Stick Horse Cowgirls

I was thinking recently about the importance of friendship as I left a baby shower. We had such fun at the party; there were family and friends all together in one room, and the gregarious part of me enjoyed it all. Later that afternoon one of my co-workers and I visited another friend who was recuperating at home from a biopsy she had recently. I had a great time sharing a drink and meeting her family. I couldn't help but think how much fun heaven will be with fellowship that never ends and where there are no biopsies, or divorces or loss of any kind. I don't think heaven will be a boring place where people float around on clouds, playing harps--but I wonder - what will it be like? Will we have work to do, friends to visit?--My finite mind grapples with its limitations of understanding. When life grabs me by the ankles and threatens to pull me under with defeat and despair, it is without fail my friends who I turn to. Believe me, the Lord hears my lamentations first, but I do...

Recently Son and I have dabbled in learning Spanish.  We figure it is the language of choice to learn in America today.  Actually, Spanish comes fairly easily to me, and I've picked it up pretty well, although I need to actually use it more… But Son and I have another other-than-native language in which we are both fluent because of the exercise we got in it while he was growing up. When Son was in grade school, I picked him up from school every day.  Those rides home were wonderful.  We’d stop and get a snack, of course, and go over the events of the day.  But at some point in the ride home almost every day, we’d enter “The Challenge.”  We’d move into speaking only in our second language, and the first person who lapsed and spoke in English was the “The Loser.” What language?  Well, Pig Latin!   We had the most fun doing this!  As a result of this daily language lesson, as adults we are both fluent and lightning fast in our communicati...

Well, it was going on 6:00 p.m. and I was still at my desk.  I am so far behind…it was nice to sit there with no phones ringing; and though I was tired, I was moving paper at a rate I cannot accomplish during the regular office hours. My cell phone rang.  It was V wanting me to meet our friend P and her for a stroll-from-store-to-store-evening that a quaint little shopping area of our city hosts once a month. Sounded like fun but, no, I’d better not.  I was making progress and hated to lose momentum.  I declined.  She protested…I was unmoved.  We hung up, and I turned back to the computer. Cell phone rings again.  This time it was P.  “ C’mon, you’ve got to come.  They are going to have free wine at these shops, and everyone turns a blind eye to that no-open-container law.  You can carry your plastic wine cup store-t0-store sampling fancy foods and enjoying the sidewalk stroll .” I declined, again, virtuous person that I am. Bac...

Yesterday brought in two women clients who had some things in common that I am seeing over and over.  The fact that I have two new clients in one day with this common problem set me to puzzling: They both have long standing marriages (27 years and 35 years) Both have children, just now grown (college age) and have described their husbands as totally-devoted, engaged fathers. Both have church as central to their lives Both described their marriages as “happy,” one of them said “solid.”  They were blindsided by what brought them to my office. And here’s the common trait that has me so thoughtful: Both their husbands have left them for much younger women and have unabashedly moved in with their girlfriends.  In front of God and everyone, as it were. Whatever happened to slipping around, hiding one’s sin—or trying to? When did we come to the place that otherwise decent men just don’t seem to think anything about...

Who knows where this post will meander.  I sit to write, but I have no idea where I’m going; I just want to write.  Do you do that?  Ah, I see now where I’m headed…I want to know about your writing rhythms.  And share about the stumbles in mine. I read all these wonderful blogs, and it seems like everyone has something to say all the time.  Maybe my life just isn’t all that interesting.  Pretty routine, actually… I realize this is all an illusion…that the pauses between writings of others are not so noticeable to me as my own, naturally.  And some of you will occasionally announce a hiatus from writing.  Those are encouragement for me—sad, because I miss some of you who temporarily suspend writing, but encouraging for the thought that you, too, have moments of no words. MIL is discouraged about her own writing.  Immigrant Daughter has given her a lot of joy in sharing with her family and others about her life.  Now she is in a ...

Yes, I’m stuck on childhood memories lately.  I had someone recently share about their family’s discipline practices some decades ago.  It was similar to my own.  We both endured the “pick-your-own-switch” order. It was a day and age when spanking was not frowned-upon—not even given a second thought as to whether  it might be wrong.  I don’t think I was harmed one bit by my mama’s discipline habits.  I admit that there are those of us who probably should not spank their kids because of anger problems, but that was not an issue in my home. My mother would, indeed, use a switch on us, and I recall that the little, skinny ones were the worst—they’d wrap around our legs, making us dance.  Sometimes, there’d be one handy on the top of the refrigerator.  She’s also gotten after us with the fly swatter (which I hated because I imagined those little fly legs c oming off on my own) and, let’s not forget the handy paddles provided by those paddle-ball t...

Yes, another Ayn Rand Quote.  Still in Chapter one of Atlas Shrugged (and  it is a loooooong book!) we find Eddie thinking: He wanted no sadness attached to his childhood; he loved its memories: any day of it he remembered now seemed flooded by still, brilliant sunlight.  It seemed to him as if a few rays from it reached into his prese nt: not rays, more like pinpoint spotlights… What do you think of as your “typical” child hood day? You know I can remember rainy days, alright; and I recall bundling up against the cold winter.  I can bring to mind events of other seasons.  But when I think of my childhood, my mind immediately goes to summer; to days free from school schedules and days of play, mostly with V. Really, the summer memories dominate; they are far and away more disproportionate in the ranking I give them in childhood memories than in time actually spent.  I think of summer play days, running into the the house occasionally for a swi...