Roaring Mouse Thoughts

This morning at work, a guest said that she had overheard that I was taking a trip. So I answered, "Yep. I'm going to Zimbabwe on Tuesday." We both were shocked and laughed. I think I was just as surprised as she was. It's just not something you ever expect to hear yourself say. I'm going to Zimbabwe on Tuesday. Speaking of hearing yourself say things, the other day I left a message for my boss on the answering machine and had the misfortune of discovering it later when I came in. I honestly didn't know who it was at first. No wonder Pal would laugh at me whenever I would attempt to fight with her. I guess I'm not the lion I thought I was. And speaking of lions, I should start packing for my trip. And speaking of Pal, I should do it soon, because I think she's coming into town this weekend.

Deep Thoughts V: Permanight

Always darkest before the dawn, unless of course it's just a total eclipse. Ah crap.

Deep Thoughts IV

Au naturel

I went on a milk run this evening and decided to take the trail route. I usually like to edit my photos, but I thought God did a rather nice job on this one and didn't need my help.

Deep Thoughts IV: Don't Rock the Boat

I don't like making waves. It makes me seasick.

Deep Thoughts III

Just for You

It's a strange feeling when your day to day life is uneventful, but you know that the overall picture is nothing short of mad action thrills. What I'm trying to say is, the individual events that take place in my life haven't seemed particularly blogworthy (with the exception of Fall Retreat, in which case my lack of posting is due to sheer laziness and mental chaos), but the story that God is writing...the things He is doing inside and around me are too big to contain in a single post (or blog for that matter).

Anyway, for Tot's sake, I will try my best to update a bit. I am working on my testimony for when I go to Africa (in less than one month!!!), so hopefully you will get at least a summarized version of my (recent) life soon. Right now I am feeling both blessed and stressed. (Yes. I'm a poet and I know it...did you?). Blessed by the work God is doing in my heart and in my relationships. Blessed to be the Luckiest Girl in the World. Blessed to witness miraculous provisions. Blessed to be used by God when I am anything but useful. And stressed because I am leaving for Zimbabwe in exactly 4 weeks and I feel so unprepared. The beautiful thing about life's stresses and our God is that the two of them combined equal just another opportunity to be blown away by more blessing. I am excited. Pray for me! You will probably all be hearing from me soon through letters requesting prayer support. If I don't have your address, you can e-mail it to me. If you don't want to hear from me, you can e-mail me not to. Anyway...off to work now. This is an unusual post for me. No pictures. No witticisms. Ah well.

The Little 3-0

#1 Sister makes a wish while #2 Sister braces herslef for the extinguishing gale.

This weekend, Friday to be exact, my little-big sister turned into a big-little 30 year old. Most of her celebrations revolved around preparations for her upcoming year of missions in Russia. It wasn't all business though...




Even shopping for luggage had its goofy moments. If only she could raise funds as mannequin...

My Favorite Niece

To the dog with the softest ears...



You were one of the family and we will miss you.

Four-Eyed Spud

I'm so happy that we are finally fully staffed at work. It frees me up to do some of the really important things like baking cookies and cleaning out the cupboards. Perhaps you think that I am being sarcastic. Perhaps this photo will convince you otherwise.

Have you ever seen a more flowery tuber? Eyes nothing! Try arms and legs!

P.S. Is anyone regretting waking me from blogslumber? Just thank Your Maker I didn't post a photo of what I think was a (black) donut molded beyond recognition.

Deep Thoughts III

Sometimes the Potter's pinching and pulling hurts and I think, "God, I was so much happier when I was just a lonesome lump of clay".



But then, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a fellow work in progress, or in the Potter's eyes, and in horror I cry, "Pinch away, God. Pinch away".

Deep Thoughts
Deep Thoughts II

Blah Blah Blog

Tis true the boy cannot be blamed for my blogging absence. I don't see him much, and when I do, it looks a little something like this...












Blogging to you live from my date night with Rocket-Man

Class for Sale

On Saturday, my sister, with the help of many generous donors, had a garage sale to raise funds for her upcoming yearlong missions adventure in Russia. She told cuchillo it was The Garage Sale with Class, which is probably why we found it so hard to say goodbye to all those treasures, old and new.

(Baby cousin not for sale)

Opposite Day

Welcome to the view inside my stomach (minus the can, garbage, Boy, utensils, tables and dishes). Why am I showing you this? Because today is Opposite Day. Opposite Day is a tradition that Boy and I revived from grade school. You know...the one where you got to tell the boy you had a crush on that you thought he was super ugly and you hated him. Well, I have no intentions of telling anyone that today, because modern day opposizing exists only in the realm of food. This is the day where Boy and I get to pretend that candy is fruit, potato chips are vegetables and video games and or shopping sprees to Old Navy are the most strenuous forms of exercise one can perform. Even I have to admit, my performance today was a little weak sauce...but the night is young yet. There is still work to be done and cookie jars to raid.

The wonderful thing about Opposite Day is that it makes you incredibly eager for tomorrows filled with carrots and water. Unfortunately, my menus of late have consisted mostly of sugar and grease, so I am doubting the usual effects of the holiday. As a matter of fact, today's food consumption is not really in opposition to anything. It's just another ordinary day.

(Incidentally...that is Boy in the middle picture, showcasing our main course of chicken teryaki...with candyslaw. We get lots of funny looks when he wears that shirt. If you want to get funny looks too, you can buy your own here).

Throw Some Mistakes on the Barbie

Hmm...It appears as though this was not the first time I had been denied a fire at Fort Fizzle and had to barbecue marshmallows. Nor was it the first time that I had posted about s'mores. Three posts and counting? I guess you could call it an obsession.






Boy was not convinced that my idea was such a good one...









...especially when my chocolate accident came face to face with his brand new shoes.







Here you see my brilliant plan to solidify the liquid chocolate. Don't judge it's success by the above picture of Boy. It is not my fault that he is a pansy eater and didn't get around to eating it in time.










Incidentally...that title is a special nod to Twin. Do you remember how I ordered that free kit I saw advertised in the newspaper that said it would turn you into an Australian...and all it was was a pamphlet that said..."Throw some shrimp on the barbie!" and we laughed super hard? And do you remember how every time James tried to do an Australian accent it turned out "country"? And do you remember Country from Butte?

Forest Fires

Montana: the last best place on earth...'til somebody lights a match.

Hot and sticky
Gray and gritty
Eau de campfire
Snowing ashes
I should wear a mask
to walk to work

Smokey the Bear, where are you?

Filthy Rags

I've got something so much on my mind, that I can't seem to do anything. So I guess I'll share it with you. Maybe someone else needs to hear it. Maybe just me. Last night as I was falling to sleep, a mental movie appeared in my head of a girl, maybe me, but black and white, sitting alone in a dark place, scrubbing and scrubbing the dirt off her arm--the once white cloth turning blacker and blacker. Then a voice said "Your righteousness is as filthy rags". I sat up in bed.

I've never given much thought to this verse in Isaiah. I just always took it to mean that even our very best is worthless compared to God's perfection. I still think that's true, but somehow this gives it new meaning, which may have been obvious before to everyone but me. I suddenly realized that rags don't get filthy on their own. They start out clean, but they get filthy by cleaning something that's filthy. In my head, this girl looked pretty clean--pretty sparkly white actually--but the rag she was using was filthy and kept getting filthier. And she could never stop scrubbing because she could never get clean. In a second, I bet she could hide that rag and make everyone think she was pretty white, but she knew and the voice knew where it was hidden. What I find hard to understand is why at some point, she decided that the clean garment she'd been given as a gift would make better rags and why scrubbing her arm alone in the dark seemed better than saying "Thank You" to the One who clothed her. I guess maybe it's because undeserved gifts are the hardest ones to accept, and those matching white garments always seem to look so much better on everyone else in the family.

Thank you friends and family for challenging me not to live in hiding. Thank you for being patient with me while God works on me. I love all of you.

Therapy

I've been slackin' off pretty hard in the blogging department. Here are some potential excuses. I was still full from my lunch triathlon, stressed out by work (it can happen), de-energized by the dollar-a-day plan, or too busy with the following activities:

On Thursday, I slept the entire day. Well, from 9 am to 3:45pm when I got up and found an e-mail from my friend, Bee, asking if we were still going hiking. We sort of have a hiking routine worked out, but we stick to it maybe one week out of the month. I can think of a total of 2 hikes we have taken. So naturally, waking up in the 90 degree weather and being a little unexplainably melancholy, I was not too eager in my response. She suggested we stretch our legs at the mall's sidewalk sale instead. I agreed and suggested DQ as well. Luckily you can still get a cone for a dollar there. I wasn't feeling too dilly-bar-y after my last experience. Anyway, I know this is how half the world thinks that girls are, and I hate to confirm their manly suspicions, but shopping with Bee was the perfect cheer-up session. We talked about what we will wear when we are old old and what these con-found-ed youngsters are wearing (or not wearing) these days. We enforced a shirts-only shopping rule because of our respective fat days. Bee said, whilst we ate our DQ, that you should wear striped pants on fat days, and I said, in between cone licks, not if your striped pants are too tight.

In the end, we decided on matching shoes. This is where the entire man universe and a few ladies who balk at being stereotyped produce a collective eyeroll. Matching sparkling shoes. Bee said "Shoes are the perfect pick-me-up". Retail therapy. I know. I never thought I'd say it either. Seriously though, doesn't it kind of make you happy to look at them? And when's the last time you were too fat for your shoes? On the way out, we met some band members on the Warped Tour. I felt bad for rushing by them, but we were in a hurry. At least I could've had them sign our shoes.

Here are some other highly recommended forms of therapy:

Visit Rocket and his very own handsomest man on the planet at the meat market.

Bake mass quantities of cookies for a Zimbabwe-fundraising bakesale with your friend who is kind enough to assist and volunteer their kitchen.

Watch Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the oldie) in a schoolyard at night and witness a falling star (which is apparently just space garbage, but don't let that keep you from making a wish).

Witness Cuchillo and his impersonation of One-Eyed Whisman (aka Rocky the Rockhound). Then draw a picture of it later at work. Then wonder what the heck is up with his arm and ask yourself if you should not take some courses in human anatomy.

Thanks to my friends and their therapy.

Belated Birthday Lunch Triathlon

Fella bought me a belated birthday lunch yesterday. Actually, he bought me several belated lunches yesterday. This was number two and three. For some reason (I don't remember what it was, but then I guess we were never the kind to need one), we decided it would be a good idea to have a lunch triathlon. First stop: Trenary's, the Irish restaurant famous for The Matador, but famous to us for The Halibut Sandwich. Second stop: Hoagieville. Third stop: Dairy Queen. We pooped out on the 3rd leg of the race, but only because we discovered that Hoagieville had giant (Oreo) shakes which negated the need (yes, need) for DQ. So it isn't really pooping out, per se. It's more like getting off your bike and deciding not to finish the race. So, instead of running the course, you run back to your car which happens to be parked 3.1 miles away, or 26.2 miles, if you're an ironman. Am I right, Fella? It's been a while. We were comparing it to the Nap's challenge which is still on the agenda ('though Fella has already conquered), and Fella says we're probably only 60% there. This is bad news considering how excited I was at the idea of having a missions fundraising hot dog/Oreo eating competition between #1 Sister, LaFalda and I. Fella and I deliberated over whether gambling and gluttony would be an offensive way to raise funds for missions, but decided it was all for a good cause. Possibly a moot point now.

Fella in a "real" triathlon

Thanks for the lunches, Fella. It just occurred to me that you probably hate that name. It sounds like a horse's name. That's funny. Love you, kid. Always will.

All You Can Eat

Yesterday I met with Twin and Rocket for dinner at everyone's favorite greasy spoon. Gene wasn't there, but we think maybe Christy was. Sadly, she left before we could all decide on what to order. I think we went through quite a few waitresses that way, actually. And yes. It was all my fault.

Rocket's decision was made easy by the All-You-Can-Eat-Shrimp challenge. I believe his exact words were, "Oh yeah. I could eat like a million of these". Sorry, Rocket, but I only counted like 50 and half of those were tails. Still, it's good to know they will refill your shrimp if you need it--and apparently your Coke as well. Although they (or certain unnamed parties) may not let you write a check for $1.

Twin, you know I can't resist a challenge. Rocket, you may hate me now, but you'll change your tune when the ladies come-a-knockin'. Well, I'm out. Gonna go say hello to Rocket downtown before I enter arch nemesis territory. Then I get to eat all I can eat with Fella. Hooray!

Yesterday

Yesterday was a good day. Boy let me listen to MO-DO as we drove to Wal-Mart to turn in our film. I believe the phrase "I hope you're happy" was breathed more than a few times. And I was. Sehr, sehr happy. Is there anyone on earth who wouldn't be at the apparent sound of Arnold doing techno? We later walked down by the river and read. Boy finished one of his many Nero Wolfe books and I read some S.J. Perelman stories. We also discussed various get-rich-quick schemes. I don't want to be rich; I just want to get rich quickly so I can give it away to go to Africa. We're thinking we should do something with all these photos we take. And of course, stop spending money. This is where the $1-a-day diet comes in, but more on that later. Or not. That would be a pretty boring blog. I actually stumbled across a blog last night that was nothing but the writer's food consumption and exercise regimen. It depressed me for so many reasons. Twin and I hung out in the evening. She bought me Dairy Queen and we laughed and talked for hours on end about The Inexhaustible Topic. I love my cousins.

Wilderness Family

Friday morning I got off work and went home to pack for a weekend of backpacking with my family. I met up with my sisters and dog-nieces. We drove to the town of Drummond, about 50 or 60 miles away, where we met my dad. My mom was unable to come since she had too much work to do. I rode with my dad for another 20 or 30 miles to the town of Phillipsburg (Home of The Sweet Palace). We made candy store & malt shop stops before heading out into the wilds.

It was in the 90's (temperature-wise) when we began our trek through the Anaconda-Pintlar Wilderness. We hiked for a few hours before stopping to read the map and make some dinner in a mosquito infested swamp meadow. Once settled into our meal of rehydrated spaghetti and peanut butter pie (pretty good for a powdered meal in a bag), Dad and #2 Sister began to discuss the possibility that we were lost. It was decided that we should pitch our tents in the swamp meadow before trying to move on or find our way. The news of our wrong turn which led us on the path to current nowhere was broken gently to #1 Sister and I. I suggested that when we backtrack in the morning, we just backtrack all the way to The Sweet Palace. #1 Sister suggested the lake we had passed on the road to the trailhead. We weren't poor sports, really, just a couple of tuckered out kids who'd been eaten alive by vampire mosquitoes. Dad said we'd discuss the matter later.

Somehow we never got around to voting on our backtrack destination that next morning. A few minutes into our backward detour, someone suggested that getting back on the right trail would best be achieved by climbing straight up the side of a fallen tree strewn mountain. Several hours and a few pant-rips later, we found our trail, where 10,000 bloodsucking insects were kind enough to wait for our arrival. My sisters and I fantasized about meeting strangers armed with DEET. #2 Sister had come prepared with lots of pleasant smelling natural insect repellents at the smell of which, every mosquito in the forest promptly erupted in laughter. #2 Sister said she would offer $10 for real bug spray. I said I would barter my digital camera, and as the afternoon progressed, my soul. (I was only kidding about my soul).

Meanwhile, Dad had been promising us for 2 dank, steep miles that "The Meadow" was just another 300 yards away. The Meadow was where we would stop and rest. He made good on his last promise all right, but someone had beat us to it. Further investigation revealed 2 friendly faces with horses (and horses with faces) bearing gifts: AN INDUSTRIAL-SIZED CAN OF BUG SPRAY. We invited ourselves into their camp and sat down for cheese, sausage and cracker lunch with our new friends for life. It turns out that our new friends for life may have lied to us, but I didn't really care because, for a few blissful hours, the mosquitoes flew in another direction.

Eventually we got back on the trail and still more eventually, we reached our destination:
Hoodwink Lake*, at the base of Swindle Peak* in the Anaconda-Pintlar Wilderness

We camped there overnight. Dad and #2 Sister went fishing. Dad lost part of his collapsible fishing pole in the lake, but caught a little Mr. Fishy. #1 Sister and I napped and made Mad Libs. The next morning, Dad made blueberry griddlecakes with strawberry syrup and we packed up and headed for home. Home (the car) was further away than we thought, but we made it. Dad took us out for lunch. We were all excited to use the bathrooms. When it came my turn, there was one toilet on the verge of overflow and one occupied. While I waited for the occupied one to clear, another lady came in and used the on the verge toilet. As I was finishing up my business in the next stall, the on the verge toilet was flushed and was no longer on the verge, but in full on overflow mode. The lady screamed and ran. I dodged the flood and even managed to wash my hands.

Another hour or so's drive brought us home, where all I wanted to do was shower and shave. Sadly, I ran out of body wash mid-shower. Well, half clean & shaven is better than not, I reckon. Now it's off to work, but tomorrow I'm turning my film in to be developed! You have not heard (or seen) the end of this journey, I'm afraid.

I had to show you a picture so you wouldn't think I was just being a
whiney baby. I look like an ad for acne arm...or armne.

I think that, if you ask me in a few days--when the swelling goes down and the hunchback disappears and the happy feet return--I will say it was definitely all worth it. If nothing else, it is worth it to have stories to tell the children I would have had before being rendered barren by one too many log-straddles.

*The real names of these locations are of course, Tamarack Lake and Warren Peak. But after cheating my sisters out of a hot-day swim (I forgot to tell you it rained) and myself out of no less than 3 s'mores, I thought they deserved to be rechristened.