L.B.!

Hi, Friends!

We're not officially "moving", but...we're redirecting most of our little efforts to L.B.'s blog.
You can follow us here! 

Much love,
L.B. and E.

Waiting

L.B. and I returned home almost two weeks ago. Sometimes we are not the best at finishing our documentation projects, but we promise you that the remainder of our vacation was delightful.

            We are now embarking on the second adventure of this summer: 

The One With E.'s Mother-Dentist Extracting Her (E's) Wisdom Teeth 

           

            L.B. has it easy this time. He doesn’t even have to open his mouth. (Which he can’t, by the way.) Though he has graciously (ha) agreed to join me for the After Party. Of course. We’re planning to forage for smoothies and watch movies.

           

            But the After Party must wait until after The Present Procedure. Minor oral surgery is not horrible compared to some procedures, but everyone has their own cross to bear, and for the next twenty-four hours, this one is mine.

I feel so afraid tonight.

The night before is always agonizing.

Granted, I’m not paralyzed by fear. Today I cooked up two batches of pureed vegetable soups for my recovery time. I reorganized the living room. I accidentally broke a lamp. I taught my violin student this morning. I even recited several positive affirmations about having my wisdom teeth removed. (I am my mother’s daughter.)

But I still feel afraid, even though everyone tells me not to feel afraid. I think it is that kind of fear that you cannot reason or positive-think away. Perhaps because it is a very real and natural response to the knowledge that you are about to undergo something that will inevitably cause you some pain. I can’t avoid it. General anesthesia is not an option for me, so I will have to consciously experience the procedure, though thankfully with the use of a local anesthetic.  

I have never had my wisdom teeth removed before, and the unknown is terrifying at times.  Especially when the unknown is dappled with little bits of known. Little memories of past experiences involving pain.

…Perhaps this anxiety is similar to how one feels before giving birth for the first time? …I wouldn’t know.

This will be a new experience!

…

Little Bear is little, and I am little, too.

Little Bear wears trousers, and I wear trousers, too.

Little Bear is filled with fluff, but I am filled with flesh and bone and blood.

We do not feel like equals tonight.

But Jesus was of flesh and bone and blood, 

(Or He…still is?)

And His flesh was pierced and He bled.

…And in a very small way, my flesh will be pierced and I will bleed, too.

Maybe this is what it means to share in Christ’s agony and suffering.

Oh, I know, it’s not the exact same thing. Hopefully I won’t feel the cutting…But I must still wait for the operation tomorrow, and I still feel some dread and fear.  A bit of fear. And a bit of hope. Perhaps enough to make me courageous. 

Oh well.

I’m excited for the After Party.

And Little Bear and my sister will be waiting for me.

But until then, tonight brings waves of A Bit of Agony.

Until tomorrow.

Days 2-4*, or Of Strawberries and Lake Water* or Simple Pleasures* etc.

*L.B. and I are on better Title-ing Terms...He agreed to stop being so persnickety if I agreed to work on my Title Composing Skills. Deal. 


L.B. and I have been having a marvelous time on our holiday here in Minnesota. I wish you all could share in the lovely delights I have experienced during my stay. Lovely quiet delights. I couldn't have imagined a better way to spend a vacation.

My friend took me Strawberry Picking in her backyard garden, and we picked enough berries to make a Strawberry Rhubarb Crumble for dessert that evening.

L.B. came along, too. 

Strawberry Trousers!

We spent our afternoons swimming in Lake Minnetonka...

And in the evenings, we ate cobbler and sat on the porch overlooking the beautiful stretch of backyard. (How nice! They have a true "stretch" of yard. I think our California house has a small plot of yard, though it is better than no yard.)

...
Splendid, no?

Day 1! or Arrived! or Lakes and Ponds! or Gas Is So Cheap Here!*

*All unsatisfactory titles, at least according to L.B. (Who is now named The Peanut Gallery, at least in my book. At least at least at least. Why don't you come up with them yourself, eh?)
**UPDATE: L.B. finally gave me a suggestion:


LAKfjalsdkabsofsteelaLSKFJALks


((And then he fell asleep before he could tell me the translation. Curse you, Bear! Who washes your trousers? ME! That's who!)) 
...
Titles aside, we are here and we are happy.

L.B. and I braved four hours in the metal tube and enjoyed looking out the window at the world below. (The clouds are so beautiful!)

We have already seen many lakes and ponds, (the boggy greenish kind that you rarely see in Southern California), and this morning I saw my very first Oriole bird.

The trees are all new to me. I feel like I am learning a new language... Birch Trees and Willow Trees and Cottonwoods...Where are my Sycamores, Bottle Brush, and Eucalyptus?
                  We are in a new land, L.B.

Yesterday we went exploring and saw the Mississippi River. L.B. was amused by the Minnesotans tanning on the grassy lawns, but I thought they were very clever to choose a grassy lawn over a sandy beach. Too much sand. (L.B. agreed.)

Everything we have seen thus far has been down-to-earth and delightful.

Tomorrow promises a visit to another lake. I am excited.

"The L.B. Chronicles"

Otherwise known as "An Unsatisfactory Title", according to Little Bear. Picky picky.

We are up late (me: sleepy!) ((L.B.: "laksjdflkafjdldsAS!" translated: Your Fault For Not Starting Earlier.)) packing for our trip to the Midwest (exciting!), but I promised L.B. to chronicle our adventures on H.H.&C., so here is the first installment.

For some reason, both L.B. and I have been having a difficult time thinking and communicating in complete coherent sentences. Maybe we are just sleepy and excited and slightly anxious about being squished into a giant metal tube with 150ish other human beings. Don't think about it too much, L.B. At least you can fit in my pocket.

Our current dialogue (or lack thereof) runs something like this:

L.B.: LAKsdfjklajsdklajrkdfa. (translated: TROUSERS.)

Me: Clean out bag. Granola bar?

L.B.: lka3tljeLRGOI#$TAERFDJLK. (translated: WASH. TROUSERS.)

Me: Heavy Eyelids. Passport?

L.B.: laierlkjlkjalSDKFAbasofsteellaksdfjlk (translated: HAVE NO EYELIDS.)

Me: Pity.

...

Mostly L.B. is upset because I haven't had time to wash and mend his trousers. Sorry, Friend. Does he ever sleep? How do animals without eyelids sleep?

Off to finish packing. The Pa-Shuttle arrives at 4 tomorrow morning. Isn't Pa the best?


-E.

Reflections on Home

I tend to associate “home” with safety, stability and peace. The earthly home, which includes house and family, should be a sanctuary from fears and anxieties. It should be a comfortable place. It must be a comfortable place.

                  Or so I hoped.

Recent circumstances have made me painfully aware that our experiences on earth, even in the earthly home, cannot be perfectly fulfilling since home on earth is not an end in itself.

                  Still, I held on to the hope that returning to the agrarian country life of yesteryear would somehow deliver the peace and stability that I wanted.

                  Did I never understand Little House on the Prairie? It apparently did not register to my eight-year-old mind that Pa, Father, and later Almanzo were all at the mercy of the elements. Laura’s account in The First Four Years depicts the raw and harsh struggle of the farming life. Man against nature, quite literally. Laura had more to worry about than whether or not she would live in a specific house.

                  Farming can sound idyllic, but it is a difficult life.

(Yes, I do feel somewhat embarrassed for not realizing this until now.)

                  This realization made me feel better about my own life in suburbia. I am well aware that business owners, researchers and dentists live difficult lives. But for some reason I considered those pursuits as somewhat lesser than that of the country homesteader. I may never want to be a business owner, granted, but I think I was wrong in assuming that my parents, who work in research and dentistry, love their work any less than the farmer.

                  Reading Andy Catlett by Wendell Berry helped me see the parallels between the farmer and the business owner. Both are self-employed. Both must take risks. Both can incur debt. Both often sacrifice their lives to keep doing what they love.

                  One of my favorite passages is where Andy reflects on his grandfather’s occupation and describes the struggles of the self-employed farmer:

I love him now more than I did then, for now, sixty-some years later, I understand that his life had been lived in devotion to our place here and its creatures, as my own life, in its way, also has been lived. And I know now how to value his passion for good crops, good animals, and good work, and how to appreciate his grief when he failed to live up to his passion. For he had known failure, as he would acknowledge bluntly, as he acknowledged everything else. He had too rarely been free of the stress of debt, and therefore of haste and overwork. He had been compelled by the urgencies of debt to put his land too much at risk, and he and it had paid the inevitable costs. His life, his very flesh, had been shaped by weather, work, and the struggle to keep what he had and what he loved (Andy Catlett, 21).                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

I think I love this passage because it mirrors, to a very small degree, my family’s experiences. We have something in common with farmers! All people, regardless of their occupation, face struggles and risks in life, and somehow this makes me feel better about not knowing where to find home on earth. Maybe instability is characteristic of the earthly home. Instability does not necessitate joylessness. 

I feel somewhat relieved, 

and I love my parents now more than I did. 

I hope I love my parents more and more. They are amazing people. 

Snowy Owl News

Very interesting events taking place in the Owl World. You can read about them here. 

"Snowy" is a delightful word. Not quite the same as "snow". Less severe, I think. But just look up an image of a snowy owl and you will see that they look much more severe than their name sounds.

...

I have never seen an owl.

But sometimes I write about gimbles of Buddybird Owls sailing in their leaflet canoes.

Have you ever seen a Buddybird Owl?

I know one!

But just one.

One does not constitute a gimble.