nobody cares what you ate for lunch

I own a book about blogging by that title. It’s true, no doubt, unless your blog is about food. But a blog titled “a little bit of this and a little bit of that” can get away with just about any topic. Including food.

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Farmer Arnie brought a bucket of tomatoes from his garden to the office today. I guess I dropped enough hints about how much Mauri wanted to make his mother’s traditional fried tomatoes. One beauty, a pink accordion tomato, Arnie explained, stood out among the other more traditional-looking tomatoes and made its way into my lunch.

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arm art

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Several months ago I was given a writing assignment—a handwriting assignment. Write “all things. . .” Quinn had finally decided on the tattoo she wanted, and she asked for my participation. I have several handwritings, so I needed to give her options. Once she chose which handwriting she liked best, I gave her another full sheet of choices, since she’ll be looking at it the rest of her life.

“all things. . .” is taken from a verse in scripture that has come to mean a lot to Quinn. Romans 8:28 (NIV)— “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Today’s date 8-28 adds significance to the timing of this post. (You’re right, there’s no helping some people.)

She took her time. The sheet of options rested on a table at the Andersons’, and now and then someone would offer an opinion.

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Then one day this selfie showed up on Facebook. Its caption: “Quinn and Tera up to no good.”

Quinn's wrist - before

And a few minutes later this showed up on my phone: “Before”

Quinn's wrist - after

Then: “After”

final tattoo

All healed and looking just as she’d hoped. Good thing, huh? Tattoos have the element of permanency, and it’s right where she’ll see it. But, then, that might be the point.


Marissa made this “amen” for her mama.

I’m still curious about Tera’s permanent expression*.

- – – -

Dusty's tat

Here’s Dusty’s.

T's tat

And Taylor’s.

(Not all of our family ink is sharable.)

*Tera posted her tat for me on Facebook.


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He was just standing there, started to lose his balance, overcorrected with a twist, and went down on his knee. That’s all it took for sweet Will to break his femur. Not just a break but a diagonal spiral break requiring an operating room at the fabulous Doernbecher Children’s Hospital in Portland and a lovely green spica body cast.

Will in cast

This was his fourth popsicle, but I’m guessing there was no limit. I could only imagine the angst his parents experienced as they looked on, exhausted, relieved, anticipating …

Thumbs up

Thumbs up for the wagon ride to the hospital playroom before bed. After two l o n g days, Pete and Linsey got to take their son home (in a specially designed car seat).

And today (!) we got to go for a short visit.


On the way we stopped at Critter Cabana to buy a parentally pre-approved pet for our nearly immobile grandson. We resisted the urge to get him a puppy, which we were certain would be more entertaining than a fish.



She even built the bowl for us.


“I got hurt!” He’s a heart melter.


Played a bit of Velcro catch with his Gum.


We wonder what he’ll name his new buddy.


Will’s getting the taste of a turtle’s life; at least turtles can walk.


Mama doses the pain meds while Daddy loves on his boy.


They’ve been through the mill, but as Linsey says, “We can do anything for four weeks.” She noted today that they’re already halfway through the first week!

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another monday afternoon

Several weeks ago we attended a wedding on a Monday afternoon. While I realize there are no rules that require weddings to happen on weekends, it seemed, well, out of the ordinary to be invited to another Monday afternoon wedding, as though we are experiencing a new trend in choosing a wedding day.

Fans were offered guests—and we both accepted one. Ninety degrees are more manageable with a breeze.

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The groom sang an original tune as his bride walked the aisle on her dad’s arm. Living in one place for 20 years blesses me with moments like this, as I remember Alison as a young girl, now grown up, about to become a married woman.

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I’ve watched her brothers grow up too. I remember meeting Austin, on the left, at around age 1.5, sitting in his mama’s shopping cart seat at the local Fred Meyer. And Aaron, on the right, recorded the narration for several of our Wee Sing projects. We consider their parents dear friends. I’ve worked with Mike on many’a print project. Mauri calls Deanne “Boss” because of their years of working together with Young Friends Singers.

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And here we are to witness this big event. We feel honored to be included.

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The McCrackens, other dear friends, with their daughter Abbie and her husband, Andrew. Abbie is the bride’s lifelong friend, also matron of honor.

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Traditions! (They both behaved.)


And a new(er) tradition. . .the Photobooth.

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They fed us, yes, indeed, but we were only blocks from Podnah’s, and who can resist world-class BBQ ribs and brisket on a full stomach on a Monday afternoon?

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“v” is for what?

Recently at work I was perusing Google images for a picture of Thomas Milhous to enhance an article for the church newsletter.


When I came across this picture, I was reminded of my visit with Carol, my sister, exactly a year ago when we toured the Nixon Presidential Library and Museum in Yorba Linda, CA.


History in the remaking.

The V symbol always meant Victory to my dad. I always thought it stood for the name of his radio broadcast—”Victory in Christ.” Or “Victory in Jesus,” the theme song.



I notice when looking through my file of V pictures that most of the 30 or so were taken after his “murder.”  So maybe it was actually a symbol that stated his stance of victory over his assailant’s intentions.





Either way, the V stood for VICTORY!


Ha! This one does not qualify.

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sunday morning

If you don’t want know what we do on Sunday mornings now that Mauri has retired from pastoral ministry, you’d better move on to the next blog.

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It isn’t a hard and fast rule, but Mauri felt it would be in the best interest of the NFC congregation and the new worship pastor for him to not be present on Sunday mornings. So, for now, we have become a congregation of two of our own little house church. Every Sunday morning we pull up Andy Stanley on my iPad and have church. There’s no shortage of worship singing around our house nearly every day of the week.

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On a day like today, the draw to drive somewhere can’t be denied. This time of year the countryside requires our attention.

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We were too busy looking around to take pictures. But we saw quite a few of these:


They aren’t beautiful, per se, but in the context of the seasonal landscape, they are spectacular.

You might have noticed we enjoyed brunch at Henry’s Diner (food cart) in Carlton, on our relaxing Sunday morning. Don’t worry about us; we haven’t rejected the organized church. After all, we’ve been part of the church our whole lives. For now, though, we’re taking a breath, a deep breath.

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Thanks to Facebook I got to see a picture of a couple I knew long, long ago who today celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Ruth posted it:

Guillaume pillbox

Of course I studied it with special interest because that was the era I knew them. But also because I remember asking her if I might borrow her pillbox hat and veil for my wedding.


I also borrowed quite a bit of her wedding ceremony too. I was still a child, not yet old enough to drink (thankfully I’m still not old enough to drink) and hadn’t developed any individuality or creativity. But at least I knew how to sew my own wedding dress. Some day I hope to figure out what possessed me to wear those fingerless gloves.

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