"I Think It's a Balance Thing ..."

     As it happens, my dad is a big Science Fiction fan, and one of the shows that he enjoys is a show called "The X-Files". We don't normally watch it, not being quite as big fans, but every so often, Dad will find an episode he thinks we'd really like and shows it to us.

     One such episode was "The Goldberg Variation".  In it, a man named Henry Weems appears to be the luckiest man alive; but every time he gets lucky, someone around him has something bad happen to them.  As he explains it to Agent Mulder, "I think it's a balance thing. Something good happens to me and everybody else has to take it in the keister."
     During the last year, it seems like everyone we talked to has "taken it in the keister." It's a vicious cycle that never, ever, ends. In the last three months especially our immediate family has been hurting and for the longest time we couldn't figure out why.

One example of a Rube Goldberg Machine

     But then Bird and Reaganite, observant people that they are, realized that at the time our troubles started, the Vatican's Synod on the Family was beginning. It is entirely possible that we were spiritually taking it in the keister for the Church, as I am positive that other Catholic Faithful were as well. Now, there were other good things happening closer to home too, but my belief is that it was a combination of them that was pushing us towards a cliff edge. After all, we are all connected through the communion of saints, and Henry Weem's Rube Goldberg machines (characterized by a cause and effect sequence of tricks)  didn't ever consist of just one trick.
     Just recently, in the last couple of weeks, it seems that our troubles are slowing down, and it is 95.5% certain that we won't go careening off the cliff.
     Yesterday, however, my aunt called and said that one of our extended family member's mom was sick and his nephew had been in a car crash. We hadn't heard anything but good news from the extended family all while we were having our problems. Reaganite called this weekend too, and said that he was having some problems, but said he wouldn't elaborate until after they were over. And so, it's a balance thing. When something good happens, someone gets hurt. When the pressure lets up on someone, it squeezes someone else.
     So what can we do about it? Well, not much. We can pray, of course. We can be encouraging and supporting and stand by other people when the pressure lets off of us. We can offer up the little trials for other people (which is actually very good practice for when the big trials come).   And occasionally, when we know that the pressure is getting too much for someone, we can shift the balance. We can ask God to let us take on the stress and the impatience and the tiredness of the people who need to be strong, buoyant, and patient for someone else.
     It's scary, though, to do that. You can never quite tell what you're going to get.  You can never tell who you really helped either. But be assured, there is nothing more rewarding then to shift the balance.

     With love, and hoping we can do some good,
               -Bonny

The Christmas Penny

    There once was a little old Grandmother who lived in a small, charming village, way out in the country.  The people of the village tell a very special story of the bell in the village church tower.

      Every year the villagers collected gifts for the poor of the countryside at their church on Christmas Eve.  Once, when the old woman was a young girl, the Church bells rang out, on their own, as the people were bringing their gifts for the poor to the manger.  The story, as the villagers told it ,was that God had been pleased with the gifts they had brought and had sent an angel to ring the bell.  Ever since then, the tradition in the village is that the bells of the church tower would ring out when the best gift was given to the Christ Child in the manger on Christmas Eve.  Now, each year, everyone for miles around brings gifts to the manger, hoping that God will again send the Angel to ring the bells for their gifts.
    Over the years, The very wealthy people have brought the gifts that were the most expensive, those made of the finest silver, precious stones and gold, or of the richest and most beautiful lace.  The ranchers had each cut out one of their fattest cattle from their herd or sheep from their flocks and brought them in.  Each farmer had brought in a basket of the fruits from their bountiful harvests, bragging that theirs was the finest or the sweetest in all the land.  The craftsmen of the village have brought in their beautiful rugs, pottery, candlesticks and other handmade goods, showing off their skills, but, for many years, the old woman didn't remember ever hearing those bells ring out on Christmas Eve.
     Everyone in the village planned and worked all year to provide a gift to lay by the manger, and so did the old woman.  She was the washer woman, and the gift she gave each year was a couple of the pennies that the other villagers paid her to wash their clothes.  This year though it was harder than ever for her to save because she was now taking care of her two small grandsons, who had lost their parents to illness that year.
     As Christmas approached the old woman began to worry, and to work harder than ever before washing the villagers clothes.  She worked so hard that she wore herself out.  Her hands were chapped and rough but she could never get enough to save the couple pennies that she usually saved.   This year it looked like she would not be able to bring the penny she usually gave … unless, if she made an extra sacrifice, and fasted a little, she might be able to save enough food so that she would not have to spend as much on the next market day.
      That market day the sun rose clear and cold.  The wind had picked up and was blowing from the North.  Happily she had been frugal enough to keep one of her pennies, but on her way home from the market she started coughing, just a little bit.  The next morning her cough was worse  and by that evening she was truly sick.  The boys had been looking forward to going to the church for Christmas Eve mass.  They had heard rumors that the king himself was going to be there, presenting a special gift at the manger.  They helped their Grandmother as much as they were able until her cough began to fade.  On the afternoon before the Christmas Eve Mass, she thought she was well enough to walk to the church on the hill, at the edge of the village. So they all bundled themselves up and started walking.  The going was slow because the old woman could not walk fast.   She was breathless and began to cough again.  The boys watched as the lanterns of all the people began to form rivers of light streaming towards the church.  They watched as carriages and wagons filled with people rumbled past decorated with streamers and lanterns.  So many cheerful neighbors passed them, as usual, and wished them a happy

Christmas, unaware that the old woman was struggling. Some of them stopped to talk to the old woman, to see if she was well, but none of them wanted to be late, this would be a special occasion, for it may be that the king would lay his crown at the manger and then the bells would be sure to ring.
      Suddenly, a cry rang out.  The king's carriage came over the hill and was approaching the entrance of the church.  All the people on the hillside began to race the rest of the way.  The little old woman, however, could go no further and she sank to the ground.  She would not be able to give her penny to the poor, she had never missed Christmas Mass before, She could do nothing about her dilemma .  She dissolved in tears.  The  small boys urged her to keep trying, but she only continued to cry. When the older brother realized she was crying he took her hand in both of his to comfort her.  Then he leaned over to hear the raspy words  she whispered through her tears,
     "Take the penny" she said, "Bring the gift to the Christ Child then bring someone back to help us"
      The older boy knew he could not leave them there on the road, it had gotten so dark and was getting colder  He decided to send his little brother on this errand, then he could keep her warm and call to any passersby for help.   There was no other way.  He turned and spoke to the little boy urgently,
     "Run as fast as you can!  Take the lantern and the penny and go on to the church.  Lay Grandmother's penny by the baby Jesus' crib, then bring someone back here to help us."
     The littlest boy liked to run, and he knew he could get someone to come back with him to help them, so he took the lantern and the penny and ran as fast as he could up the empty road, to the brightly lit church on the hill. As he disappeared from view his brother pulled in close to his Grandmother and wrapped her in a hug, like she had done so many times for him when he was sick or cold.  He spoke encouragingly to her and tried to keep her warm.
  As he approached the church the little brother could already hear the music and he knew that the Mass was beginning.  Leaving his lantern by the doorstep he crept into the church.  He crept quietly up the side aisle and crawled to the massive, brightly decorated, evergreen standing in the front of the church which sheltered the creche beneath it.  There he saw, up close, all of the amazing gifts and foods the people has showered upon the Christ Child.   He even saw the glittering jewels of  the king's noble crown.  Sliding the penny in a fold of the Christ Child's swaddling cloth, he froze.  Far away, as if in a dream the church bell began to toll.  Everyone in the church stopped singing, and the music stopped.  All eyes turned toward the tree with the manger under it, and there, lying beside it, was a tiny boy with a penny still pinched in his fingers.  The bell was ringing louder and clearer now and all the people cheered.
     The little boy's neighbor was near the creche. He picked him up in a big bear hug and the little boy cried out,"We need your help!" over the din of the happy people.  He told anyone who would listen that his grandmother needed help and his brother could not do it by himself.  Right away a delegation, that included the neighbor, the doctor,  the priest and a few good strong men with a stretcher, hastily made from a blanket and chairs, were led by the little boy back to where he had left the old woman and his brother. 
 As the neared the two on the road, the

little boy sang out "Did you hear the bells Grandmother? The angel rang the bells for us."  His older brother laughed and his Grandmother hugged him, then they lifted her from the ground. The gift this little family had given was not just the penny, that Christmas, they had given something of themselves.  Now, see if you can remember all the gifts that they gave that made the Christ Child happy.

In the Spring . . .

In the Spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;
In the Spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;
In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
Alfred Lord Tennyson

A few weeks ago I saw a bright red cardinal sitting on our deck armrest hirping right at our window. "What is that?" Mom asked
"I don't know" I said, since I didn't. (the blinds were closed) Mom came over and pulled open the blinds a little
"Oh," I said,"It's a cardinal, cheeruping at our window."
"Oh how pretty!"
"Yeah!"
Mom went back to her sewing, asking me to give her reports, since He didn't seem to be doing anything. Suddenly another cardinal (a Girl) flew down and landed below him on the deck itself. she pecked at seeds there and while I was telling Mom what I was seeing the male cardinal flew into the pine tree that was his home. She flew up to the armrest, chirped for a second then followed him to the pine tree. Mom walked slowly over to the window and looked out slowly then said "I think we have some Love-birds nesting in the pine over there."

Not only that but later, I saw some mourning doves flying into another pine a little further down our line in neighbors.

Then only a few days ago we saw a few robins in our own lilac.

There is Spring in the air. You can tell.

poem clipping from Lockesley Hall
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174629

You've heard of Superman...

Over in the valley

when the sky's dark blue

travels one little Paperboy and

occasionally two...

"Hey, Bunny, wake up!"

"Huh...?"

"Time to go."

"Right, yeah, okay, I'm up."

That is a typical 1:30 A.M. conversation for me.

Just before the new year, Dashman asked for my help with his paper route early the next morning. He was feeling a bit under the weather and was looking forward to nothing but an all-nighter, and wondered if I'd be willing to help him out.

I agreed "just this once."

At one thirty the next morning a LED flashlight shown into my room and a hand shook my shoulder. For about five seconds I was annoyed. Then I remembered, Oh yeah, papers.

Because it was a cold night and there was a substantial layer of snow on the ground we dressed in layers of warm clothes. I followed Dashman blindly out to his truck and climbed in. He stopped at a nearby Super America to pick up some coffee, to keep me awake, and a bag of Bugles "The Breakfast of Paperboys!" Then we headed out on the freeway to the paper depot.

By the time we reached the depot I was beginning to feel the effects of the caffeine and so was sufficiently awake enough to smile politely at the old couple across the table from us when Dashman introduced me. I still don't remember their name.

The paper truck arrived with the beeping of lights and the opening of doors. Immediately the depot erupted from the quiet murmurings of acquaintances greeting each other, into a screeching maze of clanging metal carts, shouting men, thudding paper bundles and pushing bodies. I stayed by our table and watched as Dashman dived fearlessly into the fray.

He emerged a few breathless minutes later with a couple bundles of papers. After looking at our eight maps, recording stops and starts and correcting the number of papers needed for each map, Dashman and I began to count the papers in the bundle to make sure we had enough. After ascertaining this fact we pulled out the slick orange bags and began bagging the papers. Dashman was faster than I and finished his stack of papers first. While I finished up he ran off to another part of the depot to pick up the eight "Dinky-Winkies" that we needed (so named because we only received eight cents for them as opposed to the typical 22). Hereafter they shall be called DW's.

After the DW's had been rubber-banded, we loaded up the cart and rushed out to the truck. Dashman loaded the buckets into the back then, while he returned the cart, I grabbed the papers we needed for map 1 and stuffed them onto the dashboard for easy access. The few extras I stowed by my feet. Dashman returned a second later and we reved up the engine and headed out onto the freeway again.

When we reach the route, Dashman likes to say that we're "On station" and has me record what time we arrive so we can compare it to the ending time and see how fast we've done the route. Then, the real fun begins.

We have often joked how fun it would be to have one of those things that people shoot T-shirts out of at baseball games to shoot the papers at houses. As we don't, we end up having a great pitch. Dashman is by far better than I am at this, but I pride myself that I have landed a few "perfect placements" as well. Not to say we haven't gotten a few bad throws as well, a couple have even landed on the roof. One memorable paper got stuck in the gutter and Dashman had to lift me up with a stray hanger to pull it out again. Another paper landed on the roof, we both said "No...YES!" as it slid back off again. And in the far off chance that one of the papers lands in the bushes, we both have trusty flashlights to help us go fishing.

Map 1 is mainly comprised on the ordinary suburban houses, most of them easy to pitch to the front door. Map 2 is all townhouses that required one of us or the other to jump out and run up a long sidewalk to reach. Map 3 is commonly referred to as "the creepy map" as they are all brown, wood-sided houses with poor lighting and the most creepy incidents. Map 4 is the shortest map with only about 6 papers, but all of them have to be pitched STRAIGHT UP to get over the townhouse stair-railing. Map 5, more townhouses, no railings, richer neighborhood. Map 6, strangely akin to map 1, but with a couple townhouses for good measure. Map 7 has ALL townhouses, STEEP driveways and NO salt on the roads! And Map 8, quite a bit like maps 1 and 6, but with more culdesacs than all the other maps put together.

Dashman has a head for numbers and can remember most of the houses that way, but I, alas, am no good at that so we have come up with a naming system for them. For instance, over the Christmas season many people had decorations up and the first house we named was "demonic drummer boy" so named because of a light up plastic version of the hero of the famous Christmas song, except this version happened to be smiling evilly at me the first time I delivered and so was named out of my fear. Other names include "the cow house" with a cow-colored mailbox cover, "Bat-cave" a cave-like driveway with a bat-shaped bow on the garage, "Red Rover" because he has a red rover in his driveway, "Ballet house" because of a little fling I have to do with my foot to get enough momentum, "Jack Sparrow" one of the few houses I have to walk across the lawn and in my efforts to make as few tracks as possible I end up using the rather erratic walk of that famous pirate, and of course "Elvis" the last house on map eight, which got it's name because I said "Elvis has left the building!" one night we were making particularly good time, and the name stuck. But the most famous by far is the "paw house" this one got it's name because it is one of the few that we are directed to place the paper inside the screen door. The first time I was to deliver, I was scared, and just as I stepped out of the truck Dashman quoted a line from the movie Cats and Dogs: the revenge of Kitty Galore, "Don't worry, I'll hold your paw!" Whatever scary thoughts I had been thinking of, his unexpected voice scared them right out of me. After realizing what had happened, I laughed all the way to the door and back.

Would my story be complete without PP? I don't think so! PP is the affectionate name we gave to the deliverer of the rival paper, named after the initials of his paper. He has a rather sloppy way of delivering, just driving past houses and randomly pitching papers at the driveways. Dashman and I live by the Paper-person code of honor, that sadly many of our compatriots have let fall by the wayside, THE PAPER MUST BE DELIVERED TO THE DOOR, unless otherwise directed. Our nightly goal is to finish the route first, but having followed the code. Sadly, we have yet to achieve this goal, but there are many more chances to win.

When our fuel tanks start running low (both in the truck and in us) we like to stop for a refill at the local PDQ station. The night lady knows us by now and is quite friendly, even letting us return a package of cold medicine one night without a receipt after we'd bought the wrong brand. She can also make fresh apple fritters that, with a bottle of Sunny-D, is a perfect pick-me-up half-way through the route.

After experiencing all this just once I was eager to go again, and gladly took up a role as a paper person. Perhaps some day another career will call my name, but until then, if you hear the smack of a paper against cement some night, you can rest assured that your friendly neighborhood Paper-person is on the job.

Signing off,

Bunny.

Tune in next week for: "The Tale of Two Kitties"

Happy trails

Hey, Bunny here,

So everybody knows by now about our vacation up in the Canadian Rockies. What everybody might not know, is that I, Bunny, had a birthday en route. So Dad, being the Best Dad in the Whole World promised he would try to get me up on a horse sometime that day (Because he knows I'm a horse fanatic). Unfortunately it was a long day of traveling through the foothills of Montana, and by the time we reached the little town that was our stop for the night a massive dust storm was rolling in. We barely had time to get inside the Pizza Hut (which was seriously one of the most modern buildings in town) before visibility was nil.

Several days later, after we had crawled along a mountainside in Glacier National Park, passed through customs into Canada (a truly harrowing experience for Bird and I, the others thought it was easy), and rolled through the glories of Banff, Dad declared we would rest for one day in the town of Hinton. We had nothing planned for the day except a trip to the laundry-mat.

Suddenly Dad sprung a surprise on me. He had located a ranch, Entrance Ranch, about five miles away that gave trail rides lasting from one to five hours. We decided on two hours, as being not too long, but long enough to see some real scenery and have a good long ride. Unfortunately we forgot to tell the other riders, Dashman, Bonny, and Cousin A, that the ride was going to be longer than half an hour. The ride was scheduled for after lunch and at the appointed time we drove off to the ranch.

Now I've been on trail rides before where the guides treat you like dimwits who can hardly tell one end of the horse from the other. You are herded carefully behind chain link fence and told to wait while extremely bored stable hands lead your worn out pony (who by now could walk the trail backwards and blindfolded) to the mounting block. They practically hold your hand as you mount, then hang onto the lead rope as the others mount. When you pick up the reins they stare at you in amazement and say, "How did you know to do that? Have you ridden before?"

This place was not like those places. A quiet, friendly old Canadian cowboy let us walk right into the barn where the horses stood in four large open stalls big enough to hold two horses. He asked us about our riding experience. We explained that Dashman and I had been taking riding lessons for a few years and Cousin A and Bonny had been on a few trail rides before. As we talked a sleek grey barn cat padded out of the tack room and began to weave among us, begging for someone to pet her. I complied and Dad struggled for several minutes to get a good picture of her.

Me and my Appaloosa "Rocky"

Beginning with Bonny the cowboy began pairing us up with horses, placing her with Buttermilk, a stocky palomino mare I was sure had some draft blood in her. He described her as a good walker, but also a little pushy. Dashman was given Alpine, a stately black horse who was tall enough to accommodate Dashman's long legs. Cousin A mounted Cisco, a flashy red chestnut who had led on the trails long enough to be a steady ride. I believe I got the jackpot, though with Rocky, a scrubby little Appaloosa the cowboy told me could be a little poky. As Dad settled the final issues with liability papers with the cowboy I tried to offer Bonny some advice on the correct position to sit in, how to steer and to always, always keep her heels down. Cousin A later told me that she heard some of what I was saying and wished she could have gotten some advice too, as she felt totally clueless.

The trail started out winding slowly through the woods, the guide first on his horse Prince, then Cousin A on Cisco, Bonny and Buttermilk, Dashman and Alpine, and finally Me and Rocky. Now if you've ever been on a trail ride you know that they usually have two guides, one in front and one in back. I considered it an honor that the guide trusted my riding ability to place me in back. The first hour was fairly uneventful as we walked slowly down the trail that had been walked in so many times it was worn down almost a foot below the rest of the ground. Pine trees towered on either side of us and the forest floor was thickly layered with almost neon green moss.

Anyone who has mastered the faster gaits of horseback riding (ie. trotting, cantering...) knows that just walking along at a steady plod can get really old really fast. I was lucky with my 'poky pony'. Sure he would lag behind a little bit, widening the gap between him and Alpine, but only so that he had the opportunity to trot to catch up. If there were two ways around a certain tree or boulder, Rocky would be sure to take the path the others had not. I couldn't help being delighted that the little horse thought just like I did.

Rat flats and some friendly conversation

Ahead of me the guide, Cousin A and Bonny were engaged in a friendly conversation about the scenery, the horses and what we were doing in Canada. As we passed Rat Flats, a sunken lake that had once been home to hundreds of muskrats, the guide told us that we could trot if we wanted to. I spoke up to ask if we could. Trotting is another one of those things the trail rides at home just don't do. After a few more minutes we climbed back into the thick trees and I figured the fun part of the ride was over, just more plodding until we got back to the barn. I was so wrong.

We were in the Canadian Rockies, okay? So this big mountain looms up in front of us. I thought, 'Oh boy! We get to climb the mountain!' I mean the trail we were on led right up the side of the mountain, straight ahead of us! What did our guide do? He turned. Away. Parallel, not up. Grrrr. We plodded on. Suddenly the guide turned again. This time, we went up. WAY UP! I am not kidding, the trail was almost vertical. I was almost laying on Rocky's neck. Not quite, because the logical part of my brain was saying, 'support your weight, lean forward and rise into a two-point position so that your weight flows down through your heels and doesn't sit on his back.' The rest of my brain was going, 'WHEEEEE! I'M GOING UP A MOUNTAIN ON A HORSE!' As we climbed, we passed the trail I had originally wanted to climb. Let's just say this, if the path we were on was slanted like this - / - the other path was slanted like this- | - yeah, I'm not kidding.

So we finally got to the top and leveled out. A nice straight stretch lay before us and so we got to trot again. On top of a mountain. Cool, huh? After about ten minutes, the trail just suddenly disappeared. Into thin air. And believe me, the air up there was pretty thin. It just walked to the edge of a cliff, and stopped. Sky, trees, and heck of a big drop. What did the guide do? He turned sharply to the the side, and began to climb down a steep slope. To the side of the big drop. Whew.

The view from the ridge.

We were told that the worst was over. The rest of the ride was an undulating trail that took us steadily, but not so abruptly, back up the side of the mountain. At one point we broke through the verge of trees and walked along the edge of a cliff overlooking a spreading vista of the towering neighboring mountains thickly populated with lush pines, the coiling grey snake of the highway and between the mountains the aqua blue river shimmering in the sunlight. We left the cliff and begin a series of u-shaped dips. The horses would pause at the top of each while the horse before climbed out, then they plunged into the dip, going at a fast trot to gain enough momentum to get out again. We started to get tired and Dashman and Bonny's saddles kept sliding to one side. The guide showed them how to readjust, then we continued on our last leg of the ride.

At last we came out of the woods and walked slowly but steadily up the last hill to where the barn was waiting. We ducked our heads as the horses each walked inside and into a separate stall. We dismounted and tied the horses to the feed bins where fresh hay was awaiting them. I asked the guide if I could take off Rocky's saddle and bridle, to which he agreed. The others followed my example and the guide showed us where to hang up the tack. Bonny and I grabbed some brushes lying on shelves outside the stalls and began grooming our horses. The guide told us that we could stay and groom as long as we liked, but to leave the horses in their stalls. Dashman paid him and he left us to cuddle with our mounts. Bonny and I wanted to stay for a while, but Cousin A and Dashman, surprised at having spent two hours on horses and beginning to feel it, opt to leave after taking a couple pictures.

Trail Ponies

Reluctant to leave, I hugged my big cuddly, spotted pony one last time, then hugged the other four horses for good measure. At last we all piled into the car and headed back to Hinton. All of us are saddle-sore and weary, all of us have new stories to tell (how Buttermilk kicked Alpine when he got just a little too close, how Cisco kept trying to take the lead and would get too close to the edge of the cliff, Bonny's discussion with the guide about if Rat Flats should really be called 'Musk Lake' instead or just plain 'Canada'.) and all of us are a little happier for the time we spent.

So if any of you readers happen to go to Hinton, and if you stop by the Entrance Ranch for a trail ride, and you just happen to be mounted on a scrubby little appaloosa named Rocky, give him a big hug from me.

Happy Trails!

Is flax the way to go?

Hi there! I read a story last night that is written by Hans Christian Anderson. It's called "the flax" and it got me thinking, the message of the story is that how ever hard you are hit with hardship, something beautiful always comes out of you. Here is a link to "the flax" online. Stop! you can't go further then this point if you haven't read the story yet! Isn't that amazing? it seemed to me to hold an amazing message in it. and it has become one of my favorite stories now. Plus, It's good for you physically so I think that flax really is the way to go. Well,I just thought I'd spread some of my knowledge to the world. Signing off, Bonny.

Movies with a message even today.

     Here is a stack of links to some of my favorite children's movies. Most of the time the little ones couldn't take their eyes off the show as the animators drew in the characters and told the story. The three starred ones are the ones we own and have always been favorites, I just love the message in Miriam's .  Warning: The Mary and Joseph one has a reference to Jesus' little brothers and sisters. If you show these to very little children you may have to do some explaining.
 
*Miriam and the Baby Moses-draw on animation

*Elijah and the Fire from Heaven-draw on animation

*Paul's Adventure-draw on animation

Noah's great adventure-draw on animation

Joseph's Dream-draw on animation

Joshua and the land-draw on animation

Mary and Joseph-draw on animation

have fun!

Bunny here,

Well I'm finally getting the knack of being a housewife. OK I'm not exactly a housewife, I'm more of a house-sister/daughter/dog-owner/whatever. I digress. But seriously, have you ever wondered, just what do housewives do all day? I'll tell you.

1. Breakfast. Seems simple, right? However, we can't have eggs and toast or oatmeal every day of the week, but this is too messy and that takes too long to make. Fine, just grab a box of cheerios.

2. Dishes. Clear the table, stack the dishes in the dishpan, run the water, grab the soap- wait, someone put the soap away. Now just where is "away"? Oh, under the sink. Now the washcloth. But the one from yesterday is dry and a little crusty. Run downstairs, rifle through the laundry buckets, no clean washcloths, pull hair. Fine, back upstairs, rinse the old washcloth in very hot water. Wash the dishes while listening to march classics to calm frazzled nerves.

3. Now- wait, the dogs have been whining and sitting on their leashes ever since dishes. Fine. round up dogs, clip on leashes. Stay... Okay, go ahead. Not that fast! This is a walk, remember? You, slow down, he's trying to sniff. You, speed up, she wants to go. Heel, Heel! Good kids! Okay, run. You, slow down, we're not training for the Ironman. You, speed up, we want to get home before supper time. Good kids, we're home.

4. Nap in front of air conditioner.

5. Lunch. Maybe just sandwiches. Wait, there's those eggs that weren't used for breakfast. Maybe make a quiche? No butter for pie dough, maybe a pizza crust would work. Mix up pizza crust. Wait, does anyone else like quiche? Fine, save it for another day. Now there's this pizza dough. Fine, pizza for lunch.

6. Five-thousand-things-in-five-minutes. Dash around like a chicken with it's head cut off putting away random items while listening to break-neck speed music.

7. Vacuum.

8. Laundry. Back downstairs. Watch period drama while folding, sorting, and stacking clothes for distribution into drawers upstairs.

9. Freelance writing.

10. Yard work. Scoop doggie-do, pull weeds, dump weeds into paper bag, spray weeds on rock pile, contemplate trimming bushes, decide to let that wait for tomorrow, spray Japanese beetles eating bushes with dog shampoo, pick flowers for indoor vases.

11. Start Supper.

12. Relax. Get on computer to check e-mail.

At this step the family will come home from work, see you on the computer and say, "Haven't you done anything today?"

There you go, twelve easy steps to being a housewife. Easy, right?

Signing off,

Bunny

Between the Lines

Hi, Bunny here,

I had a thought today while I was out with the pooches.

Remember that feeling on your third or fourth birthday when you get a brand new coloring book? You squeal in delight and flip through the pages admiring the clever drawings and start imagining how you will decorate the pages.

At the earliest opportunity you grab your box of well-used crayons and set to work spreading bright rainbows of enthusiastic color all over the pages of your new book. Happiness fills your tiny heart until a Highly Superior Sibling glances at the drawing.

"You have to stay between the lines," they say in a 'been there, done that' tone.

"But it's pretty," you protest.

"Doesn't matter," they reply smugly, "You have to stay between the lines, it's the rule."

Leap forward two years and picture yourself heading off to the park. Your short legs demote you to the last place in the exuberant clan as you rush up the sidewalk ahead of Mom. A street is reached and the siblings, after waiting a sufficient time for cars to disperse, begin to pelt across the street. You see a chance to pass to the front of the group and dart to the side. A squeal of tires, a yell from Mom and the next thing you know you have your arm jerked and are standing on the curb surrounded by grim-faced siblings.

"You always stay between the white lines," Mom says firmly.

"But why?" you ask, blinking back tears.

"You're safer that way," Mom explains. "It's the rule."

Now imagine a soccer field. The players flit about the field like colorful butterflies all chasing a small black and white ball. You know that your team is tied with the opponents and that you only have a few minutes left before the game is over. Suddenly the ball hurtles your way. With a burst of speed you catch up to it and begin dribbling down the field towards the goal. An opponent darts towards you and in a panic you kick the ball as hard as you can.

A groan goes up from your teammates and faraway your coach's voice yells, "Not over the line!"

A whistle sounds, and you realize you've lost the game.

"Why can't you just follow the rules?" growls a teammate.

You're a teenager and sweat is dripping down your face as you stoop to pick up a small, hard ball off the floor of the racquet-ball court. Dad's been trying to teach you how to play and you think you're finally getting the knack.

"Can I try serving it this time?" you ask.

"Sure," says Dad.

You toss the ball up in the air and bring the racquet back to swing when Dad calls, "Wait, you have to stand between the red lines."

"What for?" you ask.

"That's just the rules, " he says.

You've been going to drivers ed classes for an eternity and you finally have a drivers permit in your pocket. Early one morning Mom lets you slide behind the wheel for the first time. Painstaking you shift into reverse and back out of the driveway with exaggerated slowness. The car responds to a slight tap on the gas peddle by leaping forward with a roar. "Slowly," Mom instructs, "press gently on the gas and brake."

You nod and continue on stalwartly. The wheel feels slick under your fingers and you grab it tightly. A slight jerk of the arm and car veers dangerously close to the curb.

"Steady," says Mom. "Try to stay between the lines."

Some friends just down the street ask you to babysit for them while they go to a late-night concert. You have a license and easily drive the five or six blocks to their house. Around one o'clock they return. You make your report, receive your wages and trek back out to your little car. The hour is late and you are tired, so you proceed home about ten miles below the speed limit. A car pulls up behind you and you consider pulling over to let it pass, twice, but as you are almost home you decide not to. Suddenly with a flash of lights the sedate car behind you becomes a fiery steed of the law. You pull over as any dutiful citizen should. A light shines in your window and the officer says, "I need your licence and insurance information."

"What did I do wrong?" You ask.

"You crossed the fog line twice," he says, "I have to make sure you're not drunk."

Life is confusing sometimes. So many things change, yet so many remain through the years. I can just see some old person in a nursing home being told by a superior staff person that they must keep their wheelchair on this side of the line. America claims to be the home of the free, but how free are we if little things like lines can dictate so much of our lives? But on the other hand, where would we be without them?

Signing off, keep smiling, and stay inside the lines.

What do I want to be?

Hi! Bonny here. I've been thinking that I haven't decided what I want to be yet. Mom says there's plenty of time, but I don't know. I've gone through several options, painter, Olympic swimmer, music teacher, writer, scientist, and many others. I think I'm most into writing 'write' now, but I was born into a mixed family. My mom's likes paintng, my sisters are interested in horses, writing, music, and history. My dad's a computer sort of guy, Dashman would make a great National Parks Ranger, and Reaganite is more of the history and politics guy. As for me, you ask? I've got a great hand at computers, I like writing stories better then bookreports, I love swimming, fishing, camping, pets (especially beagles),(Here's one of our beagles caught napping on the blanket shelf.) swings, jumprope, sketching, riding, outdoors, indoors (on a cold day), and books. I like cooking and have made up two recipes. one is a raspberry fluff that is great as a filling between the layers of a birthday cake and the other is a salad dressing we call CR special. Anyway, I ask that you continue praying for me to help me make the "write" choice for my future.

Wild What?

     Yesterday... was just completely road trip, and tomorrow will be another road trip. So, I thought I would write a little today while I do some laundry.  Our road trips have been almost exclusively to visit family.  They are really the only thing worth that much sacrifice ("drive thru" food and cramped quarters for long hours).  When we had babies we used to call them wild hares (or maybe wild hairs depending on who you were looking at and the relative humidity that day).

      Here is our recipe for Wild Hare (Hair) in case you want to try one of your own someday.

Dad and Mom (Just 1 of these could also pull it off, but it's not as good a result.)
at least 1 child (actual number depended on how many we had and their schedules-you can see that this was easier to carry off when you were small and scheduleless.)
1 Car or van  (as time went on and there were more drivers in the family, this could be more than 1, usually not more than 3 and trucks have worked too.)
Gasoline in the tank

Bunny? Wet again?

1 change of clothing for the youngest of the crew.
1 change of clothes for the one most likely to fall in a lake, pond, stream, swamp or puddle. (Read "Bunny").
1 large sweatshirt or jacket to cover one other person in need.
A little bit of cash and a bag of snacks or some fast food.
Traveling music-and a Vegi Tale cd for emergencies (read Bonny) (the last could be exchanged for tape/cd players with head sets as you grew, but this significantly reduced the quality of the time spent together).
Books were sometimes allowed too. (Read "Bird"and "Buddy").
various toys and tools as seemed appropriate ( Read "little Bear").
A possible destination (usually, but not exclusively, dealing with Grandma and Grandpa)
Sense of humor (1 each)
Remember the camera,  we have the most wonderful memories of these trips!  I'll see if I can find some shots of trips to add here.
a notebook to record great quotes
    Pack everyone in the car on short notice with just enough change of clothes to make sure we will make it home again dry.  Call out "Have we got everybody?"and "Is everybody happy?" Launch off to destination. Keep praying!

Great Dad in Action

Hello, hello, I'm Bunny, the middle daughter, (so give me a break because I have an older sister and a younger one) but I'm still very blessed.
So, yesterday was Father's Day, and while I could SAY something very touching and sweet about Fathers, I choose to look back a day and SHOW you a good dad at work.
Bird needs a car. There's no two ways around it, it's a fact. The car she has was condemned three years ago as scrap metal and you just never know when it will decide to turn on.
So, the day before Father's Day, Dad comes into the living room, points at me like the figure of doom might point at a chipmunk in his pantry, and he says, "How'd you like to go car shopping?"
"Me!?!" I squeak, like said chipmunk.
"Yup," he says, "Get ready, 'cause we're leaving in ten minutes."
Now don't get me wrong, I love being with Dad, he's a great dad, but really, Bonny is our lucky car buyin' girl. So I figure we might look around a bit, but come home with a car? Not likely.

Scene 1: Car dealership A
Enter two suspicious strangers. They prowl around a small green car with eyes that notice every ding and scratch.
Salesman gulps nervously and loosens his collar. Nerving himself up he walks towards the strangers with his must sell this car smile.
Two strangers turn out to be Dad and Bunny.
"Hi," says Dad, "we saw this car on the internet and since it's in our price and age range we thought we'd take a look."
Dad is such a good bluffer. This is actually his favorite car, the one he is most interested in, and therefore most likely to buy.
"Oh, sure," says salesman, "I'll go get the keys and you can have a look at it."
While the salesman is back in the building telling his co-workers that he was not scared, Dad shows me how to test the shocks. ("Push down hard on the hood and the trunk and if it only bounces once then they're still good.")
Salesman comes back and we take greenie for a whirl. Status report: makes weird noises, interior crumby and breaks are jerky (oddly enough the last one only happens when I am driving. Hmm).
We head off for dealership 2 with a card in our pockets and relief that that one is over.

Scene 2: Dealership B
Enter Dad and Bunny, they park car and begin prowling through quadruple-parked lot.
From the building emerges a smart, self-confident Salesman. He is paid by commission and will sell a car. If it kills him. Or us. Preferably both.
Oddly enough, we walk away from him. This he has not experienced. Little does he know, Dad likes to have a car to talk about before talking cars.
Salesman chases us until Dad finally has mercy and lets him catch up. "Can I help You?" Salesman calls over the car tops.
Dad tells him we are looking for a car that was advertised on the internet. Salesman looks disconcerted. "It might have been sold," he hedges, (the drama intensifies, will he make a sale today?) "Let me check with my manager." He turns and sprints back to the building.
Dad and I casually meander back through the labyrinth of cars towards our own. I can pick up on his mood: if the car isn't here we'll just go to the next place. Dad has one price and one style in mind. Only the best for Bird.
Salesman comes back at a fast trot. "Sorry," he pants as he pulls up beside us, "It was sold yesterday." But has our valiant Salesman given up hope? Never! Squatting beside us is a beautiful car of a different make, perhaps he can yet make a sale!
"Ohh, black interior, leather seats," comments Dad. I know Dad, he's just being nice. Both of us are thinking "that's gonna be hot in the summer".
"It's too flashy," I say, turning the predator's eyes away from Dad. "I don't like silver cars."
"But it has a sun roof," wheedles Salesman thinking he has an easy target.
"IT'S - TOO - FLASHY," I repeat, I can make a point when I want to.
"That one is flashy," Salesman points to a puke-green mustang.
"No," I reply, "this one is flashy, that one is sick."
"What color do you like?" Salesman will not let us leave without a commission
"Sorry," Dad breaks in, "We've got a couple other cars to look at. We might be back if we don't find anything we like. Are you open on Sunday?"
Salesman frumps. "You have to give us one day off."
Having burst his bubble, Dad and I retreat to our car before he can rope us in again.

Scene 3: Dealership C
Dad and I have a lovely drive across town to the third dealership.
Example: Dad, "I thought you'd like to get a mustang."
Me, "Dad, the only mustang I want has four legs and a tail."
Dad, "Ha ha ha!"
This next place had two cars we were going to look at. A nice salesman who seemed to be the boss of several underlings came up to help us and after Dad explained what we were looking for he handed us over to one of his minions, a nice young man I'll call Jay. We walked out the the cars and began to look them over.
One was a dark blue with a sun roof, the other was a grayish tan that shimmered pink. Something about the second one just screamed "Right for Bird" to me.
Dad had shown me where to look for rust spots and I located a little around the wheel-wells, but nothing major. Dad nodded. "It looks in good condition," he said.
"Do you want to take it for a drive?" asked Jay.
It ran well, but the brakes wobbled a little when going at high speeds. Dad asked me to try it to see what I thought. I was thrilled. The car ran smooth and it felt nice, all but the brakes.
"If it will make or break the deal we can fix them for you before you buy," Jay told us.
We decided that this was the best thing to do. The car went into the shop and we signed the papers. Dad asked the financial man how many people read the papers before signing.
"One out of fifty," was the disgusted reply. "Some people won't even let me explain to them what they're signing."
The car was still in the shop so we headed out to lunch at a Wendy's across the road. Even though a steady rain was beginning to fall, Dad asked me if I would drive the car home. I was so excited I almost hugged him. Instead, he fed me a spicy chicken nugget. When I indicated that my mouth was burning he said, "I guess you'll just have to get a frosty to cool down."
"Do you want one?" I asked.
"No," he said, "I'll just snitch some of yours."
Back at the dealership we snitched two lollipops from an obliging candy bowl and browsed the new car models. There was one with mechanical seat controls that I had fun playing around with while Dad fought off bored employees who where desperate for a customer. "You'd think they would remember that I don't need help," he grumbled as one guy walked away from him for a second time.
When the car was finished the Head Honcho found us. "Jay is pulling the car around for you," he said and I couldn't help thinking how nice he was being, until Jay and the car pulled into view. "PULL IT AROUND!" he bellowed out the door, "DON'T MAKE THEM WALK THROUGH THE RAIN!"
"It's alright," Dad tried to say, but HH wasn't listening. I don't think he even realized that he'd spoiled his own image.
Jay started walking in as HH led us out. Halfway between the door and the car we met. "Do you have both sets of keys?" HH broke of his monologue on how much he appreciated our business to growl at Jay.
"I just have the key I used," Jay said, blinking under the heavy downpour.
"Well get the other one for them!" snapped HH, before turning back to us. "Really, it's a great car, I'm so glad you were able to do business with us."
I wanted to point out that we were getting more wet from listening to his monologue than we would have if we'd stayed inside and dashed out to where Jay had parked, but I held my tongue. Poor Jay, obviously his boss didn't like him very much. Poor HH, he's going to lose customers if he keeps treating his employees like dirt.
At last Jay returned with the other key and we began the long drive home. It was a little tricky with rain and traffic, but Dad tried to keep in sight so I wouldn't get lost.
When we got home Bird was still at work, so we called out TK and Bonny to test drive the car over to Bird's work. She was gone already, so we drove back home. A block away we saw her little clunker in the driveway, so we called the house and told Bird to come out. The door opened and she stepped outside. Suddenly, her eyes popped open and her chin dropped. She began to squeal with delight.

Seeing the look on Dad's face, it made me think: maybe Dad's don't need new grills for Father's day. Maybe they just want people to see how much they're loved.

Signing off, Bunny

Bonnie's A Blogger!

Hi! I'm Bonny, the third daughter. This is my first public post and I'm very excited. My family thought it very nice to have a blog and keep together like this. I'm still in school, but just barely. Our new apartment (until we get a firmer position) was very dull until we bought some new furniture and some more of our own stuff down here. The new town is very good and my mom and I can walk almost everywhere. There are two swimming pools in very easy walking distance. God's blessings on you all, Bonny.