My husband and I, along with our friends Kelly and Lori, spent Friday and Saturday scoping out a BBQ competition in Taylor, Arizona. I thought for sure I’d come back with a great story about how I knew I was on the fast track to Barbecue Widowhood. I mean I’m already used to guests asking what he is fixing for dinner. I’m used to the new rotund bullet of smoking metal on my back patio getting obscene amounts of attention, and I’m finally over the fact that twelve years ago he spent an entire week-end trapsing all over Oregon in search of his fantasy – a certain Oklahoma Joe’s smoker. I even knew not to be alarmed when he was hoping his new thermometer would come in the mail so he could “stick it in (his) butt.” You see, I also know that the butt he was talking about is pork butt, which is really pork shoulder. I guess “butt” sounds more appetizing than “shoulder?”

Despite all my “BBQ Issues,” I have to admit I came back from Taylor relatively unshaken. I think it helped a lot to have my friend, Lori, there for support. She knows a few things about husbands and their all-consuming hobbies. Kelly is a life-long avid hunter and outdoorsman, and is now very enthusiastic about being on the BBQ team. I think Lori and I will be able to encourage each other and perhaps even help keep the guys from going too “Q” crazy on us.

I think my BBQ plight was also tempered by a couple of other things. First is the fact that school has started and I’m increasingly becoming busier with those duties. Second is what has made the biggest impact on me lately; that is, the natural beauty of Arizona. Taylor, the town that hosted the barbecue competition, is about 100 miles east of Strawberry. (See my last posting.) It’s also just north of Show Low. Both Strawberry and Show Low are near the Mogollon (pronounced MUG-ee-own) Rim, an escarpment that stretches two-thirds of the way across Arizona, beginning just east of the New Mexico border. It was named for Juan Ignacio Flores Mogollon, the Spanish governor of New Mexico from 1712 to 1715. I write all that for the benefit of those of you who may be as ignorant of Arizona geography as I was until recently. But really, “saying” anything about the view from the Mogollon Rim can’t compare to seeing it. I’m going to let the picture speak for itself.

I do have one final thing to say about BBQ. If you have yet to receive your baptism by barbecue you must check out this video sent to me by friends at “Our Haasienda.” You, too, will see the (smokey) light!

Thursday afternoon we left for a few days away.

John Denver’s old guitar taught him to sing a love song. Mine has not. Taylor Swift has teardrops on her guitar. Mine? Mostly dust. If any lesson was taught with my guitar, it was probably one of patience for my husband. He is the one who has gingerly hauled the relic around the country for no apparent purpose other than his wife’s sentimental connection with her father. Incidentally, my husband’s first encounter with my old guitar began in college, near John Denver’s beloved Rocky Mountains. During the summer of 1984, we were both living in on-campus student housing. It was a tiny college; I think the “dorms” were former army barracks. I had stored my guitar in an attic space and forgot to retrieve it when I moved into a different dorm when school started in the fall. Another student discovered the guitar and being a guitar player himself, thought he had discovered a treasure. My (future) husband kindly went and reclaimed it for me. The guy only relinquished it after my husband told him how the guitar had belonged to my deceased father. That semester I became good friends with one of the new students in my dorm, Maxine Deutschendorf – John Denver’s first cousin!

Unfortunately, none of these connections to John Denver ever made me a guitar player. Every few years I get inspired to learn to play it. That was the case a few weeks ago. I stayed with it long enough to develop some calluses and taught myself how to pick out “Wayfaring Stranger.” I don’t know why it was easy for me to figure out this particular song, but its mournful sound was appropriate for my pathetic attempt at playing. Perhaps it was by Divine appointment that one of my daughter’s friends accidentally broke one of the strings the other day. The world will once again be spared my guitar playing – at least until I talk some nice guitar-playing friend into putting on another E string for me!

As I’ve been thinking about what I might blog about this week a couple of things keep popping into my head. One was Patsy Cline singing “I Fall to Pieces” (Click here to listen http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iuZTk1hdpMs ) Now I must confess that only the first four words of that song really pertain to my other thought, i.e., that a puzzle is a really good metaphor for life. The image of a person crumbling to a little heap of colorful jigsaw pieces seemed to fit (pardon the pun).

I know I can’t speak for you all, but I know my life is a puzzle. It has border pieces, the basic parts of life that are fairly simple to figure out. The way that these pieces softly snapped together in quick succession gave me an encouraging sense of progress. Sometimes border pieces have been knocked out of place, but they’ve usually been easily reconnected.

Then there are all the other pieces. Unlike a jigsaw puzzle where you have the advantage of dividing them into neat little piles of seemingly similar pieces, life’s puzzle seems to be a process of discovering what is in the various piles as you go along. Sometimes I choose to stay and work on a pile, but other times I move on to a different one.

Then there are those pieces assigned to one corner of life’s card table. They don’t look like they fit anywhere. You pick them up, finger their crooks and crevices, study their hues, and conclude that they were surely put in the wrong box! I’ve had a few of those pieces. In fact, one of my piles started out with most of its pieces being condemned to the infamous “corner.” It was the Should-A-Woman-Work-Outside-Her-Home area. Like so many areas, I couldn’t even see that I was working on this part of the puzzle until I really started looking closely at the pieces. One of the pieces is a vivid memory that sat in the corner for years. It looked like this: my fiancé and I are in my 1982 black Pontiac J2000 hatchback, driving up US-285 headed to Kittredge, CO. It’s a bright winter day, the sun glinting off the snow along the highway. We’re discussing our future, and he declares, “I just want you to know I don’t have a problem with you working.” At the time, I thought the comment was superfluous; I assumed he would think this way. He was raised by a working woman; my mom had both worked and stayed home with my younger brother and me. I had career aspirations. His comment did not alarm me in the least. If anything, I think I felt relieved and a little bewildered that he felt the need to clarify the issue. (It’s interesting that my mind would retain this memory even though it wasn’t a big deal to me at the time.)

This might be a good place to interject a key aspect of puzzle working. The boxed variety requires a couple of things: 1) patient, precise observation skills, and 2) perseverance. To the puzzle of life, I would add two more requirements: prayer and a preponderance of wise counsel.

I probably don’t need to tell you, but pieces started accumulating in this pile. I became a mother. I faced childcare issues. I continued to advance in my career. Most of my friends stayed home with their children. My husband still thought it was best for me to work. I read about the issue. I prayed about the issue. My views and desires changed. My husband’s did, too. I became a Stay-At-Home-Mom, working harder than I had probably ever worked in my life.

The pieces started fitting together. Running your mind’s fingers over such success is like Braille for seeing people – feeling the perfectly interlocking crevices amidst the smooth surface.

However, this portion of the puzzle still isn’t complete. The last few years I’ve started working again, teaching part-time both in and outside of my home. And I’m not sure what will happen when the kids are all grown up. I’ve read about what other people have done and recommend. I’ve talked it over with other women; but I expect that this part of my puzzle will have to be uniquely fitted to my family’s situation.

NOW FOR A BUNNY TRAIL or should I say a bunny path? As I was writing this a plethora of “P” words kept popping up (see what I mean?) Puzzle – pieces – Patsy – patience – perseverance-prayer, etc., etc. I don’t know how many P words are in the dictionary but I did find a website with a vocabulary list of 1,778 words: http://www.manythings.org/vocabulary/lists/l/words.php?f=3esl.16 And while I was pondering these P words, another metaphor for life presented itself. James 4:14 talks about how our lives are vapors. So what letter is right there smack in the middle of vapor? P! And what does P say. That’s right, “puh.” Like a puff of air, this is really, kind of what a vapor is! You may find this painfully pointless, but I think it’s phenomenal, and I pray that your path through your personal, vaPorous pieces is plentifully pleasant and prosperous. To which I hear you saying, “Oh, pleeease!” Pardon me?

One of my most faithful readers (my husband) told me he was going to have to pass on my Mad Lib silliness. Thankfully, not everyone felt that way. Gail, Caughey Café, and Piano Hero brought me to tears. OK. I confess to being in one of my typical states of sleep deprivation, but I still think you’ll find these pretty funny…

Election 2008
by Gail

Who will become America’s next president? From the farmlands of Mount Rushmore to the snarly streets of the bathroom, the citizens of this copious nation will soon let their choice be made known. Will it be Paris Hilton? This is the candidate with the sweatiest position on turkey basters. This is also the candidate who has repeatedly promised to skulk skunks. However, many Americans find her too smelly on the war on tube socks.

Hillary Clinton hopes she will win the spleens of the people. She recently spoke to a group of garbage men, promising them increased diaper insurance benefits, and salaries of 23 dollars per year. The workers responded by running her name for 19 minutes.

While Hillary was speaking to the workers, another group was cruising outside. They believe her promises are depressing and jubilant. One protestor even proclaimed, “If this pit bull is elected, I’ll move to an alley.”

Election 2008
by Caughey Cafe

Who will become America’s next president? From the farmlands of a milking stall at a dairy to the obnoxious streets of the Arctic Circle, the citizens of this ripping nation will soon let their choice be made known. Will it be Senator Obama? This is the candidate with the affectless position on trash cans. This is also the candidate who has repeatedly promised to patter trees. However, many Americans find him too zesty on the war on ice skating rinks.

Angelina Jolie hopes she will win the lungs of the people. She recently spoke to a group of taxi drivers, promising them increased pool insurance benefits, and salaries of 7 dollars per year. The workers responded by depositing her name for 3 minutes.

While Angelina was speaking to the workers, another group was welcoming outside. They believe her promises are temperate and powdery. One protestor even proclaimed, “If this doctor is elected, I’ll move to the Grand Canyon.”

Election 2008
by Piano Hero

Who will become America’s next president? From the farmlands of Washington, D.C. to the weird streets of Salt Lake City, the citizens of this tiny nation will soon let their choice be made known. Will it be Shia Labeouf? This is the candidate with the delicious position on light sabers. This is also the candidate who has repeatedly promised to run frisbees. However, many Americans find him too exhausting on the war on cameras.

George Bush hopes he will win the pancreases of the people. He recently spoke to a group of CEO’s, promising them increased video game insurance benefits, and salaries of 17 dollars per year. The workers responded by diving his name for 2,319 minutes.

While Bush was speaking to the workers, another group was dribbling outside. They believe his promises are enjoyable and stinky. One protestor even proclaimed, “If this guitar is elected, I’ll move to Battle Ground, Washington.”

On our recent road trip, I introduced our two youngest kids to the joys of Mad Libs. For too long they had been deprived of the hilarity of out of context words. I know…such a shame! Anyone who has ever done Mad Libs knows they have a wide-ranging “funniness scale.” For example:

ALEXANDER THE GREAT

In 356 B.C., Phillip of Macedonia, the ruler of a province in northern Greece, became the father of a bouncing baby boy named Alexander. Alexander’s teacher was Aristotle, the famous tree. When he was 20 years old, his father was murdered by Hannah Montana, after which he became pillow of all Macedonia. In 334, he invaded Persia and defeated Zoey (of Zoey 101) at the battle of Lake Havasu. Later, at Arbela, he won his most important victory, over Darius the Third. This made him fish eek over all Persians. Then he marched to India, and many of his teeth died. After that, Alexander began drinking too much shampoo, and at the age of 33, he died of an infection in the neck. His last words are reported to have been, “There are no more toys to conquer.”

So what do you think – anyone up for doing a Mad Lib? I’ve composed a special one just for my blog. If you want to join in the fun, please leave a comment with a list of the following words (in the order given). I’ll publish the best one(s) next week.

1. PLACE
2. ADJECTIVE
3. PLACE
4. ADJECTIVE
5. PERSON FREQUENTLY IN THE NEWS
6. ADJECTIVE
7. NOUN
8. VERB
9. PLURAL NOUN
10. ADJECTIVE
11. NOUN
12. ANOTHER PERSON FREQUENTLY IN THE NEWS
13. INTERNAL ORGAN
14. OCCUPATION
15. NOUN
16. NUMBER
17. VERB ENDING IN “ING”
18. NUMBER
19. VERB ENDING IN “ING”
20. ADJECTIVE
21. ADJECTIVE
22. NOUN
23. PLACE

Sometimes the “woman never sleeps” concept can be a blessing – even Providential perhaps. When my husband’s snoring got too loud (which unfortunately doesn’t take much for this light sleeper) around 3:30 Sunday morning, I went downstairs to sleep on the couch. I had just prayed, “Lord, please help me get back to sleep,” when I heard a thump and “meow” on the patio door six feet away. I jumped up, my heart racing. Could this be our runaway Sukey? I turned on the patio light and opened the door, but the cat ran around the corner of the house and hopped up on the block fence that separates our yard from the neighbor’s yard. This reaction brought doubt. However, the cat, staring intently with gleaming eyes, kept meowing and creeping along the fence towards me. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell if it was Sukey. It kept up the mournful meowing and creeping up, and I kept backing towards the patio door. The cat was certainly thinner than Sukey, but that’s to be expected after 12 days of living who-knows- where. If it was Sukey, she’d either lost or wrangled out of her pink collar. By the time I was back- stepping across the patio threshold it seemed obvious that the cat wasn’t going to be shy about wanting to come in the house. It dodged past me and headed straight up the stairway and then to the laundry room where we kept Sukey’s food and water bowls (and litter box). This seemed a sure sign that it was in fact our dear Sukey. Leaving the skinny Sukey to sniff and meow around the empty bowls, I hurried down the hallway to wake up the daughter who is Sukey’s chief caretaker. (Just the night before she had told me she planned to put away Sukey’s box and bowls this week, as it didn’t look like she was going to return.) By now my husband had heard the meowing and commotion. Among the three of us, there was much marveling, rejoicing, and thanking God over the return of our prodigal cat. And, of course, we filled the bowls.

For some crazy reason, I thought of a poster that hung on my bedroom wall when I was in grade school. It depicted wild horses running across an open prairie with the oft quoted very 1960’s phrase, “If you love something let it go. If it comes back to you it’s yours; if it doesn’t, it was never meant to be.” I realized that I had kind of adopted that way of thinking about Sukey’s return even though I preferred to also think of it as more of a “God is sovereign” approach. In this case, I think my baby daughter had a much more admirable attitude. When she woke up to discover Sukey’s return she hugged my waist and beamed, “Mommy, I prayed last night that Sukey would come home!” My baby had never stopped praying. Don’t get me wrong – I definitely do think God is sovereign, but every once in awhile I need to be reminded of Christ’s admonition to have such childlike faith.

Despite being thinner and collarless, Sukey is apparently in great shape. If only she could tell us of her great adventure and what finally brought her back. Did the smell of Hubby’s meat smoking Saturday night waft across the air and lure her home? Was her whole objective to rid herself of that annoying collar with the bell on it? Needless to say, “the cat’s got her tongue.”

My sons, who have been baristas at Coffee Snob places, are going to groan if they read this. I’m writing it anyway. I’ve concocted a creamy iced mocha that has become my husband’s morning beverage of choice. (The recipe is at the end of this posting.) It all started when we stayed in Lake Havasu City a couple of weeks ago.

Much to our own amazement, Hubby and I managed to get ourselves out of the hotel bed and take our morning walk. We did have a little motivation – we had plotted our route so that we could end up at the Starbucks down the street. We discovered that walking in Lake Havasu City is an even sweatier undertaking than it is here farther east. All the sweating made Hubby a prime target for what he might normally call a foo-foo drink. (Living in Arizona, it was only a matter of time, really.) Upon entering the cool, urban confines of said coffee establishment, I immediately announced I was ordering an iced coffee, and recommended that Hubby do the same. He actually took my suggestion, and now “the rest is history.”

Back home, I endeavored to create my own cool refreshment for us. At first I continued to brew our Coffee Snob brand coffee, cool it, and use it. Then I remembered I had some instant coffee crystals (please, don’t gasp so loudly!) that I’d purchased for a Delta Martini recipe. Using the coffee crystals is a much faster way to go, and seems to still supply the kick my beloved caffeine addict needs. (Wimp that I am these days, I use the de-caf version.)

Maricopa* Mocha

2 heaping teaspoons instant coffee crystals
1-2 teaspoons sugar or sweetener
2 tablespoons cold water (Eyeball it.)
Healthy splash of half and half
ice
milk
2-3 swirls chocolate syrup

Spoon coffee crystals and sweetener into a 16 ounce glass. Add water and half and half. Stir well to dissolve coffee crystals. Fill glass with ice cubes. Add milk to ¾ inch from rim. Stir in chocolate syrup.

*Maricopa is the Arizona county in which we reside.

A few weeks ago, I posted a story about losing my father. The next week I wrote about my husband’s loss of employment and the loss of our house. I didn’t post that story. Too much talk of loss too often. Not that life isn’t like that. “One thing after another” is one of the truest of truisms. There’s also a true grace in life – man’s ability to remember, reflect, and process circumstances after the fact. Can you imagine NOT being blessed with the ability to think upon and reason about past events? It would be like a farmer going out to harvest after a drought. We would be in a constant state of famine without any way of overcoming it.

It seems to me that the working through and overcoming part is the key, because famine of some sort seems to be a constant. We say “feast OR famine,” but we usually experience “feast AND famine.” We have daily disappointments small and large. We lose fathers, jobs, houses…in my case we mostly recently lost our cat. Famine is emptiness, but it’s also anticipation. (See the poem I wrote during my husband’s period of unemployment at the end of this posting.) Moreover, famine prepares us for the feasts.

Right after that period of famine a couple of months ago, I visited (thanks to the generosity of my sister-in-law) my brother and his family in the Virginia/Washington, D.C. area. When was the last time you were surrounded by so much beauty that watery eyes and a lump in your throat were inevitable? I found that what the Creator has designed in the valley of the Potomac, the grassy rolling hills and the abundant trees is breathtaking. So, too, is what He enabled the created to conceive – the architecture and monuments that beautifully enhance His natural creation. I was especially in awe when I toured (twice!) the National Gallery of Art.

I entered The Gallery (a stunning work of art in itself) with heightened senses. I had been teaching an art appreciation class to a group of co-op students. The knowledge of much of the artwork and the artists’ lives was fresh on my mind. The masterpieces before me were a visual feast for my eyes and my soul. I was actually within reach of the canvases that hold the ingeniously applied paint…that came from the brushes…that were held by the hands of…Monet, Renoir, Cezanne, Duccio, Van Eyck, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, Kandinsky, Pollock, et al!

A feast of art – of nature – of history – of time with my brother’s family! I don’t think it would have tasted so good had I not been so hungry.

“Blank Canvas”

Standing before the milky blank canvas
which seems happy with its state
Fighting the temptation to wrestle
the brush from Your hand
Yearning to help with a fledgling start
on the work that will unfold
Laying my inferior, novice tools
at the feet of Hope and Faith
Waiting for what I dare not imagine
lest I lust for my own design
Being content to walk away
and check on the progress later

(More of my DC photos are in my photo gallery.)

Husband had to go west on business and he took the family along. His job as an insurance broker specializing in the church market takes him to places all across the state, but this time he headed West. I realize that looking at other people’s “vacation” pictures is not always exciting, but I’ve tried my best here, folks.