A Long Post After an IM Conversation

(This post could be so much longer... It is no way totally complete. :-) )

I had a long conversation last night via instant messaging with a young woman I have yet to meet in person. She asked me if I was a Calvinist and then told me I was only the 2nd female Calvinist that she has ever met. I told Mel later that I should introduce her to our co-workers (Melinda, Darlene, Jill, Dawn, Lauren, and a bunch more that we know and have worked with here in Ukraine over the years), as well as BethAnn, Linno, Michele, Robin, Cindy, Marietta, Kara and a whole bunch more that we have attended church with over the past few years when in the States. There really are a whole lot of us. Oh, and then there are all the international Calvinist women I've met in the last few years (Geeta, Annabelle, Francine, Lyuda, Nadia and so forth). It's kind of wonderful when I think of it. :-)

The conversation has had me thinking off and on all day about how it came about that I am a Calvinist. I was raised in a Bible church, one of the 'fightin' fundy' types. I think it was actually a member of the IFCA (Independent Fundamental Churches of America) or some such organization. Immanuel Bible Church, which moved into a larger new church building when I was in my teens, and changed her name at the same time to Mesa Hills Bible Church.

I grew up in the church, from the time I was a wee little baby. I accepted Christ as my Savior at the age of 8. I think I've written about this before, but that's ok - it's good to remember these things and go over in my mind once again what God has done for me! I was convicted of my sin either during Sunday School or during the church service and on the way home told my parents that I wanted to become a Christian. My parents were very young - at that time my mother would have been about 25, my dad 26 and they already had 5 kids. They told me to talk with the pastor next week and probably talked to me more about it during the week, but I don't remember that. My father walked with me down the aisle the following Sunday morning at the end of the service and the pastor's wife took me into another room to talk with me. She went over the plan of salvation once more and I prayed the prayer. A few weeks later I was baptised, along with a few others who had become Believers in Christ Jesus since the last baptism service. I well remember what dress I was wearing at the time. I also remember what dress I was wearing the first time I took communion and spilled the grape juice on my dress. Fortunately the dress was a pale lavendar and the juice washed right out of whatever man-made material it was made of. That was a very traumatic event and is etched in my memory. :-)

I remember the pew we always sat in. I remember the way the sunshine came in through the colored windows of that old building - a REAL church building - it LOOKED like an old fashioned real honest to goodness church. The sunshine spilled in and the dust motes in the air floated in splendor. We had Sunday evening services and usually went - until we got a television at home. Very sad. But I still love singing hymns - hymns I learned to sing on Sunday nights when even the little kids could raise their hands and ask for their favorite. I loved that! I remember sleeping on the pews while the preacher went on and on and on some Sunday nights. I remember counting the holes in the tiles in the ceiling while he went on and on. I remember the night the bats came out of the belfry and flew around the sanctuary during the evening service and scared us all. I remember running around the back of the church after services were over, and in the summer, going outside and running up and down the sidewalks with the other kids. I remember picking up the tree seeds outside and making helicopters with them - throwing them up in the air and watching them twirl back down to earth.

I have so many wonderful memories of church as a kid. I loved it! Oh, sometimes I found it very boring, too. And I didn't like it when I got taken out and spanked - I remember that happening at least once - I must have been quite small. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I remember about that old church and my childhood there. They are all, without exception, happy memories. Even of being terrified of the furnace back there in the back room - a huge white thing with big white 'arms' that came out of it and up into the ceiling. Well, there is the time my brother hit the preacher in a fit of anger and broke the preacher's glasses - but that was when I was quite a bit older - maybe closer to when we left that building and went to the new building. It was very sad to leave that old church - the old church that now is an apartment building. Maybe someday I'll write a children's book about it.

When we moved, the preacher at that time was a pulpit pounder who loved, no he lived to preach End Times. And boy was he strict. It was the mid-to-late '60's and he was against long hair on guys, beards, moustaches, sideburns, bell bottoms on girls and anything that even hinted that it might be related to hippies, drugs or rock n roll music. Anything. That's why we eventually left that church. My dad grew sideburns and the preacher didn't like them and told him to cut them off. My dad had had enough.

But along with End Times preached for months and months I did learn my Bible. When I went to Alaska Bible College I could have taught the Dan and Rev class. :-) I actually knew my Bible better then than I do now (part of that, I have come to realize in the last few months, is age. My brain is slower than it used to be. So sad. Good thing I'm getting a new one in a few days or years!)

When I graduated from high school I lived a double life. There was the 'church and work' me and then there was the me that lived during non-church and work hours (I worked for a well known Christian organization at that time). I always think of the next era of my life as "the time God picked me up by the scruff of my neck, off the path of self-destruction, and plopped me down in the wilds of Alaska under 24 hour rules and regulations that I had to follow OR ELSE". Alaska Bible College. I knew it was going to be tough - and it was - when on the ride from Anchorage to Glennallen the prof driving the van full of future students told me exactly what he thought of my two favorite movies at that time - 2001: A Space Odessy and Dr. Zhivago. Needless to say, he had nothing good to say about either of those two very wicked movies. So sad. I still to this day like both of them, no matter what my children think of 2001.

One of the classes I took there was a course in theology. It was taught from the Arminian point of view, but one of the books we had to read was Knowledge of the Holy, by AW Tozer.
That book changed my life. I think it stands just under the Bible in having had the most influence in what I believe of anything I've ever read. After that book, a few years later, was JI Packer's Knowing God. I'm sure that the profs and staff of the college would be horrified to know that it was there and in that class that I became a Calvinist. A little seedling Calvinist, for sure, but well on my way to becoming an old oak Calvinist. (I do think in metaphors)

All of the Bible learning I had before reading Knowledge of the Holy was preparing me to finally understand the sovereignty of God. I like this definition: "The Sovereignty of God is the biblical teaching that all things are under God's rule and control, and that nothing happens without His direction or permission. God works not just some things but all things according to the counsel of His own will (see Eph. 1:11). His purposes are all-inclusive and never thwarted (see Isa. 46:11); nothing takes Him by surprise. The sovereignty of God is not merely that God has the power and right to govern all things, but that He does so, always and without exception. In other words, God is not merely sovereign de jure (in principle), but sovereign de facto (in practice)." link

Since then, I have fallen in love with the book of Ephesians. I also love Isaiah 40. And there are so many more passages of scripture that assure me of God's sovereignty!

Learning the true meaning of God's sovereignty also opened my eyes to what man is really like. The older I get, the more I realize what truly happened in the Garden of Eden. I know that I will never fully comprehend it until I meet my Savior face to face in heaven, but more and more I come to realize just how sinful man (me!) is and what Christ did on the cross. I realize more and more how man (me!) in and of himself would never chose God, but would always want his own will. That without God intervening in a man's (mine) life, NO ONE would be saved. Even John tells us this in the Book of Revelation when he describes how people will call out for the rocks to fall on them rather than repent and worship God. I think that the Pharisees are the most blatant example in scripture - when we read the Life of Christ in the 4 Gospels, we understand clearly that they KNEW who Jesus was. They knew and understood that he was Christ, the Messiah, sent from God, that he WAS God - and they rejected him outright (except for the few who secretly believed, secretly because they were afraid of the other Pharisees). Since the fall of Adam and Eve man has always and will always stand in rebellion to God. We will never choose God - unless God changes us first and enables us to do so.

We are dead in our sin. Dead. Dead people don't do anything. They don't open their mouths and say give me some medicine so I will live. They don't open their mouths so that medicine can be administered. I can't think of any more graphic example that Paul's use of that in Romans. We are DEAD in our sins, unable to do, unable to choose God. But God - in His mercy - has chosen some of us for His own and makes us alive so that we can respond to him.

I am no theologian and others have explained it ten thousand times better than I am able. I only know that this doctrine is one of the most beautiful things I have ever learned and believed in my whole life. God loved me for absolutely no reason other than the fact that he wanted to do so. He doesn't love me because I'm so wonderful or beautiful or good - all of those things come and go with my mood, my age, etc. No, He loved me because he wanted to.

Malachi 1:2“I have loved you,” says the LORD.
“But you ask, ‘How have you loved us?’
“Was not Esau Jacob’s brother?” the LORD says. “Yet I have loved Jacob, but Esau I have hated, and I have turned his mountains into a wasteland and left his inheritance to the desert jackals.”
Edom may say, “Though we have been crushed, we will rebuild the ruins.”
But this is what the LORD Almighty says: “They may build, but I will demolish. They will be called the Wicked Land, a people always under the wrath of the LORD. You will see it with your own eyes and say, ‘Great is the LORD—even beyond the borders of Israel!’

Mel preached this passage last summer, along with the rest of the chapter. It can be found at The Fear of the Lord is the Beginning of Missions a little ways down the page, near July 4, 2010. I highly recommend it to everyone. :-)

And now - this post is long enough. It's getting dark and it's after 5pm already and I really need to get something started cooking so Mel can have some dinner. :-)

Post 900 - Bits n Pieces

I'm sure that if I go in to the edit section I will find a few posts that need to be deleted because they were never actually posted after I started writing them. But, after saying that, blogger is letting me know that this is post number 900. Wow. That is a lot of posts over the years. Just think, if I had better internet access and more free time right now, #900 would have arrived a couple weeks ago at least. :-)

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Church today was really good. We picked up Peter and took him with us to Village Seven PCA. What a wonderful surprise to meet a woman there that we met at Russian language school who has been living in Moscow for the past 11+ years. She has now moved to Colorado Springs and will be working from here to help develope the ministry she was doing in Russia to be used in other countries. It was great to see her - and what an unexpected surprise.

This is the last Sunday of Advent and the pastor preached a very good sermon from Matthew 1. The church was decorated beautifully, using a lot of candles and poinsettias in pastel colors. I'm looking forward to the Christmas Eve service on Thursday night.

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Had a really good time yesterday baking cookies with Stirling. We started out with Toll House Chocolate Chip and then ended with butter cookies. I had wanted to make some sugar cookies that we could frost, but my mother all but outright asked me to make the butter cookies and they really don't need to be frosted since they are more like the Scottish Shortbread cookies. I'm hoping we can make some more this week and actually frost them because for me, this is a Christmas tradition. Even in Ukraine I always ask women over each Christmas to frost cookies with me at Christmas. We'll see how it goes this week.

I also got some popcorn from my dad that he had left over from making popcorn balls, bought some cranberries, borrowed some thread and a needle from my mother and Stirling, Kara and I made two short garlands for the birds. Stirling and I took them outside and hung them on a young aspen that is fairly close to the window. Then I filled a pinecone with peanut butter and he helped me roll it in birdseed my dad provided. I hung it out later off the bird feeder. Will be interesting to see if the birds and squirrels actually eat any of the popcorn, cranberries and seeds off the cone. :-)

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We spent most of Friday in the Denver area in meetings. One of the guys at the church did a video interview of us (yikes!) for their upcoming missions conference. It was great to talk with the members of the missions committee and see the pastor again (we've known him for about 15 years or more). It looks like we will have a two week team from that church come to Kherson this summer - if all works out well. That will be the 2nd team from Colorado who has come over the years! Yea!

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Last Sunday we were in Rapid City. It was so good to see our old friends, Ron and Sue, and spend time with them catching up just a little. So much has changed in their lives since we last spent time with them. Their son is in Afghanistan now - I still have a hard time not thinking of him as a little boy about 12 years old or so! Oh my. They are working with a Lakota Sioux church (I hope I've got that correct!) now. I really wish we could have gone to a service with them, but time did not allow.

We also spent time with another family, Mark and Olya and their 3 children. It was really nice to see their home, to meet the kids again (the youngest for the first time) and to catch up a bit.

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One of the best things in the world is all the travel we do. I am an introvert, so sometimes meeting people gets to be "too much" for me, especially when I have no time to be alone and process. That is why traveling across the western states is so wonderful. Miles and miles, hours and hours of time alone with Mel, silent or conversing, sometimes reading or sleeping while Mel drives, sometimes even working on a handcraft. But always spending time looking at what is around me.

Driving through Wyoming last week was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Long views, miles without another vehicle in sight, antelope, cattle, horses, deer and even a pheasant in the pastures. On the way back we even went past a corral where a group of cowboys were working cattle (I wondered what they were doing having a round-up of some kind in December??).

I so wanted to just park the car, go over the fence and walk off into the distance. Walk over the hills toward the bigger hills and buttes and even a real mountain in eastern Wyoming. Walk in the snow and grasses and sagebrush. Walk and feel the fresh cold wind in my face. Walk and walk and walk with the sun shining down, long views in sight, no people, no traffic, no human made noise pollution, visual pollution - only Wyoming.

The eastern Wyoming we saw last weekend is very much like the eastern Colorado I grew up in. And I miss it. Oh, I do not have the words to illustrate how much I miss that. The eastern Colorado I knew growing up is now subdivided into 35 acre ranchettes and driving at night it is yard lights everywhere you look. I remember driving for miles and only seeing a few when I was a kid coming home from Gramma and Grampa's farm. Oh my - all gone. So much has been lost.

~*~*~*~*~
I was reminded of that this morning when we stopped on the way to church at a McD's for breakfast. Mel went in while I waited in the car. There were a couple of older kids in the car next to me and they were goofing off. I remembered when we lived in Westcliffe and the girls in the trailer next to us had a rip-roaring fight one summer evening when their mom and dad were gone. We knew the whole family very well, so I went over and knocked on their door. Immediate silence - no more yelling and screaming and taunting each other. :-) One of the girls carefully opened the door, looked out and saw it was me, and opened the door completely. I said, "Hey, I can hear you guys fighting all the way over in our trailer. Come out here and look at the moon with me."

So, the two girls came out and we stood by/sat on the hood of our car and I got out a pair of binoculars and told them to look at the moon (it was full). It wasn't dark yet - just that beautiful turqoise evening sky quickly turning orange. They took turns looking at the moon, and then the youngest girl turned toward me and said, "Cindie, you are wierd." Weird because I thought it was better to look at the moon and enjoy the evening rather than listen to them fight. :-) hahahahahahah. I often wonder if those two girls ever look at the moon and remember that evening.....

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Well, we are at Borders, having a nice cup of coffee (do you call these paper glasses 'cups'??). Mel just bought a Christmas present for someone and one for himself. I'm writing away. And now I'm going to close and go look at a couple books for myself!!

A nice Sunday afternoon.

Finally Found It!

I've been looking for this particular cantata on the internet for several months, off and on. We used to have the record - you know, the black vinyl things that look absolutely HUGE next to a CD now?? And before we had the record, we sang it in choir.

I played it for Mel tonight. Oh my. Memories of Alaska and Alaska Bible College and the choir and those funky maroon courdoroy long skirts and weird cumberbuns and white blouses all the gals wore and I can't honestly remember what the guys wore - black pants, black shoes and white shirts maybe? And traveling in the vans to different cities in Alaska - Tok, Valdez, Anchorage, Copper Center. And singing our hearts out. And I can remember crying sometimes at the very end during the last song. For some reason I especially remember singing in the little church in Tok. And the cold as we traveled and being bundled up in lots of layers and heavy boots as we traveled, snow and frost and seeing your breath in the van for hours, stamping your feet occasionally to get them 'warm'. And laughing together and singing together and being a part of a community of Believers who were all intent on one purpose.

I had my problems at ABC, but I also had some incredibly fun and good times.

Listen to it - listen to the words and let YOUR heart sing!

Jesus Is Coming!
© Copyright 1972 by John W. Peterson Music Company. All rights reserved. Used by permission

Bits 'n Pieces

Last night we went out and watched the ISS and Discovery go over. This time I took my camera and had it set on the night setting with no flash. Now, why didn't I get out my tripod? :)



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The Hubble Telescope is working again. I love this photo. I'm using it as my desktop wallpaper right now. I so enjoy looking at the photos Hubble takes. I know that they are color enhanced to show specific things - different gases and rays of different sorts and all - but even so, I often wonder if God doesn't see them in color similar to this, too.

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People we know from one of our supporting churches in Colorado Springs had 4 bears in their neighborhood today. The photos look they were a mama and 3 older cubs. Kara, John and Stirling saw a bear run across the highway in downtown Woodland Park a few weeks ago, too. What is this - The Year of the Bear?

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Mel asked me earlier this afternoon if I wanted some nastalgia. I said sure. He put on a John Denver cd. Oh my - yes, that does take me back. All the way to, hmm, when was it? 1973 I think, when I was working the in the Springs and was living with a roommate from Minnesota who also worked at the same place I did. I have a very vivid memory of being in her car, driving down Uintah Street on the way to work, listening to Rocky Mountain High. John Denver's life is so sad to me, tho. Usually when I listen to his music I think of drugs and alcohol, of immorality, of worshipping the creation rather than the Creator, and of the time he insulted me at a concert. Yes - he did. Me. It was at the Air Force Academy and he said something about Alaska and even tho my friend and I were way up in the nosebleed seats, we hooted and hollered a thumbs-up for Alaska and he insulted us. Can't remember what he said, I was so shocked by it. Traumatized, I tell you. Never got over it. Nope. My hero insulted me. sigh.

ha ha

Actually, my respect for him plummeted at that point, really. But I still like his music. I also am very sad to know that he is most likely in hell right now. I've never seen anything that remotely resembled a confession of faith in Jesus Christ by him, but instead, there is a lot of evidence that he was very into New Age stuff.

So sad.

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We are going to L'viv next week for a few days. I called a gal to see if she can come over and check on Cheyenne and feed my little fishies. She said yes, altho she is also house sitting for someone else during that time. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when we are gone for 6 months. It's never been a problem before, but it sure will be now, finding a flat-cat-fish sitter. I'm already praying that God will show us just the right person to do it. One of the difficult things about living in two countries, of not really having a "home" on this earth but still being attached to living things. While we are gone, at least two of my plants always die, too, so I'll be curious to see after 6 months how many I have left. Just a few days won't matter next week for the plants, but it would matter for the fish. Oh dear. Worrying about it will not solve any of the problem. We'll see what happens.

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The landlord, and probably his wife, are coming over again tomorrow morning early to finish fixing the kalunka. I hope this is it. Really, I do. I'm tired of them coming over all the time. I know, I know - it's been almost a whole week, maybe more than a week, actually. But - I want it done and over with!

I think I'm quickly heading into people-overload and I've hardly been around people all week. I even had part of one day where I was totally alone for 3 or 4 hours. I revelled in it! I loved it. I wanted MORE. Next week in L'viv maybe Mel and I can walk over to the cemetery again and just be alone together for a few hours there.

I don't think extroverts have any clue how much introverts NEED to be alone sometimes.

~*~*~*~*~
All for tonight. I have a whole bunch of dishes from dinner (company) tonight to do before I go to bed. It's after midnight again, which means the water is back on so now I can go do them! Mel will most likely go to bed alone, again, but I'll be there before too long!

Goodnight!

Wisps of Fog

Both of my parents had birthdays this past month. I was unable to order anything for them until just today. So, I went internet shopping. I went to some of the places I usually go. Places I would imagine most people don't automatically go.
The Nature Store
Yellowstone Association Store
The Desert Southwest Store
and a variety of other places. I used to shop a lot at the National Wildlife Federation store, but it no longer exists as far as I can tell. Sad - they had some really great stuff for sale, even though I do not like their political agenda.

I looked at the Glacier National Park Association Store. One of the posters caught my eye. I paused. I looked at the thumbnail for just a few seconds, focusing on it. Like a cascade of cold mountain water, my heart and mind was drenched with a tangy-sweet wave of ... nostalgia? sadness? 'might-have-beens'? Memories - many, many memories, cascading swiftly through my mind and then slowly fading away into nothingness.

I then clicked on a site for Colorado National Monument Associate, which is where I actually found the desert southwest website. And again, the emotions, the memories, the feeling was so strong inside of me that I just closed the page out.

I want to go into the bedroom, lie down on the bed and weep an ocean of tears.

Tears for lost dreams.
Tears for memories of places I've been, natural wonders I've seen, the smell of cold clear mountain air and hot desert air, the smell of volcanic sulphur, the sound of wind raging through spruce and pine, the gentle whispers of breezes in tall dry prairie grasses.

Sweetness. Bitter sweetness.

I reach out to grasp it and my hand closes around drifting wisps of fog. An illusion.

I remember.
I remember.

I remember.

Tears.

Nanny's Milk Gravy

I made fried boneless pork chops for dinner tonight. I boiled up some potatoes, cooked some frozen green beans and diced up a couple tomatoes. With the crispy stuff left in the pan after the chops were fried, I made a roux with a bit more added fat and seasoned flour. Then I poured in milk, stirred like crazy and ended up with some fairly tasty, very lumpy milk gravy. I drained the potatoes, dumped them back in the pan, added butter, salt, milk and mashed them (with a potato masher - no cheating with an electric mixer for me!). Then I put some potatoes on the two plates beside the chopped tomatoes, poured gravy all over both the taters and the maters, dished up some beans on each plate, added a chop to each and took it all in to the table in the livingroom. One of my favorite late summer meals. All that was missing was fresh sweet corn on the cob, fresh from the farm, right off the stalk.

As I stood stirring the roux, I thought about how all of this good food is so bad for you according to the prevailing medical wisdom of the day. Fat, potatoes, fried meat, gravy. Ei yi yi.

What a shame. It is a shame on us as modern human beings that God gives us good food to eat and we call it bad. I only make this meal 4 or 5 times a year. I seldom buy potatoes any more, usually roast the pork in the crockpot with no added fat, and only make milk gravy when I am really, really hungry for it - usually when the tomatoes are at the peak of ripeness in the summer. I, too, am brain-washed by modern medicine. So sad.

Now most people have never eaten tomatoes and milk gravy. Ha! They just don't know what they are missing! The first time Mel saw me put milk gravy on tomatoes he was horrified. I said, "Try it, you might just like it." He tried it. And he liked it. He told me that he considered what he was eating - it's not that different than having cream of tomato soup, seasoned and with the seeds and bits of skin still in it. :-) I guess that's true, but to me tomatoes and gravy are much, much more.

As I stood there tonight, stirring madly, trying to get out some of the lumps, I was deep in memories of my childhood. When I was young I had a great-aunt named Lotus. I couldn't say Aunt Lotus very well, so I called her Nanny. Her husband, Oscar, was Papa. I loved going to Nanny and Papa's. Nanny was a surrogate mother to my own mother - taught my mother all she knows about housekeeping, sewing, cooking and life in general. Without Nanny, I don't know what my mother would have done. Nanny was always more of a grandmother to me than my biological grandmother ever even wanted to be. I loved Nanny dearly. I have many fond memories of "going to Nanny's house" (did I say that before? :) ).

Nanny collected Fiesta Dinnerware when it first came out. She had a whole set of cups and saucers, plates, the pitcher and I have no idea what all. I wonder where that all went when she died? One of the things we would do whenever we went over is have a cup of tea. Nanny would make weak tea for me in whichever cup I wanted that day. Then I always got to squeeze the bear-shaped plastic honey jar. A long, thin, golden strand of honey would swirl down out of the yellow spout and land in the bottom of the cup. Around and around it curled, slowly melting away in the hot tea. It wasn't that I wanted a lot of honey in my tea, it was watching the process that was so much fun. I loved that ritual.

It wasn't until I was much older that I found out why Nanny was so thin. All of her sisters were chunky to down right fat. Nanny had had thyroid surgery as a very young woman, and later due to bleeding ulcers, a large portion of her stomach had been removed. She ate an apple every day to help with her digestion, she said. And all of her meals were very small. Nanny remained tall and quite thin until the day she died. I always wanted to look like her - tall and thin - and wear white blouses and long black skirts. She didn't wear white blouses and long black skirts. No, she dressed quite fashionably for the day, but very modestly, too, and most of it came from Goodwill or other people. I have no idea where the white blouses and long black skirts came from in my thinking!

Nanny made the worlds' very best milk gravy. It is probably from her that we all learned to eat it on tomatoes, as well as on potatoes, and when times were tough, on cubed bread, too. I have wonderful memories of standing at the stove beside her, watching her plop a dollop of bacon fat into a cast iron skillet. The fat melted into a clear liquid with little bits and pieces of bacon sinking to the bottom. When it was good and hot and beginning to spit a bit, Nanny would put in a few fork-fulls of white flour, quickly stir it around until it began to brown. Then she'd pour in milk - just enough. I don't know how she knew what 'just enough' was, but she did. She'd stir it until it got thick, but not too thick, add salt if needed and some pepper and voila! Ambrosia! The food of the gods! Nanny's milk gravy. Never lumpy, always the right consistency, and always - always! - oh so very tasty.

I've pondered many, many times on how she made her gravy. My gravy is usually lumpy. Sometimes it's too thick, and sometimes it's too thin. I've learned to let that flour brown and not rush it - that really changes the flavor for the better. But there have been times when I felt like I'd made salted and peppered glue rather than real milk gravy. :-)

So, as I stood at the stove tonight, stirring the roux round and round the pan so it would brown evenly and not burn, scraping up all the nice pork juice bits off the bottom of the skillet, in my mind I was half a world away and 50 years younger. I remembered Nanny tonight. And a part of me is missing her. And a part of me is missing my childhood. And a part of me is thanking God that I have the memories that I do.

Thank you, Father in heaven, for giving me the family, the up-bringing and the memories that I have.

Butter

I went to sleep last night thinking about how when I was a kid I would sometimes watch my grandmother make butter. Why was I thinking about this? I have no idea. It just came to mind. I'm not sure why, but I guess this is normal, but I have more and more memories of my childhood becoming clearer and clearer in my mind. I used to remember very little of my young years. Now, at odd times, I remember things. I had a very good childhood, nothing to repress, I just have always been so very "in the present" that I guess I pushed those thoughts back into the deeper parts of my brain. Well, they are starting to come forward. Am I getting old? ha ha!

My grandparents had a dairy farm/ranch out east of Colorado Springs. Grandma skimmed cream off the top of milk that they kept for themselves and didn't sell. She'd keep it in a quart jar in the fridge and when enough accumulated, she'd pour that icy cold cream into a large bowl. She'd get out her electric "egg beater" (that's what I always called it) and churn the butter that way. I see myself standing across the table from her, watching with big-eyed amazement as the beaters went round and round and round, churning the cream into a thicker and thicker substance. Soon chunks of yellow would start to form, more and more until the bowl was full of yellow chunks of butter swimming in a milky white liquid. I don't know how she knew when to quit - was it the stiffness of the butter, the amount of whey in the bowl, or what? I just know she'd turn off the beaters and, with very clean hands, begin to knead the butter into a lump. She would drain off the whey as it accumulated in the bottom of the bowl. Knead, knead, knead. Soon all of the whey was out and there sat a lump of beautiful yellow butter. She'd then add some salt, knead it in, pat the lump into whatever shape she wanted and voila! Fresh sweet cream butter.

Grandma usually made bread, too. White bread - none of that healthy whole wheat stuff can I remember. White bread was what people ate. We'd slather fresh butter on fresh homemade white bread and think we'd died and gone to heaven. Oh my - that was GOOD stuff!

It was a good memory to go to sleep on.

I need to call my mother and make sure some of the details I remember are accurate - like the bowl she used (yellow outside, white inside - my mother has a bowl like that so maybe I'm remembering my mother's bowl and not my grandmother's. Also, did she use a hand-beater sometimes, like the kind you turn the handle round and round on? It's possible that when I was very young she did - I seem to have memories of that, too. I want to know these things now, while there is still time to ask my mother!

It makes me very sad to know that I am not creating memories for my grandson like these. We live on the other side of the world. What will he remember of us when he is 55? Anything? There are so many nice things about families living close together and multi-generations being involved in each others' lives. I guess this is part of 'counting the cost' of following Christ. Sometimes 'cost' hurts. I hope that one day he may be able to read some of these memories and understand his grandmother a bit more and where he came from. (I also hope my kids will, too - Peter? Are you reading this? heh heh)

Let's Start Out With A Fireball

Note - this is a long, meandering post. I'm not writing to start any arguments, I'm writing because I have been thinking a lot and praying a lot and reading/listening to the Bible and a variety of sermons. These are My Thoughts this week.

Fireball over Colorado, July 13, 2009 (last night)
Photo from Cloudbait Observatory, Guffey, Colorado
Several years ago, while Mel and I were raising our support to come to Ukraine, we left our youngest son, Andrew, at home. Andrew was 17 or 18 at the time, so it's not like we were leaving a little kid home alone! :) :)

When we returned, he told us that he had had a very frightening experience in the middle of the night. He woke up suddenly, for no apparent reason. Suddenly the room was filled with a bright light, it lasted for what seemed to him a long time, and then just as suddenly, it was gone.

We watched our share of the X-Files while the kids were growing up so you can imagine the thoughts that were going through his mind. All alone, the middle of the night, strange light outside suddenly filling his room. It actually really scared him. It would have scared me, too, I'm sure! I'm not sure how he found out it had been a huge fireball, hurtling through the sky that night - but that's what it was. Apparently it went right over our mobile home, shining it's bright light in through his window. I don't remember any more details - did he hear something that woke him up? I don't know. He has always tended to be an 'owl' - which is what they call people here who are 'night people'. (So am I, but of course, that's obvious, isn't it? ha ha!) Andrew has since looked up records and found information on that particular fireball, proving that's what it was. I think he's still a bit spooked over it, though, because he mentioned it again while we were home.

One night we were driving home down Highway 50 through the Arkansas River canyon between Canon City and Texas Creek, headed west. Again, just as suddenly as what happened to Andrew, a huge bluish ball streaked across the sky in front of us and disappeared behind a mountain in front of us. "Whoa! What was that?!" We knew we'd seen a big meteor or 'falling star' but the size was amazing.

Several years before that, Mel and I were coming home to my parents house, very late at night after a meeting in Denver. As we came up around one of the twists and turns in the road that leads up the mountain side to their home, we came to an open space where we could clearly see Pikes Peak. It was covered in snow and gleamed brightly in the full moons' light. Suddenly (it always happens suddenly, you know), from directly overhead, a big blue light burst out of space and streaked across the sky. We actually watched it for several seconds before it crashed into the north face of Pikes Peak. We saw it hit - light, puff, no light. Wow! That was incredible! Do it again!!! :) :)

I'm not sure how common fireballs are. I'm not sure why so many are seen over New Mexico and Colorado. Maybe it has to do with the clear night sky and higher elevation. Maybe it has to do with the number of satelites that fly over Colorado all the time, and all of the space junk that eventually falls back to earth. Or maybe it has to do with something else entirely. I don't know.

There is a lot of unexplained stuff that happens in New Mexico and Colorado. Like the Taos Hum. Like cattle mutilations. I was shocked to read that at least 3 more cows have been found this year in southern Colorado, killed and mutilated. Here is a link to the Pueblo Chieftain article, Two more cows found mutilated. I haven't looked any farther to see see if there have been any more since then (March 24, 2009).

Maybe I've written about this before, I'd have to go back through the archives to check, and I don't want to do that right now. My cousins had a dairy farm east of Colorado Springs. Some of their neighbors had reported seeing 'black helicopters' in the area. One night, in the early 1970's, while my cousin was driving home, she was forced off the road to her house by a very bright light suddenly shining in her car window. She couldn't see anything clearly other than this bright light. She stopped and waited until the light went away and she could see again, then she drove on home. The next morning they found one of their prize bulls out in the pasture, mutilated in the "normal" mutilation pattern. A few years later, up in the mountains, our neighbors' dog was found on the side of the road, mutilated in a similar way. A 'black helicopter' had been seen the day before by my sister-in-law. She was up at my parents house at the time, alone. It so terrified her, seeing this helicopter hovering over my parents house, that she took all of the dogs with her (there were 5 :) ) into the bathroom and locked the door. The bathroom was the only room in the house without a window. My parents found her in there several hours later, still frightened.

No, I've never seen a black helicopter - but I know people who claim they have. Several people, in fact. I've never seen a mutilated animal, that I know of. I've seen dead cows out in fields, but assume they were winter-kill. I've never seen unexplained lights in the sky at night - but Mel has, along with a thousand other witnesses to the same event, near Colorado Springs. Does this freak me out? Yes, a little bit, I have to admit. The unknown is frightening, especially when there seems no rational explanation for it. Mel insists that what he saw must have been military aircraft - but others who saw it disagree. I choose to believe my husband. :)

It's easier to say that people who see things like this are nuts, or unbelievable, that there must be an explanation that is rational and so forth. Yes, that is easier then saying there really is something going on that the public doesn't know anything about. It comforts us, gives us a feeling of security.

But I am convinced that there are many things going on that we, the public, know nothing about. I have to be careful in what I say. I have to remember that I could very easily be labeled a nut, too. I have to keep one thing in mind at all times whenever I think of these things - GOD is sovereign, God is GOD and nothing is outside of His control and will.

Along with that knowledge comes the fact that I truly believe we are living in the very last days. One of Mel's profs at seminary mentioned in class one day that he believes Satan was loosed from the pit in the 1950's. (Obviously this man is/was amillenium - I'm not sure if he is still living). I have thought about that many, many times since Mel told me what he said. He apparently based that thought on the radical change in society all over the world that happened in the late 50's and early 60's. The hippy age. Drugs, free love, peace, Viet Nam, rock music, the occult being played with by more and more people.

Right next to Colorado Springs is the city of Manitou Springs, nestled right up against the mountains. In the late 60's and early 70's Manitou was known for being a headquarters for witchcraft. I've always thought it was interesting that Colorado Springs is the headquarters for over 100 Christian organizations, and right next door is Manitou with it's long history of the occult. (Another little town, located just up Ute Pass from Manitou is Crystola - named for the crystal ball used by some of the original inhabitants, according to a little book on the region.) While writing this post, I looked up Manitou on google and found this article, written earlier this year: Goddess Statue Gets A New Name. Yep, right there on top of the town clock is a "goddess", one of the daughters of Zeus.

I've also read that this is just a myth, Manitou being a hot spot for the occult, saying the myth started in the early to mid-70's. I disagree! I was born right next door and this was talked about at least as early as the mid to late 60's, when I was just starting my teen years. People have been coming to the area for over a hundred years because of it's 'spiritual' nature.

I am also reminded that there are various forms of this kind evil, not all being directly labeled occult. Stan Petrowsky has written about his spiritual pilgrimage on his website. The specific page mentioning Colorado Springs and the area is located here: Into The Mountains. He was very involved with The Church Universal and Triumphant, Int. until he became a Believer in Jesus Christ. Actually, his pilgrimage story is very interesting and a testimony to the sovereignty of God.

The first time I read his account, I was surprised to learn that Church Universal and Triumphant had their headquarters in Colorado Springs for a period of time while I was a teenager. On the other hand, after graduating from high school and getting an apartment in Woodland Park, I remember meeting people in a laundromat who lived in a nearby commune and called themselves something like Children of The Way. I remember how they were dressed, all hippy-ish in sandals and beads and natural fibers and long hair and beards, and how 'happy' they seemed, and 'natural'. I was attracted to it, and not just a little. In looking up more info on The Church Universal and Triumphant, I learned that they had an organic foods store and restaruant in Colorado Springs named The Four Winds. I used to eat there sometimes on my lunch breaks at work - they had a really great alfalfa sprouts and avacado salad. I used to think 'why can't I get more 'into' this kind of life style - organic and back to nature? I like it.' Now I know why - God's hand was protecting me. Wow! I had no idea until now that I 'touched' them at all in my life.

As I look back at that time period in my life, I realize I was in a very dangerous place spiritually (humanly speaking). I was living a double life - a Christian on Sunday and at work, but my private life was full of blatant and willful sin. From 55 years of age now, I can look back and see how God had His hand on me then, keeping me from going off 'the deep end' and ruining my life totally. God had different plans for me, and I am so thankful that He did!

I was reading a Christian blog a couple days ago and clicked on one of the writer's links, titled UFO. Why in the world would that be on a Christian blog, was my first thought. I am not charismatic or pentecostal and because of where and how I grew up, I have a tendency to be a real sceptic about these kinds of things. I read the article, however and was intrigued.

The writer of the link article was talking about the occult and people involved in it during the 30's and 40's. This person quoted sources directly involved with it then who said a 'portal' to the other dimension had ripped and could not be closed and that beings from that other dimension now have free access to us/our dimension/earth. That is a very simplified version of what was probably 10 pages or more of printed material. One of the names is well known due to a series of Science Fiction books he wrote. I knew he was involved in the occult and cautioned our kids when they were in high school from reading his books.

I've been thinking about all of these things for the past couple of days. Again, my biggest concern is that I'll be considered a 'nut', 'one of those people' or laughed at. All that aside, I remember what Mel's prof said about Satan being loosed and I think of the 'portal' being ripped and mere humans unable to close it again and I think of all the weird things that are happening more and more often around the world. And I wonder if it isn't all connected in some way.

There is so much we do not know. We live our lives in our own cozy corner of the world. Often we laugh at, ridicule or ignore things that are 'weird', unusual, scary or maybe just seem stupid to us. I haven't even mentioned yet all of the visions of 'Mary' seen around the world recently, or all of the UFO sightings being reported (recently a whole rash across Great Britain).

We are living in the End Times - I didn't say that - the Bible says it. How long will they last? I have no idea, other than so far they have lasted for 2000 years. But the Apostle John saw a vision and in that vision God gave him, Satan was loosed at the end for a short period of time before Christ returns. I read about what is going on in the world today. I read about what is happening in the Church universal today. I think of all the people who are being deceived by the cults and false religions today. I think of all the people in the world who no longer believe it is wrong to abort a baby or to have sex with and even marry a person of their own sex. I think of fathers and mothers who murder their families, of serial killers, school shootings, suicide bombers. I think of the Great Deception that Christ talked about. I haven't even mentioned earthquakes, tsunamis, and other natural events that are happening more and more often.

I believe we are living in the very end of the End Times. And I long for my Savior to return and put an end forever to all of this evil.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus!

Because I Want To

My family was very poor when I was a kid. My parents married very young and immediately started having children. I am the oldest of 5 kids and when I was growing up we did without a lot of things that most American kids took for granted. At the same time, we had other things that most American kids didn't have - like steak a couple times a week most of the year (it's nice to have grandparents who own a ranch!), lots of home canned and frozen fruits and veggies. And love. I was raised in a family with lots of love.

One of the things we didn't have was a lot of new clothes. My mother sewed a lot, yes, but many of my dresses were hand-me-downs from older cousins. That was ok with me for the most part. I had big feet even as a kid, so new shoes in new styles after the age of 12 - well, I had the same "old lady" shoes in 6th, 7th and 8th grades. There were no other shoes in my size 10 that were suitable for a kid that age. I learned young not to love shoes - loving shoes only caused me disappointment. Even today my 11.5 shoe size makes it almost impossible to find stylish shoes, but I'm satisfied to stick with the basics. Most of the time.

One other thing that I loved was new socks. New socks did not happen very often. Instead, my mother would mend and remend socks until they were practically all 'mend' and no original sock. I hated them. I cannot emphasise that enough. I hated mended socks. Darned. Patched. Lovingly done by a mother who cared enough about me to see to it that I had socks on my feet even when there was no money to buy new ones.

One of the things I learned to do quite young was darn socks. I got quite good at it - I just hated to wear them after they were darned. Even at Bible college I had a couple gals ask me to teach them how to darn socks because they had no idea how to do it. Here in Ukraine I had another American woman ask me how.

I told myself that I would never willingly wear darned socks again once I left home. Yet, when our kids were growing up and we were so short on money we don't know how we actually lived through it - I darned my kids socks many times. Never once did I hear a complaint. Now - I don't know if that is because they didn't tell me, didn't vocalize it, or if it's because they really didn't care one way or the other, or were just glad their toes weren't poking through their socks. Someday I'll ask them.

Here I am in Ukraine. I have probably 3 dozen socks in my sock drawer. I have a package of new socks in my closet that has one or two pair taken out. I have black socks. I have blue socks. I have gray socks. I have a pair of reddish socks. I have gobs of white socks with gray toes. I have a bunch of socks with white toes. Because the last 3 pair of shoes I bought were size 12 due to the fact that I couldn't find size 11.5, I wear 2 pair of socks at a time now to keep my feet from sliding around in them giving me blisters when I go out walking - and I go out walking often. Oh - heaven will be SO NICE when I either have shoes that actually fit, or else I won't need shoes at all. (hear a longing-for-heaven sigh)

So tell me - why this?Because I want to! Because I am not ashamed of darned socks any more. Because I realize just how much my mother loved me and worked hard for me. But mostly, yes mostly - just because I am a hedonist and wanted to have multi-colored darned socks for some strange reason (taking your shoes off in someones home here is a must - and I always bring my own sandals because, let's get real here - who in the world besides me has size 11.5 women's slippers lying around their house? and wow - now I can show off my darned toes.) hahahahahahahahahaha

Oh - I love being 55 and not caring about such things any more! If only I'd learned that lesson 50 years ago!

Rocks

I have always collected little stones. Not just in my shoes as I walk here and there :), but I actually look for beautiful stones. This is not an easy thing to do here in Kherson. There is a lot of dirt and dust and sand and muck, but not very many stones.

Now, I come from a part of the world where there are a lot of stones. And not only stones, but rocks. I mean, really big rocks. Really, really big rocks. The Rocky Mountain kind of big rocks. This rock is located just a few miles from my parents home and there are many more like it in the surrounding area.BIG rocks. :)
I'm not sure when my rock collecting started. I can remember in my childhood receiving from someone a sheet of cardboard with little stones glued to it. Each stone was labeled as to what it was and possibly (I don't remember this exactly) where it came from. Some of those stones were beautiful. At least one looked like a nice chunk of caramel candy. Others just looked like the rocks we had out in the driveway, ho hum. I can remember actually licking that caramel colored stone - it was all smooth and shiny and looked really good - was it a stone or was it candy just pretending to be a stone? Ah, childhood - when life was simple. heh heh

The next real memory of my collecting stones comes from Alaska. I remember walking along a glacial river, a tributary to the mighty Copper River near Copper Center. I was with Mel and he was showing me 'his' Alaska. I was intrigued by the stones and rocks along the river bank. Many of them were a dark gray with brilliant white stripes running through them. I collected a handful of small stones, ones more unusual than the others due to the angles or widths of the stripes, and even a couple of pure white stones. I have no idea whatever happened to them. Maybe some day an geologist will excavate an area and wonder how those particular stones from the Copper River Basin in Alaska ended up in Fairbanks or possibly even in Colorado.

When we lived in the Wet Mountain Valley of Colorado we explored the area at every opportunity. One of the things I really enjoyed was collecting stones and rocks from different places. Green stones, maroon rocks, stripped rocks, yellow stones, and best of all, some pale tan and rust striped rocks. I ended up with a quart sized jar of different stones, all smaller than an inch in diameter, but beautiful in a variety of color, texture and pattern. The tan and rust striped rocks were/are amazing. The stripes were in circles and curly cues and waves. No two rocks were alike. I wanted a whole collection of them. Imagine the following photo as a rock you can actually pick up:Poor Mel got tired of finding rocks in the back of our van after I'd go out for a walk. I used them as borders for my flower gardens and even took some of them up to my parents place. My mother still uses them as borders around her flower gardens. When we left that place, I dug the most beautiful ones out of the garden border and they are in storage right now as I write this.

One of the beautiful things God has given us that we so often take for granted. How often do we look at the ground around us and see the diversity, the beauty, the gift God has given us? All too seldom, I fear.

I have a small collection of stones here in Ukraine, picked up along the river or out in a village we visited once. There are also stones from Spain, California and one may be from Oregon. Unfortunately, I love the way they look, but I forget exactly where they come from. Mixed in with those stones in the little display are seashells from the Mediterranean Sea, Red Sea and Pacific Ocean, and several small pieces of driftwood from the Pacific.Several times Ukrainians have asked me why I have all those stones, shells and weird pieces of wood on that shelf. I say, "They each remind me of some place I have been." But there is more to it than that. They are beautiful. And I like them.

This morning, while checking out the articles on geology.com, I came across this video clip:Balancing Rocks by Bill Dan
There is more information about this guy, and others who do this, on Rock On, Rock ON!

Last night at our team prayer time, Mel gave a short devotional on what it means to 'enjoy God', mentioning Eric Liddell's famous quote: "God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure." We talked about what we do where we also feel God's pleasure. I showed this YouTube video to Mel and his first response was, "I hope he feels God's pleasure when he does this." I hope so. It is an amazing talent, what this man can do, a combination of God given eye-hand coordination and patience. As I watched him, I thought about how his eyes saw the stone and his hand held the stone and his arms felt the weight of the rock resting against his muscles - until suddenly, that weight was gone - resting instead totally on the stone beneath.

I like rocks. I'm glad God made rocks. I feel His pleasure when I enjoy His creation.

Foggy Bits n Pieces

Today is the first sunny day we've had in about a week. Actually, I don't remember the last time we had this much sunshine. It is wonderful.

~*~*~*~I love fog. I don't like gray days, but I love fog.

~*~*~*~Growing up and living most of my life in Colorado, well, there aren't very many foggy days in Colorado. Clear blue skies, deep blue you can almost reach out and taste, blue that draws your eyes up up up into the vast bowl of atmosphere.

The only other place with a sky bigger than Colorado is ... Big Sky Country - Montana! The first time we traveled through Montana, from south to north, Mel and I were amazed at how truly big the sky is there. You can practically see the curve of the earth (you can do that in Kansas and Oklahoma and the panhandle of Texas, too) and the sky is deep cornflower blue, beautiful, clear, and wonderfully big. Like the ocean and canyons, the sky makes me feel small and insignificant.

~*~*~*~When I think of fog I automatically think of the mountains and forrests. I don't associate fog with the prairies - prairies are 'big sky,' not 'fog.' Yet, the last time I was in a thick fog was about a year ago, out on the prairies of eastern Colorado.

Mel and I went out to visit friends of ours who live almost on the border of Colorado and Kansas (hi there, M and K!). I was still recovering from my double knee replacement surgery, the ride was long and I needed to get out and stretch my legs.

We were in the middle of a winter storm. There was some snow, but mostly we drove through miles and miles of fog. There were country roads branching off the main highway every so often along the route. Sandy country roads that led off toward ranches or small towns off the main highway. I asked Mel to stop on one of those and let me get out and walk. There had been very little traffic but I didn't want to take a chance walking on the side of the two lane highway.Pawnee National Grasslands, Colorado (Imagine fog, whisps of snow and frost on the grasses in this photo :) )

We turned off and drove for about half a mile down a dirt road. Mel pulled over in the ditch and we got our coats, hats and gloves on. The wind was howling, the temperature was cold with windchill down near zero or below. And it was foggy.

I am not sure Mel was thrilled to be out in that, but I loved it. I was energized. Slowly I started walking. My legs and new knees were still learning how to get along with each other and I had lost a lot of my endurance. I set a goal - the top of a small rise that I could see off in the fog a ways down the road. Mel walked beside me.

When we got out of the car, one of the first things that struck me was the smell - Colorado prairies - and I was immediately remembering times in my childhood when we would go visit my grandparents 'out on the farm' near Rush. The 'farm' was actually a small ranch - I don't know why we called it a farm, maybe because my grandfather was a dairy rancher for awhile before he did strictly beef cattle, grew some feed for them for a few years and thus it bacame a 'farm'? I don't know. I loved going there as a kid and have a lot of wonderful memories.

I've written about it before, I know, but one of the things I love about the prairie is the way it smells. Clean. Very hot - or very cold. Sagebrushy. Sandy. Unique. So, as I got started walking down the road, I took deep breaths of air (through my scarf - it was cold!) and let my mind wander back through many memories.

Yucca and sagebrush, dried prairie grasses, cowpies, barbed wire and wooden fence posts - all were covered by a rime of frost. Fog swirled through the air, hiding the distant view, then suddenly giving way to a view of a ranch house down the road a couple miles in a hollow of the prairie.

Silence. Total silence save for the sound of the wind blowing through the yucca and swooshing rattle of the dried hoary grama and buffalo grasses.

We reached our goal and I pleaded with Mel to walk a ways farther. He agreed, reluctantly. And when we finally reached that second goal, I could go no farther. My dear husband turned around, walked back to the car and drove up to get me. :)

That short walk was a balm to my soul.Hoar frost on the prairie grass by AstroBuff101

"Love Is All Around Me"

Yesterday afternoon, after church and Sunday School were over, Mel, Melinda and I went out for dinner. We used to do this almost every Saturday evening after the Ladies Bible Study, Kids English Class and Advanced English Class, but the habit has dropped by the side recently. No one wanted to go home and prepare a meal at the end of a long afternoon. We had wanted to go the night before, but all of us were just too wiped out. (Mel and I came upstairs and ate popcorn with shredded cheese on it instead.)

We went to our old standby, a nice restaurant in the city center. We've been going there for years. The food is really good, not way expensive (although with the current economic crisis the prices are rising), and has a very nice, relaxing area upstairs with no smoking. Late in the afternoon we were the only people there for over an hour. Well, there were people downstairs, but we were the only ones upstairs. And it was really nice. We talked and talked, laughed and were serious.

The manager did something just for us, I think. He/she put on American music from our generation. That kind of music is making a come back here for some reason anyway, but they don't usually play only English words music and they did last night.

I just kind of listened to it in the background, not even really paying any attention to it. I am not a big music lover and although I may kind of remember a song, it is rare that I know all of the words. And that is the way it was last night - until this came on, Love Is All Around Me, by The Troggs. I haven't heard this song in years!

The first chords began playing and wham! I was back in my teens and wildly in love with someone. Can you believe it? I didn't remember exactly who I was wildly in love with when I used to listen to this song. :) :) I had to look it up and when I saw the dates, I knew. and "Love Is All Around" (UK number 5 in October 1967 and US number 7 in May 1968). I was what? thirteen, fourteen years old? Oh, I know now exactly who I was in love with. Ha ha! No wonder I know the song by heart! At fourteen, crushes and 'being in love' are very serious for a girl.

I remember we had an old radio, or maybe it was just part of an old radio. It was on the shelf in my closet. It had knobs for moving the tuner and when I turned it on, I had to wait until the tubes warmed up before it would give forth sound.

Now I didn't just 'listen to the radio.' No, after everyone was in bed and the lights were turned out, I would go into the closet and turn it on with the sound very, very low and stand there and listen to the crackly sounds it made, the weird sounds from outer space it sometimes made as I searched for a good Rock station. I would turn the knob until one of my favorite stations came on - KSSN, Kissin' Radio was one - and listen to music from the '60's.

Why did I go into my closet to listen?
Well, my parents were very young, only in their late 30's and early 40's in the 60's, but they were very conservative in their beliefs and standards and Rock Music was the devil's music and I was only allowed to listen to certain bands. Herman's Hermits were about it for a long time and I even had all of their albums at one point (I wonder what happened to those albums?). Soooooo - I would listen to the radio when every one else was asleep and hear everything that was currently being played!

Never trust your teenagers. They do all sorts of things you know nothing about. I understood that with my own kids before they ever reached the age of birth :) :) :). I could only guide and council and discipline, but they were going to do a lot of stuff that I would never know about. You can't control any one's whole life, no matter that you are their parent and they are your child. I learned that very young. :)

So, I would stand there, crowded in with my dresses and shirts hanging around me, in the dark with the only light from the face of the radio, ear pressed up against the speaker and listen to evil Rock Music. It never lasted for a long time because by the time everyone in the house was in bed, it was late and I was really tired.

But this song is one I loved to listen to and somehow over the course of a few months, I actually memorized the whole thing.

It's amazing how music can actually re-awaken the feelings of angst, loneliness, unrequited love from the teenage years. I wonder what ever happened to the guy I was so crazy about (actually he and I almost got married when I was 18 and I am so glad we did not because last I heard of him 14 years ago, he'd been married 4 times already and who knows how many times since then!).

As I sit here writing this I begin to wonder - is the resurfacing of 'old memories' a sign that I am aging? You know - they always say that as you get older it's harder to remember what happened yesterday and easier to remember what happened in your youth!

Oh my.

there are other versions of this song on YouTube, including some with film footage of The Troggs singing it, but I like this one because I used to have a few 45's like this. Even the record player brings back memories!

Macaroni Krill

So, there I was, standing at the stove tonight, stirring a pot of boiling macaroni, when it dawned on me that my macaronis looked a lot like krill. Yep - little pale yellowish white macaroni krill.

Ah - times like this I wish I still had kids at home. Specifically, I wish Andrew was still at home and about age 8 or 10. Then I could have called him into the kitchen and said, "Look at this, Andrew. This pot of boiling little macaronis (the kind that is used in rice-a-roni) that I am stirring here looks just like krill being rounded up by sardines before the sardines eat them." And he would have gone into a long explanation of how the sardines round them up and eat away at them and then the sharks come and do the same thing to the sardines and that sometimes a big whale comes along and the sardines go away and the whale eats all of the krill in the swirling mass in one huge gulp of seawater. Shwooosh - goodbye krill. And I would have smiled and we would have had a great time imagining that we were really either sardines or sharks, but not a whale because we couldn't eat them all at one time in one gigantic bite.

The macaroni finished cooking and I drained it, put it back in the pan, added tomato juice and started stirring again (oh, I added a bit of butter and some salt, too). They really looked like krill then because they turned almost pink - but alas, I could not see them very well, so the whole illustration fell apart. I just stood there, stirring macaroni in tomato juice, waiting for it to heat up so I could eat it like tomato soup - thinking and remembering my kids when they were little. And missing all three of them oh so very much.

I miss being able to have wild imaginations with my kids. Of taking a mundane item or thought and going other places with it. Of having fun with words and word pictures, of taking every day objects and turning them into something else for a few minutes. Of exploring plain old every day things and making them come alive.

Not every kid can do that. Most kids have it ruined out of them before they get very old. I hope my kids can still do that. I hope my grandchild can still do it. Last year, the night before we flew out the next day to Ukraine, Stirling used me as a highway for his cars, my arms as bridges from the highway to the couch.

I'm missing all 4 of them tonight. My 3 kids and my grandkid. :):)

This Made My Evening :)

I checked the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo giraffe webcam this evening, not so see the giraffes, but to see how much snow is left from the storm they had over the weekend. Imagine my surprise when this is what I saw:

When I glanced down at the corner I saw this little guy:

Since the squirrelcam in North Pole, AK, is no longer working - it's a live television view now that I can't click on to save images :( - this little guy just made me happy and smiley. I have to have squirrel fix now and then.

****** UPDATE
Upon a little more searching, I found that they still have still photos updated every 2 minutes from a different camera. This is what I saw tonight, which is morning there. Check out that temperature!!!! The weatherunderground report is the same. The Squirrel Cam, January 6, 2008 -50 degrees F

Mel tells me that when he was a kid and they lived out on the homestead they used to pray that it would be -56 F in Fairbanks because then school was closed for the day. If it was -55 F, school was open. This was great for them because they lived on a hill out of town, above the ice fog, up where the air is a lot warmer. Sometimes it would be 30 or 40 degrees warmer! Then they would be free to play outside all day if they liked, rather than go to school.

My sister in Fairbanks told me a couple days ago that at her house, also outside of town and on a hill, it is much warmer than in town. While it was -30 F last week, she was a warm and toasty -8 F. :) :) It really does make a huge difference. Trust me!

Happy Birthday, Andrew!!

Twenty-nine years ago today our youngest son, Andrew, was born.

It was a 'warm' November day in Fairbanks. A warm day that followed several days of very cold temperatures - and it was raining. When I went into labor, the roads were covered in a thick layer of ice. We were worried that we would not be able to even make it to the hospital which was just a couple miles away. However, before that could happen, Mel needed to get the older two kids to the babysitter, Grandma Betty (our future sister-in-law's mother) and she lived out of town a few miles. He discovered on the way back in to town that the road was closed to all traffic right behind him. It was the warmest day Mel could remember for November, but the rain was freezing as it hit the ground.

We made it to the hospital and Mel very gingerly helped me walk across the ice, slipping and sliding, terrified that I was going to fall right there in the parking lot. I was met at the entrance by a nurse with a wheelchair.

My delivery with Andrew went perfectly. Almost too perfectly. When it came time for the doctor to say, "Now! Push!" I pushed. Oh yes, I pushed! I wanted that kid born. I wanted it all over and done with now!. The doctor told me to stop pushing so hard, she could actually see him moving down the birth canal at what was, apparently, an alarmingly fast rate. :) He was born with no problems, though, in a very timely manner. So timely, in fact, that he was born at the exact same time of day as his brother had been born 16 months earlier, and the exact same time of day opposite of his sister, 30 months earlier. Both boys were born in the morning at the same time, Kara at night at the same time, in the normal American way of telling time, which is not 'military time.' (Mel always says that is because Kara is the opposite sex.)

I soon had proof of how hard I had pushed. The following morning I noticed that my chest was covered in little bruises. I immediately asked a nurse what was going on, but she had no answer. When the doctor came in, I asked her. She examined me in surprise, thought for a moment and then explained what she thought had happened. I had pushed so hard, strained so hard, that I had broken dozens of little capillaries in the skin of my chest. She had never seen anything like it, but then, she told me she had never seen a baby move that fast down the birth canal either!

Why do I have this weird sense of pride in that accomplishment? Answer: unknown.

Anyway, the only other thing of note about Andrew's birth is the fact that we almost didn't bring him home. We almost brought home a little Asian baby instead.

"What?" I hear you exclaim. "How could you mix up your baby with an Asian baby???"

Well, the answer is pretty simple. They brought me a baby in the middle of the night, woke me up from a sound sleep to nurse the little guy. He wouldn't nurse. I examined said baby and thought to myself, "He looks hot with this silly ski cap on his head" and I pulled it off.

Hair. Black. Hair. Tons of black hair. Amazing amounts of black hair, sticking out of his head at every angle imaginable. Hair.

My babies were bald. Hairless. Cue balls. Bald. Oh, ok - they may have had a bit of fuzz on top, if held up to the light just so, but there was no way on God's green earth that my baby had hair like that.

Didn't I notice that his eyes were, well, Asian looking?
No. Why? Because all three of my babies had Asian looking eyes when they were born. The reason? Because Mel has a fair amount of Cherokee Indian in him. His grandfather looked like a full-blooded Indian until the day he died (is it still ok, politically correct speaking, to say 'full-blooded'? I never know any more what is PC and what will get a person lynched.) The older Mel gets, the more he looks like his father, and his grandfather, and the more I can see the Indian in him. Maybe no one else can, but I knew his grandfather, and everyone commented on how "Indian" he looked. (Oh - that may not be PC any more either - Native American! Someone already told me I'm not supposed to say "Oriental" so that's why I used "Asian." I hope that's ok...)

Whatever!

I pulled the little ski cap off. Stared in confusion at Baby for a minute, my sleep deprived mind numb - remember I already had two kids at home, both under the age of 3. I pushed the call button, the nurse arrived. I said, "I'm sorry, this is not my baby." And she panicked. Yes, panicked. Thus began a series of 5,000 questions and a form to fill out and whatever else happened that night while the real mama slept undisturbed in the bed beside me. Mrs. Zhcherkwoski or some other very Slavic name last name that started with a Z and not my own surname initial, and yes, a very ethnically Vietnamese woman.

They never did bring Andrew to me that night.

Believe me, I pulled off that little ski cap when they brought him to me in the morning! Made sure that his little bracelet matched mine AND the name in the name tag holder on the foot of my bed. A simple mistake - someone switched our name tags on the beds.

I don't think Mrs. Z ever knew what happened. I hope not. Or maybe I hope she did know. I would have wanted to know if my baby had almost been given to the wrong person.

So, we went home a few days later. Mel took us into our apartment, I settled Andrew in his bassinet, sound asleep and then settled myself in a rocking chair. I eagerly waited for Mel to bring the other two kids home. They all came in the door. I held out my arms. Little Kara at 2+ and Little Peter at 16 months just looked at me with big eyes. Then they turned and ran into the bedroom as fast as their little feet and legs would go. I got up and followed and found then standing on tiptoes, chins and fingers over the edge of the bassinet, staring at their new little brother.

Boy, did I feel missed. Not! :) :)

Anyway, all that to say, Happy Birthday, Andrew! Even though I know you don't read my blog. :)

Candy

I found the 'pets' in the sidebar on someone else's blog.

I know it's silly - but I enjoy 'playing' with them. If you haven't tried it, click on the hamster and click on the 'more' button. Same with the cat.

he he he he he

The hamster is Candy, named after the first hamster we had when my kids were little. He's about the same color as our Candy was, only Candy was actually beige and white. Candy was named by my son, Peter, who brought him home if I remember correctly, much to our suprise. "Look what I got from ....!!!"

Candy eventually had a mate and they produced several other little hamsters, which Peter gave away. Except for the two we kept.

We moved up into the mountains. One day Candy disappeared. I figured - we have 3 cats, Candy is a goner. And he was. Candy was gone for months. We had forgotten about Candy, really.

We lived in a very large house at that time. One day I was in the basement, sitting at the desk working on the computer. I felt something run over my foot and immediately thought, "oh no, we've got another field mouse that's come in from the cold. Where are those cats??!!" (Our cats were raised from birth to that point as indoor only cats - they really had no idea what to do with a mouse, other than watch it run around like crazy until we caught it and threw it back outside.)

I looked down, under the desk, and there sat Candy. I was shocked. Hamsters only live to be about 3 years old and he was way past that by then. I picked him up. Poor little guy had a bald nose and was rather wobbly, but otherwise in great shape. He lived for several more weeks - in his old cage, well fed and watered and loved again.

I Needed A Good Laugh Today

Following (in pink) is the beginning of an article I read this evening. I had a very good laugh inside while reading it. I am reminded of something a woman said to me once....

I am not a big meat eater. In fact, when I am eating meat I cannot think of the animal from which it came, or I get nauseated and can't eat any more of it. The first time this happened to me, that I remember, was when I was eating some really, really good "fried chicken" at my grandparents one day. My grandmother casually mentioned (or maybe it was my mother) that it was rabbit, not chicken. I almost vomited right there on my plate. All I could think of was those beautiful soft furry animals outside in their hutches - and I was EATING one of them!! Ei yi yi.

Many years later when we were in our first pastorate, one of the women in the church and I were talking about my dislike of eating a lot of meat and how much I really didn't like eggs at all (again - just the idea of what an egg IS turns my stomach...). She looked at me in disgust - she was in her 70's at the time - and said, "Next thing I know you'll be saying you can't eat carrots because every time you see one you are thinking that while it's being pulled up out of the ground it's crying out 'don't eat me, please don't eat me!'"

Okay, point taken. I still eat veggies OFTEN, every day, several kinds every day. But I also am aware that they have a kind of life and that life of any kind should not be wasted. Yes, food sometimes goes bad in my fridge or storage area. Every time it does, though, I am reminded of the starving children in some 3rd world country who are going hungry (hmmm - what about that old woman going through the trash outside? it's closer than I am comfortable with). AND I think - this plant was alive, God created it for me to eat and I have wasted God's gifts to me - the beauty of its life and it's nutrition for my body.

NO! I am NOT a New Age person! Seriously! But I do think of these things!

So, without further ado, here is the beginning of the article and the link to it. I confess - it did make me laugh.


National Geographic News
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Plants Can Recognize, Communicate With Relatives, Studies Find
James Owen
for National Geographic News

June 14, 2007

Plants have family values, too, it seems, with new research suggesting they can recognize close relatives in order to work together.

An ability to tell family from strangers is well known in animals, allowing them to cooperate and share resources, but plants may possess similar social skills, scientists believe.

Susan Dudley and Amanda File of McMaster University in Ontario, Canada, report they have demonstrated for the first time that plants can recognize their kin.

This suggests that plants, though lacking cognition and memory, are capable of complex social interactions.

"Plants have this kind of hidden but complicated social life," Dudley said. (click on "National Geographic News above for the link)

I've Felt Wind and I've Seen Dust....

This is the second time I've written this post - we'll see if I can actually get it posted this time without losing it. The lights are beginning to flicker and the internet is going on and off...

When I was born waaaay back in 1954, Colorado was having a very bad dust storm. My mother told me the story of how the nuns in the Catholic hospital were upset with her because she and my dad were going to name me and "unChristian" name and wanted them to name me something else. My parents insisted (I'm glad), and my mother wrote my name in the dust on the windowsill of the hospital window before they took me home. I was also told stories of how my grandparents and great aunts and uncles who lived out on the prairies in the early 1900's would take old rags and stuff them around the windows and doors, and hang wet sheets across the doorways to catch the dust during storms like that. It has always been hard for me to imagine a dust storm that bad.

When Mel and I lived in the Wet Mountain Valley we experienced unbelievable winds. In the spring the jet stream would settle over our part of Colorado for several days. Something in the combination of it in the upper atmosphere and the height of the 14,000+ foot mountains would cause hurricane force winds to sweep down from the high peaks, funneling between the mountains and out on to the Valley floor. It seemed to me that these winds would always begin in the middle of the night, waking us from a sound sleep. We lived in a mobile home on the very edge of town, fortunately in a slight dip beside a low rise. The winds hit us broadside, but most of the force was deflected by the low rise beside us. There were many nights when I would lie in bed wide awake, praying that God would "put His thumb" on our trailer and hold it down, keep the roof on and keep the windows from blowing out. Several nights over the 5 springs we lived there, I would stand for hours pushing against the livingroom door to keep it from popping open because the wind was so fierce. Sometimes it would even blow the pilot light out in the furnace - those were some cold nights. The spring we left the Valley, we heard that the hurrican force winds were so bad that they blew down over a mile of telephone poles, several acres of ponderosa pines and lifted the roof off a building in town and threw it half way down the street. Even though the winds were that bad, we never experienced very much dust.

Here in Kherson we have very little wind. Oh, all year long we have breezes, of course, but strong winds happen very seldom. This week, however, it has been extremely windy. I have not been able to hang clothes out on the balcony to dry because the wind whips them too hard against the building wall and the balcony bars. The wind was howling when we got up this morning, but I did not realize how bad it was until we went outside to get into a taxi. The force was almost "Colorado force" wind. Dust and dirt and trash were blowing around everywhere. We drove over to another district of town and when the taxi turned a corner, we were suddenly hit with the full force of the wind, howling between two or three miles of nine-story buildings. We were going to a team meeting being held at Jamie and Julia's flat since that was easier on their kids. After leaving the taxi, Mel and I walked around and between a couple of buildings. Just before we walked through the passage way that leads to their entrance, the wind either caught a loose window or blew a tree branch into a window on the 6th floor. Glass went flying through the air, falling to the ground with a crash. That was a very frightening experience.

From their 7th floor flat, Jamie and Julia have a wonderful view over about a mile of private homes and then open fields. To the far right we could also see several 9 story buildings about a mile away. As the day progressed, the wind blew harder and the air started to thicken with dust. Soon the fields were no longer visible. By noon the 9-story buildings were no longer visible and we could barely see a quarter of a mile across the private homes. Because the heat is still on full blast, they had a small window open, but covered with a lace curtain. Every so often a gust would blow dust into the room, causing our throats to feel scratchy and our eyes to burn. By the time we headed home, we could not see more than a quarter of a mile down the road, but we could see the bright disc of the dust shrouded sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky to the west. When we got home I quickly discovered that everything in our flat is covered in a fine layer of gritty dust. I could write my name in the dust covering the top of the laptop computer. It will probably take several days to clean out all of this dust - it is on and in everything.

Mel just checked weatherunderground and it says the winds are 40 miles per hour and we are having "a light sand storm." But it's supposed to rain tomorrow. We'll see. I think I've experienced my first real dust storm. Ooops - nope - make that my second - I just don't remember my first one!