Ever Feel Like An Idiot?

It's been one of those days!!

I decided to do a load of laundry this afternoon. Stripped our bed and took the sheets into the laundry room. I have the convenience of having my dryer stacked on top of the washer, making the most of the available space. I stuck the sheets in the machine and closed the door, then added laundry detergent, bleach, and fabric softener in the little receptacles in the washer, and started the wash cycle.

About 35 minutes later I heard the buzzer that signifies the washer is through with the load. I went in and opened the dryer door, only to be amazed that the sheets were already in there! "That's funny," I thought. "I don't even remember putting them there! More time must have passed than I realized." I reached for the sheets, but they were cool to the touch. Hmm, they should be warm! I brought them to my nose to inhale the fresh scent of bleach and fabric softener, only to get a whiff of sleeping bodies.

Yep, you guessed it! I had put the dirty sheets in the dryer, closed the door and hadn't started the cycle. But I added all the cleaning necessities to the washer, and put it through an entire cleaning cycle with nothing in it! (Kinda like my brain, I'm thinking!!)

I exited the room and said out loud, "What an idiot!!" And there was my son-in-law, standing there at the perfect time to have his suspicions confirmed. "What happened, Mom?"

"You don't want to know, " I said, hoping to keep a modicum of dignity intact.

"Oh, but I'm sure I do," he replied.

So, I told him the whole painful story. (The reason it's painful is because he laughed so hard I think he got a stitch in his side.) He asked, "So if you do stuff like this now, what are you going to save for when you're senile?"

"I'm doing it now, while I can still get a good laugh out of it too!"

Now wouldn't you feel like an idiot if you'd done that? Well, I have no shame and love a good laugh, so at AWANA tonight I was telling one of the ladies about this stupid thing I'd done this afternoon. As we were both laughing about it, I looked down at the new cardigan I was wearing, and noticed it still had one of those 6-inch long clear tags running down my bosom, with the size "Large" clearly marked on it. And I've worn it around town all week!

There's nothing wrong with me that half a brain wouldn't cure!

Happy Is The Bride The Rain Falls On

An outdoor wedding in November is pretty iffy. An outdoor wedding in November in Oregon is nigh impossible, as we proved this past Saturday.

My nephew and his fiancee honored us by choosing to get married at Ashberry Lane, the combined home of the Ashcraft and Berry families. A week before the wedding the bride and groom came to choose which part of the house they wanted to use. After scouting out the different locations, they selected the upper level, which is the Berrys' part. The covered deck off the family room would be ideal, they decided. That way if it were raining, the guests and wedding party would still be protected from the elements, though it might be a tad on the cool side. But the beauty of the forest would make up for that, and people could gather inside for the reception and thaw out as necessary.

Saturday morning we awoke to the sound of rain pelting against the windows. Vertical rain, we could handle. But horizontal precipitation brought with it problems we couldn't overcome. The outer half of the deck was soaked, which cut seating for the guests in half. Unless the bride decided to wear a raincoat over her wedding gown, she was going to be wet, cold, and uncomfortable. We don't usually get wind around here, but it was blowing about 20 mph, which would make it hard to keep candles lit along the railing. (Besides, the rain would put them out.)

So when the bride, Stephanie, arrived nearly three hours before the ceremony, we showed her the situation. Any other bride I've ever met would have been near tears and pouted. But not Stephanie. She just laughed, said, "I really wish we could get married outdoors, but obviously that's not going to work," and then got started getting herself ready for her big day.

Thus began Plan B. Most of the furniture was removed from Christina's living room, a focal point was created and decorated, and candles found new homes along window ledges. Guests began to arrive--fifty of us in total. An intimate, simple wedding ceremony, performed by my husband (a former pastor) united Gabriel and Stephanie in holy matrimony. Her face glowed as she looked up (he's 6' 7") into the face of her husband and he choked up as he repeated his vows. It was all very sweet and meaningful.

In thinking about it, I realized it's pretty appropriate for some rain to fall and wind to blow on a wedding day. It's a realistic picture of what the bridal couple will face in real life. Things don't always go according to plan. People lose their job, money gets tight, or illness strikes. Rain and wind sweep in under the guise of the newlyweds' unmet expectations of each other, or their disappointment that the work of marriage isn't as easy as they'd been led to believe. But if Gabriel and Stephanie can hold tight to the attitude she exhibited on Saturday, they will be well on their way to a successful marriage.

You CAN Have It All

I don't know about you, but one of the high points of my day is to get the mail. The excitement of unlocking that little cubicle at the post office and withdrawing who-knows-what is almost intoxicating! What treasures lie inside? Yes, it may just be a bill for weed killer we purchased last month, or a brochure from a political candidate begging for my vote. (Oh, wait--that's over for now!) But it could be ... a new magazine to read, or even better, a book I ordered. Yesterday I actually got a hand written thank-you note from a friend I'd invited over for dinner a week ago. In this day and age, that personal touch from her was very meaningful. In my heart of hearts, when I open our mailbox I think there's always the chance that there's a multi-million dollar book contract offer that somehow bypassed my agent and came straight to me. Okay, so I'm delusional, but it's a great way to live!

I had to laugh the other day when I extracted the envelope pictured above. It was addressed to my mother-in-law, and was from a credit card company. It promised great rewards and a low rate. Not to mention the freedom to overspend, incur debt, and worry about how to pay it off in this slow economy.

But the part that made me laugh was that their enticement of "You CAN Have It All" fit my mother-in-law much better than most people they sent this invitation to. You see, her address is no longer the same as ours. In January of this year she moved to heaven. She is enjoying her great rewards, accruing lots of frequent-flyer miles in a place of supreme love and peace, praising God continually.

She DOES have it all.

A Trip Down Memory Highway

Last week was absolutely gorgeous here in the Pacific Northwest. My parents and I decided to take advantage of the weather before the notorious rainy days would overtake us, so we set off on an overnight mini-vacation.

We left Thursday morning and headed south to the Eugene area before taking Highway 126 along the McKenzie River. Jack Frost had danced through the region, leaving wide swaths of his footprints behind. I imagine the colors weren't as intense as those on the East Coast this time of year, but they were more than enough for this Oregon girl! Our hearts kept praising God around each new turn in the road.

Back in the 1950s my grandparents had built their house, along with four cottages, at the river's edge. They called them Woodland Cottages and rented them out like motel rooms. We were able to find the obscure sign along the highway and turned in to look over the old homestead. Like many things, it has decayed over the past five decades, but we were able to meet the current owner and share some family stories with her.

We continued climbing higher, driving through the lava fields over McKenzie Pass. United States astronauts trained there in preparation for walking on the moon. There is a desolate beauty to the jagged rocks, punctuated by scattered juniper trees, and encompassed by some of the most beautiful snow-capped mountains in Oregon.

We spent the night smack-dab in the middle of Oregon in the town of Prineville, which is where I was born. The next morning we drove the seventy miles out to Rager Ranger Station, which I believe is the most remote Forest Service station in the US. There were only three families and some single men on the crew that lived there in the 1950s. That lonely outpost held many memories, as that's where my parents lived when they became Christians, where I lived for the first six years of my life, where my brother was born at home (in 1953) in the middle of a December blizzard with the help of my McKenzie River grandma, and where I accepted Christ when I was five. The trip from Prineville, which now takes a little over an hour, used to take two-and-a-half hours on a rutted, unpaved road. We had a great visit with several women foresters who work there, identified my bedroom window in the last house we lived in while there, and pumped water from from a pump at a nearby campground, where I remember my dad holding me up so I'd be tall enough to reach the handle.

I'm sure I'm not the only one with fond memories of a childhood locale. What's your favorite one?

Review of MY SISTER DILLY, by Maureen Lang

This book by Maureen Lang grabbed me from the start. It's about two sister, both women in their own right, but coming at life from two different perspectives. Hannah, who could hardly wait to leave the hog farm and move to California, has returned to help her sister Dilly reintegrate into society upon her release from prison. It reminded me of the story of the prodigal son, or in this case, the prodigal daughter. One daughter who has lived by the rules, and the other who has done the unthinkable and chosen an act that sent her to prison.

Dilly has changed while incarcerated, which is hard for Hannah to understand. As the women rebuild their relationship, several issues arise. Hannah is living in a prison of her own making, tied down by the chains of responsibility and false guilt. Unless she realizes this, and makes some changes, she may miss out on the love of a good man and end up living in an emotional solitary confinement.

I have read several Maureen Lang books, but this is my favorite. The storyline is unique and thought-provoking, with characters who reach out to the reader from the pages of the book. In my rating system of one to five mochas, I give My Sister Dilly a four-and-a-half. Pick up a mug of your own mocha and settle in for a great read.

The Dog Days of Summer

My husband met me at the garage, machete in hand. Was he protecting me from a home invasion? Or perhaps Bruce Willis was filming his latest action movie in our house and John was making an appearance as a movie extra.

My dream of being the wife of the newest cinema heartthrob was dashed when John answered my unasked question. "Shadow's stuck in the blackberry bushes by the orchard."

Shadow and her sister Jasmine are three-year-old purebred black labs that belong to my daughter's family. Their whole lives, the dogs have had to stay inside a nice kennel my son-in-law built for them, as they were always running off our property (fifteen acres isn't big enough?) and bothering our neighbors. Just the past few weeks they have started sticking close to home when let out of their enclosure.

I asked John how he knew Shadow was stuck. "Jasmine came up to me while I was working in the garage, and told me 'Timmy fell in the well.' She led me through the forest, toward the neighbor's cherry orchard. I could hear her whining up in the blackberry bushes, so I came back to get something to chop my way to her, as the bushes are really overgrown in that area."

I'm not a great dog lover, but even I was moved by Shadow's plight. I followed John into the forest so I could watch my man at work. He started at the foot of the slope, hacking his way toward the yelping dog, but after fifteen minutes became stymied by growth so thick he couldn't penetrate it.

Back through the woods to put on clothing that would be better protection from the thorns--his thick coveralls and a hat-- and find better tools in the garage. He decided that between two machetes, hedge clippers, and the lopping shears, he should be able to rescue the dog. He used a different approach this time, taking the high ground along the fence line. I stayed down on the pathway, content to call out sweet nothings to Shadow while I tried to keep an eye on John's progress. That word, progress, may not be the right one to use, as it was extremely slow-going on John's part. I soon lost sight of him in the jungle of the Oregon forest, though I could hear his thwacking and every now and then see a bush quiver in fear as this armed man neared it.

After nearly an hour of arm-numbing work, John was able to spy Shadow under some bushes, with her sister Jasmine keeping her company. Turns out she wasn't trapped by the blackberry bush, but had caught the clasp of her collar chain on the wire fence of the orchard, and was unable to move. If no one had been home to hear her pathetic yelps and reach her in time, she could have faced a dire (or should I say die-er) situation.

John finally unhooked her from the fence and both dogs followed us home, eager to lap up two bowls of water, lie down in the shade, and fall into an exhausted nap. But first they had to listen to a lecture on how bad it was of them to run off, that Shadow had a natural consequence for what she had done, and that we never wanted them to do it again!

That experience got me to thinking about how we humans put ourselves in the same kind of situations. God gives us directives about how we should live our lives.("Stay home. Everything is provided for you here.") But we decide that the orchard on the other side of the fence looks like a much more exciting place to be. And the sin that so easily besets us hooks us around the neck, immobilizing our lives, choking off the purpose of our life. It is only when One comes to seek us, clearing away the brambles and reaching down to loose us from our entrapment, that we are able to see that if we follow Him, we are able to lie down and rest.

Book review of Long Journey Home, by Sharlene MacLaren

For those of you who don't already know her, I'd like to introduce my friend, Sharlene MacLaren. As you can see from her photo, she is a beautiful woman with a bubbly personality and zest for life. I met her last fall at the American Christian Fiction Writers conference and have kept in touch with her throughout this past year.

Shar has written several novels and her newest one just came out in stores this week. Whereas her other books I've read have been set in a historical time period, Long Journey Home is a contemporary book dealing with issues rampant in our society.


A young pastor whose beliefs are failing the test of tragedy. A young woman who has dissolved her relationship with an abusive, cheating husband. These two characters, Dan and Callie, are brought together as neighbors, but their proximity leads to a tenuous friendship. Dan battles his anger, guilt, and addictive habit, while Callie is forced to face her lack of trust, which affects her life on many levels. Will these two hurting people be able to overcome the pain in their past? Is it possible to rebuild their lives and walk with the Lord, as well as each other?

This was my favorite Sharlene MacLaren book to date. She captures Dan's and Callie's characters and makes them believable. Throughout the book, the reader is aware something bad is headed down the pike, but never sure of when it will hit. One yearns for Dan to realize how little control he has over life, and for Callie to let down her defenses to the right man.

I give this book a four-mocha rating. It kept my interest and captured my emotions. Pick up a copy at your nearest bookstore and settle in for an enjoyable read.