The Lila Minkler Project

I figured out a way to write when life is busy, painful, or I'm abjectly lazy: get your great grandmother to say something for you.

Though my great grandmother, Lila, was born in the late 1880's, she still has an opinion. Women in our family are just that way. She speaks from the grave. Nothing seems to silence us.

I am in possession of a book of hers and it is a prized treasure. It contains clippings, postings, letters, photos, and newsworthy events including the Lindberg baby kidnapping and the assassination of President McKinley. It is replete with inspiration, controversy, and marital heartbreak. It contains mysteries yet to be answered. And everything there is fading. Photos and newsprint are sometimes over 100 years old. And the book could burn, or be lost, or have my coffee spilled on it and then where would I be? Lila would be silenced. And I need Lila to talk to me; to work when I can't. What are great grandmother's for?

The pages will be scanned to show the originals and I will retype what each clipping says for clarity's sake. I may weigh in with an opinion - I never lack for those - but mostly it will be a preservation project to share what Lila thought was important.

Please come visit over there if you want to but feel no obligation to comment. I am unoffended and realize we cannot comment on everything, even most things. But if you are a history buff and are remotely interested in the thoughts, hearts, and struggles of our foremothers, you may find a friend in Lila. I realize many of us are blogged out and I'm really creating this for my own children. However, you are welcome anytime.

Here is the link: The Lila Minkler Project

Join me next time when I will appear on my own version of "What Not to Wear."

© Copyright 2010

My Easter Blessings

We've been away on vacation. Grizzly has fought headaches and blood pressure issues from the ozone but is coming around. The vacation did him - and all of us - a world of good. There hasn't been an area in our lives that hasn't been extremely stressed in the last few months. We had no phone and it was delicious. We had internet but I limited myself to checking in to Facebook a few times. I thought I would blog and visit blogs but the family gave me THAT look. So I refrained.

Now, we're headed home after a great, unplugged week in the Los Padres National Forest in a darling cabin generously opened to us by Grizzly's dear brother and his sweet wife. They even turned their stick-shift Jeep over to us and I felt like a big kid whizzing down dirt roads grabbing gears. (Our Jeep is a little tamer with an automatic and had to stay home in favor of the big SUV to haul everything.)

I am always surprised by generosity and big hearts. My SIL and BIL are the "What? Why didn't you ask US?!" types. And they mean it. They obviously want what they have to benefit others as well. I'm more used to suspicious types, wondering what people want and why. A blanket of trust and kindness warms you to your very heart with a lasting heat. I'm as much enriched by that spirit as I am by the time away. I'll be thinking about it for a long time and hope to be half as loving and giving.

And I thank all of you, on this blessed Easter Day - as I'm thanking God for Christ's sacrifice on our behalf - for your faithful visits, kind comments, and willingness to stick with this blog. I hope you are being enveloped in the bosom of those who love you most today and finding others to love who truly need it.

With Love,

Robynn

Copyright 2010

Rantin’ And Bawlin’

A friend posted a video today that I just had to share with you guys.

I hate to cry alone. But it’s such a GOOD cry. A happy cry. The cleansing kind. And I needed cleansing. Liver, spleen, and mouth. I was so mad at Grizzly’s employer today I was not only able to spit nails but I was able to manufacture them as well.

Grizzly got ozone poisoning yesterday afternoon from an irresponsible client who allowed him to enter a highly toxic room. No signs were posted and no warnings given. Well, unless you count the one on the other end of the warehouse that they frequently flood with ozone gas to prevent their “healthy” vegetables from going bad. THAT sign says “Danger – Poison” and the employees are not allowed to enter the warehouse full of vegetables while it’s flooded with ozone. But he had to work in the room with the generator that was MAKING the ozone.

And did the client feel bad about this? No. Denied any responsibility.

And did his employer feel bad about this? No. Said it couldn’t actually be determined that his poisoning and ridiculously high blood pressure (that he never has), dizziness, and cough (at the workmen’s comp doctor’s office) was related to a work event. So they drug tested him. That’ll be a boring result. Unless they find ozone gas. And I have no idea if it shows up in a urine test but I HOPE it does. His clothes reek of it. And in high enough concentrations, you can be dead from it in 15 minutes.

This is a guy who in over 20 years has never missed a day due to a workmen’s comp injury. Who SHOULD have missed many days, weeks even, but has always worked through. A guy who several months ago fell on the job and banged up both knees so badly they were twice the size, had water on one knee, and still has pain. Didn’t miss any days. Just a short time on light duty. So as a thank you, his boss stood him up in front of his co-workers and told them they would all have to work harder and faster for the next six months to pay for Grizzly costing the company a workmen’s comp claim.

Yeah. He's a real stand-up guy.

So when a friend posted this video it reminded me that, besides Grizzly, there ARE good guys out there. There ARE people who offer love and sacrifice, even when it costs them so much. This was the warming my heart needed. Sometimes in this rat race, it can sure feel like all the rats are winning.

Thanks for letting me rant. It’s been awhile.

Now, here’s something worth celebrating. Thank you to our soldiers who really ARE stand up guys and gals.

© Copyright 2010

Under Construction

Shingles. They’re not just for roofs anymore.

Okay. That was fun. Next? My recommendation is you try not to get shingles. Follow my advice.

And why is it roofs and not rooves? The plural of hoofs is hooves. I know I’m not the first person to ask this but it bears repeating since no one has answered it yet.

I lost over a week and gained five pounds just laying in bed. Well, apparently I ATE something as well.

Now I’m recovered and I’m crawling around on the floor finishing the stripping of wallpaper and regretting five more pounds to haul into an upright and locked position. I fantasize about what it would be like to be young, and lithe, and weigh less than a mid-sized car. I’ll never know but if you’re young and lithe and thin, go kiss yourself in the mirror for me. I’m washing wallpaper paste off and taping things that shouldn’t be painted, like tile, and window casing, and pets.

I’ll get back to you. Look for me on your blogs during all the future breaks I’m planning as I try not to overdo.

I love that word. Overdo. What a great canceller of excuse guilt.

© Copyright 2010 (Like people are standing around trying to steal this drivel.)

Observational Twitter 24

Famous Saying:

“It was the least I could do.” ~unknown

Obscure Saying:

“It was the least I could do…..and I always try to do the least I can do.” ~Robynn

©Copyright 2010

Idiot Day…….I Won.

Next Tuesday, March 9th, in our little town of about a million people (in Fresno County), our local Children’s Hospital of Central California will host an annual event called, “Kids’ Day.” People volunteer and stand on street corners to sell a special edition of The Fresno Bee, featuring info on the hospital and it’s young patients. It’s a great cause and raises much needed money. The kids and I signed up. Bo has had multiple eye surgeries there and The Wild Man has had surgery as well. They have also been hospitalized for flu when they were very young and given the royal treatment. They LOVE Childrens, as the locals call it.

However, what FEW people know is there is a special day exactly one week before this event for brain-dead homeschooling mothers. It is called “Idiots’ Day.”

Not just everyone qualifies. These are the conditions:

• The day before Idiots’ Day your college age daughter must have all her planets line-up with work difficulties, school deadlines, and social obligations colliding at warp speed. This must cause her a meltdown in the way that the polar ice-caps encountering Krakatoa might cause a trickle of water.
• Your long lost brother must give you his office address for mailing for fear you might stalk him at his residence.
• Your pain medication must quit working. Your pain must not.
• Your 14-year-old son must repeatedly make sounds, thump the desk, argue, and fall out of his chair while you teach him Algebra. This will not happen because he is simple. It will happen because he can.
• Your dog must learn to jump the fence for the first time – and does.
• Your mother must call and want to know all the information the attorney disseminated for her, in your presence, the Friday prior. You must disseminate it again.
• You must call your nephew at Cornell and wish him a happy birthday into his cell phone message center and worry that in the past three months, none of your phone calls, texts, or emails have been returned and decide whether or not to consider foul play or police contact.
• As you share your day with your husband, he must tell you about a friend whose homeschooling wife is leaving him AND the children. You know you should sympathize but instead you ask if there is room in her car. Your husband will reply, “No,” as he has already claimed the extra seat. He informs you that HE is leaving and you can homeschool his friend’s children as well as your own. You both know he’ll never beat you to the car but he will try.

At the end of this glorious day, you will inform your children that they must go to bed early because you will be waking them at 4 a.m. for Kids’ Day. They will be thrilled. Your daughter will stay up until midnight doing homework because that’s life. Your son will stay up reading…..because he can. You will go to bed and set two alarms because you’re exhausted.

At 4 a.m. you will awaken and find two groggy children. You will put your bra on backwards and head out the door. You will head to the pick-up destination where you will all find your instructions, your aprons, and your newspapers. As you pull up, you will notice the parking lot curiously empty. You will then realize, this isn’t Kids’ Day. You are a week EARLY for KIDS’ DAY. You will realize instead, this is Idiots’ Day. And you heartily congratulate yourself. You won.

You feed the less-than-happy children, send them back to bed, and go to bed yourself. But you will not sleep. Your husband’s alarm will begin to go off at 5:30 and he will hit the snooze eight times.

You spend your time in productive murder plots but decide to blog instead before leaving for choir, shopping, homeschooling, and making dinner for a friend. You will realize in a last, desperate, choking realization, you forgot to get the phone number of the departing wife.

The End

©Copyright 2010

Photo Courtesy of: The Collegiate CSUF

Observational Twitter 23

Famous Quote:

“If wishes were horses all beggars would ride.” ~ Old English Proverb

Obscure Quote:

“If wishes were horses all those beggars should get a clue. I know I would. I’d wish so much I'd be exhausted, create the biggest horse flesh business in the world, trade publicly, and pay people to ride for me. Let's have some vision here.” ~ Robynn

I'm Not Dead....Pretty Much

And I haven't been doing anything resembling much of this, either. You thought I was going to tell you I've whipped my house into shape didn't you? I mean, I try. I really do. But it's like bailing out the ocean with a thimble.

So what did I do on my summer vacation this winter?

Did I take care of my innards? I think the answer to this would be, "Yes," if by "take care of" I mean I saw to it that they stayed mostly inside my abdominal cavity. I feel I have been successful at that. I have not found my liver, spleen, or alternator just laying around anywhere. I haven't gone to McDonald's or Taco Bell. But if you mean I ate extremely well and juiced everyday then the answer gets hazier. Like Erica Kane's face (All My Children) as they film her through the years.

Ever notice that? I don't watch this soap opera anymore. I quit about ten years ago when I started choking on their political agenda. But I had watched it from the beginning. And whenever I happen to come across it in these past ten years I always notice that Erica is heavily filtered through a hazy lens. I can barely make out her features to be sure it's her. I know they're trying to keep the illusion of youth alive but it makes me feel incredibly old because my sight seems to be going each time she appears on screen.

I'll try to stick to the subject: Not being dead.

This morning as I laid, lied, lay, lie, lain, (the correct tense never sounds right to me and is my participle past, present, or dangling? Has it been dangling all day and no one told me?).....let's just go with "assumed a supine position in bed," and tried to add up everything that's been ailing me and keeping me from more than four or five hours of sleep every night. But by the time I approached the end of the list, I forgot my reason for counting. When I remembered why, I couldn't recall the point of the exercise. And you can be grateful for that little fact, my overtaxed readers.

I do know I can't sit for an extended period of time because I injured my tailbone and sitting is certainly a vital part of blogging. I remember this salient fact each time I park it. Which is frequently. Almost all of our homeschooling is on the computer.

Also, life hasn't felt very funny since my stepfather's death. We weren't especially close but my mom needs me a lot now and that's its own fresh challenge and excitement in the way climbing Mt. Everest in my bikini - with my current body and photographers all around - would be a fresh challenge filled with excitement. My only cheerful thought would be a timely plummet from a slippery precipice. However, by God's grace I am coping and seem to be some help, so I continue to tie off and use my safety gear, against my better judgment.

The other issue that is ever before me is the simple fact that writing attracts readers. And when readers come, readers who usually have blogs themselves, I like to visit back. And I can't right now. So that makes me feel greedy and makes me hesitate to write.

My solution is to absolve all of you from any obligatory visits and know that I will write and post here simply to remember what in the world I did with my life, when I look back someday. Feel free to stop in if you want to or skip me entirely. I will pop in to your places from time-to-time because I SERIOUSLY ENJOY reading about your lives. But I can't figure out how to have time for everything.

I am considering pulling down the 30 Day blog and simply accepting that combining the info here will be more in keeping with how I live my life - everything overlapping and mushed together. I don't think I can maintain two blogs and do them any justice.

And I have to finish ripping the wallpaper off my bathroom wall and repainting. Grizzly calls the current motif, "Late World War II." That's generous.

All I can offer, I suppose, is a stark comparison for you. Lay your inconsistencies against mine, consider the shadow your figure casts, gaze about your gracious abodes, and come away feeling incredibly successful, sane, and lovely.

To warp a borrowed epigram, I cannot be a good example but I happily offer myself as a terrible warning.

Hello again and thank you for all your kind wishes and inquiries. Really. You ARE the best. WHAT are you DOING here?

© Copyright 2010

Lilly Livered

So I spoke too soon about all my colonoscopic success.

Apparently, you have this gross looking thing living in your abdomen known as a liver. (I find it mildly disturbing that I possess parts which may appear on a menu.) My liver is extremely petulant and indulged and decided to throw a temper fit shortly after being bombarded with Movi-Prep. It has had its problems over the years and contributed to interruptions in vacation schedules and general good health. It does not take medicine and sticks out its little liver lips and pouts. Now it has the dubious distinction of also being clinically fatty and enlarged.

And why not? It belongs to a person who is fatty and enlarged. Shouldn’t we be a matched set? This is apparently undesirable. I think the clinical term the doctor used was “not good.” But it may be reversible with concerted effort. (I always got D’s in concerted effort). If it does get fixed I hope the rest of my body follows. It would be a shame to have a beautiful and svelte liver that didn’t match the whole ensemble.

All of this led to a dramatic visit to the hospital via ambulance. (The ambulance driver invited the lovely 18-yr-old Bo to ride along. No one invited me when my stepdad fell. It must have been my chubby liver.) It would seem something was jostled during my colonoscopy or else all the Movi-Prep moved and prepped things not designed to be moved and prepped. Whatever happened, something went seriously amiss and dire pain ensued along with other effects that do not deserve honorable mention. And since my abdominal menu item is in a less-than-healthy state, it has had some trouble recovering.

I am happy to say it is at least up and receiving visitors, though it draws the line at alcoholics. They are too toxic. Not to mention obnoxious.

Juicing and even more healthy eating are before me. This morning I juiced carrots, beets, cabbage, dandelion, fennel, broccoli, apples, and oranges. It takes FOREVER to wash, juice, and clean up. I was going to blog but I had to juice. That’ll be my excuse now for everything. “Oh sorry……I can’t

• Run for governor
• Clean
• Do laundry
• Drive the speed limit
• Keep appointments

I have to juice.”

Think of the things I’ll get out of. I may have the liver for this after all.

Copyright © 2010

I Can See for Miles And Miles

(And you thought YOU had a bad job. How would you like to have been a fleet enema character at the Indiana State Fair last year? And I don't know what his date here is supposed to be and I have no desire to know. This is a field trip we won't be going on soon.)

As far as my actual results I got the "all clear" on the colonoscopy which, really, how could it be anything else after the 55 gallon drum of Movi-Prep? I'm pretty sure if you look down my throat you can see my shoes.

Now, for those of you of a certain age, and we know who we are, it's your turn. You can see how much fun Dave Barry and I had. Why not you? And it buys you at least one cheap blog post. It is not unmentionable. We all have a colon. They don't have to be whispered about. I mean, I'm not having a party for mine (or dressing up in costumes) but I am wearing a party hat about it's high functioning status. Nice to get an "A" on something.

And sorry, Scurra, no pictures of my intestinal maze. And for all the rest of you? You're welcome.

© Copyright 2010

The Bottom Line

Greetings friends and hello from the deadbeat vacationing author of this blog. It truly has been a near Tibetan monk retreat time. You may or may not have noticed my absence on your blogs and even my complete avoidance of email connection. In true Tibetan style I have chosen to eschew the modern trappings of electronic communication and have, instead, immersed myself in unbridled electronic entertainment - oh, and books.

I have become addicted to Monarch of The Glen, a lovely BBC series the whole family is now unreasonably invested in, reveled in Cranford with Judith Dench, buried my nose in Two Years Before The Mast which I’m nearly reading at traffic lights due to utter fascination (and the idea of a nearly empty California which baffles the mind of this California citizen – one among 37 million), and have consumed yet more books on healthy eating, organic food growing, and politics, while falling even more in love with author Michael Pollan and Polyface Farms owner, Joel Salatin.

It has been a lovely retreat and, frankly, I think I look great in the vibrant colors and jaunty hat. (Unfortunately, I was JUST out of the frame on the right there.)

Now I come to you on the eve of an event I knew you wouldn’t want to miss: my colonoscopy.

Yes, that’s right saddle pals. It’s time to once again purposely inflict upon my person nausea and epic evacuations, all in the name of health. Oxymoronic though it may seem, I will chug volumes of nasty tasting salt cocktails whilst rendering myself permanently adhered to the porcelain throne. If you’ve never read Dave Barry’s account of this marvelous adventure, I encourage you to click http://www.miamiherald.com/dave_barry/story/427603.html.

But don’t eat or drink while reading or you could cause severe damage to yourself or your computer. Especially if you’re prepping for a colonoscopy. The damage could even include others.

You may remember Katie Couric, in near Jules Verne style, grinning at us in her drug-induced stupor atop a hospital gurney while inviting us to go journeying into her “center of the earth,” as it were. We were treated to pictures of her cavernous insides so that we, too, might see how simple this procedure is to endure. No offense, Katie, and I know your heart was in the right place (I think I saw it), but big deal. It’s not that phase that’s really the problem. Please feel free to bring cameras along and don your headgear for the spelunking part of my adventure tomorrow. I’ll be like you, blissfully drunken, or if I’m really lucky, knocked out. But where were the cameras and where were you (like we don’t know) during the PREP part of this mission? Not nearly as filmable. We all know how that part works:

I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this deeply important aspect of my life so, out of the goodness of my heart and typical thoughtfulness, I return to include you.

I don’t know. Maybe this was a crappy idea.

© Copyright 2010

Photos Courtesy of: Flikr/Wallpapers Desktodesk

It’s The Wind Up

Christmas is almost here, in case you missed that little fact. Maybe you’re way more organized than I am and, by now, are sitting around your toasty fire (or swimming pool for my southern hemisphere friends) sipping a mocha latte. Not me. It’s more fudge making this morning, gift wrapping, house cleaning, and then fudge delivery (but I LOVE that part).

I don’t have a great deal in the way of family traditions passed down, especially from my father’s side of the family, but THE FUDGE is one thing I do have.

It was my great-grandmother’s recipe and is only handed down to the next generation when their complete discretion can be counted on. I didn’t qualify until I was in my 30’s which probably speak volumes about my character. That’s when my aunt took me aside and made me swear an oath never to reveal the secret except to my own children. It would seem it’s the original See’s recipe and I honestly cannot tell the difference between the two so I’m likely to believe it.

The fudge is requested each year with great anticipation by some of my friends and neighbors and my girlfriend’s nine-year-old son, Andrew, even requested the fudge – in a pan – for his birthday cake two years ago. I found out at the Christmas parade that he wanted it again this year but she wouldn’t let him ask me. DIANE. The child can have a pan of fudge ANYTIME he wants one! Andrew!! Don’t ask your mother! Call me directly! I’ll slip you my number later today.

And I’m back from my travels to Bakersfield to see dear, life-long friends, Jeannette and Jo Ann. We’ve known each other since I was three and those friendships are more like family……well, family you want to see. Jo Ann was here from Missoula, Montana so we had to grab the visit while we could, even amidst the Christmas rush.

Officially, I’m saying good-bye until after the New Year and will be taking some time off to have family time and maybe get a project or two done. I pray you all have a blessed experience celebrating in your own particular way and I want to thank you for all the gifts you’ve given me this year. Your sweet support and comments are gifts I can return to and they continue to bless me. I wish I could sit across from each one of you, hold your hands, look into your eyes and thank you for being my friends, walking with me through this year, and sharing your lives with me. I’ve learned so much from you.

I’d like to rerun my Christmas post from last year when I was just starting out in the blog world because it still warms my heart and I hope it does the same for you. Here it is:

A Christmas Story – But Not The One With The Leg Lamp

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 collected by the company Grizzly 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 Hunter. I wondered if my son wouldn't have felt much the same. I sensed his 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 2008/2009

Trouble With My Vowels

If you’re a gal who pulls all vowels and one weird consonant when playing Scrabble, then you have to marry a guy who pulls all consonants and one weird vowel.

It says so in the marriage handbook.

On Thanksgiving, this was how it shaped up. After 23 years we finally figured out why we’re together.

On a fundamental level we understand each other. My vowels are a problem and he’s consonated.

And you know what that spells: romance.

© Copyright 2009

Goofballs Keep Me Sane

This guy on the left keeps me crackin’ up. That’s my Wild Man. (Blurry photo as I try to sneak up on them.)

The guy on the right keeps me crackin’ up. That’s his sidekick, Mr. Drama.

They have a ball together and could talk all the legs off a centipede. They could power a small country with jaw movement alone. They regularly injure one another in wrestling matches trying to establish who is dumb and who is dumber. Right now, it’s a tie.

They’re killin’ time here between performances in a production.

At least they weren’t killing each other.

The Wild Man has one wrist in a brace and an injured thumb on the other side after the smack down a few days ago.

Yep, it’s good to be fourteen, heavy on testosterone and energy, light on gray matter. Hopefully, this will balance out when he gets older.

Probably around 75.

© Copyright 2009

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like HOLIDAY?

Okay. So I was watching a commercial on television with my nearly grown children (who undoubtedly were basking in the glow of my presence) when onto the screen loomed a mother, Christmas shopping with her teenage son. Said son whipped out a gift he bought to give to a sibling and mom replied to him in surprised tones, “You bought a holiday present for your brother?!”

“A holiday present?” my children and I replied in unison.

And this would go under the holiday tree? What holiday would that be exactly? I don’t know……Christmas?

I know retailers, in an effort to be financially correct and carve out any possible green from all wallets of any persuasion, have assumed the position of neutrality. “Holiday” and “Holiday Tree” are the new correct terms. But there IS no neutral and there is no need for correction. Guess what? It’s Christmas! It’s about Christ. Being born. For us. In a manger. In Bethlehem. Around this time of year.

When Meredith Wilson penned the now famous words “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” she had an opportunity to use the term “holiday.” She didn’t. And there’s something about, “I’m dreaming of a white holiday,” that just doesn’t have the same warm, fuzzy glow to it. Irvin Berlin knew what worked and called it "the best song he, or anyone, ever wrote." And he was proudly Jewish.

But if the word “Christmas” isn’t safe, what other words might become fiscally or politically offensive to those who want our dollars or would seek to control our beliefs?

What will we do with the song, “O Christmas Tree?”

“O holiday tree, O holiday tree,

Thy leaves are so unchanging (well, except of course we understand that nothing is cast in stone and if you want to change we will support your decision),

Not only green when summer’s here (or rather, we mean that time of year when the position of the earth – be it northern or southern hemispheres – is closer to the sun….it is not our intention to limit you to the term ‘summer’),

But also when ‘tis cold and drear (understand that we are not attempting to cast judgment by intimating the positional rotation away from the sun is in any way negative),

O holiday tree, O holiday tree,

Let’s just forget we sang of thee.”

And can “A Charlie Brown Christmas” ever be the same if we must now call it “A Charlie Brown Holiday?” What will we sing when we hear the theme song? This?

“Holiday time is here……”

Perhaps we should change ALL special days to reflect greater inclusion of every possibility and build in apologies as well. Maybe New Year’s Day could be “Culturally and Historically Egocentric Day of Western Civilization Time Marking.” Definitely makes you feel like popping a cork on the bubbly.

We in America err gravely I’m sure to celebrate Independence Day each July Fourth. Far less divisive to call it, “Lack of Cultural Sensitivity Day Wherein We Did Not Strive to Be Good Citizens by Working in Unison With A Somewhat Oppressive, Albeit Temporarily Misguided, Overseas Monarchy That Seemed Unwilling, Or Perhaps Unable, to Represent Our Interests.” Pack that in your fireworks and explode ‘em.

And in celebration, as we raise aloft our sparklers, let us not hail that Star Spangled Banner over the “land of the free.” Let us sew a picture of the whole world onto one flag so as not to celebrate that we in America, with our stars and stripes, are the home of the brave. We may be sending a message that “you, over there, are not.”

So, lift your spiced egg milk product, throw a cement log on the gas jet, let Jack or Jane Frost nip (no, that sounds distinctly like drinking and could be misconstrued as an alcohol endorsement), er, touch you on the nose (if that’s agreeable to you and you do not feel it creates a hostile holiday environment), and sing your non-descript carols. And have yourself a happy little holiday now.

Wow. I feel sort of tingly and sentimental. Don’t you?

© Copyright 2009

Photo Courtesy of: FreeChristmasWallpapers.net

I’m Such A Child

Does marching up and down the street pretending you’re actually IN the parade and embarrassing your children count for anything? I believe this type of activity is important to desensitize my progeny. This way, when they walk out of the bathroom with toilet paper trailing behind them or they accidentally spit food on their date, it will be child’s play. They will say, “We survived our mother. Humiliation has no power over us.” And they will have me to thank.

You're welcome.

Aren’t you obligated to march around and be filled with wonderment and joy when you hear music, see twinkling Christmas lights, and have a party of twenty five friends all determined to have a merry time in the nippy, windy cold?

And the first thing down the street was my FAVORITE entry each year. I have no idea what it’s called but I want one. These photo effects could call my sobriety into question…….

(click to embiggen – good luck)

See?

The people ride in the center and I wanna be one of those people.

The drought’s been so bad here we have to put our boats to use on land.And hey, it’s Clovis…….we’re a rodeo town….we gotta have our horses…..

……and country music. Advice to KISS Country - Allison Krause should be on the side of that bus.

And Jeeps……being a Jeep gal myself I think this is a vital part of the parade.

This one had so many lights he ran with a generator on top. Bo spotted that. I could see her making plans for our Jeep and generator.

And then other 4x4’s got in the show……

This one was a favorite. I’d use it for my Christmas tree and shove the presents under the differential.

And no self respecting cowboy town would be complete without its semi trucks (this was AWEsome)…..And the really old cars….

And the rare cars…..like this Kaiser Traveler.

It’s older than I am and I appreciate that about a car. I ran down the road after it just to keep getting photos. My son was hollering after me, “What are you DOING?” Gee whiz. Doesn’t he know by now?

The marching band has to get in there and if you’re having Irish Coffee while you’re staring at this it should look just perfect to you.

This one as well. But check out the light trails on the drumsticks. Whoa. Dude.

Here come the sweet ones with the kiddos.

And finally, the float that sums up the season. The one about CHRISTmas. Love this.

So there you have it. Proof (on the banner over the street) that you’re supposed to be a child to attend. I qualified. And I’m proud to be a Clovisite, or Clovisian, or a Clovisonian…..whatever it is we’re called. We have an identity crisis around here. We used to be a little bitty town. Now we have over 100,000 people and no one’s ever heard of us. They never give the weather for Clovis, only Fresno. We aren’t on the maps on the local news. Shoot, we can’t even elect our mayor. It’s an appointed position that harkens back to the time when we only had three people in the town and they had shoot-outs over who got to be mayor and wear the three piece suit. (I'm sure I'm next in line to be town historian.) We have one guy whose been mayor about 48 times. Hi Harry.

But we are who we are and you can see we don’t let it stop us. If you’re ever in central California, slow down, turn east, and you’ll find us at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Our official town motto? “Clovis Is A Way of Life.” And all I can say is, “Boy Howdy!”

Thanks for coming to the parade with me. :-)

© Copyright 2009

Small Town Christmas Fun

No, it’s not a float but doesn’t it look like it could be? This is some hearty soul’s house and I wish he lived next door to me. I don’t have one light hung, no tree, well, it’s leaned against the shed out back being hosed down with water as I write. (Gets rid of dead needles and spider hitch-hikers who FREAK me out when I reach into the tree and they reach back.) Shudder.

Back to floats…….Tonight we’ll be seeing lots of them and some will probably look like this. Downtown Clovis always has an electric light parade the first weekend in December and we try never to miss it because it’s so homespun. There’ll be semi-trucks, Jeeps, horses, marching bands, decorated dogs, and kids wrapped up like presents.

Usually a few friends join us and we huddle up and drink hot chocolate or Starbucks and munch cookies and popcorn while we talk about how we’re freezing. However, this is California – low level elevation California. Freezing is relative. It’ll probably be clear down in the 40’s for those of you in snow country who would probably be in swimsuits here. But we’ll shiver anyway and bring blankets and coats and love every minute of it. And I’m breaking with tradition and making iced cranberry and orange scones. For the moms. And LOTS of friends are coming this year so it should be a blast. All I can say is…..

Wish YOU were here!

Oh yeah, and I also wish Santa would visit while I’m gone tonight and decorate my house but not before cleaning it and doing all my laundry. Why can’t a girl get what she REALLY wants?

© Copyright 2009

Why, It Was Only Yesterday

Well, and the 364 other yesterdays.

That’s when I pushed my pin into the blogosphere map and marked out my territory….my little spot in the blog world.

This was my original post (obviously the blog name changed but my sentiments remain identical):

I'm Finally Here!

For all who have waited breathlessly for my opinions, reflections, and life-changing insights,(both of you), I have arrived.I named my blog "Laugh Til You Die" because I can't handle life without finding something to laugh about on a nearly daily basis. While it's true there are experiences in our lives which come without any humor, most of the time we can find a chuckle even in the dark. For me, the laughing lights a light so I can navigate. If I must face all difficulties with intense sobriety and "appropriate" seriousness, I forfeit joy. And joy is God's gift to me. I hope to use it until I leave for heaven and then I hope to get new material.

What was I hoping for and what did I expect?

I hoped for readers and just maybe followers as well.

I expected myself to write. I wasn’t worried about subject matter because I’ve always been able to make much ado about nothing. That didn’t offer my reader the promise of anything substantial but I figured I could fill a page.

I had no idea how time consuming it would be.

I had no idea how important it would feel…..the sense of responsibility I would develop toward it.

(All my sentences are beginning with “I.” It’s the mark of a superior writer.)

I wanted a place to be accountable for consistent writing. A book felt a tad overwhelming back then but a post every day or two or three? Doable. Most of the time.

What I didn’t expect was actual friends.

I figured a few hearty souls would belly up to my bombastic bar, drop a comment or two in the tip jar, and be on their way to partake of finer fare available at the more posh blog houses in the village run by professional proprietors. Finding out I had regular patrons who actually made my humble establishment their destination of choice was heady stuff. And I let it fuel my desire to write and connect. It made me feel as though I had something to say. (Not sure if that's true but I said it anyway.) Maybe I couldn’t consider it my magnum opus but I decided to carpe diem even if it meant the occasional mea culpa. After all, caveat emptor.

(I have wanted to trail out my Latin for awhile but will now cease before I hurt myself. All I have left in the arsenal anyway are my conjugated verbs about love and I get those mixed up with my Spanglish.)

But you and I became friends. And miles and face-to-face visits weren’t necessary to find myself invested in your lives, your health, your relationships, and your hearts. And, likewise, you took me in. I began to speak of my friends on the east coast, or in the Midwest, or Canada, or Sweden, the U.K., or Australia. A few came in from African countries and sometimes Russia would drop by, or China, or India, and other places. And my world expanded and I had NO IDEA what it was I could possibly say that brought any of you here in the first place. But you came. And I thank you for your faithful visits and time and words and words and WORDS of encouragement. I could stop right now and have enough loving words to drag me out of any depression for the rest of my life. You are TOO good to me and that isn’t humility on my part – it’s fact. I’m not nearly as terrific as you all make me sound.

I’ve always told Grizzly I want to have my funeral while I’m alive so if anyone has anything good to say, I’ll be able to hear it, and look here – I have. (He likes to remind me that in my regular life people will like me a lot better when I’m dead and will be inclined to be more generous then. He's such a riot.)

So yahoo! I made it. I read statistics somewhere – unverified though they may be – that 70% of all bloggers wash out before a year is up, or at least quit posting. Do you think that’s true? Who knows but I’m happy to look back at 250 posts (including both blogs) and think, “I’m still at it.”

Life happens. Breaks happen. If you’re really lucky, vacations happen. And I have GOT to write my books so I know that will take me away sometimes. (I’m sure I could sell at least 14 copies if four of you would be willing to buy one and I buy the other ten.) But I don’t want to say goodbye. I am a citizen of this place now and we’re walking through life together – messy, lovely, funny…..you name it.

Who knew all this was waiting on the other side of that little door I peeked through?

© Copyright 2009

Photos courtesy of flikr.com

Contemplating My Navel

My belly button should cooperate so much when I’m done. Wouldn’t that be great if our navels just popped out and let us know when we’ve had enough to eat? Why does it take my WHOLE stomach, rear end, thighs, and fat face popping out to sound the alarm? And it would seem I don’t even wake up then. I hit the snooze way too much.

I know what you’re thinking right now….."How have I lived without all this deep wisdom?” It’s truly a miracle you’ve made it through.

I offer up my paltry excuses for bad eating today on the 30 Day Throw Down! blog. You might be able to use some of them so please drop in and read up while you are baking pies, working, changing diapers, planning for relatives and guests, getting the kids off the furniture, shaving one leg (let’s face it – you’ll never have time for two), grocery shopping, answering your email, phone, Twitter, Facebook, and cell while simultaneously reshuffling your IPod to play only Christmas music, and smiling graciously to your dearly beloveds who grace your table tomorrow, and those not so dearly beloved (which will take more muscles to produce the smile – believe me I know – my face could compete in weight lifting trials right about now).

You ARE all that. And I know it. And I am ever more and more grateful that you choose to drop in and check on me and read my drivel. Have a lovely day. May you be hugged and appreciated for the hard work you do and especially for all the things that make life move along but are unseen by any but God. I don’t know what you have to do or face but I know there is much that is unspeakable. Still, you do it. Still, you persevere. And still you take time for others. I’m one of them.

And I humbly offer my Thanksgiving. Many blessings to you my friends. I hope you have a lovely day tomorrow filled with yet more reasons to give thanks. (Hey! Maybe the rotten relative will call and tell you they can't come. This is my sweet and gentle Thanksgiving wish for you.) Enjoy!

© 2009

Kryptonite

Humor is my super power.

It’s not that I claim to be so hysterically entertaining or funny. It’s that humor is the “S” on my chest. It gets me through the toughest times and keeps me seeing the upside, or the irony, while it fuels my optimism. I rely on it heavily to diffuse nearly every difficult situation of my life.

But then there’s kryptonite. And existing within inches of it for several weeks or having it force fed to me has had crippling effects.

It’s not the death of my stepfather. We had an amiable (though complicated) relationship, but he wasn’t ever a father figure to me. He married my mother when I’d been gone from home for four years and he never had children of his own. He didn’t have fatherly ways. He enjoyed limited time with my kiddos, in small doses, but he and my mother built a very tight little world for themselves that didn’t really have room for others. And that was okay because my mom and I do best with one another when we visit only occasionally. We have far too much traumatizing history and, because it’s truly pointless to confront or try to change anything (I know – I tried for years), I simply move forward when history is continually revised and regurgitated in my presence. And I suck on my kryptonite tablet while moving closer to the precipice.

And I nearly fell over it and crashed to the bottom.

Thank God for trees that grow close to craggy cliff sides and insist on pushing roots out into thin air. As I began to tumble, one of those tree roots caught me and that’s where I’ve been hanging, but it's also what saved me.

Strangely enough, my tree root was my kids getting majorly sick. High temps, deep coughs, too sick to read or even play a computer game. They came down with what Grizzly and I had two months ago. I had hoped, back then, that The Wild Man had the same thing we had even though his symptoms were different, but I was wrong. And Bo never did get sick during that siege. They both made up for it. Grizzly and I were immune because we had already had it. Quite sure it was H1N1. The university where Bo is attending has had a clinic just to test for it, it’s been so prolific. But she was too sick to get there.

I was called back to fulltime, hands-on mothering, because being younger, they were hit even harder than we were.

And all the tending and nighttime vigils and forehead mopping and praying brought me back to reality. And it gave me space to spit out the kryptonite and a legitimate reason to be away from the source. In so doing, I began to recover. And friends provided food and support and cards and conversation - and the thing I was lowest on - humor.

And I’ve received the sweetest comments and emails from you all. You’ve taken the time to pray for me, for us, to check in – to drop another note. And I began to remember why writing was important to me, even if I couldn’t find any words worth jotting down. I’m not sure these qualify but it’s a start.

So, hello. I’m back. Not fully there but on the road. I know you understand. I’ll be by to visit soon and hopefully, not from the computer in the solarium at the insane asylum.

I’m limiting my time with Lex Luthor.

© 2009