Mauri and Sherry

On or near every Mothers Day, Quinn and I exchange Mothers Day stockings. We started this tradition when it became apparent the two of us had no boundaries regarding our Christmas stocking shopping for each other. This excessive behavior holds roots dating back to her family of origin, the evidence captured on video and now archived on DVD for all time. As life brought changes for both of us we thought we had subdued our gift-giving tendencies. But, no.

You probably wonder about the fairness factor; after all, I have nine other children, all told, who know about Quinn’s and my special “arrangement.” Last May, as I dined at a Denver Red Lobster with the Anderson family and Taylor (youngest of the Carlson siblings), Quinn and I expressed our eagerness to exchange Mothers Day stockings as part of our weekend attending a Beth Moore conference in Colorado Springs. When Taylor feigned disgruntled wonderment about the inequality it represents, I simply reminded him that it was a stocking exchange and that I would gladly exchange Mothers Day stockings with him too. Oh. Right.

The next day Q and I tried not to be too conspicuous as we hauled our king-size pillowcase “stockings” into the hotel lobby. Since they outweighed our overnight bags, that was not easily accomplished.

She carried the biggest one, since she way outdid herself in shopping for me this year. Here are a few highlights:

My not-so-subtle way of sneaking in a picture of our grands.

But the very best present of all was this pair of Merrells you see on my feet, which is where they have been every day of my life since, while the other shoes in my closet gather dust. I have never worn more comfortable shoes, and my walking has vastly improved because of them (and continued PT from Kathy). Late at night, when my neglected shoes think I’m asleep, I hear their murmurs, “What’s up with Sherry?” I’ll try to be gentle as I inform them they are being made redundant (the Brits’ word for being laid off). As budget allows, they’ll gradually be replaced by this and this and this and maybe another pair of these for backup.

It’s a good thing Quinn and I don’t compete for who gives the best stuff, ’cause I could never top this.

Here’s a short series of our John.

Something’s missing.

Every once in a while, but not often enough, my photo collections inexplicably appear in my hands, inspiring projects that involve sorting or scanning or filing or printing or uploading—but always sharing! Lately I’ve found delight in digitizing my photos of one particular branch of my family tree and uploading them as albums on Facebook. Since opening a Facebook account I’ve gotten reacquainted with first cousins once removed who agreed to be my Facebook friends. It’s been so much fun reading the comments they’ve posted on pictures they can fully engage in and identify with—some pictures I’ve taken of them as little kids, some pictures of their parents and grandparents. Who’da thought those dozens of years ago when I snapped those pictures on film that I’d be sharing them as digital files via Facebook!

The collateral benefit of sorting through pictures is the pleasure in rediscovery of those that aren’t related to the project but are winners in their own right. Like this series of three pictures of Quinn taken by a friend:

And this picture I took of brother Howard on the day he shaved his beard to prove something to his daughter, Hannah, back in the mid ’90s. We almost don’t recognize him:

Dorothy Barratt took this of Mauri at the pool just before we were married:

And look at this! Taken at our Newberg reception a week after we were married.

That precious newborn now looks like this and was joined by two sisters since.

Beware. There are more!

July 14—the date we’ve been anticipating for nine months. A new season of “The Closer” has begun and I’m a happy camper. If all the other TV series were canceled, even Monk, I’d be okay with that (maybe even happy with that) but please, please don’t take away my Closer.

Why is Erin jumping for joy? On Tuesday she and her book’s coauthor, Tiffany Wilding-White, signed their contract with McGraw-Hill, and today…[insert fanfare]…the final manuscript for Golfing with Your Eyes Closed went out in the mail!

We’re just a little bit proud of her.

On a Fly Drinking Out of His Cup

by William Oldys

Busy, curious, thirsty fly!
Drink with me and drink as I:
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip and sip it up:
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short and wears away.

Both alike are mine and thine
Hastening quick to their decline:
Thine’s a summer, mine’s no more,
Though repeated to threescore.
Threescore [and three] summers, when they’re gone,
Will appear as short as one!

Public Domain

I’ve lived 63 years, as of today, and somewhere around 6 p.m. I’ll start my 64th year. I suppose I could retire from my job and start collecting social security, but what on earth would I do with all that extra time? Five years ago, when I started working at Newberg Friends, I wondered if I could adjust to an 8 to 5, Monday through Friday job. Turned out I love the structure and the people and the work, and considering all that, it’s almost a bonus that the church actually pays me.

We’re hosting the team for lunch today, and after everything’s cleaned up, I’m driving to Forest Grove for my annual root beer malt and my annual birthday shopping spree at Goodwill (they offer a special discount to birthday girls like me). Could there be a better way to spend my threescore and third birthday? Because life is short and wears away.

We use our credit card for just about everything we buy. It simplifies accounting and is just plain handy.

The pile of mail delivered when we got home from our travels included our credit card statement/bill. It showed about half of our trip charges, and I was pleased with how few service fees we incurred for the currency exchange from pounds to dollars. I was not pleased to see a $879 charge for an airline ticket from LIS to LTN, which we did not purchase. It meant reporting it as fraud, which led to the cancellation of our card.

Our new cards arrived in Saturday’s mail, so I quickly went online to update our auto-pay accounts before any of them notice we were out of commission for a while. The hardest part of this “ordeal” was relearning how to pay cash for our purchases. It is downright pathetic how spoiled I am to not have to think about whether or not I have enough money in my purse to buy something. I’m far from an extravagant spender (and we never carryover a balance), but I realized after a few credit-cardless days just how dependent I am on that piece of plastic.

I’m glad my dad doesn’t have to celebrate his 104th birthday today. This isn’t a commentary on people who live that long. Some make longevity a goal, and anyone who lives past the century mark should be congratulated. My dad packed more than a century worth of life into his 92 years, so when he died in 1996 I couldn’t really feel bad about it. I did feel bad that I didn’t have more time to “play” with him once I’d made the no-small effort to move him from Jacksonville, Florida, to a Newberg care facility. I had sugarplum visions of taking him a McDonald’s chocolate shake every day, of sitting in his room while he talked on and on (and on and on) about Victory in Christ and his story of sevens. But after only two weeks, he up and died—just like that!

I got a call from the nurse saying, “Your dad is telling us he’s dying and he wants you to come.” Of course I was there in a flash, only to find Dad fully dressed, sitting in a wheelchair, waiting for me. “Dad, what makes you think you’re dying?” “Well, I’m closing up,” he said. So in total denial, I sat on his bed and talked with him about who he’ll see when he dies and what he wants to happen at his memorial service. He wanted me to write it all down and insisted on signing it. Then he asked me to sing “Since Jesus Came into My Heart,” and I agreed to sing it if he would direct me (since he had been a choir director in his day). A curious audience began to form at the door as he directed the chorus in Cliff Barrows style. That accomplished, an aide came to push Dad down the hall to lunch. Uncharacteristically, he resisted. Since he was dying, he didn’t see much sense in eating lunch.

But caregivers and daughters are prone to move on with our agendas, so I urged him to go to lunch and waved goodbye as he rode down the hall.

One of my dad’s favorite expressions was, “There’s nothing so foolish as regret.” I don’t see much point in regretting that it took a phone call that night to snap me out of my denial. I choose instead to embrace that wonderful scene in his room earlier in the day when we had the connection to beat all connections, still as bright in my memory as if it had happened today.

Mauri and I were traveling over the Fathers Day weekend, so I decided on this day, what would have been my dad’s 104th birthday, to post this collage that matches the one I posted of my mother on Mothers Day.

A day or so before he died, Dad gave me the “Victory” sign. What a way to go!

The travelers have returned! Two full days on planes and in airports made the vision of our PDX transporters, Pete and Linsey, even more sweet. We feel successful, in that we accomplished the goal of experiencing The Iona Community to the full and broadening our world view. We were blessed with good health, good weather, reasonable walking ability (given my continuing ankle issues and Mauri’s recent knee surgery), and traveling mercies. A bonus result of sharing the adventure in the nearly continuous company of each other is the list of triggers, such a a double thumbs up with the word “fantastic” or “brilliant,” that acknowledge mutual understanding. We hope it lasts a long time.

So to milk the togetherness time for all it’s worth, we put the Bob on the E-bike and did our favorite Saturday morning thing: garage sales!

With our limited luggage capacity, we did very little souvenir shopping. So it seemed appropriate to purchase a couple of souvenirs when they appeared at a couple of sales.

One souvenir I purchased in London out of necessity; I had solved all the sudoku puzzles I took with me…

(note my strategically placed thumb covering the level of difficulty—beginner)

And here’s the one I’ll keep for posterity…

Any other temptation to purchase a memory was satisfied with pixels.

Toast is part of every British breakfast and served (cold) on a metal rack.

It seems rather incongruous.

As we went along I posted the majority of favorite pictures, but, begging your indulgence, I will add these “few” more, out of any context or order.

Sanford, a fellow Iona attender, sent us these two shots.

He caught this reminder of the “guest concert,” where Mauri and I sang “If Pigs Had Wings” and “Sing a Different Song,” an Iona tune we learned a bunch of years back.

There we are dining with new friends Jane, Sue, and Chris in the refectory.

I like Mauri’s telephoto shot of Big Ben.

A rare picture of me not taking a picture. Waiting for a bus, hardly rare!

Scotland’s version of a Goodwill store.

Mauri, ever the critter observer, kept looking (and listening) until he found a thrush feasting on a snail. Enjoy his series:

Mailing a postcard to my sister resulted in this great “please mind your head” shot.

Mauri had to nearly stand on his head to get this one.

Yogi Berra said, “You can observe a lot just by watching.” I’m forever watching people and sometimes observe a lot more than I want to see!

Old churches dot the British landscape, all with connecting graveyards.

We observed more than one defunct umbrella, and could understand, given the windstorm we drove through.

Didn’t I say that a man’s work is never done?

This picture might make my favorites collection.

Ridgely, this one’s for you.

I’ve wanted to tell you about Ines, an Iona volunteer from Germany. She is in charge of housekeeping but also works in the kitchen and also leads worship and various other tasks. It’s definitely a community effort and each volunteer is trained in all aspects to keeps things running smoothly.

Mauri did what was necessary to keep our gadgets charged and operational.

I think this shot would make a good puzzle. See the sheep camouflaged in the rocks?

And that about does it. Thanks to all who journeyed with us through this blog and for your comments as well. It added an element of joy we can’t explain but will always appreciate.

Every trip needs some drama and we had ours this morning. We had a hint last night when we bought the petrol and our credit card was rejected. Rejected! Thankfully we had enough currency to pay for it. We decided to think optimistic thoughts until we needed to buy train tickets to London. Here’s the scene.

Sherry, the blond under the green arrow, looked at our card, puzzled, as it was rejected. She was so nice to try to help us figure out what to do, even letting us use her cell phone for assistance. That only led to an automated message. Keeping our cool, we tried to think about what to do. The BlackBerry turned out to be our hero. And my dear man’s thumbs that got us to the Chase Bank website, where he found the international number, which dialed automatically with another click. Disaster averted (again) and we caught the next train out of Northampton. Whew.

Getting to our hotel was no small feat. The London tube system offers newbies like us considerable challenges, but we found that people are more than ready to help us figure things out. One businessman went way out of his way to help us find the right connector. A woman offered to help me carry my luggage up a flight of stairs. (I declined, with cheers.) Here we are in the tube.

Regrouping.

We could hardly believe we ended up with another third-floor hotel room (and of course these places have no elevators).

Here’s the view from our window, which we think is very cool.

We settled in, cleaned up a bit, then headed toward the bus line to see what we could see. Our day in Edinburgh taught us a lot about getting around a big city, so we quickly had our route strategized, beginning with bus 390. Here’s a little travelogue of our day.

The London Eye, snapped through a bus window.

London Tower Bridge, next to the London tower (of all things).

You’ve seen one monstrous abbey, you’ve seen ‘em all? This one’s Westminster. We missed attending an evensong by 40 minutes.

We’ve found some pretty good food on this trip. Oops, it looks like I haven’t climbed back on the wagon yet.

I waited until the plane had passed the tower to snap this picture. Some images never fade from our memories.

You might think this is all I do. You might be right.

This one photo represents the many auto pics my dear man took. He’s a guy, what more do I need to say? He was quite impressed when he saw two Bentleys in the span of one minute while we waited for a bus.

I’m sure you’ll want to see that we did ride on one of London’s icons—this double-decker relic.

Once again a video I wanted to post didn’t upload in time. You might have to imagine instead the sound of Big Ben striking six. It was really cool.

We both love the movie “Notting Hill,” so we couldn’t pass this opportunity to get a look at it. From the bus window I snapped this pic, even though the book store in the movie is a travel book shop. Close enough!

And after another delicious meal, we stopped to buy, no, not alcohol, even though this picture looks like that was our purchase. The reason I include this wonderful shot is because that other customer was helping Mauri figure out what coins he needed to pay for it. People are so good!

And now it’s time to repack our steadily expanding luggage to get ready to fly back to our own beloved USA.