Strange! I'm sitting here wondering about how to celebrate New Year's Eve while friends in Ukraine are getting ready to celebrate Christmas and another friend in Afghanistan has just celebrated Eid.

Same way with Thanksgiving with our Canadian friends celebrating twice, once in their homeland of origin and again in their adopted country.

The old joke asks if the British have a July 4th. Of course they have one, there is just no celebration of any sort of freedom.

We don't celebrate the Queen's birthday like the Brits or Anaturk's birthday like the Turks.

On some calendars there are notices of celebrations. Hardly a day goes by that someone isn't celebrating something somewhere. National pickle month. Happy pipe fitters day. The year of the rat. I went to a college that celebrated a secret Wednesday, when no classes were held.

Human beings enjoy celebrations. Sometimes they themselves are celebrated. Birthdays, graduations and anniversaries for example. Sometimes we celebrate with others; other times alone. The older I get the more I celebrate the morning and the earlier I rise in order not to miss it. The more trips I take to Haiti the more I celebrate a shower with hot water. Every time I grocery shop I celebrate choices, abundance and resources.

Life is one big celebration. And that's what I think about it.

The day after Christmas. The tree is now barren with presents, which recently were stacked around it's base, opened and gone. The plates of cookies looked 'picked over,' with only those with coconut or raisins remaining. There never was snow on the ground for a real Christmas look. Rain is falling and freezing on contact. Not festive. The Nativity has gotten a little dusty and the Santa Clauses look out of place. Too late for this holiday; too early for the next.

What remains to brighten the end of the year? Memories. Taking up a whole pew for the Christmas Eve service. Family sitting around a great-grandmother's antique dining room table working on a 2000-piece puzzle. The aroma of soups: potato, vegetable and chicken noodle. The warm glow of a fire. Games played on the floor. Happy memories of Christmases past. Stockings filled with gifts. The maturity of a 21-year old who now is excited to receive her wished-for crock-pot. The maturity of an 18-year old who only wanted a trip to a Christian youth gathering. Memories of a Garmin all programmed with nowhere to go. A Harry Potter DVD.

Family. When the only reasonable response is, "It's just what I needed."

And that's what I think about it.

Three days before Christmas. Doppler radar is in place on the weather channel, pointed toward the North Pole to track the flight of the sleigh filled with toys and flown by reindeer. It never gets old. The sight of a jolly mall Santa still makes me smile. Carolers, garland, even lame or over-the-top decorations all join together to say, "Merry Christmas."

Our tree is covered with mauve silk and golden ornaments, topped with two gold crowns and a huge silk bow. Presents circle the bottom and spill over onto a chair, into a basket and upon a credenza...I didn't think I was doing all that much shopping.

Friends are coming to dinner this evening and freshly baked bread is cooling on the rack. Cookies, fudge and other sweets will accompany peppermint ice cream for desert.

I've gotten used to not having a white Christmas and just enjoy, with smirks, pictures posted by others in the snow belt of northern Ohio and New York.

Christmas Eve services remind us that the holiday has a deep and abiding purpose. Christmas Day reminds us that happiness is about family. The day after Christmas...well, that reminds me that if I'm patient, I can do it all again in a year. And that's what I think about it.

Major drama at the little restaurant we frequent for breakfast (see previous posts). One long-term server has been suspended.

She called in injured and said she had a doctor's appointment. She never called back to give an update on her condition and didn't answer her cell phone for the two days the owner attempted to reach her. A few days later she called to see what her schedule was and was told to stay home because she was now on suspension.

She's calling the other servers giving her side of the story which is mainly that she needs the job, her husband only stays with her because she has money, she needs funds to buy the kids Christmas gifts, her mother is sick...and on and on.

One human interest story in a country of millions of stories. And that's what I think about it.

Six thirty breakfast gift exchange this morning. This is where we exchange names and then buy toys that remind us of the person whose name we received.

For example, a doctor kit was given to....no surprise, the doctor in the group. A china tea set and working toy microwave to the one with a great gift of hospitality. A couple women in the group received Princess dress-up accessories, complete with tiara, earrings and necklace. (I'm not even going there to explain the 'why.')

I received a castle set where kids learn their shapes. An educational toy because...well, that's what my friends think of me, studying a lot and therefore by extension, knowing a lot. The analogy falls away in there someplace. Our musicians received keyboards and an Elmo sing-along doll. Bling dominoes and Bingo games were opened. Paint pens and drawing paper given to the recent Fine Arts graduate.

Children and youth underwear for a local charity was also purchased. Socks, panties, even hats and gloves were collected.

A great breakfast brunch with good friends was enjoyed. Afterward, gifts were delivered and we all went home empty-handed and full-hearted.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

Our breakfast group meets on Wednesdays at 7 AM at IHOP. In December we draw names and meet for brunch and gift exchange at a member's home.

Our gifts are underwear for a local charity and a toy for another. Toys are purchased that remind us of the person whose name we received in the exchange.

The quietest among us might received a Chatty Kathy doll; the woman raising miniature ponies might receive a rocking horse; a singer might receive a battery operated microphone.

After the gifts are exchanged and opened amidst great laughter, they are donated to another local charity.

None of us needs anything so it is fun to be able to shop in this way and know that those who are in need will receive something that they will enjoy.

I learned about this type of exchange years ago when a wise co-worker suggested it. It was great fun then and continues to be to this day. And that's what I think about it.

As my father always said, "Don't that beat all?"

Spent the weekend in Ohio with friends at a huge art fair. We were standing at a booth that sold packets of ingredients for crock pots. Many people were crowded around. I was holding a box of Pork Chops with Wild Rice when I heard, close to my ear, "I love pork chops." Without looking I could tell peripherally that the tall man who had just spoken at me was standing by his wife. I never glanced his way.

Soon, a second, "Pork chops are my favorites."

Nothing from me.

One more try with no response and the voice whined to my friend, "She's not going to talk to me, is she?" Her one word reply, "Nope," sent him on his way.

Really, dad was right, don't that beat all? And that's what I think about it.

Here's what I looked forward to this week:

-decorating the church library with my daughter
-lunch with a friend
-speaking at a Christmas brunch (and eating at the same brunch)
-study group meeting at our house this week (thus the Christmas decorating -see Facebook photo album)
-hair cut
-spending a weekend at Winterfair, a huge art fair, in Columbus, OH with friends
-not having to see Couples Retreat ever again
-receiving a syllabus for the next seminary course
-and other things that are too numerous to mention that made this one more remarkable week in the life....

And that's what I think about it.

"It was a dark and stormy night." I wonder how many hopeful novelists have typed that sentence at the top of a blank sheet of white paper and then sat hopelessly and helplessly as they struggled to come up with the next thought.

Sometimes novels evolve, meaning that the author does not have a plan in mind. Like sculptors who say the block of marble will determine itself what it is to become, a writer lets the story unfold from chapter to chapter.

Unlike a sculptor, the novelist can return to previous chapters and tweak it by bringing someone back to life or changing a mean-spirited character into a gentle lamb.

One way to be sure to write a second book that will become a best-seller is to write the first one and have it become a best-seller. The second book does not need to be particularly well-written or developed. It merely has to follow on the heels of a best-seller. Publishers love authors who sell books by having their name on a book cover and will sign a deal with an author to write and write some more. Excellence is nice but optional at this point in an author's career.

No other point to this....that's just what I think about it.

Consider the shepherds at the first Christmas. Part of the lowest strata of society they were nearly fearless men who killed the occasional bear or lion attacking the flock.

Yet they were very afraid when the angel of the Lord appeared to them. It must have been quite a scene and their fear must have been very apparent since the first words out of the angel's mouth was , "Don't be afraid."

The shepherds were the first to hear the good news that the Christ child had been born. Strange.

When the Wise Men figured out that the child had been born they took several months to prepare to go see him. Carrying valuable gifts to this infant king, they traveled a distance to give him the gifts in person a couple of years later.

The shepherds took no time to prepare. They heard the news and said, "Let's go to Bethlehem to see what the angel has told us about." They left right then, in a hurry to see the child. They owned nothing so had no gift to take. The sheep they took care of were not theirs so they couldn't take a lamb. They had nothing to prepare, everything they owned was on their backs. So they went.

Here's the message. The first people to hear this good news were people who had nothing of value to give to a king. Nothing. Sometimes followers of Christ think that because they have money, or status, or family connections, or education they have something to bring to the table and they are therefore somehow more valuable than someone with less money, education, status, etc.

The gift of the Christ Child was to all people, a free gift which has only to be accepted. This is a way too strange and simple thing for way too many people.

But that's the way it is and that's what I think about it.

Once again it is Thanksgiving. We will celebrate and give thanks surrounded by family and friends. And we will eat. I wonder what the new friends around our table will think about our feast. Yes, we have the traditional turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes but other things might look strange.

Only two people will eat sweet potatoes so that dish is very small (less to throw away after). Only two of us like peas, so the dish is cereal-bowl size. Stuffing the same. Olives the same. Turkey the same (thus the double meat entree of ham). Salad? Pear and walnut...you guessed it, tiny bowl since nuts are not a favorite of some. Because we are celebrating a grand daughter's 21st birthday, dessert will be cake and ice cream and nothing made with pumpkin.

Seemingly dozens of little dishes to serve the palates of the family.

And we are thankful. Thankful that we have choices and abundance. Thankful that we can laugh together. Thankful that no one wonders if one relative will set another relative 'off.' Thankful for a day of eating and parade and football and reading and playing games.

And very, very aware that this is not the case with most of the world. We are privileged. And that's what I think about it.

Things that make me feel good:

-catching up on the email
-finding comments on my blog
-looking at photo albums on Facebook
-having the house cleaned
-popcorn while watching The Office
-trips to east Tennessee
-people who think I might have some wisdom to impart (notice: think)
-flu shots
-a blog map of the world showing a reader in the Middle East and one in Spain
-a book well-written
-Minetonka moccasins
-a scarf from a friend that I know was purchased underground in New York City

I am thankful for these and other things. And that's what I think about it.

Recent headlines from our local newspaper:

Kraut for all Seasons

Chick-fil-A to Open

Pet Service Holding Open House

Ash Boer found in more counties

We live exciting, fast-paced lives out here in southern Indiana. And that's what I think about it.

People, we have got to think from a right mind and stop this senseless spread of germs.

It is embarrassing and distressing to admit that my husband and I have just returned from a breakfast buffet restaurant. If we don't 'catch' something from this visit I will assume we have a heavy dose of immunity.

People coughing...and not just the customers. Unsupervised children popping up under the 'sneeze guard' to get the biggest piece of chicken or whatever. Finger-licking good should have no place at a buffet.

And who are the biggest culprits? Children who have not had good parent role-models and adults of a certain old age who feel as if they have earned the right to cough, sneeze, lick or blow whenever and where ever they feel the urge. What about the middle group? They are not at breakfast buffets but if they were, they would be the ones with large bottles of antibacterial spray and gel and who are using it often and opening doors with their shoulders or by using paper towels.

Why just last week I saw a woman walk right out of the restroom without washing her hands, and while this may be a more common occurrence than I wish to believe, generally when people are standing in line watching you, you do tend to wash while singing the Happy Birthday song.

And that's what I think about it.

"Men Who Stare at Goats" is a schizophrenic movie with not enough goats in it to justify the title. The plot is thin, as are the characters. Scenes jump from present to past, which can be a useful tool in movie making. In "Goats" there are four distinct characters whose pasts are reviewed separately and that adds up to five story lines. It depicts the military as morons and buffoons...judgment delayed...and one is never really sure who, if there are any, are the sympathetic characters.

The good news is that the goats, for what little screen time they got, are darling and the movie stars George Clooney so all is forgiven: plot, photography and script.

The popcorn was especially good this afternoon. And that's what I think about it.

Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder is the story of the quest of Dr. Paul Farmer, 'A Man Who Would Cure the World.'

Originally I picked up the book because Haiti was the setting. Haiti is a country that I have visited a few times and have grown to love the people of this island nation.

Paul Farmer loves the Haitians also but unlike me, Dr. Farmer had the education, means and intense passion to make a difference for those in the central highlands of Haiti. He eradicated tuberculosis! And reduced the incidence of AIDS.

And then took on Cuba, Peru and Russia and the infectious diseases that were plaguing them.

A summary on the back of the book says it all, "In medical school, Paul Farmer found his life's calling to cure infectious diseases and to bring the lifesaving tools of modern medicine to those who need them most....shows how one person can make a difference in solving global health problems through a clear-eyed understanding of the interaction of politics, wealth, social systems, and disease....Profound and powerful...the only real nation is humanity."

If you read the book, let me know what you think. That's what I think.

Birds continue to hit our windows.

Four this week and two of them have hit the dining room windows which means they had to fly in under the porch roof.

Last evening I heard one hit but didn't get up to check. This morning I noticed a smudge on the window and upon closer inspection noticed little feathers sticking in the smudge.

I'm leaving the smudge there as a both a warning and a memorial.

And that's what I think about it.

My new, favorite recipe:

On the bottom of an oven-safe casserole, place one can of apple pie filling
Place pork chops (or chicken breasts) on top
Cover the chops with prepared stuffing mix (chicken flavor)

Bake for 40 minutes at 350 degrees.

Actually I have not yet tried this recipe but here is what appeals to me. It has less than five ingredients, my absolute limit for trying something new. It can be made in one dish making for easy clean-up. It has carbs, protein and sugar (what's not to love?). I am not sure if the fruit actually qualifies for a serving of fruit but I am going to believe with all my heart that it does.

That's what I think about it.

Happy Birthday to me.

Every year, a week or so before my birthday, cards begin arriving. It always takes me by surprise. Not that people don't or shouldn't send cards but they are sending them to a woman who rarely remembers to send good wishes in return at the appropriate month and day.

That's the surprise. People plan for this. They shop for a card, write nice sentiments inside, address and stamp the card and get it to the post office or mail box. All at the approximate day of my birth.

I, on the other hand, have, just today, looked at a birthday list I have penned onto the back of the calendar. I have already missed two October birthdays of friends and the November friend one coming up will, in spite of all energy and purpose toward the opposite, pass by without notice until December when I will lament the missing of yet another friend's special day.

You would think that with the passing years there would be so many fewer friends to keep track of that it would be easier to remember but with Facebook that is not the case. This year dozens of well wishers sent notices through Facebook. Thoughtful people, people who value relationships, people who live life with a purpose of keeping in touch with other humans on their special days.

Drat, I wish I were one of them. Is it lame to take this one opportunity to wish all my friends and family a happy birthday on whatever day their celebration falls, and let that suffice for the next year?

Yeah, I thought so.

The little breakfast place I've written about was very crowded this morning. A group of retired teachers was meeting, two elderly church groups and the retired postal workers. Everyone wanted to sit in the area served by one waitress, who is every one's favorite.

The two and threes sat at single tables around the groups. When the coffee cups were empty, those of us who are regulars, got up to fill our own cups. The groups needed serious tending; these once a month, or weekly, breakfasts the high-light of their existence. No self-service for them.

For the very first time in the several years Jim and I have eaten here, this morning a voice came over the public address system (we didn't even know they had one, it's not a big place; one strong voice could be heard into every corner). The voice announced, "Would the owner of the tan-colored Oldsmobile, please move it from the middle of the fire lane."

Even though the use of the public address system was unusual, the request seemed perfectly reasonable. However, it did not seem reasonable to one of the church groups in which the car's owner was having breakfast. And so, in support, it did not seem reasonable to her friends all of whom voiced their disapproval of the restaurant's parking facilities. Not enough handicapped parking; too many motorcycles; lanes too narrow to maneuver; parking lot too full to find a spot; bowlers from the adjacent business taking up spaces. The carping continued. Finally the owner did get up to move her car and made her way slowly, very, very slowly to the door shuffling along with her walker in front of her. She finally tossed the keys to the manager and told him to find a place for it.

She didn't elaborate on where that place might be found. And that's what I'm thinking of.

Spent the weekend in beautiful east Tennessee. I have had the privilege of traveling many places around the world but honestly, the mountains of east Tennessee never fail to stir within me an awesome calm about my place in the universe.

This time of year the colors are spectacular, the foothills ablaze with color, looking like an unmade bed with a patchwork quilt tossed over.

The temperatures fluctuate. One might be scraping ice off her car in the morning and taking off a sweater by noon only to bundle up in long-johns for an evening soccer game.

In June, the hills turn lavender as the rhododendrons come into bloom. Not a here-and-there lavender but rolling hill after rolling hill of purple as far as the eye can see.

In February a storm can coat each individual tree branch with a thick coating of ice. Reflecting a full moon, the hills become as bright as daytime.

If you've stayed away for a time you forget how ingrained the area is in your soul; returning brings it rushing back into memory and senses.

East Tennessee is a gift, to be opened and enjoyed and to exclaim, "It is just what I wanted."

And that's what I think about it.

It's raining. The grass that we thought might not need mowing again until Spring is looking pretty green and long.

Pumpkins on the neighbor's porch drip with water, their washable marker painted eyes flowing down onto their melting mouth. Now that's scary.

Filmy spider webs thrown carelessly over the bushes across the street sink down into the low branches heavy with moisture. No arachnid would claim to be the contractor on those projects.

Fall and the frost is on the pumpkin. Not!

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Admitting to paranoia before I write this post, I begin.

I've been carrying around hand sanitizer for a few months hoping to avoid any flu germs that might be lurking around. I see them everywhere.

At our favorite breakfast place, a sneeze from across the restaurant sends my hand over my coffee cup. A blown nose in a department store repels me from any rack of blouses that person is searching through for her size. I haven't touched a restroom door for months, either shoving it open with my shoulder, waiting for some one to enter (which conceivably could take an hour or more) or using paper towels to grasp the handle. Last Sunday in church, after what we call the "meet and greet" which is as it sounds, a time to "welcome those around you," I quietly used the alcohol spray I carry.

My husband, ever the pragmatist, insists that a few germs are good for us, building up immunity for the really bad stuff.

I'll keep you posted on how flu season goes in our family. And that's what I'm thinking about.

The West Side Nut Club has successfully concluded their annual Fall Festival. Rain did not dampen the spirit of adventure as thousands of locals lined up to try new food creations, which become more bizarre each year.

Along with the brain sandwiches, highlighted on this blog last month, this year's offerings included lollipops embedded with scorpions, battered fried bacon, fire and ice brownies made with red pepper flakes and sweet potato fries covered with cinnamon sugar. Monkey bites were described as fresh bananas deep-fried in batter, covered with cinnamon sugar and dipped in apple butter. Yum!

My grand daughters reported that two of their favorites were an Oreo cookie fried inside a doughnut and fried macaroni and cheese.

First place in the Best of the Fest contest was Pig in the Mud, a peanut butter and bacon sandwich dusted with powered sugar with a side of maple syrup for dipping.

Makes your mouth water, right? Makes your arteries shiver, right?

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Amazing technology allows me to sit in my home, seven hours away, and watch my grand daughter play college soccer. The game comes through some sort of 'live feed' with a student from the college's media department doing the commentary.

Last week I watched a match-up with a school that has been a rival since I was a student.

The men's game was first and went into a double overtime before the "good guys" won.

I had settled in for the women's game. Part way through the first half, no score and both teams playing hard with two yellow cards given, the announcer appeared on the screen (he had been commentating from the bleachers) and gave a several minute interview with one of the male players from the first game. Camera tight on their faces, I could not see the game on the field.

I could hear the fans react to what was happening in the game and every so often the commentator's eyes would shift over to the action, but he was able to resist any play-by-play to continue the interview.

Into the second half where we were ahead by one goal, the commentator had a second interview with the men's goalie, camera tight on their faces, no mention or sight of the game on the field.

When the camera finally cut back to the field, it was only three or four minutes before the screen went blank...and stayed blank...and was blank for ever after.

This morning I read on the college web site that the women also had won their match. I would have liked to have seen that.

And yes, I did send a message through Facebook regarding this and telling them what I think of that. And that's it, what I think about that.

Days are getting shorter; chill winds invade the landscape; color emerges from the trees.

What the kids today call Under Armor and find 'stylin' to wear continues to be long underwear for me.

What is purchased for $49.98 for them rings up at the cash register as $12.50 for me.

Mine has no name that anyone would recognize; theirs is known world-wide.

Both keep us warm during the cooler days of autumn and the not-looking-forward-to days of winter.

Winter! I would shudder to think of it except I'm wearing...well, you know.

And that's what I think about it.

Well worn (out) lines:

And a good time was had by all.

But then who am I to judge.

Do whatever you think you can live with.

It's not for me to say.

Hold your horses.

Don't get me anything for Valentine's Day.

Let's just save our money and stay home.

It's a tiny leak; it won't hurt anything.

Didn't we just pass that same gas station?

Because I said so.

You tell me!

And that's what I'm thinking about.

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.

That is quite an opening sentence. The first phrase precedes the line made famous by contemporary author, Snoopy, when he adds line two, "A shot rang out." It is also the cornerstone of the San Jose University English Department's annual contest that seeks to discover the worst first line. Originally is was the first line of an 1830 novel titled Paul Clifford by Edward George Lytton-Bulwer...but who really cares.

Here are a few of my favorites from the San Jose first line contest:

-As the subtle smell of baking monkeys filtered through the classroom, I wondered where the science experiment had gone wrong.

-His eyes were brown, although you wouldn't know it just by looking.

-Now, you're all aware of my vocal campaign against the global slave trade, so what I am about to confess may raise a few eyebrows.

And as the judges are quick to ask, "These are the winners?"

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Looking back over the years of my life, I am struck by the lack of wisdom that followed me into adulthood.

What would I do differently if I knew then what I know now?

I would certainly not have delayed going back to school. Adding it up, and percentages are one math function that has stayed with me, I have been in school 35% of my lifetime. But now I find that my processes are slow and my discipline fleeting. Papers that may have taken a couple of weeks to research and write now take eight weeks (fortunately, the eight weeks are allotted for this activity, not because the other students are my age but because they all have full-time positions outside the home).

I would not have taken myself so seriously. It is embarrassing to think back at some of the confrontations I began or continued because I was stubborn when in reality not much many of these were worth the effort or consequence.

I would have stepped back and concluded "Such is life" more often than I did, if I ever did.

I would have traveled earlier and not waited until I had saved the time and money.

I would have kept a few of my jobs longer and quit others sooner.

I would have learned a second language. And been 'gooder' at English.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Is it too very selfish to pray that your hair stylist will recover quickly from kidney stones because you need a hair cut?

Oh!

I kind of thought so.

Peripheral vision alerted me to the movement. Turning my head and looking outside the window I saw it. The first leaf of Fall floating slowly to the ground.

I looked beyond the tree in our front yard and observed the tree in the neighbor's. A few errant leaves were already atop her grass.

Yet the saddest thing is that the neighbor has children.

I have never seen the little girl from that house sitting out under that tree. No doll bed set up for her pretend family; no lemonade stand for thirsty dog walkers; no blanket upon which she could lay on her back and read or discover cloud creations.

Growing up I had a mulberry tree in the side yard of our house. The branches fell all the way to the ground making a secret drapery of leaves and juicy fruit. Between the mulberry and the catalpa tree I could string a line and throw my brother's pup tent over. Summer's were spent in long lazy days of delightful imagination, through books and made-up adventures.

"Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality." -Anatole France

And that's what I think about it.

The soccer coach is livid. His varsity team is lazy and unmotivated...his words. And so tonight, in about an hour and a half, he will start the reserved team. Oh my!

That is a no-win dilemma for my two freshmen grand daughters who will start. The varsity players will be angry at them...since teenagers rarely take responsibility for their own actions and the parents too, like somehow this is the junior varsity's fault that the varsity is sitting on the bench. If they lose, well, no one is happy including the players who took the field.

Best scenario? The reserves start and gain a 2-0 lead over the opposing team. At half-time the coach puts the varsity in and the game ends with a 3-0 shut-out.

I'll finish this post after the game.

Days later:

So the coach was more interested in winning than making a point and started the varsity. At 6-0 he let the reserves play. The game ended 7-2.

I was so hoping to end this post with a moral. But I can't think of a good one from this scenario.

That's what I'm thinking about.

The Nina and Santa Maria, replicas of course, were in the area over the weekend.

Coercing two high school freshmen, who are also grand daughters, to go with us, we drove the short half hour to the river town on the Ohio where the ships were moored.

Tiny little things they were.

Like Disney rides in Pirates Cove; from a distance they looked like the two-quarter rides for kids on the sidewalks outside of grocery stores. Or like part of a backyard play set for children.

One of the original ones that Columbus sailed, survived a hurricane at sea. One carried 120 passengers. I counted fifty of us yesterday who were crowded unto the deck. Claustrophobia started to set in. I read that it took over a month to get from Portugal to Hispaniola. A month crammed into quarters that today would hold...five people maybe ten.

Columbus' dream of finding a way to the orient by sailing west was not shared by many. It took seven long years for him to gain enough support to start his journey. And even then he did not get to the orient by sailing west but discovered a New World.

Hurrah for Columbus.

Here's what I think about this. People today have dreams but we live in a society that sometimes does not value one person's dream. We discount what we do not share and laugh at those who against all reason think outside the box. Pressure from without mounts and sometimes overcomes the dreamer and that dream is put aside, trampled or stuffed deep inside in order for the dreamer to 'fit in' and be considered 'normal' and sometimes in order for friends and family members not to be embarrassed.

I wonder what we have lost by not encouraging outrageous dreams.

And that's what I think about it.

Spent the weekend with my grand daughter at her college. Seven hours of driving, we must have passed a couple dozen colleges much closer to home but as she put it, " I stepped foot on campus and knew it was the place for me."

As it was the place for her mother and aunt decades ago.

As it was the place for her grandmother half a century ago.

Much has changed since I was an undergraduate student. The freshmen no longer have to wear those insipid little beanies during freshmen week. The cafeteria is a buffet of different foods, open most of the day, eat all you care to for one price, which is included in the board. They've moved and improved the tennis courts, built a science building, a fine arts building and painted the bleachers. The post office is new yet in these days of cell phone communication hardly anyone checks the post office twice a day for mail like we did.

Yet somethings have not changed. Humanities is still one of the toughest courses taught, grits are still on the menu (and may in fact be the same batch of grits uneaten from the 60s), the athletic fields still have sink holes that appear by surprise, the hill to the cafeteria is still brutal for the legs and lungs, and college kids, for all their maturity, continue to get homesick (yes, the same home that many of them could not wait to leave).

It was a good time. So good that I'm going back next week, yes driving the seven hours, to see another soccer game. And hug my favorite college freshmen.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

The average age of the world’s great civilizations has been two hundred years. These nations have progressed through the following sequence...from bondage to spiritual faith...from spiritual faith to courage...from courage to liberty...from liberty to abundance...from abundance to selfishness...from selfishness to complacency…from complacency to apathy...from apathy to dependency...from dependency back to bondage.

Attributed to an 18th Century Scottish writer

Just spent the morning with a friend whose husband was having a biopsy at a local hospital.

A dozen people showed up to lend support for the couple and we crammed ourselves into the tiny, drab surgical waiting area. Of that twelve, at least ten had experienced some sort of health crisis which required medical intervention. Surgery, reconstruction, biopsy, replacement, chemotherapy, bunions, the group had pretty much tasted all of the medical specialties, with the exception of pediatrics, in the past year or so.

Each encounter seemed to place a mantle of expertise over the one having had the ailment. Each was an expert on doctors, nurses, drugs and hospital procedures. And while our mutual friend laid there trying to keep up a brave front, which I think he was able to do by simply ignoring most of the chatter, his friends recounted every ache and pain and treatment option for their own situation. At each telling the stories became more and more dire. It was a wonder, there at the end, that any one of the twelve was still breathing.

It was fascinating...not.

OK, it was a little fascinating. I was appalled and curious at the same time regarding what possible excuse people could give for this type of conversation in a hospital room in front of a patient. Was it to show that they too had suffered, perhaps more than the current patient could even dream of? Was it one-ups-manship or that ability to have a worse malady and a more consequential outcome than anyone else? I do not know.

My friend and I will laugh about that some day. And that's what I'm thinking about.

This week I had one friend leave for Afghanistan, trying to get into the country between the elections and any aftermath of those elections and another friend being deployed to Baghdad.

I am sad and a little concerned.

Both are dedicated to their callings, one to the military; the other to an NGO (non-governmental organization).

Both are independent, competent women who are able to take care of themselves...under normal circumstances. But Iraq and Afghanistan are not 'normal circumstance' kind of countries.

And so I am sad and a little concerned.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

We're number one! The morning newspaper announced that a local restaurant had been voted the "Manliest Restaurant in America."

I know you are on pins and needles wanting to know what their claim to fame is.

The nearly 13,000 brain sandwiches they sell each year.

Thanks to this prestigious award that number is likely to rise. The prize was given through AOL's humor and men's lifestyle site and the second place winner wasn't even close.

"There's definitely something about mashing up something's brain, frying it in a pan and dropping it on a bun that's guaranteed to put hair on your chest. This is a proud day for brain eaters throughout our 50 states and around the world," Editor-in-Chief of Asylum was quoted as saying from his New York office.

Yes indeed. Our little Hilltop Inn beat out the best of Chicago, Denver, Washington, D.C. and Boston.

The sous chef at Hilltop explained, in regards to the expertise needed to create a brain sandwich start to finish, "It's very hands-on. You have to be very meticulous. I don't let many people try to do it."

Last week visitors from Austria showed up to try the delicacy. They had read about the award and wanted to experience it first-hand.

Waste not, want not. And that's what I'm thinking about today.

It's the kind of weekend only a woman could love. Shopping from dawn til dusk, or until the shoppes close.

Beautiful weather, great bargains, a room overlooking the shoppes on Main Street, and good, good friends.

Saw Noel Coward's Present Laughter performed live; stayed up catching up on each others' lives until 2 am, critiqued jewelry and clothes, shoes and hats. Drove out to the covered bridge and dutifully took pictures of one of America's fast disappearing symbols of prairie life where we were sad to see graffiti covering the interior.

Had rings sized, bird houses critiqued, jackets purchased and ready for Fall wear, shod feet with Minnetonkas and relived the 'good old days.'

Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver the other gold.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Today I am packing for a long weekend with friends. They are driving five hours from Ohio and I am driving three, meeting in Brown County, Indiana.

Originally we met while working together in a hospital system. We had a grand decade of developing programs and meeting the needs of women in the community. Meeting our own need for friendship we have remained in touch over the years.

China, Australia, Ireland, New Zealand and Greece; we have traveled together around the world. This weekend we will travel to the excitement of Nashville, Indiana.

However for each of us it is not the pleasure of a foreign or strange land that revs us up but the renewing and fostering of friendship. No one shares quite the history that we share.

Looking forward, and that's what I'm thinking about today.

There is a deep emotion felt commonly by every mother. I found this true last week as I was reading through Facebook updates.

Children are going back to school.

Far from the joy and celebration that the jokesters portray, mothers are not happy. In fact, they were sad. And worried. And wondering.

Sad because their little ones were growing up. Worried as they see their oldest climb aboard the big yellow school bus. Some wondering if they had instilled the family values deep and wide enough to withstand the pressures of the world. Preschool world and global world.

From one mom sending her daughter off to preschool for the first day to daughters being driven seven hours away to college, to daughters being sent on planes to foreign countries for the year.

Moms thinking one thing. Where did the time go and did I use it wisely to prepare her for this big step? Each step seeming farther and farther away geographically. And praying that it is not farther and farther away morally.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

The dumbing of the American TV watcher.

In the past half hour or so I have seen the following advertisements on the tube:

A filthy mop sending a candy gram to its former owner; an attorney who says he'll deal with the government because I have enough to worry about; a commercial attempting to convince me that Cocoa Puffs are healthy; how to rinse my way to whiter teeth; the danger of not having a whole house security system with handsome young men in matching polo shirts waiting for your home invasion call; the further danger of having an accident on a lonely stretch of road without a car security call system; how uncool it is to have only 75 TV channels when you could have 300; the benefit of having a happy colon; lipstick that absolutely will stay on your lips for the whole day; a pizza that has three kinds of meat, veggies and a cheese cooked inside the thick crust...and on and all.

All designed to let me know that I could be doing things differently, better, and that there are companies out there who have only my welfare in mind.

Watching the golf tournament from Akron last week I spied an overhead blimp shot of the lake we once lived on near the golf course. Boats were out in the speed lane trailing 'tubers' and pontoon boats filled with Sunday afternoon 'sailors' taking advantage of their last lazy hours of the weekend and the last few weekends of summer. It looked very pastoral.

Tiger Woods won the tournament...big surprise. Not!

Funny, as I sat there watching the crowds make their way from green to green I wanted to be there where the action was.

Really funny. When I lived there and always received complimentary tickets through my work, I never once went to watch.

Ok, I went once to be part of some sort of professional pre-tournament golf clinic...heck of a lot of good that ever did me...but somehow thinking of the press of the crowd, the parking, the traffic jams, the humidity, the tournament just never seemed all that inviting.

So why is my memory filling me with thoughts of longing for something I never really wanted to participate in anyway?

I have no answer but that's what I'm thinking about.

Really curious. That very evening I turned on the TV again to see the Hall of Fame football game being played in Canton, OH. Oh how I missed north eastern Ohio. And no, in all my years of living there I never saw the Hall of Fame game either.

A thunderstorm swept through the area last week. Lightning illuminated the house after the power failed. Being in the dark was a lark...for a short time.

They tell you not to stand close to a window when lightning is in the area. How close would that be? What is safe? Ten feet? Twenty?

They say don't use the phone during a storm. If the electricity is on during a storm lightning can come right into the phone line and cause one heck of a nasty burn in your ear and your brain. Fair warning there.

They say don't take a bath or shower when it is lightning. I wonder if that means even if I am twenty feet away from a window and not using my phone?

When the storm was over the electricity stayed off. I read as long as I could by the natural light coming in through the window (very Little House on the Prairie). When darkness descended and the house began to get warm we drove to the grocery store to enjoy the air conditioning and illumination. We did not need anything at the store however by wandering around were able to pick up about $70 worth of indispensable items.

When we arrived home the lights were on again.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

More and more I come to value charity and love of one's fellow being above everything else...all our lauded technological progress - our very civilization - is like the axe in the hand of a pathological criminal.

-Albert Einstein

It seemed like good timing. With Jim out of the country for a week I tackled the garage. The same garage that had not held a car in nine months since it was filled with boxes that had been rescued from another garage that had gotten flattened in an ice storm last November. And before they were stored in her garage we had rented a storage unit for all our excess material goods.

I had my daughter with me, to keep me motivated since I knew the task was daunting and my will could waver at any moment.

Did I say that after the ice storm went through the items from the other garage were stored on the ground covered with a tarp until they were removed to our garage after a matter of months. And so there was a lot of black mold and that stuff got pitched. Boxes of water soaked books, brittle and falling apart were also pitched. Household items, clothes, old cameras, picture frames, well, you know, the collections of a lifetime, were given in five of my little truck loads to Good Will. Other items were taken to consignment shops. Some were given back to their rightful owners.

Three boxes of used, dented golf balls, collected from various 'roughs' on Ohio courses, were dragged to the curb for the trash collector. Our sidewalk was filled with bags, boxes, a table missing the glass top - things that had no use or value...to me.

Amazingly the next morning before the trash collectors came Voila! the golf balls were gone. I told my face book friends that I am anticipating a nasty letter from some other wife about what her husband dragged home from my home.

We'll see how much value these things had to Jim when he returns from Ukraine next Sunday.

One surprise as I opened one of the endless boxes. I saw beady little eyes looking up at me from within a coil of wire. Underneath the little mouse were two babies, each about the size of my little finger nail. What to do! We dragged them, box and all, to the curb. When the collectors came the next day we wished them well on their way to the big trash pile in the county. They should be well fed and flourish, and never find their way back here (we refused to consider that the trash truck had a compactor on it).

My purpose, remember, was to get the car in the garage and I almost succeeded. It stuck out about four inches in the back and even though I got most of it in, I couldn't open the door to exit the vehicle. Drat!

Tomorrow is another day. And that's what I'm thinking about.

Well, indeed, it is another day and miracle of miracles, the car is in the garage; I was able both to exit the driver's side and close the overhead garage door.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

"Once upon a time" and "they lived happily ever after" are typical lines in story books.

The time between these two phrases is most often filled with danger of some sort, even death in the case of Snow White, and almost death in the case of Hansel and Gretel.

Many people today are living in the in between times waiting for their happily ever after. The more time that elapses without that time arriving creates a suspicion of belief that it might not ever happen, perhaps a misread clue that they believed the 'happily ever after' was meant for just plain ordinary folk. After suspicion comes suspension of belief, the firm belief that there is no 'happily ever after" that it was indeed just a fairy tale to give false hope to the masses.

And yet they tell me that even the very wealthy have the same belief. They are longing for a 'happily ever after' and when 'things' don't bring that they have no Plan B, nothing to fall back on as if to say, "Wealth didn't bring me happiness but I know (fill in the blank) will."
Sad isn't it? Waiting for something that is always out of reach.

Shopped at Sam's Club yesterday with my friend from Haiti. Her grocery list looks nothing like my grocery list.

We started with one cart; ten minutes later I got a second; ten minutes after that another friend got a flat bed cart to fill. We made one dandy parade up and down the aisles of Sam's Club.

In addition to what we collected, Sam's Club personnel had already pulled the items from another Haitian master list and had twenty carts filled and waiting for us at the exit where a truck was waiting.

A few items we left with were:

32,000 napkins for the school and homes
Tang powder for 550 quarts
600 plastic cups
840 plastic plates
Coffee for 10,000 servings

Returning home I looked at my personal shopping list:

small package of napkins
One small can of Tang
One package of 25 plastic cups
One package of 25 Chinette plates, sectioned
Coffee, instant, one small jar

My supplies need only last well, until they run out. When they do I can drop in at any grocery store and replenish them. Not so for those who live and teach in Haiti. These supplies are for 20 families of teachers and over 350 students...for three months - or more if the boat is delayed, or if a new tariff is added, or ...fill in the blank with any number of natural disasters.

I knew I had it easy but I know that now in a deeper way. And that's what I'm thinking about.

"Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice when He could do something about it."

"Well why don't you ask Him?"

"I'm afraid He would ask me the same question."

-Anonymous

Chainsaw is his handle. But let me back up.

Had breakfast this morning at our favorite place (see previous blog posting). The bikers were there as they are once a week. Bikers talk loudly and I believe it is because their rides are so deafening that they shout to be heard over the roar of the engines but then can't come down from that level when they are off the bikes.

Anyway, my point is that even as Jim and I sat and did our crossword puzzles (got to keep the mind engaged you know) we could hear the conversation plainly.

The bikers, all eight of them, appear to be Viet Nam veterans. From their perspective, decades later, they loved the war and being in combat. Not so sure they were as enthusiastic at the time.

Today Chainsaw was recounting his run-in with a pacifist after returning from war. He told in graphic detail, yes, while the rest of the dining room was attempting to eat breakfast, how his lip had been split open and his head bashed in.

All by a pacifist.

Do you see the incongruousness? That's what I'm thinking about.

Update on the 'class clown' post from last time.

The real reason I remember this so vividly is because I came in second in the voting for the position.

Having this knowledge this vivid in my mind this far removed from the year of the event says a whole lot more about me than it does about her stupid clown costume, big fake feet and paper parasol.

And that's what I think about it.

Today I received a phone call. A male voice who said he was from my past was on the other end of the line. He wanted me to guess who. As if!

When I stated that if he did not identify himself (notice my lack of sense of humor) I would be hanging up the phone he did identify himself.

After 36 years a friend from college was calling.

We reminisced about the 'old' days. I remember that he had the lowest (at that time it was the thing to do, lower the car in the back) Ford Fairlane ( those have not been made for years). He reminded me that I drove it more than he did. I reminded him that he put more gas in it than I did. When I drove it up to Happy Valley High School to student teach the kids would come out and watch me drive up. I was the envy of every student in that school.

For a half hour we caught up. He admitted to three failed marriages and the loneliness of living by himself.

I thought how very blessed my life has been and continues to be.

I felt the same way many years ago when I attended my high school 25 year reunion and the girl voted "Class Clown" showed up wearing a clown suit complete with red nose and oversize shoes. Twenty five years after her election to the post!

Here we have a couple of folks living in the past, remembering how good they had it 'way back when.' Most of us have it pretty good right now but still we remember 'the good old days.' Regrets plague us, poor choices made long ago continue to impact our lives.

It is a wonderfully freeing thing to put the past, well, in the past. It is today that matters and it is today that should be lived to its fullest.

Carpe Diem! And that's what I think about it.

Police were called to intervene. In Shelbyville, TN a couple, both in their forties were having a verbal altercation, loud enough that the authorities were called. The shouting and name calling took a very sinister escalation when they began throwing things at each other.

Cheetos!

No one was hurt in the assault. The perpetrators could not deny their guilt as their fingers were covered with orange cheese fluff.

Aren't their children proud?

And that's what I think about it.

Spent the last four days at a convention, seeing people I see once a year at this convention and catching up on their lives.

Boy some of them looked old.

And some of them looked very young, even a few who were older than I am now.

Whatever makes the difference?

I do not know how attitude can change how one looks as one ages but it must. Not the attitude that says, "I am beautiful," but the attitude that says, "I am valued."

Well, I have no further deep thoughts about that for today but I will be pondering it and we will see where it leads.

And that's what I think about it.

It has happened three times in the past two weeks. Birds have fatally hit the window near the bird feeder. They have not died quickly but slowly, twitching on their little backs, trying to upright themselves and be whole to fly again.

The first was a young something-or-other and we chalked up his hitting the window to inexperience in flight. Yet the second was an adult robin and about a half hour ago a cardinal hit.

We installed the bird feeder in order to feed the birds not kill them.

My daughter, bird lover extraordinaire said, not unkindly, "Mom, it's not like your windows are so clean."

The only thing I can figure is that they were all males and they did not ask for directions.

Today I read that a nice couple with eight children are divorcing. Except for the number of children this happens every day.

And except for the fact that for a while this couple has been the stars of a reality TV show chronicling their lives.

I have never watched this show but I have been reading on the news that their fans are heartbroken and taping of the show has been temporarily suspended.

This is one of several 'reality' shows that have increased station ratings. The Bachelor may have been the first, then Survivor, Big House, Fear Factor and others. Viewing takes on a voyeurism that I am not sure is healthy. In fact, I do not think these shows have much redeeming value. Perhaps though they give us insight into how others live...and yet, in reality they give us insight into how one tiny group of people live. This is not reality for most of us.

The Kardasians, wife swap, Whose Wedding is it Anyway? are other examples of my ability to live through the life experiences of someone else. The good news for many people is that living vicariously through their new 'friends' they do not have to live their own lives or deal with their own reality. Being so involved with 'tube' personalities also limits or prohibits the development of real face to face, flesh and blood relationships.

Perhaps it is escapism, like I indulge in when I pick up a novel. But week after week, water cooler chat after water cooler chat, it takes on a life of its own. And that life is not living. Manufactured around a conference table with story boards and advertisers it is reality TV aimed at getting me to buy products and raise ratings. I can see through that reality.

And that's what I think about it.

Doesn't that beat all, as my dad used to say.

Just as I was blogging, an email came through on the phone with the title "Do it, don't blog it."

Apparently that was a heedless bit of information.

Just finished Adventures in Missing the Point by Brian McLaren and Tony Campolo.

Last week I am embarrassed to write I read three, yes three, mystery novels by Sidney Sheldon.

As I sit here I see across the table from me 30, I counted them, 'new' books from a local library sale.

I am such a patsy for cheap books. Found an original novel by Winston Churchill from the 30s, written probably while he should have been paying closer attention to world events. Jim is reading that one.

Among the other titles are Tom Sawyer, Look Homeward Angel, Sons and Lovers, The Count of Monte Cristo.

The find of the day! Ta-Da! A first edition of Lady's Chatterly's Lover (I think it's a first edition). For a dollar, hard back book price at the sale, I wanted to see what all the fuss had been about when it was publishing.

In high school a friend somehow got hold of the very popular book, Peyton Place, which had been banned from the high school library. That banning really made us curious. The 'juicy' portions were so often turned to that when you laid the book on its spine the pages fell open to the only parts we really were interested in reading.

What a long way we have come...and some of it downhill. And that's what I think about it.

You probably already knew that snakes slither over backdrops (or 'under drops') of their own coloring. I mean, a cobra, green and stripped will be nearly unseen in the jungle undergrowth of grass and weeds; unseen that is until stepped on.

When I lived in California, one bright sunny morning I opened the blinds on the patio door to enjoy the sun only to discover a rattlesnake also enjoying the morning warming him/herself (who really can tell with a snake) on the patio a foot from my toes.

No surprise then to wonder if I needed a new eyeglass prescription when reading out on the porch yesterday. Peripherally I saw movement on the little rocks that line the outside of the porch. I peered directly at the stones. I squinted. I finally got out of my comfortable chair, put my book down and walked over to the edge of the porch.

Just like snakes from the beginning of time, there was one sunning him/herself (who can really ever tell with reptiles) on the rocks. We decided, the snake and I mutually, to leave one another to him/herself (one would be hard-pressed to try and determine the gender of an amphibian) and live copacetically (which is coincidentally the one word I carry-over from Semantics 101).

Went to a local 'fine chocolate' candy store to purchase a gift for a friend who begins a new job/career on Monday.

I thought she might need something to help her make friends on her first day of work.

Also, this store gives out free samples. That is the good news. The not-so-good news is that today's free sample was chocolate covered bacon.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Attended a Jeff Dunham appearance last Sunday. Seven thousand irreverent fans waiting to hear their own biases from the mouth of a dummy...not Jeff, although he writes the stuff...but Achmed the Dead Terrorist ("Silence! I keeel you.), Peanut, Walter, Jalapeno (on a Stick) and the real live Guitar Guy.

Since Sunday I have been on YouTube revisiting their skits.

Jeff's stuff is not for the pious or easily offended. It is not for those whose ears fold up at the sound of a 'bad' word....it is just so darn much fun and laughable that for some, me and both daughters for example, it is easy to forget that we don't talk like that and we don't think like that...mostly.

And yet, one of the reasons why Jeff and Guitar Guy are so popular is that they are saying what many of us believe and are too 'politically correct' to say ourselves.

I'm thinking about that today but not too deeply.

Just finished Unbowed: A Memoir by Wangari Maathai and am struck once more by what just one person with passion and persistence can do to change the world (felt the same way you remember when I read Three Cups of Tea).

Started the book yesterday, could not put it down. Sat on the porch with the book in my hand and the World Atlas on my lap tracing the events of the book through Kenya.

After finishing it, I came inside and logged on to the web site to get an update on events in the author's life.

What are you and I so passionate about that nothing: not fear, humiliation, jail, incarceration, slander or libel would keep us from forging ahead to right some injustice?

Ambrose Redmoon said it well, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear."

What is more important than fear to me? That's what I'm thinking about.

Today I am thinking about brown recluse spiders. They can be deadly you know.

In fact, deadly is exactly what they were this week here in Indiana where one man died in his sleep after what doctors have suspected was a spider bite.

There is a woman in a local hospital as we speak recovering from a brown recluse bite.

Okay to be fair, the first guy had been camping a few days earlier and knew he had been bitten by something and did not seek medical attention. Who is that fair to? The spider genus I guess.

In Haiti last month there was a torrential downpour in the interior of the country. Three men who were working on a construction site were recounting to me a few days later that the rains filled up the spider holes and brought the little ones scurrying to the surface for drier land. These were not brown recluse spiders but tarantulas. Hundreds of them, dime-sized still because they were young. This story was backed up by video of the scene. Watching dozens of the skittering arachnids on the screen made ones feet reflexively lift from the floor.

Everyone so often a friend, mentor or spiritual guide asks me what is the first question I will ask God when I get to heaven?

Hands down it will be what was he thinking when he created spiders? And that's what I'm thinking.

Today I am thinking about yesterday but not the picnic with the family, which was indeed fun even with the torrential rains that came off and on.

I am thinking about all those who celebrated a day off work but not much else.

Every day, whether one reads a printed paper or sees news on-line or through the television, war is producing casualties. And not just in war zones, but producing casualties in 'peaceful' places where war has not been declared but skirmishes occur.

So yesterday was a day for millions of families with a day off work but also with a family member missing. Some permanently.

Perhaps we do a disservice to the military to have only one day a year to remember. Perhaps that keeps us from having to think too deeply about the daily sacrifices being made as we plan an outing with friends or complain that a blocked parade route has slowed us down from getting to our activity.

Keeps us from thinking that daily husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters somewhere, miss someone every hour of every day, every holiday, every graduation, every wedding, every anniversary, every life event that the rest of us may be taking too much for granted.

Freedom has never been free.

And that's what I think about it.

Graduation week is upon us. Tuesday we sat through a three hour awards ceremony at the high school where close to two million dollars was awarded in scholarships to deserving young people.

When I think back at my own high school graduation I remember not thinking very deeply about the honors given. Some received them; most did not. But when I look at achievements of my class over the past several decades it is those students with high grade point averages, high moral character, commitment to volunteerism and community service and most with some faith base who have succeeded.

Sitting in the gym, on the bleachers (and they are even harder than I remember) for three hours listening to teachers, administrators, community leaders extol the virtues of this particular class of 2009 has restored my faith that things are not as bad as I read. We are indeed in good hands.

And that's what I think about it.

I wonder what the people in Borneo are doing right now. I mean the ones who live deep in the Rain Forest and whose grand parents are in government reclaimation programs to rehabilitate them from being head hunters.

What are they doing?

Are they sitting in their thatched huts looking fondly at the little shrunken heads hanging on their walls like stuffed fish trophies hang on ours? Do they wonder about the one that got away? Do they ponder whatever happened to the good old days?

Times change and we must change and adapt with the times that change we are told. The thing is, sometimes times change and we don't. We either don't want to, don't see the need to or don't have the energy to. Change your ways we are told. Do it, whatever IT is, another, better, my way. Keep up with progress.

I think the shrunken heads of Borneo dens and family display cases are keepsakes like locks of hair and baby teeth. I think somewhere there must be a Ripley's Believe It or Not entry listing the person who has the most sets of dentures from departed relatives.

This blog post makes no sense and that's what I think about it.

Not surprisingly I have developed a new pet peeve.

Forwarded emails about people, politicians or celebrities mainly, that come into your Inbox from some well meaning person who dislikes something or someone. Many times, if not most times, the 'facts' in these emails are never verified, just passed on especially and probably only if they agree with the person forwarding them.

Some of them are plain mean-spirited; so much that even if you agreed with them a person of normal psychological make-up would see the danger to their own reputation in passing them on.

Often they are some remarkable or miraculous story meant to bring one to tears...and to one's knees. Sometimes they threaten that something bad will happen if the email is not passed along. Other times the very special blessings waiting for you can only be delivered if you press the 'forward' button. This may be how God works in the 'wired' age.

Oh please!

The Internet has offered to the very least of us what Thomas Friedman from the New York Times in his book, The World is Flat, calls uploading. Anyone with a keyboard and connection can write anything about anyone and send it out on the world wide web. Students are warned, and should listen, that Wikipedia, oft listed in high school research paper bibliographies, is written by....drum roll...any person who wants. Yep, it's true. If you want to add something to a Wikipedia section, you are welcome to do that. Truth schmmoth! Truth is not necessary.

OK I guess that is two pet peeves.

The good thing about uploading is the ability for people like me to write and be published for an audience that could number in the billions. Although only seven or eight people read my blog regularly, and thank you for that, you can see the possibilities...and the danger.

And that's what I think about it.

What ever happened to imagination?

Green horses, blue grass, red stars...that sort of thing.

Who says that crayon marks have to be kept within the lines?

Who makes those kinds of rules for the rest of us?

When we had bacon and eggs for dinner I used to think we could get arrested. When I stepped on a crack and nothing happened to my mother's back, I began to wonder about those 'rules.'

Were they made up to make sure children did not stray too far from the beaten path.

Ah, but the road not taken. It could have made all the difference.

I
have
nothing
to
say
today...

which
has
never
stopped
me
in
the
past

and
not
today
either.

My cat snores.

Right now he is laying up behind me on the couch, snoring.

I hope it is not because he is reading over my shoulder and find what I am writing boring; but hey, what am I thinking. Cats can't read.

Or can they?

The are pretty good 'readers' of emotion, knowing when to hide and when to admit, by looking so darn cute, it was them who tipped over the flower vase and oh, by the way, so sorry.

They can 'read' when it is treat time and thunder down the hallway to get to the closed bedroom door (where the treats are kept) before a human and so be the first being inside the door and onto the bed in anticipation.

They know when there is a mouse in the house. Oh, they don't care one bit, but they might point the rodent out to you so you can set a trap.

They can 'read' a smell that says 'popcorn,' 'tuna' and 'chicken parts.'

They can 'read' a noise that says 'can opener' 'garage door' and 'snack pack being ripped open.'

They can 'read' an attitude of superiority but you can't hold a candle to a cat sense of superiority. And you can't hold a candle to a cat because that is cruelty to animals and not allowed.

Sometimes I try to explain to Kat Karson that were he in another culture, he could be some family's dinner but he just flounces off as if to say 'this conversation is beneath me.'

gotta go, he's waking up and that means it is 'brush me' time.

And that's what I think about it.

Once upon a time a baby girl was born. With dark hair she looked just like her dad but not a thing like her three sisters, who looked just like their mother. Sandwiched in between the others she did not sound like the others either. Her voice, loud and high-pitched, her stance showing firmness and determination, she made a place for herself within the siblings.

Fast forward through twelve years of school. Outstanding as a scholar, athlete and leader she is now a most amazing Senior in high school.

But where did those years go? And how did they go, wherever they went, so fast? I do not know the answer to this. I only know that when I think about the speed of time and understand a little of its fleetingness I am grateful for each moment especially moments spent with this grand daughter.

And that's what I think about it.

Inside today in front of my computer, journal articles and books spread out around me...looking pretty scholarly from my own vantage point.

Kate Turabian close by.

Waiting for inspiration.....waiting.

Not feeling it.

There's a sale a JCPenny and I'm thinking I could use a new...not sure what but I'll know it when I see it. I could run to the mall for a short time.

But then there's this paper, due now in less than a month, and all these journal articles and books spread out all around me.

It's 85 degrees out, perfect for a lazy afternoon sitting on the porch with a novel, mindless novel of course, a glass of iced tea.

I have heard about and even experienced Senior-itis, that Spring feeling that overcomes those who are about to graduate from high school. They 'check out' about the time the weather turns nice. Apparently I have the REAL Senior-itis, that only comes with decades of life.

I need sage advice on how to 'check back in' at least for another month, until this paper is done and sent and all the books are returned to the library and the journal articles are hole-punched and stored in a binder for the next time they might be needed....which probably is not going to happen in my lifetime.

Okay, enough with the procrastination...and that's what I think about it.

Eighty degrees today; first time this year.

The porch is cleaned off and cushions put out on the furniture, rugs on the floor.

I sat out there for more than an hour, gusty winds swirling whirl-a-gigs settling the swept floor. The birds, not used to humans so close to their feeder...because they have short memories of last Spring...set up a terrible ruckus. I was firm though. This is my porch and they can deal with it. Even when they flew right through in front of me as if to scare me off (think Alfred Hitchcock).

Tinkling wind chimes joined the noise. Dogs barking next door added to the lack of silence. My own cat, indoors because that is one of the Humane Society rules, pawed at the window, getting his head caught in the window blinds.

A delightful hour.
And that's what I think about it.

I followed the recipe as closely as I could.

Not having cream of chicken soup I stirred in cream of chicken noodle soup. Not having mushrooms, I omitted them completely and then switched beef for the chicken breasts and added a few vegetables for health and then noodles instead of rice. Needing some color I added both a red and a green pepper. And some pepper...and a little salt, sea salt. Instead of baking the dish in the oven I stuck everything in the crock pot. And sprinkled cheese on top.

It did not look or taste like what I had experienced before although I followed the recipe as closely as I could.

And so I wonder why we think we can improve on some one's Great Plan and then call 'foul' when it does not look or taste like the original. Free will is a wonderful thing but to blame the one who gave us free will when we forge our own path borders on the absurd.

And that's what I think about it.

Haiti seems always waiting for the casual visitor to return; and year after year I return. Friends who live and teach there, who have raised and are raising their kids there draw me time after time. I can not stay away. An island in the middle of the Caribbean the tropical geography and laid back way of life are magnets. The people happy amidst the greatest poverty in the hemisphere.

What is it about Haiti?

It is the young boy who sells little bags of fried plantains from a basket he balances on his head. It's the sound of donkeys refusing to go a step further under their burden and the sound of the tree switch hitting stubborn flanks. It is the laughter of hundreds of children, blue and white uniforms cleaned and pressed and their standing in line singing the national anthem of Haiti hands outstretched in homage. It's the electricity that is turned off at day break and back on at dusk, the sound of United Nation peacekeeping vans on the street and the whine of mo-pends bringing kids to and then from school.

It's the brilliant sunset over the far peninsula and the sail boats heading home with their catch of red snapper or shrimp, or one with human cargo of workers clinging precariously to the sides. It's the rocky beach where one might see a pig taking a short cut home. It's the siren of the water truck and the bark of dogs, the crow of roosters all day and the drums of dancing late at night.

All this is Haiti.

It is Son Center, being built on the ocean front which will house the church which is bursting at the seams and the Bible college. Sturdy beams now span the meeting area. A dream is becoming a reality.

It's the national pride you see in students, their parents believing that education equals hope. It does...and their education is the hope for Haiti. Educated young people who love their country. They will make a difference.

Each time I return to Haiti I see the inroads being made on the north coast. Having nothing of value to offer, I lend a hand here and there, hold a child, hug a student, read to some, encourage others, and just watch in amazement as little by little Light is replacing darkness.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

There is no plastic in first class, no hermetically-sealed, impossible to open little bags of dried bananas and raisins, each costing $4.

No, the people in front of the curtain between airline cabins are treated differently.

I had always said that the back of the plane gets to the gate at the same time as the front, but now I know that during flight there is much to be said for first class.

And that is where we were.

Thanks to an upgrade which had nothing to do with us but with the platinum club member we were traveling with. Three first class seats.

My friend and I sat there grinning. We had tried not to 'look down' on those traveling coach as they filed past to the back of the plane. We tried to put on an expression of entitlement when served warm cashews and almonds in a warm ceramic dish. We attempted to expect the hot towelette as something needed to rid our fingers of nut salt. We tried to sit still and not wiggle from side to side in the plush and generous seats.

As we stretched our legs out and kept on stretching until they were at full length in front of us we asked the other to hold us accountable for not falling asleep. We needed to experience every benefit of what would surely not be a regular occurrence.

When the grilled salmon was served, on china of course, with linen place mat and napkin, we were a little sorry that we had stopped at Chili's at the airport and eaten before the flight. Not deterred by that little fact, we ate. After the entree came the fruit and cheese course. Dessert was ice cream with raspberry sauce. We did pass on that.

The crinklely sound of little cellophane bags on the other side of the curtain being ripped opened and plastic cups being disposed of in garbage bags carried up and down the aisle by the cabin stewards was music to our ears.

We just kept on grinning.

But then as quickly as it happened, we landed at our next destination. With one more leg of the journey to go before home, the last flight was back to our normal coach seats.

But for a few hours we were Cinderellas at the ball, the Trumps at the Plaza.

I know there should be some moral here and please if you wish, make one up that fits for you.
For me, it was just fun and I loved it.

And that's what I think about it.

Off this morning to Haiti. More when I return.

A friend has just completed three stained glass creations (13x20 each) for the family in Haiti. I will not get to see them until I arrive in Haiti since they are bubble wrapped for transport but I know they are beautiful. It has taken nearly a year of painstaking creativity and labor.

A year. Twelve months!

She is giving them away.

She may never see them in their final home.

How selfless.

Why am I amazed when someone is generous and giving and...selfless? Perhaps it is because it seems to be a rare, and becoming rarer, personality trait and because of its rarity it stands out all the more vividly.

And that's what I think about it.

I am thinking about how incongruous the American way of life is.

Santa Claus and the Nativity.
Easter and the Easter bunny.
Halloween and princess costumes.
Thanksgiving and football.
Expressways with traffic lights.
Free public education that charges for books.
January 'white' sales.
Hot dogs made of tofu.
'Scrap' booking that costs an 'arm and a leg.'

Perhaps you have your own personal favorite incongruous list. I would like to read it.

And that's what I think about it.

It is peaceful right here, at the table.

I can hear a TV in another room, a radio in the shower, my husband responsible for both but here at the table it is peaceful.

Read the news: The nosecone of North Korea's rocket has been spotted from space. It could reach Alaska if launched in that direction. There is flooding in the Dakotas, storms racing through the south after wreaking havoc in Missouri, but here at the table there is peace.

I have a 20-page paper due in a month to the seminary, a list of items still needed to complete preparations for leaving for Haiti, college kids who are on my heart...but here at the table there is peace.

Peace in the midst of chaos and uncertainty. Peace in the midst of concern and busyness. There really is a peace that overcomes or transcends all. It is found right here at the table.

And that's what I think about it.

Nothing like a week of seminary classes to dispel any romantic ideas about ivy towers and lofty discussions. There are no ivy-covered towers in Lincoln, Illinois. However, there were lofty discussions this week; unfortunately I was an observer not a participant.

I caught maybe 60% of what was being discussed about culture, one area I thought I might, if not excel, at least have a moderate understanding which would allow me some entrance into discussion on a graduate level.

I read each of the four texts at least three times each, one five times just trying to grasp what the author was saying (See 2/8/09 blog and photo sitting with my 8-pound dictionary on my lap).

Two fourteen hour days and two 8-hour days have exhausted me.

I am clueless about what the subject for my final paper for this class will be.

I am wondering if I'm really cut out for this.

I am wondering where my rocking chair and front porch are that society tells me I should have been sitting in and on several years ago.

Ah, but there is a bright side. For a week I have been able to listen and absorb some great dialog between two gifted professors. I have made new friends who are so honest and transparent and yes, bright. And I have been staying in a hotel that was built right next to a Russell Stover candy outlet.

Life is looking a little brighter. Chocolate will do that to a person.

And that's what I think about it.

Had breakfast with a fun group this morning. Talk centered on a trip to the Dominican Republic, paying taxes and being audited, a disgusting description of a child with a cyst in her eye (and how her dad 'popped' it and then had to take the child to the hospital for surgery), cleaning a friend's house before they return for the summer and why IHOP charges nearly $4 for a bagel and an extra .90 for cream cheese.

Then had a brunch with another group a couple of hours later at Cracker Barrel. Our talk centered on the best medicine to take to prevent malaria and also medicines to prevent bone loss. We talked about the year we had spent together every Wednesday morning in study of the Psalms of Assents.

One of the group had just gotten a bonus from her employer and so treated us all.

Another had written a story for children, as the group had encouraged her to do, and she brought it for us to read. This was her first written story although she had been creating this in her mind for a decade. She risked a lot showing it to us and waiting for our comments. We didn't comment much. We were all too teary-eyed at this beautiful tale of the dance mothers and children do throughout life.

Tonight I get to meet with a third group of nice people as we celebrate the arrival of Josiah from Siberia with a shower for him and his parents.

All in all a very relational day. Tomorrow I will try not to see one person. Today held enough people for a week. All in all though a very good day.

And that's what I think about it.

So AIG is not using the federal bailout monies the way the government thinks is prudent.

Hello!

No really!

HELLO!

I refer you to my blog of Wednesday, February 18.

I won't repeat myself but please let me just repeat one word...outrageous.

And that's what I think about it.

Face book is lame!

Those were the exact words of a friend's friend after face book changed their home page and put a limit on the size of a message.

I agree...except, I don't understand most of what goes on in this cyberworld anyway. I can not always find conversation threads.

Example: Some one writes to me, "I agree with everything you said." But of course I can not remember what I said so I go searching in order to take pride in getting anyone to agree with me since it so rarely happens.

I check my home page. I check the writer's home page. I check all my friends' sites without success.

Where is the original, agreed with, post?

It's all lame.

And that's what I think about it.

There are many ways to fill up space.

Let us say, for example, that you have a paper due which is to be two pages in length.

Yet you have only a page and a half worth of viable information.

What to do?

You can get on the computer's thesaurus and find replacement words with additional letters.
You can increase the font size.
You can decrease the margin size.
You can reiterate the question.
You can decrease the size of the paper.
You could write a note to the professor on the bottom of the second page thanking him/her for the opportunity to think about the subject.
You could just do more reading and thinking thus amassing more viable information and write a full second page from the results of your study.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

How do you know what the best path is to follow? Open doors? Desire? Encouragement?

I ask because in the past two weeks some very important causes have come across my path and I am trying to decide which ones, if any, I should pursue. Everyone has the same amount of time I keep reminding myself. And then I add, you can only do what you can do....as if that makes any sense when you look at it closely.

Last week I sat at a meeting to learn about domestic violence in this county. I remembered that I had served on a county-wise task force to reduce violence in the county we lived in before our move here and now wonder if I should throw some energy toward this group.

I think my work as a court-appointed special advocate (CASA) is very important but I just closed my case and have not been assigned another. The good news on this front is that a new group of CASA volunteers has just finished training and perhaps I won't be needed there for a while after they all get their cases. The bad news is that the methamphetamine problem in this county is rising which means the children removed from homes and in need of protection will also increase in number.

I have a trip planned to Haiti in a few weeks. That is a definite and I have a week at the seminary the week before Haiti. Perhaps that is what is making me somewhat anxious (see previous blog on flying).

Thanks for listening. I know we all face the same dilemma and our value systems help dictate where we put our energy and how we use our time. My life will be clear as I am still and listen.

And that's what I think about it.

Read a good book; fiction which I do not generally read.

Healing Stones by Stephen Arterburn and Nancy Rue is a compelling contemporary and very believable story about love, betrayal and forgiveness.

Choices have consequences.

And that's what I think about it.

Nothing is more mindless.

Sticking labels on thousands of fliers.

Sometimes mindless is good. So good. So very good.

And welcome.

Jim and I helped celebrate a friend's birthday by joining her and her family for lunch. They had selected a local rib place. My friend is on a low-carbohydrate diet, but she was ready to splurge for her birthday. Ribs it would be.

Imagine our consternation when after being seated with drinks and appetizers we were told they were out of ribs.

What?

Does Arby's run out of beef? Does Outback Steak House run out of steak? Does Dairy Queen run out of soft serve? Does IHOP run out of pancakes?

They were out of prime rib also (I mention that because it was going to be my lunch choice). But they had chicken. Not exactly what she was hoping for, especially since she has to wait a whole year to break her Atkins again and because you really can eat some chicken on Atkins. But the company was good and the service but don't get me started on the dime-sized cake that was included free with her meal.

That's what I'm thinking about.

Who goes to Siberia in February?

We have friends there right now. They left Sunday to pick up their adopted child from an orphanage. The dad flew all that way with a ruptured disk, in a lot of pain. The mom left a new job here with tremendous responsibility. Yet nothing seemed very important when the phone call came that their son was ready to 'come home.'

All the late nights of waiting for pain pills to kick in and all the extra hours needed to staff an agency and keep patients safe and progressing...nothing seemed all that urgent once the call came...Josiah was ready to come home.

I wrote a while ago about an adopted child in Haiti who had hit the jackpot with two godly grateful parents. Here we are again. The jackpot! Life holds no guarantees or promises but once in a while all the shining forces in the universe combine to create a family. Whatever you call that force, it is a miracle.