Now and Later

Did you ever eat those? Basically they mean that you put one in your mouth, and it's a long time later when you're finished with it.
Did you ever consider what they imply? Commitment. That's right. You open one of them now and a long time later you're still occupied by the same thing.

But sometimes that's not so bad.

I've been living in the same place now for 1 year and 3 months, which is the longest time I've lived anywhere beyond high school.

So I'm still sucking on the same Now and Later. Yay.

"Special friend"

It is true that I enjoy talking to and talking about Grandma. Talking to, because we get in a whirlwind of topics. Talking about, because I need debriefing time. I've been calling Grandma once every week or two since high school ended to check up on her, so she can check up on me, so she can tell me the latest news of Montana, which always ends up in some kind of summative statement: "These dadberned home inspectors really don't know what they're doing!" "Lissy, I'll put up my own Christmas lights until I die. I've done it all this time anyway." "Oh! It's getting too stuffy around here. Think I'll head into the park (Yellowstone) for a little while."
Everything she says is either a glorious tribute to life or a cursing of it. Rarely is there an inbetween.
But she's said a lot of things through the years, some things embarrassing, some truthful, some convicting, some funny, but always, ALWAYS, she speaks with tone. What I mean by tone is that when she's excited, she brings out her "r"s. "That's grrrrrreat, Lissy!" When she's upset, her voice quiets, and there's this inner squeaky sob which thrusts her words out. "I just don't know what to do." And when she wants to hint at something or be sneaky, she speaks with elipses: "Well....I guess what I mean to say is....."
I find some conversations embarrassing.
In front of my middle school friends: "Hunny, put your thongs on. It's warm out there."
In front of family: "I've folded your panties. They're sitting on the dryer."
Why can't she just say "flip-flops" or "clothes"? (!?!?!)
She did it again last night, and this has been going on for a bit of time.
"How's your special man friend?"
"My what?"
"Your special friend. Is he working....did you two hang out last night...?"
"Just call him my boyfriend." I said this because the term "special friend" or worse, "special man friend" seems a lot like "panties" or "thongs". It's just odd.
"Boyfriend!"
"Well that's what he is."
"Oh boy, all the angels and Grandma Ham are singing in heaven right now!"
"Grandma, we've been dating for a couple months. This isn't new news."
"You tell your special friend--"
"Boyfriend."
"--that he has to come meet us sometime."

Birds and Kids

So, last night I drove north 45 minutes to the tip of Lake Michigan. It was like a date for me from me, because Ryan, although he was entertaining via text, had some FFA/4H thing to coordinate down in Indy. I can never keep the events straight.
I stopped at Jimmy Johns, got the #12, drove the remainder of the way to the beach, and began snapping pictures immediately. There's nothing more oxy-moronic about seeing a full-fledged beach next to the colorful array of trees in Fall. It's like mixing tropical with seasonal, and it doesn't work...except that it does.
Yeah yeah, I get it. THIS is why all the Michiganders at Dordt kept gloating (right word?) ...praising, rather... the landscape around here. Because it truly is beautiful.
Moms and dads walked along the shoreline each grabbing the hand of a child. The sun had begun to set and so I walked a ways away from the crowd. They would become silhouettes in the pictures I was about to take. That's legal, right?
Seagulls, one in particular, had begun surrounding me and my Jimmy Johns #12. They are demanding. The birds I mean. The one kept one eye on me at all times, and so I had no other choice. I had to watch it back. It wanted my sandwich. I wanted it dead, but I'm not sure that's legal either.
I began taking pictures of the moon just over a sand dune and then pointed my lens to the crowd with their umbrellas and kites, but was distracted by another squak from the bird.
I waved my shoe at it.
It ran about ten yards away and then came back about fifteen.
"This isn't yours!" I wanted to say, but it was a bird, so talking would be of no help. And anyway, I don't think they understand English. (right Heidi?) Talking to it would be crazy, I thought as I duly noted a couple sitting on a sand dune a ways out. They were watching the scene.
I waved my shoe at it again. It ruffled its feathers.
Who did this bird think it was? I'm a human and could definitely...possibly...overtake this bird. Didn't it think it was in danger? Was it too comfortable with humans? Had it flown over from Chicago for a weekend getaway to manipulate naive strangers from the country?
Anyway, I didn't give in or toss it a piece becaust that would have made it beg for more. You give 'em and inch, they take a knell, right? Instead I waited for it to get over itself and eventually look elsewhere for food. There was a whole state-sized lake full of fish, so I didn't feel bad.
The date from me for me continued, but only for a little bit. A kid had stopped to stare at me reading One Day, but he only watched for a little bit until his mother grabbed his hand and said, "Stay close!" Later on I went to Target in search of cardigans and another little girl was staring at me through two racks. Her mother--a lady with bleached blond hair, too much makeup, and long manicured fingernails--was flippantly filing through piles and responding to her daughter in "umm hmmm"s and "yep"s. The little girl kept twirling, then stopping to stick her tongue out and stare at it with croseed eyes, then squealing for another reaction for her mother.
I moved across the store.
Maybe there's no real meaning to the evening. Maybe it's that birds and children are quite similar. I'm not afraid to wave my shoes at either creature, or believe that my space and plans in life can be infringed upon by both.
There we go. I've discovered it now.

For Mom

I love you.

Those were the years of encouragement, when Mom pushed a lock of hair behind my ears and said, "You are beautiful. I love you."

She was forever kind, like moms shoudl be. Somehow she knew it was not her duty to perfect me, that perfection would take God's grace and time, and that even then, it would never occur. If it had she would have pushed my hair behind my ears in precisely...perfectly...the same way and said, "I love you" all the same.

I wonder for the people who have never had that incessant over and over again mom bugging squeezing tapping, but never nagging "I love you," said so much that a child never has to think otherwise.

I've had that.

And now seeing Mom's oldest child raise a child--kisses kissses kisses, "she's cute, right? or is it just me? hugging nursing playing--I think mothering must be a love that doesn't take away. It only snowballs.

Maybe that's what love ought to be for everyone, something that grows because it doesn't assume, but it does take action and it spreads to more people than just one and moves through every tendril of every hair of every person who has been told "I love you."

Later Gaters

I'm leaving the blogging world for a little while.

Prayers that you're all well.

Laurissa

Careless

A while back I'd taken my car into the auto shop to get an oil change and Mr. Zylstra said my break pads needed to be replaced and said the wheel bearing wasn't looking good either. I asked if it was expensive. It's pricey, he said. My car's not worth that much, I thought. So I went on throughout the year and throughout this summer listening to the clicking of my wheels but not really worrying about it. Zylstra said that if I heard the whirling sound all the time, then it'd be trouble. So I said, fine I'll listen and see.

I took two lengthy vacations this summer. One to South Dakota, another to Montana, stopping in Iowa on the way out for a wedding. I had so much fun with friends and seeing family and Brinley.
And when I got to Montana, I saw church folks and old friends. And they gave hugs galore.

Grandma traveled with me back to Hospers to see my parents and to drive her sister back to Montana. We'd been traveling for fourteen hours and finally slowing down into town when she heard loud clicking. She asked what it was. I said it was my problem and I'd fix it when I got back.

No, Grandma demanded. You're fixing it now.

I said I'd heard the clicking before and that it wasn't something to worry about. But both Grandma and Dad then demanded in a more stubborn way that I needed to get it checked.

I took the car in to a shop in Hospers early Saturday morning and asked them to look at it. They called and said it'd be closer to $700 to fix everything.

We wouldn't have let you leave, the mechanic said. I could take the one tire and tilt it from side to side. You had 11 more hours to drive, that right? Ma'am, if you hadn't taken it in and if you'd been driving down the interstate, who knows...

And Grandma said it, but tried not to say it too loudly because of her prideful granddaughter--we
could have had a funeral. All for a stupid wheel bearing. All because I'm a little stubborn and can figure it out for myself.

I know a reference to Bridesmaides doesn't seem all that appropriate right now, but there's no other way to explain it best. The main character lives her life on her own terms, goes and comes whenever, has best friends, a mother, a new cop boyfriend who she runs away from. She makes mistake after mistake and knows she can simply say a "sorry" as an afterthought and the people who love her will forgive her, but not without their worries. One day, the cop boyfriend guy says, "You think you can do anything and that you'll only hurt yourself. Well you're wrong. You've been hurting other people all this time. "

Anyway, I've been marching this solo routine--one that I've been proud of--for awhile. I can do it. I can take care of myself. I proclaim it over and over. I don't need to talk about it. I can figure it out. Thank you very much.

So I waited for the mechanics to check my car, to get it fixed. Aunt Linda asked if we'd like to come over and shuck corn. I'd have to be on the road a little later in the afternoon.

But there was Grandma that whole morning as we were shucking corn with my aunt and uncle in Iowa. They had just lost their son to a hiking accident last summer, and Grandma was looking at me with pain in her eyes, and she didn't have to say it. I knew.

"Promise Grandma you'll give me a call like you do every weekend," she said when I later said goodbye.

"Yeah, ok," I smiled, trying to brush away how serious everyone had become that whole morning.

And now I know, careless isn't worth the pain you cause other people.

The Bozeman Style

It's good to be back. I bought this little pin at the Leaf and Bean that has the frame of the state of Montana and a little blue heart at its center. I'd pin it on my shirt, but that's a gainst a social faux pas and it'd make me look like a tourist. I almost feel like a tourist, snapping pictures of the mountains and planning a short trip into Yellowstone.
"You're back!" Tammy texted.
She's been working like a madwoman here and baby-sitting and hanging out with her married couples. It works for her. "I'm taking you to the fair."
"Sounds great to me."

Grandma basically ran into my arms. Or maybe I ran into hers. I'm not sure. We gushed about the road trip and how the headwaters of the Missouri are literally gushing right now. "Yeah, did you see the flooding in Omaha? The water level is six feet higher than normal."
"That's really too bad for them," she said. "Now, the guest room is completely ready for you, and there's food in the fridge, so help yourself." She hugged me again. "I'm so glad you're here! It's been a lonely place around here."
Grandma has been keeping up with her tax business, gardening, and reading. But she maintains that it's quite lonely. I don't blame her, really. It's a big house to keep if you're there alone.

"I'm going out to dinner with Jess Wednesday."
"Ok." I texted Tammy back. "Wait....Jess as in Jessie?!"
"Yeah, Jessie, you goof. She's back from camp for a little while."
"Whoa! I'm going to crash your dinner date."
Tonight we'll be going to The Garden Cafe, maybe shoot some hoops afterwards. That's our trend. We always got together on summer nights, played Pig, and we ate at the Garden. Jessie is now working up at Big Sky Bible camps, peer mentoring other counselors, writing Bible studies, and hiking.

We drove along the old highway from Belgrade to Bozeman. This oddly comfortable silence that we just have. Tina was in the passenger seat and we were going to a coffee shop in Bozeman. She'd moved back about a year ago after living in Idaho and Portland for 6 or 7 years. We go back as far as I can remember, preschool or before that even, and so I can't really ever let her go. She has about 4 or 5 tattoos now and works at WalMart. We're so incredibly different in almost every way possible. I can't help but just love her. We walked around for a little bit downtown, she told me of all the businesses that went under and others that opened up. Bozeman can't keep a small business for the life of it.

Anyway, I found a little Greek cafe today and ordered something I couldn't pronounce, but it came with pita bread. I saw the cook slap a hemisphere of meat on the grill. Oh no, did I order brain? I didn't, but I thought that if I had, I'd eat my money's worth. Speaking of which (being Dutch, that is), it's about time to head back to Churchill.