Sporty. Sleek. Stylish. Swoosh!

During the administrative planning stage of the California trip, my husband and I discussed the countless ways in which transportation might be afforded our family. We considered almost every option under the sun, and finally settled on the choice to do a short term lease.

Upon our arrival in May, we entered an unpretentious building, on an almost delapidated car lot, and began the process to secure a vehicle. Due to the small nature of the facility, it became quickly clear that the pickin's were slim, as to what type of automobile I'd actually drive away in.

For about two days, we drove a tuna can that barely fit in the garage. Unsatisfied that I'd survive the summer in such condition, we took it back, to exchange.

The day we did so, I discovered, by accident (and my sheer delight) a car of this make and model.:

A beauty of a sporty, yet practical little car that fit me well, fit the garage well, and could deliver us to our various and sundry destinations with ease.

I've loved my little car.

So much so that my husband has made comment on the fact that I've said nary a cross word about it. Perhaps he should invest in one, to make it my very own? He has queried? Well, we can leave that for another blogpost. No pressure, Gil.

Meanwhile, as I've sported 'round the greater LA area, a technicality arose.

The car registration tags expired.

I'd driven in this condition, unaware, for almost three months, until that fateful day that I was informed by a dutiful LA traffic enforcer. [ahem. That's all we'll say about that!]

Therefore, a trip to the Little-Car-Shop-That-Could, in hopes of securing said such tags.

***Enter dramatic, tension building music here***

As I walked in the front door, the California Cutie who has always handled our account (predominantly because she is a veritable one-woman-show at this small outfit) greeted me with these words: "Oh! I need to talk to you!!"

I am fairly certain color drained from my face.

What dreadful words.

Had a stealth camera at a busy intersection caught me unawares, scooting through a red light? Was a heafty fee of $381 being leveled at me? (Oh the dread at the thought! {{shudder!}})

Um, no.

My sporty little car, it seems, had been SOLD by the company.

It was my job to vacate said such car, immediately.

DRAT! and Double Drat!!

- A resigned sigh. -

Enter the Lord in His magnificent timing.

As California Cutie and I surveyed the meager furnishings of the car lot for a suitable replacement, and I settled in to my fate, I looked down.

Before me stood the car I arrived in.

Next to that, a fresh rental.

Next to that . . .

THE EXACT SAME CAR I HAVE BEEN DRIVING ALL ALONG!

"Um . . .how about that one?" I asked, pointing nervously at the sleek little home on wheels. I half expected to hear her say it was in for repairs, or something.

She looked,

and blinked,

and looked again.

"Wow! The man who just walked in the building when we were exiting is bringing that back. Do you want it? I can do the transfer immediately."

Did I want it???

I was handed a gift from the Lord. The only exchange I made in this little endeavor was a trade for a cleaner interioir and less mileage.

Not too shabby.

Thanks, Lord, for answering before I could even call.

And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear. Isaiah 65:24

So This Webcam Thing . . .

I could be hooked.

Keller has spoken to his Daddy, watched his Daddy, listened to his Daddy several times now.

Late last night, as my girlfriend and I, along with Keller, entered the Cali pad, L'il Man made a very specific and pointed request. Via gestures and a heavy body lean out of my arms, he reached for the computer.

I knew immediately what he wanted.

He wanted his Daddy.

I Skyped him up.

:)

Transformed

I'd like to discuss transformation this morning.

To be transformed means a change of form or condition.

Transformations can occur in almost any environment. Consider this:

Keller is beginning to sleep through the night on a more consistent basis. When I actually awake, having had six, seven, or even eight hours of uninterrupted sleep: I am transformed.

Waking up with bed head hair, then showering and getting ready for the day: I am transformed.

Taking in the Word of God on a daily basis, and applying it to my life, and acting in faith: I am transformed.

You get the picture. Small changes that amount to significant strides in the betterment of the quality of life.

*****Enter the webcam.*****

If anyone would have told me yesterday that I'd feel like a kid on Christmas morning, awash with a giddy anticipation that overtook all logic and rationale at the thought of finally seeing my husband again, I would have chuckled. Yes, I missed him, but to turn into a puddle of mush? Nah.

Well, call me overcooked oatmeal.

I thought I'd wither and be blown away before he actually got that crazy device hooked up. {cough} About midnight.

I was totally unprepared for the torrent of tears that overtook me as I laid eyes on him for the first time in weeks. His slim-down program was definitely in the works, and his fresh haircut only served to make his distinguished grey head all the more appealing to me.

Those tears gave way to sheer delight, as my GilGuy, true to form, turned the mundane into a barrel of laughs.

Yes, transformed was the name of the game!

From vintage old movies . . .

to neon lights, to crayola markers . . .

to blockhead.

Transformation was the name of the game.

Thank you, to Logitech and Skype! Thank You, Father for technology.

A whole new world of feeling regarded and loved and connected.

:sigh:

Today I feel like a new woman. Call me transformed.

Live! From California . . .

My husband can be practical and prudent almost to a fault. (Of course, he'd say I'm impractical and impetuous to the same degree. Eh. Opposites attract, right?) :)

Quite some time has passed since I made request of him to invest $40 bucks into a webcam. He didn't want to do it. Seems he recalled that his camera had webcam capabilities, and, not wanting to overlap functionality, it seemed far-fetched to make a new purchase.

Not wanting to nag, nor frustrate him, I've languished in the land of 'if only' - relinquishing any hope that he'd ever look up the data on his camera, and, that most likely, that he'd forgotten the request altogether.

Well, interesting things happen when one prays. A couple of weeks ago, Gil and I had prayed that the Lord would open a door, that Gil not miss Keller's first birthday milestone. It would seem poignantly sad to miss such an auspicious occasion. He'd never have opportunity to celebrate such a first again. Was it worth it to miss it? Was a birthday really such a big deal that he should even consider it?

Of course, in my realm, I wanted Gil to fly out and spend the weekend with us. [Insert reminder of practical and prudent here.]

Imagine my surprise this morning when, unprodded, my GilGuy reports that he has researched the camera capabilities. The results? Nada on the webcam. This information means that a new device is necessary!

I almost can't contain my excitement! Very shortly my man will return home from the local retail discount store with hardware in hand.

I've not laid eyes on my guy for six weeks.

Where's the boom mike?!?

{tap, tap, tap!}

"Am I on??"

********
Thank You, Lord, for this gift. I am giddily grateful!!

Tic Mark

One of the task items I accomplished prior to our Adventure was the production of an identification card for the teens via the motor vehicle department. This action thrilled them, of course, as it meant one step closer to sliding in behind the wheel of a vehicle on their own accord.

So they think! Ha!

Anyway, it stood to reason that they would have some form of ID to accompany the passports that were also required of them. Mature, logical thinking on our end, right?

Well, I've been glad at that decision numerous times. Both my son and daughter have had occassion to flash their mugs - blue background style - more than once. My son has his handy in his wallet at all times, secured to his person with a cool chain that makes him feel hip and trendy. A must for boys who have just turned fourteen.

I must say, however, that we were totally caught off guard yesterday afternoon.

We unsuspectingly wheeled up to a gargantuan building, and in a moment of awe, took in the reality of where we had been sent for an audition. The paperwork we had received had given us no indication whatsoever that we'd have this honor. Mouths gaping, and with a bit of trepidation, we approached the security guard.

At this juncture, I knew the drill. Produce paperwork, last name, and identification, please. These items are then compared to a list housed electronically on a switchboard inside the guard shack, and, once confirmed, a visitor pass and verbal and/or mini-map is given to direct us to the proper building, located inside the [literal] city before us.

Today, however, all my preparatory efforts were null and void.

No request for paperwork.

No inquiry into the last name.

No request for an identification card.
No comparison with the database.

Nope.

The security man wanted to see . . .

a headshot.

???

This was WAY out of the routine, and sent us scrambling into envelopes reserved for retrieval inside the complex . . .not here!

I shoulda known: the best laid plans of mice and men are oft tossed by the wayside, in honor of a lesser means to an end.

Ah well. :D

It's All Relative.

No matter which way you slice it,

The similarities are striking;

the differences noticeable ~

The fun?

Times two!!

*Desoto Dell Dimension and Capernicus Magellen: half brother schnauzers.

Angi and D? The two crazy chicks who love them.

Where's The Baby?

The day had begun well. The sun was out and bright; the birds were singing; the schnauzers were happily playing; and we looked cute. The time had come to take Aubrey in to the doctor. A severe bout with tonsilitus had not resolved itself, and I knew from personal previous experience that it was high time to get it fixed. The walk-in clinic had a light load, the woman had told me over the phone. We should be in and out in a small window of time.

So, we headed to the car. Israel was placed in charge of the puppies, and of my sleeping son.

For whatever reason/whoknowswhatIforgot, I dashed back in the house, and ran to the Master bedroom.

The door was locked.

I stared in disbelief, and tried again.

Nope. No quick flip of the wrist to open the door.

Knowing I had an important phone call to make, and that time was of the essence in the endeavor to medicate my daughter, AND I had to repair the locked door issue, I dashed to the front room.

"Israel! Hop over the patio wall and see if the sliding glass door is open!" I hurriedly said.

"No! I'm not dressed!" came his quick retort.

The blood surely drained from my face. What? My 14 year old son was worried about being clothed in pajama bottoms minus a top?? For what reason?? I was incredulous, as I repeated my insistent directive.

He held his ground.

Obvious direct disobedience based on vanity coupled with talking back to his mom.

Hm. I'd have to deal with this issue later. Right now, I was fighting panic over the thought that I could not reach my infant . . .

Running to the car to inform my passengers (who were oblivious, and gaily enjoying one another's company) I relayed the information breathlessly. Then, I turned on my heels, to check on the sliding glass door ~ now pretty hot under the collar that my son had refused me.

I dashed to the front of the apartment.

HEAVE! {struggle}

grasp!

heave! [hook a knee}

PANT!

whew!

{jumping into the patio}

{pulling on the door}

Locked.

I stared at it for a moment.

I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry.

Thankfully, my girlfriend was visiting.

Laughter became the best medicine, as she wheeled around the corner to rescue me with a jolly good idea ~ not to mention her camera:

For the record, my wayward son let in the maintenance man, who deftly opened the door, and my child was thereby freed from his captivity.

Israel, who is still alive, is a gentler, more humble son today than he was at the moment of reckoning with an angry Momma, in tune with repairing rebellious behaviors.

Who'daThunk?

That fly LA, with two girlfriends, two schnauzers, two teens, two cameras, two purses, and one baby would produce such a need for naps?

The film is stacking up in the production area, the adventures are continuous, and the zzzzz's are few and far between.

You'll not be disappointed.

I promise.

A Wilderness Experience

Israel promptly attempted to jump the wooden rail fence that stood as the divide between he and the craggy rock below. I managed to stop him, only to be faced with a barrage of grumbling that he wanted no part of this particular hiking experience, if it wasn't going to prove to be as adventurous as he's like.

As he struck out on his own, on a path that would lead him to 'the caves', I handed him the cell phone. Perhaps, if anything went wrong, we'd be able to find him via a satelitte transmission.

Now look - I wasn't really worried. Even though the man at the trailhead was.

"What? You let your son head out on his own?!?" he quiered, incredulously. "I don't think that was a good idea!" He was an accomplished hiker of the area, naming nearby mountains, and describing various anad sundry trails that criss-crossed the granite display of granduer.

I bit my tounge on his lack of tact, and reassured him. "My son is fourteen . . ."

"And he's very physical." my friend finished my sentence for me. I appreciated that.

Heavens. If only that man had superhuman vision into the all-things-climbing-capabilities of my son.

But I digress.

We now stood, post hike, panting in the noonday heat, listening to the stranger harp on safety, and Israel was nowhere to be found.

The Devil's Punchbowl indeed.

The mile hike, we had thought, appeared to be a simple enough jaunt around the edge of the magnificent rock formation on top of the San Andreas fault, aptly named.

We were wrong.

Winding our way down into the canyon, the two schnauzers scampering happily, if not hotly, back and forth, whilst KellerMan rode comfortably in the Maya, was the easy part. There were vistas and crevices; shadows and long slants of noonday sun. Juniper trees and yucca dotted the knolls, giving scant moments of reprieve from the blatant beating of scorched brightness.

For every pace we took, the dogs took three, elongating their hike all the more. Finding the cool of shade under a rock became a bit of necessary game for them, and shortly, we, too, joined in the search. Exertion became our companion; even Keller welcomed sips of water, as his cheeks flushed rasberry red in the heat.

Discovering that our path had turned upward, muscles taught and hot breath exuding from each of us, we considered the starkness that surrounded us. Suppose this were our life? Suppose one had to survive in these conditions? There was no doubt that snakes and spiders and scorpions were the nocturnal inhabitants of this lonely landscape. The breathtaking beauty had little promise on saving one from such dangers.

The heights were also a consideration. One wrong slip of the foot, and the rocky jaws below could easily become gravestones.

The hours rolled on, and the sight of the wooden rail fence that I'd prohibited Israel from scaling proved a welcome sight.

So we stood, face to face with the man, chiding me for allowing my son to spelunk free, and as of yet, no return call or text from the cell phone Israel was in ownership of.

I had to make a choice not to feed the fear this stranger sought to introduce.

I forced myself to recall the numerous times my boy had victoriously - albeit perilously -engaged in similar activites with no ill results. We returned to the car to wait.

**********

The red cap jostled above the dried vegetation, signaling my heart to release any remaining tension associated with ugly thoughts of danger and peril on the trail my son had taken.

Nonetheworse for wear, yet proudly sporting a scrape as a trophy of his adventure, my once grumbly boy was now engaging and happy, all sorts of thrilled that we had taken the time to discover this, our latest geological find.

Lonely? Who Said Anything About Lonely?

. . .And Jesus went up to a mountain to play.

Play?

er, I mean . . .

today's adventure:

Culmination.

It had to be the result of all three events, converging upon me within a 24 hour time frame.

Event #1. I had occasion to meet a fellow homeschooling mom, whom I had one of those immediate, God-kind of connections with. Our conversation was way too brief, and only managed to highlight the like mindedness on several different fronts. I walked away feeling as though I'd had balm placed upon my soul, and a hunger to return to the conversation as soon as possible.

Event #2. I called my soon-to-arrive-by-jet-plane friend, and, in my craziest, zaniest manner ever, poked fun at her panic-ridden last minute preparatory state. To this she replied, "I haven't heard you kid around like that in a long time!" I responded: "See what you drag outta me?!" Laughing, we knew it was true. Watch out world. We're getting together again. Where's the boom mike? The latest and greatest reality show, comin' right up!

Event #3. It was late, and I was tired when I found it. An edifying note from an online friend that brought hot tears to my eyes. And why? I mused? She didn't know it, doesn't know, couldn't possibly have known it . . .but she spoke my love language, and it permeated my heart.

I trust you'll be able to see how all three of these separate yet intertwined events brought me to the stark reality, the culmination of understanding in my mind:

My time in California has been marked by loneliness.

Oh, I've had plenty of interaction with others. My children and I are blessed to be growing in relationship with one another. I've met lots of people, even shared a meal, fellowship, and good things with them. I've talked to complete strangers for lengths of time. I've become a familiar face at a few hangouts . . .

Yet I am alone. Lonely in a way that surprises me.

I believe I have plumbed a new depth in understanding of the loneliness that Jesus experienced. Could it be, that because He understood the plan of the Father, understood matters from a spiritual perspective that *that* was the loneliness He lived? The fact that others around Him were operating on the plane of life called the mundane? The routine? The natural? The same old same old?

I'm not calling my self super-spiritual. What I'm attempting to convey is that, in the majority (not all, just the higher percentage of) my dealing s with others here, I find a lack of awareness or even, in some cases, acknowledgement of spiritual things. The realm in which most I've connected with remains the realm of the here and now. The seen.

{pause}

Perhaps this is a great gift from the Lord, this fellowship with His sufferings I am experiencing?

Lost and Found

We had an hour and a half to burn. Since the baby and I carried a full thirty minutes of circling the building because we couldn't find a parking spot on top of our drive time, it was only natural that we find a place to stretch our legs.

I decided to nuvi a library. As I selected *that one* I had no idea I was on a course with destiny.

Driving into familiar territory, I prepared to turn at the corner appointed.

I looked to my left.

My mouth gaped open.

There it was!!

The park that was. not. but really was!!!

I took a good hardlook at those coordinates. I shant forget.

Clean House While Ya Can

The ebb and flow of life can be mysterious, can't it?

For the past few days, things have been relatively quiet 'round here. My greatest tasks have been to nurture my family, and my spiritual health, and walk the dog. Oh, sure, there have been task items on the schedule, but they've not been the kind that require great mental acuity, or the nuvi. Therefore, and not suprisingly, I've been a slacker and a sloucher in all things housekeeping.

Enter major discussion surrounding all-things-Hollywood between my husband and I. What is our course of action? Let's scan the horizon, and petition the Lord for fresh coordinates, that we might steer our ship on His waters, not our own. The anchor of the analogical boat having been lowered, obviously brings a sense to that discussion. Is this anchored state part of His directive?

[cough]

No sooner had we hammered out perspectives and considerations in this discussion, then: what is that we hear? The sounding of the boat: the anchor is being lifted!!

Within minutes of hanging up the phone with the GilGuy, my son, the actor, is suddenly summoned for duty. He's to report not to one, but two . . no, make that three! places at once, it seems.

Well, thankfully, I had just managed to put the finishing touches on the redecorating here at ChoiceCentral. It's nice and neat and tidy. All things in order.

Perhaps I'll manage to get the toilets scrubbed in my real apartment before company arrives . . .

It just goes to show, in our natural day to day living, or in our spiritual health: Ya gotta clean house while ya can.

Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance . . . Matthew 3:8

Friends Don't Let Friends...

fly their doggies in an unfit airline crate!

Every canine needs a job to do, in order to feel an integral part of the family. Therefore, the DellDog took up the task of Demonstrator Dog for a worthy cause: his DNA is coming to visit!!

As you tell by the look in his eye, he's got that 'big brother' exasperation . . .as only a brother can!

Flyin' the Friendly Skies never got easier, Cap!

Rumor has it that Cappie will be bringin his 'uman with him. A double-bonus!! :D

Foiled

Change was in my heart. In order to execute the plan, I needed three things:

Baby? Check.

DellDog? Check.

Camera? Check.

It was time for a new venue while waiting for the children. With the wisdom of four months of GPS-ing LA under my belt, I took the most straightforward route I had found yet. Side streets delivered me into a tidy little residential area. Scanning my surroundings, I browsed for the tell-tale park, located next to the Grecian pillars and water fountain.

It had been not much over a week since I'd tread the grassy acre, the same place where we received word of Aubrey's partnership with an agency.

I circled the block once again.

Yet again.

I expanded the perimieter of territory travelled.

I turned on my nuvi, who told me I had already arrived.

Already arrived??

The dainty, well manicured park was lost to me.

I was certain it had not been a figment of my imagination. One hundred familiar landmarks surrounded me, and yet the respite had disappeared, as if by magic, into thin air.

I shrugged my shoulders, and moved on, disappointed.

When the clock struck pick up time, and my car entered NoHo once again. The sight took my breath away ~ a full moon, crowding out all else in the twilight sky, demanding to be known by all. I prayed for a red light, so I could capture the sight on film. Perhaps my photographic intent of the evening was not lost after all!

Alas. I was not to be. This is the result of my non-red-light-had-to-try-it-on-the-fly attempt:

Yet another dismal capture later in the evening, back home.

:sigh:

Forlorn and foiled. The theme of the evening.

Israel's Mountain

Since arriving here, in the quaint little (??!) city under the sun, my child has been engrossed with the mountainous terrain that surrounds us. Adventure after adventure have occurred under his youthful leadership (some of which, I'm certain, have had the mom of a particular nine year old boy a bit chagrined and concerned for her sons' safety and welfare).

Nevertheless, Israel returns continually to the mount nearest us, to sleuth and discover to his hearts content. Yesterday, I allowed him the privilege (yes! he asked!) to take my camera with him on his jaunt. I didn't think I'd receive any worthwhile material, since, normally, the lad is obsessed with taking photos that scare the bejeebers outta me. (WHAT was he thinking???!)

I was surprised, then, when I found a series of self-portraits that revealed a lad immersed in introspection, a glimpse of new found maturity, written upon his face, the reflection of inward growth. Hm. These moments tug at a mother's heart.

So, I share them with you now, choosers. A glimpse of my boy, growing up, and considering his ways . . . on his mountain. The spiritual analogy of which is not lost on me.

For ye are not come unto the mount that might be touched, and that burned with fire, nor unto blackness, and darkness, and tempest . . .But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, To the general assembly and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, And to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel. 22But ye are come unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, To the general assembly and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, And to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel. Hebrews 12: 18, 22-27

Sunset Stereotypical

I crested the knoll of the hill heading out of the cement jungle at about eighty miles per hour. The glance of the sunset hit my iris at a breakneck speed of its' own, actually producing an awareness of just how fast I was going. I slowed.

The mountain range was now real, and before me in majestic fashion. I breathed a sigh of relief. The sight of an expanse of territory has that effect on me these days. While I've seen beautiful alcoves of residential areas here and there in my greater LA travels, I'm very grateful to be on the outskirts of the mammoth place they call the city.

Behind me were the luxury cars with unpronounceable names; the horn honking demanding I pick up the pace as I rounded "their" comfortable hairpin corner; the extra-long limos hogging the road; and the geico hoop-dees all clamoring for their portion of the road, too. It was here, in the beginning stretches of the final miles home that I could relax.

If, of course, you call dodging six lanes of rush hour traffic relaxing.

I began to drink in the landscape ahead of me. The chaparral beckoned me to hide within its' scanty shade. I drove on.

The final five miles required a shift, so I deftly began to merge across the multiple lanes to reach my exit.

That is when I saw it.

And them.

The smoky, charcoal gray, rebuilt 1950 Chevy pickup truck loped along in the right-most lane, unaware that it was out of time and place. I slowed, not knowing the lumbering vehicles' intent. I took note of the word C H E V R O L E T written across the tailgate in dusky red letters.

At the same time, her hair was suddenly caught by the wind from the open windows, and tossed upward against the back pane.

I smiled.

She was sitting next to him. The man I assumed to be her date for the evening.

He was clean cut, and wearing a white short sleeved T-shirt, which only served to fuel the nostalgic appearance. Obviously taken with his passenger, he talked in animated fashion, glancing quickly between her anticipatory eyes and the highway.

The traffic in front of me parted to the left, and I jogged to the right, as the Chevy took the opportunity to shimmy across three lanes, continuing forward into the sunset.

Behind them now, an empty lane in front of me, I watched.

I watched the fresh exchange of getting-to-know-you-days, the continued wind-toss of her hair; his frame jogging about behind the oversized steering wheel ever so slightly as he engaged her attention: the obvious enamoured state of the two love birds.

The sunset glowed about the pickup, hurtling down the highway into the orange horizon, as all other cars on the road seemed to grow dim.

I suddenly became aware that, for the very first time since my arrival in the golden state, I had visually witnessed a decidedly-stereotypical-verbal-hand-me-down of just what, exactly, California dreamin' was.

Light vs Darkness

My children had spoken of the boy, face covered constantly by the black, heavy, hooded sweatshirt, who seemed to be the leader of the Pack Up To No Good. At first, I wanted to protect my children by refusing them access to the area where the young man tended to operate his covert dealings. As more information spilled out, however, I backed away from that stance. My kids were aware and wary, and keeping their own distance.

Considering whether or not I should take a course of action, I determined that, failing any evidence or proof, I'd simply have to let things be, and let the hooligan activity run its own course with discovery and therefore, the destruction of evil intent.

The crisp evening air hit my face as I turned the corner of the apartment; a solid encouragement to pick up the pace and generate body heat. Keller gleefully kicked up his heels in the jogger, and Dell, already engrossed in the latest scent offered on the sidewalk, trotted happily beside.

As I crossed the first driveway, I startled a bit as a bulky figure moved swiftly to begin the wheels of his skateboard turning. Deftly hopping aboard with the full of his weight, I was certain I saw him glancing furtively at me out of his peripheral view.

Ah. So there he was. He certainly looked like a scoundrel, but one mustn't judge by outward appearance.

My eye followed him as he made his way to the playground full of children of all ages: toddlers, elementary aged kids, teens. A few parents dotted the landscape as well, and the sound of blissful enjoyment filled the air.

Aubrey's voice broke above the din, as she called to me. She handed a Popsicle to the boy on the bicycle next to her, and he pedaled off, leaving she and I alone in the cul-de-sac. As she chirped and chatted gaily, my eyes travelled the area carefully. Where did he go?

Finally content, and her storytelling complete, Aubrey turned back to the gaggle of children who were waiting in the wings for her. I turned to continue my course.

Stepping up on the next sidewalk, the one beside the pool, continually scanning the horizon, I saw, across the way, a face shrouded in darkness, staring at me. He was a good distance away, inside the fence of the pool, seated stealth-like against the far wall, under an umbrella, slouched so as to remain unnoticed by any passerby.

The locked eyes were unmistakable. From his stony gaze I surmised he was unwilling to be pleasant to anyone perceived as a threat to his lair. My heart was at once sorry for him, compassionate, and on alert.

Where were this boy's parents? What events in his life had brought him to such a dismal outlook on life, one that caused him to shrink from light to slither in the darkness; to isolate himself not only from adults, but also from his peers, except when he wished to be seen as the leader?

I continued walking, leaving him be in solitude, yet found out.

My circuitous route brought me back to the house, but I was unsatisfied as to what the next move of that young man might be. So, I added an additional pace, and returned in u-turn fashion to the park. He was nowhere to be found. I communed with my daughter a second time, and then reengaged my return home.

Had he been watching, waiting for me? Perhaps so.

Upon my final ascent to the front door, he deftly crossed my path with his running leap onto his board, only to skate off into the twilight, once again seeking the darkness to shroud him from my gaze.

Decorated.

See this photo?

This photo of Aubrey and I, horsing around, downtown LA, being super sillious and glamourous all at once?


Well, this photo is successfully brought to you courtesy of none other than the GilGuy. McGilver, as you may recall.

You see, after the posting of the GARGANTUAN photo of his precious son the other day, he realized his darling wife really WAS in dire straights, working from this computer system likened unto a tricycle.

So, he decided to do something about it.

He decided to lend a hand.

Doing a quick search for some freeware, he phoned me.

"Angi?"

"Yes, Gil?"

"I've got some dreamy software for you, so you can resize your pics."

"Really? Where is it?"

and so began the download and the subsequent learning curve thereof.

It made me happy.

I have very few capabilities on this system, but photo management is a MUST in my book! I was back in business!

Fast forward to a conversation late yesterday afternoon. Detailing my latest snafu regarding the use of the tricycular computer, Gil stopped me.

"Angi, quit complaining! We put TASSELS on that computer."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You know . . .the freeware. It's like tassels on the handlebars of your trike."

.
.
.
.
.
.

{groan}

{laughing}

Yeah. I"m styliln' and profilin' allright!

Cruising about the 'driveway' decorated to the nines.

SuperBaby And Other Tales

Yesterday was a banner day for the diligent learner of all things upright.

Taking not the occassional opportunity, but practically every opportunity to hoist himself from a seated position - sans an object nearby to balance himself - Li'l Man made great strides in perfecting his technique.

He decided to make a game of it.

Incorporating a game he plays with Daddy, Keller created his own stylized version. It went thusly:

• Stand on the bed.
• Look about proudly, and maintain balance as long as possible.
• Play with fingers whilst doing so.
• Once balance begins to wane, utilize the topple effect (and thereby bewraying any *unintentional* fall on ones' part)
• Throw onesself forward, in flying superman fashion, to the mattress below.
• Laugh.
• Hoist onesself up again.
• Repeat.

No doubt the countless tosses onto a stack of pillows while Daddy, in singsong-y voice says: "SUP-er-man!" has had a profound effect on the tot.

I wonder if a flying circus is in anyway, shape, or form in our future.

;P

Stride Right

It's happening.

The light bulb moments of "Aha! I can do this!" as the brain synapses of Li'l Man come together in a triumphant declaration.

In his own contemplative way, Keller is practicing standing upright, all on his own.

****

ETA: This photo is brought to you courtesy of one and a half hours of consistent, persistent work on my part, via the tricycle. You are welcome. :D

I am crying.

Training Wheels

I found the analogy worthy of my current experience:

My computer system (rigged with particular bells and whistles to me, carefully selected and bestowed upon me by my husband) is very much like a ten-speed bicycle. Plenty of operating room, plenty of gears with which to down shift if necessary, in order to power up that hill. A sleek design, capable of moving swiftly at a mere muscular command, taking me where I wish to go.

My sons' computer system (rigged with just a basic operating system, nary a bell nor a whistle) is like a tricycle. A three-wheeled job that gets one down to the end of the driveway and back, with quite a bit of physical exertion just to complete that task. It's cute, it's functional, but it's not all that equipped to take me where I need to go on a daily basis.

When I discovered over the past 24 hours that I was completely unable to resize and crop photos without downloading a program, my heart sank. When I found out that I could not open a MS Word document without downloading a reader (a reader!!), I felt at a loss. When I realized that I could not tune in to my favorite internet Bible study without accessing once again the software, I felt undermined.

The search continues for my operating system cd that would take me through the restoration process necessary for my computer's good health. Gil is *certain* he moved it to Cali with us. I cannot locate it here, he cannot locate it there.

With an honest and sincere heart I've repented for my misuse of valuable time. Truly I have. Therefore, my heart cry is that the Lord's correction will come to an end. May He see fit to reveal that which is hidden, and restore unto me my operating system cd.

Please, Lord? Pretty please??

For there is nothing covered, that shall not be revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known. Luke 12:2

The Oak Of The Golden Dream

The day was still husky with heat when we left our cozy little domicile and headed off in search of some mountainside to scamper.

Dell was particularly interested, as he'd not been on a hike sufficient for all his sniffing needs in some time. He and Israel were restrained on a threadbare word, only long enough to determine that the course they wished to take was not suitable for the rest of the clan.

They were gone in a flash, and Aubrey and I were left, Keller in tow, to find our own adventure.

We wandered under the canopy of numerous majestic oaks, drinking in the shade. Meandering onward, we came to the end of the grove. An abrupt finish to a delicious stroll stood before us. Chain link fences encapsulated a large swath of territory, announcing in big signs "CONSTRUCTION ZONE!" "DO NOT ENTER".

We shrugged our shoulders, feeling the disappointment twice now, of not being able to take the path of choice. Adjusting once again, we pressed on. This time, a dry, rocky riverbed that travelled underneath a highway overpass presented itself to us. Were we destined for an unfruitful hike? No desirable items of nature to fall under our gaze?

I spied a cement walkway across the remains of a once flourishing stream. "Look! We can use that walkway!" I encouraged Aubrey. She was doubtful. "I'll go check and see if it actually goes anywhere." she said.

As she carefully placed her steps, she was unaware that I had the jogging stroller a mere step or two behind her. "Help me lift the front end over that crag." I said.

"MOM!" came the exasperated reply, but assist she did.

We were now smooth sailing, Keller no longer bounced and jiggled in his harness.

That's when we noticed the mural on the inside of the overpass' supporting beams. PLACERITA CANYON BEFORE MAN it was titled ~ and frame after frame depicted the lush countryside once cared for in organic means by the native tribes, only to be progressively depleted and desiccated by the hungry press of the white man. The ending frame revealed a gent, sleeping roll laid out under a huge oak, a land title nearby, and his skinny frame holding up a pull of wild onions, glistening at the tip with gold dust.

It was a remarkable moment of education, laid out visually before my daughter who is studying American history in depth this year, and currently looking at the native peoples to this land. To my delight, it was not lost on her.

We exited the hollow of the overpass, and found ourselves smack dab in the vicinity of the previously depicted oak, along with a monument marker, describing the very scene that had been laid out for us seconds before via artistic means.

Gold had been discovered in California six years prior to Sutters' discovery that incited the Gold Rush.

A relatively quiet discovery that intersected one man's life was now intersecting ours.

The gnarled oak stood tall and proud and fierce. It had no intention of toppling anytime soon. The sycamore trees that surrounded it were bent and beautiful, and Aubrey began to climb.

I began to sing.

"Zaccheus was a wee little man, and a wee little man was he;
He climbed up in a sycamore tree, for the Lord he wanted to see . . ."

"Mom! Stop singing!" she protested.

"But it's a sycamore tree, Aubrey!"

"I know, Mom! But you aren't even singing the song right . . ." her teen aged perspective stated.

I smiled to myself. Perhaps Mr. Lopez had found gold under this tree many years ago.

I was finding gold myself: in the form of a precious window of time with my daughter - her defenses down, her heart open, and discovery at every turn. Yes, the gold I was beholding was Lord in her. As she climbed that sycamore tree, she could not help but reflect a child-like heart that pleases Him. Regardless of the bravado that was spoken, she, too, was silently relishing the moments with mom, surrounded by nothing but mountains and oaks and murals and overpasses.

The Golden Dream? Connection; relationship; life.

Newly Minted . . .

The Lord has finally spoken.

The fullness of time and lessons learned has come to fruition.

A new phase of the journey is set to begin.

For those who walked with us through the dark night of growing pains, will you now join us in a resounding SHOUT OUT to the King of Kings, then, take a knee, while we honor Him: the One who opens and shuts doors, and answers the prayers of young girls desirous of fulfilling their dreams.

Ladies and Gents, Choosers Everywhere, may I present to you the newest thespian of the family, secured by an agency as of last night:

When It Coffees, It Pours . . .

Stumbling out of bed, I began my morning routine, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

Dell expectantly followed me and watched, as I meandered to the kitchen, emptied the grounds basket, filled the basket with fresh coffee and filter, filled the water reservoir, returned down the hall to slip on a pair of jogging pants, hunted for the brown flip flops, then the leash . . .

His anticipation heightened, but mingled with self-control.

At the gate, I stooped over to halti him, swaying in a lack of balance sort of way, still caused by the sleepiness that fogged me first thing in the morning.

Once outside, the dew on the grass, the scent of the beginning stages of fall evident about me, I perked up a bit. My heart began to awake, my thoughts following.

"What a beautiful morning! Good Morning, Lord!" As I directed my thoughts upward, and paused, listening for that still small voice, Dell indicated he'd had enough of taking in the tracks of canine passers-by. We headed back to the house.

I could hear the brew in its' final stages. Mmmmmmm ~ but a cup of coffee was going to taste good this morning!

Coffee, my Bible, a snug little corner on the couch . . .near perfection, in my mind's eye.

I slipped off my flops, un-halti-ed the dog, and turned the corner to the awaiting coffee pot, which sat pristine and glistening on the counter.

Empty.

While the machine itself chirpily produced a full pot of java ~ down the side of the counter, onto the floor.

Drat!

When Your World Crashes . . .

I had just been explaining to a friend the other day that, while I am madly in love with my fresh cup of coffee in the morning, I'm not necessarily addicted ~ I could/can/have gone for weeks without the delicious brew without any severe consequences. Perhaps a slight headache on day two or so, but nothing major.

I'm of the opinion the same applies to my computer. Since taking ownership of a computer in 1994, I've loved having access to all things cyber; self-educating in the realm of all things tecckie; and storing electronically. I use my computer daily in most cases, yet, when necessary, and often by the mere nature of my life, I might find myself away from my system for extended periods of time. {shrugging my shoulders} Eh. Okay.

Enter the dreaded Blue Screen of Death that intersected my smoothly running world 36 hours ago.

I am bereft.

Through no fault of my own (and I shan't blame my inexperienced daughter, on whose watch the BSOD entered my system) I returned home to my desktop in shambles, and I've been scrambling to fix it ever since.

Fortunately, I've been able to retrieve VIP data pertinent to my heart strings. Such as a gazillion photos of my son and grandson's actual birth and the days following. Bible study notes of my own hand, my own perusal. A host of other documents valuable to me.

Yet, the repairs have been painstakingly slow, and as of this moment in time, there is not an immediate repair on the horizon.

And by immediate, I mean in the next hour.

Perhaps by days end I'll be on my way to discovering my happie little world again. Time will tell, and my GilGuy (otherwise lovingly noted as McGilver) will be forthcoming with data information that will magically repair damage done.

In the meantime, I am compromisingly attached to my sons' system, in a comedy of errors sort of way that would have any haphazard passerby in stiches, should they be able to peer in the window and see me. Wires are everywhere, and my eyes? Red rimmed from the stress of it all.

One thing is for certain. I'm not spending too much time surfing right now. :D

To debugging and beyond ~

~Angi

Train 'Em Up Early . . .

It set my heart a flutterin', the opportunity I had to introduce all things equine to my youngest child whilst we journeyed home recently. My passion for horses has been kept by the wayside for so many years, I've denied self time and time again. The result being that all of my olders have lacked for any equestrian training.



There is just something about the sweet smell of a horse, the softness of his nostrils, the heat of his breath, the doe-ness of his eyes, the strength of his muscles, the containment of his power underneath the reign.


Yes, I have desired that all of my children know the thrill.

Well, allright, so Keller doesn't look so thrilled. But it wasn't *really* about the horse . . .it was about his first-time-ever stuffy nose. Honest. And the Mississippi humid heat. It's true!

When I discovered Bethany's latent love, I was shocked to say the least. Yet after having met Ezekiel [Zeke for short], her handsome steed, I fully approve of her intuitive horsemanship and ability to take up the task of ownership.

Watching her in action, knowing that her movements were in a large part a natural, intuitive part of her being, my heart sang. Of course, Zeke cried. He didn't *really* want to take a bath! Like a toddler too young to understand the benefit, he balked. So, we brought in reinforcement:

And, just as a toddler will do, curiosity got the best of him.

"Say, Mister! Whatcha got there??"

Well, I suppose it's only fair. I want my son to know about horses. I guess the horse can be educated on the use of a cell phone.

"Hey Wilbur!"

:D

Reprimanded.

I had high hopes surrounding some major Bible study time yesterday. I had awoken with purpose and resolve toward accomplishing at least one of the three studies I've currently got going, and, I was desirous to taking in a new thought via a podcast I've had my eye on.

The day started out fine. All things in my world were tidy and neat. Roast in the crockpot, cookies made from scratch the previous day were neatly stacked and wrapped, just waiting to be imbibbed; the windows were open, allowing a cool and gentle breeze to waft in . . .

Restful. That was the atmosphere of my little home in Cali.

I put both feet in first, spending the better part of an hour going over various Scriptures, ingesting them, mulling them over in my mind, considering.

Then, Keller demanded me. The phone rang. Kids began arriving at our doorstep. And Gustav was threatening.

Before I knew it, I was wisked away on a tidal wave named 'cares of this life' and I stood, mezmerized by the reports from NOAA and Intellicast and the Gulf Coast local websites.

Yes, it was in part worthy of my attention. Yet too much attention, according to my Father, as I finally lay myhead on the pillow late last night . . .er, this morning. Still a tad wound, I opened a book I've been reading to a random page. The words were clear and crisp, and the Lord was speaking directly to me:

But it shall come to pass, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of Jehovah thy God, to observe to do all his commandments and his statutes which I command thee this day, that all these curses shall come upon thee, and overtake thee. Deut 28:15

I was immediately convicted.

I had allowed the day to pass, to wash over me, without maintaining my resolve. I was quickly reminded of how easy it is to get one's eyes off of the prize of the high calling in Christ Jesus onto worldly things.

So, I repented. Right then and there.

I fell asleep, knowing that tomorrow I would be much wiser in my use of time spent with Him. That Bible study that's been on my plate for weeks now? I may not "finish" it . . .but I sure the heck am gonna take a big bite today.

Thanks to the reprimand of the Father.

My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons. Furthermore we have had fathers of our flesh which corrected us, and we gave them reverence: shall we not much rather be in subjection unto the Father of spirits, and live? For they verily for a few days chastened us after their own pleasure; but he for our profit, that we might be partakers of his holiness. Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby. Hebrews 12: 5-11