Shady, Cargo Ship Captain and a Gargoyle

 I love October - it's my very favorite month of all. I love the refreshing breezes, the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon, the color of the gourds and leaves, the fluffy, soft sweaters, and oh, the pumpkin everything! Don't you?

And now, October is nearly done - it makes me a little sad.

I wasn't originally planning to share this but ... the sadness above is compounded by the late and disappointing evidence that I am, once again, not pregnant this month, and I feel a reluctance towards letting go of the month that, at least for a couple of days, held a little more hope than most.

Now, feeling alienated from all of the sweet families with their children dressed as lions and cowboys and ladybugs, I'm struggling to separate the disappointment from the discontent. I was truly, truly wishing for my own little pumpkin this October.

Wouldn't that have been fun? I mean, to announce to friends that I'm doing a blog about learning to thank God for His faithfulness even in the midst of infertility, only to find that a pregnancy interrupts it all?! It would have been wonderful!

But that is not the reality this particular October.

As I write to you, the reality is that my heart is crying, "Oh Lord, PLEASE! Please, I don't want to be her! I don't want to be the woman who has to go without. I'll try to glorify You some other way, I promise! Please, please let me have a child. This is too hard." 

And quietly, I'm reminded of what I originally prepared to post:

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This morning, Handsome left for work looking like this...

What is he? Why, he's the Shady Captain of a Cargo Ship, of course!

Yep, he made up that descriptor as he was walking out the door. Shouldn't a guy whose wife stays at home have a cooler costume than this planned for his Halloween-y work day? Probably. But, I did manage to get his shirt ironed - doesn't that count for something?

 And, can you see it there on his pocket? It's a BASS FISHING shirt, so it really fits in to the whole sea/ship costume theme ... sorta. Obviously carefully planned. Although, the hat might actually be an old Flying-Ace Commander's, I'm not sure and refuse to look closely enough to find out.

But look at his face.

 He's happy. He's carrying his keys, trying to get out the door for another long day at work, but he's happy.

And then, there's this guy...

 A Shady, Cargo Ship Captain and a Gargoyle.

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Oops! And I am suddenly reminded that I forgot! In all my disappointment, I forgot to be thankful - Lord, help me, I did it AGAIN!

We may not have any pumpkins here, but we're bursting at the seams with Ship Captains and Gargoyles ... and I am so thankful!

And, funnily enough, on that thankful note, we'll slide right into my runner-up-favorite month, November!

Smoke

Today, as I was walking into the library, I saw this...
















Here it is again -- be sure to notice the sign...

Isn't that too funny!? It's the "Designated Smoking Area" doing exactly what it was designed to do ... smoking! All by itself. There was no one around but me and a few other baffled looking folks sharing quizzical glances and shrugs that read, "Your guess is as good as mine."

I decided to take a picture or two because I thought it was kinda funny. 

I thought it was funny, that is, until a cross librarian approached me and said, "Did you do that? Are you doing some sort of film experiment?"

WHO ME?!

It had not even occurred to me I that might appear to be enjoying the display a little too much. With good reason, Southern California people take fire VERY seriously. Me too. But the smoke just seemed so contained. I did not even think DANGER. I just sorta reacted with a, "Oh! HA! Isn't that odd and silly and something you don't usually see in a day?!"

Always think! Always think! From now on, that's my motto.

Librarians tend to be very stern officials, don't they? Like British Nannies or Military Drill Instructors. I did not take her picture. I proclaimed my innocence - how dare she accuse me! I lifted my proud chin high ... and then I ran away.

To a safer distance, at least. I felt like a little monkey hiding in a tree when I took this picture.

The good ol' Burbank fire department showed up but there wasn't much left to see. I was just glad that the librarian "telling on" the smoking thing instead of pointing in my direction.

Whew! And I thought going to the library would be mundane.

Will I ever be brave enough to return those books?

Thumbs, Paper Cuts, and Band Aid Care

Thumbs are wonderful things. Have you ever really thought about them? They are rather funny looking, I suppose, but just think of all they accomplish in a day. I mean, really think about it.

There are green Thumbs, thumbs in libraries Thumbing pages, roadside thumbs Thumbing rides, competitive thumbs duking it out in Thumb wars ... all things considered, thumbs are very busy digits.

Regardless of the digit's astounding abilities, I don't think that I had given thumbs much thought until the other night when I got a great, whacking paper cut on one of them - my favorite thumb, if you must know. The right one.

Paper cuts really hurt. They do, REALLY. But there is also something at the very core of these little wounds that has a way of making a person feel completely stupid. You think, "How? Why? Grrr to me!" And the irritation is compounded due to kicking yourself ... myself. Do you know what I mean?

Okay, so, I managed to get the afore-mentioned, irritating paper cut, I cursed my stupidity, went to the bathroom cabinet to find rubbing alcohol for disinfecting (just in case) and the Band-Aid stash for comfort, and there, I plopped onto the toilette seat and began to doctor my wound. Might have been whining just a little too, I won't say for sure. While all of this was happening, Handsome was getting out of the shower.

Now, it is very important that you have the right picture in your mind at this point. It was the end of a long day, my hair frazzled, my make-up was gone, my glasses were sliding down my greasy nose, and I was sitting, slouched on the pot, of all places, and complaining. Not at my loveliest. Handsome, on the other hand, doing his best to get dried off and out of the path of an irritated, band aid slinging, crazy woman - quickly. Or so I thought.

But here is what happened next ... I managed to get the paper cut cleaned, and as I was reaching for the bandage, Handsome gently took it from me and started to open it.

My first reaction was to say, "Give that back! I can do this! I am capable of taking care of myself!" As I say, that was my first reaction, but I only got so far as making a sort of a weird, half-grunt sound that died - stunted - as he kindly took my hand in his.

I truly don't think that he even realized how he was affecting me. He acted like there was nothing in the world he would rather be doing or that would be expected of him. He stood there in his underwear, taking care of me. He had been hurrying out of the shower to take care of me.

You might think this sounds completely weird, but I felt so loved.

Once the bandage was on, which took a matter of seconds, he leaned in, kissed me (remember, it was the UNattractive me he kissed), and then went about his normal routine -- completely oblivious of the impact his actions had made.

He loves me.

See, here's the proof.

A little story about nothing? Yes, but here is what I was reminded of by my loving man - sometimes, I can make the biggest impact on people by being just a little bit concerned about their wounds.

I am so thankful for my thumbs and for the man who loves them.

House Hunting

Is now a good time to buy real estate in Southern California? Some say yes, some say NO WAY! Both opinions make rather impassioned and excellent points, so how is one really to know? I mean, really? 

I had mentioned in an earlier post that we were putting an offer in on a home for the first time ever - our dream home. Located only two miles from here...

Sigh and golly, I love it there.

But there is a small problem with there. It is located seventy-five miles from Handsome's work. Figure in LA traffic, and he was looking at a two hour commute each way daily -- much too much.

You know something? Practicality, responsibility, reality ... all are really rotten.

We had to let our small beach home go. Not to mention a real Ace of a real-estate agent.

There is something oily about real estate agents. Have you ever noticed that? I mean, finding a good one is like finding perfectly-fitting, designer jeans on clearance. Nearly impossible. It's true, real estate agents are a step up from, say, safe-crackers and pick-pockets, but I'm almost sure they refer to each other as Plug This and Shorty That over working lunches and at conventions.

The future of our property ownership seemed bleak. How would we find someone to help us in this area?

Well, funny story...

We had met a nice-ish realtor in a certain suburban town at an open house months ago, and so Handsome suggested, "Let's risk it. Let's shop suburbia with that guy. What was his number?"

We searched high and low, but we couldn't find his business card, his email, his number, or nothing.

"No problem," said I ... very sure of myself ... and I jumped online to search for him. After all, I knew that his name was M. something, he was young 60s-ish, friendly face, with a mustache. Couldn't remember which company he worked for, but that didn't seem to matter too much because I quickly found his face and number at a Caldwell Banker.

I am so great at this online research stuff! Oh yah. Well, sorta ... keep reading.

We contacted M. on Saturday, arranged to meet him in the easily commutable burbs at 2 the next day - yesterday - and that was that.

Only it wasn't just that was that, because two and a half minutes after walking into his office we realized, this is NOT the guy!!! True, he had the same basic facial arrangements, but the man in front of us was less sweaty ... more retired cop.

Eek! My heart sorta panicked! This isn't the guy! This isn't the guy! All the world knows how shady real estate agents are - or can be! Who is this? What will become of us? Oh! The humanity!

I sat in the back of his Mercedes and prayed. I prayed, "Lord, we've entrusted this whole housing search to You. This isn't the man we meant to contact, and this process is so difficult. Please work this out and give us wisdom."

What do you suppose happened? The guy asked, "So, what sort of things do you two usually do on Sundays?"

Well, it all came out...

Us - We go to church 

Him - Where? 

Us - Grace

Him - WHAT?! That's were I go!

Ha! You could have knocked me down with a feather! Which would have been fine because Mercedes seats are remarkably soft and supple.

Funnily enough, we had all been at the same church service that morning! In fact, he had emailed us from his Sunday School class - while his wife was poking him in the ribs and telling him to cut it out. He and his family have gone to our new church forever. In fact, his wife goes to the women's Bible study that I am planning to attend on Wednesday -- yep, the same Bible study I skipped last Wednesday for fear of not knowing anyone.

This agent wasn't the guy we meant to contact, but God in His loving provision, connected us to the man HE meant for us to meet.  God is so good! I don't know where the house hunt will lead, but I'm very thankful for the way things worked out yesterday.  :)

FYI, I'm hoping that the hunt will lead us to a home big enough for ... more. It's true, after eight years of trying to conceive, we have not been successful yet, but we are not giving up our hopes for a family and there's always adoption ...

More on that soon!

Smeyesing

My sister. Serious, isn't she?

Nope, she's SMEYESING.

Or trying to, anyway. 

 This is the result of way way way too much America's Next Top Model.

  

This what happens to *normal* people like us when we try to smeyes. Seriously. If you haven't tried it yet, you're totally missing out.

I just wonder at Tyra's models. How do they not crack?

 Like this.

 Way too tickled and totally loosing it.

Can't stand it!

Look at the baby's face -- he's a bit worried. Poor baby.

After all the silliness, I one hundred percent recommend smeyesing with a good friend or two any day. We all need a good laugh now and then, right?

Reassuring the baby that mommy hasn't completely lost her mind.

My sister. She's beautiful and looking at these pictures makes my heart smile.

Smheartsing?

Inspiration by Big Mama

Introducing ... hmmm? ... I'm really not sure what it's name is or should be or could be -- any ideas?  

He? It? ... is the result of a conversation I had with my sister. You see, neither of us really sews - at all. But our great-grandmother, Big Mama, used to sew the most unusual stuffed "beings" for us when we were little. She didn't worry about technique or fancy fabrics, she just created ... something ... anything that came to mind - often out of scraps. Her only hard and fast rule was that her creations had to have eyes.

The things she made for us were childhood favorites, now worn and lovingly stored. So, when my sister and I realized that her children wouldn't have "Big Mama" creatures to cuddle, well it sorta struck me as a kind of an Auntie Call To Action. True, I can't sew worth diddly, but surely that wouldn't have stopped Big Mama?   

Just as long as I give it, whatever it is/becomes, eyeballs.

Hand stitching. I hope it holds.

 

I'm really so tickled and pleased that he turned out. Sorta. There's a good chance that his heavy arms might eventually pop off, and his legs do sorta twist around (that's all wrong, somehow), his mouth ended up a bit too low, and my fingers are still pricked and sore ... but it was so fun to create something. I'm usually too intimidated by the fear of failure to even try this sort of project, but I kept thinking about Big Mama, wondering what she'd think of the fabric, the eyes, and the stitching, and I just kept going.

 

Hee! And I'm so glad that I did!

No wonder Big Mama was fearless! The result is so worth the effort!