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I started thinking about my house the other night. I was missing it but decided I couldn’t let my mind wander east 7 miles. So I stopped and decided to count my blessings and think on all the good things of where I am now. Being a basement dweller is working out fine. Now do I step out and say it is working out fine “for now” or just keep saying it is working out fine. Because it is. But I do miss my house.
I am happy here. There is far less to clean here than in my house. Actually, there is just as much cat hair to clean up it is just in a more concentrated area.
Also, my sister lives just upstairs. You would think that would be handy but will come to find out differently in a future post.
Living within walking distance of where I work has saved me money on gas. And when I recently had a flat tire I didn’t have to rush to get it fixed. Funny thing, nobody mentioned to me it was looking low…
I met my renters the other day. I have a property management company that handles most things but the renters wanted me to come out and discuss the yard. I was happy to do so. I was especially happy to do so when they said they liked doing yard work and just wanted my okay with what they were doing.
They had painted my bright “hello I’m yellow” guest room to a softer, more easier on the eyes sage green. Much, much better. That yellow was a bit harsh no matter how hard I tried to soften it.
They have a beautiful dog. Can’t remember what kind, but just picture a sweet checkerboardy looking hound dog that would love chasing squirrels and the like through a field. Unfortunately he just has my bark dust 10x 20 ish side yard to romp. I think even Mary and Martha would like him.
I know God provided this apartment for me at just the right time. It was available a year ago but I wasn’t quite ready. If I had moved in then I think I would have grieved not being in my house instead of just missing it from time to time.
So for now, or longer, I am content, and thankful, to be a basement dweller. God’s timing is best.
Question: Are you content and thankful?
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I am back at my blogging post after a brief hospital stay and recovery. Thanks for being patient and mentioning that you missed me!
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Me and Amy at her 40th Birthday
Camping Trip. |
Amid fits of laughter my intensely beautiful and surprisingly funny friend waves her arm across the air like a banner and announces, “Aaaaaamy’s Fuuun and Faaaabulous Fortieth Frieeeends and Faaamily Festiiiivitiiies!!!!!” Whee! It became our mantra for the past few weeks looking forward to the camping trip celebrating Amy saying goodbye to her thirties.
I say “intensely beautiful” because the men in Italy could not get enough of her. She was even kissed by our very first waiter in Rome. I was watching him throughout our meal and suspected he felt a little hubba hubba for our Amy. My suspicions were confirmed when he wanted to personally escort her to the restroom, which upon her return is when he planted a juicy one on her cheek. She was also hit on by a leather store owner as well as eyed up and down by any male with a heartbeat as she passed by.
And she’s “surprisingly funny” because of the stereotype that beautiful women aren’t funny. Well she is. Funny in a sneaky, hee hee, sort of way.
Amy is a kindred spirit to me. We both made it to 40 by “never finding a man who could stand to be as deliriously happy as we would make him.” We are the special kind of SingleMinded people that know, though being married would be a wonderful thing, we don’t have to wait for a walk down the aisle for life to happen.
I watched her with the children of her friends attending the, “Aaaaaamy’s Fuuun and Faaaabulous Fortieth Frieeeends and Faaamily Festiiiivitiiies,” and knew she was making an impact on young lives. I saw the respect and admiration of the husbands in attendance knowing she had built in handymen, heavy-thing-lifters and advice-givers when needed.
Being singleminded, when done well, can be Faaabulous when you have great Frieeeends and Faaamily for Fuuun Festiiivitiiiies!
Question: Do you have an Amy in your life?
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Hello Dear Blog World Friends,
Sorry I haven’t posted anything for a bit. And between having no internet at home and not being able to go to work because of a silly internal organ that is misbehaving, I won’t post again until early November.
I look forward to having my life back to normal. Normal??
With Love From Your SingleMinded Friend,
Dana
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John 10: 1-5 “I tell you the truth, the man who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. 2 The man who enters by the gate is the shepherd of his sheep. 3 The watchman opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice.”
My other “hat” at school this year, in addition to my music teaching gig, is being an aide in the a.m. Pre-Kindergarten class. Now, having been a teacher for many years I can honestly say that 4 year -old children are my least favorite age to teach. My favorite would be 3rd or 4th graders. They are old enough to know how to do things but young enough to not give you attitude because they know how to do things.
Students in Pre-K can hardly walk without falling over let alone walk in a straight line down the hall without crashing in to at least 5 or 6 other children in the process. I keep telling the head teacher, Mrs. Sloan, it’s a good thing they are cute because if one more of them makes a break from the middle to the head of the line I’m gonna freak-out.
We have two preciously adorable Asian girls in our class. One speaks virtually no English and the other has enough vocabulary to get by. She knows things like, “No.” She is really good with that word. Their mothers are the epitome of Asian beauty: flawless complexion and petite little bodies. I hate them. They are very soft spoken and watching their little daughters you would think they would be as well. But, not to stereotype, there has got to be an elderly grandmother living with them. The little girls will be working quietly, then turn their head towards us and holler out, full force, “TEACHA. TEACHA.” “My name is Miss Dana, may I help you with something.” “TEACHA. TEACHA.” “Yes, we’ve established I’m your teacher, Miss Dana, what do you need?” “TEACHA. TEACHA.” This goes on all morning.
On the fourth day of school we discovered one little boy REALLY wants to finish his projects. It doesn’t matter if it is time to clean up or not, he REALLY, REALLY wants to finish what he was doing. Or, as he very emphatically told me, over and over, “I. Want. To. Fini. Shit.” It was all I could do to keep from using my own expletives back at him, but since I’m a professional I refrained. Not to mention it is a Christian school.
Another little girl was saying good-bye to her friend at pick up time but her friend didn’t see her open-hug-expectant-arms. Her bottom lip began to quiver at the over-sight so I ran over and offered her a hug. She looked up at me and smiled and I asked her if she knew my name. “It’s Mrs. Sloan.” I said, “No that’s the other teacher. I’m Miss Dana.” Her mom laughed and said her daughter had told her that her two teachers were Mrs. Sloan and Mrs. Slawn. She was glad to clear up the confusion.
Well, my students may not know my name but they do know my voice. The gospel of John says: He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. I keep that verse in my head every morning. When they look back at their Pre-K experience, I don’t care if they remember my name, but I do hope they remember my voice. A voice that spoke kind words of love over them daily. A voice that encouraged them to keep trying and do their best even if the task is difficult. I want them to remember someone who thought they were the greatest kid ever even in the midst of being corrected.
Isaiah 40 says: Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing.
Not one of them is missing. I may not have children of my own, but God has entrusted me with these 16 kids this year. Mrs. Sloan and Miss Dana will treat His creations with care…even if it kills us!!
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Last Thursday night, after decorating our van for the Portland to Coast Relay, I plopped down in my favorite chair only to jump back up a minute later remembering I hadn’t posted anything in my blog that day. It was Thursday, how could I forget?!?! But I did. And here it is Monday and I’m writing a lame post about how I forgot last Thursday. Does being gone all weekend at PTC count? Does Teacher In-Service starting today count? Does that fact that I’m too tired to think of anything fabulous to write about count? Probably not, but I’m going to fall back on one of those excuses anyway.
XO
Question: Crap, I can’t even think of a question. You make one up…
