Thanks be to God for leading me to finally deciding which child to sponsor. I know it could have been as easy as saying to Compassion International, "Pick one for us--a 9 or 11 year old boy from South America," but it wasn't in my heart this time to just be random. (We've done it that way before, which was fine, but this time was different.)
I specifically asked our youngest son his preference. He said either a boy one year older or one year younger than him. Someone with similar interests. I wanted to find a child whose bio indicated he was fatherless. And as a bonus, I preferred his birthday be about six to eight weeks from now so that he could receive a birthday card from us at about the same time they chose a gift from us for him.I wanted him to know by his next birthday that he has a sponsor. For a time I considered sponsoring a boy from Zambia, but I had no confidence that he would write to us and that was really important to us. Compassion guarantees at least two letters a year. We've typically received more like four or five.
After a few weeks of on-again/off-again searching the Compassion site, I was considering several boys whose bio fit "kinda-sorta-but-not-really" and I felt there was a boy who just wasn't showing up on the list yet. Maybe I had the wrong continent? I also expanded the search to Asia, for reasons I wasn't quite sure.
Call me silly, but I was so betwixt that I asked on Facebook for people to give me the number 9 or 11, and a South American or Asian country. I didn't tell them what it was about. They were not to look at other comments first. My plan was to see if either number (representing child's age) AND country would be repeated. If so, it would confirm what I was sensing, that the boy would be one from Brazil, age 9 or 11, and fatherless.
However, the one boy I considered had "all opposite interests" from my son (his words). In my heart of hearts, I felt this child needed to be one whom my own child would feel a sense of connection through common likes. My boy is NOT into marbles and singing (not singing in public, that is, although he has a beautiful voice and perfect pitch and can remember ALL kinds of lyrics).
My Facebook comments did indeed have a repeat answer: Brazil. :) One said 9, the other 11.
Imagine my sheer joy when, late last night, I searched the site again for any updates or additions. I'm not sure why, but this boy named Marcos, whose picture I'd never seen before, just kept tugging at me. He is 11, from Brazil , and the bio says "lives with his mother." He likes soccer and art, two of my son's interests. (I like soccer, too, but only as a spectator. I'm all over the interest in art, though!)
And check this out: his birthday is October 3. Perfect amount of time for us to get a birthday card to him and let him know how happy we are to be his "godparents," as they like to say. (I was really tickled every time our last sponsor child would begin her letters, "Dear Godfather Paul.") I am eager to send him little stickers and such to brighten his day.
This desire to sponsor a new child was on my 101 in 1001 List, so now I can happily cross it off, and get on with the joy of communicating with our "new child."
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Hodgepodge: Of Allowance, Ancestry, and Audience
Hello, again, and welcome to Volume 89 of the...
with your hostess, Joyce, and me, Zoanna, your friendly
neighborhood
windbag.
Joyce's questions this week got me thinking, but not too hard, which is fine because my thinker is on strike, rebelling at all the back to school signs around town. I know I'm a teacher and everything and should be excited to go back, but I'm not yet. Still loving the lazy hazy days of summer.
Yesterday I disturbed my routine by sitting down to the piano to just play music from my head and heart. To see if the song that I know is deep within me would come out. It's on my 101 List to write a song, and ever since I went to a songwriter's circle (for wannabes) a few weekends ago, I can't shake the feeling that there is a song waiting to be written.
Seems everything I create while sitting at the piano comes out as a cross between a hymn and a movie soundtrack. O For A Thousand and 76 Trombones ....
Never mind.
Never mind.
2. What's your favorite fried food indulgence?
About once or twice a year I get a hankering for Kentucky Fried Chicken. And when I go to a fair or carnival or beach, I love funnel cake. Again, that happens maybe once a year.
3. Did you have an allowance as a kid? What did you do with it? Do you give your own kids an allowance?
My parents started giving us allowance when we were in seventh grade. It was six dollars paid to us every two weeks when Daddy got paid. With it, we had to buy whatever clothes we didn't get at the beginning of the school year, plus pantyhose (we went to Christian school where hose were mandatory for girls), stationery, soda, gas for the vehicle when we drove it, movie tickets, and so on. Basically everything that wasn't room, board, and tuition! I spent all of it except what I tithed (thirty cents a week).
My husband and I were inconsistent about allowance and had a hard time figuring out what to outright give our kids versus make them pitch in for "because you live here"/ "because you're a member of the family" and what jobs were above the norm that they could earn money for. I think we decided that there was a list of routine jobs they had to perform every day satisfactorily, and we gave them them three bucks a week. We made them set up three jars, though: tithing, saving, spending. Tithing and saving each had to be a minimun of 10% of their earnings. We modeled it in real life for them, so they knew we weren't making them do something we didn't require of ourselves. To this day, all our kids have good financial habits. They have savings, they spend frugally on themselves and generously on others, they don't go into debt, and they are faithful tithers.
So, despite our inconsistent measures and confusion about "the right way" or the "best way" to do allowance, the principles of the three jars stuck with them for life. That makes me smile.
So, despite our inconsistent measures and confusion about "the right way" or the "best way" to do allowance, the principles of the three jars stuck with them for life. That makes me smile.
4. What's something you wish you knew more about?
Everything! Oh, my goodness, how can I pick just one something? I can't, so off the top of my head, here's a random list. 1) my late in-laws' lives 2) my parents' childhoods 3) songwriting priniciples 4) how to draw people out of their shells 5) how to do many different art techniques 5) basics of automechanics 6) genetics 7) simple technology 8) astronomy and 9) how certain decisions are made and the true motives behind them, especially decisions that rock my world .
5. Is there anything you feel too old to do anymore? If so, what?
Yes. Ice skate. My balance, joints, and resilience are well past their prime, so a fall on my blessed assurance wouldn't be pretty. Pretty hilarious for onlookers, yes, but I think it could mean weeks of traction and therapy of various sorts. Not worth it.
6. What's a song you think has a great first line?
"It is Well with my Soul." The first line goes. "When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll...whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, 'It is well, it is well, with my soul.'"
7. Who are you writing to/for when you create a blog post? In other words...as you write, who is the audience in your head?
Great question. The answer to that has changed over the past seven years since I started blogging in January of 2005. Back then, I wasn't really aware of the world wide web wideness when I wrote. My audience seemed to be mainly people in my circle of friends, mostly locals in my church. They were the only commenters and seldom comment any more, for reasons unknown to me. Waaa.
But when Hurricane Katrina hit in August of 2005 and I wanted to do something from home to help in a practical way, I discovered the world's wideness! I simply asked if others would like to help me sew drawstring bags and fill them with toiletries and toys for victims because my parents had a connection with a Messianic pastor down in Texas. I figured two or three ladies from church who like to sew would join the club. Well, a young woman in France, who has an international sewing blog, happened providentially to read my post, and --as one thing led to another-- women from 14 countries as well as women from my own church, sewed 269 bags which I filled using donors' money. That's when I realized my audience was much bigger in reality than the five or six people I "saw" in my head as I typed.
Nowadays, even though I know the audience is bigger than in my head (because some people never comment but let me know they read it daily or every now and then), I think the audience I write for are mainly the women who read this blog and comment. But I am always vaguely aware that anyone could read it (my principal, my students, my neighbors, my pastors, my extended family) so I have become a bit more vague about certain things I write, and not as self-disclosing, and not as opinionated lest I alienate readers who might otherwise enjoy or be served by something here.
My, my, that was certainly a long answer to a short question! Maybe I should have tried to limit my words to eight like I did last week!
That said, when my posts get really long and I am tempted to say, "People hate long posts! They will see it and click right off," then I remind myself I am writing for myself. This is my journal and I am probably the only one who will revisit posts anyway, so they can be however long it takes me to get my words out of my system! Which explains why I am still tapping along after seven years!
8. Insert your own random thought here.
My second son got a great birthday present: a job offer for the school year at the branch of the company where he is currently an intern. Not only that, when he told his current boss, she and HER boss both told him to be sure to check back with them in April or May because they might have something lined up for him next summer! I am so happy for him. And I must say, he looks mighty handsome leaving home in his professional clothes in the morning, and coming home looking like a man who enjoys his life and work, because he does!
Monday, August 13, 2012
Sweet Times in Hoboken, Part 2: The Bake Shop
The GPS, despite my absolute hatred of it, got us to Carlo's Bakery on Washington Street. One block before the bakery we saw a really long line in front of CVS. Renee' joked that that was the line for the bakery. The next block had a short line in front of the bakery, which I thought was much more reasonable--perhaps 25 people. I couldn't imagine why in the world 80 people would be standing in front of CVS, but we soon found out.
But there was also a very entertaining employee about 18 or 19 years old named Izzy who, despiite a speech impediment and thick glasses, was extremely self-confident and outgoing and really kept the crowd in a good mood. He divided us into two teams and promised he'd bring out 14 cannolis, and would award one to each person who answered a question about Buddy or the show correctly AND raised their hand. We had birthday girl Mary would watches the show all the time. Her question was "What is Buddy's real name?'" She knew it. (Do you?) Cannoli for Mary! She also got a free cupcake for her birthday.
Izzy was a funny one. He pointed to one of our girls. and starting asking cheesy pick-up lines. "Are you from China? Cuz I'm China get your numba!" She asked him (mind you, loudly for the whole crowd to hear), "You got a library card? Cuz I'm checking you out!" He said, "Did it hurt....when you fell from heaven?" It was all very fun and harmless because we were right there. All for laughs which really helped pass the time.
What didn't help pass time was the stupid excuse for shoes I'd made that morning. Ballet flats that tend to pinch my pinky toes. Miserably tight, and not a wise choice of venues to remove them. So I suffered. The line moved ever so slowly, but after an hour and twenty minutes, we were ushered across the street and into the short line. It reminded me of the long line to get through security, only to wait again for the boarding line to be called. Except there were no chairs.
We stood in the short line and the girls took pictures of each other and kept talking about that cool guy Izzy. A man in a pink shirt approached and asked where the back of the line was. I pointed across the street to the new line of 80 people and said, "Between CVS and Office Depot." He chuckled at my (supposed) joke and then asked someone else. I watched him. That person pointed to the CVS line and the man in the pink shirt disappeared.
At last we saw Buddy. Okay, not Buddy himself, but his likeness. Isn't he friendly looking?
And then we stood in yet another line, but at least we had cool pictures to look at.
Then came time to place an order. Everything looked so pretty, so yummy, so fattening. And nothing had a price tag because I'm sure that if people had to count both calories and cost at the same time, Buddy wouldn't have as much bread and butter. Besides, I'm sure that all the tourists must be thinking the same thing I was: "I'll probably never get back here, so might as well get everything I want now." So yes, Renee and I started in with the "I'll take one of this and two of that and three small of that and one large that....'
I ended up purchasing a sampling for the family: with a piece of tiramisu, a serving of strawberry covered cheesecake, a vanilla birthday cupcake with chocolate icing, two chocolate covered cannolis, a nut bar, two lemon biscotti, and a crumb cake. Everything tasted good, the cheesecake excellent, but the chocolate cannoli was the best, and I am not normally gaga about that dessert.
While waiting for our orders to be filled (which is an impressive display of self-control under pressure in that tiny, bustling, chaotic shop of cell phone paparazzi), birthday girl Mary got her picture taken with Buddy's sister Madeline and Grace. They are very warm and gracious, just like what you see on TV.
And then there is his sister Mary. She bustled in behind the counter like an entire gaggle of geese and honked out in her annoying New Jersey accent, "Does everyone know who Tim McGraw is? Well, this is his mother. She came to pay us a special visit today. Everyone say hi to Tim's mom." (Hi, Tim's mom.) Then my friend Renee' asked sister Mary if she'd get a picture with daughter Mary.
Well sister Mary ignores her and instead lifts the lanyard she's wearing. It apparently held a backstage pass to the concert that night. In a very "nanna nanna boo boo" voice, she exclaims, "I get to see Tim McGraw's show tonight." She might as well have added, "and you don't, ,so hahahahaha." Renee says later to me, "Isn't she just a little bit old to be acting like that? No wonder Buddy fired her."
Anyway, Renee's daughter Mary got her cake (I missed a picture of it). Vanilla and chocolate layer with purple fondant and flower-power daisies on the top and sides. It's called "Groovy" and tasted amazingly moist and flavorful. Even the fondant tasted so good I didn't realize until it was gone that I'd actually ingested something that usually tasted like sugared wax to me.
We ate lunch at Johnny Rocket's a few blocks away. My poor feet. What a blister I was developing on the pinkies, but thankfully my attitude wasn't starting to blister. My bladder, by contrast, was starting to throw a fit. Two and a half hours is just about its limit. I headed toward signs marked "Restroom" and couldn't help but notice how all the girls all looked adorable sitting at the red diner counter; I wanted to take a picture, but given the circumstances, what I wanted more was to do some de-briefing in the bathroom, and then come back to the table and kick my shoes off, Which I did. Sweet relief in more ways than one.
We ordered burgers, Philly cheese steaks, fries, Cokes, the typical Johnny Rocket's fare. Mary was clearly having a great time, as were all her partymates. A third friend of ours (who had joined us back in the CVS line when we first got there, sat and talked and talked and ate and talked some more. When the food was gone, we still just sat there. When your feet hurt and your back is tired and you're finally in air conditioning, and have washed up in the ladies' room, you kind of just want to sit on your launch pad for another rotation of the sun.
But alas, we decided that since we were so close to being able to see the Statue of Liberty, let's do that next.
Renee dropped me off in front of the bakery with the seven girls and then parked the van in a nearby garage. We got in line behind the 25 people, but were quickly asked if we had a ticket. No. Well, then, cross the street and get one. The guy is handing them out in front of CVS/ Office Depot. It's a good thing the predicted rain didn't come. It's a good thing the sun wasn't beating down on us. It's a good thing we were under an overhang for shade. It's a good thing the folks around us were in good spirits and not obnoxious complainers. It's a good thing there was a steady breeze and that there was a bottle of water in my purse. Had any of those factors been different, the wait would've been dreadful.
But there was also a very entertaining employee about 18 or 19 years old named Izzy who, despiite a speech impediment and thick glasses, was extremely self-confident and outgoing and really kept the crowd in a good mood. He divided us into two teams and promised he'd bring out 14 cannolis, and would award one to each person who answered a question about Buddy or the show correctly AND raised their hand. We had birthday girl Mary would watches the show all the time. Her question was "What is Buddy's real name?'" She knew it. (Do you?) Cannoli for Mary! She also got a free cupcake for her birthday.
From my vantage point in line, I just watched random people go up to the shop window and peek in, or pose for pictures. Isn't it fun to see what people choose to wear? Or maybe fun isn't the right word. Maybe you can substitute your own word choice.
>
At last we saw Buddy. Okay, not Buddy himself, but his likeness. Isn't he friendly looking?
And then we stood in yet another line, but at least we had cool pictures to look at.
Then came time to place an order. Everything looked so pretty, so yummy, so fattening. And nothing had a price tag because I'm sure that if people had to count both calories and cost at the same time, Buddy wouldn't have as much bread and butter. Besides, I'm sure that all the tourists must be thinking the same thing I was: "I'll probably never get back here, so might as well get everything I want now." So yes, Renee and I started in with the "I'll take one of this and two of that and three small of that and one large that....'
I ended up purchasing a sampling for the family: with a piece of tiramisu, a serving of strawberry covered cheesecake, a vanilla birthday cupcake with chocolate icing, two chocolate covered cannolis, a nut bar, two lemon biscotti, and a crumb cake. Everything tasted good, the cheesecake excellent, but the chocolate cannoli was the best, and I am not normally gaga about that dessert.
While waiting for our orders to be filled (which is an impressive display of self-control under pressure in that tiny, bustling, chaotic shop of cell phone paparazzi), birthday girl Mary got her picture taken with Buddy's sister Madeline and Grace. They are very warm and gracious, just like what you see on TV.
And then there is his sister Mary. She bustled in behind the counter like an entire gaggle of geese and honked out in her annoying New Jersey accent, "Does everyone know who Tim McGraw is? Well, this is his mother. She came to pay us a special visit today. Everyone say hi to Tim's mom." (Hi, Tim's mom.) Then my friend Renee' asked sister Mary if she'd get a picture with daughter Mary.
Well sister Mary ignores her and instead lifts the lanyard she's wearing. It apparently held a backstage pass to the concert that night. In a very "nanna nanna boo boo" voice, she exclaims, "I get to see Tim McGraw's show tonight." She might as well have added, "and you don't, ,so hahahahaha." Renee says later to me, "Isn't she just a little bit old to be acting like that? No wonder Buddy fired her."
Anyway, Renee's daughter Mary got her cake (I missed a picture of it). Vanilla and chocolate layer with purple fondant and flower-power daisies on the top and sides. It's called "Groovy" and tasted amazingly moist and flavorful. Even the fondant tasted so good I didn't realize until it was gone that I'd actually ingested something that usually tasted like sugared wax to me.
We ate lunch at Johnny Rocket's a few blocks away. My poor feet. What a blister I was developing on the pinkies, but thankfully my attitude wasn't starting to blister. My bladder, by contrast, was starting to throw a fit. Two and a half hours is just about its limit. I headed toward signs marked "Restroom" and couldn't help but notice how all the girls all looked adorable sitting at the red diner counter; I wanted to take a picture, but given the circumstances, what I wanted more was to do some de-briefing in the bathroom, and then come back to the table and kick my shoes off, Which I did. Sweet relief in more ways than one.
We ordered burgers, Philly cheese steaks, fries, Cokes, the typical Johnny Rocket's fare. Mary was clearly having a great time, as were all her partymates. A third friend of ours (who had joined us back in the CVS line when we first got there, sat and talked and talked and ate and talked some more. When the food was gone, we still just sat there. When your feet hurt and your back is tired and you're finally in air conditioning, and have washed up in the ladies' room, you kind of just want to sit on your launch pad for another rotation of the sun.
But alas, we decided that since we were so close to being able to see the Statue of Liberty, let's do that next.
Sweet Times in Hoboken, Part 1: The Drive
My fun, loyal, and spontaneous friend Renee' called me last Thursday and asked if I'd like to go to Hoboken, New Jersey with her. Well, with her, her birthday girl Mary ,and six of Mary's cronies. For two years Mary had wanted a birthday cake from the TLC's iconic bakery called Carlo's. Does the name Buddy ring a bell? The Cake Boss ? Yeah, that Buddy. The bakery was named for his father who passed away after decades of serving the Hoboken community some amazing baked goods.
Of course I said yes after checking my intensely jam- packed social calendar. Not. The only thing happening the same weekend was our son's 21st birthday, but between older brother's and SIL's party for him on Friday night, and his girlfriend's pool party on Saturday afternoon, my maternal input would be scarcely missed. I am only the woman who gave birth to him, diapered him, fed him, chauffeured him to every practice, game, or performance, took him to the ER more than once, homeschooled him from K-10th grade, edited his papers for college entrance, yada yada. No big deal.
But I digress. And I jest. I was more than happy to know that the older brothers got to hang out, and that so many people wanted to celebrate this young man I'm honored to call my son.
Back to the post...
I am a big Cake Boss fan. Buddy is one of the most likable people on television, and I'm sure he's like that in real life. I hoped to see him in person, but I had my serious doubts I'd get that close to the celebrity, but I wouldn't mind breathing in the same sugary air he's been breathing for eons.
Renee and I and the wonderful girls--our own Magnificent Seven-- piled into Renee's big van and headed north. Their music choices were an eclectic mix of Justin Beiber and praise music. Mostly Beiber. How long did you say this ride would be? Three and a half hours? Can I change my mind right here on the interstate? I was thinking it's her party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to. Actually I was thinking, these are really sweet girls and I remember being a teeny bopper once upon a time. It was going to be a happy day; I could feel it as we rolled on down the highway.
Before long, I found out the real reason Renee' wanted me along: to drive over the bridges. She is deathly afraid she'll drive right over the edge and drown in the river below. So she hugs the inside lane and breathes heavily when she has no other choice. She tried to tell me this time she'd be fine. Only once did things go black on her, she said. Black? Okay, that does it. I'm driving over the bridge. We switched places and I took the wheel . I lifted my palms up toward the view ahead and asked, 'Isn't it beautiful? This bridge. It's pure art, what with all the lines and curves..." She interrupted me and begged me to please don't take my hands of the wheel again. Comical.
Of course I said yes after checking my intensely jam- packed social calendar. Not. The only thing happening the same weekend was our son's 21st birthday, but between older brother's and SIL's party for him on Friday night, and his girlfriend's pool party on Saturday afternoon, my maternal input would be scarcely missed. I am only the woman who gave birth to him, diapered him, fed him, chauffeured him to every practice, game, or performance, took him to the ER more than once, homeschooled him from K-10th grade, edited his papers for college entrance, yada yada. No big deal.
But I digress. And I jest. I was more than happy to know that the older brothers got to hang out, and that so many people wanted to celebrate this young man I'm honored to call my son.
Back to the post...
I am a big Cake Boss fan. Buddy is one of the most likable people on television, and I'm sure he's like that in real life. I hoped to see him in person, but I had my serious doubts I'd get that close to the celebrity, but I wouldn't mind breathing in the same sugary air he's been breathing for eons.
Renee and I and the wonderful girls--our own Magnificent Seven-- piled into Renee's big van and headed north. Their music choices were an eclectic mix of Justin Beiber and praise music. Mostly Beiber. How long did you say this ride would be? Three and a half hours? Can I change my mind right here on the interstate? I was thinking it's her party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to. Actually I was thinking, these are really sweet girls and I remember being a teeny bopper once upon a time. It was going to be a happy day; I could feel it as we rolled on down the highway.
Before long, I found out the real reason Renee' wanted me along: to drive over the bridges. She is deathly afraid she'll drive right over the edge and drown in the river below. So she hugs the inside lane and breathes heavily when she has no other choice. She tried to tell me this time she'd be fine. Only once did things go black on her, she said. Black? Okay, that does it. I'm driving over the bridge. We switched places and I took the wheel . I lifted my palms up toward the view ahead and asked, 'Isn't it beautiful? This bridge. It's pure art, what with all the lines and curves..." She interrupted me and begged me to please don't take my hands of the wheel again. Comical.
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