Greetings all!
Well, we managed yet another completed HTC. This was the 3rd year for Stumbo's Prayer Warrior to embark upon this adventure. It didn't come without many bumps in the road. Our roster changed more in the past 9 months than Erik w/a K changed his underpants. One change that I certainly can speak to is that I didn't get to run for the first HTC since 1999. I have been nursing a hamstring and it just didn't happen for me, but I captained the team and even rode along with the crazies in Van 2. Here are a few of the highlights:
- Erik brought granola again and offered it up quite often... AGAIN. It appeared to increase in volume as the race ensued, not sure what is in that stuff, but probably not the best diet food if it grows.
-Another repeat experience is that Erik's bag seemed to vomit repeatedly and parts of it could be found all over the van, another phenomenon that we can't explain. (Love you Erik, thanks for making me think of Trent, so I wasn't missing him so much)
- Kara, our loudest and most excited cheerer and most fun lady ever couldn't run this year, battling a souvenir she brought back from Egypt named "Perry site" nasty little guy. We missed you terribly Kara. Even in her absence, she was felt because she sent along her famous Energy Balls and it turns out our infantile van never tires of laughing when one of us says "balls". Awesome.
- Shannon brings a plethora of wipes that could probably stock the shelves of a Walgreens. We all partook of them and enjoyed them very much. We also learned that during a run she can stop, drop and poop in 10 seconds, impressive by any standards, wow, I must pause here for how impressive that is.
- And speaking of poop... Erik giving a poop pep talk through the Honey Bucket walls... epic. I am standing in line waiting my turn with about 5 people and this uproarious laughter erupts from the line of HB's. Someone comments "They're having fun", I sheepishly look at them and say "Those are my teammates, that's how we roll."
- Steve Unwin, Stallion, warrior, awesome teammate extraordinaire and can puke like nobody's business. Oh man, you rock dude! You are my hero. Side note, watching how you love to tease Erik is one of my favorite things too. So fun watching you two brothers.
- Jaque, our driver and resident mom of all. Thanks for all you did to help our team and for bringing your sister along to run, very cool. You two managed to smuggle a small grocery store of food aboard, not sure how you managed.
- Beeks! Our last minute sub and Rookie of the Year! Having just had an appendectomy like 3 weeks prior, Beeker was feeling this weird feeling where her appendix used to be, I named it the "Appendix Void". What a trooper, powered through the pain and ran like the wind and also was awesomely funny, W00t! You rock girl!
- Mandee, our tall girl ;o) rocked it. Even though her buddy Kara had to back out last minute, Mandee stepped right in to the weird bunch than made up Van 2 and cracked wise and ran well and even recovered from the fact that Beeks kept calling her Megan. Bah!
- In a series of unfortunate events we were bumping up against not being able to finish. There was talk along the last legs about course closure and we were watching the volunteers pick up garbage, we had a looming time of 8pm for our last runner to leave that exchange. We did some math and realized that it was going to take some tough running and creative captaining to pull this off. I shall evoke my 5th amendment rights here in case the HTC officials are reading this, but basically, Erik had to run this 8.12 mile last leg that changed since last year. It used to be a flat 7 1/2 mile leg and now it's arguably the hardest leg in the race. Horrible. Oh my. As we drove it and realized what poor Erik had agreed to, my stomach lurched, my heart hurt and I was thinking I would be permanently "defriended" by him. The one shining silver lining is that he looked stunning. He had grabbed the bright pink vest just because it already had a number on it. He borrowed Beeks' hand held water bottle and, oh yeah it happened to be bright pink and then he got up to the exchange and had forgot his headlamp, so Shannon let him have hers, you guessed it... PINK! He looked glorious. He killed it! Ran that horrible leg like a champ. He came in, handed off and proceeded to wretch his guts out, so freaking awesome! Made my captain heart so proud.
We made it! The announcer at the finish always says each team as they cross. When Shannon was spotted, he said "Team 105, Stumbo's Prayer Warriors, your runner is coming." We all excitedly assembled, ready to jog the last 100 meters with her. He looked at us and said "What's a Stumbo?" I don't recall what we said, but I remember thinking that I would love to sit down with that guy and tell him all about John Stumbo. Our van did tell John's story a few times. There was a volunteer at one exchange who was very interested in it. He took a magnet and was going to go and read his blog. We prayed, we talked about John, we laughed, we pooped, we groused some, we did it. Sigh.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Waterworld
Hey bloggers, I am at home alone tonight and slightly bored (no offense to Rocky the wonder dog). Bruce is in Seattle and Trent is on a date with his Court and Megan is at Chloe's.
We've had a slight problem develop at the ranch here. Yesterday Bruce noticed some water leaking out of our rock wall in the front of our yard. He called a plumbing company (A1 plumbing) I've since heard that they're good, but let's face it, Bruce didn't make it too deep into the yellow pages when he "stumbled" upon them. Anyway, they are coming tomorrow to fix an apparent broken pipe. Cost is... how do I put this? I considered yanking Trent from his plan to attend Whitworth and sign him up for Plumber school. Yikes, spendy Wendy!
So, I find myself here tonight with no water. We could have water, but when we turn it on, it leaks like crazy and I'm a cheapskate and also we're fearful of what may be happening in the yard with erosion etc. Bruce was worried and suggested I go to a motel, I said "Nah, I'll get some big jugs for teeth, face etc and make it work. Well, I get home and there is a dishwasher of dirty dishes, a sink of dirty dishes, a dog dish with a dead spider in it, there is always laundry to do... and me with 4 gallons of water. I sighed, I might have had a small "Charlie Brown" shoulder slump and then it hit me. Gee, I have a very comfortable home with electricity and the option to stay in a hotel and some very minor irritants that will be fixed tomorrow when I pay people to fix our problem. I think God might have smacked me and my sniveling self.
Here is where I may be leaping in a very ballerina style sort of way onto my bandwagon. I sponsor a child in Haiti. It costs us a very small amount of money each month. It doesn't have to be Haiti or the organization I use, but seriously folks, consider your life right now without water or electricity. Not to mention food! For the tiny amount of money you can spend and give a family the piddliest of necessities... it really does break my heart. Just freaking do it. There, I said it. My water will be fixed tomorrow, A1 plumbing will be richer and the Dudleys will be... still just fine. Just water under the bridge right? It makes for good "Dudley Family Folklore". I do love a good story.
We've had a slight problem develop at the ranch here. Yesterday Bruce noticed some water leaking out of our rock wall in the front of our yard. He called a plumbing company (A1 plumbing) I've since heard that they're good, but let's face it, Bruce didn't make it too deep into the yellow pages when he "stumbled" upon them. Anyway, they are coming tomorrow to fix an apparent broken pipe. Cost is... how do I put this? I considered yanking Trent from his plan to attend Whitworth and sign him up for Plumber school. Yikes, spendy Wendy!
So, I find myself here tonight with no water. We could have water, but when we turn it on, it leaks like crazy and I'm a cheapskate and also we're fearful of what may be happening in the yard with erosion etc. Bruce was worried and suggested I go to a motel, I said "Nah, I'll get some big jugs for teeth, face etc and make it work. Well, I get home and there is a dishwasher of dirty dishes, a sink of dirty dishes, a dog dish with a dead spider in it, there is always laundry to do... and me with 4 gallons of water. I sighed, I might have had a small "Charlie Brown" shoulder slump and then it hit me. Gee, I have a very comfortable home with electricity and the option to stay in a hotel and some very minor irritants that will be fixed tomorrow when I pay people to fix our problem. I think God might have smacked me and my sniveling self.
Here is where I may be leaping in a very ballerina style sort of way onto my bandwagon. I sponsor a child in Haiti. It costs us a very small amount of money each month. It doesn't have to be Haiti or the organization I use, but seriously folks, consider your life right now without water or electricity. Not to mention food! For the tiny amount of money you can spend and give a family the piddliest of necessities... it really does break my heart. Just freaking do it. There, I said it. My water will be fixed tomorrow, A1 plumbing will be richer and the Dudleys will be... still just fine. Just water under the bridge right? It makes for good "Dudley Family Folklore". I do love a good story.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
A Quiltervention
This blog is about my obsession with quilts. I think that obsession is a strong word. I will say that I feel compelled, but not a compulsion to buy a quilt (in the right price range) that I feel deserves a good home. To quote the late Maria Von Trapp, or at least the Hollywood version... Let's start at the very beginning... a very good place to start.
My quilt "obsession" was born in the 80's. My mother decided she wanted to learn how to quilt. My Great Aunt Margaret, who was a great lady and a great aunt, she also happened to be my "Great Aunt" as she was my Nana's sister. Aunt Margaret was awesome on many levels, but her quilting was legendary. Anyway, she gave mom the first quilt lessons. Mom got started on her first quilt creation. This process lasted for a long time. When the "quilting" time came, she set it up in our living room. When you quilt a large quilt there is this giant thing set up to stretch it out. We didn't have a large room for mom to use so she used the living room. I have a very vivid recollection of lying under the quilt and watching TV. This stage lasted for months.
Mom had anyone who came over quilt a bit on it. It became this very cool piece of Hall family folklore and quickly I was enamored with this thing. I lobbied hard, I wanted it. I hinted, I spoke outright, I really really wanted this quilt to be mine. My grandma, my Aunt Margaret, all of us kids, many, many people who I knew and loved had quilted on this. It contained fabric from every last thing my mother had ever sewn. It was a masterpiece. As I mentioned, I'd lobbied hard, but mom had a good poker face and I wasn't convinced I would prevail. One of four kids, how did I deserve this prize? It did so happen to be my birthday soon after the completion. I opened the bounty of presents and one remained. A very small little box... I figured I would have to be happy with a piece of jewelry. I opened it up and a tiny slip of paper was inside that said "quilt". I screamed! It was glorious and all mine. That wasn't my first quilt, but it remains a very special one to me. I have a few very special ones that I'll try to articulate. This blog may some day be in my will, pay attention!
The first quilt I owned was my baby quilt which was a green and white gingham quilt with little animals for the squares. I love that quilt and still hate the stupid Baby Alive doll that got battery acid on it. I salvaged it, but what a dumb doll. Side note, my awesome Aunt Margaret, bought me a quilt for my first baby at an auction that was yellow and white gingham with little animals, same pattern as mine, love it too.
I've bought some cool quilts over the years from estate sales or Ebay and they're cool, but not significant to me. Here are some special quilts I own:
My mom made me an awesome quilt for my high school graduation present, by this time, she was an awesome quilter and this one is a beauty and is hanging in my bedroom.
Wouldn't you know it, I married Bruce whose grandma was an awesome quilter. She made each of her grandkids amazing quilts which she not only hand quilted, but also did pristine needlepoint. Bruce's was of antique cars in a block style quilt, it's blue and white and amazing, love you Grandma Fry. You are missed, can't wait to see you in Heaven.
The treasure chest quilt that I found at Nana and Mew's old farm house. They had both passed, but the house still stood. It had been gone through, but a cousin had lived there and it still stood for some years. At one point Judy and I went through it, I found some cool kitchen stuff and in the spare bedroom was this quilt. Now, Nana wasn't a quilter so I know she hadn't crafted it, hard telling who had. It was really vibrant fabrics and a tie style, in really good shape, but the part I treasure about it is that it smelled of Nana's house. I just breathed it in, for months, for real, oh man, I love that quilt. It is hanging over the top of the stairs in my house and every time I see it, it makes me think of Nana's house and how much I loved that place.
The last of my most prized quilts is a new variety. It was given to me as a present from my friend Melissa. At the time, we were co-workers and she had pre-meditated, like a murder, this quilt. I have a vague recollection of her quizzing me about my decorating style and periods I like and she figured out that I liked vintage stuff. Anyway, she presents me with this amazing quilt of vintage fabric and it's seriously, the perfect, most beautiful quilt ever and BONUS, made with love from a dear friend. I'm not often left speechless, but this gift is probably the most thoughtful one I've ever been given and I love this quilt very much.
So, anyway, I know this was a long winded blog, but I'm serious about my love of quilts. They tell a story, they're beautiful and they keep you warm. I pretty much love them. Use this in my last will and testament, don't sell the special ones please, donate them to science or to the people who love them as much as me.
Dudster, hanging on by a very thin thread...
My quilt "obsession" was born in the 80's. My mother decided she wanted to learn how to quilt. My Great Aunt Margaret, who was a great lady and a great aunt, she also happened to be my "Great Aunt" as she was my Nana's sister. Aunt Margaret was awesome on many levels, but her quilting was legendary. Anyway, she gave mom the first quilt lessons. Mom got started on her first quilt creation. This process lasted for a long time. When the "quilting" time came, she set it up in our living room. When you quilt a large quilt there is this giant thing set up to stretch it out. We didn't have a large room for mom to use so she used the living room. I have a very vivid recollection of lying under the quilt and watching TV. This stage lasted for months.
Mom had anyone who came over quilt a bit on it. It became this very cool piece of Hall family folklore and quickly I was enamored with this thing. I lobbied hard, I wanted it. I hinted, I spoke outright, I really really wanted this quilt to be mine. My grandma, my Aunt Margaret, all of us kids, many, many people who I knew and loved had quilted on this. It contained fabric from every last thing my mother had ever sewn. It was a masterpiece. As I mentioned, I'd lobbied hard, but mom had a good poker face and I wasn't convinced I would prevail. One of four kids, how did I deserve this prize? It did so happen to be my birthday soon after the completion. I opened the bounty of presents and one remained. A very small little box... I figured I would have to be happy with a piece of jewelry. I opened it up and a tiny slip of paper was inside that said "quilt". I screamed! It was glorious and all mine. That wasn't my first quilt, but it remains a very special one to me. I have a few very special ones that I'll try to articulate. This blog may some day be in my will, pay attention!
The first quilt I owned was my baby quilt which was a green and white gingham quilt with little animals for the squares. I love that quilt and still hate the stupid Baby Alive doll that got battery acid on it. I salvaged it, but what a dumb doll. Side note, my awesome Aunt Margaret, bought me a quilt for my first baby at an auction that was yellow and white gingham with little animals, same pattern as mine, love it too.
I've bought some cool quilts over the years from estate sales or Ebay and they're cool, but not significant to me. Here are some special quilts I own:
My mom made me an awesome quilt for my high school graduation present, by this time, she was an awesome quilter and this one is a beauty and is hanging in my bedroom.
Wouldn't you know it, I married Bruce whose grandma was an awesome quilter. She made each of her grandkids amazing quilts which she not only hand quilted, but also did pristine needlepoint. Bruce's was of antique cars in a block style quilt, it's blue and white and amazing, love you Grandma Fry. You are missed, can't wait to see you in Heaven.
The treasure chest quilt that I found at Nana and Mew's old farm house. They had both passed, but the house still stood. It had been gone through, but a cousin had lived there and it still stood for some years. At one point Judy and I went through it, I found some cool kitchen stuff and in the spare bedroom was this quilt. Now, Nana wasn't a quilter so I know she hadn't crafted it, hard telling who had. It was really vibrant fabrics and a tie style, in really good shape, but the part I treasure about it is that it smelled of Nana's house. I just breathed it in, for months, for real, oh man, I love that quilt. It is hanging over the top of the stairs in my house and every time I see it, it makes me think of Nana's house and how much I loved that place.
The last of my most prized quilts is a new variety. It was given to me as a present from my friend Melissa. At the time, we were co-workers and she had pre-meditated, like a murder, this quilt. I have a vague recollection of her quizzing me about my decorating style and periods I like and she figured out that I liked vintage stuff. Anyway, she presents me with this amazing quilt of vintage fabric and it's seriously, the perfect, most beautiful quilt ever and BONUS, made with love from a dear friend. I'm not often left speechless, but this gift is probably the most thoughtful one I've ever been given and I love this quilt very much.
So, anyway, I know this was a long winded blog, but I'm serious about my love of quilts. They tell a story, they're beautiful and they keep you warm. I pretty much love them. Use this in my last will and testament, don't sell the special ones please, donate them to science or to the people who love them as much as me.
Dudster, hanging on by a very thin thread...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Father's Day
Hello bloggers!
This is Father's Day eve and I shall use my forum to write a tribute to the amazing fathers in my life. First, my own Dad, Jerry Hall. What a great father I am blessed with. Dad didn't have the best example to go by, but he beat the odds and became a really good dad without great training. Some of my fondest memories growing up involve my Dad. He would quiz me hours on end on my times tables while he milked the cow. I vividly remember sitting on the hay behind him while he quizzed me. I can still hear the milk hitting the pan and then the milk hitting the milk and can smell the barn. My dad, after doing a full day of work and coming home to hours of farm work, still had the time to help me learn my math.
Dad was a strict parent in the sense that you couldn't get away with disobedience, but he's a big softie. I could always count on a hug or a wink when I was feeling down. He challenged us to excel and for that I am truly grateful. I am a very competitive person and that trait has served me well and I can thank Dad for a lot of that. I feel like I could easily have become much more complacent about mediocre if I hadn't been pushed. As I've aged and parented my own kids I really have a new appreciation for how great of a job Dad did with us kids. He's a wonderful grandpa too and I love him very much.
Another great father in my life is my father in law, Gene Dudley. He also didn't have a great role model to learn this art. He not only rose up from that challenge of his early childhood junk, but became a wonderful Dad. He loves his kids and he loves his in law kids. I absolutely LOVE how much he loves my kids and what a great grandpa he is to them. The "Attaboys" are legendary in our house. I think my kids must have those little papers scattered all over this house. He always finds reason to praise. His stories are awesome and he is always quick with a laugh. One of the famous "Dudley Folklore" is during year one of my Dudleyness. They were visiting us in Germany and we were playing Scrabble. Gene, notorious for thwarting your efforts toward a triple word, took one away from me where I was planning to put "Quack" and reap huge points. When he laid down his dumb word, screwing up my plan, I gave him a forehead smack. He blinked twice... and then let out a huge belly laugh. I knew I would fit in fine in this family. Gene, I thank you for welcoming me and for raising a son to be a good father. You are loved.
My hubby Bruce is another father who deserves mention in this blog. He has been the ying to my yang, the Beevis to my Butthead, the Bad Cop to my Good Cop and Vice Versa. We make a good team. I do pretty good with the mommy thing, but Bruce brings a whole new element to parenting that I lack. I don't need to bore you with the details, but suffice to say, God knew what he was doing when He paired us up. I feel like we are doing a pretty great job, I love my kids and I love my partner and that is a good thing.
Lastly, the Father who I must praise is my Father God. Without Him, none of these blessings I spoke of would be in existence. He has shown us all how to be a parent. He is the Way, the Truth and the Light. Thanks be to God. Happy Father's Day!
Dudster
This is Father's Day eve and I shall use my forum to write a tribute to the amazing fathers in my life. First, my own Dad, Jerry Hall. What a great father I am blessed with. Dad didn't have the best example to go by, but he beat the odds and became a really good dad without great training. Some of my fondest memories growing up involve my Dad. He would quiz me hours on end on my times tables while he milked the cow. I vividly remember sitting on the hay behind him while he quizzed me. I can still hear the milk hitting the pan and then the milk hitting the milk and can smell the barn. My dad, after doing a full day of work and coming home to hours of farm work, still had the time to help me learn my math.
Dad was a strict parent in the sense that you couldn't get away with disobedience, but he's a big softie. I could always count on a hug or a wink when I was feeling down. He challenged us to excel and for that I am truly grateful. I am a very competitive person and that trait has served me well and I can thank Dad for a lot of that. I feel like I could easily have become much more complacent about mediocre if I hadn't been pushed. As I've aged and parented my own kids I really have a new appreciation for how great of a job Dad did with us kids. He's a wonderful grandpa too and I love him very much.
Another great father in my life is my father in law, Gene Dudley. He also didn't have a great role model to learn this art. He not only rose up from that challenge of his early childhood junk, but became a wonderful Dad. He loves his kids and he loves his in law kids. I absolutely LOVE how much he loves my kids and what a great grandpa he is to them. The "Attaboys" are legendary in our house. I think my kids must have those little papers scattered all over this house. He always finds reason to praise. His stories are awesome and he is always quick with a laugh. One of the famous "Dudley Folklore" is during year one of my Dudleyness. They were visiting us in Germany and we were playing Scrabble. Gene, notorious for thwarting your efforts toward a triple word, took one away from me where I was planning to put "Quack" and reap huge points. When he laid down his dumb word, screwing up my plan, I gave him a forehead smack. He blinked twice... and then let out a huge belly laugh. I knew I would fit in fine in this family. Gene, I thank you for welcoming me and for raising a son to be a good father. You are loved.
My hubby Bruce is another father who deserves mention in this blog. He has been the ying to my yang, the Beevis to my Butthead, the Bad Cop to my Good Cop and Vice Versa. We make a good team. I do pretty good with the mommy thing, but Bruce brings a whole new element to parenting that I lack. I don't need to bore you with the details, but suffice to say, God knew what he was doing when He paired us up. I feel like we are doing a pretty great job, I love my kids and I love my partner and that is a good thing.
Lastly, the Father who I must praise is my Father God. Without Him, none of these blessings I spoke of would be in existence. He has shown us all how to be a parent. He is the Way, the Truth and the Light. Thanks be to God. Happy Father's Day!
Dudster
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Graduation declaration
This blog is about my middle born child's graduation. Trent, my second born manchild is graduating in exactly one week. What does this mean to me? Well, it means that I am preparing for his open house on this Saturday, for one. We Dudleys celebrate early and get it over with. We are having a pre party and getting things started for all the grads. That's really the easy part, if you can believe it. Feeding people is kinda easy for me. Getting my house ready? Eh, I'll make it happen. Not too stressed about the party.... other than one small piece.
I have had this thought in my head that I needed to get Trent's scrapbook done, like literally all year long I've been internally nagging myself. He was 14 in scrapbook years... not one page of high school had happened. I had some of the photos copied, had purchased the actual book and paraphernalia and had great plans of making it happen. It didn't happen. I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to and then, in a moment of weakness... I decided that I had to make it happen. That moment was on Sunday of this week.
Fast forward: It's almost done. I am waiting on photos from shutterfly from his Sophomore year XC that our buddy Brian took, but other than that, it's actually ok. I am happy with the result. Here's the thing: The scrapbook really doesn't matter one iota, I guess that is really a word, no little squiggly line appeared under it. So, yeah, it really doesn't matter, what does matter is the unsettledness that I have been feeling regarding my little Trentie graduating. It was underlying and so I wasn't addressing it. I think it manifested itself in this silly scrapbook. I am really happy about Trent's plans, he's going to Whitworth, which is where his brother is, so that makes me happy. He'll have his brother and also we know the coach and are really pleased with the whole deal. I am just not ready to let him go yet. I really thought that the second kid leaving was going to be easier, man I was wrong. He's not even leaving yet and I'm a mess. We've had a few of the award nights that the school has. Trent has been a recipient of all of them, which is cool, but also just dragging out this event. He received accolades from his track coach at that event. He was recognized a few times at the senior awards night for brains and athletics and received the "Coach Award" for XC at the senior sports award night. It was fun to watch him shine, but again, bittersweet for the mama and papa.
So, the last scrapbook page I did for my Trentie: I captured a pic of him running this early spring, before Track. It was him running a hill workout right in front of his high school and there was a rainbow. I put that pic on the page and below it put this verse: "When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" At the top of the page I put "Go with God" I love it. It made me feel such a peace. I gave my angst and unsettledness and all of the junk to God. So glad that God is so faithful to me and meets me where I'm at time and time again. Of course Trent will be fine. Of course he'll go and do great things for the Kingdom, why do I fret? Sorry God, sorry that I, yet again, question and worry.
I have had this thought in my head that I needed to get Trent's scrapbook done, like literally all year long I've been internally nagging myself. He was 14 in scrapbook years... not one page of high school had happened. I had some of the photos copied, had purchased the actual book and paraphernalia and had great plans of making it happen. It didn't happen. I had resigned myself to the fact that it wasn't going to and then, in a moment of weakness... I decided that I had to make it happen. That moment was on Sunday of this week.
Fast forward: It's almost done. I am waiting on photos from shutterfly from his Sophomore year XC that our buddy Brian took, but other than that, it's actually ok. I am happy with the result. Here's the thing: The scrapbook really doesn't matter one iota, I guess that is really a word, no little squiggly line appeared under it. So, yeah, it really doesn't matter, what does matter is the unsettledness that I have been feeling regarding my little Trentie graduating. It was underlying and so I wasn't addressing it. I think it manifested itself in this silly scrapbook. I am really happy about Trent's plans, he's going to Whitworth, which is where his brother is, so that makes me happy. He'll have his brother and also we know the coach and are really pleased with the whole deal. I am just not ready to let him go yet. I really thought that the second kid leaving was going to be easier, man I was wrong. He's not even leaving yet and I'm a mess. We've had a few of the award nights that the school has. Trent has been a recipient of all of them, which is cool, but also just dragging out this event. He received accolades from his track coach at that event. He was recognized a few times at the senior awards night for brains and athletics and received the "Coach Award" for XC at the senior sports award night. It was fun to watch him shine, but again, bittersweet for the mama and papa.
So, the last scrapbook page I did for my Trentie: I captured a pic of him running this early spring, before Track. It was him running a hill workout right in front of his high school and there was a rainbow. I put that pic on the page and below it put this verse: "When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" At the top of the page I put "Go with God" I love it. It made me feel such a peace. I gave my angst and unsettledness and all of the junk to God. So glad that God is so faithful to me and meets me where I'm at time and time again. Of course Trent will be fine. Of course he'll go and do great things for the Kingdom, why do I fret? Sorry God, sorry that I, yet again, question and worry.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Come close, listen to a story.
The title of this Blog is from a Phil Wickham song, which I love. The story he tells is that of Christ dying on the cross. A great story and perhaps I am trumping my own blog...
I love telling stories. I'm actually ok at it, I usually am just relaying something that happened to me or better yet, retelling a story I've heard.
This past weekend at my church we heard the rest of a story from a very special lady who worked at our church up until very recently as a receptionist and actually still fills in there in that role on a semi regular basis. Her name is Kathy Fairley and she has lived an amazing life. She is so humble that you need to literally pull the story from her.
I've known her for quite a few years and still only know a lot because of her being interviewed or from other people. This hero was the daughter of missionaries and became a prisoner of war in China. She lived in that camp for several years as a young girl separated from her parents. She was in the same camp as Erich Liddell, the famous missionary from the movie,"Chariots of Fire". She survived that and grew up to marry a man who she served with as a missionary in Africa.
My point is that, if you met Kathy, you would never think to listen to a story she might tell. Not being mean, but regular, busy folks just don't stop and listen to a story from someone who is elderly. Kathy wouldn't ever stop you and beg you to listen to her, it's not her manner, but I had this thought... a lot of the older folks wouldn't do that and what a waste. What a travesty that the younger generation aren't listening. This also got me to remembering times from my own past...
When I was 18, I worked in a grain elevator in Prescott, Washington. It was a great job. It was long hours, but it paid well and it was pretty big coup to get. I was going into my sophomore year at Central Washington University. I was on the Cross Country team and pretty serious about training. I awoke each morning at 5:30 and ran 2 miles. I got to work at 7:00 and worked until the elevators closed at 8:00 and then I ran home (4 miles). That was a 7 day work week unless it rained. If it rained, we only did 8-5. This history gives you some insight into my mind frame...
During harvest, times could be super busy with wheat trucks rolling in steadily or the down times where we got nothing. During those down times we passed time in various ways. I quickly found that I had a friend. His name was Merle Brown. He was like 80. It seemed like it at the time, but as I play out the numbers, he was probably more like 75. Merle would come and "Tell Story" to me. I enjoyed him, he was a cute little grandpa and I listened and, quite frankly.... I was bored, so he was fine. After a few weeks, he realized my training regime. He noticed that I was running home and started asking me questions. I told him how I was training for my college team. I thought he'd pat me on the head and say what a good job, etc etc. As I listened to his story, turns out that he ran really fast in college, like almost a 4 minute mile. Totally blew me away. Just goes to show that you might judge someone or not really listen or ... the scenario can go on and on. I love that I have my Merle Brown story. Merle passed away several years ago, but I love that he passed along to me his story. I feel honored that he trusted me with his PR's. I will always remember Merle.
The point, if I have one is that the title of this blog, "Come close, listen to a Story" speaks about listening to a story. We can all tell something, but if we listen... I think we can convey a lot more.
I love telling stories. I'm actually ok at it, I usually am just relaying something that happened to me or better yet, retelling a story I've heard.
This past weekend at my church we heard the rest of a story from a very special lady who worked at our church up until very recently as a receptionist and actually still fills in there in that role on a semi regular basis. Her name is Kathy Fairley and she has lived an amazing life. She is so humble that you need to literally pull the story from her.
I've known her for quite a few years and still only know a lot because of her being interviewed or from other people. This hero was the daughter of missionaries and became a prisoner of war in China. She lived in that camp for several years as a young girl separated from her parents. She was in the same camp as Erich Liddell, the famous missionary from the movie,"Chariots of Fire". She survived that and grew up to marry a man who she served with as a missionary in Africa.
My point is that, if you met Kathy, you would never think to listen to a story she might tell. Not being mean, but regular, busy folks just don't stop and listen to a story from someone who is elderly. Kathy wouldn't ever stop you and beg you to listen to her, it's not her manner, but I had this thought... a lot of the older folks wouldn't do that and what a waste. What a travesty that the younger generation aren't listening. This also got me to remembering times from my own past...
When I was 18, I worked in a grain elevator in Prescott, Washington. It was a great job. It was long hours, but it paid well and it was pretty big coup to get. I was going into my sophomore year at Central Washington University. I was on the Cross Country team and pretty serious about training. I awoke each morning at 5:30 and ran 2 miles. I got to work at 7:00 and worked until the elevators closed at 8:00 and then I ran home (4 miles). That was a 7 day work week unless it rained. If it rained, we only did 8-5. This history gives you some insight into my mind frame...
During harvest, times could be super busy with wheat trucks rolling in steadily or the down times where we got nothing. During those down times we passed time in various ways. I quickly found that I had a friend. His name was Merle Brown. He was like 80. It seemed like it at the time, but as I play out the numbers, he was probably more like 75. Merle would come and "Tell Story" to me. I enjoyed him, he was a cute little grandpa and I listened and, quite frankly.... I was bored, so he was fine. After a few weeks, he realized my training regime. He noticed that I was running home and started asking me questions. I told him how I was training for my college team. I thought he'd pat me on the head and say what a good job, etc etc. As I listened to his story, turns out that he ran really fast in college, like almost a 4 minute mile. Totally blew me away. Just goes to show that you might judge someone or not really listen or ... the scenario can go on and on. I love that I have my Merle Brown story. Merle passed away several years ago, but I love that he passed along to me his story. I feel honored that he trusted me with his PR's. I will always remember Merle.
The point, if I have one is that the title of this blog, "Come close, listen to a Story" speaks about listening to a story. We can all tell something, but if we listen... I think we can convey a lot more.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Fox in Sox
Ok, the title of this blog is odd, I know, but stick with me on this. Fox in Sox was my first born child, Tyler's favorite book for approximately one year. And when I say favorite book, I mean we read it every night. And when I say "we", I mean me. I mean, Tyler couldn't read and Bruce had bath duty and I had bedtime duty, so, yeah, basically, it was me. Although Tyler couldn't read, apparently, he could comprehend or memorize because if you skipped a page, and I tried, BELIEVE ME, I tried! He would fareak out! OCD and Rainman!
So, this year long ritual led to me basically memorizing that horrible book. Each night I would drone on and try to sound excited. It also led to, in a weird way, the title of this blog. This blog is about the mis-matched socks in my house. They haunt me, they torture me, they enrage me. I have a collection of very nice running socks and men's dress socks, women's dress socks, soccer socks and even some crappier versions of all. I feel compelled to keep them all because their match will appear. On occasion, I will throw one of the loners away. If it's particularly ratty or it is a sock I've never seen and I'm convinced was abandoned in our house... I just don't have the time or energy to deal with that, so they must go.
Some laundry weeks are quite successful and I find a lot of them, but others are very depressing. I fight the urge to call appliance repair people to discuss the odds of washers and dryers eating socks.
Last night I had an epiphany. I thought that at some point we will have all of our stray socks accounted for. I was elated for approximately 2 seconds and then the thought hit me... that will be such a sad day. We won't have any kids in the house to lose a sock under their bed, or in their gym bag, or locker, or friend's house, or there won't be any friend's extra sock to haunt our loner pile. I gulped and immediately was quite happy that I currently house approximately 20 single mis-matched socks, waiting for their "E Harmony" moment to find their "sole" mate.
I will keep the socks. I have faith their mates will show up. I think that Dr. Seuss could rhyme this... I don't feel like it.
So, this year long ritual led to me basically memorizing that horrible book. Each night I would drone on and try to sound excited. It also led to, in a weird way, the title of this blog. This blog is about the mis-matched socks in my house. They haunt me, they torture me, they enrage me. I have a collection of very nice running socks and men's dress socks, women's dress socks, soccer socks and even some crappier versions of all. I feel compelled to keep them all because their match will appear. On occasion, I will throw one of the loners away. If it's particularly ratty or it is a sock I've never seen and I'm convinced was abandoned in our house... I just don't have the time or energy to deal with that, so they must go.
Some laundry weeks are quite successful and I find a lot of them, but others are very depressing. I fight the urge to call appliance repair people to discuss the odds of washers and dryers eating socks.
Last night I had an epiphany. I thought that at some point we will have all of our stray socks accounted for. I was elated for approximately 2 seconds and then the thought hit me... that will be such a sad day. We won't have any kids in the house to lose a sock under their bed, or in their gym bag, or locker, or friend's house, or there won't be any friend's extra sock to haunt our loner pile. I gulped and immediately was quite happy that I currently house approximately 20 single mis-matched socks, waiting for their "E Harmony" moment to find their "sole" mate.
I will keep the socks. I have faith their mates will show up. I think that Dr. Seuss could rhyme this... I don't feel like it.
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