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2009

Wordless Wednesday

Graduation Matters

Saturday in early June: graduation day in Smallport.

Funny hats. Crepe paper. Lame metaphors. Overfrosted cake. It seems like a lot of hype for something everyone’s supposed to do, doesn’t it? Most people these days do get their high school diploma. Where I grew up, most kids were heading to four-year colleges. High school graduation wasn’t the achievement; it was just a step along the way.

Then there’s all the clichés. A whole new beginning—really? The most significant day of your life—really? If these graduates are going to go out and change the world, how come after all these years it hasn’t really changed much?

Yeah, I’m trained to be cynical about graduation. But I also remember: for some kids, graduating really is a major achievement. It really is the end of their education, and it may be the point after which they’re on their own—and in this world of postmodern adolescence and this town of poverty and drugs, a lot of them have already been on their own in too many ways for too long.

I graduated with over four hundred others, and families were not supposed to cheer when our names were called, because the band members’ fingers were already cramped from playing “Pomp and Circumstance” twenty times. Only those who were trying to be funny or thought the rules shouldn’t apply to them dare violate this edict. Everyone just wants to move on. We took it for granted.

In a small town and a small school, graduation is different. Here there are about fifty graduates, and the ceremony is open to all. Every graduate’s name is on the wall. Every one appears in the senior video, their cute baby photos and awkward middle school days and greatest sports achievements fading into each other over John Cougar Mellencamp and Green Day. And every one gets their moment of applause and whoops from the crowd when their name is called. We pause. We let each one have their moment. We join in, because even if we are not family, when we come together in the old, echoey gym, we are community.

When these community members—not your parents—were the only ones cheering for you at your game, at your play, at your poetry reading, their cheers for you now matter.

When you are first in your family to earn a diploma, graduation is a big deal. It matters.

When you walk with a baby in your arms, commencement is a victory. It matters.

When you have difficulty learning, a diploma is a prize. It matters.

So today, we cheered. We cheered for them all: for Chatterbox and The Playmaker; for the cheerleader and the guitar guy and the computer geek; for the valedictorian and the one who almost didn’t pass; for the one everyone in town knows and the one who wonders if anyone would miss him if he were gone.

They deserve it.

They matter.

Congratulations, class of 2009.

Pre-Summer Saturday

Saturday we took Anna to the local kids' fishing derby. We didn't fish, but Anna did:

play some games



get her face painted



try to decide what she thinks about cotton candy



and of course bring home some balloons and little plastic junk toys. Most of them have mysteriously disappeared while she's sleeping. It's the darndest thing.

It was such a nice summery day that we all went to the beach at sunset, something I don't do nearly enough. Anna now yells, "BEACH!" with a toddler accent that sounds as if she's calling me a mean, overbearing woman. (Maybe I am, but that's no way to talk your momma.)



Sunday and Monday nights were the last Frontline and last Young Life Club, but I'm not emotionally capable of describing them just yet. For now I'll just say they were packed and special.

Tonight: semi-improptu grown-up geeks with no life American Idol party here. The Dark Horse versus the Prince of Darkness showdown seemed as a good a reason as any to eat ice cream with our YL leader peeps. BYO phone.

For Sale Sign Is Up!

It's official.



And suddenly I feel like everyone's staring at me.

We had the place looking great inside when the real estate agent came on Friday. Not a book or a dish or a Mr. Potato Head part out of place. But he didn't take pictures. So I had to keep the joint spotless for a full 72 hours until our Monday morning meeting. I know. But apparently it's possible. He still didn't take pictures (too rainy/dark), but that allowed me extra time to clean up a few more things and hang curtains to cover the back of the room-dividing bookshelves upstairs--the curtains I bought a year and a half ago. Wow, this place is just like I want it. I could live here forever for another five months.

I don't expect a flood of buyers right away (okay, at all), but I'm going to try to keep good habits in case someone wants to look on short notice. I guess that means no more putting clothes "away" on the closet floor or pretending not to see the dishes that need to be hand washed. Good thing we have a little helper.


Too bad she also spreads small plastic objects around like a preschool full of Tazmanian Devils.

If you know anyone who would like to relocate or invest in a charming beachside community on the gorgeous central Oregon coast, let them know:

FOR SALE
3 bedroom, 2 bath
Open floor plan, high ceilings
Large master suite loft with office area and deck
2 car garage, storage shed
Dog and cat negotiable

Like Cops, Only More Embarrassing

Great Moments in Youth Ministry

We had about 30 teenagers here for the Super Bowl last week, as is our custom. We project the game on the wall—now in 3-D!—and even have balcony seating (in the loft). Aw yeah, this is a party house. (And it could be yours! For sale!)


Monday we had perhaps the greatest Young Life scavenger hunt ever: Mattress Madness. Four groups of about eight kids, each group carrying a mattress around town on a photo scavenger hunt. Leaders drove around trying to catch them; they would lose points if they were tagged not all jumping up and down on their mattress. Like idiots. Highlights:

• I got to ride shotgun with a night vision video camera and a ten-thousand-jiggawatt spotlight (I'm sure that's legal).
• In an attempt at a spy-vs-spy -style sneak attack, I jumped out and sprinted two blocks with a Mag light, alarming some guy who seem unsure if I was robbing him or being robbed.
• One kid got yelled at by a grumpy cop for running into the street to flag down the cop car.
• One group got eggs thrown at them; one girl got hit in the head.
• The Post Office and some banks will see one heck of an entertaining show if they look at their security camera footage.
  

In short, it was awesome. It was like Cops meets . . . a bunch of idiots jumping up and down on mattresses.

Alas, all photos are currently undergoing forensic examination to see which groups cheated (most). But I'll long treasure the memory in my mind. And in my calf muscles. I really don't do sprinting. Ah, the things the love of young people adrenaline and sugar can compel an old person like me to do.

Overheard in Youth Work:

Impulsive Cop-Chasing Student: "I said we need our picture with your car and he said, 'You're about to be in my car!'"

Our Irish Rumbler

Here she is in the full court debut of her favorite cheer . . . our little Irish rumbler!




She can actually shake her hips a lot more than that...although I'm not sure I want her to. She was a bit baffled to be standing down there, I think.

Sorry the quality is so bad--perhaps we'll try again soon.

Stay Classy, SmallPort

A view of my front porch:



Every time I open my door (and run into my dead tree), I am compelled to sing a snippet of Elvis: "In the ghettoooo . . . "

And I don't even like Elvis that much.

But I guess I know what to name the tree.

Stay classy, SmallPort.

Home Stink Home

On the twelfth day of Christmas/Epiphany/Ethiopian Christmas (Genna)/Anna's birthday, we gave her . . . a long journey home. It began with snow and traffic and proceeded through carseat installation problems, missing cash, inability to procure coffee, and blustery bridge crossings. Anna slept in the car (as did Aaron, aka Vicodin Man) but was happy to run around for a while as we unpacked some things before a reasonable bedtime which got her back on our time zone pretty well. She didn't even seem to notice the terrible bitter stench of our twelve-foot memorial to the death of Christmas, or whatever you want to call that stinking dry botanical taking up half our living room. I owe our dog-watcher an apology. And maybe another hundred bucks or two or three.

I was really just glad we got home without any sickness from either end of the girl. That was more than Aaron was able to do on Saturday--she had been sick earlier in the morning and then when he was bringing her home she threw up all over herself and the carseat in the car a couple miles from my parents' house. Upon his frantic arrival as my mom and I were babysitting my nephew, what would have been hilarity if it hadn't been so nasty ensued. It was equally unfunny when I fell for her apparently improved health act and had milk barfed over my shoulder across our bedroom floor. Such a lovely smell for an enclosed space.

Anna was restricted to the BRAT diet for most of the next few days. This was a handy way to suddenly stop giving her milk before naps and bed, just in time for her two-year checkup. Now I don't even have to lie to the doctor (about that...).

Our trip was quieter in some ways, since we were not able to see as many relatives. My grandparents and aunt stayed in Florida this year, and my other aunt and grandmother were not able to come across the state because my grandma actually went into the hospital the day we arrived. She is doing better now and has moved into a rehab place. Traditions changed on Aaron's side too, without the big Christmas day gathering at his grandparents' house, although most of the family made it to his parents' the day we did our Christmas there. I was actually too lazy to make a lot of plans with friends, but a highlight was a breakfast gathering that turned into a downright raucous reunion.

Nonetheless the trip still seemed full and fast, mostly because six adults, a sleep-resistant two-year-old, and a fitful-sleeper nine-month-old in a three-bedroom, one-bathroom house is a lot of fun but not exactly what you'd call a zen-like spa atmosphere. More like a rousing game of baby hot potato, aka "One Up, One Down--Who's Eating and Sleeping Now?" My nephew kind of likes to torture his parents by restarting bedtime a few times per evening. My daughter likes to torture my nephew's parents by making them think she's being tortured as she screams her head off for a handful a dozen an hour of minutes before falling asleep. Whether or not you consider this sleep method cruel, for the record, it is unusual--she fell asleep in all of about thirty seconds tonight.

In comparison, our day today was lazy: three loads of laundry, get groceries, remove scary things from fridge, do dishes, go through mail, take horribly smelly dead Christmas tree down, vacuum, move giant-ass TV and furniture, put away toys, vacuum more, move giant-ass TV and furniture again, wonder why we have giant-ass TV, put away more toys, wonder why we have so many toys, make salsa, watch football. Okay, that football part was pretty nice, though it brought no clarity to the Lions #1 draft pick dilemma.

Can I interest anyone in a smelly, dead, twelve-foot fir tree?

Merrymaking Mouseketeers

'Tis the season for rampant festivities! And ours ramped up this weekend.

Saturday I helped make an army of Christmas Eve Mice for the youth Christmas party. I am usually not very crafty but I will make an exception if it's edible. These are fun to make, especially if you have a few friends on the mouse assembly line with you. And they're almost too adorable to eat--though I managed. Even their spare parts are delicious.



But watch out. Sometimes they get hungry and start to organize.



Or even cannibalize.



Sometimes you have to make an example out of one to keep them in line.




Sunday was a big day since Aaron preached at church and we had the Frontline party at night (with the watching of some sport in between, though it did not really resemble pro football). The last couple years we've had a progressive dinner for the kids at a few church families' houses, but there are getting to be just too darn many of them. So we rented out a great little coffeeshop/restaurant and had a really nice dinner there. The helpers from church decked it out gorgeous, the food was great, and it was a nice intimate (okay, pushing crowded) setting for a little Charlie Brown Christmas and singing. I think the kids enjoyed it; some of them never go out for a dinner that nice. Heck, rarely do I--it was pretty darn nice!

Monday we did some more cookie decorating with friends. Don't worry, I'll eat them all before we leave town. By myself if I can have to.

This is the first year we'll actually be here for Christmas Eve and Christmas--usually we travel, but this year we leave on the 26th. I'm so excited that we'll be here for the candlelight service. I always love that and our church all decked out and in candlelight will rival any for beauty worthy of the occasion.

And I'm excited for what sounds like it'll be a very, very white Christmas in Michigan. Lots to do before our trip, though, and work calling too. Fa la la la la . . .

Cheery Hair and the Secret Weapon of Sports Parenting

Early last week I did Anna's hair up in more box braids than usual with green and white star snaps for one of her favorite things: high school basketball game! (She just calls it ball but makes a dribbling motion--to distinguish it from touchdown signal ball, of course.) I thought it turned out really cute because it was so crazy fun. Stayed well for days, too, which is always nice!



In the previous post she was doing her cheerleading moves (not just being sassy). Her favorite is the "Irish Rumble." Hands on your hips now, everybody, and lean back and forth as you say:

Everybody do that Irish Rumble
Everybody do that Irish Rumble
Iriiiiiiiish! (roll hands above head)
Rumblllllllle! (bend over and roll hands down low)

Or as Anna says, Ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-aahh. Ah-ah ah-ah ah-ah-aahh. Aaaaaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Okay, I'll have to post video. Trust me, she's got it down well enough to make her whole section of the bleachers crack up laughing. She wants you to do it with her at random times, like anytime you put your hands on your hips or while you're changing a diaper. Whenever the school spirit moves.

At this game she was given actual cheerleader pom poms by a real live cheerleader to play with throughout the game. This was good because at the previous game, someone gave her one but then we had to give it back, and the meltdown was epic. And every time she saw one, she wanted it. Theirs are so sparkly! And may I just say? Best. Toy. Ever. for a basketball game. She was an angel because she takes her job of cheering very, very seriously, as you can see.


The funniest thing was that she was not just cheering along but copying virtually everything the cheerleaders did. You know how they stand when they're not cheering, facing the game with their hands and pom poms behind their backs? Anna stood like that almost anytime they did! A two year old standing quietly with her hands behind her back for long stretches of a public event? God bless the cheerleaders, every one!

Oh the Weather Outside Is . . . Sunny?

Today is the second consecutive day that school was called off on account of . . . frost? It's sunny and snowless here! But it is COLD and probably was a bit icy in the morning even so close to the coast. The real problem is that if you simply drive a few miles east into the hills or sometimes even just uphill, it can be a lot icier, so I know it was bad other places. It's all about the elevation, baby. But it is a bit strange and amusing to us former midwesterners that what appears to be almost nothing is treated as a small disaster.

Then again, I've lost my snow-preparedness touch: tried to drive to the store this morning and did not have an ice scraper. Note to self: put "buy ice scraper" on the Michigan to-do list. A small plastic beach sand shovel does not really work.

The view from my office deck. Because yes, my office has a deck.
But clearly no snow.

The bummer is that our fun Christmas Young Life Club was cancelled, but the no-snow snowday still made me feel Christmasy, and since last week I have accomplished a lot on the holiday to-do list. One trip out for a few things tomorrow and I should have everything, but there's still all the packing and travel to-dos, of course. This year we are not leaving for Michigan until the 26th, so at least we get to celebrate Christmas together at home and on Christmas rather than saying, "So when do you want to do presents?" and cramming it in at some odd time days before.

A few days ago some friends brought us a couple presents: a pelican pull toy that says "Squaawk!" and "Wheee!" and the train they used to put around their tree when their grandkids were little. The pelican is cute and fun but the train is the more special gift. Neither of us ever had a train before but I think it'll be a nice tradition. It even has a light and whistle.

Look at that face! Do you think she likes it?

Do you think he does?

Small Town Values

My girl America, stop can't you see
It's not the circumstances that determine who you're gonna be
But how you deal with these problems and pains that come your way

It's for you that I pray with hope for a brighter day
And so I say, your deliverance is coming

Don't stop believing, my girl America

Mat Kearney, "Girl America"

Get out and vote!

This Week in Here

I'm feeling much better, thanks y'all. (Can I say y'all? I should move somewhere that will make me qualified to do so, because I'd like to.) I even made it out canvassing for several hours Saturday--another gorgeous day!--and ended up no worse for wear. Sunday Aaron preached a doozy of a sermon, if I do say so on his behalf, and we had Frontline with, again, at least 30 kids.

We had an announcement at church reminding everyone that they can bring food for the local food bank anytime, not just communion Sundays when we usually encourage it. Aaron also mentioned in his sermon, when talking giving each person dignity, about how we have kids who not only load up on snacks but also quietly ask leaders if they can take food home because they don't have food there. I don't mean they don't have Oreos--I mean they don't have peanut butter. Tuna. Canned beans. Anything to stave off the embarrassing indignity of your stomach growling for all to hear.

Sure enough, after Frontline one of the girls was weak and dizzy and actually fell down. She hadn't eaten. We made her have a couple crackers and juice and bagged up some canned food. Sigh.

(Of course she was flirting with a boy on the way out and swung the bag at him, I think, and it broke wide open--talk about indignity! Don't you miss being fifteen?)

Another busy week here. It's homecoming week, which is all kinds of crazy around here. Tonight is the girls' Powder Puff football game and our now annual Young Life tailgate party/crowd riling event. Aaron and Waltino will be doing their famed (and/or dreaded) John Madden impersonations from the booth, because after all, "Powder Puff is one of those 'once-in-a-lifetime' things that happens every year." Tomorrow is something involving boys called Meatball Volleyball; I'm not sure exactly how "saucy" they'll be but I already feel a little bit icky. But we'll go laugh at them too. Support your local fake sports!

Also, SmallPort residents, be sure to write in Waltino for mayor. Our goal is to get him enough votes that his name gets in the paper. Because what's more awesome than a guy that's not really running getting like 5 percent of the vote? And that really wouldn't take too many . . .

Friday Night Lights

We didn't stay through the whole game so I can't report the final score, but I can tell you that we were leading in turnovers turned over.

And that the senior class is raffling off two cords of wood.

And that I had a somewhat hard time not giggling at the patriotic leprechaun.

The Best Time for Summer Is Fall

I think this is my favorite time of year: end of summer, beginning of fall. The days are still warm but the evenings and mornings are beginning to bring the crisp smell of autumn. The morning sun is relaxing but the bustle of school days and fall sports is invigorating.

We have had warm, sunny weather over the last week, and since it's after Labor Day, we locals are reclaiming our beaches. Around here we consider the beach crowded if we see more than two people within a half mile of us when we go. I've taken Anna a few times a let her cover herself head to toe in sand, which she loves. She also loves wading into the water, even though it's 55 degrees. Why are children impervious to cold when near water? And what's so tasty about sand?



This morning I worked at a nice new coffeeshop/cafe down by the docks. Lots of people were crabbing off the docks and heading out fishing. That's fall. That's SmallPort. I love it all. (Except the guy who brought in fish smell with him. You, sir, are on notice.)

Tonight is the first home high school football game, one of our favorite things about small town life. The weather's great, we should see a lot of people we haven't seen much in a while, and hopefully Anna will have a great time. We just hope the Fightin' Irish do not require a name change to the Frightened Irish or perhaps Blighted Irish. They were a bit, uh, blocking avoidant and scoring challenged last year.

More shots from our beachside photo shoot!

Steeped in Summer

I'm hoping to get a little extra work done this morning since I have a teenager here hanging out with Anna. The great thing about teenagers is that they will work for food.

Summer weather has returned after strange thunderstorms last week and too much fog on the beach all summer. When it's too hot in the Valley the moisture is pushed to the coast. But in winter when it's colder there it will pull it through so they get the fog and we get sun. Or as we say, it's beautiful here because the Valley sucks. Ha!

Last week I did walk the bridge on a beautiful morning and yesterday the beach was fantastic. Anna and I waded in the water and ran from the waves. She loves to be chased and to run even if she's not. She'll run around the house from wall to couch to wall: Run run run run run SAFE! we say, and she laughs and runs to slam into her next safe base. I see a future in baseball as a pinch runner.

Oh, but what I said about infrequent bathing? Does not apply on beach days—she had sand everywhere.

Small price to pay for life by the bay!

Freedom Fog

Home alone (with Anna) again. Aaron left for Young Life camp early this morning. Since I'm not swamped with work this time, I'm not quite sure what to do with myself so far. Maybe it's just that I'm tired and this blah marine layer of clouds, but I can't quite get myself going on any of the many small tasks and decluttering projects I'd like to tackle. Need to find the zone.

We have had a busy couple of days. Aaron had a lot to get done before camp and it seemed like kids were being extra flakey about not committing, then telling someone else they wanted to go, then not doing anything at all to make that happen. You might think we could just ask their parents to make a decision and stick with it but around here a lot of parents are just as flakey and some of them don't have working phones (and I do mean at home or anywhere, not just not having cell phones) so getting ahold of them and getting signed health forms to them and back was a headache (not that said forms include any information anyway since there is often no health insurance).

SmallPort always has fireworks on the 3rd, and nearby Hippieville has them on the 4th, so you can get a double dose if you want. On Thursday, the 3rd, we parked our friend's truck down by the bay and planned to car pool from our house to that base point. It was a really nice day until about 5:30 when a horror-movie-esque fog swallowed the town. (I really like using my horror movie voice: "It's . . . THE FOG . . . Nooooooo!") Here is the scene at 9:00 p.m.:


And here is where they shoot off the fireworks. See it? It's right there, in THE FOG.


A little less summery than last year.

When the fireworks started you could only see the bottom half of them. They were half-circles instead of full circles. But five minutes into the show, a little breeze kicked up, just enough to blow away THE FOG enough for a nice show. Chilly though!

Anna quickly learned to say "Oooooooooh" with us, although she probably didn't know why (are there owls?). She liked watching the fireworks and dogs ("Whoof!") and kids ("Babyyyy!") and was not freaked out at all by the fireworks. Not even the cannon sounds of the can't-be-legal ones somebody set off by us on the beach. Of course the real fireworks aren't very loud since they're set off basically over the ocean and we were across the bay.

We opted out of the Hippieville parade and fireworks display on the 4th, but in the afternoon I did go with a friend and Anna down to Hippieville to see one of our students/friends sing. Now that town is a display. A public display of affection . . . for tie-dye. And long skirts. And beads. And hemp, in all its many forms. We saw:

(1) A cool chick grooving on the guitar. Yay Jul!


(2) Pirate hippies and (3) Marge Simpson?


(4) Colonial pirates? and of course (5) fairies! (Duh, where do you think the La De Da Parade came from?)


Ah, Hippieville, USA--home of the fashion free and brave!

Yaaaaay, freedom!