Freedom

DF Doesn't stand for Dear Friend

Three weeks ago larvae began crawling under my skin. I am thrilled to report the nasty creatures seemed to have died. Since my legs still have slight trails I have been wondering if I should engage Ben in doing some derm surgery, not on my worm walking paths but on a dermatofibroma (DF) on my lower leg. As long as I'm still covering my legs in public, why not have an incision? The problem is that a DF is deep so the incision has to be quite large. I have been struggling to decide which is better: a round unsightly circle or a long thin unsightly scar.

While sitting in the suede armchair with my companion laptop I researched the best removal method and hit a blog. Wonderful things! A cute petite runner posted her whole experience of having a DF surgically removed from her shoulder. She even cited her dermatologist's care instructions after the surgery. And due to her healing process and visual aids I'm thinking maybe though my spot looks like a perpetual mosquito bite at least it is smaller than a dime. After all, surgery is surgery. I will have a bloody mess to clean up, pain in my leg, and possible infection and recurrence. Is it really worth it?

I have decided no. It may seem incredibly strange for me to be sharing such graphic content. But our spots and wrinkles and gray hairs and lost muscle tone make us approachable. I know I benefited from a complete stranger's blog tonight. So I figure others are struggling to age gracefully, to feel pretty despite stolen looks. Be encouraged that we each deal with our little devils (those things that are so trivial and small but manage to put us in a foul mood or usurp thankfulness for the abundant good things in our lives). Mine just happens to be a centimeter spot that has been frozen twice. I have resigned myself to the reality. C'est la vie.

Complaining isn't Attractive

Due to my pathetic last post, let me tell you about the good things that have been happening. On Sunday night, Ben and I went on a date basically all-paid by his generous employer. We had appetizers at a restaurant and then watched Mama Mia. It was an incredibly beautiful film...saturated colors and unbelievable landscapes. Abba was super catchy and humorous. It was an artistic movie, but sadly SO hedonistic. The end of the movie was ruined by blatant homosexuality and marriage vows being too restrictive for the young lovers. I feel sad when I glimpse the carnality that is being legitimized. I intimately know that human nature is repulsive, and I am the worst of hedonists. Of course, I have been tempted to live without sacred commitments. Who hasn't wanted something for nothing? Who hasn't wanted less responsibility and more freedom? The pursuit of pleasure hypnotizes us into thinking our life will be full and complete; it will have meaning and significance. In reality, self love leads to suicide. You end up where life can't give you anymore and you deserve better. You demand better. Disappointment becomes fatal.

Thank goodness, God is in the process of redeeming. I think the hardest thing for me is to see how subtly my flesh is entangled. It doesn't take much for me to loose focus on what life is about. It doesn't take much for me to have entitlements. Aah, if I could only stay closer to God, to have his virtues rub off on me, what a different person I would be. People would notice my contentment.

Today, it was gloriously cool and breezy at 76 degrees. God gave me a day where I could comfortably wear jeans outside to cover my legs. I'm feeling more optimistic already.

Poor me!

My legs have become a horror story. I am paying handsomely for blueberry picking. At first I thought I had chiggers as only large welts appeared. Now I know otherwise. If you have a weak stomach don't read on. Multiple somethings are tunneling under my skin and leaving puffy, itchy trails. A hot shower makes the streaks more inflamed and even itchier. When I picked up Ben's dermatology book, I read the worst news possible...in rare cases the symptoms can last a couple years. Ok. I am a pessimist. If you were living this, you would be to. If you think of something yucky that triggers you to remember me, please pray that these pest find a hasty demise and my legs won't be terribly scarred.

July Snapshots

With just a patch of visible face I can ID the child. Why?


Jane is the only child I know that ventilates her tongue.


A rare moment when her tongue is behind her teeth.


My bathing beauty and playful Fritz.


I wonder what this picture will look like in 10 years. Who will be the tallest?


Four hot blueberry pickers.


Alex scouted for the largest blueberries.


My Nehemiah of the blueberry bushes. A.K.A. the royal taste tester.

A Man without Pretension

Well, this post is for my husband. The other day Ben was relaying to me that when he walked to the hospital from the physician parking lot he noticed a piece of a motor muffler on the ground. He thought how tacky is that and then realized the muffler was from his Volkswagon Jetta. Poor fellow, his once cherry red car is now pink and it sounds like a motorcycle (but doesn't have the cool factor). If he rode a bicycle to work he would be at least considered Green, but when his car puffs black smoke clouds I think the tree huggers' eyes tear if not from the fumes but from his flagrant disregard to Mother Earth. Ben is practical and hasn't complained that he can't open his trunk and air conditioning consists of rolling down his windows. He doesn't seem to notice the keyed exterior or punched in door, the broken side mirror or the tail light patch job. He pours a gallon of oil into the car a month and has compounded it to a soft luster though the car has been ungratefully wicked. He is a man of incredible loyalty and forgiveness. His car has received the Biblical maxim of 70 times 7. I love him for that. Yes, Ben would happily drive a four door truck or a sleek Jaguar, but it won't make him more successful. He wins hands down for the man without pretension.

(Ben, when you read this- may you blush the color of your car.)

Staying up to 1am Books

As a good book is a precious commodity, I would highly recommend this series by Bill Bright and Jack Cavanaugh.


I recently read these fiction books on the Great Awakening in America. You may be thinking dullsville. Don't be fooled.



These are fast paced stories that do contain some brutality, but alive with interest and true workings of the Spirit in a time gone by. My favorite two were Fire and Fury.

Swim:Though It Be but 59 Degrees

Jane enjoyed watching the older three swim.

Skinny buddies.

Alex was the smallest swimmer in the advanced class.

Emily must have gypsy blood...she has always been a wanderer. She even strayed from her guppy class in the pool.

Lined up for the diving board.

JUMP.

Catch me.

The face of distress. His toes were blistered and bleeding from the pool bottom. He wore socks in the pool after that.

At the park behind the pool. Jane on the conveyor belt slide. If you talk while you are going down, it will cause you to stutter. And if you stick your tongue out, it will waggle back and forth.

Smelling the flowers leaves pollen on her face.

Tax Dollars at Work

Hefty property taxes here pay for an odd assortment of things. During the year each neighborhood has large trash day once a month. The city contracts "free" pick-up for your old mustard plaid, scratchy sofa and your lawn chairs that got used as sleds in the winter. It is a nice service and if you are motivated you will find treasures if you go around the scheduled neighborhoods. Consequently the city has less to pick up because the junk gets recycled into new homes.

Taxes also pay for leaf clean up in the fall. You rake all your leaves into the street and bulldozers come and scrape them up off the pavement. I've seen piles of leaves taller than men. It is "free" wholesome entertainment for the kids.

This week we discovered a new "free" activity. The library summer reading program. Before I say more, this library system has won the best library in the nation in years past. It is obvious why as the library boasts amazing facilities, an exhaustive audio-visual selection, a used bookstore, and you can even check out framed art to hang on your walls. That aside, all four kids have caught the Reading Bug. Yes, even Jane. She has the privilege of listening to books and winning prizes. Fritz already won a stuffed bug which he named Bluey. The girls are incredibly pleased to be included in the preschool program with lady bug stickers and buggy folders. Since my children when unoccupied metamorphose into pesty bugs I think the summer reading game was aptly titled. Now they are antsy for me to finish my post so they can claim their tax dollar prizes. Should I tell them Daddy and Mommy paid 15.99 for each of those stuffed mosquitoes? No, let them be stung by property taxes when they are older.

What it might be like...

After weeks of negotiating and uncertainty, we are thrilled to be signed. We will be moving next year to Victoria, Texas. If I was writing a visitor guide, I would tell you to expect Texas-style shabbiness off of Highway 59. But as you remove yourself off the main thoroughfare, you will find pockets of lovely homes and the Guadalupe river which pumps life through the city. The river's energy yanked us in. We knew our kayak would be used and enjoyed here. When not paddling the river, there are three golf courses and the ocean is a mere hour away. Victoria is only 63,000, but the shopping is relatively broad. Enter Starbucks and get an iced mocha latte then meander down to Target to purchase a bathing suit for the pool at the country club. While you are thinking of water you remember you want to replace the faucet in the kitchen so you head into Lowes and if you can't find the right thing you try Home Depot. But faucets lead you to look at bathtubs and you remember your towels are frayed in too many places and your guests are coming next week. You head into Bed, Bath and Beyond and realize you need another kid to carry the bags out. You borrow a neighbor's kid till 5pm and decide with the extra pair of hands you can stop in at Kohls for a pair of sheets for the guest room, Academy for an anchor for the kayak, Hobby Lobby for a frame for that unflattering graduation photo, Hancock Fabrics for a chintz to make a dust ruffle. You don't really enjoy shopping but you know the refrigerator is empty and the borrowed kid meter is about to expire so you make one last stop at HEB. There you pick up some fresh tortillas, sushi and gourmet cheese. As the groceries are checked out you realize you left your wallet at the fabric store, but since it is such a small town the manager has already called your husband's office and they pass on your cell phone number. You wonder what is ringing in your purse since you still aren't use to having a modern day convenience. Ahh, yes, my rhinestone phone. "Hello." You listen as the store manager says he will send his sister over with your wallet. In a few minutes due to no 5 o'clock traffic, you embarrassingly pay for your dinner. You are thankful to be living in Victoria, but you wonder why you still can't shop at thrift stores and trash hunt. Times use to be so much simpler.

Calamity Jane

As is so often the case, if you can step back from the trials and stresses of life you will find a fabulous story. Be warned, I hardly could have made up the things you are about to read. My dearest Jane is now cursed with bad luck...7 years in fact. Last night, she threw a 12 inch make-up mirror down the staircase. Perhaps she didn't like her reflection. Or maybe vanity has little to do with it. As the mirror was circular perhaps Jane thought it would bounce like a ball. Nonetheless, her bad luck started the morning before. Around 9am I found her scooping water out of the toilet with her plastic pink teapot and pouring that germ-infested water into teacups so she could quench her thirst. At noon she came to me with a uncapped glue stick in her chubby hand smelling much like what she held. Jane had spread the white paste all over her face. I am convinced she thought it was chapstick. Not knowing moderation, she reasoned if a little is good, a lot is much better. In the afternoon Jane had successfully tattooed her body with ballpoint pen and marker. Now I am convinced she is on the path of self-destruction. She must indeed have a personal insecurity. First she tries to poison herself with thousands of unseen microbes. Next she masks her face in white gunk. Lastly she resorts to body art to get some attention around here. Pobrecita! Being the last of four children is devastatingly difficult. Calamity Jane refuses to take the hand she was dealt. Her 2 year old scheming succeeded, she has my undivided attention and deepest sympathy for what her future might hold.

Precious Pictures