That's my Grocery Bagger!

A buncha years ago, my groceries were sometimes bagged by Judy, a woman with short black hair, and the tell-tale features of Down syndrome on her face. I remember one day she was letting her mood direct her contact with my produce and bread, and it seemed to me they were getting short shrift. I remember feeling irritated with her, because MY produce and MY bread should only be treated with the utmost care. Right? Well, whatever. Then along came Kepler, and my understanding of and appreciate for Down syndrome changed dramatically. I guess Judy moved on because I didn't see her anymore. Until today.

This morning, I took Anna-Jessie to my mom's church at Mom's request. Her desire was for her entire extended family to be sitting in the second row at her church to celebrate this special day in the Christian calendar. Oh, I had plans for my entire family to be there, yes I did. And Gina was bringing her family, and Mindy was bringing Joelie. Our family would stuff a pew! Reality set in this morning, and long story short, Gina's family wasn't there, so it was just Mindy, Joelie, Anna-Jessie and myself. Mom's church is more traditional than Crossroads, but I know their music is awesome, having worked with the director at another church many years ago. Not to mention I know when my mother is excited about choral music, I tend to appreciate it as well.

And they sang . . .

The weight of sin, the sting of death
Were swallowed up by righteousness
Vanquished by the Son of God
It was finished on the cross
It was finished on the cross

Chorus
And we rejoice in victory
We lift our eyes to Calvary
Before the battle has begun
By Jesus’ blood it has been won
It was finished on the cross

His gift of grace our heart betrays
With urge to merit or repay
We need not live to pay the cost
For it was finished on the cross
It was finished on the cross

And I sang it too! I couldn't help but sing along with every song as the music was stirring, the chord progressions were harmonious, and the message was pure energy.

Suddenly, in the middle of the song, I noticed Judy. Right in the center of the front row. Singing these words with all her heart. Raising her hands in worship and praise. And it touched my heart so deeply. To think that a women who has the disability she has, with experiences in her life no doubt of being rejected and sidelined, has the opportunity to stand with other Christians and sing her heart out, affirming that her battle has been won. Tears rolled down my face as I considered how much love Christians give to others, how they include the marginalized and welcome them in with open arms.

Later, when talking with Mom about this, she told me that Judy actually sings in a monotone voice, yet she is welcomed into the choir. I love that.

I'm glad I saw Judy again. I didn't have a chance to talk with her today, but I was thankful for the opportunity to see her in a different light, one more loving and accepting than the one I had the first time I saw her many years ago. Again, I am thankful for Kepler. Again, I love the journey I am on.

Happy Easter.

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What Could it Mean?

I have a friend and fellow blogger who recently wrote a post on the commodification of water. I read posts like that and realize that there are definitely different types of blogging. His post was intellectual and dealt with big picture, important issues. But I'm really not so much about big-picture type things, other than the piece of the big picture that I can contribute to. Hopefully, at the end of the day, or the end of the post, I do contribute something to the big picture, as that is my heart. The best way I can do that is to express who I am.

Today, I'm writing about the Christmas cactus given to me by my grandmother about 10 years ago. When she gave it to me, she told me it was over 100 years old, which I found amazing, as it had been passed down through the family, and here it was, in my home, connected to all those people. I believe she said my great-grandmother had brought it to Oklahoma with her when they came for the Land Run of 1889. It has bloomed faithfully each year at least once, usually around Easter. I love the beautiful flowers. I treasure my Christmas cactus.

Recently, I noticed my cactus leaves were withering. Greg and I decided to re-pot, and sped to Lowe's to choose a larger pot. Came home with a large, ceramic pot, and Greg gave it all new soil and a new, fresh environment. He trimmed and pruned and we wished it well. But, the cactus still isn't thriving.

Another long-standing idea my grandmother passed down to me was the idea of not being enough. Don't get me wrong -- she never told ME I wasn't enough, but she clearly believed that she wasn't. Grandma created a beautiful life, and shared her creativity in so many ways with her family and friends. Each of my children has a homemade Raggedy Ann/Andy doll she hand-stitched from start to finish, including the clothes. I have written elsewhere about the privilege it is for me to have her china cabinet in my home. She was a inspiration for me, a strong woman, capable on the farm, a wondrous cook, full of humor and fun, patient with untangling the marionette strings we tangled up day after day, patient with grandchildren asking for help removing the ubiquitous Oklahoma stickers from our feet.

Grandma's fear of not being enough wasn't unique to her, but I bought the idea hook, link, and sinker. In my younger years, I tried hard to contradict the belief she had about herself. I saw her as a marvel, a light, a beacon, and I wanted her to see herself like I saw her.

I never convinced her.

I recently attended an event called Unleashing the Power Within. Part of that event includes addressing limiting beliefs. My mind finally understood that the belief of not being enough has been in my life, and has wielded great power. Yet, somehow I left that belief behind when I left the Greater Ft. Lauderdale/Broward County Convention Center.

Is the Christmas cactus a picture of the belief system that she passed down to me, with love? Is the cactus no longer thriving because the belief system is no longer thriving? To the extent that the cactus represents the limiting belief Grandma embodied and lived, I am ready to let it go. Even if the cactus revives, the belief system is gone. Whatever happens to the cactus, my life has changed and will never be the same.

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New Stuff

It was a dark and stormy night and we embarked on a long and winding road to get to the Newport on the Levee for the screening of the Adjustment Bureau. The pre-movie announcements scared me sufficiently to keep my phone off the whole entire time, because I really didn't want to get sent to the principal's office, and that's what was promised. So, I worried every so often that one of my children might be texting me with a really important question (Where are the paper towels?) and I would miss it. Finally, I plunged my phone deep into the recesses of my purse, covered the screen with my hand and a lens-cleaning cloth, and pressed the button which would show me if I had any texts. None! Whew!

And I sat next to a famous person, who overheard my comment about how I wouldn't have come to this if it weren't Adjustment Bureau, and he broke into our conversation and said "Me, neither!" His famousness is relative, and pretty much limited to Crossroads, but still.

And I was on my first date with the mom of my son's girlfriend. (Did you understand that?) We're about the same age and have a gosh-darn lot of stuff in common, so it was a LOT of fun.

Oh, you want to know about the movie? It was very thought-provoking, quite well done, not predictable in the slightest, and a very interesting story.Written by George Nolfi, who also wrote the Bourne Ultimatum, it's based on a short story by Philip Dick. (I just did a little internet surfing and see there is quite a body of literature by Mr. Dick. I will be checking some out at the local public libes.)

Two lines from The Big Chill are apropros for this film. One: "You just have to let art ..... flow ..... over you." and "I think the man in the hat did something terrible." (both lines were spoken by Williiam Hurt's character, the druggie, Nick.)

From the opening frames, where Damon's character, David Norris, stands inside a building waiting to go out and give a speech, to the frenetic chase near the end, doors and windows feature prominently in this movie. For me, they represented movement, choice, and faith. There was also a sense of being somewhere ("in or contained") and moving toward more freedom and openness. I loved the scenes where the characters went through doors and came out somewhere other than where you would expect. It would be like me opening the back door of my house and stepping into the Little Sahara desert. It seems to me like those who endeavor to live by faith are forever stepping through doors, not knowing exactly what they will find on the other side. It's kind of exciting and dangerous, just like I think faith is.

I'm a big Matt Damon fan. I remember being amazed at his story and his creativity in Good Will Hunting, to being blown away by The Legend of Bagger Vance, to simply enjoying the Bourne series. So, without knowing ANYTHING about this movie, when I received the invitation, I said yes to Matt Damon, basically.

Lots to think about in this movie -- does God intervene in our lives? Does He somehow change His mind based on choices I make? Is He outside time somehow so that He responds to my choices without it meaning He is changing his mind? What might it look like if I could see behind the scenes of my own life? Can something be "wrong" when every single bit of my being tells me it is "right?" How important are feelings in the scheme of things? Do I have free will?

This is a movie that needs to be watched multiple times, and I will be doing just that!

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A day in the Life

About a year ago, a 17-year friendship ended by mutual decision, but her parting words to me were a prediction that I was going to have a lonely life due to my inability to be a good friend. We each had one child when we met and proceeded to have 9 more between us. I hung in there through difficult times for the sake of our kids, but finally it became apparent to both of us, in different ways and with different conclusions, that we would be better off apart than together. It took awhile to let my heart unconstrict from her criticism. And because she had pointed out my shortcomings many times, I wondered if her words might be true. A certain someone close to me assured me that her characterization of me was off-base and wrong. But I, ever the self-flaggelator, JUST IN CASE, took this loving person's words with a grain of salt. What if she was right? What if my inability to be a "good friend" as she defined it was TRUE? Would I ever have another good friend?

I am happy to say the answer is yes, yes, and more yes. I have a dear friend, Ranee, who loves me, accepts me, enjoys being with me, and for whom I do the same. She has been a rock for me --- understanding and empathizing in so many situations.

Today, I had coffee with a new friend, Suzie, and dinner with another new friend, the Incomparable Miss L. I enjoyed both of these people immensely and these connections came on a day I needed to connect with some warm and loving folks. It was actually a good day in many ways, but I was given news this evening that was difficult to hear and is going to require significant effort to get through, not just on my part, but the part of others of my family members.

I believe my ex-friend and I tried to treat each other as we would want to be treated. I think one of the big problems was that we wanted to be treated in different ways. I was looking for a type of authenticity she was convinced that I did not really want, and she certainly did not want. Be that as it may, with Ranee and Suzie and Miss L, I feel a connection that comes naturally. I don't feel like I have to figure out how to be someone other than Siouxsie. They all seem to like Siouxsie just fine. True, we haven't been friends for 17 years yet, but I have hope that we *could* be long-term friends, and that we *will* be. So here's to you -- Ranee, Suzie, Randi -- and all of you wonderful people I don't know yet. Thank you for being a friend! (Who hears Leo Sayer singing that line!?! - you and I can be friends, too!)

PS. There are many others I am privileged to call friend -- you know who you are! Love you all!

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Hey Y'all!

Tonight you get blog post without clever illustration. Typing with one finger on my iPad plus it doesn't look like I can upload photos from my iPad to my blog. So, use your imagination.

Have freed up other hand so now typing with two fingers.

Anyway, it's been a quiet week in my hometown. The flu which was roaring through our home targeted me specifically on Tues evening, Wednesday all the lifelong day, Thursday, and by Friday things were finally getting back to normal for me, but now Kepler was full-on feeling quite puny with upper respiratory goings-on. Trip to the doctor Saturday morning after rough nig Friday night.

Our little home has always mystified us in some ways. Specifically, we wonder and marvel at decisions that the builder made. Even in 1957, some of these decisions seem crazy! Who puts the light switch BEHIND THE DOOR? They do! Who wires the electricity crazier than a loon? They do! And so on!

Anyway, one of our hobbies for the past 11 years has been to figure out how in the world to use the space in this house. There have been several remodeling projects which have improved things but the layout and room size have always been challenging. Many homes I walk into these days seem to have space, and more space, and the public space is way separated from the private space. Not here! Walk in our front door and you're pretty much in the heart of family life right away. I have gotten used to that and have realized that of the people who come here, 99.8% of them could care less about cluttered counters and a giant pile of shoes by the front door. Indeed, I do want guests to feel loved and cared for here. (just had Deja vu when I typed that -- maybe I have mentioned that before.)

But, as the kids have gotten bigger, these rooms have shrunk. The dining "room" was the trickiest. Only a few feet larger than the table, and a major, thoroughfare, we've had to scoot around the table M.A.N.Y. times. Can be tricky at night In the dark. But Greg had brainstorm today which we carried out. I should add that I had also had part of this idea previously, but his rendition was more complete.

You know those Homearama houses that have every special touch you could ever want? I like those houses. It would be entirely too boring for me to tell you about all the "special" touches the builders put in here. But I have noticed them! And we have addressed many of them.

When we moved in, the dining room had gold carpet, and a couple of short walls which were topped by these planter things which the previous homeowner had adorned with plastic flowers. To each his own, of course, but in short order we had removed the flowers, planters, and soon after, the short walls. Left to wonder how they managed to make the wall crooked, we painted and caulked and drew the eye ceiling ward so as not to notice how the wall and baseboard slanted outward at one point. We put doors on the kitchen doorway to put some noise boundaries between the dishwasher and small group meetings. We took down the wall of mirrors, and just shook our head at the floor of the coat closet (tall enough, but the floor had been built up. On a slant. So stupid.

And now? You'd never even know that was supposed to be a dining room. It just looks like you walk into a lovely, large living room when you come in the front door. So come on over and see the new arrangement! We'd love to see you!

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And Another Thing!

Raise your mouse if you remember what this blog started out as. No one? Well, it has been awhile. I started this blog to share with the world my "exciting" and "effective" decluttering process. But so far, there's been more "clutter" than "de."

However, I was working in the basement this morning and guess what I found. My copy of "Soonerette's Country Pride Cookbook." This used to belong to my grandmother and her contributions have her first married name on them, which she had up until 1981. Wow, does this bring back memories. And the names of the contributors! Ora Lee, Treva, Pearl, Hallie, Midge, Lena -- most of whom I knew.

Put together with a typewriter by hand, this is the real deal. And my grandmother made notes by some of the recipes "Too rich;" "Don't try this;" "Very good."

Sweet thoughts at the bottom of the pages:

"Take time to help and enjoy friends -- it is the source of happiness."
"Take time to laugh -- it is the singing that helps with life's load."

"A HAPPY HOME RECIPE
4 cups of Love
2 cups of Loyalty
3 cups of Forgiveness
1 cup of Friendship
5 spoons of Hope
2 spoons of Tenderness
4 Quarts of Faith
1 Barrel of Laughter

Take love and loyalty, mix it thoroughly with faith. Blend it with tenderness, kindness, and understanding. Add friendship and hope, sprinkle abundantly with laughter. Bake it with sunshine. Serve daily with generous helpings."

What a treasure this is to me. I will probably try a few of these recipes, and probably not try a few of them. But I will place it in my cookbook cabinet and treasure it. It's not clutter. At all.

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There's No Place Like Home, or: That's Why I Love Kansas

Just LOOK at those nice straight streets. For this easily over-stimulated brain, those straight streets are a breath of fresh air.

Did you know that I decided as a teenager that I would be marrying someone from the midwest? Especially Oklahoma or Kansas? The adolescent me felt a deep connection with the normal life and environment of the farmer, familiar with fields of wheat and other grains. So, when I was falling right in love with Greg at Wheaton, I noticed with satisfaction that he was from that part of the country, and figured that had to be at least part of why I was so attracted to him.

Our recent trip to Wichita was a huge undertaking, and I wasn't sure how all those hours in the van were going to be. As it turned out, we spent much of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday on the road, since it is 900 miles out there and back. "Why didn't you fly???" we got asked. Because for a family of seven, sometimes flying is not the best way to travel, especially in light of potential weather delays.

We tried to rent a 12- or 15- passenger van, and were assured "We have PLENTY available," at the point of actually renting, we found out they had NONE available. Instead, we were blessed with only having a conversion van available to rent. The Magical Van, I call it, since the kids traveled beautifully, including Kepler. Nothing like a long car trip to make everyone either hate each other, or give everyone some pretty good family time. Of course, it helps to have a driver such as Greg, who rivals any standup comedian, especially early in the morning or late at night. For instance, Thursday morning as we waited in the Starbucks drive-through, he finished up his, what did he call that Fairfield Inn coffee, "blackened, crusty stew-water." Valerie seems to be very good at remembering things and being able to act them out, so she treated us to plenty of Brian Regan routines as well. Basically, my family is good at turning everyday life into hilarity, which makes for a good trip.

The visitation and funeral were done the old-fashioned way, and there was a family lunch at the church afterwards, prepared by one of the Sunday school classes of older folks. Ham, scalloped potatoes, green beans, bread, and church dinner salads. Iced tea, coffee, cake. It was the same dinner we had for the family lunch after Greg's mother's funeral. I guess I'm just an old-fashioned kind of a girl, because I felt comfortable there in the church. Loved hearing the hymns sung, and deeply appreciated that lunch lovingly prepared by people who see this as their ministry.

All in all, strangely enough, the trip energized me and helped me out of a funk I had fallen into of late. Our ties to Wichita are mostly over, but I will always love the town, the people there, and that part of the country.

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