Merry Christmas!

It has been a while, and I'm sorry about that. Also, we didn't make a Christmas card this year, and I apologize for that, too! This'll have to count as our holiday greeting. We hope you're all well and enjoying family today, and wish you many blessings in the coming year.

We did snap a few photos at my cousin Tina's urging:

Our life at home has shifted slightly, because in September the boys' school offered me a job.  So, I've relinquished my 10am Costco runs (no crowds, just me and the retirees) and my late-morning writing sessions. In exchange, I'm drawing a paycheck for the first time in over a decade, and sharing funny playground anecdotes over the dinner table.

Here are a couple of the verbal exchanges I've had on the job so far, during recess. They illustrate the fact that, regardless of your school's quality, a child's lexicon comes from the home.

Me: Why are you so muddy?
First Grader: I tripped over a pathetic branch.
Me: You have a great vocabulary.
First Grader: Is that typical for someone my age?

Very Talkative Fifth Grade Boy: Mrs. Keip, yakyakyakyakyakyak...
Kindergarten girl, running up, interrupting: I need to crap.
Me: Go tell your teacher.
Me, to Fifth Grade Boy: Did you hear that?
Fifth Grade Boy (who never stopped talking) : What?

I do miss writing the blog, and as my time-management skills improve I want to get back to it. To make up the time gap, here are photos from our "Thanksgiving" beach trip, which we took in October because the rates are less expensive!

The house, in Pacific City:

There's a giant sand just north of downtown. The boys made several trips up and down.

More gratuitous grandson shots!

Much love to you all!

Thy mercy is great above the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds. Psalm 108:4

Really Big Job

Most of you know the emotions that accompany a strenuous, disruptive home remodel project. Because I have my finger on the pulse of human psychology (was that a mixed metaphor?), I'll tell you the three stages of Remodeling Psychosis:

1. Anticipation, or fanciful imaginings about how great your house is going to look. For some reason, this emotion happens first.
2. Denial, or the reluctance to admit that making your house look great will take gigantic amounts of work.
3. Resignation, or that dawning upon the human soul that YOU and you only (plus immediate family) must start the work. Today.

For us, Resignation set in on August 1, when the Total Package announced that work had begun.

Our project was to replace ugly, smelly carpet. Our house was built in 1975; we're the third or fourth family to live here. Judging from the doghouse that sat in the backyard when we moved in, at least one of those families had a stinky pet, and we did too.

We re-floored a few downstairs rooms with a wood-grain laminate, which looks great. Still, every time we left the house for a while - hours or days - we walked in and smelled the funk of many humans and a few animals, settled into the carpet for who-knows-how-long.

On top of that, the carpets were just plain ugly, and we lived on them for nine years. These photos gives you an idea how long:

Now Henry is gone, and the boys are 11 and 13. Imagine their joy when we told them they would pry carpet-staples out of the subfloor. They were so ecstatic that they began toiling,  and bitterly bickering, immediately.

"Make only positive comments to one another," I said.

That did not work.

"Stop talking to each other," I commanded.

That did not work.

"Stop speaking. Do not say a word. Ever." I barked.

Beautiful silence ensued, punctuated only by nasty scraping noises as screwdrivers pried at staples. Soon, Happy Meal approached with a piece of paper.

The next few days were filled with such family togetherness, but finally, rolls of hideous, stinking carpet and pad went to the dump.

I had to paint, of course, before new flooring arrived. If you look closely at the bedroom photo above, you'll notice that my bedroom walls were pink. Also, when we moved in, none of the interior trim was painted - only primed, and the few doorways with paint were chipped.

The Total Package dropped me at the paint store while he dumped the carpet. He helped me spray our room (our way of hiding old popcorn ceilings is to paint them the same color as the walls, then stop acknowledging their presence), and I spent the next several days painting baseboards, and door/window trim in five rooms, hall and stairway.

I had deadlines: The installers announced their arrival date and I had to be finished painting by then. We had them install in stages so we could live & sleep downstairs while bedrooms were finished, etc. The process took all of August, no joke. We began ripping carpet on 8/1, and the installers left on 8/31.

New bedroom:

Boys' bedrooms (Grandparents contributed bedroom carpet, Ikea bed, gigantic bear, longboard, etc.):

Old stairway:

New:

Old living room (in case you haven't visited my house, this room is L-shaped; the green wall extends into the dining room):

New:

We felt as if we finished a marathon, but the effort was worthwhile. Years ago, while we slowly gutted and updated our little Everett house, I lamented all the work to my friend Patty.

"But you're doing it together!" she said, with her sweet Patty-smile. Of course she was right.

Jewels

There's a funeral today and I can't attend, but would like to add a little tribute just the same.

An old friend Bob and his wife Rebecca are saying goodbye to their daughter, Elise. All her short life they cared for her with amazing devotion, and the stories I heard about her told me she was a spunky, happy, tough little girl.

When Elise was born with medical issues requiring 24-hour care, someone told me Bob said, "God didn't put me on earth to settle in and be comfortable." That attitude and example has stuck in my mind.

When he cometh, when he cometh

To make up his jewels,

Precious jewels, precious jewels,

His loved and his own;

Like the stars of the morning,

His bright crown adorning,

They will shine in his beauty,

Bright gems for his crown.

He will gather, he will gather

The gems for his kingdom,

All the pure ones, all the bright ones,

His loved and his own;

Like the stars of the morning,

His bright crown adorning,

They will shine in his beauty,

Bright gems for his crown.

Little children, little children

Who love their redeemer,

Are the jewels, precious jewels,

His loved and his own;

Like the stars of the morning,

His bright crown adorning,

They will shine in his beauty,

Bright gems for his crown.

William O. Cushing

Here's a link to a photo and tributes for Elise.

Mugs

Long ago I wrote a post about my coffee mugs, and how there are too many. I just searched my blog archive and learned two things: I need to delete a bunch of silly old posts, and I must've deleted the silly old mug post.

After using a stronger word in that previous sentence, I replaced it with "silly".

I do like that almost every mug has a story. In my old post, I wrote that fifteen years ago in China, I found Starbucks while walking in the leafy district among the foreign embassies - at that time the first and only Starbucks in Beijing. Inside, I drank an Americano, people-watched, coveted the oversized Beijing city mug on the shelf, and (dork) didn't buy it. So, when a colleague made a similar trip later - and I knew he was staying just blocks from the store - I begged him to get me the mug, and he did.

These days it holds my scoop and grinder brush.

A couple years ago I bought another mug, but its form doesn't follow its function all that well, so it holds my vegetable scrubber, on the kitchen windowsill:

This one's from the Switzerland trip, last August:

These last few mugs all involve my sweet friend, Red Freckle. In Seattle a couple summers ago, we visited the Marimekko store, near Pike Place. Red, who is a classy person, bought a beautiful tray and matching striped mug. I bought this:

The next Christmas, we drove to Los Angeles, with a detour across the Golden Gate bridge. In L.A., I visited Red Freckle again and we got talking about pottery. I mentioned how much I like Heath Ceramics, and she replied, "You were just in Sausalito! The Heath factory is right there!" Two months later on my birthday, Red mailed me a Heath mug.

We have to get into the way-back machine for this next mug. Thirteen years ago I was pregnant with Moon Pie, and we visited San Diego. Red Freckle, a wonderful host and tour guide, took us shopping in La Jolla and we found the most darling mug. I think it seemed darling at the time because something mental happens when you're pregnant to make everything darling. My opinion only.

On the outside, it looks like any ordinary coffee mug, 

but no.

I haven't used this mug in years because I'm not sure it's microwave/dishwasher safe. The Total Package found it a couple days ago and I said, "The Bartletts are having a baby! Let's give it to them."

"But I like it,"he said. So it's his mug now. I pour his coffee over the rabbit and say, "Take that!"

Call the Law and the Long Con: summer so far

Last month my husband's neurologist told him, "You've graduated. No more nasty medicine. Go back to your normal life."

We are so grateful. The Total Package still has one small area of vision loss, and blood may never again flow through his left vertebral artery, but his body has compensated and the healing is remarkable. Again, thank you for your prayers!

Hours after the doctor gave him that news, my husband and son (MOON PIE!) packed the truck and headed for Michigan. They slept in Spokane the first night (thank you, Badens). After that, they camped in Glacier National Park, grabbed a hotel and pizza somewhere in the Dakotas, and pitched a tent the next night in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, with a view of the Mackinac Bridge. Notice that I wasn't specific about the Dakotas, out of sheer apathy and carelessness.

Here are a few photos they took in Glacier.

And the camp at Mackinac:

After that, Moon Pie flew solo at his grandparents' house (thank you, Keips!). In proper grandkid fashion, he did whatever he wanted for a week, while his dad drove 2500 miles home. Then his grandparents drove him to his auntie's farm.

The farm was a different story. At the farm one must herd some cows into one barn, and keep some cows in this field or that. One must help cows with pink-eye, and cows that fall down for no reason. One must get up early and milk cows, then gather eggs and stack some hay bales. Then one must ride the zip line over the pond, try to kill the snapping turtle in the pond, and flirt with the waitress at the local diner until she agrees to buy fireworks because she's over 18.

All the while, Uncle Dave took photos and videos and emailed them to us.

Thank you, Vander Zandens. :-)

Meanwhile, back home, the rest of us helped sell fireworks for a school fund-raiser. Part of the job involved sleeping at the fireworks stand, to discourage theft.

The stand, first thing in the morning, all buttoned up:

Breakfast with explosives...

And my two favorite fireworks names:

Finally, Moon Pie flew home and brought his cousin with him. We'll call this cousin Long Con, because his name is Conner and because he is very, very tall. He is so tall, in fact, that when he sits on the floor to play a game, it creates a visual impression similar to watching a giraffe drink water. There's no place for his legs to go.

This kid eats like three people, which is quite fun. We managed to eat our way through a couple Portland neighborhoods. My favorite spot was Pine State Biscuits. Here's a fuzzy photo of my son's dinner. It wasn't rainbow stew, but he said it tasted excellent.

On an equally appetizing note, Moon Pie had been home a few days when Uncle Dave emailed a follow-up photo of the snapping turtle in their pond. For some reason the turtle was floating lazily on his back. Dave called the photo "Turtle Soup."

Lake Crescent

I'm still blogging about spring break. Mid-June is past, the thermometer reads 90, greens and flowers fill the garden, birds nest all over the yard and poop on my windows, the gigantic (leaky) pool stands full in the driveway, and I'm still blogging about spring break.

So be it.

For the second half of our week in the Olympic Peninsula, we rented a cottage on Lake Crescent. The place was almost a century old, and smelled like it. The decor was bizarre, yet curiously photogenic. The view was lovely.

The no smoking sign on this cabinet was one of seven posted in this little house. I didn't smell smoke, just old house. The cabinet was interesting, though - an entire section opens on a swivel, and contains several trays of found objects.

I am taking this opportunity to change my elder son's blog handle. I never liked Sharpshooter that much, and it's my blog anyway. Last year, his guitar teacher - who has lived in Tennessee - started calling him "Moon Pie," which I like much better. The teacher assumed Russell's middle initial is C which most people do when they hear Karl. In the South, RC Cola and moon pie are a snack of legend, so he called him Moon Pie.

The boys insisted this duck fell in love with them. I hadn't the heart to tell them she was using them for their large supply of Dave's Killer Bread. I don't know how a duck can eat so much EXPENSIVE ORGANIC BREAD.

Evening falls. The boys stomp back into the house.

"Mom, the duck started going to the bathroom a lot."

"Yes, I bet she did."

That's all for spring break. I do hope to post again soon, but I know better than to promise.