Greetings from Bloomfield, NM

And THAT is why I haven’t posted this week… I’ve been gone… and busy.  I came to Bloomfield to speak at a Fashion Share put on by my friend Darla’s Mom’s church.  The day was a great success with ladies luncheoning on fabulous salads, rolls and cobblers, shopping for new-to-you clothes and listening to special music and speakers.  I was blessed to be included and loved meeting the ladies. FUN with a capital F.

This area is simply beautiful right now with the leaves changing to bright yellow and the air being crisp and clean.  I know it is nice at home in Phoenix too FINALLY, but not like THIS.  There was frost all over this morning.  Ah.  That’s it.  Just Ah.

The flight up here was highly entertaining as I sat next to Kenadee, the four year old who never stopped talking unless she was shoving peanuts in her mouth.  Thankfully she is darling and I enjoyed the interaction on the one hour flight.  (I may have had a different opinion on a much longer flight.) One morning here at her grandma’s house I was fixing some toast for her and her sister and she told me, “You’re just like a real mom!”  Wow!  I’ve made it!  A REAL mom. 

I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned that my mother just had knee replacement surgery 10 days ago. So we’ve also been busy helping up at her house cooking, replacing ice packs, pulling on support hose, etc. etc. etc.  Thankfully, my sister Christy flew in from Washington to help while I was here… and thankfully she’ll still be there for four days after I get home.  Sisters (who like each other) should not live three states apart. 

I look forward to getting home.  Two trips in three weeks was a bit much for me and our haphazard homeschooling this past month.  THAT is why we started two weeks earlier this year, so I wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving.  But it didn’t work.  We started two weeks earlier, but I still feel guilty about lame schooling.  It’s kind of like home schooling, only lamer.

Men & Asking for Directions

Not that I’m a man basher… I just find it humorous how men need to display the image that they always know where they are.  I mean, really, who cares?  I also find it funny how when you ask men for directions, they ALWAYS give them… whether they know what they’re talking about or not.  It’s the same phobia in reverse.

Back in the day, I went flying with Rick when he was taking some of the band leaders and chiefs from several Indian reservations to a fishing lodge in Northern Alberta.  There was an empty seat so Rick phoned home and told me to high tail it down to the airport and bring our fishing poles.  Sweet!  I am the supreme fishing queen.  We had been up in the air about 40 minutes when I noticed that Rick’s head was aimed straight ahead but his eyes were roaming to and fro, obviously looking for the fishing lodge.  We both had on headsets, so I said to him, “Why don’t you ask the guys in the back where it is?”  But NO!  He told me to look for two lakes that were very close together. It’s not quite as obvious when the passenger looks for the destination.  We did find it, and the chiefs never knew their pilot had any difficulty locating their fishing hole. And I caught ALL the fish that day but Rick gave most of them to the chiefs so they wouldn’t return empty handed.  Some even asked what bait I was using. I heard this comment from the back of the plane, “Next time I’m bringing my woman.” 

Our Destination:  Dawson Creek, BC

Another time we were driving with Rick’s mom and sister from Valleyview, Alberta straight west to Dawson Creek, BC.  Usually I navigate with my map close at hand, but this was Rick’s territory and I wasn’t even paying attention to where we were going.  Captain, my Captian, was in charge at the helm. 

A bit of back information:  I had recently finished a Geography of Canada course and the professor had done post graduate work on the Peace River region.  Being in Geo./Can class, we heard all about the landscape, erosion, river patterns, alluvial fans, etc.  I had never been to Peace River, AB, but in my head, I knew what it looked like. 

Back to the heading west story.  About an hour outside of Valleyview, we came off of a high plain and dropped into a river valley… that looked exactly like my brain’s picture of Peace River.  But Peace River was an hour straight north of Valleyview, so that couldn’t have been it.  Well, it was.  Not long after I commented about how much this area looked the place Dr. Tracie had described, we passed the sign, Welcome to Peace River.  Cool!  It was just as I pictured!  But… uncool…. we were not heading west… and hadn’t been for an hour.  I mentioned to Rick that we could just ask the gas station attendant how to get to Dawson Creek.  But NO!  Rick informed the van full of women that we would be stopping for gas, but no one was to leave the vehicle.  Of course, us three ladies were giggling to ourselves.  When Rick got out to pump the gas, his mom opened her window and yelled, “We’re LOST!”  which threw us all into hysterics. 

Just ask for directions, already.  Goodness.

The Torture Chamber

Yes, it was the Torture Chamber, where Mr Popper’s Penguins (in audio form) was forced on my children during their confinement in the family minivan on the way home from Tahoe yesterday.  You would’ve thought we were pulling out their fingernails one by one.  They asked for Hawk Nelson, a Canadian band that does play semi-decent music even in my old-person’s opinion, but I said, “NO!”  And out of the cd case came Mr. Popper followed by sighs, grunts, groans, pishaws and corresponding eye rolling. 

The chanting began in the back of the van, but thanks to quality factory installed speakers, they could not out-shout Mr. Popper.  Everytime they yelled and interrupted Mr. Popper, my husband, who is a closet-literary-buff (OK, stop laughing) would start the cd over.  My children are quick studies.  It only took them five or six times to stop the barrage of noise.

Finally after chapter one, I paused the intellectually stimulating penguin story and informed my three homeschooled offspring that there would indeed be a quiz before dinner.  Flunkers would not be eating.  Amazing how the stupid penguin story got very interesting after that.  I asked really hard questions like “What is the Popper’s address?” and “Who was the admiral on the radio broadcast?” There was much cheating behind me, due to my children sincerely feeling empathy for a sibling who might go hungry.  Coughs with the answer embedded and barely audible whispers were detected.  Being full of grace and mercy, just like our Lord, I gave them all two chances and their answers proved they actually were listening. (One point for Mom and Mr. Popper.)

Funny thing was, the cd started skipping.  I LOATHE library cds that skip.  But that’s just another one of my shortcomings that don’t need mention here.  As the full length story was considerably shortened, Rick told the kids to be thankful it was Mr. Popper’s speed reading day.  Ha ha ha.  Very funny, hon.

My parents used to torture us with a single eight track tape of a gospel quartet called The Statesmen.  After a trip from California to Canada and back again with the sole Statesmen tape, we grew to appreciate good harmonies and men that could sing higher than Miss. Piggy.  If you ever need any of the lyrics from the Statesmen, please contact me or my siblings.  We know every single word…. in four part harmony, because we’re going to “see Saint Peter, Ol’ James and John, we’re gonna talk to the prophets one by one, when we move back into my Father’s house on Heaven Avenue.”  See, it’s a generational torture chamber.