"If it's free it's for me" -- The motto Dear Hubby lives by

I got a phone call around 3 this afternoon. It was my daughter.

"Mom, you know we were talking earlier today about you wanting to get an exercise bike? Well, I'm over here by the Catholic church and there's one sitting here on the curb. It looks like a good one and it looks like it's free."

"Really!" said I.

"Yeah, and if you want it I'll park here across the street from it and you can bring your truck and pick it up."

"I'll be there in a few minutes!" I said, and I grabbed my keys and my wallet and away I went. Not only was there an exercise bike but an elliptical bike/rowing machine, I guess you'd call it. Both free. Both in excellent condition. And both with my name written all over them. I tried them both, both worked, and we packed them into the bed of my pick up. Now they've got homes down in the basement. I am back to pedaling to the metal...in more ways than one. I listen to pretty jazzy music while I'm riding that inspires me to pedal fast!!! Sorry...no Lionel Ritchie or Celine Dion or...well, you get the drift. I pedal to Cold Play and Annie Lennox and Dido and The Beatles and...well, it goes on and on. Something that gets me past 5 mph.

You see, while I was pushing the double stroller 4 or 5 miles per day, 4 or 5 days per week, I was staying firm and well-toned and my weight stayed the same all the time. And then the grandboys began to grow -- really grow -- and pushing at least 100 pounds worth of kids and stroller and groceries was becoming a real challenge, especially considering I'm getting closer to 57 all the time. And Mr. Independence with a capital "I"....little Mr. Cooper...no longer wanted to be riding in a stroller. He wanted to walk "big boy" walks with his brother. So I began mixing up bus riding with walks included but walking with two young boys who want to stop and examine everything wasn't quite doing for me what power-walking with a stroller did. And all that muscle around my middle...the waist I still had, no love handles in the back...began to soften and sag. And I began feeling like the Pillsbury dough boy. And I DID NOT LIKE IT! ONE BIT!

But what to do, what to do? My days are so jam-packed as it is. I don't have the time to go to a gym. So I tried doing aerobics with Cindy Crawford. Uh....no. What I could do 20 years ago is no longer something I can do comfortably now. I had always loved my exercise bikes in the past. I wore two of them out and pedaled something around 15,000 miles on them both. Seriously. When I had my hysterectomy a couple of years ago, tho, and tried to ride again a few months after my operation it was no longer comfortable to sit. Maybe I tried too early after the surgery...maybe the internal area still wasn't healed enough. I don't know. But I got frustrated and gave up on it and walked...and walked...and walked...instead.

Well, now the walking is a thing of the past, pretty much. I can talk Cooper into riding in the single stroller once in a blue moon and usually only when he's in a good mood and willing to compromise...I tell him we'll go for a "big boy" walk after Dylan comes home from preschool and after their naps. But it hasn't been enough.

This morning I started looking on Craig's List here in Portland to see if I could find an exercise bike for sale. There were a few. Most of them in the $200-$1000 range. A little steep. I got discouraged. I'd bought my favorite bike second hand for $50 maybe 10 years ago. I figured I'd keep checking and see if something more reasonable popped up.

And then the call came from my daughter. As we loaded the bike and the elliptical/rower into the back of the truck she said it was like kismet because we'd been talking about one just a few hours ago! And here we were, finding one for free.

For those of you who think I'm crazy getting up at 3 am, my new rising time is going to be 2:30. Yes, you heard that right. You see, you never find time to exercise. You have to make time. And what's a half hour less of sleep? The bike is quiet. It's down in the basement. I'll have on my disc man. No one will hear me. Perfect.

Can't get much better than that!

And as I was trying it out to see if it worked ok I jokingly said, "You oughta get a picture of this!" and the next thing I know, she did. And I was smiling! I sent the photo off to my younger brother and he wrote back and said, "I can't believe you let someone take your picture!" My loathing of pictures of myself is legendary in my family.

One thing I learned from this photo: I look like my dad.

One Ringy Dingy again...

I've been blogging on Blogger since December of 2007. In the early days I made mention of Lily Tomlin's Ernestine or used "One ringy-dingy" - her signature phrase - in a title. And since then I've had 1,264 hits on just that one phrase alone. Imagine that. I found out that little tidbit of information browsing thru the Stats section we Blogger bloggers now have on our blogs. Statistics fascinate me. Maybe that's why I loved to sit and look thru encyclopedias at school when I had Study Hall in the library. Learning the populations of countries, their average temperatures and rainfalls, their natural resources, what they exported, their capitol cities. Averages of this. Percentages of that. My mind is what I call a trivia junk yard. You wouldn't believe the amount of information my brain has accumulated thru the years. I play a killer game of Trivial Pursuit. In fact, most family members won't play with me. I won't even know I remember this stuff until the right question comes along on "Jeopardy" and the answer pops out of me. And it all goes back to being bored out of my mind in Study Hall. Especially my Senior year when I had two Study Halls. And Health Room Assistant for another class. And Library Assistant for another. In my Senior year, due to moving around a lot thru high school, I had all but 2 credits I needed for graduation. I thought I'd be a smarty pants and take mindless classes to fill in my schedule. I had no idea how numbingly dumb that decision was until about two weeks into my Senior year. The easy way is not always the best way. I learned that early on.

I graduated from high school in June 1972. I started my first full-time adult job the very next day. No drunken parties celebrating for me! I had a time clock to punch...or a time sheet to sign, anyway...the very next morning at 8 am. I worked in Medical Records at a local hospital, training for two weeks on day shift, and then switching over to work swing shift. I worked swing shift for two years, until I got married. I recently wrote about reconnecting with one of the wonderful friends I made while working there named LuAnn. But as I began writing about Ernestine the telephone operator tonite it brought to mind another special friend from those years, my "California Friend Liz". We were the two delegated to file correspondence in to hundreds of thousands of medical charts...maybe millions! Or at least that's the way it seemed as we traveled up and down the aisles crammed full of shelves from floor to ceiling. Eight hours per nite, with our tall metal tables-on-wheels with glue pots and hole punchers and stacks and stacks of paper. Every once in a while we'd stumble across an interesting chart...the psychiatric ones were real eye openers! And we'd do whatever we could to ease the boredom and the creepiness, especially when we were working on files waaaaaaaaaaaaay back away from everyone else. That's when we became Ernestine and Edith Ann. It didn't take much to entertain an 18 year old and a 21 year old. One of us would get it started and away we'd go. Oh, the hours of endless giggles we shared! After I became a mother my rendition of Edith Ann could entertain my kids endlessly.

I don't imagine when Lily Tomlin created these two characters she ever dreamed they'd take on a life of their own, that they'd endure thru generations and be beloved by each one. How beloved? Well, 1,264 blog hits on mine alone tells us something, considering my second-most-hit entry was about Spring and had only 344 in comparison! I think she must've patterned Edith Ann after me....I was such a brat-child, too!

"Buster! Where are you?"

The 45 Lessons Life Taught Me

This photo just says it all to me.


This was sent to me today by my very dear friend Karen. Oh my...it's beautiful! Read it and you'll agree. I'm going to print it out and hang it on my refrigerator so whenever I'm feeling overwhelmed or under-appreciated or sorry for myself, I'll take the time to read it again.



This was written by Regina Brett, 90 years old, of the Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio:



"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote "The 45 Lessons Life Taught Me". It is the most requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:



1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.



2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.



3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.



4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.



5. Pay off your credit cards every month.



6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.



7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.



8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.



9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.



10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.



11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.



12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.



13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.



14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.



15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.



16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.



17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.



18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.



19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.



20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.



21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.



22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.



23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.



24. The most important sex organ is the brain.



25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.



26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'



27. Always choose life.



28. Forgive everyone everything.



29. What other people think of you is none of your business.



30. Time heals almost everything. Give time.



31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.



32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.



33. Believe in miracles.



34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.



35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.



36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.



37. Your children get only one childhood.



38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.



39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.



40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.



41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.



42. The best is yet to come...



43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.



44. Yield.



45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift.

When the rain comes, they run and hide their heads! ~ The Beatles

I almost hate to post again. I love seeing that nice round number 1000 on my bloggy dashboard. I can't believe there have been enough words and thoughts inside of me to fill up 1000 posts! I'm always describing myself as 'quiet' and 'introverted'. Dear Hubby describes me as someone who could carry on a conversation with a rock if I didn't have someone to talk to. So who is the true me? Maybe like I've described myself on here: an extroverted introvert on a good day, and introverted extrovert on a bad day. Whoever...whatever...I am, I do love to write. Bet you never would've guessed that one, eh? Actually, what you've seen and read here is only a portion of what I've written. My retired 'blog' has quite a bit there, too, but I deleted a good portion of it and I'm keeping what's left for my grandboys to have one day.

Ah yes...and now to the rain! I have a relatively new bloggy friend named Simone who recently moved to Portland from southern California. Oh, my Northwest friends! Isn't she in for a rude awakening?! Come January she'll be crying for some of that southern Cal sunshine and softer breezes, don't you think? I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her yet but I'm trying to work it in sometime soon where maybe she and I can meet for a cup of coffee or lunch somewhere between where I live and she lives. I'll let her pick the spot...I think I can navigate Portland a little better than she can at this stage of the game. As long as she keeps me on Canyon Road or some other main road, haha! Southwest Portland is tricky at best. Give me the straight grids of SE any day!

And so another week begins. Volunteer day comes up for me again on Wednesday at Dylan's preschool. A week of rain ahead of us, so most of what we do will be inside.

I'm ready. I think.

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. ~ Psalm 119:105

Bloggers celebrate 100 posts. They celebrate 500. Well, tonite I am celebrating 1000 posts.

1000!

For once in my life I'm struck speechless.

Maybe I'll recover my voice a little later.

Maybe I'll go write an email and come back in 20 minutes.

Nah, I'll stick around.

I've had a really interesting week. To me, anyway. Recently on Facebook I've reconnected with two long-lost friends. Kathy and I reconnected a little while ago and we've kicked around the idea of meeting somewhere and rehashing old times. Our old times go back. Waaaaaaaaaay back. I can hardly remember a time in my life when I didn't know her. She grew up in my hometown in Washington State, a small town about 10-15 miles inland from the coast. We went thru 1st-6th grades together in elementary school. Then, quite unexpectedly and very quickly, the summer of 1966, my family packed up and moved to Vancouver, across the Columbia River from Portland, Oregon. I hardly had time to say good bye to the neighborhood kids I'd been growing up with, let alone any school friends. I hadn't had any real contact with Kathy since that time, 44 years ago this past September.

So along comes Facebook. We connect as Friends. We start talking about meeting up again. We were chatting last weekend and Kathy mentioned again that we should meet up. So I said, "How about next Saturday? Do you have any plans?" and her message came back "No. Saturday would work." So we agreed on a time, we agreed on a place, and oh what a thrill it was to walk in to the restaurant at 11:30 this morning and see her standing there grinning from ear to ear! We grabbed each other in a big bear hug, sat down, ate lunch, and chatted for 2 1/2 hours. She brought along her yearbook from the year she graduated, which would've been the same year for me, too, if I'd still been there. We looked thru it and discussed this person and that one. Who still lived in our hometown. Who'd died. Who she was still in contact with. The more I looked thru it, the more names and faces I recognized. It was like a treasure box of memories opening up and sifting thru a pile of unexpected jewels. It was....what was it exactly? Exciting and intoxicating. Bittersweet and sad. Heartbreaking and heart-melting. And it was healing...so healing.

Healing.

When my family moved so unexpectedly, so quickly, I never had the time to wrap my head around it, to adjust to it. And within 3 days after moving I was attending a junior high school with almost 900 students. Culture shock? After attending the same school with the same 25-30 kids it was like a nuclear implosion. Yes, implosion. Because life was hard. It was miserable. I went from being a happy carefree young girl to a bitter, angry, reclusive nobody almost overnite. And then I went to another junior high. And another. And a high school. And then another. And then the one I finally graduated from. I didn't hate Vancouver. I loathed Vancouver. No...I loathed me. I loathed my inability to establish myself somewhere, anywhere. To find solid footing. I know there are 'military brats' out there, children who've also moved around the world following their parents' careers. Families of academia. Some of them will tell you these moves were the experiences of a life time. I am not one of those. I didn't thrive on change. I shriveled up. I shut myself off into some deep part of me even I didn't recognize. I went thru the motions of living but I seemed to have gone into some kind of self-imposed state of emotional hibernation. Just waiting to finish. To get out of there. To break out. To get away. I don't think I ever truly recovered from being ripped away from the security, the cocoon of safety, my hometown gave me. 44 years later I still had a case of homesickness for it that never went away. For a time in my life when home was good, home was peaceful, home was a place I wanted to be.

So what was healing about it? you ask.

At one point, as Kathy and I were looking thru the yearbook, I said I had sometimes wondered what my life would've been like if I'd stayed there. Who I might've ended up marrying. What I might've ended up doing with my life. And suddenly it came to me, a flood of emotions almost overwhelming me. I told her it wouldn't have been the wonderful life I have. I never would've found Dear Hubby. We wouldn't have the loving marriage of 36 years together that we have. I wouldn't have my beautiful children, precious grandsons. I wouldn't have the blessed life that I'm living right now.

Right now...

And at that moment, tho I'm sure she never knew it, it was like I'd been hit over the head with a dawning of understanding. My life has been directed by Someone more powerful than me, who knew what I needed, who led me every step of the way even when I had no interest in Him and denied His existence. Someone who has cared for me and loved me and given me the guidance, the security, the safety I so badly wanted and needed. Maybe if it hadn't been for those lean, hard years of my youth I wouldn't realize how much I have, how rich my life is.

And then there is LuAnn. One of my first 'adult' friends, my first work friend at my first job after graduating from high school. We met and we clicked almost instantly. We knew each other face-to-face for only a short time before she moved back to her original home with family in Minneapolis. I visited her there. We both married. We both had children. We tried to keep up with each other by writing letters. Life got more hectic. Dear Hubby and I moved around a lot, 7 times in our first 5 years of marriage. We lost contact. We connected again several years ago, but for only a short time. The timing wasn't right. And then, Facebook. Again. On a lark just a couple of days ago, when her name came to me, I decided to do a search. I used her maiden name. And there she was. I sent her a message saying I seemed to keep stumbling across her in the strangest places. Or something like that. And she messaged me back. And here we are now. Perfect timing this time around. The LuAnn I remember and loved. We're both grandmas now. We've both grown up. We're women now, with the time to get reacquainted again. And I'm thrilled beyond words! And scheming to find some way where she and I can meet halfway in between, to have a face-to-face gossip fest like Kathy and I had today.

My life is changing.

Change is good.

I'm just sayin'.

Because I do.

Testing.....One, Two, Three!

My blog friend Ciara said she's having trouble loading photos today.

Seems to be working for me!

What a strange day. Is it full moon time? ~ My Facebook entry today

My grandson Dylan loves to put together jigsaw puzzles and not long ago I found this great site that has hundreds of them that are age-appropriate for him. He's become a real pro with click-and-drag and navigates back and forth and all over the place, picking and choosing puzzles. This morning he was doing bird puzzles and when he finished one of them he asked me to come over to the desk and look at it. I did. It was a little blue parakeet. I told him what it was and then I launched in to a story about how my family had owned one that looked very similar to the one on the puzzle back around the time I was the same age he is, which is 4. I told him its name was Tweetie Pie and how it could talk, how it would sometimes land on my father's chest in the morning and call out, "Wake up, Victor! Wake up, Victor!" Dylan asked me where it is now. Well, this little bird lived 52 years ago. I told him one day someone had left the door or window open and Tweetie Pie flew out and we never saw him again.

End of story.

I went and sat in the rocking chair with Cooper and he and I were peacefully watching "Cat in the Hat" when Dylan began to sob. Flat-out sob, like his heart was broken. Concerned, I hurried over to him and took him in my arms. "Dylan! What's the matter, sweetheart?" I asked. Thru his sobs he told me, "Gram, that story you told me about the little bird was the saddest story! What happened to that little bird?" This was five minutes or so after I'd told him the story! So I said to him, "Oh, honey...that little bird's in Birdie Heaven. He's ok. You don't need to worry about him!" Finally he began to calm down and, chastised, I went back to sit with Cooper. I never dreamt my story would affect him like that. He is so tender-hearted.

We're coming to the tail end of our beautiful Indian Summer weather we've been enjoying most of the month of October. Today was gorgeous so the boys and I set out to walk to Fred Meyer. We left at 9 am and didn't get home until noon. We stopped and admired every Halloween decoration along the two-mile walk to the store. Counted and flipped over every ancient horse-tether ring cemented in our old sidewalks...25 before they got distracted by some of those big puff-up balloon-style lawn decorations, a black cat, a witch, and several ghosts. As we were admiring those, along came two different people with dogs that needed to be petted and admired. We did our shopping and as we stopped just outside the doors so I could give the boys a cold drink before we set off for home in the double stroller I was approached by two young men. "Excuse me, ma'm," one of them said to me. I smiled at them and said, "Yes?" The one who'd spoken then asked, "Have you ever heard about a treasure hunt?" I thought on that for a moment. "You mean like geo-caching or something like that?" He smiled and said, "No. I'm talking about a treasure hunt where we're supposed to go searching for treasures. One item on our list says we're supposed to speak to someone pushing a stroller. May we talk to you for a moment?" I told them sure they could and the young man told me, "We're Christians and we're supposed to ask whoever will talk to us if they would like us to pray with them." I told them, "Well, I've been a Christian almost 34 years and I would love to have you pray with me." I think I almost knocked their socks off, ha! He asked me, "Do you have a particular burden or need you'd like to pray about?" and I told them something on my heart. Then we bowed our heads right there and that young man said the most beautiful prayer. And it literally felt like Heaven opened up and came down and blessed us right there. It was lovely. For me, and for them. When I told Dear Hubby about it this evening he said, "Maybe they were angels. Maybe that prayer protected you and the boys the rest of the day." Maybe so. I like to think so, anyway.

And then the boys and I set off for the long walk home. As I'm trudging along all of a sudden Dylan starts calling "Keepy!" at the top of his voice and Cooper chimes right in. "Keepy! Keepy!" I asked Dylan, "Who or what is Keepy?!" and he reached over and patted Cooper on the head and said, "Keepy is Cooper's daughter." "His daughter?" I asked, mystified. And Dylan told me very seriously, "Yes." "What happened to her?" I asked. He said, "She went to the beach with my daughter and granddaughters and got lost and we've been trying to find her. Gram, will you help us yell for her?" I thought that one over for a moment, shrugged, and started calling "Keepy! Keepy!" right along with them.

We never did find her.

If you cannot find the truth right where you are, where else do you expect to find it? ~ Dogen

I recently wrote a post about how Blogger is keeping track of our statistics now on our blogs, if we're interested in looking. One of the comments I got on there was from a lovely gentleman from Canada named Rob-bear who comes by quite frequently:

"When it comes to misrepresentation, there are lies, d***ed lies, terminological inexactitudes, and statistics. "

Yes!

Just to prove his point, my Feedjit gadget has my readers counted at 5,924 as I write, begun around the first of June. Blogger says 13,033, begun at the same time.

I rest my case.

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else. ~ Emily Dickinson

I know, I know. I have groused and grumbled and mumbled about how much I hate Facebook. I have had a love/hate relationship since I joined up, deactivating and reactivating it more times than I care to admit. It's a no-win situation for me, mainly because I'm not normally a person who thrives on being constantly in touch with people. I'm one of those who thoroughly enjoys visiting face-to-face when I can squeeze it in to my busy schedule but those times are mostly few and far between. My blog helps keep me in touch in a lot of ways...but, then, it doesn't work with everyone I know because I'm very choosy about who I give access to it. I either have to know...or trust...whoever I give it to well before I hand it over, mainly because I reveal more about my 'real' self here than I do anywhere else and I'm not exactly comfortable doing that with a lot of people. Do I have trust issues? Oh, yeah!

With that said, Facebook has been pretty amazing. It's brought me in to contact with two old childhood friends from my hometown, one who was a neighborhood 'boy' from across the street who's grown in to a pretty amazing and talented man who is the music minister for a large congregation in the San Diego area. The other is a lady who I've known practically since infancy...I have to stretch my memory waaaaaaaaaaaaay back to remember a time I didn't know her or her family. Her parents were friends of my parents, one of her brothers was best friends with one of my brothers, my mom babysat her baby sister while their mom worked...that kind of relationship. Our main contact was thru a surprise email she sent me after seeing me listed on an alumni site for our childhood elementary school a few years ago, asking me if I am who I am. Then we connected again more regularly on Facebook. She's said a few times it'd be wonderful to get together to talk over 'old times' so we've finally found a weekend where I have a free Saturday -- this coming one -- and we're going to meet at a restaurant we're both familiar with halfway between where I live and where she now lives. We're going to bring lots of photos and lots of memories and have lunch and I can't wait! Hopefully it's a restaurant tolerant of loiterers at the table because we have a LOT of ground to cover. I've been trying to remember the last time I actually saw her face-to-face and I believe it was at the wedding of one of her brothers. Something like 40 years ago?? Where. Does. Time. Go.

The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer somebody else up. ~ Mark Twain

My grandson Dylan has really gotten in to painting since he began preschool. When he brought home several of his works of art the other day I asked him if I might have a couple to hang up on the refrigerator so we could all enjoy and admire them. He very seriously sorted thru them and gave me two. "What are they?" I asked. One, he told me, was a turkey. The other was Lightning McQueen with a hat on his head. Hmmmmmm...as I looked them over I couldn't have agreed with him less but they weren't my paintings. What right did I have to suggest, "No, no...isn't that one a fish in the sea? And that one a red pepper?" Why are we adults so insistent upon trying to influence the creativity of our children...or, in my case, our grandchildren? How often do we squelch that creative flair they possess by trying to force our perception of what is and what isn't?

I know bowling isn't a creative art but my dad was an avid bowler, belonging to several leagues and participating in many competitions during his life. One thing we shared was our left-handedness. When I was around 10 or 12 he decided he was going to teach me how to bowl and I was quite willing to learn. We went to the small alley in my hometown and he showed me how to hold the ball, where to stand, then let me launch off several balls. I thought I was doing quite well...some of the pins went down! But no, no..."Here, let me show you how to do this," my dad said, and he began positioning my arm this way and that, telling me when to release the ball, when to do this, how to do that. As I began rolling gutter ball after gutter ball, getting more and more tense as I tried to please him, more and more frustrated when I didn't, I finally burst in to tears and told him I didn't want to do it anymore. It ended up being such a stressful experience for me it killed off any interest I'd had in learning the sport.

I have tried to keep that memory close to the surface while raising my kids and helping in raising my grandkids. Whenever the urge comes over me to barge right in and tell them they need to do it my way...I remember that day with my father. I remember how badly I felt when I couldn't perform to his satisfaction. And then I back off. I tell them it's beautiful...it's a job well done...I love it!

And it is!

Do not put your faith in what statistics say until you have carefully considered what they do not say. ~ William W. Watt

Judy hadn't noticed it until I posted about it on Facebook, so are any of the rest of you aware of the fact that Blogger now keeps track of our Stats for us? Without us even asking? How very kind of them. If they only knew how obsessive I can get over Stats. If I know they're there to check. And I know they're there now, right on our posting page just before the "View Blog" link. And I can't figure out how to get rid of it. I mentioned on Facebook it affects my OCD tendencies. One of my sisters-in-law commented, "Obsessive Chocolate Disorder?" Oooooh, I like that one. One thing I did notice is that the stats here are far different from my little Feedjit gadget stats. So which one is accurate? And which one isn't? And who really cares anyway?

Trouble is, I don't honestly care care. But I care. I drive myself crazy.

The thing is, outside of my little Feedjit gadget, which I like to look at when I come on to my site to see the different places around the world where visitors come from, I had taken all other types of stat counters I'd had in the past off when my counter hit somewhere around 425,000 visitors. And that was a few years ago. So no matter which counter is accurate, which one isn't, I don't have a clue how many people have come by anyway!

It's like a catch-22 situation.

But I've gotten it off my chest, my little soap box rant. I've had a busy day behind me, a busy day tomorrow, and I'm heading for bed.

Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. ~ Anne Lamott

As I watched the miners come to the surface, each time the capsule came up in to the light, in to the fresh air, it felt like I was watching a rebirth. I had the privilege of seeing my first grandchild come in to this world and I have to admit, as each miner stepped out of the capsule, I felt that same thrill I felt as I saw Dylan's little body slide out in to the doctor's hands as she delivered him. And each time as it emerged from that tiny shaft I couldn't contain myself. I murmured, "Praise God!" What a thrilling day of hope and renewal. The whole world watched, and in those hours I think we all felt the bond of humankind. The hand of God. Like on the day I watched man land on the moon. The first earthrise from space. Mount St. Helens erupting. Experiences I will never forget. Experiences that profoundly moved me.

Esperanza.

Hope: the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.

Amen and amen.

Once you choose hope, anything's possible. ~ Christopher Reeve

I think the whole world is rejoicing. I cried like a baby when I saw the first Chilean miner make it to the surface. As I write this, 8 have made it. Lord willing, the rest will make it safely up as well. As someone who suffers horribly from claustrophobia, I can't even begin to imagine the mental trauma these men have suffered, let alone the physical and emotional toll its taken. I am praying the rest of the efforts go smooth as clockwork.

My blog friend Mel wrote an entry today about aging. She's 45. I'm 56. At 45 I still felt like a kid. At 56, I'm beginning to realize what real aging is about. More aches and pains. Less energy and stamina. But reading her post brought to mind an encounter I had not too long ago that brought aging in to perspective for me. I had gone out in to the narthex of my church and a lovely lady I've known for years but hadn't spoken to in ages approached me. She told me "I just LOVE your silver hair! It's absolutely beautiful. And I love it when you younger women let it go natural like that". I started to laugh and I said, "But, Dorothy, I'm not young! I'll be pushing 60 in a few years." She smiled and patted me on the arm. "Honey, when you get to be as old as I am, you ARE young!"

SHE is pushing 90.

It's all in perspective, isn't it?

The only thing wrong with doing nothing is that you never know when you're finished. ~ Author Unknown

Nah...I haven't disappeared.

Just a bad case of the yawns recently.

I'll recover soon.

Sickness comes on horseback but departs on foot. ~ Dutch Proverb

Wednesday was glorious...80 degrees and skies so blue they stunned the eyes, especially in October! In Oregon! Tonite will bring rain in from the coast...up to an inch and a half over the weekend. Now, that is our usual reality. Mother Nature is so confused. We have blossoms on our snowball tree in the back yard. During our walks I've noticed bushes that bloom in spring have new blossoms on them now as well. We're supposed to have a harsh winter here. We'll see.

It's been a quiet week but a very busy one, tho. Both Dylan and Cooper have been fighting colds for the past week and a half, runny noses and coughs that won't end. Now my daughter has it, a double-whammy of theirs. She went in to work yesterday but probably should've stayed home. I awoke around 2:30 hearing her harsh cough. It's finally quieted down but I'm thinking maybe she ought to call in again and just stay home. Dose up on Nyquil and sleep. The boys were exhausted yesterday and took two hour naps. It's one of those colds that really wears you down. After wiping about a million runny noses at preschool on Wednesday, if I'm able to dodge this cold, it'll be a minor miracle. I don't get colds or the flu very often, tho. I learned two very valuable lessons as a lunch lady for the schools...you can't wash your hands enough, especially when you're out in or come in from being in the public. The other is to keep your hands away from your eyes, nose, and mouth....it's amazing how fast bacteria incubates in warm, moist areas!

I'm reading a very good book: "The Widower's Tale" by Julia Glass. I'm not moving thru it very fast because I only get a few pages here, a few pages there thru the week, but it's keeping my interest and pulling me back for more. With the rain coming in this weekend I should have plenty of time indoors to finish it up. No big plans. Maybe dinner out tomorrow nite. My kind of weekend.

6 women in my church have died in the past few weeks. Does anyone realize how strange that is? It seems like usually the men go in groups of two or three, but half a dozen women is quite unusual. My church is not that big, considering. And there are lots of people out there seriously sick. Some babies I've been praying for especially. Scary diagnoses hovering over some young parents' heads.

It's been a long week.

We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are. ~ Anaïs Nin

It's too bad that wisdom comes with age:

"I was miserable and I just went and got all these tattoos and I don't know why. One of them is a keyboard and I don't even know how to play a piano! As you get older, you realize that you don't want to be defined by your tattoos, because that's not the type of person that I am."

~ Kelly Osbourne, who will undergo laser surgery to remove most of her tattoos ~

The only difference between a rut and a grave is their dimensions. ~ Ellen Glasgow

Photo by Kevin Benefield

Sleep shadows drift

where they will.

I have no control.

They swirl through the

canyons,

they pause for a moment

then eddy upward

when they hit a stone wall.

Updrafts bring me closer

to morning.

Wind shears

bring night terrors

that rip through

my soul.

But I am powerless

and at their

mercy.

I have no control.

Children have never been good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them. ~ James Baldwin

Yesterday morning the grandboys and I drove to work with my daughter. I needed to borrow her car to take Dylan to preschool since one of our vehicles is in the shop getting some work done on it. As we drove along my daughter began commenting on "stupid" this and "stupid" that. A voice piped up from the back seat, "Auntie, stupid is a bad word". That stopped her short. "Yes it is, sweetie", she said to Dylan. "I'll try not to say it." That lasted all of about...10 seconds. Over and over, "Stupid is a bad word!" every time she'd say it. At one point she rolled her eyes at me and said, "Enough is enough." But I smiled and said, "Well, you do say it a lot." It's hard not to, driving in Portland rush hour traffic. Even so, it's amazing how well little ears listen to us adults, isn't it? How often is what we say more of "Do as I say, don't do as I do!" when rearing our kids?

Let your tears come. Let them water your soul. ~ Eileen Mayhew

There's been a lot written about the young violinist who committed suicide recently. My daughter brought to my attention a wonderful endeavor undertaken by a fellow blog friend of hers who has pledged to donate money to organizations that have been formed to fight against bullying. Please go here to her blog and comment. You'll understand why as you read. Having been a victim of intense bullying myself when I was a teen I can totally relate to this young woman's story, too. It has GOT to stop!