The ol' couch left today. Kade came downstairs as I was working, and unknowingly, started telling me that this ol' couch is his favorite in the whole house. As he described how comfortable it is when he curls up on it...I felt my heart tighten and tears swell because I knew. Slowly, I gathered the courage to tell him the ol' couch would be donated today. His disappointed devastated me.
As I pondered his attachment, I realized that we have had the couch since shortly after he was born. All of his memories are on that couch. Scooting up it to look out the window as a toddler or snuggling in to read a book or joining his sisters for a picture or jumping off it like superman--all are wrapped up with him under that cozy place under the blanket. That is what has made the ol' couch the most comfortable...all that love...all those memories.
An ol' couch...but a lifetime of memories for a little boy.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Forever Memory
A few weeks ago, I discovered a poem that had been left behind on the floor after my oldest daughter was up late completing her poetry project. My children are very independent learners and do not welcome any intervention or preview of their English projects. However, the floor is fair game :) Nikela's masterful weaving of language and memories squeezed my heart tightly.
Forever Memory
November winds bring me chills
Yet here I sit, unmoved by the cold
We used to sit and talk; you understood me
Your kindness brought our families--old, new, troubled, and happy together
For days nights months and years,
You held strong, no harsh words cutting deep
Actions so gentle the wild wolves were tamed
Ninety –two years come and gone yet your mark still here
So deep, so treasured, you will never be gone:
Your blanket, knitted for me lay here at my side.
Your memories are haunting, but never dreaded;
Like a dream, a wish; you left your footprints here
Clouds roll in, I feel you here… I turn
No one’s there, just a cold November breeze.
A tear comes with the rain, yet upon the sky I feel you there
Whispering your last good-bye
Before that call that changed your meaning
A silent prayer and quick I love you
Hoping you hear through these cold November winds
Whispers of I love you carried through the breeze
Like your memories through my mind
by Nikela Klinghagen
Written Statement:
During the cold month of November my great grandmother breathed her last breath. Francis Parks was ninety-two years old and loved by all the family. It was a cold day and little bit of snow in the state of South Dakota, I was out visiting, and on a hunting trip in December; my last day there I stood out and over looked the ranch that my great grandma raised her children as well as nephews and nieces and grand children in the summers. Her memory haunted me, she used to stand in that exact spot and just watched the land. She was a big part of our lives and will never be forgotten.
Forever Memory
November winds bring me chills
Yet here I sit, unmoved by the cold
We used to sit and talk; you understood me
Your kindness brought our families--old, new, troubled, and happy together
For days nights months and years,
You held strong, no harsh words cutting deep
Actions so gentle the wild wolves were tamed
Ninety –two years come and gone yet your mark still here
So deep, so treasured, you will never be gone:
Your blanket, knitted for me lay here at my side.
Your memories are haunting, but never dreaded;
Like a dream, a wish; you left your footprints here
Clouds roll in, I feel you here… I turn
No one’s there, just a cold November breeze.
A tear comes with the rain, yet upon the sky I feel you there
Whispering your last good-bye
Before that call that changed your meaning
A silent prayer and quick I love you
Hoping you hear through these cold November winds
Whispers of I love you carried through the breeze
Like your memories through my mind
by Nikela Klinghagen
Written Statement:
During the cold month of November my great grandmother breathed her last breath. Francis Parks was ninety-two years old and loved by all the family. It was a cold day and little bit of snow in the state of South Dakota, I was out visiting, and on a hunting trip in December; my last day there I stood out and over looked the ranch that my great grandma raised her children as well as nephews and nieces and grand children in the summers. Her memory haunted me, she used to stand in that exact spot and just watched the land. She was a big part of our lives and will never be forgotten.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Treasures
As I have been trying to organize and pack a few things, I discovered Kiahra's poetry she wrote in the 4th grade. I am duplicating her work for you enjoyment...exactly as it was written.
By: Kiahra Klinghagen
To: my sister
snow angel
Snow Ballet
I love Crisp Cold wintery day,
When snowflakes dance a snow ballet,
They leap and hop and frisk and swirl.
They swing and shape and bob and whirl.
Their costumes are shiny dimond-bright.
Thay Dance by day and dance by night
The sky's their stage, the shows for free.
Its one more gift from earth to me.
__________________________________
I dream in the sky
as days go by
the gift of winter
the gift of marshmellow snow
By: Kiahra Klinghagen
To: my sister
snow angel
Snow Ballet
I love Crisp Cold wintery day,
When snowflakes dance a snow ballet,
They leap and hop and frisk and swirl.
They swing and shape and bob and whirl.
Their costumes are shiny dimond-bright.
Thay Dance by day and dance by night
The sky's their stage, the shows for free.
Its one more gift from earth to me.
__________________________________
I dream in the sky
as days go by
the gift of winter
the gift of marshmellow snow
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Catching Up
Today is my brother's birthday.
When I was a child, my brother would tease me incessantly on this day about "catching up" to my age and passing me. As a little girl who tried to hold her wieght with age against a not-so-much younger or smaller brother, I had to hang on to the only power I perceived I held. These conversations would make me furious.
Kelly has always loved to tease. I remember April Fool's day most vividly from my childhood because he always remembered this day. He quietly plotted for weeks. I remember one particular morning when he proclaimed there was so much snow there certainly wouldn't be school today. I remember flying out of bed and down the hallway to the window where he stood sliding in next to him...only to discover a beautiful, sunny spring day.
"April Fool's," he grinned.
Perhaps is it s brother's duty to torment his sister. He did an excellent job. He taught me to laugh at myself, though I still can't pull off a prank as well as he did.
However, today I am more than willing to let him catch up and pass me. As a matter of fact, I have decided this might be the year when my birthdays stop, after all wouldn't it be kind of me to wait for my brother? I know my mother used to tell me that as we ran out the door sometimes. Still her child, I can manipulate my mother's words to accomodate my desires. Nonetheless, I can call him today and remind him that his getting close to catching up...and being old like me :) Then I remind him what good company he is in...to grow old with his "big" sister. Lucky boy.
Happy Birthday!
When I was a child, my brother would tease me incessantly on this day about "catching up" to my age and passing me. As a little girl who tried to hold her wieght with age against a not-so-much younger or smaller brother, I had to hang on to the only power I perceived I held. These conversations would make me furious.
Kelly has always loved to tease. I remember April Fool's day most vividly from my childhood because he always remembered this day. He quietly plotted for weeks. I remember one particular morning when he proclaimed there was so much snow there certainly wouldn't be school today. I remember flying out of bed and down the hallway to the window where he stood sliding in next to him...only to discover a beautiful, sunny spring day.
"April Fool's," he grinned.
Perhaps is it s brother's duty to torment his sister. He did an excellent job. He taught me to laugh at myself, though I still can't pull off a prank as well as he did.
However, today I am more than willing to let him catch up and pass me. As a matter of fact, I have decided this might be the year when my birthdays stop, after all wouldn't it be kind of me to wait for my brother? I know my mother used to tell me that as we ran out the door sometimes. Still her child, I can manipulate my mother's words to accomodate my desires. Nonetheless, I can call him today and remind him that his getting close to catching up...and being old like me :) Then I remind him what good company he is in...to grow old with his "big" sister. Lucky boy.
Happy Birthday!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Fish for thought...
Jesus taught in parables. We know that. Parables are short stories intended to teach a lesson. He used them to appeal to everyone. As a matter-of-fact the poor folks were more likely to understand them than the scholars who over analyzed them (not unlike Shakespeare's writing). They were not intended to be allegorical...meaning that everything in the parable stands for something else that required deep analytical thought. It was a simple, radical approach to life in a society that was very segregated.
Now here is my struggle, as Jesus focused on loving your neighbor as yourself and refraining from judgement of others...but then in the following parable...harsh judgement emerges.
Matthew 13:47-50
"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: which when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away. So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth and sever the wicked from among the just, and shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth."
I have never understood the differences in tone from parable to parable, particularly this one. A child who takes everything literally can conjure up a horrific vision with this story, as I did. However, if one explores different translations it becomes clearer that Matthew was probably quoting Jesus' parable of the dragnet, but then he applies his commentary or his idea of what the parable meant. My ahah moment came here because as an English teacher, I know first hand how many interpretations can emerge from one story. It always means different things to different people. Scholars feel that Jesus appealed to the masses because he didn't interpret but presented his parables as food for thought leaving people to discover the meaning for themselves.
Anyway, as the retired Baptist and Methodist ministers talked about the oral history and then the recorded history of Jesus before commenting on the cultural differences during Sunday school, I was deeply intrigued. For the first time it started to make sense to me. In my humble biblical knowledge, I had noticed the different tones particularly within the writers of the first four Gospels in the New Testament. The point-of-view is obviously different even to the untrained reader.
Finally, when I just take the parable of pulling in the dragnet of fish and sorting through the good and bad...I could instead look at the good within my life and the things I need to get rid of or change--not harsh judgement that Jesus actually pointedly refrains from as is exemplified in his conversation with the Samarian woman at the well--a vastly different vision emerges, and one that personally works for me. I just really struggle with weeping and gnashing of teeth with a kind, compassionate God.
Thus, I am now interested in exploring the parables anew in different translations and explore how the use of language differs. As one who reads and studies literature, translations have always been problematic for me because I must entrust someone else with an understanding of the original language to interpret the nuances of the meaning for me, as I have been currently encountering in the Greek stories I am reading in different translations.
Ultimately, though, we do not have a script of Jesus' exact words which would be incredibly helpful. The aforementioned parable is in such sharp contrast to some of the others, like the parable of the Good Samaritan that it does make me question where it came from. Was Jesus in a bad mood that day that his tone shifted so? Or that as it was passed down and interpreted it changed a bit? Finally, I have to be careful not to discredit the value within the parables just because they are not told in first person and appear inconsistent to me (as I do not do this with other works of writing). The essence of the parables can still hold value to me if I keep the challenges of translations in perspective rather than dismiss them in frustration.
Now here is my struggle, as Jesus focused on loving your neighbor as yourself and refraining from judgement of others...but then in the following parable...harsh judgement emerges.
Matthew 13:47-50
"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: which when it was full, they drew to shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away. So shall it be at the end of the world: the angels shall come forth and sever the wicked from among the just, and shall cast them into the furnace of fire: there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth."
I have never understood the differences in tone from parable to parable, particularly this one. A child who takes everything literally can conjure up a horrific vision with this story, as I did. However, if one explores different translations it becomes clearer that Matthew was probably quoting Jesus' parable of the dragnet, but then he applies his commentary or his idea of what the parable meant. My ahah moment came here because as an English teacher, I know first hand how many interpretations can emerge from one story. It always means different things to different people. Scholars feel that Jesus appealed to the masses because he didn't interpret but presented his parables as food for thought leaving people to discover the meaning for themselves.
Anyway, as the retired Baptist and Methodist ministers talked about the oral history and then the recorded history of Jesus before commenting on the cultural differences during Sunday school, I was deeply intrigued. For the first time it started to make sense to me. In my humble biblical knowledge, I had noticed the different tones particularly within the writers of the first four Gospels in the New Testament. The point-of-view is obviously different even to the untrained reader.
Finally, when I just take the parable of pulling in the dragnet of fish and sorting through the good and bad...I could instead look at the good within my life and the things I need to get rid of or change--not harsh judgement that Jesus actually pointedly refrains from as is exemplified in his conversation with the Samarian woman at the well--a vastly different vision emerges, and one that personally works for me. I just really struggle with weeping and gnashing of teeth with a kind, compassionate God.
Thus, I am now interested in exploring the parables anew in different translations and explore how the use of language differs. As one who reads and studies literature, translations have always been problematic for me because I must entrust someone else with an understanding of the original language to interpret the nuances of the meaning for me, as I have been currently encountering in the Greek stories I am reading in different translations.
Ultimately, though, we do not have a script of Jesus' exact words which would be incredibly helpful. The aforementioned parable is in such sharp contrast to some of the others, like the parable of the Good Samaritan that it does make me question where it came from. Was Jesus in a bad mood that day that his tone shifted so? Or that as it was passed down and interpreted it changed a bit? Finally, I have to be careful not to discredit the value within the parables just because they are not told in first person and appear inconsistent to me (as I do not do this with other works of writing). The essence of the parables can still hold value to me if I keep the challenges of translations in perspective rather than dismiss them in frustration.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Birthday Celebrations...continued
Nikela, Kiahra, and a few friends gathered on April 24 for lunch at Olive Garden. As the girls gathered around their corner table to celebrate, their conversation kept me entertained. Though I did love the bag that one friend filled with balloons. She used the small water balloons minus the water. It was a fun way to present a gift, and as Kiahra shared the balloons one popped quit unexpectedly in the quietest girl's hands. Young girls love the element of surprise.
Afterwards, we piled into the Yukon and headed to the mall, and the planning began. Finally, we reached the mall and the girls' were off and running. Well, not exactly running, they meandered through their stores of choice trying things on and well, shopping. My little entourage was very good. Of course, the afternoon slipped away too quickly, and soon I was dropping girls off at their homes.
As I pulled into our driveway, Nikela and Kiahra told me thank you...making my heart all warm and fuzzy. However, as I climbed the stairs the exhaustion hit me. Keeping pace with young girls shopping made the couch look mighty inviting.
As Ron and Nikela headed out to find her requested cake, I put my feet up.
We topped off the day with Dairy Queen ice-cream cake...a family favorite. The musical notes perfect for Miss Nikela.
Another year begins with new numbers. The future awaits impatiently.
Afterwards, we piled into the Yukon and headed to the mall, and the planning began. Finally, we reached the mall and the girls' were off and running. Well, not exactly running, they meandered through their stores of choice trying things on and well, shopping. My little entourage was very good. Of course, the afternoon slipped away too quickly, and soon I was dropping girls off at their homes.
As I pulled into our driveway, Nikela and Kiahra told me thank you...making my heart all warm and fuzzy. However, as I climbed the stairs the exhaustion hit me. Keeping pace with young girls shopping made the couch look mighty inviting.
As Ron and Nikela headed out to find her requested cake, I put my feet up.
We topped off the day with Dairy Queen ice-cream cake...a family favorite. The musical notes perfect for Miss Nikela.
Another year begins with new numbers. The future awaits impatiently.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Cupcakes
A little bit of heaven shared with friends and family. The joyful voices of neighborhood girls fill the backyard as they linger together out on the back deck. I smile. I know this is the greatest part of a birthday--sharing stories and laughter and love with friends. Those moments warm the heart forever.
12.
Happy Birthday
A crazy birthday morning...
Of course, receiving a little sister the day before your birthday gives you the opportunity to open presents a day early...especially when it is Friday!
Dutifully...reading cards first.
"Sister, you've got it all--beauty, brains, and talent...
Now the congeniality part--that might need some work. Happy Birthday!"
"Too Much Frosting?
No such thing!" (Music) I love it! I like it! I want some more of it!
Any ideas who might have picked out the card?? She is very proud of herself!
Nifty new outfits! Look at those smiles! A few years ago...those cute outfits would have been tossed to the side...
but now they are worn immediately!
Happy Birthday girls! We love you!
Of course, receiving a little sister the day before your birthday gives you the opportunity to open presents a day early...especially when it is Friday!
Dutifully...reading cards first.
"Sister, you've got it all--beauty, brains, and talent...
Now the congeniality part--that might need some work. Happy Birthday!"
"Too Much Frosting?
No such thing!" (Music) I love it! I like it! I want some more of it!
Any ideas who might have picked out the card?? She is very proud of herself!
Nifty new outfits! Look at those smiles! A few years ago...those cute outfits would have been tossed to the side...
but now they are worn immediately!
Happy Birthday girls! We love you!
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Yesterday Minus Two Years
12 years ago my husband had just arrived home again after starting his new job in Montana...just in time for my doctor's appointment. What is it with relocation and spring?? Though what am I complaining about? Winter relocation is a nightmare...we did that once in a blizzard.
Anyway, we made it to the doctor's office and my water broke before the doctor saw me, so he told me to go home, go to the park to walk, and then go to the hospital and he would meet me there later this afternoon.
Evidently, Kiahra was waiting for her daddy to come home; however, then labor stopped. Completely. Finally, the next morning she welcomed the world in record time after the doctor arrived. On her due date.
Daddy is coming home late tonight just in time for her birthday and her sister's. Nikela's second birthday present (arriving the day before her birthday) was her beautiful baby sister...what more could a girl ask for??
Anyway, we made it to the doctor's office and my water broke before the doctor saw me, so he told me to go home, go to the park to walk, and then go to the hospital and he would meet me there later this afternoon.
Evidently, Kiahra was waiting for her daddy to come home; however, then labor stopped. Completely. Finally, the next morning she welcomed the world in record time after the doctor arrived. On her due date.
Daddy is coming home late tonight just in time for her birthday and her sister's. Nikela's second birthday present (arriving the day before her birthday) was her beautiful baby sister...what more could a girl ask for??
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Due Date
14 years ago, I was waiting very impatiently for a baby that was supposed to arrive on April 7. To entertain myself, I often would spend the afternoons at my sister's track meets.
I think about this today, as I head to my daughter's track meet this afternoon. She informed me this morning that her birthday is only 3 days away. I wanted to tell her she could have had her birthday a couple weeks ago if she had arrived on time.
Of course, Nikela still arrives on her terms...just ask her dad.
In the meantime, I am grateful for a beautiful, sunny day to enjoy the track meet...and that I am not pregnant and waiting. Though I have to say, I am not real sure the days have ever been that long again, as time seems to be gaining momentum...
I think about this today, as I head to my daughter's track meet this afternoon. She informed me this morning that her birthday is only 3 days away. I wanted to tell her she could have had her birthday a couple weeks ago if she had arrived on time.
Of course, Nikela still arrives on her terms...just ask her dad.
In the meantime, I am grateful for a beautiful, sunny day to enjoy the track meet...and that I am not pregnant and waiting. Though I have to say, I am not real sure the days have ever been that long again, as time seems to be gaining momentum...
The Realtor.
Last week I had a realtor call me inquiring who my listing agent was, as she had a client who wanted to purchase my home. Interesting... I know the entire neighborhood is aware we will be selling our home, but why wouldn't they just ask? Anyway, as the conversation progressed she offered to become my listing agent and even suggested her colleague if I wasn't comfortable with her. I listened and told her I would call her early this week after I had spoken with a couple potential realtors.
She called last night at 5:00. I was very busy, but she asked me how it was going and I told her I would be meeting with listing agents later this week, to which she replied, "How can I get on the list?"
Confused, I said our home wouldn't be listed for another week or so.
So she clarified, "No, so I can be considered as a listing agent."
No mention of the client who wanted to buy my home. She cold called me last week. Now she wants me to list with someone who basically lied to me?
I am struggling with the ethics of the situation here. If she wanted to list my home, an approach such as this..."Good morning, this is...from....and it has come to my attention that you may be listing your home due to relocation. You have an appealing home in a delightful cul de sac neighborhood, and I would interested in helping you market your home if you are seeking a listing agent."
That would have been more acceptable though still not appealing to me; however, I understand the initiative to sell, but it needs to be honest.
Nonetheless, after she called I received a direct contact from a family in the neighborhood that is interested.
Anyway, I told her I had appointments this week, and she told me she would call me back next week to see if I was still seeking an agent.
Now that I have had the opportunity to evaluate and reflect on our conversation...do you think it would be acceptable if I simply told her that I was not interested in listing with someone who under the guise of offering a buyer was simply seeking the opportunity to be my listing agent?
She called last night at 5:00. I was very busy, but she asked me how it was going and I told her I would be meeting with listing agents later this week, to which she replied, "How can I get on the list?"
Confused, I said our home wouldn't be listed for another week or so.
So she clarified, "No, so I can be considered as a listing agent."
No mention of the client who wanted to buy my home. She cold called me last week. Now she wants me to list with someone who basically lied to me?
I am struggling with the ethics of the situation here. If she wanted to list my home, an approach such as this..."Good morning, this is...from....and it has come to my attention that you may be listing your home due to relocation. You have an appealing home in a delightful cul de sac neighborhood, and I would interested in helping you market your home if you are seeking a listing agent."
That would have been more acceptable though still not appealing to me; however, I understand the initiative to sell, but it needs to be honest.
Nonetheless, after she called I received a direct contact from a family in the neighborhood that is interested.
Anyway, I told her I had appointments this week, and she told me she would call me back next week to see if I was still seeking an agent.
Now that I have had the opportunity to evaluate and reflect on our conversation...do you think it would be acceptable if I simply told her that I was not interested in listing with someone who under the guise of offering a buyer was simply seeking the opportunity to be my listing agent?
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Toes and Tape
News Flash--Kiahra stubbed her toe...again. Well it is not really anything new, her toes are always in the way, and admittedly, I fear she may have inherited her lack of "toe" awareness from me. The frequency of toe injuries that Kiahra manages to inflict has made the occurrence so commonplace that sometimes, I don't pay proper attention to her complaint. Until she comes home from school and informs me that the PE teacher confirmed she broke her big toe. I asked her when it happened and she told me Sunday...and I said, but you told me you hurt one of your toes...was it Friday?
"Oh," she nonchalantly stated, "that was a different toe."
Sheesh...you need to work with me here! So I finally decide to take a look at her toe so when her teacher calls I will know what she is talking about. I uncover a very swollen, bruised toe. Her daddy had already told her just to tape it to the next toe because there is not much to be done for broken toes.
After much searching I found the medical tape, and we taped her toes before she went to ballet. Sometimes I wonder if she will have to insure her feet someday...I know I won't be the one gambling her toes safety.
Anyway, when I picked her up from ballet she made herself comfortable in the front seat with her barefoot on the dash...and I had to look twice, but she had reinforced the medical tape with black electrical tape.
I laughed as I listened to her explanation of the necessity of the black tape. Then I told her that Grandpa would be proud because he can fix anything with black electrical tape.
Of course Kiahra was immediately proud of herself with the realization that her ingenuity was in her blood! Next she proclaimed it was an excellent story for my next blog...so here is to toes and tape, folks!
"Oh," she nonchalantly stated, "that was a different toe."
Sheesh...you need to work with me here! So I finally decide to take a look at her toe so when her teacher calls I will know what she is talking about. I uncover a very swollen, bruised toe. Her daddy had already told her just to tape it to the next toe because there is not much to be done for broken toes.
After much searching I found the medical tape, and we taped her toes before she went to ballet. Sometimes I wonder if she will have to insure her feet someday...I know I won't be the one gambling her toes safety.
Anyway, when I picked her up from ballet she made herself comfortable in the front seat with her barefoot on the dash...and I had to look twice, but she had reinforced the medical tape with black electrical tape.
I laughed as I listened to her explanation of the necessity of the black tape. Then I told her that Grandpa would be proud because he can fix anything with black electrical tape.
Of course Kiahra was immediately proud of herself with the realization that her ingenuity was in her blood! Next she proclaimed it was an excellent story for my next blog...so here is to toes and tape, folks!
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Daddy...
it hurts.
The soccer game was tied 7-7 with minutes to go this morning. Kade was headed to the goal when he went down and took a good kick to the jaw. As his face contorted in pain I was already out of my chair and in slow motion running diagonally across the soccer feild. My legs felt week and sluggish. As I reached my son, I examined his war wound. The mommy who struggles with all forms of trauma looked in his eyes and had him move his jaw. With momentary relief, I walked him to the side of the field and gave him a big hug.
His coaches assured me he would be okay...though they don't know how many times this child has been in the emergency room or the tolerance he has for pain that initiated my response. Though the assistant coach commented that she was impressed with my speed, as I sprinted across the field. Funny to hear her perspective. Anyway, Chayse told Daddy later that Mommy ran fast because she has been running on that thing-a-ma-jiggy (elliptical).
"She even ran faster than me," Chayse proclaimed.
As the swelling and scrapes started to emerge I captured these images for Daddy to evaluate. The swelling is difficult to see, but it is very noticeable all the way to his neck. The bruising will come. In the meantime, I suspect Kade will enjoy a few episodes of Dr. Quinn snuggled in on the couch away from the cold and rain this afternoon.
Though Daddy did elicit a smile or two, as he told him, "You don't have to bite their shoes to keep them from scoring. The foot is fine for blocking...you can save the jaw for later!"
As I sit here, I am starting to feel that morning sprint a bit...
Friday, April 16, 2010
Different Angles
As I sat on the deck last night enjoying supper with the kids, the sun slowly sank behind the woods. Seldom does the sunset here capture my attention, as I favor the vibrant prairie and mountain sunsets; however, it was the most beautiful picture as I gazed out across the woods and watched the fireball radiated through the trees. My attempt to capture the essence was feeble at best due to the fact I was so enraptured that I just sat there in awe before reaching for my my camera.
A bright spring day dawned to make a Friday especially fine, and Kade was dressed and outside long before the bus was due. Eventually, he meandered back in with a request. "Mom, look at these pictures." My little man has discovered my camera. I was delighted with his angle on our blooming tree.
Back to reality.
Friday. Preschool. The Kids Sale.
This sale is a major fundraiser for the preschool. Folks line up early and wait patiently for the doors to open. Behind the doors, everyone is scrambling to get in position taking last minute instructions for their volunteer posts. The array of goods for kids are donated by the families of Bellwood, past, present, and future...and some that are shared merely through generosity.
Well, I survived my shift, though my favorite people are the dads that are completely unprepared for the craziness.
"Is it always like this?" they ask as they timidly approach the crowds and apprehensively eye the long, long lines.
Afterwards, I picked Chayse up from preschool next door. To avoid the crowds we walked behind the church...all alone on what Chayse proclaimed was the "nature trail". It was still a bit groomed for my perception of nature, but it was quiet and the woods were nearby. As we approached the car, we walked beneath a mature row of trees in full bloom. As the breeze blew some of the beautiful pink blossoms fluttered gently to the ground to Chayse's utter delight.
"Mommy, I feel like a flower girl," she proclaimed as she skipped through the blossoms.
Each child shares a different angle, but to my utter delight, it is always a whimsical, fresh perspective.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The box arrived from Amazon.com. Kiahra brought it quietly into the house and waited patiently before telling me about its arrival.
"It is April, Mom," she stated referring to the fact her birthday will be here soon.
"Oh, well, this a gift for Liddy's storybook baby shower on Sunday."
I let her open the box, and Kiahra pulled out the storybook which Chayse and I looked at, while she unwrapped the two other books quietly. I watched her as she just glanced at them and shoved them under the packing.
Chayse was quietly waiting with anticipation, and finally she said, "Can I see?"
"They aren't appropriate," Kiahra snapped and shoved the box aside.
At this point I was a bit concerned. The other books I ordered were translations of ancient Greek poetry and writing, so as I reached for the box, worried my order was mixed up.
As I dug for the books and pulled them out I confirmed they were correct, so I glanced at Kiahra quizzically. She gave a me look of disgust, so I looked again...and then I realized they had photos of ancient Greek art on the front cover. At this point I smiled and explained to Kiahra that the photos were of an ancient Greek statue and pottery. Still unimpressed, she reiterated her previous statement and with a flip of her hair walked away.
I laughed. Then I had an idea!
Our new home in California has this great architectural detail in the front room. It is my understanding this is a view from near the front door. Anyway, I am thinking a replica of a Greek statue would be perfect, as I suspect it will keep unwanted male companionship from entering my house! Or at least serve as a reminder that boys aren't too cool??
Any thoughts??
"It is April, Mom," she stated referring to the fact her birthday will be here soon.
"Oh, well, this a gift for Liddy's storybook baby shower on Sunday."
I let her open the box, and Kiahra pulled out the storybook which Chayse and I looked at, while she unwrapped the two other books quietly. I watched her as she just glanced at them and shoved them under the packing.
Chayse was quietly waiting with anticipation, and finally she said, "Can I see?"
"They aren't appropriate," Kiahra snapped and shoved the box aside.
At this point I was a bit concerned. The other books I ordered were translations of ancient Greek poetry and writing, so as I reached for the box, worried my order was mixed up.
As I dug for the books and pulled them out I confirmed they were correct, so I glanced at Kiahra quizzically. She gave a me look of disgust, so I looked again...and then I realized they had photos of ancient Greek art on the front cover. At this point I smiled and explained to Kiahra that the photos were of an ancient Greek statue and pottery. Still unimpressed, she reiterated her previous statement and with a flip of her hair walked away.
I laughed. Then I had an idea!
Our new home in California has this great architectural detail in the front room. It is my understanding this is a view from near the front door. Anyway, I am thinking a replica of a Greek statue would be perfect, as I suspect it will keep unwanted male companionship from entering my house! Or at least serve as a reminder that boys aren't too cool??
Any thoughts??
Monday, April 12, 2010
To Freshman English...
"Great job to everyone involved with the Holiday Celebrities: Criminal Justice play! Your performances were wonderful and certainly made Mrs. Huber proud!"
--Bison High School Bulletin: April 12, 2010
I do not know when this performance was, or who added the message, but it sure sounds like the Mrs. Huber I remember who always posted words of encouragement and congratulations in our daily bulletin years and years ago when I was in school.
She was my first English teacher.
On my first day of high school, I was terrified. I had attended school in Nisland through the eighth grade. Our little country school setting did not prepare me for the my first day as a freshman. My heart was beating so hard all day I could hardly breathe. I don't remember much except how overwhelmed I felt. She was standing by her door at the top of the stairs, and with her vivacious personality, she warmly introduced herself with her big smile as looked into my eyes...and in that moment I relaxed a bit, and I knew that her class would nurture me...which it did.
Her class also encouraged me to experiment with language and writing. She gave me the freedom from the constraints of grammar lessons that gave me my first glimpse into the beauty of writing. Though that didn't mean we didn't learn our grammar (smiling)! I still remember that pesky grammar grade beneath the content grade scrawled in her familiar handwriting that managed to balance the comments of encouragement and with those of improvement!
Mrs. Huber's energy and spirit kept me engaged for what would become a lifelong journey for me. The last day of my sophomore English class was bittersweet because though she had prepared me well for my junior year, but my heartfelt appreciation for her kindness to that terrified little freshman girl just couldn't be articulated yet. I hope she saw it in my eyes...and through the years, I am confident she felt it in her heart...because that is where she carried her students.
When I graduated and set off for college, I didn't plan to pursue a degree in teaching or English or Speech, but in the years ahead it would become my course. Before I had even graduated, I found myself teaching a speech and debate class at Billings Senior High School. Once again I was a terrified "freshman" as I stood in front of all those students and realized I had so much to learn.
Without fully realizing it until years later, I reached back to my own experiences as a student. My first priority as I stumbled through the content was to connect to each student on a personal level...to find what nurtured their spirit...what they loved. Slowly learning together, we discovered what we did and didn't know, and together we learned what we didn't in our attempt to became a team. Ironically, we had strong success despite the odds, but our rag-tag little team came together from many different backgrounds and interests, forged unlikely friendships, and unanimously supported and helped each other.
I knew then that Mrs. Huber would be proud. Now I realize that I took the student experience she gave me, and with dogged persistence I tried to pass it onto my students. I discovered that I learned far more than English skills in her classroom...I had learned life skills about people...about compassion and teamwork.
Of course, I haven't seen her for years and years. Like so many students, I hold fond memories in my heart of my special teachers as life carries us away in different directions. Amongst those memories is the awareness that Mrs. Huber shared herself and her passions with her students from the heart throughout the years. Each child took something different away from her class that was important for them. She knew not every child would grow to teach English, but she enjoyed those differences.
Mrs. Huber passed away on Saturday, April 10.
In my heart a part of her will always live on...as it does for each student whose life she touched. A humble life filled with laughter and love of life...but within it a legacy that will last for generations as the seeds she planted will grow in all the lives she touched.
Forever young she will remain in my memories in my vision of her that first day.
Thank you, Mrs. Huber.
Class Dismissed.
--Bison High School Bulletin: April 12, 2010
I do not know when this performance was, or who added the message, but it sure sounds like the Mrs. Huber I remember who always posted words of encouragement and congratulations in our daily bulletin years and years ago when I was in school.
She was my first English teacher.
On my first day of high school, I was terrified. I had attended school in Nisland through the eighth grade. Our little country school setting did not prepare me for the my first day as a freshman. My heart was beating so hard all day I could hardly breathe. I don't remember much except how overwhelmed I felt. She was standing by her door at the top of the stairs, and with her vivacious personality, she warmly introduced herself with her big smile as looked into my eyes...and in that moment I relaxed a bit, and I knew that her class would nurture me...which it did.
Her class also encouraged me to experiment with language and writing. She gave me the freedom from the constraints of grammar lessons that gave me my first glimpse into the beauty of writing. Though that didn't mean we didn't learn our grammar (smiling)! I still remember that pesky grammar grade beneath the content grade scrawled in her familiar handwriting that managed to balance the comments of encouragement and with those of improvement!
Mrs. Huber's energy and spirit kept me engaged for what would become a lifelong journey for me. The last day of my sophomore English class was bittersweet because though she had prepared me well for my junior year, but my heartfelt appreciation for her kindness to that terrified little freshman girl just couldn't be articulated yet. I hope she saw it in my eyes...and through the years, I am confident she felt it in her heart...because that is where she carried her students.
When I graduated and set off for college, I didn't plan to pursue a degree in teaching or English or Speech, but in the years ahead it would become my course. Before I had even graduated, I found myself teaching a speech and debate class at Billings Senior High School. Once again I was a terrified "freshman" as I stood in front of all those students and realized I had so much to learn.
Without fully realizing it until years later, I reached back to my own experiences as a student. My first priority as I stumbled through the content was to connect to each student on a personal level...to find what nurtured their spirit...what they loved. Slowly learning together, we discovered what we did and didn't know, and together we learned what we didn't in our attempt to became a team. Ironically, we had strong success despite the odds, but our rag-tag little team came together from many different backgrounds and interests, forged unlikely friendships, and unanimously supported and helped each other.
I knew then that Mrs. Huber would be proud. Now I realize that I took the student experience she gave me, and with dogged persistence I tried to pass it onto my students. I discovered that I learned far more than English skills in her classroom...I had learned life skills about people...about compassion and teamwork.
Of course, I haven't seen her for years and years. Like so many students, I hold fond memories in my heart of my special teachers as life carries us away in different directions. Amongst those memories is the awareness that Mrs. Huber shared herself and her passions with her students from the heart throughout the years. Each child took something different away from her class that was important for them. She knew not every child would grow to teach English, but she enjoyed those differences.
Mrs. Huber passed away on Saturday, April 10.
In my heart a part of her will always live on...as it does for each student whose life she touched. A humble life filled with laughter and love of life...but within it a legacy that will last for generations as the seeds she planted will grow in all the lives she touched.
Forever young she will remain in my memories in my vision of her that first day.
Thank you, Mrs. Huber.
Class Dismissed.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Perspective
Last night, I was at the grocery store when the cute, little boy behind the checkout counter looked up at me and said, "I like your hair. It is really cool for a mom."
I smiled. I own one of these teenagers, and I was relieved to discover that the entire species hands out compliments with a twist. Nonetheless, I still smiled because I was flattered he noticed my "cool" hair.
I am a mom. A mom I will always be. In a society where youth is valued this can be a challenging transition for women who tend to be valued first for their appearance...particularly in youth, so the reality of fine lines and gray hair send us shuttling to a solution (like flashy hair colors), so we can hang onto our value a bit longer.
The reality is we are valuable as mothers, very valuable...far more valuable than youth. Ask any child who has lost a mother.
Age gracefully. I would sometimes hear that as a child, and I was never sure exactly what that meant. Now I understand. I want to wear my age as one does a favorite pair of shoes. To slip into the years ahead with grace and style...to be comfortable in my journey and within myself.
As a final aside, last year my oldest daughter reached my height with blonde hair that was kissed by the sun from swimming, bronzed skin, and the clothes...which can only be worn by youth. But she was still my little girl. Until one day when the waiter that was lingering at our table to ensure everything was perfect triggered my mother radar, and suddenly epiphany dawned...my daughter was attracting attention. The beauty of youth worn by another generation.
I have another daughter who is also growing up quickly, and in the meantime, I will enjoy my youngest daughter's childhood. Though I hope they will age gracefully and confidently.
I am a mom. I can show them how it is done.
I smiled. I own one of these teenagers, and I was relieved to discover that the entire species hands out compliments with a twist. Nonetheless, I still smiled because I was flattered he noticed my "cool" hair.
I am a mom. A mom I will always be. In a society where youth is valued this can be a challenging transition for women who tend to be valued first for their appearance...particularly in youth, so the reality of fine lines and gray hair send us shuttling to a solution (like flashy hair colors), so we can hang onto our value a bit longer.
The reality is we are valuable as mothers, very valuable...far more valuable than youth. Ask any child who has lost a mother.
Age gracefully. I would sometimes hear that as a child, and I was never sure exactly what that meant. Now I understand. I want to wear my age as one does a favorite pair of shoes. To slip into the years ahead with grace and style...to be comfortable in my journey and within myself.
As a final aside, last year my oldest daughter reached my height with blonde hair that was kissed by the sun from swimming, bronzed skin, and the clothes...which can only be worn by youth. But she was still my little girl. Until one day when the waiter that was lingering at our table to ensure everything was perfect triggered my mother radar, and suddenly epiphany dawned...my daughter was attracting attention. The beauty of youth worn by another generation.
I have another daughter who is also growing up quickly, and in the meantime, I will enjoy my youngest daughter's childhood. Though I hope they will age gracefully and confidently.
I am a mom. I can show them how it is done.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Explosive
As the phone picked up and I heard the familiar West Virginian drawl on the other end, I felt the relief flood my heart. Mining is a small world. Our friends are everywhere. The explosion on Monday made me pause on many different levels. The stories of the victims make my heart ache. I feel a strong link to the widows and children. It is not the first mining tragedy I have experienced since I became a miner's wife. Someday I would love to write a story about the early struggles in the mining industry as a tribute to all those who have lost a loved one.
Though the criticism of the people who work in mining hurt even more. I heard mumblings about the miners knowing the risk and their need to learn to work safe. Of course, on the most basic level, the desire to provide shelter, food, and clothing for one's family wasn't mentioned.
I was angry for days. I felt hurt that the people who utilize the power of electricity to view the atrocity failed to comprehend the link to coal, much less consider how they too contributed to the atrocity through their consumerism. I feel the tendency to criticize from afar is so easy but equally detrimental to a country already struggling to unite. I love our diversity, but respect for each other must exist or that diversity will destroy the core of our freedom. It is easy to forget that coal generates a significant amount of power in the United States. Power runs our country on every level. It should not be taken for granted or viewed with ingratitude. The irony that the stories are produced on computers that depend on electricity doesn't even comfort me.
Secondly, every miner does indeed know the risk. I know the risk well. I also know that our soldiers know the risk, and they embrace it for their country. I know our policeman and rescue professionals also encounter risk daily. Many folks throughout America know the danger of their occupations. Many folks embrace their jobs with heart and love of people.
I also know that opportunities are limited in coal country. I know many folks live in poverty. Real poverty. It is easy to tell folks to do something different, but when the discrimination in America rears its ugly head it isn't so easy. In a country where we value white collar workers (which tears at the very principle of equality that this country was founded on), it is easy to forget the intelligence that must exist within the blue collar class. There is no room for error. A wrong move in mining can't be fixed. All workers must be fully engaged and aware at all times. They can't ignore a phone call and go to lunch. They can't lose a deal and shrug it off and find another one. They can't ignore an incompetent co-worker, as he threatens their very existence. Teamwork is essential. This capacity to work with others at this level forges a trust and camaraderie that creates a impressive bond that transcends personal differences. It is hard work and it requires far more intelligence than most folks care to even understand. Their English may or may not be articulate or grammatically correct, but they have skills that are vital to their survival and to the operations of America. They also have a lot of heart.
The compassion that links the human spirit is lost when folks lash out in judgement rather than reach out in love for other human beings. Why is it so difficult to show kindness? I cannot help but wonder if their mothers told them to think before they talk...and if you can't find anything nice to say don't say anything at all...
Of course, this precludes intellectual discussions that are helpful in reducing the risk in the future. Aristotle recognized the importance of rhetoric as a means to seek truth which is vastly different than hurtful speculation. As a country we need to embrace the truth from all viewpoints, and we NEED to listen to each other and balance our emotions with our intellect. It is a difficult balance but essential to our future.
May each family that is struggling to navigate the rawness of their loss of a loved one in the recent explosion know that my heartfelt prayers extend to you each day. May you find the courage to face the future with love and compassion. The legacy of your loved one will not be forgotten.
Hopefully someday the true interdependence of the people of America will be fully recognized and appreciated...equally.
Though the criticism of the people who work in mining hurt even more. I heard mumblings about the miners knowing the risk and their need to learn to work safe. Of course, on the most basic level, the desire to provide shelter, food, and clothing for one's family wasn't mentioned.
I was angry for days. I felt hurt that the people who utilize the power of electricity to view the atrocity failed to comprehend the link to coal, much less consider how they too contributed to the atrocity through their consumerism. I feel the tendency to criticize from afar is so easy but equally detrimental to a country already struggling to unite. I love our diversity, but respect for each other must exist or that diversity will destroy the core of our freedom. It is easy to forget that coal generates a significant amount of power in the United States. Power runs our country on every level. It should not be taken for granted or viewed with ingratitude. The irony that the stories are produced on computers that depend on electricity doesn't even comfort me.
Secondly, every miner does indeed know the risk. I know the risk well. I also know that our soldiers know the risk, and they embrace it for their country. I know our policeman and rescue professionals also encounter risk daily. Many folks throughout America know the danger of their occupations. Many folks embrace their jobs with heart and love of people.
I also know that opportunities are limited in coal country. I know many folks live in poverty. Real poverty. It is easy to tell folks to do something different, but when the discrimination in America rears its ugly head it isn't so easy. In a country where we value white collar workers (which tears at the very principle of equality that this country was founded on), it is easy to forget the intelligence that must exist within the blue collar class. There is no room for error. A wrong move in mining can't be fixed. All workers must be fully engaged and aware at all times. They can't ignore a phone call and go to lunch. They can't lose a deal and shrug it off and find another one. They can't ignore an incompetent co-worker, as he threatens their very existence. Teamwork is essential. This capacity to work with others at this level forges a trust and camaraderie that creates a impressive bond that transcends personal differences. It is hard work and it requires far more intelligence than most folks care to even understand. Their English may or may not be articulate or grammatically correct, but they have skills that are vital to their survival and to the operations of America. They also have a lot of heart.
The compassion that links the human spirit is lost when folks lash out in judgement rather than reach out in love for other human beings. Why is it so difficult to show kindness? I cannot help but wonder if their mothers told them to think before they talk...and if you can't find anything nice to say don't say anything at all...
Of course, this precludes intellectual discussions that are helpful in reducing the risk in the future. Aristotle recognized the importance of rhetoric as a means to seek truth which is vastly different than hurtful speculation. As a country we need to embrace the truth from all viewpoints, and we NEED to listen to each other and balance our emotions with our intellect. It is a difficult balance but essential to our future.
May each family that is struggling to navigate the rawness of their loss of a loved one in the recent explosion know that my heartfelt prayers extend to you each day. May you find the courage to face the future with love and compassion. The legacy of your loved one will not be forgotten.
Hopefully someday the true interdependence of the people of America will be fully recognized and appreciated...equally.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Spice
First I mowed the yard before the rain came this morning. Then I went to visit my favorite hairdresser.
As you can see, I opted out of the silver and into more spice! Kade thought I needed to comb my hair when he came home. Chayse told me she loved my new hair because it has peaches in it!? Kiahra proclaimed that I went platinum...I am sure she is referring to the quality of my parenting...a platinum quality mom :) Nikela decided I was off a season or two...she informed me it was spring, not autumn.
Sheesh!
Well, at least I have one lover. For my audience, I apologize for yet another photo of me, but my hubby wanted a glimpse of my new hairdo. Just a little airbrush to enhance it would have been helpful, but it is beyond my capabilities, so you get the "real" thing!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Final Glimpse
Our last day arrived...after spending an evening rocking on the front porch with Kristi and Kevin. We arose to the kids today. Finally we headed out to the Smoky Mountains. We missed the visitor's center...no thanks to the GPS, so we just kept driving. Several miles down the road later we pulled over at the quietest pullout. After several cheesy photos we moved on down the road...
...to Mingus Mill. We were becoming more adept at noticing the signs in our blind tour of the Smokies. It was an old mill that the forest service had put back into operation. Of course, I needed a bag of corn meal to go with my new cookbook, so I can explore all those Southern style recipes properly!
The flume to the mill was irresistible.
The mill window...
However, as I was checking out the mill I saw a gentleman in faded blue bib overalls eating his lunch quietly in the corner by the potbelly stove, so I smiled and said hello. He responded politely, his eyes twinkling and the soft creases in his face emulated warmth, so I pursued a conversation. Then I asked him which waterfall in the park was the best, and he told me it was a falls that wasn't in the park, but if we went five miles down the road and turned left and kept an eye open for the KOA we would find it. A few stairs would take us to the top of Mingo Falls. He also told us that the mountain farm down the road was worth the stop. His easy-going, friendly manner told me he was better than all the maps of the park :)
The mountain farm was fun to explore. Some of the building were original to the site, and others had been moved from various places in the park or nearby mountains.
From the corn husk broom
to the humble hearth
and not to forget the meat house
or the apple house.
Though my personal favorite was the cooling house where they used ingenuity to divert a little of the clear mountain stream through a hollowed out log to cool the perishable food items such as eggs and milk. Equally utilitarian were the birdhouses.
A glimpse of early American life makes me more grateful...though I love the front porches.
Off to the falls we cruised, only to discover we had driven through the Smoky Mountains and had arrived in Cherokee, North Carolina! The short distance caught us by surprise! After all 35 miles only brings you to the foot of the mountains in Big Timber...though in all fairness, the Smoky Mountains are more like hills in our world :) Nonetheless, we found the falls.
Thus ends my photo tour, as my battery died. Equally frustrating, though, was our trip back through the park which required lots of patience as the traffic was backed up for miles.
However, we eventually made it back to our cabin with all the modern conveniences and enjoy perfectly grilled steaks compliments of Kevin. The kids were delighted by the fire later in the evening where smores were created! The quiet mountain setting with family was the best part of the day before tired, sticky, grimy kids called it a day...or should I say parents??
...to Mingus Mill. We were becoming more adept at noticing the signs in our blind tour of the Smokies. It was an old mill that the forest service had put back into operation. Of course, I needed a bag of corn meal to go with my new cookbook, so I can explore all those Southern style recipes properly!
The flume to the mill was irresistible.
The mill window...
However, as I was checking out the mill I saw a gentleman in faded blue bib overalls eating his lunch quietly in the corner by the potbelly stove, so I smiled and said hello. He responded politely, his eyes twinkling and the soft creases in his face emulated warmth, so I pursued a conversation. Then I asked him which waterfall in the park was the best, and he told me it was a falls that wasn't in the park, but if we went five miles down the road and turned left and kept an eye open for the KOA we would find it. A few stairs would take us to the top of Mingo Falls. He also told us that the mountain farm down the road was worth the stop. His easy-going, friendly manner told me he was better than all the maps of the park :)
The mountain farm was fun to explore. Some of the building were original to the site, and others had been moved from various places in the park or nearby mountains.
From the corn husk broom
to the humble hearth
and not to forget the meat house
or the apple house.
Though my personal favorite was the cooling house where they used ingenuity to divert a little of the clear mountain stream through a hollowed out log to cool the perishable food items such as eggs and milk. Equally utilitarian were the birdhouses.
A glimpse of early American life makes me more grateful...though I love the front porches.
Off to the falls we cruised, only to discover we had driven through the Smoky Mountains and had arrived in Cherokee, North Carolina! The short distance caught us by surprise! After all 35 miles only brings you to the foot of the mountains in Big Timber...though in all fairness, the Smoky Mountains are more like hills in our world :) Nonetheless, we found the falls.
Thus ends my photo tour, as my battery died. Equally frustrating, though, was our trip back through the park which required lots of patience as the traffic was backed up for miles.
However, we eventually made it back to our cabin with all the modern conveniences and enjoy perfectly grilled steaks compliments of Kevin. The kids were delighted by the fire later in the evening where smores were created! The quiet mountain setting with family was the best part of the day before tired, sticky, grimy kids called it a day...or should I say parents??
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Day 2
Up and at 'em...early. I made a quick breakfast, and we headed out to use our Dollywood tickets for the second day. With map in hand, we studied the layout and decided we wanted to try Adventure Mountain first since the line was overwhelming yesterday. It is a new addition to the park that requires harnesses tied off to a pulley overhead that enables one to navigate an obstacle course that includes a variety of challenges. I opted to take photos with both feet soundly on the ground, convenient, right?
Anyway, it was fun to watch. Though I had to be vigilant or I would lose sight of my gang quickly. Check out Chayse's reluctant wave and grimace...though I think it may have been for my benefit! Nonetheless it was adventure!
A river boat armed with water guns...
met its match on deck!
As the temperatures climbed to 85, we sought out cooler parts of the park. A video of Dolly's life that she narrated and showed the moods of the Smoky Mountains including the thunder and rain...at which point it rained on us!! Chayse wasn't too impressed.
A Southern gospel concert. A replica of an old mill that was working held a delightful surprise downstairs where they made delicious goodies with the fresh ground flour. The cinnamon bread was spectacular, utterly divine, and I even managed to save some for my sister! More rides.
As we headed out of the park, I became distracted by Dolly's museum. I was amazed at how small she really is as I gazed at the outfits she has worn through the years. She loves flamboyance and sparkle! Not to mention those heels she wears...they are tiny too! My favorite things were the notes and songs she had written on slips of paper through the years. She writes everyday. As I read the love note to her husband from years ago I smiled, and as I gazed at her scribbles for Coat of Many Colors I realized a great song emerged on the back of a couple pieces of paper from a small notepad. Stories to be shared. The emotions that link the hearts of people.
Earlier we had explored the little two room cabin that was a replica of her childhood home. Her mother had decorated it when the park opened. Humble. A table that didn't even allow 12 children to gather around, instead the youngest would stand on the bench behind and eat their meals. I am not sure where they slept. It is easy to think it would be completely unmanageable to live as they did...that it would be miserable and hard. Instead, Dolly carries very fond memories of her childhood with a home filled with love. A love that not everyone carries in their hearts. As we squeeze in all the "necessities" in our lifestyles, we struggle to make room for the love...perhaps forgetting that love doesn't grow in material goods. Love blossoms in our hearts when we pause to enjoy the moments that bubble up throughout the days and nights with our loved ones. It is the ordinary moments that bring a special smile and quick hug that fertilize the heart.
Anyway, it was fun to watch. Though I had to be vigilant or I would lose sight of my gang quickly. Check out Chayse's reluctant wave and grimace...though I think it may have been for my benefit! Nonetheless it was adventure!
A river boat armed with water guns...
met its match on deck!
As the temperatures climbed to 85, we sought out cooler parts of the park. A video of Dolly's life that she narrated and showed the moods of the Smoky Mountains including the thunder and rain...at which point it rained on us!! Chayse wasn't too impressed.
A Southern gospel concert. A replica of an old mill that was working held a delightful surprise downstairs where they made delicious goodies with the fresh ground flour. The cinnamon bread was spectacular, utterly divine, and I even managed to save some for my sister! More rides.
As we headed out of the park, I became distracted by Dolly's museum. I was amazed at how small she really is as I gazed at the outfits she has worn through the years. She loves flamboyance and sparkle! Not to mention those heels she wears...they are tiny too! My favorite things were the notes and songs she had written on slips of paper through the years. She writes everyday. As I read the love note to her husband from years ago I smiled, and as I gazed at her scribbles for Coat of Many Colors I realized a great song emerged on the back of a couple pieces of paper from a small notepad. Stories to be shared. The emotions that link the hearts of people.
Earlier we had explored the little two room cabin that was a replica of her childhood home. Her mother had decorated it when the park opened. Humble. A table that didn't even allow 12 children to gather around, instead the youngest would stand on the bench behind and eat their meals. I am not sure where they slept. It is easy to think it would be completely unmanageable to live as they did...that it would be miserable and hard. Instead, Dolly carries very fond memories of her childhood with a home filled with love. A love that not everyone carries in their hearts. As we squeeze in all the "necessities" in our lifestyles, we struggle to make room for the love...perhaps forgetting that love doesn't grow in material goods. Love blossoms in our hearts when we pause to enjoy the moments that bubble up throughout the days and nights with our loved ones. It is the ordinary moments that bring a special smile and quick hug that fertilize the heart.
Vacation--Day 1
6 AM Departure--We manage to escape the morning traffic.
The Yukon was quiet as kids nestled into their blankets and pillows and slowly dawn arrived, as we rolled through the hills of West Virginia.
4 hours later--Emergency bathroom stop. Gas. Food. We shuffled into a nearby restaurant to be greeted by the delightful West Virginian drawl. The kids grinned as they listened to her.
Back on the road, we were in Virginia shortly...and eventually we hit the Tennessee line--which we celebrated! However, the closer we were to our destination, the slower we went. The traffic in Sevierville was the slowest as we crawled through miles of tourist traps that made me nervous about my amusement park choice. Though finally, we reached the Dollywood parking lot at 3:30 PM.
As the kids baled out, we were greeted by warm sunshine. We caught the next tram and were at the entrance faster than any city street we had just travelled. Relief flooded me when I looked out at the park, as it appeared to be tastefully designed. Though as we gazed at the map, we realized just how large the park really was! Finally, we just headed down a trail and soon arrived at the first roller coaster. It was a wooden roller coaster, and the kids quickly darted into line with Ron. Chayse and I walked down the path a few feet to uncover a playland for younger kids.
Ride over--no words necessary.
The next ride, all the kids could participate...though one wasn't so sure.
Many adventuresome rides later, the final, wet ride of the night zipped down the last hill.
Strange, I know, but where is the love in this very wet hug??
As the crowds thinned, we double checked what time the park closed, as there were no announcements or ushers pushing folks to the entrance. Yes, the park would be closing soon...no there were no announcements, folks would just meander to the entrance. I smiled and decided it must be a Southern approach.
Just as slowly as we arrived, we headed out to find our cabin, Critter's Cove. We slowly navigated up the winding mountainside as I read the detailed map. Dusk was falling, and we were relieved to find chair on the front porch in the warm evening air.
The Yukon was quiet as kids nestled into their blankets and pillows and slowly dawn arrived, as we rolled through the hills of West Virginia.
4 hours later--Emergency bathroom stop. Gas. Food. We shuffled into a nearby restaurant to be greeted by the delightful West Virginian drawl. The kids grinned as they listened to her.
Back on the road, we were in Virginia shortly...and eventually we hit the Tennessee line--which we celebrated! However, the closer we were to our destination, the slower we went. The traffic in Sevierville was the slowest as we crawled through miles of tourist traps that made me nervous about my amusement park choice. Though finally, we reached the Dollywood parking lot at 3:30 PM.
As the kids baled out, we were greeted by warm sunshine. We caught the next tram and were at the entrance faster than any city street we had just travelled. Relief flooded me when I looked out at the park, as it appeared to be tastefully designed. Though as we gazed at the map, we realized just how large the park really was! Finally, we just headed down a trail and soon arrived at the first roller coaster. It was a wooden roller coaster, and the kids quickly darted into line with Ron. Chayse and I walked down the path a few feet to uncover a playland for younger kids.
Ride over--no words necessary.
The next ride, all the kids could participate...though one wasn't so sure.
Many adventuresome rides later, the final, wet ride of the night zipped down the last hill.
Strange, I know, but where is the love in this very wet hug??
As the crowds thinned, we double checked what time the park closed, as there were no announcements or ushers pushing folks to the entrance. Yes, the park would be closing soon...no there were no announcements, folks would just meander to the entrance. I smiled and decided it must be a Southern approach.
Just as slowly as we arrived, we headed out to find our cabin, Critter's Cove. We slowly navigated up the winding mountainside as I read the detailed map. Dusk was falling, and we were relieved to find chair on the front porch in the warm evening air.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
