Memorial Day memories

What a great title. I astound myself with my creativity.
I think the highlight of my weekend came when I had to dig the tick from the cozy home it had made on Rod's collar bone.
We had just arrived at Rod's brother's house for a Memorial Day BBQ.
Timing...it's so important.
Rod: "Would you take a look at this? I think I poked myself on a stick hiking through the woods."
Me: "How long has it been hurting?"
Rod: "Oh, about 3 or 4 days.
Me: "Let me see...."
Then shrieking ensued as we saw tiny legs waving from Rod's tiny little burrowing friend.
I told his Dad to quiet down so we could take another look without the neighbors thinking we were being murdered.
(only kidding. only kidding)
The kind host and hostess brought us tweezers, which was especially generous considering we had brought an extra, uninvited guest to the party.
Don't you just love it when a guest shows up with a tick that needs to be removed?
To keep the party atmosphere up, I should have suggested that we all check each other for fleas, as well.

After much prodding, digging and excavating,I pulled the little critter out. Minus it's head. Oh well.

Arden, Rod's Dad also took a spin with the tweezers, digging expertly into the skin on Rod's shoulder/neck area. As we worked, Rod began calling out for an alcoholic beverage. But his cries became weaker and we ignored him. Or his brother Doug finally brought him a beer. I don't remember.

 Rod's Dad was able to remove most of the tick's head which had seemed like it might have to become a permanent part of Rod anatomy.
Unlike his beard. Which, in an odd but welcome turn of events, was removed by my friend, Jen, this weekend.

Jen looks slightly maniacal here, but Rod's eyes scare me.

During a party. Well, a BBQ- get-together. Camp-out. Sleep-over. Foos ball tournament. Clearly, Jen does her best work in the midst of chaos.

See how they are still pretending to be friends? Sweet.

It was a family and friends filled 4 day break. My sistah from anotha mutha...(oh, scratch that...same mother) came from Northern CA with her daughter to get a breather. I'll have to ask them how that worked for them. If she ever speaks to me again.

Well, I'm sure, if you are still awake, you'll agree that this post was absolutely riveting.
Riveting.
You are welcome.

What? You are disappointed that I didn't throw in a gratuitous picture of the tick?
Well, here you go:

This is not Rod's actual tick. Although his was every bit as nauseating.

 And my injured foot, as a free bonus picture:

I knew I could work this in somehow. I dropped a fifth wheel hitch on it. Yes it hurts. No, it is not broken.And it looks worse now. Please shed a tear for me. It will help.

So, there you have it. Don't say I never did anything for ya.
Have a great day. (while you try to remove these images from your head.Using tweezers.)

Full-on Ugly Cry

If you have not read about the son I gave up for adoption and my daughter's successful search for him, read this post and this post first. Otherwise the current blog post will make no sense.
Which will make it identical to 98% of my previous posts.

So, Sunday(yesterday) we went to meet the parents who raised the son I gave up for adoption.

No biggie.

My resting heart rate has not been below 175  since last Saturday when we all figured out who was who. And that WHO was WHO. Oh, you know what I mean.

More on that another time.

These are the actual thoughts (yes, I do have actual thoughts) that ran through my mind yesterday.


"This is bad. There is no way around it. Their first impression of me is going to be the full on ugly cry."

"Shoot, maybe I shouldn't have worn make-up..."

"Maybe they won't notice..."

"What if they don't like me?"

"What if my nervous jokes aren't funny and I laugh manically anyway?And can't stop? And sound like a wounded hyena? "

"Well, that's attractive."

Sunday is over. Two mighty strange and exciting and wonderful Sundays in a row. Now it is Monday and my resting heart rate is(almost) back where it belongs. There are many new and unfolding adventures in front of my family and theirs (ours?) which we are looking forward to. We'll share more as time goes by, but right now emotions are still high and feelings are tender.

 But we know this, and it has been confirmed every single day:
God is in control.
Romans 8:28  "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."

Thanks for caring for us in these topsy-turvy times.

A Birthday prayer

(This was originally posted in March 2008. It bears repeating because of all the craziness this week.Diane)

This day comes around once a year.(Like most days, I guess) Usually I remember what the day signifies, say a prayer, and slowly return to my daily routine. This time, though, I went to the files and got out the medical records.

Well, one really grainy copy of my stay at the hospital. It records the time I arrived (5:45 AM), some notes I can't read, the date (3/18/81) and the time of my baby's birth. (6:55 PM)

It doesn't record that I gave him up for adoption that day.
It doesn't tell me what his parent's named him, or where they live.
It doesn't mention if he has any other siblings, or how he is doing now.
It doesn't tell me if he is following Christ .

I can't help but wonder about him today as I look at this paper. At the time, all I wanted to do was get out of that hospital and get on with my own life.What a mistake. I didn't get that that WAS a part of my own life and that someday I would be crying over this single sheet of paper,the only thing I have from that day,and praying for him.

I am so grateful for the life that God has blessed me with, for my family, friends and church. (Josiah just called AGAIN to check in; no son calls their parents that much! It reminded me how really blessed I am)

So, on your birthday, son that I never knew, I pray for your life. I pray that you are healthy and safe, that your family is good to you and that you know our Lord.I pray that the Lord will someday allow you and your brother and sister(Josiah and Amy) to meet. They would like that so much. I almost feel as if I can't ask that for myself, although I dream of it. I ask the Lord to bless you and to help you grow towards Him daily. I'm more sorry than I can say that I didn't appreciate how precious you were , and a gift from God, until years later. I do love you.

"Are you my brother?"

I knew I wasn't ready to be a mom. I was 19 years old. I honestly don't think I was ever ready. Not really.
I knew I wanted him to have the best chance at a good life that I could give him.
I remember seeing him when he was born and they plopped him on my stomach.
Red and squirmy and heavy.
Shock and awe.

I remember wanting to move on with my life.
But I never forgot him.
Rod, the kids and I used to look for a familiar face in the crowds.
They never forgot him either.
He just had a birthday and we thought of him again.
I have prayed for him in the middle of the night, and I call him "the son I gave up for adoption." Because I never knew his name.
But we have prayed and hoped that he is well, and healthy,and happy and that he knows the God who created him and that someday, he might want to meet us.
 His other family.
Amy, my daughter, is determined  and pregnant. She wants to know her other brother. She wants her brother to know her and her family.
So, this is what she did today.

"Hi friends & family! Please help us on this exciting adventure to find my brother who was given up for adoption on 3/18/81! Share this photo to help us spread awareness and let him know that he has a whole bunch of family who are searching for him and would love nothing more than to finally meet. Thank you for your help, I know we can do this!"

So, now we'll wait and see what happens. I'll keep you posted.

And if you want to, and you haven't already, please share this so we can get the word out. Thank you for your help, everyone.

Important note: this blog is not set up to accept comments. (something went wonky with it) so please use the email addresses in the photo to contact us!) DidiLyn@aol.com or AmyLynn1200@aol.com

Goat herding

Hello, my name is Diane and I am a goat-herder.
I'll only have the job until Rod fixes the goat fence, but he has work and he somehow injured his neck so it hurts to digs holes and set fence posts. I wouldn't know because my job is to herd the goats and take them on the occasional goatie stroll.
This morning it is "Oregon misting" on me, but Rosie and Willow still wanted to venture out of their dry stall.
Fine.
I wiped off my lawn chair, set it in the yard and called the goats over to the blackberry bramble covered sand filter on the side of the barn.
How do I call them?
I "maa-maaa-maaaaa-aaaa."
They seem to respond.
I am the goat whisperer. As well as the herder and the stroller.
The sky was misting, the birds were chirping, I had my coffee, my camera, my phone and my office book. (I was goat herding AND I took a job down for next week. I am a multi-tasking goat herder.)
Here was my view.

Yes, the dogs graze right along with the goats. I try not to ask too many questions.

This is Rosie, enjoying her breakfast of blackberry vines.
I'm enjoying my new job.
Have a great day, everyone.

Wow, what an incredibly whiny post...

(I wrote this before I titled it. Then I read it. Super whiny)

Did you watch the Trailblazer game last night? Man, when one guys goes up for the shot, and another two go up for the block and they all crash and fall together in a tangle of arms, knees shoulders and other body parts, I  physically cringe. I think I may need to visit the ER just from watching these guys battle it out. If I actually experienced one of those under-the-basket accidents, I would need to be life-flighted from center court at the Moda Center. Stat.
As Rod and I get older, we seem to experience more and more body aches and pains, and what we used to shrug off now makes us snivel and wine for weeks.
Anybody else?
Just this week Rod somehow crinked his neck.(Spell check is telling me that "crinked" is not a real word. I still like it. Carry on.) Now it keeps him up at night because of the discomfort.(which means it keeps me up, too.)
I would help him, but I have my own list of injuries to deal with.
Take the busted up bruised nose I received this morning  from feeding the dogs. Yep, it is dangerous chore, but somebody has to do it. One of the dogs, whose initials start with COOPER, jerked his head up and smacked into my old-lady reading glasses which I was wearing because, HELLO, if I should happen to take them off and set them somewhere I will never remember where I put them.
I speak from experience.
Or, how about my injured elbow? I have no idea why it hurts. I just woke up like that. But it hurt so much, Rod had to help me get dressed this morning before I went running.Yep, I'm a warrior. I went running for a full 1.5 miles even though I had an injured elbow.
 Thankfully, my arms are not completely necessary for that activity.They just help keep me balanced. Imagine how graceful and athletic I must look as I careen around corners with my arms windmilling about to keep me balanced and upright...for the most part.

Side note: my niece Hollie is in Costa Rica right now with her husband and kids. She writes of taking idyllic, injury-free morning runs on the beach before heading back to the condo to play with her family for the rest of the day.I think she is 12. I think I might hate her.

After I run, I usually sit and count what hurts, swallow down half a dozen Advil with a glass of wine and try to remember why I do this to myself. (Okay, I'm obviously exaggerating, but honestly? I'm going to punch Hollie in the throat when she comes back from her holiday.)

This is not me, but it is how I feel after a run. This woman was injured when she was ATTACKED by RACCOONS when she was jogging in the woods. So, potentially, this could be me... 

One recent injury was especially uncomfortable and irritating. Both my hands and wrists were rendered next to useless for a few days. I didn't go to the doctor because I didn't want to explain to Dr. Grise that it was an X-box injury, caused from playing Zuma for too long on the X-box the kids got me for Christmas.
I am not lying.
An X-box injury.
 I should sue.
My grandson came over and wanted me to pick him up and I COULDN'T, people. My hands and wrists were killing me.
Getting old is no bed of roses, friends.
Maybe some of you youngsters could organize a meal train for us. Just a thought.

PS Hollie, I won't really punch you. You are freakishly strong and would hurt me, if I did.