Who's on First....

My Dear Hubby deserves a medal in patience. Have you ever seen this classic clip with Abbott and Costello? This is what it's like to live with me.

I have a refrigerator magnet that says it all, at least for my long-suffering Dear Hubby who's been with me 36 years now. It says: "You can tell a Swede. You just can't tell them much." I don't know how many times I've caused that poor man to shake his head at me and say, "For someone so smart, how can you be so dense?!" Because I am. Dense.

A couple of days ago we went to a corporate center to a company where we had to sign some documents. I had the Mapquest directions in hand and navigated us to the building without any problem. As we walked into the huge main lobby I consulted the notes I'd taken and told Dear Hubby, "It's Suite 200 so we need to go to the second floor." So we found the elevator and got on and Dear Hubby pushed the "2" button. The doors stayed open so he pushed the button again. The doors slid shut. After what seemed an eternity the doors slid open again and I could see the number 2 etched in to each side of the door posts so I said, "We're on the 2nd floor now." "We are on the 2nd floor," Dear Hubby said back. I gave him kind of a weird look and said, "Yes, that's what I told you. We're on the 2nd floor." As I started to step off the elevator I said, "Boy, that was the quietest and smoothest elevator I've ever ridden on!" And he said, "That's because it didn't go anywhere." I stopped in my tracks and looked at him. "What do you mean?" I asked. "It went to the 2nd floor." "No," he rolled his eyes at me, "we're on the 2nd floor." "I know," I said, "because we just got there."

We each took an exasperated sigh and tried again.

"What I'm telling you," he explained ever-so-patiently, "is that we were on the 2nd floor to begin with. The reason you had such a smooth ride is because the elevator didn't go anywhere. There's another floor below us that's below ground."

The light bulb finally began to flicker.

Author Update: Linda brought it to my attention that "Aren't most floors underneath the ground the basement?" so I must explain that this is a building built into a hillside. The main doors to the lobby actually do open onto the 2nd floor. The floor underneath is the 1st floor, with huge windows looking out over the valley. Underneath that is the basement, haha!

A Broken Heart -- Revisited!

(original artwork for this project by
Kathleen Snider)

How surreal. This afternoon I'd gone to my church's website to look something up and the first sentence of a story in the Youth section caught my eye. I thought, "Well, why does that look familiar?" So I clicked on it and lo and behold, it was one of my stories that I'd written around 25 years ago! Back in the early 80s two other writers and I spent 3 years writing Sunday School curriculum for primary aged children. The curriculum, to my knowledge, has been used by our English-speaking churches worldwide. Since it's been years since my own children have been in that age group I didn't know if our writing was still being used or not...but my random visit to the website showed me that indeed it is. I've mentioned several times in my blog about this writing so here's a sample of my child-level writing:

"A Broken Heart"

Julie and Tara had volunteered to stay after Sunday school to help Mrs. Evans, their teacher, decorate the classroom. First they took down the cutouts of snowflakes and other wintertime decorations, setting them neatly on the table. After Mrs. Evans rummaged around a bit in a cupboard, she came over to the table with a big box in her arms and put it down.
“It will sure be nice to put these winter things away and hang up some springtime decorations,” said Mrs. Evans, smiling at the girls. “I know spring doesn't really come until next month. But after all the ice and snow we've had, I'm really looking forward to seeing the trees budding and the sun shining!”
“What do you have in the box?” Tara asked.
“The Garden of Eden.” Mrs. Evans opened the box and very carefully eased the miniature garden onto the table.
“Oh, how neat!” Julie exclaimed in delight as she and Tara examined Mrs. Evans' creation. She had made tiny trees and flowers, little lambs out of cotton, and a pond with miniature ducks on it. There were even dolls representing Adam and Eve! And right in the center of the garden was a red heart.
“What is that heart doing there?” Tara wondered aloud, looking at it curiously.
Mrs. Evans smiled at her. “Touch it,” she said.
Tara gave a questioning look, but when her teacher nodded she reached out and touched the heart. To her amazement it fell apart!
“It broke!” Tara turned to her teacher. “Oh, Mrs. Evans, I'm sorry!”
“No, no, don't worry Tara .” Mrs. Evans hugged the girl. “It's supposed to break.”
“But, why?” Julie wanted to know.
“Because it represents God's heart,” Mrs. Evans said as she put the pieces together again. “You see, God loved Adam and Eve with all His heart. He made Adam in His own image. Then, when they sinned and went against the things God had taught them, it broke His heart.”
“That's so sad,” Tara sighed.
“Yes, it was sad for them. But our lives can have a happy ending,” Mrs. Evans told the girls as she set the rebuilt heart back into the garden. “It hurts Jesus when we sin. But, if we pray to Him and tell Him we're sorry for our sins, just as Tara told me she was sorry for breaking the heart, it makes Jesus happy. And our hearts are happy too!

For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.
— Romans 3:23 --

And -- back to my 'adult' voice here -- isn't it wonderful to know it's just that simple? What a trip down memory lane!

Hey, babe...take a walk on the wild side....

I'm waiting for the day someone stops me on the street or in the aisle of the grocery store as I'm struggling to maneuver my double stroller around too-sharp corners and asks, "Hey, are you that MissKris the blogger who's always out walking her grandsons?" So far, that fame has eluded me. But today as I came in thru the doors at the library loaded down with my two grandsons and about $70 worth of stuff I'd bought at Walmart crammed in to the basket area underneath I heard a voice say, "Well, hi there!" and I looked over to see a smiling young man grinning at me from ear to ear. I didn't know him from Adam. But he sure seemed to know me so I smiled and said, "Hello!" back. "Boy, you sure do get around!" he told me, and then I realized it was Story Time this morning and he was obviously there with one -- two? three? - of the little ones for that. He was a dad. And where he's ever spotted me walking around the area I don't know but he sure seemed to feel like he knew me! This is not the only time I've had this happen. A while back I had a lady lean out of her van window and yell at me, "I see you walking everywhere!" And of course all the library and store workers know who we are. And of course the fire fighters at the local fire station call us their 'regulars' whenever they have any new guy on board.

Yup, it's that time of year again.

After being stuck inside since around Halloween, I would say, because of inclement weather, colds, flu...whatever...it is almost Spring!!!!!

Which means the grandboys and I are back with a vengeance.

Yessssssssssssss!

Privacy: the state of being free from intrusion or disturbance in one's private life or affairs: the right to privacy.

When I was a teenager there wasn't anything I valued more and protected more than my privacy. And I was blessed to have a mother and father who respected not only mine but the privacy of my three brothers as well.

When do we parents overstep those bounds? When does 'concern' become 'invasion'? I had friends...my daughter had friends...whose mothers felt it was their right to snoop thru drawers and closets, between the mattress and box springs, under beds, in pockets and purses. My mother never did that to me and I never did that to my daughter -- or my son. Some aspects of our lives really do belong to us as individuals, even when we're 10 or 15 or 18. How do we teach them to trust when we don't respect their privacy?

I was not and still am not a perfect parent. My two children are both in their early 30's now. I've made mistakes and I've admitted to them and apologized for them. But I don't think either one of them will tell you that I've ever pried in to their personal business. As teenagers, when their bedrooms became impossibly messy, I always asked and was given permission to go in and straighten things up. I never looked at anything. Seriously. My mission was to clean and that's what I did. I practiced the same respect for privacy when I cleaned people's houses, too. You shuffle papers together in a neat stack, keep your eyes averted, and set them down when you're done. Whatever is private is private. When my son got married I had a talk with my daughter-in-law and told her I would never pry, that he was hers now and I was 'handing him over'. And I meant it. And I have. He is my son but he is her husband.

I reap what I've sown, too. Do they come and talk to me, seek my advice at times? Yes. Do they sometimes confide? Yes.

I guess what I'm trying to say to some of you younger mothers who are in the middle of mothering preteens and teens is: How you treat them now is going to be the foundation your adult relationship with them is based upon. They do grow up. And if you're really blessed and lucky, they evolve into some very special friends in your life, not just your kids. You have to trust them; they need to know they can trust you.