Creatures Great and Small

I feel like this has been a year of extra creatures flitting, crawling and startling into my life.  I was surprised to encounter 3 different bugs in our California apartment, besides the usual spiders.  I mean it's in the middle of concrete so I wondered how they got in.  They were:

1) a creepy black worm-like creature under my dining room chair:

Seriously, what is that thing?

2) lots of crickets - I think; and
3) 2 different cockroaches, both inducing a scream, one of which was at 4:00 am when it ran across my foot.  Sorry neighbors, but little feet on your feet at 4:00 am require a shriek.

So let's move on to nicer creatures that make us smile and buy stuffed animals.  We went to the beach often and usually saw at least whale spouts, if not actual whale flesh, plus a large flock of pelicans and this sea lion. 

 

There were also a pair of ducks that wandered around our apartment building and were the only ones who thought the pool wasn't too cold to use.  I didn't realize they were Jewish, but I caught them with a tiny fiddle on the roof one night. 



 

So enough of California.  Oregon is the real wilderness!  When we returned home, our animals were in fine form, and Ellie May couldn't wait to get busy catching mice:

 

Korina, Buckwheat and Sammy Davis assured me that were in fact STARVING and I'd better feed them masses of green stuff IMMEDIATELY.



 



For the first time I had two chickens get broody at the same time and even tried to shove their ample rumps into the same nest to sit on eggs.  Of course I never had my camera ready when they did this, but this was their compromise. 

 

Strangely, none of the eggs they were sitting on ever hatched.  I don't know if the extreme heat cooked them or what happened, but after a 5-week vacation I put Miss Brown Betty back to work. There were, however, other tiny fowl in our yard:

Baby robins in the pear tree



My neighbor's guinea hens with 3 keets



 

If you've never heard a guinea hen, they sound like screeching bicycle brakes.  I mean, exactly like screeching bicycle brakes.  It's a horrible noise.  And they've adopted us for some reason.


Note:  Over the years we have had the following escaped neighbor's animals in our yard: a horse, cows, dogs (with a collar, with a collar and a chain attached, and with a collar, chain, and stake attached), goats, ducks, chickens, guinea hens, and cats. 



This was the year of the wasp.  Amazingly I haven't been stung yet, compared to 3 times last summer.  I've been waging battle against them and spraying soapy water out of water guns on them at dusk.  Here's the biggest nest that we can't seem to get enough thrust from our gun to knock down.

 

This next one wins the prize for creepiest.  While my brother was visiting we were sitting on the patio in the evening chatting when this bugzilla was drawn to the patio light.  There was more screaming than a Justin Bieber concert, especially when it landed on his stomach.  Our 1-2 punch with a golf club and clog beheaded it and killed it 3 times over, although it continued gruesomely twitching much longer. We discovered it was a California Prionus beetle.

 

And the rest...

Baby Praying Mantis!

A pair of hummingbirds were frequent visitors

 

 

Okay, this isn't really wild, but it's BIG, and we all know that bigger is better!

 

We also have a brown barn owl that flies very low over our heads at dusk, and of course the coyotes, both howling in packs and singly drooling at our chicken coop at daybreak.  And I didn't mention all the DEAD animals.  Oh vey, our burn pile floweth over with them (because that's where all carcasses go out here in hillbilly country).  The ones I can remember are 2 hens, 1 large rat, 10 baby rats, birds, a mole, plus sundry mousey parts, especially little beady eyes that Ellie May left for our viewing pleasure on the door mat. 

 

So not exactly James Herriott.  More like...the Clampett's dinner menu.

 

 



Oregon, My Oregon

Despite contracting a stomach bug one week before returning to Oregon, I anxiously packed up and shipped out of the "Luxury" Homestead Apartments.  I had been feeling very melancholy about leaving my new-found friends and also my daughter, but as we put hundreds of miles behind us and the landscape revealed grazing animals and thick stands of trees, I started to feel something new yet familiar.  I began to yearn to walk barefoot through green grass, drive on a two-lane country road, stroke the wooly coats of farm animals, and even flinch at the random shots of varmint-huntin' neighbors.  As I crested another curve in the Siskyous and was met with the "Oregon Welcomes You" sign, I actually teared up. 

 

We have a saying in our house.  "Wherever you go, there you are."  That is to say, don't blame your problems on circumstances or other people.  You are still the common factor in all of this.  There is a more positive and encouraging, but related message in Psalm 139:7-10. 

"Where can I go from your Spirit?  Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."

The message is: Where ever you go, God is with you.   And of course, California was no exception (though some may argue it as God-forsaken - just saying).  There were many places I saw and felt God's presence.  Here are a few:

*The office person for our section of the apartment complex always had a Bible verse written on the board in her office.  No matter how many times we complained about things she was always smiling, kind and understanding.

*Zumba!  Yes, moving your body and sweating can be a spiritual experience.  Well, mostly the camaraderie of my fellow perspirers.  The teacher also blessed me with her kindness, enthusiasm and let's just be honest, the price of the class:  free!

*Old friends and relatives.  I was within oinking distance (inside joke) of my sister and her family, and food-consuming distance of an old middle school friend.

*Biola University.  Ever since the first time I set foot on the campus, I felt like I was in God's living room.  The place exudes love, joy, peace -- yes, all the fruit of the spirit.  Of course they aren't perfect, but I've never had more fun hanging out with college students. 

So of course on my return, God is here in Oregon too.  I feel different now, though, and somehow more exposed.  Months before I left Oregon, God was stripping down my responsibilities, activities and obligations.  I have been trying to put a description on how I feel about that and just figured it out today in my daily devotion.  I was reading about Adam and Eve and their big bust.  After their eyes were opened to right and wrong they looked down and noticed that "one of these things is not like the other."

Oh hey, that reminds me of a joke!  A preacher in town went out to visit a new parishioner to welcome her.  When he walked up to the house, her car was in the driveway and lights were on.  He knocked on the door but no one answered.  He walked around to the side to see if he could see someone inside.  He knocked again but no one answered.  He took out his business card and wrote on it, "Revelation 3:20."  That verse says, "Here I am! I stand at the door and knock.  If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me."  He slipped it under the door and left.  The next Sunday, his same card was found in the offering plate.  Curious he looked at it and noticed something written on the back of it.  It simply said, "Genesis 3:10."  Puzzled, he looked up the reference.  "I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid."

So back to Eve, no, that wasn't the revelation I had. It's that I feel naked, stripped down, completely uncovered and vulnerable.  Over the years I've had the bad habit of taking pride in my titles:  Mom, Mrs. Head Coach, Sunday School Teacher, Bible Study Leader, Women's Ministry Leader, Racquetball Player, Fundraiser, Budget Committee Member.  I've taken my identity from these club memberships, so to speak, rather than simply being a child of God, wonderfully and fearfully made in the image of God, designed to do good works for Him...but not to take credit for them.  It made me think of Isaiah 64:6: "...all our righteous acts are like filthy rags..."

I hate being naked, literally and figuratively.  There is no hiding the essence of who you are.  And as a side note, let me just make this recommendation for anyone over 40.  Don't ever get the hand mirror to look at the back and see what's been happening back there. Just imagine those images on the news of muddy landslide disasters.  Ignorance is bliss and in this case, knowledge is agony.  So how to cover myself again?

For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness.  Isa. 61:10

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. Isa 61:1, 3

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.  He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.  Psalm 91:1, 4

Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.  Romans 13:14

You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy. Psalm 30:11

You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.  Galations 3:26-27

A song was brought to mind that I have never sung in church, but I believe Billy Graham always played this song when he gave the invitation to people to come forward:  Just As I Am.  The fifth verse goes like this:

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;
sight, riches, healing of the mind,
yea all I need in thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come, I come.

Whether in California or Oregon I can go just as I am, without titles, importance, or even wealth.  "...even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."

 

Back on the farm

GEN-YOO-INE

Well for today I was a REAL farmer.  I moved and stacked

about 800 pounds of hay in the barn for my little goatlets. 

 

Who is my neighbor?

Now that it's May I'm aware of the clock ticking down on our California adventure.  I frantically think of the things I wanted to do but have not.  Most prominent in my mind is my failure to make friends with my neighbors.  I had such grand intentions of being the neighbor everyone loved:

*Bringing home-baked pies and cookies to their doors.
*Offering to babysit their children after school.
*Pouring tea while giving them wise counsel. 

Um, none of this happened.  But to be fair, what I had to work with was greatly lacking also. 

My downstairs neighbor I call the Smoker.  I never got more than "Hi" out of her mouth, besides a daily -- and nightly -- stream of smoke that seeped into every corner of my apartment, even with the windows closed.  I heard she worked as a waitress, but she sure didn't seem to leave much, at least not according to the schedule of smoke floating upwards. 

Across from our bedroom and kitchen are the Yellers, the dynamic duo of Indian college students, top and bottom apartments.  Not sure how many live in there, anywhere from 3 to 5 in each, but at 1:00 am it sounds like half of New Delhi.  We learned from our hot tub Indian friends (to be explained later) that in their culture they often eat dinner at 11:00 pm, midnight, or later.  And apparently when they cook they must yell to their roommates the whole time, who of course must yell back.  The downstairs apartment dwellers have a patio facing us that acts as a beer bottle recycle plant and a Cone of Cacophony.  You've heard of the Cone of Silence?  Well this is the Cone of Cacophony.  They are unaware that anyone else may hear them "talking" at 2:00, 3:00, or 4:00 in the morning.  In fact they talk so loud that when Bill tries to yell out the window to ask them to be quiet, he has to try several times before they hear him.  We have, unfortunately, complained to management multiple times because they don't seem to understand that we don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night.  I always smile and say hi when I see them and they smile back, but they're probably muttering Indian curses about a million camel fleas to infest my bed or something. 

Then there are the Night Phoners.  These may come from the same apartment of the Yellers, but I don't walk out at 4:00 am to check.  These are the guys who want to talk to their family members back in India at 4:00 am. Being ever so considerate of their roommates, they step outside under our window -- so that their neighbors can hear their conversations instead. 

Lastly, there is the sweet family across the way on the other side.  Mom, Dad, 8-year-old boy and 3-year-old girl.  Okay, so I tried to befriend them.  I invited mom and daughter over for a tea party.  The little girl was so excited she basically did gymnastics in my apartment the whole time (don't know if the Smoker got to enjoy that or not) and was too excited to actually eat the treats.  Mom was very nice, but never once asked anything about me.  I still enjoyed finding out about them, but unfortunately it ended with a blood-curdling tantrum when they had to leave. (She has at least one of these a day, by the way, that I can enjoy from the comfort of my own apartment).  I was still hoping they would invite me over to their place for a tea party or to play Candyland, but it never materialized and I never had the guts to make a pest of myself. 

So here it is with 3 weeks left to go and I have nothing on the Good Samaritan.  Instead I'm the bad Oregonian!  Even Mister Rogers wouldn't want to be my neighbor.  We did, however, befriend the aforementioned hot tub buddies.  They are two Indian college students who soaked in the hot tub every night while enjoying a six-pack of beer.  They were very friendly and even brought us some curry one night.  I basically had to wash the curry sauce off of my chicken before eating it and it still felt like hot coals.  One night they explained that that particular day was the celebration day of one of their Hindu gods.  They then produced a tiny statue of this god on a key chain and handed it to us to look at.  I accidentally baptized the little god in the hot tub.  Thankfully, this didn't end our friendship.

So I guess the moral of the story is: You know who your real friends are when you get into hot water.

The Pit of Despair -- Oh the humility of it all

This morning I had one of those moments of realization wherein my cheeks flush red at the same time the light bulb in my brain flashes yellow. 

As I was getting in the shower I noticed that I had quite a bit of growth in the armpit area.  I had planned to shave it the day before but was in a hurry.  At the time I thought, "No big deal.  I do have Zumba class tonight, but no one will notice me in the back row. It can wait a day."  I always wear a tank top because I can't stand to have hot shoulders when I sweat. 

So, no problem except the teacher asked me to lead the cool down song.  A worshipful, lyrical song that involves lots of plies and sweeping arm movements.  In fact, for the majority of the song, my arms were stretched overhead or out to the side.  My pits were revealed in all their black, stubbly glory for a full 3 minutes, elevated above the class. 

The song goes like this:
It's your breath
In our lungs.
So we pour out our praise, we pour out our praise.
It's your breath
In our lungs.
So we pour out our praise to you only. 

The class members were probably thinking:
There is hair
In your pits.
So we avert our gaze, we avert our gaze
There is hair
In your pits.
So next time we will buy you a razor.

Life Preservers

I woke up this morning to discover that someone had slipped a life preserver around my hips while I slept.  Unfortunately, it did not slip off when pushed.  These are my theories of how it appeared.

1.  I dreamt I was drowning and David Hasselhoff saved me.
2.  My husband was dreaming I was Pamela Anderson and he saved her.
3.  The road to my kitchen in this cozy bungalow is much too short and paved with Oreos.  And Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies.

As Carrie Underwood said, "Jesus, take the me-ee-eal.  Take it from my hands.  I can't eat this on my own.  Jesus, take the meal."  Or something like that. 

I've been trying to zumbacize the weight off as fast as it comes on, but it's not working.  I have to face the fact that I eat too much when I'm bored or just want a distraction.  In my Daily Bread reading, Bill Crowder referenced an interview with Amy Adams who played Lois Lane in the Man of Steel, explaining the film's appeal:  "Who doesn't want to believe that there's one person who could come and save us from ourselves?"  Joking aside, I've come to believe that Jesus IS the only one who can save me from myself and my sugar addiction.  Yeshua Ha Mashiach.  His name even means "the Lord saves."

So while I would like to remove the ring around my waist, I certainly will hold tight to the loving arms wrapped around my shoulders.

LENT - SACRIFICING FARM ANIMALS

Okay, before you animal lovers get your no-animals-were-harmed-making-them-panties in a bunch, you must know I am not talking about blood sacrifice, but chore sacrifice.  Not really a sacrifice at all, but I'm getting ahead of myself. 

LENT
So Lent began on Ash Wednesday, February 18th this year.  Since we are not able to go to our Oregon church Ash Wednesday service -- one of my favorite services of the year -- I searched out and found a local one in Fullerton.  However, by the time Bill got home, I was so hungry I forgot all about it and we went out for a decadent dinner.  That's kinda like Moses chomping on a Philly Cheesesteak with carmelized onions while all the Israelites stagger through the desert on their manna diet. An inauspicious beginning, wouldn't you say?

In previous years I have bravely chosen something to give up, such as sugar, tea, or spandex (not really).  If you read earlier blogs, you would even see that one year I gave up all foods except seven. 

But this year, being out of my element in our little one-bedroom apartment in the concrete jungle, I just don't have the stamina to give up something I daily indulge in.  So in an effort to still sound spiritual, I am proclaiming a sacrifice that I already made by moving here:  No contact with my animals, including feeding, watering, brushing, egg gathering, petting, and cuddling my goats, chickens and cat.    Oh hey, I can list other things I've given up too.
* Clean, smoke-free air.
* Really green things
* Church where everyone knows my name (I don't have a favorite bar stool, but a favorite pew)

I suppose I could list more things, but then this would turn into a complaint-fest and I don't mean it to be.  Let's just say that Lent looks a little different this year.  In order to keep turning my face toward God, I will need to remind myself how blessed I am that someone else is doing all  my chores.  And I will also need to work on my reaction to the smokers downstairs, as I think slamming the windows every time I smell it is not "What Would Jesus Do."

Webfoot farmer turned barefoot beach bum

Yes, I'm a terrible blogger.  But who wants that on their tombstone?  "She was a blogger extraordinaire."  Let's face it, blog is not a poetic word.

Okay, so we jumped to February 2015.  Although I'm still a "Fake Farmer," the farm is in the capable hands of a house sitter while I am now a temporary apartment dweller in the City of the Angels, or as I call it, "Halos of Smoke Rings."  Not because of the smog, but because apparently 75% of apartment dwellers are required to smoke, or so it seems.  These are the steps that led to this adventure:
1.  Husband retired after 34 years of teaching.
2.  I gained more online transcription work, making it very portable.
3. We (foolishly) told God we would go wherever God wanted us to go.
4. Megan's track coach at Biola suddenly retired 2 days before Christmas.
5. Bill fit the, uh, bill for an interim track coach.
6. So we packed up the truck and we moved to Beverly...or Fullerton, that is.  No movie stars, but there is a swimming pool and bonus!  A hot tub!

Really, it was quite amazing how God lined up all the details that had to fall into place for this to work.  (Can you tell I'm the daughter of an engineer the way I number everything?)

1.    I felt God telling me to back off of most of my commitments, including Bible study, which really broke my heart, but it's obvious now why he wanted me to. 

2.    We had to make a quick decision about the job and step out in faith, not get "all our ducks in a row first."  My ducks may never have lined up otherwise. 

3.    We found a capable woman who was looking for a house sitting situation and likes to clean (Praise you Jesus!).

4.    We have been lent a nice table that we needed and given a toaster oven, as well.

5.    God has been speaking to me just about every day about "trusting him without borders,"  and "walk upon the waters wherever he may lead me." Yes, I suddenly hear that Oceans song at least twice every day.  Really. 

6.    As I began to pack in earnest, my Daily Bread story was called "Leaving it Behind."  For those who know me, I'm a pack rat and I like to have all my things around me "just in case."  It says, "Our new life of following Jesus Christ may mean that we have to leave things behind, including those that don't bring lasting satisfaction." Ha!

So that's a lot for one day.  Maybe I will get back to this again this week, or maybe another year or two.  Who knows?