one day

One day, we'll have lots of eggs to sell like Sam's sign says. The chickens will know winter is over. And Sam won't have time to paper punch holes and beg for string and beg Priya to write the letters for him. He'll be happily digging somewhere outside.

One day, Anneka might forget about playing inside with the same sticky toys. The green grass and her purple bike with the streamers will lure her outside.

One day, Ellie won't have to pick a chunk our of my loaf of bread. She will be busy running after the cats and sitting on her trike and eating dirt.

One day, our red craiglist chair will collect dust. We will all be busy digging in the dirt and mowing lawn and coloring our nearly paint-less buildings. Priya will be far too busy outside trying to make Molly the dog into a horse that will pull the wagon to sit around inside posing for pictures in the red chair.

 One day, Henny Penny (or whatever her name is) will spare only enough time inside to lay her egg. She'll be awfully busy catching bugs and doing outdoor chicken activities. [In case you ever wondered what a speckled chicken looks like up close].

 One day, we'll grill steaks and hamburgers in short sleeves. All the hay and corn we drug through the snow to fatten up those five beasts will be a distant memory and we won't feel much remorse that they are filling the freezer instead of the barn.

We'll take walks and not have to vie for space on the road with the county snow removal equipment (like this morning).

We'll burn wood and hot dogs in the fire pit.

We'll open windows too.

While white is beautiful, it has this numbing effect that makes one frantic for colors and a muddy porch. But for now, we'll appreciate a warm house and we'll read some more books and be thankful for seasons that do change.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Since all thoughts on this site reflect my opinions on life, I'll just go ahead and tell you that it doesn't pain me at all to read this about Cassy Herkelman today.

And I sincerely hope she meets a boy like Joel Northrup someday, someplace other than the wrestling mat. And I hope for her sake, that boy can introduce her to a world where she is respected as a person and not for her wrestling skills.

Joel said this yesterday after he defaulted to Cassy at the Iowa state wrestling tournament,

"I have a tremendous amount of respect for Cassy and Megan [another female wrestler at the state meet] and their accomplishments. However, wrestling is a combat sport and it can get violent at times. As a matter of conscience and my faith I do not believe that it is appropriate for a boy to engage a girl in this manner. It is unfortunate that I have been placed in a situation not seen in most other high school sports in Iowa.

The forfeit resulted in Cassy becoming the first female to win a state wrestling match. And apparently to her father, winning is paramount. He said this after yesterday events:

It's nice to get the first win and have her be on the way to the medal round. I sincerely respect the decision of the Northrup family especially since it was made on the biggest stage in wrestling. I have heard nothing but good things about the Northrup family and hope Joel does very well the remainder of the tourney."

Respect? Mr. Herkelman, you would do well to sit down with Joel and let him help you understand what respect is.


At what point, would Cassy's father actually stand up and defend his daughter's decency? Would he okay her to pick up some extra cash dancing at a club downtown this weekend? It's possible that there would be fewer males groping her and sizing her up there then at the wrestling meet.

Sick. In a world where women are treated like a commodity to use at will and where women so easily settle for disrespect, how wrenching that a high school freshman girl's dad wouldn't even be looking out for her.

a random observation on rosemary and sage

An observation: fresh rosemary and fresh sage are completely different than their dried counterparts. In fact, in my humble opinion, dried sage is dreadful. Dried rosemary can hardly be distinguished from dried bark or dried ditch weeds.

But fresh rosemary in PW's Herbed Potatoes is marvelous. It's scalloped potatoes in disguise. But calling them scalloped potatoes equates them with the kind you shake out of a box. And that is just disgraceful.

A handful of sage and rosemary leaves in chicken and rice moves the dish from mediocre to gourmet. Just like that. And in turkey noodle soup. The kind where you boil the turkey drumsticks and strain all the chunks out of the broth and crumble up all the meat , throw in some noodles and add some rosemary and/or sage to the mixture. Oh that's good stuff.

(all credit goes to Becca who bought them and put them in my fridge in the first place. Left to my own creativity, I'd still be using the dried bark tasting stuff.)

crime and punishment

This afternoon, I got a parking ticket.

I wasn't parked in the handicapped spot. And I had excuses to back me up.I just about called the police department to complain. I almost convinced myself they would sympathize and cancel it out. I was almost sure that they would be thrilled to hear me tell the story from my perspective.

On the way to town, I mentioned the incident to Mark.

"Well, were you parked in the two hour parking spot for more than two hours."
"Well, yes."
"Okay, then just pay the ticket."

Yes, you are right, my dear who makes up for my lack of level-headedness. This is real life.

The temptation is to think my situation is special. The four hours I spent parked I was across the street preparing to serve my community. I wasn't running up dept at my favorite department store (of which there isn't such a thing) or getting sloshed (of which I haven't yet resorted to drown my sorrows).

But in real life, there are consequences. In real life, when writing the check to cover insurance for the next three months slips my mind, my agent doesn't worry about crushing my self-esteem, I get a note that my coverage is soon to be revoked.

In real life, I don't always get an explanation of why. No, I have to drive 35 m.p.h. through a town of five houses because the sign reminds me. Even though 50 mph would be plenty slow, in my opinion. Last time I had to slow down to 35 through Wirock, no one was standing around waiting to hear my opinion about it.

In real life, God very often asks me to be obedient without a full explanation. He has a history of doing that.

A very old Abraham. His one prize child upon which history rests. God tells him to give his son up.

Noah gets his orders to spend the next 300 years of his life building a boat that would float. He'd not heard of rain before.

So in real life, I must help my children understand that life doesn't revolve around their whims and wishes. Because in real life, opportunities disguise themselves in hard situations and bad timing. Having been entrusted with their training, I must teach them to know God as laid out in Scripture. Their choices are best decided with this knowledge. I must help them, in my very human way, to understand how to stand before a very un-human, very big, very loving yet just God.

It would be laughable for me to dialogue with God about some better ways to do what He is doing. Or to even offer Him some suggestions on more superior methods. But I have been guilty of such.

Unless however I do not think He knows best. Or that He is not the single Creator of each soul. Or that His love for each soul is much more unconditional than our puny human minds can even think of carrying out. Or that I think I can do better.

Ironically, this isn't the first time I've parked in that same parking area for longer than two hours. This is the third time. But this third time was the first time I noticed it was a two-hour parking slot.

And this third time and $25 later, I know that two-hour parking means two not four. I won't park there again for four hours.

My natural self thinks the punishment is unfair and shouldn't apply to me. My redeemed self knows that I've been corrected and that correction, however unflattering and unnatural, will prevent a repeat offense.

Now if only my short temper could be curbed with a white ticket under my wiper and a small fine.

Runner sleds can be handy in deep snow

One can fake sleep in deep snow as well

On a completely unrelated topic, Ellie has been  practicing her climbing skills.

Some of us have resorted to eating snow, but not out of necessity or desperation

winter IV

Frosty Sam after playing in the blizzard last night

It's now February. I believe it's Groundhog Day to be exact, although as it was noted to me earlier, no groundhog in these parts even knows he should be getting out of his hole.

The wind raged until after 3 this morning, filling in the spaces with the  3-11 inches of snow from the previous day. This morning, I got everyone packed up to take Priya in for a two hour late school day. Only the snow plow and trucks were in town. Sometime between 8 and 9, somebody important at the public school called it off and forgot to send me the announcement. Upon arriving home, I high-ended our vehicle in what didn't look like anything serious compared to the piles of white everywhere.

Our road this morning before the road grader attempted to clear it.

 That was just today.

But is it Philippians that reminds me to be "joyful in all circumstances"?

Thankful list for this Groundhog Day:

1. Three snow days this week, including one for Mark.

2. No one is seriously or even mildly ill.

3. Food in the fridge and freezer (granted, it's an odd combination)

4. The sun is shining most brightly.

5. Many books to read.

Little El, bundled up in her Eskimo suit, came along in the sled to take a photo of the road before the snowplow came through.

The first time the snowplow stalled in the six-foot deep cut our neighbor pulled him out. The second time, he had to wait for the County pay loader to dig him out. By noon, he had the cut cleaned out.