So, How's the Weather?

Hurrying to throw down the mulch.

Running from the house to the car.

Waiting for the neighbor's generator to come on so we can have water.

Screaming at the top of my lungs when the massive flash of light and the rumbling sonic boom come too close together.

Yep. This week, while Bo is home from work and our family takes a sort of whole-fam sabbatical, most things have pretty much been dictated by the weather around here.

Last week, a tornado grazed our county--a high-powered storm that Bo missed entering by mere minutes on his commute home from work. Downed power lines and toppled trees prevented him from taking his usual route. And the alternate route. And the alternative to the alternate route. He finally found a way home via a driveway that turned into a lane that turned into a road.

When he got home, we were without power. That was Thursday afternoon, and we weren't properly electrified until Saturday morning. In that time, The Baby had a stomach virus, I was getting used to my new mini-herd of dairy goats, we were racing to use the water as it came on (thanks to my neighbor's generosity with their generator and our ability to hook up to his water well), and my in-laws visited from Chicago (hi gmm and tog!).

Today, we were shoveling mulch in between summer showers, working as quickly as we could to throw it off the truck and onto the pathway before we were pummeled again.

And tonight, after awaking, dazed, on the couch, I realized that I still had to go out and milk the two new Nubian dairy goats, Alice and Maggie. The rain was pouring down. The stanchion stood outside, under a tree, because it's nicer to milk outside than in the barn. Expect when the sky is poopin' rain, of course.

So I trudged, clad in my bright pink and yellow garden clogs and my favor-ite raincoat (but no flashlight), with my trusty husband along for company, and we started down the barnyard hill, he with an umbrella (but no flashlight) and I with the milk pail in my hand. We stepped carefully, oh, so carefully, in an attempt to avoid the inevitable fall-downing that occurs when the ground is wet (if it's inevitable, why do we even try? Creatures of habit, I guess. And great optimists). We were just approaching the muddiest, slipperiest fall-downing zone when a HUGE bolt of lightning cracked the sky. I screamed. Bo stood still. My brilliant mind thought, "We'd better move before it hits us!" though it was all over but the thunder, which came very quickly after. And very loudly, to boot.

It's amazing how rapidly silly thoughts can go through a person's mind when they're panicking. Bo's holding an umbrella. We're in a lightning storm, under a tree, on a hill. Lightning just struck. We'd better hurry before it hits us. Bo's not moving. Maybe he's already been hit? Why would he still be standing? Shouldn't the umbrella be all ashes, except for the skeleton, like in the Daffy Duck cartoons? What will I tell my children? "Kids, your father was struck by lightning while accompanying me to milk the goats." Will they hate me for life? Will they swear off of goat's milk for all of eternity? Is this really THE END?

All of this in the time it took for the thunder to come.

But the one thing I apparently didn't think about was the slipperiness of the iminent fall-downing zone. In my panic, I just began to run. And then slide. And then fall. Flat on my keister, milk bucket still in hand, apparently (and I only know this because I can still hear the echo in my head) screaming the entire way. And then, once I was in the barn, I successfully tripped over a potbellied pig, a baby billy goat and a fifty pound block of mineral salt (a flashlight would have been nice), after which I threw my arms around my un-lightning-fried husband, who had successfully navigated the fall-downing zone without muddying his backside and was struggling to close the lightning rod...er, umbrella. I errupted in nervous laughter.

But it's all good. Yeah. It's all good. Weather like this has a way of humbling a person, reminding them that they're human and they can't plan everything, can't really control anything.

So, if you'll excuse me, I have to go change my pants after my sweet little keister-mud-slide stunt and wait for the next power outage.

Genius!

Your IQ Is 95

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Above Average Your General Knowledge is Below Average

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Words to Consider

"When I was a boy, each week
On Sunday, we would go to church
And pay attention to the priest
As he would read the Holy Word,
And consecrate the holy bread,
And everyone would kneel and bow.
Today the only difference is
Everything is holy now.

Everything, everything,
Everything is holy now . . .

When I was in Sunday school,
We would learn about the time
Moses split the sea in two;
Jesus made the water wine.
And I remember feeling sad
that miracles don't happen still.
But now I can't keep track
'Cause everything's a miracle

Everything, everything
Everything's a miracle . . .

Wine into water is not so small,
but an even better magic trick
is that anything is here at all.
So, the challenging thing becomes
not to look for miracles,
but finding where there isn't one.

When Holy water was rare at best,
I barely wet my finger tips.
Now I have to hold my breath--
like I'm swimming in a sea of it.

It used to be a world half there,
Heaven's second rate hand me downs
but I'm walking with a reverent air
'cause everything's holy now.

Read a questioning child's face--
to say it's not a testament,
now that'd be very hard to say.
To see another new morning come--
to say it's not a sacrament,
I tell you that it can't be done.

This morning outside I stood
And saw a little red-winged bird
Shining like a burning bush
Singing like a scripture verse.
It made me want to bow my head
and I remember when church let out
how things have changed since then.
Everything is holy now.

It used to be a world half there,
Heaven's second rate hand me downs.
I'm walking with a reverent air
cause everything's holy now. "

Lyrics by Peter Mayer Copyright 1999 (ASCAP)

Happy Birthday, Monet!

I'm alive. I'm here. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. Life has just been terribly busy. Too busy for my sanity, actually. My house is beyond my control now, and I have to buy new socks because no one seems to be able to locate a pair to wear. I'm busier than I can shake a stick at. Don't ask me what that means, because I don't know, either.

Today was Monet's birthday, and, oh silly me, I planned a whole host of things that were suitable for sunny weather. Canoeing. Swimming. Go-Karting. Hiking. But, since we live in Ohio, I should have planned puddle jumping or raindrop dodging. We ended up at the movie theater, which is just what I *didn't* want to do.

On top of that, I let Monet choose his own present. I gave him a set amount of money and told him he could purchase whatever toys he liked. After an hour in the RC aisle and several consultations with Bo and me, he chose two small radio-controlled cars that ran on different frequencies so that he and Houdin could race.

They didn't work.

I've pretty much come to the conclusion that just about any purchase you seriously deliberate over will land you with a piece of junk. Or maybe it's just me.

And as Monet was opening the remainder of his gifts tonight, I realized with horror that he got some of the most boring gifts a little boy could possible get. Sandals, shorts and t-shirts. A pocketknife and a wristwatch. The only "fun" things he got were two Calvin and Hobbes books, one we already had, and a Bionicles set from his sister Bard.

But here's what takes the cake; when it came time to blow out the candles, I had no batteries for my camera.

So, for future reference, Monet, when you look back on your 11th birthday and wonder why you always felt it was the most boring birthday ever, guess what? You were right, and I'm very sorry.

But I love you anyway.