Granny Jane Junction: October 2009

Monday, October 26, 2009

13 months and counting

Vivian asked for an update. I actually haven't looked at my blog since April...I waste too much time in front of a computer to think of additional ways to spend more time here.

However, it is long past due for me to give a NAW update (Nathan Alexander Winther), who is 13 months and 16 days old.

I wish I could tell you the exact date he started walking, but I can't. Time flies so fast! He was taking a few tentative steps on his birthday, but mostly he was walking around the furniture. He became furniture free about three weeks ago. We'd been working with him by sitting on the floor starting at 5 feet apart and gradually working to 10 and 15 feet apart, giving him lots of kudos when he "made the distance". There was a lot of leaning and falling into the "receiver" but with all our supporting clapping and yelling, he was totally jazzed about the whole experience. He walked in a kind of "heil Hitler" stance, right arm straight out above shoulder level at two o'clock and his left arm bent up to his body like he was holding him self up and pretending someone was holding his other hand. Very cute! On his birthday we bought him a little walker that THANKFULLY converts to a little push car, because a few weeks later he really didn't need the walker portion. I feel really bad that I acccidently deleted all the indoor pictures Bill took of Nathan opening his presents and killing his birthday unfrosted dinosaur cupcake. I don't know how that happened, but I was able to reconstruct the party from pictures Julie took. I do however have some adorable pictures - one currently my desktop background, of Nathan on his birthday playing in his new and wonderful little green cabana blow up pool.

I will be taking this Friday off work to watch him ALL DAY! Believe it or not, I only get to see him Friday evenings and Sunday for brunch usually. At the moment Emily and Jeff are taking dance classes at church on Wednesday evenings, and they gave me first pick of watching Nathan during that time. Auntie Erin hogs her nephew a LOT! So I have Nathan Wednesday evenings, and I have invited Erin to come over during that time if she wishes. So far, she DOES! What fun!

Other Nathan news - he is talking up a storm, and we can even understand some words! He can say "dada" and "mama" and "up", and I think he can say "gramma" too, but that may just be my interpretation :) One of his favorites is "puff" which stands for the little baby cheese puffs they give him to get him used to chewing "solids". He loves them! He also loves drinking out of his sippy cup with it's special no-leak straws. Until that came into his life, he never would hold his own bottle. Now he does much better, but he likes the straw cup better than the bottle with a nipple. Funny little man! He has six chicklet teeth, but only four of them are all the way in. He has a big space between his two top teeth. He is a happy boy, an explorer, always looking "out and beyond," and if you can't tell, I still think he is the most beautiful and wonderful baby in the world!

Other news: Bill had a lot of tests run this last month due to having symptoms that once again gave him concern about his heart health. The test results were all good, so at least psychologically he is in a better frame of mind, even though he continues to have aches and pains a and lower energy level (I think it is called getting old).

I am busy with Community Bible Study. My new position is such that I have a lot to prepare and organize so that the class will run smoothly. I haven't had to give a lecture yet, but I know that is coming up in January. I did give a training this last week that got good reviews, and even the interview I conducted for last week's opening got good reviews, so I must be doing something right. My current position in CBS is a support role for the Teaching Director, which usually means I don't have to be up front a lot. I just have to arrange all the schedules -who is supposed to be where, what is the opening each week, what music are we singing, what the weekly training is, and who is doing it, yada yada. I have set up a shared google calendar so the 10 member Servants Team can hopefully review it and post to it so we can all be on the same page.

This November I am taking the week of Thanksgiving off of work in preparation for our Thanksgiving cabin getaway. The cabin is only about 80 minutes away in the Glenville area. We have it reserved for Wednesday evening through Sunday morning, and I hope it will be a great time for our family. f

Julie plans to fly out after Christmas to attend Urbana, a mission conference I believe held in Alabama or Louisianna and attended by thousands of students. She hopes to get a better feel for the direction she wants to go in pursuing full-time mission work, possibly overseas. We support her, but at the same time are urging her to think it through completely and have a plan in place before jumping off the map. She has gotten her feet wet with her trip to Japan as well as helping build a home in Mexico with Hands of Blessing. She's done short-term mission trips before, to Mexico and here locally, but now she has a focus and she is excited to see where God leads her.

Scott McArdle, Erin's husband, lost his job as a counselor for the state prison system due to budget failure at the end of September. He is still looking for work. Erin is still working as graphic artist extraordinaire at First Pres, and as they are living rent free (and kitchen and bath free as well, using a microwave or Scott's parent's side of the duplex for cooking, and for bath needs as well), they are still making it financially.

My job is busy as ever, but Bill's work is slow as a commission salesman. That is the economy, and I am sure it is tough for most everyone in the work place. A local bank that has been well-thought of in our community for many years was just taken over by the FDIC last week, and I heard that even our credit union is under scrutiny for the same issue as the bank, so uneven ground for lots of us.

Nathan is the bright spot for all of us, and I thank God he is a part of our life!

Spheres of Glass, by Erin McArdle

We are spheres of glass, these souls, blown from the very breath of heaven. Each one of us is dipped, shoved into the painful heat of the glory hole, shaped on a hardened plate of steel, rounded out with just the right amount of pressure, and then, while we are still pliable, the air is pushed through us, filling us with volume, with shape, and if the artisan desires, a crackled color is then applied. I...I am a bright turquoise with red and orange piping. There's a bit of sunset yellow that glows somewhere inside, along with a bit of that color that pauses on the horizon somewhere between twilight and the final whisper of the last ray of sunlight.
Once we are set in the hay to slow dry, we either crack slightly or come out crystal and shining. I used to think I wanted to be crystal clear. Now I think I prefer a little bit of character, and some very serious color.
God sets us on the earth, hands us our precious ball of delicately blown glass (just one to start with), and asks us to walk along side him. He points out the visions of life, whether we are listening or not, presenting us with opportunity beyond our imagination. We are watching the starlight sparkle within, the sun and moon glitter across, all the while taking each step with care as we hold our gift. Many times the ball drops. Many times the sphere we spend so much effort protecting breaks, and Oh Lord, how unthinkable that must be...
I stand somewhere in the middle of a New York style street, staring at the shattered pieces of glass, the noise - a blur fading into the background, trying to pick them up, hands bleeding with every shard scraped off the horrid, burning pavement. Heart beat desperate to turn back time, to fix my mistakes, to move a little quicker, to hold onto my precious sphere. some of it has ground itself in and the powder is blown away under the hell of the wretched summer heat. I gather what I can and leave the rest. I empty it into a small bag. There are so many pieces as my feet crunch across the ground, and I wonder whose soul they belonged to, and if they really wanted them back and just couldn't get them or if they lost the ability to care after trying for so long to preserve it.
Somewhere along the way I find a side street and a bottle of superglue, revlon nail formula. Laughing out loud, I seriously thought it would work...for about 30 seconds. The ultra bonding substance could hold limbs together, but not the shattered pieces of me. As I stood there, almost hopeless, two thoughts came to mind: 1st-a clear bag. Definitely zip-lock, definitely tear proof. But then, as I grow older, I realize that nothing can tear proof the soul, or the heart that feeds upon it. 2nd-I have to find the glass blower. The artisan. He will be saddened to see such a mess, but there is a small twinkle in his eye, much like Ollivanders, that keeps the desperate hope I cling to from fading.
His shop is filled with gadgets...time collectors, tear drop measurers, colorful bits and baubles unrecognizable to me. Beautiful and aged. The room has that yellow glow to it, like the end of a sepia toned summer day on its last spark. He takes my bag, pours the remains into the glory hole and we watch it melt. I have done this many times before. And I am lost for words every time. But he knows. I can see it in the lines on his perfectly wrinkled face. He always knows. Slowly, he takes the rod and swirls it into the liquid glass, creating a new sphere - knowing in time I will break this one too, but making it just as pristine as the very first. He looks at me for just a moment before gazing at the colors he might add to it. This time, the piping is jet black, and the glass is of a sparkling mist. Somewhere I see the old hint of turquoise, and a hidden stripe of autumn. He finishes my ball and sets it to cool...Carefully he puts his tools back in their place, and then turns to me. He has not said a word, nor have I. We use the small sink to rinse my hands, the aloe plant sacrifices a limb for me.
And here I sit, like the fainting phoenix, waiting to rise from the ashes, as the glass cools and takes on its new shape and plethora of colors. Eventually the time will come, and he will hand it back to me-this new and old gift.
And somewhere down the road, it will come to pass that I will need to come back here again, perhaps slightly less battered. But I should make my way back here again. And maybe next time, it will only be to add on a bit of color - something more golden and starlit - or maybe, just maybe, he'll hand me another to carry.