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The other day, I stumbled across an album of my first few years with Dave. At the end was a pile of letters we had sent to each other, just before our wedding, while living in different towns. Before tucking them away for another who-knows-how-long, I took the time to read them. I was a little disappointed. The letters seem so shallow to me now. So empty and void of...something.

At first, this made me sad. I've often thought of those years as the time we loved each other most. When everything was blissful, uncomplicated, new. But now I realize the way I loved Dave back then is like a beautiful, brand-new book. One with a nice, shiny cover, pages clean and bright. But no words.

The way I love Dave now is like an old book. The cover is smudged and worn. Some pages are dog-eared, some wrinkled from tears. Some chapters we cling to, others we'd like to forget. But our book is still bound and the words are filling up fast.

The way I love Dave now is...more. Rarely blissful, seldom uncomplicated, never new. But more.

on my best day

I woke suddenly last night thinking of an old friend. As I lay there, I realized I have known her, quite literally, as long as I can remember and memories flooded my mind: playing Barbies at her house when we were very young, playing games and going to dances with her and a large group of friends, long talks about boys.

I remember working as partners in French class, watching as she defended her beliefs (and mine) in an Advanced English Lit class to a wonderful but obstinate teacher who doubled as a debate coach.

I remember sharing a business class to which she once came in late (beaming) with the only excuse the teacher said he would ever accept - she had been hit by an STA bus (luckily she was in her car), and a wild and week-long scavenger hunt resulting, ultimately, in invitations from our dates to the junior prom.

I have memories of accompanying her as she sang at so many events, always with a beautiful voice and a smile. And I have memories of her in college. Although we didn't see each other as much, when we did, it felt like nothing had changed.

The semester my brother Mark died, I ran into her on campus. She asked how things were going and reluctantly I told her my woes. Based on other friends' reactions, I wasn't sure what to expect. College kids are not adept at responding appropriately to tragic situations. But Anna was different. I remember her response, because it mirrored my own emotions. She empathized perfectly and made me feel like my grief was okay.

Among all these thoughts, there was one thing I couldn't remember. I couldn't think of an instance when Anna spoke an unkind word, or was caught up in some silly social drama. I couldn't think when she had ever lacked faith, or complained about anything she was expected to do. I couldn't think of a single time when Anna had been anything less than a perfect example.

For several years after college, Anna and I were out of touch. An occasional Christmas card let us know what was going on, but it wasn't until last year that I was able to keep up more with her life. Not surprising, in the face of her very real challenges, which surpass some of my darkest dreads, it is clear Anna has not changed.

She is amazingly patient and positive, steadfast and stalwart where others would simply give up.

If I, on my best day, could be what Anna is on her worst, I will have made great strides.

a miracle if it did

Last week we took the kids to Lagoon. Since Max had never been on the Ferris Wheel before, it was one of our first rides. Being more than a little uncoordinated and thus extremely cautious, Max has never been a great lover of heights. The first time we made it up to the top, he expressed some concern about falling down.

I assured him, through a clever combination of probability and science, that falling down was so unlikely to happen, it would be a miracle if it did. Abby agreed. Max still looked concerned, but conceded that I made sense. Dave, (only half listening?) suddenly burst into song: "I believe in miracles...."

I'm not really sure where he was going with that, but it was enough to make us all laugh. Max forgot his fears and here we are a whole week later, laughing about it still.

a new kind of girl

Back in the 70's, when I was a kid, men blatantly ruled the world. I guess it was somewhere in that decade that the first real wave of feminism hit, but I lived in Spokane, Washington. We were pretty sheltered from the world.

Although I personally was a tomboy, most of the girls I hung out with at recess were not, so I remember doing a lot of girlie-type things, all involving rhymes and chants, and most reinforcing gender stereo-types.

Like those clapping games:

Say, say oh play mate, come out and play with me,
And bring your dollies three, climb up my apple tree,
Slide down my rain barrel, into my cellar door,
And we'll be best of friends,
Forever more, more, more, more, more, more.

And jumping rope:

Cinderella, dressed in yella,
Went upstairs to kiss a fella,
Made a mistake and kissed a snake,
How many doctors did it take?

One, two, three, four....

And cheering:

Boys got the muscles,
Teachers got the brains,
Girls got the sexy legs,
We win the game!

I now know that girls don't have to do girlie things. The fact that I enjoyed hot-wheels and legos and horses more than dolls didn't make me any less of a girl. I know this now. But looking back, it's entirely possible I didn't really, truly know this until I was in college. It's possible I always thought of myself as a little less than perfect because I wasn't the girlie-girl type.

Which is why it made me smile to see two sweet little girls out at recess the other day, in skirts and ruffles and bows, practicing the girlie-girl cheer of a new generation:

Payson High is number one,
We're gonna beat the crap out of 'um!'

Granted, it's not all that eloquent, and their rhyming flat out stinks, but I think their message is clear - no one better mess with this new kind of girl...

apple crisp

Two little words can turn the mood at my house right around: apple crisp. If you haven't made it in awhile, do it now. It is well worth your time, and your family will love you!

The Best Apple Crisp Recipe I've Ever Made
(and I've made a lot!)

10 cups sliced apples (or enough to fill the pan all the way to the top)
1 cup white sugar
1 Tbsp. flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 cup water
------------------------
1 cup oats
1 cup flour
1 cup brown sugar
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/2 cup butter, melted


1. Preheat oven to 350*
2. Peel apples and slice them directly into a 9x13 inch pan.
3. Mix white sugar, 1 Tbsp. flour and cinnamon together, sprinkle evenly over apples.
4. Pour water evenly over all.
5. Combine remaining ingredients, crumble over apples.
6. Bake for 45 minutes or until apples are tender.


* You can probably use margarine, but I've never tried it. Butter is just so much more lovely.

** I sometimes double the topping recipe, because I love it so much, and I have been known to add some coconut and/or nuts to the topping mixture, which I also love, but my family does not. They prefer their apple crisp pure and unadulterated.

of mice and me

I have an irrational but well-founded fear of mice. I grew up in the country, where the standard house sat on at least a 1 acre lot. Our house was next door to my grandparents house and directly behind us, my grandparents owned most of at least half the block, on which they raised horses - lots of horses - and 5 acres of alfalfa. If you know anything about horses and alfalfa, you probably also know that mice are a fixed part of this world. We found mice all over the place, and often heard them skittering around at night between the walls.

I have post-traumatic-stress-type memories of teetering on one of those old spinning office chairs, trying to avoid a mouse that popped up in the laundry room and ran dangerously close to my toes, and of finding a dead mouse or two while scooping out grain from the giant bin in the barn. Another time, my brother and I found a mouse in the kitchen, and cleverly managed to shoo it outside and into a giant pickle jar with a broom. I don't remember what happened after that; I was most likely standing on a kitchen chair, yelling at Paul to get it away from me.

Mice continued to haunt me at our cabin, in college, in my first married place. We actually moved from that place not long after finding a mouse. Really. Partially because of the mouse.
I had a bit of a break from mice after that until we moved into our little old house. It seemed mice were everywhere (I saw probably 2 or 3) which is the biggest reason why we now have a cat. In the contest between mice and cats, I definitely hate mice more.

Since the cat's been around, the only mice I've seen are dead; sometimes gruesomely torn apart. I hate them in this form too, but they are easier to avoid and the family knows to shelter me from them as much as humanly possible. After a few months of her being here, our cat had pretty much killed everything that moved and was smaller than her; mice, moths, beetles, birds, snakes, and what not. But occasionally she still hunts one out from somewhere. Last week she twice left dead things by the door, which always makes me fret there are more.

Then on Wednesday of this week she started stalking a space between the kitchen cabinets and the wall. She sat there for a couple of hours, sniffing, looking up and down. I let her into the cabinet under the sink and she did the same thing. A bad omen, I thought.

Last night, in the kitchen, I heard a scratching noise. When I got up to see where it was coming from, it stopped. Later, I opened the cupboard door to throw something away, and thought I saw a tail shoot behind the garbage can. I had Dave check it out. He found nothing; no tracks.

I went to bed and tossed and turned due to a number of things. I heard Dave come in and he soon fell asleep. I fell asleep too, but then woke up to a huge scratching sound. It sounded like the cat clawing the wicker chair, but I knew she was outside. I listened again; it was in the living room. I shook Dave, but he didn't wake up. I heard it again. So loud. I thought it might be a mouse stuck in the basket I keep by the piano. I shook Dave again, but when he got out of bed it stopped. He looked in the basket and shook it around. Nothing. No movement, no sound. He let in the cat. She ate, and went back outside. He offered to go get some traps. I said that was silly, it's late, I'm crazy, we know. But he looked at my face and left for the store.

I laid on my bed with the light on, staring at the basket with dread. Nothing. No movement, no sound. He came back, and let the cat in again. She ate, and went out. He set up the traps and blocked the space under our door. He knew I wouldn't sleep, but he quickly did. I tossed and turned about a number of things, but now, also this mouse.

A few hours later I heard it again. I sat up in bed and listened my best. It was the same scratching, the same noise, but not quite as loud, and it was in my room. I turned my head and saw Dave's feet move. They moved back and forth, quite a few times, brushing against the duvet. He was the mouse. I relaxed and went back to sleep, thinking how foolish I had been. Imagination is a powerful thing...

But he left the traps out, just in case. ;)

big blue meanies

I'm having a hard time sending my kids back to school this year. I'm not really sure why. Except that Abby is starting her first year at the high school and Max his last year of grade school. I guess it just feels like they are growing up too fast.

At home I trick myself into thinking I can completely protect them, shelter them from the evils of the world - big blue meanies and such. But at school they have to face all kinds of madness. Bullies, tyrants, disloyal friends. Okay, so they have never really had a problem with bullies or tyrants, but still! They are my babies, out there on their own.

Sometimes I wish I could still hold their hands, walk them down the hall and make sure their teachers know how truly great they are. Set up play dates with their friends. But I know I have to let go. I have raised them well. Now it's time for them to fly. And I will, they will.

But good heavens it's hard!