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Here am I

Right now my mom, stepfather, aunt and uncle are on a cruise ship, floating somewhere off the coast of Ireland. They left last Friday for this two week adventure that is taking them to France, Holland, Brussels, Ireland and Scotland before a five day trip back to the states via the Port of New York. Trust me when I say I was a nervous wreck the night they flew out. As I’ve mentioned before, my flying fear is ever present, and this extends to people like my mother flying across an OCEAN for the first time in her 62-year life. She called me from their connection in Chicago and told me she was a bit nervous, but that you know, when it’s your time, it’s your time! (to be said in a chipper manner), and that she would try and figure out how to work a calling card but that I could reach them on the phone my uncle Bill rented for the trip, “But it’s $4 a minute, so only if it’s an emergency!”
I tacked their itinerary on my bulletin board at work, so every day I can see where they are, and imagine all the fun they’re having and crazy stories they’re sure to return with. I just hope my mom’s digital camera keeps all the photos she takes and that she eventually figures out how to get them off the camera, onto her computer and into an e-mail to send to me. (This may never happen.)
For the past three days there’s been a card or a letter in my mailbox from her. On the back of yesterday’s envelope there was a little “22″ written in the upper corner, so now I’m assuming I can look forward to a letter a day while she’s away, and that she numbered them for her sister so she would know on what day to drop which letter in the mail. This is so my mother, that in her preparations for literally the trip of her lifetime, to wanted to ensure that I know she loves me and that she’s thinking of me, even an ocean away, in a foreign land she probably figured she’d never see.
In yesterday’s card was a passage from one of her favorite hymns (and though she didn’t know it, one of mine), “Take My Life.”
Take my life and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee
Take my moments and my days
Let them flow in ceaseless praise
Take my hands and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love
Take my feet and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee
- Frances R. Havergal, 1874
She lives every day in this manner – it doesn’t matter if she’s in Small Town, Ohio or standing on a beach in Normandy. She is, simply, everything to me and I am ever grateful that God blessed me with such a mother. We’re more alike than often I know, and my daily prayer is that this remains true and that it remains true for the remainder.

Sweet Teegs


J0shua took this one of Montego when he watched her for me while I was in Florida last week. He said she was pretty lethargic the first few days, I guess she missed me, but that she got used to being there and that they had a big time. His friend Mike was in town visiting as well, and I can only imagine what trouble the three of them got in to: two boys and their dog.

He dropped her off last Friday, a few hours after I got home, as he and Mike were on their way down to a Braves game. I could tell Tego was sad to see him go. She’s the kind of dog who loves me when no one else is around, but pretty much prefers others over her master. And she prefers J0shua the most. Who can blame her?

Yardwork

I did something this weekend that I’ve been avoiding specifically for months, but really avoiding my entire life – I mowed my yard.
I purchased the mower in early July, but had yet to actually use it myself. (It’s been used, just by people who are not me), and when I bought it, the male friend who went with me was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to start it. “I’m a strong girl,” I told him as I handed him my (fake) Louis to hold. “Watch.” I went to pull the starter string (cord? pully?) and it wouldn’t even budge. He laughed that kind of laugh where you burst into a laugh with such incredulousness that it comes out like a horse’s whinny. He grabbed my hand and pushed my fingers over the handle – the part you have to hold down to keep the engine running. I then proved I could pull the cord with enough strength to start the thing. (And keep my miniskirt down.)
On Sunday, when the grass (and my local municipality) could stand it no more, I waited till dusk, doused myself with bug spray, tied Tego to the porch and pulled my mower out of its storage space.
And then I couldn’t figure out how to start it. Pulling the cord? Nada. I checked the gas and it was full. I looked around a few times, simultaneously hoping a neighbor would be in sight and would also be nowhere to be seen. After a few more pulls, I called my friend Mary so she could ask her husband how to start a lawnmower. “He’s in the bathroom,” she said. “But I’ll ask anyway.” (Ah, marriage.) Just as I could hear him yelling through the door, “Did she prime it?” I saw a bright red button that said PUSH 3X TO PRIME YOU IDIOT GIRL. I pushed it three times, pulled the cord, and the motor roared to life. Mary and I screamed at the same time, an exuberant shout for all womankind.
It barely took 20 minutes to complete the front yard and I got only a minor scrape on my ankle from a wayward stick or pinecone, so I was exceedingly proud of myself.
Maybe I’ll do it again next year.

Mojo on the Beach


Florida was fantastic, but I now miss Mo like crazy. Sometimes I wonder why I left Ohio at all, especially on days like today when it’s hot, I’m cranky and Atlanta just seems to like keeping me down.

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