Mother's Day

Yesterday I changed my profile pic on Facebook to this one.

Since then, I keep looking at it, amazed that there was a time my mom and I were the same height. By the time she died, her osteoporosis was so progressed that she was hardly over five feet tall. Aging is brutal and death is terrible. Time does such cruel things to the body. I'm not talking about the cosmetic stuff--the wrinkles and gray hair and such. I'm talking about disintegrating bones, organs that don't work right anymore, teeth that can't chew, failing senses, a slowing brain, and weakening muscles. As those things wreak their havoc on the body, it can be easy for others to start seeing the person differently--to think that the 85-year-old is someone different from the 45-year-old or 15-year-old. But on the inside, nothing has really changed. That soul, that precious child of God, created by Him and loved by Him, is the same as it has always been. It still gets sad and lonely and afraid. It still wants its mommy. It still needs to feel that it is loved and accepted. It still needs a Savior.

This is Babsy. She is one of Jesus' little lambs, loved by Him fully and unconditionally. She's not sad, lonely or afraid anymore.

A Noble Task

I keep seeing this post getting shared on Facebook. Every time I do, I cringe anew. I have a very difficult time understanding how anyone could find it to be helpful.

The author begins by asking a few questions. I would like to answer them.

Would you go to the church on the corner knowing that the pastor is an ex-con? 

Yes. 

What about the congregation three streets over, where the pastor is prone to lying? 

No.

The pastor at the store-front church who’s always questioning the truth about what the Gospels say about Jesus? 

No. (Really? This needs to be said?)

What about bad language? If the new pastor has a potty-mouth, would you still regularly attend church? 

And risk my children hearing their pastor saying things for which they would be punished? Um, no.

What if he’s kind of a thug too? 

No, no, no.

Here's the deal. "Ex-con" means that the man has repented of his previous sinful lifestyle. We are all sinners, pastors included. Someone who has repented and been forgiven and now rejects the sinful behavior should not have it held over his head the rest of his life or be prevented from using his God-given gifts and talents to serve a suffering world.

The problem with the rest of the questions is that they indicate ongoing behavior. One who is "prone" to lying is one who does so habitually. One who is "always" questioning the truth about what the Gospels say has no business teaching those Gospels. Someone who "has a potty-mouth" (as opposed to occasionally slipping and saying a bad word) demonstrates an inability or unwillingness to attempt to moderate his habit of speech out of love for his flock. Someone who is (not was) a thug is one who repeatedly acts in thug-like ways, bullying people, lording over them, running his church like a mob boss.

So to answer the broader question, no. Assuming I had a choice, I wouldn't go to a church like that. Yes, we all sin. We all fail every day. By the grace of God we repent and are forgiven. Sometimes even then we fall into the very same sin again. Again we turn to our Lord and repent and again He forgives. But if we get to a place where we don't see the sin as sin or where we view ourselves as prisoners to sin, hopeless to ever stop it, constantly throwing ourselves on God's mercy again and again because He forgives again and again, we are to my thinking in a very dangerous place. "It's just the way I am. But God will forgive me."

Yes, He will. But at what point have we quit being truly sorry, telling ourselves before we even commit the sin, "I can do this because afterward God will forgive me"? It is extremely treacherous territory, and when it is institutionalized into the life of a congregation because that congregation's shepherd is constantly hiding behind the Gospel, never truly repenting but constantly excusing and rationalizing bad behavior, that is not a church I could feel safe at. I am frankly dumbfounded that this sort of thinking is being promoted as something good.

I don't know--perhaps I am extra sensitive on this matter because I have in the past been hurt by my church and pastor. But my suggestion to anyone reading and sharing this piece is to go study 1 Timothy 3 and think long and hard about the ramifications of going to a church with a pastor who does not appreciate the seriousness of the calling with which he has been entrusted. The spiritual and emotional damage that can be done by such a man is real and long-lasting. 

(P. S. And don't tell me there's no such thing as a perfect church or a perfect pastor. God disabused me of that notion a long time ago and I am very thankful He did. But there is such a thing as a safe and healthy church, and there is such a thing as a faithful, upright, and loving pastor. And when you seek out a church home you are justified in looking for both.)

Sympathy Letters from Kids

I finally got around to going through a bag of sympathy notes that were written to me by students at one of the schools I play piano for. I go to this school, a middle school, about once a week to attend chorus rehearsals and play for performances. I feel bad that it took me so long to get around to reading all the notes. There were over 100 of them.

Here are a few excerpts I wanted to preserve for posterity because I found them funny, touching, or unique or just because they made me smile. Enjoy. The authors are all sixth, seventh, or eighth graders. :-)

"I drew a rainbow because when my aunt passed away my mom said think of rainbows because it shows the bright side and it helps me. So maybe it will help you. My mom also tells me to think about the rainbow because my brother is in the air force and when he leaves it makes me sad."

"I will be praying for you. Thank you for being SO NICE to us even though we are crazy and loud. You are VERY good at the piano. I love you so much!"

"Thank you for being our accompanist, even though we're a band of bumbling baboons 90% of the time."

"Thank you for still coming to play with us tomorrow. I couldn't do it. I'm not that strong. My mom is still alive, but it feels like I don't know her. I haven't seen her in 3 years."

"It stinks to hear about what's happening, but for the short period of time I've known you, I think you can get through it. I know you can because I did. My brother died 1 year, 1 month, 6 days ago. You are much stronger than a 12-year-old so I know you can make it through."

"Hello. I am unsure what losing a parent feels like, but I have witnessed the death of some things. I once had a funeral for a turtle I found on the side of the road, and I remember how sad my family was when my grandfather died, even though I was not. I was five or six and I suppose death didn't really make sense to me. Or rather, I didn't really understand it enough to feel it. I'm fourteen and honestly don't know all that much, but I think that life is an incredible thing. Therefore, even though a life has been lost and I am certain that it hurts, there's still more life to marvel at. I hope that wasn't insensitive; I genuinely was not trying to be."

"I am glad you are the piano player at our school because you make us so much better than we already are."

"I love walking into choir and seeing you in the room."

"Every time I hear you play a smile will not come off my face. I also think you are very beautiful. I LOVE YOUR HAIR."

"To be honest I don't really know what to say. What I do know is that there are some days when all you want to do is be left alone. And then there are other days when all you want is a hug. I don't know what kind of day this is for you, but I just want you to know that I care, and that our entire women's choir cares! And I don't know if you're a religious person or not, but here's a Bible verse that always helps me when I'm going through a rough time: 1 Corinthians 10:13. Just always know that God will forever be by your side."

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Four-Year Anniversary

I was so sick Wednesday I didn't even think about it, but April 20 was our four-year anniversary. Feel free to quit reading if you're sick of hearing about it. It was a pivotal moment in this family's life, leaving its mark in ways that were terrible at the time but that have turned out in the long run to be so good. For that reason I don't know if we will ever quit marking it, at least among ourselves.

In a way it's hard to believe it's already been four years. On the other hand, so much has happened that I find myself asking, "Really? Only four years?"

As the date rolled around this year, my prevailing thought has been of sadness that the events of early 2012 did such a profound number on me and took so much out of me that there was even less of me to give to my mom in her last years. I don't lay it all at the feet of that event. That would be stupid. My mom was a sinner. I am a sinner. She was difficult. I was pre-menopausal. We both struggled with depression. But toss into that the blowing up of my husband's job and the primary focus of our days--our church--and I was struggling so to keep my own head above water that I had very little to give anyone. My husband and children came first, Mom after. I wish I had had more to give her emotionally her last years. I cared for her physically. I tried to love her. But it was really hard. I hope I made up for it a little the last couple of years after we moved to Oklahoma and started feeling normal again.

I recently stumbled on this picture. It was taken on August 12, 2012, the last day we were ever in my husband's former office. The print had been purchased for my husband by a member of the family as sort of a joke. We all have those kinds of days, right? But for a good portion of 2012 every day was that kind of day. We decided to leave the print behind, and in retrospect I am so very glad we did. We left so much behind that needed to be left behind, including that print, and we are so much the better and healthier for it.

Again I give thanks to an amazing God who knows so much better what we need than we do. May I always, always remember that.

Life Update

Hello! Anyone there? Considering how infrequently I post these days, I wouldn't be surprised if the answer were no. For the three of you who are still dropping by on occasion, here's a "what we've been up to" post.  :-)

Tomorrow will be seven weeks since Mom died. I have been spending a lot of time in her room. A few people have asked if we will be moving into it (it is the designated master bedroom). Maybe we will some day, when our knees are tired of going up and down the stairs. But for right now, we are thinking we will make it into a home office/guest room. I have already started using it as a place to get away to when I need time alone to write or edit or just be. It is such a nice room, big and bright and peaceful. 

The college kids will be home in about a month. Yay! They will be home all summer, other than several weeks Trevor will be in Italy for a piano festival. We will cap the summer with a family camping trip to Big Bend National Park in Texas. I wonder if we can find any spots like this one to pitch our tent on?

Unpacking is going slowly. You know that old Benjamin Franklin quote about death and taxes? That's pretty much what has governed my life the last few months. Maybe some more boxes will be opened and some more books will find their way to the shelves after April 15. (This year I am doing taxes for a rostered, called Lutheran cantor, so there is a bit of a learning curve. :-))

I have several articles in the queue to get published elsewhere but I have no idea when they will see the light of day. 

It has become normal to see preteen boys not my own running around the back yard, playing video games in the family room, or scrounging the kitchen for something to eat or drink. Believe it or not, even though I am on my third preteen this has not been a regular occurrence in my life as a mom. I like it. 

According to Facebook, today is siblings day. Here is a picture of me with my siblings, taken at my mom's funeral:

Here's the same group 16 years ago, on my mom's 70th birthday (we haven't changed that much, have we?):

I sure do love those people.*

We are coming up on a significant anniversary in our family history. I can honestly say that we have officially moved from asking "Why did that happen" to saying "Thank God that happened." So much good has come out of it, at least for us. I don't know if the same can be said for others. I pray, if the answer is no, that will change some day. 

It's almost cocktail hour here in Oklahoma. Off to the porch! Wherever you are this Lord's day, I hope you can find a few moments to put your feet up, breathe in the Lord's goodness, and bask a while. If circumstances are such that you can't bask right now, trust that even when it doesn't feel like it, His light is still shining on you, warming, nourishing and sustaining you through the fallow time and readying you for the next growing season. His peace be yours.  

*These are the siblings with whom I share a mom. There are four more, two of whom are deceased, with whom I share a dad.

Some of the Music from the Week

"A Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth" (LSB 438) from Cheryl on Vimeo.



"His Love Is Everlasting" (Psalm 136) - Setting by Marty Haugen from Cheryl on Vimeo.


(There is no picture for this one, just audio.)
"O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" from Cheryl on Vimeo.



Easter Vigil Procession, Immanuel Lutheran Church, Broken Arrow, OK from Cheryl on Vimeo.



"Come All Ye Thirsty" from Cheryl on Vimeo.


Click here for "Jesus Christ is Ris'n Today." (I could not get it to embed.)



"This Is the Day" (Psalm 118) from Cheryl on Vimeo.



 
Be Ye Glad from Paul-Andrew Cromer on Vimeo.

A Hundred Little Occasions

"Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many kindnesses he had received from the young lady, and wishing that time could come over again, that he might never cease showing her how grateful and attached he was. He had no cause for self-reproach on the score of neglect, or want of thought, for he had been devoted to her service; and yet a hundred little occasions rose up before him, on which he fancied he might have been more zealous, and more earnest, and wished he had been. We need be careful how we deal with those about us, when every death carries to some small circle of survivors, thoughts of so much omitted, and so little done - of so many things forgotten, and so many more which might have been repaired! There is no remorse so deep as that which is unavailing; if we would be spared its tortures, let us remember this, in time."

Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, Chapter 33

Four Weeks Later

Last night was the four-week mark since Mom's death. Everyone is doing okay. We encounter daily reminders of her absence--bumping up against things in the pantry or refrigerator that were hers, or hearing a noise in the house and briefly attributing it to her before remembering that, oh yeah, she's not here anymore. But we know that she is TODAY in Paradise, and the comfort that brings covers all the sadness. I give thanks that she lived for 85 years and that her life was a testament to the preciousness of life and to God's care of His children. Going through some of my mom's things I found her baptismal certificate. She wasn't baptized until she was 30. I didn't know that before (or if I did, I forgot). At the time, she was living in Japan with her first husband, who was stationed there. By that time she had six children, all of whom had been baptized. But she hadn't been. I wish I knew the story there. Did she think she was baptized and found out she wasn't? In any case, it is another way her own parents failed her. But the Lord did not fail her. He claimed her and called her and made her His own. Thanks be to God.

In the last few years of her life Mom became increasingly thin. It was a major contributing factor to her always feeling cold. Lately I find myself thinking of her in her casket in the earth, where it must be cold. She doesn't have a sweater! I need to constantly remind myself she's not there. She's not cold. She's bathing in the warmth of her Savior.

Of all the old pictures I have come across of her over the past month, I think this is my favorite.

Funeral Sermon for Barbara Lou Hollis

Rev. John Wilke, preacher

If a picture paints a thousand words, then what words does this picture paint? This picture of Barbara’s hand being held by a daughter is a scene no doubt repeated many times through her life. But I would guess more often than naught, it was Barbara, the mother, whose hand would hold her daughter's. 

The hand of a mother does many things throughout the life of a child. When the child is still an infant, that mother’s hand reaches out to grasp those tiny fingers as if to say, “It’s all going to be okay.” And in the middle of the night when a daughter is fearful, that mother’s hand reaches out and brings safety and security. A mother’s hand can, in one moment, be raised in discipline, and then in the next be found wiping away tears. A mother’s hand offers unconditional love to the child scorned by others. A mother’s hand offers guidance to that unstable baby taking those first few steps. A mother’s hand, every wrinkle and every scar or swollen joint, is a sign of love.

But a mother’s hand also bears the signs of sin. And in this picture, the frail hand of Barbara serves as a clear reminder to us of the curse of sin. This hand is aged, this hand is weary, and this hand is clinging to her daughter’s as life is slipping away. Death is that sure and certain reminder of sin; both in our world and in our lives. 

But there is another set of hands we can picture today. Those hands were described to us in our gospel reading. The first set of hands belong to a doubter named Thomas. He cannot believe in the Lord’s resurrection unless his eyes can see and his hands can touch the wounds of his savior. 
So our hands and Barbara’s hands begin life as the hands of a doubting Thomas. We cannot believe what we cannot see, we cannot trust what we cannot understand. We live in doubt and disbelief, leading to despair and death. Unless a hand reaches out save us we have no hope.

The other hands in our gospel today are the hands of Jesus. They are scarred and bloody with the wounds of crucifixion. They are the hands of a dead man now living. Those hands of Jesus, the hands of Thomas’ Lord and God, are the hands of our salvation. 

It is Jesus, who reaches down into humanity, down into our lives and grabs our hands. He reaches down to hold our hand because our human hand in its weakened, sinful state cannot reach up. He holds onto our hands because our grasp is too frail.

The hands of Jesus, like the hands of mother, do many things for each of us. Those hands were stretched out upon the cross, pierced by nails all for our sake. In baptism that hand of Jesus traced upon our foreheads and our hearts the sign of the cross marking us and Barbara as one redeemed. 
The hand of Jesus, through the preaching of the Word, has been raised to us in discipline, calling us to repentance. And then that same hand reaches down in grace and mercy to place Jesus’ own body and blood upon our lips that we might be forgiven. When we are frightened and afflicted by the events of this world, the hand of Jesus reaches out and takes hold of our hand and walks us through the valleys of this life.

And as we begin to lose our grip on this life and this world, the hand of Jesus even more holds onto our hand. The strong hand of our savior leads us safely through the valley of the shadow of death so that we need not fear. His hands lead us gently into the loving arms of our waiting heavenly Father.

On Valentine’s Day, I met with Barbara and commended her to the Lord. In her room we read the words of Psalm 31. There together we prayed, “Into your hands I commend my spirit, you have redeemed me. O LORD faithful God.” In death Barbara was entrusted into the hands of her heavenly Father who so graciously provided for her in this life through the hands of Jesus.

Even now, in the midst of things we cannot fully understand Jesus comes with hands of love and tender mercy. He comes to the grieving that he might wipe away their tears in the promise of heaven where there will be no more crying and no more tears. In life and death the Lord held Barbara’s hand and so he will for us as well. May the hand of God rest upon all who grieve and mourn that they might know his grace and mercy.

Funeral Service of Barbara Lou Hollis, February 27, 2016

Preservice Meditation - "Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us"
Cheryl Magness, piano

Prelude - "I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say"
Bianca Wilke, soprano
Phillip Magness, piano

Invocation

Hymn - "And There's Another Country"

Kyrie

Salutation and Collect of the Day

First Reading - Job 19:23-27

Psalm 27 - "The Lord is My Light" (David Haas)
Bianca Wilke and Kyle Lowry, vocals
Phillip Magness, vocal/piano

Second Reading - 1 Cor. 15:50-58

Verse - Rev. 1:5-6; 2 Tim. 2:11b, 12a. 13

Holy Gospel - John 20:24-29

The Apostles' Creed

Hymn - "Amazing Grace"
Phillip Magness, piano

Sermon - Rev. John Wilke

Hymn - "Jerusalem, My Happy Home"
Kyle Lowry and Phillip Magness, soloists

Prayer of the Church

The Lord's Prayer

Canticle of Commendation - Nunc Dimittis
Phillip, Cheryl, Trevor, Caitlin and Evan Magness, choir

Collect

Benedicamus and Benediction

Recessional Hymn - "If Christ Had Not Been Raised"

Postlude - "Lord, Take My Hand and Lead Me"

Organist for the Service was Phillip Magness.
Crucifer, Wes Beasley
Immanuel Lutheran Church, Broken Arrow, OK

Hands

Writing this down so I don't forget it.

The pic is from last week at the nursing home, but last night I was sitting with my mom in much the same way, holding her hand, when she told me my hands were cold. (Actually they weren't--hers were--but I don't argue with my mama these days.)

I let go of her hand I was holding and put it under the blanket. A few minutes later she asked, "Where are your hands?"

I showed her. "Right here, Mom."

Then she asked, "Where are your daddy's hands?" (Earlier in the day she had asked where my daddy was. He died 22 years ago.) I told her, "Daddy's hands are in heaven, with him."

Then she asked, "Where are my [her] hands?" I couldn't help giggling a little as I showed her her own hands.

Later I was talking to Evan (my 12-year-old) and told him about the whole exchange, which I took to be indicative of her confusion. He said, "That's kind of like when I was a baby and you would ask me where everything was: Where's your nose? Where are your eyes? Where are your fingers? Where are your toes? Where are your hands?"

Oh. Wow. Confusion? Maybe. Or maybe, memories.  

Update, one year later: I just had another memory about hands that happened after this post was written. Just a little while before she died I was holding my mom's hand. Suddenly she started squeezing mine--hard! So hard! I didn't know she had that much strength left in her. I don't know if she knew she was about to go and was saying goodbye or trying to hold on. But I will never forget that squeeze. 

Keeping Vigil

My mom has come home from rehab and is now under hospice care. We have entered a time of waiting.

We grieve that it has come to this and that we were not able to bring home a healthier, stronger patient. But we also look at it as an incredible gift. We have been given the opportunity to prepare. Phone calls have been made. Visits are being planned. Most important of all, we have been provided a chance to say a proper goodbye. There are so many who don't get that.

I am not sure how long the time of waiting will be. That is in the Lord's hands. We are taking steps now to adjust our various schedules so Mom is not alone, including lining up some volunteers from church to sit with her when both my husband and I need to be at a service. With Lent upon us and Holy Week and Easter on the horizon, there are a number of times when we both have responsibilities.

If you pray, please pray for peace: peace in our home, peace for my mom, and peace at the last.

My Mom

The pictures are a rerun from Mothers Day, 2009. My mom is not doing well. She has been in hospital/skilled nursing care after fainting due to a urinary tract infection about 4-1/2 weeks ago. Since that time she has lost weight and mobility. Today we found out the UTI has returned. I would appreciate your prayers for healing and encouragement.

The Lord is my light and my salvation;
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
    of whom shall I be afraid?

 When evildoers assail me
    to eat up my flesh,
my adversaries and foes,
    it is they who stumble and fall.

 Though an army encamp against me,
    my heart shall not fear;
though war arise against me,
    yet I will be confident.

 One thing have I asked of the Lord,
    that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
    and to inquire in his temple.

 For he will hide me in his shelter
    in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
    he will lift me high upon a rock.

 And now my head shall be lifted up
    above my enemies all around me,
and I will offer in his tent
    sacrifices with shouts of joy;
I will sing and make melody to the Lord.

 Hear, O Lord, when I cry aloud;
    be gracious to me and answer me!
 You have said, “Seek my face.”
My heart says to you,
    “Your face, Lord, do I seek.”
     Hide not your face from me.
Turn not your servant away in anger,
    O you who have been my help.
Cast me not off; forsake me not,
    O God of my salvation!
 For my father and my mother have forsaken me,
    but the Lord will take me in.

 Teach me your way, O Lord,
    and lead me on a level path
    because of my enemies.
 Give me not up to the will of my adversaries;
    for false witnesses have risen against me,
    and they breathe out violence.

 I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living!
 Wait for the Lord;
    be strong, and let your heart take courage;
    wait for the Lord!
(Psalm 27)

Me and Mom leaving the hospital, July 1964

(the photo spent a number of years in a circular frame--thus, the unfortunate fading)

Christmas 1981, departing for Midnight Mass

At my college senior piano recital, 1986

Wedding, 1987

Grandma, Trevor, Caitlin, and Giselle, 1998

Grandma & Evan, 2003

First Political Post in a Long Time

The last time we had a Presidential election I began posting about it early on. This time around I have thus far not said much in this space. To date I have not officially endorsed a candidate. I think I have refrained so far because 1) I have to some degree lost my stomach for politics, and 2) Right now what I desire more than anything is conservative unity and I will take any of the GOP candidates over another Democrat term.

Having said that, here are a few thoughts for today. Early on I liked Carly Fiorina. I still do. But she has disappointed me the last few months, most recently in a Facebook post she put up yesterday that claimed she was different from Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio, who, according to her, will do and say anything to get elected so that they can get a bigger office and more impressive title. That left a very bad taste in my mouth. I like both Cruz and Rubio and would be happy to call either of them President. I think they are in this because they want to help the country.

In contrast to Fiorina's petty sniping, Cruz today called upon ABC to allow Fiorina on the stage for the next major Republican debate. My respect for him just went up even more. That is the action of a gentleman and a statesman and I tip my hat to him.

That moment . . .

. . . when you find yourself feeling blue because

--almost the whole left side of your body hurts due to a foot that probably needs surgery

--you are afraid of having surgery

--your refurbished laptop is broken and the place you bought it from is not coming through with warranty service

--you want to write but your laptop is broken

--you want to write but you can't seem to find the time or focus

--you have this blog that you don't know what to do with anymore

--your mom who lives with you does not like the new house, or much of anything at all

--you realize the college kids are leaving in about a week

--you're feeling and looking old

--you realize that the normal routine is about to return and you didn't get done nearly what you wanted over break

--your 4-year-old car that is taking in water when it rains just passed the 100,000 mark

--you feel utterly guilty and stupid about feeling blue because not only is it Christmas, but you have a great new house, a great husband, great kids, a great church, and overall good health, so what business do you have feeling sad, you big dumb ungrateful ninny?

Good Morning!

Three minutes of beauty for your day. I hope you enjoy. 

Photo taken December 10, 2015

Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies! 

Emily Dickinson

We are in!

Hello! Long time, no blog! We have been just a tad busy the last month with buying and moving into a new home. Have you ever been so happy that you think it can't possibly last--that certainly something is just around the corner waiting to mess it all up? That is kind of where I am right now. I'm a little afraid to just let myself be happy. But I'm working at it. And it turns out that it doesn't take all that much effort. :-) 

If we are Facebook friends you have probably seen many of these pictures. For you who eschew that particular corner of the internet, here is a pictorial walk through the last few weeks.

First items in (the book was a housewarming gift from a dear friend)

Boy and dog explore new surroundings

The Nordiska approves.

Our means of refrigeration for about 5 days while waiting for more modern replacement.

 Much better! 

If he ever gets fired from this cantor gig (stranger things have happened) he can get a job on "The Price is Right" or "Wheel of Fortune." 

View out my bedroom window. :-)

New washer/dryer!

I have my work cut out for me.

Homeowners again! (Glad to have a home warranty to go along with the keys and garage door openers.)

I tried.

Evan: My life ends in four weeks.

Me: What? What do you mean?

Evan: That's when I have to play organ for church. 

Me: Oh, Evan. You're going to do fine. But if you make a mistake, it's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. That's actually one of the wonderful things about live music--that it's living and breathing and imperfect. Recorded music sometimes has all the life erased and dubbed out of it. Live music is human, and humans make mistakes. We aren't machines.

Evan: Well, technically we are. Don't you remember Schoolhouse Rock?