I have wondered, along with others I’m sure, if trick or treating is as special as it used to be. After all, we live in a “culture of candy,” where we’re surrounded by delights of all kinds – for our palates, our eyes and our ears. But this thinking prompted more questions for me. Setting aside the history of actual trick-or-treating, are there some basic things I can learn from the practice? The tenets of trick-or-treating are these: 1) Ask a neighbor for something, 2) Give or Receive something, and 3) Show gratitude for the thing given. (I would argue that the person giving the thing is often as thankful to give as the other person is to receive.)
This giving and receiving reminds me of all the political talk going on these days about “wealth redistribution.” As I understand that concept, a third party takes from one deemed “sufficiently supplied” and gives to another party deemed “insufficiently supplied” and neither party ends up being “sufficiently grateful.” Maybe we need to go back to the tenets of trick-or-treating.
Asking and giving builds bonds. I say this, thinking of some neighbors back in Oregon…back in Oregon where it’s sometimes hard to drum up enthusiasm to get out in the rain to drive to the store for a cup of sugar. It was there that my neighbors initiated a relationship. They asked for something – a cup of sugar (or something). Before long we both became comfortable asking for things – a cup of sugar…a tablespoon of cocoa…maybe even a can of chicken broth. We got to know each other through these acts of asking and giving. We didn’t become best friends, but we became good friends. Our relationship extended beyond the inadequacies we discovered in our respective cupboards. Our children played together. I gave their children piano lessons. We had garage sales together. When we visited Oregon recently, it was those neighbors who invited us to their home. I don’t know if that would have been the case if they had never asked us for something.
Still, I find myself thinking it might be rude to ask someone, especially someone I don’t know well or at all, for something. As if staying cloistered in my comfort zone isn’t rude. But what about being on the other end? Giving might become a drag. I trust myself not to get carried away with the asking, but what about them? What if they start asking for more…a loaf of bread…a pound of beef. A loaf of bread AND a pound beef! Let’s imagine my side of that conversation:
“You need a loaf of bread AND a pound of beef? May I ask if everything is going OK for you? You lost your job? Why don’t you just come over for dinner tonight? We can talk about it.”
It sounds good here in cyberspace, but do I have the courage to act on these thoughts that are convicting me? Maybe when I’m finally tired enough of having someone else do my “giving” for me.

I’ve done my fair share of moving throughout my life, mostly recently in 2006 and 2008. If you haven’t moved lately, I”ll remind you…it’s exhausting. You don’t just pack furniture and boxes of dishes and books. You pack truckloads of memories, anxieties, hopes, gratitude, joy. Tangible or not, all those boxes make one consider the necessity of some possessions. Like that bevy of wine glasses we’ve accumulated. None of our children is married yet, but we have enough glasses for our family, all potential spouses, the future in-laws, and several guests (or grandchildren!) I pray I’m not being presumptuous about the future crowd around our table, but in the meantime, do we really need all those glasses? I think I got my answer this week.

Sunday evening we hosted a wine and chocolate tasting party. By hosting I mean that we cleaned up the house and put out the welcome mat. Friends of ours, much more knowledgeable in matters of both wine and chocolate, organized and facilitated the activities. The group sampled ten varieties of wine and chocolate confections. It may sound like a lot, but the chocolate samples were bite-sized, and with nearly 20 people sampling the wine, it only amounted to about two glasses a person – and that’s if you drank your entire sample. Nobody was drunk, although one might have wondered had they dropped in right as we toasted bacteria. But drunkenness is foolish. As M. Constantine-Weyer said, “Never let a drunkard choose your wine. You may be sure he knows nothing about it. It is only sober people who know how to drink.”

Sober aspects of wine-drinking enhance the “merry heart” that it produces. Case in point: This was the second time on Sunday that we’d enjoyed the fruit of the vine with our friends. The first time was during Communion at church. I don’t think there is one among us who would neglect to make some kind of connection between our enjoyment of wine together socially and the symbolic wine (blood) of Christ that put us at His table together. Men and women of different races, backgrounds, interests and vocations. All because of wine, or rather The Wine.

That was the thought that cheered me as I carefully washed and dried and put up that throng of glasses. They are definitely worth the trouble.

My kids will tell you that I’m not much of a science person, half-heartedly enduring kitchen experiments and only too glad to have others teach them the fine art of dissection. There is one experiment that I was always quite certain would succeed if I ever carried it out. When we were living in the Pacific Northwest I thought that I could blindfold myself, spin myself around, start walking in whatever direction, and run into a coffee shop before too long (I’m talking minutes, not days.) I never attempted this experiment, but I’m pretty confident that my hypothesis would have been proven. I’m a coffee fan, and an ample supply of coffee shops is great if you have a gazillion dollars in your discretionary budget, but more often than not, I didn’t. Thankfully, I have a back-up that’s served me well since childhood. It’s called The Teabag.

My earliest memories of The Teabag are centered around our family friends Dick and Jane. Whenever they dropped by Jane was sure to drink a cup of Lipton. She’d sip her tea and chat with my mother, and most importantly (to me) she welcomed my presence. I don’t remember that I ever actually drank a cup of tea with Jane, but she always made me feel grown up and special. I did drink that up.

And eventually, I did start drinking tea regularly. During my high school years – simultaneously tremendous and tumultuous years – my mom and I began a ritual of having a cup of tea (Constant Comment was a favorite) after I got home from whatever school activity or date had taken me out into the cold Nebraska night. My mom gave me my first teapot during those years. She also gave me a glimpse into what it takes to be a persevering woman.

Sadly, I somehow abandoned The Trusty Teabag during my college-career-marriage-baby years. I now realize that it’s pretty pathetic to forsake such a delight at a time it’s probably needed most. If my daughters are reading this, take note: Take time for tea – no matter what!

Thankfully something happened that set me back on Teabag Track. My husband got into the insurance business. (The trips are one of my favorite perks of his work!) The first trip we won was a “Fall Harvest” shindig in San Antonio, and one of the highlights was The Auction where agents and their significant others got to spend the “auction bucks” they’d earned throughout the preceding months. Having an extremely competitive spouse is very handy; there was no way we were leaving the auction without the English teapot I had my eye on! That teapot launched my teapot collection. Hunting for new teapots on insurance trips and vacations became a hobby, but most importantly that teapot reunited me with The Teabag.

The reunion was timely. My daughters were old enough to want tea parties, and we had them frequently. It was therefore important that my teapots not just be decorative (although I do have several of those), but also functional. And with at least three girls drinking pots and pots of tea it was important to have a good supply of tea. I know that there are those who think you’re not a real tea lover if you don’t use loose leaf in the fancy little strainer things. But I love The Teabag. My daughters and I were nearly giddy when we discovered that our favorite grocery store sold Stash teabags in bulk! A small mountain of multi-colored teabags is almost as beautiful as my friend Sabina’s drawer full of colorful boxes of teabags. (I was a little envious the first time she opened that drawer for me.)

You’ve probably realized that I could go on and on about The Teabag…the joys of quiet, solitary cups with a good book and the joys of shared cups with friends and family. It won’t surprise some of you that I wrote a poem on the topic. It turned out that my daughters had their own Jane (Auntie Jane) with whom they loved to drink tea. It was a providence too beautiful to neglect in verse…

Just a few thoughts before I start preparing for the Red River Rivalry breakfast bash we’re hosting later this morning…
The past couple of weeks I’ve been doing something in my spare time that I don’t always do; I’ve actually been reading one of the old books I bought over the summer. Specifically, I’ve been reading the one I picked up at Powell’s on the German artist Albrecht Durer (1471-1528). He’s become one of my favorites, not only because of his art, but because his brief life was extremely productive and fascinating. However, the quote that captured my attention extends far beyond Durer or any artist. Writing about the technological innovations of the 15th century, the authors said this: “The rapid and economical multiplication of printed, woodcut-illustrated pages – sold singly or bound into books – stimulated an appetite for words and pictures that has never been satisfied.” (emphasis mine)
I would agree that our appetites for words and pictures have never been satisfied, but I think that appetite existed long before woodcuts and the printing press. Some scriptures come to mind here. First is John 1:1, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”
Secondly, is Colossians 1:15, “And He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.”
These scriptures are both speaking of the second Person of the Trinity, Christ. He is both “Word” and “Image.”
For someone like me, who loves Christ, these are profound thoughts. I think I have been created for the express purpose of loving words and pictures, but especially for loving the Word and Image who gave them as gifts to those created in His image.

Make what you will out of today’s blog title, but it does come to you full of double meaning. Read on…
First, I admit to feeling a little crabby today. I’m not sure what the cause is exactly. Perhaps the partly tongue-in-cheek blog name has become a self-fulfilling prophecy and I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately. Perhaps I’ve been missing hubby who was in L.A. on business most of the week. Perhaps it’s because ever since living in Oregon my body has been programmed to welcome the soft pattering of rain from a lovely gray sky about this time of year, and alas it’s still all sunny and blue here in Arizona. (Today’s newspaper did, however, promise the end of triple digit temperatures. Hallelujah!) OR perhaps it’s because I went shopping this morning and once again encountered my NUMBER ONE ALL TIME PET PEAVE!!! Would someone please tell me why it is so impossibly difficult to roll Sylvan Goldman’s wondrous 1940 invention into its specially designed stalls which are so helpfully dispersed throughout most parking lots????? Mr. Goldman (no doubt an incredible human being – he was after all from one of the country’s greatest cities, i.e., Oklahoma City) would surely be saddened to find his invention so carelessly left in or in between parking places where they are at risk for injury. The worst offense of all and what really, really, really, really drives me crazy is when they’re left just one or two parking places (mere feet!) from the cart stalls! Come on, people, are we really that lazy, that rushed, that thoughtless? Don’t most of us need the extra exercise to walk those few feet, push that cart to the stall? Doesn’t anyone want to transform a crabby person’s day into a happy, smiley day?
Well, let me tell you about one person who apparently does. The seafood guy at Albertsons. A few weeks ago he gave me a tip for buying shrimp. Today I needed some (imitation) lump crab, and he gave me a great deal. And for that – combined with my parking lot induced mood – I’m claiming the title of Crab Queen for the Day!

On Day Six we learned a fun new word game when we spent the afternoon after church with Steve, Margarete and other friends at the Eaton home. Word games or no, it’s been hard to find the right adjectives to describe the beauty, generosity, fun and warmth of the people and places we visited. And I do mean warmth literally here; I don’t think there was hardly a cloud in the sky during our entire visit. (We were only slightly disappointed that we didn’t experience a good ol’ Pacific Northwest rain.) Alas, I’ve skipped ahead a few days, so allow me to back up.
Day Four started and ended with doctors. While Auntie Jane took the younger kids EVERY PLACE THEY WANTED TO GO, hubby and I spent the morning with our oldest sons picking out new glasses and getting vision exams. Not to be left out, Little Brother, required a midnight trip to the ER when we thought he might have a serious health issue. The doctor taught us a surefire test for appendicitis. He probably doesn’t want to be quoted on this, but his secret little test is jumping up and down. Real attacks can’t endure it! The good news (besides the fact that Youngest Son felt better quickly) is that in between Binyons and the ER, I also got to go to my favorite thrift store and found this purse for $4.99!

Of course, I didn’t go alone. I was the guest of these two lovely ladies (who also happen to be sisters.) Thanks for a fabulous morning, Diane and Karen!
While the girls and I spent the day visiting with friends, the guys headed to Seattle to do some tailgating…

Quiddler wasn’t the only hot game at the Eatons on Sunday afternoon. It looks like the big boys kind of took over Mouse Trap!
And then it was Monday, Day Seven, and time to say good-bye to our host family and the view from their back deck.

Oldest Sons came out to spend a little more time with us before our plane departed. We may look bored here, but we’re actually in the middle of one of our rousing Mad Libs!

On Day Three we headed to the beach in our rented Surburban. Nicely equipped with a DVD player, it allowed us the unique experience of viewing one of our family favorites, “What About Bob,” while also viewing the scenic route to the beach. Actually Hubby and I, seated in the front, only got to listen to the movie. But we’ve seen it so many times that we didn’t even need the pictures to know what was going on. When Dr. Marvin says he needs some peace and quiet, and Bob (Bill Murray) says, “I’ll be quiet,” and Siggy says, “I’ll be Peace,” we could easily picture their boyish playfulness amid Siggy’s trashed bedroom. We filled the Suburban with laughter while the picturesque farms outside barely noticed our passing presence.
Our journey began as many of our past memorable journeys to the beach began: by taking Route 26 (Sunset Highway) through the tunnel under the hills and houses of West Portland. (I always thought it would be fun to live in one of those house, with cars passing under you all the time.)

And then we were there – Canon Beach! Hubby has been telling me about Canon Beach (and Haystack Rock) since before we were married. He spent 18 months attending a little non-accredited Bible/study center there in the early 80’s. Neither one of us ever imagined we would end up moving to Oregon and getting to experience it together, let alone have six kids to introduce to its beauty. God is good!

We took time away from playing on the beach to visit a few shops in town. Of course, you know we’d haunt the bookstores. This one has been in business for as long as we’ve been going there as a family.

I always have to check out the wine store, too. I don’t think I’ve ever bought anything there. They have cool posters on their ceiling, too.

This photo was taken after our trip to the candy store and loading up on salt water taffy (and Jones Soda). Pretty serious looks for having just visited the candy store, huh? Well, maybe Son #2 did have somewhat of a sugar high!

We headed back to the beach and more fun playing in the sand!

Writer Daughter caught a few more waves in the Pacific before we headed back to Portland. It’s probably a crime that we didn’t stick around for what was sure to be another one of those stunning Oregon coast sunsets. At least we have memories of others.

Our second day in Oregon was all about spending time with ALL our kids – especially the two we hadn’t seen in a year. Those Two have become quite adept at getting around on the MAX light rail system. So, after touring their apartment for the first time (a pretty clean place with nice art work, I might add!) we took the Yellow Line from the Expo Center station to downtown Portland. Mass transit was never really a part of our suburban lives during the eight plus years we lived there, but it proved a very interesting way to see the unique sights and sounds of the city.

we saw quite a variety of it from our seats on the MAX. I still love the Portland skyline and the way it’s buffered by hills and trees.
What could come close to being as special as spending the day hanging out with all the kids? Hanging out with old friends! The girls’ friend, Carena, and her family were our first Oregon friends. Her mom and I met in a home school group when the girls were ages four, five and six. Carena has two older brothers who are almost exactly the same ages as our two oldest sons. Unfortunately, our time with them on this day was short, but only because we had to head to Vancouver to see…

And so does my husband, although we sometimes question that when we remember the teams they root for. (We love you anyway, Victor.)

I like this picture for a couple of reasons. First, it reminds me of all the time my husband spent planning and building this little pathway at our old house. He has a lot of talents and I don’t always let him know how much I appreciate them. Sometimes I need these visual reminders to hit me between the eyes.
The second reason I like this picture is because it reminds me of one of my favorite Bible verses, “The mind of man plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9)
Just like that perfectly designed pathway, I thought I had this past week pretty well planned. Then my steps were directed “differently.” There were some unexpected changes at the wonderful home school co-op which my oldest daughters attend. That led to some changes in other parts of my perfectly planned out schedule. Add to the mix three new piano students, family illnesses (those are never planned!) and shopping, packing and making arrangements for our trip to Oregon.
None of my unplanned events is devastating in the least. I just spent over an hour sorting through the opinions of other bloggers on the Sarah Palin VP issue. Prior to that a friend and I discussed another blogging debate that involves women in the workforce. Then I read an email update about my cousin’s daughter’s lung transplant issues (she’s a courageous cystic fibrosis survivor.)
Indeed, there are bigger issues out there. All of these things – my little inconveniences as well as the greater things – do have one thing in common. They are not surprises for a sovereign God who wonderfully directs steps.