Addendum

If I were commenting on my sister's adventures, I would draw her attention to the wisdom given on the Little A'Le'Inn website:

Please remember when traveling to always think of safety first. This includes being prepared for emergencies, vehicle troubles, sickness, adverse weather conditions, and unexpected events. Always have extra water, food, clothing, batteries, blankets, and check your vehicle fluid levels, as well as hoses and belts under the vehicle's hood. Always check the weather reports before leaving and along the way. Being prepared can and will save lives of those that we love. Never take a trip of long distance without letting someone know where you are going and when you expect to arrive. Make certain to include times that you expect to leave and arrive, phone numbers, and places that you intend on staying. Make contact before leaving on your trip and once you get where you are going so that others will know what to do and how to handle things should you not make the connection at your expect times.Do not forget to include a map of the intended roads that you plan on traveling. Map out your routes and have fun so that others do not need to worry needlessly about you.

Red dots, but no other punctuation

In the days before Clustr, it was fun to imagine who might come by and sit a bit with my thoughts. Despite the fact that I had no evidence to support that anyone was caught in one of my prongs, I still enjoyed thinking about these imaginary new acquaintances.

Now I have a pretty good handle on the location of those passers-by. As I mentioned previously, many of the dots coincide nicely with my sister's summer jaunt through the States. But, alas, the lone red dot on the map is the only way of knowing that my beloved sister dropped in to see me for a moment. She leaves no other evidence behind, which is not in keeping with her standard practice, I might add. (I have many memoirs from her stay in my home over Independence Day, for example.)

It is comforting, in a way, to have proof that she checks in from the road. It is also disturbing to find that she is Hitting-and-Running with Letters. Perhaps my small thoughts do not provoke any responses. Perhaps she now thinks it a threat to her career to be found on the blog of an amateur such as myself. I wouldn't know, for she doesn't leave any comments.

I am not a vindictive type, but I have decided that I will remain silent on her blog as well. I will visit, read, shed a tear or utter a guffaw, and move on. She is my mentor, after all.

Dear Sister, if you have come to place another dot, know you are welcome. I look forward to sitting in silence with you as we peruse each other's lives from afar. Godspeed.

Homeland Insecurity

It started when I went to the pantry to get some "top shelf" commodities, and noticed an insect that looked disconcertingly like the genus identified by my sister as "mealy bug" which invaded her home during a plague earlier in the '00's. When Sister saw a similar bug in my kitchen back in '05, she suggested a defense strategy that rivaled anything Homeland Security could employ.

Shaken, but not stirred, (I've been scientifically proven not to be an overly emotional person, don't forget) I thought that I should go through some of my dry goods to verify their integrity. It would only take a few minutes, after all, and I could then rest assured that Summer '07 would not go down in family history as the Year of the Mealy Bug Epidemic.

As I was removing items from the shelf, I was slow to respond to what I first registered as a calming, waterfall type of sound. That peaceful noise was actually a full bag of sugar slowly sifting down the shelves of the pantry and resting in the wide seams of the plank flooring. So much for a few minutes...

The next shelf down, a full box of thin spaghetti broke open, spilling strands of pasta like Pick-Up Sticks into the white pools of sugar.

There were no bugs to be found in the pantry, mealy or otherwise. Although now, with granules of sugar hiding in recesses out of vacuum reach and thin spaghetti stuck between the baseboard and the wall, I'm sure bugs of several species have sensed the breach in our security and are planning a massive offensive. We're projecting '08 to be the Year of the Exterminator.

Mind your P's and J's

Last night's entertainment was taking the Myers Briggs Inventory. Gregory had to complete it as part of his Diaconate Formation program. I could have guessed the results without answering the questions, but it was fun anyway.

Some background on my husband. He has always wanted to be an astronaut, a football player, an architect, a pilot, a monk, and anything else we happen to see in a movie or documentary. This is the man who had to determine if he was decisive. He went back and forth for several minutes on that one. Not surprisingly, he scored right in the middle of all types. He is Everyman.

I, on the other hand, was clearly an INTJ. No wibbly-wobblies here. To interpret, I am an introverted, intuitive, thinking, judging individual, as opposed to an extroverted, sensing, feeling, perceiving person. I discovered that INTJs have had a huge impact on corporate culture, and are highly desirable leaders. Wow, if I were a feeling type, I would feel like an under-achiever.

As we drifted off to sleep last night, Gregory reflected on his results, or lack thereof. "I'm Google." he said. "I just want to get as much information about something as I can and then move on to the next topic." Pause. "I should have been a detective." Pause. "At least for a month."

Clubber update

A quick update to my voluminous Book Club devotees: I finished reading Hosseini's second book, A Thousand Splendid Suns, last week. Another remarkable work. He embraces a concept that modern culture has denounced: redemptive suffering.

If you have had the privilege of reading either of these books, please share your impressions. If you haven't - run to the library or bookstore NOW!

On a Roll

Imagine my excitement when my ClustrMap displayed little dots of readership extending into the country's interior! Hmm, that's funny...the dots look strikingly similar to my sister's cross country route.

While my sister's state count rises, and other family and friends plan trips to Disney or exotic ports and beaches, our family adventures top out at the purchase of a new grill. Oh, and of course there was the water system install last week. Riveting.

Purchases actually are high drama in our home due to what my friend Tina calls "information constipation". Gregory, ever vigilant, launches into full-on research mode as soon as I mention the word "BUY". Consumer Report has nothing on him, I assure you.

Back in 'aught 5, a poor unsuspecting book salesman came to the door, offering what basically amounted to a souped-up encyclopedia set. The deal was simple - hear the spiel and decide on the spot, no thinking allowed. The poor boy never saw it coming. Gregory launched (nicely, but very confidently) into a pitch of his own about expecting one to make a major purchase without adequate information. He'd need company stats, competitor pricing, customer reviews, free trials! I've never seen a salesman run away before.

The grill problem has been heating up for about a year now. Gregory insisted nothing was wrong with the rusty model we had, despite one flattened plastic wheel (how, by the way, can a plastic wheel go flat???) and another non-existent wheel, which caused alarming instability in an appliance with explosive warnings all over it. The attachment system for the propane tank was also broken, so the tank was propped up with scrap wood, which would jostle loose while trying to maneuver the grill out of the garage without the aid of wheels, causing the tank to fall through the platform and onto the gravel. Once started, the element only had one setting - high. I saw the whole thing as a sure fire hazard. Gregory, meanwhile, was Googling replacement parts. Why get a new grill when we could gut the one we had? He had just gotten new bricks for the thing four years ago, after all. He hadn't gotten his money's worth of of them yet!

With the fear of months of print-outs, spreadsheets and metal weather-testing prominent in my mind, I took a bold step. I went to the store, picked out a grill that was on sale and seemed nice, and bought it, without Gregory.

He took it well. He and Phillip spent an enjoyable evening assembling it in the basement last night, with only one part left over. We plan to roll it out for hamburgers this evening, cooked over a medium flame.

Apparently the boys talked last evening of turning the old grill into a planter. Whether the idea is a result of research into our proposed composting and recycling plan or a remnant from last year's do-it-yourself landscaping investigation, one can't be sure.

In the Patch

I have recently returned from a writer's conference several states away. There I received private, professional instruction. I learned during the session, as my mentor examined my work, that I fail to go deep enough. For example, in the post "If glasses can be found, so can I", I never discuss the story that inspired the title. She explained that readers want to go with me to the "dark places". For some morbid reason, it appears that you may like to hear the details of my misery.

Truth be told, the title for that particular post came from a moment of redemption. As I said, it had been a lousy day. I was just about to send the kids to the showers and collapse with a book when I remembered that I had promised my neighbor that we would pick some of their strawberries while they were away. I very reluctantly gathered the family and some plastic containers and headed out.

The early summer sun packed a punch that day, and we grew quite warm before the bottom of our containers were covered. My daughter began to complain that her glasses were slipping down her nose as she bent over the plants. I distractedly took them from her and slipped them over the collar of my shirt.

With container volume and attitudes on the rise, we decided to head for home. Kaylee casually extended her hand for her glasses. I paused for a moment. I had completely forgotten that I even had them. I reached up toward my neck to retrieve them, and...you guessed it...they were gone.

In the past thirty minutes we had picked through two different patches, totaling an area of approximately 400 square feet. In the movie version of this story, the camera would zoom out at this point, showing me as a tiny dot in the midst of the low, red-spotted shrubbery.

I hit bottom. I held a heated conversation with God. I envisioned hours of futilely combing through dirt and plants. It was at this low point that the power of that panicked prayer kicked in. I realized that this was a moment of decision. I have read, and even taught, that the largest jumps in our spiritual development come in the smallest choices.

So I made a choice. I took a deep breath and began to look. Within five minutes, the glasses were found. And so was I.