Google History

I clear my Google history. Often. Because what if someone where to say, "Hey, can I use your computer a minute?" They begin googling something and find out, based on my Google history, that I've been searching "mormon polygamy" and "Elna Baker" and "Joseph Smith". That person might never say anything, or they might ask me, "Are you converting?"
I'm not converting, but I have an intense fascination with those topics. Kearsen and I have been somewhat secretly obsessed with them for a while. We grew up going to Mormon family get togethers, but having little idea of the differences.
Google history tells a lot about a person, so I decided to look up mine and write it down. You can infer the reasons for the searching. Happy assuming!

Pizza
Liz lee info
Bozeman Montana named the most
Velma costume
Where’s waldo costume
Iowa student loan
Make you feel my love lyrics
The scarlet letter
The perks of being a wallflower
How to draw
Pinterest
I am fannie
You are the only one who long lyrics
Phoenix 1901
Elizabeth olsen
Stranger than
Bruno mars lighters
The adventures of pete and pete theme song*

*I like this one the most

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.