Meandering Moments by Elsi

It’s almost 1 p.m., and I just got up. Well, I just got up most recently, at least.

See, I got home from writing group last night and had an email from my friend Vicki, asking me to call her as soon as I came in. She was having irregular heartbeats and palpitations, feeling sick, sounding quite concerned (all this from a woman who snaps, “I’m fine!” no matter how she feels). We called the doctor, and I drove her to the emergency room (she protested unconvincingly all the way there).

We got to the hospital about 10, and Vicki was discharged at 2 a.m.—no heart attack, no blood clot in her lungs, nothing particularly wrong except extremely low potassium. I drove her home, and we both went to bed (and Sallie {beagle} was utterly baffled!). Yawn …

The good Lord woke me 10 minutes before my alarm went off, and I got up at 6, grabbed something to eat, pulled on clothes, and was at Vicki’s at 6:30 a.m. to drive her to the airport. Both of us were more than a bit groggy, as you can well imagine! The rain was raining and drizzling down, and the forecast was for measurable snow. Oh, yawn …

Driving home, in rush hour traffic and alternating snow and rain, I was listening to my friends on KPOF, local Christian radio. They spent the entire hour playing traditional music, which meant I could sing along lustily—which kept me awake! And at one point they played a clip of one of the djs singing a silliness I’d written (to the tune of “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain”). Smile … splash … shiver … yawn …

Got home about 9:45, and promptly went to bed, of course. Sallie again was baffled but willing. Isn’t God good to me? Vicki wasn’t seriously ill, and she was able to make her trip to Phoenix to visit her daughter. I had my radio friends to keep me awake on the way home, and no commitments today, so I was able to sleep.

Maybe I’ll grab a nap after lunch … yawn …

October 4, 1957 (52 years ago yesterday)—the day Russia launched Sputnik, the first artificial satellite. You could see it going by overhead if you knew where to look. And it was scary: we were sure the Russians were spying on us as we stood in the backyard. After all, St. Louis was a first-strike city; with McDonnell-Douglas making fighter jets, we’d be wiped out in the first wave of Russia’s nuclear attack on the country. It was a frightening and odd time to live … but Sputnik was the beginning of JFK’s space race, the moon walk, the Space Shuttle and International Space Station!

On October 4, 2009, I went to Home Depot to get a drill chuck and some timberlocks to put a log bed together. Eric, in tools, was friendly and helpful, and I decided to thank the store for hiring him. Thus I entered the evil-twin side of advanced technology. It seems you can’t just thank a manager at Home Depot; you have to log into their computer survey system. Once there, you have to answer a long string of idiotic questions, ranging from store cleanliness to speed of checkout, and including: “On a scale of 1 to 10, how satisfied are you with the innovative supplies at Home Depot?” But I didn’t want anything innovative! I just wanted a chuck!

And so, the few times the survey allowed me to add comments (such as, “what other stores do you shop at?”), I angrily typed, “This is a stupid survey! All I wanted was to thank Eric in tools for his help!”

Computers … good tools, often misused …

Don’t like the weather? Wait ten minutes! We say it in Colorado, and I’m sure it’s said across the country … across the world. But it’s true here, really!

Today is Thursday. This week I’ve been out in shorts and a T-shirt, slacks and a sweater, a wool jacket, a sunhat, wishing I had gloves …

Tonight we’re supposed to have frost or a freeze, and I need to turn the furnace on in the RV so my pipes don’t break. Evergreen had snow the day before autumn—a kindergarten teacher friend, Diane Kanagy, gave her kids a worksheet where they were to color the pictures that showed “something that happens in the fall.” Every child colored the snowman.

Last week I was at Bobolink Trail, playing in the creek with Sallie. Yesterday I drove up Mapleton to take pictures of the fall color. Last night the wind blew, hard and wild. And tonight, as I said, it’s supposed to freeze.

I’m not putting away my sunhat and shorts, though. I’m sure I’ll need them again soon!

My mind is full of information, and I have little trouble finding it when I want it. My desk at school always looked like a mess, but (as I kept telling the principal), “Leave my piles alone! I know where everything is!”

But I’m up against a couple of organizational challenges right now that feel overwhelming. First, I’m trying to clear out my “children’s room” (my old tutoring room, with all the children’s books on shelves around the walls) so that I can fit in a gorgeous, aspen-log twin bed. It will be a wonderful haven—if I can only make space! My friend Karen Buschman is coming up next week to help out; I’m hoping she can get me through this.

Even more difficult is the project of writing up the history of Boulder Valley Christian Church. It’s 48 years old, and the pastor has asked me to put together a historical record, as well as how God’s hand has moved across the decades. My research leaves me with old photographs (many of them completely unlabeled), slides, photo albums, newsletters, records of business meetings, newspaper clippings, videotapes, recordings of conversations … what do I do with it all? I mean, for one thing, I have to physically stack the stuff somewhere! Not to mention collating it into a semi-coherent document!

Oh, dear, oh, dear … I’m feeling very white-rabbit-ish about the whole thing right now … No time to say hello, goodbye …

Several years ago I met a young lady at the Oregon Christian Writers summer conference. Shannie—Shannon van Roekel—is from Canada (southwestern British Columbia), homeschools her kids, and has a delightful personality. It was one of those “God-thing” meetings, and we kept in touch via email and Christmas gifts until the next summer, when I crossed the border and plugged my RV into her house.

Well, Shannie has a book coming out in a couple of weeks … and another next winter! I’m so impressed! I know a real author! I had the privilege of helping to edit the manuscripts, too. Ah, what fun!

Shan’s website is Writing for the Word. And if you’re looking for an exciting story that gives a deeper understanding of the horror of genocide in Darfur, I recommend Desert Fire.

            Yesterday we drove 45 minutes into Illinois, to Eckerts Apple Farm. There the firm of Senniger, Powers was having a family picnic. Our part of the family was four of the grandchildren (Hannah, Darby, Sydney, and Aubrey). And me, of course—my father was senior partner at Senniger, Powers, lo these many years ago. There is almost no one left whom I know, and none of those was at the picnic. But we did have fun!

            We played mini-golf, ate brats and burgers, and enjoyed the clown who made balloon animals. We rode the wagon to the apple orchard and picked apples. We saw a cannon shooting pumpkins, and Hannah got to do the countdown: three, two, one, fire in the hole! We fed bits of apple to the goats, deer, etc.

            We had a lovely time! Another unexpected bit of childhood/family memory in this time-travel vacation of mine!

            “Hey, do you want to drive into Webster and see your old house?” my friend Anne suggested.

            So, this afternoon, we did.

            We started with Daddy’s house, 469 Algonquin Place, the one we built when I was in junior high school. It’s looking good—loved, nicely landscaped, quite nice. My room was the dormer on the right. Directly below is the living room, and the window there is where the Christmas tree was.

            The we drove a block and a half to 424 Yorkshire Place, where Granny rented rooms (large bedroom, bath, and kitchen privileges) during the long years she taught high school English between my grandfather’s death in 1947 and her retirement in the early 60s.

            1015 Kuhlman Lane is the house my parents bought when I was almost five, so I could attend the Webster Groves schools. Living room, kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms and a bath. Old piano in the basement, unfinished (and hot) attic up a flight of stairs from the dining room. That’s where I got Poppy (my dog, when I was in kindergarten) … where I got my bunkbeds, from which I fell and cracked open my chin … where I walked to Lockwood School every day … where we got the Reluctant Draggin’, our first trailer.

            Lockwood School, on Newport, is now The College School, a private school. They’ve put some additions on it, but it’s still recognizable. Lockwood is where I played in kindergarten … was allowed to learn to read in 1^st grade (Dick, Jane, and Sally) … started Brownies in second. Where I learned “Martian numbers” (different bases) from a new teacher in 6^th grade and was recommended for honors math in junior high.

            And finally, we drove by Granny’s little house on Tulip, which she bought when she retired from teaching. She got Gretel, a nasty little Affenpinscher, and began to travel the way she’d always wanted to.

            What a fun afternoon!

Oh, my! Almost every time I take Sallie outdoors, Dolphin tries to come, too. I let him out on his harness and leash sometimes, but generally he is supposed to stay in. Occasionally he slips out before I can stop him—then I scoop him up quickly and toss him back inside. He’s easy to notice, because he can’t help meowing when he gets in the grass. Or so I’ve thought … It’s 2 a.m., and I was up to go to the bathroom and let Sallie out. She did her thing, and we came back inside. And I heard Dolphin meowing. I looked around—no Dolphin. The sound continued. Could he have … oh, no! I opened the RV door, and there he was, on the steps, asking to come back in! Oh, Dolphin! Good cat! And thank You, Lord!

 This may be where God first touched my heart—

         not father-craving, father-fear,

                  Sunday school tales of fish and giants,

                           Christmas stories: Rudolph, Jesus, Santa.

But birches ghostly in the woods,

         flowers, beetles, ferns, and birds,

                  lake waves flashing, rocking, splashing

                           pebbles and shells stirred in beach sand,

         sparks lifting skyward with a  backdrop of reflected trees,

                  songs of friendship and nature,

                           safety and joy …

The stars above,

         the endless forest,

                  the cradling lake,

                           dew on the grass,

                                    sun on the leaves …

         this may be where God first touched my heart.

with apologies to Ogden Nash

 Elsi drives in a long RV

With a moose on the side for all to see,

And a happy little beagle, either pullin’ or laggin’,

And a realio-trulio little pet dragon!

Dolphin the dragon has big, sharp teeth,

And fur all over him, and claws underneath,

Tail tip twitching a warning, you see,

And a realio-trulio little goatee!

Dolphin the dragon was quite astute,

With his tummy exposed, looking oh, so cute,

Innocent, cuddly, with lidded stare,

But if you succumbed, oh man, beware!

Pity the artist or harper whose hand

Must pet the soft tummy! They can’t understand

How the sweet little pussy with tail a-waggin’

Turned into a vicious and hand-eating dragon.

So, Elsi still drives her Meandering Moose,

And Sallie and Dolphin have established a truce:

We feed it … we walk it … and sometimes we pet it,

But the dragon’s still lurking, and don’t you forget it!