Summer

1. School has been out since Thursday and we haven't killed each other yet.

2. The pool opened Saturday and we've been everyday dispite the fact that the temp has remained under 80 and closer to 60. I have yet to put on a swimsuit. I told the kids I could either read my book, fully clothed, at home or in the shade at the pool. They picked pool. They had a teeth chattering good time.

3. I just finished A Prayer For Owen Meany--my all time fave. I just started Austen's Persuation, which is no Pride & Prejudice but I'm getting into it.

4. I put the final touches on my song selection for VBS. This is the fourth year I've done music. This means teaching and leading songs for about 100 pre- through 2nd graders and then about 100 third through sixth graders. Here's the lineup:
And Can It Be--Charles Wesley hymn. I rewrote the melody to the first half of the verses (to make it accessible to small people and people [me] who find it hard to lead songs and play guitar at the same time--so not the same thing as performing).
Can't Nobody Do Me Like Jesus--only we're saying "love me like Jesus." I believe the vernacular has changed since the song's inception. I don't want to sing about Jesus doing me.
Let My Light Shine Bright -- camp song, call and response, hardy Yee-haw!
Go! -- from Scripture Rock, which is now out of print and was mediocre to start, except for this song. The text is basically the great commission. Nice.
The Word -- Sara Groves. She is about the only pop Christian music I can take these days. We're not singing the whole thing--just bits.

5. We've started the Dunbar Family Push Up Challenge. We all did push ups last night and recorded our starting ability. We'll check in every Monday night and whoever score increases the most by percentage will win something. The kids wanted candy, but we thought that defeated the purpose. I had a hard time explaining percentages--that it's not who does the most that wins. Very confusing.

6. I went to the Heavy Petting Zoo today. Okay, it was the Heavy Equipment Petting Zoo at the Library where the kids could climb on bulldozers, tractors, an ambulance, a firetruck, a semi, a hum-v, whathaveyou. Good fun.

7. Jon & Hope live in Iowa, which is for all practical purposes as lame as Nebraska, except that a caucus is looming there. So, they can go to the Pizza Palace and have Hillary Clinton kiss their new baby and sit down at their table for a few minutes. And Hopi can go to the local high school and sit with a kid on each knee and ask Barak Obama questions about immigration policy. We don't even get presidential campaign advertising here because neither side wants to waste money on a state that is without-a-doubt Republican (cough, gag, roll eyes, point finger to temple, etc).

8. It is time for the nightly after-dinner family walk.

9. Hope you are enjoying your summer so far!

first day, last day

My, oh my, what can change in nine months! It is only fair to point out how cute Phoebe's hair is now, since I made a point of discussing it earlier. Very cute.

strange things are afoot at the circle k

You know you're a loser when you find yourself quoting Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure.

Two Days, Two Extraordinary Events

Yesterday:

I had dinner, I kid you not, a the home of a prince. I will leave you hanging with that small amount of information, but I mean that description quite literally. We had delicious middle eastern food, that I LOVE and is usually hard to come by in my neck of the woods and -- as you can imagine -- very interesting and delightful conversation.

Today:

We were riding bikes home from the library and stopped for a moment outside the courthouse because Mo had a minor crash. There was a great ruckus from the tree overhead. Down flew a beautiful cockatiel. He landed on the sidewalk beside me and when I bent down and offered it, he flew up onto my finger. Obviously, this was someone's pet. Obviously, we should help it because this prettyboy was about to get a whoopin' from the starlings and grackles on the means streets of south central Nebraska. But there we were--on bikes. An Adams County employee came out and said she'd call the animal shelter and/or take it home--she has two cockatiels already. The bird hopped from my hand to hers and off they went into the courthouse.

Tomorrow: I'll keep you posted. I might be on a roll.

inch worm

Susan posts video on her blog. The thought had never occurred to me that I could use my camera for video and post it. Technology is nuts.

If you've never met Mo, I should explain that he is neither hoarse nor sick. That's how he always sounds. That is how he sounded when he was 10 months old and said "mama" and "ball" for the first time.

Without further ado, here is a little moment from my day.

no way did that just happen

Last night was my guitar recital. Guitar recitals are a lot of fun. We all sit in Robin's living room. Everyone steels their nerves with just enough alcohol to relax and still play. All Robin's students (and this recital is just adults) usually get a new song at every lesson, and many of us get the same songs...or newer students are playing songs that more advanced students have played in the past...however it works out, it works out that most of us know each other's songs. And most of us sing harmony--or at least sing along--on every song.

I played two really hard David Wilcox songs in open C tuning: Rusty Old American Dream and his arrangement of Same Old Song. Neither went off without a hitch, but it was fun. I also played a song I wrote in open C called Sarpy County. Or maybe it's called Thunderstorm Warning. Possibly, Thunderstorm Warning in Sarpy County, but that seems a bit long.

There was lots of Patty Griffin--Trapeze, Heavenly Day, Never Give Up. There was some Mindy Smith, Dar Williams, John Mayer, Townes VanZandt. Not those actual artists, but lovely covers of their songs. We joked and laughed, played and sang. That's what I call a good night. Throw in mojitos and frozen margaritas and well...fantastic.

After the formal (which is a very relative term) portion of the evening my friend Mary asked if I would play Boone's Farm Wine for her. I was sitting on the couch eating a cookie, like the one pictured above, and holding my guitar. I looked around for a place to put the cookie, but there was no coffee table and I didn't want to set it on the couch or floor. So, I did what any classy broad would do--I tucked it behind my ear like a pencil.

I played BFW, which is always a crowd pleaser, and those who were still around sang along. Then Barb asked me to play a song I wrote as an assignment, that I guess Robin told her about called Morbid Girl.

Morbid Girl is a song about my screwy philosophy that if I imagine terrible things they cannot happen. The chorus says, "I don't believe in psychic ability. I don't believe in ESP. I just believe the more I imagine the less it can happen to me." That's very logical. I am not psychic. I can't tell the future. So if I think "today Paul will die in a car crash", logically speaking, he can not die in a car crash. The verses are lists and lists of all the terrible things that might happen ("the asthma attack without an inhaler, the white-picket turned impaler").

I couldn't really remember the chords or the words to this song. I was fumbling through it --playing a little, talking through the parts that were sketchy in my memory. I looked down at my fingers while playing and--as if in slow motion--the cookie slipped out from behind my ear, fell end over end and landed, I kid you not, INSIDE my guitar. That giant cookie somehow got past my strings and into my sound hole.

There was a split second of stunned silence and then...well, I can't remember when I've laughed so hard. It took FOREVER to get it out. I didn't want to shake it into cookie crumbs--that can't be good for my under-saddle pickup! I held it above my head and Robin reached in as best she could and tried to fish it out. We finallyI shook it out onto the carpet, but there are still crumbs rattling around in there. At least it's not meat or dairy based.

If only I'd thought to include a line in my song about a Pepperidge Farm Piroutte falling into my guitar, it never would have happened.

thrill ride

I used to be somewhat of a thrill seeker. I've never shied away from a roller coaster or ride. I've bungee jumped. I've rappelled. I've flung myself out of tall trees on high ropes courses. I've downhill skied. I've waterskied. All good fun.

Since becoming a parent, I've had no desire to thrill seek. Maybe it would have happened with age anyway, but having Phoebe eight years ago put an end to most unnecessary dangerous activity. When I was pregnant in England I was really paranoid about crossing the street. It had a lot to do with them driving on the left and me never being sure where the traffic was coming from, but also it had to do with the fact that this little fluttering life inside my belly was depending on ME to nourish, care for it, and walk it home safely. I obeyed the traffic lights ABSOLUTELY. Unless it said "walk" I was glued to the corner, though crowds of annoyed British commuters went around me, I stayed put.

I wouldn't say I'm paranoid. I certainly would NOT say I'm no fun. I just think about things more. I weigh the fun of a few minutes against the fact that three little people depend upon me. I no longer want to go sky diving, which had been a long term goal of mine. This summer at Universal Studios I'll ride the rides, but I probably won't go on the ferris wheel at the carnival in the K-Mart parking lot over Memorial Day weekend.

It's not just the fear of leaving my children motherless that makes me play it safe, it's the fact that the kiddos are watching. If I don't wear my bike helmet, they won't. If I don't wear my seatbelt, they won't. If I don't wear flip-flops so as not to burn my feet on the asphalt in the pool parking lot, they won't either. I'm not only a caretaker. I'm an example.

Yesterday afternoon I had a library board meeting. I set out on my bike at a few minutes after four. By the time I got to the library, fifteen minutes later, the sky was dark and scary. I called Paul and asked him to take the cell if he went anywhere because I'd probably call for a ride home. We all looked nervously out the window during our meeting. Several people offered me and my bike a ride home. I said I'd wait and see, because unless it was raining, I'd really like to ride.

The meeting ended and it was just starting to sprinkle. The sky looked awful. My colleagues thought I was nuts and trying too hard not to be a bother, but I got this question in my head: can I beat the storm home? Well, I had to find out.

There was distant lightning. I'm not stupid. If I thought I might get struck I would abandoned the bike ride. But was distant. The wind was strong and cold. I hoped on my bike and hauled ass. Every minute I could feel the air getting colder and the rain coming a little harder.

When I stopped at the light at Burlington and Ninth I could see drivers looking nervously at me. But I also could see a few joggers who hadn't made it home yet and a couple of bikes down various side streets. I wasn't the only one out. I was one mile from home.

I sped down the only hill in town (and by hill I mean long, five-block, very gradual slope--Nebraska is great for bike riding) grinning like a Cheshire cat. This was fun. At Ninth and Baltimore the sprinkle had turned to rain. Half mile to go. My pants were soaked. I wasn't cold, though, because I was pedaling so hard.

I thought to myself that this is the sort of thing Paul normally does and I normally find annoying. He gives himself a difficult but unnecessary challenge, that could end badly. If the tables were turned I would be rolling my eyes and saying, "For Pete's sake, just let me pick you up! You don't have to ride in the rain!" But so far I was doing okay. I was having a blast. I was beating the storm. I figured I would get home just in the nick of time.

In front of the Methodist Church (quarter mile from home) the rain took on a sleety quality. I began to wonder if I would have to seek shelter from hail on somebody's porch, but I pedaled on, still grinning, exhilarated by the race. I crossed Ninth and rode up my neighbor's driveway onto the sidewalk and in the process dislodged the basket on the front of my bike. So I had to stop. I was literally in my backyard and I had to stop. I tried to hook it back on, but I couldn't get it, so I held it wobbly in one hand and continued to ride as the rain came down harder.

I ditched the bike in the garage and ran inside. By the time I had said hello to everyone and changed my clothes there was furious lightning and thunder and the rain was blowing in horizontal sheets. I was wet and cold and tired but I had beat the storm--thank goodness. And I was very pleased with myself.

art

I haven't been in to record for almost three weeks. I hit some sort of wall. I just got so bored of sitting in that little room by myself, pushing record and singing into the mic take after take. Ugh. What I got down is technically fine. There's a strong signal. It's clear. No one but me would notice the small mistakes in the final take. Todd says once we start mixing it will become a totally different animal--the mixing is where the magic happens. But to me it all seems flat. Once I realized (a few weeks ago) that I would not have a cd to sell at my Listening Room gig last Friday, I eased up. I gave myself a break, from which I have not returned.

Then Sunday night I played at the Blue Moon. Everybody did a little set. I was in the middle. Mostly people did solo or duet stuff. Jay sat in on drums for most. And mostly it was mellow folk music. Don't get me wrong, I love mellow folk music. Most of what I play is mellow folk music. But this last batch of songs I've written (and, really, many of the songs I've written) have a strong pop leaning. They are "up". So I was thrilled to have Jay there. And Jay called John up to play bass--even better.

We hadn't rehearsed any of this. I wasn't even sure what I was going to play. I started with a new one called "Catch it when you can." It rocked. Then Robin came up and we sang another peppy new song called "Boca 1979" to which the lyrics are actually incredibly creepy and sad. It rocked. We then pulled "Econolodge" out of the recesses of our memory. Guess what. It rocked. Robin sat down and I finished with "Box of Letters" which I'd always wanted to play with a band.

That was THE MOST FUN I had had with my music in...forever. I felt energized. I felt inspired. I thought, I want to write songs for a guitar, bass, drum combo! And most of my songs really lend themselves to that bar band alt-country feel. It was so great. I'm sure it didn't SOUND fantastic to our listeners because it was totally on the fly with me shouting at John off mic "here comes the bridge! it goes to C!" or "in the next verse, guitar and bass drop out but keep a beat going, Jay!"

It was an epiphany. I need to change horses in midstream here. I think I need to go record live at Jay's with Jay and John. I can't go back to that little room by myself. Jay has an analog recording set up. It's not as high tech as Todd's and has a less polished, radio-ready sound to it. But I think I will gladly trade that out for an inspired sound and for ENJOYING myself doing it.

I have these nagging inner voices, though. They say, "oh, so suddenly you're a temperamental artist? and you can't create your art unless it's under the right conditions? get over yourself." It is hard for me to admit to myself that I'm a musician. To say "I'm a songwriter" and not "I've written a few songs." I don't know why it is, but it is hard to say that music is art and art is not like math where the answer comes out the same every time. Just putting in the time and practice and pushing the right buttons on the digital recorder does ensure (insure?) that I will have a product I can be happy with at the end of the day (month, year, God help me). Art does require inspiration. It is completely personal. It is about self expression and if I want to produce art (yes, please) I need to create a situation where I fell inspired, comfortable, and..well..psyched. I have to deliberatley grant myself permission for this.

Why do I resist that? Why do I feel like it's silly?

I don't feel like I've wasted my time recording at Todd's. It's all about lessons learned, right? So, I am learning what works for me and what doesn't work for me. I wasn't going to have a cd for my May show, anyway...so, we'll start over at Jay's this summer and hopefully, by the time I start school in August I will have a sweet, rockin', album of songs with my bar band. Oooh, I get excited just thinking of that.

I do of course need to get a couple songs recorded to send into a festival contest I want to enter. I've entered before with no success...but this may be my year...you never know.

Friday

1. Tonight I open for Storyhill at the Listening Room. I'm playing five new songs, including one I wrote this week. That might be a really stupid idea, but what can you do? Robin is singing harmony on one. I had hoped I could get Jay-The-Busdriver to play drums for me, but we couldn't get our schedules to match up, but that's okay because....

2. Sunday night I'm playing at the Blue Moon. The Listening Room is hosting The Thing in May. The Thing was started by Margaret because...what's happening on Sunday nights? Since, February, The Thing has been happing. From 7-9 there's music. It'll be me, Robin, Jay, Peter...I think Carla and a few others. So Jay and I can play together then.

3. Paul arrived safe and sound last night. He was pleased to report that on one tank of gas the Fit broke the 4o miles-per-gallon barrier. Take THAT global warming!4. Kids have been skateboarding on the church sidewalk/stairs, directly across from my front porch. This makes me very happy. I want to sit and watch but I'm afraid they'll think I'm staring with disapproval...and I can't think of a way to be welcoming without feeling like a total dork. Anyway, I love it.

5. I have a new nephew named Joseph William Dunbar. Congratulations, Jon & Hopi. Can't wait to meet him.

6. Have a lovely weekend.

two side to every story/practice makes perfect

I was just in the principals office. I went on my own initiative. Last night we were at the playground and Moses smilingly said, "You know what happened at school today? Mrs L (the substitute) took my shirt off in front of the whole class!" I asked why she would do such a thing. "My shirt was on inside out and backwards." And off he ran.

Now, anyone who knows Moses or has seen him from one day to the next knows that something is always on inside out and or backwards: pants with the fly in back, shirts with the pocket logo on his shoulder bade, whathaveyou. Sometimes I point this out before he leaves for school and my comment is met with a shrug or an "I know." Sometimes teachers have told me that they pointed it out to Moses and got the same reaction. He just doesn't give a rip. Fine by me.

I thought taking a child's shirt off in class seemed a bit much, but Moses said it like it was a funny and exciting story so I said nothing. But I found myself thinking about it...thinking, "at least it was Moses and not some other kid." Which is totally unfair to Mo. He shouldn't get the lion's share of weird treatment because he's well-adjusted. And later I thought that a teacher would never do that to a girl in class. And how hard would it have been to say, "go to the bathroom and turn your shirt around"? And why, with 25 six year olds to teach did she care about the state of Mo's shirt? But these were all fleeting thoughts which disappeared instantly into a game of tag.

This morning at 7:05 the phone rang. For a split second I was 100% sure it was the Missouri Highway Patrol calling to tell me Paul was dead. But it was another kindergarten mom calling to make sure I had heard about the shirt-taking-off-incident. Now, this woman is a friend of mine. Her kids and my kids spend a lot of time together. There are load of things I love about her--however--she is a bit of a drama queen and gets really worked up about things that don't ruffle my feathers at all. She said her daughter felt so bad for Moses because all the kids laughed and his faced turned red. And it all just seemed "not right" to her.

I said Moses mention it in pasing: that he didn't seem upset; but, that it did seem strange to me. I thanked her for her concern, because, frankly, though I'd thought about it a little last night, I had totally forgotten about it.

But then I was in a quandary. It hadn't stuck out in my mind as worth pursuing. Was I going to be manipulated into creating drama where there is none by my friend? This is something I have to be deliberate about or I find myself sucked in. Or am I going to ignore a situation I should really look into in an over-zealous fit of anti-manipulation?

I asked Moses about it again. I asked how it felt when Mrs. L took his shirt off. he said it was kind of funny. I said if it was only kind of funny, what else was it? Embarrassing. Did it seem like an okay thing to do or a not-okay thing. With a thoughtful nod he said "not okay."

Then I wondered if my questions were leading (though I tried to be neutral) and he was saying what he thought I thought he should say. This is the very thing I complain about my friend doing, saying to her perfectly content and confident child, "Don't be afraid of that big dog, honey. Don't think that big dog is going to come over here and bite your face off. If you want to cry because your so scared of that big dog, it's okay..mommy will take care of you." And then, voila, the child is crying and terrified.

As you already know, I went to talk to the principal. I really like this principal. She's the daughter of a LCMS pastor in our circuit. When her dad was ill recently, Paul visited the family regularly and got to know her outside of the principals office. Inside the principals office she does a fantastic job. I couldn't be more pleased with her.

I had gone over in my head how to present the story. I just told her the straight story. "Moses is in Mrs.P's class. Yesterday he had his shirt on inside out and backwards and Mrs L stripped him bare chested and put it on right in front of the class." She immediately said, "Oh, my. That doesn't sound good. Was Mo upset about it?" I told her how he had told me and how he had answered when I asked him. We talked about it for a few minutes and she said she would talk to the classroom teacher and Mrs. L about it. "Or," she said as a women entered the outer office, "we could ask Mrs. L about it right now."

And there was Mrs. L and my very first fleeting instinct was to say "NO! I want to be passive aggressive and complain to you and YOU deal with it." But I said, "We may as well ask her, since she's right here. Then it will be clear that I'm not freaking out about and we'll know what the story is."

Here is the story: A classmate made a teasing comment about Mo's shirt being on wrong. Moses asked Mrs. L to fix his shirt. She thought about taking him out in the hall--but there were 24 other kids to supervise. So she said, "close your eyes, everybody!" And fixed Mo's shirt and Mo seemed pleased to have it fixed. And that was the end of it.

Well.

That sounded very plausible. And I could tell by her face and voice that she was slightly horrified, realizing how the story could have sounded to me, but wanting to sound unruffled and not-guilty. It was the same way I was balancing between making sure my kid was okay and not wanting to sound like a lunatic drama queen. She said she wouldn't have given Mo's shirt the time of day, but she heard what the other kid said, and Mo asked her to fix it, displeased with it being pointed out. I said he clearly wasn't traumatized by it, I just wanted to make sure it was all appropriate and above-board.

So, did I underreact? Should I have called for the resignation of Mrs L? Did I get sucked into the drama? Would I have followed through at all if my friend hadn't called? Did I overreact? I don't think so. A mama bear's gotta do what a mama bear's gotta do. Though I momentarily wanted to bail, I'm so glad I got to talk to Mrs L right there. It would have turned into a much bigger deal if it was a three-way conversation between the teachers and principals and then I was called back with the results. Instead, I asked the question. I got my answer. All is well.

And, like most things in life, I view it as practice. I have practiced what to do when something seems suspicious at school. I sharpened my tools for having a non-confrontation discussion with pricnipal and teacher about the treatment of my child. The lines of communication are open and that can only be a good thing. And maybe Moses will put his shirt on right...but, frankly, that would make me a little sad.

obsession

Freaks and Geeks

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Have I mentioned that this is the best tv show ever made? I've been reluctant to post any video because any one clip might not be representative of the show as a whole. This clip, in fact, is silly. There is a lot of silliness in the show. But it is not only silliness. It is genius. (Please make special note of that tape recorder.)

My box set came in the mail yesterday and I managed to wait until the kids were in bed to watch the first two episodes. And I'm dying to watch more. And the special features. There's two commentaries for each episode--some with the actors and creators; some with the fans who pushed to get the dvd released, some with the actors' parents; one with a couple of the actors in character. Bizarre. I'm totally geeking out. Or should I say Freaking and Geeking out?

Hardcore May Day

May Day in Nebraska is no joke. May Day in Nebraska is serious business. Our first year here it hadn't registered in my mind that it was the first of May. Why would it? And why, I wondered, did my doorbell keep ringing? And why were there goody-bags on my porch but no people?

To be honest, that first year, when we hardly knew anyone and Phoebe was almost three and Moses 18 months, the doorbell rang twice. I remember the Carrs and the Vonderfechts bringing us May Baskets. But this year...I wish I had my camera (but it's in St. Louis with Paul). It looks like Halloween.

After school as we were playing in the backyard four friends approached with May baskets. Of course we made the ring-and-run aspect of this difficult as we were in plain sight in the backyard. Twice folks walked up and handed us treats and two sets (one for each kid) were stealthily left on the porch. We spent the evening at the Steinauers house and when we returned our little porch was full--probably five May Baskets for each kid.

Most of the May Baskets were not baskets at all, but Styrofoam cups with pipe cleaner handles adorned with stickers and full of candy or trail mix. There were a couple sets of construction paper tulips that served as stapled-on wrapping for Blow Pops. About half of the May Baskets had a "To:" and "From:" on them and half were anonymous.

I love the anonymity. That seems like the whole point, doesn't it? I mean, why ring-and-run if the recipient is going to know who it is from anyway?

For our May Baskets we bought three grocery store fresh flower bouquets. Each kid got a bouquet, three mason jars and scissors to cut the stems and rearrange the big bouquet into three small bouquets. Florists they are not, but they had fun and who can resist shasta daisies and gerber daisies regardless of their arrangement?

We took two to the kids next door; one to Becky, who teaches Phoebe piano, leads the kids' choir at church and is subbing for their music teacher at school this month; three to the Vonderfecht kids; and three to the Steinauer kids. By the time we were done I had waters sloshed out of the jars and all over the floor of my van and a daughter who was a wreck.

Phoebe got totally freaked out by the sneaking up to the door. This happens every year. She just gets so worked up--the nervous anticipation kills her. It almost makes it no fun. What if they see her? What if she is sneaking and she is surprised? By the time we got to our last house she couldn't take it anymore. She said, and I quote word for word, "I want no part of this. I wish none of you would do this, but if you do it anyway....I want no part."

Paul said, "tell her to remember that on prom night."

But back to May Day. I have vague memories of weaving construction paper baskets or cones filled with daffodils at school when I was little. I know one time I took one of these to my next door neighbor, Mrs. Freber. But that was the extent of my May Day participation. I don't know why this tradition, that I always thought of as old-timey, like something Laura & Mary Ingalls or Anne Shirely would do, has kept hold here in Nebraska, but I find it very charming. And every year it's a surprise to me. I just don't remember what a big deal May Day is until suddenly my doorbell is ringing and there are treats on my porch.

Inspirational Songs

Last night on American Idol the theme was "inspirational songs." The best thing about American Idol is picking out what songs I would sing (and--okay--what I would wear). Inspirational songs is tricky. I was sure the Beat-Box Guy would sing Man in the Mirror. I love that song. He didn't. He did a crappy Imagine. The Justine Timberlake Guy sand Clapton's Change the World and was good. The girls were all way better than the boys but I can't remember any of the songs. You'll Never Walk Alone, I think.

Anyhoo. What would I pick? Well, for true spiritual inspiration, I'd want to pick something from the solid old hymnody. But I don't think Crown Him With Many Crowns or Lift High the Cross would go over well with the judges. (We sang the latter last week during communion and I could hardly stay in my seat. Why would we sing that SITTING DOWN?!) Nor would something by Luther or Martin Franzman.

But here are the songs I thought of--probably none of which would go over on AI, which is just fine. Maybe if they have Singer-Songwriter Idol (SSI) these would be big hits. These are just a few that came to mind. I'll keep adding to this list if I think of more. I'd love to hear what you would sing.

Echoes --Dar Williams

The Only Way -- Mark Erelli

Hardtimes -- Stephen Foster

Seeds of Peace -- Mark Erelli

Let the River Run -- Carly Simon

(I have no idea what this song is about, but I've always loved it)

Do They Know it's Christmas? -- BandAid

(my brother had this album and the b-side had the version I linked to here with everyone speaking. we listened to it over and over and over. i haven't heard it in years and i could speak along with it "hello, this is sara from bananarama....")

God Believes in You -- Pierce Pettis

R.I.P.

Below is a timeline of the events surrounded the untimely death of our dear Sparky. Thursday was an insane day to begin with and then--surprise--pet death. Ugh.

7:30 a.m

Phoebe feeds,waters and pets Sparky.

8:00 a.m.

I walk Phoebe and Mo to school. Ollie and I spend the morning running errands, playing, etc.

12:00 p.m.

Ollie and pick Mo and Zip up from school. Kindergartners have a half day due to Kindergarten Round-Up for next year's crop of kiddos (including Oliver).

12:15 p.m.

Mo, Zip and I take Ollie to school.

1:00 p.m.

Mo, Zip and I get Ollie from his classroom and walk him down the hall to Kindergarten Round up.

2:00 p.m.

Mo, Zip and I go to DQ for ice cream.

3:15 p.m.

We pick up Phoebe and Ollie from school.

4:20 p.m.

Mo goes out into the backyard to play and comes running in screaming "SPARKY IS DEAD!" Everyone goes tearing outside. Sparky is, indeed, dead inside her doghouse (if anyone is reading this without background info--Sparky is a duck. You can read more about the ducks here.) I like to think she didn't feel well and went to go lie down in bed. There is a dark yellow substance smeared on her and the hay in the doghouse--it's yolky. She hasn't laid an egg in a month or two--after laying one egg every day for over a year. We fear her death had something to do with egg production, but we're no poultry experts so it remains a mystery.

4:25 p.m.

I call Paul and he comes home.

4:30 p.m.

Zip's mom picks her. She is sad but fine, however, her mom later reports that she looses it once she gets in the van.

Paul and I start digging a hole in the garden.

4:35 p.m.

We tearfully lay Sparky to rest. Phoebe, Mo and I have a good cry. Moses refuses to put dirt on top of her. Between sobs he says, "It just seems so mean. If she were alive we'd never do anything like that to her!"

4:45 p.m.

Our friends, the Vondies, arrive to pick us up for a trip to Lincoln to hear David Sedaris read. We bought tickets a year ago. Such, such bad timing. How could we know? Jean also arrives, lucky lucky Aunt Jean, who gets to babysit the grieving, crying children. Phoebe gets in bed and cries herself to sleep. Jean wakes her up for dinner. They all draw pictures of Sparky and make lists of the things they love about her. Phoebe writes Sparky a letter.

We have a delightful time in Lincoln. Sedaris is hilarious and read only one essay I knew--and that was Jesus Shaves--so, how cool is that? We meet our friends who also went, but didn't sit with us at Starbucks. I call and check on the kids a couple times.

Friday 7:00 a.m.

I wake up Moses for school who sits bolt upright and says, "I'm supposed to feed Sparky this morning, but it doesn't matter!" I call our neighbors to let them know so they can tell Annie before she goes to Kindergarten and hears the sad news there. Everyone is sad. Everyone loved Sparky. We wondered if our neighbors would complain about ducks in the yard--but Sparky was a neighborhood hit.

7:50 a.m.

I go over to school without the kids and tell their teachers the news. All three of them kept saying how they were going to tell their teachers, but I thought I'd give a heads up.

4:00 p.m.

After school and snack we go out into the garden and lay a stone which reads "Our Beloved Pet" on Sparky's grave along with flowers and trinkets.

While Mo gives the most dramatic response to Sparky's death, it's Phoebe who feels it most deeply and misses her the most. She, more than anyone, cared for Sparky and enjoyed her company. Ollie is very practical, "I can't take her to school for farm week." "I don't have to shut the gate anymore." I don't think we'll get another duck. It was a lovely chapter in our life to have silly ducks for pets, but chapters end. Farewell, Sparky. Rest in peace.

bliss

I just ordered this from Amazon with a gift card we got for Christmas. Thank you Aunt Ellen and Uncle Dave. If you are not familiar, please click on over to netflix or call your local video rental establishment/public library/whathaveyou and get your hands on the best tv show ever. Seriously. Every single episode made me 1)laugh hysterically 2)cry. When we got to the last episode I was completely beside myself 1)because it was so so great and 2)because it was the END and I hated to let these characters go.

the end of an era

Sparky is dead.

internet access

I am writing this post from Hastings Public Library. I am a Library Board member (Vice President, if you must know) and I use the library all the time but I've never been on the computers. Ollie is upstairs at story hour. I brought a book and a crochet project but I don't feel like doing either. And anyway, this is good practice.

Good practice for what, you ask? Here's the story. Paul and I share a cell phone. We have a land line at the house and one cell we use for long distance and for one of us to take with us whenever, though neither of us usually carry it around. If Paul's going birding, he'll take it. If I'm going to record at Todd & Cody's (they DON'T have a land line, so no one could reach me there) I'll take it.

I mentioned to Paul that when I start school next year we might want two cells. I will probably want to have one with me. Since I'll be on the go, from class to class, to work, probably to field work in a classroom somewhere it would be nice and smart to have the phone with me--if the kids' school calls (you know, head lice, rocks in the ears, whathaveyou). But it would be hard for Paul to NEVER have access to it--no long distance, no way to call for help should he get stuck down some muddy country road while birdwatching over lunch. Two phones might be nice. I refuse to say necessary--it would be nice and convenient.

So then our thoughts turned to how to pay for this added nicety and convenience. Give up cable? Oh, yeah. We don't have cable to give up. Give up the land line? I'm not ready to make that leap.

Having a common phone number is important to me because of it's impact on our family, and my marriage. I have friends with no land line and two separate cell numbers. When I want to call them I have to choose whom to call. In some cases, I am closer with , or have more business to discuss with the husband than the wife. No big deal. If I was calling a home phone either one of them would answer. If I had something to discuss with the husband and the wife answered I would get to talk to her first and then ask to speak with the husband. But with cell phones I end up only having contact with the husband and it could happen that the wife would never know that I had spoken to him. Again, in and of itself, it is no big deal.

Especially, as I am not now, nor do I plan ever to have an affair, this is no big deal. But I can see how easily it could become one. Technology increasingly provides avenues of privacy that we haven't ever really had before.

I remember talking to my friends or boyfriend on the phone in the living room with my whole family in there watching tv. Eventually we got a really, really long coiled handset cord that would stretch down the hall, not quite into my room--but at least I could sit at the end of the hall with my back against my closed bedroom door. Now all the high school kids in my Sunday School class have their own phone. They can talk to whomever they want, whenever they want about whatever they want and their parents have no way of controlling or monitoring or being in the know whatsoever.

Husbands and wives can have entirely private lives conducted over cell phones and the Internet without the other knowing. I have a yahoo account that's my "dummy account" for when I have to give an email address, so spam doesn't come to my regular account. It's how I log onto blogger and myspace and whatever. Paul may not know what that address even is. I could have a whole email centered life, if I wanted to, that he knew nothing about. That's creepy.

As it is we have a joint primary email account. I like this. I don't read his email. He doesn't read my email (do you? :) ). But when I get an email it's right there in the inbox for him to look at if he wanted. I have nothing to hide. It's like a little safety net, should we ever need accountability, there it is. If for some reason I felt insecure or threatened by...I don't know...a bunch of emails coming from some birdwatching lady in North Dakota...I could read them if I wanted. I think I'd find a boring (subjective term, I know) list of rare birds spotted this spring, but I could look if I wanted. And when my guy friends email me, Paul sees it in the inbox. I like that openness.

I have no reason to be suspicious. I'm not in the least. I have no reason to be worried. I am not in the least. And I never have been--because we have always had that sort of openness.

Another thing (in italics because I'm adding it later): answering the phone when it is not for you chit-chat is important. When my mom wants to talk to me, if she called my cell and not our family number, she would never talk to Paul. Same goes for any extended family. Paul's brothers wouldn't call ME, in most cases, unless it was for something specific, and that would be rarely. But when they do call for Paul and I answer I get to talk to them for a few minutes. That is important. That is how we stay a family and keep in touch.

So we will keep the land line.

Plus, our kids will want a phone to use. Phoebe has started calling friends and making plans. She and Moses LOVE to call time and temp. I feel like if we had only cell phones, they would be less likely to get to practice those small, basic, very first phone calls. Sure, they could dig my phone out of my purse...but the phone sitting on the counter is much more accessable. And they are learning how to ANSWER the phone when it rings. I sometimes forget that these are skills kids have to LEARN, but they do and they are important life skills. I would not pull the ringing cell phone out of my pocket and hand it to Mo to answer. Maybe people do. I can't picture it. I imagine a generation of kids growing up NOT using the phone (because there isn't one on the counter accessible to them) and then when they are twelve or something, suddenly, they have their OWN cell phone, which they can then use with no monitoring without having ever learned phone etiquette, or appropriateness, or...maybe this is all in my head...but these are the things I think about.

But something has to give if we are to afford two cell phones. Paul suggested ditching Internet access, which seemed TOTALLY ABSURD to me at first. No Internet. Wuh huh? Impossible. But if Paul is at work all day with a computer and I am at school all day in class or working in the learning center/computer lab--couldn't we get all our computing done during business hours? And if not, the church IS right across the street. Plus, if I couldn't get on the Internet to stare at Craftster and TMZ, think of all I could accomplish.

Of course, then we'd have to use our "dummy" email accounts as real accounts, thus getting rid of the open and shared email inbox of which I just spoke so highly. Or we could get a shared dummy account, but that almost seems like taking it to far....or not?

nerd-tastic!

What could be better than a 50 cent, 1970's, 100% acrylic, JC Penney ski sweater? It's weird to need it in April but I'm pretty pleased with this find.

By the by, did you know there is no longer a "cent" symbol on my keyboard? I guess there never was one on my keyboard--it wouldn't have just dissappeared--so, I mean, on your keyboard? On any keyboard? Are we so over pennies now?

calling for back up

Right now I am (obviously) sitting at the computer in my basement office. Moses is screaming himself silly upstairs on the top bunk. Everyone else is at mid-week classes at church.

It's been a long afternoon. Mo had a field trip today, which I think wore him out. He was upset at dinner because he didn't get the chair he wanted. Why not? Because he got mad a week ago and threw that chair down and knocked a screw out so the seat fell off. I haven't fixed it yet. He says the other chairs hurt his back. No one else seems to mind them, but he does, and threw a fit over it.

And then I wouldn't give him his dinner plate because he hadn't unpacked his lunchbox. On Tuesday morning when Easter break was over I went to pack his lunch and found the left overs from THURSDAY'S lunch. Gross. Initially the rule was you don't get snack after school until you've emptied the lunch box. But after school is such a chaotic rush that I always froget to enforce it--so now it's no dinner. He freaked out. He told me I was being mean. He said I didn't seem very sorry that he was crying. I told him I wasn't sorry I was sticking to my rules, but I was sorry he was so sad about it. Of course emptying his lunch box took about 30 seconds and then he got his dinner--but he cried for 20 minutes about it.

Then it was time to leave for church. Moses had a book in his hand and I asked him to put it down. He said he wanted to bring it. When I told him no he launched into another fit. I told him, "We don't take anything to class with us. It's one more thing to keeep track of AND your teacher already has your class all planned. You won't have time for that book." It's another sort of standard rule. You don't take stuff to class. You don't bring toys in the store. Not something crazy I just made up. He looked at me like I had personally insulted him.

The fit continued as we crossed the street. Oliver and Phoebe skipped off to class Moses skulked in the hallway. I said I wasn't leaving until he went into his class room. He skulked. I stood there. He skulked. I heard his class starting up. I tried to coax him in. I tried to make small talk to distract him. He skulked. I offered hugs and kisses. I cracked jokes. Skulked. I finally said, "you can go to class or go to bed." He skulked. I repeated myself. He skulked. I said , "you can choose or I will choose for you. which do you want to do?" Skulked. I said, "I'm counting to three. You choose by three or I will choose for you." I counted. He skulked. I calmly took him by the hand and marched him back across the street.

He's now in his bed screaming. Still. It's been twenty-five minutes. I'm starting to feel like an ogre. I'm doing the right thing here, right? (Now is the time where you affirm me. If you think I'm crazy, save it for another day. I am in need of affirmation here, people.)

He is risen indeed!

We had a lovely Easter. After successfully getting through and hour and a half long tenebrae service with the kids on Good Friday, I was feeling a little cocky. I thought we'd try the Easter morning sunrise service. I dragged the kids out of bed at 6:10 am, they through some clothes off and we went across the street for the 6:30 service. Paul read the preface to Walt Wangerin's Ragman, which is a resurrection narritive, as his sermon. It rocked. We sang Easter hymns (but because the sunrise service is a small crowd, we only got through two communion hymns before communion was done--stopping just before I Know That My Redeemer Lives, darnit!) We said, "He is risen! He is risen, indeed!" We brought back out the alleluias with gusto. The service started in predawn darkness and by the benediction the joyous light of Easter was shining through the stained glass, spraying color on the walls. We had breakfast in the fellowship hall. The kids and I went home for an hour (during the 8:00 service) and watched cartoons and then back for Sunday School at 9:15 (it pays to live in the parsonage!). We came home, hung out, had lunch. When Paul got home (after the 11:00 service) we hunkered down for nap time. No one ever wants to take a nap, but since we were up at six I thought we'd try it. Phoebe slept like a champ. The boys did not which meant Paul and I didn't really either--it was a rest anyway.
At 3:30 I got up and put the ham in the oven. We decorated eggs. Paul made gin and tonics. Jean and Gus came over. While the kids cleaned up the basement the grown ups hid the eggs and then we had our hunt. I guess normal people do this on Easter morning but that's just impossible for us--we've always done it at about 5:00 Easter evening. We don't even bother with the Easter Bunny--how would that work? He snuck in during the hour between the time they decorated the eggs and hunted for them?
We had dinner (yum!). Took a family walk. Had dessert (yum! Thanks, Jean!).

We keep teasing Jean because last week when we started making Easter plans she said, "Easter isn't Easter without family!" You can imagine Paul's response. "Really? Really, Jean? There's no Easter without family? So what? Jesus stays in the grave? What about the widow and the orphan who HAVE no family? No resurrection for them?"

While I firmly believe nothing could keep Jesus in the grave, it IS nice to have family in town to celebrate with.

what AM i gonna do with all that junk?

more nonsence.

this song is ridiculous. its ridiculousness is pefectly showcased here. i've always like alaniss morissette. enjoy.