AUUGGHH! WHERE AM I?

I am blogging on a laptop somewhere in Leawood. I cant see the screen real well. My house is empty except for ghost poop in corners. I move many boxes Sunday & Monday into in-laws basement. Big guy came and took container that we all loaded. I am tired. Time is flying. I think I'll try to find some hot tea. At least I blogged over that gay thing below....

A break from packing my crap...

As I reduce my entire life to a little box and turn the key, only to unlock it in a different country, I am reminded of my unwitting forays into the land of Gay....
• Watching "Bridezilla" and totally enjoying the wedding-planning snafus
• Packing my vast collection of stylish open-toed footwear
• My heart aching for Bridget Jones tribulations
• Ironing creases into my cargo shorts
• Dancing to Cher while I pack our living-room rugs
• Looking through Oprah magazine and showing Roamer what moved me
• Spraying too much Avon cologne on my face and chest area
• Considering a bra size as I grow larger
• My love of Trapp scented candles
• Wearing my silk bath-robe in the Summer and Terry-cloth in Winter
• My love for the Westside Story soundtrack
• Wandering through the Housewares Section at Target for relaxation
• Not being able to do the manly arms outstretched worship pose
• Needing chocolate when I'm moody
• Having a PMS cycle opposite of Roamer's
• A secret desire to play the clarinet
Stay tuned for the much awaited sequel: "Lesbian moments with Roamer"

My dog is gone...

Roamer called me at Homer's last night and told me Hercule was bad. It was sudden, but after dinner he seemed to have trouble breathing. He has had fainting spells when he gets excited, usually after us getting home from being out of town. This time it was slower. He kept trying to stand, but would fall back down to the floor. As he got worse, Roamer and I realized he was going to die. Soon it became a panic to try and stop his distress. When we decided to move him to a pet Hospital and let him go quietly, we realized that Hercule would die in the car on the way there. He was always there and fighting, but his ability to breathe was failing. About 12:40am he breathed one last time. I had my hand on his chest feeling his heart struggle and then it slowed and stopped. It was very hard for Roamer and I, and hard for Hercule. We wrapped him up and put him in a box with his pillow and waited until the sun rose. We just got back from burying him in Roamer's parents backyard. It was hard to dig the hole, but even harder to walk in the door a few minutes ago and pick his dogfood dish up off the floor.

We are both exhausted and feel aches in our hearts. God knew what our little dog could handle and what he could not. God let us be friends with Hercule until the very week we decided to move. We were supposed to take Hercule and get his microchip today. I miss him.

Our Last Time to...

do the things we cherish! The final countdown has begun. We received BOTH visas! We'll be on a jet the week of July 4th. That gives me just over a couple of weeks to play with Forrest/ShakeDust/Dash/BB. So, I've made a list of 16 (4x4) final things I want to do. Let me know if I've forgotten anything:
• One last final BBQ and movie night (Cinemark)
• One last final Drive-In movie night
• One last final camping trip
• One last final day for us at Worlds of Fun
• One last final speeding ticket w/Forrest
• One last viewing of Dash eating secret Tiramisu at Homer's
• One last haircolor for BB
• One last moment of squealing tires from Dustbutt faster
• One last glimpse at the chattin' w/babes guy
• One last leer at the bearded hot-tub couple
• One last grandkids-lady visit because we all look like Mick
• One last Hot vs Cold debate
• One last LOTR/StarWARS geek-a-thon
• One last final vasectomey illustration
• One last fart circle after closing time by the door
• One last sleepless night from powdered-coffee flavor caffeine

Developing the 2 thoughts:

I think the fighting part is like the missions endeavor - not the fast part, but the slow part - It's kind of a metaphor for the spiritual struggle Roamer and I are engaged in. I've never been slashed at in the physical world (although I pulled a knife on big old PFC Lewers when he sat on my cot with me asleep onit one time!!!... I digress) The 2nd part about the drink kinda relates to the first thought about being tired, but always having enough energy to continue the pace. The thought came to me Wednesday night while P.Doug was teaching about God, how we relate to Him, and our expectations.

I always get happy when I realize I've put God in a box, because that means He's bigger than my understanding, and able to supply beyond me. That experience of having Him lift the lid of the box and letting the Holy Ghost settle in is like a cold drink, or a cool breeze...I don't know if I articulate this well: sometimes I script God and His lines into my life - and then I get tired, and in a moment of clarity I realize that God's creative ability is vast and inexhaustible. The "drink" comparison was a fast sentence that wasn't communicated clearly. I have a bad habit of being vague & cute when I blog, and a strange attraction to imperfect metaphor - which doesn't always work like I intend.....
(time for me to poop now)

2 thoughts.

• There are two types of fighting - the quick flashing blood spray - and the other: endless slugfest - when every lift of the shoulder costs more sweat than you have to give - but you dare not stop.
• It is a blessing to realize how little you know about God - because then there is so much more to drink in.

Mullberry Time!

We have a tree out in our backyard (Yes - this opening sentence marks the beginning of a FINE blog I must say...) this tree has been called a "trash tree" by some, but I love it because it produces little berries. Mulberries! Roamer laughs at me because I go out and "graze." I compete with the birds on stuffing my face with the little purple goodies. Mulberries remind me of a more innocent time in my life (Here comes the backstory)... Remember Crunchberries by Capn' Crunch? They were little pink artificial berries that.

Came in a cereal box mixed with regular Capn’ Crunch. If you were a berry freak, crunchberries were all you had to get you through the Winter. I used to get in trouble and incur the wrath of my little brother for eating all of the crunchberries out of the box in the afternoon. The next morning he would exclaim loudly after diggin into the box and hurl it in my direction.

The Summer months found me on my grandparent’s farm in Horton, Kansas. My friend Ivan and I would walk the railroad tracks through the woods like hobos, stuffing our little bellies with mulberries until our cheeks were smeared purple. Many times, our purple cheeks were the only things that kept the railroad police off our back. They figured we were just grazing.

My farm friend from those early years is now an absent father of five, and drinks to the point of dangerous action. I dreamed about him the other night - he was there - but he was not there...

The mulberry tree will never be a trash tree.