by jphilo | Sep 20, 2010 | Daily Life
This past weekend’s abrupt switch from summer to fall was hard to believe. After all, over Labor Day, our family gathered for boating and swimming, and to throw cousins in the the lake – all the good stuff that accompanies warm summer days and nights.
But Saturday evening Hiram and I, along with scores of other guests, sat shivering and dodging raindrops at an outdoor wedding. Our teeth chattered in rhythm with the processional. Steely-eyed bridesmaids willed away goosebumps and walked down the aisle, their bouquets dewy fresh and trembling in the cold. The bride, tall and calm, came down the aisle escorted by her parents. The weather bothered her and the groom not one bit. They had eyes for each other only, and by the end of the chilly ceremony, they were as married as they would have been in a warm, dry church.
After the festivities, Hiram and I went home to a chilly house and turned on the furnace. “Hard to believe,” I said, “that we need the heater this early in the fall.” The house was still nippy the next morning, so I turned up the heat a tad before we went to church. Surely, it would be warmer there.
It wasn’t.
Apparently, the custodial staff at the the high school, where we meet for Sunday services, found the weather forecast hard to believe, and hadn’t bothered to turn on the furnace. By the end of church, I couldn’t feel my toes.“At least it will be warmer when we get home.” I hurried to the car.
But it wasn’t.
“Must have turned up the night thermostat instead of the day control.” I fiddled with the dial again, made a cup of hot tea, and put on another sweater. “Hard to believe it’s supposed to be 85 tomorrow.”
“Well, today it’s freezing in here.” Hiram checked the thermostat. “Only 66 degrees.” He went down to check the furnace and discovered the pilot light wouldn’t turn on. “You better call the furnace guy tomorrow,” he suggested. “Gonna be a cold night tonight.”
But it wasn’t.
The outdoor temperature rose throughout the night, and by morning it was nearly as warm outside as in. By midmorning, it was muggy and humid outside. But the house was cool and dry. Quite comfortable, in fact, though the temperature was no higher than during my shiverfest the day before. Hard to believe a call the furnace guy could be necessary or wise.
But it was.
And though it’s hard to believe, when the next cold snap comes and our pilot light behaves correctly, I’ll be thankful for the weather’s brief flirtation with fall.
It’s hard to believe that the bride and groom will be be quite so grateful for the turn the weekend’s weather took. But they can be proud of this: for all who attended, their wedding will be one of the most memorable ever.
It certainly was.
by jphilo | Sep 1, 2010 | Daily Life
I didn’t think yesterday would be a wonderful, marvelous, way cool, very good day. Not when the day began with me nervously eyeing the check engine light and praying the car wouldn’t break down on the way to the car dealership.
I was sure it wouldn’t be a wonderful, marvelous, way cool, very good day when the spiffy service technician said it would cost $125 to hook the car up to the machine and detect the problem before they called to tell me how much more it would cost to fix it. But, I had decided ahead of time this was an opportunity to trust God’s provision, even though two weddings in three months pretty much drained our savings account. So I didn’t loose control and snip at the spiffy service technician. Instead, I smiled and said, “Call me on my cell phone.”
I ate breakfast at my favorite coffee shop, savoring the luxury of the perfectly brewed, hot and bitter java. Then, I drove the loaner car to a shady neighborhood where I parked and finished my morning walk. It was too warm and muggy to be a wonderful, marvelous, way cool, very good day so when the phone rang and the service technician started talking, I braced for the worst. “Good news,” he said. “We diagnosed the problem and it’s covered under your warranty. No charge.”
Suddenly it was a wonderful day.
I picked up the car and headed home where I read my email. One was from a mom who’d found my book. She loved it so much, she bought ten copies for friends of kids with special needs. She wants to purchase forty more for a conference in May and is considering me as a speaker. The second was final confirmation for an interview with an author whose expertise will enhance my new book.
Now it was a wonderful, marvelous day.
After lunch I walked to the mailbox and pulled out two substantial checks. Then I had a phone interview with a former NICU nurse who is now the mom of a child with special needs. Her perspective will be invaluable resource for the work in progress. After that, the head chaplain at the University of Minnesota Children’s Hospital returned my phone call from last week. We scheduled an interview and he referred me to an expert in palliative care for children.
My day became wonderful, marvelous and way cool.
After supper, Hiram and I watched the DVD of the premier movie that led to the TV show, Monk, whose protagonist was a brilliant, obsessive compulsive detective. I couldn’t stop laughing.
What a way to end my wonderful, marvelous, way cool, very good day.
Not many days are like yesterday. But once in awhile God grants showers of blessings, not because I deserve them, but because he loves me, because he wants us to remember he is with us always. So on my next terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days – or on the next boring day when all I do is spin my wheels – when I can’t feel God’s presence and want to give up, I will think of August 31, 2010.
That memory will be the evidence of things unseen, the knot at the end of my rope, the hand that holds me – the hand of my wonderful, marvelous, way cool, very good God.
by jphilo | Aug 28, 2010 | Daily Life
Iowa is beastly in the summer.
Hot.
Humid.
Hazy.
Muggy.
Buggy.
Suffocating.
Down right miserable.
Every summer, when we arrive home after a week in Idaho with it’s cool nights, clear and sunny days, bug free until sunset, I wonder why we live smack dab in the middle of the country. Why do we stay here, beset by humidity from the Gulf of Mexico, too far from the oceans to enjoy their moderating effects, with no mountains offering escape from the heat now and then? Why in the world don’t we stay in Idaho?
Then I go to our CSA and pick up our weekly share of fruits and veggies. I reach into the bag and pull out tomatoes, cantaloupe, peppers, zucchini, cucumbers, and watermelon. Finally, my heart melts like butter as I unload the last treasure in the bag.
A dozen ears of sweet corn.
Twelve ears of pleasure grown fat and full in Iowa’s rich top soil. Twelve bright yellow jewels made sweet and delectable by Iowa’s miserable weather. Twelve reasons to sweat through hot nights. Twelve reasons to look forward to supper. Twelve reasons for living.
Twelve reasons to stay in Iowa, no matter how beastly the weather.
Eat your heart out, Idaho!
by jphilo | Aug 20, 2010 | Daily Life
After being home for the better part of two uninterrupted weeks now, things are shaping up around here. I’m not bragging but by staying put, this woman has gotten bucket loads done.
In thirteen short days, I have cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen (for the first time in months), weeded most of the flowerbeds, sorted wedding pictures, sent thank you notes, mailed cards to friends, remembered both my niece and sister’s birthdays, visited Mom, helped at the church, baked three pies (and cooked several meals, but only dessert matters), attended writers’ group, attended book club, gone out to lunch – twice with my hubby and twice with friends.
“And,” to coin a phrase from infomercials, “that’s not all!” Since August 7th I’ve entertained our daughter and new son overnight, cut my fingernails, gotten a haircut, plugged a drain in the basement, and sent discs of wedding pictures to family members I later learned already had received copies. Sigh.
But (think infomercial again) there’s more! On the book writing side of things, I’ve scheduled over a dozen interviews, written interview questions, and learned how to use a digital recorder. Best of all I’ve created some dandy record-keeping forms, full of rows and columns and check off boxes, which will keep track of information collected from interviews, books, and the internet.
The left brain side of me is groovin’ on the rows and columns big time.
And today, right now, as soon as this entry is posted, I’m gonna dabble my toes into iCal. The plan is to set up reminder system for me and the people being interviewed so we all get to the phone or the interview site at the same time.
The right brain side of me – the part that gets so involved in thinking about write that it loses track of time, and the part that gets hopefully confused when trying to figure out what hour it is in different time zones – is groovin’ on the iCal concept big time.
Both sides of my brain are looking back on the past two weeks and doing the same dance. They’re closing their eyes, clicking their heels together, and murmuring the truest words ever spoken.
There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.
There’s no place like home.
by jphilo | Aug 11, 2010 | Daily Life
It rained again last night. Not as hard as two nights ago, but even a little is too much when the ground is completely saturated.
So we have more water in the basement this morning. And even though the city promptly repaired Monday’s washouts at the end of our driveway and all along our beleaguered gravel road (a thousand thank yous to our city workers), last night’s rain washed them out again.
But, I keep reminding myself, things could be worse. In fact, I’ve come up with my top ten ways it could be worse. Here goes:
10. Our electricity could have gone out and then the whole basement, not just a small
portion would be flooded.
9. Our basement could be finished and we could be cleaning up a much bigger mess,
like several of our friends are.
8. We could live in Pakistan or China where flood relief is neither quick or accessible.
7. The rain could have come in June, which would have totally have turned me into a
crazy person in the weeks before Anne’s wedding.
6. The basement could have flooded the weekend of Anne’s wedding, and I would now
reside in a mental institution.
5. Hiram could have been at work today instead of here keeping the water under control.
4. We could be having a drought this summer.
3. I could be a farmer, watching a year’s livelihood succumb to flood waters.
2. We could have been on vacation this week and come home to a mess.
And the number one way it could be worse is.
1. I could still be teaching. I could be like many teachers in our district who just learned
they could get into their classrooms after a summer full of construction and
remodeling delays. Like many of my teaching friends are doing today, I could be
simultaneously bailing water and making lesson plans. Which makes a little water in
the basement an act of grace and an occasion for gratitude.
Because it could be way worse. I could be teaching.
by jphilo | Aug 9, 2010 | Daily Life
Can anybody tell me when Iowa swapped out summer for monsoon season? Apparently we were so busy with weddings this spring and summer, the climate switcheroo news flash escaped us.
The mass of vibrant green lawns, not a normal sight during an unusually hot August, made us a wee bit suspicious on our way home from church yesterday. “This is weird,” I commented to Hiram. “Lawns are supposed to turn brown in August.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “In this heat, it takes a lot of water to keep grass this green.” All afternoon, we couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that pressed down upon us, more stifling than the day’s humidity.
Looking back, I wonder if the uneasiness was a premonition of the night to come. We’d no sooner gone to bed than thunder rattled, lightning brightened the windows, and the rain fell. Not one of the three stopped until daybreak. On several occasions, the thunder crashes sent me into horizontal levitation. I thought the noise was the worst of it until my walk when daylight revealed the base of our driveway nearly washed away, and the gravel road to our east completely washed out. The road was positively hopping with toads flooded out of their digs. The stream was out of it’s banks. Worst of all, after my walk, with Hiram high and dry at work, I found ground water standing in the basement. Not as bad as the flood of ’93, but wet just the same.
We expected a flood in March after all the snow last winter. But it didn’t happen.
We were ready for water in June when it rained like ’93. We stayed dry.
We were prepared for a wet wedding in July. We escaped again.
But August? Who ever heard of an Iowa monsoon in August?
I shoulda have paid attention to that premonition and checked the basement before Hiram went to work. He coulda stayed home and started building while I rounded up a couple toads on the washed out road.
Me and the toads want to hop on the ark.
