BOOM! A Guest Post by Bruder

Our glass pan exploded.

No, I don't mean broke. I mean exploded. We (me and Lucy) were frying our roast on the stove- top for our Sunday dinner. Unfortunately, we forgot to thaw the roast beforehand. I also forgot that Pyrex doesn't do to well on a stove. Under ordinary circumstances, the glass would have probably just cracked, but since the roast was so cold and the pan was so hot, (as my dad explained) the two forces pushed each other apart resulting in an explosion of simply terrific proportions. Luckily, I was standing with my back towards the pan. Some of the glass landed in other rooms! So, in short, don't try putting Pyrex on a stove top and you may live a little longer.

Note from Mom: No, we do not often leave our children unattended to make Sunday roast. They've helped us with it many times and said they were ready to fly solo. We were upstairs when we felt the house shake from the blast. One more health reason to go vegetarian!

He's a Mountain Dog.....Really

And in Olaf's younger years--here as a puppy--you'd believe it. He loved the mountains and looked so regal posing against the backdrop of the Olympics. But as he's gotten older, heavier, and arthritic, the love is gone.

After last summer's hike, when Olaf required assistance up the mountain, I thought his hiking days were surely over. Lyle apparently thought otherwise and loaded him and our trusty lab Charlie into the back of the truck for another scout hike.

This time Olaf made it up the mountain. Slowly and laboriously, but he made it. Going down, however, proved troublesome. With about a mile to go, he laid down on the trail and refused to walk another step. The leaders poked and prodded, ordered and begged, but our gentle giant just quietly panted and thumped his tail and wouldn't budge.

Using one of the leader's hiking poles, and two jackets, the men made a stretcher and hauled our mountain dog home.

This time Lyle agrees. From here on out, Olaf stays on flat ground.

Ahh....The Gentle Sound of.....

...Niagara Falls. That's what we had going on yesterday.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted a garden with a water feature. When we put in the courtyard, I thought that finally the time had come. I drug the girls along on several fountain searches. I swear I saw every fountain in Kitsap County. I wanted something a little rustic, not too formal, but fairly large.

On Thursday I was determined to find our fountain. We took a long drive out to "Fountain Paradise", as Rose called it and the girls tested each fountain. By testing, I mean they put their hands underneath, or in Cholita's case, occasionally her head. It was a hot day. Anyway, Rose was quite enamored of a fountain that featured a hobo huddled under an umbrella. It was....nice....but not quite what I was looking for.

Despite the selection offered by Fountain Paradise, I still didn't find "the one". We stopped at one other place on the way home. They had a very formal three-tiered fountain, a few tiny bubblers, and one with frogs spitting onto lily pads. Needless to say, my girls fell in love with the spitting frogs. I was about to leave when the saleslady mentioned that they had one more out in the back. It was large and fairly traditional, but made with more rustic materials. I saw it, called Lyle who was just finishing up at work, he arrived at the nursery, said he loved it, and we loaded it into the truck while the girls weeped and said good-bye to the frogs.

After much debate over the placement of the fountain (it was going into a circle---duh, put it in the center), we placed it off to the left. Lyle wanted it centered and I had the odd design inspiration that it should be off-center. Lyle said, "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" and against his better judgement, leveled the ground and assembled the fountain. We stood back to have a look and I immediately thought, It should be in the center. Lyle is so very long suffering and he didn't even say I told you so, like I would have done.

So we moved the fountain--no small task, and then we filled it with water, plugged it in, and......."Wow! That's loud."
"What was did you say?"
"I said, WOW! THAT'S LOUD!"
Lyle yelled, "It makes me feel nervous. Like someone left the bathtub running."
Bruder offered, "I feel like I have to go to the bathroom."
Rose pouted and loudly said, "The guy under the umbrella was quiet!"
Cholita put her hands over her ears. "I liked the frogs!"
Lucy said, "Our garden lacks whimsy. The umbrella guy and the frogs would have given us whimsy..."

She seriously used the word "whimsy". So, I could hardly sleep that night knowing I'd created a loud, whimsy-less garden.

But the next day we added rocks and some water hyacinths and Niagara Falls was mercifully toned down to a gentle trickle.

And we planted some lovely hucherras with names like Licorice, Marmalade, and this little one--Ginger Ale. Plants with names like that have to supply some whimsy, don't you think?

And now I have my fountain garden. And I love it.

I love the backdrop of the blue-green leaves of the weeping katsura tree.

And I love how we can see it from the front garden, but can only hear it when we get a little closer--instead of at our neighbors yard a few acres away. Our whole family seems to like it. Lucy said it looks rather whimsical and even Rose deemed it acceptable. But she's found another spot in our yard that she claims is just begging for a fountain. She's thinking something along the lines of.....hobo.

Three Years Ago Today.....

We met our darling Jin Qiu Ju. We prayed that she'd be prepared to meet her forever family and our prayer was answered. What a brave little girl she was and what a brave little girl she still is.

This morning I told her it was her Gotcha' Day anniversary and she said, "Do I put the Hello Kitty outfit on again?" Well, of course. Until she can no longer squeeze into it.

It was so huge three years ago, that it's just starting to fit.

We loved her before she was even born and when we actually met her and could hug and kiss her, we were beyond smitten.

And we still are.

Happy three years together Miss Qiu. We can't imagine life without you.

Tree Envy on the Prairie

For some people it's shoes. For some it's electronic devices. For others it's kitchen gadgets. You know, the items that call out to you, "Buy me! You need me! You must have me!" Frankly I get bored shoe-shopping, electronic devices confuse me, and kitchen gadgets bring with them certain expectations. But, trees....ahh, there's my temptation.

I stood under this beautiful tree in a local nursery and as the branches swayed past me in the breeze, I envisioned my girls holding a tea party under its glorious canopy. Obviously my daughters, or more likely granddaughters, couldn't hold their party at the nursery; I'd have to create a tea party canopy of my own. How could I deny my posterity such a pleasure? I couldn't and later that morning numerous travelers on Viking Way unwittingly joined in the slow-moving motorcade behind the creeping (lest a branch be broken in transit) truck transporting the weeping Katsura.

The girls have named our lovely specimen Charlotte and I hope to keep her happy. Well, as happy as a weeping tree can be.

Laura Ingalls would be envious. As a matter of fact, she visited. Or maybe it was Holly Hobby, it's difficult to tell.

She ran away before I could get her name.

But I caught her on the porch. Little Cholita-on-the-Prairie I believe she's called.

And if she stays tiny long enough, she may get a tea party in a billowing tent of blue-green leaves.

Now there's a certain Maple that's calling my name....

A Perfect Rose

Our sweet girl was baptized on the 4th of July. Rose is always radiant, but when she came up out of the water, she simply glowed. I helped her slosh into the changing room and rubbed her dripping head with a towel. She whispered, "I feel so wonderful" and hugged me, leaving a wet spot on my dress. The quiet reverence of the moment reminded me of our first meetings with each of our children. Whether in a delivery room or on the 4th floor of the Lottery Hotel, each time a child entered our family, the spirit compelled us to whisper and savor the perfection of this priceless gift from God, so newly arrived from His kingdom.

After Rose's baptism, I sensed her newness once again. Our precious, feisty, exuberant child number three, as spotless as a newborn babe. A perfect Rose.

Thyme Crunch

With Rose's baptism tomorrow on the 4th of July, we had family arrive to celebrate her religious rite of passage with fireworks and hot dogs. I had hoped our courtyard might look somewhat finished. The concrete stones had been colored and sealed, Bruder was dutifully (O.K., he was being paid) spread topsoil, and all I needed to do was plant thyme--eight flats of thyme with 18 plants per flat. And since I knew 144 thyme plants would never do, I cut each plant into 4 plugs, thinking we might just make it with 576.

I greatly underestimated 2 things. 1) How much thyme it takes to plant a 2,700 foot courtyard, and 2) How much time it takes to plant a 2,700 foot courtyard. I don't have enough of either.

I took this picture after about 3 hours of sweat and dirt and you can see the full flats waiting to be touched. And three more nearly full flats on the steps. Three hours to plant 2 flats. If you could see Cholita in full frame in this picture, you'd see she's holding a bag of candy--Japanese candy courtesy of Bruder to be specific--and knowing that my children were eating candy for lunch didn't help me to stay focused on the job at hand (or under foot I guess). The noises from the house also led me to believe that the necessary cleaning tasks that I'd laid out for my children were not getting done and that our house would be in shambles when the relatives arrived. Needless to say, I was forced to abandon the courtyard. But.....

someday when I have enough thyme/time, won't it be gorgeous?

Flying

I never had any indication that our windmill was unhappy with us. How could I have known such a thing? But apparently it yearned for greener pastures and in the big windstorm this past week, with its blades spinning furiously, it levitated off the ground and flew over the fence and into the greener pasture it was looking for--the horse pasture. I didn't see it, but our friends who were working on the concrete dove for the ground in case the helicopter/windmill flew their way.

And speaking of flying, my boy is coming home! While we sleep tonight, Bruder's plane will be roaring over the ocean, bringing him back to the United States.

In his absence, we painted his room, hung trim, installed blinds, and made what I think is a pretty darn cool guitar display. When Lucy saw it she said, "I feel like I've stepped into a Pottery Barn Teen catalogue." Rose was speechless and Cholita just said, "Awesome." Let's hope Bruder likes it too. Since the windmill flew the coop, I've had a bit of a complex.

P.S. Cholita is obsessed with the hanging guitars. She asked if she could touch them and I told her in no uncertain terms that she could not. "I can touch the red though, right? The paint's dry, so I can touch the red." I couldn't necessarily argue. "Yes, it's dry. I guess you can touch the red." So she touched the red rectangle, but I knew her fingers were hungry. Then she pulled an age-old trick. "Mom, look over there." And being gullible, I fell for it. "What?" I asked turning toward the bunkbed. "Oh, nothing." I looked back and she was innocently stroking the red paint, but I know better. That little stinker touched the guitar.

Hard rock and warm fuzzies

Lyle came home for lunch every day last week. In the past decade, I can count on one hand the number of times he's pulled himself away from the office to see me mid-day. But the pizza oven evidently holds a special place in his heart and he can't be away from it for any significant amount of time.

Lyle poured the forms for the oven, grill, and firepit on a day off and then started work on the courtyard early on a Saturday morning.

He carved stones...

He poured, he smoothed, he carved, he poured, he smoothed, he carved....

And called his efforts on the first day good.

Then he had to return to the office and let the work go on without him. It was hard, but with the lunchtime visits, he still felt connected.

Charlie oversaw the work while he was gone and seemed happy with the progress.

And today we've reached the front walk. One more day, and the pouring is done. Then the concrete gets colored, we put down topsoil between the joints, and plant creeping thyme.

Our good friend and concrete genius, Forrest, told Lyle that when he moves, he'll give him his concrete mixer. It was as tender a moment as I've seen in many months.

"Lyle, I want you to have my mixer."

"Oh, no, I couldn't take it."
"I want you to have it, man. There's no one else I'd give it to."

The sun was dropping behind the Olympic mountains and they stood together in silence.

"Thank you," Lyle finally managed, too choked up to say more.

ABBA, meatballs, and Bjorn Borg

Last week these items pretty much summed up our knowledge of Sweden. But we are slightly more enlightened since our Swedish house guests arrived. They are a family of 12, with 8 of them staying in our third floor. One of their older daughters attends our church and we offered to have her parents and six of her siblings stay with us during their 2 week visit. They spend their days at their daughter's apartment and we just visit with them in the morning and at night. Cholita adores them and has trouble going to sleep if she hasn't seen "the Swedish people" arrive back home. The dogs love them even more and wait at the door and whine . Apparently Charlie and Olaf now understand commands in Swedish. I never knew our dogs had such a gift with languages.

The Rosen children all play different instruments and they do concerts around Sweden. Our kids excitedly told us it's like having the Von Trapps in our attic--- without any Nazi tension.

With our new found interest in Sweden, I took the girls to our town's Mid-Summer festival.

The dancers arrived by boat and were lead by a violinist to the maypole.

The outfits alone made me want to cart my kids over to the Sons of Norway Lodge to sign them up for dance classes.

But my girls' reluctance to join hands around the maypole was a sign that maybe the classes wouldn't be successful. And getting Bruder into lederhosen seems unlikely.

Horns blasted from the street above, signaling the arrival of the Vikings.

They looked like they'd been at sea for many years.

And isn't it cold in the north?

No bother, their old bones were warmed by the bonfire. And thankfully the eldest Viking didn't remove his vest.

The girls made floral wreaths for their hair.

And Rose had her face painted.

It was a beautiful evening in our lovely Scandinavian Washington town. I'll never hear "Dancing Queen" again and not think of our wonderful friends from Sweden. And if we ever visit, we know we've got a place to stay.

Our dogs will stow away in the luggage.