The Boyz of Summer

It’s not the Big League. It’s not even the Little League. But it’s definitely a league of their own.

And NOBODY ain’t got nuthin’ on them in the good-times department.

Best Buds left to right – The Wild Man, The Arm, and The Goofball

The Goofball Goofs

Ready and waiting.

Hmmm……

Play ball.

Thanks for the photos, Chris. You rock. :-)

P.S. I added the watermark with photography credit because our friend didn’t want it. He doesn’t seek the limelight. So I must shove him into it. It’s what I do. Shove. And “The Arm?” That’s his kiddo. Can that boy ever throw a ball. Yep. Good times. Good memories. Good friends.

Good deal.

(For the interested, I've been asked to post updates on The Lila Minkler Project and I told you I am a bear of very little brain so, of course, I don't send out reminders. If you are interested, a new post appears EVERY DAY there because this is a fast-clip project. If you've missed something you think you want to see, you can link HERE).

©Copyright 2010

What Not to Wear

Perhaps this would be better titled: What Not to Share. But if one cannot humiliate oneself and get a blog post out of it, then really, what’s the point of humiliation?

Let’s consider three different shoe combinations, shall we? These are perfectly acceptable. They may not be your taste but I have foot problems (why of course I do – is there anything on my body which functions normally? No Virginia, there is no Santa Clause-only Dr. Scholl’s), and so they have to have a little heel, but not too much. And they have to have great arch support. These qualify and are therefore a shoe of choice: (Pay no attention to the wrinkly ankles.)

And again, this next pair has suited me so well they are nearly worn to a frazzle, like their owner:

While each of these pairs of shoes are perfectly acceptable on their own, combining them seems to be a fashion error:

And I think we could all agree it would be decidedly silly to think you could go into public with this combo and so, of course, we wouldn’t. Unless you’re me and then, of course, you would. It would happen while once again dressing in the dark, which we know always gets me in trouble – (if you’ve forgotten the underwear incident or never read it you can horrify yourselves HERE).

This time, it was apparently too much trouble to turn on the light in the entry way and actually survey the shoe basket. I simply reached in with my toes and felt my way around. Now, due to neuropathy in my feet from an unknown cause (no, it’s not diabetes), I have little “sensing” abilities. I can’t always tell when my feet are even touching something, let alone the RIGHT something. I’ve been known to shove a turned over toe into a closed shoe and not even realize it immediately. Consequently, I’m supposed to be careful but careful and I don’t get along that well so we don’t hang out as often as we should.

And so confident was I that all was right, I merrily flitted out the door and drove myself to community choir. And really, all would have been well, indeed possibly even undetected, if our dear choir director – thank you, Licia – had not insisted we all gather together out of our graduated seating positions and join one another in a large and convivial circle on the floor, where we might blend our voices in harmonious rapture.

The only problem was that would mean we were all looking at each other – from the ground up – full view – no hidden feet behind the chair in front of you. But I gave it not a second thought. I did not presume for a moment to be concerned about anything other than the part I was supposed to sing – in tune and on time. However, when others – yes, Kaylee, I mean YOU – happen to consider your frame (knowing it is weak), and they casually observe your less-than-desirably-shod situation, they are inclined to become uncontrollably hysterical, and, in so doing, they will draw others into their frivolity, happily revealing the source by pointing and laughing to the point of tears.

You will woefully realize, upon closer examination of your feet, that your extremities are the source of this spontaneous merriment. What are you to do under such circumstances? Why nothing more than to take a spin around the circle of song birds, advertise your feet, and allow them to crow more loudly.

And then you simply resume singing when everyone is done wetting their pants and crying, because, after all, it IS me.

No one really expects anything different.

“For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?” Mr. Bennet, Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.

©Copyright 2010

The Lila Minkler Project - First Post

And we're off over there at The Lila Minkler Project.

If you want to follow along, please click the follow button on Lila's blog so you can get updates. When I post here I'll try to remember to always include a link, but my mind is a convoluted mass of equal parts "Hoarders," "CSI," and "Survivor." I can barely find anything in there so don't pin your hopes on me.

Thanks for your interest!

Coincidence? I Think Not.

Nineteen years ago today, my little girl was born. My first born. I was silly. I was a mess. I was deliciously tearful and emotional and milky and thankful and overwhelmed. I had waited four long years through surgeries, treatments, check-ups, scans, prescription drugs, pregnancy tests, counting days on the calendar, and checking my breasts for telltale signs of soreness until I became unfit to appear in public. When I FINALLY saw a “+” on the test strip, I was thunderstruck. What I couldn’t know is, I would lose that baby and my heart and my faith would sink like the Titanic, only faster.

I wrestled with God and poured out my anger, my disappointment, my last drop of energy. I wanted to quit and just give up. But six months later, hope began anew and it wasn’t long before Miss Bo entered the world.

It is a foregone conclusion that she was, hands down, the most beautiful baby who had ever come into existence at that time.

Two years later we would go through infertility again trying to have The Wild Man. My trips to the doctor for scans were now accompanied by my little satellite, Bo. On one trip she asked where we were going and I told her, “To the doctor for a scan.” She had heard a lot of talk about “eggs” and I never gave it a thought. She piped up and said, “Yep, we have to go and see if you have a chicken baby in your tummy.”

Don’t talk about eggs in front of two year olds unless you’re scrambling them. The eggs, that is.

Besides, it was no chicken baby, it was a swingin’, jumpin’, howlin’, bouncin’ MONKEY that ended up in there and I’ve been tryin’ to cage him ever since (while secretly hoping I never do – he’s too much fun just the way he is).

But when Bo was due to arrive, I had to have a scheduled C-section due to health issues (are we SHOCKED?). I got to pick the day and I had two possibilities. One was on our niece's tenth birthday so I called and asked her how she felt about it. Some kids wouldn’t want to share the day. Not Miss Nickle Pickle. She was all over that and so these two favorite girls and cousins are exactly ten years apart.

Not a coincidence. A plan born in love. God’s for us. Our’s for each other. A sweet young cousin’s with a generous heart. And is it just me or does she look almost exACTly like Faith Hill? You KNOW my penchant for matching up faces.

YOU be the judge.

Our Niece

Faith Hill

Happy Birthday to two wonderful and loving young women! Your mama/auntie loves you!

©Copyright 2010

(P.S. – Now REALLY, my next post will be “What Not to Wear.”

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