ValerieDykstra.com

for Pabob

These are the last pictures I'll share from our camping trip to Little Bow. Pabob is the fisherman in my family, so these are especially for him.

Click on the pictures to get a closer look at Deborah's face. So sweet.

1)  Deborah reeling in her first fish.

  

2)  Getting help from Uncle Tom.

3) She's not exactly comfortable touching it. {Smiles}

something to smile about

Camping at Little Bow

Unfortunately, this is not our way of camping.

Humble as it is, our camping looks more like this. We met our friends the Loszchuks and enjoyed another good camping trip with them.

 
Taken on my bike ride at sunset.

 

 

Jerrod and Uncle Tom took Deborah fishing with them. She caught this fish, a walleye, I think, but she didn't want to hold it for the picture.

After a little coercion, she agreed to hold up its fin. Tom cooked it in beer and it was delicious.

 

 

Deborah turned 11 while we were there.

 

Our little trek to the lake.

Deborah and me, swimming in what felt like glacier water. Fortunately by afternoon it was much warmer.

Our lake is way in the distance. See it? I loved this view.

When I first moved to the prairies, I felt exposed and vulnerable. The terrain made me feel lonely. Now I love my beautiful Alberta.
 

2010 family holidays are going to be pretty skimpy this year. Gordon and the girls will probably go camping again in August. I have a newer job and can't get any more time off. Especially since I already called in all my negotiating resources to get time off for a trip to Arkansas in September.

I have three, maybe four, more dragon boat festivals this summer. It will continue to be a good summer even though our holidays will be on the lean side.

 

Deborah is 11 today

Brand spankin' new from the womb, Deborah and her daddy admire each other. Gordon leaned over me and whispered, "She's so beautiful and alert. She's perfect."
 

She was nearly perfectly content. The only exception was Sundays. For the child who was to become my social butterfly, it's strange that church provided too much stimuli in her early days. She was cranky and unsettled every Sunday till we were home from church. As soon as she and I were in our living room in the rocking chair, she was back to her easy disposition. She was an easy baby to mother.

 

We thought we were going to adopt little Shawny boy. His departure from our home was traumatic and painful. Deborah would have been a terrific big sister. We fostered several babies younger than her and she was wonderful with each one.

When Shawn left, Deborah talked about the social worker ofter. She had a broad vocabulary and talked with ease. During this time period, one of her big conversations was about Shawn's social worker. "Patty Jo is a very mean person. She was bad to take Shawn." It was a twisted time in our history. I wasn't doing well emotionally, which precipitated Shawn's leaving. When he left, I sank to deep depths of guilt. Not Deborah. Without a doubt, Patty Jo was ALL to blame for Shawn's departure. She grieved deeply too.

 
Deborah was an adorable child. Always ready to love on people and ready to receive their affection too. Everyone loved her.

 
 Christmas, 4 years old.

 

Then suddenly she was old enough for Brownie camp. This was her first outing for overnight.
  

We were camping last week, as has happened several times for her birthday. I picked up a cake and we celebrated at the campsite.

It was low key, but was warmly received by my little 11 year old.

Deborah, your life has made mine fuller and richer. I love you. Happy 11th Birthday, my love.

festival and a hannah story

This past weekend I had a dragon boat festival and was away from the family for Friday - Sunday. Not something I've done a lot of. The kids were on my mind often. There was a 10ish-year-old girl that reminded me so much of Hannah that she startled me every time I saw her. She had on an orange t-shirt like one Hannah used to wear way too often, she was long and thin with blond hair. For a split second I'd think it was Hannah, then I would realize it wasn't Hannah and that Hannah hasn't been that "short" for several years. I couldn't wait to get home to Hannah and hug her. That little girl at the festival kept Hannah ever present in my mind. I realized anew how the girls are growing up. Hey, I was away for the weekend. If that's not evidence that they're growing up, I don't know what is.

When we are taking our boat to the starting line we're supposed to be totally focused, "all energy in the boat", not looking outside the boat for anything. Saturday, at the end of the lake near the starting line, there was a spot where a few spectators sat. They were far away from the crowd sitting in their own quiet private spot.

(This picture is Hannah in "that" orange t-shirt, 2007)

As we approached the starting line, I heard a crystal clear "hi". My heart instantly smiled, my face joined in. I "left" the boat -- meaning, I let my focus drift to the little girl who stood there so innocently seeing if anyone would answer her greeting. I smiled and waved before I realized what I'd done. The innocence of that little girl gripped my heart. "Hi," she said so sweetly and trusting. It was precious.

My kids have grown/are growing up so quickly. Some days it staggers me with sadness, other days I bite my tongue, hard, so I won't yell, "I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE EMPTY NEST SYNDROME."

A few nights ago Hannah came into the living room and said, "Adam is so weird, so lame." I asked why and she said they were chatting (via computer) and he started talking about puberty and how boys have it worse than girls because, and I quote, boys "have urges."

The word "urges" in our family is barely shy of a curse word. Gordon and I have a skit that I'm dying to perform for someone. We haven't had opportunity to perform, but our poor kids have had to endure it a few times. In our skit, the main word is "urges" and it's kind of sick. You'd have to see the skit to get it. Suffice to say, "urges" is a gross word to us.

Imagine Hannah's disdain when Adam started talking "urges". Adam told her about "boy urges" and then said, "Do girls have urges?"

Hannah was mortified. Rachael and I both screamed, "Well, what did you say?"

Hannah said, "I said, 'I don't know, why don't you ask one.' Then I logged off."

ER talk

(My sweet boy Christopher and me, 2009)

Deborah and I are going to Arkansas for a couple weeks in September. We are excited. Deborah hasn't been for six years and she has a real spring in her step since learning she's going. We are very happy.

One night on my last trip down we shared emergency room stories, two having worked in the ER. It was this evening that I learned that sniffing silver paint can give a man an erection that WILL NOT go away no matter how he tries to turn it off. "It" turns black and the erected guy screams in pain for over 24 hours. (What do you talk about over dessert in your family?) As we heard about this horror, pain and the shots that our blessed nurse had to give "it", we were sobered and momentarily speechless.

Silence was broken when John Mark flatly said: "That would be so demoralizing." 

Christopher, pretending to be the afflicted and NOT demoralized, jumped off the sofa, pointed down there and yelled, "You kidding me? I get so hard I need shots to GET IT DOWN."

colorful speech

One thing I miss about Arkansas is the picturesque speech. Actually it's not that I "miss" it, rather when I'm around it I realize how it's absent in my life.

The colorful speech that I grew up with is very effective and efficient in summing up emotions. When I was in hard labor with Christopher, Mama said, "I feel as useless as tits on a boar hog." My mom doesn't usually talk like that, but doesn't that sentence colorfully describe her feelings? Don't you hear her discomfort, her fear, her anxiety just by hearing her one sentence?

One of my great-nephews was three years old the last time I was in Arkansas. Once my dad asked someone, "Is he soft in the head?" I had never heard the expression, but I knew what it meant immediately. Soft in the head. It's not exactly clinical, but it is tender.

Set straight that Ezra was not soft in the head, Daddy defended his question, "Well, I was just wondering if he was runnin' at top speed."

When I go to Arkansas, that kind of talk bursts out my mouth with no warning. In Canada, they might think me soft in the head if I talked that way.

Last visit, riding somewhere with Stephanie, we had a stop sign. Not one to waste time on oncoming traffic, Stephanie punched it and we spun out of there with a vengeance. Grabbing the handle above my door, I yelled, "Hang on to your Kotex."

Another time I was riding with Stacie on the freeway. She was drifting into the right lane while passing another car. I brought it to her attention. She denied it. I replied, "Stacie, he was practically fondling me." 

I'm looking forward to getting back to my roots for a few days and smiling at their colorful speech.

Grandpa

(Grandpa and the girls)

Eight years ago today my father-in-law passed away. He was 67. It was a hard time for our family, but I have some sweet memories from that time that I cherish.

We told the kids that Grandpa was very ill and that he would get to go to heaven soon. Deborah was nearly three. Rachael was nearly seven, Hannah was nearly six. Each of them processed it very differently. Rachael acted like it was no big deal, but that's a regular coping mechanism of hers. We knew it was big to her.

Hannah was astute and forthright. During prayer time at church on the Sunday before he died, Hannah's voice rang out clearly as she asked for prayer. "My grandpa in very sick and he hurts really badly right here," she said as she pointed to her side. (He had liver cancer.)

I thought Deborah was too young to process it one way or the other. I was wrong. One day I was in the garden and I overheard her talking to herself in the tree-house. "Grandpa is very sick and he's going to heaven soon." She said it several different ways, several different times. At that point I knew she was agitated too.

The call came that he'd passed away and we went to his house. We gathered around his bed and his kids and wife told stories, we prayed and sang a few hymns. We learned that one of Eric's favorite hymns was "Morning has broken, blackbird has spoken...." We sang it.

When we cleared out of the room for the funeral home to come, Hannah asked if she could see him once more. She and I went back into his room alone. She held his hands and thanked him for being a good grandpa. She told him she looked forward to seeing him again in heaven and then she kissed him.

After the funeral home had his body on the gurney, the sons and son-in-law carried him to the waiting car. We all stood in the yard, solemnly watching them drive away. As soon as the car turned out of sight, 2-year-old Deborah jumped up excitedly and said, "Yaaay! Grandpa's in heaven." In Deborah's mind, when he got out of sight, that's when he entered heaven.

Over the next day or two, even Rachael revealed her heart. We had learned that "Morning has broken, blackbird has spoken..." was a favorite hymn of his. Rachael drew her therapy. It's a card. The front page is a blackbird in a limb.

 

Inside the card, there is Grandpa on his bed and Beppe phoning us to tell us he had just died. May always wore a bun back in those days. See her bun?

 

These memories and this card are precious to me.

My kids are... ?

(Precious Rachael and Hannah, in 2000)

Because I'm getting wiser with age, I resisted the urge to title this post, "My Kids Are Idiots." That was noble, I think.

In the 80's I loved watching The Cosby Show. In one episode Dr. Huxstable comes home to find Clare seething. She hisses, "I want you to go upstairs and kill your son." More than once I've said that to Gordon. Unfortunately he never watched The Cosby Show and he doesn't have a son, so my theatrics are sorely lost on him.

Quoting movie phrases is one of my coping mechanisms. Even though Clare Huxstable's saying is not perfectly suitable in our house, I keep it in my repertoire of fine things to say when I'm on the verge of snapping. Thank God for all the movies that have given me anti-snapping phrases through the years. I've not even come close to injuring a child, so there's proof they have served me well.

(When a potential employer asks how I handle stress I respond with a professional smile, "I tell my husband to kill the kids.") 

It's no wonder that sometimes mama animals eat their young. I'm guessing it goes something like this: Mama rat looks at baby rat rolling her eyes at her and thinks, "Yep, this one's liable to steal the family car when she's 13." Chomp chomp. "Took care of that problem."

I won't tell present problems, but I'll share one from two years ago. Rachael was 13. In some homes that might mean she's the cock of the walk, the boss, the indomitable force. In our house 13 means you're an idiot. (In a couple years I'll share our present woes, if I'm not doing time or rolled up permanently in the fetal position sing-songing, "They were such sweet babies.")

Dear sweet idiot child Rachael, with her friends, planned a boy-girl movie night. "We're going to the movie and then we're going to Adam's house." Gordon and I shook our heads like dogs hit between the eyes with tennis balls. Gordon gave me the shut-up-wife look just as I was forming the words, "Like hell you are."

I had an appointment that I could not miss so I had to leave. When I got home I asked how things had turned out. Gordon said he'd take her to the movie. He'd unobtrusively sit elsewhere in the theater. She could invite the kids to her house afterward. Rachael responded with, "Well that's going to be mildly embarrassing." Gordon responded, "Mildly embarrassing, eh? Sounds to me like mildly embarrassing is a good balance between wildly humiliating and uninvolved. You choose."

That little battle turned out well. Rachael went to the movies with friends, Gordon went too. She invited the friends over; girls came, boys didn't.

She was not bitter.

Rachael is doing well these days. Her mind is coming back. Slowly but surely, I see signs of sanity. She's kind of between stages, part idiot, part sane.

Hannah is 13. I think a lot about the above mama rat. 

classy horse

This cracks me up.

gordon and his knife

This morning on the way to work there was this guy on the radio talking about how airport security people have no sense of humor. And it's true, thankfully.

I've had some rough times with airport security but must admit that the last time things were easy. I think I've rounded a corner in overcoming that Osama bin Laden look-alike problem. Anyhow, thinking of all this, I remembered the last time I flew with Gordon.

Things were going pretty smooth. I was three or four steps ahead of my beloved and moving with the crowd through the x-ray drill. I was down to my bra and panties, but that's beside the point.

Suddenly, time stood still as I watched security descend on Gordon. Gordon had a deer-in-the-headlights look as the guards pulled a camping knife from his carry on. I resisted the urge to yell, "You idiot!" and kept walking, distancing myself from him. Then a guard grabbed me and said, "Are you with him?," as he motioned to Gordon.

I admitted I was. He frisked me nearly to the point of violation and searched my bags again. To my credit, I had left the camping hatchet at home, so I turned out clean.

He told me to stand aside to wait for Gordon. I got a bird's eye view of my husband blubbering on about camping, whittling cute things for the kids, saying "I had no idea it was still in the bag..." Watching him in the hot seat my irritation turned to amusement. 

They confiscated the potential murder weapon, pronounced him clean and motioned for him to go. Pointing to the table behind the security guards where his clothes were scattered in total disarray, he meekly asked, "Can I have my clothes back?"

Having wasted enough time on him, a security guy grabbed some of his clothes stuffed them in his dufflebag and handed him what didn't easily fit.

Still wearing a deer-in-the-headlights expression, he walked toward me with his dufflebag under his arm like a heavy watermelon. It was gaping open, disheveled clothes hanging out. In one hand he carried his runners, in the other, a week's worth of underwear.

the 10 commandments

Many years ago when Kent and I were dating, we, along with his roommate William, watched The Ten Commandments. To be truthful, I don't remember too much about it. I remember Moses' famous scene standing with his arms outstretched at the Red Sea as the Israelites crossed on dry ground, the walls of water on both sides. (That was an impressive scene). Aside from that, I only remember one other scene. It made an impact on me, although not a thoughtful contemplative impact, rather a let's-reveal-how-shallow-we-are impact.

It went something like this: The death angel was coming or had just come -- I don't remember which. People were gathered, mourning the death of the eldest child. Someone sang mournfully, and I do mean MOURNFULLY. The words sung were, "Death Cometh To Me." Since the writing of that movie, I'm sure there has never been a song sung as slowly. Quite possibly, since the beginning of time there has never been a song sung so slowly or so mournfully. It must have taken all of 15 minutes to complete the phrase "Death cometh to me". Ok, maybe 15 minutes is an exaggeration, but my point is the same, it was a horrifically slow dirge.

I can still feel my emotions as the song was sung. I'm guessing my face was mildly contorted in anguish. I was, up until that moment, totally and blissfully oblivious that a song that painfully slow was even possible. The three of us had our eyes glued to the television anticipating the next word, as if our anticipation might get the word off the songstress' tongue more quickly.

William pulled himself forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Songstress finally finished and William quipped, "Well that's a snappy little tune."

Happy Birthday Stacie

(Stacie and me)

Today is Stacie's birthday. I spent time this morning thanking God for such a dear dear sister. She is everything a sister should be, everything I want in a sister. (Diane is too, but this is Stacie's day.) I love Stacie so so much and cannot imagine life without her.

We are 2500 miles apart, but she's never more than a phone call away. We always pick up right where we are with no formalities needed. We dig right into sisterhood, friendship and sharing life. With us both working full time, our Ma Bell experiences are fewer than they use to be. However, Stacie is right with me all the time because I carry her so closely to my heart. I love her so much, enjoy her so much and share such an affinity that it seems in some strange way that we're always together. I'd like us to be closer in flesh, but am not convinced even that would make us closer in spirit.

Yesterday I was thinking of the road trip Stacie and I did a few years ago across the southern states. In the car for extended hours we really got "in the zone" thinking the same thing at the same time. We talked at length of our childhood church, singing the hymns of our youth (which neither of us is exposed to anymore), and usually in the spirit of imitation -- imitating someone from our childhood congregation. (My mom cringes right here as she reads this). 

We would finish a tune, laugh ourselves nearly crazy and then sink into our private thoughts, Stacie driving and looking straight ahead, me watching the countryside of kudzu, hills and oaks go by. Over and over these moments of reflection ended when at the exact moment we both burst into another hymn sung in the way so-in-so sang it.

It was on that trip I learned about incontinence first hand, always precipitated by violent laughter.

That is the relationship Stacie and I share. How very very blessed I am.

Stacie, I love you more than words can express. You are, forever, my bosom friend. Happy Birthday Swisser.

(Last picture, 2009, Stacie hammin' it up.)

Thursday Thirteen

I love Thursday Thirteen. It's a great way to catch up.

1. I've been kind of sad/contemplative/nostalgic lately. I've been busy scanning pictures from the days before digital photos. I've got a lot done, but still have a ways to go. Anyway seeing all those pictures of my little people . . . Now they are so big. It's enough to make a mama weep. A couple are grown. A couple morphed into a different species. And one is still a child. In a way it seems like a few days ago that Stephanie was born and in other ways it seems like a totally different life. Time keeps going.

2. As I looked at all the photos, over and over I saw evidence of Debbie Tannehill. She gave us sooo many clothes for the girls and all three girls wore them. Thank you Debbie. You are such a good friend.

3. Was reminded all over again how incredibly sweet my wee ones were.

4. Was reminded all over again how incredibly tiring Rachael was. She was a handful. I created a few "funnies" for the occasion.

5. Funny 1.

 

6. Funny 2.

 

7. Funny 3.

 

8. I love the smells of the season. I sat in the back yard last night and got intoxicated by all the floral scents in the air. I am sure heaven will have those same scents.

9. Do you remember that I'm working on a book? (Actually it's three books.) I'm getting pretty close to having the first one finished. I'm excited about the potential.

10. Hannah was such a writer/card giver when she was wee. This week I thoroughly enjoyed reading through a bunch of her sweet greetings from years ago. She doesn't write me love letters anymore. I miss those, but am thankful for the ones she gave me when she still liked me. {Sigh, people warned me about this.}

12. In case you can't see it, it says, "You are the best perins in the world. I love you. Have a Heavenly Day." See why I'm nostalgic and blue?

 

13. Reading through Hannah's photo album reminded me of some of her quirky ways when she was little. And she had more than a couple quirky ways. I had totally forgotten one until I read it in her album. In 2000 we went to Colorado and met all my family for Thanksgiving. For many, it was the first time to meet my Canadian children. Hannah was four and Deborah was still nursing. Hannah was often invited into people's lap to get acquainted. Hannah's method of getting acquainted was asking, "Do you have milk in your breasts?" and/or "How come your breasts are so small?"

blind date

Pretty sure that I had a blind date with this guy once. You should've been there.

Moby Dick

Today someone mentioned Moby Dick. I cannot hear those words, Moby Dick, without thinking of my friend Nate. 

Nate was a young friend, a Christian musician who aspired to fame in the Christian music world. He met a lovely young girl and was sure "she was the one." Being married to a band-boy wasn't her dream. She dreamed of a career in marine biology.

For a few weeks she was all he talked about. One day his tune changed. His shoulders hung with heaviness as he unloaded his burden. "All I want to do is sing, to worship God with my music, to find a wife who shares that vision. All Cheryl wants to do is chase Moby the Dick."

muriel, my nightmare

(This tree is close to my house and I love it. Happy Spring.)

It's been so long since I did this, I don't know if I remember how. I feel so out of the zone.

So where to begin... I have so much catching up to do. I'll start with the job front.

Job... Well the bookkeeping job turned out to be from hell. I liked what I did and got some really good rapport going with my clients. They liked me. But my boss, ... she hated me, really really hated me. When I didn't know how to do something, she spasmed. When I asked questions, she spat venom. When I didn't ask questions, she shook with anger and threatened to search my desk for "evidence". I've wondered many times what she thought I might hide. It was all brand new to me and I was totally dependent on being coached, but she was the absolute worst coach I'd ever had. She was even worse than the coach at basketball camp who told me I was liable to kill somebody with my lack of skill and technique. She only spoke to me when I did something wrong.

I got to work one day and she started in and I stopped her to say, "Muriel, it's okay, I'll quit." She looked at me like I had three heads, so I repeated myself and said, "I'll go clean out my desk." I honestly thought I was giving her what she wanted, but that seemed to make her mad too. I cleaned out my desk and thanked her for all she'd taught me and she just stared at me without responding.

I have so many questions about what was going on between us. It was the weirdest relationship I've had in years and years. I don't know anything else to say except it seemed she hated me and I have no idea why.

To give some idea of the stress, I started grinding my teeth in my sleep. I started having toothaches and couldn't chew on the right side. I had to get up at 5:00 in the morning just to get "prayed up" enough to face her. I knew I wouldn't stay there, but I hoped to stay till May. Although she was the worst boss I ever had, she was the smartest too. I wanted to learn from her till May. I only made it to mid-February. It was a horrible experience that totally stripped me of my confidence.

A few weeks after that horrible experience I landed a good job as an office administrator. More in keeping with my natural gifts. They love me, I think, and I really enjoy it. They laugh and that's pretty important to this gal. I've been there about nine weeks.

No more toothaches and I don't grind my teeth anymore. But Muriel is still with me in my dreams. A few nights ago she burst into my office and said, "We need to talk about your signature. It's sloppy." I explained that Dykstra is hard for me to write pretty and I was sorry. She yelled. Then I said, "Muriel, lots of people don't have a pretty signature." She responded, "Well those people are smart."

So that was the tone of my relationship with Muriel. She was a charmer. I doubt if she'll get a Christmas card from me.

Now you're up to date on the job front. I hope to gradually get back in the swing of writing. I miss you all.

Christopher is 21 today

Today my young son turns 21. It seems a fitting day to re-post what I wrote about him when he turned 17.

 

originally published February 20, 2006

Today is my only son's 17th birthday. Everyone should have someone in their life like Christopher. He brings delight and joy wherever he is. He weighed 9.3 when he was born; a chunky, beautiful, fair-skinned bundle of love. For the first few hours he was naked because the nurses couldn't find a "hospital-issue" sleeper big enough for him. Dr Mesko gave the babies he delivered a t-shirt that read "Delivered with Love by Dr. Mesko." From Christopher's first breath, he was too big for that t-shirt. (But I still have it.)

He was a very contented baby who slept lots, was pleasant when he was awake, was easily entertained, and who smiled lots and lots. Everyone loved Christopher. At church, people gravitated to him so they could enjoy he gummy smiles. Mike Holder use to get in Christopher's face and say, "Christopher, get a job," and Christopher would kick and cackle excitedly.

When he was 3 he began developing a fine sense of humor. I'm sure he had heard these expressions somewhere, but one winter day he, Stephanie, and I went for a drive in the country. Christopher said, "Mom, I need to water my horse." Puzzled, I asked what he meant. "You know Mom, I need to make some mud." I quickly figured out he needed to pee.

Around the same time he entered a very pronounced cowboy phase. He took it very seriously, wearing western clothes and boots everywhere. What I wouldn't give to have those little gray boots now. Gordon sent him a lariat and Christopher took it wherever he went. He rode his tricycle down the sidewalk hollering "giddy-up" or "Eeeeeaww" playing like he was roping calves with his new rope.

After Gordon and I got engaged, we came to Canada for a visit. We went to Ft Steele to enjoy the western frontier life for a day. Gordon had a connection there so Christopher got to sit on one of the gigantic Belgian horses that even I would have been scared to sit on. The horse took one step and Christopher's eyes widened and he declared, "Wooooe, this one's a wiiiild one."

When we moved to Canada, he quickly adopted Gordon's fuzzy blanket with a horse on it as his own. To this day, we call that blanket the horsie blanket. At nap time he would curl up in his horsie blanket and when I left his room I'd say "Nappy Noon Christopher." He would counter with, "Mom, cowboys don't say Nappy Noon."

The next summer when he came to visit, I rented some videos about real cowboys. We watched boy cows being made steers (being neutered) and Christopher watched with sympathetic eyes. I explained the process and the reason behind it as best I knew. He took his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say, "When I get my farm, I'm not gonna do that to my cows."

The cowboy obsession is far behind Christopher. Now he drives a hippy van, plays football, leads worship some, plays guitar, and takes kindness and joy everywhere he goes.

I'm thankful for Christopher. I'm thankful I was chosen to give him birth. I'm thankful for the innumerable precious memories I have. I'm thankful Christopher walks with God and desires to honor and glorify him with his life.

Happy Birthday Christopher. I pray it will be a GREAT year for you. I love you.

This is my 1000th post

Howdy. It's a lovely bright day here in Alberta and I'm soaking up the sunshine. I hope you are enjoying this fine Friday as well.

THIS IS MY 1000th POST on this blog. One might call me verbose, but remember, I'm only verbose in written form. Usually, anyway.

I had a birthday. Turned thirty-fourteen. I'm not getting any younger and complained to Gordon that my face falls a bit more everyday. He assures me he'll still love me even if I have to carry my face in my purse to keep it from dragging.

He is an absolute amazing support and friend to me. This table is what I woke to on Sunday morning, my birthday and Valentines Day. The girls and I always feel so loved on Valentines Day. I was about to get my breakfast on this morning when I spotted the table. I said, "Awwh," forewent the toast and grabbed three cookies and said, "gotta jump start the ole metabolism." It was an amazing day. Thank you, My Love.

I got a special gift, my blog made into books. They are huge -- even I had no clue I said so much over the past few years. Now I'm busy editing, deleting, cleaning up my spelling and grammar. When I get done, I'm turning them into real hardcover books. Anyone want to buy an over-priced book? I say "over-priced" because they are expensive when printing so few, but once I get them cleaned up -- that's a very big and time-consuming job -- I'll be happy to print a few extra just for you. They will make great bathroom reading. My kids are fighting over the books and laughing out loud frequently. Gordon and I have done some of the same.

I'm taking a wee break from posting fresh new stuff. I'm going to devote my blogging time to editing my book. However, keep reading this blog because I'll still be here recycling old posts. To celebrate my 1000th post I'm doing reruns. I hope you'll enjoy them. If you have a favorite, just let me know and I'll put it out there again. 

So keep visiting. Who knows what you'll find.

bragging is what beppies do

Roman has grown since I saw him. It kind of hurts to look at pictures of the babies. Isn't he losing his baby look and getting all-big-boy-looking?

And here is his art work. I think his fine motor skills are really good for a two-year-old.

He loves his little toys and carries something like this horse and cowboy around most of the time. Christopher did some of this so this is sweet to me not only because it's Romie Boy, but also cause it takes me back to Christopher's young life. He was sweet, just like Roman.

 
And here's the little Avery Claire. Doesn't this picture scream, squeeze me?

And this last picture is of me. Just throwing that out for comparison. . . .

deborah's recital

Here's my baby girl Deborah at her Winter Recital. I'm so proud of her.

industrial arts

industrial arts
Originally uploaded by valeriedykstra

These are some gifts Gordon and I have received over the past year or so from the girls. They were made in Industrial Arts' class. They are pretty special to us.

Click on the picture and you'll be able to see a description of the items.

hippo - the lion sleeps tonight

2010 goals

"Create the kind of life you will be happy to live with all your life. Make the most of yourself by fanning the tiny inner sparks of possibility into flames of achievement."  Foster C. McClellan

If you've been reading this blog long, you probably already know that I'm passionate about self-improvement. Part of that is liking a challenge, but the bigger part is I get high on accomplishment. Accomplishments are to me what endorphins are to an athlete. I love to set a goal and work toward it.

 "All lasting inner change requires time "*

I know how discouraging it is to set a goal and fall flat. I've done it plenty of times. But somewhere along the way I figured out and internalized that moving in the right direction is good, really good. Now I can be happy making improvement even if I don't reach the goal.

"Daily incremental improvements produce lasting results which, in turn, lead to positive change."*

It's all in the baby steps. "Baby steps" remains my mantra.

"There is nothing noble about being superior to another person. True nobility lies in being superior to your former self."*

I'm competitive within myself. I like to break my own records. I love knowing that I'm getting better.

"We think about 60,000 thoughts a day. By writing your desires and goals on paper you send a red flag to your subconscious mind that these thoughts are far more important than the remaining 59,999 other ones."*

I think the key ingredients of the small measure of success I've enjoyed in reaching my goals is simply writing them down. This blog is a great resource for me in that way. There's always a record and that creates an element of accountability for me.

"The best time to plant a tree was 40 years ago. The second best time is today." Chinese proverb

This quote is my favorite with respect to the physical body. It's hard to change a life-time of bad habits. It's hard to be encouraged by the loss of 5 pounds when you're 100 pounds overweight. It's hard to be pleased with walking around the block when you'd really like to be running a marathon.

Most of us didn't get a perfect start in this area but the only way we can change the pattern is to start fresh everyday and not focus on the past. Start fresh with small steps. Instead of saying today I'll only eat 1000 calories, saying today I will eat an apple for a snack.

Kaizen is a Japanese word that means improving every aspect of yourself ceaselessly and continuously.*

Evidently we don't have a similar word in English. So I've adopted this word, kaizen, as the state in which I want to live. I want to be headed in the right direction and improving all the time. That's the idea.

"Every arrow that hits the bull's eye is a result of 100 misses. Don't fear failure. Failure is your friend."*

In the spirit of that last quote, I'll now share my 2010 goals.

• Begin every day with quiet time with God. 
• Buy a new Bible.
• Do my treadmill routine four times a week.
• Have a regular date night with Gordon, every other week.
• Have lunch with one of the girls once a week.
• Keep a 5 pound weight at the computer and lift repeatedly as I surf.
• Walk on my lunch break.
• Make two dinners (one for later in the week, of course) on my Monday's off.
• Have a Christmas party for Deborah and her friends making Christmas cookies and a craft.
• For snacks at work, keep only apples or carrots on hand.
• Run in a 5k.
• Have a regular coffee date with my friend Lydia.
• Take a yoga class.
• Start buying 1% milk.
• Mail a special gift to my siblings.
• Get a new clothesline.
• Ride bike to Morinville.
• Get my hearing checked.
• Get an eye exam.
• Get an estimate for a gas insert for the fireplace.
• Be a better friend.
• Read all the BBC top 50.

My list isn't grandiose at all, is it? But it's keeps me headed in the right direction. It's the beginning of February, and I'm on track, and lovin' it.

* Taken from The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari, by Robin Sharma, one of my favorite books.

2009 high points

 
made lots of homemade jam

rode my bike to work very often in the spring and summer

had a 24 mile bike ride

made Roman an I Spy with my Little Eye quilt

made Avery a rag quilt

read over 60 books

started reading the BBC top 100 book list; am reading things I never would have without the list and I am expanding my knowledge in lots of areas

took the plunge on volunteering at the prison

got my craft room more functional

had a great visit to Arkansas

made it through the year without complaining in front of the kids about a certain topic

got a new job that's teaching me lots