Tuesday, June 28, 2011


I will venture a guess that you did not have as much fun as I did!  And I can also imagine how envious you will be when you hear what I did!  I had the joy and good fortune to spend three, yes I said THREE, hours in the dentist's chair!  Don't you wish you could have been there with me to have all the fun I did?

Long story.  Broken tooth.  Should have had a crown over a year ago, but I never got around to it.  I was in for cleaning two weeks ago and the dentist convinced me that I needed to have this crown put on the very broken next to the back tooth, so I made the appointment and then felt obligated to keep it.

It used to be that you went in one time for the crown prep and impressions,  and then they put a temporary crown on while they sent the measurements off to get the crown made.  Well, now our dentist, because of all the money we pay him, has bought this wonderful system where you can get it all done in one day.  But it does take three hours.

He came in first and drilled and formed the tooth stub, getting ready for the measurements for the crown.  His 14 year old assistant, who claimed she's been doing this for a couple of years after going to school in Texas, which I don't believe at all because she'd have to have started when she was 7, followed and sweetly said she would have to take a few pictures.  Few?  47.  Yup, 47.  And it's not Xrays with the camera thing on the outside of your cheek.  She stuck a full 35 mm camera in my  mouth (well it felt like it anyhow) and clicked away, taking pictures of every angle imaginable.  The photos were uploaded to a computer as she took them, and when she finally finished, she started playing with the images, moving, enlarging, smoothing edges, building side walls, etc, until she had a tooth looking thing on the screen.  It was bright blue.  She called the dentist in and he looked it over, straightening a margin here and smoothing a bump there, and then they pushed the button which makes the tooth in the image of the image.  Really.  I don't know how it works, but about 20 minutes later, the young teenager came back in with the tooth and she tried it on for size.  She called the dentist in, and he looked things over and said he needed to file something down a little.  But the tooth seemed stuck in my mouth.  Lots of tugging and pulling later, he got it off and exclaimed that it was snug.  Oh, really, do you think?  When they were happy with the fit they brought it to the oven downstairs to cook it.  At several thousand degrees for 25 minutes.  When it was finished, he popped it in, it fit, he glued with the evil tasting glue stuff, and sent me on my way with a warning not to eat caramels or chew steak for a couple of hours.

Caramels?  Steak?  I told him I was having a glass of wine and discoloring his pretty white tooth.

Now, don't you wish you could have had that kind of an afternoon?  I knew you'd be jealous.

Saturday, June 25, 2011


This is the street in front of our home this morning.  Across the street is a huge shed, which has for years stored lumber, tools, machinery, broken stuff, and antiques.  Today the contents and the shed itself are up for sale. 
 There are several trailers in the middle of the street filled with the smaller things.  Boxes of doorknobs, an antique plane, bags of cement, buckets filled with hammers and screwdrivers, electric drills and old saw blades have all been sold, and carried off to the backs of waiting pickups.
You notice there are tarps at the ready.  We've had a steady drizzle, and if the rain gets too heavy, they quickly cover the trailers and the boxes of treasures.
Leaning up against the shed are numerous ladders, long, tall, heavy duty ladders.  In the adjoining driveway are shelves, cases, cabinets, and other pieces of furniture.  I need to keep away when they get to the furniture, especially the shelving units and storage pieces, as I dream of becoming organized and think if I buy those kinds of things I will automatically become organized!
This guy has the right idea.  He brought along his folding stool and wore his yellow rain slicker.  He's set for the duration, no matter how long it takes!

Monday, June 20, 2011


First of all, I know that yesterday was the day to honor fathers.  However, we were busy honoring the second of our grandsons to graduate this year, and by the time we returned from the party at our son and DIL's home, two hours from here, it was too late to write coherently.  Thus, a post to honor my father on the day after.

My daddy was tall, dark, and handsome.  He was humble, generous, hardworking, and intelligent.  He was my daddy (we always called him daddy, and do so to this day, twenty nine years after he moved to Heaven) and he was my teacher and my pastor.  Yes, I am a PK, preacher's kid.

The story of me begins in Wisconsin, a few years after daddy graduated from the Seminary in St. Louis, Missouri, and was assigned to a vicarage in Wisconsin.  It was there in the church, at least this is what we've been told, where he first saw a beautiful woman in a white dress with long dark hair, singing in the choir loft, and where he decided he would marry her.  He did, and a year and a half later I was born, and he became a daddy.  My daddy.

I learned many lessons from daddy during my growing up years, age two and a half until thirteen and a half, when he served two small country congregations in northeastern Iowa.  One of my earliest memories is of him laughing and carrying me on his shoulders across the huge green lawn of the parsonage where we lived.  It's about this time that I realized he was not just my daddy, but he was the preacher, too.  I vividly remember one Sunday in church when it dawned on me that the man in the pulpit in the black robe, the man with the deep God-like voice, was my daddy!

From these formative years, I recall one lesson in particular that was drummed into my head.  He who does not work, neither shall he eat.  It probably struck me most clearly one hot, humid, Iowa summer afternoon, when I was recruited to help him for a little while in our huge vegetable garden.  I'm sure I wanted to ride my bike, climb the tall pine trees, or play in the church cemetery just down the lane rather than pull a few weeds in the rows of peas or beans.  Daddy didn't yell at me.  He just told me that if I couldn't help with growing the food in the garden, then I didn't need to expect to eat the food either.  I'm sure I grumbled, but the lesson was learned and is in my head to this day.

Respect  your elders.  Honor your parents and all others in authority.  These lessons weren't taught on occasion.  They were lived daily.  We knew from little on that God had placed parents, teachers, government officials, and others over us and that they were to be obeyed unless they asked us to do something contrary to God's Word.  No questions asked or arguments permitted about those lessons, although I sure rebelled against them in my teen years. 

During those rebellious years in the early sixties, I also was taught another valuable lesson.  You are known by the company you keep.  Daddy didn't judge a person's heart, but he kept his eyes and ears open, and when their actions and words proved a bit on the wild side, he most definitely let me know if I should be hanging out with them or not!

I also learned that Pride goeth before a fall, and hard work never hurt anybody, and on the subject of wearing slacks to church, daddy's opinion was if you can dress up for your friends, you can dress up for God.  

A lesson that was taught not only to us, but to the whole church community, was contained in a small pamphlet that daddy wrote and published way back in the 1940's, I believe.  It was this truth:  You can give without loving, but you cannot love without giving.  We were taught that a portion of our allowance, babysitting money, job earnings, and even monetary gifts, was to be given to the Lord.  After all, nothing we have is ours.  It was all given us by God, and we are to be good stewards of our blessings, whether it is our time, talent, or money.

The most important lessons, those lessons for our eternal life, were learned around the dinner table each night, as daddy took the well worn devotion booklet off the window sill behind his chair at the table, and read to us the devotion for the day, followed by the Lord's Prayer, and then the singing of a hymn.  Those short fifteen minutes of every single night of my growing up years are among my most precious memories of my daddy.

Beyond being my daddy at home, he was also my pastor and my teacher.  As my pastor, he baptized me, confirmed me, and married me.  We moved to Minnesota when I was thirteen and my dad accepted the call to teach in our church body's high school, college, and seminary.  I had him as my professor for freshman in high school religion, and freshman in college religion. 

As his life neared it's end, when he was way too young, my daddy still taught me lessons daily.  I made his lunch for him at noon as mom was still working at that time, and towards the last days, I fed him his jello, the only food he had the energy to eat.  He was so patient, knowing the end was coming, but knowing it would come only in God's time.

Thank you my Heavenly Father, for giving me this wonderful man as an earthly father.  Thank You for the lessons he taught me daily.  Forgive me for failing miserably in learning those lessons, and in that failure, disobeying not only  him, but You.  Keep me strong in the lessons he taught me that point the only way to Heaven and eternal life with You.  In Jesus saving name.  Amen.

Friday, June 17, 2011


This morning I am lost in my blog from the summer of 2006 and the highlights of our retirement trip with the two grandsons in tow.  What a contrast!  This morning hubby is planning our two hour trip to a grandson's graduation party.  Five years ago, this was our trip, not two hours, but almost three  months, and this was our destination,  not a town just up the highway a bit!  Last night we had a cookout to celebrate Father's Day a little early and we grilled hot dogs, while five years ago this was our cookout!  Just a little difference there don't you think?   I would love to be back in our little campground in Seldovia, where these were the normal daily sights.   I love that little town, and would love to try living there for a year.  That's not happening as hubby wouldn't go with me, but I can dream can't I?

Then my mind jumps from from five years ago to three years ago.  Three years ago today we moved mom from the hospital to her last earthly home, the nursing home, where she died less than a month later.  And now she is living in a mansion, prepared for her by our heavenly Father!  Speaking of contrasts!  Do I miss her?  Terribly.  Would I wish her back on earth?  Not for a minute!

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


We are in the middle of what has become the most difficult week of the year for me.  It's just three years since mom was hospitalized, had biopsy surgery, was diagnosed with a vicious fast growing brain tumor, and entered a nursing home for the last month of her earthly life.  To put it bluntly, I miss my mom.  I miss her a lot and I can't wait to see her again!

And right now I should be strong and supporting my daughter and many others who will be without employment and a paycheck if the state of Minnesota shuts down on July 1.  I must be pretty dense, but I do not understand how a state can just shut down.  Think of it:  pay checks and benefits for thousands, medical assistance, veterans hospitals, state mental hospitals, unemployment checks, adoption subsidies, PCA and other services, housing assistance, state parks, state safety and other public officials, etc.  The list goes on and on.  These services and programs are necessary.  How can a state just shut down?

It's been raining.  A lot.  Our gauge said two inches yesterday, while the weather newscaster reported some spots around us had up to three inches.  And guess what?  Tomorrow and Monday are the only two days out of the next week that are supposed to have sunshine.  The rest of the time?  Thunderstorms.

Meanwhile, I am patiently waiting for our new car.  Patiently?  We ordered it less than a week ago, and I'm wondering how much more slowly time can pass......they said two months or more!

So I guess this all means that I'm not really enjoying June 2011 and am hoping the rest of the month goes quickly and that July brings better things.  But then again, mom died three years ago in July, if the state shuts down we will be feeling the effects big time, the car still won't be here, and who knows about the weather.  Could still be raining, I guess.

Thursday, June 09, 2011


Guess what's coming to live in our garage in a couple of months?

A Toyota Prius!  Isn't she a pretty blue?  We sold the trailer last week and sold the truck today to the place where we ordered this beauty.  So we get to drive the 15 year old van for another couple of months as it takes at least that long to get the new car.  Then this is mine!  He can drive the van!  It's kind of scary.  We never buy new vehicles!