Yard Sale!

Why, oh, why (and how!) do we accumulate so much STUFF?!!

I truly believe storage units are a sign that we as a society are very sick with "affluenza," spawned by our materialistic craving for more, more, more!

I am in the middle of sorting donated items for our church yard sale, and I'm adding my own personal goods to the mix.  You should see my garage.  Do you know I thoroughly clean it every year, starting by gutting it (yes, totally emptying the entire space) and spreading everything out on my front lawn and driveway (with a mixture of pride and embarrassment of my neighbor's opinion---either, "Wow, look at that girl go" or "Wow, she's got the messiest garage on the block!").  Then I scrub the concrete floor with a bleach solution.  I usually purchase yet another shelving unit (they're pretty expensive so I just keep adding one by one each year).  And then I sort through all the "stuff," making the classic decisions of what to keep, what to toss and what to give away.  I put the "Keep" stuff back in the garage, neatly organizing it on my shelves or in bins, and finally, I load the car and make a trip to Goodwill, the glass depot, the consignment shop and other people's houses to return any borrowed goods.  And then, I confess, I spend the next couple weeks peeking in my garage at random moments throughout the day just to admire the clean, orderly rows of goods...and when Jeff mows the lawn, I let him leave the garage door up until he's finished, because I almost want the neighbors to see my gorgeous garage.

And then life happens.  It starts with the recycle bins.  Everyone opens the doors, tosses in a can, bottle or newspaper, misses the bin, and walks away.  And no one empties them but me, so they start to pile up.  Then the boys need sports gear, but they are in a hurry so they haul the bins out to the middle of the floor, rummage through the contents for what they need, and leave the rest behind to magically jump back into its place on the shelf.  Then Jeff rolls the lawn mower into the garage with wet grass stuck to the wheels, which dries and falls off all over the floor.  Then the girls need a Disney DVD for the kids they are babysitting, so they dump the bin to grab a couple before running out the door.  Then another person needs school supplies from the supply bin, and another person needs a costume from the costume box, and another person needs a sleeping bag.  A campout and a picnic bring down the tent, coolers, lawnchairs, and bocci, which we end up keeping out because we're going to do that a few more times in the next month.  A special event calls for special dishes, holiday platters and the fondue, but there is no room to put them back because someone got tired of stepping over boxes on the floor so they stuffed them into the empty spots on the shelf.  The kids go to college and their bedroom contents are stored in the garage.  The kids come home from college and their dorm room contents are stored in the garage, and before you know it...my garage looks like this:


Off the shelves and onto the floor!

Recycling and garage-sale stuff!

My second pantry...still pretty organized!

Add to my garage the church, which I am responsible for, and I feel like I live a sort-sell-sort-clean-sort-toss-sort-organize sort of lifestyle! 

I was quite excited two weeks ago when our Canadian college kids were going to take all their stuff out of my garage and move it home.  What I didn't count on was my own two college kids bringing their stuff (and some other kids' stuff) home to replace what just left.  I feel like I can't win or get ahead, no matter how hard I try!  But I will not, I will not, I will not EVER rent a storage unit!  (My personal vow.)

So, this week is step 1:  Sort contents of garage and take many loads to the church to add to the yard sale.

And I'm supposed to do that while I sort the contents of the church as well as the hundreds of donated items for that same yard sale.

Sometimes I think I should just leave everything right where it is and simply put a sign on the door that says, "For Sale," and let everyone have at it!

My biggest fantasy (and this is for real, I'm not making this up!) is to live in a little cabin in the forest.  Have you ever seen one of those micro houses?  They fascinate me.  I love how everything folds up, pulls out, rolls away, and tucks under to make room for comfortable living in a very small footprint.  At night I sometimes imagine myself to sleep by designing one of these homes in my head.  I want it to be rustic and modern all at the same time...clutter free, clean, organized and functional, surrounded by the forest on three sides but facing forward to a beautiful view of the valley below, and simple and inexpensive enough that I can afford little domestic luxuries like an amazing rain shower, a top-quality bed and linens, and a fully stocked kitchen with custom-made appliances that perform professionally but are scaled to my small cabin.  Last, I would have a little nook with a desk in front of the window where I would be inspired by the view to happily write for hours.  And that would be my life...small, simple and serene...and totally storage free!

My dream!

But for now I live in a small town in my two-story suburban house with a 3-door garage that holds all the wordly goods of my family---me, my husband, four kids full-time, and another 3 to 5 kids part-time.  And I will spend every day this week sorting my life into bins:  Give Away, Throw Away, Keep and Return.  I'll bet there's a pretty good spiritual lesson here.  When I'm done cleaning my garage, maybe I'll work on it!

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow



Our worship team...two are leaving!

I haven't blogged for awhile because we have been so very busy with some of the happiest and saddest events, all in the same week.

For those of you who have followed me for awhile or knew me before I began blogging, you'll know that we live kind of a unique life...almost five years ago we left our home in Canada and a thriving church that we loved to take a little church that had dwindled down to 25 people, and with us came an interesting dynamic...a team of Canadians!  First was our worship pastor, Marcus, and then came a bunch of our kids' friends...all students at Portland Bible College who spent every weekend with us for the last five years helping us to grow this little church to 150 and truly becoming a part of our family.  Many of my blog entries have included this extended family, with a dedicated "Table Talk" that was based on the escapades, antics, discussions and humorous events that took place around our table at our huge Sunday dinners.  Over the past five years we have had Marcus, Matt and Megan, then Jamie, Tasha and Bryce, then Ryan, Tim and James, and then John.  These kids regularly made the trek from northeast Portland to Newberg four times a week, bringing with them a wide assortment of friends from literally all over the world.  Our church has been greatly enriched by their enthusiasm, energy and passion for the Lord and His House.  They have played instruments, led worship, cleaned and repaired the church building, gathered kids and led small groups, practiced preaching, gave exhortations, prayed and fasted, run events, set up and tore down more tables and chairs than they'd care to count, ran errands, loved people and gave up a lot of campus life to serve us.  And our own kids were able to make the toughest transition of their lives (giving up lifelong friends and a huge, thriving youth group to move to a tiny church in a small town where they knew no one their age) because of this evolving gang who kept them happily socialized and connected.  Our family was blessed and enriched by the great fun, lively discussions, rowdy sports games, happy holidays, and the vibrancy of youth they brought into our home.  Sometimes, when the mess would be almost overwhelming, with piles of laundry, sports gear, 50 shoes scattered in the entry, dishes, empty Stumptown cups and chip bags, and makeshift beds all over the house, I would think to myself, "One day this season will be over and this full house will only be a memory, and I will look back on it and think, 'Those were some of the best days of our lives.'" And then I'd be okay, cheerfully scooping up the garbage, stripping the sheets, and re-loading the dishwasher week after week after week, knowing one day it would end.

Well, that day has come.  This past week was both a dreaded and anticipated time in my life.  I was thrilled that so many of "our kids" were graduating and taking the first step into the call of God on their lives, but I was sad that we---our family and our church---were losing them.

We had a farewell service and our "Last Supper" with our gang, and then the next week we had the very last service and a huge Sunday dinner with 30 people as we celebrated (yes, celebrated) the kids who were leaving.  I'm not much of a crier, but I'm happy to say I shed a few tears at both the farewell service and again at the last service.  Why am I glad I cried?  Because it means that I loved and was loved...which is a very beautiful gift.  I truly love those kids...each one.  They are unique and precious to me.   And I'm pretty sure they love me back, because I sure got a lot of hugs and kisses and meaningful words of thanks and appreciation!

So we sent them on their way with blessing, waving goodbye on our front porch with a bit of a lump in our throats, and then spent the last week washing away all trace of them, by laundering all the duvets, comforters, sheets and blankets, sorting and putting away or giving away the things they purposely left behind, setting up our kids bedrooms as single rooms again, eating up the left-overs, and finally, today, going to church for the first time without them.

You know what?  It was just fine.  They are gone, but God is good.  We have a new team to raise up, and it will be exciting to watch them grow and develop...and we may even be a little surprised at who steps up to the plate!  There were no tears today.  We rejoiced over what the Lord has given us...a healthy, growing church brimming with potential...and we have not only the Lord to thank but a group of students who came here as rowdy, fun-loving teenagers with a passion to serve the Lord and left as young adults, having "bore the yoke in their youth" for us and for God, and being better men and women because of it!

What a privilege to have influenced and poured out our lives to these anointed young men and women of God only to receive so much in return.

So parting is sorrowful, but it is also sweet.  Good-bye to the brightest and best!  How we love you!  You will always have a place in our hearts and in our home.

Things That Go "Oink" In The Night

Yesterday was an odd repeat of my Sunday just two weeks before...I was abandoned by my family once again!  We had a big church event last night with a dessert buffet that kept me in the kitchen until 9:30 cleaning up.  I had just finished washing the last of the dishes but had yet to put them away, wash the counters, and sweep and mop the floor.  Jeff came in and told me we had to leave right then because he and the kids were going to see The Avengers at 10 and we only had the one car between us, so I had to go home with him.  I was not impressed with the fact that I'd have to return the next day to finish the kitchen, as my To-Do list was already pretty full.  Nor was I thrilled about working hard all afternoon and evening (big dinner at home, dishes, set-up for the event, serving at the event and then clean-up), only to go home to the mess waiting for me at home---unloading my own dishwasher and finishing my laundry that had been bumped out of the washer and onto the floor so the gang could do theirs before returning to school, and then making my bed (Note to self: Don't change the sheets on a Sunday!)!  So Jeff dropped me off with a quick, "Thanks for everything, Hon...it was a great event," before he closed the door and headed out to party with Justin and Kate.  I kicked off my high-heels and headed upstairs to put my wet load of laundry in the dryer so it could dry while I unloaded the dishwasher and cleaned the kitchen.  I sighed as I remembered a very similar feeling a couple weeks ago.  After finishing the dishes, I made myself some popcorn and went upstairs to fold the laundry.  I usually fold it in the laundry room, but tonight I folded it in my bedroom because Anna had left all her laundry behind to pick up on Wednesday.  I actually like folding clothes...they are warm, clean and fragrant and look so nice when neatly folded and stacked into their tidy piles.  The cat came upstairs to keep me company (my only friend) while I folded.  It was a beautiful night with a bright full moon and the bedroom window was wide open.  Suddenly I heard a shrill series of squeaks and a huge commotion.  Something...no, some things....were tearing across my backyard in a frenzy.  Then, BANG!, something hit my barbeque hard and was making a commotion in my shrubs.  I dropped the shirt I was folding and ran for the window, reaching it at the same time as the cat, who jumped up on the window sill and arched her back, fur raised and body tense.  I could see nothing in the inky blackness, but I heard that awful squeal go on and on...it sounded much like a pig!  Whatever it was had scaled our fence and was flying across my neighbor's yard.  The phrase "bat out of hell" crossed my mind.  I couldn't figure out what animal could possibly move that fast, climb that quickly, and make that strange a sound.  The neighbor's motion-sensor lights flipped on, but I couldn't see over the fence.  That shrill cry continued into the next neighbor's yard and then faded away somewhere deep in the woods.  As I leaned a little closer to the screen, my hair brushed against my cat who was perched right next to me.  Well, that freaked the living daylights out of her.  She jumped straight in the air and came down hissing and batted the sides of my head with a 1-2 punch.  She backed herself into the corner of the window and stared me down with wide yellow eyes.  Now of course, that freaked the living daylights out of me!  But I am proud to say I didn't scream.  Rubbing my stinging scalp (very glad she got my head and not my face!), I said, "A little tense, are we, Kitty?"  She blinked at me and continued her low, gutteral growl.  Running my fingers through my hair in search of blood, I hurried downstairs to get a better view of the backyard and see if anything remained.  The yard was totally still in the darkness, except the grilling basket that hangs on the side of our barbeque; it was still swinging back and forth from being hit hard by some furry body.  The cat had followed me down, but she had no desire to go outside when I opened the door for her.  I closed the door and locked it...not that a wild animal was going to try to open my door, but it just made me feel a little more secure. Back upstairs I finished the laundry while the cat paced, then made up the bed with fresh sheets and climbed in.  Kitty was happy about that and jumped up on my bed and curled up tight by my side.  We both fell asleep uneventfully and woke up in the morning with nothing to tell except a rather lame story.  It sounded so anticlimactical in the bright morning sunshine.  I told it three times, to Kate, then Jeff, then Justin and got the same response:  "A wild animal that sounded like a pig squealing as it ran through the yard?  Wow, sounds like you had an exciting night."  I felt slightly deflated.

So that's exactly how I'm ending this story.  Abruptly, unresolved, and with no "moral of the story."

My Blow Dryer is My New Best Friend!

So, remember my last entry about my little forage into the forest for lovely leaves and blossoms? Well, I brought home more than flowers that trip. The next night I was at my computer when I realized I had been absent-mindedly scratching my cheek. I got up from my chair and went to the mirror and saw a bright red streak down the crease between my cheek and the side of my nose. I thought nothing of it, other than I must have touched something irritating when I was pulling weeds that afternoon and then rubbed my nose. I shut down my computer and headed for bed. The next morning I woke up itchy...really itchy. I flipped on the light in the bathroom and looked at my face. It was beet-red and swollen. My cheeks were chipmunk, my nose was fat and my top lip stuck out above my lower one and I couldn't pucker. Then I looked down at my arms. The entire length of both arms was covered in a raised, red rash. I pulled off my pajamas and saw that the inside of my legs was also covered in the same rash. My back, stomach, calves, hands and feet were spared. "No, way," I thought. "Please, don't be poison oak!" We were about to start a very busy...and very public...week of ministry beginning that night. We had meetings for the next three nights and then guests arriving on Friday, a wedding, and special services the rest of the weekend. I would be at restaurants, hotels, downtown Portland, and church meetings surrounded by people who I had to talk to and interact with. I groaned inwardly and scratched outwardly and then logged on to my computer and googled "poison oak." I had never had it before, so I wanted to see what it looked like.

Wow. Talk about gruesome pictures. A man's back with blisters the size of a salad plate. A child covered from head to toe with oozing sores. A baby with its little face completely swollen. If you don't believe me, try googling it for yourself! All the websites said the rash had fluid-filled blisters. Well, I didn't have any, but somehow I just knew it was poison oak. And all of the websites said the rash lasted anywhere from 2 to 3 weeks. Oh, no, no, no. There was no way it would be gone by the weekend, and then it was going to last well beyond that. That night was my first public appearance. I didn't dare put make-up on the rash...it was already burning like fire and felt rough like sandpaper to my fingers. I put my make-up on all around the rash and made sure I did my eyes up a little brighter than usual to compensate for my Rudolph nose and Donald Duck top lip. I showed my arms to a few knowledgeable and trusted friends and all of them said, "Hmmm. You don't have blisters. It might not be poison oak." Then everyone gave me their favorite home remedies and I went home and tried them all...not because I was hoping to please everyone but because nothing worked. Tecnu, hydrocortisone, anti-itch cream, calamine lotion, tea tree oil shampoo, a special poison oak soap, organic "un"petroleum jelly, lip balm, pure coconut oil, and even Jeff's prescription-strength steroid cream, but I just itched and itched and itched.

Next day my right eye was swollen half shut and my face was rough and red. The rash was erupting on my ears, neck, chest and shoulder and one spot on my lower back. The itching was even more intense. I called a friend who had had a bad case last year and she gave me this advice: Use a blow dryer. She said to aim it at the rash and the hot air will make it itch even worse, then it will burn, and then it will go numb and I'll get relief for a few hours. I went right into the bathroom to try it. She was right. I thought I was going to go crazy with itchiness. Then my arm started to burn. Just as I began to move the blow dryer away to escape the heat, this incredible sensation spread over my arm. I was obviously triggering a very deep nerve response because this wonderful sensation of, "Quick, scratch my back! Ahhhh, you got it," flooded my whole body and actually gave me goose bumps from head to toe and made me shiver and shudder, half with pain and half with relief. And then the sensation went away and so did the itch. I spread cool calamine lotion over the bright red rash and went to work without scratching for about an hour. Every time a new spot would begin to itch, I'd wait until I couldn't stand it and then go running to the blow dryer. This became my new past-time...even at 3:30 a.m. I could be found in the bathroom blow-drying my arms, legs, stomach, neck, etc., etc.

Every day the rash got worse, and yes, the rash began to blister and then burst and weep and scab. I was one ugly chick. Out came my winter wardrobe as I looked for long sleeves and high necklines. But they had to be the right fabric too. I made the mistake of wearing a sweater and ended up with gray fibers stuck to the open sores on my skin. Another time I wore a long-sleeved pale pink blouse and stained it with the oozing fluid. Yuck, yuck, yuck. The best clothes were plain, lightweight cotton. I wished I could wear my pajamas every day!

Today I'm exactly one week through it. I discovered yet new patches this morning. The swelling in my face is gone and the skin around my nose and lips is flaking off in big pieces as they heal. My arms---the first and worst to have blisters---are scabbing over and the red has faded to pink and they itch much less. Now it's my hands and fingers and behind my knees that are at the crazy-itch stage. So I know I have another week with those new areas. And then the final week will be everything healing up. Three weeks is a very long time!

My hand, just beginning to form blisters.  It will get worse
before it gets better.  My arms are much worse than
my hands...but I'm not too willing to post gruesome
pictures of myself!!

I read on one of the websites a man's thoughts about poison oak: If you've never had it, be very kind to someone who does. Don't laugh at how they look and offer sympathy for how they itch. And if you have had it, you will never laugh at anyone who does but will have the deepest sympathy and kindest wishes for that person.

I also discovered that when my cat licks my rash-covered hand and fingers, it feels great! Just the perfect amount of roughness and pressure to sooth the itch! (Don't worry, I wash my hands very well after she is done!)

And now, I'll sign off so I can go spend a little quality time with my blow dryer!

Alone on a Sunny Sunday Afternoon

Today was an amazing weather day...over 80 degrees and sunny in April!  We had our first-of-the-season Sunday dinner outside on the patio and then angled our chairs for either full sun exposure or umbrella shade while we savored toffee pavlova and iced tea for dessert and visited.  Then the guys left to go golfing, the girls left to go shopping, and I was left alone with the dishes.

Something is not right with this picture!  I am a major sun worshiper and I also love to walk.  Jeff and I usually go for a long walk every Sunday, and the nicer the weather the more we look forward to our walk.  But today---the most perfect day of the year thus far---I have no one to walk with and I have a sinkful of dirty dishes!  I swished the dishcloth in the soapy water and stared out the window at the neighbor's apple blossoms that hang over my fence, the lilac buds on my own bush, the sun slanting through the trees in the ravine, and the blue, blue sky above it all.  What was I doing stuck in the kitchen?  I looked at the coffee pot and the last two pans waiting their turn in the dishwater and I thought, "They can just wait a little longer."  Then I peeled off my gloves, grabbed my clippers, and headed out the door.  The street was full of kids playing basketball, skateboarding, chalk drawing, riding bikes, and selling lemonade.  The sidewalk was busy with people pushing strollers, walking dogs and jogging.  The breeze was fragrant with fresh-cut lawns, barbequed ribs, and flowers. The sounds of birds, laughter, splashing water, and happy shouts filled the air.  And it was perfectly, pleasantly hot!

My destination was the woods where I go for my morning run.  But this time, instead of looking around me and enjoying the panoramic view, I focused my attention on the sides of the path, watching for wildflowers, blossoms, branches and grasses to clip and take home to make a bouquet.  I love to forage in every season, and each offers its own special beauty and scent.  Today I clipped lavender-tipped grasses, tiny fuscia blooms, wildflowers, blossoms and just-budding leafy branches.  I left the more delicate flora for two reasons...those flowers would be wilted by the time I got them home, and if everyone "just picked one" there would be none to enjoy on walks through the forest.  What a good environmentalist I am!

When I got home, I snipped and trimmed the flowers and put them in a vase and set them on my dining room table.  They won't last long...maybe two days.  But the pleasure in picking them and admiring them is well worth their short lifespan.  I spent the rest of my quiet evening blogging and sipping an iced latte on my patio under the warmth of the evening sun...still wearing shorts and flip-flops at 7:30 at night because it was still 76 degrees!  And the dishes I ditched this afternoon?  I think I'll let them wait just a little longer and finish them after the sun goes down!

Journey to the Center of the Earth

Inky blackness, damp ground, shrouds of cobwebs, skeletal remains, droppings and dung, mold, dim light and flickering shadows, tight places, dirt and rocks, stale air, hard to breath...

I've just returned from my journey to the center of the earth, and that's what it looked like, smelled like and felt like.

Camponotus pennsylvanicus

About a month ago I began noticing the odd ant...they were big guys that crunched when you squished them.  One or two, no big deal.  And then there were 3,4, 7 and finally one day 12.  That was the day I called the exterminator.  He came the next morning and examined the specimens I had captured and put in a jar and confirmed they were carpenter ants...not a good thing.  They gnaw away at the wood in your house as they tunnel deeper and deeper inside.  They ruin your foundation, wood trim and more, as they invade your home.  Plus, it is incredibly gross to open a kitchen drawer and find ants crawling on your measuring cups!  So we picked a day for his team to come and "terminate" the ants.  And then he wrote up the estimate.

$750!!

I gulped and signed and then called Jeff to rant about the ants.

And then I went online and did some research and asked friends what they thought.  There was a lot of good advice, but ultimately I knew what I had to do...lift the trapdoor to our crawlspace and go under the house.

The very thought of this was creeping me out.  But a friend assured me that newer houses had heavy-duty plastic over the earth and up the walls of the foundation and it wouldn't be that bad.  A little doubtfully, I googled "crawlspaces" just so I could really see what I was about to get myself into...literally!  Justin, who is studying architectural design, gave me a good idea of what I would encounter as far space and dimensions, and it wasn't the spacious 3-foot high and 10-foot wide area I pictured.  He told me there would be places I could barely pass through.  Then another friend told me that I could buy a total-body suit at Home Depot for under $20 bucks.  When I heard that, I knew I could do it.

So Jeff went to Home Depot and bought me my fancy white suit, a "stocking" to fit over my head, and a big bottle of pellets for the carpenter ants to take home to their nest and cause mass genocide.  I also made him get the trouble lamp and extension cords to help ready me for my ordeal.

As soon as I finished work that night, I went downstairs to prepare.  First I had to empty my Christmas decor from the closet under the stairs, which is where the trapdoor to the crawlspace is.  Funny thing, but I have lived in this house for almost 5 years and never so much as wondered what was beneath that carpeted trapdoor until this Christmas when Justin was helping me move the holiday boxes back into storage.  He asked me if I wanted to see inside, and I said sure.  He lifted the door and we peered into the dark depths and spied a lot of cobwebs and droppings.  We both shuddered and said, "Gross!" and then he put the door back in place and I finished moving my boxes into the closet, never dreaming that in just a few short months I would be re-opening that trapdoor and lowering my body into the belly of our house!

I imagined it would be chilly under the house at night, so I wore my fleece jacket and slippers underneath my bodysuit.  I pulled the stocking over my head and it instantly made the back of my neck itch like crazy where it pressed my hair down.  So I scooped my hair up and shoved it underneath the cap so it wouldn't touch my skin.  Then I pulled the front of the stocking over my mouth and nose.  I slipped into the huge white bodysuit and tied the legs over my feet.  Last, I slipped on rubber gloves. 

I grabbed my camera and a flashlight and lowered myself down. Jeff handed me down the trouble lamp, and I shined it straight ahead and found that my way was blocked by huge black tubes of something. I would have to squeeze myself through a space that was about a foot wide. I knelt down and began to crawl. Cobwebs hung low in front of my face. I called up to Jeff to bring me a hockey stick so I could scrape them down and out of my way. Then my trouble lamp went out. If it wasn't for the fact that I was only a couple feet away from the trapdoor, I would have been plunged into total darkness. Jeff quickly pushed the ends of the two extension cords tighter together and the light came back on. I took a deep breath, aimed my lamp at the narrow place, took a couple knee-hand-knee-hand steps forward and...Suddenly, I didn't want to do this at all!

This is the tiny space I had to squeeze through...
Wow!  Now that I see the picture, it wasn't even a foot wide!

"$750"  I reminded myself.  "We're saving $750."  I shoved the trouble lamp ahead of me through the narrow space and then wedged my body against the wall and the tubing and pushed myself ahead into . . . I wasn't sure.  But the tubing gave way to the right and I came into an open space where I could actually look around.  There was a wall to the right that totally blocked me from half the house.  "Great," I thought.  I knew then I'd have to do half the house, crawl all the way back to where I started, go around the bearing wall and then go to the other half of the house to treat that side and then crawl back again.

The earth was covered with gravel and the gravel was covered with a heavy black plastic tarp.  Every piece of sharp gravel poked my knees as I crawled.  Sometimes pipes blocked my way and I had to climb over them.  Other times tubing blocked my way and I had to lie on my stomach and slide beneath it.  Everywhere were mouse droppings, sawdust, dirt and webs.  In some places the tarp had torn and water was puddled in the folds of plastic, smelling mildewy and foul.  I carried the big bottle of ant poison, the trouble lamp, a smaller flashlight in case the trouble lamp went out again and left me in blackness, the hockey stick and my camera.  Okay, too much stuff.  I could hardly move.  I abandoned the hockey stick and the camera (which is why there are no more pictures beyond the photo of the tight space above) and managed by pushing the trouble lamp ahead of me and then crawling on my knees and elbows while holding the bottle and the flashlight in my hands.  I grunted and groaned the whole way...I couldn't help it!  "OOF!" as I went down on my stomach and slid under a pipe.  "UMPH!" as I hauled my body over a pipe.  "EWW!" as I wiped away sticky cobwebs that clung to my head.  And "OUCH!" as my hands and knees again and again grinded into the sharp gravel.  I was also super hot in my sauna-suit!  I pictured myself as Andy on Shawshank Redemption, crawling the length of two football fields on my hands and knees through the sewer to freedom.  Okay, so it wasn't nearly that bad!

And then I was done.  I tossed the last of the pellets against the foundation and around the last vent and then, gratefully and anxiously, I crawled back to the trapdoor and called Jeff.  I stood up and peeled off my suit inside out so I wouldn't get any yucky stuff on the carpet, and then Jeff gave me a hand up and out of the hole.  I was drenched in sweat...wetter than I ever get doing Zumba or going for a run!  I crammed my suit into the garbage and headed for the shower.  That may have been my favorite shower ever!

Crawling out of the depths of darkness and dirt, completely
drenched and dripping with sweat!

So now I'm clean, warm and dry and back in the land of the living.  The Home Depot bill totalled $18.92:  $6.88 for the ant spectracide, $2.29 for the stocking, $8.67 for the bodysuit, and $1.08 for the Hershey Almond Bar...Wait!  I never saw a Hershey bar in the Home Depot bag!!  Jeff, you're busted!  Anyway, my expeditition saved us $731.08!  I think Jeff owes me big time!

By the way...

I never saw one single ant.

The Magic is Over

I woke up this morning in my little beach cottage to the sound of birds singing enthusiastically outside my window. I opened my eyes and saw pink light filtering through the slats of the blinds. I looked at the clock: 6:28. So, I hadn’t slept in. I felt a twinge of disappointment, but I also felt awake and refreshed, so I slipped out of bed quietly and put on slippers and my favorite fleece jacket, took my Bible from the nightstand and went into the little living room to sit before the fire. I was torn between a longing to go down to the beach right then in the sweet stillness of the rosy morning and a desire to wait for Jeff to wake up so we could walk together. Then I thought, "I can do both!" So I changed into running shoes and put on my raincoat in case it was windy, grabbed my Bible and a thermos of good coffee that I had brought from home (hate that motel no-name stuff!), and quietly let myself out of the cottage and into the fresh morning air.

The ocean was pale and frothy in the early morning light. The gulls were busy and so were the dogs...it seemed everyone who owned a dog must be out on the beach letting them run. I found a spot in the soft sand that was tucked away in the tall grasses with an open view of the water and sat down to read. It was so calm that the pages didn’t even so much as flutter. My bottom worked a comfy indentation in the sand and I read in this pleasant atmosphere of sand, sea and scripture until I started feeling hungry.

Back at the cottage I made some old-fashioned oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar and then sat down to eat and read the online news on my laptop since I didn’t have my regular morning paper. Soon Jeff was up and he ate and then headed into town to buy us a latte while I showered. We thought we’d shop a little and eat lunch and then hit the beach for a long walk before driving home. By the time we were ready and heading into town, the clouds were rolling in and the temperature had dropped. I thought I’d better be prepared, so I wore my raincoat but kept my sequined flip-flops on.

"Don’t you want to change your shoes?" Jeff asked.

"No," I replied. I don’t like wearing clompy running shoes in town."

We were surprised at how chilly it was, so we ducked into a restaurant where there was a woodstove pumping out radiant heat and slid into a wooden booth. As we ate, the rain started---first a drizzle, then a steady, slanting rain. I felt my spirits sag a bit. "Oh, well," I said. "We can do the rainy-day-at-the-beach thing and browse the shops, read in the bookstore, and have a treat at the bakery." So we pulled our hoods over our heads and ventured out into the gray, dreary street. I thought I’d buy some earrings because last night when I took mine out the pearl came off the post. I hadn’t packed another pair because we were only staying one night. So a cute pair of earrings from the coast would be my purchase. But I didn’t find a single pair that interested me. Then we went to the bakery and it was closed. Then we went to the bookstore and I overheard a man say that many businesses were closed on Tuesday, as it was the slow day at the coast. By now the rain was really coming down. My feet in their sequined flip-flops were wet and cold, my hair was a frizzy mess from putting my hood on and off, and my jeans were damp from the wind blowing the rain against my legs. Jeff’s glasses were spotted with water and he was hunched inside his coat.

"Let’s go," he said.

"Okay, but let’s go to the creperie and get something yummy for the road."

So Jeff drove me over and I ran inside while he sat in the running car and waited. I ordered a lemon curd and strawberry crepe and talked about Brazil with the owner (he had postcards from all over the world adorning the walls of his creperie and his wife was Hawaiian). I told him about the delicious Brazilian crepe I had eaten called, "Romeo and Juliet," which was a mild, gooey cheese and sweet guava jam folded into a hot crepe so the cheese melted and melded with the jam. He liked the idea because he had easy access to guava jam in Hawaii. He thanked me and handed me my crepe in a red-checked paper cone and I ran back to the car, protecting my treat from the rain with my body. Jeff took my picture biting into the yummy crepe, and then the camera broke. Just like that. I helped Jeff with the messy crepe so he could eat and drive, and I gave him the final unwrapped portion so he could bite into it without eating the paper wrapping. He stuffed the entire thing in his mouth! Just "rrrrmmmphhh" and it was gone! His cheeks were bulging and a bit of strawberry dripped down his lip. I said, "Hey!! You just ate it all! He said, "I thought you were done." I said, "No, I wasn’t done. Why would you assume I was done? I hardly had any!"

The magic was over. It was pouring rain, I didn’t get my walk on the beach, I didn’t find earrings, the bakery was closed, my camera broke, and Jeff ate my crepe. We both felt grumpy and rode in silence for a good 5 miles looking out the car windows through the rain at the bleak, gray sky. Then we started talking shop...back to business again, back to routine, back to responsibility, back to the real world.

Why can’t the magic last a little longer?

When we got home, carrying in the luggage seemed like such a chore. Jeff dropped the last of it on the kitchen floor and announced, "I’m going to lie down."  He went upstairs and I stood at the kitchen counter, brooding.  Then I spied the last piece of left-over lemon cheesecake from Sunday sitting on a platter.  I picked it up, unwrapped it, and spontaneously ate the whole thing. "Rrrrmmmphhh." Delicious. I felt a sly grin tug at the corners of my mouth. The magic was back.

Spontaneity.