My Friend Has Died

Okay, so I didn't really know him, but stick with the story.

The husband has grown weary of my whining- at least that's what the glazed look in his eyes tell me-

so off to blog land I go.

RIP Vince Flynn. On my list of favorite authors, he's right up there at the top.

*Photo (and other info in this entry)  from his website: http://www.vinceflynn.com/inmemorium.html*

I've read all of his books. Some more than once. I've got 'em in hardback, paperback, and e-back (book, that is). With a disclaimer to say there is language involved, I would recommend them to anyone who likes a lot of action and very little romance.

You gotta admire this guy. He was diagnosed with dyslexia as a young kid and received more than sixty rejection letters while attempting to publish his first novel Term Limits (which would go on to be a New York Times bestseller, by the way). With the exception of Term Limits, the series revolves around Mitch Rapp, a CIA super agent who is part of an operation that doesn't officially exist (or something like that). Every one of Flynn's books would end up becoming a bestseller, and here's a little tidbit of information that's pretty cool... Memorial Day was considered so accurate, it was reviewed by the Pentagon before its released. 

When the husband, who has heard me talk about Mitch Rapp one too many times, told me last week that Vince Flynn had died, I felt like I had lost a friend. Silly, I know, considering I never even met the man, but I think we get to know someone through the things that they write. And when we read a lot... well, that makes for a lot of friends.

So anyway, I just wanted to share with you the passing of a friend. In honor of him, I've started American Assassin (book one in the Rapp series) again.

It helps to ease the pain.

My House Is Dusty For A Reason

I haven't been in the mood to blog much about anything lately.
I haven't been in the mood to clean, cook, or even play with the cats.
About all I've been in the mood to do is read.

Check out my new favorite book HERE.

This book is set smack-dab in the middle of where I grew up (or pretty darn close to it anyway). The husband would say that I have now successfully given away entirely too much information to a virtual world where few people actually know me. He seems to think my stalker fan club is bigger than what it actually is... such is the price of fame (or not). At any rate, I absolute adore this book, so much so, that I am having to pace myself as I near the end. I seriously hate for it to come to a close so quickly. The characters have captivated me, the scenery bewitched me, and the plot has completely and utterly drawn me in so deep that I have a hard time remembering the time and place I now live.

If that's not a convincing review, I don't know what would be.

Maybe it's because at the moment, I am very unhappy and unfulfilled with life as a know it outside my front door. Ironically, things have never been better. Our money woes have subsided, work is steady and sure, and the three young people who share our home continue to plod through life at their own pace (that is a good thing, just to be clear). From the outside looking in, things are looking up. From the inside looking out, things have never looked fuzzier. Maybe I'm just not quite convinced the reality around me is real.

If you think that's confusing, you should be the one writing it.

Oh well. I read and read and pile laundry on the couch between chapters. At some point in the next few hours, I will slip away for a coffee and a potential trip to the grocery store (although I am not really feeling the pull of a check-out line). I'll finish my book and splash cold water on my face and try to shake the memories of home and a slower pace. I'll remind myself that I am blessed and hug the husband who thinks I'm crazy and try not to cry when a child rolls their eyes at me. I'll convince myself that I haven't settled and prop a smile on my face for the morning and roll through another work week.

But you can bet I'll find another book to read.
Just maybe one with a little more violence.*
And, for the sake of laundry and housework, shorter chapters.



*This remark by no means coincides with any feelings I may have on the inside. Just throwing that out there.=)

Worth The Read (the book; not this post)

I have spent the last few days drifting between the couch and my bed, with the inevitable stop of the kitchen in between. The husband may think he didn't give me much for my birthday, but the truth is, he gave me a lot.

A whole lot of what I didn't want.

His cold.

Oh well. Seems like I can count on a couple of severe colds throughout the year anyway. I don't think I caught them nearly as easy when I was spending every weekday in a classroom.. must have been all those kids increasing my resistance or something. I ran out of kleenex earlier in the week and resorted to carrying around a roll of toilet paper. Thankfully, the daughter presented me with a three-pack of tissues yesterday. Surely this nonsense of not feeling well is on its way out the door.

I would be lost without a book to read, especially when I'm confined indoors. If you haven't heard of this one, I cannot recommend it enough:

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

I'm nearing the end of the story and I've had to slow down my pace; it's one of those books that I just hate to see come to an end and I can see myself re-reading it many times to come. Personally, I think this one should be required reading of every high school history class. It would take Veteran's Day to a whole new level, I can tell you that.

I do know it's been the perfect companion for this week.

A whole lot more better than the nose spray.

An Unsolicited Plug for Ted Dekker and Barnes & Noble (although a few royalties sent my way would not go unappreciated)...

One of my favorite books- a book I always go back to and have reread too many times to count, is Heaven's Wager by Ted Dekker. He was one of my favorite authors at one time and still is to a point. His newer stuff is a bit... well, strange (for lack of a better word) and I abruptly abandoned him a few years back when he joined the vampire bandwagon... nonetheless, his earlier work has forever captured my attention. Heaven's Wager is part of a The Heaven Trilogy (or The Martyr's Song Series) that also includes When Heaven Weeps and Thunder of Heaven. I had hardcopies of all three books at one time, but during some reckless, pointless cleaning spree a year or so, donated them or gave them away to friends or some other ridiculous, not-so-well-planned lame action of mine.

As luck would have it, this series came up an excellent e-book offer through Barnes & Noble (see link below). I wouldn't be surprised if Amazon offers the same thing. Trust me, it's well worth the thirteen bucks and change it takes to download:

"Three GREAT Books For One Decent Price," says Angela.

What's to love about Heaven's Wager? It's a modern day story with the spirit of Job from the Old Testament. It's a moving reminder that God is at work in all things, even when it seems He has left the building. It never fails to encourage me.

There is no neutral ground in the universe:

 every square inch, every split second,

 is claimed by God and counter-claimed by Satan.

~C.S. Lewis

I know my entries can get downright depressing sometimes. Trust me, if it weren't for my parents, who also happen to be my biggest fans, my writing would probably drift a little farther to the dark side. I can struggle with wrapping my mind around what my spirit knows to be true. I don't think that's necessarily a character flaw; I just think that's who I am. I am a sinner saved by grace. I live in an upside-down world. I am just like you- I just don't sugarcoat it with fairy dust and rainbows.

Oops. There I go again. The husband says sarcasm may be the end of me one day. He's probably right.
Read the book. Tell me what you think. I'll do my best to keep my smart remarks to myself.



And as a postscript, to whoever has been backtracking and reading old entries from this rambling journal of mine, thanks for coming back. It might be my mom or a friend I just met or that faithful reader from Israel... whoever it may be, I have noticed. I know I could pinpoint you (they make an app for everything, you know), but I kind of like the mystery of it all. Remember, what my life lacks in reality, I make up for in my mind.  =)

Keeping The Foolish Out Of My Writing

A few days ago I wrote a somewhat poignant entry regarding the many, many thankful (facebook) updates I have been scrolling through- it was Day 16 at that point. I thought better of what I had written (like I usually do) and decided the wisest thing to do would be to not publish it. There is, afterall, a proverb for this very thing:

A fool finds no pleasure in understanding but delights in airing his own opinions. Proverbs 18:2

I write alot of things that never make it to the publishing button. I've been asked on numerous occasions to write a book (something my ego loves), but I never get far with it. What in the world would I write about? I've tried fiction- love to read it, hate to write it. I can't keep the characters straight and I'm bored with myself by the second chapter. I've tried non-fiction, too, but there is nothing out there that fascinates me enough that I would want to devote a book to it... that's why I go to a library. So what does that leave? An auto-biographical book-of-my-opinions type of thing. I'm pretty sure that publication would rest dead in the water.

I did write a short book years ago entitled Proverbs 31 for the Real Woman (or something like that). I never knew what to do with it, though, and have since noticed that that theme is severely overused anyway. Actually, that particular manila envelope full of typed pages is kind of fun for me to read now. I was a fairly new wife and mom when I wrote it and full-to-the-brim of that funny thing called hope. Oh, I still have hope (I wouldn't be here if I didn't), but my hope today is edged with a whole lot of truth,  I guess. I have my faith, but believe me... if I were to write that thing now, I am certain it would read differently.

Hey. There's an idea. Maybe I should do that. It could be sort of a before and after thing.
Before the end of your twenties. After the reality of your forties. Marriage. Kids. Daily wrinkle cream.

But then again, I wouldn't want to scare the young people.

For My Family. You Are Loved.

This picture isn't the best in the world. In fact, it's pretty sorry. But, if you could've seen it from my point of view- and heard the sounds that went with it... well, you would understand why I grabbed my camera and tried my best to peer out a cracked screen door while keeping the cats from bolting so I could try to capture the moment.

If you could see it clearly, you would see a girl sitting in an adirondack chair (the Lowes plastic version) embroidering a quilt block. She's in a flannel, plaid shirt with her hair pulled back in a curly ponytail. That's her oldest brother to the right. He's still in his work clothes and tinkering around on a motorcycle he recently bought. The brown and tan truck is his pride and joy and a gift from his grandpa. Their voices drift up this way (toward the house), although I can't make out a thing they are saying.

To the right of the oldest is a shed you can't see. Inside, the middle is faithfully going through his fitness regimen in which he writes down his goals on a dry erase board I bought him. Every now and then I can hear the clinking and clanking of his weights as they go up and down. The tail end of the blue truck that you see is most likely where the husband is working this evening. The fall air is beautiful, the insect repellent is at hand, and they all seem content in their world.

I was cleaning up the kitchen and thinking about Mary Todd Lincoln when I looked out the window. Odd twist there, I know, but lately I have been somewhat obsessed with the former first lady. Was she insane or was she merely a victim of the time period in which she lived? I am in the midst of one book about her now and have two more waiting in the wings, all from different perspectives. So, I was thinking of her grief regarding the death of yet another one of her children when I wiped my hands on a towel and turned off the kitchen light.

And caught a glimpse of my family,
Which produced this blurry image,
That prompted a time of gratitude.

Hope you don't mind.

Twilight WHYlight

Wikipedia Photo

I like to read. A lot. Mostly I like to read historical non-fiction and political thrillers, but every now and then I need a break from having to think too much and revert to what I like to call fluff. This summer, that fluff consisted of the Twilight Series (excuse me, Twilight Saga) that was all the rage a few years back. Even though I finished the final book a few weeks ago, it's taken me some time to wrap my mind around it.

Although I still don't quite understand the draw that claimed millions of fans (I'm assuming the numbers here), I can finally understand the fascination with all the vampire paraphernalia that was marketed toward young girls (and their mothers). If you can get past the whole sinking your teeth into living flesh and an insatiable thirst for blood, the vampire lifestyle might not be a bad way to go.*  I mean, the end of the series presents the perfect picture of the perfect immortal family.** Of course, there is no clear-cut resolution as to whether or not a vampire actually has a soul and where that soul might reside when death does occur (by tearing the vampire apart and burning the body pieces, in case you were curious), but hey... to a young girl dreaming of true love and a happily ever after, a vampire with golden eyes, skin that sparkles, and will power made of steel (it does you no good if he kills you by mistake)... well, maybe love can be found in the craziest of places.

Yeah. That's a stretch, I know.

The short story is that I read the books because my daughter had watched a few of the movies a while back. We read the books together and talked about the content along the way. As much as I found the whole concept exasperating- as a mother, I do not appreciate any kind of love story that makes life appear not worth living if teenage romance is not realized- even so, I was hooked by the end of the first book. I wanted to see what would happen in the next one and the one after that. When it was all said and done, though, I would have rather spent that money on a two-week pedicure, a large hazelnut latte, and a triple chocolate brownie. Of course, the conversations I had with my girl because of the series... well, now that kinda makes it all worth it. Anything to reinforce a few key concepts of life and love:

God has that perfect someone for you,
And he will most likely have a beating heart.


*   Please tell me you recognize the sarcasm here.
** I'll take Jesus, His gift of eternal life, and an imperfect family.

Things I Learned From Laura Ingalls

Some afternoons I don't get too much farther than the front porch. Today was no exception. I've been on a Little House kick lately and the in the last few days have reread (for the who-knows-how-many-times) the entire Laura Ingalls Wilder series. If you know the books, you know this is no remarkable task. They read on probably a fourth grade level and it takes no time to fly right through them. I don't know what takes me back to these books from time to time. After all, I'm also very much into the fictional Mitch Rapp and his covert, modern-day political adventures courtesy of one of my favorite authors, Vince Flynn. Whatever takes me back to prairie days, however, never fails to put me in a reflective and peaceful state of mind. Maybe that's why I like it so well. Cheap therapy.

I finished The First Four Years today while eating a bowl of ice cream that hid a brownie at the bottom and checked my phone from time to time in case the oldest called. I thought of Laura and Almanzo and all the failed crops in those early years. They had a considerable amount of debt, endured the unexpected death of a three-week old baby boy, and lost their home to a fire. Last night my husband patiently listened over a basket of chips and salsa while I recounted some of my favorite Laura stories. Most notably was the time of Laura and Almanzo's courtship in These Happy Golden Years. While teaching for two months at a claim school twelve miles away from her home, Almanzo made a weekly trip to bring Laura home on the weekends. On one particular occasion, he sat with his horses looking at a thermometer that read forty-below with an open, snowy prairie before him. While considering what he should do, a friend rode up beside him and seeing his predicament, simply stated, "God hates a coward." That settled it and off Almanzo went to bring Laura home.

I thought of my husband today as I stretched out on the swing he made me some fifteen years ago for our fourth anniversary. He worked late every night for a while building it while I complained late every night about him never being home (having no idea what was keeping him from home). That swing has since followed us everywhere we've went and neither one of us are blind to the fact that it is a perfect fit on the porch we now have. He built it long enough so that I could nap on it (he knew me well even then) and the quilt that has been on it for some time now once belonged to my step-grandpa. If you don't mind the dust and pollen on the floor, you can look up from the bottom and see a hand-carved message that means as much to me now as it did when I first saw it.

What does all this have to do with Laura and Almanzo? I honestly have no idea except for the fact that I can appreciate a good love story anytime I read one. And to me, a marriage that withstood the test of droughts and blizzards and sickness and debt is one to celebrated. If I am learning anything through this life as I know it so far, it's that marriage is not for the faint of heart... kinda like prairie life in the Dakota Territories during the late 1800s. It takes steadfast determination to make it through the difficult times and a thankful heart to appreciate the good times.

A front porch swing and a set of worn out paperbacks doesn't hurt either.

Happy 46th Anniversary, Mom and Dad. 

Just Do What I Say And Nobody Has To Hear Me Sing

My girl left for school upset this morning and it took everything in me NOT to say, "Hey, who needs school anyway?  Stay home. Rest a little. Take a break." I knew, however, that her condition did not warrant such a dramatic statement, but if there's anything I hate more, it's seeing a distressed kid leave the house. I've sent her two text messages containing song lyrics to try to make her smile, but the silence of my phone indicates her refusal to smile at this point (or at least respond). Oh well. I'm sure a couple of her BFF's will do the trick for me.

The problem? Contacts. As in new contacts for the eyes. Yesterday I took two out of three kids to the eye doctor for the grand step into the world of clear vision without glasses. Needless to say, it was not as painless as I'm sure they both imagined it would be. If there's one thing about this instant world we live in, it's that when things don't happen instantly, we (the kids, me, people in general) tend to get frustrated easily. The art of patience is becoming a virtuous characteristic of the past.

They'll catch on, though, to the whole foreign concept of sticking something in the eye. I have no doubt about that. I remember my first go-round with the entire thing... I think I was my daughter's age, as a matter of fact. I wonder what my mom remembers about the ordeal. I remember frustration, frustration, and more frustration. If there's one thing I'm looking forward to about heaven (after a little baby and a little grandma, of course) it's being able to see clearly. No more bad eyesight for me.

Lasik? (you're thinking). Nope. I'm not really a candidate. Yes, my eyes are that bad. I've been advised that even with corrective eye surgery, I would still most likely need corrective lenses of some sort. I'll stick with what I've got. Jesus will come soon enough. Patience is a virtue, remember? Not to mention that the entire concept of a laser in the eye freaks me out a little. Besides, I can use that money on other fun stuff like books and coffee and the electric bill.

Speaking of books, I'm currently reading American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History. It's not for the easily offended, I can tell you that. I think the middle would enjoy the book, but I'm leery of suggesting it to him based on the language and the sheer fact that he is already infatuated enough with that type of career choice. If there's any kid of mine that I could easily hear saying, "Mom, you know I can't tell you anything about my job," that would be him.

And that's another path that my mind quickly shuts down on.

I think I'll get back to the tasks at hand:
Thinking about my girl, making another cup of coffee, and writing.

I've got a whole lot of writing to do today and it has nothing to do with this rambling blog or eye contacts or military authors. It does, however, have everything to do with a grade. One thing at a time, right? I sure hope she comes home smiling. though. I would hate to greet her at the door singing.

That would really make her cry.

Losing Track Of Time

I looked at the date of my last entry and have been trying to figure out what I have been doing in the past week. I'm thinking a whole lot of nothing... and a whole lot of everything. Know what I mean?

I've been watching what started out as just a few blooms on this tree literally explode with flowers in just a matter of a couple of days. Beauty can be deceiving, however, as we all know. This tree, as pretty as it may seem, stinks horribly when in bloom. The oldest compares the stench to that of wet cement... not pleasant at all. Speaking of the oldest, he is still job searching and watching his savings account dwindle and worrying about his friend, the one we had as a surprise guest not long ago. Her situation has only deteriorated since she last stayed with us and it's hard to look your child in the eye and admit that you don't know what to do about the whole thing.

I've spent a lot of time of the front porch reading schoolwork (see next picture), listening to kids talk, and occasionally letting the cat out. Although we had a lot of rain over the weekend, we thankfully dodged all the rough weather that seemed to envelope most of the nation, the Midwest and eastern half, anyway. The husband is currently in the midst of digging and planning a storm shelter and is bewildered by my insistence that I am more afraid of being underground than I am in the wide open. Personally, I don't know why we have these discussions anyway because I can assure you, I am no fool. I've watched the footage on the news. I've looked at the pictures online. I have no doubt that if our home or neighborhood or county was under an imminent threat of a tornado, my petty fears would vanish and I would be knocking someone out of the way to get underground (sorry, kids).

Here is all that reading I was talking about (ignore the obvious dusting that needs to take place). My nook is buried under everything that must come before it; for that reason it hasn't seen the light of day for at least a week. I am in the middle of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, or maybe the title is the other way around, and I must say that I am not impressed. This is one of those rare occasions when I hope the movie is better than the book. Snore. As far as my schoolwork goes, though, SIX (and a half) weeks left. I received great news last week in the form of a job doing substitute teaching work. I am excited and nervous and scared about the whole college thing coming to an end, but the day I hold that degree in my  hand will be a happy day indeed.

And not to leave out the other cat (you're welcome, daughter), this is where she spends much of her time. Sometimes it's there by choice... that cat loves watching the birds, and sometimes it's there due to a cat-imposed time-out... yes, having this cat is like having a small child in the house. Looking at this picture reminds of something that I devoted an entire day to last week and that was cleaning the screened-in porch. I was reluctant to do so because I noticed the pine trees have the tell-tale signs of what I call baby pine cones. All that means is that in a matter of weeks everything will be covered in a fine, yellow pollen to the extent that even twice-a-day sweepings will not control it.  I never experienced anything like it until I moved south. It's one of my least favorite things of spring.

So I've been busy with cleaning and reading intermingled with lounging on the front porch and just generally dealing with life as it comes. I look at the calendar and find it impossible that we are already five days into the third month of the year. It seems like February was just getting started.

Time flies when you're having fun.

Sure, That Kid Can Operate A Smartphone, But Does He Know The Sound Of Your Voice Reading A Book?

Two kids just went to the left on bikes.
Two kids just went to the right on skateboards.
As usual, I sat on the porch and watched them all.

It's been pretty decent outside today and that porch has been the scene of most of my schoolwork. I may not understand half of what I'm doing, but the sunshine makes me feel remarkably brilliant. The last few hours have been a nice change from what the first part of the day consisted of... two separate appointments at two different doctor offices. All that waiting and watching and listening left me with only one question in my mind:

Doesn't anybody read books to kids anymore?

The first office was that of a pediatrician. The oldest and I sat directly across from a grandpa-looking fellow and a little girl who had to be around two or three. She giggled. She smiled. She sang the same song over and over (Dora the Explorer's backpack song). And all this was done while she was intently watching the iphone or droid or whatever it was that she had propped up on her lap. A boy of ten or so got up when his mom nudged him repeatedly while his name was being called. He was transfixed by some other kind of tablet-type thing complete with headphones and had to be led out of the room by the cord he was attached to. Not to be outdone by his ultra-cool sound-listening system, a girl across the room was be-bopping her heart out to some tune she was plugged into.

The next stop was a specialist of sorts, so the crowd here was not just limited to kids and their guardians. Even so, the little kids who were there stood pestering the adults they were with non-stop for a chance to use their phones. Moms would sigh heavily and give in while the dads would frown at the sight of junior dropping mama's phone on the tiled floor. A video game system was set up in the corner and although I didn't see kids running to put the virtual smackdown on anybody, I did notice one thing, and it was the same thing that got me thinking in the previous office. Not one book was to be seen.

Sure, there were gossip magazines and the daily newspaper scattered about the waiting rooms. One place had a television going with no sound while another place had a water feature that was so loud it was no wonder there was a constant line for the bathroom. There were no kids' books, though. No little tables with coloring books and colors like I use to see when my own were that little. Just LED-enhanced technology that left almost every person, adult or child, with that eerie glow on their face. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for entertaining the kids while they have to wait. Been there, done that. I guess it just seemed odd to me. Then again, it's been a while since I've been in any kind of waiting room.

I thought about the oldest. There was a time when he wouldn't have went anywhere without a Hot Wheel or two in his pockets. That's all that kid needed... give him something with wheels and a pattern on the carpet; he'd be all set. The middle was a dinosaur or cowboy kind of guy. He leaned more towards action figures of any type; no wheels necessary for him. And the youngest? Baby dolls. A Barbie. Anything she could pamper and love on. Wherever we went, though, I always included a stash of what I considered to be the survival kit of waiting for extended periods with toddlers: a ziplock full of graham crackers and a stash of picture books.

When the Hot Wheels would run out of gas, or the dinosaur was wore out from chasing the cowboy, or the baby doll finally went to sleep, I would pull those squirmy kids on my lap and quietly read them a book. Now that I think about it, I probably just liked having them close and whispering in their ear, but I gotta say, those are some of the best memories for me. Oh, we had our moments, that's for sure, but I am so glad I didn't have a smartphone or a gameboy or some other technological marvel that would have stolen that time from me. Those kids grow up way too fast.

Now they want to ride bikes without me.
I couldn't stay on a skateboard if I tried.
And the front porch is the only place I've got left.

Happy sigh. =)

Mama's In A Mood

Well, I finished reading The Help and subjected the husband to the movie tonight. All in all, not bad (the book totally rocked the movie, though). I did not like how either one ended and if I knew they wouldn't butcher it, I'd love to see READ a sequel. Next up on my nook is Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close (or maybe it's the other way around), but I have a world literature class starting next week. With three textbooks due to arrive by Wednesday, I'm thinking my nook may end up taking a long nap. I hate to start something and then have to stop halfway through. I tend to forget what was going on to begin with.

Yesterday was a lousy day. I started an entry late last night, but lost count of how many times I included the word cried... and that was just in the first paragraph. I figure everybody has their own issues without reading mine, so I just made use of that handy delete button. Suffice it to say, there are times when I loathe the day I waved the white flag and gave into the husband's plea to move nine hundred miles away from my family, my job, and my life. It's probably a good thing we don't get re-do's in life. I can think of something else I would've done with that little white flag (and it wouldn't have been waving it in surrender).

Yeah. I am in just one peachy mood.
But God has a plan... right?

What, what would have become of me had I not believed

 that I would see the Lord's goodness in the land of the living!

 Wait and hope for and expect the Lord;

 be brave and of good courage

 and let your heart be stout and enduring.

 Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord.

Psalm 27:13-14, Amplified.

Reading Makes Me Happy

The Rifleman is on. Supper is over.
And my boy's not back from his bike ride yet.
Does the child not know it's dark outside?

Scratch that. I hear his truck pulling in now. One of his favorite things to do is to throw his bike into the back, meet up with a friend, and find a long path that leads to nowhere. And okay, now that I've opened the door I can see that it's not actually dark yet. Guess I'll save that lecture for another day.

I've got the week off from school and have been pleasantly surprised at all the extra time I've had. Sunday night I downloaded a few new books to my nook and have been hooked on The Help since page one. I know it's been out as a movie for some time, but I'm just not much of a movie person. I'd rather read it anyhow. I also got Extremely Close and Incredibly Loud. Yeah, I know it's a movie, too, so don't tell me how either one of them ends. The point is that I'm glad to have the time to be reading again. This is one week I'm going to hate to see come to a close.

Other than that, things have been pretty quiet around the old ponderosa. The weather has been beautiful, although I'm quite certain the flowers are a bit confused. I was raking some today and noticed a few buds on an azalea bush already. The husband has been busy doing some work around the house and the middle is recovering quite well from his accident the other week. All in all, I sit back and look at our quiet and ordinary life and think things are pretty good. Of course, watching Dr. Phil on any given day will make any quiet and ordinary life look pretty good.

As for now, another episode of The Rifleman is coming on.
There's a kitchen waiting on the oldest to eat his dinner and clean up.
And I've got a good book to get back to. You may not hear from me for a while. =)

Digging Through Pictures

I have spent the better part of the morning searching for a picture I know I have, but for the life of me cannot find. I've dug through two boxes of pictures and searched several photo albums. No luck. I know it's there somewhere. What mom does not take a picture of her firstborn on the first day of kindergarten? I know I did. I can practically see the boy's shirt, his backpack, and the exact location I made him stand to snap the pic. Good grief. These things are important, you know. I've got to have that picture to go along with his first day of his senior year picture. I think I have discovered my new obsession for the rest of the week. That and a new resolution to get some scrapbooking done. Anyway, through my archaeological dig in the cedar chest, I did uncover a few treasures. I'd say they're worth passing on.

This one features Laura Ingalls Wilder on the left and my daughter on the right. She (my girl) is standing in the same location Laura is at her home in Mansfield, Missouri. Behind her is a spring and through information I found detailing Laura's pic, I was able to position my girl in the same spot (I do things like that). The dress, apron, and bonnet (off the back of her neck) was made by my grandma. She had quite a few dresses like that, all still saved, waiting to someday be made into a quilt. One story my girl likes to tell is that before I would take her to Laura's house, she had to read all her books. I'm thinking this is around the third grade (she'll correct me if I'm wrong).

And if you're a Laura Ingalls fan, I highly recommend this biography that was recommended to me many years ago. Don't trust the show, people. Read the book.

Here's one of my boys when they were little baking... something. Today their specialties include muffins, grilled cheese, ramen noodles, and easy mac via the microwave.

Hey, how's this for random?
See kids... I'm an equal opportunity humiliator.
Me, in the fifth grade.

This one is my grandma doing one of the many things she loved best. Along with going to church, fishing, gardening, and sewing, she loved to work outside. We still joke about how it was smart not to let her walk outside with a lighter in her hand. Her solution to clearing away anything was to set it on fire. One of our favorite memories is my husband following her around with a garden hose as she used a rake and burning leaves to "help" him clean away some brush on our ten acres. She is pictured here with our oldest.

So I didn't find the picture I was looking for, but I did find a few good memories.
Now I've got to go clean up the mess I made and in the process, keep looking.

I will find that picture.

What Happened To Fabio?

I like to read. That's no secret. My favorites are spy novels, anything to do with government intrigue, and Christian fiction that expands my thinking. I despise what I consider fluff: predictable nonsense with sappy plots and fairy tale characters (i.e. romance novels). Every now and then, though, my brain gets tired of thinking and I'm ready for some easy reading I can knock out in a day and pretty much lose myself in. My most recent easy-reading, beach-type book was found for fifty cents at a local thrift shop. The cover featured an ice-cream cone against a soothing lime green background and the back cover promised a story of a forty-something mother coming to terms with her own mother moving in while her teenage daughter was sneaking out the bedroom window on a nightly basis.

And this by no means describes my current position in life.
No need to draw unnecessary conclusions.
Although my mom can move in anytime she wants to.

At any rate, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I finished it in a couple of days (bedtime reading) and with the exception of a few, brief sappy lovesick moments, the characters were quite believable. The ending was not predictable and when I finally turned the last page, I let out a heavy sigh. I went straight to my local library to find some more by the same author (for future easy-reading days) and was surprised to not find any. I didn't take to the time to do a computer search because I had plenty of other stuff to read at home anyway. Later that night, though, I did reach under the bed (where most things on my side end up) to see if I had the author's name right. That's when I noticed the tiny words on the back cover.

Harlequin.
As in Harlequin Romance.
Like a love story.

Maybe you have to be in my head to truly understand this, but I had to laugh to myself. I read a romance novel? And liked it? Horror of all horrors. I looked at the front cover with the ice-cream cone and laughed again. I swear there was no reference to ice-cream anywhere in the book. What happened to the half-naked man with the flowing hair embracing the equally half-naked woman with the equally flowing hair that usually represents the stereotypical romance book? I re-read the back. Love was not mentioned once. Life, yes. Nervous breakdown, yes. Career choices, yes. Not one iota of an inkling of romance. Okay, so there were a few romantic scenes involved, but nothing over the top. Several innuendos? Yep. It still makes me laugh. I got suckered into reading the one thing I always turn my nose up at, and a Harlequin at that.

What the heck.
I already downloaded another one on my nook.
If you can't beat 'em...

You might as well enjoy the love scenes.

Goodbye, World

Goodbye, Laura Bush. I'm just not going to be able to finish your book which I love. You all just made it to the White House (the first time) and you were talking about gowns, I believe. I get a little teary-eyed knowing that I won't be visiting with you anytime soon, but back to the library you must go.

Goodbye, Mitch Rapp. You are my all-time favorite spy, even if you're not real. Book number four was next in line after Laura. It's just not gonna happen. I'm going to hide my nook in the closet so I won't be tempted. Don't worry, you are forever in my dreams.

Goodbye, Kathie Lee and Hoda. You're my favorite mid-morning pleasure, but you're going to have to go, too. I get too easily distracted with your talk of weekend travel and white wines and celebrity gossip. It's best if I just leave the television off.

Goodbye, Facebook.

Nevermind that one. No sense in going overboard here, but the farm may very well have to go into the dormant mode for now. Heavy, heavy sigh.

Just when I thought I might be getting a handle on this middle eastern nonsense that I've been trying to learn (no offense to my middle eastern friends, mind you)... but just when I was getting caught up on the reading and writing and somewhat understanding, I started a new class today.

Traditional Russia.
Fourteen initial chapters to read.
One hefty assignment to kick things off.

This in addition to my assigned four chapters regarding the middle east and war.
And two assignments to go with that.
All due by Sunday.

I love history.

Good thing I also love coffee.
You all pray for me, okay?
This too shall pass.

Just Call Me 007

So I always wanted to be a spy. There was a brief time when I was in the service that I actually underwent some mysterious questioning that resulted from a little in-house profiling... something about my security clearance and loner status and who knows what else. Whatever it was, none of it matters now. I ceased pursuing anything remotely interesting when I fell into that crazy thing called love. Plus the fact that I was told there would be times even my mom would not be able to know my location. I'm too needy for all that drama.

That's a true story, by the way, and I have no regrets. When it comes down to it, all I ever really wanted out of life was to be a wife and a mom. I suppose that's why I've always enjoyed the whole homemaker thing. Of course, espionage might have been more exciting than cleaning the toilet that I talked about yesterday, but hey... at least I'm here when the kids get home from school.

Thank goodness for books. They take me to places I would otherwise never go. My new favorite author has a whole spy series that I am absolutely hooked on. These are books I would actually be willing to spend money on... they're that good. And if you have learned anything about me, it's that I have this crazy compulsion to buy things in sets, so if there is one book or five or eight... well, I'm going to have to get them all. Right now, though, I'm just depending on my local library and my one free-hour-at-a-time nook reading at Barnes & Noble.

I spent an hour there today catching up on the fictional life of CIA Agent Mitch Rapp. (Or maybe he's FBI. Or NSA. Or another alphabet trio). Whichever it is, I definitely get caught up in it. As I was leaving I caught myself glancing over my shoulder or getting an idea of what was taking place behind me by the store window reflections. I had to laugh at myself.

But then again, I always think like that. Let me walk into any room and I will do a mental checklist of the people there before I focus on anything else. It's like my mind is wired to note certain things and then decide if something is out of place. I'm always on alert in a parking lot. I pay attention to exit signs. I watch cars in the rearview mirror.

(I'm giving away too much information here, am I not?)

Oh well. Such is life. We all have our little quirks. I don't like to think of mine as paranoia, mind you; just a heightened sense of awareness.

Yeah. That sounds so much better.

Ahhh... but that's the joy of reading. I can be traveling the world uncovering botched assassination attempts one week and then living the life of an 1800s rancher's housekeeper the next. I can typically find almost any story to match my mood and I can always count on a book to pass the time.

Even if I did choose the role of a housewife instead of saving my country by living a double life. It just wasn't meant to be.

The Great Book Debate

I start two new classes today which for me means a whole new attitude. Again.

• I will read the assigned text, all of it.
• I will read the optional material because I know that when it's all said and done, it's not really optional. It is very much needed.
• I will answer all of my questions thoroughly and on time. I will post the proper replies.
• I will complete my assigned work before the weekend. No more procrastination.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm a pretty good student. My husband brags on my GPA to just about anybody new he comes in contact with on any given day. He is my number one fan. He's also the one that keeps bring up the word master's and doctorate. I'm no fool, though. I know just what he's doing... preparing for his retirement. He has grand dreams of kicking back once I'm pulling down the big bucks. What a poor, delusional man.

He's got my back, however. And for right now, he's paying the bills. I'll let him dream whatever he wants.

Having said all that, though, I do tend to put things off. Maybe I work better under pressure. Maybe I like the time crunch I put myself in weekly. Maybe I'm just lazy.

Whatever the reason is, anytime new classes start, I give myself this big pep talk: focus, Focus, FOCUS! And then everytime, something comes up that challenges that pep talk.

It could be this blog.
Or pressing matters on facebook.
Maybe just one more load of laundry needs to be done.

Right now, it's my library book. My newest book which I am about five or six chapters into and absolutely hooked. I read too late last night. I woke up thinking about the main character. Just ten minutes earlier I was reaching for my nook when I reminded myself I had a textbook to read.

So how did I end up here? I have no idea except I was thinking maybe if I wrote about it, I would see the futility of it all. Then maybe I won't be so hard on myself.

Because let's face it, there's more excitement to tracking down a serial killer using schizophrenic and bi-polar patients than it is reading about the fall of Rome and the introduction of the Roman culture into England's mainstream population. I know, I know. I'm a history major. I'm suppose to love this stuff and I do...

Just not when there's a killer on the loose.
Or a husband calling to take you to lunch.
And there really is one more load of laundry to do.

It will all be there when I get back.

Giving Love a Good Name

Maybe it's because I've been watching my oldest struggle through the drama called teenage-romance-gone-bad, but lately I've been thinking about my own break-up stories from days gone by. I can remember pretty well how dreary and hopeless life seemed at times, even at the ripe old age of seventeen. All I ever wanted was somebody to love and to love me, and I can recall how I wondered if that day would ever come.

This past week I read a book based on a young man trying to find his own way in the days of Queen Mary's reign following the death of England's King Edward. Two things struck me as worth remembering in this book: first, how the (fictional) parents of the young man in question were portrayed... dedicated to one another and very much in love regardless of the troubles that life presented. Though their son was a source of great grief and worry to them, they never ceased in their support and encouragement to one another. Secondly, Queen Mary herself fascinated me. Granted this was historical fiction and as always such aspects should be considered, but Mary was so desperate to find love that she easily relented to Prince Phillip's desire to rid England of Protestantism. While he saw their union as one of convenience and power in uniting Spain and England, she only saw a man who wanted her and refused to reconcile within herself why those reasons might be. The result earned her the nickname Bloody Mary and for her, true love was never recognized.

Maybe for some love is a game of chance... you may win or lose, or possibly feel like you've never even had a chance to play. I can look back now and see that the worse times in my life (or what I perceived to be the worst) was really just a part of growing up. When I did find that someone to love me, it happened by surprise and was well worth the wait. Of course, I can say that now that those teenage romances are far behind me and I've finally got this love-thing figured out. (Not really). Watching my kids begin their journey, though, is just a reminder of how fragile those feelings are and why no matter what the year or generation is, GNR's "Every Rose Has It's Thorn" is still the best break-up song out there (with Bon Jovi's "You Give Love a Bad Name" a close second).

Enough Already! (Or Maybe Not)

As we approach the third year mark of being in a place that I never wanted to be, I've been thinking about The First Four Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Possibly written in the 1940s but not published until around 1971, this short book gives an account of the early years of Laura and Almanzo's marriage. Laura had no intentions of being a farmer's wife when they married in 1885, however due to Almanzo's enthusiasm, she agreed to a trial period of three years. During those three years, they encountered every kind of hardship imaginable: failed crops, unpaid debt, devastating sickness. He did not give up, though, and convinced Laura to give it one more year. During that fourth year, tragedy struck the young family again in the form of a damaging tornado, the loss of a baby boy, and a destructive house fire. You would think Laura would be shouting, "Enough already!" She did not. She had her husband, her girl, and the land she loved. She was content and would live out her days as a farmer's wife.

So.... here we are just two weeks shy of the day we arrived in a strange land. Has it worked out? From this girl's point of view, a resounding NO. Though our problems have been nothing as severe as that which Laura experienced, emotionally we are teetering on the threshold of insanity (okay, maybe not THAT bad). Unlike Laura, I have shouted, "Enough already!" and yet here we remain. I have my husband, my kids, and the front porch I love. What remains to be seen is if I have what it takes to live out my days on the wrong side of the Mighty Mississippi.