Glimpses of Summer

Glimpses of Summer

Summer Heat
  Barefoot Feet
   Picking Berries
    Chasing Fairies
     Iced Tea's
      Bumblebees
       Birds Singing
        Hammock Swinging
         Pond Swim
          Crazy Whim
           Fireflies Flicker
            Ice-cream Licker
Summer Heat. . . Can't be beat!

As hot as it is today, I am enjoying the day.
Glimpses of Summer:

.

Enjoy the heat! Remember December.
Love,
Dianne

Pills in Applesauce

My little guy is sick. All day, I thought he just seemed "off". Kinda lazy, a little clingy, a bit teary-eyed at times, just not quite himself. I kept feeling his forehead and then telling myself that it felt warm just because the weather was warm.

But I knew.
It's a Mom Thing.

My mother could always tell when I was sick, no matter how hard I tried to hide it. She said it was my eyes that always gave me away. They got droopy and just looked sick. I didn't like being ill, but I didn't like taking piles even more. I was never given nice, little tasty tablets. I was always given nasty, big, bitter pills.

Penicillin crushed and mixed in applesauce. Blech.
Aspirin disguised in pudding. Yick.

It wouldn't have been so bad if I could have just swallowed the pills whole. But I couldn't, I just couldn't. I would hold that pill in my mouth, look up at the ceiling and take a big gulp of water. That pill just stayed on my tongue, dissolving into a bitter, grainy pile of horribleness. My mom would get so frustrated and pill-taking time became a battle. The idea of swallowing a pill as big as an apple just made me almost panic. I would gag and I was sure I would choke, or the pill would get lodged in my throat forever.

Why, oh why, couldn't they just prescribe the yummy, sticky pink medicine? All liquid and easy to swallow. Or chewable tablets that tasted of grape or cherry? Maybe they cost more, I don't know, but I was doomed to be stuck with horse pills.

I used to pretend to take them. When we were finishing our house, my mom found where I had dropped pills between the wall joists, thinking no one would ever find them. Or hidden in the deep crevasses of the couch. You would think I would have learned to flush them down the drain, but I never did. I'll blame that on the fevers and sore throats that seemed to just not get any better. Hmmm, I wonder why. . .

There is a reason why you are supposed to take the full course of prescribed antibiotics. It's simple really. Take the medication as ordered and get better. Hide the pills, pretend to take them, and never quite get over being sick.

I had my tonsils out April 1, 1980.

My children were blessed with a variety of tasty (at least to me they were tasty!) tylenols, cuisine-like cold and cough syrups, and the sticky pink antibiotic. One would think that they alway took their medicine with delight. Not so. In fact, I got a taste of what I put my mother through every time someone was sick.

I would mix the offending elixir in soda pop, hoping the fizz would disguise the taste.
I would try mixing a crushed Tylenol in ice-cream.
I begged, I pleaded, I bribed.
Eventually, they started swallowing pills and sick-time became simpler.

Who were these children? Swallowing pills without a moment's hesitation?
Believe me, they get that from Leo, who can swallow a pill without even taking a drink.

Ryan takes medicine about the best of any of my kids and I am thankful. He did have a fever of 101F and now I am going to offer him his choice of either a chewable fruit flavor, a liquid fruit flavor or one teeny tiny caplet he can swallow. Ice-cream optional.

Love,
Dianne

Semi-Empty Nest

I am experiencing a semi-empty nest this week.
Adrienne and Aaron left for Creation Northeast Festival this morning and won't be back until Sunday.
Amy is at an Art Camp all week; she left Monday and will return Friday.
Heather is at my sister's for the week; she left Sunday and will return Saturday.
That leaves poor little Ryan here with his boring parents.

So my nest feels empty. The house is quiet. The dishes are not piling up. The laundry is not piling up. Mealtime is weird. I feel a little weird.

Someday all my children will have grown up and left the security of this home, making their own way in the world. Will we have prepared them? Will they be ready?

Will I be ready?

I know that day is still years away, but in some ways, it is already happening. Take this week for instance. Part of getting them ready for what life has for them is by letting them leave here for short periods of time.

From Day 1, our goal has been to raise responsible, independent, God-fearing, moral, fun-loving,  and creative adults. Part of doing that is preparing myself to let them be adults, to let them make mistakes, to let them make decisions, to let them go to camp, spend a week with an aunt, and go to a music festival as leaders of a group of young people. That even includes Ryan spending a week without his older siblings and buddies, being independent in his play and helping me and his dad with the chores that need done.

My nest is semi-empty this week. And that's okay. Some of the benefits, like not as many dishes and dirty clothes, are nice, but I will welcome them back with open arms. (My children, not the dirty dishes and clothes.) Don't tell them, but I actually miss the noise that is usually so loud and at times, overwhelming.

Come to think of it, I will always welcome them back with open arms, whether it is Friday, Saturday, Sunday or 5 years, 10 years, 17 years, 50 years. . .

Love,
Dianne

Catching the Sun

My eyes are burning.
My nose is running.
My head is starting to hurt.

No, I am not getting sick.
I am melting plastic beads.
Just so you know, they really do not smell like chocolate chip cookies.


Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
Put assorted beads into cake pans.

Bake for about 20 minutes, or until the fumes cause you to start doing funny things.

Remove from oven. Be careful when you open the oven door as the aroma causes extreme watering of the eyes. Let cool for about 10 minutes, then remove from the pans. We had to tap on them a little and they came out just ducky.

Ryan's Suncatcher Number 1

This one was my attempt. I like how Ryan's hand shines through.

 Oh, and how I can see his cute little face, even as he tries to hide behind it.

Here is our second go at it; I tried to do a rainbow of sorts.

And this is what we do when all the older kids are away at camp or work.

The smell wasn't really too bad, but it was strong and of course I, being brilliant, stayed in the kitchen to work, thus getting the full effect. I would recommend going to another room and eating lemon meringue pie instead. 

This was a great way to use up a ton of beads that would just sit in a drawer otherwise, and it was a fun activity to do with Ryan. He is singing, "My mom is the best and she likes to work sometimes." I am not sure what that means exactly, but I like it.  

Now, all we need to do is drill a few tiny holes and hang them outside to catch the breeze and some sunshine. 

Love,

Dianne

Early-ish Morning Bike Ride

This morning, Leo seems to have lost his head.

Well, maybe it was his wife too.
Actually, it was his wife who had the idea to take a long bike ride this morning.

Yup, that's us.

We left Meyersdale around 7:40. We planned to leave around 5:00am, but that didn't happen. 

I mean, why 5:00 in the morning? So, the sun already up, but still in the cool of the morning, we headed out towards Frostburg and the Big Savage Tunnel. 

 We thought we were going all downhill from Meyersdale to the tunnel. That meant all uphill to come back. As we pedaled, I thought to myself, "If this is downhill, I am kinda dreading the return trip."
Then we came to the Eastern Continental Divide.

Pretty cool, huh?

Then we discovered that from Meyersdale to where we were at the Divide, it had been uphill, not downhill. I wasn't crazy and we were going to make it back just fine. Actually, the incline was so gradual that it wasn't really all that bad, but just knowing that going back was downhill. . . well, that was nice.

\

The Big Savage Tunnel (built in 1911)

Long and dark, chilly and damp, and just a little bit creepy.

 And we made it to the other end without encountering any trains. 

The view from this end of the tunnel. . . AMAZING!

I almost burst into song. 

Almost. 

Halfway there. Only 9.5 miles to go. Let me just say that a cushy bike seat makes all the difference. 

We survived our Sunday morning bike trek,

and I think that instead of losing our heads, we found something so much more wonderful.

Thanks Leo for a wonderful morning. 

I love you. 

Love,

Dianne

Cleaning the Bedroom Closet is Therapy

Last night I was in the mood to clean out my bedroom closet. I have no idea why.

Well, maybe I do, a little.

You see, I have been feeling quite unorganized and right now, my bedroom, including my closet, are a wee bit out of control. When life gets busy, I try to keep the rest of the house presentable, but our bedroom gets ignored.

Clothing gets tried on, changed, and tossed on the floor.
Clean clothes pile up in clothes baskets.
Dirty clothes pile up in clothes baskets.
Books get read or stacked up in piles, waiting to be read.
All my scrapbooking supplies are in here too. Unorganized chaos.
I have a pile of things to go up to the attic into storage.
I have a pile of things for a yard sale.
I have a pile of miscellaneous items from pockets and purses.
There is a suitcase from a weekend conference still not completely unpacked.
The floor is sticky where I spray on hair spray.
Oh, and is that a dirty dish?

Now, with all that mess, I should've been cleaning out where everyone can see. That's logical.
Did I ever say I was logical?

By cleaning out the closet, I figured it is an area that won't get messed up again as quickly and my efforts would last a little longer. I would just know that it was organized and clean, and that would make me feel better.

It is kind of a control issue. I want control over my life, and when things feel out of sync, organizing helps me regain balance. Even if it is something small, like putting books on a shelf in a way that is logical to me, or putting my clothing in order of color in my closet.

No, they are not in rainbow order, although I really did do that at one time.

I am getting rid of some clothes and shoes. I am putting winter things in storage boxes. I am eating chocolate while I do this.

It feels good and a tiny corner of my brain is sighing with contentment.

I am taking a break to do this and then I need to get ready for a wedding this afternoon.
And since my closet is becoming organized again, I can actually find the dress I am wearing and not just one shoe, but both of them.

Cleaning the bedroom closet is therapeutic and costs much less than therapy. Well, maybe not, since I think a trip to Dress Barn and Payless Shoes is warranted. Okay, so maybe not cheaper, but so much more fun.

Love,
Dianne

It's Officially Time To Celebrate Summer

Today is the First Day of Summer!
Celebrate. . . 
          the longest day of the year,
          the summer sunshine,
          the heat,
          wearing breezy tops and a favorite pair of shorts,
          flip-flops,
          iced coffee,
          ice-cream cones,
          popsicles,
          wildflowers,
          bumblebees,
          bike rides on railroad trails,
          the ferny smell of the woods,
          convertible cars,
          garden hoses,
          front porch siestas,
          chasing fireflies after dark,
          summer reading programs at the library,
          dancing in the moonlight,
          a hammock in a shady hideaway,
          thunderstorms and displays of lightning,
          fireworks,
          family reunions,
          picking berries,
          corn on the cob,
          BBQ's,
          making hay,
          June,
          July,
          and August.


When I was a kid, summers lasted forever. I hope this summer gives each of you that same feeling.


Enjoy just a few of my friends as I wandered the garden this evening. . .

Love,
Dianne

Putting Myself in Night Shift Mode

Time to put myself into "Night-Shift Mode." I really do wish there was a button I could push that would make it easier to cope with. I mean, I like night shift, otherwise I wouldn't choose to work it all the time, but the physical toll it takes on my body is rough.

1) I never know if I should be awake or asleep.
2) I never know if I should be eating or sleeping.
3) I have a hard time driving home in the morning, even if I've slept well the day before.
4) I usually don't sleep before my first night shift, so until 9am rolls around the next day, and I can lay   down, it's been about 24 hours without sleep.
5) I don't usually sleep much after finishing up a night shift because if I am not working again that night, I want to be able to sleep that night. Sometimes that means I go about 30 hours without sleep.

I think all the night shift has killed my metabolism.
I think it is true when they say that working night shift takes years off your life.

So why do I do it?

1) There is just something about the middle of the night, caring for someone when they need it.
2) I can usually sleep the next day, before another night shift, and I know many people who can't.
3) At least I get to see my kids in the evening (during school) a little bit before leaving for work. If I was daylight, I would get home around 9pm and it would be bedtime.
4) I am not trying to find someone to watch my younger kids during the day. Even if I am sleeping, I am sleeping at home, and they know where to find me.
5) I am not a morning person. At least not of the 4:30 in the morning variety. I worry all night that I am not going to get up on time and don't sleep well.
6) Wintertime is not nice when there is a storm, and the roads haven't been cleared and I would have to leave at an even earlier hour of the morning, if I was dayshift. Somehow in the afternoon or evening, it doesn't seem so bad.

Night shift mode means:
     -coffee
     -more coffee
     -relaxing ocean sounds to listen to while I sleep during the day
     -another cup of coffee
     -a positive attitude
     -a smile for 3am
     -and 4am
     -one more cup of coffee can't hurt

Being a nurse in a hospital means someone has to do night shift. Why not me? I just pray that I can go with a good outlook, a smile and a prayer, and that I can be a blessing to my coworkers, the families and the babies.

Love,
Dianne

My Music Talent, or lack thereof

I am listening to David Garrett play his violin; he has the most amazing talent! Look him up sometime. He literally has me dancing a jig around the kitchen as I am getting supper ready. I always wanted to play a musical instrument, and beyond learning "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" on the recorder in Third Grade, and Kumbya on my grandmother's organ, I haven't accomplished much on that front.

I did have piano lessons for a little while as an adult in my early twenties, but I think there is something to the saying, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." While twenty-something is not old by any standard, it seems my brain was already wired to not be able to pick up an instrument and learn it easily.

Of course, maybe I wanted to sound like David Garrett right away, and was discouraged when I wasn't producing beautiful inspirational music right away. It still takes me a long time just to get through simple songs like "Silent Night", and if I were to play it somewhere in public, it would be a long silent night.

My piano lessons started at a local teacher, about five lessons in all. Then we moved to Kentucky and in exchange for trimming an older, disabled woman's hedges for her, she gave me piano lessons on her seventy year old piano. Her name was Taisa and she was from the Ukraine. She would coach me in a richly accent to play Fur Elise, and her gnarled arthritic fingers played so much better than mine! But she was very patient, especially if she knew I was really trying.

I did practice too. To the point that everyone who lived in the same house as us, was ready to hide my music if I dared to play that first page ever again. Every single time I'd mess up, I'd start at the beginning. Over and over and over and over. Actually they probably wanted to slam the lid of the untuned, tinny sounding antique piano down on my fingers.

My dreams of playing an instrument have faded over the years. I'd still love to be able to play, but the learning part keeps getting in the way. Instead, I listen to music almost all the time. Whether I am inside the house, in my car, or out on a walk, or gardening, I have music on.

Some of my favorite music to listen to is when Aaron sits at the piano and his fingers effortlessly dance over the keys, and music just appears. His talent, like David Garrett's, amazes me. He hears the music in his head and heart, and somehow he can translate that into what his fingers are commanding the piano to do. It's as though the instrument and Aaron are having a conversation.

Piano, guitar, trumpet, and even recorder. Yep, Aaron can make them all sound good.
Must get his talent from me.

Piano, guitar, trumpet, and even a recorder; Aaron can make them all sound good. 

A Silent Night with Aaron would be a sad, silent night. 

Play on Piano Man, I'll always be listening.  

Love,

Dianne

Photo Session on Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to the best Dad our kids could've ever hoped to have! Before enjoying huge slices of Coffee Cream Cake and Vanilla Ice Cream, we paused for a picture. All I wanted was just one picture with everyone looking normal. You decide. 


And to think, this was all before the cake, loaded with sugar and caffeine. Love Dianne

Love,
Dianne

That Stinky Crab

Last night I went out to eat with a good friend and I ate somewhere I'd never eaten before: Red Lobster.
I am going on record as saying that it was most delicious. And fulfilling. And scrumptious.
I am not going on record as saying it was fattening, because I am in denial. And I did have a salad...

...in addition to a small-ish bowl of clam chowder, a largish plate of shrimp nachos that we shared, a large plate of shrimp & scallops in linguine with an alfredo sauce, and key lime pie (which I am eating now).

All the seafood, in addition to the live lobsters swimming (do they swim or just crawl about?) in the tank, reminded me of Rhode Island and the Horseshoe Crab.

One of the mornings when we were on vacation there, Leo and I went for a walk before anyone else had disrupted the water-smoothed sand with their footprints.

Well, almost no one.

No one, except this one large horseshoe crab, who looked very similar to this one:

This was an amazing find for us. I mean, we'd been collecting various seashells, but this, this was a crab! Albeit it was a dead crab, and we felt no remorse in removing it from the seashore. I just had to show all the kids what we'd found.

So, nonchalantly we strolled up the beach, now starting to have other morning walkers observing us carrying a large, awkward crab. We felt a little strange, so Leo took off his shirt, wrapped up the crab in it and we carried it back that way.

As if that didn't look at all strange.

Back at the house, we showed everybody our treasure, and we all checked him out and decided we would set him out in the yard to dry.

Big mistake.

The underside of a horseshoe crab has a lot of crab in it with hairy legs that make you think of a tarantula. Like this:

Well, if you ever wonder what a rotting crab smells like. . .don't.

A couple of days in the HOT sun with do quite a number on the crab.






The morning we were  loading up the van to head home, we had the front door open to the cottage, and this odd smell came wafting through the door. I went outside to investigate and as I rounded the corner of the house, it was like visible waves of incredible stink assailed my senses.

Clapping my hands over my mouth and nose, I frantically looked for the source of the horrendous odor.
There was Leo, in the yard, garden hose in hand, holding out an empty shell as he sprayed it. Using a kitchen knife, he had gutted out the rotted parts and was cleaning the shell so we could take it home.

As I am taking in the sight, through watering eyes, Aaron walked by and gagged. Then a jogger came by and says "Good morning." Whether or not he smelled it, I don't know, but I think he ran away much, much faster than he'd approached the house. The whole neighborhood reeked.

Oh, I really appreciated the effort it took to clean out that shell. Really, I did! BUT, I couldn't let it travel home with us. It smelled so incredibly awful that even if we put it on top of the van, I think we still would've smelled it. So, Leo put it in a bag, carried it back to a little wooded area on the path to the beach and tossed it out there.

I really pity whoever walked that path on that day.

The moral of the story: There are things in life that stink, and then there are things in life that REALLY STINK!

However, Red Lobster is not one of those things, but I can tell you that ordering crab wasn't even an option.

Love,
Dianne

Short and Sweet

I need a haircut.

Just one sentence and I am filled with indecisivness. How should I cut it? Keep it longer? Go short? Bangs or no bangs? Should I even get it cut at all?

I leave in 35 minutes for my appointment. Decisions, decisions.
What if I hate it? What if it makes me look weird?

Oh, that's what hats are for, right?

I know, it's just hair and it will grow again (hopefully), but for so many people, myself included, our hair is part of our identity. I think about cancer patients who lose their hair and what that means to them. Or other people who are on different medications with the same side effect. While I worry about a haircut, they are worrying about losing all their hair.

Kinda puts it into perspective doesn't it?

While I still don't know what I want exactly with my frizzy head of hair, I am thankful I have options. And it will grow again.

I'll let you know how it goes. Short and sweet? We'll see.

Love,
Dianne

P.S. So, it ended up being a trim, so a little shorter and she redid my bangs which were pretty much grown out. Maybe, just maybe, next time I'll be daring.

Snail Trails

 This morning I drove my car to Springs to the garage to have my air conditioning and cruise control looked at. Neither is working at the moment and I am a little tired of showing up places on a hot day completely windblown. Not that I mind the wind blowing through my hair; it's just that when I need to look somewhat professional, this look isn't what I want to leave as a first impression.

Imagine Ms. Frizzle from the Magic School-bus series and you'll get the idea.

As for the cruise control, let's just say it helps me obey the posted traffic signs. If I am on the highway or Interstate, I like to listen to music and sometimes I get a little heavy on the gas pedal. The cruise feature keeps the police cruiser away, much like an apple and the doctor.

So, I took Scarlet, my car, to the garage to be checked out. Then I walked home. Only three miles from my house, it was a pleasant walk and I enjoyed the early morning crispness. As I walked I noticed something.

Snail trails.

All along the side of the road there were silvery trails of dried snail slime that glistened in the sunlight.
I don't just mean in one place either; it was the whole way home. There must be a lot of snails in the fields around here. The trails were left on the pavement in crooked paths that left you to wonder where they were going and why. Was it because of the rain yesterday and they had to head to higher, dryer ground? Were they flooded from their homes? Do snails just like to get out sometimes?

Whatever the reason, I found it fascinating. It looked like there was no purpose, but as with most things in nature, I am sure there was. I thought about the reasons that I am out and about, cruising along.

(Well, I would be cruising along if my cruise control was fixed.)

As I meander through life, whether it is cruising down the highway, walking home, at work, at home, at church, wherever, do I know where I am headed? Am I like the snails, who seem to just be crawling around aimlessly? Or am I like the horse who knows where home is and heads that way without prompting? Or better yet, a homing pigeon.

I am like the horse in that I know, without prompting, that Heaven is my ultimate home someday. Everyday my thoughts go to God and my relationship with Him. This keeps me headed in the right direction.

I think I am like the homing pigeon in that I know I belong with Leo for life. I want to provide a place for us and our children. Level Acres Lane and the farm is my home.

I am like the snail when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it in. I get disorganized and go from one thing to the next. Sometimes, I just head for higher ground to keep afloat.

When I get Scarlet back tonight, I hope to have my cruise back. I hope to have the option for cooler air when I need it, and whether I am going at a snail's pace, a horse's gallop, or soaring like a bird, I hope to keep my focus in focus, my goals in mind, and my heart set on Home.

Love,
Dianne

One More Thing

It's late and I should be in bed, but I am finishing up just one more thing. Really, just one.
I am like that when I need to leave the house too.
Just one more thing to get done before I head out.
I find this to be a rather annoying trait of mine. I really need to learn to just let it go, whatever it is, because it will be there waiting when I get home, or when I get up in the morning.
It always is, and yet, here I am.

Just one more thing.

Sometimes it's important, like kissing Leo before going somewhere, or for that matter, going to bed too. Or kissing the children goodnight and saying bedtime prayers. Maybe it's getting 10,000 steps logged on the pedometer before midnight. Or it might just be writing a blog.

Just one more thing.

Usually though, it is taking one more load of laundry either in or out of the washer or dryer, or doing up the dishes, or stacking the papers and mail that seem to get scattered around. Something that can usually wait until later, but my obsessive-slightly compulsive self says that I have to have complete before moving on.

Just one more thing.

Luke 10:38-42 ESV 

Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

I am like Martha much of the time. "Distracted with much serving," fits me pretty well. I sometimes fell like a whirly-gig, turning and turning, but never getting anywhere. I need to be a little more like Mary, who sat at her Lord's feet and listened to His teaching. Sitting, listening, learning; all three of these I could do more of. I need to do more of. They need to be my "one more thing."

Oh, and just one more thing...

Have a good night's sleep and I'll see you tomorrow.

Love,
Dianne