I Want One of These!

We've been traveling and seeing interesting things. I would love to write about everything I've seen and done lately, but these are busy days. For now, I just want to say, I want a linen press like we saw in the Bed and Breakfast we stayed in during our trip to Vicksburg, Mississippi (Baer House Inn, Circa 1870). I loved a lot of the antiques in the Baer House, but this was my favorite. Just think of everything I could store in this! I could use one in every room of my house!

If I'm really, really good for the next couple of weeks, do you suppose Santa might bring me one of these?

I Can't Bear It Any Longer!

It started out innocently enough. When I was two years old, my parents gave me a brown furry teddy bear with a pink ribbon around his neck. Being a creative child, I named him Pinky.

I was crazy about that little bear. My parents assumed I’d give up this childish pleasure, but when I left for college, Pinky went with me. My college friends thought my affection for a threadbare teddy was a bit odd, but then, there were lots of things about me that were odd, and they accepted this quirk as part of the package.

.

When Dr. Lobo asked me to marry him, I loaned Pinky to him as a sign of my commitment. The two of them shared six months of Army adventures, which must have sparked some interesting conversations in the barracks. After the wedding, Pinky accompanied us on the honeymoon. The three of us became a family.

.

Dr. Lobo, bless him, accepted my bear obsession with grace and good humor. He started buying bears for me. When my children outgrew their bears, they let me adopt them. My friends gave bears to me.

One summer I acquired a LOT of bears. I don’t even know how many, but it was way more than a mentally healthy adult woman would have obtained. My only defense is that my mother had been placed under hospice care, and I was hurting. Those sweet, cuddly bits of fur filled a need. This, combined with my discovery of eBay during that time, resulted in financial and spacial disaster. How could I resist all those precious bears who needed homes?

For years we’ve needed some kind of bear population control management system in this house. My half-hearted attempts to give them away have been inadequate. Finally, however, I am learning to resist cuteness. I am taking my house back. Those bears have to go!

Recently I have given away many, many bears. About forty went to a nursing home. Twenty went to kids (of all ages) at church. A couple dozen went to Infant Crisis Services. Another dozen will be included in Christmas baskets for retired firefighters and widows of firefighters. Some will go to the principal at Mark Twain Elementary; she plans to give bears to children who are taken from school by child welfare workers. Other bears will go to a facility for autistic children and the rest will go to the local veterans’ hospital.

Of course, I’ll keep far more bears than any normal person would own. Junior, the little guy in the yellow checkered shirt in the photo below, will always be part of our family. He is our “grandbear.” He has a larger wardrobe than many children and an album full of pictures. He travels with us and writes his own blog. But that’s a story for another time.

And Pinky? Well, sixty years have taken their toll on both of us, and we’re showing lots of wear and tear. Nevertheless, I think he’s wonderful. I’ve known him longer than I’ve known my children, Dr. Lobo, and even my siblings. Some relationships are far too precious to give up. He's definitely a keeper.

Happy Thanksgiving!

When I was a child, we always celebrated Thanksgiving at Aunt Wanda’s and Uncle Cope’s house. Extended family (and friends who felt like family) filled the house with conversation and laughter. Dinner, a typical American feast that featured a turkey and at least one dessert containing chocolate, was scheduled around TV football games. I have fond memories from those years.

.

When Dr. Lobo and I were raising our children, Thanksgiving celebrations were much less exciting. Sometimes the five of us would spend the day with Dr. Lobo’s parents. Occasionally other relatives were involved. By the time our kids were in middle and high school, however, we usually spent Thanksgiving at home by ourselves. It always felt lonely to me, and I wished my children could experience the kind of family holiday dinners that I had enjoyed as a child.

.

Now two of our children (and their spouses) live out of state, so most of the time, only three of us are here for holiday dinners. I probably don’t need to tell you that it’s not real exciting.

.

For the past three years, a family in our church has coordinated a Thanksgiving Day dinner at the church, and it seems to attract more people each year. While the fellowship hall scene does not look like the famous Norman Rockwell painting of Thanksgiving dinner, it has its own charm.

.

This is what my Thanksgiving dinner looked like this year:

Lots of cooks in the kitchen! (Sometimes even more than shown here.)

We can't have Thanksgiving without lots of mashed potatoes.

Everybody contributed to the feast.


What a spread!


There were lots of desserts to choose from, including pumpkin pie and pecan pie.

Time for dinner!

Yum, yum!




I made new friends and enjoyed being with old friends. Here's my good friend Louise and my friend (and minister) Zena.


It was much like those Thanksgiving dinners from my childhood, with conversation, laughter, and good food. It felt like family.

Ordination

My friend Kathy isn’t afraid to jump into new experiences, and today she took a gigantic leap. She was ordained into ministry.

.

Kathy grew up in my church. She went to college, married, and worked in the business world. For years she was not active in church.

.

After her husband died, Kathy returned to church, where she found comfort. Bible study and involvement in service activities brought her joy. Eventually she began to feel called to ministry.

.

Now Kathy has finished seminary. She has worked toward developing her spiritual gifts. She has served people in a variety of ways. I’m sure these challenges haven’t been easy for a woman in midlife, but Kathy has handled them amazingly well.

.

Today’s Service of Ordination was beautiful. Kathy opened the service by singing “Sanctuary:”

.

Lord, prepare me to be a sanctuary

Pure and holy, tried and true

With thanksgiving, I’ll be a living

Sanctuary for You.

.

As Kathy said, the Service of Ordination is about as “high church” as Disciples get. She is a member of The Oklahoma Master Chorale, so that group joined us, lending more formality to the service. Those folks sure can sing; I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that motorists along May Avenue heard “The Hallelujah Chorus” as they drove by.

.

Here is the order of service:

.

Our former minister, Ryan Pfeiffer, and his family came from Arkansas for the celebration.

It was a day of hugs and happy tears.

Kathy’s parents were proud, of course. I was particularly touched as I watched her father help her into her new robe.

A wonderful reception followed the service. After nearly everyone had left, Kathy finally had time to eat.

Kathy, I am so happy for you. Your compassion, warmth and intelligence will serve you well as you go forth in ministry. You will indeed be a sanctuary.

Give Us This Week Our Weekly Bread

One of my favorite lines is “The only thing domestic about me is that I was born in this country.” Those traditionally female activities like cleaning house and cooking don’t usually interest me much. Fortunately, Dr. Lobo is an independent guy who doesn’t demand much caretaking, so he has stuck around in spite of my homemaking limitations.

For most of the last year, however, I have baked bread about once a week. This is truly amazing, since it involves more than cooking. I also have to keep bread start alive by feeding it regularly. This requires a level of commitment I don’t usually exhibit. (Sometimes I wonder how I managed to feed three children every day for all those years.)

Other than my novel, the writing piece that has brought me the most money is a humor article describing my disastrous attempts to make something called “Amish Friendship Bread.” The title was “Trouble From the Start.” Now, in spite of my earlier bread experience, I keep bread start in the refrigerator, feed it faithfully, and . . . MAKE BREAD!

There must be a need for domesticity somewhere deep in my soul, because I like making bread. I love the yeasty smell. I love the feeling of dough in my hands as I knead it. I love the way it rises. I love the way it smells while it’s baking. I love the way it melts butter. And oh my, I love eating it!

I’m not the only one who loves this bread. These days, I’m improving my chances of keeping Dr. Lobo here. As long as I keep the bread start alive, the marriage should survive as well.

Oil Heiress

Bet you didn’t know I’m an oil heiress.

.

My maternal grandfather farmed during the Oklahoma dust bowl days. During his later years, he sold real estate. No one in his family ever actually starved to death, but it was a challenge to provide for them.

.

I don’t think he ever had a comfortable life. Photographs give me some sense of the struggles he faced.

.

Here he is (on the left) with his broomcorn.

My grandparents and my aunt:

Here he is with his son.

The four children who survived past infancy:

This picture shows the family. My mother is on the left, just below my grandfather.

My grandfather and my mother:

He made some good decisions, however, when he obtained mineral rights. After his death, my mother and her two sisters each received a third of these rights. (My grandfather also had three sons, but two died in infancy and one died in World War II.)

.

Now, I’m not talking about a lot of money. One time Mom got a check for two cents.

.

When my mother died five years ago, each of her children got a third of her interests. The percentage keeps decreasing, as I now have one-ninth of the mineral rights he acquired. Still, several times a month I get checks from oil companies, and I welcome checks of any size.

.

I never really knew this grandfather. He died shortly before I turned eleven. Because he suffered from dementia for years, my contact with him had been minimal. My strongest memory of him comes from a time when I was about five years old; I was terrified when he opened the door while the car was moving.

.

During this month of giving thanks, I am grateful for my grandfather. Although I didn’t get the chance to know him, my mother told me stories of his generous nature. I know that some of his values were passed on to her, and then to me.

.

I am also thankful for these monetary gifts. I wonder how much oil and gas money his daughters and grandchildren have received over the years. I think he would be amused to know how well he has provided for his family.

I Love You, Pioneer Woman, But Not That Much

About three years ago, my daughter introduced me to http://www.thepioneerwoman.com/. It’s the first blog I started reading regularly, and it’s written by a fellow Oklahoman. If you are one of the few internet users who hasn’t yet seen it, go take a look. Ree Drummond, the “Pioneer Woman,” has taken the blogging world by storm with her writing style, photography, and cooking skills.

.

This week, her cookbook debuted, and she started a book tour. Last night she came to Full Circle Book Store in Oklahoma City. I decided to go buy a couple of cookbooks and have her autograph them.

.

Now, I knew Pioneer Woman has more than a couple of fans, so I determined to get there before the crowd gathered. When I had a hard time finding a parking place, I thought there might already be more than a few people there. But I didn’t expect this.

The line ran from Ree through the store and out into the mall—way out into the mall. This was at 6:30, when the signing began.

Customers went into the store to purchase cookbooks, then returned outside to stand in line. I bought my cookbooks. But I figured that with hundreds of people already in line, everyone who was coming to the book signing was already there. It would take a good hour or more to reach Ree, and I knew that my old legs weren’t up to standing that long.

.

I decided to be smart about this. I knew I’d be more comfortable sitting for an hour or two, so I plopped down into one of the mall chairs. So what if I was at the end of the line? I already had my books, and I was comfortable.

.

So I sat and read—all the way through the cookbook. I couldn’t see the end of the line, but it had to be getting closer to me, right? After all, how many people could possibly show up for a book signing?

As I sat there, a number of people stopped and asked me what was happening. What were all these people buying? I tried to explain, but non-blog readers just didn’t get it.

.

About 9:15 I finished the book and decided I’d walk for a while before getting in line. By the time I found the end of the line, reality sank in. Obviously, while I was sitting, more and more people got in line. She still had a couple hundred books to sign.

By that time, my eyes were focusing about as well as my camera did for this shot.

Since I live close to Full Circle Book Store, I considered going home for a couple of hours and then returning for her autograph. But it was already 9:15. I’m old, and I was tired. So I went home and stayed there.

.

This morning I’m still marveling at this phenomenon. I console myself with the thought that if we insist upon having heroes/heroines, at least Ree has done something to merit this kind of attention. She’s not just a pretty face, or some obscenely overpaid sports figure. She’s actually talented, and she has worked hard.

.

Congratulations, Ree. I love your blog, but I’m sorry to say I don’t love you enough to invest more time in getting your signature. Actually, you’re probably grateful that I didn’t stay. Writer’s cramp must be quite painful after giving so many autographs.

.

Today’s post on The Pioneer Woman has Ree’s report of the events at Full Circle. I’m glad she had such a good time. Since she’s an Oklahoman, maybe our paths will cross sometime, and I’ll be able to congratulate her in person. But I doubt she’ll find me standing in line.

Carnival Time!

For the past several years, my church has sponsored a carnival around Halloween. It's a toss up as to who enjoys it more, the adults/overgrown children who work in the carnival, or the kids who attend.

Last night was the big event.


Dr. Lobo and I participated in the "trunk or treat" part of the evening. Church members decorated the trunks of their cars and passed out treats to children as they traveled from trunk to trunk.



Take a look at this scary guy. I'm a brave woman; I share my bed with that creature!




But then, I guess I look a little scary, myself.


The gym was full of games and prizes.

Many people wanted their faces painted, but some kids were a bit hesitant.

Everyone got a hot dog to eat, served with a smile.


Our congregation is undergoing a process of transformation. About thirty years ago, when we first joined, about 250 to 300 people participated in worship on Sunday mornings; now we have about half that number--or even less. We're in the middle of the city, and the neighborhood around the church is changing. We're moving from what we once were to what we will be, and we're seeking God's guidance as we strive to meet the physical and spiritual needs of the people around us.

Last night I got the sense that we are moving in the right direction. We offered what we could, without judgment. No sermons were preached, and no demands were made. We didn't ask for money. For two hours, the diverse people of our neighborhood were a community. We got a glimpse of the kingdom of God, and it was good.

Habitat for Humanity Unity Build

Before you can fully understand today’s blog entry, you need to know a little history.

Two hundred years ago, a Presbyterian preacher named Thomas Campbell wrote the founding document of what is now known as the Restoration Movement. He encouraged people to get away from denominational creeds to form a unified body of Christians. Instead of unity, however, the movement eventually led to three major streams: the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), the Churches of Christ, and the Independent Christian Churches.

Two years ago, groups from the Christian Church (Disciples) and the Churches of Christ worked together on an Oklahoma City Habitat for Humanity house. Although this was supposedly a scheduling error, the participants felt that working with their Christian “cousins” was a good experience. This year, to commemorate the 200^th anniversary of their common beginning, the three faith groups built a Habitat house together. They called

it a "Unity Build."

The three branches disagree about a number of issues, but they all concur on the significance of The Lord’s Supper. Every Sunday members of all three groups gather around communion tables. So of course, the Unity Build had to begin with a communion service.

On Saturday, September 27^th, members of the three groups came together to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Representatives of each branch led the service.

Notice that each representative has a cup of juice that he pours into a common cup before the participants share in communion.

Approximately twenty churches from the three faith groups sponsored the Unity Build. Churches held fundraisers and individuals contributed money. Volunteers worked on site. Other people provided food for the workers. Across the city, Christians prayed for the success of the build—and for the family that will live there.

On September 27^th, only a concrete slab and a bunch of lumber sat on the site.

Three weeks later, the house was completed.

Isn’t it amazing what Christians can do when they work together?

What I Learned From My Writing Residency

First, the week affirmed how much I love writing. Since childhood, writing has filled a need in me that nothing else does. This is indeed what I want to do during these retirement years, whether or not my writing results in publication.

Writing a novel demands an incredible amount of time. I knew that, of course, but I have a new appreciation of this truth. My writing residency offered the best possible circumstances for writing, as I could escape the normal distractions of my life. Still, progress was agonizingly slow, even though I remained focused and worked hard.

I have never been a disciplined writer with a solid routine. Now that I have a better idea about the kind of time commitment writing this novel will require, I know I must make it a priority if I ever want to finish. Otherwise, I might as well abandon it now and take up playing golf instead.

Each day as I resumed writing, I saw the advantage of returning to my novel within a short time. It’s much easier to stay inside your story than to have to re-enter it each time. This is another reason for self-discipline; writing is more efficient this way. Since I know I am a slow writer, efficiency is imperative.

I realized that I may be writing a novel that is beyond my present skill level. All along, I have thought of this book as Justin’s story, told from three different points of view. But now I see that Margaret and Lauren have their own stories as well. Each story needs a climax and resolution, and all three stories need to come together to create a whole. This task is far more daunting than simply writing one character’s linear story.

Finally, I learned something about balance. At Heartland, I used my intellectual abilities as I wrote and as I discussed literature and the writing process. Doing something I felt passionate about satisfied my emotions. I loved being outside on gorgeous October days, surrounded by beauty. Walking nature trails and a labyrinth fed my spirit. I ate healthy food in reasonable amounts, and I exercised every day, which made me feel great physically. I enjoyed socializing with interesting people. I had fun, and I laughed. All of these things made me aware of how much happier I could be if I worked to achieve more balance in my life.

My writing residency week was an amazing experience. Now I must remember what I learned as I continue my journey.