The book Amanda is forcing me to read

When life offers you a dream so far beyond expectations,
it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

P. 1, preface, "Twilight" by Stephanie Meyers

Gotta go. Love, T

Livin On a Prayer

I'm trying out this new blogable music feature that I learned from Jeni from Campus, who I really should write to because I lifted it off her blog without even telling her. It goes with my new category "Charmer Insomniatic." You know, what you do when you can't sleep. One thing you can do is watch the biography of Jon Bon Jovi and be very thankful that you were awake during that program.

Listen free by clicking the top of the left bar.

Jeni blogs about Livin on a Prayer much better than me which makes sense because she's the true music buff who politely thinks I am quaint because I still believe that the Dave Matthews Band is the best band ever. Anywho, it was very nice to see two sisters from Luther Seminary on the official campus blog writing roster -- Jeni and Margaret. I notice that Margaret has blogged on my beautiful ex-sanctuary, the Luther Seminary Community Garden.

Next category: how to attempt to be a productive mother.

Cheers! T

Talking for an Hour

In explaining to Bob the reason I could not be a full time yoga instructor, he was relieved that we didn't have to sell the house afterall. And even after all this he doesn't believe that I no longer have throat capacity to talk for a straight hour, as yoga instructors must do. (Except for hot silent yoga which I've never done.)

Maybe Amanda is destined to teach yoga. For that matter Aidan too. When I got home last night after being gone for a week they both talked my ears off, simultaneously. Followed me to bed and everything. Had to "find" Aidan under the sheets. Really hard to not recognize the mysterious lump in the outline of a little boy. Had to promise to read Amanda's new favorite book, Twilight. Had to make pancakes this morning. Had to mediate high-pitched arguments about how chores would be allocated. Had to negotiate lack-o-play date possibilities for Aidan. Had to decide on a movie with Amanda.

I'm so glad my kiddies miss me!!!! xoxoxox

And I would be even gladder if I could figure out a way to get to a yoga class.

Cheers, T

This Suburban Life

A strange thing I've noticed since moving to the 'burbs is how acceptable it is to be alone with a man your own house under the guise of home maintenance. Even though Bob and I both work equally full time, for some reason it seems that I am the one who ends up hosting the house consultant guys.

Whenever such a man knocks on the door, my first thought is why in the world would I ever invite this strange man into my home? And then I remember that I'm the one who made the appointment. I must invite him in. Due to the nature of the visit it doesn't work to politely chat in the living room reception area. I must escort this strange man to the most private areas of the house.

the furniture delivery guy
the washer delivery guy
the home warranty inspection guy
the vent duct guy
the furnace guy
the wet carpet guy

I've already told you about the pool guys, Mr. Cigarette, Mr. Toothless, and Mr. Potbelly. And to be fair, Bob hosted the air conditioner guy and the furnace guy's wife, who actually installed our new furnace.

So today it was the recycling guy, Mr. Curious. Thankfully, the recycling is actually picked up at the end of our driveway so there was no pressure to acceptably invite Mr. Curious into the house. Our recycling had piled up and the green bin was overflowing. Amanda was herculean in transporting that thing down the end of the driveway.

Anyway, I decided that I wanted to see exactly how Mr. Curious handles the pick up and if he would just spill over a huge mess that we would need to clean up; given the fact of our overflowing green bin.

And so I spied on him out the window.

I'm pleased to report that he did a great job of carefully separating all of our disposables. But here's the thing. Because I was spying on him through the front window, I noticed that after Mr. Curious finished our job he looked at our house. Twice. Oh my goodness, what must he think of us? They drink a lot of milk. They are sloppy people. They have many parties. They should mow their lawn. How could such a nice house produce so much trash?

And then I'm wondering why I care what Mr. Curious thinks of us.

And then I'm thinking that there is something appealing about being a sanitation worker. A part of me could easily don coveralls and gloves and just have at it. Single handedly sort my whole portion of the city. It's that same part of me that would enjoy being a letter carrier. Go for a really long walk everyday and get paid for it. I wonder what our mailman thinks of us.

Throughout history the role of women has been in the private domain; the role of men in the public. And yet Bob and I think that everything would be much better if it were reversed. Women taking care of world affairs. Men taking care of the home. Generally speaking of course. Give us ten years or so and that's how it will be in this family.

I think I've read one too many John Steinbeck novels.

Gotta go. Thanks for coming over!

Cheers, T

Summer of My Content

I am reading John Steinbeck's "Winter of Our Discontent," the first time in ages that I've indulged in fiction. It's glorious. There are so many good one liners that I really ought to be underlining along the way. Here are a few that come to mind:

No one wants advise, only corroboration.

I don't believe in ghosts but I've seen them.

. . .something about how you can't be insulted if you're secure and content

. . .another one about how to "incline" and the power of inclining others

. . .the secret of psychotherapy

. . .morality deconstructed

. . .Good Friday Services as consenting to public execution

OK, I promise to go back with my yellow highlighter and get them straight up. There's a bunch of 'em and they're really good.

In the parking ramps of hospitals are a lot of things. You may remember that last year I kept bumping into my Turkish surgeon (Dr. Sanan, photo). Of course I remembered him very well and yet he just walked by me, off to another neck slicing or something else routine I'm sure. Once Bob came across him in the lobby and almost asked if he would please wait because I was coming; thinking that if we chatted it would be the end of my obsession. Time dulls most obsessions. Reality spoils more obsessions. (Hey, I got some up on Steinbeck.)

Today I was thinking how cool it is to enter a hospital and report to the nuclear medicine department. Doesn't that sound impressive? That's where the thyroid testing is done and it's time for my annual body scan. Fortunately, everything is in my favor.

Yet back in the parking ramp there are rows and rows of spots that say "reserved for cancer patients." Yesterday empty; today all full of ordinary sedans, mini vans, and SUVs dented and all. Tuesday must be chemo day. I said a prayer for the ordinary chemo patients. (I'm not a chemo patient, just to be clear. I'm being monitored for the easy cancer, slow moving thyroid.) Later I learned that another dear friend from seminary has been diagnosed with breast cancer. So I said a prayer for Kathryn O-O too.

Anywho, Amanda has a visiting friend from St. Paul here this week. A lovely young girl of whom I am doing my very utmost to not be jealous because she finished sixth grade in Spanish and now goes onto Jr. High Spanish Immersion program in the amazing public school district of St. Paul. Algebra in Spanish. Western Civ in Spanish. Physical Ed in Spanish. Art in Spanish. OK, alright I'll stop. The girls don't speak a lick of Español between eachother. It's so ho hum. They are way too involved in the Jonas Brothers and web searching multi-colored "skinny jeans." Evidently, slightly flaired pants are now out of style. FYI.

Bob is teaching a Stephens Ministry class at church. Aidan is demolishing a city via his new alter ego, the Hulk. I think it's time for home happy hour and maybe more good quotes from John Steinbeck, who won his nobel prize the year I was born.

Thanks SO MUCH for coming over!!

With love, T

Dancing with Barak

So the next president of the United States of America is a couple miles down the road making history. NOW. He's here NOW. Why did Barak Obama decide to come to my present home town on the same night as the grand finale of Dancing with the Stars?

If Kristi Yamaguchi doesn't win, it will make no sense. She's charismatic, inspiring, and she transcends race. Plus she can dance. I mean, Hillary did a great job and all. I didn't caucus for her but let's hand it to her for what she has accomplished. Girl power! But evidently men tend to always win the dance competition. I don't know why, maybe people just like watching big football players do ballroom dancing. There is a charm to it, I admit.

But how can anyone beat a Olympic double gold medalist?? Even John McCain, who has an amazing history with being a war hero and all -- which I highly respect. And up until recently he actually was an independent thinker. Eight years ago I would have voted for him. But now, well, he's got problems, for example finding out that one of his top aids has ties with Burma's military junta. Now that's a catastrophe.

Mr. President, thank you for coming to Des Moines, yet I hope you called in last night to vote for Kristi.

Thanks for coming over, friends! Take care.

With love, T

Stunned with Gratitude

Amanda and I went through a box of cards, all given to us during Bob's illness last year. Could someone please always remind me that I have no right or reason to ever complain ever again. Not after that intense show of sustained love that was freely given to us over the course of an entire year. Honestly, even now I think about that and how beautiful it all was -- the cards, gifts, food, prayers, visits, thoughts, empathy, bake sales, dinners, flowers, prayer shawls.

I mean, people suffer much worse than we ever did and they suffer alone. And they're never counted. And they're nameless. That has to be the worst thing.

To suffer with family, friends, and strangers accompanying you is actually quite beautiful.

Once my dear sister, Margaret Obaga, stopped by our apartment exactly when Bob was retching, a time when we would especially want to be alone because of the sounds and smells and our desperate clatch to dignity. No, no, no, not Margaret. East African's don't do alone. She basically walked right through the front door, as did all our African neighbors, and showed me what to do. Sprinkle flower on the bottom of the brown bag to buffer it all. If we were in Kenya she would pad with dirt. Cool a cloth for the palms of the hands. Another cloth for the face. Margaret literally held the bag as Bob coughed up bile. Soft words. It's OK. It's OK. A prayer. We were blessed in the retching.

And it would be these kinds of visits that would string us along like a lifeline for months.

And how quickly we go from holding vigil with a host of angels all around us -- to a mundane everyday life where the smallest irrelevancies command the spirit. I'm reminded of the time I longed for the mundane. When I wanted nothing else but utter boredom. And yet it seems that my long-term response to all of this is some kind of inner restlessness as though the adrenalin of it all never really went away. The boredom I wanted so badly back then now feels quite uncomfortable.

So anyway, thanks everyone. I truly feel blessed to know each and every one of you. I wanted to close with a portion of the prayer, the St. Patrick's Breastplate, which you may remember I reduced to a simple mantra of "Christ here, Jesus near" during the most nerve wracking times.

Christ to shield me today
Against poison,
against burning,
Against drowning,
against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

The funny thing is I still use this chant. I can't believe how often I still can wrack up such nerves that would warrant this prayer even these days. I mean no one is immediately dying in this house. Our security is not threatened. We are surrounded by all things beautiful, including Bob's call to ministry at St. John's that also stuns me with gratitude. Still other things that seem so important take hold. I hope the prayer will give you strength and hope. And I thank you so much for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T

Photo: anniversary flowers from Bob