The Chair

Prescott Avenue is not a through street and is home to many kids who love to play outside. (I know, shocking, huh?) I see much of their activity outside my upstairs bedroom window.

I've been witness to a snowball fight of epic proportion complete with igloo forts on each side of the snow packed street. I've watched with delight as two boys had a "shoe kicking" contest. They stood side by side, balanced their untied sneakers on their toes and flung them down the street. Still makes me smile thinking about it. I've also marveled at their ingenuity as they split a bike and a pair of skates between four individuals: One peddling the bike, one riding on the handle bars, one wearing the left skate scooting along with the right foot, and yes, the last wearing the right skate scooting along with the left foot.

They're entertaining, these kids of Prescott Avenue.

Yesterday, I heard wheels on the pavement that I didn't recognize. Not a bike, not skates, not a scooter, not a skateboard. I couldn't figure it out, so I investigated. I saw a group of kids taking turns to ride in an office chair while being pushed or pulled down the street. Throughout the day, the chair served many different functions: a simple ride, a trailer behind a bicycle, a "boat" with a hockey stick oar navigating along the sidewalk, and the chariot of the commanding officer whose minions, all armed with enormous water guns, were pulling him down the street. I hurried to get my camera but missed that shot.

I tend to personify objects by imagining that they have feelings. I imagine that this common ordinary office chair had no idea what the future held as he sat on that plastic square in front of his desk day after day. Maybe he dreamed of being an amusement ride, a trailer, a boat, a chariot, or maybe even a simple toy cart. And I know I let my imagination run wild, but I really can almost hear him screaming, "WHEE!"

Saturdays

There is something sacred about Saturdays in our house. It's the one day of the week we are allowed to sleep in. I don't "sleep in" as a rule. But I like that on Saturday morning it's allowed if I ever decide to take advantage.

Typically, both Troy and I start our sacred Saturday morning with breakfast and quiet time. Then we talk about the "agenda" for the day, which usually involves some house or yard work that has been neglected for too long.

We then work together on the tasks at hand. (With the occasional break to run to Home Depot. Because what is a Saturday of yard work or house maintenance without a run to the Depot?)

Saturday evenings are spent basking in the satisfaction of a productive, yet restful day.

I know this sounds a bit idealistic. And I admit, there are more than a handful of Saturday nights we go to bed either feeling very lazy for having done nothing productive or feeling frustrated because the day didn't measure up to the promise.

But all in all, Saturdays are good days. Sacred.

Nosey Neighbor

As I write, I sit at my desk in my office. To my right is a window that looks over my backyard and onto Bentley Street. I can see all the west-facing houses along Bentley down to the intersection of Bentley and Wagonwheel Trail.

I know some of our neighbors on Bentley street. Not all. I know things about all because you learn a lot when you walk your dogs by some one's house everyday.

On the corner of Bentley and Wagonwheel is a newly-painted blue house whose residents raise their grandchildren. They have a few small dogs who sometimes play in the backyard and are reprimanded when they bark as we walk by. I know their grandchildren live with them because one day the man from the blue house apologized that his dogs were barking. He had let them out before "taking my grandchildren to school" and let them stay out until he returned.

The next house on Bentley is the home of a loud foul-mouthed man who apparently doesn't like to work in the yard. That's all I know about that house.

The next house is owned by an older couple who take care of their grandson during the day. Each day at about 7:45, their son drops the grandchild off and leaves for work. During the summer, I see the child outside with his grandparents. The welcome sign on the door changes to represent each month. It's lovely.

We know the couple in the next house. Jim and Debbie. Jim is an accountant who has a vast collection of tie-dyed t-shirts. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen him wear anything else. Debbie works in the yard alot and was very gracious last year when I had to come to her door and confess that Luke had trampled down one of the beautiful flowers by her mailbox before I could gain control of him.

On the corner of Bentley and Prescott is the "house-of-the-revolving-door". Since we've been here, there have been four renters live there. The present tenants and I have a sordid past. They moved from a condo I walk by every day. Twice in a two week period, I almost had a heart attack when I saw their unleashed pit bull dog walking toward my very protective, new-to-me dogs as I walked by their condo. The second time, I said in the nicest voice I could muster, "Please keep your dog in the house or on a leash." I really do think their dog is a very nice, well-mannered dog. Unfortunately mine weren't nice or well-mannered. It could have been nasty. So I always felt a little uneasy and awkward when I would see them outside after that. Now they live right across the street.

This post is so not relevant at all to anything, really. Maybe it's a lesson to me that even though I don't know a lot of people in my neighborhood, they probably have an impression of me. I'm probably known as the crazy, dog lady. The one who still hasn't trained her dogs to walk beside her on a leash. Half the time she is dragging them from one "smell-good" place to the next and the other half she is being pulled along at break-neck speed. And you know what? Their assumptions are true.

Falling Down on the Job

Well, I did it again. Was going to to write a post every night, but days slipped by and I didn't do it. I have good excuses though. Really.

1. I've been sick. Not scary sick. Just sick enough to make me want to climb into bed with the cover over my head at about 8:00pm.

2. Troy has been sick. He's a guy. Enough said.

3. I'm preparing for a house full of kids this summer.

My niece, Cherokee (who is graduated from high school tonight, by the way), is coming to Castle Rock for a week long visit in mid June. I'm so excited! Then a week after that, she is coming back with her brother and sister for the rest of the summer. Talk about a change in our family routine!

Those are my excuses. Lame, but true.

I'll Have a Little Coffee With My Cream and Sugar

Those of you who know me, know that the title of this post is one of my favorite sayings.

It's also very true.

So, it's not going to surprise you that I HAVE to share a recipe I found last week and tried today. It's for Homemade Coffee Creamer and it's DELISH!! And not too hard to make, which honestly is why I tried it.

I made the Chocolate Almond Creamer but used 1/2 teaspoon coconut extract and 1/2 teaspoon of almond extract instead of the 1 teaspoon of almond extract. This made an "Almond Joy" Creamer. Cause....sometimes you feel like a nut. ;) I also substituted Splenda for the sugar.

I like the fact that this homemade recipe is cheaper than my usual creamer AND I know what's in it.

Dad's Heart

My first memory of my dad is sitting next to him (without a seatbelt) in an old farm truck solving basic math problems he was asking me. I remember looking at his hands on the steering wheel and stick shift. I also remember thinking it would be cool to be married to someone like him someday. (And just to make Freud happy, I remember thinking, "If I sit up really tall and act older, maybe people will think I'm his wife and not his daughter.") Oh the thoughts of a six year old.

Tomorrow, my dad goes under the care of a heart specialist. He is getting his heartbeat shocked back into rhythm. I'm so happy that when it's all over, he will feel much better than he has the past few months. His irregular heartbeat and medicine to prevent a blood clot has made him feel much older than his 61 years. But I've been informed that they have to stop my dad's heart before shocking it.

That unnerves me a little.

Does the surgeon in charge of this procedure understand who Ronnie Benefield is? That he's the brother his 11 siblings go to in time of need? That he's the high school sweetheart and true love of my mother for over 40 years? That he's the man I trusted to be there even when I didn't act like I cared? That I need him to hug and kiss me when he arrives for a visit and before he leaves to return home?

Do they know?

God knows.... God knows... God knows.

Growing A....Marriage

I wanted to grow a garden.
But was skeptical about my ability to follow through.

I shared my thoughts about growing a garden.
Troy was skeptical. But said nothing negative.

I decided to grow a garden.
A container garden of tomatoes, bell peppers, and strawberries.

I made my decision to grow a container garden known.
Troy was thrilled not to have to rent and operate a tiller.

I wanted to grow a garden.
Troy gladly helped me create a special garden...complete with squirrel protection.









I LOVE THAT MAN!

Hypothetical Advice

If you ever find your debit card in the dryer, stuck under one of the tumbler fins, all bent out of shape, I have the solution. Turn it over and stick it under the fin the opposite way and run another load of clothes in the dryer. I suggest that you take it out as soon as the dryer stops. It's still warm and can be easily straightened if there is still a need. The dryer cycles do not affect the magnetic strip.

This, of course, is a hypothetical situation and has never happened to my debit card. Never.

More Than Love

I DVR'd the episode of Oprah which featured the President and First Lady. For the most part, I enjoy listening to first ladies. It takes a special woman to share her husband's time with the world. I usually perk my ears to hear what the First Lady has to say.

Today as I readied myself for work, I played the episode. I listened while putting on make-up, doing my hair, and getting dressed. But one question made me stop my ritual and watch the response of the interviewees.

"What do you know for sure about marriage?"

Michelle Obama answered, "You have to like and respect the person you're married to...That's what I tell a lot of young couples. Don't expect it to be easy. Melding two lives and trying to raise others, and doing it forever is a recipe made for disaster...I think you go through that wonderful love stage, but when it gets hard, you need a little bit more."

I agree.... for the most part.

I do think that relying on that "love" feeling to stay married is a slippery slope. You DO need more. Even though I think "like and respect" are very important, I think a mindset of commitment and a personal relationship with God are the "more".

The first six months of our marriage were the hardest six months I've ever lived through. I had moved from rural Oklahoma to the San Francisco Bay area. Culture Shock! I had, in three short months, met and married Troy. I admit, during those months the thought of catching the next flight home crossed my mind too many times. But I kept thinking about the fact that I had made a vow before God and Troy to love, honor, and cherish until death parted us. I was committed. Still am. Always will be.

God didn't give up on me when I disappointed Him or didn't meet His expectations. That unconditional love reminds me every day how to love Troy. And how to like him.

Yes, I agree with you Michelle. When it gets hard, you need a little bit more.