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a favorite poem

Leisure

W. H. Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare?

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

wordless Wednesday-Sam, 2007

It's A Christmas Miracle!

you see, I am getting something I have always, always wanted. This is one of the blessings of getting older--I have learned how great it is to not get everything you long for, right off the bat. (I know. I got married a few days out of high school. and this might sound odd, coming from the girl whose motto through the '90s was "Instant gratification takes too long").

But people can change! For I have come to see a blessing in waiting for stuff.

You appreciate it more, and are so happy when you get what you prayed for-even if it's something as silly as Storage Space!

Big one? Waiting five years and having two miscarriages before I held my precious Josiah. (and wow-God blessed us with a son again. and then, once more!)

Little desire was driving three babies around in a tiny green minivan and staring longingly after Suburbans for years. (now "Lola" is old, cracked, stained and has a funky smell but she is also roomy, paid for, reliable and still appreciated!)

Big desire was living on a tiny city lot, surrounded by graffiti and gangs and praying for "a bit of earth" and landing on this custom-made-for-us acre of quiet, surrounded by trees and gardens and the P.S. Lord of "just a few chickens?" granted, in full.

I could go on and on but the point of this post was to share my excitement over a little desire, getting filled by Christmas. I get to have a PANTRY.

Now that might be a small thing to some people but it is HUGE, to me! Ask any of my friends who have a pantry-how I interrupt a visit to stand in their kitchens and stare longily at rows of their canned goods.
(" oh, no-thanks. I don't want your garbanzo beans. Just lusting after your 18 inches of deep shelving and those pretty glass jars full of rice and pasta....")

Ask my Mom, (who seriously has the biggest, most wonderful walk-in pantry you ever saw!) how I offer to clean and organize it, just for fun, whenever I visit her in California. Ask John, who has had to hear (for 5 years) how our kitchen would be perfect if only there was a pantry and it's raining hard, so would you mind going out to the pumphouse for a second jar of peanut butter, honey? You know you wouldn't have to, if...."

(--insert gratitude speech HERE--I want to say thanks to all the men in my life that have made this dream possible-Uncle Deacon, for originally having the idea and putting in a light box 3 years ago, in preparation. John, for giving up a Saturday and messing with plumbimg which I know you hate! And for the best father-in-law I've ever had, Lee-for gently pushing your son to git 'er done, and building the shelves and helping with the whole process. I'd also like to thank the academy.......)

The few times we have bought a house, the first thing I look at is the kitchen and the yard. If those two things are good, who cares about the rest of it? The yard of this house sold me, and it was a gray rainy February, when I saw it! We had walked around the yard first and I made a mental decison-whatever is inside, I can handle it, because I love this property so much. So when we got to look at the kitchen, I looked past the 1960s cabinetry, the pink tile flooring and the flickering flourescent lighting and low ceilings. There was one redeeming quality in this ugly kitchen...I quickly ran over to the little closet in the corner "Oh! Is this a PANTRY?!" I squealed as I opened the bifold doors...and the homeowner smiled apologetically and offered a "well...kind of..." because in that closet was a big old water heater. with two shelves above it. with cans of dog food.

shucks. So close.

When we remodeled the kitchen a few years ago, Uncle Deacon had suggested running some pipes out the side of the house and setting the water heater up in an enclosed, insulated box, on the back patio. This would

free up that old closet for a pantry, and we could run the refrigerator tubing in, at the same time, in order to get the automatic icemaker functional. At the time, we were already stretched with projects and bills so the idea was set on the backburner for that elusive future called "Later". Deacon smartly had the electrician tuck a light box up there, for "someday" and I am so glad he did. I wanted a pantry, bad, but I wasn't whining. I had a skylight and a farm sink and maple cabinets that shone, so I wouldn't be fussy, asking for more. How long did I go, John? I can't recall. Did I make it at least six months before I started whining "Why didn't we do the pantry back when it was all tore up in here?"

It's been five years, this Summer.I had almost given up hope. I had added bookshelves to the pumphouse and got used to sending a boy out for spaghetti sauce and a fresh roll of paper towels. I became used to plastic ice cube trays, always waiting to be re-filled by the side of the sink. I had adjusted to the realities of my little cottage and stopped, as best I could, coveting the larders of friends.

Then there was a turning point in my fortunes.

In early fall of this year, our home started to stink..bad....was that raw sewage?.

I asked John to check the water heater closet...was a dead mouse caught under there?
but he couldn't smell anything...
then first thing in the morning (when showers and dishwashers and washing machines began their daily duties) the smell grew stronger. So so that even John started to ask why does it smell like hot garbage in here?

and he had to pull the water heater out, and drain it, and do research on the Internet, and order parts and change out anodes and grow quite frustrated, all while I was burning about $287.00 worth of Glade cinnamon-apple candles, to try and cover the sulphur-like smell of what turned out to be simply our mineral rich water reacting to the aluminim core of the hot water tank. Everything John did, helped. But...you could still (though faintly, now!) smell it, sometimes. The solution simple...it rose up and appeared before us like a bright holiday star...leading the way to peace. and ice cubes...move the water heater outside....yes...tidings of comfort and joy. and mason jars of peaches, lined up in a row...do you hear angels singing? 'Cause I do....

Tank out. Smell gone. Yay! And now...whatever shall we do with this closet?

John and his Dad started working on it this weekend. The water heater is outdoors, and so far-no leaks! Lee is coming over tomorrow to start on shelves and -bless his heart-he is also putting a few shelves up and over my washer and dryer. Because that is where I keep my stockpot, and extra sheets and the vacuum cleaner accessories and yogurt maker and...what? you don't? Well, small houses require creativity. and thinking outside the box. and occassional cramming.

So, today I was doing my share to help the project along. I had a long screwdriver and a hammer and I was gently taking out the old wire shelf supports, and a few small 2 by 4s that were left behind. Ok, I was prying at them. Ok, when they didn't jump out willingly I had to whack 'em. Just a few times. Fine--stop interrogating me!-Yes! I was braced up against the wall and crowbarring them out, muttering "no audio" under my breath and taking out chunks of the sheetrock with the hammer claw! But I got them out, darn it, and that's what matters, because ONLY in home improvement do I subscribe to the "ends justifying the means" philosophy. Oh, and I might've injured myself too, but it was worth it to have bare walls, ready to add shelving at specific height preferences (like exactly how high our Costco jug of olive oil is). I won't photograph the wound for you but I will say that when I was prying out a 2 x 4 the 14 inch lomh flathead screwdriver slipped hard and stabbed me in the stomach, going right through my t-shirt. When I screamed two boys came running: "Are you okay?!" they gasped and I was panting "I'm fine, just fine" as I checked for blood.

(Thankfully my internal organs were never in critical danger, for I keep a soft padding in that general area, just for circumstances such as this.) Sam asked "What happened?!" and I choked out "Nothing...ouch..I just...oh man...stabbed myself in the gut with a screwdriver and...whoa... yeah, I'm okay..." and Caleb yelled with serious concern "Mom! That is the definition for not okay!" Then Caleb said "I am going to call Dad! And tell him you are in his tools, again!" and Sam added. "and tell him she tried to do the handyman's version of hari-kari."

I don't care. In a few days all of our foodstuffs shall be nestled into their labeled, tidy,semi-gloss white painted shelves.

And you shall find the steel-cut oatmeal, wrapped in glass jars and lying in a closet, in Oregon.

one more poem.

For A Five-Year-Old



by Fleur Adcock



A snail is climbing up the the window-sill

into your room, after a night of rain.

You call me in to see, and I explain

that it would be unkind to leave it there:

it might crawl to the floor; we must take care

that no one squashes it. You understand,

and carry it outside, with careful hand,

to eat a daffodil.





I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:

your gentleness is moulded still by words

from me, who trapped mice and shot wild birds,

from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed

your closest relatives, and who purveyed

the harshest kind of truth to many another.

But that is how things are: I am your mother,

and we are kind to snails.

half caff

Remember, a few months ago, when I gave up caffeine cold turkey? You might recall those weeks back in August where my personality dried up completely... those lovely times I couldn't hold a conversation with you, but reverted to a cavegirl...grunting mono syllables and making menacing grimaces at everyone? Yeah. Good times.

Well, did you see how Starbucks stocks shot up in profits last month?!
Just doing my part for the economy...
(You're welcome.)

So, why am I back on the sauce, after enduring such painful withdrawal symptoms and successfully going off coffee?
Because it was a success! The Doctor said to go completely off all forms of stimulants to give my body time to heal, and I was so desperate for health I would do anything that Dr. said! (obviously) Four months later and now my adrenal glands are slowly healing, my thyroid is functioning better and the daily cocktail of expensive vitamins, minerals and herbal treatments are having their effect. It feels so good to have strength and energy on MY OWN, finally. I no longer have to prop myself up hourly with caffeine stimulants in order to simply function and it feels great. Now? Now, I can just enjoy coffee for what I have always believed it is:
A gift from God. Liquid pleasure created by a Father who loves us, and often pours out blessings in the form of little dark berries from South America. Did you know coffee is full of antioxidants? There's proof of blessing, right there.

So, now I am enjoying immensely my 1-2 cups a day. It feels wonderfully freeing to be enjoying coffee again but as a gift, and no longer abusing it as a drug.
I am still avoiding diet soda and having only tea in the afternoons because excess caffeine is clearly really hard on our bodies. So I limit my caffeine purposefully, in order to make room in my life for a mug or two of French Roast.
The long drought is over!

Civil War!

( For all you non-Oregonians, I am talking about college football. not our marriage. this week, haha.)

What a game! It was Ducks vs. Beavers and, (in case you were under a rock), the Ducks won and are GOING TO THE ROSE BOWL!
I know what you are thinking: "Brenda? Seriously? Two plus years of blogging and you have NEVER done a pigskin post. What is going on? Have you-gasp-been converted?!"

Okay, let me explain. See, John took me to see the Civil War game on Thursday. This was only my second game at Autzen Stadium, though he's had tickets most of the 5 years we've lived here. I don't clamor to go, clearly. So just why did he take ME to this historical game, when his 3 sons, his Dad, his friends, any stranger on the street would eagerly join him? Because it is no secret that I'm not a huge football fan! However, John knows that I love being with him, I love the atmosphere of excitement in live events, I love tailgating with our friends, I love any excuse to wear a Santa hat in public. And taking ME meant it was evenly unfair to all the above mentioned people, and he wouldn't have to choose between all those rabid fans, clamoring to go.

Besides, it turns out well because I had SUCH A GOOD TIME. Let me set the stage for you: There are almost 60,000 wild fans in the stadium. The energy was so huge, with people full of anticipation and adrenaline. They said afterwards that the cheering was at the same decibel of a jet engine, and could be heard for miles. (you know I did my best to help that cause!) The moon was full, the sky clear, the temps under 30 degrees. John was patiently teaching me plays and what penalties meant (and I was actually interested, for a change.) I was trying to keep my eye on the ball and figure out what was happening and for the most part, I could understand what John was explaining. Except when he yelled "What we need is a good turnover!" and I immediately thought "oh yeah, with some hot coffee. because it's pickin freezin up in here."

I had on a turtleneck, a sweatshirt, and an extra Ducks coat of John's, and 2 pairs of socks and gloves and, of course, the great holiday hat John had bought me, as a surprise gift. But I had forgotten how my running shoes were vented for sweat evaporation and therefore probably not the best choice for standing 3 hours on concrete in under 30 degree weather. My toes went numb after the first hour and by the end I was getting nervous of frostbite. It was a great game, but I didn't like the idea of being permanently disfigured, as a permanent souvenir.

There were some incredible plays and a couple of runs where I screamed my fool head off. My favorite parts of the game were the surprise touchdowns because it's like someone pours "Instant Camaraderie" all over the stadium. Suddenly every stranger within arms reach becomes your closest friend and we are all slapping hands and hugging each other and whooping with delight, as if we're all suddenly related by blood and not just the colors green and yellow.

I'm not alumni of this college.
Don't necessarily love football.
and didn't thaw out until 2 AM.

and it was totally worth it.