Do You See What I See?

Sometimes when I have failed latte art I try to find the face of the Virgin Mary in the foam patterns. Or the face of my savior, Jesus Christ.

This morning, no such luck. At least I don't think so. Though maybe, just maybe about 9:00 on the picture, if you squint and kind of tilt your head to the right.... Or maybe that's a celestial angel sideways, between 9:00 and 3:00... You might have to lie down to see it...

These are not desperate times. Not like the incident when the world was dropping away and I was convinced that the hugely enormous bird shit on my window must certainly contain the image of a savior, any savior, as I was enormously in need. (btw, a savior did arrive, who promptly asked me about my medications when I tried to have her help me diagnose the bird shit for a sign of a friendly face. She just didn't get it. Maybe you don't either. That's a risk I'm willing to take.)


I look for images delivering messages in the clouds. And also in marble patterns. I always have. Ever since I was a little girl. The tub surround in my childhood home had a gold and white swirly marble patterned Formica. Each soaking I would lay back with just my mouth and eyes and nose above the surface, locating each known image: the two wolves; the Indian maiden; the merry-go-round horse; the half elephant/half lioness creature stalking the other wall images. I would look for new images until the water grew cold and I had to give it up. On hot still days I would lay in the yard and will cloud shapes to reveal themselves to me. I'm thinking I'd like to do that again. Soon.

At the rental we were in before my cottage, there was an image of David hidden in the tile square just in front of the bathroom throne. I really wanted to ask if anyone else could see it but I didn't have the nerve. At that time my grip on sanity was tenuous at best. Though I am convinced he would have easily been spotted by anyone else who might be directed to look, I wasn't willing to risk any outside assessment of my sanity. I guess you could say I have toughened up a bit since then. As now I am confessing and not too worried about whether you feel I am nuts or not. I'm taking that risk as I'm betting there is some part in everyone, who sometimes sees messages in things, whether they will openly admit it or not. So now you know: I look for Jesus in my latte foam. Not that I need any proof of His proximity. It just would be a shame not to see anything He might have put in front of me to see.

Where I did see Christ's face this weekend was in the glow of Natalie's smile as she got to participate with the rest of the children in her Church's Christmas service. Her smile was gigantic as she looked out at the audience and then at the children she was next to: almost not believing her good fortune to be part of this precious scene. She was an angel: a messenger from Heaven: "rejoice. God is so good." If this beautiful child of God can beam his love then how can we not receive it? There wasn't a dry eye in our row, and dare I say, in the entire sanctuary. It was just that sweet.

Meanwhile, Sam joined the chorus of Wise Men, taking us to follow the star. He had his parts down well, never missed a beat. Treated his position with the careful responsibility such an important calling is due.

Blessings rained on the congregation as we watched the children remind us of the reason for this season.

But even angels have their moments. Earlier this morning, posing with the mall Santa, Natalie dropped her wings for a moment, and sent Sam flying instead. I understand he really flew. Far. I'm pretty sure it was probably an uncontrolled spasm, rather than a calculated move. However, I'm guessing that Natalie delighted in her little display of power, especially since no brothers were harmed in the making of this photo. She's a gal after my own heart.


I'll continue to look for images in my images and invite you to do the same. Here are a few from my i-phone camera that might just contain something in them for you, even if not necessarily for me. Have fun.

Over It...

Sorry about that last post. I'm over it. Andy has his car back and it is running better than ever.

I just get pissed off that I still get pissed off...OK, so maybe NOT over it. Sigh... On to BETTER things...

This morning I looked at my lit tree and decided it should stay. Every year I am tempted to leave the tree up...year round. One can entertain that thought with a fake tree. No needles to loose. No watering to be done. Could stay there year round. For about two months after I take it down the living room feels naked. I love a Christmas Tree. In my heaven Christmas trees will not be seasonal.

My spiral staircase looks so happy wearing a garland of greens and red berry beads.

Andy helped me decorate as usual. I love this little game we play about his home made ornaments from grade school. He sorts through the ornament box and pulls out the raggedy, abused, falling apart ornaments. He says "I think this is probably past its prime. Should we throw it away?"

And I SHRIEK "NO. NO WAY. THESE ARE MY MOST FAVORITE ORNAMENTS. GIVE IT TO ME."

And I prop the Styrofoam cup bell that no longer has it's hanging loop or jingle bell onto the limbs where it balances.

And I hang the First Grade heart at eye level in a prominent place where no one can miss it.

He acts all embarrassed and turns away so I can't see his smile. (We will do the same next year, and the next year, and the next year, and however many Christmases we get to have together)

The old sock monkey wears his happy stupid grin. (So do I)

The hand smocked ornament that was a present from my ex-mother in law I got to keep because it is a WSU ornament and my ex does not care about WSU.

I put on a flock of moth eaten white doves that I got in a grab box from some garage sale. I think they are beautiful. Even if they are a bit tathered.

The scuba Santa that Andy and I brought home as a memento of Christmas in Tahiti with my family a few years ago swims onto the tree.

Even the cactus in my messy office knows its Christmas. This poor plant. It thrives on abuse and neglect. It always gives a nice bloom after I rescue it from near death. (any life parallels you'd like to make here?)

I do keep this wreath up in my office year round. It's no longer just a Christmas thing. So maybe you will find the tree in my living room in July. If you do...no apologies. It would be on purpose.

Please Humor Me...

I am pretty adamant about this not being a blog to whine and pound on the wasband. He is what he is. He's not in my life any more...much...and so therefore, though sometimes a source of (mostly) minor irritation, it's rare and does not much register on my daily meter of contentment (...I corrected my Freudian mistyping of "daily meter of contemptment :) )

So, my apologies in advance for those who don't like to read about the irritated former Mrs. Lo**. You can just stop here and wait for another post. I am just needing to get this out there.

"On time and on budget" That's what the e-mail signature is on his messages. We pretty much only correspond by email. Neither of us has shared our personal email address with each other. Why mix business with pleasure, I say. So he gets e-mails from me with a "what transportation can be" sign off. That probably irritates him as well. Something to do with an constant critique of my driving style. I will spare you that whole discussion (or rant, as some would correctly view it).

Procrastination was a major source of difficulty in our marriage. As in he would never get around to doing things that were important to me. Things like getting a vasectomy; like getting even just a general physical check up; like taking his car in to be fixed when it was cycling through gas three times faster than it should; like trying to find employment that fulfilled his needs rather than being miserable in a job that wasn't working for him; like taking on work opportunities that were available to him when available to him rather than waiting for something more suitable to his taste came along. I will spare you any more. I think you get the picture.

Somehow, even with our limited interaction he still manages to procrastinate on the few things I ask of him. This summer he promised to help Andy with car battery problems. He did not. I had to take off work and help the stranded child to get jumped and taken to the battery shop where I spent the time (and my money) in getting him through that crisis that could have been avoided. When Andy was home this last Thanksgiving he was having other car problems. I had to borrow his car and was worried about the safety. When he returned to school, Andy left the car under his father's care to follow up and make sure it was safe for when he came back for Christmas break. Andy got home last Friday. Nothing had been done regarding the car so this week is mixed up with trying to get that all taken care of. Mark did take the lead in finding a place, and he is the one who will be bailing the car out when the work is done. I am not going to get stuck with that again.

So the " on time.." on his tag line just plain irritates me. As does "on budget." (I have just deleted a long explanation of why this irritates me. It felt too whiny. And I have to take some responsibility in that I've never forced the issue.) In summary, his financial obligations in Andy's care are next to nil. The few things he agreed to split compensation for (car and health insurance, Andy's cell phone service) he is a year behind on. Included in that are major dental work, major car repairs, etc. for which I've footed the bills.

Andy is blissfully unaware of the financial arrangements. For all he knows I get a monthly check from his father to help in his care and feeding like most custodial parents. Now that he's in college, at least most of his expenses come from the funds we put together while still married. Andy was only mildly reminded of my impatience with his father's lack of follow-through when I made some cutting remark while trying to deal with the battery episode. I shut myself down as soon as the words left my mouth, and apologized. When we separated I promised Andy that I would try very hard not to bad mouth his father and that if he ever felt put in the middle by anything I said that he had the right to call me on it.

My first inclination is to be passive aggressive about this thing. Like ranting on a blog rather than confronting him directly. Or to subtly change his e-mail signature by adding a "yeah, right!" on the tag line. As I sign this rant off I am aware of a much bigger issue: my inability to confront and fix this rather than whining behind his back. He had me very well trained (intimidated). Perhaps this is one of the things I need to work on before I dive into another relationship. Perhaps this is one of the elements of why I am not interested in getting into another relationship. Perhaps I should just shut up about it and get along with more interesting and less whiny posts.

Writing this post did not make me feel any better. I had hoped "getting it off my chest" would let me move on. Instead I just feel like I've shown a dirty side of me. I am what I am. He is what he is. God help us both!

Weekend Wonderful

Pretty soon my house will look like this.

And my neighborhood like this

Jill hosted a Gingerbread House party.

A woman in her Bible Study group does gingerbread ministry: making homes for deserving people to decorate.

I got there late after working at Anne's store.

Next year I will rearrange my schedule.

These are too cute. This one is Natalie's.

Saturday night dinner club dinner and gift exchange. So good to see my tribe at Katie's amazing Christmas House (seven trees, no less). We all got in on Katie's sale. Table top topiaries added to my table. And a few more things, because, as I said, pretty soon my house will look like that first one.

Friday night reunited with old friends. Monica is all grown up. What a stunning young woman!

What I didn't get pictures of: Saturday morning, three college friends from the sorority made their way to my house. Five hours flew by...what happens when you only get together every 20 years. Awed by the life journies of these women. Not an easy road for any of us. But we survived. There are some good stories to share.

The Reason for the Season

This is my favorite picture of the year: Nikki's beautiful daughters, the always happy Kate and older sister Lauren. Oh my!

On The Horizon

Missing my mother’s presence in our daily lives has become part of the landscape. The landscape that is in front of us every day: the horizon. Always there, and so not necessarily noticed acutely. But lingering in the distance. Certain things bring our awareness to that landscape: a beautiful sunset. A building storm. Such it is with mom’s departure from this earthly life on December 26, 1992. Coming up on 17 years: sixteen Christmases without her approaching, and then too, they shall pass. Today there is a beautiful sunrise on that horizon. Her name is Sarajane, or Sj for short. She is my beloved niece, daughter of my beloved sister.

Sj was just a baby, six months old, when my mother passed. She shares the same middle name as I do with my mom: Louise. I think that gives me special license to claim her as my honorary daughter, since I did not produce one to claim as my own. Sj is in her senior year at Pullman High School: the alma mater of all three of the Harwood kid clan, including myself. Fortunately enough time had passed since our generation was there so she had the opportunity to create her own reputation. And she has done it well.

Sj has been named the Chamber of Commerce Student-of-the-Month for January. This on the wings of lettering in swimming and being named to the All-Conference Academics First Team. She is currently taking a few college classes for running start, while being involved in all the Sr. class activities at High School. Despite all these incredible achievements, Sj is humble and uniquely herself. She is a leader, not a follower and has a reputation of being good to all kids, not focusing on the “in crowd.” In this light, she takes after her mother in every way. She communicates easily with folks of all generations, which is really something to admire in this day and age.

Raising such a wonderful kid is the result of dedication of her two wonderful parents. Sj and her brother Rob, another object of my pride, have parents who are involved: Mark coaches various sports teams, has always helped in getting the kids to the numerous activities they are involved with, and encouraging them in all they do. They, Mark and Julie, are a real team playing hard for their kids. I am so proud of my sister, who figured out the right balance of encouraging, pushing when needed, but not too hard, and living a beautiful example for Sj to learn from.

Sj’s future, after High School, is still being planned. There are some exciting opportunities that she is looking at. The world is truly her oyster. I’ll keep you posted on how that maps out. But for now, I just want to share, with pride, my wonderful niece. And humble admiration for her parents. My mom would be so proud of the person her beloved granddaughter has become. And so impressed with my sister and her husband, Mark, in the effort and dedication it took to get her to this place. This morning, there is a gorgeous pink sunrise over the lake. It’s bitingly cold out. But the beauty of the sunrise and this latest news of Sj’s accomplishments places mom on the horizon, beaming with pride and love for Sj and her family. And I, soaking it all in, am beaming too.

Friday to Monday...in reverse

This morning's latte art!


Big pot of chili at Kathy's house


Paris lamp rescued :-) from the Stanwood junk shop.


Sunset backlighting through the car window

Moon's reflection from the car

Sunset on the sound

Sand dollars on Camano Island


Very strange lights over Bellevue (ruling out the UFO we first thought it might be, we realize it is the morning sun's reflection on buildings hidden in the fog)

Jubilee Reach Center before school on Friday

A seven-year old's shark story at JRC whiteboard.

This story takes my breath away. Like so many other blogsters, I've been following Stephanie Nielson through her blog, The NieNie Dialogues and am humbled daily by her spirit. This story (in four chapters) is a sweet summary. Resilience at its finest.

Humbled

This afternoon I had an incredible opportunity that humbled me. My dear friend Judy had arranged for several of us to get a private tour of The Ben and Catherine Ivy Center for Advanced Brain Tumor Treatment at Swedish Providence. There Dr. Greg Foltz, pictured, shared with us the work the Center is doing in treating and testing cures for those diagnosed with glioblastoma (brain cancer). Judy's passion around the subject is inspired by her friend Deb, a sweet, wonderful woman with whom I recently made acquaintance, who is currently in battle with a glioblastoma. Deb and her husband Dick joined the tour along with several other of her friends. Deb is currently being treated for her own glioblastoma, an aggressive, incurable (though remissionable) brain cancer.

I was blown away by the progress that has been made in the last three years in finding treatments for this disease. Three years ago, my dear friend Anne lost her 20 year old son, Hunter, to a glioblastoma. He died within a year and a half of diagnosis. Another friend Sharon's son, also in his twenties, is currently undergoing treatment, and doing promisingly well with new experimental treatment.

This cancer is usually diagnosed in an emergency room, presented by a seizure or extreme headache. Surgery is done within days. Prognosis is typically months to a year-and-a-half. There is no cure. Yet.

But Dr. Foltz and his team are doing incredible things. We were actually taken into the labs, just doors away from the patient center, where removed tumors are taken immediately from the surgery room. The cells go through genetic sorting and classification. It's all rather unfathomable, complex and awe-inspiring. For a few instances, in that lab, I felt like I was in a scene from some futuristic Science Fiction flick.

There are only about 20,000 diagnosed cases of glioblastoma each year. Each the result of a unique genetic marker. The research and treatment done here is uniquely designed on the patterns revealed in the lab. While all this is going on, back on the patient side, the patients and family are provided with, what Dr. Foltz described as "Four Seasons Level Care." From the waiting room, with alcoves designed for family intimacy and privacy, to the "concierge" responsible for patient and family assistance in dealing with all the intricacies of dealing with such unexpected devastating news, everything is done with such elegant care and respect.

I have never before met (or even heard of) a physician with more compassion for his patients, more compassion for finding a cure, more passion for bringing hope where most have given up.

Humbled.

You can read more about the center and Dr. Foltz here, and here.

A Place at the Table

I do believe that our obsessions and our passions are a gift from God. Something He wants to share right along side of us. So when I was awakened by a voice at 4:30 this morning it didn’t shock me. It delighted me. It gave me pause to consider where this latest passion about table settings and dinnerware came from. The voice said “Did you set a place for Me? I want to be at the table too.” It was a loving voice. Not one to make me feel bad or guilty. It was a genuine desire to be at MY table. I was flattered. Not shamed. Jesus doesn’t want to miss out on the fun and laughter and delicious food that is served there. How cool is that? Maybe He’s also sitting in that pink chair. I hope so. It’s a chair that should be shared, for sure.

Introducing...

I would like you to meet Pink Chair. She is my new best friend. We had been admiring each other ever since the day I first saw her in Anne’s shop.

She was so beautiful that Anne wanted to keep her for display purposes only. Anything near her took on a new look of refinement. She had smashing outfits flung across her. Hats and gloves perched on her. She helped put the heart in “Heart and Home.”

Even though I knew she wasn’t for sale I kept referring to her as “my pink chair.” And made Anne promise to let me know if she ever was going to put her up for sell.

That chair got more compliments and inquiries than any other item in the store. In fact the other store workers were begging Anne to sell it because they were getting so tired of telling folks who really wanted it that she was not for sale.

One lady came in several times to ask Anne if she could rent the chair for Christmas. She had a pink Christmas tree and NEEDED the chair to go by it. (I told Anne if she comes in again she can talk to me. I would rent her for the holiday so I could give the proceeds back to the shop. I think it will be crowded with her and the Christmas tree in my tiny living room)

Several weeks ago Anne said the chair had to go. I put a sold sign on it. But, as it didn’t fit in the Cooper I couldn’t take it. So still it sat on the floor. Now with a “SOLD” sign on it. I paid my cash and waited. We finally had to move it to the back of the store because people were still wanting that chair. Offering more than I had paid. I think I’ve told you what a good friend Anne is. She knew the chair was mine.

This last weekend, when Andy was home, I borrowed his car and picked up the chair. I am still not 100% sure if she will stay in the living room, or be lugged upstairs to sit by the lake window, providing a nice reading refuge.

But she is a great new roommate.

……speaking of new roommates. Andy informed me this weekend that the Wasband’s girlfriend has now moved into my old house. I have such a love affair going on with my little cottage that I have never once thought about the old house. Until now. Now She is walking the floors that we refinished. She his tending my perennial gardens (I hope she is tending them). She is sleeping in the bed that we shared. Hanging her clothes in my closet. Entertaining in my kitchen. But she has to sit on his lap. I get to sit on my pink chair. I will be just fine. I have new gardens to tend. New floors to pace. Better views and better Karma. Just some more psychology of adjustment.