Half Way to Seattle

It's been a crazy week.  And the beginning of a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.  Taught lots of violin lessons, packed, loaded the trailer, cleaned, finished up a ton details, too many goodbyes, and drove all the way to Laramie, WY.

One of my prayers about the trailer was answered - they were able to park it right in front of our house despite the incline.  The other was not - that it would be cooler on the loading days.  Jared and his dad were in the trailer pretty much all day on Tuesday - mid/upper 90's in a metal box in the sun with high humidity.  Jared wound up with a really nasty sore throat and a 102-degree fever by the end of the day.
Jared and his dad are shockingly strong for their size, and I have no idea how we would have gotten everything down the stairs and up the ramp without them.  And, Jared has amazing 3D puzzle skills.  He was able to get all of our stuff into a 10 x 12 x 12 foot area, and thus we will pay less to ABF than we had estimated.  (If you ever need your Thanksgiving leftovers put into the fridge or your party dishes loaded into the dishwasher when it seems impossible, Jared can do that for you, too.)

Wednesday, everyone was pretty tired, so we only drove to Nashville.  Cats did not like the car ride.  Lots of hyperventilating and howling.  They also didn't like the hotel, except for Feathers, because it wasn't home.  They cage stank of stress, and I did a load of laundry right away.

Thursday, cats did much better in the car - they actually seemed relieved to get back into the Cat House, because it was familiar territory.  But they were super ready to be done after 12 hours.  We drove all the way to St. Joseph, MO, via Tennessee - Kentucky - Illinois.  As we were driving through St. Louis, Jared and I pulled off on a whim so he could see the Arch up close, and I called my dad to get directions to the family cemetery.  Jared and I saw the gravestones of my aunt, my grandparents, two of my great uncles, my great-grandparents, and a whole bunch more family members from much further back.

Friday we drove all the way to Laramie, WY via Missouri - Iowa - Nebraska.  We were in Iowa for all of about ten minutes.  We stopped off in Kearney, NE to find a post office - the short version is that I had something due at the BMH library on Monday and needed to return it right away.  Jared once either applied for a job there or thought of applying for a job there, and we were thinking we were both pleased to not be living there.  I'm sure anywhere could be home, but it wasn't exactly our dream location.

Lots of thoughts driving through Nebraska about how the Heartland is pretty much owned by the Cattleman's Association and industrial farming.  Most of the crops were corn, soybeans, and hay - all cattle feed.  And there were, for some long period of time, empty slaughter house trucks traveling opposite us on I-80 every two minutes or so - we were clearly near some enormous meat-packing plant which was unloading a whole new truck of animals every five minutes or so.  I have no problem with people eating meat if they want to, but it made me sad to think about how many animals were dying in this huge industrial process every few minutes.

When we got to Wyoming, I started to get excited.  Drier, cooler, mountain air, and MOUNTAINS!  For some reason, mountains are a very important part of my life - must be all those summers in Aspen? Or maybe the childhood trip out to west Texas?  The hotel we had booked in Laramie on Priceline, which was advertised as accepting pets, would not let us stay there with three cats when we arrived to check in, so after some scrambling, we were able to get another hotel AND get a refund on the first one.  And meanwhile, Jared was feeling pretty much awful as far as sick, and we had been in the car for at least 12 hours, and Black Bean had gotten pretty uncomfortable as we drove over the pass - I think his respiratory congestion was causing him pain, and he was just panting wildly.  I really wanted to get them into the hotel and let them have food and water and the litter box and a little space!

Anyway, we are taking a day off - Jared needs sleep to get over his bug, Jared's dad is tired of driving, Jared's mom is tired of sitting, and I am tired of worrying about cats in the back seat getting light-headed and dehydrated.  Hoping to go for a little hike later when Jared wakes up from his nap.

Tomorrow we're headed for Idaho Falls, and the day after we're headed for Jared's parents.  Then we'll have another day off before we go up to Seattle and start the moving-in process.  Moving is a lot of work, I tell you!  But this drive is so interesting.

The How-We-Met-And-Got-Married Story (my version)

Jared and I first ran into each other at school in Ohio during the fall of 2000.  It was very low-key, unmonumental, and lacking in fireworks.  It may have been at a Friday evening Bible study.  Or maybe at a Friday night Ultimate Frisbee game.  Either way, we were barely acquainted for some good period of time.  I do know from my records that he was one of about fifty people I invited to the double-surprise birthday party for both of my roommates (which is another story!).  But really, that’s all there is to phase one of the relationship - practically nothing.

We started to see each other more frequently when by chance we both ended up playing this quartet for a student composer during the spring of 2003.  The piece had some unusual challenges, due to the fact that our composer was less experienced in writing for the medium.  Although some members of the group enjoyed making snarky comments about it, I noticed that Jared seemed unconcerned by the challenges and went about quietly trying to help the group meet the composer’s intentions to the best of our abilities.  *Respect!*  And eventually I sort of started to get the sense that maybe??? he was looking at me sometimes???

So anyway, it turned out in the fall of 2003, my regular school quartet was in need of a cellist, and Jared was looking for a regular quartet for the school year.  So I asked him to join us.  Over the course of the fall semester, it seemed that I got more frequent emails about quartet business from him than were strictly necessary, and then it seemed like I was running into him in the halls more, too.  Late in the semester, I asked my roommate/quartet-mate if she ever ran into Jared in the halls, and she said no, she rarely saw him outside of rehearsal.  (And maybe I should tell you about the time I ran into Jared in the hall when he was carrying a piano bench.  We conversed for about fifteen minutes, and he never set the bench down!)  Well, that was a clue.  Of course, I was flattered.

Over that Christmas break I received a conversational email from Jared at home for no official reason whatsoever.  I replied right away.  Then I got another.  I replied again.  And so it went, nearly every day an email.  How fun to be pursued! (I have a large file with print-offs of each of these emails.  I thought they might just happen to be important history some day... :)

When we got back to school in January of 2004, Jared sent me an email indicating “out loud” that he was interested in me.  And explaining all the reasons why maybe I should NOT be interested in him.  And then he promptly changed the subject.  So it was out in the open (well, between us at any rate!)  He was interested.   I was delighted to have an intelligent, hardworking, open-minded young man showing interest in me, but I had a lot of questions.  Mainly questions about our respective faiths.  I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ll just say that his denominational backgroud/preference was something I was unfamiliar with, and I wasn’t sure exactly what I believed about a good number of things anyway (and maybe I’m still not).  The next several months consisted of frequent emails, hallway chats, phone calls, hanging out in Vendoland (the school snack room), and lots of Bible study - all while keeping each other at arm’s length. 

I still wasn’t sure about the whole thing and neither was he, but I invited him to go with my home church family on a mission trip to Mexico that June after I had graduated.  I figured that we might learn more about each other and maybe it would help us make a decision one way or another to become more serious or to stick to mere friendship.  

Anyway, with much trepidation, Jared arrived at the Austin airport, and proceeded to thoroughly impress my parents and me after our drive to the border by his ability to do hard manual labor in 112-degree heat, assist behind the scenes unasked, survive while eating virtually nothing, and complain not at all.  Also, during the time we were in Austin, he took charge in doing things in the kitchen and managing difficult chores, and survived my dad’s somewhat inaccurate but well-meaning reference us as “the lovebirds.”  On account of that trip, I realized that there was more to Jared than met the eye, and it was possible he was a keeper.  During the rest of the summer, we started talking more frequently on the phone.

Over the course of the fall 2004 semester I was teaching and Jared was studying, and we gradually fell in love.  I think we both privately knew by Christmas of that year that we wanted to get married.

Spring 2005, Jared was working like a dog (practicing ten or twelve hours a day in addition to his school work, I kid you not!) to get ready for grad school.  When he left for grad school, I really, REALLY wanted to go with him.  When I hinted at this, I learned that he didn’t think we should get married until after he’d done his doctoral program: he was talking about four more years!  Really?  *Sadness!*

So off he went in August 2005 to Rochester, leaving me behind.  I was heartbroken, and I think he was, too.  (Really, we should have just gotten married then.  ;-)  August 2005 commenced a really rough year where I was teaching full time, Jared was studying more than full time on two degrees, we were on the phone really late every night, and I was driving to Rochester on as many weekends as I could manage - about four-and-a-half hours each way.  My roommates never saw me, and I think I was sort of a nutso zombie.  I lost touch with a lot of friends and retreated into a shell.  It was not pretty, and it was not one of those tough times you look back on and are thankful for in retrospect.

February or March 2006, I decided if I still had to wait three-plus years, I should at least move to Rochester when the school year was out.  There was a cute neighborhood a mile or so from Jared’s apartment building, and I was planning on looking for a little studio in one of the subdivided Victorian houses.  I knew it would be lonely, but I hated being so far away.

It was a Friday, I’m pretty sure it was April 21st, when Jared called and needed some information from me: bank account numbers and such.  He was signing us for a one-bedroom apartment in his building.  It was his quiet way of telling me he was ready to get married that summer.  So over the weekend, we did some more talking on the phone and came up with two possible wedding dates.  The challenge was that we already had our summer booked up.  I was teaching several weeks during June/July at a camp out in Oberlin.  I was also teaching eight-week summer sessions at two music schools in town, as well as my private students.  And I was flying out for two weeks of teacher training in Wisconsin in August.  Jared was teaching at a camp 40 miles south-east of Cleveland for most of the summer, and he was attending another training program for a couple of weeks in NYC, as well as planning to visit his parents between times.  The possible wedding dates were kind of limited.  Between when we could get free and when our parents could come, we settled on Friday, July 21st, in Cleveland.

We planned a simple, and what we hoped would be worshipful, wedding on Friday afternoon at my church - my former pastor who knew both of us flew back in from California to officiate.  Our sisters and some friends provided the music, which was beautiful - lots of Bach.  We had a little reception in the fellowship hall.  There was a dinner at the hotel for our out-of-towners who were staying there.  

People hung out around my apartment on Saturday, and Sunday those of us who were still around did some touristy things in town. (Jared practiced, because he had to return on Monday to camp, where he was preparing for a concert the coming Friday.  I don’t think I’ve ever missed anyone as much in my life as I missed Jared that Sunday.)  

It was so good to be together at last, and although we didn’t have an official honeymoon (unless you count the wonderful weekend I visited during his NYC program), our first few months of marriage were definitely a honeymoon period, enjoying a new life together (at least when we were together!)  Afterwards, there have been some hard times, too; we don’t have a magical happily-ever-after story, but I’m not sure those really exist until we get to the marriage supper of the Lamb.  I, for one, am thankful for our six very full years!

Wow, I guess this was rather long-winded!  But we had a rather long, slow courtship, and since you wanted to know all the details...

Parent Meeting

Along with Avi, the Best Boss Ever*, I got to facilitate a parent meeting for our Suzuki program  last night.  A wonderful teacher I know in Missouri has parent get-togethers in his studio called “Pie for Parents.”  I baked cookies for this gathering, so Jared suggested we call it “Cookies for Caretakers.”  ;-)  In our two hours together, we watched the “Nurtured by Love” movie about the work of Shinichi Suzuki and his method in the US today (well, “today” meaning 1996).  And then we let the parents talk.  They had a lot to discuss about their kids’ interest or lack-thereof in their music studies, ideas about structuring their kids’ practice, their concerns about their own parental lack of musical ability, questions about note reading.  They shared ideas with each other, and Avi and I chimed in when we had something to add.  It was some really rich conversation, and it was in one sense funny for Avi and me to be there as the “experts” when we were the only two childless people in the room.  However, both of us have taught a wide variety of students, we know a lot about Suzuki philosophy, and string playing, and practicing, and I/we have also read a whole lot about parenting and child development.  We have seen enough to confidently tell the parents that their struggles are normal - they can ride it out.  The ordinariness of their experience often seems to be one of the most valuable realizations for parents.  I’m looking forward to again facilitating such meetings when Jared and I have kiddos studying with us in our new home!

*Seriously Avi is an amazing boss!  He is 110% egalitarian.  If any of us has an idea, instead of being intimidated or saying it’s too hard or we don’t have enough money or suggesting we need to fill out forms or any of these other things that bosses sometimes do, Avi’s response is, “Hey, great!  What do you need?  I’ll send out an email to everyone right away!”  He trusts us to correct ourselves if something we do flops.  He respects us unconditionally and knows how to bring out the best in his employees/colleagues, plus he is always looking to learn more himself.  He is a very prompt communicator - if something needs to be done, he is on the phone within five minutes taking care of it.  He works harder than any of the rest of us, and he pays us very well.  He is very friendly and low-key, and if we are having a conflict with a student, such as a payment issue, Avi is on it.  As a result, I feel that I have been free to provide for my students in this program better than ever before and I have been able to try out some new ideas with impunity.  I wish I could take Boss Avi with me wherever I am employed!

Magic Disappearing Trick

Somewheres around 11:00 am this morning, I was home after teaching three morning lessons, and my mission between then and 2:00 when I had to leave again was to bake cookies for the parent meeting tonight, eat lunch, and pack some more boxes.  I was started on the cookies and the lunch when I got a call from our realtor that someone wanted to look at our place this afternoon.  I'd practically forgotten it was on the market since we hadn't gotten a call in three and a half weeks and had been busy looking for a renter.  So I had something on the order of less than three hours to prepare for viewing.  Now we know from experience that if the place is tidy, one person can prepare for viewing in two hours by vacuuming, scrubbing the counters, changing the cat litter, cleaning mirrors, and mopping.  However, the place was more or less trashed, since I packed something on the order of 13 boxes yesterday, which were in the middle of every room, and the unpacked boxes, tape, packing paper, etc. were lying about, plus items waiting to be packed were also in full view, not to mention all four of the cat crates taking up most of the floor space in the office.  So the idea was to hide as much as possible, packed boxes and otherwise AND do all the requisite cleaning while also finishing the baking project and eating lunch.  It worked out pretty well, and rather few of the 20+ boxes were taking up floor space when I was done.  Now, here's to hoping that the customer appreciated all my effort by deciding to make an offer...

I Went for a Walk with My Neighbor

I am addicted to walking.  We have a retired neighbor a couple of streets over whom Jared and I see on our morning walk several times a week - he’s usually working in his garden or getting ready to run errands or doing something to his boat.  Monday I walked in front of his place by myself - no Jared.

“Hey, where’s your sidekick?”  

“He’s out of town this week.”

“I figured he was either out of town or dead!”

(Yes, Jared is that addicted to walking, too.)

Anyway, this neighbor is also a walker, and we had determined some time ago that we take the same route, but going in opposite directions.  

So the last two days I met him at 8:00, and we walked the route together (going my direction).  It’s fun to get to know new people, and it’s easier to blast uphill in the humidity with a buddy!

And today is recycling day, and he helped me carry home some boxes I collected from people’s bins.

“Well, I’ve crossed something else off my bucket list: carrying empty boxes down Taralane Drive!”

“I’ll bet you didn’t know it was on your bucket list until now.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Things Written When I Couldn't Sleep

A Problem I Won’t Have Much Longer

Regardless of the temperature in my bedroom, I need to have bed covers pulled up over me to go to sleep.  This is annoying when it’s too warm, and I’m too cheap to run the A/C at night.  I’m glad I’ll rarely have this problem in Washington.

Don’t Like It

“It is not good that the man should be alone.”  (Genesis 2:18)

Well, it is not good that the woman should be alone either.  This is just one week.  I’m feeling for military families who are shouldering deployments and for working families who have to live separately to support themselves.

Why I Like Condo Living

Square-footage-wise, buying a condo is much more affordable than buying a similarly sized house in the same neighborhood.

We can do anything we want to the inside - painting, remodeling, you name it; it’s ours.

We can keep plants outside in the yard.

We do not have to worry about the roof or the attic or the exterior of our building or the yard maintenance or the pool, because someone else is responsible for that work.

Most of the residents are owners, so there is a sense of permanence - neighbors are planted here and are thus willing to get to know each other and be an actual community. 

We are in closer quarters than a neighborhood of houses, so it is more efficient from an ecological standpoint, and we are physically closer to people - I get to speak with many neighbors on a daily basis.

One Dozen

This summer marks twelve years in which I have been an apartment dweller.  The first six years I lived in the same apartment and amassed a total of eight other roommates on a rotating basis.  The second six years I’ve kept the same roommate, but we’ve lived in five different apartments together.

Linguistics and Material Possessions

As a child I had a peculiar interest in linguistics.  For one small example, in the seventh grade, I brought a book called Bij Uil Huis to school for my lunchtime amusement.  I still have it (in fact, I packed it into a box last night!) - it is a translation of Arnold Lobel’s children’s book Owl at Home, bought on a trip to the Netherlands.  The lunchtime amusement was not to read the children’s book in Dutch, but rather to translate said book into the language I was inventing - Holstenian.  

With such a background, I dove eagerly into an article in the recent July issue of National Geographic called Vanishing Voices by Russ Rymer.  It was a too-brief, but interesting piece about some of the many thousand endangered languages spoken by very small cultural groups.  Having experienced a somewhat nomadic adulthood so far, this paragraph about a liguistic/cultural group from Mexico caught my eye:

‘The Seris maintain to this day a proud suspicion of outsiders - and a disdain for unshared individual wealth.  “When the Seris become rich, they will cease to exist” is a Seri saying.  Having been nomadic, they tend to regard possessions as burdens.  Traditionally, when a Seri died, he was buried with his few personal possessions.  Nothing was passed down to relatives except stories, songs, legends, instructions.’

When it’s packing time and unpacking time, I am shocked by the physical wealth I have amassed.  Most of it has been a gift to me.  I am mindful of all the people in the world who have virtually nothing, and even people in my own region who are going hungry, who are inadequately clothed in the winter, and who live in substandard housing.  Who am I to have received so much?  

And then between times, I settle into my apartment and get comfortable, and end up using or at least *admiring* most of my possessions during the course of my residence.

Some New Testament passages speak uncomfortable words to my Western materialism:

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. (Acts 2:44)

Anyone who does not give up everything he has cannot be My disciple.  (Luke 14:33)

My generosity needs development.

An Adventure Begins

It’s ten days until departure.  Jared took off this afternoon to South Carolina for a week of teacher training.

I am amusing myself by teaching lots of lessons, visiting our friends’ cats, tying up loose ends, and packing up the rest of our stuff.  (Already packed about a third of it when we put the place on the market.)

Jared returns home late Friday night.  

Saturday is our anniversary, and a busy day at church - we’re playing some music for worship, then there’s a lunch, and then there’s a health seminar we really want to attend.  And maybe after that we’ll have some sort of date-like activity???  Or at least a nap!

We are both teaching some lessons next Sunday through Tuesday.  Monday morning the moving trailer arrives.  Monday night my wonderful in-laws arrive to help with the loading and driving.  Monday and Tuesday will involve trailer loading and beaucoup de cleaning.

Wednesday we start our one 2600-mile journey in two cars with three angry cats, four drivers, five audio books, six hours of sleep, seven stringed instruments, eight plants, and all the luggage required for the people and cats.  (The cats are going to win on the luggage count, I’m pretty sure.)

In some as-of-yet-undetermined fashion we are going to wind across most of the country, visiting a person or two along the way, and viewing some scenery, finally arriving in the Seattle area on August 1st.  On that same August 1st we have an East Coast friend arriving via SeaTac to stay with us for two weeks.  That means he can help unload the trailer when it arrives and camp out with us on the floor until that time.  (*Thank you Adam!*)

August 5th through 10th all three of us will be attending teacher training in Seattle.

And after that, the shape of the adventure becomes a bit hazier, but I know it involves concerted attempts for both Jared and me to become gainfully employed.

What is Left Behind

It is Friday the 13th.  I am not superstitious.  However, the last Friday the 13th (in April) was notable, because it was the day we learned that our job contracts were not being renewed unexpectedly and we decided to make a wild dash mid-summer for the West Coast.

Four moves in six years.  Each move brings new opportunities and possibilities, new people, new scenery, new animals and plants and dirt, new sounds and smells, new experiences, new chances to learn.  And each time, there are many things left behind.

I am glad to leave many things behind this time: nine months of heat-stroke inducing weather, shocking amounts of institutionalized racism, driving past the exit for the emergency clinic where Gregory died, run-ins with people who have said mean things behind my back, really frightening thunderstorms...

There are also things I am sad to leave behind: the beautiful views as I drive over certain ridges (although I think I’ll be gaining even more beautiful views!), old friends and new friends, a whole pile of great violin kids and their families, a church family, so much sunshine...

And there’s also a little girl I’ve never met.  I’ve seen an old picture of her and a one-minute video clip.  I know her first name and the month and year of her birth.  I know she has two older siblings and that she lives somewhere in Alabama and that she is painfully shy and that she likes reading, camping, playing school, traveling, and pets, and she wants to have a young mom and dad who can do fun things with her.  I don’t know what circumstances and tragedies brought her into the Alabama foster care system or where her birth parents are.  I had quietly hoped to become her mother.  Twice I had worked on filling out the application form to begin the screening process and training for adoption from the Alabama foster care system.  And when April’s Friday the 13th came around I was getting ready to work on it for the third time.  

Three times life circumstances have put up roadblocks.  And of course, had we made it through the training and selection process, we or the system may have decided this wasn’t the right child for us or this wasn’t the right time for us, or maybe even that adoption wasn’t the right path for us.  But I thought of her when we bought our condo - I looked for a respectable school district and a place where a kid could safely play outside.  I thought of her when we joined our church - I looked for a place where she could find a variety of friends, some of whom would look like her.  I thought of her when I was figuring out my work commitments - I looked for enough job flexibility to be able to have the time to raise her well.  

But the Lord has shown us unequivocally through those circumstances that she was not for us now.  I pray that wherever she is, that she is well loved.

All these transitions are good, practical training for the Big Move to the long side of eternity.

The Business of Heaven

Some beautiful thoughts from a C.S. Lewis compilation called The Business of Heaven:

What if this Present were the World’s Last Night?

What is important is not that we should always fear (or hope) about the End but that we should always remember, always take it into account.  An analogy may help here.  A man of seventy need not be always feeling (much less talking) about his approaching death: but a wise man of seventy should always take it into account.  He would be foolish to embark on schemes which presuppose twenty more years of life: he would be criminally foolish not to make - indeed, not to have made long since - his will.  Now, what death is to each man, the Second Coming is to the whole human race.  We all believe, I suppose, that a man should ‘sit loose’ to his own individual life, should remember how short, precarious, temporary, and provisional a thing it is; should never give all his heart to anything which will end when his life ends.  What modern Christians find it harder to remember is that the whole life of humanity in this world is also precarious, temporary, provisional.

We Cannot be More Merciful than God

Let us try to be honest with ourselves.  Picture to yourself a man who has risen to wealth or power by a continued course of treachery and cruelty, by exploiting for purely selfish ends the noble motions of his victims, laughing the while at their simplicity; who, having thus attained success, uses it for the gratification of lust and hatred and finally parts with the last rag of honour among thieves by betraying his own accomplices and jeering at their last moments of bewildered disillusionment.  Suppose, further, that he does all this, not (as we like to imagine) tormented by remore or even misgiving, but eating like a schoolboy and sleeping like a healthy infant - a jully, ruddy-cheeked man, without a care in the world, unshakably confident to the very end that he along has found the answer to the riddle of life, that God and man are fools whom he has got the better of, that his way of life is utterly successful, satisfactory, unassailable.  We must be careful at this point.  The least indulgence of the passion for revenge is very deadly sin.  Christian charity counsels us to make every effort for the conversion of such a man: to prefer his conversion, at the peril of our own lives, perhaps of our own souls, to his punishment; to prefer it infinitely.  But that is not the question.  Supposing he will not be converted, what destiny in the eternal world can you regard as proper for him?  Can you really desire that such a man, remaining what he is (and he must be able to do that if he has free will), should be confirmed forever in his present happiness - should continue, for all eternity, to be perfectly convinced that the laugh is on his side?

Hell

The demand that God should forgive such a man while he remains what he is, is based on a confusion between condoning and forgiving.  To condone an evil is simply to ignore it, to treat it as if it were good.  But forgiveness needs to be accepted as well as offered if it is to be complete: and a man who admits no guilt can accept no forgiveness...

I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of Hell are locked on the inside.  I do not mean that the ghosts may not wish to come out of Hell, in the vague fashion wherein an envious man ‘wishes’ to be happy: but they certainly do not will even the first preliminary stages of that self-abandonment through which alone the soul can reach any good.  They enjoy forever the horrible freedom they have demanded, and are therefore self-enslaved: just as the blessed, forever submitting to obedience, become through all eternity more and more free.

In the long run the answer to all those who object to the doctrine of Hell, is itself a question: ‘What are you asking God to do?’ To wipe out their past sins and, at all costs, to give them a fresh start, smoothing every difficulty and offering every miraculous help?  But He has done so, on Calvary.  To forgive them?  They will not be forgiven.  To leave them alone?  Alas, I am afraid that is what He does.

Apparently

July 11, 2012

Apparently my life needs a blog.  

...Today I worked on two sewing projects: 1) fixing the rip in the cat house so that nobody escapes during the upcoming 2600-mile drive (I’m more than a little nervous about cats being in so much transit and arriving alive), and 2) hemming the bridesmaid’s dress I’m wearing in my friend’s wedding.  I’m planning to leave the dress here in BHM so I don’t have to carry it on the flight back in August...

And here’s why my life apparently needs a blog, recorded in a short list of the more dramatic incidents from my six short years of marriage:

• Move: CLE > ROC
• Move: ROC > HSV
• Move: HSV > BHM
• Move: BHM > SEA
• Acquire two cats
• Acquire two more cats
• Horrible and sudden death of cat #1 just before an international trip
• Scaring up Last Minute rental properties when plans A and B fell through (on more than one occasion).  With cats.
• Lived in an apartment which was fairly Third World: occasional power and water outages (days at a time), heat which  kept the place in the 40’s overnight during the winter; nevermind the bar fights, parties, and police drama downstairs or the malfunctioning fire alarm system
• Attempted break-in at said apartment While We Were Home
• A few little emotional breakdowns
• My husband earned two graduate degrees simultaneously while also working
• Lightning strike inside our apartment 18 inches from my husband
• Tornado Drama and region-wide power out for a week
• Car broke down in the middle-of-nowhere-AL, necessitating hitchhiking...
• Husband’s job stress put this uber-healthy young guy who never gets sick in the ER twice in one year (and rather dramatically the second time - ambulance, blood gushing, unconciousness)
• Between the two of us: braces, jaw surgery, seven wisdom teeth extracted, two gum grafts, more cavities filled than I’m comfortable telling you about, the two previously mentioned ER trips, mysterious illness + extreme pain + Medical Emergency Drama which resulted in abdominal surgery
• More insane road trips than I’d like to list
• Performed the complete Solo Bach for violin in one Spring
• Recorded a CD with our piano trio a week before a huge cross-country move (still needs to be edited!!!)
• Amazing camping trip to the Adirondaks
• Memorable visits with friends and family
• Loneliness
• Baptism
• Learning stick-shift (sorta!) in time to drive a friend’s brand-new car for a week while taking a full-day teacher course 40 miles from her home and filling in for the missing 1st violinist in a performance of the Schubert Octet a few days before another one of the aforementioned moves
• All-expenses-paid business trips to Europe and Costa Rica
• Had an exchange student from China as our roommate for a semester
• Unexpectedly lost full-time employment contracts
• Bought our first home and became landlords (we hope?!) of same within approximately one year
• Life education through living in the still-segregated South, while being closely associated with a traditionally Black university followed by a traditionally White university
• Taught all kinds of violin and viola students - ages 2.5 through 60-something: brilliant, odd, irritating, creative, suicidal, super-cute, you name it... (and I loved each one of them!)
• Ran our first half-marathon
• Baby squirrels loose in our apartment being chased by eager cats
• And probably more.

Mind you, now that I’ve been encouraged to write about it, maybe my life will become non-dramatic in every way.  Maybe.

...There are also a few things I wrote in the past which will be soon posted as backlogs.