Finding Balm in Gilead

Thoughts Galore

So now that I've vented my concerns over Angry Birds, I want to express my desire and hopes for an I-PAD in the near future.

So that we can play Angry Birds on a big screen.

Anyway, I am sitting here with the little boy watching The Adventures of Chuck and Friends while I try to overcome my writer's block concerning an article for the newspaper this week. My research and timeline for interviews has not panned out this week, and frankly, I'm at a loss as to where to begin in this new year.

Not that there isn't plenty of history here in 'ole Dalhart to write about.....it's just that I seem to have a mental block as to where to begin my research. I'm finding it hard to get back in the groove after more than a month off from the newspaper writing.

In other news, I had grand plans to go to the gym early this morn, but I forgot to set my alarm. I'm obviously extremely dedicated to exercise.

Jason hired our kids to pick up nails, screws, and other paraphrenalia from around his new seed barn that is just now finally completed, and so yesterday afternoon, we trekked around the perimeter of the place with our grocery sacks looking for all sorts of "treasure", if you will. J told the kids he'd pay them a quarter per nail or screw, but I didn't think that he bargained for their extreme diligence and perseverance in this task as they both gathered quite a few nails that will add up to a nice little payday. As Gracie said when we got back into the car, "Mom - this was a good thing for us!"

I treated them to a lemonade at Sonic, but apparently all their scavenger hunting left them ravenous, so we ordered a grilled cheese too. They scarfed it down while discussing their plans for all the money they were going to make from this project. Plans that involve a trip to Toys R Us.

I think I'd like to be in on this little project - there are several things I've had my eye on at say, oh I don't know, Pottery Barn? Restoration Hardware? Texas Furniture?

But I want a dollar per nail.

 

 

Did George Orwell own a slingshot?

My husband is addicted. He is bent on cracking every level ever created in the Angry Birds game app on his I-phone. I thought he was done when last week he announced that he had finally done it - cracked every level - but then.....come to find out, it's neverending.

Furthermore, there's holiday-themed angry birds, too. Did you that there were about a jillion downloads of angry birds on Christmas Day?

I'd say that's fairly indicative of the family dynamics going on in our world today.

The addiction has not gone unnoticed by my four year-old son, who also likes to play a round or thirty of angry birds on Daddy's phone. At least I can monitor and control this little boy's game playing.....but as for the big boy, I'm at a loss.

And to add insult to injury, the kids and I were shopping in Target last week, and DID YOU KNOW that there are angry bird pillow pet-type stuffed animals for sale? Are you kidding me?

And if that's not enough, we were driving down a street in Amarillo THAT SAME DAY when we passed a costume shop and can you guess what was hanging in the window?

Angry Bird costumes, my friends.

Back in my teaching days, I taught a book written in 1948 by George Orwell titled Nineteen Eighty-Four. It was essentially his theory on what the world will look like in 1984...totalitarian government, thought police, and a society based on propaganda and rewritten history from the government. The slogan of the world, and basically the theme of the book, was "Big Brother is watching you."

I've thought often in recent years that our society has, in fact, become somewhat like this world George Orwell put forth in that book written so long ago. With this new digital age that we live in with our tv's, computers, and I-phones, it does seem that there are overtones of "Big Brother" in huge ways.

I'm just sayin'.

But never, EVER did I think that a game app of blinking birds soaring through the air with destruction on their mind would infiltrate and single-handedly cause the hiatus of anything productive in the time management category, not to mention the decline of human communication and critical thinking as we know it. Even the world wide web is no match for an angry bird.

FOR INSTANCE.....

Internet surfing - yes this is a time stealer and definitely takes away from that personal communication theme, though some of my best research, creative ideas and shopping coux's come this way - without the help of a half-hearted clerk.

Facebook - a massive time waster concerning some of life's most trivial issues(for the most part). And yet it reels you in by the notion that you might miss out on some important information about a past acquaintance, like (for instance) the fact that they just washed their hair....

Texting - Though devoid of correct grammar usage and collectively aiding in the extinction of a properly composed sentence, the nature of a text's brevity still helps navigate those conversations that we don't have time to have BECAUSE.........

We're busy playing Angry Birds on the I-phone.

George Orwell thought that Big Brother and the thought police would be the overlying cause of the demise of society, but what he didn't know at that time was that his Big Brother concept...

is really just an Angry Bird.

Who needs the thought police when you have a bird and a slingshot to occupy your time?

Now excuse me, I hear there is a valentine exploding hearts edition of Angry Birds that I need to check out.

Well-played, Big Brother, well-played.

Happy New Year 2012

Though I haven't posted in a while, I am still here...and planning to do better in 2012. I miss writing here, though I love researching and interviewing people in our little town for the newspaper.

There's much to write about here on the 'ole blog, though, and I'd like to say that I promise to give an account of the last few months....but who am I kidding - THAT MAY NOT HAPPEN, people.

Life is passing by quickly, y'all, and these kiddos are growing up minute by minute.....and I am filled with joy. Just in the last month we went from school programs....(pardon the atrocity of my photography skills)

to a little bit of snow....

to getting ready for Christmas....

to cruising the western Caribbean....

and back to a major blizzard at home in Dalhart just before Christmas....

Whew - I haven't even arrived at the Christmas pics yet.

More pictures to come....and more memories to make.

2012 will be even better. Happy New Year!

And November is Over....

Good grief - the time has flown. The end of October throughout November has been a whirlwind of activity, not the least of which being Cash's birthday, an open house for J's business, and Thanksgiving no less.

I will not talk about the stomach bug I contracted on Thanksgiving Day.

Anyway, here it is December 7th, and I haven't posted in two months, though there are so many things that have been on my heart and mind. But this is what is most on my mind.....

They "camped" in Gracie's room one night recently.

This is such a fun age.

Good Times here at the Balm in Gilead house.

More to come later......

Experiencing the drought of … wait.

I always make a point to read Vicky Courtney's "Virtue Alerts" when they appear in my inbox email. She has a pulse on the culture of kids today, and her wisdom and Biblical teaching on how to talk to your kids about all that society tries to tempt them with is truly invaluable information for a mama - no matter what age her kids.

Today, in addition to a post about some heartbreaking incidents in the world of sexting and teens(also a must-read), she wrote about an article she came across in a vintage magazine from 1894. In this article, the writer talks about waiting for the surplus of income to buy that new home....and Vicky applies this bit of wisdom to whatever "drought of waiting" we are in and why God calls us to wait sometimes.

This is especially timely for me for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that sometimes feeling I get when it seems like we are growing too big for our house,... and furthermore, the fact that I believe we "need" new furniture in some rooms, ...and also that recurring wish that the book that I know is in my head somewhere would just go on ahead and publish itself.

And God has called me to wait...because, as Vicky so aptly says, sometimes the surplus is in just that - the wait.

Meanwhile, a little decluttering would probably create more than enough of the space I think we need, our present furniture is just fine and quite sturdy for now, and that book will come once I figure out just what in the sam hill I'm going to write about.

Read and enjoy....blessings to all.

Experiencing the drought of … wait..

Incidentals

Yesterday, the kids were in rare form.....it was a rainy day - praise the Lord - and we stayed inside virtually all day. At 6, I had a quick interview for an article and took the kids with me. They behaved beautifully. Afterwards, we had to run into the store for some toppings for our tortilla soup that was back on the stove at home.

And this is where the pent-up energy broke loose.

Cash brought his pretend police cb radio that goes with a dress-up costume - I told him he could bring it in ONLY if he turned the grating, horribly loud siren off....lest we scare some grocery patrons. He agreed, but what ensued was a full out secret agent game that both he and Gracie played while I navigated the aisles with them following in their stealthy style. Cash talked into his radio, Gracie talked into her bracelet slash secret spy phone, and both kids hopped on ONLY the blue squares in the floor. I only had four ingredients to get - jack cheese, cilantro, pecans(for the pear crisp in the oven-yum), and tape - which was a request from Gracie who is currently into making casts and slings for all her barbies and dolls who seem to have a propensity for accidents lately.

I went in needing to get four things.....I came out with twenty things,and no pecans.

Meanwhile, the whole grocery store was aware that two 007 agents were slinking behind the displays and jumping out in front of shopping carts and grabbing food items for their missions and I thought I would never get out of there .....my well-behaved kids just moments before had turned into ROGUE agents.....and it was chaos. Here's a sample of some of the conversation:

Me: "Ok - almost done...we just need to get our yogurt and we're outta here."

Cash: "I'LLLLLL GET IT!!! Gwacie - we have to gwet the dwanimals...hwurry! "

Gracie:(talking into her bracelet) " We're on it Cash. Quick grab 'em - DON'T FORGET TO STEP ONLY ON THE BLUE!!!"

Cash: (in a guttural boyish growl): "AH HA!!!! I'VE GOT IT GWACIE!! LET"S GO!!!"

I can't remember what was said after that since I was trying to guide them quickly to the checkout and out the door, and looking back on this conversation, it seems anti-climactic now, but LET ME JUST SAY THAT WE COULDN'T GET OUT OF THERE FAST ENOUGH.

I didn't even let the sacker take our groceries out - I slung 'em on both wrists( the bags, not the kids), had my little CIA prospects grab my pinkies as they plotted their next mission, and out the door into the fog we went.

I won't even tell you about bedtime a few hours later....it wasn't pretty.

And I'll admit, it wasn't one of my best parenting moments either.

Immersed in "The Help"

I started reading The Help this weekend and I can't put it down.

I'm a little late on the bandwagon, especially since it's A MOVIE PLAYING RIGHT NOW, but it's been sitting on my shelf for a year, and finally I've picked it up.

By the way, I got it for a quarter - a quarter I tell you - at the library because they already had enough editions of it and so the librarians put their extras up for sale.

Anyway, I am not sure why I postponed reading it except I was deep in Beverly Lewis's Amish country for a while....then I was deep in Robert Whitlow's mysteries for a while.....then I've been deep in our little town's history for a while.

(Ask me anything about Dalhart prior to 1950 and I can tell you. I am full o' facts. Everytime we drive down the street, I try to point out some interesting trivia about a house or building, but Jason stops me before I even finish my "Did-you-know" sentence.

"You already told me," he says, and then proceeds to tell me exactly what I was about to tell him.)

Anyway. The Help.

This book is awesome - but you probably already know that because you read it two years ago.

I can't go see a movie if there's a book written prior to it. I have to read the book first. Then, with great anticipation, I will go see this movie and judge whether they got the casting right and whether they stuck with the original storyline and whether they set the scene correctly and whether they were in their right mind while making this movie.

I was burned once, you see. I read The Firm with great joy in the early 90's, and was just delighted when they cast Tom Cruise with the lead, because that's exactly what I had imagined in my head....and all this was when I still was riding high on his Top Gun performance of 1985.

(And regarding Tom Cruise - the times: they have a changed. Top Gun can't save him anymore.)

So then, when the powers that be changed the movie ending of The Firm, and totally destroyed the whole direction of the book, I was indignant. Hollywood has no appreciation for good literature.

Among other things.

But I continue to hear that this movie The Help is continually getting praise for it's casting and for sticking close to the original storyline. So I cannot - CAN-NOT - go see this movie without having read the book first. I'm counting on myself to be able to do a Siskel and Ebert review to anyone who will listen....or just in my head.

And I caught myself last night almost responding to a question from my husband with, "I done tol you that a'ready." Because I am deep in this southern book about the help a' all.

Oh, it is so much fun to be reading a good book. I love these characters. I love their funny thoughts and observations, and I love that the author gave several different points of view complete with dialect from both the black perspective and the white perspective.

I adore Minny and Aibileen, and I totally get where Skeeter is coming from, too. And Hilly....don't you just love to hate Hilly?

This is just good reading, y'all. I'm not going to pontificate on all the implications regarding the race issues and the politics of the time. I'm just here to say that this is a great example of engaging characterization, in-depth plot, and just plain good writin'.

See - I am so totally immersed that I all talkin' like I ain't a former English teacher.

But then, to look back at some of my posts, one might wonder 'bout those credentials, anyway.

What did you all think???

About the book, I mean. Just the book.

 

The Curb

To follow up on my post from yesterday and show that I am indeed trying to turn over a new leaf in the promptness department, Gracie turned to me this morning and bemoaned the fact that she wants to sit on the curb today.

"What do you mean, the curb?" I said.

"Mom, I just don't EVER get to sit on the curbbbbb!!!" she said dramatically.

And then I realized what she meant. In my efforts to be prompt and be in the running for mother of the year, I am arriving ten minutes early to pick her up from school, and Cash and I go so far as to walk up to the door and wait for her class to come out at noon.

Problem is, those children whose mothers have not yet arrived GET to sit on the curb of the sidewalk together and visit and wait.

Clearly, Gracie feels she is missing out on something huge.

And in my determination to redeem my past punctuality issues and not be THAT MOM who makes her children wait and wonder if she forgot about them, I have actually been doing my daughter a disservice by not allowing her the pleasure of sitting with her friends on the curb.

Oh how I love the ironies of life.

We will be late today.....for the good of the team.

Day Two

Brace yourself - I'm posting for the 2nd time in 48 hours.

So today was a kick in the pants, so to speak, because adrenalin and excitement of yesterday had left the building today. Both kids were up during the night, but strangely NOT due to the loud cracks of thunder that kept me up during the night.

Anyway, this morning was a rude awakening. Gone are the days of laying around in our pj's until ten or eleven. (Of course Cash can still do this, and has already asserted his staunch position in this area). I woke Gracie to hear this statement: "Mom - I just need one more minute. ONE more." So I went and got my clothes on and got her vitamins out and oatmeal ready and came back to her still laying there...but then she suddenly rolled over and said: "Now I'm ready for school!" After debating whether to wear our khaki skirt with the red shirt or the khaki shorts with the red shirt, we went with the shorts today.

Critical issues, people.

Cash heard the commotion and got up ready to accompany us yet again in his pajamas, but this time he did elect to put on shoes. He also decided to bring a couple of saltine crackers with him to take the edge off while we drove the two minutes to school.

 

It is important to note that it is imperative that we leave earlier than my personality is accustomed to because of THE GREAT BOTTLENECK RACE OF PARENTS dropping their children off at any of the FOUR schools located on the same connecting through street in our little town. For me, extreme earliness is just not comprehended, and yet - AND YET - if we don't leave by 7:40 for the two minute drive, we'll get caught in the bottleneck of craziness, and thus be late.

Furthermore, at our school if one is late more than three times, ONE GETS CHARGED $15. After hearing this piece of news at orientation, my husband elbowed me in such a way that I'm sure everyone in the audience noticed. Then, as we drove home that night, he made it clear that in no uncertain terms would he be paying $15 a pop in late arrival fees, and any charges of this kind would promptly and swiftly be taken out of my humble newspaper reporter paycheck.

Serious times in the Balm in Gilead house folks.

My former teacher colleagues would probably laugh hysterically at these present conditions of mine since I used to drive in from the farm to the high school in Dumas and careen into my parking spot on two wheels at about 7:59 a.m. each day. My favorite pal Mr. Lackey would sometimes stand out there by my space with his watch and yell words of doom encouragement as I ran for the door, coffee mug sloshing in my hand and book bag slung over my arm.

Where is Lackey now when I need him?

So. Today we arrived with ten minutes to spare. TEN MINUTES. Cash and I walked Gracie in again to the chapel room where everyone gathers before heading down to their school rooms after the bell at eight. Gracie ran on in and sat down by her friends while I chatted with one of the teachers. Then, about thirty seconds later, she comes back barreling into me with a look of horror and says, " Mom - I forgot my book!"

Book? She never mentioned needing a book.

To which the teacher whom I was visiting with replied, "We ask the kids to bring a book with them to read in the chapel each morning while we're waiting to start - it gives them something to do."

"Oh!" I said, and then turning to Gracie, "Well, we'll bring one tomorrow - I'm think you'll be all right today."

Disappointed, but ok with my answer, she ran back into the chapel. I turned to leave, glad that we survived what I'm sure will not be the only thing we forget this year.

But had we arrived at 7:59.....this wouldn't have even been an issue.

Here We Go.....

I sent my baby girl off to her first day of kindergarten today.

 
It was early for us.

I'll pick her up at noon, so it won't be too much of a stretch.

 

However, I am struck by the passage of time, and how - as another phase of life is beginning - there is a sense of finality and permanence in leaving the old one.

 

The end. Finito. There's no going back. Gracie is officially a young school girl, never to be a toddler/preschooler again.

I realize that I am just a tad sentimental.

 

I thought I was fine until we approached the chapel where all the kids were converging on the first day at her little school. Then Gracie started to slow down, and at one point, she stopped as the reality of this whole thing called school hit her.

And then the reality hit me. Tears started welling up in my eyes as I guided her to the chapel door, Cash on one hip and still wearing in his Spiderman pajamas and no shoes. But Gracie met a few of her friends at the door, and went down the aisle to the front where the kindergarteners sit......and left me standing in the back trying hard not to lose it.

And so it begins - life governed by the school calendar.

We miss her.

But I don't think she's going to miss us much.