Like salt and pepper.

i have a friend. She inspires one to exercise greatness. Well, at least she inspires one to watch exercise greatness.

Recently i rejoined the gym i used to belong to, and that she has belonged to all this time i've been struggling with the whole fibromyalgia thing. She's over 40, toned and terrific looking. i am in awe. But the fact that i feel good enough to go back to the gym says much for the mighty and miraculous workings of Cymbalta.

She is sweet enough to come down to my level and join me on the treadmills. Side by side we walk and talk--she at breakneck speed, her incline at heart-strain steepness, me wandering slowly, which is all it takes to keep my heart rate in the goal range.

i was on the treadmill recently when she was taking a step class. Do you all know what a step class is?? There's a wide free-standing and stackable step in front of each participant. The work-out consists of various bouncy, constantly moving steps and turns and arm motions, all set to disco beat music. Think "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" on Ritalin. Friend Sabrina-Frugalina was a-boppin' and a-movin' through the routine with a spring in her step and constant motion for an hour. i gazed in amazement from my ambling gait on the treadmill.

It occurred to me what different roles in life we take--she is the spiciness of pepper, jazzing up anything nearby. She's a full-on participator.

i am salt. i count on simply enhancing other flavors, my life is more like a slow-simmer. Crock pot cooking.

Our gym and life soundtracks would greatly differ as well. Hers is the sound of an energetic disco Christmas, mine is the sound of Brahm's lullaby, slow and lulling.

i'm not judging the different styles, but she gets way more done. And has a tighter butt.

Surprises. Good ones.

Yesterday hubby and i went to church at our previously attended church, and had a lovely morning. Changes in the leadership of the church have made an obvious difference--there's a strong emphasis on being sure to teach the congregation, and beyond that to be sure the people understand what's being taught. And then the adult class we attended (and used to attend) has had a new teacher/co-teacher (not sure which, haven't been there in 3 years) and he was good! Intelligent, approachable, all the stuff i look for. That was "good surprise" number 1.

Good surprise number 2 was when hubby and i went to eat lunch out and ran into friends we haven't seen in a long time, with the BONUS of their daughter and her kids who are visiting for the summer from the midwest (sorry Jenner, i never get the state right!!!) She is the daughter of my good friend and boss Adele, who died of cancer in 1999, changing some things in my life forever. That was some walk we took together, Adele and i, she was diagnosed just as we were starting a church volunteer job together in June, and she was gone by Thanksgiving. If that walk was rough as friends, i can only guess at the surface of what her family went through... i remember saying to her hubby, "Boy this seemed to happen fast" and he answered with weary, sad eyes, "Not to me." He has since remarried an amazing woman who i loved watch being Grandma to Jenner's children. i'm pretty excited to get to see Jenner again since she has a whole summer here! And her kids are too much, too cute--her son has a great imagination and filled me in on his love of Legos and the possible scary stuff in the attic, while her daughter drew amazing little pictures that were quite good for a 7 year old. The first picture i saw was of a "BullDog"--it has horns like a bull, and feet like a bull, but it's a dog too ;-) There could be a future for this little lady down the road in the political cartoon arena... Wonder what she'd draw if i told her about our little "hot dogs"....

SO, Jenner! email me or something so we can set up a time to get together!! And i loved finding out you are one of the masses of 5 people who read my blog ;-)

Oh, the things people say--

i sometimes disappoint my friends (*cough*Melimbo) by not having quick come-backs. My response in this case was that i was simply too polite. The real answer was closer to being in shock.

Another friend was waiting for me in the car after we'd shared pizza. i'd told her i wanted to ask a friend of hers in the pizza place about her adorable little girl's hair. You see, i have an adorable BIG boy who does not like the feel of any hair product on his hands. He's black, i'm hopelessly white where his hair is concerned, so it's been a lifelong struggle to keep his hair looking neat and cared for. So whenever there's a chance to ask for ideas without feeling like i'm mugging a total stranger, i ask.

This mom was sitting with a friend. As the mom and i discussed products and where to find them, her friend piped up. "I used to have hair like yours," she said. Several things ran through my mind: the shape, the great color, something along those lines. i put a humble smile on my face. An entirely different expression came to rest as i heard these words, "You know, fly-away."

The cancer interruption.

i've lost a couple of friends and assorted others to that big interrupter of life, Cancer. One was a long time friend who became my boss and helped me learn i was capable of doing many things i didn't think i could. The other was someone i'd known for years but not as closely, but God allowed me to spend a few days with just before she died.

Both had said the same words during their struggles with cancer: "I just want my life back." Somehow in my head, i heard those words, but as an outsider i thought, "but this is your life right now." To me, from the outside looking in, i knew the nausea and weakness were part of their "now," the part of life they were currently living. To them, the sickness and treatments that stole their strength and their hair were evil invaders come to take away what was rightfully theirs--their ability to care for their children, or do their jobs, or even go to the grocery store. So for them, the cancer was the interruption in their "real" lives.

i don't blame them at all for the way they felt. i have no idea what it feels like to have something attacking you from the inside, threatening to take away life as you know it.

For the one friend, even as she was in the hospital bed in her living room, bald-headed and too weak to get to the bathroom alone, when i would come in to visit she would say, "Tell me everything!" She had always greeted me like that when i returned to the office from vacation, or when she knew anything had happened in my life. She had a certain way to share photos when she returned from a trip. These customs were like little safe harbors in life--places you knew you could pull up to that would mean sharing and love, not just for her but for those she shared them with. It was about the relationship, the connecting.

For the other friend, the things we did in the few days we spent toward the end of her cancer interruption were the common errands that any mom and wife might do: take the vacuum cleaner to be fixed, go by the drugstore, pick up the kids from Vacation Bible School, go to the coffee shop. So with her, we did those things, but slowly and with an oxygen tank, each step taking great concentration and energy. And she was so happy in the doing.

Their "new" lives meant restrictions. They just wanted to be allowed to continue with the things that were important to them--for the one, that safe harbor connection with friends, the sharing of the details of life. For the other, being able to be a mom to her kids and a wife to her husband, even if that day it just meant buying them Band-aids at the drugstore.

The things that mattered to them in their "real" lives, the ones they wanted back, were the same things that mattered to them even in the life-changing interruption of cancer. The common thread running through what seemed to be two distinctly separate parts of their lives was that desire to connect with those they loved.

i'm not sure why they've been so much on my mind lately. i do know i've been feeling the limits my fibromyalgia puts on me. It's not a sickness-unto-death, i know, but on those days i find myself crying because i hurt so much i can barely move, well, i must admit to wishing for my old pain-free life.

But like my friends, the same stuff has continued to matter to me through all parts of my life (of which there have been several, having passed the half century mark.) i too love the relationships and the connecting, the sharing of photos, the tell-me-everything details of the lives of people i care about. i love the simplicity of a shared meal, conversation over coffee with a friend.

The things we value as people doesn't seem to change as our situations or bodies change.

Just something i've been pondering while in overthinking mode. Any thoughts?

Borrowing.

Excellent entry over on Magistramater's Xanga site about friendship. It's actually about the duties and sins of equals, but she uses it regarding friends. Some good thoughts.

The friend issue has always been an interesting one to me--i guess we all have different expectations when it comes to friends, but for me the best friendships have been the reciprocal ones. That, to me, speaks to the two sided give and take of a relationship where neither person is always giving and the other always taking. Strengths and weaknesses can be spoken of, we can help each other grow, that sort of thing. We can have coffee, do crafts, or just be silly and laugh. It doesn't always take a lot.

Flying.

i love this picture. Do i have to have a reason?

When Adina sent it to me i thought, "this looks like something one could write a great inspirational something about." But apparently i am not in an inspired mood.

i often dream of flying--whether it is my subconscious working out issues, or simply the effect my dizziness has on my sleep, i fly. Where once many years ago i had trouble getting off the ground and staying off the ground, now i soar freely, occasionally taking someone else along for the ride. This photo reminds me of flying, being free from the gravity of life.

It's simply a photo of Adina jumping on a trampoline at her parents' home in Canada, and snapped by sister Melissa. But it speaks to me of freedom, of flying, of soaring above the circumstances of life. And it makes me happy to see it. So it's here.

i have good friends.

Not that i thought my friends were bad, but i've had some nice things happen lately.

First, there was that whole birthday thing in September. My sister and i have talked about how we both have some deep-seated dread of our birthdays. Nothing to do with the amount of years, though that carries its own trauma. So there i was, dreading my birthday the whole week previous, trying to put on a happy face, and then it all started flowing. i got to chat with a long distance friend, got to see my beautiful long distance grandkids on the webcam, got calls and cards from local friends and children, not to mention the perfect gift of a bag full of chocolate bars from my husband. And they weren't just any cards, and they weren't just any chocolates, they were special and thoughtful and funny cards, and lovely special chocolate bars. The kinds of things where you know the person really thought about you when they bought them. And on top of all that, i got to go to lunch and shopping with friends and daughters--TWICE!

But why just feel bad about my birthday? There is of course the whole fibromyalgia thing. Again, i try to not be a big crybaby about it. i do whine some. i do get grumpy a little. But it does tend to get me down from time to time, what with that whole crappy-sleep/constantly-achy-body thing.
And then there are always finances to worry about--why the heck our electric bill is as high as it is, why i am seemingly incapable at age 53 of making a simple budget and making it work. As somebody who believes in the God who made the universe (and me) i believe i'm to be a good manager of what resources He's given me. But can i ask Him for a raise in my allowance? That would be so much easier than trying to learn to live within my means!

And then there are my fears--the fears that keep me from doing things i would like to do. There's the fear of New, the fear of Failure, the fear of Large Bodies of Water. Recently daughter Corinne and i were discussing what we would do if we could have any job. She'd really like to know that about herself, since she's currently spending hours and hours finishing her college degree and considering going into a Master's program. i said i would love to write and publish--one thing i am passionate about is writing. i do some of my best thinking that way. Now, if we were talking about the fear of New Kinds of Chocolate, i'd be willing to try some total immersion therapy, but when it's the fear of something where i think others will be judging me? That gets pretty darn different.

So those are a few worries, a select few of the worthless crop i am currently fertilizing. But again, i am somebody who believes in the God who not only made me (and the universe!) but that He actually cares about my life. And that includes my birthday-dread, and my fibromyalgia-sleep-deprivation-crabbiness, and even my phobia about opening my electric bill.

So i've been conversing with God lately about the above-mentioned stuff--living within our means financially, dreams and passions i'm afraid to follow, pretty much all the stuff above except i'm not really ready to chat about the whole water thing just yet. And i've been trying to not only talk, but listen. You know, the kind of thing that makes a real relationship--the sharing, the not-one-sidedness. And i put a disclaimer here: if you are the sort of person who feels strongly that the creator of the universe (and you!) does not dilly-dally about having chats with 53 year old women about their fears and dreams like some cosmic slumber party, you should probably stop reading. Because lately i have been having a hard time hearing His voice, and i've been asking God if the stupid little crap of my life matters to Him. These are the ongoing inner conversations in my head as i go through my day doing laundry and such.

So i've been thinking about getting a new cell phone. i realize a cell phone is a frivolous thing, so how can i think about getting a new one if i have one that works? Well, this cell phone thing applies here because i have been saying to God, in the mode of trying to be responsible with the money we have, "i will not get one if it costs." You see, in our house, we are gadget fiends. We do love our cell phones and computers and cool tools. So a cell phone, here in the land of plenty, is not a big thing. Twelve year olds have cell phones here. i decided to be content until i found a freebie that i liked. And then my friend got a new cell phone. It glimmered in the light as i felt the gadget fiend within me rise up. But no--i've made a commitment. It must be free. i had been looking on our provider's site every week at what they might have. One similar to my friend's was, with rebates, $80. Not free. Now, again, here i know that to some, 80 bucks is two weeks groceries, and to others that's just the price of a good lunch. But, remembering my decision, no go. Not free.

But what's the harm in looking at the features and comparing reviews on Cnet and Amazon and such? This will fill my gadget cup for now. So i open Amazon to see if there are more details not on the Cingular site, and look up the phone.

It was there for $0.01. One cent. One penney. Huh. Cool.

A couple of days later i received my copy of "Simple Scrapbooks" magazine, and start flipping through the pages. i'm one of those people who tends to read all the pages, even the letters to the editor. So i perused the ads in the front, i started reading the letters from readers, and one sounded so very like me until i realized, it IS me--it's an email i sent them a couple of months ago. Not a piece of writing i sweat bullets over, but an email i just sent off one day because i like their magazine. My thoughts, my name, published right there on the page of a magazine. i laughed. Huh. Cool.

So, last night with my Bible study homies, i shared these two bits of news about the phone and the magazine. i asked them, "So, do you think God really answers stuff like that?" i mean, can God answer prayers through a cell phone? Am i just nuts to think He cares about the cell phones and the writing desires of my heart? If i had not been talking to Him about these very things for the last couple of weeks, i might have thought these were random acts in a random world. But no, i think they show God has a sense of humor.

So, here's where we get back to that concept of relationship with God. My most valuable friendships are ones that are reciprocal--not just me giving, not just them giving, but the give and take that creates closeness and trust between us. God, for all that parting-of-the-Red-Sea kind of action is still seeking to have a relationship with me. i know i've made the mistake of putting my parents' faces onto God. i know i've struggled long to separate what i saw as parenthood when a child from the truth of God's care as my Father. i read a verse yesterday in the book of John, chapter 14. It's verse 18, where Jesus is telling his disciples that even though he was leaving them soon he would ask God to send them the Holy Spirit to be with them and counsel them. He said, "No, I will not abandon you as orphans--I will come to you."

Abandonment. Speaking for myself, feeling abandoned like an orphan is an underlying fear of mine. Sometimes parents are too busy with their own problems to be involved with their children, and those children can end up feeling pretty alone even though the parents are physically present. Parents can be emotionally absent, physically absent, mentally absent--there are all sorts of abandonment. There can be the sort of abandonment that happens when parents don't like their grown children having a different opinion or belief or child-raising strategy from theirs. So first, in my life, there was that whole emotionally absent thing going on with my parents, and then Dean and i lost one parent after another until we found ourselves adult orphans in 2001. Abandonment. Not always intentional, but always painful.

But Jesus said He wouldn't abandon me, wouldn't leave me alone--He would send me the Holy Spirit to take his place.

My friends said, "It sounds like God is relating to you in a way that speaks to you--with a sense of humor." i like the thought that a relationship with me is important enough to the God who created the whole pickin' universe (and me!) that He would not abandon me. That's an active thing. A two way thing.

Oh, and the topper for good friends? i have one that actually says she thinks i'm organized. (Thanks, Adina!) But the subject of why that is worth putting out front in lights is another subject for another day.

In the absence of a campfire...

...a gas stove does a pretty good job. At least for S'mores making.

There was the idea of a camping trip with friends. That didn't work out, but we were left with a powerful hunger for S'mores!! My good friend Adina said, "Well, I've done them over a candle before." Do i need any more of a green light than that? Not where chocolate is concerned! So we collected the necessities: graham crackers, marshmallows, and, mmm... chocolate.

Now, Adina, being the S'mores connoisseur that she is, brought Ghirardelli chocolate squares. We here in the Bay Area have a serious appreciation for Ghirardelli, especially as she happens to be a local girl (there is just no way chocolate is a man!) It's smooth, it melts well, even on stove-top S'mores. Adina also tutored me in the ways of expert marshmallow toasting--she is good, i must say. As much longer as i have loved chocolate and S'mores than her, being considerably older, i was in awe at her masterful technique. i'm one of those impatient souls who ends up with the flaming marshmallow and has to blow it out, while she steadfastly held her metal skewered marshmallow, deftly dancing with the flame, creating an enormously puffed lightly tanned delight. And at this point the differences again showed--i am one to just slap that baby on the graham cracker and chocolate, squish the cracker on top and dive in, but not so for Adina. With the careful movements of a surgeon she tipped the skewer up and slid the marshmallow ever so slowly on end onto the chocolate and cracker, held the topping cracker and worked the flow of the oversized creaminess into just the right position, and danced it over the flame as a whole for just a moment longer before she gently picked it up and bit in. i was in awe.

A couple of days later i was still dreaming of perfectly puffed marshmallows, so i picked some up at the store to try her technique myself. i turned on the gas burner, and flame and marshmallow engaged in the dance. Could i do it? Could i, the impatient one, make the dance last until the perfect shade of golden delight had been achieved? Sadly, no. Marshmallow firebomb #4087. But as i blew it out and prepared to eat it, i paused to think fondly of all the other burnt marshmallows i've enjoyed over campfires in the past.

Final bit of advice, though--if you use a metal serving fork as a skewer, remove the marshmallow BEFORE attempting to eat. That hot fork can leave quite a little blister on your lip. Trust me on this one and don't ask.

What i did on my summer vacation.

My hubby and i got to spend time last month on two different farms. We visited relatives in Alabama where the young folk still say "yes ma'am" and "yes sir," where we stayed on one cousin's farm. Wow. Acres and acres of green pasture are anchored by the light and airy farmhouse. Horses wander lazily nearby. My damp Portland Oregon roots sighed happily at all the green-ness.

The occasion was the 60th wedding anniversary of my hubby's uncle and aunt--wow, huh?--at pretty much the same time as WE are celebrating our 30th! And i was impressed with that many years (Kind of in a "jeez, are we that old?" kind of way...) But apparently all that green comes at a cost--humidity--cousin Lea Ann said, "We call it 'air you can wear.'"

We had a lovely time visiting with our too infrequently seen relatives who welcomed us and fed us well and put us up in our own "apartment." (We too have a special place we can let people stay at our house--if ya don't mind all the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked along the bedside...it's that ambiance that says "homey, but not in a good way." )

And the countryside in Alabama--i want this view out my front door! --->
There was even a rather spectacular thunder/lightning/rain storm for entertainment--let me tell ya, that thunder and lightning bit sure seems closer out there in all that open land. And greenness abounds there, it seems--Uncle Joe and Aunt Pat's house has an actual woods in the backyard, and the church we attended better have some riveting sermons, because the walls behind the pulpit were windows looking out onto fields of green and trees...my eyes only wandered a little....

THEN we moved on to a farm in Canada--as in a working farm with crops and harvesting and all those things unfamiliar to my town-bred self. It's the family farm of my good friend Adina, in Plum Coulee, Manitoba. Her two sisters, brother, and brother-in-law were home as well, bringing the temporary household count to 9 adults, 1 almost adult (just kidding, Dorian!) and a baby. Here i am frustrated--i don't seem to be able to add a particular picture i have of the farm. So picture for yourself: a vast expanse of fields surrounding a collection of granaries, house, barns, and trees, fronted by a gravel road--all washed in a translucent rose-colored late afternoon light. And picture a big ol' red tractor with my Kansas born husband driving, a very nostalgic experience for him--although this time he could reach the pedals, no longer being 8--

<-- here's a shot of that red tractor between the granaries

Oh--and both farms had gardens--in Alabama, a softly overflowing cottage style flower garden, and in Plum Coulee, a garden full of poppies, vegetables, and fruit trees. The really disturbing part? The garden in Manitoba is larger than the plot of ground that defines our entire California homestead. Anyway, in Canada they humored me and let me play at gardening. i, who am duly impressed when i can keep a rose bush alive for more than a season, got to help harvest the remaining beans. And we had a campfire out in the backyard one night! How crazy is that? i mean, if i imagine building a fire in our backyard i know it would mean either the house or the fence or the neighbor's place (or all three) likely going up in smoke.

We attended the family's Mennonite church on the Sunday, and ate some of the meals that say "comfort food" to Adina--and i have to say, i'm good with that whole watermelon and fritter thing they call a meal! (They don't call it a fritter--it actually has a German name that i can almost say but definitely can't spell--) But, oh yum!

It was a great month, whether at a family celebration in Alabama, or a family meal or cup of coffee around the table in Plum Coulee. i won't go all philosophical and sentimental on you, but i loved watching the families in action. There's a commonality to the kinds of families who like each other, evidenced by the shared jokes and knowledge of and grace for each other. i know a lot of what helps both these families give grace is their own experience of God's unconditional love and with that, how can they give anything less to each other?

But even after my summer vacation of farms, i still don't know where the phrase "he bought the farm" comes from. Any thoughts?*

*Cousin Lea Ann has a link to the possible origins of the phrase: http://www.snopes.com/language/phrases/farm.htm