In the Wake of VBS

So that plan didn't exactly work. To be fair, it's been a long week; and, for me, the week can't even begin to be wrapped up until today is over and done and I'm curled up in bed with my breathing and heart rate back to normal.

VBS was phenomenal! Even though myself and my amazing assistant teacher were tucked up in a hot corner room where half the time the food workers forgot about us and the other half of the time they were avoiding us for the sake of their well-being, I enjoyed my job. (Plus, I got to play dress-up as a cowgirl all week. No complaints there!) I've had plenty of practice teaching memory verses thanks to Mom and Dad, and despite the fact that the kids were far more interested in their food than in me, I think we accomplished something. And I had enough wonderful, angelic, attentive kids to almost outweigh the not-to-good ones. Almost.

I'm not sure if the fact that every night but one we had to call in the reserves for crowd control is a testament to my poor ability to handle children, or testament to poor judgement with placing kids on teams. I was ashamed.

There were deadly dog-piles and the handing out of "men" and children whose vocabularies were temporarily reduced to "no" and "why", but we survived with our sanity only slightly damaged and some fun memories. And I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if it feels stupid; sometimes I need to play along and laugh at myself, because the kids will love it.

Yellow Team won the overall points for the week. And that's historic at our church. Yellow has had a losing streak for longer than my family has been attending, I think. Some years they may have won third instead of fourth; once I think they got second. But I've never seen them whip everyone else like they did this year. Even though my own Green Team fell in third, I was happy. Even better was the amount we raised in the penny offering for some beloved missionaries of ours. I think we're finally getting the hang of the penny offering.

One of the youth workers, who's more like the "All Youth Activities Director, Supervisor, and Supreme Overseer" at church, is not only brilliant, but I think a little crafty. Our verse for last night was Colossians 3:23: "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." I explained to my kids what "heartily" meant: quickly, happily, and with excitement, the way your parents want you to do your chores. I also reminded them that the verse is saying it doesn't matter if man praises you; man's opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is doing right because it has to be done.

When the Supreme Overseer pointed to a vacuum parked in the middle of the sanctuary and said, "That's yours", that verse rang in my head, and then this sneaking suspicion developed: I bet she picked that specific verse for tonight as a reminder to the workers who get stuck cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway down one row of pews and three banged knuckles later (have you any idea how difficult it is to vacuum between church pews?) I was convinced. Smooth.

I like getting recognized for my work. Who doesn't? And I try to make sure I recognize others for their hard work and when they are honestly putting in an effort. Which is why I incorrectly used the box of candy given to me for prizes in class. The candy was intended for kids who could say all four of their verses. When the head Cowboy for the week came in and suggested a quiet seat prize, I jumped on it. I can do bribes, too. In my last class, I extended it, and all eight of the kids left with candy in their hands (except one who, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, gave his piece to another boy because "I know you worked really hard on your verses"). I had four problem kids in that class, and the last night they all worked harder than I could have hoped, and most said at least one verse. Victory!

Anyway. People did tell me "thank you, Miss Amber" (what is with this "Miss" stuff? Boggles my brain, I tell you) and I sang back over the whine of the vacuum "You're welcome!" But I kept telling myself that, though the praise felt good, I would have put in the same effort if everyone else had all gone off to bed or (because few people my age make a habit of going to bed by 10) out for ice cream. Right? Of course right.

In short (because I have to get going for the longest day thus far in my career), I learned a lot this week. And I'm convinced I'll need every lesson down the road, from child care to knowing the right balance of discipline and bribery to doing what needs to be done simply because it needs to be done and there's a vacuum standing in front of me, even though some silly person will probably come along in 10 minutes leaving behind a trail of dust and garbage. But it's okay.

If I'm still alive and sane, I shall see you...probably next week. Tomorrow is going to be a long one, too.

Changing Gears for Summertime

I think a personal summer challenge should be to write more than three posts a month. Even that will be a challenge with the way our summer is shaping up.

It isn't really warming up, that's for sure. We're somehow still in spring mode, weather wise, including the rain. We don't even have our garden in the ground yet because of all the rain and cloudy days. No corn this year.

I'm trying to think what happened in the last couple of weeks. Well, for starters, I came home one day by bus, skipped up the front steps greeting the chickens, and was met at the door by my grim-faced mother. 

"Before you come in, I need to tell you something."

Naturally, my first thought is, "Great. Who died." My bus driver no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor. I know my shoulders drooped and I tensed up.

"What?" I asked cautiously.

"Sasha was hit by a car."

Commence meltdown.

Most of you already know the end of this story. Mom had warned me because Sasha was in miserable agony and on edge. I came in quietly and knelt beside her where she lay on a towel spotted with blood. Mom explained that she'd just put Sasha out and was painting when she heard a noise outside and looked out to see a dog lying on the side of the road across from our house. Some older lady had been driving a van (which hadn't reached the speed limit for our stretch of road, as evidenced by the fact that my dog was still alive) and Sasha, who had mysteriously escaped from her run, had darted in front of the vehicle. Mom went out calling to Sasha, who didn't respond at first, and the lady turned around in a neighbor's driveway and came back, hysterical.

"Is that your puppy?"

By this time, as I understand it, Sasha had stood up on her own and dragged herself into our yard. Mom got her inside and called the vet. They said it wasn't safe to sedate her in order to x-ray her while she was so alert and still so much in shock. Mom was afraid her leg was broken.

I'd heard the nasty stories of people with broken bones, and how sometimes you can see the broken parts pressing the skin. Sasha's right front leg, the injured leg in question, didn't look mangled or twisted or unnaturally positioned in any way. She also had a cut lip (as in you could see how her tooth had bit right through it) and a few small-ish open wounds on her other legs. She was quiet and still, which in and of itself is startling. Mom said when she'd first brought Sasha inside, Sasha had been hyperventilating and thrashing around.

A little while later, Sasha started that back up, and I about broke down, wondering why on earth we had to wait for tomorrow morning to help her. We couldn't give her any sort of human pain meds in case there was internal bleeding (which, Mom warned me, the vet wouldn't be able to deal with).

However, as the day worn on, Sasha started rolling onto her back to encourage me to scratch her belly and even hobbled a bit when I carried her outside. She didn't drink much and wouldn't eat, though.

Fast-forwarding to the vet visit the next day:

Thankfully, no one else was there. Sasha's last vet visit was a nightmare, as you may recall. However, miraculously, Sasha didn't turn into a slavering beasty when the vet and his assistants appeared. She just maintained her miserable appearance. The vet had me walk her around (I'd carried her from the car and up the steps) and decided her leg wasn't broken or fractured, because no dog would walk on a leg in that condition (although, this is my dog...). Then he took her into the other room.

I cowered in a corner, afraid of the moment when Sasha would snap and show her dark side.

She growled darkly for a while as Mom stood beside her and the vet checked (or tried to check) her mouth. Finally, the vet asked Mom to step outside. Like children, animals act differently when their "parents" are around. He said a soothing owner reaffirms an animal's suspicions that the situation merits fear and retaliation. Good to know. If I want my dog to behave, I'll just step out of the room.

Fast-forwarding again: in the end, the diagnosis was bruising and nerve damage on her right leg and shoulder and some cuts that would heal on their own. Huzzah!

For the next few nights, while she still was having trouble walking, I slept in the living room with Sasha. She wasn't supposed to get excited (and for that we had medicine, which turned Sasha from her hyperactive self to a semi-normal dog). Oh, and we were warned that "in rare cases some dogs will up and die a few days after an accident as a delayed reaction from the shock, even though they looked healthy. I don't want to worry you, but I have to warn you." Comforting, no?

So my obsessive self eyed my dog nervously for the next few days, wondering if, true to character, she was one such rare dog. I know: morbid. I don't know what to tell you.

And that was that. She's still hobbling, but her spirit is back.

Mom thinks her mysterious escape ("mysterious" because she didn't break any part of the lead or her collar) was brought on by the presence of a certain rooster who had been stalking our house for the past week. No one will claim the stupid bird, and he kept strutting up crowing like Peter Pan and attacking our chickens to assert his authority. He even had the ducks scared. He plucked poor Presley's head feathers and chased some of the others under the cars. It took days, a lot of rocks, gardening tools, and other flying projectiles and eventually Dad with a disc to convince him that this was our territory. We haven't seen him since.

Our own roosters (and we have at least six, and one crowed once at me but which Heather still believes is a hen) are starting to work on their crowing. Rex (formerly "Arexi", the little Bantum) is the loudest. He's still by far the smallest, though one of the Polish (Elvis, the girl) is close, but Rex knows how to strut his stuff and crows defiantly at anyone or anything who questions his authority. The ducks are bigger and still as nervous and clique-ish as ever. We had some friends over a couple days ago and the girls wanted to catch one of the ducks. At one point Heather was following them and they came around a car not knowing the ducks were there. One of the ducks was so startled that he fell over like a fainting goat.

I can't think of anything else right now except for VBS, which I am helping with this year. (I haven't attended or helped with VBS in a while.) It helped me make up my mind that the theme is "The Great Western Round-Up". I am working with the kids on the Green Team to memorize their verses each night. While they eat.

Do you know how hard it is to get hyper, excited, hungry children to pay attention when there's food in front of them? It's a study in patience, I will say. And I think I may already be losing my voice.

The kids are split into three age groups after the opening assembly and penny offering. The groups rotate throughout different activities and classes before returning to the main auditorium for a final lesson, songs, and a couple group games. We were all singing along and I was repeatedly poking the shoulders of misbehaving children in front of me when one of them turned around and informed me that I had "the voice of an angel." And I don't think it was a compliment. 

I'm just trusting that someday I'll be thankful for all my voluntary work with children. I'm already thankful for past experience. I only uttered one dangerous word (being "butt", as in "those workers are busting their butts *cough* to get you your food, so please be nice to them") and I don't think I really lost my cool, though I was almighty close.

We return again tonight. I wore my only decent Western outfit last night (and it turned out better than I'd hoped). I might go into town later and check out some thrift stores, it being my day off. Can you believe I only have one decent denim skirt? Me, the former homeschooler. I know.

Oh! We also had our annual BBQ Fundraiser Dinner. I forgot about it because it wasn't the usual tiring day for me. I worked the money table. Well, before that Mom and I and a lady from church spent all day baking 45 cakes at the church. We had a decent turn-out, and I always love helping. 

Well, I need to go. Hopefully I will return tomorrow....

Bubbles and Laughter

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." - Albert Einstein

 

I love spending time with little kids, especially before they hit the stage where they think they know something about life beyond their favorite colors and least favorite foods. I love watching them discover and explore and learn and take in the world around them. Children are free to laugh at everything, love who they choose, and get as dirty as they please. Life is as big as the huge puddle they're trying to jump over, or the silly puppy giving them kisses, or the carrots on their plate. I'm jealous of how simple life is for kids, but sometimes I get a chance to sit down and share it with them.

Yesterday evening I went with Mom to a family photo shoot at a historic house/museum in town. It was also partly a maternity shoot because the mother pregnant with their third child and is due later this month. Their other children are a 3 year old girl and a boy who is about 1 1/2. I was supposed to keep the kids occupied after family pictures while Mom took some pictures of just the parents.

We had some little chalkboards that had been props for one of the pictures. I asked the girl if she wanted to draw, and she settled down next to me and got to work. I asked her to draw flowers and butterflies and a sun, and she did her best, even asking me to draw some things. Her brother saw us and took the piece of chalk I offered him, but he couldn't get the hang of drawing. He ended up grabbing all the chalk he could see and holding onto it tightly. When his sister wanted one of the colors he had so all of the colors could be on her board, we had to trade another color she had. In ten minutes, he had chalk all over his clothes and hands, and it took some work to get him away from it.

A little later we found a large bottle of bubbles someone had left behind. When Mom and the parents left, I pulled it out.

The little girl knew what it was and, after I'd blown some bubbles begged to try it. First she blew too hard, and when I told her to try more softly she barely breathed at all. Eventually she let me resume the bubble-blowing, and she commenced chasing and stomping on the bubbles.

Then her brother picked up on the fun. Soon the lawn was ringing with their excited squeals and giggling. I showed the girl how to try and catch the bubbles in the air instead of waiting for them to hit the ground. Soon she was darting about, arms raised, shouting delightedly as she chased bubbles. Her brother toddled a little more slowly behind her, and whenever he couldn't see bubbles he would cry, "More! More!"

I hadn't imagined this game would keep them occupied for long. I thought I'd eventually have to pull out the gummy bears to keep them appeased. But all they wanted were bubbles.

I held up the wand (or whatever it's called) to the boy so he could try. He actually managed to get some bubbles on the first try, and then kept going. When his sister came over for her turn, it took a little practice, but soon she had it down.

I let her take the wand and held the bottle for her. Eventually, I gave that to her as well and warned her not to spill any. She ended up on the ground with the bottle in front of her and was as happy as could be. By the time the parents came back over, her knees were covered in suds and she was still laughing. She called her daddy over to watch her. When we left a little while later and had to leave the bubbles behind because they didn't have a lid, she wasn't happy.

I, however, truly enjoyed myself. The only thing I had to worry about was making sure I kept the bubbles coming.

 

"A day without laughter is a day wasted." - Nicholas Chamfort

Return to the Windy City (posted a week later...)

Well. Grandma has come and gone and I didn't utter a word about her visit outside of Chicago. Not sure how I managed that one.

It was a quiet couple of weeks, as far as Grandma being here. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and the girls did fun stuff some of the days (miraculously choosing the one day of decent weather as their all day driving tour). I, of course, worked. Oh, the life of an adult. We played dominoes some nights, watched movies and ate junk food others, and overall kept Grandma is tears with our antics (and chicken round-ups). We perform well for an audience, especially when they feed us as well as Grandma insisted. Even on vacation she had to spoil us.

I spent every night sleeping in the office. On the few warmer evenings we had it was nice because the office doesn't get nearly as hot as my upstairs bedroom. For the most part, however, I was curled up under two blankets listening to the rain fall. Weather was not a highlight of the past few weeks. We've been overwhelmed with rain and thunderstorms, even hail in some areas, the last few days, and it's supposed to continue. I'd say "Well, at least it's warming up at last" but now it's just sticky and humid.

We returned last Thursday to Chicago to send Grandma back home. Her train left at 2:00 (prompt, unlike her arrival) and Mom, Heather, and I decided we should do a little sightseeing. Mom headed for the car, intending to drive it around rather than walk, but I reminded her and Heather, both wielding cameras, that there were more photo ops to be had on a walking tour.

My first visit to Chicago involved nice weather, unlike this second time: chilly temperatures (41 degrees at 3:00 PM) and high winds. We'd been planning for rain, because we'd driven through it most of the morning and it was in the forecast, but we didn't have to deal with that. Good thing, too, because we were miserable enough longing for ear muffs and mittens.
Of course, one of the first things we had to do was find the Sears Tower for Heather.
"Oh, look! There it is! Tallest building in America*. Who could miss it?"
"Which one?"
"That big brown one there."

Mom was on a hunt for letters. Yes. She keeps working on this project to spell out our last name using abstract objects. Eventually she settled for finding real letters in cool fonts on the buildings. I don't know if she ever got "y", and all of the "o"s were very plain. Heather busied herself with her preferred style of up-close photos of brickwork and walls and flowers and such. At one point we passed a really cute old couple and Heather said Mom should have taken a picture. After a second's debate, Mom spun around and chased after the couple. Heather and I spun the other way and feigned we were total strangers to the exuberant photographer, much to the amusement of a hotel doorman. I heard the animated conversation behind me and peeked over my shoulder to see the lady smiling and making big gestures, then grabbing her husband's arm and posing with her head titled toward his.

Mom came back grinning, and we passed under the overhang outside the hotel and greeted the doorman formally. The lights under the overhang were surprisingly warm (standing there too long would probably make me start to sweat) and I wanted to stop there for a break, but we pressed on.
Mom started counting Starbucks. (Starbuckses? No, that sounds like Sméagol.)
Our final destination was the Bean in Millennium Park. First off, it's a good thing Mom and I hadn't tried walking there in the hour we had to spare a couple weeks before. Mom was trying to find a pedestrian bridge going over the park, which she'd seen in a GPS or some other map picture. We found the Nichols Bridgeway through the Art Institute across the street from the park. Three stories up, suspended over the road, with a clear view back down into Chicago one way and out to the lake the other. Swaying in every little wind and with every footstep.
And I had to stop right in the middle, over the road, for Mom and Heather to snap their pictures.
Around that time, I was wishing I had a camera for the sole purpose of covertly capturing pictures of some of the funny things the foreign tourist were doing when they posed, often stone-faced, for a photo.
Of course, judging by the looks on a few men's faces, myself and my energetic companions were the best attraction on the bridge. Like I said, we perform well for an audience, and we usually do it subconsciously (and boisterously). I'm surprised I haven't heard of any Royces taking to the stage. Or perhaps Mom's side of the family is to blame?
We finally found our wandering way to the Bean. About the time we hit the bridgeway, we only needed to follow the noise.
Of course, there were a few busloads of school kids touring the area.
Again, I wish I had a camera to capture the funny things people were doing for their picture in front of the bean. Or maybe a video camera to capture one girl face-planting into the highly-polished, stainless steel sculpture when she was trying to perform a cheerleading pose and lost her balance. Priceless.
After Mom dragged us forward to get our own picture, the unsociable side of me was longing to get somewhere less crowded. My wandering eyes spotted the Chicago Public Library, and Heather practically growled at me.
We took a short tour of the park (short in part because a portion of it was closed) and then started back, taking a slightly different route. We had just started when we saw a line of people on Segways crossing the street. Heather said, "Oh! I was a Segway!" and Mom cracked up. (I mean, honestly, picture it: a neat line of nicely-dressed, helmet-clad people gliding not-quite-upright on their clean, little black Segways across a street while the leader spins around, waving at trees and pointing out the next turn.)
Nearby we found a sign advertising Segway tours. Who knew? Then we found the price of such a tour and continued on. The return walk was uneventful. At one point we came to an otherwise unassuming corner and saw the Skydeck. Oh, look. And Heather rolled her eyes at yet another sarcastic comment about happening upon the Sears Tower. (Sorry. Willis Tower.) Soon after, we were leaving Chicago behind.
It's taken me about a week to write this silly post. I'd started out last week intending to write just a little about our second trip to Chicago and say something cool about a recent bus ride, but I'll save that for later. I just need to post this before my procrastination kicks in.

*Technically, I thing the One World Trade Center now holds the title of "Tallest Building in the U.S.", but we'd missed that part in our hasty research after our last trip.

The Windy City

I've been ready to write this post since last Friday, considering it was about last Thursday. However, life has been busy (we're all gearing up for summer 'round here) and then I was sick, so.... Here it is at last.

My grandma is up (or over?) for a visit. She came by train on Thursday. The nearest place we could pick her up was Chicago. The girls had their final day of classes, but Mom didn't want to go alone, so I said I'd go. After all, I've never been to Chicago.

Good thing I'm a morning person.

Mom had warned me the night before that she wanted to be out of the house by 7:30. I like to have about an hour in the morning to run the morning routine before I leave, so I set my alarm for 6:30. Naturally, my phone decided it didn't care about the alarm. I jerked awake just before 7:00 and truly hit the ground running.

I skidded to a stop when I came upon Mom still in her robe and making breakfast. She'd abandoned her ambitious plan of leaving so early. Fine by me.

I think we left around 8:00. I had a book, my notebooks, and a bracelet I've been braiding since last summer. I always bring lots to do on road trips, though I rarely pull any of my stuff out. (And it had hit me only the night before that'd we'd be driving the equivalent of a usual road trip.)

Mom needed to run by the ATM before we headed out, but the one in town was out. Mom said we'd find one on the route, and off we headed.

We had our old GPS set and ready to go. Perhaps we should have considered a back-up plan, but of course we didn't. About 2 hours into the drive Mom pulled off the highway and set the GPS to find a bank. Turns out the bank in the GSP's system no longer existed, and I'm sorely lacking in navigational abilities. We ended up getting lost in tulip country before Mom got us sorted out.

After that, we grabbed a drive-through breakfast at Starbucks (the only thing on their menu I care for are the muffins) and made a couple pit stops.Then it was smoggy skies all the way to Chicago.
I know understand why J. R. R. Tolkien named his dragon Smaug (and the following links have no relation whatsoever to Chicago).
Whenever we travel back west, we always see who can spot the capital building first. This wouldn't work too well for Chicago, even if your landmark of choice is the Sears Tower. Not that Mom and I could have spotted that anyway....
We hit the traffic and had to fight our way across five lanes to get to our exit, after sorting out the detour because our original exit was closed. And dear old Gladys the GPS wasn't helping. She kept shutting off. When we finally did get into the city, we circled around trying to find Union Station and then the parking garage. Then we had to find a parking spot in the garage and wonder about what we were supposed to do with our ticket.
We were a few hours early and spent that time, after finding the gate Grandma was coming in on, wandering the streets and gaping like true tourists (though penniless tourists.) Pretty soon my pocket notebook was out and I was scribbling and walking at the same time. (Which makes my writing more difficult to read than normal, but still.) In the few square blocks we wandered (didn't want to be too adventurous and run out of time) we could almost always hear a street musician playing his saxophone. He had a diverse, if kind of limited, repertoire, including "If You're Happy and You Know It", "Baby Mine", and "These Are a Few of My Favorite Things". I marveled over the old, distinguished architecture mixed with the sleek and modern. Mom  tried to come up with an onomatopoeia for the sound of cars going over a lift bridge (or whatever that's called). The din of the city - car horns, murmured conversation around street cafes, the PA system from Union Station - mingled with the less-than-clear air gave me a bit of a headache. Or perhaps it was my habitual self-dehydration?
At one point early in our amble, some sort of white blobs hit us. Mom cried rain and I cried bird poop, and we duck-n-covered. I examined the moisture on the ground and couldn't quite identify it. Mom looked up. "Oh. Window washers." We'd been so lost in our site-seeing that we hadn't even noticed we'd walked right beneath a lift crawling up the side of a glass building. Someone somewhere had to have been chuckling at us.
We mmmmed over the variety of restaurants, though we ended up stopping as good ol' Mickey D's for lunch. Then we settled on a stone wall to munch, within sight of the saxophone player. It started spitting rain, and he started up "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head".
After that we wandered a little more. I wanted to see "the Big Bean", but it was too far away for us to safely walk, enjoy ourselves, and come back in time. Instead we explored a few more blocks. I wondered vaguely about the location of the Sears' Tower, but we couldn't spot it.
Mom stopped to get a picture of a big metal globe in front of one building. I noticed a man dressed up in a fancy suit with a hat kind of like a chauffer's standing outside the building talking to people. As Mom and I continued past him, he asked us something about a Skydeck. Not sure what he was talking about, Mom shook her head and we continued on. As we passed the main door of the building, I noted the name "Willis" over it. (Anyone who has been to Chicago or knows anything at all about Chicago is probably rolling their eyes. We don't make good tourists.)
Soon after that, we headed back to Union Station, where we got a snack as Cinnabon. (I know. We went to Chicago and all we ate was McDonald's and Cinnabon.) Then, thinking we didn't have long to wait, we wandered down to the gate where Grandma was coming in.
Turns out we had to wait for nearly an hour more. We found an underground path to the parking garage, which meant no crowds to deal with and a more direct route. Then we waited. In that time, we saw a number of curious (and in one case suspicious in a stalker-way) characters coming and going. That was almost enough amusement for me, after I toned out the automatic voices declaring "Gate 12", "Gate 14", "Gate 16", and so on, non-stop.
Grandma's train finally arrived, and soon we hugged her hello and got her bags. Then Mom had to deal with an impatient lady as she tried once again to learn what she was supposed to do with her parking ticket. Then we headed off. We made a stop at an automated machine to pay for the ticket and then loaded up. (And I noted that the government vehicle we'd parked next to was still there.) Turns out we could have paid for our ticket at the exit. Ah, well. We tried.
As we were leaving, I commented that we had never seen the Sears Tower. Not even sure what it looked like, I googled it on my phone. Oh.
"Mom. It was the one with that big globe outside that you took pictures of." Yeah. The one with the Skydeck. Turns out it was no longer called the "Sears Tower", but the "Willis Tower".
To be fair, it didn't look that big standing at the base of it. I turned in my seat and squinted at the Chicago skyline. Yup. That big brown one there, so obviously taller than all the rest. We were right there and didn't even notice.
The ride home was pretty uneventful. Supper at Panera Bread (I've never been) and then quiet conversation for most of the drive. I fell asleep at one point, jerking awake when Mom slammed on the breaks as a deer crossed the road. We got home late, and I was forced to sort out my sleeping arrangements. Mom and Dad get my room because Grandma has theirs. I was going to bunk with one of the girls, but neither really wanted me to (mostly on account of my dog), and me not liking the idea of having to sneak around in the morning because they sleep later than me. I spent that night on the couch, and now I'm in the office, my mattress atop the uncomfortable hide-a-bed. It works. I guess.
So that was our trip to Chicago. I reaffirmed my dislike for big cities. Also, after Nashville and now Chicago, I've discovered that big cities never look or feel as big standing on their streets as they're made out to be. But it was an experience. Now I can say I've been there.
For Doris Day fans, this is the song stuck in my head all that day: Windy City.

Juicing Apples...for the last time

Lately I've developed a craving for fresh fruit juice. Mom has a juicer (ancient but amazing), and she just bought some fruits and veggies with the intention of doing a little juicing. This morning, I decided I'd do some myself. (Sunshine makes me want to eat healthy, it seems.)

The parts to the old, good juicer were apparently misplaced during the move. I ended up finding a newer, smaller juicer from Grandma and had to settle for that. I grabbed a handful of grapes, sliced an apple, chopped a carrot, and got to work.

A few minutes later (after I wasted part of my apple because I'd forgot to put a cup under the juice spout), I had a small glass of juice. It looked disgusting (pinkish-purple from grapes and apples don't mix with bright orange from carrots as far as coloring) but tasted delicious. And for the next couple of minutes, I was content.

Then I started coughing.

I've been taking medicine every day for seasonal allergies, and I wasn't due to take more for a couple hours, but suddenly I felt like I might need to. In under five minutes my cough was steady and my breath was squeaky.

Mom was rushing to go, needing to drop me off at work and then take care of some business in town. I coughed and told her I was wheezy. She immediately got a knowing look on her face. "What'd you just drink?"

Right. My own sneaking suspicion confirmed. "Oh." There goes any future plans for fresh apple juice.

Let me just say that fruit allergies rot. No, scratch that. Allergies to fruit pesticides rot. Because I can have pure and simple, all-natural, untreated apples. Allenna had warningly pointed out as I sliced my apple that I usually had a reaction to them, didn't I? And I disregarded her caution and said I could still drink apple juice. (Which isn't entirely true. I hate store-bought apple juice. I like cider.)

However, I've also had a few reactions to raw carrots. Never as bad as apples, but I can't ignore the fact, either.

About an hour later, my urge to cough had subsided and I could breathe clearly, but I feel a tad bitter and irritated. Guess if I want to try juicing any more, I'll have to stick to berries and grapes. Oh, well. Blueberries are good, too. But they can't compare to apples.

Speaking of berries, I think Mom is planning to go berry picking sometime soon. I haven't been in years, and I always loved it.

Well, it's short, but I have to go.

Back to Walking (and blogging)

Aaaand.... I wrote most of this on Saturday but never finished. Right.
Let's just say it's been a very busy week. We had Missions Revival (phenomenal, by the way) in the evenings Wednesday through Friday, and I had a full work week. The weather has been gorgeous. It was like as soon as May hit, so did the warm weather. "April showers bring May flowers", anyone? The trees are bursting into "full leafery", as a friend recently described them. The chicks and ducks are growing, while my flowers are dying under their assaults. I didn't think that one through. We have one rooster who is getting huge. Especially his feet. Man, I need to post pictures!

The house is slowly but surely undergoing remodeling. I finally hung some stuff around my room today; stuff which had been sitting on the floor for the last five months. (Has it been that long?) My mirror, cork board, and elephant picture are all up. I'm getting a nifty blackboard of sorts made by a friend in church soon. I've never had so much wall space to fill!

One big thing for me is that I'm trying to get back into walking with Sasha at the picturesque-ly named but not-so-picturesque park a couple miles from our house. So far I'm up to two days. I was going to blog about that yesterday (Friday), but the day was weary and I didn't manage it.

Another good habit I'm returning to is waking before 8. Most mornings, I've officially been up at about by 7:15, though the sun gets me stirring closer to 6:30. Sasha finally gave up her habit of huffing and puffing in my face when I didn't wake up by 7:30. Now she waits quietly and analyzes my breathing, thumping her tail when I breathe deeply during a stretch. As soon as I swing my legs to the floor, she's on her feet and dancing around me.

She hasn't yet picked up on the new change in the morning ritual. I think she'll have it in a couple more days, which probably means she'll return to being my alarm clock. (Good thing, because half the time mine doesn't work.) Yesterday, she didn't get excited until I held the harness up for her to see, and then she couldn't keep still.

I had laid some towels across the backseat in hopes that it would keep her hair off the newly-cleaned seats. Right. She was bouncing all over the car and the towels were crumpled on the floor before we were out of the driveway. She isn't like normal dogs who enjoy sitting by the open window and feeling the breeze. She barely pays attention to the windows. She just wants to breathe in my face.

We arrived at the park and, to my delight, didn't see any other cars parked there. Then came the issue of me needing to carry keys, my phone with headphones, and treats, and having only one tiny pocket on my workout pants. I ended up shoving the treats in my pocket and gathering my phone, the cords, and the clicker in one hand, gripping Sasha's leash in the other.

Commence Sasha's excited lunging and dashing about and tripping me up. I've been working on "heel" with her, and she gets the basic concept, but doesn't realize I mean for her to keep it up the entire time.

Eventually her excited antics wore out and she settled down, for the most part, to walking. Well, pulling me, I guess. Can't say I expected any more. I called her to heel as often as I could and tossed her treats when she acknowledged me and fell into step beside me. It wasn't until we were almost to the point where we would turn around to head back when she realized coming to my side and walking there earned her rewards every time.

And, of course, I was low on treats. Right. Just as she started to listen.

We started back for the car. Now Sasha was almost constantly pacing at my side. I turned up the volume when one of my favorite songs came on, and we continued. I knew it'd all fall apart when Sasha discovered her treat disposal was broken, but for the moment, we were in the zone.

Then I heard voices behind me.

Looking back, I saw two people on bikes coming up behind us. We'd been kind of hogging the sidewalk. Smiling uncertainly, I tugged for Sasha to move over.

But as soon as Sasha saw the people, it was like she turned into a feral beast. She snarled at the bikers and pulled at the leash. One of the bikers has started to say hello in that funny "good doggy" tone, but stopped when my dog transformed into an angry beast before her eyes. They hurried around us while I reached for Sasha's collar. I think I may have dropped my phone, which I had tucked under my arm.

Sasha settled down quickly, but her concentration was broken, and it was back to lunging and dashing and tripping me. Oh, well. I'd run out of treats and had resorted to enthusiastic "good girl"s and head pats, anyway.

We were almost to the car when I saw the bikers had stopped near it at the top of the hill, looking out at the view of polluted water and seagulls, with a backdrop of factories. Glorious, no? I decided if they were still there when we reached the car, I should probably apologize.

"Oh, sorry about my rabid mongrel. She's quite possibly mad and hates people for no apparent reason. My excuse is that her brain is underdeveloped and the flight part of her flight-or-fight instinct is broken. Whenever she gets startled or meets unfamiliar people or animals she either gets severely defensive or ready to attack; can't be sure which."
When we arrived at the car, the bikers were still there. I shuffled Sasha into the backseat. She immediately hopped forward to the passenger seat and barked quickly. I rounded the car and made eye contact with the bikers.
"I'm really sorry about my dog. I don't know what her problem is." (Yeah, not sticking to the script.)
They were very understanding, suggesting without my prompting that perhaps they startled her. Maybe it was the traffic that set her on edge? (And that's a negative. It is Hershey who hates sirens, loud noises, and a big trash truck driving toward him.) You know, there's a dog park not much further down the road (they seemed to have gotten the impression that I was new to the area when I said we'd just moved and wanted to try out this park). Maybe she needs some socialization?
Is it that obvious I'm an inexperienced and rather careless dog owner? I'm trying, people. If I ever dare to get another dog, I'll know better, and that dog will have a lot higher expectations to live up to. Plus, we're all convinced Sasha just isn't quite right in the head. Her reasoning is all off.
Okay, and now that it's Monday....
So, obviously I need to get back to work on that whole post-a-day deal. This week is setting up to be a lot less crazy than last. Mostly. I walked Sasha again on Saturday. She did well, and we didn't meet anyone the entire time.
The trees are filling out still; as is our yard. But not our garden.
Well, gotta go.