Follow Through

I'm pretty good at doing laundry, if I do say so myself.  I get the clothes sorted. In the washer. Moved to the dryer.  Into the basket.  And folded.  But that's where it ends.  I'm good at doing the laundry, but I'm not very good at putting it away.

It's the same with the dishes.  I'm fine loading the dishwasher.  And, oddly, I actually enjoy washing up dishes in my sink.  And putting them in the drying rack.  And then leaving them there. For days.

Does this say something about me?  That I don't have follow through?  I'm trying to think about other aspects of my life.  Other examples I could use.  But I honestly can't think of anything else that I do in a day besides half-doing the laundry and dishes.  And raising my kids.  And so far I haven't pooped out on doing that.  But they're young.  There's still time.  (Just kidding, probably.)

Un-famous

My kids are making a movie today (I'm the Horrible Witch who gets shot in the face).  They are creating costumes and writing a script.  My husband has unknowingly agreed to video this award-winning film when he gets home from work this evening.

All of this has reminded me of a time my friend and I decided to make a movie.  My friend was named Allison and she befriended me the moment I showed up in her 4th grade class as "the new girl."  I soon learned why she was so quick to be my friend.  She was moody and bossy and, thankfully, moved away later that year.  But that move was my first experience at having to make new friends and I was thrilled that someone wanted to hang out with me.

So, one day in her backyard, we started coming up with a storyline.  Something about two lost girls.  I don't remember exactly what the story was, but here's what I do remember.  I remember thinking it was so much fun.  The pretending.  The planning.  And then she said, "My dad says this movie could make us famous!"  She said this with excitement.  A gleam in her eyes.  She wanted to be famous!  But I was terrified.

The fun was gone.  The movie had lost it's charm and I didn't want to do it anymore.  The thought of being famous had ruined it for me.

This memory pretty much sums me up.  I'm not like my brother, the punk rocker turned pastor who is completely at ease in front of a crowd.  Or my sister, an actress who has spent her entire adulthood in front of cameras.  Once the pressure is on, I'm turned off.  So, I'm not going to lie.  I might not give this current role my all.  Although, I probably could handle being type-cast as a horrible witch my entire acting career.

Murder at Rabbit Lake

Okay, so there wasn't really a murder at Rabbit Lake. At least not to my knowledge. But there was a brief period of time when my father and I thought there may have been.

Every once in a while my dad and I would take a weekend and go up to the lake just the two of us. It was on one of these weekends that we uncovered a mystery. Sort of. Very soon after arriving we hopped in the boat and made our way around the lake. Not too far into our cruise we noticed a boat floating in the weeds. We watched it for a minute. There may have been a "if this boats a-rocking..." joke made. We went on our way.

The next day we took our boat out again. Sure enough, the other boat was still there. Our interest was piqued. It was quite far into the reeds so we couldn't get close enough to get a good look. We started coming up with many scenarios, but the one that seemed the most plausible, or the most intriguing, was that a murder had been committed.

We started coming up with the details. I'm not going to give anything away (we may write a book someday!), but we certainly got into it. We went into town one morning for lunch and a moment after the server walked away my dad said, "She's definitely a suspect." Later my dad had to take the lawn mower in to be fixed. He came back and described the place he'd gone. It had old parts hanging on the wall and several mowers, snow blowers and other things scattered about the yard. "It's a perfect location for the initial argument," he declared. We'd be sitting around the fire and one of us would suddenly blurt out a new idea or a plan for what had happened next. We took the boat out one more time just to see if the abandoned boat was still there. It was.

Pretty soon our weekend was coming to an end. We had a lot of speculation, but we didn't have any answers. We had to know. My dad convinced me to go with him in the canoe. I hate riding in a canoe, but this was our weekend and I wanted to be a good sport. Plus, I was just as curious as he was.

We paddled out of our bay. The boat was in our sights. We were slowly making our way over, when a man came walking down his dock. My dad is a friendly guy and my parent's had just build their lakehouse, so he whispered that we should stop so he could introduce himself. "And he could be a suspect," my dad added.

We pulled up next to the dock and my dad reached out his hand as he said his name and explained that he had just built out on the point. The man leaned down to shake my dad's hand. It was early and the lake was still very quiet. I think by way of explanation the man said, "I'm just out here waiting for a friend of mine to come around from the public access." We were about to share with him why we were out on the lake so early when he added, "He's going to pull my boat out of the reeds." He pointed to the boat, our boat. "It blew off the lift a few days ago."

So, mystery solved. And no murder, to boot. But my dad and I will always remember that weekend. And every once in a while one of us will see another potential suspect.

A Letter to my Husband

Dear Wade,
Please put the Pam Cooking Spray back on the correct shelf when you are done using it.  It has always gone on the bottom shelf.  With the other cooking-type oils and such.  Always.  It has never gone on the top shelf.  With the popcorn popper.  Never.

I realize the shelves are fairly close together.  And if you squeeze it into the right front corner of the top shelf, letting it precariously hang over the edge, ready to fall on me as I prepare to make my morning eggs, it does fit there.  But on the bottom shelf, where it belongs, there is plenty of room for it to stand, uncrowded, and amongst it's friends Extra Virgin Olive Oil and Red Wine Vinegar.

I think we'd all be a little bit happier if the Pam Cooking Spray was put back on the correct shelf when you are done using it.

Your loving wife,
Sara

Bird Dog

Yesterday my dog killed a bird.  I know some dogs are hunters, but my dog isn't.  She's more of a barker.  Or a lie-arounder.  But, for some reason, yesterday she found her killer instinct.

It's finally gotten nice outside.  Summer finally feels like summer.  And, as such, I make the dog stay out all day.  The rest of the year, as I sweep the kitchen floor or vacuum the family room, she follows behind me, shedding.  Negating the work that I'm doing as I'm doing it.  But when I clean in the summer I get a full 2 minutes to enjoy the clean-ness before my kids undo it all.  However, this summer, until this week, at least, it's been rainy and muddy and I haven't been able to leave my dog outside for hours at a time.

But this week the dog has been able to spend her days lounging under the patio set.  We have a bit of a bird sanctuary in our backyard and this surprises me since we also have a 50 lb. black lab.  But the kids made birdhouses for Father's Day and I bought a bird bath earlier this spring.  We've had a bird feeder out back for years, but this summer I can't seem to keep enough bird seed in it (and it's not squirrels...they have never been able to get into the feeder we have).  So, ten feet from where the dog is half passed out in the shade, birds are flying.  Everywhere.  Robins and cardinals.  Sparrows and mourning doves.  Little black and white birds.  Chubby browns ones.

So yesterday, as the kids were playing, the birds were flitting, and the dog was lounging, I heard a scuffle and the the kids started yelling.  They yell a lot, so this wasn't anything that grabbed my attention right away, but then I realized they were yelling "Bad dog!  You're a bad dog!  Stop it, bad dog!"  Either the dog was quick enough or the bird was slow enough (my guess is the latter), but somehow there was a bird in Sadie's mouth.  My yelling children were able to get Sadie to drop the bird by the time I got to them, but the poor little thing was scared to death and hopped into a bush.  I put the dog in the house and we kept an eye on it for a while, and eventually I swear I saw it fly out.  I really thought it had recovered from it's paralyzing fear and flown away.  We checked underneath the bush and didn't see it anywhere.  I let the dog back out.


Sadie ran over to the bush and sniffed around a bit and then walked away.  I turned to the kids and said "See, the little birdie wasn't hurt after all.  It was just scared and now it's gone."  The second that I finished my little pep talk there was another scuffle.  And a dead bird on the patio.  I looked at the kids and said, "I'll get the shovel."

Challenge

I'm challenging myself to write something every day.  For a month.  I'm nervous.  And excited.  And now, seeing it written out like that, a bit overwhelmed.

Maybe you've noticed that, once again, I haven't been writing.  Or maybe you haven't, and that's okay, too.  What's important is that I've noticed that I haven't been writing.  I think about writing.  And I want to be writing.  And it's not that I don't have the time.  I have been able to make the time in the past, so there's really no reason that I can't make the time now.  Nothing has changed.  Except that I don't write anymore.  I've been thinking about it quite a bit lately and I think I've figured out what's been keeping me from my blog.

It's you.

Well, more accurately, it's me worrying about you.  Worrying about what you're going to think.  About me.  About what I write.  If you'll like what I'm writing.  How I'm writing it.  If you'll think my ideas are dumb.  Boring.  Wrong.  Not funny.  Too serious.  I got too wrapped up in the image I was portraying.  And when I ran out of ways to portray myself the way I thought other people, you, wanted me to be, I stopped writing.

But the thing is that I started this blog for me.  I invited you to join me on my journey.  But somewhere along the way I let go of the wheel.  I started thinking too hard about where you wanted to go.  And I let the pressure get to me.  I let it get into my head.  It became about being "good enough."  I was trying too hard to entertain you rather than just write.  For me.  For fun.

I want it to be fun again.

So, I'm going to write every day for a month.  Well, every day for a while.  It might not always be good.  It might not always be entertaining.  It might not always be pretty.  I'm guessing many will be short.  Some will probably be fairly boring for people who don't live in my head.  And for that I apologize.  Actually, I take that back.  I'm done apologizing for what I write.

Conflicted

Last night, as we were getting into bed, my husband looked at his blackberry and gasped.  "Bin Laden is dead," he said.  We came downstairs and turned on the television, waiting for President Obama to officially make the announcement.  The moment he did, fireworks went off in our neighborhood and Facebook exploded with jubulation and cheers.  This morning's headlines declared "We Got Him" and "Rot in Hell."

But I'm having a hard time being happy.

Don't get me wrong, I feel immense relief that the United States is a huge step closer to bringing home our troops and the world is a safer place because of Bin Laden's death.  I do not disagree with the decision our president made in sending those Navy Seals in to that Pakistani compound.  I am grateful everyday for the troops who put their lives in danger to save mine.  There is no other good way this could have ended.  This is for the best.  His death was necessary to our nation's freedom and the world's safety.

After we got into bed for the second time last night, I laid there wondering why I wasn't feeling that elation.  All morning, as I listened to more reports and saw more Facebook statuses rejoicing, I struggled with my conflicting emotions.  And then I saw my brother's status.

"I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live." Ezekiel 33:11

This Bible verse says exactly what my heart is feeling.  While I do rejoice in the step towards ending terrorism and the victory for our country, I feel sadness that the only positive outcome was in taking a life.  I believe, truly believe, that Osama Bin Laden was evil.  I believe that capturing him alive would not have stopped him from spreading that evil to others and that his death was the only way to end it.  But I also believe that his was a life created by God, and I believe that Jesus would not be shooting off fireworks or shouting for joy at the loss of Bin Laden's soul.

I realize that what sounds like celebrating a death is really a celebration for the relief that particular death has brought the world over.  And I realize that our country uniting is a good thing.  I have not forgotten what Osama Bin Laden and Al Qaeda did to us.  Sitting in my classroom, watching a room full of 8th graders as they watched the World Trade Center come crashing down is forever burned into my memory.  I tear up every time I hear the Darryl Worely song Have You Forgotten.  I am proud to be an American.  But I'm foremost a Christian.  And as such, my heart breaks that it ever needed to come to this in the first place.