Sisterhood of the Fresh Meat

Time travel is possible because the kids and I went to Africa last night.

A late night e-mail about Robert's heart inspired us into an impromptu trip to St. Paul. Apparently, Robert, 19, was at his Friday night soccer game and his heart stopped for no good reason. CPR. Ambulance. Induced coma. Scary.

Robert's mother is our dear sister friend, Margaret, who saved us when Bob's liver failed. We lived down the hall from each other at seminary. The 11 pm idea of going to St. Paul made the kids giddy. Aidan's been google-earthing the seminary for 2 years now. Begging to go, just to play on the playground with whoever might be there. And that's exactly what he did. Aidan's glory.

Not knowing if we would even see Margaret and Robert (who's father is now studying in Germany), we just got in the car and drove 4 hours due north to the hospital. The information desk guy didn't have to look up Robert's room when we asked for it because he knew it by heart. So many visitors. The East African stereotype of rich community is true in the Twin Cities. They are tight. When something happens, they all come. No one is ever left alone. And so Robert had "droves" of visitors as the nurse put it.

We didn't plan it this way, but the kids and I ended up crashing at Margaret's place. In a way we took our turn in the vigil of accompaniment. Again, total heaven as the apartment is very familiar. Happy. Playground. Lots-o-kids. I'm doing the dishes. There's a big blob of red meat in the refrigerator and Margaret is worried about it going bad. It's her share of the annual goat kill and with the heart-stopping thing, she just couldn't get to it.

Faith and Eve are there, also Kenyan PhD students. (Faith is Tanzanian, but from the border so it counts.) Margaret needs to eat and sleep badly. But she won't eat alone. And she won't eat leftovers. She instructs us on how to prepare fresh tilapia masala stir fry, which tastes out of this world. I sit silent as the African women coax my white-food eating kids to eat the fish. I can't believe it that Aidan actually likes it. Clean up the cooking. Get out the huge bag-o-red meat which covers a large garbage bag spread upon the table. We are trimming the fat and cutting into small pieces so it can be frozen in zip lock bags. Meat for the winter. Grissel under my fingernails; sinew entwined in my rings.

I am useless, mostly, as I cannot seem to cut through the fat. Eve and Faith have ten bags-o-meat and I am still hacking away at my second small piece.

"Give it to me," Eve says very kindly. I am in Africa, but I am definitely not African.

As we cut up the freshly butchered goat, we talk about women's rights and lack-thereof. My kids are totally content as they read their books nearby. Faith and Eve are both pastors and recount incidents how their position as religious leader have been discounted in their own countries. They imagined it would be so much more progressive in the U.S. of A., but no. What's happening to the women's movement here in the U.S., they ask? No one is speaking up for women here, and this is America, they say.

I think women here are just too tired, I offer as explanation.

I am curious about how they would restart the women's movement in the U.S.A. What would they recommend? I want to ask this question, but I am too tired. It is almost midnight and we are still cleaning up blood that dripped inside the refrigerator. We are all pleased that Margaret is sleeping. The East African community takes turns staying with her and it looks like me and the kids are taking this shift. Faith and Eve go back to their apartments, kids, and husbands.

Me and the kids could have easily time warped back to the seminary life. We could want to go to Africa. But no, we need to return to Iowa because our life it there, it is full, and we've got things to do here. I wish I could live in a way so that I am just present where I am, instead of thinking about what could be. Seminary was not *that* great when we were there -- and yet by now it has reached rockstar status.

We walk into the hospital family room and the circle of African's are so happy to see us. Hugs, kisses, and hand shakes for the ones we've never met before. How are you?! How's Bob?! How's Iowa?! How's your church?! We will come to visit. We hear stories of growing up with one father and 11 mothers who all speak different languages. Whenever someone new enters the room, they walk around the entire circle to greet each person individually. Even Aidan and Amanda have learned this; in this crowd anyway. I'll tell you about the bowl of grasshoppers later. No, it's not popcorn; and it's not funny.

One day, when we have moved away from Des Moines we will say how fabulous it was when we lived in Des Moines. And we'll wish we were there. We'll list all the sights that we want to revisit. We'll think of all the people we want to see again. We'll drive all over the city to find food at our favorite eateries.

Looks like Robert will be OK. Thank God. Somebody else will sleep with Margaret tonight. We're back in Iowa and I've got a ton-o-things to do tomorrow.

Thanks so much for coming over to the Charmer Blog. So nice to have you here, now, in the real.

With love, T

Blood. Rival. Sister. Brother

Aidan's nickname for Amanda is "Adie." Only he can call her that. Last night I asked him how to spell it. ED, he said. But I am not allowed to use it which is fine because I can't pronounce it anyway.

In a flurry of brother sissy love, they decided to switch bedrooms last night. Good idea to me because as you can see in these official "before" pictures, the spaces needed a bit bit of renovation. Bob tried to micromanage the process. I tried to tell him this process could not be micromanaged, just let it be. Mother nature's motivation.

The love fest continued into the evening as it became apparent that there would be no beds fit enough for sleep. We're camping out in the family room, they announced. All cozied up on pull out sofa and recliner. Awwww.

Amanda gets gold stars in this process. She is moving mattresses, disassembling old beds, organizing shelves and closets, lugging stuff to and from the garage, and cleaning up things that I must never describe in this blog. Aidan is, well, let's just say he's not exactly multi-tasking. He's doing laundry. Which means there's about a 40 minute break in between work cycles. In other words, while Amanda is toiling away, Aidan is lounging in front of the TV and when asked why he's not helping his rationale is, I'm doing the laundry.

Having a son and daughter could easily make you want to generalize about the nature of men and women, but I shall not.

And so I am pleased to present to you these two "before" pictures with sincere hopes that one day I will be able to provide "after" pictures. These are brought to you in gratitude for Amanda's work ethic and ingenuity. Along with Aidan's consent. (But you should see him hit a golf ball - over 150 yards. Golf camp this week. For another dispatch.)

Aidan: ED, can you help me with my room?

Amanda: Sure, we'll get this all into shape.

Thanks for coming over friends. Come back soon.

With love, T

Maim, Destroy, Do Popcorn Balls

With a laid up mother, Aidan was set free to smash cities and maim skate boarders today. We are surely the epicenter of all the horrible statistics on big time screen time and dead brain cells. Lord help us. With a zingy back, I pretty much let video games rule Aidan's entire day.

ATACHEWA! I don't know if that's really Japanese but that's what Aidan says to the cats. It's the Manga game.

Listen, I may be flat down but I will not allow my son to destroy for 12 hours straight. I have standards. My solution: create popcorn balls.

I, mother of the year, enticed him to take 15 minutes out from his free video spree to make a batch of popcorn balls.

He did great! A natural candy man. Ate almost all of them as soon as he made them. Hint: substitute honey for corn syrup. It's tasty and

healthy.

Thanks for your expressions of empathy on the occasion of my out-of-whack back. Chiropractor appointment tomorrow.

Thanks to my husband for taking over my volunteer gig today; sorry to our youth director that I did not come through for today. [Presently, I am listening to nursing home

stories from Amanda who went there today to play bingo, which evidently was rather competitive. Nursing home service project seemed to make a positive impression.]

Take care and thanks for coming over to the Charmer Blog.

With love, T

P.S. Aidan would be proud to inform you that he is on day four of his present clothing selection which doubles as his pajamas. Not that we're endorsing this, instead just too distracted to monitor daily dressing. But don't worry, I did make him wash his hands before making the balls. As I said before, I do have standards.

Valley of Fire

Imagine if you will, a bluer sky and redder rocks, and you will then be envisioning the Valley of Fire. It was our detour upon return from Zion to Vegas. A detour to Mars. After this, we did not get out of the vehicle because it was just too dog gone hot. Packin' heat for sure.

The two lady detectives and me. Can you pick out the oddball who could not shoot a gun or open a refreshment with handcuffs even if there is no bottle opener?

I don't know if this means anything, but I just wanted to convey an unusual series of events that includes this picture.

Monday -- Hike Angel's Landing. I get vertigo.

Tuesday -- Return to Vegas via Valley of Fire.

Friday -- Des Moines. Lightning strikes front yard tree. Orange fireball. Loud like a bomb.

Saturday -- Mama taxi driver gets dizzy on the freeway. Probably shouldn't be driving, but we won't go into that.

Sunday -- Go to a spirituality class and pick this Bible verse out of the hat: For love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Song of Solomon 8:6

Monday -- Mama taxi driver still dizzy. Drat, thinking on calling a doc. Drive slowly and hold head. Hear a report on how to treat vertigo on the radio. Treat my own vertigo with the Epley Maneauver, a 90 second head turning exersize. It works. For what it's worth, I think my ear rocks moved during the lightning strike, not the cliffside hike.

Tuesday: Still cured.

I don't know what that all means but you will be relieved to know that I am now back to ethical mama taxi driving.

Thanks so much for coming over!

Cheers, T

Washing in Virgin Waters

Thanks to the Mormon's, most of the natural wonders at Zion National Park are named for religious themes. Virgin River. Angel's Landing. The Three Patriarchs. Temple of Sinawa. Cathedral Mountain. Great White Throne. And such.

The most omnipresent is the Virgin River because it runs all the way through. You see it on top of mountains as well as in the valley. You see it even in the car drive back to Vegas. Virgin River. Virgin River. Virgin River. You sit by it and rest your feet in its icy waters. But you will not chat with your travel companions because you cannot. The Virgin River is too loud. Transfixed by the Virgin River, your mind, body, and soul go somewhere else for about a half an hour.

Personal brain cleanse courtesy of the Virgin River rapids.

The cool thing about the Virgin River is that it evolved from a prehistoric stream, according to the visitor center film. Have you ever heard of something prehistoric that transformed into something virgin? Indeed, that is religious.

I hope you think this picture is awesome. As awesome as it is, sadly it doesn't even come close to the vivid color and depth of the real thing. This photo is taken from the point in which I backed out of the Angel's Landing hike. Keeping with the religious themes, I think they should call it the You-Might-Go-to-Hell hike. Call me vertigo lady. I thought it was scary beautiful. If I got my facts and figures right those mountain sides are about a mile high, from Virgin River up.

Laters. Thanks for coming over.

With love, T

#1 Lady's Hiking Agency

Hello, is anybody out there?

You may or may not have noticed that I was gone. I tricked my kids and told them I was gambling in Vegas. The truth is much more interesting and my sore muscles are here to prove it. I hiked canyons with two NYPD Lady Detectives who really know how to put up with a softy gringo gal. I got vertigo. They didn't. The mountain did not actually cave in from under me and yet it was awesome. What ever you do, don't look over the cliff edges and hang onto the chains. Could someone please tell those Japanese tourists to get away from the edge? I'm getting dizzy.

Ok, I didn't really tell the children that I was gambling. They were just hoping that I was. Instead we hit the trails. I'll post some pictures later.

Red Rock Canyon, Nevada
Zion Canyon, Utah
Valley of Fire, Nevada
Batista's Hole in the Wall, Las Vegas

Of course, as always, I really really missed my three rascals and now it's off to total taxi mom duties.

Thanks for coming over to the Charmer Blog!

With love, T

Get Ready for New York City!

The Charmer Blog is doing spring break in NYC and you’re all coming! So pack your pretend bags and get ready for your virtual vacation to the Big Apple. March 16-23 or so.

As pre-trip orientation the Charmer Blog is requiring the reading assignment below to familiarize with your local hosts, the inlaws, the Speirs-O-Brooklyn. To quote Bob, "We may be crazy, but we’re not dangerous."
THE FEEDING OF THE IN LAWSTrue story. New York City blackout. 2003.

Put my brother-in-law, Ragaey, an appliance, and edible raw materials together and you get a miracle in your mouth. Great tasting food. No electricity needed. Even when a power grid outage in Ohio shuts down the entire eastern seaboard.

The in laws who Ragaey and I share, the Speirs-O-Brooklyn, realized the gravity of this emergency when their favorite neighborhood eateries could not serve. How would they get dinner? Even fast food had no power. The Speirs-O-Brooklyn knew they had one and only one chance at a good meal. Ragaey. And so the in laws, their friends, and their neighbors all made way to the homestead on 45th Street (photo). Hitching rides or walking. Everyone wondering if this was another 911 event. Picking up others along the way. In the dark. They just came.

Meanwhile, Ragaey returned from a day's work as general manager of Newark airport. On this day, generally managing the most congested airspace in the world during a blackout. But he knew that his most important mission was yet to come. He had to feed the in laws, and their friends and neighbors.

And feed he did. Ragaey neither cared nor counted how many people were there. He just fired up the grill and started cooking. Beef, lamb, chicken, fish, peppers, zucchini, carrots. He even whipped up a big pot of fluffy, buttery rice in the backyard night. Yes, fluffy rice cooked on a grill. Topping off with home-brewed Egyptian tea. (Sister-in-law Carol gets the credit for that.) It was a feast. And Bob was right in there, eating as much and as fast as Ragaey could cook. And all the Speirs survived the blackout. As did their friends and neighbors.

When the Charmer Blog goes to NYC, we will eat our way through Brooklyn. And so will you.

Get ready!

Take care, Terri

Note: This archived story was written when Bob had lost 50 pounds to anorexia, courtesy of the liver black out of 2006-07.