The Two Become One. Kind of.

For years, I have maintained two very similar blogs. Both have been focused on our family, but one was private and one was public, and the public one was slightly more focused on housekeeping and living frugally. I'm finally admitting that it was too much. We got busy living life and I abandoned both of them for a very long time.

Until this weekend.

I spent some time yesterday cleaning up the private one in order to make it public, and changed the blog addresses to simplify things even further. The idea is that if I only have one blog to think about updating, I'll do it more often.

That's the plan, anyway.  In the meantime, please excuse the housekeeping dust!

I Blame My Sponges

I'm sorry to admit this, but blogging is not at the top of my priority list.  Sponges are.

I have four of them.

They soak up knowledge almost as fast as I can write out the lesson plans for the week.  They absorb food quicker than I can prepare it.  And they just will NOT quit getting bigger, so I am constantly on the lookout for bigger clothes and bigger shoes.

Yep.  The shortage of blog posts from me is entirely the fault of my sponges.

(Aaaaand now my kids think I'm nuts.)

Four Days Later

Four days after our first visit to Mt. Rainier, the kids and I went back again,

but this time we took Grandma.

We took an easier one mile hike that had plenty of views like this one.

Our destination was Myrtle Falls,

and this was the view looking up from the top of the falls.

Half of the kids thought the bridge was great

(the other half weren't so sure it was engineered properly), 

and they were all delighted to make a new friend

(from a distance).

Too much fun and way too beautiful to only go twice...

In The Back Field

The Bookshelf Saga: Part 2

Once the bookshelves were finished, I started loading them with books, beginning with the shelves we bought.  Those shelves are at the end of my new shelving system, and I alphabetize our books by author, so I started with Z and worked my way backward until I filled the shelves...

...and ran out of room.

So I got creative!

I found this set of retro mustard yellow suitcases at Goodwill earlier that week, and I still hadn't figured out exactly what I was going to do with them.  So I used the smaller one as a bookshelf at the east end of the lighted bookshelves!

(I filled the big one on the bottom with denim I'm saving to make quilts for my kids some day.  

Storage in plain sight; I love that!)

This is my Desert/Cowboy Corner:  a rubbing of a Native American petroglyph (my step-grandma made it along the Columbia River in the 60s for an art class, before the dam flooded the area), a paint-by-number my grandpa did, jars of jawbones my kids collected in Nevada, a too-small cowboy hat and too-big cowboy boots, and a desert-scape picture my brother-in-law took in South America (the frame belonged to my great-grandma and is made out of cactus).

On the wall facing that, at the west end of the lighted bookshelves, I stacked up a few old wooden crates from my mother-in-law and filled them with books (because I knew by the time I got to the M's that I was going to run out of room), and I used a horseshoe-shaped book holder turned on end to take part of my Louis L'Amour collection vertical.  To continue my cowboy theme, I filled some too-small cowboy boots with coins to use as bookends and added a red bandanna and my father-in-law's moose jawbones.

I'm happy with my little extra shelving solutions, and the bookshelves we bought and assembled are very nice, but my hands-down favorite are the lighted bookshelves!

I love how easy it is to read the titles, even on the oldest and most worn spines,

and really I love the soft glow that showcases my beloved friends books;

especially at night!

The Bookshelf Saga: Part 1

When we moved from Tennessee to Washington, we had 33 boxes of books, and by the time we moved into this log house, I had collected just a few more.

(Boxes?  Or books?  I'm not telling!  My husband's reading this!)

That collection has grown even more during the years we've lived here, but they're (mostly) for school, and I like to plan ahead, so...

We want to put in some really cool built-in shelves along these walls on the upstairs landing, but in the meantime, my shelves were cardboard boxes, stacked up on top of each other and reinforced with boards between layers.

The shelves along this adjacent wall were even worse:

and there was no improving them.  In the last configuration the box-shelves were five rows tall instead of the three in this picture, with no wooden bookcase and with less uniformly sized boxes.

And the top two rows were starting to lean forward away from the wall.

Scary.

To save our children's skulls and their mother's sanity, we bought some "temporary" bookshelves for the larger wall,

and Mike built "rustic" temporary bookshelves for me along the short wall.

But my husband doesn't do things half way.

He built "rustic" temporary bookshelves for me...

...with built-in lighting on each shelf!

The rest of the story (or at least more pictures) is coming soon!

Moving In

We played our cards just right and got my mom to move up to Washington, where she is renting a duplex 15 minutes away from us!

(Those G-R-A-N-D-K-I-D-S cards are amazing things!)

The kids and I worked on cleaning her new place while she finished up the packing at her house in Oregon, and then towards the end of June my cousin drove a moving truck up to Washington with all of her household stuff in it.  (She stayed behind in Oregon for another week to finish up some work and house sale details.)

More of my cousins met us at my mom's new place and we unloaded the truck.

There were five adults and four kids - and when we were done, the duplex looked...

um, not empty.

Then, because my mom knows how much fun I have doing it, she let us rearrange furniture, unpack some stuff, and set up enough things to make the place livable as soon as she walked in the door.

She's been here a few weeks now, and we're still helping her rearrange and get things set up how she wants them.

I'm not sure we'll ever really be done, but it's so much fun, why would we quit?!?

Another Laundry Room Make-Over

After my last laundry room makeover, the laundry room was organized and functional, but of course it never stayed this neat.

And these ugly (albeit functional) brown shelves,

 well, I just couldn't handle looking at them any more.

Ew.

So one evening, while the kids had cereal for dinner, I painted them white.

(Editor's Note:  The shelves, Aunt Shirley, NOT the kids!  It's safe to eat cereal at my house again!)

A few weeks later, I inherited the crib that my grandpa built in the 40s.

It was the excuse I'd been waiting for...I tore out the cheap cabinets in the laundry room to create a space for the crib, and I only lost two inches of walkway.

(If it's quiet, and I can't find my girls, I look here.  They've been known to curl up in the crib together to read - all three of them!)

The laundry room is still not my favorite room in the house, but at least the new look makes me smile when I walk in there instead of cringing!

Our Piano

Shortly after we moved to Washington from Tennessee, we inherited my grandparents' piano.  Its move from my cousin's house in Oregon to ours in Washington was not its first, nor its last.

When we moved from our rental two years ago, we just couldn't figure out how to make it fit in our log house, so we tried to give it away to any family member willing to pick it up.

Heavy, old, well-loved...no one wanted it.

So it moved with us to the log house, and went straight into the garage.

It was slightly out of tune, but not too bad, so when the girls started piano lessons last fall they went out to the garage to practice.  They practiced all winter out there, too, in coats, hats, and fingerless gloves...brrr.

Now that it's actually being played again, we made a space for it inside so the kids' fingers won't turn purple when they practice this winter, and we enlisted four strong young men to help move it in.

And then I made an appointment for a piano tuner to come out.

He wanted to know about its history, so I told him how my great-great-uncle (an organist who believed in quality instruments) picked it out for my grandparents when they wanted to buy a piano for my aunt to use.  It has a mid-1960s date written inside the lid next to the store's stamp, so I wondered aloud if that's how old it is, or if maybe it had some work done on it then.

He looked around a little and decided that some of the pins had been replaced sometime after World War II, so he guessed the date was written in at that point.

I asked him how he knew the pins had been replaced after World War II.  He admitted that he was just guessing, since they looked so much newer than everything else, but he was pretty sure that the piano itself was made post-World War I.

Of course I had to ask how he knew that!

Before World War I the coils and strings for the lower registers were made out of copper, but as part of the war effort, piano manufacturers switched to steel.  Mine were steel...

...wait a minute...

He took a tool out of his bag and scratched a spot on one of the strings.  Nope, they were copper!

So we decided that beyond a doubt, my piano was made before World War I, and we joked that it couldn't be older than 1895 because that was the most recent patent date stamped inside the piano.

And then, just as he was finishing the fine tuning, he found it.  Tucked away in a little corner, like an artist would sign a painting, he found a barely legible name and date.  The last name matched a signature that is scrawled elsewhere inside the piano, (along with a P.O. Box address in Chicago) and the only part of the date that we could read with any certainty was 1903.

It's still heavy, it's still well-loved and missing most of the ivories, and it's still old.

But it's really, really old.

And the offer to give it away to any relative who would come pick it up...

...is most definitely expired.

Chicken Feathers

We lost a chicken.

No one saw it happen, so at first we weren't sure exactly what got it; we just knew that at 5:00 in the afternoon there were two big piles of feathers and only 12 chickens cowering in the chicken run.

Our German Shepherd tracked whatever-the-culprit-was until it crossed the creek, and we were impressed that he found three more piles of feathers along the way.  He had been with us in the garage while we worked that day, so we didn't blame him for not scaring off the predator, but we were very impressed with his previously undemonstrated skill of tracking on command!

The next afternoon around 3:00, I took a break from our garage work because a chicken was making a strange noise out behind the barn.  I walked out to where they were, and found ten chickens huddled together next to the barn, and the remaining two squawking noisily next to the elderberry tree halfway between the house and the creek.  I couldn't see anything wrong, so I walked past them toward the creek, and when I turned my head there was a big coyote just standing there by the creek looking at me.

Wait, did I say a big coyote?

I was wrong.

It was a REALLY big coyote.

So of course I did what any self-respecting country girl would do.

I shouted for Mike.

And threw a stick at it.

It ran away, and when Mike didn't come (because he couldn't hear me over his music), I shouted some more and threw a few more sticks for good measure.  Shouting at an invisible coyote while throwing sticks at said invisible coyote is extremely therapeutic.

The next morning, after many cups of coffee, Mike was upstairs in our bathroom when the dog started barking his special just-let-me-out-of-this-fence-and-I'll-tear-you-apart bark, and two of our girls (upstairs in their bedroom) starting screaming, "Coyote!  Daddy, there's a coyote!"

By the time Mike got to the window, the dog was trying to climb the fence, and the coyote had almost disappeared back into the tall grass along the creek.  There just happened to be an antique Russian sniper rifle loaded and sitting next to the bathroom window, and the screen from the window just happened to have been removed the day before, so Mike squeezed off two quick shots at the disappearing coyote.

He missed.

But that coyote hasn't been back (in the daylight hours) since.

The Pile

The pile of debris out behind the barn was here when we moved in, and it only grew bigger as we worked on improvements around the property.

 In May, after almost two years of seeing that unsightly pile every day, we finally rented a dumpster.

 A really big one.

And the girls and I got to work filling it.

It was like an archaeological dig - layer after layer marked the changes this property has seen.

First there was the old rotten round-pen we tore down last year, followed by all the debris we removed from next to the pumphouse the year before.  Underneath that was trash from the new appliances they installed right before we bought the place, then old suitcases and tires they must have added to the pile before they put the property on the market.  Then came the layer of pieces of electrical wiring and construction trash from when they built the garage.  Under that there were giant roots and branches left over from the tree they took out to build the garage, all mixed in with random household trash...old pictures, a toilet seat, clothing and plastic bags.

Gloves.  Good thick gloves, long sleeves, and boots.  And a sense of humor.

That's the only way we could have gotten the job done.

 But we did it!  All we've got left are some giant rotten stumps and logs,

which we'll burn once they're dry enough...

and when the yearly burn ban is over!

My Summer (So Far): Teaser Post

Since you've been waiting so patiently,

here are some of the reasons I have not posted since May:

Yes, it IS a really big dumpster.

Unfortunately, those ARE chicken feathers.  Lots of them.

Oh look!  A piano in my living room!

Oh look!  No piano in the garage!  (Which is just one of many big changes in there.)

But I don't want to talk about the garage.  I'm pretending it doesn't exist.

Ugly laundry room shelves.  I couldn't stand them any more.

The never ending saga of my cardboard box bookshelves...is temporarily resolved!

The stories behind the pictures are coming soon!

(Soon IS a relative term, though...)

Gifts You're Glad You Can't Smell

My children decided to make me some early birthday and Mother's Day presents:

First they gathered some purple and white wildflowers and greenery

and wrapped the stems in a skunk cabbage leaf.

Have you ever smelled skunk cabbage?

It came by its name honestly.

Then they made multiple trips up our back hill to get the supplies to make me these two beautiful yellow wreaths 

out of Scotch Broom.

The leftover supplies joined my collection of "too beautiful to hide inside" bouquets on the front porch. 

Who needs roses?!?

I've got noxious weeds colorful flowers on my front porch!

Happy (early) Mother's Day!

Sunsets

There are so many little things I've thought about posting since we've been home.  

When I swept up two dustpans full of dirt and dust bunnies after the house sat (mostly) empty for a month, I thought that could make a funny post.  But I didn't write it.

I'm behind on my Reading Record posts, so I thought about telling you that I read one book in January, and two in February.  Maybe I would even admit that that the two in February were C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  Somehow I didn't get around to that, either.

I could tell you that I've renewed my battle with the mice.  Of course they waited until we were home again before they stole six more Scrabble letters.  And got out of two traps.  That could have been a funny post too, but it didn't get written.

I haven't felt much like writing.

***

In early February, my dad was trying to remember one of his favorite quotes from George MacDonald, but couldn't quite get it, so I looked it up for him.  As I did, I stumbled over this one:

"How strange this fear of death is.  Yet we are never frightened at a sunset."

***

I think I'm ready to write now.

***  

God's timing is incredible.  In the month that we spent at my parents' house, every single hard thing worked out perfectly in God's timing.  Sometimes we were aware of His hand in things as they happened, and sometimes we had to look back to see it.

Based on the doctors' estimate of how long my dad had left to live, we went down to my parents' house for a week long visit in early February.  My brother and his family were planning a trip over from Montana in late February, and we planned to return a second time at the end of their visit so we could see them too.   The day after we got there, all of our plans changed.  My dad's oncologist called and recommended that we have my brother come over early, as he was now estimating that my dad had only one to two weeks left, at the most.  So my brother and his family came over and stayed for a week, and four days after they left, my dad's condition deteriorated and he wasn't quite himself any more.  In God's timing, we had one last really good week together as a family.  All twelve of us.  In our timing, it would never have happened.

The last full week of February, there were so many details through which we could clearly see God's timing, from "big" things like financial stuff to "little" things like meal provision.  In fact, it would probably take a full week for me to list them all!

And then there was Dad's Hospice nurse.  I am sure that any Hospice nurse would have cared for my dad just as well as "ours" did, but God knew that my mom and I needed Robert.  On Monday morning,  February 25, after my mom spent a very difficult sleepless night caring for my dad, Robert came out to my parents' house to check on my dad and help us arrange the next level of care.  He confirmed what we already suspected, that my dad had less than 48 hours left, and then our quiet, unassuming nurse prayed with us before he left.  That prayer was absolutely incredible; simply spoken, profound, and exactly what we needed, right when we needed it.  As he prayed, Robert reminded us that God not only knows what pain and grief and death are, but that He experienced them all Himself when Jesus died on the cross in our place. 

With that reminder fresh in our minds, my mom and I watched my dad breath his last breaths as he died three hours later.  After weeks of mounting pain, confusion, and weakness, his last moments were quiet and peaceful, followed by complete relief from all pain.  Forever.

Death is like a sunset, and we are never frightened at sunsets.  At least we need not be.  Once the sun sets on our earthly lives, we who love God and confess that Jesus Christ is Lord can look forward to a new day coming, a new sun rising.  An eternity spent perfectly worshipping God.

We can look ahead past the sunset, with Hope.

The Passage of the Storm

I don't remember what the weather outside was like, but for my family December was a stormy month.

Physically stormy.  Mentally stormy.  Emotionally stormy.

In the month of December, my dad spent 21 of 24 days in two different hospitals.  He was admitted to the first hospital for another round of aggressive chemotherapy, and while it took longer than it should have, it was scheduled and intentional.  His second hospital stay was two weeks long, began with a trip to the ER, and went downhill from there.  

The second, unplanned hospital stay was characterized by fevers, interrupted sleep, multiple doctors, increasingly worse lab test results, lack of appetite, confusion, pain, a small blood clot, a full-body rash that baffled the doctors, and exhaustion.

He was very sick, and he just wasn't himself.

It was awful.  Indescribably awful.

And it was a blessing in disguise.

***

The storm of alternating improvement and decline in my dad's health has passed, and he's been home for a week now.  His appetite is returning, the lab test results have improved (for the most part), he's getting more sleep, and he's resumed most of his usual routine.

He is still sick, but he is at least himself again.

My parents have dealt with a multitude of medical issues over the past few years.  Chemotherapy.  Drug reactions.  Unexplained fevers.  A stem cell transplant.  Hospitalizations.  And opinions.  Lots and lots of opinions.

They sorted through all the opinions and made decisions about treatment.  Some of them were hard decisions, some were unexpected, and none of them were fun.  But the hardest decision they knew they were going to have to make has been with them from the very beginning.

When does it stop?

How long does the chemotherapy continue?

After the two-week-long storm that was my dad's hospitalization, the answer became clear.

Chemotherapy treatment stops when it's no longer effective; when it hurts more than it helps.

For my parents, the decision to discontinue chemo was partly reached in the middle of the chaos of hospitalization, and partly in the calm quietness of their own home.

Separately, not knowing what my parents had already decided, my dad's doctor reached the same conclusion.

No more chemo.

***

The storm is over, and although it's still raining, it's calm.

And we have peace.

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7

Reading Record: December

On Joy

"What brings you the most joy these days?"

It's a beautiful question, I think.

Perhaps you've heard or read about people who keep Gratitude lists - lists of all the things, people, and moments for which they are thankful.  Thankfulness and gratefulness are good things, but more often than not, they need words.  It's hard to be thankful for something without consciously naming it.  On the other hand, for me at least, joy needs no words.  

Joy is that heart-full feeling when rays of sunshine streak through the clouds; it's that gladness when I witness a sweet self-sacrifice from one of my children for another's benefit.  Joy is that wordless praise that fills my heart when no words are possible.  Joy is the ability to sing at the top of my lungs the words of the song "Glory to God" along with Handel's Young Messiah...while tears are streaming down my face and I'm choking on sobs.

"What brings you the most joy these days?"

It was a question asked in a not-very-joyful situation, from a father in rapidly failing health to his daughter shortly before he died.  Although her blog post about his rapid decline and death is four years old, I read the story again a few days ago with new eyes and a new understanding, and that question has been with me ever since.

"What brings you the most joy these days?"

Two Saturdays before Christmas, my dad was admitted to the hospital.  He was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma (a cancer of the bones' plasma cells) in August 2010, and the most recent round of aggressive chemotherapy has been harder on his body than any of us expected.  He's still in the hospital, and the end of his stay is not yet in sight.

We are thankful that he's being cared for by the professionals.

We are grateful that it's not worse than it is.

But there's nothing that can top the joy of knowing that God is in control.

No matter what.

***

...Once we give ourselves up to God, shall we attempt to get hold

of what can never belong to us -- tomorrow? Our lives are His,

our times in His hand, He is Lord over what will happen,

never mind what may happen...

Today is mine. Tomorrow is none of my business.

-- Elisabeth Elliot, Keep A Quiet Heart