Spring

When I left the house the other morning to head West on a 4 hour drive that takes me through the gorge, I wasn't expecting the fierce wind.  Teach me to check the weather report through the Columbia Gorge.

When I joined the trucks and cars on I-84, I feared we would all become bumper cars for the gusts that channeled through the gullies.  We were certainly targets for the tumbleweeds that had long lost their tumble in exchange for bullet intensity.  The anxiety and my morning coffee combined to make me so appreciative of an Oregon's highway rest stop... they really are nice and well kept ...but I could barely get my car door open, not to mention the struggle to get the heavier restroom door to respond to my road weary arms.  If I had designed that particular rest area, I would have put the men's room on the prevailing wind side.

Deeper into the gorge the rain was relentless, but the wind backed off a bit. The river, however, was doing its best to impersonate the ocean with white capped waves buffeting against the current.  Impressive, really.

The return trip today couldn't have been more different.  The sun was shining and the Columbia River was so still that I could see the V left in the wake of the paddling ducks.  Rare.  One of the cities along my route is the wind surfing capital.  No colorful sails today.

Climbing away, then up, then down into our valley presented a welcoming scene.  The higher peaks of the Blue's, still wearing winter's white, were standing guard over the multi-hued ridges and draws;  and the sun-reflected spray of the irrigation systems was refreshing the April growth of Alfalfa along the Touchet River. The winter wheat displayed that soft baby blanket appeal on the rolling hills, and the flowers along the streets through town were colorful and aromatic.

Spring and I are home.

  

More Conversations ….With

Grandchildren

Grandma: Dinkum -- let me give you a hug and a kiss
Dinkum, 5 1/2: If you have Fifty-five bucks.
***

Z-bub, 7 1/2, shares his brother's  belief that he’s too old to be kissing grandma. The other day I was showing him one of those cute videos on U-tube with dogs and cats. I was completely caught off guard when he leaned against my shoulder and put his fingers up my head and began to caress my hair.  I never said a word… just enjoyed the moment.
***



Dinkum: "What does Hallelujah mean?"
Mom:  Well, it’s like being thankful and full of praise.  A word for worship.
Dinkum:  “Then why does that one song say it's raining men, hallelujah?”
***


Dinkum: "Grandma! We had chinese food."
Grandma: Yum!  What food did you eat?
Devo: I had chicken on a stick, pineapple chicken and spilled water.
*** 


Saw this picture on another forum recently and felt I had to post it in honor of Dinkum.  It speaks for itself.

***


Caboose will be 5 in May. His father's family are all TALL. Three of his Uncles range well above 6 feet as does his dad. His auntie Annette is 6' also. Her 14 year old is over 6 ft and another twenty something cousin is at least 6'8".

So when I took my 4’11” sister to visit at his house couple of weeks ago, the Caboose peaked out the window and gasped, "Look Mama... she's the same size as grandma!"
 ***

Curlymop, 8, walked to the store with her mom after school and they bought some Swedish Fish.  On their way home she chastised her mom for buying junk food.

 "Mom," she instructed, " I think when we get home that I should have a reasonable snack."  
***

Grandchildren's Friends



Peppy, age 4:   I want to have Curlymop’s last name!
Mama:  What is it about Curlymop's last name that you like?
Peppy:   Because it is  Curlymop ....Ruby...Parker... Come ...Here!
***

….and Grand Old Dames

(Auntie Fern who will be 104 in April and is certainly nearly deaf.)

A young nurses Aide:  Hi Fern! How are you today?
Fern: I'm 100, and I'm going to live another 100 years just to torment you.

Two Thousand Thirteen

The years keep rolling. The 60’s, The 70’s, The 80’s, the 90’s

Doesn’t it seem that  Y2K was just last year? ( Hey,  what did we call the decade ending in 2010? The Aughts?  My daddy might have said “Twenty aught one, Twenty aught two.)

If you are reading this you survived the 2012 apocalypse. Now, what do we call the next seven years? The teens? That sounds ominous.

This is the future that at one time in my life appeared so distant that it seemed unattainable.  I was certain to never grow to be that old. But it was. And, I am.

It  is not what I thought it would be.

I am disappointed in planes, trains, and automobiles. I am in awe of computer technology and medical science.

I am grieved by the exclusion of formality and the derision of etiquette and respect.   I am astonished by satellite, 9oo9le e@rth, and  instant awareness.

I am frightened when I look in the mirror.  But I’m excited each morning that I am still able to reflect.

May you all find blessings in each day, and hope for tomorrow. Happy New Year



But blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose confidence is in him. —  Jeremiah 17:7 

Goodbye 2012

Goodbye 2012.

Crowded Exit

"Mom!  Look!  That woman is crawling over the barrier on the overpass!"

It was a weekend in July and I was with my youngest daughter and her two children at the fast food drive-up window where we  had a clear view of the overpass on I-205.

 My daughter's agitated voice jerked my attention away from the baby in the back seat.   I scanned through the windshield in the direction her hand was waving.

"Awwwoooh!" was my response as my eye caught the movement of the  leg of a woman as she straddled the railing.

I began rifling through my purse seeking my cell phone while still keeping my eye on the scene.  Where was that cell phone?

Then a man drew our attention.  He was walking slowly toward the woman with one hand stretched in her direction.

I recognized him immediately.  He was one of several panhandlers we've seen guarding the end of the off ramp at that location.

Although we couldn't hear their voices, we could tell by their physical actions that the woman was yelling at the man and he was responding.

I found my cell phone just as the woman pulled her body back over the rail and moved into the street.  She was waving her arms angrily and I thought that I could hear her shriek something over the roar of the freeway traffic below them.

The man approached her and placed his hand on her elbow and began to gently lead her down to the stop light where the freeway exit directs the cars on to Stark Street.

The drive up window slid open and the cashier required my daughters attention.  The clerk seemed unaware of the commotion.

"I guess I won't call 911," I stated, "but maybe I should call the non-emergency number?"

My daughter thought that is what I should do, too.  She paid for our food and pulled over into the parking lot so that we could continue to observe the woman.

The police department non-emergency number was a recording with multiple choices. I listened to it twice while I watched the woman take up a position by the cross walk.  None of the options on the recording seemed appropriate.  Meanwhile the man who had given up his prime spot for hand-outs,  picked up his belongings and wandered out of sight.

"Well," my daughter said in relief and also with a bit of disgust, " it sure looks like she was only threatening to jump off the bridge because she wanted that corner."

Just then a city patrol car drove across the overpass and slowed to a stop by the woman.  There was only a brief conversation through the window before the blue and white pulled away.

My cell phone was tossed, unused, into my purse.  Someone else had apparently made the call.

When we returned later that evening and crossed the overpass bridge, there was a different person occupying the end of the exit ramp.

I wondered where the "suicide" woman went when her shift was over.