The 7 Deadly Sins

We've all heard of them, but can you name them? I hadn't given it a thought until niece Jamie called to ask if she could do her photography class project at my house on Saturday. Her assignment was to photograph objects using the 7 sins as the theme. I tried to remember what the original ones were since I've developed a few of my own over a span of years. Instead of pride, anger, envy, sloth, greed, lust and gluttony, mine now seem to center around eating, shopping, wasting time on the computer, not exercising enough, depending on the answering machine, night-owlness, and minor M&M consumption, luckily nothing too deadly, hopefully.

Jamie chose shoes as the object for the project. Her models were two gorgeous young women with great feet, Brittney and Emma. They arrived with no less than 25 pairs of shoes, everything from Converse sneakers to stiletto heels....va va voom! Jamie revved up her camera and started with the sin of Lust. She got a perplexed look on her face when she realized she'd forgotten to pack the sexy underwear to throw on the floor. She looked at me knowing full well I wouldn't be of any real help...I haven't been to Victoria's Secret in ages, but came up with a few things.

The girls dug in their heels, so to speak, and got to work. Jamie directed Brittney to kick off her black stilettos and look lusty.

Then she moved onto 16 year old Emma in Converse sneakers appearing gluttony, after strategically placing popcorn all over her lap, legs and the table.

Then back to Brittney who had climbed into her red stilettos. Her job for this shoot was to stomp one of her 5" lipstick red heels into the face of a mirror (already broken.) Anger at it's finest!

It was fun to watch the girls work together. Unfortunatley, the size of these photos don't do justice to her finished products, but you get the idea. Jamie has a gift of seeing things through a lens that many of us miss. The class is teaching technical aspects of camera use as well as testing her ability to photograph with interest. She has done some really incredible work so far. That's our girl.

Even Annie Leibovitz may have shoe photo envy someday! Get on board with these hot little kicks!

BTW...I now know there is an 8th sin...Iowa's loss to Wisconsin. Bummer in the 1st degree.

Our Nation's Capital with all the Birthday Bells and Whistles

After 4 glorious days in New Hampshire a few weeks ago helping friend Rose Marie turn 39 (again) I flew to Washington D.C. to celebrate another birthday with gal pal Melodee Hanes. I love people born in September. Maybe it’s because when I was 7, I got home from school one day and found a note on the cupboard saying our family owned a new September baby brother. I was finally old enough to understand it was OK to have siblings. Before then, I didn’t get the concept. (I’m sorry Lynne…I love you twice as much now to make up for not being too crazy about you when you were a baby.)

Anyway, my stay in DC lasted exactly 39 hours and we made the best of every minute. I arrived about 7 PM, and Mel and I headed to meet her significant other, Max, for dinner at a wonderful little outdoor bistro with stunning fare and nice wine. Afterwards we headed back to their home where I was sure Max was going to suffer a hernia after insisting he drag my 49.9 pound bag up a long flight of stairs. Their home is notable DC…18 feet wide, 50 feet deep, 2 stories high and historical to the max (no pun intended.) It’s also a beautiful work in progress since it is still being 'Melinized!' It has an iron fenced yard in front, an enclosed patio in the back, and warmth, charm and happiness in between.

Mel took her birthday off from work and after wishing Max the best of luck trying to keep our country out of hot water, we took off on bicycles to do the town. We started at the US Capital, then headed down the national mall, the long land corridor between the Capital and Washington Monument, to see what we could see.

Mel wanted to visit Dorothy’s Ruby slippers so we pedaled to the Museum of National History where we found the Emerald City…well, not really. It was on the 3rd floor and wasn't green at all. The bad news was there was no Wizard of Oz waiting for us, but the good news was we didn’t have to put up with 3 inept men, namely, a scarecrow, tin man, or cowardly lion. We saw the original Star Spangled Banner, tattered and torn while quietly humming, “oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…….” It was almost an eerie feeling thinking of what the actual night looked like with the bombs lighting up the sky. We then wandered into the exhibit displaying all the 1st ladies’ inaugural gowns, and onto other displays of history. We visited a very impressive sculpture garden, lunched on cheeseburgers, then headed to the war memorials to honor the fallen. I’ve seen them all before, but it didn’t matter, I still had the same feelings. WW2 brought memories of my Dad’s brother, Don, who lost his life during the war and what it must have been like for my grandparents to get the knock on their front door. Viet Nam took me back to what it meant to my family with my brother, Bob, right smack in the thick of things. And the Korean War memorial made me think of Paul and his call back to duty. From there we beat feet…or pedals, if you will, to return my steely steed to the bike rental so we’d be on time to meet friend Johnny Isakson, Senator from the great state of GA. He graciously carved out time to get together in between Senate duties and evening obligations. Johnny is Paul’s longtime friend who came to Iowa many past years to try to forget Washington, play golf and hang out with his buddies. He is a wonderful man and I am so glad he had an hour to visit and catch up. Let me tell you, after staying in the home of the Senator from Montana and then getting a glimpse of what Johnny’s schedule is like, if you don’t think those people work for America, you should go to Washington to see for yourselves. You may not agree with the goals they are working for, but it’s clear they aren’t afraid of long days. I came away with new found respect.

We stayed in the last night and dined on steaks, pasta and birthday cake…Mel’s idea. Her daughter, Kate came and some of the discussion was about her job with ‘Teach For America’ Her school is in inner, inner, and then a bit further inner DC. One of her students is named Douglas, a boy with multiple personality disorder…or so he thinks. Kate’s intuition is he may be a good actor and if he can get a one way bus ticket out of DC someday,

he may show up on the silver screen. But, more than likely, he won’t have a chance at a life other than what he knows.

Kate was late because of Parent Teacher conferences that evening….all of 2 parents showed up. Sounds like a new program called ‘Every Child Left Behind”…thanks to parents who are not parents. I applaud her for trying her best to make a difference in the lives of the kids who are products of such misery.

So there you have it. I loved being in our nation's capital and the time spent with my friend of 25 years. I also enjoyed getting to know Max better. Mel + Max = great Match!

If you find yourself in Washington and can ride a bicycle, it’s a tremendous way to see the sights. I've invited myself back since there is so much to see. A day isn’t nearly enough time….a month, maybe??

All Aboard: New Hampshire

Question: How many times might an Iowa girl be surprised at the 2010 September New Hampshire Highland Games Scottish Festival?

My trip to visit dear friends last week was just the best. It is a rare and blessed occurrence when high expectations are met with such perfection. Bob and Rose Marie Phillips aim to please, and please they do, every time.

I arrived on the eve of Rose Marie’s birthday and along with another couple, we dined at an intimate restaurant on the edge of town. My first order of business was to order a Lemon Drop martini (Rose Marie’s birthday drink of choice) and we toasted to her continued health and happiness.

We were lazy the next day. Bob played a round of golf and Rose Marie and I took a walk around their beautiful lake area and shopped for dinner items needed for the next night. Later we dressed for our big evening of festivities at the Highland Games Dinner Dance at Loon Mountain, a ski area about an hour away from their home. Rose Marie’s Scottish heritage was calling her to attend and Bob and I happily accommodated her wishes to celebrate her birthday Scottish style. She had her birth clan’s tartan plaid ready and waiting. It was red and I wore mine as a scarf. She had hers draped around her shoulders and waist and was a complete tartan knock out...smoking hot! Bob wore his plaid tucked in the lapel pocket of his jacket.

During cocktails, we were served a mysterious looking appetizer. It turned out to be Haggis, a traditional Scottish dish. It resembled a liver pate or, spam from a different culture, if you will, so I dug right in like a tartan trooper. Come to find out, the ingredients could have qualified for a Jeopardy answer and question, “A Scottish dish made from the stomach, liver, tongue and heart of a sheep.” “For $200.00, Alex, what is Haggis?” Oh, my God….I had just come from the Iowa nightmare of poor little dirty abused chickens laying contaminated eggs. Now I was eating sheep stomach, liver, tongue and a heart? I ordered more alcohol and kept my mouth shut…when in Rome….After I had calmed down, I enjoyed a delicious dinner of meats and veggies and turnips disguised as cheese balls. It was all good.

After dinner, the lights dimmed and the entertainment began. Let me paint a visual picture of the ambiance of the evening. Most of the ladies were in dressy casual attire with plaid accessories, but at least 50% of the men wore kilts and traditional Scottish attire; knee high socks, black leather shoes, dark cropped jackets and leather sporrans hanging from the waist. Those Scots were practical back in the day. Since a kilt has no pockets for keys, coins, etc., there was a need for sporrans, or bags to carry things in. I couldn’t help but notice the sporrans hung strategically in front of you know what and am not sure if that was by design or not. From a practical standpoint they not only carried things but were in a great place to give a guy protection from, say, a rabid Scottish Terrier trying to hit below the belt. Anyway, each clan from the genealogical beginnings of time somehow got to own their own particular plaid. In addition, it goes further in the fact each clan had a dress plaid, a hunting plaid and some other, probably mowing the lawn or hanging out plaid…whatever. Rose Marie came from the Leslie Clan and hers was predominantly red, but there was every color you would ever want to see.

The entertainment included an aspiring Gaelic singer, young girls dancing to the piercing sounds of the bagpipes, sword throwers doing amazing tosses high into the air, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police marching in unison to bagpipes and more. During all this, I was listening, and gazing around the room. With a particular glance, I casually looked in the direction of a kilt-clad gentleman across the dance floor. He was with his wife and obviously tired of sitting. He squirmed one way and then the other. With one particular squirm, he obviously forgot he was in a kilt. Now, the word on the streets of Scotland is that if you are man enough to wear a kilt, you are a wimp if, underneath, you wear the tighty-whiteys, if you get my drift. The poor bloke had squirmed spread eagle with nothing that looked even remotely close to white, plaid, or otherwise. I shook off the first glance but had to look again to see if I was imagining things. About the same time, two women at the next table zeroed in on 'kilt man gone wild' and went hysterical, verifying my thoughts he was sitting cheek to cheek upon the wool, so to speak. It was a very funny moment but I wasn’t quite ready for a super belly laugh since I was still a little nervous about any potential after effects from the Haggis and the long drive home.

So to answer the original question, a girl from Iowa at a Scottish Festival can be fooled twice. Apparently all it takes is a serving of sheep innards and a man in a kilt sans underwear! Great fun!

As for the rest of the trip, it was, again, a true pleasure to be the guest of the Phillips at their beautiful home on Lake Winnipesaukee. They introduced me to their close friends; we dined, golfed and revisited the fond memories of dear Paul over nightcaps of port wine and Amber. I could not have asked for a more heartwarming time. Thank you Bob and Rose Marie…if you are out there in blog land reading this!

(Personal note to the Phillips: Have you heard about the holiday warning that states “Get even…Give a Fruitcake.” I just MAY have to find a poor sheep with a shortened life span to see if I can come up with a proper Haggis delicacy to send my Scottish friends at Christmas!)

PS…our trip back to Loon Mountain the next day to watch the opening ceremony for the games produced a tartan plaid scarf for me….we searched and searched for my clan of choice and finally found it….the MacLeod Clan, Dress Tartan….BLACK AND GOLD….GO HAWKS! You can take the girl out of Iowa, but you can’t take the Iowa out of the girl!

From New Hampshire, I traveled to Washington D.C before returning to DSM. Read all about it in the next blog!

A Star is Born

Saturday afternoon I made my 4th trip to the State Fair. Many years we didn’t go at all so I think I made up for some of those missed times. Yesterday’s trek was for 2 specific reasons; to check out the photography and visit Paul’s 13 year old granddaughter, Katelyn, who worked this year at the Paul R. Knapp Animal Learning Center. On my way to the Center, her parents were dutifully waiting for her in the Bud Tent..(alright!) saw and flagged me down, so I joined them for a few refreshments. Afterwards we headed to the Center see ‘kid vet’ in action. Her duties included helping one of the Veterinarians, Dr. Hoy, an extremely nice man. (But then, have you ever met a Veterinarian you didn’t like, or a cute little girl following him?)
We spotted them right smack in the thick of things, the Dr. in his green scrubs and Katelyn, becoming as ever in her magenta staff uniform. They had their eye on a mama cow who was preparing to give birth to her first born. Our timing couldn’t have been better for front row positions to witness the blessed event. If you can believe, even at my tender age of 39 (OK, + 21) I’ve never seen a live birth up close and personal so this was going to be a brand spanking new experience for Auntie C.
Mom Cow’s labor process seemed rather odd to me. She quietly stood awhile, then paced some, then focused on the demonic camera man in her pen, stood some more, and paced and focused more. There was no screaming nor swearing obscenities at the poor bull who did it to her, or how she would make his life eternally miserable because of the pain she was having to endure at his doing.
Finally, after about a half an hour she laid down. That was the tip off the birth was eminent. The Dr. kept attentive with the hope nature would take it’s course and he wouldn‘t have to intervene. The wide eyed audience was practically breathing in tandem, teeth clenched, three separate inhales and quietly exhaling PUSHHHH, but in reality, she didn’t appear stressed at all, nothing close to the mental images of human birthing situations.

Then, suddenly, with a big contraction that produced a rounded, white, filmy, translucent sack, we saw a foot. Doc was looking for two and after a few minutes we saw the second little hoof. Soon after, we saw a nose, and not a small one, rather, a large nose that seemed to declare, “yes, I am a NOSE attached to a soon to be living, breathing life force so step aside, I'm coming out!"

At that point, mama was trying her best but things seemed to come to a standstill. So Doc bent down, stuck his fingers through the sack (that one kind of got to me…I’d have needed a hazmat suit) and pulled the two little feet towards him. That’s all it took and suddenly the complete body of a black, wet newborn lay in the hay. Mama was up in a flash and began to clean her small bundle of joy because, as you know, many pairs of eyes as well as two cameras were focused on her new little film star.
Because it was a she and since we were all thinking of Paul and his building, it was decided her name would be Paula. So on 8-21-10, at 4:20 PM,new baby calf Paula presented herself into the world. Today she is surely up, nursing like a pro and no doubt is the prettiest little calf in all the land. Soon she will head home to somewhere in rural Iowa with no realization she is a film star….“that’s a wrap. In the can," as they say!

Kids who grow up in a farming environment see this stuff every day, but as a city slicker, I found it so remarkable. So many people have commented on how much they have enjoyed the building and the attractions within. And because of yesterday’s event, I'm here to tell you that a quick, simple stroll through the building will, in no way, provide the real purpose of the Center. Next year, I encourage anyone who hasn’t seen a live birth to go and spend some time if you want to experience the true essence of the Learning Center. The organizers plan for pregnant animals to be on call, so to speak, therefore, plenty of opportunities exist to see new babies come into the world.

Just all in a day’s work for the animals, Dr's and staff. What a nice finale to my 2010 fair experience.

And speaking of stars, what a great way for starlet Katelyn to begin her community service career. Well done, kiddo!

Let Freedom Ring.....and soon, please?

A few weeks ago, in Council Bluffs, IA., my nephew Ben was called for his 2nd deployment in three years, this time Afghanistan. We may have guessed he had a calling for living on the edge sometime around age 4 when he would, without warning, take a leap of faith off anything high. Somehow he always landed upright and solid and that is what defines him today, upright and solid. He is a captain, an officer and a gentleman.

The men and women in this country who agree to leave for months on end to defend us certainly have far more courage and dedication than I. My courage and dedication is put to the test by simply attending a deployment ceremony. You can't believe what it is like to witness the stamina of the soldiers and their families as they say their final goodbyes in the 45 fleeting minutes before the bus pulls out. Little kids clinging to Moms and Dads, asking for the 1,000th time why they have to go away? It's impossible to keep one's mind in the moment because two thoughts completely take over. The first is the realization of the extreme sacrifice and safety factor of the soldiers. The other is wondering how those left at the station return home to immediately shape new life styles alone or as single parents for the next 12 months. They wake up alone Monday morning and know they own all the home front responsibilities for the upcoming year. Single handedly, they now must get the kids to daycare and school, go to work, pay the bills, unclog the toilets, shovel the snow, and nurse sick babies while suppressing all the nagging fears. What exactly are the calming words to explain why Daddy is halfway around the world in a foreign war zone and why he will be OK? How does one ensure the television never gets turned to an evening news channel so a 7 year old doesn't hear the negative media reports describing where her Dad now lives? The news scares the living daylights out of me, imagine being 5, 6 or 7 and hearing it? That has to be the hardest part.

Ben is 6 foot two and looks as rugged as the jagged mountainous Afghanistan terrain. But as rugged as he appears on the outside, inside he is beautifully balanced by a gentleness as a father and man.

We were all together Friday evening in Des Moines and Saturday evening in Council Bluffs. Afterwards, I wondered if, indeed, he is honoring his true calling. There was seldom a time he didn't have a child in his arms. Not only did he cuddle and spar with his own two, but also and often, he held close to his heart the small children of his sister, cousins and friends. It may be a rare quality to bark military orders by day and coo sweet nothings in kids' ears after the sun goes down. I wondered if his calling was to defend his country and help rid the world of the bad guys or own and operate a daycare? His love for kids is so obvious and pure.

So it hit me as I was writing my thoughts for this blog that maybe his motivation to fight and defend is quite simply for the purpose of trying to maintain the country as safe a haven as possible for our kids. Tall order, huh? Maybe he does see himself as a keeper of the kids, only in soldiers clothing.

I'm fairly certain Ben still gets his thrills jumping off high places, both mentally and physically. He has always landed exactly the way he should, perfect posture, upright and solid so I have no doubt he will continue to do so.

Let us pray for the safe return of every soldier. Also, pray this darn war can be won or controlled. It will be a very long year (again) for wives like Kyra, the kids, families and friends. And speaking of Kyra, like Ben, she has had to reach deep within to muster up the bravery to keep her worries in check and take care of their family. She is a survivor, amazingly strong and supportive and loves her husband very much. I am on TEAM KYRA.

To the best of his ability, Ben has promised his mother he won't see combat, but it isn't much comfort to the one who went through 12 brutal hours of combative labor to get him into this world. Therefore, she is a nerve ending to be reckoned with as well. I'm positive she would much prefer her son operate a daycare in Des Moines but she knows better. And underneath the worry is a woman who is extremely proud of the little boy she raised so well. His father, Tom, a military man himself, is a rudder, always calm and brings up the rear in true form every time. A good man can always be relied on and that is what defines Tom.

So, here's to my nephew and his fellow comrades who choose to serve the country. So far, it is a choice most of us wouldn't make in a million years. They are an elite group of amazing people. May God keep them out of harms way. And may the next 12 months go by in a blink. I'm looking forward to watching big Ben cuddle a little kid again. It truly comes natural to him...proof positive you are what you learn and a major reason why I am so very proud of my family's ability to raise such wonderful kids.

Hey Buddy, Can You Spare a Dime?

What's a dime got to do with anything? Not much unless it is one of your most prized possessions. As usual, most mental roads continue to lead back to Paul...but that's OK. As time passes, it's a much smoother ride. Loving memories.

In November, 2008, after a long and emotionally draining day during the move out of the AZ house, my sisters and I were beaten, tired and in desperate need of comfort and amnesia. Our savior was friend Deb who indulged us beautifully. Under the stars in warm swirling water with glasses of wine, we discussed past loved ones and the theory of pennies from heaven. Deb's father had suffered a premature death and her mother had told her if she found a penny, it was from heaven. I commented if it involved Paul, it would at least be a dime. Afterwards, at our Scottsdale home we found dimes everywhere. The most significant one was underneath the liner in his shaving and toothpaste drawer, far removed from where any dime would ever find its way. I marked it and kept it as my dime from heaven.

Since then, I have carried it, lost it, misplaced it, but always with the faith it will come back to me, proven true numerous times. Many times I have opened a drawer and found a dime, walked down a street and found a dime, reached into my purse and pulled out a dime, fished for the last washcloth in the dryer and found a dime. But, at times, the finding of a dime has been much more blatant, like once on a plane underneath my feet while thinking of Paul the whole time wishing he was with me...etc.

So, back to my dime. I hadn't seen it for months but thought it was probably in a pocket of a pair of jeans put away months ago and replaced with summer shorts. The weekend we all traveled to Ben's deployment ceremony to Afghanistan, I really needed my lucky dime. I looked everywhere it might be to no avail. And then, randomly, I moved a clock in the laundry room and found it within the interior of the frame...a place I have no idea how it got there...(me, I know, but... how, what, when and, WHY?)

So, tucked away in my pocket like a winning lottery ticket we traveled to Council Bluffs with my special dime linking Paul to us and his angelic presence at our side.

Paul and I attended Ben's deployment 3 years ago when he was called to Iraq. We traveled in our plane to Sioux Falls that day and by no means was it easy, but we both knew it was so very important to pay respects to the 100's of soldiers called to duty. As difficult and tiring a trip as it was, it was so well worth it.

OK, back to this trip. We arrived in different cars in Council Bluffs, checked into the hotel and went to our rooms. The plan was to meet at my sister Lynne's room to join everyone for dinner. When I knocked on her door, she opened it and asked if I had put a dime outside her threshold. I said no. She opened her hand and showed me a dime....we are pretty certain it is from heaven.

Ben's career choice to serve our country in this day and age was pretty awesome to Paul. They shared a love for hunting and fishing and guns and other things, but most noticeable was the commonality of humble dispositions.

I know Lynne will keep that dime forever, the dime from heaven, a sign that someone from above is watching over her son and will be his wingman...heaven to earth...Houston...we have contact.

So, if you see a dime somewhere, sometime, feel free to pick it up and think of an angel. And also, feel free to be an angel to those who need our prayers. We have so many young people who are trying their best to defend this county the only way they know how...please support them and hope for some miracle to end the desire of our enemies to destroy. That is probably a pipe dream but the other pipe dream is to collect enough dimes to make a difference...

Hey, buddy, have you got a dime?

Yes I do, have you?

Jesus Loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so...

As a kid in summertime, for a week or two, I attended a neighborhood Bible school. I recall listening to stories about shepherds, singing songs, and finishing each lesson with cookies and Kool Aid. In April of this year, a friend asked if I had an interest in an adult Bible study. My mind drifted back to summers in the 50’s; shepherds, cookies, songs, cookies, fond memories, cookies… I had to say yes.
The topic for the study was The Book of Esther. My friend is a veteran at religion so the risk for me was looking like a total ignoramus religious illiterate. However, I figured the 8-week study would feed my curiosity regarding spirituality, an interest that has been quietly percolating for the past two years. The timing was good.
The book of Esther details the use of a woman’s power to carry out God’s calling for her. It’s a love story between God and his children, a man and a woman, and a woman with God and her people. Romance, good vs. evil and some mixed in drama is a recipe for a truly good story. Here you will get the $1.98 version. If you want the real deal, you’ll find it under ESTHER in the Bible.
Sometime around the 5th century B.C., Esther, a beautiful young Jewish woman was, along with others, chosen for the King’s harem. Extreme physical beauty was a benefit even back then, not a particularity liberal concept for those who support the feminist movement. However, at the same time, she was well aware it was not cool to be Jewish due to a misunderstanding between an evil kingdom official and one of her relatives so she changed her given name of Hadassah to Esther to hide her identity. Also, she knew her beauty was a God given virtue to carry out his will to save the Jews, and I’m here to tell you, not only did she save them, she played the bad guy, the one who wanted her people destroyed, like a fiddle.
After her entry into the palace and because of her drop-dead gorgeousness, Esther was chosen by the king to be his gorgeousness highness wife. But she was no dummy. She realized she was noticed because she was pretty. She was pretty because she was there to be placed on the chessboard. And she was on the chessboard because she had been called upon to save her people. See how this is working toward the common good? Through an intricate course of events, she overturned the death order of all the Jews, the order originally suggested to the king by the evil official named Haman. He was a pompous, self righteous, totally miserable man with absolutely no manners. Ultimately, she managed to be in the right place at the right time. Conversely, evil Haman was in the wrong place at the right time. Thus, his miserable, villainous real self was exposed to the king and he was hung to death instead of Esther’s Jewish cousin who, by the way, had earlier and without public fanfare, saved the king from assassination. And so it was re-ordered that the Jews be spared. I told you the girl knew how to put her ducks in order.
The story of Esther is about her struggles and convictions more than 2000 years ago. The study for us was about how the those struggles still exist today and how we might use our convictions to deal with them. We all recalled situations like those encountered by Esther, (except, of course, being kidnapped and placed in a king’s harem…) But seriously, somewhere along the way, we all remembered being negatively controlled by something or someone. We recalled seeing damage done by an unscrupulous or self-serving person. We had all been hurt because of a misunderstanding or been thought less of for not appearing good enough in another's eyes. And we’d all witnessed someone important to us be ridiculed with no recourse on our parts.
But on the bright side, we all agreed that eventually, right always trumps wrong. We remembered the good feeling of practicing self-denial for the good of a cause and what it feels like to not betray a trust. And, we all agreed we strive to maintain the faith that God’s Will be done with the understanding it might not be obvious but to trust it anyway.
Esther accomplished her goal. Her people were saved, the evil Haman lost his life, and her handsome king loved her forever more. The bottom line message here seems to be if we keep our faith and choose the right path for the right reasons we will be led to the right department.…(2nd floor…designer shoes…heaven sent…guaranteed!)
It was an interesting 8 weeks. The added bonus was meeting a group of very lovely women who not only study the Bible but live it on a regular basis. I certainly didn’t measure up but they put up with me anyway. It’s another entry on my personal life resume. When it all boils down, isn’t it about learning and living all the good we can before we are called to the final testing station?
So, friends, when you think you can’t deal with a problem, think of that humble, spunky little hottie Esther who served her God so beautifully. She managed to take out the bad guy and save a whole race while hardly working up a sweat. Her makeup didn’t even run. AND she lived happily ever after with the king, no less. She has my respect and I am going to look for equally good messages in the Bible for continued mental digestion.
Ironically, that bible study happened simultaneously with reading the book, THE SHACK, an account of a man’s weekend spent with God at the place where is his young daughter was found murdered. The author suggests, rather unconventionally, what God expects of us…or, surprisingly, doesn’t. It is a work of fiction, but certainly food for thought. Will blog about it when I figure out what to say…
Until then….find something Estherish to do…you will feel good. Marrying a king might not be a viable option, but then, if you are single and can find one, I say go for it!

"More Sugar, Peeeez"

A picture is worth a thousand birthday blogs.

to, Too, TWO

Two years ago, Jaxson William Paul Barry’s arrival came just in time to prevent me from seriously jumping off a bridge. His mother signed me up for babysitting duty and anything else she could think of to get my mind off me and on our family's new bundle of joy. Since his arrival in 2008, he and I have come a long way. Jaxson, the tiny newborn, was incapable of anything but eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, sleeping and crying. Today he is a healthy, totally movie star adorable two year old. His Auntie C, after losing dear Paul, was almost in the same shape as the newborn. I remember sometimes eating, definitely drinking, sleeping and crying, (other bodily functions a given.) But, here we both are, two years later in fairly good shape. He can count to ten, I can, too. He can zip through a mall faster than the speed of sound, I can, too. He can eat very few vegetables and lots of ice cream….I can, too!

Sometimes I see him a few times a week and sometimes a few weeks go by without a meeting. Recently, two weeks had come and gone. It’s incredible what happened to that little kid in such a short time. He came in the house talking more, performed beautifully when his mother asked him to count to ten (uhn,ta,te,fa,FIVE,ss,sss,ah,NINE,te...) and was no longer content in the stroller while his mom and I later tried to shop. I never knew it is so much fun to watch a kid develop. In that span of time, he also got game, so to speak….pulled a Mike Tyson on a little kid at daycare, knocked him down and bit him. It happened to Jaxson about a year ago. Apparently what goes around comes around, but the consequence was having to listen to many stories about how biting hurts, how pushing isn’t the desired method for taking back a toy and what a real time out is all about. Not funny… (but funny!) He understood the lesson because his mom said he wouldn’t even bite his food for two days!

His parents are doing a terrific job and it's fun to watch how they all interact. I can’t imagine his angelic face without teeth in a few years, or what he will be like as a big brother one day. And how it will break his mother’s heart when he undoubtedly will someday decide his family is no longer cool. But growing and changing is how life works, or is supposed to.

And talk about embracing the magic of newness. Just think about being two. Some compelling developmental force propels or pulls a child through the tunnel of knowledge without choice. Their brains must be like sponges, developmentally controlled by what they see, hear, feel, taste and smell.

I’ve discovered there absolutely is no sound on earth as sweet as that of a laughing child. I don’t care how bad you feel, it is like Ben Gay for the inner soul. Jaxson owns a laughter that inspires me, a cry that is a reminder life is not perfect, and an inquisitiveness and peacefulness that gives me hope for the upcoming years.

Happy birthday Jaxson.Barry.com. Upward and onward! Can’t wait to race you though the next year.

Love, Auntie C.

The Art of Argument and Balance of Debate

In the past few weeks and on more than one occasion, the topic of argument has come up in conversation. How we learn to argue sets the course for how we deal with differences of opinion the rest of our lives. I grew up in an average middle class family and my parents were healthy debaters. That isn’t to say they didn’t get along, they had 7 children so they got along at least 7 times in their 50+ years, but I swear they were the forerunners for the sitcom characters Edith and Archie Bunker. When they got into heated debate and I would ask them to quit arguing, my mother would say, “Honey, we’re not arguing, we’re discussing.” Their style was to take a position and defend it until h*ll froze over.

Does the desire to try to control an opinion often times overrule common sense? Do we respect other opinions regardless of ours? Agree to disagree? Or argue until it freezes over?

Are kids learning to solve or just to argue? Maybe debate should be an ongoing requirement of school curriculum. Sophistication of the home environment and parental maturity doesn’t necessarily determine whether a child will learn to argue and solve differences constructively. When a small child wants something he can’t have, an adult intervenes and explains the reasoning of denial or sharing. When a fight ensues with a peer, we tell our child to look for the fair ground and work out the difference. But when mom and dad are in full blown, ‘I’m not changing my mind no matter how long I’m cut off’ is when a child really learns are art of the fight and/or subsequent resolution. So to prepare kids for the real world of public and private debate, a conscious effort to teach constructive resolution should be foremost. Most of my generation can argue with the best of them, but can we really say we’ve learned how to resolve or agree to disagree? Kids need to learn to win when right and lose when wrong but when there is no meeting of the minds, to resolve without hurt feelings and anger. That’s the real art of the lesson. (I know you are all thinking I live in a dream world now that it’s only me and the dog.)

Winning should be the objective, but only to a certain point. With thought, maybe we can teach generation XX to win, or lose, or agree to disagree with respect. In the heat of battle, that final controlling word, the one that breaks the camel’s back, or worse, a friendship, may not be that important.

All dogs Go to Heaven

Until Thursday, Gunnar, a sleek, silver gray Weimaranar, was an earth dog. He belonged to my sister and her husband and was 5 months old when they rescued him from an abusive family. He was 6 years old when he stepped over the line of safety and was put down. For the 5 and a half years in between, he was worked, cared for, protected, reprimanded, and loved more because of the major insecurities he developed in the first few months of life.

Lynne's goal was to retrain Gunnar to be happy and secure. Years of obedience schools, Animal Rescue League work, hospital pet therapy and lots of love made her as good a rescuer as anyone. But as hard as she and her family tried, Gunnar's early development to mistrust could not be reversed. He began his life in the household of argumentative people and another dog who was mean and abusive. He learned self preservation the hard way. It wasn't until his second home did he show any signs of trust. Lynne and Tom were diligent in keeping him safe. They knew Gunnar was a dog negatively impacted by human failure. A door left open, a fence to dig under gave him a way out. Not only would he run rampant, but his suppressed insecurities would spring to the surface as well. Gunner's increasing unpredictability forced Lynne come to terms with those failures and make the heartbreaking decision to euthanize.

Pet ownership demands responsibility from beginning to end. Cohabitation in a friendly environment with other animals and humans has to begin immediately and continue forever. If abused or neglected, the probability of negative socialization is very high. And as Lynne and Tom proved, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn't put their abused Humpty Dumpty back secure again.

The ultimate accountability lies in the decision to let a dog go that shows all the signs of potential harm to himself regardless of the amount of love. I watched my sisters' tears fall on Gunnar’s peaceful head while we quietly waited for the Vet‘s euthanizing shot. It was then, at that sight of the two of them, one in pain, the other so relaxed, I understood it was only in her presence Gunnar would ever feel completely safe and secure and, therefore, be trustworthy. Anywhere else, he was fearful. She had faced the sad fact that not every single time could she depend on herself to keep the crucial door to danger closed. Human failure. Human responsiblity.

It comes from the highest authority that all dogs go to heaven. I have to think Gunnar is now running as far as his strong legs and beautiful stride will take him. The only difference is he now races through heaven’s endless wheat fields with blue skies above. I hope there are rabbits for him to chase; ones with no flesh, only wisps of spirit to give him the thrills of his heavenly lifetime. That strong, handsome guy earned his freedom.

A DOG IS A GENTLEMAN; I HOPE TO GO TO HIS HEAVEN SOMEDAY, NOT MAN’S. ~MARK TWAIN

Standing Tall

Question? Does a person need legs to stand tall and proud? Theoretically the answer is yes, but it’s not true.

On this Memorial Day, I think of two very special men who stood so tall and proud. Both were strong and vital and beautiful specimens of the human race but finished their life races without the aid of their legs. One was my father, the other was my husband. My Dad was a double amputee from the effects of diabetes. My husband suffered from RA and his legs and feet were often so painful there were times he may have wished them gone. At the end, neither could physically stand alone, yet both stood very, very tall.

Life with them made it clear standing tall really has nothing to do with legs. It has to do with humbleness and dignity and grace. It has to do with kindness. It has to do with acceptance.

Today is the day we honor those who fought the battles for us, tall and proud, with or without legs to stand on.

I loved a facebook entry that said, "Happy Memorial Day!(y)" A daily dose of rememberance might just be what the balance Dr. ordered. Have a great one.

Last Lash Standing

A few weeks ago after having a long leisurely lunch with a friend, we went to the mall to pick up her daughter. The topic of eyelashes came up and in the blink of an eye we were all lined up at the Aveda counter having teenzy tiny clumps of false lashes glued on to our own. I felt a bit threatened because smearing glue all over my fairly decent eyelashes was not a particularly comforting thought. But no glue no glory and I let the glue flow. We left with lashes so long I imagined looking like we were sporting swim fins on our eyelids.

All went well for a few days until the morning I saw a mini clump in the sink. After that, more fallen clumps began to appear. But as luck would (not) have it, some continued to hang on for dear life. A half fallen out set of fake eyelashes isn't a great look especially right before an upcoming week of birthday celebrations. My attempts to gently remove the remaining lashes with hot water, eye makeup remover and Vaseline failed. Nothing but time and glue wardrobe failure was going to budge the rest of the thinned out clumpies on my lids.

As of today I am left with one last remaining clump...middle of right eye and now seems long enough to braid. But what fun it was to be a glam for a few days! Realistically, I probably could have passed for Marilyn Monroe's great grandmother.

They say beauty is only skin deep and since the beginning of time we girls have been trying to pull beautiful rabbits out of beautiful hats. However, we must remember to keep our inner beauties glammed up, too. I don't know about any of you, but I think I'll give all my little inner beauties full permission to beat the living crapola out of every fat cell, cellulite curd and age spot that comes near. And that, my friends, is inner beauty at it's best. Sticking up for what sticks out!

Power to the people....inside and out!

At the Movies

I ran the gamut this weekend in the movie room as I watched the funny and very sexually explicit 'The Hangover' followed by 'My Sister's Keeper.' Talk about going from the ridiculous to the sublime.

Both movies hit nerves of tension and compassion in completely different ways. For those who haven't seen 'Hangover', the story is of 4 friends who lie about where they are going for their bachelor party. They go to Las Vegas and end up losing the groom. Through 48 hours of panic, they finally find him, clean him up the best they can and arrive at the wedding 2 minutes before the bride is ready to call it off due to a MIA groom. Funny, stupid, very racy and now just a bad memory.

On the other hand, I will think about 'My Sister's Keeper' for quite awhile. The story is about a sister who was created in a petri dish for the specific purpose of helping her older sister battle Leukemia. While the reasoning was sound, the DNA designed sibling was used and somewhat abused during a lifetime of contributing stem cells, white blood cells, bone marrow, etc. She felt loved, loved her older sister, but wanted medical emancipation. It is a heart wrenching account of where parental panic of the impending loss of a child might lead.

It made me think back to the times we got threatening news of one of Paul's illnesses. I would vow to find the answer to the cure. It was as if not only his life depended on it but mine as well. Love and selfish dependency so intertwined it was impossible to see the painful forest for the trees and/or nature taking its course. Objectivity completely lost. The mother in the story didn't let go because it never occurred to her to do so. In her never ending quest to save her daughter she lost sight of the harm it was doing to her entire family.

Very thought provoking story. How far would you go to try to save your child's life? Let me know what you think. Blog back!!

So there you have it from the critic's corner. Sex, lies and laughter to pain, suffering and death all in one short weekend. (note to self: this is the Adventures of the NEW Carol...stick with the comedys.)

And today is the first day of the rest of my life with Netflix. Let me know if you want to watch a movie...order early today, here tomorrow!

My First Blog

It took 60 years and a week, but as of today, I am an official blogger. Leave it to wonderful niece Jamie to drag me into the 21st cyber century. She seems to be my biggest cheerleader...and more power to her. Since my industrious creative writing class last year, I have hardly written a word and she's been on me about it. "Don't waste a college education," sayeth she.

Anyway, here I go.. jumping into the blog end of the pool with, hopefully, worthwhile information, or, worthless information, who knows? We'll see how this goes.

Here's to world peace.

The new Carol