Seen at a Gas Station in Michigan

A friend sent this our way today, and we found it amusing, if a little too close to home.

What are You Smothered In?

My youngest is enamored of liquid soap lately. When she is sent to wash her hands, we often have to go rescue the sink ten minutes later. I know its a phase, and they've all gone through it, leaving me slightly poorer in the household goods department. I'd rather have them with clean hands than filthy.

But I got an insight last week into what spurred this interest for her. I had, once again, sent her to wash sticky hands, and subsequently forgotten about it. When, several minutes later, my brain became aware of the fact that the bathroom water was still running, I dashed into said room prepared to give her the stock 'water wasting' lecture (that's lecture #103 in my Mommy repertoire)

She was standing on the stool, smothered in liquid soap, the water running uselessly. Her chubby little hands were working, rubbing the soap vigorously all over her skin, with the stuff glistening from fingertip to elbow. I somehow overcame my initial reaction (screaming) and sardonically asked her if she was done.

"Yup!" She nodded, sticking two fingertips under the water to rinse, "Now my hands will be clean for allllllll day!"

She hopped down from the stool, having only removed 0.03% of the soap, and headed for the towel.

"Oh, no you don't!" I caught her and set her wriggling three-year old frame back onto the stool.

"Mommy!!" She protested, "The soap makes me clean!"

"Only if you rinse it off," I countered, turning on the water and grabbing a washcloth, "if you leave the soap on, it's sticky and makes more dirt cling to your hands..."

She was already on to her next activity in her mind, and after three children, I should know better than to try to reason with a toddler, but that little conversation stuck in my mind. My kid thought that soap makes her clean.
Well, it does, but it makes you clean by loosening dirt and grease particles from the surface of your skin, and binding with them, and then the bound dirt washes away under the water. If you soaped up and never rinsed, well, you'd have as many sticky doorknobs and fridge handles in your house as I do!

How many of us smother ourselves in something cleaning or bettering, but never utilize the true benefits of it?

I have seen people immerse themselves in Biblical (or other) teaching, but never put any of the learning to use. This is just as useless as un-rinsed soap!

I myself am guilty of this- as an incredibly insecure person, I have turned to sharp criticism to cloak my perceived shortcomings. This affects every relationship that I am in.

I have watched my own father listen to and read the Bible day after day, year after year, only to go and gruesomely fail his own marriage, lie to people, cheat in business, and generally be a semi-criminal. The Bible teachings, meant to grow us personally, have only coated him, not penetrated into his soul and washed away the lust, avarice, and dishonesty.

I have watched people that are somewhat prone to hedonism turn to severe teetotaling, rather than learn to moderate their lifestyle. In the presence of freedom, their minds cannot handle their own bend to possible badness, and they feel the need to smother themselves in rules and legalism. The exact thing that Christ came to free us from, and they've ducked right back into it!

I have watched people smother themselves in substance to dull the pain of existence, smother themselves in self-indulgence to reward some inner childish inclination, or smother others in criticism, mockery, flattery, whatever fulfills some perceived need.

What we need to do with the good things in our lives- the teachings and lessons and Bible readings and self-discipline- we need to allow the root of it penetrate our thick skins and get down to do what it really needs to do: change us from within. A coating of something good will eventually wear off, but in the meantime bad things can stick to it:

If you smother yourself in Bible teaching without learning, you will find yourself confused.
If you smother yourself in rules without true basis or reward, you will find yourself self-righteous.
If you smother yourself in substance to dull the pain without getting to the root of the pain, you will find yourself ill.
If you smother yourself and others around in criticism and reprimand without love and peace and kindness, you will find yourself alienated and alone.

When Kid #3 smothers her hands in soap and doesn't rinse them off, they get dirty faster, regardless of what she thinks. She will learn, in time, to rinse thoroughly.

Hopefully, she will learn faster than her mommy and her grandpa did how to really separate the dirt from the good.

Renter's Rant

I am one of those people who rent. I have never actually owned a home of my own, just moved from place to place, paying my landlords' mortgages. It kind of sucks, but it is nice to be able to uproot and go when we need to. Someday we'll own, but only when the time is right.

The house that we are currently renting is very nice, but is becoming more than we can bear financially. We are in the process of looking to downgrade, and I am (once again) finding myself increasingly frustrated by the entire process.

First of all, there are misleading listings. If the listing says '2/3 bedrooms', I can know that it has TWO bedrooms actually, with some weirdo pretend room with no door and no privacy. This isn't a room, buddy, its a den. Or a study. Or a parlor. Or a closet, for crying out loud. Call things as they are.

Secondly, if a home is less than a thousand square feet, but meant for a whole family, don't call it spacious. That's just not true, not even in Manhattan.

Thirdly, and this is really burning in my brain today, don't say the word 'clean' in the listing unless it is. When your classified ad says 'clean', I am expecting just that. When I walk into the rotting kitchen to find the actual meal that the last renters cooked still splattered on the stove- from six months ago- that is not clean.
When I open a cupboard door and my fingers stick to the remnants of god-knows-what, I will shudder, twitch with nausea, and determine that if you are ever my landlord, I will make your life a living misery. We're talking water heater broken in the middle of the night calls- that is what you deserve for not cleaning the kitchen and pretending its okay.

Fourth (can I still use the 'ly' suffix? at what point does that cease to make sense? hundred-ly?) there is the fine point of bathrooms. Bathrooms should not be carpeted. (neither should dining rooms, but I digress) If a bathroom has only a shower- no tub- it is three-fourths of a bathroom, and should be listed as such. If a bathroom has extensive water damage, maybe you should fix it before renting. If the hot and cold water taps are mixed up- at least tell your renter so that on the first night they move in the lady of the house does not scald her hands from the 'cold' tap. Bathrooms should not leak in most places, toilets should work, drains should be open. It's just common decency.

Once you are my landlord (if you're the honest kind), I will do my best to get you your checks on time. I will decorate your house, take loving care of it, hang pretty curtains in the windows, and plant a garden. I will take care of your home as if it were my own. I know that not all renters do this, but I am not all renters.
So, since I am treating your home like one of my own children- please make sure the toilet works! We have to use it! And if it does die, and you are finally able to accept that fact, buying a cut-rate 'floor model' toilet is just, well, crappy. (sorry!)

If the dishwasher doesn't work, replace it. Soon. If the floor has a gaping hole, fix it. Now. There are reasons that our country has slumlord laws.

I understand that the downturn in the economy has made many a mortgage payer an accidental landlord. I understand that quite possibly you do not want this duty and resent the people in your home. But if you maintain the Golden Rule- doing unto others as you would want done to you- you just may find yourself tenanted for longer periods of time. And you'll find less trouble once people leave.
And maybe, just maybe, you'll feel better about yourself.

To Test Drive- Or Not!

"Waiting for marriage!" People snort derisively, "Wouldn't buy a car without test driving it first, would ya?!?"

I have heard this often over the years, and never really had an answer ready. I would merely shrug, happy in my own choices and standards.

I waited until marriage, and so did my husband, Michael. We are the blessed in the fact that we have a wonderful marriage, love life, and ongoing relationship. We didn't have a 'test drive' first in the sense of sleeping together- a few kisses were enough to let us know that we were passionately compatible!

And this morning, after ten and one half glorious years of marriage, the answer came to me in the shadows of pre-dawn- we didn't even need a test drive.

Sure, if you're going to the car lot to buy a used Saturn station wagon you may want to find out what you are getting. But if you have a Father, a really cool dad for whom money is not an object, you may have a different situation.

Imagine waking up one morning and looking out your bedroom window. Sitting in the driveway is a neon blue Ferrari Tessarosa. With your name on it. All yours, free and clear.

Are you going to whine about a test drive?? No! You're going to run out the door, barely remembering to thank your Dad, grab the keys, and start that baby up! It's been lovingly custom made, months of work and engineering and painting and tiny details, all for you. It's been handpicked by Someone who knows you the best, and although it will require maintenance, it is free. And yours. Forever.

When I bought my first car, I saved and worked and saved and worked. I walked into Weidner Motors one cloudy afternoon and plunked down $3,500 of my own sweat-stained money for a Ford Taurus station wagon. It was a great car, but within a few years I had outgrown my need for it. I sold it to a lovely Mexican lady in Tucson, and moments later had to chase her through the mall parking lot when I remembered my U2 tape was still in the deck! I have a few photos of that car, and some fond memories, but it was just a phase in my life.

When Michael entered my life, it was like finding that perfect match. His ragged edges fit my ragged edges and we completed each other. We didn't need to experiment to know that we were right for each other- we knew that we had been hand-picked by Someone who loved and knew us more than we ourselves knew us!

Our marriage has required maintenance- regular fill-ups of encouragement, costly date nights, inexpensive date nights, teary 'discussions' about everything from finances to why he can't seem to remember that I hate yellow roses, and the occasional spontaneous burst of love in a letter or song.

Unlike that Taurus wagon, I haven't outgrown my need for Michael. I still curl to his back at night, until my body heat spikes and the comforter becomes a raging inferno (anybody else have this problem? I need an ice-pack nightgown). Somehow, in the early morning gloaming, when the house is cooler and the blankets have made their way almost to the bathroom, our hands find each others and, mid-sleep, we once again snuggle together as tightly as we can fit. I have my heavenly Father to thank for the perfect match, the ultimate, custom-made mate that I will never need to upgrade or replace.

And I don't think he'll depreciate, either.

Nighttime Symphony

When I was about 17, I went with my dad to Kansas in order to help him build a Renaissance booth.

It was a miserable three weeks- sticky heat, hard work twelve to sixteen hours a day, and only my schizo dad for company. I learned how rice smells when you accidentally leave it, closed, out in the summer heat for three days (really, really bad). I learned how to put up a roof truss, and how it feels when one swings down and whacks you in the back all of a sudden (knocks the wind outta you for half an hour!) and I learned how concerts sound from the back of an amphitheater (pretty awful, especially Hootie & the Blowfish)

Construction work, while never my strong point, is incredibly satisfying. Watching a structure of our own design take shape and go up was incredible, and even though my dad and I fought a lot, we also bonded.

One night our wrists were in particularly bad shape after a day of stapling and air nailing. The heat prevented sleep, the tendons in our arms were tingling and buzzing all the way up to our shoulders, and a Pantera concert was raging away next door. I lay awake just trying to massage the pins and needles out of my right arm. My dad had outfitted the van (our 'camper' for the interim) with an ingenious velcro & screen system that enabled us the keep the creepy-crawlies out while letting air pass through. The bugs that night were particularly energetic, flinging themselves bodily at the fiberglass van with enough force to make actual clunks.

They were probably trying to escape Pantera as much as we were...

Nearly as suddenly as it began, the din from over the fence ceased. When abruptly left with an absence of noise, your ears sharpen for the tinier sounds around you. I heard cicadas in the distance start their song, then a pair nearer me answered back. A few trees over, a similar but different song rang out, with staccato answers from the trees near the shower house. Then the frogs in the creek started up...

Within ten minutes, the entire fairgrounds was enveloped in sound. Not just sound, but a cacophony of insect, bird, and animal noise. It soothed me, and I lay back on my sweaty little pillow, forgetting about my tingling arm for a moment. Then I realized something- it wasn't just a random pattern of chirps and croaks- it was a melody. I mean this in the most literal sense.
I know very little about music, but I know a rhythym when I hear one. This was a rhthym: click, chirp, bzz, click, echo. Repeat. The bugs in that area of the U.S. are massive- we found cicadas over two inches in length and a luna moth with a five-inch wingspan- and apparently talented!

The sound got to be nearly deafening when the roadies next door packed up and left. As human activity ceased, the creatures around us became bolder with their music. Tree answered tree, frogs called for and found their mates, and the forest resounded with a symphony. It was, by far, the most beautiful thing that I have ever heard. I slept well that night, despite the heat and extreme fatigue.

God had set His very own creatures in motion to sing for me a lullaby, and they were so joyous at the prospect that I received, instead, a concert.

Fun Kid's Citrus Shake-up Drink!

When the weather warms up and the kids clamor for lemonade, we have come up with a way of fixing lemonade that is fun for them!

Requirements:

• Mason jar with tight-fitting lid, quart size is good. If we run out of these, we use old pasta sauce jars, just so long as that lid fits well!!
  

• Citrus fruit, any kinds, cut into quarters. Our favorite mix is: one half of a lemon, one half of a lime, and one quarter of a tangerine. You can use whatever you have lying around, however.
• Sugar, appx 1/2 cup. Demerara or turbinado is excellent because of the larger crystals, they cut the fruit better and taste amazing!
• Ice
• Water!

Start by putting the citrus and the sugar, dry, into the Mason jar. Works best if you kinda squeeze the citrus just a little first, but you don't really have to. Screw the lid down tight and let your kids take turns shaking the heck outta that jar. The harder they shake, the better tasting the drink will be!



When the sugar looks saturated, run some warm water, about a cup's worth, into the jar and let the kids shake again. My three year-old can handle it even at this weight, I just have her stand on the kitchen sink rug in case it slips out of her grip.

When the sugar is dissolved, run some cold water in that jar, and shake it just a bit more. You now have somewhat concentrated citrus-ade! Pour it over ice and enjoy!!

Try adding interesting things, like mint, fresh lavendar, a sprig of thyme, or whatever you can think up.

This method makes the tastiest drink not only because it is fun (and fun always tastes better) but because the sharp edges of the sugar crystals gently pierce the actual rind of the citrus skin, adding a finite amount of citrus oil to your drink. We all know how lovely lemon zest tastes- adding that in tiny increments to your standard lemonade is utterly divine!

Prince Caspian - A Review

I had to be dragged to this, the latest installment of C.S. Lewis' epic series. Once again, I have to thank my dear husband and children for their stubbornness.

Disney seems to have outdone themselves in translating Lewis' work. Despite a few badly timed jokes, the movie rolls smoothly and has a very grand feeling.

For characters, we are treated to the Pevensie children again: darling Lucy, formidable Susan, noble Peter, and impulsive Edmund. The actors themselves have grown in the three years since filming The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Georgie Henley as Lucy is still small, dimpled and charming, but her big 'sister' Anna Popplewell is a young lady now. Skandar Keynes as Edmund no longer seems to be a cute little boy but is now an adolescent, complete with voice change and thinner face. William Moseley, playing the oldest boy Peter, is nearly an adult now, with a striking resemblance to Prince William. When his handsome young face first appeared on the screen I heard quite a few gasps and giggles from the younger set of girls in the cinema.
A face that got even more of a rave review, however, was that of the young Prince Caspian, Ben Barnes. Soulful dark eyes and a strong jaw on this young man make for a teenage girl's heartthrob, I suppose. He played his part admirably, but the few tender moments between himself and the budding Susan were a bit overplayed, I think. I do not think that he is as talented an actor as the four children who play opposite him as the Pevensies, but I don't think it really detracted from the movie.

One great treat (for me, at least) was seeing the extremely talented Warwick Davis play Nikabrik, the treacherous Narnian dwarf. We are all familiar, hopefully, with Warwick from the epic movie Willow, and if you haven't ever seen that movie I demand that you run right out and rent it! You may have also enjoyed Warwick more recently as the manically depressed robot Marvin in Douglas Adam's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Warwick played opposite another familiar face, Peter Dinklage. As Trumpkin, Dinklage is a crusty and snide dwarf who eventually finds friendship and hero status with the little troup of evil-fighters.

I recently had the pleasure of watching Sergio Castellitto in Bella Martha (or Mostly Martha), the original German-language version of the considerably inferior American film, No Reservations.

Castellitto is a hard-working actor and director from Italy, and I am glad to see him start to appear in more mainstream films over here. His smoldering looks and excellent acting make for the perfect villian in this film, Miraz, Caspian's evil and power-hungry uncle.

Cornell John is both noble and magnificent as the centaur Glenstorm. In one scene, he reared up in slow motion to surge into battle, and it was truly one of the best cinematic experiences of my life!
The battle scenes were truly epic. After the LOTR trilogy, I suppose directors are under pressure to create overwhelming emotion and granduer on the battlefield, and I do not think they did themselves under in this movie. Shot in both glorious New Zealand and under-appreciated Czech Europe, the scenery was a treat for the senses and a further inspiration to travel! (Someday!)

The story itself is one, once again, of fighting evil with good, of faith tested and tempered. We see the central characters struggle once again with loyalty, pride, kindness, and wise choices. We thrill when Peter vanquishes an enemy but is noble enough to not take a life, and we cheer when Susan's arrows- swift and true- find their mark.

It is not, however, a re-telling or re-hash of the first film in any way. There are no tiresome flashbacks, no overly embroidered storyline, and no inexplicable plot twists for the sake of idiotic producers. Someday, I will meet Clive Staples Lewis (what a name, no wonder he took to writing!) in heaven and I shall give him a huge hug, after asking humbly for his autograph.

This film did resort to a bit more modern banter than the first, and the snob inside of me cringed ever so slightly. But these few times were not horrible, and I do feel that they connect with the modern generation better than a lot of stuffy British colloquilalisms from WWII.

The story addressed a crisis of faith, and meshed perfectly with my own personal drivel, for which I am profoundly grateful. But moral lessons aside, this movie will fill you with a sense of triumph, hope, and humility.

Go see it, by all means.

COUNTRIES OF THE WORLD QUIZ!

63

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

Decade

The dress I married in rests in a cedar chest at the foot of our bed. It is there as a reminder of our beginnings, but we seldom think about it as go about our daily lives.

Ten years ago. Well, ten years and a few months now, as I meant to do this post sooner.

We were young, so very young. People told us we had no idea what we were getting into- and really, we didn't. But we knew that we loved each other, and we knew that we could make it work.

And we always have.

Of course there have been bumps in the road- I would be dishonest to say it's all been delightful! But constant smooth sailing would be boring now, wouldn't it?

Three children, a dozen moves, and a mountain of debt later and here we are, still in love, and still fairly young! By the time we are 40, we will have 20 years of marriage under our belts and our kids will be able to fend for themselves. We can take that trip to Scotland that we always dreamed of, travel and explore and have some more adventures.

I don't know when we'll ever get to build our dream house together, the off-the-grid straw bale house with gardens on the roof that we've dreamed of for years. But somehow I feel that because we both hold the dream so dear that it will happen- even if its not until we're older. And then we'll have the garden and the observatory and the pair of mastiffs to walk with and the cat curled up in the window seat and an endless supply of tea and beer.

But until then we have daily adventures. I cook and he puts the leftovers away. I do laundry and he takes out the trash. I do all the grocery shopping and he deals with anything stinky or eight-legged. I pay bills and he structures a budget. I fall asleep early from sheer exhaustion and he tucks the children in and reads another chapter of Narnia to them.

We have a working relationship, we have a loving relationship, and we have a passionate relationship. He is the first one that I turn to in any trial or triumph. He is my rock, my stabilizer, my inspiration. He protects me from myself and the world, and I defend him to the death.

In our children I see us, mirrored yet made more perfect- my eyes, his eyelashes. My sharp cheekbones, his full lips. My funky feet, his unruly hair. They are so beautiful, a blend of all of our good features and none of the bad. Would to God that their personalities will follow suit.

He sleeps beside me now as I write this, peaceful as long as he is in contact with me. If I get up, moving away from him, and sit in my green chair by the window, he becomes restless and whimpers in his sleep. It is a vulnerable side of him that people do not often see.
He needs me.
I need him.
He has me.
I have him.
For another decade, for a lifetime.

Thanks for one great decade, Michael, and here's to another five.
I love you.

How Well do You Communicate?

While driving my wife to work today I was listening to the normal classical music, trying to wake my mind up for the day. It usually works, but sometimes my mind spins off in unexpected directions. Today my mind wandered from realizing how simple the piece I was listening to was, to wondering how certain bends were noted in the music sheets back when it was composed, to remembering my own experiences composing and experimenting with various composing methods as if I didn't know how to compose.

The final realization in my thought pattern was this. Everything is about language; everything in this world is about communication. For example, as I press each key someone has told my computer how to accept this form of communication, someone else told the computer how to run this translation device we call a web browser, and when I push publish some one else has taught their server how to respond to even that. That is a form of communication.

Other forms include shaping metal, the way emotions effect your body, the way your nerves distribute the idea of touch to the brain, driving, reading, even turning the pages to read. What we are communicating is a matter of perspective. For instance in reading this blog post you have communicated with your mind, your fingers, the electricity coming out of the wall on it's many travels, your computer, your isp, etc. You have communicated in a million different ways with a million different things and you haven't even taken notice; except to perhaps these words. When you start thinking about everything in terms of communication everything becomes easier to digest. School is all about learning communication; math, english, science, politics, history (did I just repeat myself).

So all those people that think they are too dumb to understand computers, work with there hands to build a house, etc. need to rethink their abilities. All you need to do is think about how communication with any object works. And communication s only a way to get what you want done. Learn how to hammer a nail and the purpose for doing so. In doing that you'll have learned a little bit about construction; the mode of communication to manipulate diverse materials in order to have a house to live in.

If all of this is way over your head, don't worry. This is mostly a mental reminder to myself that I can take on anything I want to learn, I just need to learn the modes of communication.

Sometimes Materials Don't Matter

I'm breathing slightly heavy now. Trying to calm down so that I can go to bed. Why am I breathing heavy? I tend to forget to breath when I'm concentrating on a complex or unusual task. It's the concentration that makes me forget; no stress is involved. I just finished such a task.

Locking the doors up for the night and getting ready to do the dishes that I'm too tired to do now, I heard the familiar tone in my wife's voice that means she needs me for something she deems husband worthy. Usually these things are cleaning up messes that reek, taking the trash out, rushing her to the hospital to save another finger at 4am, the usual stuff. So I went upstairs. The toilet chain is broken. By chain I mean the stupid rubber thing they used in place of a chain; by broken I mean irreparably snapped in two.



So I start the search. I shuffle around for some sort of chain to replace it with; no luck, unless you count the 5 pound chains that go to my hammock. Then I start scrounging for a wire hanger; again no luck, we moved to plastic years ago. Grr! Here is where it starts to get frustrating. So I went out to the recreation room where my wife had started unpacking the garage stuff from our move ... 6 months ago or more; the boxes being whittled down to about 4-5 left now.

There! Right in the center of the pile of screws and stuff was an old phone cord. That's a prime target when you need wire fast. They are after all, obsolete to a person who's been reliant on cell phones only for years.

(this is sort of what the pile looks like)


So I grab that and a box cutter and trudge back upstairs, flush the toilet by hand only to have it refill, turn the water off, flush the toilet by hand again, and start the dirty, rusty, grimy work of removing the old plastic and retro fitting this wire on.

After finally trimming the cover down enough so that I can tie one end in a double slip knot after threading it through the bottom flange, I started thinking about a friends job predicament, and while doing cutting the other side an epiphany of a sort hit me. Sometimes the materials you are using don't matter.

Then the two thoughts merged in to one. As a free lancer I often have to just keep the jobs rolling even if they aren't always ideal. More often than not the projects are under funded and in desperate need of someone who can make it work with the materials given. Sometimes the materials don't matter; what you do with them matters; knowing what to do with them matters most of all.

Payback

I have a theory.
I know that not every woman is going to be rational when picking a tiny LEGO brick out of her foot, but bear with me here...

LEGO: Causing foot pain to millions of parents worldwide.

Our kids are just payback. Remember the times you dragged out all of your mom's steel pots and banged away for hours? Now your own kids have a heavy wooden spoon and have figured out that the stair railing has unique harmonics. It's payback time.

When I was a kid, we didn't have a lot of toys, but we made good use of what we had. There was this toy in our house- I've never seen anything quite like it- that made a glorious noise. It was about ten inches long, had three wheels set into the peach plastic body, and an ugly animal sticker below the handle. The wheels- hideous primary colored melamine- would make a tinkly sound when spun gently. Spin faster, and the pitch rose. Spin all three at once, and you have your own little orchestra going on!
We would spin that thing for hours, and I distinctly remember my mom's voice, cracking from the pressure, yelling upstairs: "Enough!!"
Sorry, mom.

But now, you see, I have this wonderful mother-in-law. And she loves to gives my kids presents. For Christmas a few years back, she found these little kid keyboards. You know the kind- electric, with various beats and loops and 'demos'. When you turn this particular kind of keyboard on, it defaults to LOUD, running the scales a few times, before making a weird 'duhn.' sound.

She bought three.Children's Electric Keyboards: "No, sorry honey, we're out of batteries..."

Yup, one for each kid.

Payback.

Tinkertoys: Besides the undeniable quality of getting lost in the house,
they can also make good weapons.
I have fond memories of being smacked
in the head with a setup much like this.

For every Tinkertoy my mom stepped on, I have a LEGO wedged between my toes.

For every piece of crud I dropped downstairs through the post-and-beam assembly of our house, I find a piece of string tied to a doorknob.

For every marble out of our Chinese Checkers game that went rolling down the hall, I have... a marble out of our own Chinese Checkers game that winds up in my garbage disposal.

Marbles: Not sounding so good in the garbage disposal.

Looking through my children's toys yesterday, I realized just how many noise toys that we've received from parents. People who have lived this life of shattered concentration, staccato noise, and random toybox outbursts in the middle of the night!

I used to think it was treachery, now I see it for what it is.
They, too have put up with us, they are no stranger to finding the screwdriver and removing all of the batteries from a hiccuping speaker system. They, too, have limped and hobbled on bruised feet after stepping on tiny sharp-edged blocks and game components.

It's just payback time.

Wait until my kids grow up, I bet they have some nice noisemakers by then...

Summer in Northern Michigan

Lake Mitchell ~ Cadillac, MI

So, it's not officially summer yet, I know this. But until recently we hadn't seen the sun in nearly six months, and there is no snow on the ground, and you can no longer walk across the lake successfully, so- we're calling it summer.

Summer in Northern Michigan is nothing short of glorious. People from the Detroit area (downstaters, we call 'em) have been apprised of this information for years, and many summer or weekend up here regularly. We have people who live in Florida or Arizona during the winter months, coming home to green grass and twinkling lakes for the short hot season. We have people who just rent a 'cabin' for a week or two, and we have die-hards who set up camp the first weekend the parks open and stay until the snow flies.

For anyone remotely interested in visiting this area, here are a few little bits of local stuff:

Playing in one of Cadillac's many parks

If you plan your trip right, you'll be able to hit one of the many festivals that dot the Midwest throughout summer. We have the National Cherry Festival in July- with spectacular food and decent entertainment. There is also a Dulcimer festival, a Lilac festival, and plenty of others. These are all within a couple of hours of here, and Cadillac is a great and economical starting point to get to these events.

Of course, being the land of this many lakes, there is plenty of fishing, boating, waterskiing, and all of those other things that I have never bothered to do. Maybe it's time I got out there and claimed my Michigan heritage, huh!?

Sleeping Bear Dunes, Michigan

Cadillac is divided into two parts: Cadillac, and Cadillac West. To get to the main part of town, you can come in on Business 131, exit off of the 131 expressway, or come in from the east on M-55. The main part of town has modern chain lodging, shopping, dining, and entertainment venues, as well as a charming downtown district.

You can get to Cadillac West from M-115, or come in from the west on M-55. If you are already in the main part of Cadillac, you can drive around the lake to get to the westside, or take Sunnyside Dr, Division Rd, or Thirteenth St to M-115.

Cadillac West has more lodging, including the Sands which sits right on the water and has a little bar. There you will also find another bowling alley, a skating rink, more waterfront that you'll know what to do with!

Staying in or around the Cadillac, MI area is easy as there are plenty of places, from budget options like RV parks and cabins, to better lodging like Hermann's European Inn, with a wonderful restaurant and café below the rooms. There are numerous tiny rentals, a lovely State Park with hookups, and my couch. Kidding. Any of you show up here with your sleeping bag and... well, I really don't know what I'd do!

Food is abundant, as one of Michigan's official pastimes is eating. Just look at us. Ugh. Anyhow, since I'm one of the foodies, I may as well advise you on gastronomical entities. Dining on the westside tends to be a bit better. There is Lakeside Charlies, which sits on the water and serves a pretty broad menu of nicer foods and wine. The Marina sits on the other lake and has a nice boat theme inside, very comfortable dining. Italian food is their main fare. The Timbers is a little hike north out of town, but worth the drive for their most excellent prime rib and beer. A recent addition this year, Da Dawg House has an unfortunate name but decent coneys and grease-down breakfasts.

Travelling into the main part of town, avoiding at all costs the chains, we have Herradura's Mexican Restaurant on the south end of town. This is locally owned, with excellent Mexican food and great service. Further into town- you'll pass it if you're not looking- there is a little convenience store called G & D's. They make pizza there, and if you want to try it, I recommend buying it by the slice. Ofr some reason, the whole pizzas aren't nearly as good. I hear they put beer in their crust, but am not sure. Either way, their by-the-slice pizza is cheap, hot, and yummy!

Downtown has a few options, not the least of which is the newer Shay Station. Although the food is mediocre, the atmosphere is lively and pleasant. You can get a decent cup of tea there, read a book, listen to live music on the weekends, and shop for little gifty things that are often found in these kind of places.
The Sweet Shop is owned by a truly sweet family, and their local confections are pleasing, priced well, and fun to shop for.
The Blue Heron is absolutely one of our favorite places to eat in town. They have a wonderful breakfast, doughnuts, bread, cake, and homemade granola. I'd pass on the muffins, but their soups and sandwiches have never failed to please. Try a nutty donut- a local favorite! The Blue Heron uses higher quality flour, no preseratives, and ethics when they cook and serve. If you don't mind the clatches of old people that hang out all day, you will love this local favorite.

Of the three Chinese restaurants in town, House of Hunan seems to have the highest quality of food, and is a rather pleasant place to while away a lunch hour.

Of course, when you're all done playing, swimming, eating, and camping, you can always check out Cadillac's finest jewelry store! Not that we're biased or anything...

Where's YOUR Lifeline?

I hate my inhaler. Not only is it ugly, it is a reminder of an internal flaw, an inherent (and inherited) weakness in my body. The albuterol burns my tongue and leaves a foul taste in my mouth for twelve hours afterwards. The chemical makes my heart race, my temples throb, and my hands shake. I use it only when I feel that I am at death's door.

Or- as often as not- I leave it at home, and foolishly go out visiting people that I have never met, only to find out they have a dog- an old, arthritic, dander-producing dog. Dogs are anathema to me. Cats are worse.

That's what happened tonight. We were invited to the home of friends-of-friends, you know how that is. We arrived to find a group of incredibly kind people, many with children in the same age range as ours. Although I noticed the dog, heck, I even pet him, it just didn't click in my brain that he was going to make me suffer.

We grilled and feasted on steak (an asthma trigger), cheesy potatoes (dairy also worsens asthma), and finished off with cream pies (dairy again!). The only thing that I could have done more stupid this evening would have been to top it all off with some corn product.

Oh wait, those tortilla chips...

So, to make a short story long, I ate naughty food and hung out in a house with dander freshly flying around. The house was scrupulously clean, and I am just going to assume that it had just been vacuumed, which would account for the high circulation of dander in the air.

It started with itchy hands, then a tickly nose. Hoping to circumvent it all, I simply ignored the symptoms. I have always heard that most allergies are psychosomatic anyhow, so why not overcome my own brain?

Turns out my brain still answers to my lungs.

By the end of two hours, my lungs were screaming for air, my hands were twitching, my eyes watering... the whole shebang. Our host kindly dug out a Claritin, but nothing touches the asthma. And there was no inhaler to be found in my usual stash- nothing in the glove compartment, or my purse, or with my gum, or even near the pen/chapstick/kleenex stash in my car console. I have makeup- useful for being pretty. I have random hair clips- useful for being, uh- pretty. I have my wallet, complete with all proper ID, a checkbook that wouldn't get me very far, various reciepts and medical brochures, a iPod Shuffle that has had 'The Phantom of the Opera' on it since last summer, a roll of Lions mints, a pen that doesn't work, and a green bracelet.
All things that are useful, in their own right. All things that belong in purses and car consoles and glove compartments. But no lifeline. None of that stuff will be any good to me if my bronchial tubes close up and I can no longer get oxygen to my heart.

Where is your lifeline? Whether its a job that you are passionate about, a person in your life that has made it all worth living for, or just a simple piece of plastic that can spray a fine steriodal mist- all of us have a lifeline. And many of us go through our daily lives without having it near us.

I'm throwing you a lifeline today- grab it! Catch hold, remember to take it with you always, and save some coconut cream pie for me.