. And thank you for being my pilot car on the freeway tonight. Your rear end guided me home. I've never said that to a friend before.

And, once again, our friends (not that we'll have any when this is over but we're grateful for them while they last) have come to our desperate rescue. (A movie should be made about this WEEK!) Diane, in all her splendor, went to the 70's house and gutted that rotten food that sat in a warm fridge and on the counters for 24 hours. And we purposely had gross food as that house was a pit and was made to be disgusting. It was a VERY depressing and oppressive place and returning to it tonight to pick up Hannah's painting was horrid. I HATE THAT HOUSE. I was SO glad we wrapped it last night. The scenes are HEAVY and if it wasn't for the spirit of our Christian friends and crew, I don't think I could have made it.

THE 70’s house. Deliver us from evil.

Jason showed up tonight and went over and did even more cleaning. We have to take all the props out next week and I'm considering just blowing it up and being done. It was PERFECT for the scenes but that's where any goodness ends, in my non-humble opinion. Thank goodness for redemption and beauty in the movie!

We also wrapped the coffee house scenes today and are VERY GRATEFUL to those of you who were able to make it to serve as extras. We also had a few people off the street and ended up having just what we needed. I think we ended up with about 30 extras which was amazing. And Pam and Karla just put up with us when Kim and I yelled at them to "hurry and run and get 40 lbs. of ice and three flats of water!!!" And they did and kept people from falling into dead heaps in the hot room. Karla, I thank you profusely for helping with food and you, too, Diane, and for cleaning Jeff's house when the rest of us vanished suddenly like it was the rapture.

Tomorrow we need fresh extras to walk the sidewalk scenes in downtown Fresno at Tulare and "O" streets. If you were in today's scenes you could be in these as well because the coffee house has people who would be walking to it on these streets. I know many of you can't come due to prior commitments but don't stay away JUST because you think you couldn't be in these scenes, too. NOT TRUE! If you couldn't make it today and can help us out tomorrow, yahoo! Extras' call time is 7:00a.m. but if you can't get there until 8:00 you could probably fit in at the tail end. Many different days will be shot tomorrow. The one thing you won't see is ME there. Yes, I'm going to try out the theory of sleeping yet once again. I didn't melt down today but certainly glued together a few who did. We are keenly aware that our witness as Christians is key to those around us who are hurting and in need. We want to be there for them so please pray that we meet the challenge and show kindness, patience, and love to them and each other. Long days and little rest bring all emotions to the surface - tears or anger. I even saw the veneer crack on one of the most stalwart so - hello - the world is tilting on its axis. Pray that this doesn't cause yet more climate change and that Al Gore doesn't feel compelled to make a sequel movie.

Okay. That's it. I'm going to bed and I'm putting my daughter in Reginia's capable hands. Please pray for me, and Hannah, because I have to call work for her tomorrow and let them know that she will be gone another week. I don't expect that will be happy news for them but shooting will continue through Wednesday and then the child must rest or her work will be the least of our worries. Please pray that she will still have a job and that, if not, another one will open up. God is in control. The kids feel that the message of the movie is too important a ministry to fail to finish it now.

We love you and are completely befuddled as to why you love us!

The Cast and Crew of the S.S. Minnow who thought we were signing on to a three hour tour but then the "weather started getting rough."

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7-25-10 2:35 A.M.

Well ya and HOO, I'm on vacation! Thanks to Reg, I got six hours of sleep last night and found out we have Sunday off. We all look so burnt but Rod officially wins the "Most Sleep Deprived" contest. I hope he gets some serious sleep tonight because, as per his routine, when we leave at ridiculous hours, he's STILL there. I know he'll be busy readying the grip truck tomorrow for the return to L.A. on Monday. That doesn't mean we're done - just that the rental time is expired. The schedule is now to continue Monday night with the prom scene and wrapping Tuesday night or Wednesday morning - not sure.

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7-27-10 2:47 A.M.

Just another day in paradise. Why does nothing move at a normal speed with any of this? We hit the ground running, trip, skin our knees, and then Marie hits her head and goes to emergency. You better be okay, Marie! Your daughter had her big debut tonight and did a GREAT job opposite our lead, Cameron. You will love this. She even slapped him!

Hey, on a far more practical note.....we have LOST a shirt of Cameron's. He last wore it at the Revue on Saturday. It's a dark green, long sleeved cotton shirt, in case anyone inadvertently picked it up in the mad dash to exit. I wasn't there as I was taking Jessica (our adult Anna) back to her house and I missed all the wildness to get out of there. But it's gone and we need it in a scene in a few hours. If anyone has been wondering where in the heck they got this green shirt, please call or text Shaun or Hannah. Thank you! It's pivotal.

Thanks to our well-worn friends for showing up with your sons and daughters to play in our prom scene. It was awesome and I think it turned out well. The girls were beautiful and the guys handsome. The highlight of the night was seeing Evan and Shaun crammed into one toilet stall in the girls' bathroom with a camera above their heads. This falls into the category of "things you can't imagine yourself saying." And I have photographic evidence.

Rod got the equipment returned to L.A. today and was still at the church when I left with Hannah for Easton at 1a.m. We headed out to see if someone left that green shirt out there. Unfortunately, that was a wasted trip and it wasn't there. We did manage to keep the 70's house still in tact today and good thing we did. It turns out the DO need to film a scene there tomorrow. You KNOW I can't wait to get back in there. I'm wearing my garlic and a cross.

Okay. I'm headed to the barn for my well deserved two hours of sleep. We're due at the Rocca compound at 6:00a.m. I'm thinkin' with this missing shirt and no sleep everyone should be in a great mood. I don't think Hannah's going to bed. She has decided to give up and just stay up and work. Not me. Two hours is better than no hours.

Please pray for our last day and for the discovery of the SHIRT!

Love,

Robynn

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7-28-10 12:34 A.M. (I never realized this was the time. My favorite numbers on the clock.)

"And it's a wrap!" Shaun uttered those beautiful words tonight after the last scene was shot in front of the Revue. I can actually sleep, lay in bed and think about sleeping, lay in bed and think about whether or not I WANT to sleep. Sleep and I are going on a romantic getaway wherein I snore, drool, and wear my rattiest t-shirt and sleep thinks I'm the bomb. Of course, I AM, but it's nice to be appreciated for my TRUE talents.

Since we lived, I have to say this has been one of the MOST interesting and educational weeks of my life. I have gotten to meet some awesome people who will be long remembered. Henry, our audio genius, and Evan, our miracle working cameraman, have been dubbed St. Henry and St. Evan for their grace under fire. They worked in deplorable conditions of heat, being cramped and nearly standing on their heads sometimes, and kept hours a soldier fighting for his life shouldn't endure, but did they ever snap at anyone, anytime? Nope. Not even once. They smiled and brought grace and humor to every situation. I am richer for having known them. It is said you meet yourself in adversity and find out who you really are. We met Evan and Henry, too, and they never changed.

Most of us wore multiple hats and Angela Aro, (plays Cameron's wife), was amazing. She did makeup, hair, set dressing, and even helped run audio in a pinch. We quickly discovered there wasn't much she couldn't do and she was frequently called on to do it all. Jessica (our older Anna) smiled and gave many much needed hugs and words of encouragement as well as bringing her whole SELF into her role. She brought Anna to life and let us see Anna's pain. What an actress! Jason (older Cameron) was the king of patience. He put up with our seemingly endless wardrobe issues and was always willing to go along and do whatever without ANY complaint. Last night his suit/tux was not forthcoming and he was willing to be in anything we offered. Fortunately, St. Henry lived right nearby and came back with a gorgeous suit, three shirt choices, and ties. They fit Jason perfectly. But I think my most heart-rending moment came tonight as I packed Emma's (young Anna) wardrobe items away. Many of these were purchased for her at thrift stores and were done on the fly, in a rush, and in an effort to achieve a certain look. As I looked at outfits she had worn again and again, I realized the hard paper tags with the staples they put in at the thrift store had never been taken out. Most kids don't want a REGULAR clothing tag rubbing against them and she wore her wardrobe with these mean things attached and scratching against her neck. I was horrified but she never complained ONCE. We were all blown away by how professional and cooperative she was in every scene. And only nine-years-old. As Hannah said, it will be fun to say they were the first ones to get her in a major role at such a young age. We all see her going very far.

Harriet and Bob, Rod's parents, were the best hosts we could ever have asked for and served as ground zero for all of our flurry of activity. They would give you the shirt off their backs, and nearly did. And the dear woman makes LACE! I turned a corner tonight and saw her in her chair crocheting the finest lace I've ever had the privilege of seeing. Lace making is nearly a lost art. And, of course, she dismisses it as "no big deal." She didn't even get flustered about us taking M.A.N.Y. lovely family heirlooms out of her house and just smiled when we brought them back in. No angst over whether they were alright or not. Just grace and faith and warm, reassuring smiles.

I got to visit the 70's house twice today. The first time I realized it had been torn apart before the kids were done shooting it. Knowing the house, it probably accomplished this on its own. The second time, I had to retrieve some things and it bit me and gouged my arm. Yes, I DID forget the garlic and my cross. I even took Annalise and Hunter but they couldn't save me. They did help me get out fast, though, before it absorbed me into the abyss. Reg and Christy are headed in there in the morning. Don't be fooled, ladies. It is not tamed or intimidated by the light of day. There will be one more visit as I go in to clean. Somebody tie a rope to my leg.

Thank you to our wonderful caterer for the week, our own Kim. Nobody goes anywhere or does anything without water and good food and she supplied plenty of both as well as treats for motivation. It kept me from having to cook the whole time and I AM GRATEFUL. Not that I COULD have cooked. I can't find my kitchen. For that matter, I can barely find the house. It looks like 10 frat boys live here and are using it as a flop house. All we've done is grab and go and then run in and dump everything. Maybe that's why I detest the 70's house so much. Reminds me too much of home.

Thanks to all of you for sticking with us through this whole thing. You've been kind, motivational, self-sacrificing, and WILLING. We do COMPLETELY understand, though, if we call you and you have disconnected your numbers with no forwarding. I will now be entering the "phone silence" zone as I unplug and turn-off. I've gotta run. Sleep wants me and I hate to keep such a hot date waiting.

With Love and Many Thanks from the Young and the Restless (Hannah) and the Old and the Breathless.

The End FOREVER.

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