Somewhere in the slideshow I realized that I was going to lose it if I tried to talk. Somewhere in seeing the childhood faces of these now almost graduates. Pictures of them at the age when I first met them and they joined our school. All these pictures were causing the lump in my throat to get bigger, and bigger.

Parents shared stories, aunties, family friends, and some staff. Then there was silence, and Barrie, our Head of School, says, “Well Lisa?” Probably because I always have something to say, and because everyone knows I love these kids.

That is when I was overwhelmed by some crazy mix of emotions. I couldn’t talk. All I could do was look at everyone and CRY. The only words that came out of my mouth was that it was too hard to talk. Nice one Lisa.

What a fool. When there is so much to say about each of these wonderful kids. And I was stumped by what… WHAT THE HELL IS THIS EMOTION ANYWAY?

Adoration? Pride? Self Pity (they ARE leaving after all) Excitement? Worry?

LOVE.

Bluvvering, I’ve decided, is what happens when you are overwhelmed by all these emotions at once, and you can’t speak.. love just leaks from your eyes. Love + Blubbering.

I’m so mad at myself because I wanted to say something, and COULD say something about each one!

The one who loves my kids and was in my carpool for a year.. over to my house sometimes, eating chili and sledding. Sweetest softest voice you’ve ever heard.

The one I stayed with in the ER while we waited to find out what put her there, covered in hives and in pain, but through all her misery she remained the grateful and lovely girl that is so easy to love.

The one that just needed a walk, in silence one day. Not to share her worry.. just a walk. With the most beautiful eyes you can imagine and a private way about her that was easy to respect.

The lovely one that has traveled the world and landed with us for just a year. But with her she brought a kind friendship to all of her classmates. Always joyful, and helpful.

The one that… and we all wish we had one like this in our lives.. that could fix any tech problem that came up and you were so grateful for his genius. And you plot a way to keep him at school….but you have to let this one go too.

The international one that joined our family for the holidays, the one that is filled with dreams of who she will be in the future and whose curiosity is infectious. She is fun-loving, thoughtful, and so sweet with my children.

The one with whom I had a daily ritual of a hug. The kind of hug that everyone needs. She could squeeze your worry right out of you with that hug, and sometimes needed you to squeeze her worry away. Brilliant girl full of possibilites. I already miss her hugs and how amazing she is to be around.

And then there’s that ONE. The one that I’ve been able to watch grow from my first year at school to this evening. The one that gave me his shoes as a prop for an admissions event one evening.. he drove home in his socks! The measuring stick of awesomeness, kindness, intelligence, and the close friend to my own (exchange student) son. The one whose family I have grown to love so much. The one whose name I can’t get out because of that damn lump in my throat!

That is all I wanted to say really. There is just 8 of them, it shouldn’t have been impossible but there I was, looking at them and bluvvering.

Congrats class of 2013! Love you!

-me

Today is Mother’s Day and while many moms are spoiled with boxes of chocolates, lattes, brunch and what have you, I prefer a different indulgence. Ryvita fruit and seed rye crispbread with cheese spread. In a tube. Cheese in a tube. It’s a Scandinavian thing, ok? I love it.

So I go to a local market in my sweet Scandinavian influenced town of Poulsbo. I walk in, familiar with the location of everything I crave. Jars of lingonberries, real black licorice, milk chocolate bars from Germany, fruit and seed rye crispbread, and cheese in a tube. I grab the cheese in a tube and head to the cracker aisle.

There is a variety of crispbread all looking insanely healthy and full of fiber, but none with the fruit and nuts. I don’t see the magenta package anywhere! This is what I must have with the cheese. No substitute will do. Especially not on MY day. I ask the clerk if it has been misplaced. He responds that it is likely they are out. “Are you SURE?”

“Maybe it has been moved to the clearance section.” I am doubtful, because why would something so awesome wind up in clearance? We look together. None there. Disappointed I turn to head back to the aisle to settle for a lesser cracker and I spot a package!

Frozen, I evaluate the scene. A single box of my favorite imported crackers sits on top of two books that appear to be a clerk’s personal possession. They are kind of behind the counter, clearly not on display or intended for sale.

I blurt out to the clerk that has wandered toward the back of the store, “I’ve found a package sir! The right ones! But they may be set aside for someone else!” He comes up and is aware I’m obsessed. He looks at the package and sees that they’ve been pulled from the shelf for being past the ‘Best Before’ date. By a month…. or 5. The clerk and I share some banter about how relevant ‘Best Before’ dates are when dealing with a cracker that is nearly cardboard anyway. By banter, I mean I persuaded him to give me the crackers.

They were delicious!

I hope your Mother’s Day is everything you want it to be, accept no substitutes!

infant barista #1: Yeah…. Whitney Houston

infant barista #2: Who is that?

infant barista #1: Are you kidding? You know.. that really OLD pop singer.

I can’t even see the juveniles, but I feel compelled to set them straight from my table around the corner:

HEY! SHE’S NOT THAT OLD!!!

They holler back:

48 years old!

I glance at the elderly couple sitting near us and say, “Well damn, guess I have one foot in the grave!” Elderly lady replies, “Yeah, and I’m standing right in it with both feet!”

infant baristas: She’s died.

<insert look of disbelief with sick feeling about grave joke and an overwhelming sense of mortality>

As Ruby and I head out of the cafe and into the store, I ran into a friend and shared the sad news.  And then something very sweet transpired. As I was waiting in the restroom for my kid, a woman that had overheard me talking to my friend asked, “is it true?” She whips out her phone and shows an article denying the story. I show her my google news, headlines reporting her death… and we are both wondering… and hoping… that she is right.  We head back into the store and her hubs is  there. He looks right at her and said,”It’s true. AP confirms it.”

This woman, of my age, and a total stranger, turns to me and we hug. As we part, she says the names of Whitney’s most popular songs as if conversation… and I just said I need to watch the Bodyguard again.

Ruby and I went to my van, I downloaded “I will always love you,” cranked it up loud and drove away crying.

Now… I am not a die hard Whitney fan. Some of her songs are down right embarrassing. Probably because I can still see myself singing into a hairbrush about ‘wanting to dance with somebody, with somebody who loves me.’ It is so sad that she has died. Beautiful voice, dramatic life of drugs and that bad Bobby Brown, and a daughter that she leaves behind. Just so sad.

But what happened in the store today was lovely. I don’t have ‘walls.’ I used to, and I’m not sure how or when that all changed but I talk to strangers all the time. I don’t HUG strangers often, but it was perfect today. I like to think of it as living out loud. Some of the best encounters I’ve had have come from living out loud.

Oh.. and rest in peace dear Whitney. I will always love you.

Not on a body. Just in words.

I just had some Hot Boots delivered from Mod Cloth. I am a Mod Clothaholic. Here are said Hot Boots of which are longer in stock because I got one of the last pair:

They are NOT leather, but they are affordable. And you don’t say ‘man-made’ anymore. That is sooo 2010. You say ‘Vegan’ because yes they are delicious and no animals were injured in the making of these boots.

But men’s hearts will break when they see me in these boots, thus sustaining injury.

If only I could get them on.

The laces that I were counting on for some ‘give’ are merely decor. When I realized this I panicked a little A LOT! I put them on and

PULLED

UP!

Dang. Stoppage. Right about mid calf. They were on but they had a slouch look to them. And that is so 2000whatever. I wanted to wear them over jeans and that just ain’t happening. I can’t wear them over tights, or skin no less.

So I went online to see if I could chat with someone at Mod Cloth about my predicament. Now, I am no stranger to online customer service encounters, but what I got this time threw me for a loop.

The name of the person with whom I would be chatting with was Christine, but the image of this person screamed STEVE. How was I supposed to tell Christeve about my fat calves? So this is how I handled it. (click the picture to read it if you are over 40, makes it bigger)

Now I’m pretty sure that I’m chatting with a woman, if only she would complain about her fat calves…………

I probably will keep the Hot Boots. I will try to make them stretch a bit. If not.. they are an 8 1/2, so if one of you skinny calved little @#*! want them let me know.

These boots DO fit! And you know I’ve needed some red boots for a very long time. Christeve thought they were awesome too.

*SIZZLE*

So I may have Fred Flinstone legs, but I’ve got Wilma’s style!

My church at Christmastime in 2009

I have a confession.

It has been a very, very, long time since I’ve been to church. About five months. Which means my children haven’t been in five months either.

*Hangs head in shame* but not for too long, because I’m Lutheran, not Catholic.

Our pastor had even called twice to check on us. <insert more head hanging here> What?!  Summertime was busy, and there were things…that always seemed…..to be happening….on Sundays around 10:30 in the morning. Busy things.

Like sleeping.

I know. More shame. But I went to church today and my pastor forgave me for that and a few other things I mentioned only in my own head during confessional time.

Non of your bidness. It’s between me and Him.

While sitting in the second row wooden pew of our almost 100 year old sanctuary, my husband looks at me and points to the hymnal. Not to get me to follow along, because obviously I know the service by heart. He wanted me to notice that it was not the red hymnal we’ve had for the last couple of years but the GREEN one was back!

When we switched to the red hymnal a couple of years ago, it was very hard for me. Lutherans to not handle change well. It’s pretty much what we are known for according to Garrison Keillor. That, and our singing.

I love the GREEN one. It’s so much better. Everyone knows. I quickly snatched it up and flipped too ……..oh there it was…..hymn #221.

How I’ve missed you! Sent Forth by God’s Blessing. The sweetest, most cheerful a hymn that ever was sung. I used to sing it to my babies and dance around with them. Sang it to them on the changing table. I’m not making this up. The song brings me total joy.  I tried to find a version online to share with you, but none can compare to the organ in my church and the heartfelt singing of my smallish congregation. I checked the YouTube, and the iTunes. Nada.  Port Madison Lutheran Church sounds the best.

I was happy. The sun was shining through the beautiful windows, my family was with me, the green hymnal in my hands again. But God decided to throw one more little cookie my way.

Wait for it…..

Hymn #221 turned out to be the closing hymn! I hadn’t looked to the end of the service program to see what we would be singing, what with my standing there in bliss.

The organ started. I gasped! My husband looked at me and smiled, so did my kids. And I cried. But I sang.

Just for a little insight for you non-Lutherans, here’s how Garrison Keillor sums up my religious peeps:

SINGING WITH THE LUTHERANS

by Garrison Keillor

I have made fun of Lutherans for years – who wouldn’t, if you lived in Minnesota? But I have also sung with Lutherans and that is one of the main joys of life, along with hot baths and fresh sweet corn.

We make fun of Lutherans for their blandness, their excessive calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese. But nobody sings like them. If you ask an audience in New York City, a relatively Lutheranless place, to sing along on the chorus of Michael Row the Boat Ashore, they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Lutherans they’ll smile and row that boat ashore and up on the beach! And down the road! Lutherans are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony. It’s a talent that comes from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person’s rib cage. It’s natural for Lutherans to sing in harmony. We’re too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you’re singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it’s an emotionally fulfilling moment. I once sang the bass line of Children of the Heavenly Father in a room with about three thousand Lutherans in it; and when we finished, we all had tears in our eyes, partly from the promise that God will not forsake us, partly from the proximity of all those lovely voices. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other. I do believe this: People, these Lutherans, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you’re in deep distress. If you’re dying, they’ll comfort you. If you’re lonely, they’ll talk to you. And if you’re hungry, they’ll give you tuna salad!

The following list was compiled by a 20th century Lutheran who, observing other Lutherans, wrote down exactly what he saw or heard:

1. Lutherans believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.

2. Lutherans like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.

3. Lutherans believe their pastors will visit them in the hospital, even if they don’t notify them that they are there.

4. Lutherans usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.

5. Lutherans believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.

6. Lutherans feel that applauding for their children’s choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.

7. Lutherans think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.

8. Lutherans drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.

9. Some Lutherans still believe that an ELCA bride and an LCMS groom make for a mixed marriage.

10. Lutherans feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.

11. Lutherans are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.

12. Lutherans think that Garrison Keeler stories are totally factual.

13. Lutherans still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.

14. Lutherans believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take themselves too seriously.

And finally, you know when you’re a Lutheran when:

It’s 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.

You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can!

Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.

The communion cabinet is open to all, but the coffee cabinet is locked up tight.

All your relatives graduated from a school named Concordia.

When you watch a “Star Wars” movie and they say, May the Force be with you, you respond, “and also with you”.

You actually understand those folks from Lake Wobegon, MN.

And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye

Peace be with you! And also with you!

My chest hurt. Lump in my throat, but I had my 3 kids and 3 more that slept over to make pancakes for so I pushed through it and remained normalish.

It’s my PMS week though. I don’t care if that is too much information for you. It’s what it is. So I knew I would not have a chance to make it through the day without crying.

But I’m not a masochist, so I did not seek out 9/11 stuff on TV, or the web. I would limit to scanning status updates on the FB. I did catch the news tonight. I figured I should, out of respect. Dammit. They showed THAT footage.

It’s so hard to watch isn’t it? Seeing the second plane hit… being all confused still….and then the tower crumbles. Then the next one. I was squirming in my chair, covering my eyes, holding my throat and reliving it.

I had been 30 years old with a 1 year old daughter and pregnant with #2. The phone rang just before 7 am, but I didn’t get to it in time. I thought it was my husband on his morning commute and called him but he said it wasn’t him. We didn’t have caller ID. I have no idea who called and woke me up that morning. Then my husband asked if I was ok, and if I was watching the news. So I turned it on with him still on the phone piecing together what I was seeing. Before it made sense I watched the South tower collapse. By the time the second one came down I was on my knees sobbing. I could not believe this was happening.

Some people are more emotional then others. I’m definitely of the MORE emotional types and the sadness I felt in those days was the deepest I have ever felt. I was scared, hopeless, helpless, in a pit of absolute despair. And pregnant. I started to worry that my sadness would affect my pregnancy. I bet a lot of pregnant women felt that way. What kind of a world would he be born into? Everything was different now.

And River IS a different kind of kid. I do think my sadness affected him. I truly do. He is very sensitive and very empathetic. His poor little heart. He asked me what 9/11 was tonight as the news was on. He knew some of what happened because I would always lose it at Fire Station field trips when they would demonstrate their locator beeper. Tonight I got out our magazines that we had saved from September 2001. We talked about the pictures, the bad men, and all the heroes. Tears running down that boys face.

I really don’t know what else to say.

So here’s the link to Jenny’s Vlog about the whether or not one might have an accent as determined by saying aloud certain words.  Some catchy ones:

Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

And then there’s the list of questions you must answer:

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

Now.. remember I said I was tired. And my hair is a bit fuzzed out.  But I’m too tired to give a rip about vanity, so here’s how it went for me:

Again.. was very late and very fuzzy!

Time. Time is the issue here. I do not have 777 pages worth of time to read. I have about 250 to read, 300 for laundry, 150 for dishes and 77 for picking up after everyone else. Or something like that.

Tonight we took turns reading. Rhianna (sweet teen staying with us for the summer) read one chapter, Ruby the next, and then it was my turn. I didn’t listen to their reading because I was doing dishes, prepping dinner for tomorrow and shuffling loads of laundry. Serves me right. I got chapter eight. Jo Meets Apollyon.

Apollyon? Who is that? I don’t remember any characters by that name in this book! Oy, people. Apollyon is: the destroyer; the angel of the bottomless pit. Revelation 9:11. Yes. 9:11, that alone makes my bones cold.

If I had a clue that I was reading THAT chapter where Jo faces her inner demon I might have just yawned and said.. oh tomorrow.. everyone off to bed now. But I read. It was my turn.

I can really relate to Jo. She has a hot temper, a wicked tongue, can stay angry for an eternity, and knows she’s an ass. Me and Jo. So much. Especially lately. I’ve been fuming all summer about a certain situation in my community AND I’ve been pissed as hell at all the idiots around here acting like it is nothing. This is one angry story I will post at another time when I can link to a news article about the eventual arrest. I am hopeful. And without any compassion. Can you tell?

The point being…. I have anger issues. And a hate that wells up in me something fierce. A demon. Apollyon. Just like Jo.

In chapter 8, Jo blows off her little sister Amy for an outing. Amy gets her revenge by burning Jo’s manuscript of fairy tales she’s been working on for years. Un-freaking-forgivable. I could feel my face get red hot as I sympathized with the 18th century me. Jo loses her shit on Amy, naturally, and swears never to forgive. Few days later, Amy tags along on an ice skating date. Jo knows the danger, but out of spite says nada. Crack, splash, little sister goes through the ice and Jo and Laurie manage to save her.

If you are married, have children, have siblings, shoot people, unless you are a full on hermit you have heard this quote:

“My dear, don’t let the sun go down upon your anger; forgive each other, help each other, and begin again tomorrow.”

So says Jo’s mom. And Jo and I both know that we can be an ass. So we ask for help. Jo’s mom tells her that she too has had to struggle to control her temper for 40 years. Jo is begging to know the secret… and as her mom tells it, I am floored. I can’t swallow. Ruby can see my face change, my voice break as I am completely humbled.

“…..I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your sakes than for my own; a startled or surprised look from one of you, when I spoke sharply, rebuked me more than any words could have done; and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest reward I could ever receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them copy.”

BAM! I flash through all the ugly, hateful words, dirty looks and angry energy I have been carrying around lately, in front of my sweet children. What a horrible example I have been. Horrible. So every time I feel that anger start to take over because of this community issue, or ANY issue.. I will squelch it if I’m around my kids. It is going to take a lot of work. Tons.

But don’t think for one minute that I will show an ounce of compassion for the dirty creeps around. My kids will NOT see that from their mother. I want them to have good virtues, but not be fools.

I host international students.

For amusement.

And of course there’s the whole enriching our lives thing, and global experience for my kids, and the fact that I just generally love kids and that is why I work at a school. So there.

But they crack me up, as I suppose any teenagers do.

Fred and I are chatting on FB, miss him so much. He’s coming back to live with us another year and we are counting the days until we pick him up at the airport. Back to the chatting…..He’s been searching for Melbourne Shuffle Pants. OMG. All day.

*I flash back to my Hammer Pants days*

I know. Those were the days. I totally saw him in concert. Covet my life.

Now Fred….. he is madeofawesome because not only has he learned how to do the Melbourne Shuffle, he opened a club in China in a hotel WHERE THEY TEACH IT! And he’s 17. Opened. A. Club. He is so cool it is a wonder that he is not from my gene pool. But alas, he is Chinese, full on.

So I’m thinking I’m gonna help the boy out and see if we can get these pants stateside right? I do a little research on them and discover that they are also called…..wait for it……

PHAT PANTS.

So I said, in our nice little FB chat….

The chat is still open and he hasn’t responded.

I’m going to go laugh myself to sleep and dream of these Phat Pants with Phlames. *snort*

Dude! Your Phat Pants are on Phire!

Week before last was the end of the school year for  West Sound Academy. Students taking final exams, international students saying good bye, and then graduation for the class of 2011.  I’m so proud of those wonderful young people.

And then I start to plummet down. My own kids had their last week of school. When I wanted to celebrate with them I couldn’t. I wanted to just relax, and couldn’t. I was racing to get report cards edited, complete the final transcripts, so much work to do! My two international students were packing to go back to their families. I wanted to hang out with them, and couldn’t. Philipp’s mom even came to stay with us for a few days. What little time I could squeeze in to be with her left us both wishing we had MORE TIME. And then yesterday they were gone. Fred left for China this morning. I’ve been cheated out of the moments that were supposed to be filled with joy and reflection of the last year.

I’ve hit the bottom and I’m exhausted.

I noticed my old dog lying in the front yard.  There are tufts of her fur everywhere because she is constantly shedding. I start to walk around her, and pick up the fur.

She’s awake, but has her eyes closed, just chilling out. I want THAT. So I lie on the ground next to her. She checks me out and gives me a few kisses. I try to imagine what she might be thinking, and it occurs to me that she is probably not thinking at all. She’s just blinking.

I think, “I’m gonna try this.”  On my back staring up through the branches of a tree and into the sky beyond.  It’s cloudy. Quiet. All I can hear is bird chatter and my son sweeping his hand through his bin of Legos in his room. I can hear an airplane. That’s all. Birds, Legos, and an airplane. I blink.. like my dog,  totally wishing I was really a dog and this was the extent of my existence.

My old girl Leica… she will be 15 in August. that is 105! I look over at her, blinking, shedding, chilling.  Shedding. That’s what I was doing…. picking up fur in the front yard.  So.. I give up the sweet fantasy and decide to finish the task, and resume peopleish type things.

But I can’t get off the ground. Seriously. My back seizes up as I try to just roll over. It’s awkward.. I’m wincing in pain, trying to get on all fours so I can somehow pull myself to my feet.  She’s blinking… still, at 105.  I’m 40, slowly trying to stand up and hoping none of my neighbors chose this moment for an evening stroll.

So… I totally enjoyed pretending to be her. But my body is not used to being still, and not on the ground.. so it looks like I’m stuck in peoplehood for now.  Here is a darling video my husband put together of our old girl last summer.. doing her doggy chill out thing.  What  a life.

dog dayz from gman on Vimeo.