Remembering Dad on his birthday

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Eureka! I think I've got it!

Further to my earlier post about birthday parties and the resulting truckload of stuff that takes over my home, I've been wrestling what to do with Nikki's party next week. As some of you have mentioned, we don't plan large parties, so it's not like I have twenty kids giving her gifts. But even four gifts, when you add it to everything she gets from her aunties and uncles and grandparents, ends up being a lot. I also don't give away traditional goodie bags. Instead, I've done things like take a picture of the party gang, print it on photo paper and put it in a funky (and cheap) frame for them to take home. I've also printed the picture on iron-on paper and then ironed it onto pillow cases. I'd rather give them a meaningful momento of the party than a bunch of crap that will end up in the landfill site.

But, despite these attempts to keep our parties within reason, I keep wrestling with the thought that there is still too much excess, and most of the gifts bought are probably made by some impoverished peasant working in a sweatshop and living on less than a dollar a day. I've tried to convince the girls that they should consider asking their friends to donate to a worthy cause instead of buying presents, but so far, they haven't been willing to make the sacrifice entirely. (Julie has given some of her birthday money away to the foster child sponsored by the children's community at church, but she didn't entirely forego gifts.)

This year, I've stumbled onto an idea that I think might be a hit. We live really close to Ten Thousand Villages, our favourite fair trade store. The girls and I love visiting this store and we often buy the gifts they bring to their friends' parties from there. They have interesting things from all over the world, and Nikki goes gaga over their funky jewellery.

So I'm going to suggest that instead of bringing gifts, her friends bring her a small amount of money and together we'll all go shopping for a few gifts for her from Ten Thousand Villages. It's a win-win situation. She'll still get gifts, but at least there will be some small amount of justice in the purchases made. I've contacted the store to see if they can help me make it even more meaningful and fun for the girls. Perhaps we'll include some storytelling about the things that they're buying and the places they come from, or some kind of scavenger hunt in the store.

Maybe, just maybe, a few ten and eleven-year-old girls will be inspired to put a little thought into what they purchase and why. If nothing else, I won't feel as overwhelmed by the clutter that another birthday party brings to my house.

I blame it on birthday parties

Over the weekend, I spent several hours cleaning the family room and Maddie's bedroom, sorting through toys and getting rid of a bunch of things nobody plays with around here anymore. Since Maddie's the youngest, I can get rid of her castoffs without having to save them for the next up-and-comer. Yay! Less clutter! But also since she's the youngest, she has inherited A LOT of stuff. It was becoming difficult to navigate both rooms because of the amount of toys scattered around. I'd almost forgotten there was carpet under all that stuff. Can we say "bomb site"? Oh yeah, that bad.

Once again, I found myself asking "Why oh WHY have we allowed so much STUFF to enter our house?" She has WAY more toys than she could ever play with. She doesn't even appreciate most of the stuff she has because there's just way too much of it.

I blame it on birthday parties. I know *I* didn't give her (or her sisters) all that stuff - it must have come from SOMEWHERE! It's all those birthday parties, that's what it is. Every year, with three kids in the house, there are three new truckloads of cheap plastic crap that enters my house and commandeers every available space. And nowadays, it's not just their OWN birthday gifts that enter our home - it's all the extra tiny little pieces of dollar-store evil that they bring home in goodie bags from other parties. (Why do we call them "goodie" bags when they are pure EVIL?) I swear, when all that stuff crosses the threshold into my home, it does a little happy dance and then begins to procreate and produce even MORE stuff until I am completely overwhelmed and feel like throwing a match on it all and walking away.

I want to boycott birthday parties. Or at least birthday PRESENTS. Seriously, parents, why do we do this to each other? Why do we continue to subject each other to truckloads of crap that ends up taking over our homes? Why don't we band together and say "enough"? Why do we cave to the pressure of whiny kids who just HAVE to buy their friends yet another tamigotchi or barbie doll or whatchamacallit? Surely if we get together on this, we can create a force that would be greater than all the whines of our children, no?

Yet, as I say this, I have already made plans for Nikki's birthday party next week, and no, I haven't managed to convince her to tell her friends NOT to bring presents, even though I've TRIED. Sigh. Oh, I'm a pushover just like everyone else, I'll admit it.

Seriously, though, it's not just the clutter I'm concerned about. (Yeah, this is your warning - Heather's getting on her favourite soapbox again.) It's just so completely out of whack how much we own and how privileged our children are. I just wish it were easier to find some balance, but sometimes it feels like the only way that would be possible would be to pull our kids out of society all together. At this point, I'm not really willing to do that. Any other suggestions?

Here are some sobering statistics to chew on...
- North Americans spend $18 billion a year on make up.
- It would take $12 billion to provide health care for all mothers and their children.

- North Americans spend $18 billion a year on pet food.
- It would take about the same amount to eliminate hunger and malnutrition.

- North Americans spend $16 billion on perfume
- It would take $5 billion to provide universal literacy to every person on the planet

- North Americans spend $15 billion on ocean cruises
- It would take $10 billion to provide clean drinking water for all

- North American spend $6 billion on ice cream
- It would take $2 billion to immunize every child on the planet

I don't buy make up, perfume, or pet food, nor do I go on ocean cruises, but that doesn't mean I don't have lots of other vices and luxury items. I'm thinking maybe I should develop a "justice fund", and then every time I decide to spend money on a luxury item (at least those items I can't buy fair trade), I place the equivalent amount in the jar to donate to a worthy cause.

Of course, that doesn't solve my birthday party dilemna.

Just a little more about Ethiopia...

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Despite the current deep-freeze, I still love it

Considering the weather around here has been hovering between -23 and -45 for the last three weeks (that's Celsius - translated it means @#$#@!! cold!), Marnie's suggestion for Fun Monday feels like a bit of a stretch right now. "Tell me why you love where you live." Hmmm... you MIGHT have asked me that on a day when I actually felt some affection for this "freeze that ridiculous grin off your face" place, Marnie! Sigh.

But, even on a day when the best I can do is sit in front of my big picture window and dream about the day when I actually feel like venturing outside again, I can still find reasons to love this place.

And the number one reason? Seasons. I realize that some of you are feeling mighty glad right now that you don't have seasons that are quite as DISTINCT as ours are, but without winter, I can't imagine enjoying spring as much as I do. Each season brings new surprises, a whole new wardrobe, and something interesting to bring delight to my imagination.

To show you a little of the variation, all of the following pictures were taken in front of my house. This is what I have to look forward to in the next twelve months.

WINTER

SPRING

SUMMER

FALL

And just in case you want to know more about where I live, here's a little something I dug out of the ol' Fumbling archives...

I live…in a simple bungalow with an attached garage full of bicycles and a red car in the driveway.
I live…with my husband and three daughters.
I live…just a block from the mighty Red River.
I live…within easy walking distance of a grocery store, a drugstore, a dollar store, a bank, two gas stations with convenience stores, a GREAT wine store, Licks ice cream, a poster store, and a few other stores I’ve never been in yet.
I live…in the shade of a giant maple tree.
I live…within easy biking distance of St. Vital Park.
I live…in a house with ugly multi-colour carpeting in the basement, and a kitchen that’s too small for a family of five.
I live…next door to a bunch of university football players who are polite and friendly and don’t party too much.
I live…within easy biking distance of Ten Thousand Villages, the best store on earth.
I live…across the street from a housing co-op and the daycare centre my kids don’t have to go to anymore.
I live…just a 5 minute drive from the edge of the city and open sky and prairie fields.
I live…in the province where I was born.
I live…in a country that is known for its politeness, its cold north, its peacekeeping, and its multiculturalism.
I live…about 10 blocks (which is much too close) away from a shopping mall.
I live…in a house with a rotting deck and a play structure that’s almost too small for my children.
I live…within biking distance of my church.
I live…in the house with the wooden deck chairs in the front yard instead of on our deck, because we like to sit and watch the world go by.
I live…close enough to my sister and brother-in-law and little niece that we get to see them every week.
I live…further away from my brothers and their families than I’d like.
I live…closer to my mom than I used to, but further than I’d like.
I live…far from where my mother is right now.
I live…close enough to Marcel’s family that we can see them nearly every week.
I live…in a bedroom that has one dark burgundy wall, and three white walls that I wish I’d painted burgundy too.
I live…just far enough from my office that I get a good workout biking there.
I live…across the river from the University I attended nearly twenty years ago.
I live…with contentment and enough of almost everything.
I live…in a country where my children can grow up without fear or discrimination or poverty.
I live…in a world that’s getting smaller, but that’s big enough to offer me lots of places and opportunities to explore.
I live…in a house that’s never quite as clean as I’d like it to be, but clean enough to be comfortable.

Okay, so I'm no Julia Childs

When I ran frantically into the kitchen screaming "oh NO! I burnt the nachos!" Maddie marched into the living room, planted her hands firmly on her hips, and pronounced "Dad! Didn't you know you shouldn't let Mom cook that?"

Oh yeah, you can imagine how much he's loving THAT. I suspect I'll hear that phrase repeated over and over again every time I screw up in the kitchen from now to eternity.

Sigh. I concede the kitchen throne to my husband. It is rightfully his anyway. I'll try not to care that my kids trust his cooking more than mine.

Come to think of it, I think I'll use it to my advantage the next time he tries to convince me it's my turn to cook.

Where is she NOW?

This morning, in an email to my sister, I wrote the following sentence: "I haven't talked to mom all week, so for all I know they've left the country again."

Her response: "Yup, they've left the country again. Good guess."

There is just something very weird about writing a sentence like that, primarily in jest, and finding out it's true. And what's even more weird is realizing that the response no longer surprises you.

To put it into context - for the first 37 years of my life, I KNEW where to find my mom. Her life was lived within a fairly predictable and dependable space. She was at home, on the farm. If she wasn't there, then she could be found at the store she worked at for many years. If all else fails - check the neighbour's house. Or the church. Once in awhile, she'd venture to the city, but then she was visiting either myself or my sister, so we knew where to find her. About once a year, she'd fly out to visit my brother, or spend a few days at my other brother's house. That was about it. Not particularly exciting, but always dependable.

Then, for the next two and a half years, after dad died, she lived in the city, and though the walls of her life were a little less confined, she NEVER left town without telling me.

Now, suddenly, her life has been transformed and I no longer know where to find her. She's home less than she's away. She's been married less than two years, and in that time, they've spent two months in Holland, travelled to Alberta more times than I can count, and hopped across the border into the U.S. probably more times than she's done in her whole life before this.

Don't get me wrong - I'm happy for her. She loves to travel and didn't get nearly enough of it in her life before this. She's got a new lease on life, and I certainly don't begrudge her that. She has spent so many years being "dependable", she has earned the right to be "footloose and fancy free."

But - it can feel a little disconcerting to never know for sure where your mom is and when you can reach her. Moms are meant to be dependable. Reliable. Unchanging. Somehow, in a way I can hardly explain, it makes the roots of my tree feel a little shaky.

Besides that... does she have to make up for ALL that lost time in just a couple of YEARS? Sheesh.

Wordless Wednesday

(Well, almost wordless. I can't resist SOME explanation)

In one of those golden moments in Ethiopia
I sat on the steps of the staff housing
at the base camp in Arb Gebya
watching Hawk in flight.
He'd smelled the remains of the goat
they'd slaughtered for our supper
and he hoped for a morsel.
Soundlessly, he landed
on a fence not far from me.
As I fixed my camera on him
he spread his mighty wings
and took flight.
Glorious Hawk,
I thank you
for the brief and beautiful visit.

Taking a page from Hope's book

Sick.

Fun Monday

At first, when Swampwitch announced the theme for this Fun Monday, I just couldn't decide what to highlight as the most memorable posts I'd either read or written. So I took my time thinking about it and didn't end up signing up. Today, I'm at home with a sick child, and after too many hours of being awake during the night, holding her hair away from her face while she vomitted into the toilet, I just can't focus on all the things I SHOULD be doing. Instead of cleaning the house or doing laundry or writing those articles that I need to write for work, I spent a little time surfing and reliving blog memories. Now I'm ready to partake of all the fun.

There have been lots of memorable posts that have provided wonderful insight into the lives of my many new blog friends, but this time around, I decided to keep it in the family. Today's theme - the beauty of being "Aunty". The following posts are about some of the wonderful people who have entered my life as nieces and nephews, and the equally incredible people who are their Mommies.

My sister ccap has been blogging about as long as I have. At first, we didn't tell each other we were doing it, but it didn't take long for the secret to get out. Her memorable post is called "Grace" and it's about the long journey from being "favoured Aunt" to "the one and only Mommy who soothes my tears and fears". Ccap has been an incredible Aunty to my daughters, and in fact they often think of her as their "second mom". But as every Mommy knows, the leap from Aunty to Mommy, especially if it is long in coming, is still a huge and significant one.

My sister-in-law, Accidental Poet, has also been blogging nearly as long as I have. One day she sent me an email that said "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." And thus we stepped into each other's blog worlds. Her memorable post is actually a series of posts that have the theme of "Seven Years Ago". The seven years ago that she was referring to was the incredible event of adopting a very special little boy named B. The first of the series is here, and it's actually about the death of her father which preceded the entry of B into their lives. Of the series, my personal favourite is the one in which I met little B - a very unexpected and delightful event that will forever rank among the favourite moments of my life.

The two little people at the centre of these posts are just two of the seven little people who call me Aunty. Each one of them is special and unique, and if any of the other parents blogged, I'd probably link to them too. There is something incredibly delightful about watching these little people come into the world and grow into the people they were meant to be.

One of my heroes

"Women can't think." That's what Elizabeth Milton was told the first time she visited the Afar Region. She'd been recently hired by Support for Sustainable Development, a non-profit organization with a mission to help the Afar people build more sustainable livelihoods in the drought-prone Afar region of Ethiopia by building water diversion projects to irrigate newly developed farmland. The Afar people are traditionally nomadic people who follow their livestock from one grazing area to the next. With drought occurring increasingly more frequently, however, and more and more people and livestock competing for the same forage space, their livelihoods are becoming less viable every year.

The men of the local village had gathered to meet with Elizabeth to discuss the development of canals and irrigation systems. She asked to hear from the women, but was told in no uncertain terms that here in the Afar, women could not be trusted to have opinions or thoughts on important issues such as water resources. They could be relied on to do much of the manual labour, like hauling water, building houses, herding livestock, and providing food for their families, but they could not think. Men did the thinking for them.

"That's why I decided to stay," Elizabeth told me when I asked her what had motivated her to spend the last three years in a remote camp, far from her family and friends, in harsh desert conditions. "I had to prove to them that women really can think." There was a twinkle in her eye when she said it.

At the base camp in the Afar region, Elizabeth leads a staff that varies from 50 to 80 people, depending on the stage of the project they're working on. In addition to the paid staff, who fill roles such as agronomists, engineers, and construction site supervisors, there are hundreds of local labourers who dig ditches and build dams in exchange for food to feed their families. The project is impressive in its scale and it's difficult to imagine what it would take to lead such an operation.



Elizabeth is not what you'd expect when you think of a bold female leader out to change the world. She's petite and shy, with an easy smile on her attractive face. When we visited her and her team, at first glance she could easily have been mistaken for one of the kitchen staff. Demanding no special attention or honour as "the boss", she quietly went about ensuring that we had cold beverages to refresh us after our journey, and could later be found grinding coffee and washing our dishes.

She's only twenty-four years old, but already she's done more to change the world than many people do in a lifetime. "I love my country," she told me, when I asked why she'd pursued a career in development. "I know we are capable of great things. But we must first ensure that our people have enough to eat. If Ethiopia has any hope for the future, it has to be in its own people."

Though she's clearly passionate about her work, Elizabeth's three years in the Afar have been fraught with challenges. There were multiple counts against her, in those early days. Not only was she a woman, she was young and seemingly inexperienced. In addition, she's a Christian in a predominately Muslim region. Building trust among the locals took a considerable amount of energy and commitment. "It was very hard at the beginning," she said. "Nobody really believed I could do it. I often felt like I was in over my head, and I was lonely. And I didn't always believe it would work." Plus, coming from another region of Ethiopia, she didn't know the local language. In order to work with the Afar people, she had to first learn their language.

Despite the challenges, the marks of success of Elizabeth's three years of leadership are not hard to find. First of all, there are the obvious signs, like an impressive water diversion system which consists of a well engineered water weir that redirects the water from the river, as well as miles and miles of irrigation ditches. All of this has been dug by manual labour. Where the water has been diverted and the crops have been planted, there are lush gardens that would be the envy of any gardener. While we were there, they'd just harvested some of the biggest red onions I've ever seen. There were also juicy tomatoes, spicy red peppers, and acres and acres of maize and grain.




The real success, however, goes much deeper than the harvest from the fertile, freshly watered soil. While we toured the gardens, we were introduced to two women who are members of the local water-users committee, which is now one of the most important governing bodies in the region. To understand how remarkable it is to have women playing these roles, you have to realize that before Elizabeth's arrival, no woman had ever served in a leadership role in this region before.



"I like to think I influenced the people here," says Elizabeth, who's almost too modest to admit she's changing the world. "They now believe that women can think. Before I came, they didn't trust their women. But now that they see their bountiful crops, and they realize that this is partly because a woman lead them in this endeavour, they have begun to trust their wives and sisters to serve in leadership roles."

Another sign of succes is the new village that's recently sprung up around the SSD base camp. It's a sign of trust and acceptance that the Afar people choose to be near the staff who brought change to their region. Often wary of Christians, particularly those who come from other regions of the country, these people have made a leap of faith moving in next door. New business has already begun to emerge as well. In a tiny shop in front of a woman's home, you can now by fabric, candles, and various other household items. Another important sign of positive change is the increased enrolment in school. When SSD first began working in the region, only one child attended the local school. Now there are nearly fifty.

In the evening, after we'd visited the canals and field that had all been developed under Elizabeth's leadership, we were invited to the village school where a group of young women and men gathered to perform their local dance. While we watched, several young school children clustered around Elizabeth. Affectionately, she put her arms around one of the young girls. It was a simple gesture, but to me it was the picture of hope.

In many ways that they don't understand yet, the future looks much brighter for these young girls than it did before Elizabeth Milton arrived in their village. Some day, Elizabeth will be only a distant memory, but when they have opportunities to take on more and more leadership roles, they will have her to thank.

Scattered thoughts

Scattered thought #1 - Nikki has been begging us for a two-piece bathing suit. After a party (involving a hot-tub) with her girlfriends a few weeks ago, she has repeatedly told us that "EVERYONE has one" (which, translated could very well mean one or two of them do). She used to have one - a nice modest suit - before she lost half of it. Last weekend, we got the bi-annual garbag bags full of hand-me-down clothes from my generous friend Suzanne, and wouldn't you know it - there's a two-piece bathing suit in her size. EXCEPT - this wasn't the nice modest suit she'd had in the past. The bottom was fine, but the top - well, can we say "string bikini"? When she walked out of the bedroom, her daddy took one look at her and his jaw dropped in horror. Though she's only ten, she has already developed curves, and our sweet little girl looked dangerously "hot" in this little number. Of course, the first thing out of her daddy's mouth was "you will NEVER wear that in public!" To which he was met with a barrage of retorts. "BUT - it's JUST a bathing suit. What's the big deal?"

Well, what IS the big deal? I'd really like to know, from those of you who have raised pre-teen and teen girls, what your reactions would be. I don't want to be an uptight mom with a long list of "thou shalt nots", but I also don't want my ten-year-old daughter being gawked at by hormonal teenage boys or dirty old men with nasty thoughts on their minds. But - how do you explain this to her in a way that she'll understand but not get totally freaked out and self-conscious about the way boys look at her?

Scattered thought #2 - Somewhat related to the above scattered thought, yesterday, while the girls and I were splashing around at the Pan Am Pool with some friends (Nikki was in her MODEST bathing suit), there were also a group of young teenagers playing a game with a beach ball. One of the girls jumped on one of the boys and held him down. He said "what are you doing?" Her response was "I'm raping you." Huh?? When did RAPE become funny?

Scattered thought #3 - Just like they say at the Oscars - "It's just an honour to be nominated." Along with a number of my excellent blogging friends, I have been nominated for "best writing" over at the Share the Love Blog Awards. Gee thanks! I'm tickled! If you feel so inclined, you can vote for me here. And give a nod to some of our other friends while you're there.

Scattered thought #4 - My lovely sister and her equally lovely husband are taking the girls for a sleepover tonight. Of course the girls are thrilled, but ya wanna know the best part? We get to have DATE NIGHT! Yay! A night alone with my beloved - you can't go wrong with THAT!

Scattered thought #5 - Hmmmm... I wonder if Scattered thought #1 or 2 will bring some undesirable google searches my way? If you've come here by googling nasty words - GO AWAY! You're not welcome here and you WON'T find any pictures of prepubescent girls in bathing suits.

Scattered thought #6 - The girls and I just went shopping for hockey sticks this afternoon. This winter, they've suddenly become quite passionate about skating and are all rather interested in playing some fun scrimmage games of hockey the next time we hit the ice. And after my night of hockey with the "W.I.L.D. Women", I'm looking forward to the next time, now that I have my own stick!

Scattered thought #7 - The other day, out of the blue, Maddie said "Mom, life is like a bowl full of spaghetti." She didn't have an explanation, but it left me wondering what deep meaning might lurk behind her random thought. Perhaps we're all just a bunch of noodles covered in sauce? Perhaps we've got nothing but squashed tomatoes to look forward to in our future? Perhaps we stick together and get all clumpy if overcooked? Hmmm...

If this were my virtual reality, I'd at least have a maid!

In the paper this morning, there was an article about this book on the blogosphere. Apparently the author thinks that we (bloggers) are "isolated and lonely, living in a virtual reality instead of forming real relationships or helping to change the world." It gets even better. Blogging is "melancholic and illusionary" and the community of support we find is "not real".

Gee thanks, Mr. Keren, for so glibly dismissing our chosen form of expression and community building.

C'mon though - if this WERE my fantasy world, don'tcha think I could come up with something a little better than this? Not that there's anything wrong with my life, but I'd at least have created a maid. Or even just a laundry slave. And maybe a lovely little cottage in the woods. And a writing career with a nice big fat contract that meant I never had to do a nine-to-fiver ever again.

And another thing - who says community can't be real just because we never see each others' faces? I suppose you think the support we offer each other is inauthentic and "illusionary".

Oh and I just have to ask - what have YOU done to change the world lately? Please tell me so I can toss aside this senseless blogging and follow your lead. I may be wrong, but I don't think writing a book about how pathetic other people are counts for "changing the world".

Maybe you should try blogging for awhile and see if perhaps there is some merit in sharing your thoughts and feelings, getting to know people from other places and other cultures, getting advice on life's dilemnas, getting inspired by how other people are changing their little corners of the world, and practising the art of expressing yourself through the written word.

But what do I know? I'm just a lonely and isolated blogger living in my melancholy virtual reality.

Just sittin' here smilin'

The next time I get one of those letters in the mail that says "thanks for your submission, but we can't use it in our publication at this time";
OR
the next time I tell myself there are so many better things I could do with my time than writing(like doing laundry, for example);
OR
the next time I assume every other writer is better than me and I'm simply wasting my time;

I will remember that Vicki said this of me:

"Her writing has this ability to cut to the core of my person. She can put into words things that only constrict me into a mental breakdown!"

or this:

"She can take the passing thoughts that flutter through our minds and put them down into words that make you say out-loud, 'Yes, how did you know?'"

and I will smile.

Wow! I hardly feel worthy of such high praise, but I will accept it graciously and try to remember that any gifts I have been given are meant to be shared. You are more than welcome to partake - provided you share yours in return!

Thank you Vicki for lifting my spirits in such a beautiful, heartfelt way. Now the rest of you should run on over and visit Vicki, because she's one of those people you will feel almost instantly could become your best friend. I think, if we spent an afternoon together, we'd barely stop laughing long enough to take a bite of that delicious apple cake she makes! (Which reminds me - I have some apples that need to be used soon... hmmm...)

Where have the years gone?

Because all the cool kids are doin' it, I wanted to join the fun and post some pictures of me as a young child. Unfortunately, it turns out that I have only a very limited number of pictures of bygone days in my house. I think it's time to root around in those old cardboard boxes my mom has been moving from old farmhouse to apartment to apartment in the last few years. I need a better selection.

Here's one of my favourite photos. I'm the blonde in the dark stripes and my sister is the cutie-patootie in the light stripes. Apparently we're in the process of mauling my dad. As a hardworking farmer, my dad didn't nearly always have enough time for his kids, but when he gave us his attention, he made sure that at least for those brief moments, it was quality time.



The picture below is of me with my oldest brother (who occasionally shows up in the comments as bbb). Doesn't he look smashing in the bowtie? (And for those who know him, doesn't he look alot like Caleb?) I was apparently fairly attached to that soother and dolly. I suspect it was a ploy to get me to sit still long enough for the Christmas photo. Even though we were fairly poor, Mom loved to dress us well - especially for Christmas. Almost every year, we got a new Christmas outfit. Usually it was something Mom had sewn.

Notice the drywall tape on the wall behind us? For the first seven years of their married life, Mom and Dad lived in an unfinished house. It must have driven my Mom a little crazy. Things didn't get much better either. From there we moved to a tiny farmhouse with only one cold water tap in the kitchen, a strangely named "cash and carry" toilet in the winter and outhouse in the summer, and so little space that when mom and dad went to bed at night on the hide-a-bed in the living room, their feet were in the kitchen. It was another seven years before we moved into a new house on the same farm property. My mom had to put up with A LOT back then! But... we were happy.

Sunday six

Six ways to avoid laundry.

1. Play Bingo with your kids.
2. Let your kids convince you that you need to play ONE more round before tackling the laundry mountain.
3. Write a lame blog post about avoiding laundry.
4. Tell yourself it's character building if the kids occasionally need to wear mis-matched socks or scrounge through random piles to find that last pair of threadbare underwear.
5. Phone a friend and commiserate about the never-ending laundry duties.
6. Pretend there's been a restricted quarantine placed on your laundry room and ONLY MOTHERS are not allowed to enter.

Sigh. Okay, so I'm getting tired of wearing the bottom o' the barrel underwear - the kind that slides into places it's not meant to slide - just because I've avoided laundry too long. Self - get thee to the laundry room!

No entrance

At the rock-hewn churches of Lalibella, where history is so thick it seeps from the walls, I stood outside the holy of holies. By virtue of my gender, I was barred entrance to that most sacred of places.

The men at the door said "no women allowed." I heard "you are unclean. Unworthy."

With some measure of discomfort, the men in our party stepped inside. "We'll report back," they said. "We'll take pictures and show you." Their words hinted at the guilt they carried for being the chosen ones. They didn't want to leave us behind.

Waiting on the outside, we three women made light of the situation. "What if we storm the entrance?" we laughed. "Perhaps if we trip on the doorway and fall into the room..." Kebede, our Ethiopian companion, didn't take it so lightly. "They will stone you," he said, his face reflecting the seriousness of the offense. "Or beat you with their sticks." All of the priests in this place carried long staffs with silver or gold crosses on top. I imagined those crosses smashing down on our backs.

In this foreign country, it was not my place to challenge history. I stayed outside.

Twinges of memory poked at my consciousness - my own history ringing in my ears. "You cannot read the Bible in church. You are a woman." "You cannot be class president. You are a woman." Each time I heard the words flung like stones - "You are unclean. Unworthy."

I looked down at my bare feet on the stones worn smooth from centuries of worshippers. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these feet could walk on holy ground. I knew that these feet were no less worthy than the feet of those inside the holiest of rooms. After years of stones, I had learned to hold my head up high and believe the truth of "neither Jew nor Greek, male nor female."

I am woman. I am worthy. I can only put my faith in a God who tore the veil of the holy of holies and welcomed me to step over the threshold. "You are worthy," he/she whispered in my waiting ear. "Come and be clean."

On the radio

If you'd like to hear a radio interview I did together with Steve Bell, go here and click on "Steve Bell in Ethiopia".

The stunning scenery of Ethiopia

For lack of coherent thought, I give you a few more pictures...

Still recuperating

Yes, I made it home safe and sound on Wednesday night - a little later than anticipated (I missed my last flight and ended up re-routed), but home nonetheless. As I unpacked that evening, I immediately repacked in order to head out to a staff retreat the very next morning. I was too busy for jet lag to set in until Friday night, when it hit me with a resounding wallup as I tried to watch a movie at my Mom's house.

Over the weekend, I tried to find enough time and energy for my family, and then Sunday night I did a radio interview together with Steve Bell (which I believe will eventually be posted online here). Then today I had to facilitate an all-day workshop.

In other words, I haven't really stopped moving since I got home. It's all been good stuff and not terribly overwhelming, but I'm a little tired. Tomorrow's my first "routine" day at work - I may drift off to sleep by the middle of the afternoon.

No, I haven't had time to visit any of you or catch up on your blogs. I may NEVER catch up. If there's anything important that you feel I MUST read, you'll have to let me know, or else I'll probably just start from scratch when I get a few spare moments to surf.

But now, before they think I've abandoned them entirely, I'm going to make some puffed wheat squares with my kids. At least it's not labour intensive, nor does it require alot of thought. I can handle that.

By the way, if you're interested in a day-to-day journal of the trip (which I haven't gotten around to doing yet), Steve Bell is in the process of posting one on his blog.