Hello? Is anyone still here in blog-land? 

I realize I've been away for three years, but tonight I was thinking of how I miss reading blogs and thought maybe I should try posting again to see what happens. I'm wasn't even sure how to post a picture anymore! But I managed, found this picture of a recent garden visitor.

So much has changed while I've been away. Both of my kids have graduated from high school (the youngest only a week ago) and my Dad passed away.  One thing that surprisingly has NOT changed is my address. I've  lived in the same house for 6-1/2 years now, which is the longest I've ever lived anywhere! I was actually planning to move this summer but those plans have changed. That is definitely a story for another time.

For now - - if anyone is out there please say hello and just maybe I'll get back into blogging. 

Meet Aayla

I just discovered I have several "draft" posts that never were published.  Oops! Must have had something to say but no time to say it.

I'll post them now, beginning with an  introduction to Aayla, our Australian Shepherd. We got her as a puppy (more than) one year ago.  She is smart and pretty, but her nickname is "destructo-dog". She is a voracious chewer who has destroyed several pair of shoes, at least 2 sets of earbuds, one remote control and who knows what else! Nevertheless, we love her.

A Month of Changes

November started out with a bang!

My Dad spent the night of October 31st at our house.  On his way home he was in an accident which rendered his car a total loss.  Dad wasn't hurt other than a couple of cuts to his hand.  Well, actually I believe his thumb was dislocated, but he said he "just popped it back into place." You may think this sounds strange, but his accident was a blessing. It meant that his driving days are over. They should have been over a few years ago and the fact that he was still driving had my brothers and I concerned that he would kill someone. 

I thought at long last the accident would convince Dad that he could not continue living in his house, since there is absolutely nothing within walking distance.  Still, he wanted to stay. My brother said it would be possible for Dad to stay if he would hire some in home help. I told Dad that he had to choose between hiring help or moving to my town.  He wanted to think about it.

So I gave him time to think, and I went about enjoying the most long-lasting, colorful autumn in memory.

Then last Monday I heard from the woman who has hosted my Dad for dinner nearly every Sunday for the past eight years. She passed on some observations about Dad and then said that, as much as they love him and would miss him, it was time for him to move near me. I love her and highly respect her opinion, so that message kicked me into high gear.

I might bore you with details now, but they're important to me because they show such evidence of God being in control of all of the details of the past week.

Tuesday morning I made phone calls to two assisted living apartments which we had previously visited and liked. I had to leave messages at both places. I also sent a message to the members of my Bible study group asking them to pray that God would lead me to the right place for my Dad and give me courage to say what needed to be said to Dad.

At noon I had a hair appointment and was talking with my stylist about the situation with my Dad. (She is in a similar situation with her mom so it's a frequent topic of conversation for us.)  I mentioned that so far neither of my phone calls had been returned.  She suggested I look into a place right near her salon. I had never heard of or seen the place, but at her suggestion I decided to drive by. 

Once I was in the parking lot I thought it wouldn't hurt to look inside. Before I knew it I was speaking with a woman about my Dad and she told me she thought he would do well in "independent living" rather than assisted living. The next thing I knew, I was looking at the only one bedroom apartment they had available.  It was freshly remodeled and the entire place was lovely. I made an appointment to bring my Dad for a tour on Thursday.

My plan was to have two options available for Dad, and on Thursday I would tell him he had to move but he could choose between the two places. Except one place never returned my call and the other informed me their prices had gone up a LOT so they were now out of Dad's price range.

A bit panicked, I talked with my husband Wednesday night and confessed I couldn't imagine what I was going to say to my Dad. He thought it was best that there were not two options because my Dad has been unable to make a decision about anything for a long time. (For instance, whenever we go to a restaurant I have to order for my Dad. He cannot make a choice, even between something simple like a baked potato or mashed potatoes.) We talked through what I would say, and he said he would be praying for me. (He's currently out of the country.)

When Thursday came I prayed a little and reflected on a devotional my Bible study leader had shared. It talked about David and Goliath and said the reason David could defeat the giant was because David knew his God was more powerful than the giant. It reminded me that my focus should be on God and his limitless abilities rather than on myself. I prayed about that the whole way to Dad's house.

After we had visited for a bit I said: "Dad, I've been thinking and praying and talking with people about your situation.  I've decided that since you can't make a decision about staying in your home and getting help or moving to Boise, I need to make the decision for you. I've found a lovely apartment and we are going to go look at it today." He didn't say no.  HE DIDN'T SAY NO! I couldn't believe it! I went to another room and expressed my disbelief to God. And I PRAISED Him for what He was doing.

That was Thursday, November 29th. On Friday the 30th I was back at Dad's house packing things up and yesterday - Saturday December 1st - Dad moved!

Here is a tiny glimpse into his apartment last night. Tomorrow I'll try to remember to take some pictures of the common areas; they are beautiful!

If you are in doubt as to God having anything to do with this, let me fill in a few more details. 

1. My Dad was a pilot. It "just so happens" that several of the apartments around him are occupied by former pilots. Word had spread that another pilot was moving in, and two of them were anxious to meet my Dad.  They invited Dad, my brother and I to sit with them at dinner last night. ( A dinner which happened to be delicious!) 

2. Another gentleman moved in the day before Dad. His son and daughter-in-law were in and out bringing things to their Dad so we often crossed paths in the hallway. During one conversation we were sharing stories of how/why our Dads came to live here. I mentioned that I had specifically wanted a one bedroom unit for my Dad and the son asked me, "when did you look?". When I replied "Tuesday" he smiled and told me that they had looked on Monday. At that time there were two units available: a one bedroom and a studio.  His Dad chose the studio, which left the one bedroom for my Dad! If it had been a studio, I would have passed.

3. Despite our long, glorious autumn, winter recently arrived in Boise. It snowed a bit on Saturday morning but changed to rain fairly early. It was not an impediment to moving.

I don't drive in the snow anymore because we live on a hill and two years ago, while driving downhill in the snow, I slid into a curb and bent the axel of my car. The repairs were VERY expensive and it destroyed my confidence in my winter driving abilities.

Also, after the crazy week culminating in one very long day of moving I was exhausted last night and knew I needed a day of rest. When I woke up this morning, this was what my back yard looked like:

The weather forecasters stated today that they have no idea how they made such a mistake. Yesterday they predicted we would get about 1 inch of snow.  My son measured 7-1/2 inches on our deck. This meant that if anyone (like Dad) wanted me today I could easily say "I'm sorry, I cannot get there today".  And for that, I say "Thank you God!" The forecasters didn't make a mistake; God intervened on my behalf!

Summer Flowers

I take so many pictures of flowers.  Having nearly given up on blogging, I had no outlet for sharing the pictures. Having decided to try to get back to blogging, and believing that every blog post needs pictures, well, why not share some of my flower pictures?

An entire field of purple coneflower (echinacea) near my Dad's house.

A few new plants about to be purchased and planted...

..as an addition to this area.  At the beginning of the season this was nothing but weeds and landscape rock. My husband and I spent several weekends removing everything.  We picked all of the rock out by hand.  We've been relocating it to the back gardens because we have a dog who likes to dig. The rocks are helping put a stop to her digging. (The above picture was taken before I added the plants from my shopping cart.)

And finally, my own purple coneflower, which is in it's third year.

We have made great progress on our gardens this year. When we purchased this house 3-1/2 years ago everything was an overgrown, neglected mess. There is still much to do, but we feel like we turned a corner this year. Now there is more good than bad, so there is hope of taming the entire thing.

Tidbits (I'm Still Here!)

When I was growing up, my siblings and I were required to say "Excuse me please, thank you for the good breakfast" (lunch, dinner). My husband and I have required the same thing of our children. The funny thing is, while my husband and I are typical Americans in that our ancestors hailed from many different countries, each of our families primarily identify as Norwegian and secondarily German.  We were reading a bit about Norwegian customs and learned that a typical Norwegian family requires their children to say exactly what I was raised to say at the end of every meal.  I find it interesting to know that we have carried on customs from our ancestors without even knowing it.

I looked online for a piece of Norwegian folk art to include here.  I found some beautiful examples but was afraid they may be copyright protected. Suddenly I remembered that in March I visited my 97 year old Aunt and photographed some of the things she had hanging on her walls. Perfect!

Christmas Dread

This year, for the first time in my life, there are no presents under my Christmas tree.

I admit, that sounds more dramatic than the actual facts.  Allow me to explain, beginning with a bit of family history.

Both of my parents grew up with alcoholic fathers. Due to their drinking, neither of my grandfathers could hold a job so both families were quite poor.  I don't recall my father telling me any stories about Christmas as a child, but my mother told me a story that broke my heart.

One Christmas when my mother was a little girl she was hoping for a new doll for Christmas.  I imagine she may have hoped for other surprises as well. When she approached the tree that Christmas morning there was indeed a doll under it; however, it was the doll she already owned.  The doll was lying under a new doll blanket, probably hand made by her mother.  That blanket was my mother's one and only Christmas present that year, which is not actually the worst part of the story.  You see, my mother had two much-older sisters who were married; one sister had a daughter just two or three years younger than my mother.  A short time after my mother discovered her meager Christmas gift, her sister, brother-in-law and niece arrived bringing with them the niece's Christmas gifts.  I don't know what all of the gifts were, but I know it was plural - giftS, and I know one of those gifts was a puppy.  My mother was of course an adult when she told me this story and in many ways I'm fairly certain she had moved on from the sadness of her childhood.  Nevertheless, the fact that the story left me with such sadness makes me believe the sadness was still under the surface somewhere and I picked up on it.

Fast forward quite a lot of years.  My husband also grew up with an alcoholic father who couldn't keep a job. The poverty he grew up in is unfathomable to me.  I'm sure all of their Christmases were meager, but the story of his that most sticks in my brain is that of one of his birthdays.  Like my mother's sad Christmas, my husband received just one gift: a pack of gum.

I tell these stories because I believe they help me understand something of a struggle I have had.  I did NOT grow up in poverty and I did not have meager Christmases.  On the contrary, I have memories of ever expanding piles of presents under the Christmas trees of my childhood.  We were not rich and I did not get every single thing I ever wanted, but I got plenty.  More than plenty, honestly.

But these stories; these stories broke my heart for people I love.  I didn't know for many years that my approach to Christmas presents was a reaction to the emotion of these stories, but I have discovered that I spent much time and effort trying to make up for past hurts suffered by people I love.  It became crucial to me that each and every person to whom I gave a gift would be thrilled with the present.  Some times my efforts were a resounding success and that gave me great satisfaction.  Of course, it was not possible to achieve perfect success every time but it seemed that at least people knew I tried to give wonderful gifts and that was enough for me.

Fast forward again, not too many years this time, to my children. The Christmases my children have experienced, well, let's just say they were nothing like those of my parents.  One other historical detail here will help to explain why my children's Christmases were what they were:  my husband, in reaction to his childhood, readily admits he wanted his kids to have EVERYTHING.  He did not want them to long for things the way he had.  So, yes, we over did Christmas.  A LOT.  And sadly we learned that children who are given much do not appreciate it.  It's not their fault, they don't understand anything of economics or their parent's emotions or that there are kids who get nothing for Christmas.  It's our fault.  We understand that.  But how do you change your children's expectations when you've nurtured their greed, and when you yourself are trying to make up for the hurts of others by giving the best gifts always?

Unbeknownst to me, through all my years of trying to give the best gifts, I was setting myself up for a huge emotional tumble.  The tumble came last year.  It was the worst Christmas of my life, the nightmare I had long feared.

I don't remember what gifts were had for our kids, but I know I was still trying with everything in me to make my kids happy.  Not just happy, I wanted them ecstatic.  I wanted a reaction like the year we gave our daughter her first cell phone.  She squealed and screamed and jumped for joy.  She hadn't expected it.  She was THRILLED.  Boy, that was a banner year for me. 

No, I don't remember what last years gifts were, but I will never forget that they were not enough.  Unbelievably, my son came into my room after gifts had been opened on Christmas Eve.  (My family tradition has always been family gifts are exchanged Christmas Eve and more gifts are received from Santa on Christmas morning.  Even after the kids were old enough to know there is no Santa, we continued with the double dose of presents.) My son came to COMPLAIN about his gifts.  The details escape me.  I do know that I believed he would be happier once he saw the rest of his gifts on Christmas morning, although I don't think he actually was. Mostly I remember the crushing emotion of the entire debacle.  I had TRIED and failed to satisfy my son's greed, the greed that had been planted and nourished over the years by my misguided, misinformed choices.  My failure seemed to have replicated for my son the experiences of my mother all those Christmases ago, the deep disappointment in not receiving material gifts they had been longing for.  I was in agony but I was also angry because my son had not gone WITHOUT as my mother had, he instead had become so spoiled that nothing was ever good enough.

I can tell you I was in tears last Christmas.  I felt like I could not breath.  I was crushed by my failure. I realized that I had set an impossible standard for myself, but I doubt my reaction was the healthiest, best choice.  I decided on Christmas Eve 2016 that I would not buy presents this year.  I would not set myself up for that crushing disappointment again. I have stuck by that decision and my husband agreed to go along with my plan. 

We told the kids of our decision some time ago.  It's not as draconian as it sounds; it's not that our kids are getting NOTHING.  We are giving them cash rather than gifts.  Not draconian enough, apparently, because as Christmas approaches I find that I am filled with dread:  what if they still think what we give them is not ENOUGH?

Christmas is not supposed to be about gifts, I know this.  Yet I love gifts.  I LOVE gifts.  I love receiving gifts and I love giving good gifts.  And I'm 6 days away from a gift-less Christmas.

I realize that through this post it sounded like it would end with a wonderful lesson learned and happy anticipation of a more meaningful Christmas.  I wish that was the case.  It's not.  But I think there is progress.  I am aware of my mistakes, I am aware at least somewhat of my motivation.  I guess I'm hoping that we all survive this Christmas and afterward have a healthy discussion of how we should actually be approaching the whole thing.  Maybe next year I'll have a neat and tidy answer.  But for this year, there will be no presents under the tree.

Preparing for Christmas

I love taking close-up pictures of Christmas decor.  I took these last year and they're among the last pictures that have made it onto my computer.  Most often now, I use the camera on my phone, and I have found it impossible to transfer pictures from my Android phone to my Apple computer.  (I know it is possible, I just don't have the patience to figure it out.  I've tried...)

While my family has in many ways done away with the traditions of my childhood, we have crafted a few of our own traditions; a fact I am very thankful for.  I want my kids to have something as solid memories of childhood.  For a number of years it looked like their only childhood memories would be of moving, and moving, and moving!

On the day after Thanksgiving we go out for dinner followed by shopping for a new ornament.  Every year since the kids were very young (excepting probably the years in Taiwan, where we didn't know how to find places to buy Christmas ornaments) we have allowed the kids to choose one ornament apiece.  The idea from the beginning was that when they grow up and move away they would have a collection of sentimental ornaments to take with them and start their own Christmas decor.  It remains to be seen whether this idea has been successful because last year the kids were far less than enamored with their choices from childhood and refused to allow them to be placed on the tree! (Buzz Lightyear and Dancing Princesses are embarrassing to their teenage owners!)  Who knows, maybe when they're old enough embarrassment will give way to nostalgia.

Tonight is the night; new ornaments will once again be purchased and over the weekend our tree will go up and the Christmas season will begin.

Last year in mid-December there was a shocking revelation at the church we attended.  Coupled with news from many other churches, I was devastated and done with church.  I was NOT done with God, just deeply, deeply disappointed in men.  It's been a difficult year as far as that goes and I have only recently felt I could begin to look for a new congregation to join.  My husband and I have had some deep conversations around the subjects of church, pastors, sin, and expectation.  There have been no thunderbolts of knowledge from the heavens, but I believe I am ready to look with fresh vision for a church where we can contribute and hopefully experience Christian community.

Christmas is so inextricably tied with church.  Last year we "celebrated" without church and it was very, very painful.  This year we do not yet belong to a church but we are visiting.  Hopefully we can incorporate church back into our celebration and enjoy some of the old tradition.

I feel my writing has gotten very rusty.  Perhaps with some exercise...