Seahawks

Our house was quiet on Sunday.  We have no television and we have no interest in sports.  I feel we are part of a small minority group whose lives are not affected one tiny bit by the outcome of a football game. 

All day long I kept questioning myself, wondering if there is something wrong with me.  I thought deep thoughts and remembered old memories, trying to understand just when it was, and why it was, that sports games never took hold in my life.

My two younger brothers played little league their entire childhood.  I sat next to my mother for years as she kept score at baseball, and yelled her lungs out at football games. 

More than once, I was outside when super sonic screaming emitted from our home, window rattling and neighbor’s head’s turning as my mother and everyone else in our household watched some “incredible play” on TV.  I was so embarrassed.  To think people could scream with such abandon over the direction a ball was traveling, perplexed me to no end. Our home created high decibel levels long before Seahawks fans, I’m sure.

I still remember the day my mother yelled at me to come inside and watch TV.  It was a beautiful day and I had no desire to be indoors, but she said history was about to be made and insisted I see it with my own eyes. Hank Aaron was on the verge of breaking Babe Ruth’s homerun record, and to her, it was imperative I witness it.  I sat there, watched it happen, rolled my eyes, and went back outside.  The only other time she ordered me to sit in front of the TV to watch “history in the making” was when Neil Armstrong landed on the moon.  Now that was impressive.

When I was in the market for a husband, I had only three criteria.  First, he had to be a follower of Jesus; second, he couldn’t be a smoker; and third, he had to have no interest in sports.  The field was narrow and selections few, but I found him.  The fact he is Norwegian was a bonus.

For the same reason I don’t get manicures or wear make-up or have my hair done all fancy, I don’t watch sports.  They all take too much time and cost money I’d rather not spend. 

Even when we’ve been given tickets to sporting events, I sit there and think about all the money people have spent just to watch a game.  A game.  I can’t help but think what good could be done with that money, if it was funneled to a worthy cause, instead.  But that’s just me.  The minority.

If all this exuberance for sports went into any other venue, people’s sanity would be questioned - just as I questioned my own, sitting alone in a quiet house on Sunday… until Downton Abbey came on.  Then I had to go visit my neighbor who has a TV. 

Our House

I just love our little house on Pleasant Ridge.  Having rented for 23 years before I owned my own home, our house on Valentine Road is my first.  It was quite the fixer-upper when we bought it, but I’m married to a man that can build or repair anything, so that wasn’t a problem for me.  For Kory, though, it’s been a non-stop retirement project. He likes to quote some “famous” Chinese proverb that says, “House done when man die.” It’s not far from the truth. 

On Valentine’s Day, 1998, shortly after we bought our house, Kory was setting a beam across our porch to support the roof.  The beam was a little too long and when he went to cut it off, he had second thoughts.  Instead, he left the protrusion and then whittled the stub into two interwoven hearts.  On one side he carved KS+MB and on the other, 1998.  It was the best Valentine I’ve ever gotten.

Even after 15 years, our list of house projects never gets shorter.   As soon as one project gets done, one more gets added.  A few years ago we finally put a tile surface on the porch, having lived with just the plywood underlayment for over a decade.  As it turned out, Kory was setting the tile the week of Valentine’s Day, so in 2010 I got a new Valentine – this time carved into one of the tiles.  The new one says, KS+MB=KS, since Kaleb has now joined the family.   Kaleb quickly pointed out, mathematically, the equation means “MB equals zero.”  What a lovely thought.

We aren’t always in agreement with when house projects should be done or exactly how they should be done, so at the beginning of each year we have a little meeting to map things out. 

This year the goal is to finish the unfinished portion of our basement.  A little sheetrock and paint go a long way toward changing the feel of a space.  Some portions are already finished as Kory put in a sauna a few years back.  He also wanted to add a shower and put a drain in the floor of the sauna, but I nixed those ideas.

When we bought it, the only solid thing about our house was the foundation.  I couldn’t see any reason to punch a hole in it, especially when our septic tank sits higher than the floor.  I was sure we couldn’t get a permit anyway, so it didn’t happen.  Kory, sweet as he may be, is also very stubborn. 

Kory went ahead and framed in his shower stall, just to keep his dream alive, but it now functions as a closet.  And when he was building the sauna, I just happened to go downstairs when he was setting the floor insulation.  There was a large hole cut into it in the exact spot he wanted a drain.  I asked him why he’d cut that hole and he just said, “In case I live longer than you.”

The Challenge

I’ve been a cheatin’ vegan for almost two years now.   Vegans are one step up from vegetarians who just don’t eat meat or fish.  Vegans also don’t eat dairy or eggs or anything coming from an animal.

I only buy and cook fat free vegan food because my husband has heart disease and it’s proven to stop its progression.  Adding the “fat free” in front of vegan puts it on a whole new level, as he can’t eat nuts, avocados, coconut, olives or oils of any kind. 

I’ve become the household garbage disposal for all the food that comes into our home that Kory can’t eat.  Fearing he’d be tempted, I make it disappear quickly.  We had half a tin of Cougar Gold cheese left at our house a few months ago and my son and I woofed it down in five days flat.  This is where the “cheatin’” part comes into play. I knew then something had to change.

Since the New Year always provides opportunities for fresh starts, I’ve taken up the challenge to see if I can go 28 days eating a fat free vegan diet.  It has nothing to do with supporting my husband.  It has everything to do with my own willpower.

I have no known health problems, and I feel pretty good, so I don’t have much motivation to eat as healthy as he does, but I read a book that convinced me that after just 28 days, I’d feel “better” if I went fat free vegan.  

The last time I went to the doctor was 15 years ago when I gave birth to my son.  My personal take on the whole healthcare thing is that if I go, they will find something wrong with me, so I just don’t go.  Fortunately, I haven’t needed to, either.  I like being low maintenance.

My plan to start the “challenge” on January 1^st didn’t happen.  I was invited to a brunch that morning and even though I showed up with my own food and herbal tea, I couldn’t find a way to not offend the hostess.  I caved and even ate the egg casserole she’d prepared, even though I haven’t eaten eggs in years.  But I did start on January 2^nd.  The only temptation that day were the cookies offered after a funeral I attended, but I held back.  Book club was more difficult with a few varieties of fudge calling my name, but I remained strong.  I went to a retreat this past weekend so I took my own food and had to pass up homemade cinnamon rolls, but I was no worse for the wear.

It’s now been five days and I’ve yet to feel any different, except a bit more confident, knowing that I do have some willpower left in me after all.   I figure the real test of whether I’ll “feel better” by month’s end is - if when I drop something, I’ll actually have the desire to bend over and pick it up.

Organizing

Every year, about this time, I make a deal with myself that the coming year will find me a bit more organized.  It’s a good way to start out the year – full of hope and good intentions.  I have the same thoughts about taking care of my body as I do my house, yet neither gets the full attention they deserve.

Upon entry, our house doesn’t appear to be in nearly the disarray it really is.  No one knows what lurks behind our closet doors and closed drawers.  I don’t have just one junk drawer - I have one in every room of the house.

I’ve had it on my to-do list for three years running to clean out just one of those drawers, and I’ve yet to accomplish the task.  It’s so overwhelming when I open it, I don’t know where to start.  Where do I put all those things that are there in the first place because they have no designated home to begin with?  I guess they should be called “homeless drawers” rather than junk drawers, as the majority of the contents really isn’t junk.  But there are a fair share of items in there unknown to the common world – pieces of things that no one can identify, and surely, if I threw them away, we’d discover soon thereafter we needed that piece for something in the house that was missing it.

Some of the closets in our house take all my body strength just to close their doors.  This is never a sign of an organized person. But on the upside, the closets sometimes clean themselves, as the avalanche that occurs when I open the door has a way of grabbing my attention.  Then and only then do I start to throw out all those things I’m saving for the day they may find another use.   I’m sure I border on being a hoarder, but at least my hoarding can be contained within the closets – so far anyway.

There are baskets and bins all over our house so “everything has a place” but the minute I fill up a bin, I forget what’s in there.  I often can’t find something I know I have, even with this great organization attempt of mine, so I end up buying another one and when I think about where I should store it, when I put it there, I find the very thing I’d just purchased right in that same spot.  I hate when that happens.

My office is filled with piles of papers and stacks of items for various projects.  It’s embarrassing really, but it works for me.  I tried filing papers, but once they go in the file cabinet, I can’t find them again.  If they stay in a stack, I can retrieve them instantly.

The only saving grace in this disorganized life of mine is my computer.  If it weren’t for that “search” function, I’d never find a thing.  Now, if someone could just invent a similar feature for my house, it really would be a Happy New Year.

Gifts

I hear a lot of grumblings about the commercialism of Christmas and how people hate the materialistic gift giving side of things, but I love giving gifts any time of year, and at Christmas, it’s a thrill like no other.  It’s not about commercialism for me, it’s about being thoughtful and giving something that says they’re special.  Gift giving is our tradition here in America – one that stemmed, I’m sure, from the gifts the wise men brought to Jesus, honoring His birth.  That’s part of what feels so good about Christmas gifts – they’re given in His honor.

With that in mind, the most exciting gift we give each year is the one we give to Jesus. After all, it’s His birthday we’re celebrating.  In years past we’ve purchased gifts for the Angel Tree program that provides for kids whose parents are in prison, or we’ve donated money to buy milk and peanut butter for hungry kids in Mexico.  Last year we sponsored a child in Congo, which is a long-term commitment, but well worth it.  Each year we do something different, and this year we decided to donate a few hours at Friendship House in Mount Vernon, serving dinner to the hungry right here in our own community.

I’m not sure what I expected, but I was a little nervous signing up to do such a thing.  Our church provides a meal once a month to this local homeless shelter and many hands make for light work, so several people get involved in the process.  Some cook the food, some do the set up, and last Saturday night, my husband, son, and I did the serving.  It was actually a very joyful experience, as we dished up over 50 plates of food to those who had been standing outside in the rain waiting to get a hot meal. No one is ever turned away.   Breakfast, lunch and dinner are available for anyone, and all that is asked in return is that they wash their hands when they enter the building. 

The atmosphere in their small dining hall seemed more like that of a local coffee shop than a homeless shelter. The variety of customers was also a bit shocking as a father brought in his tiny boy, lots of older folks were there, a backpacker, a young couple - there was no defining attribute that said this person would otherwise not have a hot meal if the doors weren’t open.  They joked around with each other, asked how they’ve been, and even tried to speak a little Norwegian to us once they learned their Swedish meatballs were being served up by Norskies.  As he approached the counter, one young man stated emphatically, “Thank you for taking the time to serve us today.”  

Serving: that was one of the things that Jesus modeled in His days here on earth.  I trust He enjoyed our gift of service.  Besides, giving of our time was way more fun than just writing a check.