Monthly Archives: August 2008

Tomato Haters, Beware

4 Home & Garden/Food & Seasons, Stuff I Actually Think, , ,

There’s a new kid in town!   HA!

I kept noticing these nice, large and juicy-looking tomatoes that seemed to have started ripening, but then never quite kept going.   But never-you-mind, I was getting plenty from the other plants, anyway.   Finally, though  I had to find out “what gives??”

Guess what?   I forgot I had plopped a lemon-tomato into the ground!   I got this armload of juicy, tangy, pure-yellow tomatoes.   They pack a powerful punch of a taste, I tell you!   They are yellow through and through with no “green gooey seedy” centers, which Bryan accuses the red tomato of holding.   Oh-they are gooooood!

 

Sadly, today, I discovered the work of probably at least 2 hornworms chewing up my tomato plants.   I have never had a hornworm since living here (6 years) and this is not good.   Their natural enemy is the wasp and we seem to have plenty of them zooming around, but they did not do their job.   So, when I was cutting back some stringy petunias (which you really must force yourself to do about this time each  year for a spectacular late summer display) and a wasp charged me, I got out the spray and killed about 50 of them.   Dave threw away their little village.   Really-the one reason I let them live in the first place: hornworms!   I am going in deep to find those fat tomato killers, who  pretty much  look like  Heimlich from “A Bug’s Life,” (very rotund when having recently gorged on my tomato leaves) but are nothing more than satanic destroyers from hell.   They shall die I tell you!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…  

 

I ran into Baby Averi at Target and she told me to go ahead and roast up a batch of her green chiles (Averi’s Anaheim greens).   I picked a pile, along with some Macho Nacho Jalepenos and a couple of cucumbers.   The chiles  are slow roasting in the oven next to a pork butt and, baby, it is gonna be delish!   Green Chile is quintessential Colorado!

I have this strange domestic, cooking thing happening.   Somebody stop me…Jeanie

NOTE TO SELF:   Kill the hornworms.   Kill the hornworms.   Kill the hornworms…Seek and destroy!

pictured: lemon tomatoes from my garden, a nasty hornworm; Gav and Averi investigating her garden area, the chiles she grew…

What’s Good for the Goose

Stuff I Actually Think, , , , ,

 

McCain’s Vice-Presidential running mate Sarah, Palin and Tall,  has been called by some Democratic pundits “blatantly inexperienced.”   Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle “inexperienced?”

Naturally the Republicans are  declaring it a “bold move,” and that is true in some respects, as we have not previously had a female vice-presidential candidate whose hair kind of flops when she is talking, all cute and vulnerable-like, and  with a killer collection of fashionable eye-glasses.   I hope they’ll get her a vocal coach soon, as I listened to a replay of speech at about 4 am and she is going to lose it in all the excitement, if she is not careful.

My main beef with both Obama and Palin?   They’re younger than me – both of them.   So this is how it is going to be now, huh?

google images of two darn cute and likeable people relaxing…

Five Little Monkeys

2 Mi Familia, 4 Home & Garden/Food & Seasons, Stuff I Actually Think,

   

Gavin (5)  is in Kindergarten now.   He seems rather appalled at the lack of snacks and refreshments offered by his new teacher, as when he pre-schooled with me, each completed assignment signified it was time for a break and snack!   He also knows here, even if I put “special toys” away in the garage, he is free to find them and use them at will.   He has often reported of Kindergarten: “There’s a lot of toys there, but I can’t play with them.   It’s hard work.”

   

Guinivere (3)  came over with her siblings the other night at 8:30 pm while her parents went to see Death Cab for Cutie.   The others fell asleep at a reasonable little-kid time, while Guini danced and pranced about happily until 12:30 am.   Not only is she a nightowl – she is an exhuberant night owl, full of joyful and loud talk!

   

Gemma (1)  is such a petite and tiny thing, a person is sometimes surprised by how independent and  wry she is.   Even her orneriness is sweetened by the moments she runs up to me saying, “Hold me, hold me, hold me,” over and over as she reaches her skinny little arms around  my neck and comes in close.    And then she is off again like a flash.   She can almost finish a popsicle drip free!   At one!

   

Hunter (almost 4)  is King of the Corn.   He helped me till the ground in the little 4′ x 4′ square a few months back.   He  spread a little manure and he pushed the corn seeds in to the ground with his little finger.   Whenever he came over, he’d water his corn field and became very delighted to see the corn pop up and grow to his knees and then his shoulders and then over his head.   We have been getting corn for a couple of weeks.   I think he likes the idea of touching and watering and playing with corn more than the eating it, but he’ll learn.

     

Averi (6 1/2 months) came over one night a couple of weeks ago with her hair in little ponytail “sprouts.”   When Jovan took them out to get her in her jammies and all comfy for the night, at first her hair just stayed there – sprouted out.   Then it began to come down into these side poofs which made her look like Princess Leia.   Then for awhile she looked like Jim Carrey  as Ace Ventura, but it was finally decided she looked most like the Mayor from  Whoville.   Whatever – we love her hair!   AND she just got her first tooth a couple of days ago!

These are the 5 little monkeys who jump on my beds, my couches, off my counters, through my garden and into my heart.

Have I ever mentioned how happy I am to be a grandma?…Jeanie

NOTE TO SELF:  Get a really good camera, for crying out loud.

A Sign

4 Home & Garden/Food & Seasons, Stuff I Actually Think, , , ,

I am receiving this as a sign: this one floppy sunflower is fixed my direction.   The others continue heliotroping  vigorously  or fixing themselves toward my neighbor’s deck (the east), but this one, scraggly and wind-tossed, looks me straight in the eye, and makes itself shine upon me.

The world has  gone mad, but the sun shines on.   The sunflower, too.

How Could this Happen?

1 Christ is All, Stuff I Actually Think, , , , ,

My initial reactions are rage and disappointment.   My first responses are  deep grief and sadness, even anger. What are you thinking?   What have you done?   What happened?

Yet,  I tread carefully.   I  start to judge you, lash out and condemn you in my mind, but I must not.   Judge not that ye be not judged...It is not my place.   And truthfully, any temptation to judge causes me to see my own sin and failure so vividly,  I dare not go there.   But what is this I feel, this nauseousness, this suffocating ache?

I grieve for the One who has blessed you with every good and spiritual gift, the One who made sure there was  a way out of temptation, though you didn’t appropriate it…I grieve for the one who has walked beside you these many years and made you a better man and brought you honor in the city gates, covering you with her love and grace…I grieve for the three for whom, you having given the devil a foothold, will battle the enemy’s territorial claim on their souls and hearts.   I grieve that you have removed the covering of covenant from your family and the wife of your youth and pitched your tent in enemy territory.   I grieve for the pain of the ripped one-flesh.  

When did sin take such a hold it made sense to you?   Has there been unfinished adolescent business?   Is there a wound you are trying to salve?

How have you justified this in your mind and heart?   How have you calculated the cost, the sadness and the pain on your family, the church, your friends and sphere of influence, and reconciled it as being worth it?

What are you doing, man who has received the full grace of God for so long and in so many ways, son of a holy man, to repair the heart-wrenching, seemingly endless agony you have caused?

I grieve.

And I mourn.

I mourn for the anguish you are bearing, though it is of your own doing.   Sometimes we hurt ourselves more than we do anyone else.   I mourn for the distance you must be feeling right now from Father, though God promised to never leave us or forsake us, we find it hard to look at Him when we have taken an unholy path.   I mourn for the damage this will do to your relationships with the ‘arrows of your quiver’ – your true heritage from God.   I lament over the loss of holy love and weep over the consequences you’ll endure  for your choices, however beautifully graced this may become, there  will be a bitter fruit you must taste.    There  will be  lasting evidence that effects all goings-forward.

On that sunny day in May, so many years ago,   The Message, in Malachi, tells us:

…God was there as a witness when you spoke your marriage vows to your young bride, and now you’ve broken those vows, broken the faith-bond with your vowed companion, your covenant wife. God, not you, made marriage. His Spirit inhabits even the smallest details of marriage. And what does he want from marriage? Children of God, that’s what. So guard the spirit of marriage within you…God-of-the-Angel-Armies says, “I hate the violent dismembering of the ‘one flesh’ of marriage.” So watch yourselves. Don’t let your guard down. Don’t cheat.

God is the witness to the union, just as He is the witness on your behalf against the enemy.   He is the One who formed you and created you with His intent in mind.  He created and chose you – do you comprehend the miracle of this?

And so, because I have needed grace so desperately so much in my life, because Jesus has shown us that only he who  is without sin may cast the first stone and that is not me, I am praying for you.   I am praying that you will get wisdom and go after it with all your might!   I am praying you will flee from the enemy and run to the Hiding Place.     I am crying out to God to save you from that enemy, and from yourself (when you are own worst enemy).   I pray you will repent fully and humble yourself under the mighty hand of God.   I pray that you will experience a brokenness that knocks the wind from your body, a crushing that will release the power and presence of God into this situation.   I pray you will let the Truth set you free, no matter how much that hurts or embarrasses you.  

I pray that soon, you will be the free-est man I know, whole and restored, in spite of yourself.

I have you in my heart forever.   You’ll always be the one who refreshed and welcomed me when I needed it so much.   It is not forgotten and I want to offer you the same, with love…Jeanie

NOTE TO SELF:   Isn’t exposing sin and holding each other accountable to God’s grace (even if some one doesn’t want us to)  more important than letting the enemy wreak havoc?   Try to figure this out…

St Mary’s Glacier and the Debrief

Stuff I Actually Think, ,

 

A few hundred yards up a “hill” from one of the lakes that lies at the feet of St. Mary’s Glacier is a beautiful little mountain “cabin” that just happens to be 3 stories of  gorgeous and posh accomodations.   The kind and generous owners allowed us use of it for our Heaven Fest debrief.   Dave and I met Dave (DP)  and Tara, Tredessa and Luke and to work we went….in a little luxury.

 

St Mary’s isn’t technically a glacier, since it doesn’t move now, but rather a permanent snow field that gets as high as 11,000+ feet.   Here in Colorado, it isn’t about the population on state road signs like it is in Nebraska or Kansas.   It is about elevation.   I wasn’t that high, but maybe 10,500, which is like 2 miles above sea level.

 

We cracked ourselves up on a little project which the Heaven Fest “directors” (the people who made it happen!!) will hear about soon.   We delved into details, talked about critiques we have received and what we need to do better in the future.   We were also, once again, one month out, so awed and grateful to God for the things He did, for the people who brought their best to help us and make Heaven Fest happen.    After reading  58 pages of feedback and comments, what could we do, but just praise God and thank Him and worship Him?  

 

Laughing and crying and worshipping can wear you out.   Home just past 11:30 pm Monday night, I am wrung out (meanwhile Tredessa had to be at the Democratic National Convention very early this am to oversee the worship/prayer stuff in the park among the movers and shakers of the nation!), but pleased that God met us and taught us.  

Debrief results: Ultimately, we did the best we could with what we had, and God (and some of His most incredible servants) did ALL the  rest of the amazing  stuff!   We thank Him!

Heaven Fest is still a warm fuzzy for me…Jeanie

NOTE TO SELF: Take Mark Batterson’s formula  and put it to use waaaaaay more often:  change of  place + change of pace = change of perspective.

pictured: the cabin and Tara and Tredessa; laptops came out in a hurry; the HF “staff” breaking bread together; Dave at the lake, Dave and I with the “glacier” behind us; Luke waking up, Dave, our fearless leader chairing a meeting.

1723 York Street

2 Mi Familia, 6 Looking Back // Memories!, Stuff I Actually Think, , , , ,

About once a year  I dream of my childhood home – at least one of them.   We moved quite a bit, so there were many “homes.”   But there is “the one.”   It is the one I lived in from the summer of 1965 through  early September  1970.   It was my parent’s first home purchase so it was a big deal.   It is the one that was only 4 blocks from Wallace Elementary, where I attended school from Kindergarten through 4th grades.   It was just 4 blocks from Grandma’s house and a couple of blocks from my cousin Diana, who would drop by and “pick me up” on her way to school.  

I loved that house.   There is no explanation for the value I place on it except maybe: It was green grass and having a best friend just across the alley and lilacs and long summer days.   It was a rusty old swingset on which I spent hours singing my heart out to the heavens.   It was neighbors who paid us nickels and quarters for rocks and shells we took door-to-door, us thinking we were giving them a real bargain,  kind people knowingly supporting our adventure, divining we really just needed some penny candy money for the corner grocer 5 blocks away.   It was neighborhood relays with homemade ribbons and paper drives and screen doors that slammed musically to the cricket’s songs as we ran to capture lightening bugs for jewelry.   It was innocence and family, it was friends and church.   It was my mom on the piano teaching us to sing gospel for all we were worth.   It was the safe place.

Several times over the years I have been moved to send Christmas greetings to the current inhabitants of the house at 1723 York Street in Des Moines, Iowa wishing them all the joy and love and peace I experienced there.   They have never replied and for all I know there are restraining orders on file concerning me.

So, occasionally I dream about it and have googled the address from time to time.   Last week  I did so and was overwhelmed and delighted to see that “my house,” my place of nostalgic extravagance, was up for sale.   My parents bought it for $12,000 in ’65 and sold it for $17,000 in ’70.   It is listed at $110,000 now, which seems an amazing bargain for such a magical childhood palace.  

There it was.   My 1723 York Street house!   I have actually always daydreamed about owning it now.   And there it was on a real estate site – with pictures!   And even though the colors are different (the woodwork is painted now), it has not changed much at all.   It seems smaller.   It’s old (built in 1913).   The old-fashioned 3-car garage with swing-open doors is long gone, replaced by a nice new 2 car version with an overhead like everyone else.   But it is my house, my home, my street.   That is my grass and enclosed side porch (lots of Barbie time there).   My trees are gone, as is the sidewalk that once went straight from the front stairs to the public walkway.   But it is my house, my home, my street.

The other day, I went “thrifting” with the girls and made 2 totally fruitless purchases, except that they gave me something tangible to remember those years there.   I got an over-sized, burnt-orange Haeger pottery ash tray just like my grandma used to have in her house (there are slots for at least 9 cigarettes!).   So 1960s!   And, I got an old black, rotary, wall phone by Bell – one exactly like the one that hung in our kitchen at 1723 York Street when my phone number was 266-7121.   These are worthless artifacts except to look at and recall a time and place and the innocent girl who skipped and romped through it.

 

I am somewhat war-damaged now.   Time has taken it’s toll on the body.   Circumstances have wreaked havoc on the heart.   The innocence has been lost and lost again, but finds repair and healing in the heart of the Father.   I can’t help but believe that my address in heaven will be 1723 York Street, for I am that same girl yet, beneath this outer crust, but there, I will never grow old.

Forgive my indulgent reminiscing…Jeanie

NOTE TO READERS:   Two days after I “found” it, the listing (www.dsmhomes.com)  seems to have been removed, which I can only assume means it sold.   I think finding it was a gift from God to help me update my dreams…

pictured: the house at 1723 York Street in Des Moines as it currently looks and the dining room; a couple of shots of the kitchen at the York Street house; the York Street living room – it’s windows are it’s true glory; the old Bell phone and Haeger ashtray I just got while “thrifting” with the girls; the girls in Olde Town Arvada; a cute bakery sign in Olde Town.

Every Possible Bad Word

1 Christ is All, Stuff I Actually Think, , , ,

When you blog, there are “robots” out there crawling around on their slimy underbellies looking for places to deposit sick and disgusting “comments” with links to their perverted websites.   These “comments”  are  generally 3872+ words long and they are all bad words, combinations, however,  of the same  limited, vile vocabulary  used  repeatedly ad naseum  .   So actually there are only about 78 words.   They are just “creatively” re-arranged for “impact.”

Usually I just get rip-roaring ticked off, like how dare you crawl onto my site and leave this pile of donkey dung, but today, for just a moment I looked at it and had to laugh at the stupid nincompoop who sat and typed all that stuff out.   It is every dumb, degrading, distorted and naughty word a 12-year-old boy heard on a bus and tried to impress his friends by repeating.

And people choose to make their living this way?   I feel sorry for them because I heard all these words years ago and they can’t seem to come up with anything new for their own specialty lexis.   What size must your brain be (and any of the other random parts of you that you seem to wish to discuss)  if that is all that is in there?  

Shut. up.

The thrill is gone, my friends, gone.   You’re out of words, so shut up already!   No amount of stringing these objectionable obscenities together can reward you with the pleasure and joy of discovery for the pure-hearted innocent.   You wish you had what they have!

Stay off my site, you freaking idiots!   What would your mother say?   Sincerely…Jeanie

NOTE TO SELF: Use words to bring life.   “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in Your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer…”   Psalm 19.14 NIV.   Maybe I shouldn’t have called these people “freaking idiots”?