Crashtober

 Hello Friend,

It's been awhile...14 months(!)... That's ridiculous. Let's not let that happen again, ok?

I spent most of my free time last Fall and this Spring cherishing my family and helping my parents clean up the landscaping and touch-up paint their new house before they rented it and moved to Indonesia. They've been overseas for over 6 months now and will be home for Christmas in 23 days!! But who's counting?

After they left I buckled down into work, church, etc. About 3 months ago God blessed me and my roommate with the opportunity to host a weekly coed Bible Study in our apartment and it's been AMAZING! Last month, I opened up to a woman I've known for 12 years and asked if she'd consider discipling me - turns out she'd recently begun praying about that very thing!! I'm extremely blessed to have her in my life. :)

Ok, now that I've caught you up on the important details I want to talk about my choice of title. I'd like to explain it. (I realize that I write for myself - to help me remember the details and share my stories, but I invite you to read them.)

Sept. 30 - I'm attacked by a cockroach in my car. I'm also told by my little sister about her car accident that happened in her parking lot about the same time. After coaching her and listening to my parent's responses we end on a good note. I post the following for my friends:


Step 1: Be driving on a major road - preferably one with a speed limit of 65mph.
Step 2: Notice movement INSIDE your car from the corner of your eye...
Step 3: Watch in horror as a COCKROACH runs across your radio dials, onto your dashboard and then launches itself straight at you!!
Step 4: Scream, wave your hands like a little girl and start to slam on the brakes.
Step 5: Have the presence of mind to lift your foot off the brakes before you slow too much.
Step 6: Do not find cockroach, so clutch the neck of your dress closed with one hand and hold the steering wheel in a death grip...only 11 miles til you're home.
Step 7: 6 miles down, 5 to go...arms are screaming from how tense you are, decide to rest your arm, but feel the cockroach as you do.
Step 8: Repeat steps 4-6, but you're 6 miles closer to home!
Step 9: Arrive home. Exit car and check cautiously for the roach.
Step 10: Roach is nowhere to be found. Decide never to ride in your car again.

I hope that thing is dead on the floorboard of my car in the morning...I can't believe I just now thought about coating my car in Raid...

Oct. 1 - A little leery of the cockroach reappearing, I'm pretty tense most of the way to work. My friends' comments about burning my car were unnecessary as I did something a little less drastic but equally permanent.

20 miles into my drive I'm marveling at the light traffic and catch my breath as I peer at the gorgeous sunrise! Then gasp as I glance back at the road to see red lights. (A wreck had just happened about 10-15 cars in front of me.) I'm unable to come to a complete stop without hitting the truck in front of me, there is a decided crunch/bang. We both move onto the side of the road (I'm shaking) and realize there is NO damage whatsoever to the truck. The men in the truck (all being in a hurry and possibly uninsured) decide to leave me.

I spend almost an hour waiting for the tow truck driver. Tow truck driver turns out to be a grouch* and cusses at me when I tell him that the place he's trying to take me is incorrect and I need to call my insurance. Insurance lady somehow remains calm as I hold back tears and explain that I'm less than 3 miles away from the auto shop I want to get to but the place the driver wants to take me is 30 miles away. Driver lights up a cigarette and scolds and cusses at me some more while we wait for his company to give him the go ahead to take me where I need to go. Eventually all is worked out and he takes me to the dealer about 2.5 miles away. He says some forgettable things and I spend another 20 minutes on hold with my insurance.

My boss shows up, gives me a hug, and takes me to pick up my parents' car. It is decided that my car is totaled and thus begins the journey of car-hunting.

Oct. 3 - I don't even recognize my car without the bumper and headlights. I pull everything out of it and sadly pat it goodbye. I had just bought $500 tires. :/

Oct. 12 - My sisters and I spend the weekend at our precious cousin's wedding in Tyler, TX and are en route to Houston on the 75 mph highway. It's been a little misty and there's been scattered showers, but all in all we are on track to make it in time for lunch with our friends. Suddenly the road becomes a terrifying obstacle course.

My sisters had been sitting in the backseat watching a movie and I could barely hear it so it'd been a quiet drive for me save for the parts where I enjoyed listening to my sisters laugh about the movie. I was thankfully undistracted and therefore noticed the instant the cars in front of us started swerving and crashes began to sound. It seems an impatient car had swerved into the left lane clipping the car there and sending it spinning until it stopped with the front of the car in the left lane and the rear on the shoulder.

Somehow I managed to stop the car without hitting anyone in front of or beside me, but I couldn't get off the road because the suv behind me had pushed a car into the guardrail and they wanted to get away. They had pulled up beside me but could not go any further because there was a car stopped in front of me. It didn't take long. My sisters were screaming and stopped just as I came to a complete stop. We couldn't believe that we didn't have a scratch on us. There was a moment of hope and then I looked in the rearview mirror. I watched about 3 cars hurtle past us just missing us and then I saw the black suv and semitruck. "We're going to get hit." I calmly told my sisters and Becca leaned forward. (She was the one closest to where they would impact and I'm not sure why she leaned forward, but it protected her.)

The impact was swift and loud. I don't even remember hitting the dashboard, but I had bruises from it. After that impact the highway basically shut down. I had my sisters stay in the car for a bit longer until we were certain that no other cars were coming. The doors on the right side of car wouldn't open anyway. The impact had damaged the computer system and sent pieces of our taillight flying to land on top of the car and hood.

I winced as I knew I'd need to call the insurance company again and I'd JUST talked to them 10 days ago about my own car. I had a light bit of hope that maybe the car would be driveable so we could get home, but that died after I looked at it. The EMS and police said that if the impact had been one foot further it would have killed Becca.

My sisters talked to the other drivers. The one who had prevented me from getting over and had pushed the car behind me into the guardrail had taken off. There were 9 cars actually involved and 4 of them fled the scene (along with about a dozen lucky vehicles who'd managed to get out of the way). The one who was originally clipped, my car, and the suv that hit me from behind were totaled. The semi had no damage. The car behind me that had been shoved into the guardrail also stayed, but she only had cosmetic damage to her car. She was a sweetheart to vouch for us.

As we stood there with our overnight bags and huddled under the umbrellas, it was all I could do not to collapse in tears. And I did cry. But I had sweet hugs from my little sisters and I was SO GRATEFUL that they were ok! We were given a ride to Buccee's by our tow truck driver who only drives a tow truck part-time. He works full-time as a mortician! We told him that we were grateful that we were meeting him as a tow truck driver as opposed to the other option...

My roommate drove over 1.5 hours to reach us and she promptly helped us load everything from my parents' car into hers. She'd even provided water bottles and snacks and made a pit-stop at a burger place to get us some food because by now it was nearing 2pm. Apparently the day was a bad one for Houston roads as we had to take two different back roads to get home.

Oct. 13 - I give my testimony to the insurance about what happened.

Oct. 14 - The insurance asks for my testimony again and then afterwards tells me that they believe me, but the suv and semitruck driver both have different stories. I fight back anger.

Oct. 17 - My roomie takes me to pay for my new car.

Oct. 20 - Engine light in new car comes on.

Oct. 21 - It is discovered that I will need a new catalytic convertor in the next 11 months. (Those are not cheap.)

Tomorrow - I go to pick up my Dad's new car. He'll be home to drive it in about 3 weeks!!

There's the 'short version' for you. :)



Still squeaking when cars follow too close,
Hannah


* I have known some WONDERFUL tow truck drivers. I was actually pretty happy to see the guy at first. But he seriously got up on the wrong side of the bed or something that morning...

Condemned by Blood

I waited apprehensively for the phone call to come. I just knew I was going to need a lawyer to explain to those ladies that I had not hit the bloody couple with my car- that the blood on my car was from them, but through no fault of mine! What would I say if the police called?

...............................................1 hour earlier................................................

I had decided to take a short lunch break and swing into Target to look for some shoes. After 20 minutes I was headed to my car and approaching it from the passenger side. I suddenly noticed a slight commotion and a couple of people next to the driver side door of my car. Someone was on the ground and another person was kneeling over them as a third walked toward them with a bunch of paper towels.

I slowed, curious to see what was going on and wondering if I was going to be delayed in leaving. As I rounded my car I noticed a man bending over an older woman who was sitting on the ground. The back of the man's knee was splattered with blood. I nervously asked, "Um, excuse me, is everything ok?" The man bending over the woman was startled to hear a voice less than 10 feet from behind him and turned to glance back at me. As he moved I saw the woman's face- her chin was covered in blood.

The man with the paper towels reached the hood of my car and answered for them: "She fell. Everything's ok. Is this your car?"

I had many thoughts running through my head and was trying to figure out what to do next. "Yes. Is there anything I can do?"

"No, we've got it." The man with paper towels said.

"Here, let's get the blood off your car," said the man who'd been bending over the woman. I was shocked to hear that and to see him wiping blood off my car. Noticing my look he said, "She tried to stand up using your mirror."

Suddenly it occured to me that I might be able to help. "I have a first aid kit we can use? Would that help?" I looked at the woman who looked dazed. My first concern was that she was all right.

The 'paper towel man' said, "No, we've really got this. You can go. Back up carefully though- staight back."

I felt like the little girl he was treating me. I acquiesced and climbed into my car. Using my blood-splattered mirror and my rear-view I began to back up. I had to brake for a young man who wanted to see what was going on and then again as a car stopped right behind me to gawk. Looking at them through my bloody mirror I saw the condemning looks of the two elderly ladies in the fancy car. I shrugged and tried to back up a bit to goose them into action. They glared at me and then continued on.

Once I'd backed up I paused for about 30 seconds to watch a woman and the two original men trying hard to help the bloody woman stand. She fell twice, but with the help of the fourth young man they got her on her feet. Suddenly, the same fancy car with the two old ladies who'd hindered me from backing out came flying through a break in the parked cars and whipped in front of me. The driver was on the phone and she was talking angrily while looking at my car. Confused I looked at her just in time to see her angry, accusing eyes looking back. It was then that it hit me: "They think that I hit those people with my car!!!!" I shook my head wanting to explain that I hadn't done anything. But how could I? I even had red evidence against me smeared and splattered on my car!

I had the glares of the two elderly women stuck in my mind as I drove back to the office.

I took pictures of the blood on my car and then used many clorox wipes to scrub off the blood. There was more than I'd thought there'd been. When my car was blood-free, I spent the afternoon with the light concern that I might be hearing from the police. Even though three people knew I was innocent, I was haunted by the judgemental looks of those two women! The drive home was a solid reminder that it had happened as the clorox made my sideview mirror foggy. I'm going to have to find something else to use to clean that.

I'm pretty sure now that I won't be hearing from police, but I did get a jury summons in the mail today. Second one this year...I'm questioning the 'lottery' system. Hope it isn't about a parking lot incident...

Craig's List for Dummies

"Ummm, nevermind. We don't want it!" my roomie firmly said into the phone as I circled the parking lot. I had handed her the phone since her voice sounds older than mine. I already knew I was buying something from a male via the way he wrote his text messages. Jessie and I both had our knives ready- though how and when we thought we were going to use them remains a mystery...


I had heard of Craig's List for years. I had actually roomed with a woman my friend found on Craig's List and it had not been bliss. It could have been worse, but it definitely made me shudder whenever someone mentioned how amazing Craig's List was.

We had just moved into our new apartment and I was hunting for a larger aquarium and stand- something larger than my 20 gallon and unstable tiny stand. After price-checking the local pet-stores I was ready to search for a used item- and hopefully avoid shipping charges. It would never have occurred to me to try Craig's List, save for the fact that two friends posted (at the same time one day) on Facebook about their amazing deals they'd just gotten.

"I wonder if they sell fish tanks on there?" I thought. Surely, if people buy couches and find roommates, a fish tank or two will appear. And I was right! I finally found a picture of a gorgeous tank and since the person wanted the main form of communication to be via texting- I bit my lip and sent a question: 'Does the fish tank come with all the decorations as well?'

And so began a short conversation that ended with my saying I'd be picking it up in less than a week. The seller had even sent me a few more pictures of the tank and the decorations- which helped me to know it wasn't a picture they'd found somewhere, but something they actually owned. Elated, I got my roomie, Jessie, to agree to pick it up with me on a Thursday. (The seller said he was off on Thursday and I happened to be taking that day off as well to spend time with my new roomie before she began her first job the next week.)

The day of, found Jessie and I driving across the city to pay for and collect my tank. It wasn't until we reached the Walmart parking lot (I had mentioned that I didn't want to pick it up at his house) that I began to get nervous. This was a part of town that I did not know. Right before we turned into the lot, my phone rang with the name 'Fish Guy'. Jessie answered it for me since her voice doesn't sound like a little kid's *ahem* and told the guy we were at Walmart already. He told her he was on his way and she hung up. I began to ask questions: 'Was it a guy? I knew it! How old did he sound?' I may have even asked if he sounded dangerous...

Jessie and I both carry knives, but as mine is larger I had her take it and put it within easy grabbing distance should anything go wrong. Feeling a little better knowing the knife was ready, we parked near the garden center and began to look for a red Toyota- though what kind of Toyota I wasn't sure. Then my phone rang again- Jessie answered for me. He told her that they had just found a lost dog and he and his mom were waiting for the ASPCA to come pick it up. Could we just come to their place?* Warning bells were going off in my head and Jessie and I looked at each other for a split second before I said- 'Tell him never mind!' And turning on the car I headed for the highway. Jessie told him we were going to leave and he quickly said- that he would be there in 10 minutes or less...

I reeeaaallllllyyy wanted that tank, so I parked again after making sure Jessie was still up for waiting. As if we weren't already nervous, now Jessie and I sat in my car flinching whenever a red car came within sight and trying to act calm for each other. All kinds of thoughts were running through my mind: Do I want this fish tank that badly? What if something happens to Jessie- how could I ever forgive myself for putting her in this situation? I will stab the man if I have to.

Finally a beat-up old red Toyota truck pulled next to us. Unable to see the driver I asked Jessie if she had the knife ready before opening my door. Rounding the back of his truck I found a petite, young Hispanic boy. Already feeling much better knowing I could throw him if necessary, I gave a polite smile and we introduced ourselves. He was very pleasant, polite and respectful and began to show me the stuff I was about to buy. He realized at the last minute that he'd forgotten the plants, and I knew the mistake was genuine. He asked if I'd be willing to follow him to a bank near his place and this time we had no problem with that.

We waited while he ran and got them and came back with a girl (Jessie and I couldn't figure out if she was his girlfriend or sister). Turned out he had 6 fish tanks and was downsizing a little bit to get more money for college. We made our transaction with smiles and really...it wasn't so bad. A security guard at the bank came outside and stared us down while we made the transaction which made me feel half-safe and half-criminal.. Anyway, minus the previous 20 minutes of panic and 10 minutes of dread, Craig's List turned out to be a good idea for me this time. But it's still not something I want to use often... :)

Here's a few suggestions for you if you're going to shop on Craig's List:

1) A picture is worth a thousand words and 2-3 are even better. Ask for more pictures if there's only one on CL.

2) Try to pick a public area for CL transactions. A busy parking lot, a bank with a curious security guard...etc.

3) Take a ninja someone trustworthy with you if you must pick an item up from a home or apartment.

4) Be aware of your surroundings- look at a map before you go, unless you know the area well.

5) Be polite- even if they end up being rude, at least you've got no regrets.

6) It is ok to leave without buying the item, especially if it is not what you were expecting. One friend drove 40 minutes to pick up an item, hated it, but bought it anyway and found someone to give it to- don't feel obligated to do that. The person selling it will find another buyer.

7) While a knife isn't necessary, consider mace or a taser...just in case.

8) Enjoy the hunt- there are all kinds of steals and deals on CL!

*Saying that I found a lost pet or am looking for a lost pet are ranked right up there with offering candy to little kids. It may be true, but usually it's not. This is why we don't talk to strangers. This is why Craig's List can be very dangerous- because everyone is a stranger. Always have a buddy and a plan! (And maybe a knife...)

Mother's Day- Don't Forget!

I recently moved into a beautiful apartment with a college friend of mine. She and I have been unpacking and getting to know the area a little bit. A week ago we stopped by the library and got cards (they almost gave me the child's card) and then later in the week we found a good Asian place for takeout (priorities, people). 

I've learned how to deal with the school traffic and it's remarkable the difference 5 minutes makes. Also, Mondays are the worst.

I've also realized the importance of my Mom. Like a typical mother-daughter relationship, she and I didn't always communicate well. I have realized that I love her and respect her and that she's been a great role model in my life. I have no grandmothers anymore and none of my aunts have ever lived close enough to have deep relationships with me (though I love them dearly). That leaves my Mom as one of the sole role models in my life. True, there are some great women at church and from my college days that have helped to influence some of my choices and approaches to certain issues, but in the end I mostly reflect my Mom.

Did you know that Mother's Day is coming up? It is: May 12! While running errands yesterday I noticed a beautiful pink zinnia plant- huge and covered with blooms. Observing the price I decided: why not? After all- I love to give gifts and Mother's Day is soon! This of course inspired me to pick out a few other items I knew my Mom would like and use a basket to present them in. I'm delivering it early in the morning tomorrow on my way to work and am pretty excited to be catching her off guard with a VERY early Mother's Day gift. :) Unless she's staying up late after saying goodnight and reading this now...um, surprise Mom!

But I wanted to remind you, dear reader: remember your Moms! I had two different instances yesterday and today that made me want to weep and actually did make one of the ladies cry.

Mother 1) She works as a cashier at Walmart. An older lady. I don't know her history. When she checked out the plant I was buying she exclaimed over it's beauty and I couldn't help giving her a big smile and saying: "It's for my Mom! Mother's Day is coming soon!"

She looked suddenly wistful and said: "I wish my daughter would remember me..."

I was unsure where this conversation might lead, so I offered: "It's only easy because she lives in town." 

"My daughter lives on my property," she said, "but she's married this guy who doesn't believe in family ties." She went on for a few moments while I empathized and said it was "horrible" and that I was sure her daughter still loved her.

Inspired, I reached into my cart and picked one of the blooms off the zinnia plant and handed it to her.

"Oh no! Don't! You'll ruin your mother's plant!"

I was quick to reassure her and say with a smile, "She won't mind- and I can't stick it back on. Please take it!" And she began to cry. She bit her lip and sucked in a sob while trying to finish checking me out. Y'all- I was ready to go and smack some sense into her son-in-law and daughter. If they only knew how much that woman was hurting!! I talked her into taking the flower and left her with a small smile on her face and mutual God bless you's! I wish I'd gone around the cashier stand and given her a hug- I regret that.

Mother 2) Not as depressing. Just a random conversation with a lady and Mother's Day came up. She was very wistful and sad- hoping that she'll be remembered by her 3 kids.

SO- You have 10 days until Mother's Day. Have you got something planned? A card? A flower? A hug? Chocolates? A book or magazine? Dinner? 

Do something for your Mom! 

The 'cat' in Vacation

I consider myself a cat-lover, though I don't know if I'd ever like to have my own. (Kittens of course make me re-think this idea every once in awhile, but I've stood strong. I'm too afraid I'd become a "cat lady." That would be awful... plus litter boxes smell really really bad.)

 

This is about how a cat ruined my last night of vacation a month ago.

 

 

Time: 11pm

Place: My friends' house

Activity: Reading

Setting: The house is dark, minus the one little lamp I'm reading by- the other four occupants of the house have gone to sleep

Characters: Me and Sophie- the cat.

 

 

I had been reading for over an hour- I couldn't sleep even though I had an early breakfast meeting followed by a four hour road trip the next day. I was interrupted a couple of times by Sophie, the beautiful ragdoll cat, who was very happy to have a night owl in the house. She'd ignored me the first couple of days during my vacation and then we'd bonded that morning over a long piece of grass at the coffeetable. (I couldn't find any cat toys...) Apparently, that morning's experience had granted me access to her "best friends" list and I was now the very lucky recipient of her attention.

 

She was flighty that evening and pretended to watch things around the corner on the wall out of my line of sight. I smirked at her alertness and went back to my book- cats are trippy. She probably sees a moth, I thought.

 

 

Five minutes later my curiosity was aroused by the scratching sound on the wall. Peering around the corner I saw Sophie standing on her hind legs reaching up as high as she could on the wall. Bemused, I quietly asked her: "What's the matter Sophie?"

 

 

"Ma-oww!" she replied. She glanced at me and then began to insistently paw at the wall and meow even louder. "Ma-ow, mew, mrrow?"

 

 

"Hey now! You're going to wake the girls!" I quietly reproved her and THEN I looked up. The girls are lucky I'm not a screamer...

 

 

 

There at the top of the wall, in the corner was a giant roach. There are very few living creatures I dislike- roaches are one of them. Plus, I don't kill bugs. Can't stand the sound, feel, look, even thinking about it makes me gag and shiver. Usually I like most bugs, but not roaches...this was a large dilemma.

 

 

Well, Sophie will kill it if I bring it down to her, I thought. If only she hadn't pointed it out in the first place. Ignorance really was bliss.

 

 

To reach the roach, the closest things handy were a couple of Christmas tree branches. These had been cut from the girls' live tree and were lying on a dresser near the hallway. I wasn't sure if they were going to use them for decorating or not, but they were the perfect length for my purpose. That'll work, I told myself.

 

 

Very slowly I raised the branch toward the roach and gingerly guided it down the wall- toward Sophie who was sitting down and flicking her tail. She was satisfied that I was bringing her prey closer and stared intently. He was almost close enough when Sophie pounced on the wall and scared him back up a little ways.

 

 

"Stop it!!" I told her, barely containing my desire to flee: "Just wait another minute, ok? You will have to kill him because I won't! Sit. Stay." (Obviously I'm more used to talking to dogs...)

 

 

She sat back down and when I had him within her reach, pounced again. I can't watch, I thought, I'll go read my book now and let her finish the job. I hurried around the corner to the couch and tried to read another page in my book, hoping Sophie would eat the bug or drag it to some corner where I'd never have to see it again.

 

 

"Ma-ow! Ma-ow! Mrrrr-ow!" accompanied by scratching sounded from the hallway again. Peering around the corner I was dreading what I'd see. Sure enough there was Sophie, reaching for the ceiling. Her cries became more insistant when she saw me. (Honestly, I don't know how the roommates slept through the noise! ...It was about to get louder.)

 

 

"Ok, kit-kat, shush! Hang on." I assessed the situation. There was no more corner of the wall- now he was in the long part of the hallway. This meant the roach could travel further, faster. Not good.

 

 

Remembering the broom I'd seen in the house earlier that day I hurried through the dark unfamilar room and found it leaning against a chair. It's better than the tree branch and longer! I thought, this will keep the evil bug further away.

 

I decided to close the open bathroom door and flood the hall with light so the roach couldn't disappear. Hoping the light wouldn't disturb the sleeping roommates-especially my hostess, I raised the broom and glanced at Sophie who sat and practically purred in delight- she was about to hate me. Looking back up, I put the broom just above the roach to coax him down the wall as I'd done last time. Only this time he jumped onto the broom!

 

 

"Nooo!" I whispered frantically. "Get off! Get off!" He began to move down the broom handle like a disease-ridden robot. As he mounted the handle of the broommy panic escalated! I quickly lowered the broom to the floor (threw it)! The roach leaped from the broom to the hardwood floor and ran in my direction! All bets were off. The code of silence was broken. My feet and life were in danger!!

 

 

In a very muted way, this sound proceeded from my mouth: Ahhhh ah-AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

 

 

I turned to run, but was hindered by the cat! I began jumping from side to side to avoid the broom handle and the cat's tail. The cat, who was startled by the noise and my sudden movements, hurried to get away from me. The problem was, she had no traction on the wooden floor so she ran in place. Picture a girl trying not to step on a cat who is running in place for its life with a roach charging them both. I'm not sure how we managed to make it out of that hallway. She darted one way and I darted the other until I'd reached the safe distance of 10 feet or so. Then I turned to see where my little brown enemy was...

 

 

He had followed me around my corner instead of chasing the cat and was standing near the wall. Shuddering I considered my options and they weren't good. The cat had failed- Sophie was not going to kill the roach. It was up to me. Grimly I set my mouth and shuddered again. Fine. I could do this...right?

 

 

A cup! I needed a cup or a bowl...something disposable. Stumbling through the dark unknown house I found a light switch for the kitchen. Behind the second cabinet door I opened I found a cup- a single tiny disposable cup. Almost too small. Argh! Why me?! It wouldn't work if it were any smaller. Where are all the big cups? In a hurry, I grabbed the tiny cup and hurried back to the scene of the crime...where the enemy still waited. Part of me hoped he had disappeared so I wouldn't have to come near him and the other part didn't like the idea of not knowing where he was.

 

 

He hadn't moved. Sophie had moved near him and was studying him but when she saw me she darted around the corner! All I could see were her ears and her eyes which glared at me... "I'm sorry! If you had killed him, this wouldn't have happened. Scared-y cat." I felt better after hurling an insult at the feline. Slowly I inched towards the roach and got lucky trapping him under the cup within seconds. Good...now what?

 

 

Seeing the pile of mail nearby I grabbed a magazine and slid it under the lip of the cup so that I had complete control of the insect. Ok ok ok, I coached myself, now all I have to do is, um... open the front door and let him go? No! He could crawl out of the cup and up my arm!! (I could imagine exactly what those little creepy legs with their hooked feet would feel like on the back of my hand and worked to stay calm.) I could leave him for these girls. It is their house after all so technically he's their problem... No. That wouldn't be kind. I'll have to deal with this. The toilet will work! That's a good option. You are getting flushed, Bug! ...And I hope you don't come back. Please don't come back!

 

 

Sliding my hand under the magazine I lifted it and the cup and headed towards the bathroom. Sophie dashed out of my way- still glaring. I fumbled with the closed bathroom door and my very insecure roach prison for a minute. Sighing I glared at the cup and then at Sophie who was twitching her tail. "Don't even start with me- this is YOUR job. It's not like I scared you on purpose, you know." We didn't agree, she swished her tail and put back her ears. "Fine. I can handle it without you."


I managed to open the door. Turning on the light with my elbow I approached the pink toilet. (Yes...it was pink...so weird. I'd have been more weirded out if I hadn't grown up with my grandparents' purple toilet. But I digress...) Checking on my prisoner I made sure he was in the top of the cup before I placed it on the water.

 

 

Ok, now all he has to do is fall out of the cup, I'll lift it and flush...voila! But it didn't happen that way. The cup floated. I was a little amused...the stress was making me hysterical, I suppose. I wondered if the roach could swim out from under that? Probably. I reached to tap him out of the cup so I could grab it, but it fell sideways and filled halfway with water. My enemy had skills ninjas dream of...he was out of that cup and on top of it almost before I remembered to jerk my hand away! He stared at me while floating there and I stared, horrified, back at him. NOW WHAT?!

 

 

Then he began to swim. He circled the cup and then began to climb the toilet walls! The broom!! I need the broom!!! I dashed into the hallway and almost ran into Sophie (who, even though she was still mad at me, knew I had her 'toy' and she wanted to know what I was doing.) Sophie had another 'running in place' moment as she slid and skittered on the hardwood floors to get far away from me. Other than noticing her mad dash I was too focused on the broom to see her probable look of disdain.

 

 

I hurried back to the toilet and couldn't see the roach. NOOOOOO!!! If he got out...just no. After all that effort and panic?! It cannot happen. He must die! I bravely bent and looked further in the toilet bowl. There he was! Crawling towards the top...another few inches and he'd be free. 

 

 

But I can't flush it with the cup in there! I thought. Must get it out! I reached in and grabbed that floating cup faster than I've moved since I ran from the hornet's nest on the playground. Then I flushed that toilet. And flushed it again for good measure. I disposed of the cup, sanitized myself, put the broom back, turned off the kitchen light, and then went back and flushed the toilet at third time...just to be on the safe side.

 

 

Sophie still glared at me from the dark living room, but I ignored her look and returned to my book. I only had 25 pages left and I was NOT sleepy at the moment. Eventually Sophie decided to forgive me and approached for more chin scratching before I finished my book. I flushed that toilet once more before heading to bed that night. In my head I hummed "Ding dong! The roach is dead! Da-dum-dum-dum Da-dum-dum-dum. Ding dong! The wicked roach is dead!"

P.S. The other girls in the house never woke up or heard the battle.
P.P.S. Sophie didn't really ruin my last night of vacation, it was the roach...but I think we're even.

Thanksgiving Transitions

My Dad has asked my sisters and I to start coming up with ideas for Thanksgiving and family traditions. Since the baby of the family just turned 19, it may seem strange that we’re JUST NOW getting around to creating traditions for such a common holiday… Our former Thanksgivings were almost all spent at the family farm in the Ozarks (minus the few years we lived on islands and one or two others where the drive was longer than 9 hours- thank you Navy :)

Thanksgiving used to go like this:

The family would bundle into our minivan, later our suburban, and finally just take two cars and drive to northern Arkansas- a small town called Heber Springs. The tree leaves would have lost most of the radiant red and orange colors and be down to the yellows and browns. The air would be crisp and cool allowing sounds to seem sharper. I LOVED arriving late in the evening when it was dark because we had to drive down and around the mountain into the little town. There were twinkling lights and the car’s windows would be so cold that my breath would fog them up as I savored the view.

The little town is so full of memories because both of my parents had relatives that lived there. We’d stay with my Dad’s parents and spend Thanksgiving day at the farm with my Mom’s extended family.

When we were younger, we’d pile into my grandparents’ house with the long single hallway that connected the main living space to the den/office. Three bedrooms and a tiny bathroom opened up into that long hallway where my sisters and cousins and I played football, monkey in the middle, bowling, did puzzles, and generally got in the way of any adults trying to get anywhere. Occasionally we’d get to commandeer the tv and watch one of the 4 or 5 Disney movies my grandparents owned (my favorite was Bambi), but usually the menfolk watched football and the womenfolk would go shopping and antiquing, leaving us kids to fend for ourselves. We’d often get kicked outside to play where most of our games involved imagination because other than a tire-swing and the old boat by the fence, I don’t remember any toys. The nearby middle school track and playground were a great attraction and the pretty downtown park- but we usually needed an adult and a vehicle to get there.

Thursday morning would find us in front of the tv watching the Macy’s Day parade while Mom brushed and fixed all four of her daughters’ hair. Once we were sufficiently bundled, brushed and staticky, we’d pile into one vehicle, wave goodbye to my Dad’s relatives for the next 7-10 hours, and drive 15 minutes to the Holland Farm. Here anywhere from 85-120 cousins, aunts and uncles gathered to spend the day together. We’d arrive around 10-11am and immediately greet grandparents, before running to play. The Farm is HUGE. The kids would be scattered on the old bag swing, hanging on the fences looking at the cows and mule (and later horses), petting the dogs, watching the guinea fowl and chickens, climbing into the big red barn’s hayloft for some hay fights, poking at the tractors, tossing a football, catching up with cousins from the other side of the continent, walking around the old tennis court, searching through the empty small house used as a storage space, and daring each other to mess with the old white bull that hated the color blue instead of red…easy to do since most everyone was wearing bluejeans!

Once most of the relatives had arrived, the kids would be summoned from all points of the farm for the prayer and the meal. Thanksgiving was a time to be thankful and so Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary (my Granny’s big brother and his wife) would start by mentioning family members that couldn’t join us or had passed away that year and then any new arrivals: spouses, babies, or even boy/girlfriends (how embarrassing for them!). Then someone would be asked to pray before we formed a line for the delicious potluck meal. I never paid enough attention to which family member brought which dish. Aunt Mary cooked all the rolls and kept them in a large cooler wrapped in dishtowels to keep them warm. There were several different sides and some that were almost similar but not quite so that you never had enough room on your durable Chinet paper plate. The tiny kitchen counter would be hidden under all the dishes which meant desserts had to go on a completely separate table at the window behind the little dining table (which was reserved for Uncle Tommy and his siblings and their spouses…and didn’t used to be big enough).

Most of the family would eat outdoors at long folding tables with metal folding chairs. The big front lawn had plenty of room and it rarely ever rained on Thanksgiving- only 1 or 2 times that I remember. Those years the tables were squeezed under the carport and we managed. :)

After the meal, the tables would be folded away and the men would have their annual football game (the old men vs. the young)! The women would sit in the folding chairs along the front of the house and cheer on their spouses and sons. The girls and any boys too young to play, would climb onto the roof of the storm cellar for a better view of the game. I rarely watched, because usually we’d saddle up Old Sally (the mule) and later our cousin’s horses during this time. I preferred to ride. One year I rode a particularly stubborn tall black horse. She decided that she wanted to go the opposite direction I was pointing her and tripped herself. When she started to stumble I thought: “Oh she’s fine” but that quickly changed to shock when she fell over on top of my leg. The stirrup kept my foot from being crushed, but my knee suffered some trauma and every once in a while when I’ve been running too hard or worn heels too long it flares up in pain. I spent the rest of that afternoon watching the men’s football game while icing it and the next day in the ER getting x-rays and a pair of crutches. :)

After the football game, the tractors are attached to the long trailers and hay bales are loaded onto the edges of the trailer to form seats. Many mothers have packed quilts and blankets that are brought out as padding and insulation from the chilly November evening. The family then piles on for the long ride around the farm. We go through many gates and the ride takes about an hour as we go through several of my uncle’s pastures which once were full of cattle but now are mostly tree farms. The cows follow us and eat the hay we throw to them. One year we grabbed my cousin’s hands just in time as the bale he was sitting on was ripped from the end of the trailer by a couple of very hungry cows! There are also deer quietly watching us through the trees and we cross some beautiful brooks. The Ozarks are just stunning.

We get back to the farm as the moon is rising and partake of our second or third helpings for the day before families slowly begin to depart for the evening. The fireplace and the outdoor fire pit are some of the most popular places for the adults while the kids grab some flashlights for fun variations of hide-and-seek or tag.

Eventually our parents bundle us up and take us back to our Dad’s parents' place where we are spoiled with hot cocoa and our parents try to keep any hay from making a mess- impossible, since their four little blonde daughters have been rolling in it, stuffing it down each other’s shirts, and sitting on it for the hay ride.

The following day includes more fun with the cousins, a trip to see the giant trumpet swans, and possibly fishing. The evening includes another get-together at my Mom’s cousin’s house where we have snacks, a light dinner, and play Catch Phrase, Pictionary, and Charades. Usually there’s a dog inside that doesn’t mind cuddling and a cat or two on the porch willing to accept a scratch or two behind the ears. The stairwell wall is covered in stuffed birds and animal heads.

I will miss those many years of tradition. Both my Dad’s parents are gone and that house with the long hallway has been sold. My Mom’s mom is gone and the farm isn’t the same without my precious Granny. The horses have gotten wild because the cousins are in high school and college and don’t have the time to ride them. The little kids are now the men playing football or the young women sharing secrets with their cousins as they walk around the farm. My cousins are too grown up to play and often sneak away to nap or make phone calls or chase down their own children. The babies I held just a few years ago are now kids wrestling in the hay loft, swinging on the old bag swing or chasing the chickens. But most different of all is the tiny graveyard that now exists halfway down the main pasture and down a straight lane between tall trees. There, surrounded by quiet, minus the tiny brook babbling nearby and the wind through the leaves of the trees, rests the body of my Granny. Her headstone is a giant Arkansas rock covered in lichen and moss with a bronze placard. This is a special place where only she, my Grandad, and my Uncle Tommy and Aunt Mary (the owners of the farm) will be buried. My Uncle had the place legally designated as a cemetery plot after the bones of Native Americans were discovered there. She is the first of the four to go. It’s bittersweet.

So now that my Dad has asked what I want to do for Thanksgiving and how we should create our own family traditions I have no idea. Thanksgiving this year will be the single day off in the middle of one of my best friend’s wedding preparations. Perhaps as the years progress it will not matter so much.

I think most importantly it will be nice to still get to spend the day with people I love and reflect on the many things I have to be grateful for! So…

What are some of your Thanksgiving traditions? Do you go somewhere, play something special, always eat a certain dish? I need ideas…

Alterations

Sometimes I think I’ll reach a finish line in life. I’ll complete everything I need to and then sit back and relax and enjoy the ‘rest of my life.’

But the problem is: this IS the rest of my life! I’m in it RIGHT NOW! Any goals I have made or want to make- I should be pursuing them now, not putting them away for ‘later.’

I can become easily disappointed with myself when I make mistakes or miss my goals. It’s so tempting to wallow in despair when things don’t go as planned or I make a mistake twice. The self-deprecation is on overdrive when that happens. Thankfully, I am not defined by my goals and/or mistakes.

As I stood in front of the floor-length mirrors watching the lady pin my bridesmaid dress up in preparation for its alteration this afternoon, my brain kicked in. Life is full of alterations. As my Dad has said, “You can’t just set a ship in one direction and walk away from the wheel. You have to take into account the weather and currents (as well as objects that need to be avoided) and adjust the rudder constantly.”

This morning in church, my heart was touched by the testimony of our newest staff member. As that young man (how old am I to call someone a ‘young man’??) shared his story about how he had reached for everything life had to offer and realized that it did not bring the happiness he thought, he struck home. With a musical being published by a major theater and a dream job, he found himself depressed and empty. And it was in the midst of what should have been a joyful and proud moment that he realized- it’s all ashes. That emptiness that he was trying to fill could only be filled by God.

My heart echoed that story. How often am I thrown off course? How often do I get too busy to spend some time reading my Bible or memorizing God’s word? How often after I’ve missed one quiet time do I miss another- consumed with guilt and shame because I missed the first? Why do I neglect my relationship with God? All that time God is there waiting for me- willing to fill that empty-ness that comes upon me when I lose sight of my purpose here on Earth.

So I’m turning my rudder again. I’m allowing God to alter my course and strengthening my relationship with Him. Life is much more wonderful when I follow His plan! My pastor says, “The Gospel isn’t something you add to your life- when added it takes over your life. …This generation is cynical about Christianity and the church because they haven’t experienced an encounter with Christ.” I do not want to add to the cynicism. Paul says:

 1 Timothy 4:16 “Pay close attention to yourself and to your teaching; persevere in these things, for as you do this, you will ensure salvation both for yourself and for those who hear you.” “Be diligent to present yourself approved to God as a workman who does not need to be ashamed, accurately handling the word of truth.” 2 Timothy 2:15

I want to accurately handle His truth!

By God’s Grace and For His Glory,

Hannah

My Emotionless Semester

I never thought I'd see a psychiatrist. I was strong. I was good at holding in my emotions and being the "tough one" for my sisters' sake- especially after my Dad's tumor (see Breaking Point).

I'm the kind of person that holds pain and anger inside. But I remember my last Spring semester of college when my world turned upside down.

My baby sister needed to have back surgery- doctors were surprised that she had the back problems she did.

My Granny B was dying of cancer.

I was "lightly emotionally abused sexually" by the associate of the professor I was working for- I quit after a week and didn't exlain to my prof what had happened and refused to take my paycheck telling him to mark my time as "volunteer work".

I got very sick.

A guy and I were mutually interested in each other, but he was confusing me.

Naturally this was all very distracting from my studies and they began to plummet.

I turned to exercise- running. I ran from all my problems. I pushed myself so hard that I collapsed one night out on the golf course, dizzy and exhausted. Weakly I made my way to a pavilion by the dorms and called a friend who lived in the nearest dorm, "Can you let me in so I can walk through your building instead of going around it? I'm not feeling well." That friend and another came to my rescue. They brought me fries and a milkshake (comfort food at its finest) and let me sit on the cement floor of the pavilion and shake. I couln't cry.

It wasn't until a few weeks later, when my Dad called about my Granny B's passing away, that I lost control. I couldn't take it anymore. My roomie, Kristin, held me as I sobbed. She and another friend, Elana, had been very worried about me the past week. They had threatened to force me to watch The Passion of the Christ, just to make me cry. After a stormy 30 minutes of sobs, I swallowed back the pain. Again, ashamed of the tears, too hurt to breathe or focus.

I skipped all of my classes for a week.

I didn't know too much about panic attacks or depression, but I gained firsthand experience that semester. I was part of a Bible study leadership team with The Navigators and during our meetings I rarely spoke. I listened to the others but I was doing the bare minimum so that I could show up and see their faces. I searched their faces subtlely at the meetings memorizing their smiles. I'd smile back, but it was half-hearted. I was so emotionally detached, I don't know if they knew. Finally, somehow I decided to go and see one of the free psychiatrists on campus. I needed to spill my entire story to someone unemotionally attached to me. I filled out the paperwork and wrote a synopsis of why I needed to see a psyciatrist.

She came and got me. A tall, willowy blonde woman and led me up to her office-a large space with a huge comfortable looking couch in a pattern that reminded me of Arizona or New Mexico. A tiny water fountain ran in the corner and the lighting was natural, but muted. "This doesn't seem so bad." I thought. "Now I just need to tell her my story and..." I didn't know what would happen after that.

"Well, Hannah, I read your paperwork- you have a LOT going on. How are you doing?" she asked me. And I lost it. All of my self-control. Weeks worth of tears came. I cried because I was hurting, I cried because I was confused. I cried because I was missing my Granny. I cried because I was afraid I'd fail all of my classes. I cried because I was exhausted. I cried because I was scared. I cried more than I've ever cried in one sitting and all that in front of a complete stranger. She stayed in her chair and handed me a tissue box.

Who knew crying could be so cathartic? I finally was able to talk. I told her what was going on and she walked me through my feelings- something that I was embarrassed about and didn't think was necessary. She wrote notes for my professors telling them that I had missed class due to emotional stress, had seen her about it, and would be making up the missed work. She offered me medicine but I turned that down. I didn't need medication to help me cope- I'd just needed an outsider to ask me some questions that would help wake up my brain and let me vent.

I wrote an apology note to my Navigator friends giving them a little bit of information about what had been going on that semester and why I had been so detached. I told them that I was going to try to do better. "You don't need to apologize" one of the guys told me and my tears (suddenly thinking they had the right to show up whenever they felt like it) sprang to my eyes. I looked down embarrassed and trying to hide them, muttered thanks and moved on.

I don't know why I'm sharing this. Perhaps because it's freeing to write it down and whenever I feel stressed I remember this time? I do know one thing. During that time in my life I found this Bible verse and I clung to it.

 

 

Isaiah 30:18 "Therefore the Lord longs to be gracious to you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the Lord is a God of justice; how blessed are all those who long for Him."

 

 

In all that time, I DID seek the Lord. I longed for Him more than I ever had because I could not handle my life at the point in time. I am so grateful for the friends He placed in my life who kept an eye on me and encouraged me through it all. I hope that in your times of stress or pain that you know the Lord and can call on Him to help you. I also hope that you have a church/friends that you can rely on to pray with and for you. God is always there. He never changes. Blessed be His name! No matter what: long for Him, my friends!!

Lost in New York

I file behind my small group, trying to fit into the subway. It's March. I'm in New York. It's freezing.

I can't believe I got to go. It was a trip that came almost out of nowhere. I was preparing to go home for Spring Break and was approached about an opportunity to attend a conference- in New York! A city I'd always heard about, seen on the news and in movies- that's where all the superheros live, you know. And there are taxis! I mean, I've seen a few taxis in my lifetime, but not as many or as yellow as they are in New York.

The conference was fun. We sat and listened to people pray and sing and preach and teach. We were given a few hours to tour the city and my mentor, Sonia, and her husband were our tour guides. About a dozen of us filed out of the Soul Saving Station in Harlem, NY and headed for the subway. We passed the Apollo Theater on the way. I had no idea where we were, exactly, but I didn't worry about it since I was with a group. I should have. I'm always careful now.

The day was a blur- we didn't have time to do everything so we pretty much looked as we walked, rarely stopping. I saw the Statue of Liberty, the Bull from Wall Street (I think it's been sold and moved since then), Ground Zero, the Rockerfeller Center, Times Square, went inside the Trump building and the Apple Store, walked through a corner of Central Park while eating a hotdog, passed a couple of beautiful churches, and several other famous places that I would have to google the names of because I am no New York expert. It was while we were walking past Tiffany's that we heard the CRASH. We stopped on the sidewalk and stared at the intersection. A taxi cab had just slammed into the back of a VERY nice car. Car doors were thrown open, a couple of policemen came running and it was very loud. The New York accent is pretty strong when they're upset. One of the last places we browsed through was Chinatown- where I was forced to buy a purse.*

Finally, we were all exhausted from walking all afternoon and on a schedule to get back for the next session. However, we caught rush hour traffic. I had put my purse into my friend Serge's backpack since I was wearing my Mom's snow jacket. It's hard to carry a purse when you have a few extra inches (a foot!) of padding where your arm used to be... So there I was, waiting to get in when suddenly I knew- there was NO more room on the subway and all of my group was on board. Glancing down to my left I saw Serge and a few more from our group just stepping into the next car. Suddenly I had the speed and agility of Spiderman himself as I raced down to the next car. I could see there was going to be no room for me. The subway was about to leave and Serge was just putting his first leg into the car when I grabbed the handle of his backpack in terror.


***************

We interrupt this moment to point out a few things you may not have noticed

a) I don't know where I am or where I'm going

b) My money and phone are in Serge's backpack

c) I have a very big fear of crowds and New York has LOTS of people

d) I am panicking

Ok, now that you have the facts, let's continue.

****************


With my newfound strength I hauled Serge backwards off that subway. Thankfully, Serge is goodnatured. I didn't knock him down so he was fine, just a little disoriented. He too now realized that we were both not going to fit on the subway and then the doors closed. We waved at the friends in that car and then at the friends in the next car as they sped past us saying something and making motions I couldn't hear or understand. Serge had the good sense to remember where we came from and also had a map so he knew which subway we needed to catch. We took the very next one. It was almost empty. We both sat down and stared at the subway tiles flashing by and the occasional OLD wooden walls...I can definitely understand why so many people use New York as a setting for their books and movies...the subway felt like a roller coaster without the giant hills or loops.

Unfortunately, we were taking forever to get back and our subway kept stopping at EVERY station. See, we had not fit on the Express for a reason...everyone who's anyone knows that that is the one you want if you're going all the way across the city, which we were. A sketchy looking man was sitting across from us and watching us. I stared at my gloves, the floor, out the window...he was pretty intent. Then at the next stop, he moved over and sat next to me. I swallowed my panic and peeked at him. The man smiled a grin with a couple teeth missing and some gold ones flashing. Serge was busy looking at the map.

"Where are you going?" the man addressed us both. Serge told him and the man told us all about how we needed to catch the Express and there was another one that would be behind our subway. We just needed to get off at the next stop and wait a few minutes. So we did. We thanked the man with the interesting smile and caught the next Express.

As I sat indian-style on the hotel bed that night eating Chinese takeout with several of the girls I sincerely thanked God for His faithfulness and protection. It would have been very bad if I had not caught Serge, because I would have had no phone, no money, and no idea where my friends were going. Also, I enjoyed the adventure afterwards. :) My advice if you visit New York? Take the free map from the hotel.


*I still didn't have a souvenior and was considering one of the purses. I checked the price tag and decided that I really didn't want it. I walked out of the store only to hear someone behind me say: "You buy! For you ten dolla! Good deal!" There behind me was the lady from that store with the purse I had just looked at. "Oh, no thank you." I said with a smile assuming we were done. Half a block later she was still following me and trying to haggle the price. Mortified and not really good at confrontation, I gave in and bought the stupid purse. I never used the purse. My sisters didn't want the purse. It went to Goodwill. Moral of the story: avoid Chinatown unless you have a will of IRON.

This Little Light of Mine

I am so excited about sharing the beginning of my testimony today that I don't know how to actually begin! To be honest, I've started typing this at least a dozen times in the last month or so.

To understand my testimony you need to know about my experiences with one of my favorite things on earth: the ocean (example of my love for the ocean :)). I could listen to, smell, look at, and swim in the ocean all day. Of course, I'm a little spoiled- I prefer the clear waters of the Pacific or the gulf around Florida where I can see what's around me. Swimming in the muddy brown water of Galveston these past 10 years has been a poor substitute.

On the day my parents brought me home from the hospital as a little baby girl, they made a detour. (My Dad wanted to show me off to his coworkers...:) So the first place I ever went in my life was on board a ship. Of course I don't remember it, but I like to think that that is one of the many reasons I LOVE the ocean. My Dad was in the Navy, so I've always lived within an hour of the beach (minus 3 years in Nebraska). I have probably spent a year of my life swimming, snorkeling, building sand castles, chasing crabs, catching fish, and hunting for sea shells.

When I was about 4, my grandparents were visiting us while we lived in Monterey, CA. We took them to the beach. :) I remember the brown sand and remember wading out to my waist. On my way back to the beach, I somehow tripped in the water. I could swim, so this wasn't a problem. However there was a brutal undertow. I was close enough to the shore and the water was shallow enough that I could dig my fingers into the sand and hold my head above water. Usually the undertow would stop after a few seconds and I knew I'd be able to stand up and go about my business. This time it wasn't letting up. When the sand started to get pulled away from my hands I knew something was wrong. But I didn't cry out for help- it all happened so fast. I still remember the feel of the sand disappearing from my hands and the pull of the ocean. My Grandad happened to be close and he leaned down and grabbed me moments before I was drawn out to sea. He saved my life.

After such a traumatic moment you'd think I'd be scarred for life and refuse to touch the ocean without some form of therapy, but no. I loved the ocean too much! I was right back in it that same day. This is how God opened the door of my heart and one of the main things He used to draw me to Him.

We moved to Guam a year after my near-drowning experience- a tiny bean-shaped island near Japan. The waters and coral reefs around Guam are gorgeous! I still remember the vibrant colors. (It's also a honeymoon spot for many Asians...I remember my sisters' and my blond hair getting a lot of attention and we were in a LOT of pictures with strangers. :) Our church in Guam was on a cliff overlooking the sea. I remember climbing the porch poles for a better view and humidity so thick you felt like you were wading through it. (Trust me, Houston is NOT as bad.) One day, a little girl about my age got baptized. The church tromped down to the ocean to celebrate her baptism, but we stayed in our church clothes. Being on the beach my natural instinct was to run to the water, but my parents stopped me. "But she's swimming!" I said, completely confused. My parents had to explain this to me. We went home and I had questions. What was 'baptism'? I'd heard of Jesus, I knew about His stories, I'd listened to my parents pray- we always prayed before every meal and before going to bed.

My parents explained that baptism was a symbol. It was that little girl's way of publicly showing that she had asked Jesus to save her from her sins and that she was a Christian. There was further discussion- I don't remember much of it, only that it happened. I decided then and there that I didn't want to go to Hell. I knew that I was 'cause I'd definitely sinned- Mom didn't know about my pet baby gecko in the empty peanut butter jar that I was keeping under the living room chair...(the things you could hide when chairs and couches had cloth flaps or fringe that went down to the floor)...

I don't know if it was that same day or week, but I DO know that seeing a girl in the ocean was what God used to trigger my conversations with my parents that eventually led to me praying one night with them and asking God to forgive me of my sins (playing with fire, hiding creatures in the house, being selfish with my toys, hiding food in my napkin so I wouldn't have to eat it, etc.) and come into my life. I asked Him to take charge and make me the little girl that He wanted me to be. And I told Him that I knew because of Jesus' sacrifice on the cross that I could be saved and live in Heaven someday.

I wasn't baptized in Guam. I don't know why. I would wait two years before being baptized at a small church in California.

And THAT is the beginning of my testimony. :)

Hunama Bay

Looking up at the steep edges of the island surrounding the bay I sighed in contentment. This was my fortress. My safe place. Nevermind the other 50 or so people on the beach. I grabbed my snorkel and goggles and headed towards the waves. I didn't really love my flippers- I preferred to swim barefoot, but I knew that without them the coral could cut my feet. Still, I left them by the towel this time. The morning sun combined with the scent of sunscreen and the gentle pounding of the waves was a melody I knew well.*

 

The water was cool and clear and I dug my toes in the sand to hide them from the hungry and curious fish swarming my legs. These gentle giants (they were about a foot in length) were the first to greet me. I searched the bay looking for the least populated spot. I began wading and shivered as the cool water closed over my shoulders. Dunking myself, I then fixed my goggles and snorkel and began my exploration. Fish of different colors and sizes, crabs, urchins...these were my treasures- this was my idea of a perfect day. I listened to the scraping of a parrot fish's beak against the coral as it searched for food- it's body bigger than mine. I startled myself when I rounded a wall of coral and came nose-to-nose with a bright yellow trumpet fish. He was about 5 feet long and he waited for me to move away before making a dash for another hiding spot from all the tourists. I followed schools of tangs and watched the sand gobys build their little homes on the bottom of the sea. I swam under coral arches and looked for seashells, often diving deeper to see what I could see. I hummed in my mind as I explored- never lonely. Occasionally I would have to surface and see if I was too far out- I didn't want to get too close to the walls of the bay because the tide and current made it dangerous. I also, while I didn't mind being alone, didn't want to be too far out- I had a healthy respectful fear of sharks and knew there were white-tips beyond the bay. (Not that they would probably have hurt me, still, I didn't want to find out!)

 

I did swim to the drop off- if you have ever watched Nemo you should know that drop offs exist and that is were some of the most beautiful corals are! I peered over the edge and could see the sand 40-50 feet below me. The coral was a gorgeous mix of reds, oranges, yellows and purples. I also saw a shark down there lazily swimming along the wall and decided that I'd seen plenty.

 

Once, while snorkeling with my Dad, we found a sea turtle! We had such fun swimming by her and around her- we didn't dare touch her, that's against the law. Another time, a family came to visit ours while we were living in Hawaii and we took them to our bay- I had to 'baby-sit' the older of the boys (he was about my age). I had moved about 10 feet away and noticed the some of the coral looked different. I sat there lazily floating face down, breathing through my snorkel and studying it when I realized that I could see two eyes...and a fin...and the line of the mouth...and...! It was a poisonous Devilfish. He had picked the perfect spot to catch prey and I was not about to get in his way. I backpaddled so fast until I was far enough away to wheel around and grabbing the arm of the boy, I swam as fast as a cartoon character until we reached the beach. He was a bit confused about this odd behavior until I managed, between gasps, to explain what I'd seen.

 

I dream about that bay. The many afternoons I spent there. The steep zig-zag road we had to climb up to get to our cars after all day in the sun and water. The beautiful crystal blues of the ocean. The mongoose and birds we'd see. Those were lovely, lazy, beach days. I miss the sea, so much. Especially the beautiful South Pacific.

 

If you ever visit Oahu, take some time and go snorkel at Hunama- most of the corals are brown because people used to walk on them, but there is still plenty of sea life and the edge of the bay is gorgeous.

*Fun fact: when I was born, on the way home from the hospital, my Dad left my Mom in the car and took me on board his air craft carrier to show me off. :)

Remembrances & A Poem

Today is the one-year anniversary of my Grandad's suicide. It's a hard day for my family- especially for my Dad. The loss of a parent is something I do NOT look forward to experiencing.

November. My family does our level best to always make it to the farm in Heber Springs, Arkansas for Thanksgiving. In previous years, we would stay with my Dad's parents. We'd sleep in and watch some of the Macy's Day Parade before driving 10 minutes out to the farm for the annual family reunion with my Mom's side of the family. This year was different. My Dad's parents were gone. And while we had resigned ourselves, in recent years, to staying in a hotel- we had still always stopped by their house for a hug in the morning and knew we'd be coming back when darkness and the cold chased us from the farm. It was a terrible prospect to have no Grandparents left in that tiny little house.

The drive from our house to Heber was a long one. I was packed into the backseat next to the baby of the family. She had dozed off and I had lost myself in a book. Suddenly, she jerked awake. "You ok?" I asked. Sleepily she pushed her hair out of her face and blinked a few times. "Yeah" she answered. And then, "What day is it?" she asked me. "What do you mean?" "I mean, what day of the month is it?" she said. "Um," I thought for a minute, and then answered. "Oh" she sighed. "Bad dream?" I asked.

"Yes. I always have it about this time of the month." (within a week of the time Grandad had shot himself) She went on, "I'm running and I see Grandad and I'm trying to get to him and stop him, but I never make it!" She was on the verge of tears and my own eyes filled as I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "It's ok." I said. And she leaned her head on my shoulder and I rested mine on top of hers and we rode in silence for a while. I remembered scenes a few months earlier from the funeral- staying with people from my Grandparents' church that I barely knew, all the pity and embarrassment in peoples' faces because this funeral was a suicide- so different from dying of 'natural causes' or an 'accident'.

My baby sister's dreams and her precious memories of our beloved Grandad, cut me deeply. It hurt to know that she was still hurting- but I knew how she felt. We all were having "what if's" and "why didn't I just's" floating through our minds.

I wanted to share a poem that my sister wrote that was published recently in her college magazine (of which she is an editor). I am so proud of her!

Tale Spinner
by Sally Beard

Tissue box parade
Dead flowers, some for me
Some for the grave.
Chairs that have rocked their last
Endless visitors, empty glasses
The funeral is done
But the march goes on.
Even without you
The procession never stops.
People I've never met walk past me
Some stop and shake my hand,
Say "He was full of life"
But most won't even look me in the eye.
Are they embarrassed for me?
I don't bite.
Or maybe they're afraid of catching germs
From the tear-stained tissue I so desperately clutch.
I miss you so much.

In the cemetery, I wait
Until the last visitor has left
Then I pause beside the grave
In which lies
One who would have acknowledged my presence.
Why do funerals often turn out this way?
And now that prying eyes have gone
The tears come.
A letter. A tarp. A gun.
A hospital too, but by then
You were gone.
Four days later, here I am
Standing over you, instead of beside you.
You always told me, "Don't you change,"
But this place has changed for me.
I remember how I'd climb your knee
And you would begin to weave stories.
Some were funny, and tickled
Like a fuzzy blanket.
Some were thoughtful and comforting
Like an afghan.
Some were stories
Hard to understand
And the thread of my concentration would snap.
After all, I was only a kid.
But the best were your hugs,
Far better than a blanket
Were the arms that wrapped around me
And the husky voice that said "I love you."

You were fraying long before I noticed
And took up a rifle.
Shot a hole in the tapestry
That you spent your whole life weaving.
Tattered blankets, shattered hearts,
My world is spinning, ripping apart.
This is one story that I hate to tell,
I wish it wasn't true.
Though I continue your pattern
I'll never be as talented as you.
The blanket now has a knot
That I cannot undo;
Your death is a mystery, a mistake
That I cannot unravel.
Yes, this place- for me- has changed a lot
But the thread runs true;
You're never fully dead
Until you're forgot,
And I'll always remember you.

The Babies and the Gun

I have found myself talking about guns this year. Especially in the last two weeks.

In fact, there is a recording on our lovely ladies event video from today* of my voice in the background commenting about guns. We were discussing shooting at a bee hive in a coworkers yard and I claimed it was a silly thing to do..."You should shoot at criminal's knee caps instead." Of course, my coworkers laughed loudly and I'm soft-spoken so hopefully you can't REALLY hear the comment...and normally they put video clips like that to music so I'm desperately hoping it won't be heard! Of course, I just told y'all about it...but so few people read this I think my reputation is safe...

Clarification: I do not own a gun...but I might get one someday. I would do my best NEVER to shoot at a person, but if you break into my house and I have someone to protect (i.e. a kid) plan on surgery for bullet removal in the near future. I'm all for people being allowed to own guns and carry them (after going through proper classes on handling, cleaning, etc.) Guns aren't the problem- it's the people who make the bad decisions. There- disagree me if you wish, but please don't flood this post with comments about how horrible you think I am for this belief.

I've had 3 experiences with guns. Two of them were spent skeet shooting, but this is a story about the only time I've come in close contact with a handgun. (Meaning- I almost used it.)

Once upon a time, my family moved to Texas. I was pleased to get an all-day baby-sitting job for two little 18-month-old girls. Let me describe this for you: giant Texas mansion with two sets of stairs to two separate parts of the house. The babies slept upstairs...one up either set of stairs. One was the granddaughter and the other was a friend's child. They obviously weren't thinking when they left a 16-yr-old in that kind of situation. A couple of my sisters were allowed to come and help out during the day (so they'd get some of the cash) and I was grateful...18-month-olds that can walk are quite a handful...

"Now, if anything happens," the man told me as they were leaving that morning, "my handgun's in the drawer by the bed." -He said this as if I would know what to do with it...and so seriously that I suddenly wondered if I needed to worry. Was there something they weren't telling me??

Well, night was falling. I created a pin out of furniture for baby number one and took the granddaughter up to her crib first. Settling her in (quickly...can't leave unsupervised babies...) I hurried back down the stairs, past the bedroom with the gun, past the front door, through the first living room, into the second living room where I had left baby number two. She was a bit distraught and I had to comfort her as I carried her up the second set of stairs to her crib. When she finally settled down I had to go back down the stairs, through the two living rooms, past the front door, past the room with the gun, and up the original set of stairs to check on baby number one- the granddaughter. She had settled down and content, I made my way past the room with the gun to living room number one where I settled into a huge sofa with a book.

The room had floor to ceiling windows that were about 20 feet tall (it was the reason the whole upstairs had to be split into two) and these windows did NOT have curtains. I was deep into my book when I suddenly heard a loud noise- as if someone had thrown a pebble at the glass window. It being perfectly dark outside, I couldn't see a thing. I froze and tried to act normal as I pretended to keep reading. The noise happened again- twice this time.

Ok. It was time to start thinking about my options.

A) No cell phone- would have to get to the kitchen for the home phone...where'd they put that paper with their number? Did one of the babies eat it??
B) I don't remember the new home phone so I can't call Dad.
C) Ok...which baby would I save first? The granddaughter, I guess. Plus she's closer to the room with the gun.
D) The gun! It can't be that hard to use a gun, right? Just point and shoot. But I don't want to shoot anybody!!
E) Was this why he sounded so serious...they left me to deal with the problem??**

(And here I was interrupted by more of the clanking noise against the window.)

Ok it was time for action. I acted as casual as a frightened teen can and slipped out of the living room to the front door (out of sight of the window). Peering through the peephole I saw nothing and no one. Creeping into the room with the gun I opened the drawer and looked at it. Praying I decided against the gun and shut the drawer again- physically shaking at this point. I couldn't find the phone.

And here I did something stupid. I opened the front door and stuck my head outside and found myself confronting a pair of yellow eyes.

The creature switched it's tail at me before pushing past me into the house. I felt my heart re-start and actually found myself grateful for the cat's company. Somehow it had gotten shut outside during the day. But it wasn't the cause of the noise against the window. Looking again I spotted the culprit. A large grasshopper, hypnotized by the landscaping light on the window was jumping into the glass window...over and over again.

So happy I could have cried, I laughed and shut and bolted the door turning to look at the cat. It's purr was the most welcome sound on earth.

I am not afraid of guns now, but I used to be. It was a shock to be told I had access to a gun and to use it if necessary. I've never come across that type of situation again. Anyone else have a similar experience?


*I had no idea my coworker was taking a video- we thought he was just taking pictures! I've been teasingly warned that it might make the next video for the seminary...I really hope not.

**Hey...sometimes my imagination can get carried away, ok?? This is why I DON'T watch scary movies...

It Started with One...

PARKER
In March, shortly before we put Bonnie (my dog) down, I bought a turtle. A tiny Mississippi Map turtle. He had to be shipped from Florida & I anxiously watched the UPS tracker hoping that he would arrive alive!

The moment I looked into his tiny silver eyes, I melted. I dubbed him Parker. He was 3/4 of an inch big. I took him to work with me where I had a tank ready and waiting (with fish too). He looked so little and lost that I couldn't bear to leave him in the tank overnight so I took him back home with me and set up a bowl for the night. This went on for a few days...then I slowed down and only brought him home on weekends- because that tiny tummy couldn't go all weekend without eating, right?

Parker was absolutely charming. He'd stretch out his legs and sun on his little island. He'd yawn and rest his head on his foot- just like my dog used to do...didn't know turtles did that...etc. I was captivated.

WATSON
A couple weeks later, I decided that Parker was lonely. How could he not be? So I went to the pet store in the mall and bought a generic Red Ear Slider (common green turtle). Problem solved! Or was it?
Watson was a pig. And a bully. He bit off part of Parker's tail and I saw him grab Parker by the tiny foot and drag him under the water- TWICE! Naturally, I renamed Watson "Jaws" and gave him to my sister as a class pet for her elementary kids. My sister's class had a difficult time naming him- he was almost "Mr. FuFu"...but thankfully the kids voted on "Jack" instead. Jack hates being a class pet, but I could care less...the little monster.

SEBASTIAN
Three days later I was back on the internet and decided to order another turtle buddy for Parker. This time I thought I'd try a different breed: a Musk turtle. Within a few days I had Sebastian- the tiniest turtle I have ever seen- less than 1/2 inch big! He looked like a little beetle as he bumbled around in the tank. He had a huge appetite and was very curious about all the fish. He was like a little shadow to Parker. I loved him. When he didn't eat one day, I got very worried. Checking his paperwork I read that sometimes turtles lose their appetites for a few days so I relaxed. But by day 4 I was on the phone with the company talking to one of their experts. "Shrimp pellets!" the lady told me.

So the very next morning I went to the first pet store, but they were out of shrimp pellets. So I went to a second pet store and grabbed 4 different varieties of treats that promised they tempted turtles...
However, by the time I got to my office, Sebastian had died. I was in shock- I'd had him for a month with no problems! He'd been so cute.

COLONEL BRANDON & NO-NAME
Having loved Sebastian but worried that a Musk turtle might die on me again, I decided to look for something new. I consulted 3 different websites about turtles and their sizes, habitats, and personalities. Using my coupon, I got online with my Florida company again and ordered TWO new baby turtles- because everything is better in threes...(that's what I learned in floral design).

I waited two days in excitement for my Red Belly and Yellow Belly baby turtles! "This will be it," I told myself, "no more turtles after this! It'll be perfect!" However, imagine my shock when I opened the package to find two very large baby turtles- both of them over twice the size of Parker. The site had said 0.5 - 1 inch babies...but these were 2.5 and 3 inches! Dubiously, I put them in my lovely giant tank with Parker. They ignored food the first day so there were no problems, but I couldn't help being disappointed that they were so large.

A day later I watched in terror as the Red Belly almost bit Parker's head in his quest for the piece of food Parker already was eating. I stuck my hand in that tank and using a finger pushed him down and away from Parker so fast he didn't know what hit him. Then when the Yellow Belly did the same thing I reached in grabbed him and put him upside down in the little island in the tank. I had to do it twice before he learned his lesson.

The next day, our sweet cleaning lady came with her 4-yr-old daughter on her weekly cleaning day. Having discussed animals with her in detail and her daughter always loving to watch my fish and help feed them, I had a sudden thought. "Do you want a turtle?" I asked the mother. "Really?!" she asked excitedly. "Yes!" I said and without further ado, reached in and grabbed the 3 inch Red Belly and put him back into the packing box he'd arrived in. The little girl cradled him in her lap while her mama cleaned and they left with smiles.

That afternoon, I casually asked a co-worker, "Would you be interested in a turtle?" "Oh, actually yes! The kids would love it!" "Perfect!" I said- already planning my LAST turtle purchase as I left her office. The Yellow Belly has been named Colonel Brandon by the 11-yr-old girl who just discovered the movie "Sense & Sensibility"- he should be proud of his name...

"NOCCI" & ?
Deciding that really the only way to give Parker company without it being a danger to him or a bully was to get the exact same kind of turtle. So I opened my trusty old Florida site determined to put some comments on my order form about sizing issues and let that be it.

But when I opened the site, wouldn't you know? They were having a sale on the very kind of turtle I've been dreaming of since I was 12. Soft Shell turtles- what I like to call 'Pancake Turtles' are my favorite turtle of all time. I discovered them when we moved to Hawaii & the hotel had them in this huge outdoor exhibit with little blue penguins. Normally those turtles sell for $60 and I had felt that was price-y, but they had new hatchlings and were selling them all for $20- with my $10 off coupon, he'd be $10!! Thrilled I added one to my basket. Then I went ahead and added a Mississippi Map turtle so that I'd have my "perfect 3".

I practically danced for two days waiting for them to come and when they arrived yesterday I gasped! My little pancake turtle was the cutest thing I'd ever seen...as cute as Parker anyway. The other little turtle, Parker's sibling, is a tiny bit bigger than he is, but she doesn't bite him or steal his food or bully him. He is content. I am content. My turtles are spoiled.

I have named my pancake turtle: Pinocchio (Nocci for short) because of his long pointy nose. 

Anybody have suggestions for the little girl turtle?