Steele (the Day)

Tragedy Averted

// July 20th, 2009 // 8 Comments » // Uncategorized

It’s been too long since I’ve posted, so knowing we were going to be spending the weekend at the river for my traditional birthday celebration, I figured I’d wait and show some of the traditional birthday festivities.

Mom loves to go all out. Remember when I wrote about the money “shirts” and the gifted cemetary plot at Easter? I knew I’d have another story to tell after the weekend. But never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be this. But let’s start with a picture of the view from Mom’s living room window, because the weekend started out beautifully serene.

The amazing grace of God entered a riverside park in Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin as we completed our church service this morning.

It was a beautiful, though unseasonably cool summer Wisconsin morning, and St. Peter Lutheran Church (the one Mom attends while she lives at her trailer on the river summer home in Wisconsin) was having its very first outdoor service. There were about 200 people gathered in the park and under and around the gazebo. The praise band was at one end of the gazebo, their backs to the river, so the congregation watched them and the pastor’s message whilst the Mighty Mississippi lazily flowed and the lush trees on the Iowa side of the river served as a gorgeous backdrop.

My mom, Ron Burgundy, Abby (my new daughter-in-law) and I pondered where to sit. At first we were going off to the right side of the gazebo, then Mom spied some friends off to the left, so she wanted to sit behind them. We parked our lawn chairs and it was a perfect spot. Little did we know at that time how perfect it would be.

About 20 feet of space stood between the band and the wrought iron fence that served as a guard rail to the river, which was about a 50 foot drop below. The way the river is dredged and the retaining wall is built, there is no shoreline. The river is very deep, probably as deep as the main channel, which is about 9 feet – deep enough to allow for barge traffic.

After the band played their final song, pastor said “Go in Peace, Serve the Lord,” Abby and I got ready to stand and immediately heard a horrible crashing sound. Within seconds, we saw a car quickly heading down the hill on our right toward a crowd of people, crashed into a picnic table next to the gazebo, splintering wood everywhere, swerved and drove behind the band, hit the iron fence leaving an open gap, then quickly turned toward the crowd again, as if going in an out-of-control circle.

And then, just a foot away from another picnic table it stopped. People were running and scattering everywhere. I called 911 on my cell phone, and when the operator answered I told her what had happened. She asked me where we were and I went blank, but I looked up and right in front of me was a sign on the gazebo “Lawler Park Shelter Reserved for St. Peter’s Church…” I don’t remember seeing that sign earlier, but it was obviously there in the picture.

Fortunately, only one person was hurt – an elderly gentleman who had wandered over to the park from the Fireman’s breakfast to visit with friends. He was pretty shocky and was having a lot of pain in his legs and hip. RB sat and held his right leg and others sat there also trying to calm him while we waited for the ambulance. The lady driving the car was very shaken, but apparently not hurt. As expected, she felt horrible about the incident and couldn’t explain what happened.

Had we put our chairs in the initial location we chose, we would have been directly in the path of the runaway car.

And had Floyd, one of Mom’s friends, not spotted Ron Burgundy across the gazebo and was making his way over to greet him, he would have been in the exact spot where the side of the gazebo was smashed.

In no way do I consider this a brush with death. Merely another brush with life.

Oh, the plans God has for us.

When I think of all of the children who were there just seconds before the car went through, the youth group we prayed for as they head out on a mission trip, the elderly who couldn’t move very quickly to get out of the way, and how that lady’s car avoided going straight down that 50 foot rock wall into the river, it’s nothing short of a miracle that only one man was injured.

I’ll leave you with a few more light-hearted birthday memories that pale in comparison to the relief we all felt when the park incident was over.

Mom baked me a birthday pie instead of a cake. I don’t eat cake much. Actually I don’t eat pie either, but the special peach pie was mostly for Ron Burgundy.

Rather than the traditional “shirt,” Grandma had way too much time on her hands and decided to tape my birthday bills together end-to-end. Abby and I tossed the roll back and forth across the room to see exactly how long a ribbon of 58 bills is. Very. Long.

Ben joined us this afternoon on his way back from a softball tournament. That little boy (I don’t see him as a grown man with a bride just yet) sure loves the river! I still see him toddling down to the dock with Grandpa and his fishing pole. I think he does, too.

And then a final parting shot on the bluff before we hopped in the car and drove safely home.

Tea today: Tazo Zen

Solitude

// July 6th, 2009 // 23 Comments » // Uncategorized

Is your head ever so full of thoughts and emotions and intentions that you become totally separated from the world around you? What do you do when your mind is spinning?

Sometimes family will say “What are you mad about?” or “What’s wrong with you?” when I am lost in thought. I can’t chat because my head is just too loud and I’m trying to quiet it.

I was like that today.

After an extremely emotional church service and beautiful worship music, I just felt like my head was going to explode. It was one of those messages you want all of your kids to hear (and anyone else in your life), just to share the common awe. What happens to me is that when I continue to reflect long after the message is over and the tasks at hand have begun, I become very quiet.

This is not the usual me. I’m known to just blurt out random things, but not this time. My head (and heart) were reeling and I felt the need to be with those thoughts. Not alone, just with God and what message he was so strongly sending me, about how he cares more about my character than my comfort (thanks, Rick Warren), and I wanted to soak all that in. It was one of those Sundays when you wonder if the pastor was peeking into your life and brain all week, and he knew what you needed to hear.

Ron Burgundy and KT went for a run this afternoon and I was shortly behind on my bike. I rode the 21+ miles up to the labyrinth and back, alone with my thoughts. Sort of – I listened to the last of the “Q” series again, like twice wasn’t enough. I can see why someone hacked Pete Wilson’s Twitter account. I’d like to hack his brain.

My ride was pretty quiet – said hello to lots of people, gave directions to the A&W to one couple, then ran into an old friend who demanded a stare-down with me. I won. She ran quickly into the woods as I tried to take her picture without the zoom. Didn’t help that my hands were shaking. I don’t think she knew I was more scared of her than she was of me. Truth be told, we’re both pretty harmless. And then I found some of that “knee high by the Fourth of July” corn we grow here in Iowa and sort of dreamed about walking into it and disappearing like all of Shoeless Joe’s friends did in Field of Dreams. For the record, I’m standing up in this picture. I did walk into the field, but came out the same person, in the flesh. And sweat. Imagine that.
It was all in all a good day, though I’m still feeling rather pensive. RB and I worked on some budget items tonight and he’s crashed in bed after a long, hot 8 mile run. KT has gone back to her home away from home, and hopefully tomorrow we’ll all wake up after a peaceful night’s sleep and remember that it’s a new day and God is the same as he was the day before and the day before that and the day before that….

He’s got everything covered.

Tea today: green with pomegranate

Oceans and Mountains Iowa Style

// July 2nd, 2009 // 13 Comments » // Uncategorized

Ron Burgundy and I took a business-type trip with some clients last weekend aboard The American Lady for a dinner cruise down the Mississippi. A quick trip – one of us packs intentionally; the other packs randomly in an old leather satchel with a zipper that doesn’t work. Any guesses who’s who?

It wasn’t exactly “down the Mississippi” as we know it – rather it was down a little then back up, in about the time it took 50 people to go through a buffet line of iceberg lettuce, canned corn, have a few barley pops, and enjoy the sunset.

Nothing like the day-long trips we used to take. With Twizzlers. And Chex Mix. With three sunscreened, life-jacketed kids.

Just the two of us, on the road toward the river.
And the obligatory stop at the Dyersville DQ.
We have spent weeks, maybe months, on the river over the years, if you add up all of the weekends of boating we did when the kids were little. We just haven’t gone much in the past few years.

As they grew up, we heard “Can I bring a friend?”

Then a couple years later “Do I have to go?”

Then a couple years later “I’m not going to go.”

Now it’s “Dad, I’m taking the boat this weekend.”

Left behind.

RB doesn’t want to sell the boat because he’s waiting for that time warp to take us back to when the kids were 8, 6, and 5 again. So for now, it pretty much sits as a driveway ornament, and we’d I’d certainly sell it if anyone made us an offer. Unfortunately, nobody thinks our good memories are worth as much as he does. This boat has never been my favorite one, even though it’s a beautiful watercraft, and it barely has 100 hours on it.

Sleeps four. Head. Stove. Sink. Make us an offer.

It might be possible that I don’t like it because he bought it a few years ago without telling me. And it’s just too dang big for my liking.

“I gave the guy a low-ball offer and he took it. What was I supposed to do?”

Change your mind? Good thing I forgive easily.

He had to borrow a vehicle from the local dealership to go pick it up because we didn’t have a big enough truck to tow it. And then next, understandably, we had to buy a truck to tow it.

So boatless but river-bound, we arrived at our hotel to be greeted with a gift bag. Is there anything as cool as a gift bag? And a great room in a historical hotel?
We boarded and cruised, I just kicked back, knowing I wasn’t the one paying for the boat gas (though I would, just to catch a whiff of that smell…) and took in the beautiful Iowa/Illinois scenery. We often missed that as we were skiing, tubing, or eating Twizzlers. There are beautiful huge bluffs along the river. Iowa’s mountains, if you will. And the sunset as the background to the IA/IL bridge. The lock and dam system that keeps the water at just the right depth for the barges to do their hauling is simply an amazing engineering phenomenon. And the beautiful width of what appears to be a calm water, with the raging current underneath. You can never have too much respect for the current in the Mighty Mississippi. It will send you down to the next dam faster than you can say Mark Twain if you’re not paying attention. We went back Sunday afternoon and just gazed over the river, walking along the rocky shore. Ron Burgundy became pensive. Or prayerful. Or both. And then we drove home. Well, he drove. I slept.

He drives well with his knees, don’t you think? I always need a foot rub.

Tea today: Tazo Zen

Waiter, There’s a Man in My Soup

// June 24th, 2009 // 9 Comments » // Family, My Fabulous Life

I don’t surprise easily – I’m always so keenly aware of my surroundings and all. Or at least I thought I was until the fall of ’99.

Since the early 90′s I’ve been an active member of a national professional organization – not because I had so much to offer, but because I had so much to learn. Every year I’ve gone to the annual meeting, and this particular year I was asked to speak, which coincided with the same year I was selected as a Fellow in the organization.

So one day I wake up and someone thinks I’m kind of a big deal. Huh?? I was so humbled, because other Fellows before me were the very same ones whose brains I had picked for years. I’m certain this was a product of 1) the element of time (I’ve been in this field a long time) and 2) inquiring minds (mine) want to know – and ask until they get answers.

Ron Burgundy wanted to come along for the trip and to see the presentation (a piece of paper), but I said no. It would be too expensive for him to fly out there, and frankly, I enjoyed the time with old friends and a few days away from him. (You all know that’s normal – don’t judge me!) Four days of lectures, meetings, and breakouts, juggling PowerPoints, flash drives, laptops, and taking notes. So why in the world would he want to go there? Just to see me get a certificate with a dozen other people? I had effectively discouraged him. Whew.

The new Fellows are honored at the banquet, which is the highlight of the week with 1500 in attendance. Really important and famous physicians, nurses, exercise physiologists, and researchers (in this professional circle) had other more prestigious awards bestowed upon them and my friends and I always sit toward the front so we can rub elbows with them. It’s a nice formal dinner, with tuxed waiters and the whole nine yards. And it’s a time when we Iowa folk need to be on our best city behavior for a change. But now and then we still throw food.

The waiter assigned to my side of the table was a disaster – and he really creeped me out. From the time I sat down, he would brush up against my back, tousle my hair, and even get real close behind me so I could feel his breath on my neck. He would touch my shoulder, sprinkle water from the pitcher on my back, and in general be way too touchy-feely. Ugh. I mentioned it to the friends on either side of me, and at one point after he breathed on my neck I made the comment to my friend Janie that I was “afraid this creep is going to be in my hotel room tonight.” Early on, I made it a point to not make any eye contact with him. I certainly didn’t want to egg him on. He was always behind me, which made me squirm even more.

About 30 minutes into the dinner, the creepy dude not only slopped water on me again, but proceeded to trip and fall on his face behind me as he stumbled into me and my chair. Glancing at the legs and torso, sprawled on his belly, I just wanted to crawl in a hole. This guy was sick. I was feeling stalked and starting to get a little paranoid. I couldn’t wait to call Ron Burgundy when I got back to my room and tell him of the experience.

The head waiter then approached me and said that my waiter was new, and if he was offending me or causing me any trouble he would ask him to leave and assign me a different one. Then I felt terrible. Here this guy’s probably working for minimum wage and just got the job – how could I possibly have him kicked to the curb? I told him not to worry about it – it would be fine, and I would just continue to ignore his aggressive, inappropriate behavior. I could be civil about it without making a scene.

My entree arrives. There was some massive plate shuffling and I waited patiently as my waiter placed my plate in front of me, but the plate just sort of hovers in my face. I glanced up at him and….

AND LEAPED OUT OF MY CHAIR.

“YOU IDIOT!!”

Yep, there he was, Ron Burgundy, in the flesh.

My waiter.

My shock and awe could not be contained, as captured in the video below. He was obviously having the time of his life, constantly hamming it up for the camera like it was his job. Well, I guess in reality, it is his job.

This was a one hour video, condensed down to a couple of minutes so you can’t see me pick the food out of my teeth, or snort uncontrollably at the jokes coming from across the table. Note the hysterical restrained laughter of my friends, who were all in on the prank, as were the other waiters. RB even went to a pre-dinner waiter meeting, got fitted for his waiter tux, and conspired with the head dude. Then he planted his video camera behind a fake fig tree and had it on autopilot whole time. It amazes me to see how gracefully surprised I was, and how inconspicuous I was in the room when I realized what was happening.

I was right, that “creepy waiter” ended up in my hotel room that night, then promptly flew back to Iowa the next morning. The lengths that silly boy won’t go to in order to pull off a surprise.

To this day, when I attend the annual meeting, the first thing people say to me isn’t “How is the sucking up lobbying going?” or “What’s your committee up to?” People just point to me and say “You’re the one whose husband dressed up as the waiter in Phoenix…”

Yes, I’m famous in that circle – famous for making a fool of myself in front 1500 of my esteemed colleagues.

But it is one of RB’s proudest moments!

Tea today: Genmaicha

Happy Father’s Day, Chuckie

// June 21st, 2009 // 7 Comments » // Uncategorized

Copping out with an old Father’s Day post. Because nothing has changed between you and me since then. Except I’m drinking cheap tea today.

I miss you, Dad!

**UPDATE**
Forgot to tell you about my Father’s Day present – Ron Burgundy bought me a new camera – a Canon something-or-other. Need to read the instructions yet. I just love it! Perhaps my slamming the old one against the wall too many times gave him the hint. Hopefully you’ll notice fewer blurry photos and a bit more color. Woo Hoo! I told him he could use it as his Father’s Day present, too.

Tea today: Green with lemongrass and spearmint

Love from LuckyPuppy at the Bridge

// June 8th, 2009 // 17 Comments » // Faith, Family, My Fabulous Life

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m at the Rainbow Bridge now. It’s so beautiful here – I know you are very sad and your tears feel like the soft, gentle rain that fell while you were burying me this morning, swaddled snugly in the boys’ old bedspread. Please know I’m running and playing like a puppy again. I have no pain. I don’t limp or fall and the rabbits actually let me catch the up here! But I just play with them, because up here, they are special, too. All of God’s creatures are free to run and play without fear. And I am no longer afraid of people with sunglasses.

My nearly 15 years of being a part of our family were the best any puppy could have had. I remember well the day Mom and KT came to pick me up after my birth mom was killed by a car and I had to fight my brothers and sisters for food in that barn. Yes, I was the runt, but KT knew right away I was meant for our family. She and the boys loved me so much; they never turned away my kisses. I always hated it when you sniffed my feet though. I never understood why you thought my feet smelled like Fritos.

Dad, the time we spent together was precious. Like sleeping very late, especially on cold winter mornings. And playing in the yard while you worked so hard to get the pond in tip-top shape for Mom. It’s fitting that I should be physically buried in a place we all love so much. I loved laying under the crab apple tree and just feeling the cool grass on my tummy. (And while you were digging today, I heard you say you felt like Tony Soprano. Stop it, Dad, – not even close)!

I’m really sorry for the “stink bomb” I left on your new suit that day you took me along when you interviewed President Rawlings, just because I was a new puppy and you simply didn’t want to leave me alone. And for all the “pupkiss” I left on the windows of your truck (except I agree with Mom – you never really noticed it). I just wasn’t a very good traveler, but I sure loved being with you! I loved boat rides! And that present I left in your truck on our way up to Dr. Taylor’s today? That was one last special gift to you!

Mom, you were the one who always walked and walked me. Wasn’t that fun? I never got tired! Oh, the places we’d go! And when I got a little lame, you so gently carried me home, even though at almost 60 pounds, I know I was a bit heavy for you. But you just kept saying “You’re not heavy, I’m your mother!” Remember when I ate the entire WonderRoast chicken you bought for Dad, bones and all? And how about when I ate all of Ben’s graduation mints while you guys were at church – and threw them up all over the carpet just before the party? And yet I always felt forgiven, loved, and pampered. Especially these last few months when you made me chicken and vegetable stew since I couldn’t eat my dog food. Not too many puppies have a personal chef. Those sweet potatoes were my favorite!

Yes, you are the best family any puppy could ask for.

You will hear my tags jingle, even now that I’m gone. You are not imagining it. I’m shaking them for you, just to tell you I love you and to keep your chin up. I know you miss me terribly, and I miss you too, but really, I am at peace and romping just like I did in this beautiful video Dad made in memory of me.

Thank you for all of the gentle, loving care. A puppy was never loved as much as I was.

LuckyPuppy

Lucky at the Bridge on Vimeo.

Tea today: Green with lemongrass

Our Waterfront, er, back Property

// June 2nd, 2009 // 13 Comments » // Uncategorized

After many years of family boating and spending day after day on the water, it was always in the back of our mind that someday we wanted some waterfront property. When we built our home back in 1996, it came to pass. Sort of.

All I really wanted was the sound of running water outside our bedroom bay window on a cool evening, relaxing me to slumber. Little did I realize how much that sound conjures up the urge to get up every hour and pee.

With the house, I no longer had the passion for another place to keep up. What about a small pond with maybe a fountain and a couple of fish? Puh-leeez???

We had our landscaper plot out the pond and estimate the cost. Ouch. $4K for the sound of running water in my sleep was a bit too steep. So we borrowed the blueprints and said we’d think about it.

Ron Burgundy doesn’t do anything small. Or easy. Or quickly. Bless his heart. The gradual hill that lingered in our back yard provided a vision that was not to be squelched. “How about we just build it into the hill a little? And have a little waterfall?”

“It’s just a hole in the ground. I can dig it.” Always the optimist, that boy. But dig it, he did.

The curious neighbors would come over and say “You’re digging that with a shovel? Most people use a backhoe! Or at least a bigger shovel!” He’d smile and sweat and say “Almost done” while mumbling “It really needs to be deeper.”

And deeper it got. When one waterfall didn’t seem like it captured the corner of the yard quite right, he decided on two. He went around the neighborhood collecting huge rocks from lots that were being dug for construction. And he made a trip to Stone City for limestone, loading and hauling 2 ton of rock in a 1 ton truck, pulling a trailer.

All. By. Himself.

Our pond as an infant.

And at its midsummer best.

We added lots of plants, including carpet roses that have looked worse each year, I had one little corner for an herb garden (which has moved to patio pots except for the chives and spearmint I can’t kill) and we bought two Koi and a baby fantail goldfish. Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus. Fish have to have names, and these fish had personalities. You knew who was whom.

It took about 3 weeks for the disciples to follow, and after that, well, you know The Story. Literally thousands of followers. Including frogs.

Mary, and Joseph made it about 6 years – pretty remarkable considering our -20 degree Iowa winters (the temp below the frost line is a constant 50 degrees – so glad RB kept digging)! Jesus lived on, and after that we went with just fantailed goldfish – they were 19 cents a piece as compared to $30 each for the Koi. Only a few bit the dust by getting sucked up in the pump. But Jesus’ legacy of thousands of fishes prevails. Haven’t seen any loaves, yet.

Last year RB did a major overhaul when the liner tore and we lost most of our water, but amazingly, very few fish perished. So we he started over. He put in a bottom drain, new liner, new pumps, and restructured all the stone, including adding stone edging. It’s a teenager now (like the bags of mulch?), full of fish (take some, please), thousands of tadpoles, and more chocolate mint than you can shake a weed-whacker at. Whew, that smells so good, especially when grows in the rocks by the falls. You can smell it all over the yard. You can come take all you want of that, too. But like a growing child, this project needs some serious discipline.

My obligatory Lantanas, the unknown plant in Luke’s old football shoe for old times sake, and a new variegated sweet potato vine are about all we added. Other than a truckload of mulch. It will take a few weeks for the switchgrass to grow up, but my favorite part is the thornless hawthorne tree at the top. It has a unique clumped trunk and a perfect shape for shade.

This all puts my salad garden to shame – a simple two-foot strip behind the garage with mesclun, banana peppers, jalapenos, 2 heirloom tomatoes and one Better Boy.They usually don’t make it to a state of ripeness because of my insatiable passion for fried green tomatoes. But we will have salad all summer for a 59 cent pack of seed. It’s all we need.

Well, other than my herb pots! Can’t live a summer without fresh Italian parsley (half of which I’ve already used so it better grow fast), cilantro (my favorite herb-crack), rosemary, oregano, thyme, chives, and of course basil to help flavor my favorites – wheat berry salad and barley-mushroom salad on grilled asparagus.

Tonight, I’m blessed with the lingering presence of LuckyPuppy, who is probably spending his last summer laying under the crabapple tree. With sweet potato still on his nose from lunch.

He’s a little embarrassed to have his picture taken, being he’s in such a morbid state. But despite the tumor on his schnoz, lack of meat on his bones, spring in his step, and sparkle in his eye, he knows he’s loved. And he knows that once again tonight Mom chopped and peeled and stewed his vegetables for his wonderful homemade chicken soup. He even closes his eyes when you ask him to look at you, because then he thinks you can’t see him.

And no doubt he’s muttering “Why did I have to wait nearly 15 years and be so near death for her to feed me table food?”

And the two of us sit out there, listening to the waterfalls and think there is no more perfect refuge in the world today. There’s no more perfect place to pray. Maybe that’s why he has his eyes closed.

While his veggies were stewing, I slammed down half a Zola acai juice and I took a quick bike ride. On my way home, the sun was slipping behind the clouds, and I caught beautiful reminders of the One who gave me all of this exhilarating place I live. My legs were shot – I had not one smidgen of glycogen left by the time I hit the last hill for home, so it was a quick smoothie made with vanilla yogurt, blackberries, the other half of my Zola and a little ice. I guess that was supper. But these views, and returning to the sound of my running water made it all worth it.

Is this heaven? Pretty darned close. It’s Iowa,

Tea tonight: Jasmine

Visiting Dad

// May 24th, 2009 // 4 Comments » // Uncategorized

Memorial Day Weekend.

Growing up, it was always the first time my dad spit-polished the boat for the summer and we took off for the river, usually late Friday night so the kids would all sleep in the car. Back in those days, it was a the first hot weekend of the year, but now with all of the global warming and such, it’s unseasonably cool.

Pulling up the hill to their summer home in Wisconsin (IRS, if you’re reading this, what I really mean is “trailer on the river”), the kids could hardly wait to run out of the car to greet him.

Things never stay the same.

Today we helped pack our boat, counted life jackets, greased wheels, and stocked the coolers. And then we waved good-bye as our baby boy towed that big-a$$ boat to the river with his girlfriend and some guy friends for a weekend of skiing, sunning, and river-ratting. Kids in their twenties, like we used to be. When Dad was there.

Luke will still jump from the truck to greet Gma, just like he did in the days of old. She’s alone up there every summer now, but loves it. Every day she appreciates the wonder of God’s bluffs, the mighty Mississippi, and the peaceful solitude that comes from a life well-lived and the occasional camaraderie of her Wisconsin church ladies.

Seeing them pull out of the driveway was bittersweet, because things haven’t quite been the same at the river since Dad’s been gone.

Gone.

As in no longer sitting on the screened-in porch on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi with his coffee in hand.

No longer putsying with his fishing tackle, getting it all meticulously organized and sorted.

No longer driving up to Falling Rock to pick up a box of worms.

No longer cussing out having intense fellowship with Mom for misplacing his fishing hat or his sunglasses.

No longer swinging by Starks in Prairie Du Chien for the latest beer deals, and an extra Texas fifth of BV, just in case his daughter wants to start drinking. Sorry to let you down, Dad. I still have the bottle you gave me in 1979.

No longer griping at gently directing the kids not to drag sand in his boat.

No longer sitting on the sand bar under the umbrella, slathered in sunscreen, but still getting his freckled skin fried.

No longer stopping at the Paddy Wagon (aka Pete’s Hamburgers) for the most greasy, onion-y hunk of heaven he’s ever had. “I’ll have two, please. With.“

So instead of heading to the river for a weekend of Memorial Day boating, we stayed home, mowed, did laundry, cleaned up a tad.

And then I went to see my dad.

He was about as chatty as he ever was.

I hope he likes the flower I put on his headstone.

No, Dad, they aren’t “weeds.”

Some things do stay the same.

Flowers will always be weeds to Dad, and our God never changes.

And I still miss him, oh so much.


Tea today: Genmaicha

In only a moment: About a boy and his bride

// May 19th, 2009 // 13 Comments » // Uncategorized

When you walked down the aisle of that church over 35 years ago, you never considered that in only a moment, your son (what son? I’ll have a son?) would be standing in the exact same place as his father, watching his bride walk down the very same aisle where you shakily clung to the arm of your daddy.When you carried your son to the baptismal font where you were also baptized, you never considered that in only a moment he would be standing in the very same spot with the love of his life saying “I do.”
When you diapered a little pink butt with cloth diapers and carefully slid the huge pin that had a duck head for a catch, kootchy-kootchy-koo’d your way through church, and played the “airplane” game to get him to eat his beets, you never thought that in only a moment you would be on his arm toward the special seat reserved only for the Mother of the Groom. And that indeed, you had become your mother.
Just like your daughter is becoming a stunning version of her mother.When you baked Chex Mix for his birthday party at Humpty Dumpty Preschool, you never considered that in only a moment you’d be baking obscene amounts of the same recipe for his wedding reception – and that many of the same people there would still be enjoying it.

When his tiny toddler body succumbed to sleep in your arms while cruising on the Mississippi on a Sunday afternoon, you never even gave it a thought that in only a moment he would be held in the arms of his wife.When dad had the “heart-to-heart” with his little boys about treating people nice, that in only a moment would the conversation turn to “what women really want” …and the attentiveness is priceless, albeit typical.
When you ruffled his little friends’ hair, swatted them on their butts, and told them “good job,” you had no idea that in only a moment they would all be raising their glasses to toast your son as a new groom. Then they would tell you what a great job you did raising him. Thanks, guys
As the fights and tantrums ensued with his brother and sister, you never dreamed that in only a moment they would all be gathered together as proud, teary-eyed, but very happy witnesses to their sibling’s sacrament of marriage.When you mediated fist fights between brothers, you never dreamed that in only a moment the baby brother would be eloquently and articulately giving a toast to his older brother in front of hundreds of people in a way that only a grown up could do, bringing their mother to tears. And when the bride’s mother would ask the Best Man (surprise!) to say the prayer that has become a Steele family tradition, your heart was overcome:

When you bandaged bloody knees, elbows, and chins, and dried sand-box tears, you never considered that in only a moment, he would be drying your tears as he left his father and mother to cleave unto his wife.
When you got that horrible phone call that there had been an accident, “would you please report to the emergency room?”, and everything was indeed all right, in only a moment, those buddies who were in the car and thankfully safe are standing up for your son at his wedding. And yes, that’s the ring-bearer, sound asleep in the Iowa Hawkeyes wagon in the front.When you watched him drive away for the first time in the sweet 1983 Grand Prix, his very first car, you never realized that in only a moment, a big blue “special bus” would pull through the doors of the reception hall and announce “Mr. and Mrs. Steele.”Yes, I had him for only a moment, and oh how I wish I could replay every single memory.

“You know how much I love you, Mom? I love you more than cutter tractors love trees!”

I never understood what that meant, other than “a lot.” He loved everything with wheels, claws, and scoopers. I loved his little lisp. That’s gone now, but I’m betting he loves his beautiful bride every bit as much as he ever loved his mama.He belongs to her now, and all I can do is sit back and beam with pride. If this were an arranged marriage, I would have picked Abby in a heartbeat. We’re an awful lot alike, so I must have done something right.
And pray that one day I will hear those precious words: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Tea today: Republic of Tea Green with pink grapefruit

Happy Birthday KT, (alternately titled Mother’s Day, Part 2)

// May 13th, 2009 // 6 Comments » // Uncategorized

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jer 29:11

Thirty short years ago today, my baby girl was born. It was Mother’s Day. There could not have been a more beautiful gift for the occasion, and there hasn’t been one since. God just couldn’t top that one.

She pretty much learned the lessons I tried to teach her, though many were tough sells and learned after she was all moved out. It was God’s timing, and some stubbornness on her part.

Give. None of it is ours to keep anyway. It all belongs to Him.

Receive gracefully. People gift you kindnesses out of their hearts. Your appreciation is your gift back.

Forgive. The burden of harboring a grudge is much heavier than the gift of letting go.

Worship. We influenced her on that one, but she seems to have perfected it.

Cry during church. It’s the right thing to do. Or at least we keep telling each other that, since it’s out of our control.

Never settle. ‘Nuf said. (And dorks really do make the best husbands).

Eat your vegetables. She’s the dietitian – why do I need to keep telling her that?

Want what you have. It’s always enough. And if God doesn’t think so, He will provide.

Be a good steward. Time. Money. Talents. All are gifts we are charged with using to honor Him.

Learn to skate backwards. It allows you to see where you’ve been, but forces you to focus on where you’re going and maintain balance. Don’t forget the Zamboni in the corner, waiting to blindside you. (Thanks, Katdish).

Life sucks sometimes – get used to it. Our lives will be perfect one day, just not here.

“It isn’t the mountain ahead that wears you out – it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.“

Trust God’s timing. He knows what’s best. Thank Him for unanswered prayers.

Wear sunscreen. I didn’t slather the kids in SPF-60 for 16 years for them to bolt for the tanning beds at prom time.

Don’t say you’re fat. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made.

Never, never, never give up. I cross-stitched a tennis towel that she carried all through high school. Those words were soaked with blood, sweat, and tears so many times.

Become your mother. That’s not a lesson, but there’s nothing either one of us could do about it, so we might as well embrace it.

Don’t tell your dad everything. What he understands will be minimal; the remainder will go right over his head. Besides, he’s a boy. We all know how they think…or don’t. That being said, good luck in finding someone he thinks is good enough for you to marry.

Nothing will ever be as big as the love God has for you, KT. For as big as my love is, it couldn’t possibly compare. I can tell you how to live, but I cannot give you eternal life.

Happy Birthday, Punkin. I hope you dance.


Tea tonight: Genmaicha