I May Need a Prom....

Fourth grade was my last year in a traditional school setting. Our family moved out into the country that year and it was decided to home-school the four of us kids from that point on. We did pretty good for a couple of years, but then sort of slid unintentionally into the "unschooling" method of learning.

As each of my siblings grew, they all began their higher education at our local community college. We were already enrolled there as advanced placement students, so no one had to prove they'd graduated. I think my sister was the only one of us who took her GED test at the end of high school; the rest of us skipped that step and went straight to college. That worked OK for my siblings; they all graduated with a degree from that college and my brothers went on to get their university degrees as well.

I started college a few years later than the other three kids. I was busy taking care of the 3 kids I'd later adopt and didn't get the motivation until a cat bit my hand and I needed to become a full-time student to get on my mom's insurance. (Long story) Once I started, I did quite well and loved getting decent grades after years of feeling a little sub-average since I'd not had formal schooling beyond 7th grade.

At the age of 23, I was a full time student and beginning what would turn out to be a lengthy custody battle for my kids. There were so many court appointments to go to, meetings with CPS, helping the kids deal with the trauma of their lives, counseling appointments, and the fear that it would all come to nothing and they'd be returned to the same harmful environment that I had nothing left to give to my studies. I used to come out of court and shake so hard I couldn't talk because my teeth were chattering so badly. Of course I intended to go back once things settled down, but had no idea that things were only going to get harder and stay that way for many, many years. So no more college for me.

That left me in the awkward position of no diploma, no GED, and no degree. Having gotten good grades in the classes I DID take, I felt I could do it, but with no real proof of anything. It reminded me of Lady de Bourgh in "Pride and Prejudice", who, when speaking of the art of piano playing, said, "I should have been a great proficient if I had ever learned."

With the whole 'move thing' and the whole 'turning over a new leaf thing', I wanted to finally go for it and get my GED. There is an adult education center at the college in Williston, so in January I took the plunge and took my first test. I was in a hurry, so did just one, and an easy one at that, reading. The lady called me up a couple days later and told me excitedly that I'd gotten 100% on my test.

That was good news, but a little daunting. I didn't like setting the bar quite so high my first time! The next trip down I dashed in and took social studies. A day later, another breathless call, another 100%. After that, the ladies at the center were talking about me getting 100% on all my tests, but I knew better. Math was still to come, and math and I don't get along too well. In fact, math is the single reason why it took me so many years to tackle testing.

The next trip down I took the science and writing tests. Now it was just math and me. Me and math. I planned to study, but the weeks ticked by and I did nothing. Finally I scheduled an appointment and determined come what may, I was taking the test. Did I study? Need you ask? I had my mom give me hasty math advice while I showered, dressed, and dashed out the door. I got there 45 minutes before they closed and took my test. I felt I'd passed, since a passing score is only 1 point above 50%, but you never know.

Sabbath afternoon I got my packet in the mail. I'd passed, and (beg pardon, but must brag here) was in the 99th percentile in reading and social studies, 96th for writing, 92nd for science, and in the 84th for math. I do have to say that it's a sad, sad commentary on the state of modern education that I scored higher than 83% of high school seniors in math. Really.

So no more filling in "some college" on paperwork to avoid the lengthy explanation of why I have no diploma or GED. I have achieved an indisputable level of accomplishment and am looking forward to a possible return to college...if I can figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But first I will need a smallish graduation party, nothing much, just something simple. One hundred, maybe two hundred people, an ice sculpture, limousines, a red carpet, perhaps a circus or two.

The MacGyver Method of Preschool

For those of you who slept through the 80's (I tried, believe me, I tried), the show "MacGyver" told the story of a super-duper secret agent famous for getting himself out of dangerous situations using common household items. I didn't have any catchy theme music or dramatic lighting, but I felt no less awesome as I constructed an entire preschool out of nothing but duct tape and cardboard (almost!).

Two months after getting the idea for a preschool playgroup, I was mere days away from its debut. Had I spent those two months in solid, studied preparation? Had I worked diligently at gathering materials? Surely you jest. I did a little thrift store shopping starting one week before, but didn't start planning the program until Saturday night. My first playgroup was Wednesday.

I am pretty good about getting rid of clutter and sloughing off things I no longer need. Through the years, all my little kid stuff had been given away or sold at yard sales. The last bastions of their childhood had fallen in the final weeks of packing before the big move last year. Now all I had left was some construction paper, a few random craft supplies, some markers, but gone were the felts, the games, the books, the puzzles, everything else. I also had a couple bags of supplies from my thrift store excursions, but that was it.

My playgroup gets to use the community center for free, which I'm very grateful for, but the room is all wood-paneled and has poor lighting. I needed to do something fast to dress it up and make it more fun and less cave-like because it was already Sunday. Only 2 working days to go because Monday I was going to be gone all day. I took stock of my resources. Cardboard! And duct tape!

My mom's detergent box was the first victim. Of course, it still had detergent in it, but my mom didn't mind making a few sacrifices! No, siree-bob. It would be perfect for a doll house (after a few modifications, of course), and I even found a few accessories at a thrift store the next day.

Next I needed something for the floor. I couldn't find a rug in the thrift stores, so did the next best thing and made a quilt for circle time. I bought a Bug's Life sheet for the top, a blue sheet for the back, and a mattress pad to go in the middle. I stitched it up Sunday afternoon, and voila, a floor quilt for pennies.

I had discovered a vintage toy stove top at one of the thrift stores the week before. It was to be the cornerstone of my dramatic play area, but needed a little more added to it. I made an oven out of a box, then turned another box into a fridge.

Nice, but when the girls and I took the supplies down Tuesday evening, it still wasn't enough. I'd wanted a refrigerator box playhouse, but got to the appliance store right as the dump truck was crushing the boxes. Fortunately, my brother-in-law is a DirectTV installer and had a lot of boxes lying around. It wasn't what I'd dreamed of, but 42" TV boxes just scream playhouse if you're desperate enough.

I stayed up late trying to get the stupid paint to dry, something that takes a lot longer in the cold than summer in California! I went to bed at midnight having gotten the last coat painted. Now for a little sleep before the big day. I tried to stay calm, I think I even looked calm on the outside, but inside I was a nervous wreck.

See, the majority of my short college career was spent taking Early Childhood Education classes so theoretically I should know all this stuff. But it has been a LOT of years since I've taken any of the classes or had any Early Children of my own. I knew I could do it, but I would know it a whole lot more comfortably after I'd succeeded!

Zero hour and my students arrived. I had two perfectly behaved, shy little girls, the ideal starter group for a nervous teacher. We learned about spring, read stories, practiced writing, played hopscotch, painted a pot so they can plant seeds next week, and of course had fun with all the toys. The girls had a wonderful time and so did I. I can't wait until next week!

Prairie Royalty

A few years back, Noni and I had a children's book published by the name of "Rahab's Promise" (Subtitle: Buy Early and Buy Often!). Every year since then, at the end of February, we get our ever-decreasing royalty checks. Since we collaborated on the book, the royalties are split between us in a completely fair manner.

However, there was one aspect of the whole royalty deal that was never fair and was decidedly skewed in Noni's direction. Back in California we lived only 3 miles apart, but her mail got there at 10:00 in the morning and mine came around 1-2:00 in the afternoon. Year after year she always got her check first!

This year things were a little more equal between the two of us. We both have a PO Box in the same little post office and it was simply a matter of who would pick up their mail first on the lucky day. Thus matters stood as we headed into the final week of February when we would normally expect our checks.

That is, until one day when Noni and I were having our daily "I wonder when they'll get here" confab. I was gloating that for once I might actually get the check first when she asked me if I had updated my address at the Review and Herald Publishing Co.

"No."

With dawning despair, I realized that my check would have to go all the way to California and back to Montana, while her check would simply jaunt over from Maryland. Oh, the crushing disappointment! Oh, the mocking, cruel laughter of my own sister!

Noni called up the Review later that day and was told our checks had been mailed already and should get there Friday, the next Monday at the latest. I listened without much enthusiasm; it no longer mattered to me.

"But don't worry," she said. "I told them your new address for next year."

Thanks.

Monday came and went with no checks. I started going to the post office and getting Noni's mail, and it became a daily race to see who could get there first. But days passed and still no check. I began to hold the faintest hope that hers might be delayed and allow mine to get there first, but of course, remembering how I had felt at her unfeeling mirth, I never betrayed a whisper of that thought!

This Sabbath, after potluck, I got a call from my mom telling me to stop by her house before going out to mine.

"Why?"

"Just stop by."

I knew instantly what it was. "OK, well, it was nice seeing all you folks. Gotta go! Bye!"

I dashed home, knowing Noni's check was waiting in her PO Box, but that she couldn't possibly lay hands on it before I touched mine. I didn't open my check yet, since I don't do business things on Sabbath, but I must confess it was a struggle not to think about it. About 5 minutes after sundown my cell phone rang. It was Noni.

"Do you have my check?" The suspicious whine came over the phone.

Triumph burst upon me in a wave. "Why, no I don't. Didn't yours come?" I think my eyelashes were batting at that point.

"No."

I was able to share with her the amount of the check, gladly performing the same service she had done for me all those years. I know, I'm such a good sister. I won't tell you how much it was, but I will say that I'll be able to buy that $13 sled I had my eyes on. Barely.

A Potpourri of Pages

I've decided to do a recurring column reviewing some of my favorite books, or perhaps just the one I'm reading at the moment. I've always wanted to belong to a book club and be able to discuss some of the great reads I've had the pleasure to peruse, but it's never happened so far. Besides, I don't think I'd do very well in a book club where I wasn't in charge (givin' some honesty here). I only want to discuss the books I like!

So if any of my readers want to help my fantasy life come true, you can read the books I suggest and comment on them. Or pretend you read them and comment. Or just comment and I'll do the pretending. I'm pretty easy to please.

I finished a book this week, one my mom gave me over a year ago to read, but I just got to beginning it this month. That is not a reflection on the book, because avid reader though I am, I've discovered that when I am in a high-stress time in my life I lose the ability to read for pleasure. Since January (I'll let you do the math and come to your own conclusions) I've gradually regained my ability to sustain interest and comprehension in a good book.

The book, "In a Heartbeat" by Leigh Anne and Sean Touhy, tells the story of the Touhys and how they adopted a very large, very talented, but very marginalized youth, raised him through college and saw him become a successful pro football player. If you've seen "The Blind Side", this is their story, but told in their own passionate language.

I really enjoyed this book. I found out I hold a lot of beliefs in common with the Touhys, though we have nothing in common when it comes to finances. We both have a passion for helping children, and Leigh Anne and I both have a stubborn spirit, even if I can never hope to equal her Southern belle fire. For instance, when the Touhys attended the Oscars the year "The Blind Side" was nominated, Leigh Anne grew impatient at the security delays while every evening purse was searched.

"Finally Leigh Anne lost it and started lecturing all of Tinseltown in a loud voice. 'Terrorists are NOT going to blow up the Oscars. Ya'll are just NOT that important. This is NOT Baghdad. That sign up there says 'Hollywood.'"

I most admired their giving philosophy, which is woven throughout the book. Even though they are wealthy, they believe that giving doesn't have to be some great act to count or that it needs to bring glory on the giver. They live by the Popcorn Theory:

"You can't help everyone. But you can try to help the hot ones who pop right up in front of your face."


It was a great book, entertaining and thought provoking. If you liked the movie, you'll enjoy getting behind the scenes. If you have a heart for kids, you'll enjoy reading a positive story like this. And no matter what your motivation to begin the book, you're guaranteed to end it wanting to go out and make a difference.

The Covenant

"While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease."

In case you haven't noticed from my ramblings, winter is a topic that occupies a big part of my mental processes at this time. Everyone around here longs for spring, but I like to think I have more invested in its arrival than most people. I won't go into the details, but key functions in my house are affected by the temperatures and my house is under-insulated and drafty. Besides that, I just want to feel a warm breeze on my cheeks, listen to a birdsong, smell the scent of wildflowers on the breeze, and run barefoot through soft, new grass. I want winter to be over. I did winter and I'm ready for something new.

In spite of my wishes, winter keeps going and going like the Energizer Bunny and all of us paltry humans are left squirming in its grasp, bored, on-edge, and doing random things just to break the monotony. The other night I cut my own hair for the first time; it needed a trim, and why not? At least it gave me something to do (Even though Tiggy sang me the "I'm a Bald Bunny, I Got No Fur" song while I was doing it.). Laura and I have started an exercise program to get our legs in shape after months of low usage. Today we went "jogging" up snow mountain and down because the wind was too harsh and cold to leave the shelter of our trees.

Still the winter winds blow, deep snow covers the landscape, the thermometer stubbornly refuses to climb. It wears on me, but it also brings me a daily lesson, one I especially need right now. Every morning, when I look out the car window at a dreary landscape one more time , my hope is renewed by the knowledge that no matter how harsh, stubborn, severe, or long this winter may be, IT MUST END. It can't last and must give way to spring. Maybe not when I'd like, but spring will still come and nothing can prevent it because that is the covenant God has made with the earth.

So I grit my teeth, raise my chin, and stare down the snow. And I know that just as the seemingly unconquerable winter must surrender to the gentle progression of spring, the problems in my life, the sadness and worry, the broken relationships, must finally disappear. That is the covenant God has made with me and He never breaks a promise.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." Psalm 30:5

"They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. Psalm 126:5,6

Pride Goeth Before....

Well, we all know what pride goeth before. When the winter fashions first came out in Walmart, I fell in love with a pair of boots the first time it crossed my checkout. They were beautiful black lace up snow boots with grey "fur" trim around the top. So cute, and just what I needed for winter. They were also $50 bucks, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince myself to spend that much on a pair of shoes, so I had to make do with my thrift store work-horse boots, warm, but plain.

All winter I waited, eagerly charting the price, praying about it, and waiting for the day when they would go on clearance. They stubbornly held onto full-price through the season and didn't budge until January when they finally dropped to $25. Unfortunately, that was right when I got really, REALLY poor and could no longer convince myself to spend $25 on a pair of shoes.

Well, last week I went down to Williston and found that all the winter boots were now on deep clearance, and a whole rack of my beloved boots in just my size was now on clearance for $12.50! As Samuel said when looking for the next king of Israel to anoint with oil, "Surely the anointed of the Lord is before me." I carried my boots home, triumphant and thankful that God cared enough about the little things to get me my favorite pair of boots at a price I could afford.

But, if you know your Bible, you know that the person Samuel thought was the anointed of the Lord in that story was not the one God had in mind. And I found out that my beautiful boots had one fatal flaw (literally!). They are slick as a greased pig on the bottom. I have fallen on the ice twice since I got them after not falling once all winter.

The first time was right outside the church. I slid out of the van, dressed in all my Sabbath finery and kept right on sliding all the way to the ground, landing solidly on my hip. I had parked on a smooth frozen puddle left over from the thaw two weeks ago, but it had dusted snow since then, nicely camouflaging that little death trap.

The second time was the next Sabbath afternoon, after the girls and I got back from our weekly visit to my house with all the town dogs. The two girls boiled out of the car, but paused in the driveway to talk to Damon. I swept past, calling over my shoulder, "You girls are LOSERS (my pet name for them when they are particularly good)." As the words left my mouth my feet hit a patch of ice and slid forward. I landed on my right hand, jamming my wrist and elbow, but I'm thankful I didn't break anything! The girls were good and asked if I was OK before dissolving into hysterical laughter.

I've come to the conclusion that if I'd gotten my fashionable boots at the beginning of winter when I wanted them, I would have broken my neck by now. I've also had a reminder that it is often the plainer things in life, like my thrift store work boots, that actually have the most value to us. I'm still thankful God worked it out for me to get my special boots because they make me very happy, but I now realize they are for decorative situations ONLY.

A Horse's Head

My mom has always loved birds. We grew up going out on Sabbath afternoons armed with the bird book to identify different types of Northern California song birds. However, with the wealth of cats we always had, she was never able to indulge her love of the Avian race in an up close and personal kind of way.

Years later, with all the kids moved out of the house, my parents got a dog that had a fiendish habit of killing cats. Finally there were no cats around to kill her beloved birds, nor any rabbits, gophers, other dogs, or really anything else that moved. But life was busy and she still didn't get the feeders or bird baths installed that she'd always dreamed of. Until this Christmas.....

One of her daughters, who shall remain nameless, but she is an incredibly intuitive and perceptive young (very young) miss, remembered the deeply buried longing of her mom's heart and gave her the perfect gift for Christmas. A big box full of bird seed, a cedar feeder, and a suet feeder with suet block.

Mom was overjoyed at the gift her remarkably charming and graceful daughter gave her, but true to the proud tradition of the Kahrs' clan, the feeders languished in procrastination for a couple more months until today. Wanting to get some bird action before winter was over, my mom had me install them.

The suet hanger was a breeze to hang up, if disgusting to handle since it was filled with congealed animal fat. The feeder was a little more difficult because all the branches easy to get to would have concealed it from the window where my mom planned to watch her birds cavorting. The only one that left it exposed also left it about 3 feet off the ground.

"I think it's too low, Tina."

"It will be fine. Besides, you need to be able to see it."

"OK, but I think we're hanging up a cat feeder, not a bird feeder."

"It will be fine."

Later that day I went out to move the van. I saw a feather. Or three or four. Hmmmmm. Look at the feathers that the wind seems to have blown into Mom's yard. I scanned the rest of the snowy expanse. More feathers. Hmmmmmm. It seems some cat has caught a bird somewhere else and dragged it through Mom's yard on its way to eat it.

After moving the van I walked up the driveway and nearly stepped on the little bird's head, neatly laid out on the snow like something from "The Godfather". I believe we have just received notice from Westby's feline population.

I moved the feeder higher.