The Simple Life

Remember when life was simple? For many of us, it was a long, long time ago, in a faraway land when we were knee high to a grasshopper. Pleasures were simple: blowing bubbles, playing in a sandbox, trying to swing as high as the trees, playing in a wading pool.

Childhood memories are something that we never forget. We may not always remember everything, but there are always a few things that stand out in our minds, no matter how old we get.

For example, I remember when my brother and his friends climbed up on the top of the playhouse and slid down into the wading pool. The pool was only 15" deep, and they were probably lucky they didn't break their necks!

Then there was the time that my brother and his friend missed the school bus, so they decided to walk to school. It was 10 miles to the school, in another town, and the school called our mother and said her son was missing from school. You can imagine how well that was received!

When I was little, I remember playing in our wading pool in our backyard. (This was before my brother's escapade of jumping off of the playhouse roof!) Back in the days before plastic was commonplace, toys were made out of whatever we could find around the house. I was using an old one-pound Folger's coffee can to scoop water out of the pool. Unfortunately, I cut my hand on the rim of the can, and I still bear the scar to this day.

One time, one of my girlfriends and I had gone for a drive in my brand-new-to-me 1967 Ford Mustang. We were parked on the side of the road in the mountains taking photos when a huge boulder about half the size of a Volkswagen Beetle rolled down the side of the mountain. It bounced onto the road and off to the shoulder, where it landed about 50 feet in front of my car. Whew! That was close!

Memories: Some are happy, some are sad, but they are all a part of who we are. I wouldn't trade my memories for anything.

Donkey Makeover

Thirty years ago, Poncho joined our family. Actually, it wasn't much of a family at that time--there was just Mr. and Mrs. Anyway, Poncho was a gift for my birthday, and he has continued to stay with us through all of our moves. He is short in stature, but because he is made of solid concrete, he weighs about 75 pounds. Moving him is no easy task.

Over the years, he has begun to deteriorate. His coloring was fading and his hooves were gradually being worn down. Last weekend, I decided to give him a makeover. After spending an hour or so researching what type of paint to use, I went to the craft supply store and came home with a selection of paints, brushes and a spray fixative to protect his final coat.

Now he sports a shiny brown coat with black highlights and his cargo baskets are red with yellow accents. He packs a geranium plant in each of his cargo baskets and greets visitors on their way to the front door. I have to ask myself why I waited so long to give him a makeover! He looks like a brand new donkey!

Livin' in the Hood

Did you know that I live in the "hood"? I have lived through babyhood, toddlerhood, childhood, and motherhood. Now I am cruising through grandmotherhood and loving every minute of it.

As mothers, we spend years watching our children grow up, maturing from children into young adults. We don't expect them to present us with grandchildren, but when they do, it is a time of renewal and reminiscing. Watching my granddaughter explore her surroundings as she grows older reminds me of when my children were little. And watching my children as they interact with their children reminds me of my trials and tribulations as a mother.

Watching a grandchild explore the world of bubbles is an awesome experience and it's even more fun when you add a granddog! My granddaughter was blowing so hard, I thought she would pass out. My granddog was so busy trying to eat the bubbles that she probably has the cleanest intestines in the canine world!

The Bible says, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6)

Well, I took that to heart today and decided to teach Morgan how to wash the cars. We filled a bucket with soapy water, handed her a sponge, and taught her how to use the hose (and very nearly squirted water into the neighbor's car, which had the windows rolled down). Oooops! I figure that by next year, she'll be ready to wash the car by herself!

Happy Mother's Day!

Once a year, a special day is set aside every year to honor mothers everywhere. Celebrations range from picnics to brunches to all-out banquets. Flowers and candy are the usual gifts. But what matters the most? People.

I was honored this year with the greatest Mother's Day gift ever: the gift of my children returning to the nest to say I love you, Mom. Not only did they return, but it was a total surprise.

I was sitting on the sofa on Friday evening when the doorbell rang and I saw someone running away. Thinking it was the neighbor kid (who, by the way, has never played "doorbell ditch"), I was slow to get up and answer it. Instead, my husband volunteered to go out and see who was there. I just sat on the sofa and continued to read my book. He came back in, closed the door and said he didn't see anyone. Seconds later, the door burst open (well, maybe not "burst") and in walked Becky and Ruth and Jason and my granddog, Raina. What a surprise! They had driven from Oregon/Washington to spend time this weekend with me and with Jason's mom, since she was also down here visiting her mom.

On Sunday, the girls--Rebecca, Rachel and Ruth--took me out to brunch. It was delicious! I wish I had photos to share, but they were taken on Ruth's camera.

Girls....thank you! I am glad you are my daughters!

Geocaching Made Easy?

Geocaching can be a lot of fun but it can also be very frustrating. First of all, geocaching is known worldwide; it's a game of hiding and seeking treasure. The "treasure" can be anything from a note to miniature toys to money (small sums, of course!). You start with a handheld Global Positioning System (GPS). Then you log on to a geocache website, such as geocaching.com, download coordinates into your GPS, hop into your car and drive off, following the directions from your GPS. That's the easy part. (Did you know there are almost 800,000 active geocaches worldwide?)





The frustrating part of geocaching is trying to locate the cache once you get to the right spot. Caches can be hidden under rocks, behind plants, on fence posts, in telephone booths--just about anywhere. The hardest ones to find are those in areas where there is a lot of development. Someone may have stashed a cache in the previous year but the area has now been leveled for construction. And some of the caches just simply do not exist any more.



I recently had the opportunity to go geocaching with my son-in-law. He has a lot more perseverance than I do. We found one in a phone booth inside a magnetic case under the telephone. It simply had a piece of paper with signatures of previous "finders". It was a relatively new cache, dating back to the previous month. Then we drove out into an undeveloped area and tromped around a couple of drainage ponds. In the process, my son-in-law lost his shoe in the swampy, sludgy grass surrounding the pond. But, he did not give up (as you can see in the photo) and he finally found the cache hidden under some rocks. I had already given up and headed back to the car.

My husband and I go geocaching once in awhile: I drive and he hunts. I like that arrangement much better. I call it teamwork!

"Great Little City With a Big Heart"

Oregon Trail history has always fascinated me. Just the fact that anyone would want to leave behind the relative safety and security of their homes in the east and head into the unknown of the west astounds me. It was a long and arduous journey, and many did not survive the elements along the way.



Along the trail are many small towns that were stopping points along the Oregon Trail. Some either flourished or faded away as the Oregon Trail era came to a close. One of those towns is Huntington, Oregon.



In the mid to late 1800s, Huntington was the last camp of the pioneers before they headed over the mountains down to the Columbia River. Before it became a major rail head for shipping cattle, it was also a stagecoach stop for weary travelers. Like many small towns, it also went through a time of bad "publicity", being known for its Chinese opium dens, saloons and gunslingers.



Recently, we took the opportunity to drive through Huntington on our way home from Washington. The town is only one square mile in size and has a population of just over 500 citizens. We found this old building, which was a restaurant in the early 1900s, that clearly identified "All White Help". It's hard to imagine that a small town, out in the middle of nowhere, felt the need to advertise that it's employees were white (versus black, Chinese, or any other color) in order to solicit business.

It would seem that the prejudices of the east followed the pioneers west. While most were looking for a better way of life, some of the biases and stigmas were still attached to the color of their skin.

I am so thankful that I have a loving God that doesn't care about skin color or physical abnormalities or education or financial status. He loves me. Period. Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in a world where everyone was loved by everyone, with no prejudices? Soon and very soon, Jesus is coming to take us to that world!