Our First Snow

Last year we hardly had a winter to speak of. A couple of weekends before Christmas, we were walking about in downtown Pittsburgh admiring the Christmas lights with nothing more than long sleeve shirts on. We never even bought Emry a coat. I just put her in fuzzy pajamas and a hoodie the time I took her out in the one good snow we had (which was all of a couple of inches). After all, she wasn’t crawling let alone walking. She just sat on the towel I put down and let me take a few pictures of her first snow, even though she wasn’t impressed. In fact, she didn’t seem to like snow at all.

First snow last winter – happy to be out, but mostly unimpressed.

Fast forward a year to a really good three-inch snow this week and that seems to have changed. When I showed her the snow falling outside our windows, she was mesmerized. She just stood there watching it. Then she would point in wonder and declare, “Snow!” We didn’t have time to investigate the wonder of snow that day, but we put on our layers the next day to explore: boots, snowpants, coat, mittens. It’s a collection of mismatched whatevers. The snowpants belonged to one of my sisters and are too long and extremely loose at the top. But they can be rolled up in the legs and the 6 to 9 month size coat fits perfectly to hide the overreaching straps. The mittens are a little large, too, but she doesn’t seem to mind them. Of course, put all that on and it’s a little hard to move. Snowball fights are certainly a thing of the future – we can barely walk!

First snow this winter – yea, we love being outside!

Nor were we much interested in walking at first. I helped her outside and there she stood on the concrete slab, staring at the snow as if it would jump up and bite her. Even when I stomped around in it, she didn’t dare move. Finally, I picked her up and stood her up in the midst of it. For a moment, she still didn’t move. I even wondered if the tears would come next. But she must have decided that it wasn’t going to hurt her for off she went, trudging away down to the sidewalk where we walked up the road and admired the neighbor’s snowman. As it was quite cold, we didn’t stay out and explore the wonders of snow for very long, but she was quite happy with her first introduction, jabbering on as I undressed her of how she had been “ ‘side snow!” (interpretation: outside in the snow).

Hopefully we have many more opportunities to enjoy snow this season. I’m hoping (as I do every winter) for piles of it. And even though it’s a pain to pull on so many layers, it is worth it. Maybe we’ll even build a snowman!

Memories of…Jenny!

Jenny is the Christmas baby in our house. I remember quite clearly that when she was born, the tree was up, her stocking was sitting on Mom’s sewing table waiting to have a name placed on it, and there were gifts under the tree for a baby we didn’t know much about. I was eleven years old, a couple of months from turning twelve, and artistic Katey was nine. Together we were just old enough to use a hot glue gun by ourselves and – probably – get into all kinds of mischief as we discovered making hairbows, ornaments and I can’t remember what all. I just remember we had come across this shiny blue garland like stuff that seemed ridiculous to use in wrapping or decorating, but it sure did make nice hairbows. Each of us girls had one to wear to visit our new sister in the hospital.  I think we even brought Jenny a small one, although she certainly didn’t have enough hair to hold it in!

That soon changed. Jenny’s hair came in a light red/auburn color and it came in thick and heavy. She’s still sensitive about the fountain-like pony tails sitting on top of her head that Mom put it in to keep it out of her face that. We jokingly called her “Pebbles”. All that hair despite Abby attempting to steal it by pulling chunks of it out for no apparent reason. (They sat next to each other in their carseats in the van until Mom moved Jenny and saved her from a lifetime of baldness. For no reason at all, Abby would reach over and gleefully pull out chunks of Jenny’s hair, leaving poor Jenny in tears – and probably in need of therapy.)

Growing up, Jenny always loved music. Before she possessed her toy piano, she would pull the stool over to the windowsill and “play” her windowsill “piano”. She loved to cut paper. If Jenny had a pair of scissors in hand, no piece of paper was safe from being turned into confetti. Born at ten pounds and nine ounces, Jenny has always been the tallest and biggest of us girls yet she was the one who wished to be a ballerina. Jenny always had a huge imagination, attached to easy forgetfulness. She so often seemed to live in her own little world, yet Jenny is the one who taught herself to ride a bike, tie her shoe and sew doll clothes.

Music and sewing are Jenny’s passions. Anytime of day or night, you can hear piano music at my parent’s house or the sewing machine vibrating through the walls and floor. She is always at work on some project, sometimes for herself but just as often for someone else. Jenny would give you the shirt off her back and kept the little girls at church supplied with enough clothes for their dolls to last a lifetime or two.

And now she is 25 years old…where have those years gone?

Happy Birthday, Jenny!

Lingering

Before Thanksgiving, I think I’m the guilty party of bringing home a cold. Emry caught it and for a few days, she was sniffling and not her usual active, happy self. Before we went to my parents, though, Emry and I seemed to have gotten rid of what we had although Ed came down with something he probably picked up at work. But it’s that time of year and we weren’t the only ones sick. For as my nephew Jay proclaimed to my mom when he spoke to her on the phone on their way to Indiana, “Grandma, I have bad germs!”

And, so, he proceeded to share them. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe his brother Curtis did. Or maybe my other nephew Benny did. Or it could have even been my brother Caleb who had to have a flu shot the weekend we arrived (he’s in the Marines) and was quite sick by Wednesday. (Typical. Still can’t figure out why people actually want a shot to make them sick.) Of course, I’m sure we shared what we had as well. After all, four kids playing with and chewing on the same toys? And we are trying to teach them to share…

So, Emry came down with round two. Then I did. This one has been far worse. My poor little girl wakes up with crusty stuff sealing her eyes shut and covering her face as she’s tried to wipe her nose in her sleep. She hasn’t been eating like her normal self, she wakes up at night and wants to be held and rocked (highly abnormal) and she simply doesn’t have the energy to run about all day long, toys trailing in her wake. She also has a cough. Now that I’m in the midst of it, I understand. I’ve glued a box of tissues to my side, everyone I talk to remarks that I sound congested, I sleep sitting up in order to breath and I can’t smell or taste anything – a problem I have NEVER had with a cold in all my nearly 37 years of life. It’s been miserable.

And worse…it lingers. I can get over a cold in a matter of days. The two colds Emry’s had previously lasted, at most, three days. But I’m not sure this one is ever going to end. Every day I wake up praying I don’t have to spend half the day attempting to surreptitiously wipe Emry’s face with a warm cloth so it’s finally clean by the time I head to work. Every day I hope I can stop carrying the tissue box around. Every day I hope Ed will stop hacking and we can both get some sleep. But how many days has it been since we got home from my parents? I’m beginning to loose faith that this will ever end…

And thus why I’m so far behind on everything else – like blogging. But maybe next week I’ll catch up. Maybe next week I’ll finish wrapping Christmas gifts. Maybe next week I’ll mop the kitchen floor. Maybe next week we’ll just feel better!

Mission Accomplished

It’s only the second day of December, but I can happily report that I have officially fulfilled my reading goal for the year. Of course, the year is not yet over so I don’t have an official count of how many books I have read, but I have read through the alphabet three times. And it’s been quite fun…even if it hasn’t made a dent in my “Want to Read List”.

I won’t bore you with an entire list of the 78 books reading through the alphabet three time entails. But I thought a few stats would be interesting:

What was the hardest letter to find and what books did I read? That’s easy: X. I confess I didn’t read a book that actually started with the letter “X”. I read A isn’t for Fox, The Secret Destiny of Pixie Piper and G is for Galaxy.

What was the longest book? Another easy one: Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.  I can’t remember how I found this title. I know I saw that it’s a BBC mini-drama that looks interesting but given the topic (magicians) I thought it wise to read the book first. Boy was I surprised when I stopped by the library to pick up a book the size of War and Peace! I can safely say (having read War and Peace) that it was not as small print or as cumbersome. In fact, it was pretty easy reading. And now I can watch the mini-drama!

What’s the most interesting title I read? That would have to be If you ever want to take your Piano to the Beach – Don’t! Emry enjoyed that one, too.

What was the most thought-provoking? Hands down The Treasury of David, volume 1 by Charles Spurgeon. If you want an in-depth study of the Psalms, you won’t beat it. And that was only Psalms 1-57. I still have two volumes to go!

What was the worst book I read? Rush Limbaugh’s Rush Revere and the Brave Pilgrims. He needs to stick to radio talk-show. Just because you can talk doesn’t mean you can write.

Did any book make me laugh, cry or simply get angry? I did have to laugh hilariously at the story of gluing himself to a wall in his collection of short writings in My Southern Journey. Very few books make me cry. As far as angry, I would say it’s more like frustrating. Nathaniel Philbrook’s Valiant Ambition was good, but I just want to wring Benedict Arnold’s pompous neck. But then, who doesn’t?

Do I have a favorite for the year? That’s like asking if I have a favorite book in general. There are way too many to choose from. But I did enjoy Jessica Day George’s newest installment in her Tower series Fridays with the Wizards, Jordan Stratford’s The Case of the Missing Moonstone and The Case of the Girl in Grey are very cute. And while I wouldn’t call them favorites, it was interesting to add Dracula and Frankenstein to my list of have-read classics. Especially Frankenstein. In it’s own way, that story is very thought-provoking…and not at all like how I thought that story went.

Let the Interviews Begin

It is a step of faith. In many aspects. Mostly financially, of course. But for me, except for a year when I finished my degree, I’ve worked at least one part-time job since I was nineteen years old. I’m not sure what life looks like without a job. And I’m pretty confident in front of a computer working on an Excel spreadsheet. I’m not half that confident I’ll make a half-decent mother. But, I will stop working at the end of January. Like I said…a step of faith.

And, so, this week I have been interviewing prospective candidates. I have seven total over four days. From those, I hope to slim them down to three for round two with the owners of the companies. Thus far, it’s been an adventure – and that’s only two days in.

For starters, let me explain what part of Pittsburgh I work in: not the nice part. Not the most terrible part either. There are worst locations in Pittsburgh than “Duestch Town”, but you have to know you’re not in the safest part of the City when you pass someone sleeping on the sidewalk, you have to have a key to unlock the door every time you enter the office and I once watched a drug deal go down right in front of our front door. (The entry way is right in front of my desk, two glass doors in a short hall of about six feet in depth. So, you can see why I could see them but they couldn’t see me.) Welcome to East Ohio Street!

I’m sure if you’ve always lived in a city (which most Pittsburghers have as way more than half the population are natives), such things don’t shock you. However, the very first girl I had come in to interview marveled at all the cops out arresting somebody or other. The third woman I had in this afternoon said a man stopped her on the street and asked, “Do you have a man?”

“Um, no.”

“Do you have a dad?”

It crossed her mind to be smart. Of course she has a dad. After all, she is standing right there, quite alive and breathing. But she just answered, “Um, yes.”

The man must have realized she was completely thrown off her guard for he replied in some frustration, “Lady, I’m trying to sell you a watch.”

All I could picture is the stereotypical guy in a trench coat, opening it up and showing the inside full of who-knows-where-he-got-them watches.

Thankfully there are laughable moments like these in the midst of several hours full of interviews, because this whole process is really not my cup of tea. Honestly, I think I’m as nervous on my side of the table as they are on theirs. But the Lord is gracious, as I discovered just before leaving work today:

Tomorrow I was to have an interview with a woman who, from her resume, looked like she had great potential. I opened her last e-mail to reply and send her a reminder for tomorrow’s meeting. As I did, I realized I had never clicked on the link she has next to her signature. I knew from reading her resume that she had started and directed a non-profit, but I hadn’t bothered to research it and assumed by it’s name it had something to do with art. Since I had a couple of minutes, I clicked on it. It wouldn’t connect me (which is not surprising when you run Office Suite 2003) so I Googled it. And found my virus protection wouldn’t let me on the website. Why? Well, it’s a Lesbian/Gay non-profit for the arts.

I was a bit stunned (to say the least) and had a moment of crisis: I don’t work at camp anymore. I have a secular job in a wicked world. I can’t refuse anyone the opportunity of a job for any reason. But I have never sat across the table from someone of that “persuasion” and had a friendly conversation. Good grief, I have enough trouble having a pleasant conversation with my mother-in-law and her live in boyfriend. How was I going to get through this interview as if I didn’t think something was wrong? How do I keep in mind that this is a fallen world and I’m just as much a sinner, although thankfully forgiven by God’s grace? I didn’t know what to do except sit at my desk and pray that God would, indeed, give me His grace for tomorrow.

But no more than 20 minutes later, I had a response from that same women, telling me she had found another job and would no longer need the interview but she hoped we would find the person we were looking for. Praising God I happily replied, telling her I was glad she had found something and hoped it suited her very well.

Isn’t God great?